Holidays on the mission are lovely. God can't provide what you love most (your family), but He makes up for it in the details.
We received a good-morning text from one of our investigators that read, "Please enjoy today as though you were Joseph Smith on the day the church was restored."
I'm not sure that we accomplished this per say, but we came as close as we could.
Our first dinner appointment was with the Galandra family. She makes potatoes and stuffing just like my mom. And he is a nut about Jewish mysticism. Three hour conversation about the gospel from a Jewish perspective? Yes, please. Their daughter sat on the couch with her nose in a book the entire meal; how very Stewart of her.
Our second dinner appointment - distanced three hours apart from the first, just in time for the stomach to crave gravy again - was a missionary smorgasbord. Twelve missionaries, the mission president and his wife, our office couple, and one very cute family from the ward. Sister Walkenhorst makes apple pie just like my mom. And they seated us with the children! Yessss. For the oldest unmarried grandchild, the kid's table has always been my appointed place. The company was perfect. The five year-old exclaimed over and over about the bits of sausage in the stuffing. The twelve year-old was thrilled to tell the sister missionaries about her upcoming musical. And the grumpy seven year-old kept sneaking food onto his sister's plate. These are the details that make Thanksgiving sweet.
We filled the hours remaining by visiting a widow (forty-five minutes looking at family photos) and singing in the Alzheimer's ward at a local care facility (amazing how they forget their own families and yet remember Christmas songs).
Happy Thanksgiving. Happy Christmas! Happy life, dear friends.
God is the author of all this good.
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