And while we're on the subject of being appaled, you'll never guess what happened to us on Saturday night. Well, you actually probably could guess, based on the subject line, but I have to tell you the whole story anyway. We were out visiting a family in our ward way out in the country. After we left, on our way to our last stop of the night, we're driving down a country road. I am driving. We're just chatting. Nothing strange. BAM! BAM! Two very loud sounds from the passenger side of the car. I'm thinking I
ran into a mailbox, although I was driving nowhere in the vicinity of any. I ask, "What was that? Did I hit something?" and Sister Hoskins says, "No, no..." I'm intently driving straight forward now, my eyes glued to making a perfectly straight line with the car, and she's looking around. Three seconds later, "we just got egged." Me: "What?!?" Her: "Our car just got egged. Pull over. We're going to call the police." I comply. We put on our hazards, and find the phone. A guy in a truck pulls up next to us, going the other direction, before we can call anyone, and asks, "Did y'all just get an egg thrown at you?" Sister Hoskins explains that we did, and that we're going to call our friend who's a cop. (The husband of the family we've just been visiting works for the police department.) When we call the family, at first the wife answers, and when we tell her what's happened she's all in a panic, but quickly the husband gets on the phone and says, "Just come back. We'll clean you off." On the way back, we nearly get egged again, because as we approach the scene of the crime, we slow down and see white things flying. Sister Hoskins, who is now driving, stops, rolls down her window, and yells, "We called the cops!" A rustle of clothing and some kids, basically teenagers, running. We then notice that there are eggshells all over the road right there. We get back to the house, they wash off our car with a hose, and send us on our merry way. The car smells RANCID; we're sure they threw ROTTEN eggs at us. Blech! The next morning, we still had eggshells in the passenger window. Well, there's something that never even crossed my mind as something that could happen to me in my life, let alone on my mission.We are turning the corner here in Tomball, I can feel it. We had an appointment yesterday that fell through, but we have one with a different person on Wednesday at the church. Actually, that was arranged by the zone leaders. Someone who lives across the street from the church (which is our proselyting area) walked into the chapel and got a copy of the Book of Mormon from their ward's bishop, talked to them for a little bit, and set up an appointment. Grand things are on the horizon. We've been having more and more success with less active families, and I'm even starting to feel better about tracting, thanks to the example of Sister Hoskins and the testimonies of other missionaries that it can be done, it can be productive, and it has a purpose whether you find people or not. The Tomball ward is amazing. Almost every member family we meet with has some neighbor they're working on sharing the gospel with, and some have many. We're striving right now to implement the ward mission plan, which will certainly channel all those efforts and inspire even greater missionary success.
Good for you for having the missionaries over last minute. You are obviously one of their favorite families. I know we have a few families we can stop by on when we don't have a dinner, and it never fails, they'll invite us to stay. It requires a little humility, but I think of Alma when he first meets Amulek: "Will ye give an humble servant of God something to eat?" (Alma 8:19). And the best part is, once when we did that, later the mom told us that the lesson we shared on that spur of the moment dinner really helped her in her calling. It inspired her to testify more. God's hand is in everything.
Speaking of the Olympics, I would be sad too if I were a Canadian missing the Canadian Olympics. A missionary in our district right now goes home two days before the opening ceremony, and while he's not rubbing it in or even acting like he's on his way home, I'm trying my hardest not to be a little jealous. By thinking things like, "well he missed both Torino and Beijing!" and "missionary work only comes around once in every life--the Olympics happen every two years." They'll be over in the blink of an eye, and my goal is to be so focused on the work that I don't even notice. My best advice would be, just give the the highlights in your e-mails. Less than 250 words per week should suffice. Satiate my appetite, but don't leave me craving more.
But you know what I am craving: more stories about Eli's genius vocabulary and future career as a book reviewer. Love the title of the book. Love the fact that he knew "realistic fiction" and "acrostic." I didn't know that in second grade! All I knew in second grade was the poem from Matilda about how to spell difficulty: Mrs. D, Mrs. I, Mrs. F-F-I, Mrs. C, Mrs. U, Mrs. L-T-Y. (To which the Trunchbull responds, "Why are all these women married?!?") And that's the book I'm going to add to his list: Matlida. Unless you think the Trunchbull will scare him. I think he'll love it. It will make him laugh out loud. Maybe not as much as Splat the Cat, but I haven't even read that book. So hopefully I won't die very soon. And if he's old enough to write a book as morbid as "What All Kids Should Read Before They Die," he's old enough to read Matilda. And the visual aids thing is also hilarious. Maybe you should show him that Shakespearean poem, "The Seven Ages of Man." It sounds like he's already got most of them, but it might give him a few more ideas.
I'm sorry to hear Uncle Ellis passed away, but I agree that he's probably enjoying Grandpa and Grandma McClellan's company once again. I'm glad to hear Jason Wilding is headed for Brazil, home of the 2016 Olympics. Which mission? It's a shot in the dark, but someone from the Tomball ward just headed to Londrina, but there are like 20 or 30 missions in Brazil. Just wondering. And the most exciting news of all: Co-dizzle! Yeah! Go on a mission! Date a tall redhead from Rupert! (And probably in that order, although letter-writing is a fine art to be cherished and developed in between.) A redhead from Rupert...that reminds me of my favorite redhead, who happens to be named Rupert. I first started loving him in H.P.A.T.C.O.S. Also a good book for developing geniuses. Wow. Hopefully, he won't have read all of them by the time I return.
When I get to this point, I always feel like I have more to say, but I can't remember what all your letters said, or if there's some great news from my side I'm forgetting. No, I never did get a letter from Aunt Lenore, but I'll send thanks along if you get me her address. And I'm making calls today about visiting an opthamologist. I'm leaning more and more towards getting a new doctor, but I think I'll wait a little more and see how I feel. I may just go to him once more, because I'll likely be transferred after my next appointment, which is in March. President and Sister Hansen are always great to counsel with me. "It'll work out." That was President Hinckley's motto, and I'm striving to make it my own. In addition to "less is more."
And since "brevity is the soul of w(h)it," here I make my end with LOVE:
Sister Whitney Mikell Sorensen
P.S. All the debutantes in Houston couldn't match the bussel in my hedgerow!
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