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.
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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