October 21, 2013
After much deliberation I have decided what I am going to be for Halloween. I'm going to be a.......(drumroll please)........missionary!
More specifically I'm dressing up as my companion, Hermana Deroche. And based on the fact that everyone asks if we're sisters, I think I'll be pretty convincing.
So basically we had a pretty happen’in week this week. We have found so much success in just talking to everybody. It's amazing how many people are interested in our message. Before my mission I thought the majority of people would be resistant to talking about Christ and learning what we believe. But as children of God I have learned we are all hungry for the truth. Each of us has questions -important questions- that we need answered. Most commonly they are: Why am I here? What's my purpose? –So, as missionaries, when we offer the answers to those questions (we like to call them "questions of the soul,") people are willing to listen. Our message is also unique in that we ask people to find out for THEMSELVES if our message is true. Not only do we not expect them to take our word for it, we INVITE them to ask God, and find out for themselves. Mormon missionaries aren't here to convince anybody of anything. We are only here to help others find out from God Himself what the truth is.
So in honor of Halloween I decided to tell you a little ghost story.
Once upon a time there was a little missionary girl named......Hermana Tomtom. She was happy and well groomed from her shiny black nametag to her polished red shoes. She smiled all the day long and had not even a hair out of place (I exaggerate obviously, for the sake of the story.)
But once a day she would stop at the exact same spot in the road by her house, and after about 30 seconds, her companion would say something that would send shivers down her spine. For the rest of the night she would sit wide-eyed, horrified, on her bed, unable to shake the gloomy feeling. The next day the same thing would happen until little by little she became unnerved.
She started fidgeting and twitching at small sounds. She couldn't sleep at night and developed large purple circles under her eyes, signaling to the world her distress. Every day when she would stop on the street, she silently begged to have her companion say something else, but every day her companion said the same 6 words that sent waves of terror throughout her withering missionary body. Finally, it got to the point where she knew she could take it no longer. For one last time she stopped on the side of the road. Her companion walked
and turned the rusty key. The little metal panel swung open ------screeeeeeeeech.----- Hermana Tomtom closed her eyes "don't say it, don't say it, don't say it." she silently begged. Her companion turned around with a sick smile. "No mail for you again today" she said. And at last little Hermana Tomtom, whose tag was once so shiny, and her shoes so polished, slipped quietly into a mail-deprived-induced coma.
[via la mom insert: letter writing guilt directed exclusively to missionary's siblings. period! Thanks for loving and supporting our California Redlands missionary!]