Dear People I Love,
There is a stack of letters on my desk addressed to all
types of you, but I remain too poor to afford the postage. Next week.
I am no longer impressed with photojournalists and their
seemingly miraculous talent of capturing intense ironies, wrenching emotion, or
catalytic commentaries with the click of a shutter. At least not the ones
photographing Indonesia—-because all it takes to find all of the above is to
wake up and walk out your front door. Sometimes I watch the world go by from the
back of an angkot and feel like I'm
living a National Geographic photo spread, except actually those thigh-high
floods and toppled-domino slums are just reality. Not acceptable, of course,
but just reality.
Monday night I was faking Javanese, because I can usually
understand what Marno and Atmi are on about but have no clue whatsoever when it
comes to responding. So I just pretended there was a marble in my mouth and
said a lot of omolomoolo because that's
what it sounds like and we had quite the conversation, which was funny. But not
as funny as Atmi rapping General Conference talks. Usually I have her read them
aloud to practice English pronunciation, which is what she was doing when the
phone rang and I had to pick it up and by the time my conversation was over she
was on a flow about temples and moral compasses. I have not legitimately
laughed like that for a while.
Sister Lily might actually be the perfect friend, because
she is now the only American I know that can follow my Englonesian (Indonenglish?).
She called last night to ask me to pick up a few things for her from Senopati while I'm there this weekend, and apart from the
general huzzah of such an opportunity to talk—-really talk—-it was nice not to have to correct myself
whenever my sentences slipped into Indo for a few words before getting back on
track with real English.
Gilang is still M.I.A., with the latest news from the
landlord that he hasn't returned home for four days now. I'm panicking, but
Atmi is all Job. "Patience," she keeps telling me. "You have no
idea the opinions and attacks and arguments he's dealing with." And, as
the one who herself converted to Christianity from Islam, I suppose I should
nod and be comforted and carry on with hope. But it's hard, because Gilang is
not just good, he is great. Plus, all our other (2) investigators just lie to
us. McDee's been avoiding us for two weeks now, with no real excuse at all, and
last time I called he even pretended to be someone else. Really? Are people
really this adamant about making their own misery? And, ps, McDee: I know you
weren't your secretary, because your secretary's a girl.
On Sunday we went out to visit Bro HanKio, a less-active
who really needs to stop reading extra-curricular religious literature and just
get back to the Book of Mormon. This time his major headline was the news that
the world is going to end in 2016, and also that America is populated by
aliens. I don't ever really know how to respond to stuff like that, but I do
learn a lot of great new vocabulary.
Monday night we had FHE with the Atmos again, but this
time with a few more ward members—President Eddy came along, plus Wahyu and
Unang and Chris too and it was another member highlight sort of night that just
all around makes me feel better. We moved all the living room furniture into
their warung (couches stacked like jenga
blocks with coffee tables in between) and sat all ten of us on bamboo mats
spread across the floor and taught from Mosiah 4 before sharing dinner all
together, too.
A few weeks back Jamie wrote me about the thrill of
creating cultural analogies to better help people outside of a Christian-rooted
society understand the Gospel. I think my first reaction was something along
the lines of "Shouldn't the Gospel just be relevant to everybody's
life?" (Oh, silly E), but also took it as kind of a challenge I want to
win. I've noticed that we lose a lot of people within the very first lesson
because they don't understand the priesthood, so currently am trying to come up
with a new way to teach the necessity of authority in a country where police
officers merely observe illegal wildlife trafficking transactions, speed limits
are regulated by fashion outlets, and public restrooms are plastered with signs
asking users to please not squat on top of the toilet seats. Also, while
recognizing I have been born of goodly parents and also blessed with a certain
degree of common sense, how are people confused about this in the first place?
How does it not make sense that there needs be One Faith, One Church, restored
through priesthood power endowed by God? Because a God that says "oh
yes, you Catholics can baptize babies this way, and the Pentecostals can do it
this other way, and then the Mormons can do it their own way" is not a
kind of God I'd want to believe in. In a world where nothing ever stays the
same, aren't we all looking for a constant? God is the same Yesterday, Today,
and Selamalamanya. That is what makes
him God. So why does everyone insist all religions are the same? A million
different ways to climb a mountain sort of thing. Yeah, but don't you want the
BEST way to climb the mountain?
I am having a hard time with problems and solutions right
now. People say "This is wrong, and that is wrong, and this is why life is
hard and that is why I'm unhappy," and it is all very complicated and
impossible to them whereas the only complication I can figure is that they
don't see the so-obvious solution. Um . . . The Gospel? Ding ding ding ding!
Correct!
Sorry. I have no eloquence today, or any sort of subtlety.
Kind of like the shop over in Alun-Alun that's called PUNK: Clothes for Teenage
Rebellion. Indonesians like to say it like it is, which is kind of what I'm
channeling in this email. Because this, my family, is how it is.
Headed to Jakarta in the morning for a weekend of District
Conference and some one-on-one with Elder Russel M. Nelson. Yipes. Will return
next week with (hopefully) a more elegant report on Life and Love.
I love you. All.
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