8-10-09 "Fired Up in College Station"

First things first: thanks for the picture, Mom. It came through. And I hope y'all enjoyed FOREVER STRONG. In addition to the wordless acting of Idaho Falls's native actress, did you notice that Zig-Zag from HOLES and Rob McClanahan from MIRACLE are also in the movie? And it's funny that you bring up FIREPROOF--for more reasons than one actually. The first is that some of the neighborhoods around here look like they ARE the place where the movie was filmed. We turned a corner once, and I was sure I would see Kirk Cameron outside taking a baseball bat to his computer.
But here's the second reason. Before I tell you, remember that what I'm about to tell you is absolutely true, and since I'm telling you, I'M FINE! Yesterday, Sister Davis and I discovered that our apartment building is NOT fireproof. We left for church meetings at 6:30, and everything was great. We had four investigators there, two of which are a husband and wife (plus their son, who I didn't count in the four). Right before Relief Society started, Sister Davis looked at me and said the sisters in Bryan just left a message on our phone: our apartment building was on fire. We weren't really sure how bad the damage would be, but we sat through Relief Society. Luckily, we didn't have our regular after church meeting, but it still took us about twenty minutes to leave church, what with one thing and another. I want you to know that all that time, I wasn't very nervous. Somehow I knew that everything would be okay. Maybe it's because I'd just read the story about Grandpa and Grandma Sorensen's housefire on a Sunday that Dad printed off for me. I knew at the very least I would have my journal preserved. Just like them, I'd been at church when I needed to be, so I knew I'd obtain blessings one way or another.
Our church house is right down the road from our apartment complex, and large trees block the far left side from view when you first enter the parking lot, so when we first arrived, the damage looked minimal. Our apartment door was still closed, and our section of the building still appeared mostly in tact. There was a yellow POLICE LINE stretched from a tree in the parking lot to the far side of the building. Sister Davis started walking right for our apartment door, about to cross the line, but I stopped her. Maybe I was worried that a fireman or police officer would stop us if I didn't. In any case, I choose to obey the words, "Fire Line DO NOT CROSS." The Relief Society President, Sister Carter, followed us, arriving just a few minutes after us, and she helped us find the right people to talk to. In walking towards the main office, we saw the real damage. The eight apartments on the left side of the building were all black inside, with windows knocked out and only toothpicks of ridgebeams left. Some smoke still emitted from the area to the slight left of our apartment. A fireman led the three of us into our apartment, warning us that there would probably be water damage. Which there was. The moment we unlocked the door, water started seeping over the threshhold of the door. The carpet squelched and squerched with every step. The electricity was off, so it was very dark inside. The fireman said the water had come down through the walls, which is why the carpet soaked it up like a sponge. He said we should get a move on removing furniture, especially wood because it would soak up the water from the floor and burst when it reached a breaking point. The smell inside was a mixture of rich campfire and soggy shower. We grabbed a few essentials--my medicine, my journal, work clothes--and left. We had a quick lunch of spaghetti at Sister Carter's, and then met the elders and members of the ward back at the apartment to pack up everything. I didn't realize how much stuff is in a missionary apartment. Individual missionaries travel light, being capable of fitting all our belongings in two or three suitcases, but apartments come with other essentials I seldom think about. Imagine, I just got here a month ago; all that stuff's been here longer than I have. Kitchen accessories, bed frames, mattresses, desks, chairs, a couch, a bookshelf, lamps, a closetful of accumulated holiday decorations, a vaccuum. Who knew?!? The most stressful part of the day was packing it all up, and only because people were looking to me or Sister Davis to make decisions about what to keep and what to throw. I have no idea if we need all this tupperware that has no lids... But the nice part was we didn't have to worry about finding a place to store everything. And don't misunderstand me: everyone was being helpful and nice. I just don't think my mind realized until that moment that we were actually moving out, and that some quick decisions needed to be made. That's mostly it about the fire. If you want to find out more, I'm sure our friend Google could tell you.
The upside? For now we're staying with Sister Carter and her husband, retirees whose house comes straight out of HIGH SOCIETY. I kid you not. A tree lined-driveway, vines growing up the side of the house, a pool out back, not to mention the small, private lake, complete with gazebo-ed penninsula. Large flower arrangements everywhere, elegant picture frames, a dining room table that looks like a great place to store all the silverware given in anticipation of a second marriage to George Kitridge. The only thing missing is Grace Kelly herself. I'm honestly expecting Bing and Louie to come over tonight and play a special concert, maybe even bringing their friend Frank, the magazine reporter. The room I'm staying in even has a minature sailboat, like the one Grace uses in the pool. But alas, missionaries are not allowed to swim. No worries though. Sister Carter made us delicious Popeye Pancakes this morning, known in the Carter Clan as "Dutch Babies." The College Station elders were invited, and we all practiced our fishing, er, casting of fishing poles, in the lake this morning. Last night, we also went on a tour of the neighborhood ponds on their golf cart, looking for frogs. We saw plenty, except that they're skittish, jumping the moment they sense the vibrations that indicate we're approaching. But their jumps are a sight in and of themselves. And you can usually see two, googly eyes poking out just above the surface of the water. What a sight. (The Carters have a son named Elijah, too, but currently he's a bit of a rebel. Their youngest son, Zac, spelled just like that, is on a mission right now in Milan. Perfect, considering he already graduated from a school of fashion-design or something related.)
Now I have very little time left to tell you about the rest of our week. Teaching Chang is exciting and challenging, since she has limited English. Her husband is doing post-doctoral studies in Nuclear Physics. Some people from Texas can't even pronounce "nuclear," but I suppose there's a different word for it in Mandarin. We're also teaching a single-mother, Paula, and possibly a man named Carl. Great experience there, but no time to tell it. Also, don't expect any letters this week because I have no time to write them today, and my paper and envelopes are in storage. Just know that all is well, and adventures are around every turn. One last thing. We all went to the temple on Thursday. What a blessing! I am so blessed to be in a mission with regular temple attendance. It was exactly the boost I needed. I could feel the love of my family--all of it, from all eternity--just before entering the celestial room. Which I did without a hitch, by the way. I've really been helped in my desires to understand the temple better. We even had time to do a round of initiatory before our session.
Love always,
Sister Whitney Sorensen
PS We played tennis with an investigator last week. It is so hard. More respect, Mr. PeRFect. PPS My bowling scores from last Monday were 70 and 50. No strikes, no spares--no problem. PPPS I have no idea if Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte have had their temple work done, but I don't think either of them ever married in this life, so who do you think they'll choose when the chance comes?