July 23, 2018 I, Pahoran

And behold, I do not joy in your afflictions, yea, it grieves my soul. And now, in your epistle you have censured me, but it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart. 

This is for Mom as well. Not writing a group email this week! Just you guys!

I have been expecting you to get after me about writing home for weeks, and although there's no good excuse there are so many reasons, the main being Im simply a slow writer. (You'll have to excuse the punctuation on this one, hyphens are really difficult on a tiny blue-tooth keyboard. This week and last we have had technical difficulties) Lots more people than I expected read my group email, including several soon to be missionary friends. I also have been getting lots of tiny emails from friends lately, and although I only send a sentence or two back it all builds up. Truth is I have SO MUCH to say to you all I always save it for last = sort of a "do what you need to before doing what you want to" just so i can relax and really tell you all what is happening but it never goes that way. I find writing in general supremely stressful lately and even if I outline beforehand I always run out of time. I feel sick about it every week. I dont have much opportunity to write by hand either. That long one to Mary was written before I found out I can only write in any form on Mondays. 

All in all it leads to me feeling a bit disconnected from you all. Your letters are beautiful, and I treasure them, but it never feels like real back-and-forth correspondence and Im sure its my fault. 

Ive had one of the hardest weeks of my mission so far. Im not progressing in the language, and my trainer doesnt push me much. We speak mostly English, even though Ive rought it up many times, and she has the best intentions, but shes not internally motivated in the same way so it's hard. I LOVE Spanish, but the luster of learning it has begun to fade as I feel stagnated in one place. Im trying to have faith that the Lord is fully capable of helping me with this, but I will be with Hna Stanfield for another transfer and I want this next one to be different. I adore her, really I do, but she picked up the language easily and speaking Spanish with me is probably a little annoying. I think training is like baking with a toddler. They want to help with everything, but to involve them just takes so much more time and makes a mess! :)

I really havent had any meltdowns either until this week. When Im focused on our people and the work Im so happy, but with my OCD its easy to fall into old thinking patterns and gruelling self analysis. I didnt realize how much stress I had pent up until I finally kind of burst and it all actually cried a little! We knocked the door of some Born-Again Christians and it started alright but ended up being my least favorite moment of my mission so far. We had a surprisingly good conversation with them despite the opening being, "Actually, can WE teach YOU something/?:" I bore my testimony about the fact that we aren't earning grace through our works, rather trying to become the kind of people Christ asked us to be. The kind of people who would be comfortable in his presence. In the words of Bro. Wilcox, learning rather than earning heaven. Youll be happy to know your beautiful response to Galatians came in handy, although it fell on closed ears. (The Norma response has been useful to, although we havent been able to contact Norma again). They invited us in, and Hna Stanfield accepted before I could tell her I had a decidedly negative feeling about it. To me, it was walking into a lions den knowing I was anything but a Daniel.

It was going ok, but I just felt this pressing need to get out of there. They put on the pretence of curiosity, but none of it was genuine. All they wanted to do was question our sincerity and poke holes in our faith (in their minds save two brain-washed Mormon youth) and I didnt feel it was a good use of the Lords time. They werent listening either, asking questions then waiting just long enough for us to say something they could twist before interuppting. I know myself, and I could feel myself getting frustrated. I made several attempts to lead towards leaving, but Hna Stanfield was cool as a cucumber and didnt catch my drift. They were hunting ammunition instead of answers, and simple, personal testimony didnt do anything for them. Im afraid despite my best efforts it all ended in a bit of an Anne Shirley moment. Had I a slate it would have been shattered into bits. I tried to leave in the best way, but I've never been good at hiding frustration, so it ended up with me choking up and then abruptly storming out of their house with something like, " You should really read the BOM before making judgements. I didnt want a dramatic exit, but Im afraid thats what happened. All I could think of was how much I wanted to get out of there. I them promptly burst into tears, the first real ones of my mission. 

Hna Stanfield just sat there; absolutely perplexed as to what on earth had happened to her usually bubbly companion...and who was this rather soggy, burnt-out firecracker in the passengers seat. I think it all had more to do with all the stress I had stuffed down inside of me than anything else. More than anything two little women who couldnt pronounce "Zachias" did. I recognized then how much pride Ive got. Just when I think Ive finally gotten rid of good old Anne Shirley she resurfaces. I dont remember when ive felt so discouraged. 

The story could be supremely funny, I can awknowledge that right off, but it fails to be because of my tag. I showed up on someones doorstep, asking to talk about God, and then couldnt take it. Im not sure what set me off so much, we deal with people saying offensive things all the time...I think it was the fact that they were out to shake our faith (albeit without recognizing that themselves). Ive felt really badly, but we dropped by a note of apology and a picture the next day. God even sent Elder Holland to chastise me, "The Blessings and Cost of Discipleship" playing the next day in the car. There is a reason God didn't send me to te South I can tell you that! It taught me a huge lesson about myself, and what a miracle that this ever works...that God can work through even a little firecracker such as myself. I felt so ashamed of myself it was hard to even put on my tag. Im representing so much more than myself out here. 

Not quite the perfect missionary, but Im so grateful for my Savior. 

Love you, Mom and Dad. Love your letters (two completely different styles, but both powerful writers), I read them over and over! I love hearing about everything, so dont apologize for a boring week. We have those here too, and I still love to hear about it! 

I learned recently that 70 percent of missionaries here have anxiety or depression. I try not to let that statistic get to me, but the question has crept in, "Am I here because I was honest on my papers?" I caught myself with the question, "Lord, why am I here in Fontana? Why here when you know how I would have cherished the experience of a foreign mission. Surprisingly many dont!" I know these thoughts are wrong, but they creep in. 

The answer I got wasnt concrete, it wasnt a voice, and it came in pieces, but it went something like this. He did know all that, and thats precisely why Im here. "I did know youd cherish it, but I needed you to cherish my work in and of itself. For my sake. And I knew youd love them, but I wanted them to learn to love those who are a little harder to love." 

I think Im guilty of romanticizing the people of other countries into sweet-humble farmers and the like, but every country has its drunks and black sheep. Ive just been called to love some of the ones in mine. Most of our people here have addictions and checkered pasts, rough histories and real struggles. I love them. Not always perfectly, im frustratingly human, but now and I feel the Lord give me just a tiny piece of his Charity...I am allowed a taste of Christ-like love and the persons circumstance melt away and soften until it's just them, Rosa or Jesus or Elsie.

Im really grateful for this work, and I cant imagine I almost didnt come. To have missed this...It isnt a bit glamourous and often it isnt even fun, but at the flecks of gold are real and worth it. One night I sat on our tiny porch and ate an entire perfect mango as the sky turned to purple....another day I got to tell Jesse he will get to receive the priesthood...another day we told Elsie shed see her baby again. Worth it. 

Love you all so much!