Boys and Brothers

Dear family and friends, Elder Cropper wrote the blog post this week, adding to it through out the week, but I just wanted to preface it by saying that things are feeling much better. As so many of you have assured me, it gets easier, day by day. I am tired, but not so sad, unless I think too much about any of you. Thank you for all your encouragement.
We still have limited and slow internet, so Elder Cropper found a way to reduce the picture size so uploading them isn't quite so lengthy. But even that process takes time, so the pictures are still few, and random. Sorry.
And now, Elder Cropper:


This is such a great experience! It is not easy but it is great. Yesterday we took the zone out for lunch after the district meeting. There was one sister going home and there will probably be about 3-4 elders transferred. We went to a place that served pancit (rice noodles) and wow was it good. We also had rice and chicken. Sister Cropper really got into it! Yes! This is Sister Cropper eating the Filipino way...with her hands! She is really good at it. Must have come from her childhood training.
The Filipino way of eating is hands and fingers only. She did it! Tearing the chicken apart and scooping up the rice in her fingers and just looking like she was born in the Philippines. Tutabang Sister! Sorry wrong language, nindot Sister!

Sometimes you find serious mischief in four year olds. (Sister Cropper and I decided it best if we did not use names in our posts so this is an edit). This mischevious boy has one regular arm and his left arm has no hand. I think Heavenly Father in his wisdom felt that this little boy should only have one hand, so he could only do half the mischief. I have never seen one little boy’s hand move so fast into so many places. My first meeting with this little boy was two Sundays ago. He felt my pocket to see if there was anything in it and feeling a few things his hand did a quick dive into the pocket. The next thing I knew his hand had my cell phone, a few coins and a pocket knife I carry. This child felt as though what is mine is his and vice versa. Although he has nothing except a perfectly white shirt and tie, he looks like a million bucks. He is all over the place. Today he found a roll of paper towels for drying hands and unrolled it all over the parking lot during primary. Think of a parking lot with no cars in it and the church is full. I spoke in church today and he sat on the stand with me, he feeling quite important sitting on the stand. The next moment he sat next to the Branch president then he was off to the back of the chapel so he could sit by the back door of the chapel and be the usher. I wonder about the shortage of one hand but I think the mischief that other hand does makes up for it.
Mangos!!
More Mangos!!!!
Teaching a wonderful family. Getting there was a bit dangerous but we had a great discussion.
I have never lived on a farm but if you could hear the sounds that start at 2 am and end usually about 10pm it would make ol’ McDonald feel right at home. I am sure there is a water buffalo next door! It is kind of a symphony of sounds. Chickens, dogs, water buffalo, cows, people, birds that I have never heard before coming from the beach area. At 6 am every morning the guy that lives next to us outside our bedroom window gets his tricycle (a Honda 50 motorcycle with a side car that literally will carry 10 people or 3-4 balboys (pigs) whatever the need) warmed up by revving it up to top RPM’s for about 3-4 minutes. Quite an alarm clock. Luckily Sister and I are up by then.

It gets dark surprisingly early here. Much earlier than I remember. Driving is a real trip. Sister Cropper described it a bit but let me give it to you from the driver’s perspective. I remember 40 years ago people driving without headlights on. Over the years I thought I was just remembering something that was skewed. Well no, I was right on. Half the people drive with headlights on and the other half with no headlights. If you are not watching the road 100% of the time you will run someone over. Sister Cropper is so amazingly calm while we are driving. In fact she at times will say almost under her breath, “come on, get out of the way”. Today Sister looked at me and said, “it is quite an adrenalin rush to drive here isn’t it”. I nodded fearing to take my eyes off the road. Every road here is a two lane road. They are typically only 1 ½ car widths wide but it is a real test of courage to hold the road while passing a jeepney and seeing a bus coming the other way in your lane also passing a jeepney. The bus and I are both doing about 45mph and neither one gives the road away to the other. We pass each other with the jeepneys on the outside of each of us. For a split second there are about 80 people in four vehicles that are within a hand span of death. Every one smiles and gives a gentle beep beep and life moves on. There is a rhythm on the road that actually feels very natural. Everyone moves and anticipates as if all the vehicles are part of one living creature. Weaving in and out, buses, cars, tricylcles, bikes, and people moving like blood cells in an artery. Everything coming close but never bumping into anything else. It is a truly unique experience. I thought driving here would be crazy and dangerous. Well, it kind of is but if you let yourself move to the rhythm of the road it just feels natural. I will try to post a video on the blog to show some of the traffic flow.

Sister Cropper and I went to Tanjay today to buy two desks for studying. We have seen a shop that makes furniture so we stopped in there. Sister found a desk that was just right. Their first was P1300 for one. We finally finished the negotiating at P1800 for two desks and they would also refinish them and stain them in a different color. $1 =P43. The finishing job turned out pretty bad, sticky always in this climate, but oh well.

There is a constant hummm of life here. It never goes away. We are far away from a real city but there is always movement and you can hear it. The buses, motorcycles, chickens, cows and the wind and rain. Life is hard here but the earth is bounteous. The homeless are never cold. Maybe wet but not cold. The hungry can eat from the land. Mangos, papaya, coconut, jack fruit, fish from the ocean, etc. The land is full yet there is so much poverty. One consistent thing we have seen is that members of the church who are faithful are blessed with more. President Hinckley made a promise to these people some years ago. If they would pay their tithing they would always have rice in their bowls. When you see how much rice these people eat at each meal you would be surprised.

The gospel adds a new dimension to the rhythm and flow in the lives of these faithful saints. They embrace the gospel and a new community opens to them. A community of caring and loving people who gather several times a week to worship, learn and have fun. Their hearts (mga kasing kasing- in Visayan) are huge and their love of the Savior is a lesson for all of us to learn from.


Let’s talk about another item on the road. Family transportation. Public transportation is chiefly bus, jeepney (a converted jeep with a covered long bed with benches that will seat approx. 10 people), tricycles (described above), also tricycles that are peddled bicycles not motor cycles. Motorcycles seem to be the vehicle of choice for family transportation. Small ones about 150 CC. It is very common to see four to six people on a single motorcycle. Rarely are helmets seen. It is also very common to see a father driving with the mother in the very back with two children between them and the mother holding an infant off to the side. I can’t imagine the balance it takes for all the family to stay seated while the motorcycle is weaving in and out of traffic and also negotiating the many parts of the roads that are under construction with the mud and bumps. These are miracles on two wheels. Just think of it, Tan and Melis, if you ever come here to visit with your whole family you would only need to rent one motorcycle for an experience of a lifetime, well it might be a short lifetime if you try it.

Remember the old movies with Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra. She is always having someone fan her. Well in her case she is dealing with the hot desert. Humidity is an interesting thing when mixed with heat and no AC. Air movement of any kind is a blessing. God bless the person who developed AC. I believe AC must be part of the Restoration in the latter days. When we come into our house or get into the car and feel the AC, at that point in time, everything gets better. Fans and AC must be part of the gospel.


One last item, teaching a good brother. This man is about 40, sometimes it is really hard to tell how old people are since life is so hard on some. This brother is being taught by the missionaries. He is the last in his family to join the church. He has been a real hold out but when his only son left on a mission a few weeks ago he felt that it was time to take a good look at the gospel and the church. Sister Cropper and I went with the Elders to teach him last Thursday. First of all let me tell you there are no house addresses unless you have a big house and are quite rich. You would never be able to find this little neepa hut without a guide. Here is just a brief description about the walk in. We park off a side street then through a grass field then there were broken up asphalt pieces as footsteps thru a real muddy area that was full of holes about the size of golf balls. These are where the crabs live. The holes were everywhere! We saw a few crabs scurry into their holes. When that area is covered with water evidently the crabs are out in full force! You have to watch your toes, snip snip. About 80 yards of the crab field. Then we find ourselves at the house/hut. We can show pictures, write descriptions but they always fall short when it comes to describing the smells. They were going to be butchering one of the pigs about ten feet away from us and would occasionally add a snort to the lesson Sister Cropper was trying to teach. This brother is a great humble man. More to tell on the next blog. We did make it out without any crab attacks.
Love you all.

Random Pictures

We found some of the most amazing flowers on the zone P-Day. These huge flowers hanging upside down. It was beautiful

The zone at the lunch spot before we headed up to Twin Lakes. It was about 15 degrees cooler up in the mountains here. The Filipino's were freezing and sister and Elder Cropper were finally cool!

Our very first meeting in this members home for a FHE. What a great family!! We felt really at home with them. I forgot how much I love bamboo floors. The house was surprisingly cool in the hot weather. Oh but then it started to rain and did it rain. We stayed dry until we had to head home.

Not in Kansas

We still are having trouble with pictures. We can’t upload them onto the blog or onto mishpic because the connection here is ultra-slow. So, we will keep trying other options. In the meantime:
We are not in Kansas anymore!!
In fact, If Dorothy had arrived here, it would have made Oz look like Nebraska. Okay, that metaphor isn’t working. The point is that there is nothing in my experience that even remotely prepared me for this. Yes we have travelled in third world countries, and yes our children have described living in them, and yes, I have seen Egypt close up and walked through the “residential” parts of the Old City of Jerusalem. But every day gets more and more surreal, more and more . . .
To answer Melissa’s question: We were taught to say Cebuano when referring to the language spoken here, but the language spoken in the Visayan Islands is Visayan. That language and the people who speak it, when they live on the island of Cebu, are also called Cebuano. But we are on another island, Negros, and here they refer to it only as Visayan, or Bisayan.
We met a woman at church last Sunday who was most gracious and welcoming. She told us of her son on a mission and her sons who had returned. Then the Amlan Elders told us that her family had invited us over for Family Home evening.
The Elders told us where to meet them so they could accompany us there, as it would have been impossible to find the house. We walked off the main highway onto a rutted dirt path between 2 houses. The lane curved around, past a large house, the jungle got more dense, the leaves more huge on whatever plants were overtaking the path, past another dwelling, into the gate of a dirt yard, but then out another gate, between two buildings now made of bamboo, into another open area, then an even more narrow path. Their home is built in a couple of parts with dirt area between, the walls are bamboo with a lovely pattern woven in. We climbed a couple of stairs onto a platform floor made of bamboo slats. We all left our shoes at the bottom of the stairs. There was a large round table at one end with a big lazy-susan on it, a table across one wall covered with TV and other techno gadgets. Then there were several short square bamboo stools and a bench of bamboo.
We all gathered, and the eldest son (returned missionary, maybe 25), in this setting so foreign to me, conducted in very accomplished but still heavily Bisayan-accented English, a Family Home Evening that was so completely “normal” that my jaw probably stayed open the whole time. By normal, I mean the same format, of opening song and prayer, etc., but also, the same playful interactions of older brother (another returned missionary, maybe 23), younger sister (19, newly called 2nd counselor in the YW), the same proud mom watching her grown children so capable, so skilled and experienced, the same family from nearby (a mom, her grown son and tween daughter), invited to join in, watching, seeing their own commonalities with these strange Mormons, the same Elders, young but caring and engaged. The juxtaposition of familiar and foreign kept me reeling all evening. Elder Cropper had been asked to give the lesson—he taught about keeping commandments. There was even a game after the lesson, a guessing game, like 20 questions with teams. Try to picture that in a tiny bamboo room with a dozen Filipinos. Is the world really so small?
English predominated, for our benefit, but the sister, not as confident in it, spoke Bisayan mostly, the father spoke almost not at all, and the others chattered along switching back and forth as if it were all one.
After the closing prayer, we ate dinner. The round table got moved into the center of the room. Food appeared from the kitchen, curtained off and 2 steps down, everyone sat around the table and served themselves from the platters. The food was really delicious—a rice noodle dish, with flecks of vegetable and seasoning—very tasty, a stewed meat dish with lots of cracked bones and connective tissue and unidentifiable parts in a sauce, and rice. It too was really good, very flavorful. There was a bright pink, set salad with raisins, maybe evaporated milk, and I think other fruit set in, very stiff, no jiggle.
I had brought some no-bake cookies—the kind with oatmeal and cocoa and peanut butter. They seemed to go over well, and my anxiety over whether and what to bring diminished.
Then came the most exciting part! It started to rain. It got heavier and heavier, and, though we waited till it let up a bit, by the time we left there were small rivers where the path had been. The daughter walked me out to the road with an umbrella mostly over me, but we were walking in gushing water up to our ankles and the rain was so heavy that I was soaked through all my layers to skin everywhere except my head.
Since that night we have been more and more deeply steeped in the Oriental side of Negros Island.
One day we drove the missionaries on their zone activity. We piled 10 of us (6 in the cab and 4 in the covered bed) and drove high into the mountains, along the back bones of ridges that went sharply down on each side, mango and coconut and banana and taro cultivated on hillsides so steep one could hardly crawl up on hands and knees—picture the National Geographic rice terraces without the terraces. Elder Cropper proved up to the task and we arrived safely at Twin Lakes, a national park. We had to hike down into the one lake—the other was accessible only by boat (which of course the missionaries were not allowed on). The temperature was about 10 degrees cooler than at sea level, and we were in heaven. The other missionaries, all local save one Polynesian sister, were all uncomfortably cold.
Another day we went on splits, I with a powerful and anorexic Sister from Manilla, serving in Bais, and Elder Cropper with the Elders serving in Bindoy who were in Bais that day. We each were taken farther and farther out into the actual boondocks (a Tagolog word that means mountains). I climbed steep, uneven, moss covered rock stairways curving into steep hillsides, then into nipa huts where we took off our shoes at the door and stepped onto bamboo floors in our bare feet. There is usually a kind of front porch, and that is where we would sit. There is also usually a separate hut with a place to cook. The last house we visited was not on the mountain side, but build on stilts out over the ocean. As I stepped on the bamboo slats of the floor, which gave way too much for my liking, I looked through the slats into the water and hoped the rickety supports of the floor would carry the weight of a monstrous American, the largest human the house had ever seen, I’m sure. But it did hold, and the old lola dug her hymn book and her Basahon ni Mormon out of a bag behind a curtained off sleeping space. And we sang Christmas hymns together. They love Christmas here—in the stores and in the street and at church, everything is Christmas since we arrived in October.
The people we have met are as varied and individual as could be—a beautiful, weathered old tatay (father) with bony legs, sitting with knees bent up to chest, teaching me Visayan phrases, his wife, a tiny lady with grey hair pulled into a sassy, high ponytail, her skirt on backwards, and her teeth mostly gone—only a couple of molars, their children, a giggly teenaged girl, anxious to show off her English (“I want to be a teacher” spoken so slowly, like I speak their language), a mom with naked-bottomed baby girl, two other daughters, one quiet and shy, one in carpenter shorts with a great haircut. The family lives in a tiny hut on the mountain side next to a large home of which they are the caretakers. These are all we met of the family, though there are 13 children. They sang and prayed with us, and listened intently as Sister taught them. Another family—just the old mom and dad, he a fisherman. Another family—we went to teach the daughter, but she was not there, only the old, old grandma, lola, and the very drunken Dad. Sister boldly invited him to stop drinking, think of his daughter, and bring her to church where she could learn a better way than his.
Elder Cropper was having his own adventures too. He drove into a sugar cane field from which he was blessed to get out, as it flooded while he was there. He taught a lesson next to a blaring, awful karaoke singer. In all these homes we listened as the young missionaries taught in Bisayan. In each home we were asked to testify, which we did, hoping we were confirming the truth of the same principle that had been taught. Man we are infantile here. Elder Cropper assures me it is all making a difference. Hmmmm
We met a man, the first hefty Filipino we’ve met, who, behind a bamboo screen off the side of the main highway, housed several banks of ancient computers on which teenaged boys were playing video games for a few pesos. His daughter is a girl that the American couple here had told me of. She is about 11. She loves coming to church, but her parents seldom come. She is very bright and trying to learn English. I asked her if she would like to write letters to my granddaughter, and she said, through her Dad’s translation that she would like to try. Her dad was a jolly and kind man, very happy to use his actually quite good English.
We attended a baptism of an older lady and a younger girl, maybe 15, in Bindoy, the farthest branch form us, and it was like our FHE experience. Everything was by the book, exactly like home—the branch mission leader conducted (he is maybe 18, all hip with hair in a faux hawk) the members gave talks on baptism and Holy Ghost. The Branch President gave a talk welcoming the new members. There were refreshments after. But everything was SOOO different. Coke served in tiny plastic glasses no stronger than ziplock bags, doughy baked balls the size of a dinner roll, stuffed with a smidgeon of I think cheese. All the talks except Elder Croppers were in Bisayan, and even his was partly Bisayan. I felt like a giant. It was a billion degrees with windows open and fans going. The district (think Stake) President has a son who is the branch president (think Bishop) in one branch (think tiny ward). The District 2nd counselor, who was at the baptism, has a son who is Branch President of this branch—the Bindoy Branch. Everyone is Filipino!!
Last night we finally got to meet the Branch President of the Amlan Branch. He has been out of town. We went to his home—another adventure, since driving at night here is menacing. He is a delightful man, very young. His English is exceptionally good, and we were so grateful that we could communicate so easily with him. He was very open with us and seemed happy to have us here. We are excited to get to know him better. He lives with his wife, his wife’s mother and his wife’s brother. Only he is a member of the church. He has been branch president 2 years and married only 4 months, and a member only 5 years.
Church today was a little better. Oh you can't imagine sitting in meetings with English thrown in on occasion while folks rattle away in Bisayan.
After church we visited with more people. This time in the most convoluted pathways wandering in and out of buildings that are partly cement block, partly open, partly bamboo, ducking often to avoid getting clothes-lined by clothes-lines This is like nothing I could ever have imagined--a rabbit warren of dwellings. We met a small but physically powerful man, very dark, with one deformed arm without a hand. He spoke little English, but we were with his 2 home teachers who gave a lesson from the Liahona and we added a few words which they translated. When he invited us in, he had to fetch a hanging wire from over a wall to attach a bare light bulb and a fan to. Our visit probably cost him a weeks worth of electricity, but he seemed happy we came.

I cry every day. I hurt in all my joints. Everything is hard. I want to come home. But tonight we taught the wife and mother-in-law of the branch president, something he has prayed for for a long time, so maybe Elder Cropper is right and there is some purpose to what we are doing. I'll let you know. Plus, Elder Cropper eats many mangoes a day. I do too, but not quite so many. They ARE as good as he remembered.

arrived in Amlan

I promised more detail, and we had some great pictures to share, but our internet connection where we came to work on this is painfully slow, we worked on it for a couple of hours, then lost the few pictures we had been able to upload. We are having technology nightmares. Hmmm maybe it's because we are on a remote island in the middle of Philippine nowhere. Anyway, this week we will try to conquer. In the meantime you get only words and a picture of our little friend who lives in our bedroom. I know, sounds romantic and exotic and all to have a cute little gecko in your room, but 1) he makes a clicking sound that will wake you from a deep sleep, and 2) when you watch him on the ceiling above you, could you really sleep wondering how sure footed he is, and will he land on your face?
We drove to the bottom of Cebu island yesterday and the deeper we got, the more jungle surrounded us. Still, at least along the roadways, the people are as dense as the vegetation behind their little towns and villages. It was more and more clear that we were getting ever further from anything remotely familiar.
A wonderful couple from Arizona, who are here on an extended vacation/learning experience with their 3 youngest boys, heard we were coming and rode the ferry over to meet us and get us on the right barge. Oh people are so good.
They are on our angel list for sure.
An important aside: We have decided not to add names of members or missionaries on our blog, for the sake of their privacy. We may add pictures, but you won't know names, unless we forget.
We were met at the ferry-landing on the island of Negros by the zone leaders for the Tanjay Zone, and they drove with us to show us our new home.
It is lovely--it is completely furnished, right down to sheets and utensils. Of course it is extremely different from anything we are used to--all tile floors, air con in bedrooms only. windows that open out, but that when closed have great gaps to to let in mosquitoes and or anything else. a shower that is seperated from the rest of the C.R. (aka comfort room, aka bathroom) only by a curtain. Different, but all perfectly fine and manageable. We just have to be flexible
Here is what I'm grateful for:
a water heater (seems silly in this climate, but warm water is still good for showering, even in the tropics)
bottled water
my companion
Missionaries who are willing to help us
plumeria
ear plugs (that gecko!!)
MANGO AFTER MANGO AFTER MANGO Elder Cropper is in heaven!
SAints in Amlan and everywhere else.
We went to church today.
We drove in to the property about 1/2 hour early. Some families were already there and a few little kids ran to the car to greet us and everyone, young and old were so welcoming. I tried to just enjoy their sweet spirits, but it was super worrisome to know that of all the names they said, I could understand and repeat maybe 1/4, and of those I could remember only a couple. I wrote down as many as I could. They care so much to be recognized by the "senior couple", and I hate the thought of not giving them enough love by forgetting names. Can you pray for that particular for us?
The people are amazing, the lesson and talks were in varying percentages of English and Bisayan, with Bisayan being predominate by far. They mix it up in the most fascinating way.
We have been told that we can "get by" in English, but it is very evident that getting by is not sufficient, and learning Bisayan will be crazy hard
We have no idea what we will be filling our days with--we get to mostly define it as the time goes by.
We are sitting at an outdoor table at the little resort that is next to our home. We can hear the waves lapping on the shore, and the cicadas and crickets are singing. Katie calls this our working vacation, because the surroundings are so lovely. And it's true, our immediate surroundings are, but right next to us, people are cooking on open fires, children have deformities that would make you weep if you thought too long about it, people have no jobs and no food other than what they can scavenge. God is good, but life is hard here, and gold and silver have we none to offer (it's not even allowed for us to help people financially), but we have the gospel and it is already evident, from the faithful saints we've seen in Amlan Branch, that the gospel blesses families in very tangible ways.
Thank you for your emails and comments. I'm off to settle in for the night, with the big guy (Elder Cropper) and the little guy below.

We really ARE in Cebu!!

We left Salt Lake on a Monday night after one final scare, Elder Cropper's Mom had a bad fall that day and gashed her shin in a huge sweeping arch to the bone. Our farewell dinner with her turned out to be take out food in her apartment. It was heart wrenching to leave her, but there was no helping it. Sweet Shane turned out to be our only and extremely appreciated escort to the airport, and we were off.
Elder Cropper thought you'd be able to see the hills of Hong Kong in the background

Yeehah!! we are in Cebu. After a 30 hour trip, we have never been so happy to see anyone as when we came out of customs and there were President and Sister Schmutz smiling and waving. This is the view out the front of their house on the temple complex, the glorious Cebu temple


I'm in a rush, so I can't share more. We haven't been able to get on line till this morning, and now we are off to our assignment. We head out in minutes with the truck we'll be renting from the church filled with supplies. we have a 3 hour drive, then a ferry ride then we will be in Amlan. Yes, it is getting real. We love this place, we have been thoroughly trained and pampered by the Schmutzes and all here, now we leave the shelter of the temple complex and off we go!!

Training (aka pouring water into a sieve)

Happy Birthday Rebecca!!!

We are staying in the Mission Training Center in Provo, Utah, just blocks from where Elder Cropper grew up (yes, I now refer to my husband/companion/side-kick as Elder—he at least looks elder-like, as compared to the young missionaries for whom that title seems a stretch. I am called, even by him, Sister Cropper). We were set apart last Tuesday by President Morris, and we were surrounded by many of our dear ones.

We left Oregon in the wee hours. Tanner and Taylor dropped us off and Nate Williams and Brian Green braved the cold and early hour to wish us well.



We had a bike ride into the glorious fall display in Provo Canyon, drove higher into the alpine loop for another dose of fall color and family, spent time with more dear ones, said our goodbyes, hugged our hugs, shed our tears, and now we are focused on learning all we can that will be useful and helpful on our mission.

This place is so far beyond amazing! There are 2700 missionaries here this week. (This was on the lawn of the Temple across from the MTC during a fire drill.)

Each one has a story, a reason, a miracle that has occurred to allow or cause him or her to be here. Each has left behind things they treasure, each has found his or her own personal motivation, each has at least some trepidation over being here, leaving home, learning a language, at yet, they are here, in droves, all dressed in missionary attire, all willing to conform in ways that are very foreign to them in order to go out and invite people to come to Christ.


Everything here is lovely and/or excellent, from the food to the accommodations, to the instruction, to the facilities, but it is the magnitude of it all that gives me pause and that I marvel at—the amassed power of this mighty army.

Of course we had to take our picture in front of the huge world map.

And then this picture has a story.
Brigham Young and Heber C Kimball were called to serve a mission in England. They and their families were all deathly sick, but the men were heading out anyway. When they got a short distance away, they decided they had to at least try to leave on a note of encouragement, so they dragged themselves to standing in the wagon bed and shouted back to the house, “Hoorah Hoorah for Isarael which brought their wives, also nearly too sick to stand, out onto the porch to wave farewell. The story is depicted in a painting that hangs in the MTC. In our family it is a tradition to shout hoorah for Israel when someone leaves, especially if their leaving is particularly hard or for long. And so, a picture in front of that painting,

And we too stand, wave goodbye and say, “hoorah for Israel!”

Cebuano? Really?

Two years ago, in anticipation of one day serving a mission,I began a deeper study of the Book of Mormon. I wanted to be able to access its contents and use them as a tool in whatever setting, so that I could think of a topic, and without topical guide,turn to a scripture that would address that concern. To do that, I started reading and writing out a synopsis, broken down by doctrinal content and by events. It took a long time, and when I was finished,I realized that it was still too lengthy and cumbersome, and that I had not fulfilled my goal. So I took that abridgement and started abridging it further, hoping to get a succinct enough version that I could then memorize where the groupings of topics were and what stories they were connected to. I was in the process of that exercise when we decide to actually choose a date for our application to be in and an availability date for serving. At that point my study focus changed. We felt an urgent desire to study Preach my Gospel and began on that in earnest while my Book of Mormon study was mostly put aside.

Scroll down a few months. We received our call to Philippines Cebu and I was struggling not just to learn the language but to understand how to deal with the obvious futility of learning this language. Granted there is the gift of tongues, but there is a reason that senior couples often do not learn the language—they don’t get 2 months of intense immersion language training, they do not have a trainer who is master of the language, they are old, with old brains, and in our case we will not truly be immersed in the language. Church will be held in Cebuano, but for the most part, people can speak English, so Cebuano is not mandatory in many circumstances. But,perhaps the most powerful reason I have felt inadequate to the task and resistant to the assurance that it is possible, is the fact that nowhere on our call does it mention Cebuano. The prophet called our assigned language tutor from the MTC to teach in Cebuano, but he did not thus call me. So, though I was giving it much time and my best effort, I had not the vision of, nor even really hope that it would be beneficial or even possible to learn, and so I was feeling frustrated, even damned in my attempts, envisioning a stumbling bumbling conversation that ends in the other person switching to English out of frustration.

Yesterday, as I spoke with our tutor and the dear volunteer who she had arranged to practice with me I fell all to pieces. Marty said something in Cebuano and I had no idea what it was. I couldn’t even tell if it was a question, if I was supposed to answer, or if I was supposed to generate another question of my own. I sat there mute. And they let me, waiting for me to figure it out, but I couldn’t and I just started to cry. I wailed, “I’m going to spend the next 18months mute!” The 2 sisters were most patient and encouraging, citing their own frustrations early on and referring to conference talks. They said all the right things, and I ended up ready to try again and get back on the proverbial (in this case ridiculously impossible-to-ride) horse (remember, I won’t have a trainer or a call). I even was able to send a lighthearted email about it, apologizing for my soppy behavior and assuring them I’d be fine. But I still felt unsatisfied that I’d be able to maintain hope, when none of it was making sense (not the language, but the process/need).

Then this morning I listened to a conference talk that Ian had suggested to me from Priesthood session. I had asked him to suggest something that from his experience as a trainer of senior missionaries would be helpful in my struggle. It was elder Holland’s talk, and it made the whole thing seem so real. He did not address the language problem per se, but he called for an army, and all of a sudden I could picture myself as a soldeer in that army, and I had tools and could craft new ones. It felt VERY empowering.

Then later in the morning, as Dean was tutoring with our tutor,I got on the treadmill and rather than listening to an audible book, I started on the conference talks. Ya, I’d already listened to 1, so a little respite from heavy and deep would have been justified, especially since running is not eased by conference talks so much as by historical fiction. Nonetheless, I had been emboldened by Elder Holland’s call, and I would not be a slouchy soldier, so I chose conference and started at the beginning—Elder Scott on the value of scripture.

My first insight had to do with the story he told of Peter denying Christ thrice, But that is another entry.

As I struggled up the incline on the treadmill, Elder Scott spoke of his precious wife Jeanine and her love of the Book of Mormon, first on her mission in the North West US, then on their mission in Cordova. I wondered if she learned Spanish. I wondered if she felt mute as I do, but he said that she strongly encouraged the use of the Book of Mormon in their proselytizing efforts, encouraging all to base their lives on its doctrine. I wondered how she had done that in a foreign language, certainly she had only rudimentary Spanish if any: her earlier mission had been English speaking, so how could she have been so clear to the people about the power of the Book of Mormon, in a foreign language? And it hit me. That book speaks for itself! No amount of Cebuano-butchering that I do will diminish its power! And I can read it IN CEBUANO!! My study last year has given me better access to the book and that access translates in my own, familiar, English letters into Cebuano!! I can conquer whatever level of Cebuano Amahan sa Langit is willing to bless me with,but it will be the Book of Mormon that will eloquently teach whatever it is I wish to communicate of God’s plans and processes. Oh what a relief that inspiration was. I can now dig into my language study with out the seeming paradox of needing to master what is un-masterable in my circumstances. I can learn for the joy of it, for the love it will allow me to feel and to convey, but not with the added burden of feeling I had to teach in it. The Book of Mormon will do that for me.

Am I still daunted in learning Cebuano? Oh yes. Every phrase I painfully, haltingly put together with the aid of pattern phrases elicits images of ineptitude and frustration. But, there is the hope that I can point to the Book of Mormon and use it to bless lives.