I am so sick with strep throat right now. I slept like twelve hours last night. Everything is shut down for carnaval. We were lucky to find a cyber open. But the work goes forward; we are teaching a 20-year-old kid named David who works at the cyber we always go to. When he was fifteen he was driving his moto and crashed it with his girlfriend on it. A year later his dad died, and then right after that his uncle who was his grandfather. His mom lives in Buenos Aires. He’s all alone, and let’s just say he’s really prepared for the gospel. Yesterday we had our first discussion with him, in the park in front of the Catholic church. We talked to him about how he could fill the emptiness inside him by building a relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We taught him how to pray. And he accepted a baptismal date for March 10th. He has to stop smoking by then, but I know he can do it. It’s cool when you find someone that you know has been prepared by the hand of the Lord.
Author Archives: kimberlysears
Paul and Alma
I have been thinking a lot lately about Paul and Alma, and what great men they were and how many uncanny similarities there are in their lives and missions. Both passionate persecutors of the saints of God, both called to repentance by miraculous apparitions (by the Lord and by an angel, respectively), both spent all the days of the rest of their lives trying to repair the wrong they had done and defending the cause of truth with every fiber of their being. Both journeyed all around the known world on multiple missionary journeys to the nonbelievers (Gentiles, and Lamanites), while still keeping the church in line at home. Both writers of a significant chunk of the standard works. (The book of Alma is huge! And so is the chunk of the New Testament that Paul wrote.) Where would we be without these two great men?
Feels like home to me
December 12, 2011
Catamarca feels like home to me. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. This week was the happiest week of my life.
The Savior walked by my side this week. I felt his love and my Heavenly Father’s love in every moment.
Catamarca is bordered by the huge Ancasti mountain range on one side, and the even more impressive Ambato range on the other. Two weeks ago we were on our way out into the foothills of the Ambato, looking for a woman we had contacted while she was waiting for a bus. We didn’t find that woman, but out among the cactus nestled in the dry hills was a small cinderblock house with a man perched on top repairing the roof. His name was Francisco. After talking with him for a few minutes, he called his wife Silvina out to meet us, and they invited us in. The house was tiny–one room that served as the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom for them and their two kids, Enrique and Maria Pia. Francisco’s arms were covered with crazy tattooes. Silvina is the most beautiful woman I’ve eve seen, with eyes that seem to be peering into your very soul. We talked like we were old friends–we all said that we felt as though we had known one another before.
Yesterday Silvina and twelve-year-old Enrique came to church for the first time. In Principios del Evangelio, we learned together about the plan of salvation and Enrique proudly answered all the teacher’s questions and participated in the discussion. Then last night we went back to their house on the hills, and invited Francisco and Silvina to get married in preparation to be baptized. They said that they would pray and ask God about it.
It was Maria Pia’s seventh birthday, so we all headed over to Silvina’s mom’s house down in the barrio Banda de Varela, Silvina saluting all of the neighbors on our way. I asked Silvina’s mom Teresa to teach me how to make her homemade tapas for empanadas (the majority of Argentines just buy their tapas from the super). She showed me how to knead and form the dough, and the little miniature beef and potato empanadas that came out were some of the best I’ve ever eaten! The house was full of tios and primos and tioabuelos coming and going. We met all of them, and they were all so kind to us.
Norma is progressing, too. She’s had a really rocky relationship with her marido for several years, so it was easy for her to make the decision that she needed to separate from him in order to be baptized. But it was one thing to make the decision, and another thing to actually carry it out. We fasted with her for her to have the strength to make him leave the house that was in her name.
On Tuesday night on our way back from our Christmas zone conference in Cordoba, I called Norma to see how she was doing. “Tengo una noticia,” she told us. “He left. He left on Sunday. I came back from work and he wasn’t there.” I couldn’t believe it–I almost squealed with delight. She wouldn’t have to go through the agony of forcing him out of the house, calling the police–he had just left! It was a miracle!
And then the last time we were at Norma’s house, her daughter Estefania shyly told us, “I’m going to try going to church with you. My mom said that I would like it–that everyone’s really friendly. And the verduleria hasn’t been doing well lately. I’m going to try what you said–closing the business on Sunday to see it prosper more during the week.” After weeks of trying, we had all but given up on the hope that Estefania would choose to come to church. But she came yesterday with Norma.
The Christmas zone conference was a delight. I had suggested to Hermana Salas that we do a Christmas talent show, so Hermana Adair and I sang our musical number and then we watched the elders sing all their goofy renditions of Christmas hymns, and we all laughed until our stomachs hurt. Then we heard a loud bellowing “HO HO HO!” and President Salas came in with a Santa costume over his mission suit, towing two Correo Argentino (Argentine postal service) bags that were almost taller than he was. They were all our Christmas packages! The conference was great–we played games, ate choripan, and enjoyed seeing the President and the Hermana. But of course the best part of it all was seeing Mom’s handwriting on my Christmas package. I cried when I read the little kids’ letters, and even more when I read hers.
Last night I was walking home and the sky was all lit up like fire. From up in the foothills it was like we were looking straight into the clouds, we were up so high. They were glowing golden-orange, as though it were the Second Coming. It was though I could really feel Heavenly Father looking down on me. I could feel his love in everything this week, and most of all I could feel his love in his sending his son for me. My Savior Jesus Christ, my best friend. My older brother who looks out for me and gets me out of every scrape I’ve ever gotten into.
He and Heavenly Father are always there for me to talk to when there’s absolutely no one else. All those sleepless nights crying myself to sleep from loneliness and fear on the mission; all those sins that have racked my soul and brought me to my knees to plead for hope and help and forgiveness; all those mean rejections on the street or at people’s doors. And all the good moments too. All the beautiful sunsets, like a present from them to let me know that I’m loved. All those times I felt the fire of the Spirit in my soul as I testified of them and their restored gospel. Every time I saw the nervous smile of one of my brothers and sisters all dressed in white as they stepped down into the waters of the baptismal font. All the Sunday mornings when someone miraculously made it to church. Every homesick ache I’ve felt in my soul as I see my baby sisters growing and changing in the photos Mom sends from home. All the nerve-wracking but exhilarating moments when I step into a new investigator’s home, heart-pounding, not knowing what I’m going to say or how they’re going to respond, but knowing that the Spirit is going to guide my words (a far greater adrenaline rush than any roller coaster I’ve ever ridden or ever mountain I’ve ever climbed!). In every moment they were there. They were there for me. Sometimes they let me struggle for a while, to help me learn to be stronger. But they were there.
I know the Savior lives. I love being one of his missionaries. For “the veil was taken from my mind, and the eyes of my understanding were opened. I saw the Lord…his eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah, saying:
I am the first and the last; I am he who liveth, I am he who was slain; I am your advocate with the Father.”
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
God is still a god of miracles.
December 5, 2011
God is still a god of miracles. I know that because I left General Paz
with a lot of tears–a lot of bittersweet tears, sad to leave members
I loved like family not knowing when I would see them again, and also
sad about Patricia. Patricia, our dearly beloved investigator, hadn’t
arrived at her baptismal date because of a lot of complications and
her inability to quit smoking. The whole thing went up in flames
literally an hour before her scheduled baptismal service–the font was
filled and everything.
So I went to Rosedal, another barrio on the other side of Cordoba, to
work with another hermana for about ten days while we waited for our
hijitas to arrive from the U.S. (they had been delayed because of visa
problems). Near the end of the ten days, I got a call from my old zone
leaders. “We have good news,” they told me. “Patricia quit smoking and
we interviewed her today–she’s ready to be baptized. Will you
organize her baptism?”
So from the other side of Cordoba I flew into action, baking brownies
and calling the members and planning the talks and the service.
Although it was thrown together in about twenty-four hours, it was one
of the most beautiful baptismal services I’ve been part of, mostly
because of the look of pure bliss on Patricia’s face.
A few short hours after Patricia’s baptism, I picked up my new
recruit, Hermana Vicki Adair from Mesa, Arizona, at the mission home.
We boarded a midnight bus to Catamarca, about seven hours to the
north. We arrived in Catamarca on Sunday morning and hit the ground
running. We are opening an area in Catamarca, and we are the first
hermanas here in almost twenty years. Add to the mix the fact that my
compañera was brand-new from the U.S. and spoke little Spanish, and it
made for a few…character-building weeks. 🙂 We’ve gotten lost in our
area a lot and we’ve been so exhausted by the long dusty days and the
Catamarca desert heat.
But the Lord has been really kind to us, and we’ve been able to find
some truly elect people here in Catamarca. One such is Norma, who knew
that Joseph Smith was a prophet the first time she prayed and is so
determined to get baptized that she is in the process of separating
from her live-in boyfriend of eight years to be able to do so.
Francisco and Silvina are two others who we surely knew in the life
before. We first talked to them one windy afternoon outside their tiny
cinder-block house up in the cactus-covered hills; they let us come in
that very moment and we instantly fell in love with their young
family.
I see the Lord’s hand in my life; and I know that the difficult times
will only help me to become more like him. I feel such a profound love
for these people. I know that they are my spirit brothers and sisters
and that before this life I made a covenant with the Lord that during
my mortal life I would do his work, missionary work, the work of
bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of His spirit
children. I want to keep doing this work for the rest of my life.
November 22, 2011
^This is the couple we are living with. They both served their missions in Argentina back in the olden days, and are way nice to us, even if they are way North American. 🙂
Kicking it in Rosedal
November 7, 2011
Until my hijita arrives and I go to Catamarca, I am kicking it in Rosedal (okay, we are working hard) with Hna Frias. She is from Salta, so today we got a bunch of the elders together and she showed us all how to make empanadas salteñas. Last week, to say goodbye to the Flia Juarez in General Paz, Norma Juarez also showed us how to make empanadas salteñas (because she is also from Salta). So basically what I am trying to say is that, with two rounds of practice, with real salteñas to teach me, I am pro. Both Hna Frias and Norma insisted that real salteñas didn’t have olives or raisins, but did have lots of beef, boiled egg, onion, green onion, cumin, and garlic. But I still like the best the salteñas/bolivianas border empanadas the best, with raisins and olives. In Argentina every province has their own kind of empanadas, with slight variations (more onion, or with raisins or without, sweet or spicy, etc.). And they’re all really proud of their empanadas, and they get really mad if someone tries to alter them (put carrots in empanadas salteñas, for instance). But when I go home I’m just going to make the empanadas with whatever stuff I like, ha ha. And I’m excited to try what empanadas catamarceñas are like when I head up north. 🙂
I really sincerely enjoyed my last few weeks in General Paz. Maybe my spirit knew before my brain did that it was almost time for me to leave, because it was like I was drinking in and enjoying everything. All my senses were heightened. The rain-soaked grass down in the villa was more brilliantly green; the crazy people were crazier, and the kind people were even kinder; Hermana Farah’s cooking was even better, and I was really so happy to be there.
I cried and cried and cried to say goodbye to Sonia, to Hna Farah, to her daughter Karina, and most of all to Nora Peralta. But I promised them all that we would see each other again, when they dedicated the temple of Cordoba.
Funny story: there is this crazy woman named Mariana who shows up to church in General Paz about every other domingo. She says the most ridiculous things and interrupts the spirit of the class and everyone tries to be nice to her even though she’s literally mentally ill and should probably be in some kind of institution. Anyway, Hna Chehda was giving the class in Relief Society; Mariana was there; and out of the blue she interrupts the class and shouts out, “¡Los Testigos de Jehova se van al infierno!” (All the Jehovah’s Witnesses are going to hell!). I almost died trying not to laugh, while Hna Chehda tried to go on with her class, and while Hna Farah, who was a Jehovah’s Witness for years before she got baptized, actually did lose it and bust up laughing. Good times.
I love you guys. I miss you a lot. I can’t believe that in less than SEVEN MONTHS I’ll be home with you! But in the meantime I am enjoying the craziness and Cordoba and soon Catamarca too.
Opening Catamarca
November 3, 2011
Beloved family,
We had transfers and BIG NEWS–this transfer I am going to train a new missionary and open a new area in Catamarca. The two Argentine provinces of Catamarca and La Rioja both form part of our missionary, but the bulk of the missionaries are in the province of Cordoba because the church is very underdeveloped up north (Catamarca and La Rioja together form one stake). Everyone in the mission is really stoked because apparently there haven’t been hermanas in Catamarca for some sixty years. So I am stoked and I am also ready to really lean on the Lord a lot in the coming months. And I am also ready to fry like a milanesa because the heat in the summer in Catamarca is supposed to be unbearable.
Right now I am in Rosedal, a barrio of Cordoba, with another hermana who is also waiting for her hijita (visa problems for the incoming missionaries). I’ll probably be here for about ten days. I’ll have P-day again on Monday so I can write you all real letters then. Saying goodbye to General Paz was so hard because I really love the people SO MUCH. And I have so many great stories I want to tell you. Also, please pray for me because I feel kind of overwhelmed, and really tired. I keep crying, ha ha. I’m excited for Catamarca but also kind of sad because I was looking forward to seeing all my mission family when everybody gets together at Christmas, and now I will be a ten-hour bus ride away to the north. But I still love the mission and it is still the greatest adventure of my life, and I know that this is the Lord’s work–I am trying to learn to feed his sheep.
I LOVE YOU. You are always present in my thoughts and prayers (I have really trunky prayers, ha ha).
Kimberly
Whoa! We’re halfway there! Whoa-OH! Livin’ on a prayer!
On Thursday, 29 September, I completed NINE MONTHS in the mission.
Nine months.
Nine months as a missionary.
And I love it! I am the happiest I´ve ever been. I feel like I never want to go back home. But don´t worry, I will. Ja ja ja.
What happened this week? Well, one of our most promising baptismal candidates got arrested. Man, I hate when my investigators get arrested. But at least here they don´t get deported from the country, like in Salt Lake City South.
What else? GENERAL CONFERENCE! Thanks to Heavenly Father and his help, we were able to bring five investigators to General Conference.
I love how in the very first talk in conference, the Misión Argentina Córdoba was mentioned! Just like in the last conference. Because we´re preparing the people of Córdoba for a temple, we are doing an important work here in the MAC. Also, did you know that Elder D. Todd Christofferson served his mission here in Córdoba and Elder Richard G. Scott was mission president?
On 7 August I while in Bell Ville, I wrote these words in my journal: “Youth have to get involved in missionary work. It is the future of temple work, and the Church, and the youth.” I was absolutely delighted to hear Elder Bednar reveal that the Lord´s will is exactly that: that youth will use their technological prowess to build up the kingdom by participating in family history work. I´m excited to see what the future holds with lds.org/familyhistoryyouth .
Some of my favorite conference moments were:
New temples announced! Including our own Provo Tabernacle Temple!
Elder Scott reminding us to immerse ourselves in the Book of Mormon
Elder Clayton bear witness that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is indeed the stone cut out of the mountains without hands; it will indeed fill the whole earth.
Elder Andersen declare the importance of bearing and raising children
President Uchtdorf reminding us that feelings of loneliness and despair cannot last forever, and that the Lord is ever mindful of us
Sister Dalton proclaim the incredible influence for good daddies can have on their daughters
Elder Cornish remind me to have more meaningful prayer
…Just to name a few.
Something that is very precious to me is the testimony that I have gained for myself, while on my mission, that Thomas S. Monson is indeed a prophet of God. I know that he holds the keys to the gathering of Israel, or missionary work and temple building. How I love being a part of that work.
LOVE,
Kimberly
Dallin’s Despedida
The most spiritual and awesome moment I have had in General Paz so far came in week 1 when the bishop of Puerreydon (the other ward we share the capilla with) called us and asked us what we were doing that night and invited us to the despedida (farewell) of his son, Angel or Dallin, who was about to leave for his mission in Buenos Aires Oeste. He told us that many of Dallin´s friends from school, members and nonmenbers alike, would be there in the capilla, and many lived in the boundaries of our area. Naturally we jumped on the opportunity–so many nonmenbers in the capilla! We were stoked.
That night we arrived at the chapel at 8:30. We were already exhausted from a long day of proselyting, but we knew that it was an opportunity that we couldn´t miss. Everyone was standing around, mingling, and I was trying to figure out which kids were the youth of Puerreydon and which ones were the nonmember friends from school (all the Gral Paz youth were there too, but I know all of them, thank goodness!). After asking around some, we realized that all of Dallin´s nonmember friends were chilling outside the church at the front gate. So we went out to find them.
When we went outside, there was a group of more than ten eighteen-year-old kids standing at the gate, talking amongst themselves. It was obvious that they were a tough group of kids, too cool to come inside the church, doing their own thing. My first reaction was to be intimidated–I´d been proselyting in the dusty street all day and didn´t have a hairdo, and I was just a nerdy sister missionary from the Estados Unidos–what was I going to say to these hardened, fashionably-dressed, porro-smoking kids?
And then in an instant I thought of the FHE with the Bogeros, how when we started the FHE you could slice the tension in the room with a knife, and how by the end everyone–kids, parents, and Rosita–were laughing and playing the Lamanite game with tape all over their faces. I thought of all the houses I had marched into and called repentance to men, women, and children–and they had listened. I thought about how Hermana Masters said, “You know what´s cool? After the mission, after surviving all these awkward situations and building all these relationships with all these difficult people and doing everything we do–we won´t ever have to be intimidated of anyone ever again in our lives.” And I thought most of all, I have a placa with Jesus Christ´s name on my chest. I don´t have to be afraid of anyone ever again.
So I squared my shoulders, stood a little taller, and marched over to the group of jovenes, and learned all their names. And introduced myself. And joked and laughed and talked with them until everyone felt at ease. And talked to them about what they liked to do, what their life plans were. And a half hour later we were all still standing there, laughing and joking. And I said, “So you guys know that Dallin is moving to Buenos Aires for two years to be a missionary, to share with people about Jesus Christ. He´ll be a missionary and wear a placa like this one. And my companion and I are doing the same thing here in the barrio that Dallin will be doing there. We share about God and Jesus Christ with the people, about how they have a plan for each one of us. Can we take down your addresses to go and visit you in your houses share more about the gospel with you?”
And they all said yes. Every single one. We got the datos of nine eighteen-year-olds interested in learning about the gospel, who already had a friend who was a member. It was a miracle. But it didn´t stop there.
At about nine o´clock we all passed inside the chapel and the service began. It was a brilliant idea of Dallin´s dad, Obispo Peralta–he had contacted all of the ward and all Dallin´s friends and all the family and invited them, but Dallin didn´t know–it was a surprise. So Dallin thought he was coming to the capilla for a final interview with Pte Chehda nada mas. So we all took our seats in the chapel, and Obispo Peralta welcomed us and then they turned off the lights and waited in perfect silence for three long minutes. Then Pte Chehda led Dallin into the chapel and I think there was a song by The Fray playing in the background (Dallin is a sick talented musician, singing and playing the guitar–music is his life and I think the song had some significance) and then they flipped on the lights and Dallin saw that everyone–everyone–was gathered there. All his friends from school, all the young men and young women he had grown up with, all the members from Barrio Puerreydon and General Paz, all his immediate and extended family, us, the elders, everyone. Oh man, I´m getting chills just writing about it because the feeling of absolute love in the room was so strong. Dallin just kept shaking his head, like he couldn´t believe it was real.
And we sang an opening hymn and had an opening prayer, and Bishop Peralta (Dallin´s dad) conducted the service and it began by his mom sharing her testimony. Then Dallin´s dad. I couldn´t help but admire them, their fortaleza, their strength–I know that this last year can´t have been easy for them. Their 17-year-old daughter Claudia, the president of all her Young Women classes, the “ejemplo de todos,” always leading out the other young women in Personal Progress and always accompanying the missionaries, had gotten pregnant and was not too far off from having her baby. And all the regular pressures of being a bishop in a struggling ward of only 50 active members–I imagine that the moment was very bittersweet for them, with all the hopes for Dallin and his future mission, and knowing that Claudia´s hopes for her mission could never be realized. But nonetheless they were there, boldly delcaring their testimonies of the gospel and sacrifice and missionary work, lifting the rest of us up with their testimonies. I honestly don´t remember what they said, but I remember that I felt the Spirit so strongly and more than anything felt the pure love of Christ. I felt and knew that I was in the right place, in that moment, where the Lord wanted me to be. I knew that he loved us all and had a plan for each of us. And I knew that missionary work was the Lord´s work and the greatest thing I could be doing with my life right now, the greatest thing that Dallin or any nineteen-to-twenty-five-year-old boy could be doing with his life.
Finally Dallin bore his testimony. He directed his remarks mostly to his friends from school, his non-member friends. He thanked them for their examples and for helping him be the person that he was, for being understanding and supportive of his living church standards. He talked about how much he would miss everyone. I looked over and saw that all of his friends were weeping with emotion (okay, we all were).
We finished the meeting by singing “Called to Serve.” All four verses (because Spanish is so much cooler than English so we get four verses of Called to Serve).
I felt so privileged to have been a part of that special moment, so blessed to have been able to feel of the Spirit and love that was present that night. After the service, everyone passed into the cultural hall for comida and a baile (dance), and everyone talked and mingled and hung out. I copied down the direction of one more joven who was a friend of Dallin´s. “Pero pasen!” he said. “Make sure you come!”
I am so grateful that Bishop Peralta thought to invite us to be a part of that evening, and to make Dallin´s despedida a missionary opportunity for his friends. I am so grateful for the Savior, and for Heavenly Father. I know that they love each one of us with an infinite love. A few special times in my life I have been able to feel a piece of that inifnite love. That night in the chapel was one of those times. That love is the reason we do missionary work. I know that this is the Lord´s work–going after the Lord´s sheep. I had to leave the ninety and nine that I loved at home to go after the lost sheep in Argentina. I am SO GRATEFUL to be a part of this work!
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
I wonder if this is what heaven is like.
In Nacho Libre accent:
Brethren, this is the best life I ever lived!
Okay, in all seriousness now…the mission is the best thing that ever happened to me. It is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life but at the same time the most rewarding. I would not trade this time and these experiences for anything. At times I literally feel like I can´t make it another day because it´s so hard but somehow it always turns into the best day of my life.
This week, the members of our little branch traveled seventeen hours in a rickety old bus to attend the nearest temple in Montevideo, Uruguay (the Buenos Aires Temple is closed until next October). Because travel to the temple is so expensive, the last temple trip was in 2009, and the next one probably won´t be for a while. My favorite part: Hugo Osses, sixty-one-year-old president of the Elders´ Quorum, who was baptized a year and a half ago, went to the temple to be endowed. He´s quite a character; his ex-wife was a gypsy and so he always has gypsy friends who are coming into town and staying at his house, and whenever we go visit him he sets chairs out in front of his house and his chickens peck at the dirt around our feet. Anyway, when we were at lunch at the Castros´ the other day they told us that Hugo had slaughtered four of his hens to have food for the temple trip. And sure enough, when we pedaled by his house on our bicis the other day, there were no chickens running around the yard!
Maximiliano was confirmed yesterday! And on Saturday we have two more baptisms: Ada Ramos, sixty-one-years old, and Micaela, her eight-year-old adoptive daughter. Yesterday we went to pick up Ada for church in a remis–it was a cold overcast morning, but when we arrived at her house we found that she had already left. We found her several blocks away walking in the cold, hurrying to get to Relief Society on time. When we arrived at the capilla, the class in Relief Society was on preparedness and, specifically, having a 72-hour kit in a backpack for each member of the household. Ada is a sharp, funny, sassy old lady, and I thought my heart would burst with happiness as she participated in the class and contributed suggestions to be prepared and insisted that chocolate needed to be a part of every family´s emergency supply. 🙂 It made me miss Mom a lot–thinking of all the preparedness stuff she´s working on at home, and how we´re doing the exact same thing here in Bell Ville, a random town in rural Argentina. I felt overwhelmed with a feeling of sisterhood, all around the world, and I also felt so impressed with the church–all the roles it has to fulfill! Important ones! Missionary work, temples, preparedness, welfare, humanitarian aid, protecting and defending family, everything. In hundreds of countries, in dozens of languages. How could this not be the true church and still accomplish what it does?
What I wish I could share with you all are the people. Ada, who has a perfect memory despite her sixty-one years, who asks probing questions about the Book of Mormon and makes pop culture references about Lady Gaga, who pokes me in sacrament meeting and warns me not to fall asleep. Who smacks the cat on the face when it tries to cuddle her, and has a profound love for everyone and makes fun of everyone at the same time. Her dear daughter Micaela, who adores us just for being the sisters and draws us pictures every time we go over. Twenty-four-year-old Gisela, who raised all her younger siblings when her mom left them, who is trying to quit smoking so that she can get sealed to her sweetheart Sergio and her little girl Estefania. Her dangerously attractive older brother Gaston, who is hilarious and won the hearts of lots of investigators on his mission by baking them banana bread. Papa Reynoso, who won´t darken the door of the church to save his life, but who left the table and went down to the corner store right then and bought us lightbulbs when he heard that we were without light in our pension. Hugo with his chickens and his crazy gypsy friends. President Salas, with his burning testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ and his divinely inspired leadership of the Mision Argentina Cordoba. Three little boys, brothers, Alan and Pepe and Martin, who played futbol with us in the dirt road in front of the house and showed us the kite they made out of garbage bags. Hermana Masters, who regularly provides the comic relief in our day by shooting me with her finger gun while we ride down the streets of Argentina on our horses–er, bicis. The sister I never knew I had; we´ve been through thick and thin and survived six weeks on a time on banana pancakes and gotten very little sleep because we always, always talk late into the night about the mysteries of the kingdom and our investigators and the shoes we´re going to wear to our weddings. Elder Pinkston, who makes us no-bake cookies and teaches us Argentine slang. Our investigator Brenda, a twenty-one-year-old single mom whose baby recently suffered horrific burns when a thermos of hot water for mate spilled on his scalp; now she has to take one-year-old Facundo to Cordoba for treatments every week. Elder Olivera, who saved my life or at least my sanity a few times by his quiet acts of kindness and thoughtfulness, and who was a professional futbol player in his former life (lock your heart lock your heart lock your heart). Crazy Mirta Franco, who stands uncomfortably close to everyone when she talks to them, and never lets anyone get a word in while conversing (hey, she´s Argentine), but who won my love with her amazing squash soup. Veronica and Gabriela and Silvia and all the girls at the bakery who know us by name because–well, because we´re addicted to Argentine pastries.
Bell Ville is my home in Argentina. I felt from the moment I arrived, from my first day, my first breath, that it was so. Four months here has only made me fall more in love with this place, with these people. This weekend are transfers, and it is almost certain that I will have to leave and start over making a new home here in South America. But for now I´m just going to savor this time: one last week, one perfect moment, in a place that, for all its problems and idiosyncrasies, quirks and flaws, feels an awful lot like heaven.
I love you. I pray for you always. You are always present.
Love,
Hermana Brown