ladeda.

Keluargaku yang terkasih,

I'm just going to let you know from the get-go that I have yet to read a single email of yours this week—nor will I until I return home later tonight, and revel in the printed version for the quiet hour before bed. It's not because I don't love you, it's not because I don't need you; it's because the last seven days were Splendid + Extraordinary, and I plan to do them justice even with only an hour to write.

And yet even that needs another disclaimer: please do not expect anything especially spiritual in the following paragraphs. My adventures of late have not been so heavenly and I'm about to rattle on about baby tigers and cowboy shows.

Yep. You heard that right. I have officially fulfilled any dream I could have ever dreamt and today, this very day, spent the morning in company of wee leopards and lions, plus an orangutan and a particularly saliva-blessed zebra. Taman Safari Indonesia, family! Put it in your planners, because this is one thing I can't exaggerate: this little gem just outside Bogor is the Best Zoo in All the World. 

Plus, it was all a secret. Sisters Trip. Elders in the dark. We meet up with Millecams and Reebers (the other mission couple assigned to Jak) in the church parking lot at eight and got out of there as quick as we could, escaping to the mountains in the black mission vans with the angel Moroni trumpeting from the back window. The drive alone was worth it—Indonesia! It is green! It is beautiful! There is life outside the capital!—but the Safari itself? Magical. First you pay all of seven bucks for your entire car to get through, passing about a hundred signs that warn you not to feed the animals, keep your windows closed, etc—and then promptly roll down all windows and pull out the box of carrots and bananas you've just bought in bulk at the pasar down the road. For the first hour it was just winding up through this wild jungle, feeding anything that came close enough. Which was just about everything—zebras, camels, antelope, strange-striped deer only found in Sumatra, hippos, rhinos, giraffes, the works. Oh, llamas. Those are so weird-looking. Anyway, we're just feeding these crazy animals, no big deal. Also hilarious because I'm the only one who would stick my arm out the window and offer a bunch of carrots or a banana, half-peeled. Indonesians are unbelievably frightable (word?), and my companions spent most of the ride squealing in the back seat. 

So there I am, living my PetVet Dream at new heights, when we arrive to the main concourse and the BABY PETTING ZOO. Which is where I commenced a bit of squealing, too because HAVE YOU EVER SEEN LITTLE BABY WILDCATS UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL?!? Sorry about the shouting. I'm still a little intensified; the five-year-old in me hasn't quite worn off yet. It deserves the capitalization, though, and I've got the pictures to prove it. Maybe we'll just leave it at that?

Except, real quick: favorite part of the whole wild ride: the elephants. I could've spent hours at the Plaza Gajah, feeling a friendly trunk wrap about my wrist or snuff against my back in search of more bananas. They're so beautiful, these giant works of nature, and so gentle—though that didn't stop all the Indos from their constant worry. “Jangan!” they kept shouting, shying from the beasts as I reached up to wrap my arm around a neck. “Sister! Awas! Awas!” Bonus: Being called brave all day was a beautiful irony I more or less reveled in. When I sat with the mum panther, for example, a whole crowd of Indians had gathered to watch the spectacle (Team India!) and just kept saying over and over again, “So brave, so brave!” And I really loved to imagine them gathered about me on any other typical Indonesian day, as I hesitated to talk to the person next to me on a bus or angkot. Big cats? No problem. Actual missionary work? Still got a ways to go.

But I'll let the photos cover the rest of that experience, because now I've got to speed-type into the other highlights of recent living, the major moment being PLD (Zone Conference) this weekend.

It was bound to be good, seeing as we've been looking forward to it for weeks now. That first week we arrived was our last one, so on parting the five MTC originals were all handshakes and promises that we'd see each other at least by next PLD. Which turned out to be a little untrue—Greenwell and Lily have left us for the Solo PLD these days—but the reunion was no less joyous. Plus, it was only the beginning of a full weekend of gathering; our PLD coincided with District Conference for all of Jawa Barat, which meant we got a General Authority in the mix, too. 

Elder Kent D. Watson presided. Presided, uplifted, enlightened—the gist of his lessons and presence will have to wait for a letter (things on the more emotional side are never any good to explain in the rush of a time constraint). His wife was especially encouraging, and just the general atmosphere of the meeting was something I've missed for awhile; it was all the electricity of an MTC Sunday, with the added vivacity of being together as missionaries, as feeling some sort of unity in a country that constantly makes us feel the smallest drop of water in a tumbling storm. Within fifteen minutes of the opening prayer, I was feeling pretty good about life.

Until it came to talks—every PLD the message goes out from Presiden what the topic will be (usually you can choose from 3-5 principles of MiK) and we're expected to prepare a three minute ceramah just in case it's our name called from the pulpit. That's the way it's presented on the program, too: Ceramah . . . . Mungkin Anda (Talk . . . Maybe You). And wouldn't you know it, by an inspired process of revelation known only to a GA, Elder Watson pulled my name out of his pocket. Mine, Elder Sutarno's, and Elder Meek's. 

Which was okay, because I was prepared! Two pages written out in neat Indonesian script so I wouldn't miss a syllable of pronunciation, with clear references to the scriptures I would include if asked to speak on Hope. Except that Elder Watson, as the power and authority at the meeting, put a new spin on things: If you had been serving longer than a year, you had to use your second language. So Indos in English and Americans in Indo. But, if you had been here less than a year, you would share your thoughts in your mother tongue. 

And there went my talk. 

Because, given that I'd prepared it in Indonesian, it was a lot more simple than I would have kept it to had I been given the chance to speak in English. And there I was, given the chance. Luckily Elder Sutarno took the stand before me (delivering an address on Charity in fluid English, I might add), and by the time Meek got up to go next, I'd arranged enough of my thought into a somewhat workable outline that allowed me to listen to my former DL in relative peace.

It was classic Meek, very simple and balanced but powerful to every point. And I couldn't help but smile; he'd chosen Hope, too. When I got up to follow him, I mentioned that we were definitely on the same wavelength still, as these last two months have been something of a crash-course in the principle. And then I just talked. For exactly three minutes, managing to say all I needed to say and, in a true manifestation of the Spirit, saying it the way I wanted it said. It was a really good experience for me, realizing that I have changed these past four months, that an assignment that would usually mean excruciating hours working every last word to perfection and then read from the pulpit had become an easier thing for me, a rush, even. I didn't do it all on my own, of course, but it was still the push I needed to feel a little more the strength I've slowly cultivated since arriving in the MTC only four months ago. And afterwards Presiden pulled me aside and thanked me and shook my hand with more feeling than any interview I've ever had with him, and that felt good, too.

Right. So if that's not enough, the rest of the PLD was super stellar, and then the very next day we all got to meet again with the Jakarta saints and then as missionaries at Senopati for a Halloween dinner, that ended in us singing Called to Serve in the loudest chorus we could muster, all thirty crammed about the piano where Elder Lewis pounded the keys with little attention to any musical marks other than Forte all around. Sunday we taxied to Senayin, where the saints of West Java filled an entire conference room full with hymn and prayer and the little Primary choir that started it all was enough to break your heart and bind it up all over again. Joy, so much joy. It was the soaring high we all needed—numbers are lower than I would even want to tell you and it's only a sight like Saints that could overcome it. 

Which leaves me to my last magical moment, which I should have mentioned first: Noah said hi! Third-hand, but one of those bright little miracles all the same. I walked into PLD on Friday and Elder Beus practically ran to meet me. “Do you have a friend in Taiwan?” he asked, and I looked confused. “An Elder Kerchi—Kerzow—” “Kershisnik?” I offered, not imagining it could be right. “Yes!” he said, snapping his fingers in connection. “He says hi.”

Turns out Elder Beus' businessman dad ran into Knoah at the airport, just a few hours from his arrival in Hong Kong. Can this be included under the tender mercies folder? Because it certainly had that bright-eye, light-step effect on me.

I've got to sign off on this epistle if I'm ever going to get to pictures and a few more quick answers, too. Apologize for all the ADD. Love you. More than wee lions and a sea lion show, plus a hungry hippo.

Sister E.