Hello, People.
I'm just going to be honest and tell you right here right now that, with only two more weeks of these one-hour emails to go, I've become lazy to lackadaisical proportions and just typing this is hard. Well, not really. Maybe lackadaisical is too lethargic—really I just wanted an excuse to use a good English word—but essentially the message is the same. Why should I write out a story from a thousand miles away when I could just tell it to you all together in a taxi? I know, this is not a very charitable train of thought. I will try to be a sharefish.
The Good Day was Saturday, when Pak J and Ibu P prayed and decided they'll be baptized the 28th of this month. When we sat in their living room laughing and crying and learning together about the strength of new-fire testimonies and the power in sharing them. When Sister Na and I walked home down the mountain, singing hymns.
Another Good Day was Yesterday, when a storm hit and we went out anyway. To appointments that fell through but who cares? Because we are soaking wet and there are goats on the streets and this is Indonesia. To the mountain again, to Pak J's and Ibu P's, where we laughed and cried and learned together all over again. It's a pattern and I like it.
The Bad Day was Sister L's, on Sunday, because she gave her whole heart and it still didn't work out. So we sat on the kitchen floor at the chapel after choir practice and she cried so I taught her yoga and she learned to laugh again. But apparently I expended all the happiness I'd stored away for a rainy day, because then the Bad Day was Monday. When suddenly everyone and everything absolutely everywhere was doing their utmost to annoy me to no end, and I was struggling. Because no charity is not good. But good friends are really great, and hearing the Bro S/Sis M Love Story for the umpteenth time was a sure-fire-no-fail picker-upper.
The Red Day is today, Idul Adha, when the goats are led to the altar and the streets run red. The muezzins were singing from their minarets all night long. Our angkot had to take twisty-turny detours last night to avoid the torch-led processions to sacrifice, which thrilled me to no end. Considered being Muslim for a minute, as long as they would let me be the one to play the drums.
The Black Day is no day, because it does not exist except to make the Seuss couplet and because, like I mentioned, lazy. But I guess it could be foreshadowing for tomorrow, when we drive to Surabaya, which if you remember is not my favorite. But meeting with all the missionaries plus District Conference will more than make up for the city itself, I'm sure.
Love you so much. See you so soon. Wishing you Good Days.
Sister E.
I'm just going to be honest and tell you right here right now that, with only two more weeks of these one-hour emails to go, I've become lazy to lackadaisical proportions and just typing this is hard. Well, not really. Maybe lackadaisical is too lethargic—really I just wanted an excuse to use a good English word—but essentially the message is the same. Why should I write out a story from a thousand miles away when I could just tell it to you all together in a taxi? I know, this is not a very charitable train of thought. I will try to be a sharefish.
The Good Day was Saturday, when Pak J and Ibu P prayed and decided they'll be baptized the 28th of this month. When we sat in their living room laughing and crying and learning together about the strength of new-fire testimonies and the power in sharing them. When Sister Na and I walked home down the mountain, singing hymns.
Another Good Day was Yesterday, when a storm hit and we went out anyway. To appointments that fell through but who cares? Because we are soaking wet and there are goats on the streets and this is Indonesia. To the mountain again, to Pak J's and Ibu P's, where we laughed and cried and learned together all over again. It's a pattern and I like it.
The Bad Day was Sister L's, on Sunday, because she gave her whole heart and it still didn't work out. So we sat on the kitchen floor at the chapel after choir practice and she cried so I taught her yoga and she learned to laugh again. But apparently I expended all the happiness I'd stored away for a rainy day, because then the Bad Day was Monday. When suddenly everyone and everything absolutely everywhere was doing their utmost to annoy me to no end, and I was struggling. Because no charity is not good. But good friends are really great, and hearing the Bro S/Sis M Love Story for the umpteenth time was a sure-fire-no-fail picker-upper.
The Red Day is today, Idul Adha, when the goats are led to the altar and the streets run red. The muezzins were singing from their minarets all night long. Our angkot had to take twisty-turny detours last night to avoid the torch-led processions to sacrifice, which thrilled me to no end. Considered being Muslim for a minute, as long as they would let me be the one to play the drums.
The Black Day is no day, because it does not exist except to make the Seuss couplet and because, like I mentioned, lazy. But I guess it could be foreshadowing for tomorrow, when we drive to Surabaya, which if you remember is not my favorite. But meeting with all the missionaries plus District Conference will more than make up for the city itself, I'm sure.
Love you so much. See you so soon. Wishing you Good Days.
Sister E.
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