my heart will go on....?‏

Hey Everyone,

For some reason, this internet cafe has an instrumental version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" on repeat. Kind of weird, but I appreciate the reminder, as I going to be breaking up with Taiwan soon.

But life is still so good!
This week I received my last wonderful companion, Sister Chu! I don't know how I've gotten so lucky, but 5 out of the 8 companions I've had on island have been native Taiwanese. I feel I get along with them better than Americans, and I love speaking Chinese all the time, from the groggy early morning to lunch conversations to the happy after-planning talk. I don't know how I'm going to talk to any of you, when I get home. Chinese comes more naturally out of my mouth these days; I catch myself speaking it accidentally to the senior couples or new missionaries who totally don't understand it, and half to correct myself.

Here is a picture of Chu Jiemei and I sitting on my bed, in front of the Christmas tree Mom sent me, which I love so much!! Thank you! The other picture is of me and Vic, who I wrote about last week.

Chu Jiemei and I are always laughing. She is like a child. She says whatever comes out of her mouth, which is sometimes chattery gossip, and sometimes a random song. While she is in the shower she will sing two lines of one hymn and then randomly switch to humming "Happy Birthday' and then thirty seconds later start belting, "You Raise me up!!! so I can stand on mountains!!!" in her cute accent. I love it, it cracks me up, and I am always so curious at how her brain makes these connections.

Lately, in between teaching investigators and talking to strangers who meiyou kong (don't have time to talk), we have been doing a lot of training. This week we had new missionaries come in, and we did some training on dealing with stress in missionary life, and responding to pain the way Christ responded to pain when suffering the atonement. I drew a little diagram that I thought up during studies one day that depicted stress/pain as a heavy weight sitting on top of Christ, and drew another of the same weight sitting on top of the natural man. The Natural man feels it, and resents it, and in resentful response shoots sharp arrows at the world around him, including other people. But Christ is somehow able to bear the weight while still experiencing and sending out love towards the world around him, so I drew little hearts surrounding him. It was cute. Training is really fun; I love thinking of creative ways to teach, like games, or using art, or good discussion questions. We have to give a ton of different trainings, this next transfer.

A random list of things I love about life:

1. Dou Hua. A hot ginger soup with soft, sweet tofu in it. So incredibly SHUFU (comfortable, but that word really can't be adequately translated), Sister Chu and I love to eat it.
2. The Christmas Choir, which I am doing again this year! We start performing next Sunday
3. Chinese puns. Chinese characters lend themselves SO easily to puns, because so many different characters with different meanings are pronounced the same way. A bunch of missionaries in my district were sick last week so I drew them all cards with fun Chinese puns on them. Then I got sick a few days ago, with one of the worst colds I have ever made in my life. (I basically had a fever for three days, but except for one night I was still able to work.) So they made me a cute satirical card with puns and inside jokes on it. Stuff like that makes me so happy!
4. The love I can feel for random people who I just meet on the street, who don't care to talk to me and may even be rude sometimes but it doesn't matter. I still love them.
5. Being close to God. He really is there. Lately I have been stressed about going home and worrying that he won't be there the way he is now, but he has been finding all these ways through scriptures and the words of people around me or analogies I see every day in the movement of birds or water to teach me that he is always there, and always will be, with his arms stretched out still.

Love you all! Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you all have a great week and lots of bread to eat, since we descendants of John Tanner. And I hope it's not gutter bread.

Dai Jiemei

Vic

Zao an,

A couple nights ago as I was falling asleep, it occurred to me that in six weeks I will be in the Shadow Ridge Ward, giving my homecoming talk. And I thought about all the old ladies in the ward with their nice clothes and cars and spacious houses, and how none of them (or any of you!) know anything about JinHua Jie  or DouHua, speak no chinese, and think Asians all look the same.

That was the first time I've cried, about going home. I felt bitter about it for a few minutes, but then I realized it's really stupid to resent something I know needs to happen, and that I don't want to sour the love I've learned to have for life. I'm going to try to just transfer this love to a new place and new faces, when I get back.

I just want you all to know that no matter who I become in the future, no matter what choices I make, and no matter what I say about my mission then, right now, this is where my thoughts are: I LOVE MY MISSION. I love God. I love people. I love Taiwan. I have never been so happy or felt more real, anywhere or anytime in my life. I love teaching, which is basically an excuse to just have sincere, open, interesting conversations with people about things that matter. I love increasing my knowledge and faith in the restored gospel, which I have chosen to have faith in because it clicks so much in my soul, even if I don't understand it all.

Okay, so I told you I would tell you about Vic. You can stop reading now if your are bored, because it might be long. But I have given up feeling guilty for writing long letters. I think it is worse to record too little.
_______________________________________________________
Here is what I wrote in my journal the day I met him, November 6th:

"Sister Oborn and biked for nearly an hour this morning to visit a less active member who ended up not being home. We had climbed up a dusty mountain road lined with quiet houses that was so steep, we had to walk our bikes, at some parts. When we knocked and no one answered, we left a card decided to talk to people in the neighborhood. There weren't many people, just some construction workers and old ladies who spoke Hawkanese, a native Taiwanese dialect, not Mandarin. Everyone we talked to, though, realizing we were American, kept pointing up the hill. Apparently someone who spoke English lived up there, and they said we should go talk to them.

We slowly made our way up the hill, talking to people, until we got to the house they had indicated. We knocked, and waited, but there was no response. Then finally, when we were about to leave, we heard something stir behind the window and suddenly an old Indian man with dark skin, a large hook nose, and white patches of hair on the sides of his head came out to stand on the front porch. "She's not home!" he said, in English. "She's not home, she went to the hospital!"

We didn't even know who "she" was, but we started talking to this guy, who introduced himself as "Vic". Within a few seconds of talking, we learned that hew as a very intelligent, educated man.A scientist,  who was born in India and lived 45 years of his life in England.  At first he just shared with us casually his his thoughts on America--how it's a terrible place to live and Americans arrogantly think they are the next best thing after sliced bread. (His words). Then the conversation turned to religion. He is Methodist, and believes in God. And yet he said, "I am not sure God believes in me."

He told us how he had been robbed by am investor whose son was a drug addict, and that even though he had always just desired to give to the people around him, he had not necessarily received good in return. He had studied Hinduism as a child, and later Buddhism, Islam, and finally Christianity. "I believe in God," he said, "But like I said, I am not sure any more than God believes in me."

At first, Sister Oborn and I wanted to pipe up with our practiced missionary tones, but every time we tried to squeak about God's love or prayer, Vic would talk over us. He was clearly not in listening mode, and something about the wrinkles around his dark eyes, the dust in the air around us, and that deep, skeptical tone of his voice told me that it was my turn to listen. So I did. He told us about how he despise that religion often became a business, that priests were paid and drove in fancy cars and work rings and pricey watches while Christ wore a simple robe. He said his friends would tease him for dressing so plain when he could easily afford to wear classier things, but a $500 dollar pair of jeans would cover his knees as well as the old, slightly frayed jeans he was wearing right then. He said that there were many faces to God. THe story of live, no matter what face we turn to, is that we are born, we have to grow, we have to figure out how to care for our families, ourselves, and those around us. Then we die. He said he was learned to just thank God in prayer, and to ask for nothing. He said he is now willing to simply submit to God's will.

He said, "You've got to believe in yourselves!"

Before we left, I thanked him for talking to us, for sharing his wisdom. He joked about how I would bike down the hill and forget about him, (he reminded me so much of Dad!) so I told him I would write about him in my journal, and I took a picture. Then I asked if we could say a prayer.

In my prayer, I thanked God that Sister Oborn and I were able to meet Vic. I thanked him for all the simple blessings he has given us of health, family, and knowledge. I thanked him for Vic's example of sacrifice and service, and asked that he might feel peace about his efforts to give to the world. I told God that even though there was so much we don't understand about him and about why life is the way it is, that we believed in goodness. I told him we would continue to let our believe in goodness guide us every day. And I could barely speak because my throat was so full of tears. I really, truly believed in God, in that moment."


So yeah, that was my story with Vic. It may seem like a faith-shaking thing, but I remember the feeling of praying on his doorstep, and I felt this powerful warmth of God's love and acknowledgment of the three of us. It was so incredibly faith-promoting, to me. I love Vic, and all the good people in the world. And I want to be like him, to keep believing in God and in myself even if the world doesn't believe in him or in themselves enough. I love being on a mission because things like this happen that just feel like the movies.

Have a great week!

Diana

chouxiang de dongxi‏

Zao An,

This week was possibly even more full than last week. I went on exchanges every day from Tuesday to Saturday, basically getting a tour of all the cities on the Northwest coast of Taiwan. This week was really tiring, but good. So much traveling, so much thinking, so much talking to strangers.

Most missionaries hate what is called "finding time"--when we don't have lessons planned so we go contact people outside strip malls or at metro stations, or go knock on their doors. I used to not like it much, but now even though it is still certainly uncomfortable, I find it so immensely rewarding. I have to be so intellectually and spiritually on my toes. I have to be constantly thinking about who the various people are who I meet, and how to make the gospel make sense to them, and how to say that in Chinese. But it isn't just about rhetoric and translation--I have to have my heart right, to do "finding time" well. I have to feel in my heart the existence of God and his love for the people I meet. If my heart isn't right, I can't think of anything to say, or else whatever I say feels so hollow.

Remind me to tell you all about this man I met this week, named Vic. I will never forget him. I hope not, at least, because I promised him I would never forget him. Next week I will tell you about him, okay?

Sometimes I am so compelled by Buddhist philosophy. When we are contacting, it becomes apparent how differently they see the world. They are so perfectly okay with multiple realities existing--with Christ being my God and Buddha being theirs. They aren't on the quest for the one true phenomenological reality that Westerner's are on the search for. While missionaries in America probably discuss whether or not Joseph Smith's first vision really occurred, here the question is not whether it occurred but whether it matters.

Buddhism is appealing to me because I hate telling people they might be wrong. I hate being so arrogant as to assume I know how this old man should think about the pain he's seen in his life or what this young girl should dream about before she falls asleep each night. Adopting a single narrative of what life is about and what things are good in life is a scary, brave, bold thing to do.

And yet... The alternative isn't pretty, either. Last night I was praying about this question. And It really is so beautiful to me how God can guide my thoughts and I can learn things from prayer that I literally did not know before I started speaking to him in my heart. As I was pondering, I came to two conclusions that seemed so important to me at 11:00 at night that even in the dark, I grabbed my journal and a pen from off my desk and wrote them down in extremely messy handwriting. Here they are:

1) Buddhist thought renders my daily actions meaningless. Whenever I am most compelled by Buddhism, I also tend to be the most relaxed/lazy in my actions.  Why does it matter whether I talk to this person on the street about the gospel, or write a card to this ward member whose Mom died, or comfort my companion who is in a bad mood? Aren't we all just on different paths to nothingness? Service becomes really meaningless because there isn't any agreed way to serve, any need that we agree should be fulfilled. Even though I get scared when I think of the big picture, and what it means to have such a singular perspective on life, I really can't honestly agree that the small picture things--like whether I scowl at my companion or tell her I love her, right now--don't matter. They do, and they make such a difference.

2) Buddhist thought severely limits our experience of happiness. (I guess that is the point; it escapes suffering by escaping all judgments in life about what is good and bad, what is happy and unhappy.) Why does it matter whether or not my companion and I get along, whether or not this tired mother finds comfort in the scriptures we share with her, whether or not our investigator receives answer to her prayer? I am not able to find joy in even these simple things, as a Buddhist, because none of those things are REALLY good, they are just one dialogue among many for what good is. From a perspective of a God who wants us to experience happiness, it seems that we need to one extent or another to adopt a singular perspective of what happiness is, and that reach for that.

The other thing that just gets me at the end of the day is that I love God. I really, really believe in him, and that goodness is closeness to him. I have learned on my mission that faith has nothing to do with the strength of our rhetoric when we are bearing our testimonies, (I always personally feel more comfortable with the word "believe" rather than "know"), as it does with the moment to moment trust we put in him to show us how to live well. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that if I can figure out the big picture of life somehow I can escape the vulnerability of living day to day by faith. I can't. But that's okay! Because nothing is sweeter than living by faith with him. It's a kind of happiness I never understand or really experienced before my mission, and I hope I can always sustain it in my life. I get scared of saying I know what happiness is, because of the reasons I stated above, and yet in my life I am so sure I know what has made me happy and made my bad moods shorter and my relationships with others better--and it really is the gospel of Jesus Christ. I wish I could express to you all the tiny prayers answered and the little thigns that just click, but it's impossible to express it all. Just know that even though I have my lost moments like we all do, in the end I really, really do believe.

Sorry for once again sending you all a really long and abstract letter. Hope it was at least interesting.

Sister Brown

women meiyou liyou gaoxing ma?‏

Hey everyone!

This letter may be long, but hopefully it will be worth it.
Last week was perhaps the happiest, loveliest, most meaningful week of my entire life. I even doubt my future will be able to bring a week so purely joyful. I was able to be totally consecrated towards serving God, and it sat on top of the past sixteen months of isolation from the world so I was prepared spiritually to receive, comprehend, and enjoy all the good that came.

The week started with a 5-hour train ride to the absolutely beautiful South-eastern corner of Taiwan, to Taidong! We passed miles and miles of green mountains and lonely house towers with curvy roofs, and I thought scary thoughts about my future, and whether there are such things as good decisions, or just decisions. But I prayed and read scriptures for several hours straight, and this deep feeling of peace settled in. I felt God so close to me, reassuring me that no matter where I went in life, he would always be there to help me enjoy it, to see how to serve others, to better and beautify my world.

The feel of that train ride set the tone for the whole week. I worked hard--really hard--both on my feet and in my heart. Because of some special assignments from President Day, I ended up going on exchanges every day and serving in three different cities (Taidong, Hualien, and ZhongLi). That alone required so much service, as I tried to understand, love, and learn how to work with a new companion every day. All of them tell different stories, have different ways of looking you in the eye, and have a different way of taking up space in the world, whether they're standing on a stranger's front porch or biking ten yards ahead of me. I feel I could write a book about each of them, and the things I learned, but here are some highlights.

Sister Singh is a new missionary, and we had long hours of contacting people together. I really wanted to help her feel safe and confident to be herself, while talking to people. She feels herself has kind of been silenced my Chinese and missionary routine, since she came, so I tried to help her see it didn't have to be that way. We laughed at the funny things that happened, like a woman coming up to pet my nose because it was so straight, and took pictures of an insane spider web we saw. I asked what was important to her and she said dancing--so we thought of a bunch of dancing metaphors she could use when she is teaching people. We biked home through the quiet streets at night insanely happy, and were singing primary hymns with each other.

Sister Miao has been on her mission longer, so we had a great time just learning from each other's experiences, and getting to be closer friends. She is an older missionary--28, but so humble and open to learning from other people. We saw amazing things together, including a lesson with an investigator whose door the elders had just happened to knock on the day before--who was so incredibly in need of the gospel! She has had family members die, recently, and really wants to be connected with her purpose in life. She cried as we prayed, because she felt so "good". It was such a beautiful experience that seemed to come just out Preach my Gospel.

I also got to go on exchanges with Sister Briggs, my old MTC companion! There was a sacred joy that seemed to flow between us, as we biked together through lovely fields with foggy mountains in our backdrop, and we silently appreciated how much we have grown over the past year and half. In between the houses we knocked, we discussed how much we had changed, and how we felt like sisters. We talked about how our missions were in many ways experiments to see if we could really love--and at least in our relationship, it seemed true. There is a faith in Sister Briggs that wasn't there, before. We had so much fun, together, having good conversations with Taiwanese people who we can really communicate with, now, and in discussing which houses seemed too Buddhist to knock on, based on the elaboration of their altars that we saw through their windows.

The last exchange of the week was with Sister Call. She is another incredibly humble, good person who is trying to learn how to be confident in this world. In our one day together, we saw an amazing thing happen of a girl changing her heart from wanting to have her records removed from the church to being willing to give the church a second chance. This happened as a result of several decisions made on top of a random coincidence--that we ran into this girl as she was handing out flyers for her work on the busy street outside the train station. Sister Call awkwardly said hi, then walked away. I didn't think anything of it, until we were unlocking our bikes and Sister Call told me this girl had stopped coming to church soon after she was baptized, last April. She wasn't sure why, but she knew this girl wanted to have her church records removed.

We were late to an appointment, and I didn't know this girl at all, but it occurred to me that we shoudl take advantage of the fact that we had just seen her. I asked Sister Call if we could write her a card, so I wrote a quick one in Chinese about how I hoped her life was going well and that I believed God loved her, no matter what she decided to do. We walked back to give it to her. She was surprisingly friendly and talkative, asking bluntly, "Why did you write this for me?" I shrugged, not sure what to say. We kept talking, and she agreed to meet with us the next morning.

We met with her the next day at a members' apartment. I was so tired, as we sat down on the couch, said a prayer, and started talking. It had been a long week! I was a bit tempted to zone out and let Sister Call lead the lesson-it was her area, after all. But I knew that wasn't honest, so I said a silent prayer to be able to concentrate and dived into the lesson. It was so powerful. THe girl was open about her concerns; she was basically confused about some doctrinal issues, and as a result had stopped praying, coming to church, and keeping commandments. We were all really open and vulnerable with our experiences and testimonies. There was a magical hush that settled in on us. In the end, the girl ended up seeing that removing her church records wasn't really going to solve what she was struggling. She agreed to do a month-long experiment of reading scriptures, praying, and keeping commandments every day, and would decide after that what to do.

WHile we were going down in the elevator, I felt for the millionth time that week like screaming how happy I was. I was able to make a difference in a person's life, for good. Why? How? Just by doing the simple things. Saying prayers, looking our for others, and trying to be good in every minute. It was God, that silent, smiling friend in my heart--who helped me make all those small decisions along the way of writing the card, scheduling the appointment, choosing to concentrate so I could teach with the spirit. This is why theories like Marx's that religion is just an opiate for the masses don't really seem to understand religion, like it plays out in my life. For me, believing in God is believing in the good that can be done in every minute. It's something that keeps me constantly on my feet, walking and going somewhere--not sitting in my house hiding from the pain of the world.

I love life so much! I love you all a lot, too! Have a great week!

Sister Brown