denial-and-repression tactic; mud, grit, and other things

AMAZONIQUITOS

MEL3.16.15

Dear Mother,

I’m not going to be writing much this week because I’ve been wasting time scrambling through old-sent photos and trying to get them all together. Blech. It hasn’t been all that enjoyable, to be honest.

But this week went well. We have a family that’s getting ready to be baptized the 28th. They’re wonderful, but I don’t feel like it’s been for any reason whatsoever on our part. They were just there, like they were waiting for the gospel to come knocking on their door. The worst part of this whole ordeal is that they live atop Mount Doom and it’s been raining at least once a day this month. On the bright side, we’re toning our balance muscles. But goodness, the mud, grit, and other things that I walk in all day. Almost nothing grosses me out now though.

Joy finally wrote me. She’d been on about a month streak without writing me. But she sounds like she’s a little social bug and 14—14! This I cannot believe. I remember when I was 14. I was pretty sure I was a legal adult at 14.

I heard about a sister missionary from Utah that died in Argentina the other day—a case of unexpectedly strong E. Coli. It had me jittery for an afternoon, and I was thinking about my heath in the mission. I’ve been blessed with what appears to be the immune system of an ox, for which I’m quite grateful. The worst I’ve come down with is the stomach flu for a day, but nothing of serious weight has happened to me, while many sister have struggled or gone home for serious

problems.

I’ll tell you, one of the things that I’ve really learned to love here in Colinas is the stake building. I love—love, love, love—being in the stake center Sunday nights. You can feel the warm bustle of deadlines and organization and meetings and service, and I feel something so very special to be in the midst of all that. I plan on demanding the bishop a calling upon returning home—I would love to teach small, bratty children the gospel. It’d be a nice change from hardened, bitter old people. Or whatever calling they’re willing to give me. Just to be able to sit and bask in the glow of service and spirit. It’s literally the thing I’m most excited about when I think about coming home.

I’ve been using the denial-and-repression tactic upon thinking about going home, actually.  So. I’m just going to leave it at that.

Love, Hna. Compton

Thanks for looking through all my photos. It’s sort of a pain, I know. But the mission asks for 5 before, 5 during, and 5 baptisms. Can you do me another favor and search through and find all my pictures of baptisms that i’ve sent home? I don’t have the time or access to get to them. Pwuease.

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