.::tour de desa::.

*

Wednesday, the 4th of August 2010 and my turn to choose the P-Day play. So yesterday it was to the bike shop to get our cycles serviced and then early this morning we took to the hills, in search of sawah (rice fields) perfection. Which isn't all that too hard to find, Indonesia-speaking, but what we came home with today goes above and beyond the mark.

First, there was the ride out. Out past the city streets and into two hours of mountain climbing, passing houses and homes and markets and mosques until pretty soon there wasn't anything to pass anymore but wide, open spaces. I kept most of the Phil Liggett commentary to myself, but just couldn't quite keep it in once we hit L'Alpe d'Tumpang and Miller was playing the perfect draft to Martoyo's climb. Something maybe they didn't appreciate? It was rough and it was ruthless, but right past the summit we knew it had been worth it---this was it. This was sawah at its most spectacular.

So we took a sharp left and down into the dirt, balancing our two-wheels along the foot paths between the padi until we hit a sound patch of good ground and then left our bikes locked up against a bamboo bay for further exploring. The boys had already pulled out the kites (the favorite of any village kid, twenty cents at your local warung) and Marno and I set to trekking, picking our way out past the palms and chatting with the farmers along the way. And then, suddenly, what ho? Who's this? Mas Sumariono?

A former investigator I hadn't seen in the last three months, way back when Clancy and Miller had to stop visiting him since he wasn't progressing much and his house was far too far away to justify the weekly ride. But then here he was now, knee-deep in a newly-sown sawah and more than happy to see us. He remembered my name and asked after the Elders and when we told him they were just around the corner and a little bit to the East, he jumped right up to join us---and within the hour had become our de facto tour guide extraordinaire. Because isn't God funny like that sometimes?

With Sumariono at our side we saw a whole new side of sawah we could have never managed on our lonesome; we hiked ravines and crossed rivers and drank coconut milk fresh off the palm tree and chewed on sugar cane right out of the field. We discovered a natural mountain-water swimming pool resort long overgrown from years of disuse and abuse, hitch-hiked in the back of a cow truck, and sat pretty atop an age-old Hindu temple with panoramic views out to the mountains beyond. Spectacular much? We were on top of the world.

{martoyo:::miller:::marno}

And also two hours from home with only one hour to get back there. But here's the happy thing about going up a mountain: heading home is all downhill. And so head home we did, our flying shadows long across the open fields, Elder Martoyo in time-trial mode as he crouched low along the long runs and off into the sunset. E voila! One hour and fifteen minutes later we were back within city limits and with a quick shower out on the streets again. In the kind of rush that leaves you wondering wait---did that just happen?

Though I'm sure we'll have no doubt of the reality come tomorrow morning---all said we did a good fifty miles today, and I can already feel my upper thighs protesting. Ya, sudahlah. Would do it all over again.

love you lots---

E.

*We took this photo with the intent of showing off our rehydration techniques a la coconut milk, but missed the actual coconuts. Oh well. My hat's still cool. I stole it from Mas Sumariono after he asked me to hold it while he climbed the palm tree to retrieve said coconuts with his handy-dandy hand machete.

Malang:::28 July

family:::

The quicklist: I talked to American-boy-physiotherapy-kid yesterday and came off the conqueror. Sister B's back, but in Bandung; President Groberg's Miracle No. 39139 in only one month's time at the head of this mission. Man, that guy's good. This Sunday I heard one of the better (maybe best) sermons of the year---at a Lutheran church. And turns out Pak Ferdi has a legit badminton court in his house. Where we (Marno, Me, Elders, Pak Ferdi) played match after match all this morning. Afraid I took far too much pleasure in making them sing the Star Spangled Banner after my every victory*.

So, from the top down:

Joseph was back in our Bhakti Luhur classroom but this time I had the high ground. Knowing I would be speaking in English before the fact made all the difference, and not only did we hit it off and teach an A+ of a lesson together but I took the chance to share the gospel, too. Ha, take that, last Tuesday! We actually ended up having a really good conversation in between the two-hour teaching block, and while I didn't have an English BoM to send him off with, I do keep English pass-alongs in my pack so here's to hoping www.mormon.org can get him going in the right direction. And maybe most bestly of all? He asked questions. Logical, direct questions. At first it really threw me off but once I got back into the rhythm of my country's conversational style it was exhilarating. Bless the boy. Only 17 and carrying on a conversation. Remarkable.

Sister B's return happened just this week, when President reminded her that she at least needed to meet with him once more since he's the only one who can officially release her, anyway---and I guess somewhere in between that morning's flight to Jakarta and the afternoon interview, he convinced her to return. We out here in East Java were all rejoicing---but then laughing to tears seeing only the night before we'd acted on strict orders from B. herself to relegate all her left-behind belongings to Bhakti Luhur. As in her entire missionary wardrobe, including shoes. Um . . . whoops. On the bright side, she did get reassigned to Bandung---Indonesia's Shopping Capital!---and what a better way to get back underway than a little retail rehab?

As for the sermon, that would be Sunday, 5:00 p.m. at GKI Bromo---the Lutheran congregation that Pak Ferdi attends. We're still not seeing eye-to-eye on the whole Plan of Salvation thing, so when he asked us to come and see where he's coming from after Sunday's Sacrament Meeting we called to clear it with Pres and then met Pak Ferdi later that night. The preacher/pastor/pendeta/I don't know what anyone's called anymore was a woman in her late forties, a slim, classy, intelligent-looking lady who also had a very grounded sense of reverence about her. We were greeted at the door by her colleagues, serenaded by a youth chorale group until the chapel had filled to capacity, and then were edified by an hour's worth of scripture and study straight out of Christ's Sermon on the Mount. Aside from just being really grateful I could understand everything, I was also very impressed with the content, delivery, and spirit I felt there.

Lately I've been thinking about redemption or, rather, the verb to redeem. I know dad does this a lot, too, so it's not anything particularly new but it does take on a different depth when one starts to make it their own. Mostly I've just been musing on definitions, the power of a prefix, the idea behind the etymology . . . honestly I don't think I could, at this point, communicate any clear sort of conclusion at all but I will say that I am grateful for a gospel so simply complex and deeply definite. I am grateful that there is a difference between being forgiven, and being redeemed, and grateful for the Book of Mormon which leads me line upon line to better understand and internalize that difference.

Also along this line of pondering I have come to realize that my thinking is very language-driven which I think is one of the reasons I still find it hard to express my innermost feelings in Indonesian. A lot of the connections I make are linked by the English definitions, synonyms, and idioms behind them---conditions that have little or entirely zero value when making the crossover to Indonesian. Like, above? What does the idea of redemption mean when you contrast it with such daily phrases like to redeem oneself (ie Sister E actually talking to Joseph this week), or to have at least one redeeming quality (as in thank goodness Relief Society at least taught out of the Ensign this week), or newspaper-praise of a redemptive story (B. being one). There's a lot to be said for a native tongue, and while Indonesia's got its plus-points, too (here, for redeem, we use the verb for "to pay ransom for the release of a captive") I'm afraid my heart's already taken.

Oh dear. At this point I'm just rambling, aren't I? Ya, sudahlah. To sum it all up: I can speak English! And I also really rather adore the language, too. Badminton's top-notch, props to B. for an honorable return, and hurrah for Israel! The church is true. I love you.

Next week from August,

Sister E.


*lest you think my pride past propriety, this actually only happened maybe at most three times, and certainly not after Pak Ferdi called his Manado friends over to play and, oh yeah, MALANG'S CITY BADMINTON CHAMPION. She was fierce. She was intense. She was ah-may-zing. When I grow up I want to be her.

:::a parting portrait:::

At the airport for SisLily's transfer

email excerpts:::21 July

dear family:::

Well, Sister Lily's gone---President had promised her a ticket out of here within the week, and on Saturday morning Silalahi called with her transfer to Jakarta. She left this morning, Happy Birthday to Her. For the record, I tried to make it a bit more exciting than a trip to the Big Durian, but she herself admitted her odd-year birthdays are never the best so it was all a little half-hearted anyway. Plus my poster could never accomplish the wit of dad's work. Even if I did manage to snag a pic of Justin Bieber (I love you Lily, Lily, Lily--oh! My Lily, Lily, Lily, oh!).

We went out to the airport together. An airport the size of 1912 Yale, painted bright blue amongst the rice fields. It was peaceful there, like England. We all talked for a long while, the noontime flight notoriously late as usual, and listened to the birds and the silence. You don't hear silence very often, not in a city on Java. It was pleasant. It was poignant. It somehow felt much more significant than it actually was. Then SisLily got on a plane and we got into a taxi.

Just the two of us.

I've never been anywhere just two sisters; up until this point in this mission this situation has not existed. That big white house all to ourselves. This big wide city our assignment.

We didn't have much time to ponder that; our taxi driver was chatty and knew where Salt Lake City was, which led to an amusing hour's conversation on everything from German study to rice harvests. He took us the long way home (since from the airport every taxi's fixed price so it doesn't matter anyway) and out through the more rural outskirts of Indonesia, my favorite Indonesia. I was rapid-fire questions the entire drive through---what is this area called? what is that school? why are they wearing that kind of uniform? what is that man carrying? what is that woman selling? are those water buffalo supposed to be in the middle of the road?---and then took careful note of four-way stops and dead-end turns so that when/if we all ever end up in Malang, I can take you there.

I think I had deep thoughts, but I'm running on empty here. A few scattered thoughts left over from the remains of my week:

In Sacrament on Sunday Oma Irawadi discovered I can sing alto and has therefore petitioned Pres Dwi to add us as a duet musical number next month. This is as scary as it sounds, and also hilarious. I'm going right along with it because why not? And also, anything for Oma.

Met with Mas Kun this afternoon and set an absolutely, positively sure date for his baptism, confirmed by Pres Dwi. August 8th. Just as soon as his sister goes back to Belgium---she's making earthquakes of epic proportions in her family, but props to Mas Kun. He's staying strong and standing up to them in testimony, keeping his commitments and moving forward no matter what. Today's appt was particularly joyful; nothing spectacularly extraordinary but the plain, solid gospel truths which are the Extraordinary within themselves, and that felt strong and right and good. I am very glad to be a part of all this; of Mas Kuncoro, of this mission, of this Church.

Yesterday at Bhakti Luhur they had a visiting high school senior working on their physiotherapy staff who wanted to come help out with English class, too. SisLily and I were rendered incapable. Not because he was even remotely handsome, or even just a boy of the American species, but that he was American and English speaking. I felt (and we later compared notes, which turned out to be exactly the same) like a mute, unable to communicate any sort of rational small talk because, apparently, that space of my brain has been completely commandeered by the Indonesia version of conversation. Everything I said (which I think is normal, I think) sounded hideously formal, pathetically pretend, like I was play-acting a melodrama in preschool. Or an alien parading as mankind in pre-programmed English. It's just so much easier to say things in Indonesian. Forget "What are you doing here in Malang?"---ask "Di Malang ngapain?" Don't bother with "Where do you go to school?"---try "Sekolah mana?" Oh, it was a terrifying foray into my future; if I am that awkward now, what's going to stop me from being that awkward then? I am never getting married. Much less making any friends. Am apologizing now for the day I move back into your basement and only come out in the midnight hours to avoid any sort of humiliation on the social scene.

Kidding. But really. It was pathetic.

Monday morning we helped an inactive member clear a garden space in her backyard. That sounded like a fun little morning project when SisLily first suggested it, but upon arrival and actually seeing said plot we were quickly reduced to despairing laughter in between fitful gasps of the Arabic "mustahil!" Which means impossible, out of the question---because that is what it was. My back is still sore from the manual labor, but on the plus side my arms are now a healthy tan and there's even some color on my legs. Also we got to spend the entire day with Sister Lili and her twins, which was wonderful.

I can't wait to see you in December. To see you here, and to see you there.

I miss you, but I love you more.

always. selalu.
E

:::a Suribaya synopsis:::

Dear Family:::

The thing I love about time and travel is that all you do is board a bus or catch a train or flag down an angkot and then, in the space of only a few hours, you are There. Somewhere, anywhere, no longer Here but suddenly and entirely Elsewhere with a whole handful of new streets and scenes and stories to handle. What a wonderful world, you know? The adventure of simply moving a few miles and into something new, the never-ending hope of knowing that This does not always have to be the Only Thing You Know.

The thing I don't like about time and travel is that sometimes you end up in Surabaya.

Which is East Java's answer to Jakarta, and it's not pretty. The concrete alone could kill me; just miles and miles of crumbling office buildings and rusted apartment complexes, riverbank walls and city sidewalks. People, everywhere and poor. Barefoot and broken like the streets they sleep on. Closer to the equator, closer to the sun. The way you swear you can hear your shoes sizzling, melting in the pavement. Arriving at your usual Novotel only to find out that Mas A forgot to make the reservation from the office---and this place is full-up for the night. Realizing that not only do you have to go back out into the fray, but that you have to go back out searching for a place to sleep in a city you don't know beyond one LDS meetinghouse and the French patisserie just down the street. Remembering that you don't really like traffic at all. And that coarse and crude curbside men don't help much, either.

Things I like about Surabaya: Meeting Sister Bajodo's aunt, who fed us first-class tempe and kripik from her tree-lined home in the "Singapore of Surabaya" before treating us to an afternoon at the Indo-famous Surabaya Zoo which certainly won't be earning any PETA awards any time soon but was nothing short of magical. Buying peanuts by the kilo in the parking lot; being welcomed by monkeys swinging and screaming from the trees above us; stepping into an unregulated and untamed Tarzan's jungle just inside the chained entrance. Feeding peanuts to free-flight parrots, a strangely-billed bird that hopped hazardously like a throwback from the dinosaur age. Watching giant sea turtles slip silently across an open pond, learning how they breathe and what they eat and how they move by long minutes of personal observation. Tossing peanuts into black bears' open mouths. Seeing monkey babies copy-cat their monkey mothers, wee deer learning to frolic and leap, the occasional street cat sitting just as nobly beside the cage of her jungle cousins. It was an afternoon of drop-jaw delight and endless exclamation---I've never seen animals so active and alive in captivity. Even the guinea pigs were up and doing, trotting about their jungle enclosure to tease the iguanas in the next cage over. SisLily and I were very impressed. Finding a new hotel just a few streets over and even slightly cheaper. An eighth floor view from a mod-white room in the Santika. AC and hot water. Down pillows and a comforter. Taking a power nap as the sun set over the city. Arriving at the chapel to find all 8 Surabaya Elders in a semi-circle talk session around Sister Groberg, who is testing out the Indonesian she's learned in the six months since she got her call and then the last two weeks she's been official Mission Mum to us Indo-Jak kids. Talking to Sister Groberg myself, about families and friends and the mission and the country and the food and the people and the places and the history and the everything else ever in between because my word she's a talker, and I was grateful for it. Watching as the elders went in one-by-one to be interviewed by our new president. Seeing them come back smiling. Being called in to meet the man himself. Even though my stomach was turning like a tall ship under deep-sea storms.

President Groberg. I should probably write an ode here, if not the entirety of an Homeric epic. He's humble and soft-spoken, the very picture of pediatrician in his rimless glasses and concerned eyes. He's on top of not only this entire mission, but my own personal story. He came to our interview with a list of questions prepared for me. He opened that interview with a prayer. He prayed for me. He listened to me. He spoke to me. He makes you want to be a better missionary---and then provides the training to get you there. He teaches. He shares. He challenges you and then corrects you and then challenges you again.

PLD, too, was stellar. It was solid. It was real. Even though I was called to speak again (four times and counting) and then asked to represent the missionary part to our training role play (teaching the Atonement, no less). Even that was okay. But best of all was President's training itself: a full hour of direct advice and teaching and application, followed by a group activity and personal examples to strengthen the specifics he'd just added to our Mission's mission.

The quick notes from the rest of my week:

We taught Ferdi again last Thursday, he called me Sunday morning to ask if he should wear blue or black slacks, and then showed up at church looking like any other member all over the world. "No," Sister Lily corrected me, "He looked like a leader of the members." And it was true. He'd even gone out to buy a tie for the occasion. In other miracles, Sacrament Meeting was stellar, even after a panicked moment of wide-eyed terror shared across the pews from Rhondeau to Liljenquist when Oma Irawadi was announced as the next speaker. Even the Asas-Asas Injil lesson on Eternal Marriage went like gangbusters, and as Pak Ferdi stood with Pres Tatik in the branch library perusing pictures of temples from all the world he just kept saying how he was "very, very interested. I will be back next week and all the weeks after."

Mas K, however, won't be getting baptized this week. Which is sad but a little bit expected since his family's been hard so I guess we'll just keep hacking at it and hope we'll get there eventually. The Rifais are doing well and tonight we're off to Oma Irawadi's to teach her non-member son. I'm happy, too, though SisLily's time is limited and she'll be off to Bandung by next week at the earliest. It's about time, I guess (she's been here nine months---all the Elders kept on teasing her, asking when the baby's due, what she's going to name it, etc. Yeah. They're just hilaaarious) but it still feels sad so we're concentrating on just enjoying our last few rounds of badminton and reveling in the joy that has now been (almost exactly) half of our 18 months of mission together. Yes. It's a wonderful world, and a lucky one too.

The Church is true. I love you all and for always.

Sister E.

:::beginilah indonesiaku:::

SisLily and I were never meant to be together on our year mark but who's complaining? Selamat!
Balloon-animal-crowns courtesy of Sister Bajodo who, when the snarky waiter said that sort of prize went only to (emphasis stressed) children, asked if she could speak with the manager, please, because her friends here are
One Years Old!! Selamat written out in sambal. Clever girl.

KelKu:::

I think the rainy season might be over. There have been some thunder warnings that come up on us all sneaky-like, but so far that's just a grumbly-rumbling from the mountaintops with no follow-through, so I'm going to call it here and now: we are officially into our Indonesian summer. And I like it.

The mornings, anyway. It starts out all lazy-slow and slightly chill, like overcast mornings on T-Street /San Clemente except that we don't wake up to USA Today and a box of donuts but that's okay because with all the doors wide open and the sun starting to rise it's quite pleasant on its own. By evening we've cooled down, too; the palm trees along the railroad lit in a turquoise sunset with the slightest hint of a coastal breeze. Last night, while waiting for an appointment at the Church, SisLily and I sat along the parking lot curb and it almost felt like home. But then there's the afternoon. When the sun is out and you are, too: walking, walking, walking terus and that at-least-okay hair you managed to pull up into a ponytail is suddenly not so fashionable and your bangs are curling around your cheekbones and your shirt is more soaked-through than haute-chic and goodness gracious can we get an es jeruk? For a long time now I've been thinking what's all this fuss about equator living? August in Utah's got more sun-muscle than I've ever felt! And then, this. Oh, this.

I guess that's what P-Days are for. Because on P-Days, you can go out into the foggy morning for your fun, walking pleasantly through the leafy Alun-Alun, pushing through Pasar Besar, fingering batik, sharing es coklat when noon's coming around the corner. And then, then you go home. You go home to your cool, quiet house and switch out your skirt for some shorts, flicking the fan onto top speed as you toss off your shoes and collapse next to SisLily on her mattress, and you laugh and laugh and laugh because you are wearing matching pajama shorts, and they are made of Indonesian school uniform fabric, and wouldn't Olivia just be mortified? Because maybe no one else in the whole wide world would really ever recognize the cleverness of us, and maybe, actually, they are ugly. Except they can't be, no. They are far too cool to be ugly. Keren banget. Also, why has it taken us an entire year of friendship to realize we should take a badminton class at BYU next semester? And we lie there and laugh there and let the hottest and highest part of the day pass us by because we can! And it is wonderful! And we are happy.

Or at least that's what we did today. Between all the funerals. Because when you're following the Javanese calendar, as I've mentioned, there's not just one celebration of a passing life. So today, early morning, we began at Sister Hamid's for an actual funeral. This afternoon, we were out at Sister Yuni's for a 100 day. Then just now, we came from Sister Hamid's yet again, since coincidentally she passed away while visiting friends in Solo so her first funeral also coincided with the three-day commemoration. On Sunday we'll go back for her seven-day. It is all very exhausting, but also fascinating, while at the same time being a lovely way to spend a few hours with my favorite of the Indonesian people---the members. Thank goodness for their goodness. Because sometimes just sitting cross-legged in the corner of a lime-green room on a bamboo mat with 8-year-old Bianca curled up into my lap, drawing pictures across my email notes is actually the definition of happiness.

Though my personal dictionary is being logged full of that word these days---it's been a good week. I'll send a few pictures in a minute to fill you in on it all (Happy One Year! Sparklers! Fourth of July! Oma Irawadi!), but to close up this email here's a quick scan of the week's lessons and investigators so that we all remember that also, actually and oh, yes: I am a missionary.

Kel. Rifai: Mum, dad, four girls from 21 to 10 years old. Live out in Sukon, where we help them string badminton rackets and then learn about the gospel. They are a happy, humble family and it has been a really good experience to learn with them; this week it was the Plan of Salvation.

Mas Kuncoro: Has a baptismal date! July 18th, if all goes to plan and his mum doesn't shut it all down last minute. Monday we taught eternal marriage with him and Sister Maria (aaaww!) plus had a long, lovely chat with his older sister who was in town visiting from Antwerp. Goodness, she was a laugh. And hey, if we're ever in Belgium next year, her door is open.

Pak Bobby: a former investigator returned! A hysterical blend of Belanda\Manado who likes to throw in some English for good measure, too. Plus, he really likes introducing us to all of his friends, like

Pak Ferdi: a middle-aged Lutheran from Manado currently earning his PhD at Brawijaya University here in Malang. We only just barely met him\taught him for the very first time yesterday (completely unplanned, too---Bobby was walking us out to the angkot and randomly ushered us into a neighbor-house with a "Ayo you mengajar prayer di house sini" and then suddenly there we were, eating salak at a courtyard table and telling the Joseph Smith story. Mission is such a ride. But anyway, Pak Ferdi wasnt (for some reason my apostrophe key has stopped working, so bear with me here on out) entirely receptive but nowhere near rejecting us, either, and we have a return appointment for tomorrow afternoon, the interim of which I will spend madly studying to be ready for whatever he throws at us next. I think I was able to hold my ground through the entire Trinity talk yesterday but wahduh this guy knows his Bible and Ive got to keep up. Hes by far the most educated of persons Ive ever taught here in Indonesia, and the difference is remarkable---and a real stretch for me as a missionary, since I havent been used to this sort of speed for almost a whole year now. But it will be good, and weve at least got one guarantee: this guy will read the Book of Mormon. Which is a far leap from any other investigator weve ever worked with.

So thats the line-up and this is the end; I have a few minutes more here but am going to write some individual emails in lieu of this weeks questions and epics from home, so family-wise this is over and out! I love you.

sayang,

Sister E.

one year older and wiser, too ::: 30 June email

Keluargaku:::

SisLily adopted some Edisonian optimism this last week and yesterday declared "I haven't failed. I've found 10,000 people that weren't ready to accept the gospel."

To which I would like to add, here on the eve of our One Year Mark As A Missionary: hear, hear. Because lately everything seems to be falling through or apart or to pieces but do you know what? I'm in Indonesia. As the Swan Princess' Derrick would say (and Lily and I love to quote): What else is there?

Meanwhile, seriously, everything is on the fritz, if not officially kaput. I don't know if my wardrobe only came with a year's warranty or if it's part of the missionary magic, but I'm losing things left and right these days. Last week it was my red shoes; yesterday my silver shoes tore (beaten, bloody, but unbowed---I think I can get them to last til December), and my rain shoes have a hole worn right through the sole. Then my brown skirt decided to catch on an angkot door and rip across the knee, so that went in the pile along with my white shirt, blue shirt, and pink tee that couldn't quite make it to July. At this point I'm thinking nothing else could possibly die on me but oh, wait, why not my alarm clock? Because that little guy's had its fair share of work this last year, too, and decided to rebel like a wounded cow in a mountain ravine at three in the morning. And I couldn't stop it. Until I restarted the entire thing from the button on the back and then the screen went blank.

But that was easy enough to fix (I don't know why there are carts along the road that switch watch batteries, but there are and, like I said: Indonesia) and this morning I woke to its normal heart rate and jumped up for some badminton and a whole happy P-day ahead of me. Huzzah, indeed.

Things you can't fix:

Inactives not coming back to church because they married Muslims who are now radical and won't allow for any sort of Christianity.

Appointments falling through right at the doorstep because you arrive at the pre-appointed time to a house dark and door locked. "To Blitar," the neighbors say. "Back next week."

Investigators that accept the BoM as scripture, divinely inspired, Word of God, but then refuse to make the jump from the book is true to the Church is true.

Calendar days. Is it just me, or is June NEVER going to end?

Anyway.

That's the thing about ten new investigators. They come and go pretty quickly; but you can't deny that adrenaline when you first call the APs to report those kind of numbers. So there has been the good and the bad and then just mostly the mediocre, but I think also that's just like Life anyway so upward and onward, I say. Tally-ho.

I wish I had deeper things to say, here at the beginnings of July. But mostly, lately, I've just been thinking of the Things I Did This Time Last Year and marveling at all the Things That Have Happened Since Then. And that's a whole lot of thinking to sort through and make into something solid (much less, sane). What I will say is that this last year, while not being the Best, has certainly been the Most Important, and I feel a great gratitude for the things I have seen, heard, loved and known. I have always known this Church is true, that God lives, that His Gospel is happiness, that families are forever, that Christ is the Light, the Truth, the Way---but this last year has solidified these testimonies for me, built upon their foundation, fortified their futures. So while on a day-to-day basis it's still hard for me to say that Mission is any sort of miracle, I feel safe in the surety that I'll look back on it my whole life long as such.

We're headed out to Sukon for some soccer with the branch; love you all extremely much and incredibly more,

E