Tender Mercies

Thanks so much for everyone's letters this week. They were amazing to read. I am so lucky to have such thoughtful, caring, sincere family members. I wish I could reply to everyone, but I was trying to reply to as many as I can so this week's letter will be a little shorter. Which probably isn't a problem because usually they are really long. (SORRY!)

 

Before I forget: We get to go to the temple a week from Wednesday, so next week my P-Day will be Wednesday instead of Monday. Don't freak out when I don't write.

 

This week was full of mercy and MSG. Does anyone know what the ill effects of MSG really are? I never thought to look into it. There is a suspicious but not-unwelcome sweetness to most things I eat here. Food here is so cheap and generally pretty good. But sometimes it seems like it's all carbs and meat. Rice, noodles, sandwiches, dumplings, steamed stuffed buns, bakery foods... Many things are served with an egg somewhere in the mix (something I'm developing a fondness for), either a fried egg sitting on top of your noodles or cooked into a crepe-type thing, or a hardboiled egg that was soaked in soy sauce. It's all good but I'm one who likes to eat more rabbit food, so to speak. I try to have fruit for breakfast or whenever someone offers it to us, and vegetables whenever I can. But I really miss fresh vegetables, and salads. The only time I eat veggies are when they are offered (cooked and flavored) with rice. Dad, I am so envious of the garden crop you must be enjoying right now!

 

So much happened this week, so much that I am grateful for. We got to listen to general conference this weekend. The six of us XinZhuang missionaries set up tables in the chapel and thirstily took notes while eating all the snacks we brought. Really, conference was like a drink of cold water after a run, for me. It was in English! And so many good, beautiful ideas and things to think about. At some points I felt like bursting with the goodness of Christ and his mercy towards me.

 

Being able to feel that was so important and dear to me.

 

The question that always rings through my head as our bikes slide to a halt at stoplights and we awkwardly begin conversation with the people on scooters next to us, or as we put together lesson plans for this handful of special people we get to teach, or as we stumble into our elevator at the end of a long day and words to describe it fumble out of our mouths, is the question of my own sincerity. Maybe some missionries never think of this, but to me for every person I meet I feel I need to answer the questions again, "Is the gospel REALLY what this person needs? Why? How? And how am I going to convey that to them?" My biggest fears as a missionary are routine and habit, poisons that I sometimes feel tempted to indulge in but which I never want to. The gospel is so alive in me when I choose to let it be, and that spark of life, of hope, of goodness, is the most precious gift I have ever been given. I never want to take it for granted, I never want to say "Jesus Christ loves you" and not feel it at the same time. There was a talk in the MTC about repentance that gave me so much comfort, on this topic. The speaker urged us to always, always remember our moments in which we felt saved, redeemed, forgiven by God, etc. To never let the goodness and life of that die in our hearts. It is what sustained Alma the Younger and allowed him to bless so many people's lives. He said at the end of the talk that if we can always do that, "Your cries will be sincere". And those words follow me everywhere I go.

 

There is so much hurt in the world,. I really believe this gospel is the answer. I struggle to communicate with people and sometimes it feels like I'm sreaming at them from the other side of a transparent, sound proof wall. Not just because of my language inabilities--(sometimes I feel the same communication gap with my companion.) But because no one will ever hear what they are not open to. But I remind myself of the goodness and reality of what I have experienced through my relationship with God. I remember moments like last night when we were biking fruitlessly around South XinZhuang for some person we had never met before and never actually did find. And I started singing "How Firm a Foundation" to myself, in a voice so dim and timid above the push and pull roar of the traffic and the people talking. But I felt God's love for me and for the people around me so strong and pure in my heart. And what a gift it is to be able to say that "my cries are sincere."

 

But don't think I'm a stellar missionary. I am so weak and have so much to learn.

 

Love you all Got to go.

 

Diana