Home and Back

   Last Thursday we left our mission boundaries in a big way.  We flew to Utah for the baptism of Paige and Matt's oldest son.  It was a short visit and we were determined to stick to the East Coast time schedule, which meant going to bed at 9:30 or so, and getting up about 4:30. Technically we should have been asleep by 8:30, but that just wasn't possible.
   We had a lovely time, the baptism was marvelous, and we were able to see many family members.  I will admit there was just a minute or two when I fantasized about staying. Then I remembered the individuals who are counting on us: for rides, for English class, for lessons, for nurturing, for the food boxes every Saturday, etc., and I knew we needed to return asap. It is amazing how intertwined we are in the lives of these people already. We arrived back in Montreal on Monday night, a 9-hour trip which included a four hour layover in Chicago (we will endure anything to save a couple of bucks). On the bright side, Paul re-entered Canada on his Canadian passport and thus expedited the customs requirements.  Is this a definition of getting in on someone's coat tails? If so, it was well worth it. Guess I will continue to stick with him.
   Today I reflected on the marvel that we are here, in Victoriaville.  There are at least four single church members here who have become friends and with whom we have ongoing interactions.  There was a retired couple here in the branch who had been helping these individuals, but a couple of months ago they were called as senior missionaries and are attending a branch in another city (while living at home).  Today I wondered who would have been able to pick up the responsibilities for these wonderful individuals if the mission president had decided to place us somewhere else in Quebec.  As challenging as it is some days to feel that we are as busy as we would like to be, there is no doubt that the Lord knew the needs of these singles, and provided us to help fulfill those needs.  He does love His children.

They pop up everywhere

    In the last month or so, we have literally been handed some opportunities to share our beliefs with others.  I mean, even when we haven't been looking for likely individuals, (I know, I know, we should always be looking )  there one is, right in front of us.  Here are a few examples:
    Paul and I went to the mall one day to look at warm winter coats.  We had been told not to buy one beforehand because there would be better, and warmer ones here.  (I am not sure that is true, by the way.)  As I was looking at one, a sales lady came up and asked if she could help us.  Since I wasn't completely sure what she said and didn't know how to fluently answer her, I turned to my companion.  He struck up a conversation with her and in doing so, found out she is a widow but her mother-in-law is a member of the church, an English speaker, living in another part of Quebec. We talked with her a bit about the church, why we are here, and invited her to English class. She didn't come, but at least she had a nice conversation with a "Mormon". It might help when she meets another later.
   Then, we had the experience at the hair salon where the stylist wanted to know all about what we teach people. ( See the 'Flash to the past' post) We visited her at her home, with her 14-year-old daughter, showed them the Restoration DVD, and gave them each a copy of the Book of Mormon. They came to church once.  She now says she isn't too interested in hearing more, but since her daughter is, we still have hopes that this will continue.   We will keep trying.  The point is, we were able to teach her some gospel principles.
  For me, the most exciting and challenging encounter occurred last week. I have been meeting with a woman who attends our English class.  She offered to meet with me once a week to help me with my  French.  I have a conversation with her in French for thirty minutes, and then we switch.  Last Wednesday she came  in and said. "I would like you to tell me about Mormons,  I read a little about a man named Joseph Smith and am wondering about him.  Tell me about him in French." So, for the next twenty minutes I bumbled along in terrible French, telling her of Joseph's experiences with prayer, the first vision, and the Book of Mormon.  I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon, asked her to read the Introduction, and said we would discuss it further this coming week.  I am a missionary!  And it felt good.

Want a laugh today?

   My back has been giving me fits for the last week or so and it is difficult to keep positive when in pain ( at least for me).  We have been experiencing some glorious "Indian summer" days (not sure that is still politically correct to say?), and so, to lift my spirits,  for our Preparation Day we drove to a city abut 45 minutes from here in search of what we had been told was a restored "old town"  similar to those in Europe.  Unfortunately, from what we could determine, it turned out to be more of a tourist trap, where one pays to enter and see some old buildings.  When we drove past, there were two women about my age, standing out front in costumes from the 1700's.  I could't take a picture because it would have been too obvious.  The funny thing about this was that when we pulled up to ask them a question about the site, they told us it was closed.  Apparently, their job that day was to stand out front, in costume, and tell people it was closed.
    With that outing a bust, we decided to go have lunch.  Since the weather was absolutely gorgeous, we found a restaurant with outside seating and ordered salads.  They were the some of the most beautiful salads I have ever seen.  Here is Paul with his crab salad:

    Now for your entertainment, here is me with mine.  I laugh every time I look at this picture, mostly because the only other response would be to cry:

  In my defense,  I didn't know he was taking the picture.  Paul's comment was, "There is nothing I can do to please her!"   Hope this makes your day better, as you gratefully contemplate that you don't look like this...

It's nice, and a little unbelievable.

    Life in Victoriaville is vastly different in some ways than in life in northern Virginia.  In some ways it feels like the way it was "in the good old days".  Except for grocery stores, the stores all close daily at 5 or 6 p.m., including those in the mall.  The mall, and other businesses, (except grocery stores)  are all closed on Sunday, and the grocery stores are closed by about 5 on Sunday.  There is a definite tranquility in the downtown area on Sundays, and although many people go on walks around the lake or on the numerous paths (which wind through the town) and do not go to a church service, Sunday feels like a day of rest.  Here is another example which just seemed incredible to us. Last Wednesday afternoon we took our car to have new tires put on and a block heater installed.  Block heaters, for those of you who live where the temperature never dips below 0 degrees fahrenheit, are devices which keep the engine warm enough to prevent freezing.  Every parking space in apartment buildings and homes has an outlet attached to a board, in plain view, which one uses to plug in the block heater. Here is what they look like:

 
   And just so you know what we are in for as far as winter is concerned,  when was the last time you saw this on the side of the road? (Yes, that's a snow mobile)

     The garage lent us a car for the day without even looking at a driver's license. True, they had our car which was much newer than the rental.  Anyway, the bill for four new snow-ready tires, and the block heater was significant.  When we went to retrieve our vehicle, the woman who runs the garage with her husband told Paul their computer was down, and asked if he could come back this next week to pay the bill.  We hadn't given them so much as a driver's license, a credit card number, or any I.D. of any kind and away we drove with all the new items. We aren't sure if our missionary plaques convinced her of our honesty or if she have that much faith in mankind generally.  I would like to believe that in some parts of the world trust is still a viable characteristic.  Update:  when we sent in to pay the bill yesterday, Paul asked the owner if they often let people take their repaired vehicle and pay later.  She said that yes, on occasion they have to do that, and they just hope the individual will return and pay them!

Boxed Service

Every Saturday morning, Elder Peterson meets the Elders at a local grocery store.  I would go with him, but there isn't room for me after he picks up crates of donated food items from the store.  The owner is the sister of a member (used to be his father, but he retired) and she has generously decided to donate all food that is expiring but still, in most cases, edible.  Each week we are given enough to fill the entire back of the Sequoia to the top.  Last week Paul had to make two trips because there was so much, including boxes and boxes of frozen items. The food is brought here to our carport where we divide it up among about 10 families, sometimes more if we have lots of food that week.  Last week we literally took food to half the branch members.  This takes us several hours, and it isn't necessarily a clean activity, so we don't wear our proselyting clothes.  So far the weather has cooperated but I wonder what it will be like when it is 10 below and windy :)

 Last week we had so much frozen food that we went to Walmart and bought a small chest freezer which was on sale. Later in the week, we then gave as much of the frozen stuff away as we could.
  I also made loaves and loaves of banana bread which we distributed to all the Elders in our district at District Meeting, and to members when we stopped to visit.  Sometimes it is a challenge to know what to do with what we are given.  For example, a few weeks ago we were given 40 jars of Cheez Whiz.  Why did the store have so much left over?  Exactly. No one eats that stuff.  We gave some away, ignoring the surprised and unappreciative responses,  and stored some in our little storage unit, hoping that we could put it the boxes when we didn't have as much other food.  Now, though, I think we are going to have to throw some of it away. This is a very "green" community so I felt compelled to recycle the jars. I thought I could soften it up by putting it in hot water--nope.  The difficulty of getting Cheez Whiz out of the jars should be an indication of the lack of its nutritional value. After spending considerable time to clean out just 8 jars, I decided that the environment might have to suffer a little. It will undoubtedly be found in some coming century and be a mystery to all.  However, despite the plague of Cheez Whiz, it feels good to do some service!

Flash to the past equals success

When Paul was 10 he wore his hair in a buzz cut.  His hair was so short he couldn't part it, and it looked cute on him (from the pictures I've seen).  Well,  fifty-three years later,  the effects of gravity, sun, and lots of cookies and brownies have not necessarily made a buzz cut the best option today.  This week he had to try it out again.

Now for the story behind this new do.  Last Tuesday we were both in need of a haircuts.  Remembering our frustrations in Switzerland with this task, I practiced saying, with firmness, "not too short" in French.  We had chosen to try a place called, appropriately, "Adam and Eve", but there was a sign on the door saying "Closed for Labor Day", even though it was the day after Labor Day.  So, we  searched for somewhere else that didn't require an appointment.  We found one a few blocks away and went in.  A delightfully friendly woman cut my hair first, and since I couldn't really communicate much,  my cut was acceptable.  Then it was Paul's turn.  He told her just to take a little off and she said she would.  However, she immediately asked him about our plaques and what church we represented and the conversation took off.  Unfortunately for Paul, so did his hair, for the more they talked, the more she cut!  Her 14-year-old daughter had come to an activity with a branch member one time, so she knew where the building is.  We told her about our English class, starting that evening and she was excited to come, which she did.  A couple of days later we went back to her shop to invite her to come to church on Sunday.  She said she and her daughter had already talked about it and they were planning on it. We are hopeful to see them tomorrow.
     To continue the story, we went the next day to visit a woman who moved here two years ago but hasn't chosen to come to church yet. She is originally from Haiti. We have gone by her office (she won't give us her home address or phone number) to see her before; she is always very friendly. We happened to check the birthdays of branch members that morning and saw that her daughter's was that day, so we took a card and Costco muffin for her (oh, how grateful I am for a Costco just an hour away!) .  Anyway, we told her about the woman we had invited to church this week, who is also from Haiti.  Turned out they know each other, and this woman had actually been her teacher in Haiti, several years ago.  What are the chances of that? We asked that she come to help make our new friend feel welcome--we are hopeful she will be there too.  Paul's brutally short hair may very well lead to some real missionary successes.

Some Special People

  Since arriving we have met some individuals who have faith-promoting life stories.  The first week here, we met Dianne.  She is confined to a wheelchair (one of those motorized ones!) as she is paralyzed.  I wrote earlier about her strong Quebecois accent, although she can speak English.  We go to her apartment each week for a Family Home Evening of sorts; mostly we sing a hymn, and then the single man who also attends reads a chapter or two of the Book of Mormon.  Dianne is an inspiration to us--her positive attitude is reflected every time we see her.  She doesn't have much, materially, and is certainly restricted physically, but spiritually she is immeasurably wealthy. She is happy to be alive, and she makes us appreciative for all we have been blessed with and reminded that we need to express our gratitude continually.
    Another lady we have come to know is Gisele.  Her story of how the missionaries found her demonstrates how Heavenly Father truly knows His children.  As a child, Gisele was drawn to religion and carried her Bible with her constantly.  She told us she had always believed in God, and was devout in her Catholicism.  However, as an adult, her husband was abusive and she felt there was no way to survive except to divorce him.  Of course,  the Catholic Church does not accept divorce, and Gisele felt ostracized from the church.  One day she was praying to God to send someone to help her. There was a knock on her door.  Voila! Two missionaries asked if there was a man there--they had talked him earlier and he had told them to come to this apartment. At the time, Gisele was living in a garage apartment, behind a house, not seen from the street, and with no number on it.  Gisele knew no one of that description, but she asked them about what they were doing and invited them in.  They couldn't go in but they gave her a pamphlet to read.  She read it all that afternoon, and saw references to an "Alma".  She called the missionaries and asked them who this was, and they said he was a prophet in a book of scripture they had.  She told them she needed that book!  They returned with a member, and when they gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon she told them she knew it was true before she opened it. By the way, the Elders never saw the man again.  She was baptized in 2008, but due to some very serious health problems, she has slipped away a few times.  We found her name on the less-active list and went  to her apartment the first week we were here. We left a card at her door when she didn't answer.  When we called her later, she asked that we come to see her. We are now teaching her every week and she told us she would like to get to the temple before we finish our mission.  We are hopeful that we can accompany her.  Her health is declining, so time is not on our side. Each week we take her home at some point during the 3-hour block when she can't stay any longer because of the pain. The first night we visited her, she looked me in the eye and told me that I was on my mission so that I could help her.  It was a confirmation to me that I needed then.
   There is another lady I want to write about, and her story is just beginning.  She came to church today and stayed for the full three hours.  She first saw missionaries in Quebec City awhile ago.  She and her husband were eating at a MacDonald's and she saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them got his food and sat at a table, then waited until the other sat down before he started to eat. She was amazed at his politeness--young people today don't do that.  She spoke to them, told them she wanted to know more,  and they took her name and sent missionaries to her here.  She has had just two lessons, but today at church, after Relief Society, I gave her one of our missionary cards with our name and number.  She said, "Oh, does this mean you will be my visiting sister?  Today we talked about them and I would really like to be assigned one."  I had missed most of the RS lesson to take Gisele home, but I gather the lesson was on some aspect of visiting teaching.  This is what we would call "a golden investigator" !  (And just so no one will surmise that my French has progressed miraculously, let me add that this woman speaks fluent French, English, and Spanish).  We are going with the Elders later this week to teach her again.
   There are others to write about, but I will leave those for another time.  Missions are great.