Overwhelmed

Is it acceptable to express weakness in a public venue? Authors traditionally await wisdom or a change of situation before exposition.

But today I need to write, and you happen to be the listener at the other end.

1. Much is good. This must be acknowledged first. Moore is lovely. My companion is bold.* General Conference was downright invigorating. I have the squishiest mattress in all the world. My bike can live in our apartment for a while yet because we still have a car. I am fully unpacked, and my ritualistic cleaning of the apartment is halfway finished. I have much to be grateful  for.

2. I am stressed. I don't know why. Maybe it's all that getting lost. Or trying to replace a beloved sister missionary. It could be the unrelenting pace.  I haven't even begun my two-transfers per week Sister Training schedule yet. All I know is that I want to curl up in a ball and sleep. Or just be alone. Or have a good cry. And there's not much to be done except to endure, and to trust that things will be better.

I don't know how this quote fits into my current situation, but it seems suitable manna for the day. Perhaps it will strengthen you, too:

"We may be insignificant and contemptible in our own eyes and in the eyes of other, but the truth remains that we are children of God." _quoted by President Eyering, Oct 2012 General Conference.

We are children of God. So we push on, keep smiling, say as many kind words as we can, and build the Kingdom of God the best we know to.


*Bold. An anecdote should capture her unabashed style. I commented on my second afternoon that perhaps we should try a new door approach. She said nothing, but at the next door she applied my flippant commentary. A grumpy middle-aged man answered the door. "Hello, we're missionaries and we'd like to sing a song for you today," she said. I turned and stared at her; singing was not a part of the script. "Thanks, but we'ere Baptist," he said. His tone said, "Yeah right. Get off my porch, you punks." I was relieved until my companion responded, "Yeah, but we can still sing to you, can't we?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. My face went bright pink, and I laughed. Sister Ott stared at me soberly and said, "First verse of Nearer My God To Thee?" She was so serious that all I could do was sing. I can't decide who was more uncomfortable--me, or the homeowner. We sang, shook hands, and left. I continued to laugh all the way up the street and as we drove home. This is going to be an exciting transfer.