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.