Dear Family.
To begin, miracles.
Number one, all three hours of church this past Sunday were doctrinally sound. No odd magic-meets-spirit moments in Sacrament Meeting, no awkward comments in Asas-Asas Injil, no heated argument over deeply false doctrine in Relief Society. Either stars aligned among the celestial cosmos with Jupiter rising along Mercury's orbit, or God just gave us a good day for the sake of our two investigators who came to Church. In any case, this is the kind of thing that really makes a journal entry these days.
Miracle the Second: The entire P__ family was ready and waiting for us Monday night at exactly 6:00. On time. All of them. This isn't all too incredible to the outside eye, but for us two missionaries it was manna in our wilderness. The Ps have been inactive for absolutely aaaaagggeeessss and while we continue to visit them once a week I have seen no single slightest baby-step of progress the entire two months I've been here---to the point where, I'm sorry to admit, I downright dreaded the occasion that took us anywhere near Jalan D. The mum is really unresponsive, almost hostile, and the dad takes very lightly the things of God and likes especially to smoke clove-scented cigarettes right in our faces while asking us about the Word of Wisdom (he's been a member since he was a kid, so he's just playing with us). When we teach, maybe one or two of the five children sit into listen, but the number varies weekly and mostly we're left only with Dimas, their 15 yr old and oldest son---the only one who somewhat regularly still comes to church (which says a lot about the boy; we are grateful for him). Then last week in Weekly Planning Marno and I decided that this was obviously what we needed to do most since it was the hardest thing for the both of us, and planned out a Family Home Evening from opening prayer to dessert and stopped by their place Saturday night to make the appointment for Monday. They didn't seem any too thrilled about the prospect.
But then, Monday. We'd just come from Mas Kuncoro's and were already practicing deep breaths for what came next---and yet needn't have worried. From the open doorway we could see them waiting; Pak Pur was playing the bongo drums to put a beat on "I Am A Child of God" while 2 yr old Bayu provided the dance moves (akin to Nell+Daniel's running-in-circles choreography of Yale lore). Retno was leading the choreography, adding steps she'd learned in her kindergarten's Javanese dance class, and Dimas was in the corner clapping along while Arya leaned into his mum's side, smiling. Their house is painted yellow and green and blue and in that one little light bulb above the concrete floor everything was illuminated, all warmth and goodness and home.
Which put quite a really good spin on our whole lesson, a lesson that suddenly had willing listeners and learners, which in turn infused the teachers with the greater joy to Carry On. It really is a lovely little relationship, when it all works out. It was a good lesson and a good night and a good mission memory and, as we walked away with even the slightest skip to our step, Marno put words to my thoughts. "Sister. It was a miracle," she breathed.
-------------
Saturday afternoon we had a RS activity at the church where we made Japanese Ekado, which I love. It was really fun to be with all the sisters, especially when they found out that they could only eat the results of their labors if they used chopsticks. Those with Chinese ancestors took far too much pleasure in their superiority that last hour . . .
Sunday night President Iwan invited all missionaries over for dinner, which meant an Emergency Fast during the hours we had left between invite and actual dinner appointment. The few savvy second-timers among us took to the challenge with ease, faking third and fourth helpings with some award-worthy acting skills and remembering that no matter how divine that banana juice is, you drink it slow and steady to save you from two or six or twenty-four other glasses of it. So yeah, SisLily, Elder Miller and I were still far too full than normal but good to go---and Sister Bayodo could easily win any hotdog-eating competition East of the Mississippi, so food's never a problem for her. Marno and Martoyo, however? Not so lucky. At one point Martoyo was lying spread-eagle on the patio steps outside their front door, moaning that he was ready to die. And yeah, that sounds pathetic, but you haven't eaten dinner there either. It really is a rite of passage. Quality is above-and-beyond delicious (even and especially the sawa snails), but the quantity could kill you.
Twelve more days til Zone Conference!
That's not exciting for anyone else, is it? Oh. Well.
SisLily and I played badminton this morning and kind of rocked at it. I have a new headband from a chicken nugget package; it's black and says SCOTLAND and I think I owe all new talent to that.
On Monday night President Iwan came by on his motorbike with two bags of bananas, a box of orange jelly pudding, and banana cake still hot from the oven. We were still trying to recover from the night before.
And. . . The End. Of the rain and this email. Out into the night air for a (cross-your-fingers) new investigator appointment. I love you. Always.
E
To begin, miracles.
Number one, all three hours of church this past Sunday were doctrinally sound. No odd magic-meets-spirit moments in Sacrament Meeting, no awkward comments in Asas-Asas Injil, no heated argument over deeply false doctrine in Relief Society. Either stars aligned among the celestial cosmos with Jupiter rising along Mercury's orbit, or God just gave us a good day for the sake of our two investigators who came to Church. In any case, this is the kind of thing that really makes a journal entry these days.
Miracle the Second: The entire P__ family was ready and waiting for us Monday night at exactly 6:00. On time. All of them. This isn't all too incredible to the outside eye, but for us two missionaries it was manna in our wilderness. The Ps have been inactive for absolutely aaaaagggeeessss and while we continue to visit them once a week I have seen no single slightest baby-step of progress the entire two months I've been here---to the point where, I'm sorry to admit, I downright dreaded the occasion that took us anywhere near Jalan D. The mum is really unresponsive, almost hostile, and the dad takes very lightly the things of God and likes especially to smoke clove-scented cigarettes right in our faces while asking us about the Word of Wisdom (he's been a member since he was a kid, so he's just playing with us). When we teach, maybe one or two of the five children sit into listen, but the number varies weekly and mostly we're left only with Dimas, their 15 yr old and oldest son---the only one who somewhat regularly still comes to church (which says a lot about the boy; we are grateful for him). Then last week in Weekly Planning Marno and I decided that this was obviously what we needed to do most since it was the hardest thing for the both of us, and planned out a Family Home Evening from opening prayer to dessert and stopped by their place Saturday night to make the appointment for Monday. They didn't seem any too thrilled about the prospect.
But then, Monday. We'd just come from Mas Kuncoro's and were already practicing deep breaths for what came next---and yet needn't have worried. From the open doorway we could see them waiting; Pak Pur was playing the bongo drums to put a beat on "I Am A Child of God" while 2 yr old Bayu provided the dance moves (akin to Nell+Daniel's running-in-circles choreography of Yale lore). Retno was leading the choreography, adding steps she'd learned in her kindergarten's Javanese dance class, and Dimas was in the corner clapping along while Arya leaned into his mum's side, smiling. Their house is painted yellow and green and blue and in that one little light bulb above the concrete floor everything was illuminated, all warmth and goodness and home.
Which put quite a really good spin on our whole lesson, a lesson that suddenly had willing listeners and learners, which in turn infused the teachers with the greater joy to Carry On. It really is a lovely little relationship, when it all works out. It was a good lesson and a good night and a good mission memory and, as we walked away with even the slightest skip to our step, Marno put words to my thoughts. "Sister. It was a miracle," she breathed.
-------------
Saturday afternoon we had a RS activity at the church where we made Japanese Ekado, which I love. It was really fun to be with all the sisters, especially when they found out that they could only eat the results of their labors if they used chopsticks. Those with Chinese ancestors took far too much pleasure in their superiority that last hour . . .
Sunday night President Iwan invited all missionaries over for dinner, which meant an Emergency Fast during the hours we had left between invite and actual dinner appointment. The few savvy second-timers among us took to the challenge with ease, faking third and fourth helpings with some award-worthy acting skills and remembering that no matter how divine that banana juice is, you drink it slow and steady to save you from two or six or twenty-four other glasses of it. So yeah, SisLily, Elder Miller and I were still far too full than normal but good to go---and Sister Bayodo could easily win any hotdog-eating competition East of the Mississippi, so food's never a problem for her. Marno and Martoyo, however? Not so lucky. At one point Martoyo was lying spread-eagle on the patio steps outside their front door, moaning that he was ready to die. And yeah, that sounds pathetic, but you haven't eaten dinner there either. It really is a rite of passage. Quality is above-and-beyond delicious (even and especially the sawa snails), but the quantity could kill you.
Twelve more days til Zone Conference!
That's not exciting for anyone else, is it? Oh. Well.
SisLily and I played badminton this morning and kind of rocked at it. I have a new headband from a chicken nugget package; it's black and says SCOTLAND and I think I owe all new talent to that.
On Monday night President Iwan came by on his motorbike with two bags of bananas, a box of orange jelly pudding, and banana cake still hot from the oven. We were still trying to recover from the night before.
And. . . The End. Of the rain and this email. Out into the night air for a (cross-your-fingers) new investigator appointment. I love you. Always.
E
