Oh my goodness. I believe you may have heard this before, but the longer you're out, the more tired you get. We try to bike as much as possibly, because when we travel by car (which we have to do a lot, because our area is huge) my head is bobbing like the hips on the hula girl on the trucker's dashboard. Seriously. And studies? Studies are a joke. I do what I can to stay awake, but it's so hard. Somehow, today I managed to read all six pages en El Libro de Mormon (for those who forgot, I have a goal to finish it the day I go home), read a chapter in the New Testament (because I'm working on inspired questions, so I'm studying the questions Jesus asked), and a few pages in Preach My Gospel. I feel accomplished.
This week was really good, though. We had a lot of lessons (don't worry, I stay awake during lessons). I crashed on my bike again (do you think seven times in one mission is enough, or will I crash again in these next few weeks? We'll see). We met some borrachos in the middle of no where. Sleep talking with Hermana Hubner. I think it's been a pretty good week.
So, when I crashed on my bike, it was just de repente. I don't really know what happened. My tire slipped off the sidewalk onto the grass, and I tried to get back on, and my bike was confused and I fell. I looked at my arm (the only place of injury) and my first thought was, "If that doesn't heal before the wedding, Krystal will kill me." But don't worry, it's healing fine. I'm mostly worried about my exit interview on Friday and what President will say. Remember how after the third time I crashed, he threatened to never let me bike again? I've kept quiet about my other three accidents, but this one, he'll see the proof. Oops.
We were going though the potentials list the other day, and we saw someone we wanted to visit. So we put him in our plans, and went to see him the next night. We'll call him Andres.
You know how, in the movies, the immigrants that work in the fields live in cabins nearby, and they drink, swear, and gamble all night? I didn't think they still existed. I thought they were a thing of the past, if not just from movies. I'd never seen them before. I have seen oversized chicken coops converted into apartments for the immigrant workers, but never these cabin communities. But, hey, they exist!
We pull up, in our silver 2014 Toyota Corolla (mission cars. Seriously. Why do they give such nice cars to Spanish missionaries? It makes no sense), and turn off the car. It's about 8pm, we were going to see this potential on the way back to Lynden. We see this circle of cabins, some with the lights on, others the lights off. Slurred voices and laughter are audible above As Sisters in Zion, playing quietly in the sound system of our fancypants car. A few people are visible, stumbling from one cabin to another, and couples sitting in cars here and there. Needless to say, we made sure the doors were locked before praying.
We look at our notes and are dismayed to see that the missionaries who met Andres weren't sure which cabin he lived in. So we leave the car and walk into the circle of cabins, ready, but a little scared, to knock each door in search for this man that was interested about a year about before the area shut down. A man approaches us, likely drunk, and asks who we're looking for. We tell him, and he directs us to cabin number 6. We thank him, and go to knock on the door of number six, but it's open, and a table full of staggering drunk hispanics are playing a game of poker. We asked for Andres, and everyone points to a skinny little leprechaun man who's falling off his chair. He invites us in, and we politely asked if we could talk outside. Even with a third female we wouldn't have entered that cabin.
The drunk leprechaun man comes outside, and he tells us about how nice the missionaries were, oh, so nice. He tells us that we're 'lindas,' then continues rambling about the elders. He asks us to return the next day, because they were in a very important poker game and would not be able to talk, so we set a return appointment (for in the day time when hopefully everyone would be sober) and left.
We came back the next day, and Andres wasn't home. Somehow, he had remembered that we would be returning, and asked his buddies to tell us that he got called into work. All his buddies, even though it was 2:30 in the afternoon, were slobbering drunk. They talked to us about how important God is, how much they love Him, about how missionaries don't wear pants because they wear dresses, asked if we were married or had kids, talked some more about how great God is, then they all kind of wandered away at the same time and we left.
I kind of feel like drunks are zombies that can talk. They'll just talk your ear off about God in Spanish, flirt a bit, then go back to talking about God, then wander away when they get distracted. Except that I know a zombie would have just eaten us.
Being companions with Hermana Hubner is really fun. We wake up in the morning, go about the morning activities in silence, trying to wake up, then we personal study, then it's time for companionship, and it's like we're fully awake. "Were you talking to me last night?" "No, I was asleep. Were you talking to me?" So fun. Last night, she was praying in her sleep, and at another point, I guess I de repente started talking to her, very matter of fact. She said I said, "Hermana, tienes que," and was telling her things that she needed to do, but it was all in Spanish, so she zoned out and fell asleep again.
So funny. (: Well, love you guys. See you in three years!
Hermana Miller
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