:::she is a palindrome:::

Family Dearest:::

Last night I baited rat poison about the kitchen in a final desperate attempt to quell a rising epidemic, and woke up this morning to find every last little pink pellet licked away. I feel terrible. Horrible. Sick-to-my-insides guilty. It wasn't like they ever did anything to hurt us; I was only getting tired of the morning clean-up. And now . . . murderer. I will never forgive myself.

Though it is entirely possible that such nausea has nothing to do with my mouse massacre but is rather the combination of the many side effects of life's most recent stresses, being, in this order:

1. Mbak Mitin, our best --- and only --- investigator moving to Surabaya.

2. Marno packing up to pulang kampung in all of only 6 days from tomorrow.

and

3. Me becoming finally and officially Senior Companion and also, oh, Trainer.

Even with last month's false alarm I was not ready for this call. I mean it makes all sorts of sense, what with Marno's impending release and the inevitable open space in Malang. But when President called late Friday night to inform us we'd need to be at the Air Force Base by noon the next day to pick up the new sister . . . well, maybe we panicked a little. And not just because we were looking forward to having a hotel room all to ourselves this weekend in Surabaya. That was, selfishly, a major factor, but nothing compared to the paralyzing waves of inadequacy (Please see email of 11 Agustus 2010. All emotions still apply.).

Not that there was much we could do about anything at all. We tidied the house a bit, mopped the floors, spilled all our deepest, darkest secrets in a final companionship curhat (this is a good JakSlang term to know; it means to pour out the contents of your heart). We woke up, called a taxi, and sat out to wait along the tarmac with sick stomachs and overactive imaginations. "This is a good sign," Marno insisted. "If we weren't worried, she'd be horrible. But since we kind of feel like throwing up, she'll be awesome."

Which as irrational as it was turned out to be true. Sister Nababan skipped off the plane with a happy hello and hugged me while bringing tidings of great joy from Elder Kershrikshrik in Hong Kong. She's a tall, strong-boned Batak* with an open, fierce sort of beauty and hard eyes. She grew up in Medan, graduated in French from a Bandung University, worked two years speaking Mandarin in Taiwan and the last six speaking English with a Canadian family in Hong Kong. She was in Noah's International Branch, and after looking at me for a long moment said, "You're Slovenian too, aren't you? Your eyes are the same." She is smart, strong-willed, and more culture shocked upon her return to Indonesia than I ever was arriving here in the first place. Occasionally this has made me want to scream but I am trying to be a good and patient trainer, even if this has mostly meant I'm on constant catastrophe control---my already uber-sensitive tact meter on overdrive as I try to regulate lessons and contacting with a Batak at my side. Maybe I shouldn't be so anxious? But sheesh, those Sumatrans don't know a compliment from a criticism. Dangerous stuff amidst the fragile souls of Java (and I won't pretend I don't tend to take things all too personally, too).

Notwithstanding, together our trio has had some really---and unexpectedly---good lessons this week. I am learning yet again the promised blessing that when called you are qualified and I have felt an external and eternal strength these last few days as I face a task I feel so utterly unprepared for. The Spirit has been stronger, my vision clearer, even my Indonesian is better and I have to be careful not to fall into the false thinking that all this comes of my own accord. The Lord has really blessed us in His work and through this transition and while I am sure these last two months will be the most difficult of my mission, I'm equally certain they'll be the best.

Monday night Pak Purwitanto prayed out loud for the first time in twenty-plus years. Yesterday Ibu Novi accepted our testimonies of the Book of Mormon and expressed the desire to seek a testimony of her own. Tomorrow we are off to Surabaya to learn how we can better love and serve the people we've been assigned to shepherd here in Malang. It is a soul-stretching and marvelous life to live, and I am grateful to my God who has given me so great an opportunity to live it.

The Church is true, and I love you. December can't come fast enough and yet will, of course, come all too fast. Strange, that.

selalu,

Sister E.

.::ya weis::.

family:::

This email was doomed before the day began; usually I sketch out a few paragraphs or at least draw up a list of all the things I need to tell you the night before I email but last night . . . well, last night I didn't. And I don't even have a good excuse. I just walked home from Sis Lili's, collapsed at the kitchen table for our usual nightly planning, and then didn't get up. Until it was two minutes til ten thirty and I decided that maybe I should at least move to a bed if I was going to sleep.

So. Then I get to the internet cafe, and I have happy emails from my sisters and I want to reply to them, so I do, and then suddenly half my time is up plus also maybe I snuck a small minute in there to help Marno navigate the BYU-Hawaii site (her Real Life is two weeks away and we've been working hard to have her TOEFL ready) so now we're down to seconds---though rather flexible, indefinite seconds*---and I find myself with very little to say in the absence of a first draft.

Plus, Lebaran rolls on so mission news is negligible. A few lessons but nothing news-worthy. Elder Meek has Dengue Fever**. Us Sisters have spent most of the last seven days in Girl Friday mode, at the Elders' beck and call. It has been funny and frustrating and I think in some small way it has opened my eyes to motherhood. I always wondered how mum could be so busy when there seems to be so many hours in a day. Then I had to go from Gadang to Landungsari and back again in one afternoon and I was ready to write odes to the remarkable everything that she is. Terimalah Kasihlah. Today we went out first thing in the morning and went from Blimbing to Alun-Alun to Pasar Besar to Dinoyo all in search of the Elders' orders, ending with us basically dying on their front door step after having their lunches all switched up at the nearest warung***. Following was a somewhat blissful hour of chat in front of their electric fan, and then the long hot walk to the warnet. And here I am. With every thought and energy put into those measly paragraphs above me.

Again. I'm sorry. But some weeks . . . well.

Let's hope next Wednesday's back to normal. Or whatever normal is, when you're serving a mission in Indonesia. Hey! Remember my past? And my future? Weird.

K. Love you.
Always.
E.

*in Indonesia they say "jam karet" or, elastic time. Which is why everyone is always and of course late to everything and no one could care less. Nice when you as the missionaries arrive late for an appointment, not so fun when you as the missionaries arrive on time for said appointment and your investigator isn't. Because they could be back in five minutes, or they could be back in an hour. Actually, maybe they don't come back at all. But hey, jam karet. Toeachisown.

**He's okay, for the record. Still sick but getting better. What's sad is Elder Marijanto---one week into his mission and totally homebound. We like to call their house at random hours to make sure he's using this abundance of downtime in scholarly and scriptural pursuit.

Thought. Marijanto kind of a little bit reminds me of Richard Fetzer. He has the same smile, maybe. Or the same laugh. Something. Haven't quite captured it.

***We asked them what we are getting in return for all of this. Mari promised the Lord will bless us for feeding the needy and caring for the sick. Which I believe. But would also appreciate, say, like a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Or a can of real tuna fish. Even some Skippy Peanut Butter would be enough.

I love Indonesia. But while Indo has Quantity down, America definitely does the Quality thing better. Am imagining a Saturday afternoon Costco run, which does the best of both. Oh, Be still my soul.

:::Lebaran:::

KelKu:::

Here in Indonesia, which today not only feels miles but entire lifetimes away from home and any sort of reality, we are on the eve of Idul Fitri. If it weren't for the true meaning of Christmas, I think I would have to admit to enjoying the Ramadhan month far more than our December celebrations; instead of speeding into over-hyped material messages of goodwill the entire world seems to slow down and I love the wayside warungs that insto-presto appear at sunset and the everynight fireworks and the extra long and lyrical calls to prayer. Tomorrow, too, will mark the first official day of school holidays for the event, and so just about everyone and their rice cooker is headed for home. Here this is called Lebaran, and it's tradition to finish off the Fast with family in your hometown, so after today's monstrous traffic jams and people-packed train stations Malang's going to be even more quiet than usual. And so thusly and therefore it follows that it becomes all the more quiet for us Mormon missionaries, too. I love Ramadhan. But not when it takes away all our investigators, too.

We're making up for the lack of lessons by making our own sort of Lebaran family and visiting every member we can pencil into our planners. This is two-parts proactive and one-part selfish, seeing as we were already planning on following up our efforts to get the members more involved in missionary work on an individual family level but also because my most favorite moments of my mission have always been with the members so win-win! Last night we went out to the Raharja's, a lovely little family of four and some of the stronger members in our branch. We had Family Home Evening together, teaching a lesson on Small and Simple Things (ie what minor changes they could make to their friendships and families to make major differences in their lives with the Gospel) and then eating a sour-salsa-sort of-soup thing while sitting cross-legged on their living room floor. I had, if you'll allow me to be a glitter-glowing teen for a minute, a blast. Sister Lorieta brought out her wedding album and we compared deep thoughts on the Twilight Series and Bianca drew my portrait on her whiteboard with the title "Sister Kanaya" because my Javanese-ish name scares her and little Alex gave the prayer all by himself.

TANGENT: I am a rock star when it comes to Indonesian children, something I can say without pushing my pride limit because I know that you know quite the opposite is true back in the Homeland. I mean, ask yourselves, honestly: Have you ever met a Mormon twenty-something more awkward with kids than moi? Rest my case. One great thing about the second-language barrier is that my vocabulary level is pretty much exactly on par with the 4-7 set and so Alex has in these last five months become my absolutely number one fan. Last night I was counting up to ten all wrong and then speaking Chinese a la gibberish and then hauling him around like a sack of potatoes and the way he was carrying on you would have thought I was all of Disneyland in one person. Very gratifying, especially the big sloppy goodnight kiss. Anyway. I digress.

It was a happiest hour indeed and I have become more and more grateful---plus all the more aware---of just how consistently and tangibly the Gospel blesses families. For all the dark stuff going on in this black world you would think a whole lot more people would be reaching for the light that shines so constantly and clearly from so many good, strong families living as Christ would have them live.

Last week at Leadership Training President introduced a new program of "inspired questions" he would like us to start using in our teaching. Basically we're just trying to put all the focus on the investigators, forgetting statistics or lesson plans or time restrictions and doing all we can to get the people we teach to start thinking for themselves. A lot of the time this means that we just turn their questions right back to them, asking them to answer why they think our Church is different, how they understand Christ's Atonement, what they think would help them get to Sacrament meeting, etc. We also try to learn everything we can about them and direct the conversation to Gospel-centered principles with questions that begin in phrases like "Have you ever thought . . . " or "How do you feel . . . " In just one week of our attempts to apply this tactic in our teaching, it's been a clear-cut 180 as far as the Spirit goes. We've had some really great lessons, especially with the less actives in our branch, and our contacting (though still constrained due to the nature of proselyting in a Muslim country) is on an upward curve. All this, however, comes at a far greater risk of failing, no longer relying on our step-by-step lessons or even our scriptural learning but the investigators themselves. Which has had some hilarious results of its own, most noticeably at yesterday's appointment with a new investigator who was unbelievably adept at switching topics and shutting us down. At one point, pretty much near desperation, Sumarno just point-blank asked the woman if she ever thought about God and after a three-second's hmmmmm she simply answered "No." We managed to walk away quite poised and dignified in the end but immediately lost it once we'd reached the jalan raya outside of the kampung. "Fail," Marno said. "Fail." And you know, it was a pretty incredible crash and burn.

Malang is cold and green and Indonesia's Eden after last week's sweat bath in Solo. Sister Sumarno is now in her final month of the mission and I'm rounding up to three, which both terrifies and excites me in equal proportion. Lately, actually, and more particularly since last Sunday, I have come to the realization that I'd rather not go home, thanks. I miss you, of course, and quite often find myself rolling the opening strains of O Home Beloved around my tongue, but ultimately I am past mortal levels of happiness here and am quite content to stay that way. Indonesia, while a favorite from the very first, has suddenly become . . . real? I think is the word that my heart feels but doesn't come out right. As if . . . as if Indonesia is me, and I am Indonesia. Oh dear, I'm afraid I'm reaching one-with-the-cosmos levels of attempted communication, and that is not what I mean at all. But . . .you know? When suddenly a friend becomes family, house becomes a home? Yes. Like that.

Elder Meek is much the same, only now he can speak Indonesian which is quite the trick. The last time we served together I'm pretty sure the most we could communicate was a Primary-level testimony of the Book of Mormon and maybe even occasionally ask to pass the pepper. So sitting in on a visit with Purwitanto's today was a little trippy. Meek's joined by Marijanto (pronounced Maw-reeyahn-toe, and yes, apparently it is an Elder's prerequisite to be christened with an M name before serving in Malang), an awkwardly tall, gangly greenie from Semarang who did the dishes for me after I made lunch for the departing Elders on Sunday. He's quiet but charismatic and the two of them make a good team.

We are now off to visit Sister Lili, who has whipped up homemade chicken nuggets just for me as I attempt to bring the LilyRho Nugget Sandwich Special to a whole new level of gourmet. I can't wait for you to meet these people, to know this place. It will be a most epic family reunion.

I love you.

Sister E.

all things.

Dear Family Rhondeau:::

A few weeks ago I learned a word that I promptly forgot because I never used it. That's how it works for me; if new vocabulary doesn't make it into reality conversation that very day I will learn the same word weeks later as if I've never ever seen it before in the first place. And so that is how it was with the word sepele. Meaning trivial, insignificant, unimportant. If you check the date on my language study journal, I learned that word more than seven weeks ago. But never used it until the moment presented itself, until it was ready to be made live, applied properly, situationally appropriate.

This is that moment. Because all these stories I've saved up, all these ideas and thoughts and jokes and anecdotes, they are sepele. I am in Solo and have been for four days but will go back to Malang tonight. I was Sister Atmi's companion while Sister Sumarno attended Leadership Training. It is hot like a drowning desert and we ride bikes and I am a little bit tan. At night we meet up with the elders for bamboo bowls of coconut-milk rice and tall sweating glasses of es jeruk. Elder Steele pretends he is one of those automated statues on the Pirates of the Carribean ride and we all laugh. Elder Effi tries to make me eat deep friend eel and I say no. In the mornings the sun rises right into the window frame and over onto the bed. I sleep like a cat and feel seven years old. Mostly, between all the girl -talk, electric fans, and pilly sheets, it's a beach vacation. I have been inexplicably happy in that floating kind of happiness, the happiness that lands on the roof of the next house, singing.

That same happiness that disappears when it wants to, like when you lose your favorite pen or your skirt gets caught in the cycle spokes or you open up your inbox to bad news. And so now it is just all . . . sepele. All of the above, though memorable and marvelous to each its own, pales in the knowledge of losing or lost. I am confused about what to say and how to say it.

Though last night, as I returned home from the warnet and knelt to pray---for peace, for hope, for strength, for something---a verse came to mind and has not left it. I guess that's just one of the many reasons to read and study and love the Word of God; it has a way of coming around just as you need it and never the way you thought it would. My experience last night was a combination of both those possibilities, since as I was praying about Grandpa the words of Nephi spoke to answer. It was chapter 11, verse 17, when the Spirit asks the young prophet if he knows the condescesion of God and Nephi replies: And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

I do not know the meaning of all things. I do not know the meaning of most things. I do not understand why that, if Grandpa has to go, he has to go now. But the solid, living, irrevocable facts are these: that I do know God lives, and I do know that He loves His children. He wants what's best for us and knows what's best for us. Things work out. They always do.

I love you. God loves you.
We are forever.
Kekal.

Sister E.

:::then sings my soul:::

Helloooo, my dearest Fan-damily.

You know what you shouldn't name a warnet? Virus. Also, Snail. Not doing much for the PR there, Indonesia.

Anyway. It's been yet another week in Indonesia, and I have stories for you---but strangely little focus. So sorry if this comes out in ADD and if you don't mind, I'll just jump right in:

Last week we taught a referral named Mitin (not pronounced "Mitten." That's just how Elder Miller says it.), a referral we received from a former investigator almost a month ago but haven't ever been able to reach via the phone number that Mbak Mega gave us. She had introduced the referral by saying that she had an old high school friend who was interested in understanding Christianity after years of faith-hopping and maybe we could talk to her? Yes, please. But then no go. For weeks and weeks and weeks until Elder Miller started to hint that he didn't quite believe this so-called potential investigator existed.

But then we were desperate. Because our statistics are zero for zero for zero for zero and after having to hand Mas Kuncoro over to the Elders last week, things were really looking sad. Our proselyting efforts were flagging, our appointments were falling through, general levels of semangat [TranStar says: spirit, as in gusto, zeal] were at an all time low. So we just kept calling and calling and calling Mitin until, one day, she picked up. And that very afternoon we met her at her house, where we introduced ourselves and eased into the first two principles of lesson two---the effects of Christ's Atonement and the necessity of having faith in Him. Mitin grew up Hindu, tried a few years of Buddhism, and her most recent driver's license declares her Muslim, so we took it slow. At the end of our little hour we went over the steps of prayer and invited her to church. It was a good lesson. We got a return appointment.

Which was yesterday, late evening, right smack dab in the middle of a major rainstorm. After our fair share of unfortunate events we arrived at her doorstep and hour late and soaked through---only to discover that the entire neighborhood was in total blackout and her house was running on a generator, which meant that our previous plan of watching "Finding Faith in Christ" had just taken a somewhat fatal blow. We floundered for a second. Talked about the weather . . . um . . .I was just about to signal to Sumarno that we might as well forge on ahead with principle three when Mbak Mitin somewhat timidly asked if she might pose a question. Yes! Please! Anything, and we will answer it! She left the room for a minute and we were confused. Moreso when she returned with a Book of Mormon. "Could you tell me about this book?"

Sumarno only looked to me to indicate she'd take the first principle. I re-checked my resources to switch over to Lesson One: The Restoration. And so we taught. Really well. Far beyond any mortal ability, and with a clarity we very rarely accomplish even when teaching with the Spirit. Without any set plan beforehand our lesson somehow came together to focus specifically on the Priesthood, and every principle we taught we made sure to relate it back to God's Authority---to the point where, when asked, Mbak Mitin rehearsed the definition perfectly. She was incredible to teach; honestly seeking truth and humbly joining in our conversation. I felt like it was one of the better lessons of my whole mission and that we'd finally reached something like the Real Deal (Although, tangent: as Marno explained the Great Apostasy, I had this sudden memory of Elders Bunker and Cowdery teaching the same story with an egg carton, candles, and uninvited moths on the floor of 80 Hill Street NZ and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing.). I testified about the Book of Mormon and re-emphasized Christ's divinity and when we'd finished and asked if Mback Mitin would like to say the closing prayer, she said yes. She prayed. The simplest, sweetest, purest little prayer. That was something she couldn't do last week. If nothing else, I felt the swelling joy of knowing that I had had such a blessed opportunity to teach a daughter of God communicate with her Father. And that would have been enough.

But then we're sitting about snacking on strange Javanese sweets, waiting for the rain to calm down, and I ask a question I should've asked right from the beginning. "Have you had a chance to read a bit from the Book of Mormon yet?" Her entire being lit up, her soul was illuminated. She picked up the blue book off the table and quite handily flipped open to Alma 49, a chapter she'd marked with a blue ribbon. "I finished this chapter just as you arrived," she explained---as Sumarno and I tried to connect just exactly what she was saying with the physical evidence she was currently displaying. "Um, s-s-sorry?" I stammered. "Do you mean you've just read that chapter, or . . . " Sumarno tried to finish my sentence. "As in, you began from the beginning and . . . " Mitin nodded, which still didn't answer either of our incomplete questions. Our perplexity must have showed. Mitin turned back to First Nephi and stuck her thumb up against verse one. "Yes. I've read from here . . . " now she was flipping back to the bookmark " . . . to here." I double-checked the page header. Alma 49. I tried to nod, but seemed incapable of even such a small movement. Mitin talked to fill our stunned silence. "But since I only borrowed the book, I couldn't ever underline all my favorite passages or mark the places I have questions, like I saw how Sister Rhondeau did in her Book. But now I have my own copy, so I'll just start all over from the beginning again! After I read 3 Nephi 11, of course."

I couldn't help it, the words were beyond my control. "Mbak Mitin!" I practically shouted. "You! You are a miracle!" She shook her head, shyly looking back down at the book she was now holding in clasped reverence. "No. I'm sorry, I don't understand very much but I'm trying to learn. I have to read the same things repeatedly before I start to get it," she said. Ohmyword Sister Sumarno looked ready to cry. We jumped all over that apology, telling her that was the very joy in scriptures: being able to read the same thing over and over and over again only to learn something new every time and you know what? Even the prophets still read the scriptures! Because there are prophets! Christ's Church has been restored and you can be a part of it! Really, we were maybe too excited.

And maybe you're thinking "But Sister Rhondeau, that happens all the time in the Ensign." Yes. Those are also the same stories after reading which SisLily and I have to console ourselves by deciding that they're only fantastical fairy tales reserved for such imaginary realms as "Brazil" or "The Philippines." Just reading a book in Indonesia would be out of the ordinary---and here was Mbak Mitin, reading the Book of Mormon. And after some further storytelling, turns out she's been reading it every chance she can get----at work, at home, during lunch, on the angkot. I . . . I . . . I . . . what?! This is the single most extraordinary event I have yet to encounter in my 14 months as a missionary. Period. End of.

So of course we have yet another return appointment, and she's coming to church on Sunday, and we just love her. I mean, we loved her before and always, but you know. We LOVE her. Also, we love God. Because this was all His. He just let us in on the miracle.

Riding the angkot home last night we contacted a bapak who was ninety years old. And he was on his way home from work! WORK. Still as spry and sharp as any college kid, except for a bum knee that was only the effect of a becak accident two years ago. My word.

Also, the thing I have meant to tell you for weeks now: the new triple combination translation is out and it is wonderful, fabulous, inspiring, blessed, and also . . . confusing. Because what with the new translation we missionaries have to switch some gears. The First Vision? Totally different. Had to re-memorize. D+C 4? Same deal, although Marno and I pride ourselves on managing to memorize it before the Elders. And, um, Atonement? No longer Kurban Tebusan. The new term's Pendamaian.

I am still wrapping my head around it, and also trying to figure out what we're supposed to do with all the has been given us since the new version is significantly superior and all the more powerful and yet we've been given the mandate to hand out all our old copies before we start with the new. Given the rate Indo-Jak hands out copies of the Book of Mormon? That could be a few more years. Kidding. But probably at least long past the point I've already come home.*

Oh well. There are much more pressing problems to weigh in, given that it is the end of the month, our electricity blew last Sunday, our house flooded last night, and we are officially broke. And don't even remind me that Lala has YET to send the video we need for tomorrow night's fireside with the branch. Eeh, walawala. Harus cari ilham apa lagi makanan [Must look for inspiration, let alone food!]! Aduuuuuhaduhaduh. Hey. Maybe we'll just for reals ikut the Ramadan fast. That solves the food finances, at least.

Okay. I'm over and out and off to Klayatan for some less-active lessons. I love you, I miss you, the Church is True.

Pray, He is there. Speak, He is listening.
Sister E.

*not-so-subtle pretty-please: all I want for Christmas is the leather-bound triple in Indonesian. Really. That's all. Okay. Love you.

dirgahayu republik indonesiaku!

KelKu:::

I am going to tell you something you may already know: I am in Indonesia. Mostly I am well aware of this, but occasionally quite suddenly I will remember with all the energy of first opening my mission call ohmywordholycatsforrealz! I am in Indonesia and today was one such occasion. We may not teach much and our statistics look like warungs during Ramadan, but boy I love Indonesia. I love that they barbecue corn here and then roll it through sweetened condensed milk. I love that they think the English for doormat is welcome. I love that there are two little boys unashamedly watching me type this email in the warnet and that dinner is only 40 cents or that sometimes you walk so far that the only way back is a horse-drawn buggy. Yesterday was this Tanah Air's independence day, and while we got a bit shortchanged on the festivities due to the Muslim Month, here's a huzzah for this Repulic: Dirgahayu, indeed.

Anyway. On to maybe more substantial somethings. President Groberg dropped in this weekend and, in a nod to Stephen L. Richards and his Pioneers, I'll tell you What He Brought---though maybe I should start with what he didn't bring, and that would be my new companion. President called late Friday night to tell me that the earlier plan was no more; I guess some MTC dates got switched around, there were some--ahem--unexpected transfers in Jakarta, and financially it just didn't make sense to ship out Sister Soewiono all the way to Malang when pretty shortly here she needs to be off to Manila. This was . . . a relief? A disappointment? A bit of both, and ultimately Sister Sumarno and I were both just glad we hadn't quite gotten around to moving our mattresses around. Those things are wicked heavy and (being by nature floor-bound) kind of gross so turns out, my friends, procrastination pays! Not really. But significantly enough so that I tend to fall into that trap all-too comfortably.

So we're still tea for two here in Malang, Sister Sumarno stealing my hairbrush when I'm not looking and me taking her chocolate milk without asking. Life is normal and nuanced and other such nook-and-cranny things that would be too long to even attempt in the writing. So we'll focus to one day only, the day that President came, and what he brought with him.

He brought mail. Letters from both my sisters, each so entirely their own and then both completely us; I was inspired and moved and laughing til it hurt. Three months' worth of notes from Noah; enough that I could piece together his sketches from Act I, Scene I all the way to Act III, Scene II. The wonderful weekly words from Grandma. He brought my duffel bag. Because I did something smart and last September, after arriving in Jakarta and realizing I actually only needed about 1/3 of the amount of clothes I had brought with me, saved all my most favorite pieces in a special suitcase at Senopati. So now I can slip on my Sundance skirt and feel pretty again. Wear my ruffle-collared tees and pretend like I'm going someplace fancy. Finally throw out my faded, pilly, stretched-to-no-sense-of-form pajama shirt and replace it with the new. Yes. I was so, so smart. Glad I at least have that success to look back on.

So President brought his fair share of material happiness, but what I really want to talk about here is how he also managed to bring me a completely new horizon with a happy sunrise, too. Because for starters, he brought Sister Groberg. And then sent us off on splits.

By the time they arrived in Malang we actually only had one last appointment to go to, but it was the right one to show off in such a short time. We were headed out to Pak Jon's when the Grobergs arrived and it only took about five seconds for Sister Groberg to wave off President and jump in the angkot behind us. Inside, we found a Catholic family from Surabaya who wanted to know more plus an exchange student from Quebec who just wanted to speak English, so our 40 minute ride out to the village was an unexpected and extraordinary display of missionary work (it never goes that easy. never.) Once at the end of the line we had to walk another half hour, uphill, to get to Pak Jon's, which Sister Groberg took in good humor and long strides that had even me skipping a bit to catch up. Pak Jon met us at the door and with questions so we immediately got right down to the lesson (another mini-miracle, given Indonesian meet-and-greet traditions) which ended up being one of those Lessons, the Lesson that you remember not just enough to write it all down detailed-like in your journal, but the Lesson you remember long after that night, that week, that transfer, or those 18 months. We taught about the Spirit, with the Spirit. Afterwards Sister Sumarno whispered to me somewhat conspiratorially "I feel like we just lied to Sister Groberg----we're never that smart!" Yes. We'll take Gifts of the Spirit for 500, please. Pak Jon was his usual studious, thoughtful self and, though he didn't end up coming to church the next morning, seems to be grasping more and more the things we are trying to share with him. His wife was particularly eager to listen that afternoon, and Sister Groberg bore a simple but powerful testimony (oh yeah, she speaks Indonesian. Much like any one-month-old American in Jakarta would speak Indonesian, but Indonesian nonetheless.) about how the Gospel blesses families and for one of the very rare moments my entire mission I was very much overwhelmed to Mosiah 28:3 proportions. Walking back down the mountain that night I felt a promise fulfilled: that I would find a happiness beyond anything I've ever known in this work of the Lord. I felt Isaiah 52:7 personified.

How beautiful upon the mountains
are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings,
that publisheth peace;
that bringeth good tidings of good,
that publisheth salvation;
that saith unto Zion, Thy God Reigneth!

Tangent: I think what I am working on learning is that such a promise means I won't feel such joy all the time. Mostly, if I'm deadbeatdownright honest, mission is just hard. If not occasionally miserable. But that happiness is there and makes up for all the rest of it and Saturday wrote off all of the previous week's doldrums fast.

So we are walking/flying down the mountain, and to top off the joy of all Joy Sister Groberg is not only a gifted talker and a fast walker but the Queen of Compliments, too---and you know how I love words. I will say that her acclamations were exceedingly generous and altogether far too good, but it helps to hear Hope out loud sometimes. Plus once down the hill we met up with the Elders + President at Pres. Iwan's for dinner, where Sister Groberg gave the good report. And President actually asked us how the appointment went, who the investigator was, what we'd like to do next in order to better prepare him to accept the Gospel. They just . . . care so much. They bring with them a sense of security in this service, that mission is, in fact, possible, and that they are here not only to hear and help and hope but to work alongside us, too. President brought with him this weekend his usual careful wisdom and thoughtful counsel and it gave me a much-needed boost in the Keep Calm and Carry On category. I like President because he gets it. He understands what we're experiencing because he gets out there and experiences it, too. . . . [He said,] "I used to think that the Church here is a drop in the bucket. Then I got here and realized that we are 1/100th of that one drop in the bucket. We've done good work here these past 40 years, but we're still in the beginning stages. The best possible thing you could do right now is do all you can to leave a good impression of who you are and who you represent. That is how we'll move forward. If you feel the Spirit and love the people, you have had a successful mission." Hallelujah, amen.

The Elders just came searching for us in the warnet because we need to get going on a special District Meeting to address our upcoming fireside activities. I am at this moment very grateful Dad mentioned to me the necessity for patience and understanding when called to act under orders from nineteen-year-old boys. He is a wise, wise man. So okay over and out I love you all, miss you all, pray for you all and goodness gracious Daniel is safe (I will tell you a story about that from my side of things some other time)-----pray always! The church is true.

maju terus,

E.

:::lahir bathin:::

keluarga:::

Mohon Maaf dan Lahir Bathin! This year's Fast is now officially 9 hours underway and while I myself am currently contentedly full after a leftovers lunch of nasi kuning and the requisite cup of coconut gel, most of Malang's Muslim world has closed up shop. The roads are still plenty full of the usual traffic-sans-regulation havoc, but the streetsides are uncharacteristically empty; warungs folded down to bare bamboo trappings and full-on restaurants boarded up against the noonday sun. It is strange, but also familiar; I arrived in Indonesia almost a year ago smack dab in the middle of Ramadan and so to me it has the feel of returning to something and that is something my sentimental soul can appreciate. I have also decided to take the second half of that opening salutation to heart and join with my Muslim brethren in making a concerted effort for lahir bathin this month---a spiritual rebirth. These last few weeks haven't been anything too fatal, but I can't deny a distinct flagging of the spirit this last little while that was only compounded by Mas Kuncoro not showing up at church on Sunday. I think of home too much and rely on the future far too often. I dwell on the past, fingering each failure and filing alphabetically mistakes and missed opportunities. I feel like I could have been better, could be better, should be better---I need a jump start, and fast. So let's see what a little extra scripture study can do, plus some Ramadan re-dedication.

Enough about that. I'm sorry. Indonesia itself is still seru! and four months more of this kind of scenery can't kill me. In the Department of Travel way of things, I have found a new favorite form of transportation, and that would be: military convoy. Because when your whole branch wants to trip it out to Balekambang, that's the only way to go and after yesterday's there and back again I am a full-fledged fan. Sure, it's a bit bumpy and you can't count on any amenities beyond Martoyo's makeshift snack services (eeeewww vienna sausage no thank you) but you just cannot beat those views. I got a prime spot on the last inches of the back bench and enjoyed three full hours of sightseeing all to myself (esp. since sometimes branch activities just really mean everyone speaks to each other in Javanese so I am exempt from being social anyway).

Upon arriving, Oma Irawadi threw her hands to the air and announced “I am a child of the sea!” Which she then promptly proved by leaping (I use this word appropriately, even if she is 78 years old) out across the sand and headfirst into the waves. Later, as the two of us climbed out to the Amertha Jati temple together, she recited and recalled her various and venerable adventures as a scalawag seventeen year old living along the coasts of southern Sulawesi. I am almost entirely sure Oma Irawadi is the happiest person I have ever met.

All afternoon we missionaries led a discussion/lesson/activity on member missionary work, hoping to get somebody somewhere in here excited about inviting their friends to church because if we don't get some inside help real quick here we're just treading water---something we've been doing so long now that drowning's only a matter of time. I've been talking a lot with Pres Iwan lately and we're really going to try to get this branch up and going again; we have a few firesides in the works and tomorrow night we're

And . . . this email* just went out the window with my HP ringing and President's name on the screen. He's coming this weekend---something we already knew since Sister Groberg spilled that secret in a text yesterday afternoon (tangent: one of the many things I love about Sister Groberg is that the very first week she was here she went out and bought herself a cell phone, “khusus sisters.” It's our very own little land line to sanity whenever we need her.)---but this call today was to tell me that he'd be bringing presents, too. Khusus untuk saya. Namely, a new name. A new face. A new companion. My trainee.

Actually with Lala in the office this is something I've been steeling myself for a while now; there's only one new sister coming in the rest of the year and word on the street was I'd be her trainer. So really, I should be ready for this, right? No. This is the exactly absolutely last moment I feel capable of teaching anybody else how to be a missionary . . . which I guess is why I've been called to do it. I've juggled enough curve balls this past year to know that's usually the way the Lord works and so I'm ready and willing to accept the assignment---but just because I'm used to change doesn't mean I like it. There's also that minor detail of my greenie never having been to the MTC so . . . square one, anybody?

Though President's call came with a disclaimer: this could, potentially, not happen. It was just his initial feeling and decision so he called me to see how I'd feel about it too and after some back and forth it looks like a go but we won't know for sure until Friday night. Thank goodness for a few deep breaths. I will also still have Sumarno here with me for a while longer, so I am grateful for that. Am also grateful for SisLily being online at the exact same moment I logged in, and for an email from Ren to make me feel loved. I like my friends. And I really like my family. Hope all's well at home; I missed hearing the Yale Daily News this week, but hope President will bring glad tidings of good joy with my post on Saturday. Be blessed and be a blessing.

Selalu,
Sister E.

*we'll just have to pretend I already told you about speaking in Sacrament on Sunday and teaching Sis Lili on Saturday and riding an empty military truck back into Malang as the sun set. And wasn't it just such a good story?