Letter #33

My Unrivaled Family in Whom I Revel in Pride and Felicity,

Yes. Another week ended in sub-dramatic fashion amidst the tremorous anxiety and bundled excitement of transfers. Elder Dias Batista has been called to leave the valley bowl of Agudos and travel to the former station of Elder Cummings in Apucarana. He´s stoked, and I am too. Though for all the excitement (it's like March madness in one day on Christmas eve, every six weeks), I still have not received an email stating that I will leave, only a phone call telling me to get the heck out of dodge. So I got. But the downside about staying is that you don´t receive information about what´s going to happen to YOU! You just wait until it happens and then smile: ) I do not know as of yet my new companion, but perhaps that knowledge will arrive in the midst of this epistle. Until then you may imagine that you are in as much suspense as I am. . . (Brasilian, American, Chilean -- 4 countries in a row! -- Who knows?)

Let me tell you the small moments of humor and the highlights of a week that was in one word hot: I had two great divisions with Elder Jones (who is leaving) and Elder Luchmann (who is just cool). They were wonderful respites to inserting change into an otherwise semi-normal routine. Generally you think of respite as a break, but it is in this case working so hard that you barely make it back to the house to sleep, and your mind has peace knowing that you have given all of your best.

During travel time I had an opportunity to test a theory of mine that you can´t pass more than 30 seconds driving in Brasil without seeing a VW bug, or Fusca as they are called here. Beautiful cars, by the way. Well, I got to 28 seconds, but after attempting again and again and again, I never passed 7 seconds and so gave up. Brasil truly is the land of the Bug.

I witnessed the martial art or dance of Capoiera. Capoeira was developed by the slaves preparing to revolt here in Brasil who couldn't be seen practicing fighting, for obvious reasons, and so practiced by weaving the moves of fighting into a dance. You can't touch the other person, and the object, it appears, is to move as swiftly and deftly as possible without contact. It's cool and done to the beating of drums and other percussion instruments.

We continued to work with the mother of our converts but, with our font full and congregation waiting she succumbed to what seems like fear, or as of yet unaffirmed desire to let that old life go. Either way, she didn't show up to the baptism and after doing all we could, we had to call it off. We work and Satan and his hosts do too.

Sunday I also heard, or suffered, what can only be described as the worst choir of ALL time. That's strong language for a choral group but it is what it wasn't. The choir howled a musical number before our ward conference Sunday and I am still trying to figure out what hymn it was.  But I wouldn't share something so utterly dismal and entirely depressing if there wasn't a lesson, or two, to be learned. First, please culture music in you homes. As a prophet of this dispensation has taught, you can always improve with practice. Second, no matter that they were simultaneously without the help of Schoenberg hitting minor and inter-minor chords, the spirit entered with that unholy hymn. It just goes to show, that it's your best that counts, not the bleeding ears of the American missionary.

Classic comment from our convert at the start of ward conference, the stake president perched at the pulpit, and his father the patriarch at his side: In wonder and awe, "Wow, that´s so cool that President Hinckley´s here! Good laughs. He also passed the sacrament for the first time which was the highlight for me.

Breaking news**** Our investigator just called in and apologized and said that she would like to be baptized tonight, before Elder Dias Batista leaves. Blessings! Risking my life while cleaning the bathroom today probably helps!

MORE Breaking News******!!!! My new companion is the companion of Elder Parker, ELDER BEAUDOIN: ) cool stuff! I´m excited: )

     

Another classic moment from this week: The son of our ward mission leader was watching studiously his father preparing the BBQ and in a quiet moment grabbed an empty skewer from the table and went after the dog, who was not looking. Jabbing victoriously in the brisket he yelled, "Cachorro Quente!!" Which is to be translated, hot dog. Indeed: )
 
I leave with a Christian cry from the prophet Alma, that resounds through the pages of The Book of Mormon and through the chambers of my heart:

O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.

In comparison to the harvest of souls he and his brothers gathered our harvest is comparatively few. In fact, in the words of Uncle Rich, it's weak sauce. I wish with Alma, but ought to, as he said, be content with being a man. Yet how glorious it is to be them who are in some respect angels, declaring the word of God restored to the Earth; publishing glad tidings of the greatest peace; bringing peace, not as the world bringeth, but as Christ and his hopeful atonement, bring peace. That peace which passeth all understanding. I love this gospel with all my heart. It means to me family, and love. It means lifting up the poor in heart, and of substance. That we may strive to do both with the strength of angels, I pray.

Love,

Tanner