Week 44: Those Shoes
I`ve become a little sentimental and have a lovecrush on writing little ditties. I was writing in my journal on Friday about an investigator we have. Just trying to understand how she views our visits. What she thinks. She, her husband, and their 3 kids that are baptism age, are going to be married and baptized in the weeks that come, but right now she is having difficulty going to church because she cares for 3 other kids, one of them special needs. Her husband works every other Sunday, so when she goes, it`s alone with 8 kids. I was thinking of her and just started to write... This one is called,¨Those Shoes.¨
Those shoes walk dusty Honduran roads. Carry you to work, selling tortillas all day, every day under a burning hot Honduran sun. Those shoes take you home, tired. Home to your dirt floor, wood-walled home. Home to make more tortillas for your kids. Walk to bring water inside to wash dishes. Those shoes take you to the pulperia to buy cream, where you meet two owmen with smiling faces, strange name tags, and even stranger accents. You listen curiously, but unconvinced. Their live´s paths have been so drastically different, their shoes have taken them to places so foreign to you. They talk of temples, angels, sacred trees, suns, moons, stars, baptism fonts, weekly church, family nights, coffee, tea, eternities, Jesus Christ, pioneers, marriage, prophets, apostles, new scripture, powers of God, not buying on Sunday. Your mind swarms as you wonder if these feet--these tired, busy feet--can go all these places, learn all there is to learn, do all you need to do. You wonder how they did it. What their stories are. How didtheir shoes take them through all those experiences, and even if they did, what does that mean? Can you ever really walk that path? Can you leave behind all that is required, and keep your shoes from leading you back to what is the natural, impulsive route? And what if your shoes are far too tired---can they receive the strength to walk where they need to walk? As you take two steps forward, you feel like you only take 3 steps back. You go to church for the first time and read in the book they leave, but tomorrow comes the ROCK in your path, stopping your shoes from moving forward. Keeping you from reading--or belieivng--that God appeared to a young boy in a sacred grove. Halting you from returning to church. Running you to the back of your ouse to hide from those young women. Things you don`t understand. And your life continues.
Your shoes carry you to sell tortillas, walk to bring water inside to wash dishes, to the pulperia to buy cream. Only now your pace has slowed.Your shoes have aged, have changed. And now as you walk outisde to enjoy the fresh air and sit in your hammock, two oddly familiar, yet completely foreign women greet you. Your mind races to remember why these two faces are familiar. Your mind backtracks to everywhere these shoes have taken you, and you rememer having started on a trail, a new trail, what seems like eons ago. You remember the fear you felt--the hesitation to takea step forward because it was all too new. You invite them in, and as you do, a renewed energy comes to you. Your shoes find a new hop in every step. The once-strange trail feels more comfortalb now. With years of faith behind you, you realize the importance to ask in prayer for your every step you take--and do so in faith. As your feet touch the baptismal waters, you think back to how all these years, your Heavenly Father was leading your shoes, guiding your every step. He let you walk away, but He never abandoned you. And as you step into His Holy House, and you gaze into the mirrors of eternity, you ponder on how their shoes took them on that path. How did your Savior & Redeemer take another step on His way to Galilee? His prolonged and slow, deliberate steps from Gethsemane--how could He comprehend every. step. of your life? His Apostole`s steps--how did they do it? How did their steps take them to the ends of hte earth in an attempt to keep His doctrine pure, His doctrine undefiled? How did Heavenly Father watchfrom the heavens as His children took stpes further and further from Him? Were hte steps of a young boy in 1821 slow and deliberate or quickened with determination that an answer would come from that prayer?
And from that time until now...
Who truly comrehends where your shoes have been, what it feels like to be in your shoes? How could you do justice to share that? Is a year and a half with a name badge sufficient? Can you every really share just how touched your heart, your life, your eternity is, for the steps of two young women? Of a Father that never abandoned you? As you go out, dust off your shoes, and put ona name badge in your aged years, you wonder if they`ll listen ot hte voice of an experienced adult--one whose shoes have taken you through Gethsemane, a dusty Honduran road, through the waters of baptism, and into the peace of His Holy House. And as you come home and take every deliberate step thereafter, these shoes will once again walk those dusty Honduran roads, never to be the same.¨
Saturday was Happy 10 Months!!! It frightens me that 8 months remain. I never want to leave. I feel like there`s so much work to do, so many more lives to try and touch. I love every little moment, from mismatched socks with dress shoes to caving and carrying a sweat rag with me, Honduran-style. To the heartache as families feed us that have struggled all week to save enough to have something to give us, and insisting that everything on the table is ours, that not a tortilla is to be left behind. It`s their hearts of such grand love that I am only beginning to comprehend. It`s walking down the dark road at the end of the day and teaching Hermana Ramirez how to say, ¨We´re going to die!¨ in English, only to be repeating it over and over again as a man comes out from out of nowhere and scares the living daylights out of you--only to find out after the fact it´s a friend of Hermana Ramirez. It`s investigators lying and hiding, and your heart wishing that honesty were a principle lived by. It`s my smashing first-ever English class with 20-some eager students. It`s us shucking corn with investigators as other missionaries of another church come by to give a blessing. It´s pondering on that we accepted agency, even when that agency means that some will choose to lie, to not go to church (ahem, more than 8 investigators yesterday). It`s church changing your perspective. It`s inspiring leaders telling you that when you realize your weaknesses, don`t take it to be hard. Take it as you came unto Christ, and He`s who showed them to you. It´s divisions and being so touched as an inactive member confesses how lost her life has been, how all 5 of her children have different fathers, and how grateful she is for repentance. It`s so many things that will have to wait to next week!!!!
As we were walking down a dirt road today, kids were leaving the school. The air smelled of burning trash. At the end of the dirt road, an orange sun envelopes the sky, sending a strange sensation to every orange-tinted object in view of the sun. I reflected how much I love the mission. Love being on this dirt road, mismatching socks with my dress shoes...I was talking to my district leader about the usual question of ¨We all worship the same God. Why does it matter what religion you are?¨ He gave a beautiful answer that I furiously scribbled down: ¨No, we don`t worship hte same God. If you´re worshipping a God without a body, that is everythwere and no where, we`re obviously not worshipping hte same God. We all do worship Him in different ways, and e`ll have different rewards. God has His true Church, authorized to do the sacred ordinances in His name. Our message that we share explains what happens to those who nevere accept the true Church. The one true Church. There are good people in other churches, and they´ll receive different rewards.¨
Point is, in these shoes with these no-longer-blistered-feet, I love being here. I love the inspiring words of wisdom you all give me. I love everything!!!!
Those shoes walk dusty Honduran roads. Carry you to work, selling tortillas all day, every day under a burning hot Honduran sun. Those shoes take you home, tired. Home to your dirt floor, wood-walled home. Home to make more tortillas for your kids. Walk to bring water inside to wash dishes. Those shoes take you to the pulperia to buy cream, where you meet two owmen with smiling faces, strange name tags, and even stranger accents. You listen curiously, but unconvinced. Their live´s paths have been so drastically different, their shoes have taken them to places so foreign to you. They talk of temples, angels, sacred trees, suns, moons, stars, baptism fonts, weekly church, family nights, coffee, tea, eternities, Jesus Christ, pioneers, marriage, prophets, apostles, new scripture, powers of God, not buying on Sunday. Your mind swarms as you wonder if these feet--these tired, busy feet--can go all these places, learn all there is to learn, do all you need to do. You wonder how they did it. What their stories are. How didtheir shoes take them through all those experiences, and even if they did, what does that mean? Can you ever really walk that path? Can you leave behind all that is required, and keep your shoes from leading you back to what is the natural, impulsive route? And what if your shoes are far too tired---can they receive the strength to walk where they need to walk? As you take two steps forward, you feel like you only take 3 steps back. You go to church for the first time and read in the book they leave, but tomorrow comes the ROCK in your path, stopping your shoes from moving forward. Keeping you from reading--or belieivng--that God appeared to a young boy in a sacred grove. Halting you from returning to church. Running you to the back of your ouse to hide from those young women. Things you don`t understand. And your life continues.
Your shoes carry you to sell tortillas, walk to bring water inside to wash dishes, to the pulperia to buy cream. Only now your pace has slowed.Your shoes have aged, have changed. And now as you walk outisde to enjoy the fresh air and sit in your hammock, two oddly familiar, yet completely foreign women greet you. Your mind races to remember why these two faces are familiar. Your mind backtracks to everywhere these shoes have taken you, and you rememer having started on a trail, a new trail, what seems like eons ago. You remember the fear you felt--the hesitation to takea step forward because it was all too new. You invite them in, and as you do, a renewed energy comes to you. Your shoes find a new hop in every step. The once-strange trail feels more comfortalb now. With years of faith behind you, you realize the importance to ask in prayer for your every step you take--and do so in faith. As your feet touch the baptismal waters, you think back to how all these years, your Heavenly Father was leading your shoes, guiding your every step. He let you walk away, but He never abandoned you. And as you step into His Holy House, and you gaze into the mirrors of eternity, you ponder on how their shoes took them on that path. How did your Savior & Redeemer take another step on His way to Galilee? His prolonged and slow, deliberate steps from Gethsemane--how could He comprehend every. step. of your life? His Apostole`s steps--how did they do it? How did their steps take them to the ends of hte earth in an attempt to keep His doctrine pure, His doctrine undefiled? How did Heavenly Father watchfrom the heavens as His children took stpes further and further from Him? Were hte steps of a young boy in 1821 slow and deliberate or quickened with determination that an answer would come from that prayer?
And from that time until now...
Who truly comrehends where your shoes have been, what it feels like to be in your shoes? How could you do justice to share that? Is a year and a half with a name badge sufficient? Can you every really share just how touched your heart, your life, your eternity is, for the steps of two young women? Of a Father that never abandoned you? As you go out, dust off your shoes, and put ona name badge in your aged years, you wonder if they`ll listen ot hte voice of an experienced adult--one whose shoes have taken you through Gethsemane, a dusty Honduran road, through the waters of baptism, and into the peace of His Holy House. And as you come home and take every deliberate step thereafter, these shoes will once again walk those dusty Honduran roads, never to be the same.¨
Saturday was Happy 10 Months!!! It frightens me that 8 months remain. I never want to leave. I feel like there`s so much work to do, so many more lives to try and touch. I love every little moment, from mismatched socks with dress shoes to caving and carrying a sweat rag with me, Honduran-style. To the heartache as families feed us that have struggled all week to save enough to have something to give us, and insisting that everything on the table is ours, that not a tortilla is to be left behind. It`s their hearts of such grand love that I am only beginning to comprehend. It`s walking down the dark road at the end of the day and teaching Hermana Ramirez how to say, ¨We´re going to die!¨ in English, only to be repeating it over and over again as a man comes out from out of nowhere and scares the living daylights out of you--only to find out after the fact it´s a friend of Hermana Ramirez. It`s investigators lying and hiding, and your heart wishing that honesty were a principle lived by. It`s my smashing first-ever English class with 20-some eager students. It`s us shucking corn with investigators as other missionaries of another church come by to give a blessing. It´s pondering on that we accepted agency, even when that agency means that some will choose to lie, to not go to church (ahem, more than 8 investigators yesterday). It`s church changing your perspective. It`s inspiring leaders telling you that when you realize your weaknesses, don`t take it to be hard. Take it as you came unto Christ, and He`s who showed them to you. It´s divisions and being so touched as an inactive member confesses how lost her life has been, how all 5 of her children have different fathers, and how grateful she is for repentance. It`s so many things that will have to wait to next week!!!!
As we were walking down a dirt road today, kids were leaving the school. The air smelled of burning trash. At the end of the dirt road, an orange sun envelopes the sky, sending a strange sensation to every orange-tinted object in view of the sun. I reflected how much I love the mission. Love being on this dirt road, mismatching socks with my dress shoes...I was talking to my district leader about the usual question of ¨We all worship the same God. Why does it matter what religion you are?¨ He gave a beautiful answer that I furiously scribbled down: ¨No, we don`t worship hte same God. If you´re worshipping a God without a body, that is everythwere and no where, we`re obviously not worshipping hte same God. We all do worship Him in different ways, and e`ll have different rewards. God has His true Church, authorized to do the sacred ordinances in His name. Our message that we share explains what happens to those who nevere accept the true Church. The one true Church. There are good people in other churches, and they´ll receive different rewards.¨
Point is, in these shoes with these no-longer-blistered-feet, I love being here. I love the inspiring words of wisdom you all give me. I love everything!!!!
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