Eggs on the Skillet

"God makes glorious our failed good intentions."  ~journal entry, March 10, 2013

The lady struck a mirthful chord in us, which we could not forget.

The door was a dark red, sort of scuffed up around the edges. This is an important detail to no one, but it should be mentioned because missionaries are connoisseurs of doors. We look at them all day long, hoping that someone will answer our knock and relieve us of observing doors and wreaths and entryways so we can move on to loftier purposes of praying and teaching.

When the red door opened, we were greeted by an air of energy. a short, skinny, old woman stood before us, but "old" is the wrong descriptor. I'm sure she's at least 65, but her blond bouncy curls and middle-school outfit make age a confusing barometer. She sported a Catching Fire t-shirt tucked into skinny jeans, crowned with a sparkly turquoise belt. Her dentures provided a bright-white smile, and she looked at us so expectantly, I was sure she'd let us in.

We were halfway through our introductions when she interrupted us. "That's so nice. But I've got eggs on the skillet." But then she looked at us expectantly again, so we haltingly offered her a card. Once again, appreciation flowed forth followed by a description of her eggs on the skillet. The spatula in her right hand gave evidence of her task, so we let her go with a promise to return.

We shook our heads and laughed as we went back to the car. I wrote her address in my planner on a whim, and we quickly adopted "eggs on a skillet" as a versatile punch-line. How do we excuse our less-active friend when he doesn't answer the door for our visit? It's OK; he's definitely got eggs on his skillet. Mindy can't come to the appointment that we've had set for the last three weeks? No problem; she probably has eggs on the skillet! So the elders are grouchy; it's OK, they've got eggs on the skillet!!

Despite our love for the woman (and her eggs), she was never home when we dropped by to visit.

Enter God into the messy equation.

Five days after our initial encounter, in a neighborhood four streets away, we sat at the bedside of a woman bemoaning her husband's death. Imagine our surprise when the doorbell rang and the woman behind the screen (this time a white door with windows) was none other than Eggs on the Skillet! Corinne Umphrey** introduced herself, and her outfit was just as animated as the first time: red bowling shoes, red striped gauchos, and a red plaid button-up shirt. She was there with a bouquet of plastic flowers for our mourning friend.

And I loved her even more when she stooped down to pick up the bits of dog-bitten diaper that littered the floor. I had looked at them with distaste, but it hadn't even occurred to me to clean them up. She pulled out her plastic flowers and arranged them in a dollar-store vase, and we made an official introduction.

This week we will ask our member friend to introduce us to Corinne Umphrey, and perhaps she will let us share a message. I felt a divine hand of orchestration in our second encounter with this breakfast-making diva. Perhaps God has a metaphorical spatula in His hands and He's stewing up something nice for the children He so loves...

I sense some providential eggs on the skillet today!




*sorry all you loved ones over 60...it's only old if you're a tiny bopper like me. You are obviously only a day over 30.

**Name changed but only slightly. It's such a fitting name for the woman of description.

Priorities

"When priorities are in place, one can more patiently endure unfinished business."
 ~Elder Russell M. Nelson

Greenie

Amateur. Novice. Infant.
New.

Newness is hard, and sometimes I forget that.

I have been reading my journal from a year ago, and I hardly recognize the faith-filled struggle that faced Sister Stewart of January 2013. Everything was hard: talking to people; getting up; smiling; feeling good; looking good; working fast; teaching well.

Sister Ellis expresses the challenge perfectly:
"It kind of feels like I went to school naked, and every now and then I'm getting clothes. But it's nothing big-like a sock or a headband or something."

This is it exactly! The mission thrusts us beyond "developmentally appropriate curriculum" and into a world that is as divine as it is challenging.We gain skills and faith little by little, but it never feels like enough to cover our vulnerable consecrated offering. And it is in the is overwhelming experience that we lose ourselves, find ourselves, and learn who the Christ really is.

Now I watch Sister Ellis battle the Goliaths unique to being a new missionary, and I wish that I could promise her a quick-fix to peace and confidence. But I feel that the endowment of power that I have received (and that which she will also receive) is the culmination of faith-filled days. There is power alone in enduring to the end, in learning to trust God, day after difficult day, for the duration of 18 or 24 months. If I were with the hosts of Israel as they wandered in the wilderness, I am sure that I would have tried to store up extra manna for my tomorrows. But the mission will not allow it. I am so grateful for 13 months under my belt. Thirteen months represents approximately 400 days of gathering manna.

And now I trust in God.

I still work hard, but I don't credit successes or failures to my own efforts. As Paul said, "I have planned, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase." (1 Cor 3:6)

This is His work. New things grow old, and seasons pass away. But we are saints of all seasons, and He will Guide us in every stage.

Miracles, duly noted

"Never live life without miracles."  -Elder Neil L. Anderson

* My companion opened up this week. This is big, because she's been trying to battle her demons alone. I feel the tension, but there's nothing I can do until she talks. Now we're growing close, and I know that God can burst the pavilion that she thought was separating them.

*Food. Lots of it! We only had two meal appointment this week. I'm spoiled, and I hate to see a week with blank dinner slots. Members help fight discouragement, and their food helps fight the grocery bill. So I prayed, and Brother Newman* (a big-hearted inactive gentleman) responded. He delivered three large bags of groceries. Now our cupboards are stocked, and I know that God hears my petty, tummy-rumbling prayers.

*ARP. I love the church's addiction recovery program! We started working through step one with a less-active woman who is trying to quit smoking. We felt inspired to bring a counselor from the Relief Society with us, and it turns out that she is also struggling with smoking! We simply sat back and let the two of them encourage each other. What a miracle.

* New investigators, no effort required. We chatted with our neighbor Laura* as we always do (she smokes outside, so we see her all the time). She mentioned that her niece moved in with her, and she readily accepted the invitation to get her 13-year-old involved in Young Womens. Ellie* carpooled with us to a Bishop Chat last night, and our sweet young women looked past her non-For-Strength-of-Youth-outfit and befriended her. Miracle!

*Green! It's my favorite color. It is also the color that represents "healthy" on the missionary stress test. I have spent most of my mission in an anxious orange zone, but green is my new norm! Huzzah!! God is blessing me with skills to overcome anxiety. No pill required, simply doctrine of Christ applied.

*Names changed. Bonus points if you find yourself despite the alias!

Miracle Number 27,000,009

Really, I've lost count. As soon as I quit counting the costs, the miracles skyrocketed.

This week's miracle must be told in three parts. Probably there are more than three characters involved, but these are the key players.

1. Sister Chants*. Old lady with sweet words and a terrible driving record. Takes the missionaries to Cici's Pizza whenever we have a blank on the dinner calendar. Calls us on cold days to make sure we're OK. A saint by all accounts. Her greatest challenge is memory loss. She can't prepare a primary lesson in advance because it will slip from her mind before she has time to deliver it. So, in faith, she simply reads the lesson straight from the manual. I'm not sure how her 8 year-old students respond to this, but it is her token of faith, and God magnifies the gift.

2. Sister Gifford*. Our bishop's wife, fondly dubbed "Heavenly Mother" by the missionaries. She has six children and wears a perma-smile. Somehow makes time to come teaching with the missionaries and to raise bright, happy kids. When wrapping Christmas gifts with her recently, she commented that she felt bad that she isn't a better missionary. "I should be giving out Book of Mormons and finding people to teach, but sometimes I just don't know where I'd fit that into my day," she said. We know better. Life comes in seasons, and her season is one of being a missionary to her children.

3. Tina*. New investigator, recovering addict. She has tried to quilt before, but this time it was for her kids. They are a story of their own. Two adorable little boys, and one has red hair. Melt my heart. We taught them a Christmas lesson about Christ, and her boys eagerly accepted Book of Mormons and an invitation to baptism. We set a return appointment with glowing visions of their family filling an empty pew in the OKC 2nd ward.

On Saturday we arrived a Tina's home with Sister Gifford in tow. She brought Marcus* and Lyle*, ages 9 and 11. They were excited to teach the restoration to Tina's boys. Much to our sorrow, Tina was indisposed and could not meet. Sister Gifford spoke cheerfully to Tina, we invited the family to church, and then they loaded up their minivan and left.

On Sunday we reminded Tina about church. No response to our text. We sat at the back of the chapel and hoped. Our hopes were vain, as no family arrived. Disappointment is the common lot of missionary work, but this is not the end of the story.

Our story continues with Sister Chants. That same day, she read her primary lesson to her class. sister Gifford's nine year-old was the only child in attendance, so they sat in a little room and she read while he listened. A dull lesson to most children, but Lyle went home that day and told his mom about the lesson. "Mom, I heard a story about a family who said a prayer, and the prayer wasn't answered. So then they fasted, and their prayer came true!" He then concluded, "I want to fast for Tina's family to come to church."

And so on a Monday morning while we blindly pursued our P-day activities, a consecrated nine year-old prayerfully skipped breakfast so our investigators would come to church.

This the miracle. I do not know how the story will end, but I do know that the faith of a child-the unexpected product of many faithful adults-has given me the faith that I need to believe. I will work harder and pray more this week because a child cared enough about his neighbors to sacrifice his bowl of cereal for their salvation.