Your youngest child has written me and informed me that he’s started 5th grade. I have advised him to stop eating his vegetables and taking his vitamins, because he cannot be taller than me when I get back. I dropped him off at the bus every day for kindergarten. This cannot be. He’s. . . growing.
In other news, everything´s swell over here in Peru. You know one has been in their area too long when a) your converts are now Less Actives and b) your converts don’t get along with your other converts/investigators. Apart from that, everything really is quite alright. Training is going splendidly. Hna. Ruiz has not proven to be in any way psychotic or difficult to communicate with. Blessedly sane.
You should always, always do family home evening. It could be something so cool. I’m going to do it when I get back. Super Cool Family Home Evening.
(I see Joy has my pants on in this photo. I’m squinting really scathingly right now.)
This week was really hot. What else did I do. . . ? Oh! I ate rice. And chicken. And potatoes. Aunt Cynthia is a little weird—love you, Aunt Cynthia!—and always writes me about food, so I guess that’s something you guys might want to know about, right? Well, to clarify something that I myself didn’t know before my mission—not all Latinos eat beans? This was news. So, beans here are usually regarded with slight horror for the majority of the people. There are a few here and there that serve it, but the majority of the food here is rice, bananas—green, yellow, fried, mashed, cooked, baked, boiled—potatoes, chicken, and fish. I say fish, and that’s kind of general, but fish is officially my favorite. I don’t really like chicken, and in its place I eat fish. River fish. My favorite. Everything’s fried here, but sometimes grilled in jungle tree leafs, occasionally boiled. Other favorite is something called Tacacho. This is fried bananas mashed into a ball. I don’t know why I like it so much. But it’s more delicious mashed.
The people here also drink high amounts of. . . refresco? I don’t know what it’s called in English. Not juice. Like. . . real juice? I don’t know. They have a bunch of fruits only found in the jungle parts, so they make a. . . refresco. . .that’s lighter than juice. Water and the juices of the fruits. What’s that called in English? Does that have a name? I don’t even know.
There almost isn’t bread here. There is, but it’s not eaten very much. The breakfasts here are really weird, and it took me a while to adjust. Breakfast is a piece of bread with an over fried egg or The ‘Ham’ that is NOT ham. Or sometimes a hotdog that’s dyed so pink it stains. Yup.
Aveces en cuando, como verduras. A cucumber or tomato occasionally pop up, but I gave up on real vegetables about five months back, and i’ve seen little signs of hope since.
Anyways. Really weird food rundown. Your welcome, future Peruvian serving missionaries. And Aunt Cynthia.
Love you all tons.
(Surprise double letter. A letter I sent to Marissa that I felt you’d enjoy to have. Love you tons, Ma.)
It sounds like you’ve been braving some emotional things all summer—growing emotionally and stuff. That would be so good to do. I should think about doing that sometime. Especially in relation to siblings and stuff.
This month has been an interesting one. I’m training, which is cool, and she’s cool, so I definitely don’t feel like I’m dying, but I have had a bit of a wave of. . .disanimo? What’s that word? Discouragement? That sounds too strong. I don’t know. Of tiredness. Of a weariness.
Sometimes I sit down and I don’t want to get back up and I’m like, ‘I don’t want to. This is hard. People are difficult. I’m tired. 11 months. Too much.’ And I can almost feel Christ taking time out of his day to give me the stink-eye. Like,’ Hard? Hard? Don’t even talk to me about hard. I suffered the pains of all of humanity and died on a cross. Get back to work, missy.’ But super-selfish, humanly, natural man, all that stuff, and sometimes I don’t get out of my chair.
Someone once told me about an article comparing Christ with the modern missionary—it wasn’t you, was it? Embarrassing.—and about how he walked from city to city to share the gospel, and about how we walk the streets of our area for month after month. We walk with a bag on our shoulder and back and for forth we go, from house to house, the same eight blocks over and over. There’s a scripture in Alma 26: 27, 29, 31 that I read and I feel a bit better about life. I actually don’t know what this paragraph is about, now that I re-read it. Sorry about that.
Also, time’s up, have to go, chao, love you tons.
P.S. Also forgot to tell you about super cool experience.
This week I saw a man outside of his house coming his little boy’s hair. Strong impression to talk to him, one which I didn’t act upon. Later that day I returned to the house to knock on the door, but no one was there.
Next night, returned and the family was there. The dad is a less active and the mom isn’t member, but she said she was waiting for some change, for a way to feel closer to God, but she didn’t even know where to start. Definitely felt like Heavenly Father was like, ‘That one. That one’s ready.’