Sadness and Joy

Loved ones,

I'll give you the rundown in real time: 10 minutes ago I read my mother's email telling me about how our family dog died this past weekend. I go to the library bathroom and cry like a child for minutes. I compose myself, return to my computer, and 20 minutes later Sis. Hone tells me she just got accepted to BYU-Idaho. I feel genuinely happy in her behalf.

Everything in its right place.

This week we watched a mormon.org profile (which you should all check out because they would fill my heart with joy even if I weren't a Mormon) with a woman who's gone through some major heartache. At the end of this video (which featured a mother who'd lost her 4 year old son), was this basic message: Life is not fair. But life doesn't have to be fair because God offers us so much more. This life is not the final product of who we are or what we can be. Our happiness is intertwined with sorrow because life is about dealing with it ALL...and then rejoicing in the fact that heartache isn't forever, joy is.

This week was wonderful. Service opportunities were rampant. I want to speak to you all candidly about the real blessings we receive because we have a loving Father in Heaven. I refuse to believe in coincidence, chance, or luck. Refuse. I believe in blessings and I believe that God uses us to uplift and carry others. Intentionally, perfectly. That I get to experience this on some level every day reaffirms to me that I'm where I'm supposed to be.

This week we cleared out the house of a family who's garage burned up during the snowstorm a few weeks ago. Their generator caught fire and they're fortunate to be alive. P.S. the day before the house caught fire, an enormous tree in their front yard fell on and crushed their brand new car. We had to throw away everything that smelled so badly of smoke/was burned that it couldn't be salvaged. It included more of their possessions than not.

As we threw piles upon piles of damaged belongings into a massive trash bin, I thought. A lot. Our cars can get destroyed and our homes can be ashes, but we move on. We are alive. We have one another. The mother of the family told us that we were the answer to her prayers, angels in her life. I don't feel like an angel or a glowing, fiery answer to prayer. But I know that I'm a regular person trying to help other regular people.

Maybe you would never feel sorrow about the loss of a pet. Or maybe you'd never feel relief at going to college in Idaho, but some regular people do. We are here for one another. We literally cannot make it alone. Or, maybe you could, but what a hollow way to live. I believe empathy is the word.

Here's what I know: Bad comes with good. Mortality is not the end. Tender, special joys can be found in everything we experience. Everything.

Love,

Sister GP

Here Is Where I Live!

Love the Washington fog--so cool! I told my Mom that she'd probably want to paint this.

Right after our monster of a snowstorm in January. Total accumulation of frozen whiteness: two feet!

First Set of Missionary Photos

Perfecting my snowball-throwing skills in January. That red car is what they trust us to drive. Except when Granite Falls didn't clear the roads after the big snowstorm...

Sister Hone and I on Christmas morning. My first Christmas away from home, but I sucked it up and did okay.

Our teddy bears are wearing T-shirts that say, "Somebody in Granite Falls loves you." Ahhhhh.

My first companion at the MTC, Sister Driggers.

The infamous map photo that all missionaries pose for while at the MTC. "I'm going here!"

The Good, The Bad, and The Head-Scratching Moments of What People Will Say

Fact: when you wear this nametag, people use it as a sign to divulge interesting details of their life. This week, without solicitation, I've been told:

1. I just got out of jail and my wife is dead.

2. I ripped open my [edited for content] in a freak motocross accident.

3. I spent all of last night listening to Whitney Houston. Her albums just make me feel "one" with her now that she's gone.

I'll let you ponder on those for a minute.

At so many points during the week I think, "oh! I need to remember that for the weekly email! People will laugh/cry/enjoy." And then it comes to email time and I'm at a loss for words. Gross. I'm going to start leaving myself figurative breadcrumbs in my daily planner so that this mind-blank atrocity doesn't happen again.

I don't have any hugely uplifting anecdotes from this past week, other than to say the work and the love move forward. I just wrote a good friend of mine that "no news on the mission is good news." I could tell you about the missionary-esque details of my life, but it would read more like a travelogue than you'd care to read. Basically, I have a lot of cool things happen to me everyday and sometimes all the coolness gets muddled together into a cool mass. Was that last sentence written by a 14 year old girl? Yes.

Oh! This week, everyone should know that my mother sent me a Valentine's Day package containing a handmade card. Don't worry that it contained multiple pictures of Robert Pattinson/Edward Cullen. I laughed for minutes. A public thanks to you, mom.

(Mother's Editorial Comment #1 -- For the record, there were only two photos of Edward/Rob in that card. Also, she forgot to mention the delicious homemade oatmeal cookies that were included in that same package. I'll forgive her for now...)

Final thought: We had a conversation with a woman last night while eating dinner. She talked about how all of life's challenges funnel us to the place we're supposed to be. She made a comment that, basically, if everything (job, marriage, faith) had worked out like she planned, she never wouldn't be sitting with us in that moment. I think about moments a lot.

I think about how, if my plans in the like 2 years or so had worked out like I planned, I wouldn't be absolutely blessed to meet the people I'm meeting. People say that when one door closes, another opens. I believe that when one door closes, not only does another one open, but it opens to a room of wonderful individuals, just waiting to meet, befriend, and love you. No schmaltz involved. We can focus on what we've lost on botched plans OR we can take a look at all of the people waiting to make our life fuller, richer, and more meaningful. Appreciate those moments and the people basking in them with you.

I love you all more than you know. I think about what you're doing, if you're ok. How you're changing and growing and becoming better than you were yesterday. That's all of you, not just my family. Be well. God's making provisions for you right.this.minute.

Love,

Sister G.

(Mother's Editorial Comment #2 -- Sister G sent some photos to share on the blog. As soon as I figure out how to upload those, you'll see them first here!)

Toothaches and Chaotic Religion

Hello, friends and family!

First order of business: this week, in a strange twist of irony, I found out about Whitney Houston's death whilst under the influence of prescribed narcotics (too soon?). It went a little like this:

At the beginning of last week, a chunk of my lower gum swelled and my back molar started to ache like crazy. After a couple days of that nonsense, I called the dentist in our congregation, described my pain, and set an appointment for this past Monday. To manage the constant pain until I could get in to see him, he prescribed me Lortab. Yikes! To imagine what I was like on the stuff, imagine someone marijuaned out of their mind. Quite a sight. Songs were sung. Words were slurred. No video evidence exists, I hope. Anyway, Monday comes around and I'm at the dentist's office. He does all these tests to see what could be wrong with my tooth/gum area because nothing is visibly awry. He takes x-rays, the whole bit. Nothing. UNTIL, he takes his pointy-hooked instrument and roots around my gum area. Blood flows like wine. And then he exclaims, "Oh sick!" and pulls out a giant popcorn kernel. The thing had lodged itself in between my gum and my tooth and had been there, I presume, for about a week. Bingo! I felt ridiculous, but look ma, no more pain!

But seriously, I'm sad about Whitney.

In joyful news, this week I mowed a lawn for the first time ever! On a riding mower! AND I tilled a garden with an electric tiller. Call me Sister Deere.

Also, this past week was zone conference, where we got to hear from our mission president and his wife. Her message is what I want to leave you with...

There are SOOO many people we meet on a regular basis that tell us, "I don't do organized religion." I want to ask them, "do you believe in chaotic/halfway religion?"

Here's the point: any good parent prepares their young children with every needful thing when they go on a trip. Why would God be any different? Why would He send us to earth without any roadmap or organization? He wouldn't. Sis. Wilson put it so beautifully when she said that if she were looking for God's Church on the earth today, she'd look for the most organized establishment possible, with the fullest amount of blessings and provisions available. You don't send a toddler to Nairobi with a bobby pin and a piece of cheese. God wouldn't send us here to muddle through with "unorganized religion" and mediocre instructions. He loves us more than to leave us in the lurch.

This week marked my 3rd month on the mission, and because they scheduled me to go home almost a month before my 18th month mark, you get to enjoy 14 more months of this beautiful prose. Congratulations! Buckle up, people, I've only just begun.

Have a stellar week, my friends!

Love,

Sister G.P.

Oh, The Fun We Have!!

Warm (literally!) greetings to everyone! For the last 4 days it hasn't rained once. The sun has been out all day with little to no cloud-cover. Temperatures peak in the low 60s. I make this point from the very beginning because it's HUGE. Mood improvement, less fatigue, friendlier people in general. Good times!! And significant gratitude for the fact that my hometown looks like this 300 days out of the year.

This week I sent my camera's SD card home to the parentals, so y'all should see some pictures on this blog soon. Laughter will, no doubt, ensue. I wish I could tell you a five-minute story about every single person I've photographed, but alas, time is not on my side. Stories when I get home? Very yes.

In "Good Always Triumphs Over Evil" news, the Giants won the Super Bowl!! I bet that grimace of defeat fits nicely on Tom Brady's bum-chin face. But I digress...

This week on "As the Granite Falls Churn," domestic violence occurred outside our apartment. I know what you're thinking. "Sister G, this is not appropriate blog fodder. Domestic disputes aren't funny." In this context, oh heck yes, they are.

Picture it: It's approximately 9 pm and we're inside studying. When all of the sudden we hear these blood-curdling cries from across the street. "Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth" is a spot-on description. When Detective Hone cracks the door to see what sadness is unfolding, she spies a woman on the street corner, hysterically in tears. Being the good soul that she is, she says, "Goodpaster, we've got to go help this woman. We've got to do something." So we put on shoes and coats and head out the door. From out of nowhere, this man crawls out of our neighbor's bush and walks hurriedly down the street, in the opposite direction of said woman. When she spies him, she takes off after him like a bat out of hello dolly. Upon catching him, she jumps on his back and starts WAILING on him with fists of fury and spitting all manner of profanity. Honedog and I look at each other like "What the...?!" I immediately think, "Should I call the cops? Do we snag our pepper spray and break this up? Do we laugh because this completely bizzaro situation is happening 10 feet from us? Does this woman have a weapon and we're about to witness a murder?" The man then sits on the ground, head in his hands, bawling. It becomes clear that both individuals are super drunk. They appear to settle the situation and said man walks off. Worry subsides and we head in. Twenty minutes later, we hear the same woman (I've named her "Theresa" for narrative purposes) wailing in the streets, "QUINNNNNN!!! (or maybe) CLLLINNNTTTTTTT!!!!" We rush to our upstairs window to see her stumbling up and down the streets before she walks into our post office. At this point it's approaching our bedtime and we figure Theresa is done for the night. Also, our guts hurt from all the laughter.

Moral of the Story: alcohol has the potential to make you look like the fool in the town square. Also, when drama that belongs on an episode of Cops happens outside your door, the best vantage point is from above. To redeem myself and let you know that watching Granite Falls drunkards wasn't the only important thing to happen this week, I'll share something uplifting. It is simple, but it confirmed to me that one good choice influences many.

This week we had another lesson with a woman we've been teaching for the last 2 months. She has a daughter who's 7 and can be a handful (probably like most 7 year olds). I don't even remember what we're teaching when she makes this connection: "Sisters, since we've been meeting together, I have more patience. I am a better mother now than I was before." That's when it hit me: the people we teach, and even those we don't, aren't islands. They are connected to hundreds, even thousands of people on a weekly basis. When we influence them for good, it spreads. That love, that charitable/kind/patient attitude seeps into their parenting, friendshipping, everything. The idea isn't to convince people that they, alone, need to be better. Convincing isn't even part of the equation. What means most is helping them see that they have the potential to make EVERYTHING better. But it starts with them. God will help. He always does. But we have to move our feet if we want to be better for everyone else.

The Gospel is amazing. On a daily basis I feel I have a Thanksgiving feast and it's my job to share it with those who think the only food in existence is crackers.

Let's be good, no, BETTER to each other. Your influence reaches farther than you know.

Love,

Sister G.