Prayer

Hello lovelies!

So yesterday was Memorial Day and the libraries were closed. Happy Tuesday emailing! I've been getting some pretty stellar letters from a lot of you recently, and I just wanted to say thank you. That you take the time to write me on an actual piece of paper, put it in an envelope, stamp it, and then put it in your mailbox means more to me than you can know. (Or maybe if you've been a missionary you know.)

A bit of logistical news: today is transfers yet again and Sister Alberts is getting the boot. Actually, "the boot" sounds like a violent/unkind thing, so maybe we'll rephrase and say, "Sister Alberts is getting the bunny slipper out of Monroe." No idea yet who my next companion will be. Bless you, companion surprises.

Oh hey, before I forget: my trainer, Sister Anna Hone, finished her mission and returned home yesterday. This is your blog shout-out, BrieAN-NA. : )  Don't forget me now that you're back in the land of desert sunshine.

Tender moment of the mission so far. So tender, in fact, that I almost feel like a schmaltz for talking about it on a public blog. Either way, here we go... This week, I was SUH-HICK (emphasized version of sick). We're talking so sick, we-didn't-even-go-to-church sick. We're talking in the bathroom, alien noises coming out of my abdomen, collapsed-on-the-commode sick. If you're currently eating, I'm sorry. Anyways, at one point I've just expended all my stomach's contents and it feels like Darth Vader is light sabre-ing my intestines. And then I think, "Prayer. Say a prayer." I do. Then I wait, which is pretty easy to do when you can't lift yourself off the floor and you're praying for relief.
Then the thought comes to me, "Get Sister Alberts. Now."
So I crawl to the bathroom door and start yelling for Sister Alberts.
She comes in and all I can say is "You need to say a prayer, just say a prayer. Please."
So she sits down, rubs my back, and offers the simplest, most genuine prayer I've heard in recent memory.
Immediately, there is peace.

I don't know what you believe about prayer, the power of it, or the lack thereof. But I am certain that when we offer the most basic supplications to God, He not only hears us, He answers us. Sometimes not for awhile. Sometimes instantaneously. I don't believe in coincidence. Was I able to get up after that prayer and shimmy around like Dancing With the Stars? No way. But my stomach stopped feeling like Sigourney Weaver's alien nemesis was trying to break free from it, and I just felt like a solid sense of...calm.

Sometimes I feel bad that I can't send actual, physical manifestations of my testimony/love to you people. Like an actual hug, or a tangible back scratch of support and an "it's going to be okay." This is the best I can do. I hope it's touched you and continues to help you feel like you can go another week. You can do this. I can do this. WE can all do this because there are great people in this world who are willing to forgive the fact that we temporarily smell disgusting and ask God to help us.

I pray for you often. And I trust that it's working. Somehow. Some way.

Love to you all,
Sister Goodpaster

Randomness

Friends and Family,

Please enjoy several anecdotes because I can't figure out exactly what I should share this week.

Almost daily I feel like stories are just piling up in my brain -- situations I want to tell you about one-at-a-time, but time doesn't permit. Space in my brain doesn't permit, either. But it's okay. I don't have to share everythingwithyouallatonce. There will be time enough for that.

This week we cleaned our apartment like no apartment's been cleaned before. The thing was starting to get...stale. But then we de-cluttered and I was left feeling pleasantly de-stressed. I feel so much more in-tune to spiritual promptings and inspiration when my space is organized. There is room to think/breathe/ponder.

Breakthrough: this week I realized that, while still interesting and entertaining, I just don't have to have celebrity gossip in my life to feel good/smart/in-the-know. Cultural awareness is still something I'm striving for (which is why I still enjoy a good new update from Mom Goodpaster), but I don't NEED to know. Is this making sense? I hope so. Because my brain is just now comprehending that so much of my pre-mission free time was spent straight-up wasting time. Post mission, no more!

Someone I love told me this at Christmastime:
There are three things you can do with time:
~ Invest it.
~ Spend it.
~ Waste it.
I've been letting that roll around in my head since Christmas. And now I'm finally starting to get it...

Sudden realization: the witty banter percentage in these updates is declining at a staggering rate. And for that, I apologize. Because I feel like spiritually-uplifting messages can intermingle with humor.
Follow-up realization: I live on the west coast and no one has served us fish for dinner yet. I feel this is an unfortunate fact. The Puget (one of my least favorite words) Sound is, like, two skips and a leap from us. Someone feed me a crustacean, please!
Final realization, for this email anyway: This has been scattered, but I hope you all know how much I love you people. Yes, you, YOU reading this at 2 a.m. on a Thursday because you can't sleep and no other book is working to put you to sleep, so you're reading these terrible blog posts of some Mormon missionary in Washington because maybe then....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Yes, I love you, too.
Love yourself.
Love God, even when He feels far from you.
Love even that moment when you wake up in the morning and realize, "Sweet beautiful awesome, a new day! And I get to go out and live in it!"

With precipitation and love,
Sister GP

Difficult, But Worth It

So many things I want to say and not nearly enough time to say them all.

Ready. Set. Go.

I'm sure Mom Goodpaster, by now, informed the Facebook world that I Skyped with my parents on Sunday, Mother's Day. Technological goodness, people. Here's something I learned after I got off the phonecomputer with them:
Supportive, loving family makes all the difference when you're doing hard things. Every once in a while I'd look at them as they were talking and just...take a lot of comfort in the fact that I've got a mom and a dad who are just straight-up good human beings.
So much gratitude is in order.

Today our district hiked to Wallace Falls. The hike was more strenuous than I presumed and, no lie, I felt like I had about 500 more pounds attached to my bod than I do. By hike's end I told Sis. Alberts I felt like I was on one of those reality TV weight-loss shows ala Biggest Loser and I needed her to yell something awful like, "You can be fat the rest of your life or you can finish this hike strong!" at me for motivation (and subsequent laughs).
But I digress.
And then, as per usual, I realized something bigger out of all the sweat and dirt trail goodness I was climbing in.

Number One: it does not make you a weak individual if you are weak at something. So many people get so frustrated with the Gospel because they are weak at something. Then they quit altogether. About 75 times throughout this trek I wanted to throw a toddler tantrum and go, "You know what people? I'm done! I can't hike 10 miles uphill in 80 degree weather. I'm done. See you at the bottom."
And then I said to myself, "Self. Pull your bootstraps up. You won't grow by whining. If you have to stop every six seconds, do it. But you don't quit. Move forward."

Number Two: giving up what we want at the moment is usually always worth getting what we need in the future. Cliche because it's true. The falls/views at the top of the mountain were out-of-this-planet gorgeous. What I wanted for those 10 bajillion miles leading up to it was a cheeseburger and a tall glass of Vernor's ginger ale. But I traded it for doing something uncomfortable and very, very rewarding.

I don't want this to sound like a commercial for Jillian Michaels's newest bootcamp show.
I do, however, want you to think about what you might be missing out on because you're not willing to do what's temporarily awkward/uncomfortable/strenuous.
Spiritually, physically, all of the above.

This week is as good as any to stretch yourself and remember, as always, that you're stronger than you think you are.

Love and sunshiney bliss,
Sister Goodpaster

Simplicity

Hello!

This week, I'm keeping it short and sweet, compadres.
The sun is out and my corner of Washington is bathed in joy.
I hope you all know how much I enjoy what I'm doing.
And I hope that you're loving your family and friends. Like, verbally, actually telling them you love them. Not just assuming they know.
Sometimes everything I garner in a week boils down to the basics.
I hope you know that there's a God in Heaven who hears you and loves you and cares about what you care about.
I meet a lot of people who just hope God is real because, oh my chaos, life's GOT to be about more than the 70+/- years we live and then we turn into space trash and particle dust.
It's nice to hope for things.
But I prefer to know them.
And we can. We can know for ourselves if God is really listening. If He cares. If He's there.
Ask.
Listen.
Be willing to move your feet/attitude/heart.

With so much love,
Sister Goodpaster

Springtime, Tulips, and My NAME

Preface to this week's email: Huge congratulations are in order to my cousin Chelsea and her husband Ricky on the arrival today of their new baby boy Mason Riley Eanes. (Kind of disappointed that they didn't end up naming him "Daberkashawn," but I'll find a way to forgive them.) Give the boy loves for me!!

This week was so backwards and forwards and going a hundred miles a minute that I feel you need a play-by-play to sort it out. Here goes:

~ A woman, living in a house built by Communist hippies, tells me and Sister Alberts she's going to adopt us so we can inherit her mountain of antiques. Thank you? Also, there are "little green men" and a six-foot bear living on/around her property.
~ Another woman tells us some 'hey, girl,' too much information details about her and her common-law husband. Somehow I feel like this missionary nametag reads "Licensed Relationship Counselor" to all who see it. I am not. But I'm willing to listen. And sometimes that's really all people want. Plus, talking to the missionaries is free. Like my life motto says: "If it's free, it's for me!"
~ Built a huge bonfire in someone's backyard. And I got to use a blowtorch for the first time! Sister A is persuaded towards pyromania. She's slowly turning me to the dark side. Yes, mom, I'm being safe. Sidenote: there was a snake in the unmowed grass where we were building the fire. Nearly sent me out of my skin. I'll hold giant tarantulas, but I still don't trust animals without arms or legs. Sickening.
~ Oh! Sister Hone came here for an exchange on Saturday. As she'd say, pure bliss. We went to the baptism of a man we started teaching in Granite Falls back in February. Joy #2: He was baptized by a man who was less-active until fairly recently. Now the two are chums. I loved every second of it.
~ I just want to insert a comment here about how beautiful tulips in Washington are in the springtime. EVERYONE has them in their yard. Of all colors and sizes. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm serving in Holland and we're about to encounter someone wearing wooden shoes. Too much? Probably.
~ Comments about my last name run rampant on my mission -- you can probably guess why -- but I've been thinking. Since all of my ingenious comebacks have been leaking out of my brain since I began this mission, I need your help. Ideas for responses to any of the following would be greatly appreciated:

1. "GOODPASTER? Looks like you're in the perfect job for that name!"
2. "Goodpaster? Is that really your name?"
3. "Where is 'Goodpaster' from?"

Seriously, I'm going to just start making things up, like:
1. "Actually, Goodpaster is a terrible name for this job because we worship saltine crackers, and pastors aren't a part of our doctrine."
2. "No, Goodpaster is the alias I'm working under ever since I strangled that cockatiel."
3. "'Goodpaster' derives from the North Cambodian coast, where my ancestors were the world's first patchouli farmers."

See? I need your help.

Anyway, in serious news, I love my companion. I love the people in this area. And I love that I never have to feel like I'm selling vacuums. The Gospel of Jesus Christ either jives with your heart or it doesn't. If it doesn't, I still get the opportunity to meet and love those people, too. Everybody wins.

Be good to yourselves and one another. I love you all.

Love,
Sister Goodpaster

P.S. I go home a year from yesterday. Hello, surreal realization.
P.P.S. The new spicy guacamole chicken sandwich from Wendy's is the cat's pajamas. Do yourself a favor and buy one today.

Change in Location and Health Battles

Blog readers,

Essentials you need to know before anything else. I'm in Monroe, WA. My new companion is Sister Alberts from Southern Missouri. She's been out a year. We cover the Monroe and Maltby wards. We live in a giant apartment complex. Also, we have a wood-burning fireplace in our living room, so you know we're classy ladies. Good? Good.

Greetings from a week of stitches, limping, and constant bandage-changing! And that's just my companion. Long story short: the day before I got here, some sheet metal attacked Sister Alberts's heel, nearly severing her Achilles tendon. A bogus doctor stitched her up and sent her on her way. Zero instructions about how to care for said wound. Sans pain meds. Thanks!

Part Two: I somehow got sick with horrendous stomach pains, vomiting, and coma-like sleep spells. This happened about three days after Metal Attack 2012. Precious, right?

As I'm starting to feel better, I'm realizing something about life. Remember last week's post where I talked about remembering to laugh? It's still true.

Scene: I've run into the bathroom, with haste, for about the seventh time in one hour. Retching ensues. Imagine the sounds that come from a trash compactor. Nasty.
Sister Alberts calls from the living room, "Do you need any help in there?"
"Nooooo," is my reply. And then I chuckle a little bit at the fact that my face is in a toilet bowl, I haven't showered in at least two days, and my companion is asking to help. Sure! You can help by pulling out my innards and giving me a brand new set! Even sick humor is still humorous.

And there you have it. Absolutely nothing is new except that I'm in a new area with a new companion. Same Bat time, same Bat channel. Oh wait! Not true. Yesterday I had the best foccacia bread of my entire existence. Now you're caught up.

I know this was brief, but sometimes I've got to remember an adage from a previous professor of mine: there is beauty in brevity.

As always, I want you to know that I believe in what I'm doing. I tell people frequently that I wouldn't be here if I was just talking to people about some hip, new wave church that maybe, I don't know, would be cool if you showed up sometime.

The Gospel is true. And I love what I do.

Love, peace, and a healthy dose of Excedrin Extra Strength,
Sister G.

Joy and Laughter

This week's email comes with mixed emotions. Imagine tossing disappointment, excitement, anxiety, and peace into a Feelings Blender and pushing "liquefy." The result is a concoction of what I felt after I got the call this afternoon...

"Sister Goodpaster, you're getting transferred."

Sigh.

Yesterday I spoke to our congregation and told them how much I love them and how much they've spoiled me. A hundred+ people stitched into my heart. A family away from my family. BUT just because I'm leaving doesn't mean I'm really gone. Sometimes I think we leave traces of ourselves with those we love so we can find our way back later.

Sidenote: you may have noticed I accepted some friend requests on Facebook.

Fact: No, I'm not trolling Facebook as a missionary.

Story: last week we were asked to write some feelings about Christ on mormon.org/easter. To post it, I had to log in through Facebook.

Dilemma: Sis. Anderson couldn't remember her regular email address/password. So I logged in to look her up and see if she'd listed it on her profile. No luck. Eventually, through some digging, she found both. But as soon as I logged in and saw I had friend requests, I thought to myself, "Self, don't wait a year to accept these fine people as your friends. You're already here and it'll take two seconds." So I did. There you go.

Highlights of the week:

~ Some delightful pastor told me, "I'm a Christian. You are not." Rather than pursing my lips, telling my companions to "Hold muh earrings rill quick," and giving this dude something to be sassy about, I thought again. I lowered my voice, respectfully disagreed, and told him I was sorry he felt that way. People will look and feel ridiculous when you fight their belligerent agenda with few words and kind confidence. Do you know why? That which is right speaks for itself.

~ Chipotle AGAIN on exchanges in Lynnwood. Sweet, harmonious chicken burrito bowl.

~ Had a hamburger filled with nuggets of bleu cheese. And homemade goulash. (Are you people noticing a pretty consistent food theme in this email/post? Me, too.)

~ We attended a baby shower for one of our recent converts. Diapers galore. After a game where we had to get the fastest time hanging baby clothes on a line with clothespins (a minute thirty!), some blessed soul commented, "Sister Goodpaster, you could have, like, twenty kids!" Ahahaha. You've got jokes!

I just want to close with this thought: remember to be silly. This last six weeks kicked me in the proverbial bum, but I remember so clearly the times where I made goofy faces or sounds at my companion, the person we were teaching, or our members. Do I take my job seriously? Of course I do. But I know that God wants me to be me. He wants me to remember humor. Here, tomorrow, forever. I thought about this a lot when I was in the thick of a supremely tough day. Don't just chuckle. LAUGH. Laugh a lot. Trials aren't permanent, but your way of dealing with them becomes habit. You, me, everyone. There's always room for rays of laughter/humor/JOY in the midst of trial. Always.

You want to love people? Serve them. Teach them. Learn from them. Simple as that.

I love you all. A lot. Now go laugh with someone. Okay? Okay.

Love, laughter, limitless gratitude,

Sister GP

Mission Meltdown

Friends, family, blog stalkers--

I feel the need to be both honest with the readers of this blog and myself. Being cryptic about trials, mission or no mission, benefits no one.

This week was bad. Real bad. So bad I broke down and called my mother, bad. (Against mission rules, save for Christmas and Mother's Day.) I don't want you to have to wade through a post about how my week was miserable and how I have it tough, because we don't go through trials just to complain about them on the other side. We go through trials so that we can come through better, educated, and stronger. I don't want you to feel sorry for me; I want you to learn from me.

Reader's Digest version of the Mission Meltdown 2012:

You cannot understand the weight of sickness and a companion who is an extreme challenge until you've lived it. This week had both in spades. There was a point at which rational thought was overcome by all of the anxiety of a harried situation. So I panicked and called Mama Goodpaster, sobbing. After a long conversation, her wisdom and love wrapped me in the warmth of understanding, and sent me on my way feeling renewed. Talks with my mission president and his wife did much of the same the very next day. Hugs were given, tears were shed, mercy was shown.

What I learned:

One of the key bits of genius my mother shared with me was that I'm an adult, dealing with (and preparing to deal with) adult matters. For instance, I am around my companion constantly. Because of her disposition, I worry and struggle for/with her constantly. I feel reprieve when we're teaching and serving and loving others, which happens a lot. However, I've been stewing in the sick-bed for the last three weeks with a runny/snotty case of bronchitisinfluenzaWashingtonweathersick. I pointed all of this out to my mother--the fact that I felt trapped in being sick with a sick partner who struggles even when she's "well." And then Mom threw this dagger at me:

"What do you think being a mother is like?"

Me: "Yeah, but moms get breaks and people babysit their kids. There is peace, you know, eventually."

"[Laughter] You never stop worrying about your children. You never stop dealing with new challenges and mistakes and just flat-out problems. And you do all of that while dealing with your own times of sickness. There is no day off."

Point taken.

When I spoke with my mission president's wife and I told her what I'd done and how I felt, she had a well-pointed question of her own (maybe she got it from mama g.p.?):

"Sister Goodpaster, do you feel like a martyr?"

I thought about that. And I thought some more. And I answered, "Yeah, kind of."

"Do you know what the best solution to that is?"

I shook my head.

"Don't. You are in charge of you. I love you. Don't let this bring you down."

This advice came with a ton of love and the understanding that she wasn't disappointed in what I'd done, per se. Rather, she was disappointed that I hadn't let her help. That I thought I could just do it alone and be fine. My mission president had the same reaction.

He echoed his wife's genuine concern and care for my well-being before he expressed this sentiment:

"It is my job to look out for you, even if you feel like that cry for help makes you look weak. It does not. Weakness is the refusal to accept help from the proper source." He expressed that he completely understood my reaction to my situation, but wished that I'd had enough faith to confide in him. He then asked how he could help the situation in the "right now" tense, but prefaced it with these words:

"Don't answer this question with the mask of 'I don't want to be a burden,' okay? Answer me according to your needs and I will help you."

I'm not saying my mission president and his wife are perfect. But if their reactions to my predicament aren't models of amazing parenting/how God works, then I don't know what is.

Final thought:

I used to love the "broken escalator" analogy for politics, but now I see how it completely applies to me and to many of us who get "stuck" and then freak out in spiritually-critical situations.

Picture yourself on an escalator. Then picture it breaking down, no repair in the near future. In your hands are heavy-laden shopping bags and an infant. Also, your leg is broken. There are people at the bottom and top of the escalator with all manner of devices to help you get to the top. You are weak, but they're strong. All you have to do is ask, trust, and try. In that order. Do you give up and drop the baby and heave the merchandise everywhere, and sit down and cry about how your leg hurts and how life isn't fair? (Okay, maybe for, like, ten minutes, but then...) No! It will be difficult and painful and awkward trying to balance everything, but you can do it BECAUSE there are so many people willing to carry you up those stairs. P.S. There's a doctor at the top, and a wheelchair and a stroller and someone to push that baby and five other people just in case.

Perhaps the imagery is convoluted, but that's how it played out in my brain last week. And I trust you get the point.

Someone told me yesterday that only God can turn a mess into a message. Truth.

The message here is clear: remember to breathe. Remember that sometimes you have to deal with tough circumstances, BUT that no one has to suffer to appear stronger. The ruse always catches up with you.

If everything I've shared helps no one except me, then that's okay. But I know this: the more we learn from our missteps, the less likely we are to repeat them.

Be well. Live better. God is love.

Love from sunny and warm (finally!) Washington,

Sister Goodpaster

Personal Promptings

Loves of my life~

SO THIS WEEK yours truly...

~ made a small child cry when I (jokingly) told him after the 5th grab on a jello square, "No more for you! All the rest are for me!" Confusion as to whether I should laugh or feel like a terrible human being.

~ ate 27 more pieces of cake on account of Sister Anderson's birthday last Friday. Stop feeding me, people! I cannot say no!

~ ATE AT CHIPOTLE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVERS!!

~ probably developed a steaming case of bronchitis.

~ received a call from the Bishop saying a recent convert's daughter was talking to her mom about the blessings of baptism and wants to be baptized ASAP. Oh hello, miracle.

~ was asked by the 11-year-old son of a lesser-active member, "Sister Goodpaster, do you think there's anything after this life?"

Me: "As in, where do we go when we die?"

Him: "Yeah, like, is this the end? I want to learn."

Oh, hello miracle numero dos.

Story of the week: The reason why you always listen to and then FOLLOW your heart/conscience/the Holy Spirit... So we're in Seattle to deal with Sister A's bronchial grossness. Upon leaving we are STAH-HAR-VING. One thing you prioritize as a missionary is sustenance. Immediately, I think of Chipotle. There are probably five or less in our whole mission, and NONE near Granite Falls.

Our GPS finds the Chipotle through a series of confusing directions. We enter and I enjoy the best lunch I've had in five months. As we're gathering our things to leave, a young woman approaches our table.

"Hey, sisters; I just wanted to say 'hello.' I'm a member of the church."

"Yeah, we sort of figured because the only people who refer to us as 'sisters' are, indeed, members. What can we do for you?"

She goes on to tell us about her less-active friend she works with, and how she feels like the missionaries should stop by her home in Bothell to give her some encouragement.

"Absolutely, we can do that! Is there anything else?"

"Well, actually, yeah..."

She then tells us that she just moved to Seattle, and she's having a hard time adjusting to work and church. Then she timidly asks, "Um, would it be okay if we talked outside?"

"Of course!"

For the next 30 minutes we share stories of spiritual uplifting goodness and this woman realizes that she IS strong, that God really is aware of her, and that all will be well. We also exchange addresses so we can keep in touch with her.

P.S. All of this occurs on a shopping mall bench.

Bliss.

Point: Don't underestimate God's power to multitask. He may be graciously carving the path to the nearest Chipotle, but He's also placing people in your path who need you. Not somebody else who would tell them to "chin up and get over it." You! Not only can you uplift another, but you'll be edified yourself. I promise.

Make a beautiful week, and relish the promptings from Someone with MUCH more foresight than you. Sacred, meaningful experiences are in store.

Love to you all,

Sister G.

A Beautiful Birthday Week

Hello, loves of my life!

Let's get down to business to talk about what a wonderful week I had, topped off with a celebration of the day I was birthed. What's interesting about not being home for the holidays and other important days is that you learn to FIND joy. I haven't been home for my birthday (or Thanksgiving...or Easter...) for the last four years. I used to have this Mopey McWhinerson attitude about it. Now? I'm appreciating that I have the rest of my life to be at home/with family/friends on these dates. I will never have another birthday with these people in this place again. Honorary members of the Goodpaster family are everywhere! I had about seven offers for birthday cake, presents, flowers, and general lovefesting. AND missionary work got done, too. Soooo good!

As promised, Mamalama Goodpaster relayed all of your facebook messages to me via email. Warmed my soggy, Washington-resident heart. Thank you! More than thank you! Love to you. As much as I can communicate through keys and screen.

This last week it was G-G-G-G-G-G-G-GORGEOUS in Granite Falls. We did our weekly planning outside, on our tiny excuse of a front lawn, while the sun shined, no clouds in the sky, just about 60 degrees. Bliss. BIRTHDAY bliss.

In other odds and ends, this week I:

~ Held a tarantula. Picture evidence exists. This is my warning to my mother to have an adult diaper on when she views my next round of pictures.

~ Was surrounded by llamas as I tried to get into our car after dinner.

~ Marveled at a 5-day-old baby, born to a family in our congregation on St. Patrick's Day.

~ Had DELICIOUS Indian food for the first time in forever.

This week's bit of insight came to me yesterday evening. A teenage girl in the ward asked us at dinner, "Are missions stressful?"

Pause.

More pausing. Pondering.

Thought: LIFE is FULL of opportunities for stress. Of all sorts. I thought back on all of the times on this mission where I could have chosen to let a situation stress me out, but I chose to give it a moment, breathe, and laugh about it. Little things, you know? Then I thought about all the times where I chose to react like a child and throw my hands up at a situation that, in hindsight, wasn't as cataclysmic as I thought it was at the time.

Take life in stride. You know what helps me?

Prayer.

After a very frustrating inventory with my district leader last night, I tried to determine why every single conversation I have with him is frustrating. Stressful, if you will.

I concluded that he is an awful listener. And then I talked with Sister Anderson.

Think about how prayer works. God is not physically next to us when we speak to Him, nor does He answer in audible ways. Ahem, usually. I know this is by divine design.

I've never ever ever heard someone complain that they were "trying to pray, but God just kept interrupting me and I couldn't get a word out!" or "God kept interjecting with advice when all I wanted Him to do was listen!" or "I prayed to God, but He just kept rolling His eyes!"

Conclusion: God does not listen or converse like the rest of us. He is the best listener of all time. I wonder if we tried to communicate with one another, to really listen, like God listens, how much more loving we'd be. Let's listen intently, respond thoughtfully, and just show love. I'm by no means perfect, but the faults of another should always cause us to look inward. And be that change.

Remember to breathe. To pray. To find the joy.

Love,

Sister Goodpaster