Extra! Extra!

I have always wanted to have a neighbor

   Just-- like-- you!

I've always wanted to live in this neighborhood

   With you, so,

Let's make the most of this beautiful day!

   Since we're together,

   Might as well say:

Would you be mine? Could you be mine?

    Won't you be my neighbor?

Hello, neighbors! It's another sunny day in good ol' Jequié and the air is rich with the sweet fragrance of garbage, horse manure, and acarajé.

   Speaking of Mr. Rogers, there's a little white boy here with a long bowlish haircut who looks just like Rebecca in her Mr. Rogers stage of life, complete with gapped teeth and goofy energy. I'm determined to teach him and his family tomorrow!

   This week's headlines include such themes as "Jequié's Well Runs Dry!", "Sister Attacked By Dog!" and "New Beginnings!"  We'll take this email one headline at a time.

1. Jequié's Well Runs Dry!

    After a long day of sweating under the scorching sun, having dirt and who-knows-what-else blown over us, braving unsanitary "bathrooms" and playing with the dogs of our investigators, we Sisters made our way home Tuesday night in our usual itchy, grimy, smelly state anticipating a cold shower and the relief of soap to brake up the shell that was suffocating our flesh. The Brasilians were the first to shower. Their showers were short and when the last of them emerged, clean and fresh, she apologetically announced to us, "Agua acabou," (the water ran out)! Ran out? What do you mean it ran out? We turned every faucet in the apartment. Nothing. Not a single drop to ease our caked skin.  And so we slept in our grime. 

 

    For several days, Jequiézinho (the barro in which we live) was without water. The Elders gave us some keys to the church so we could fill up some water bottles there and have something with which to at least wash our dishes. The next night, we learned that the woman who lives at the bottom of our apartment building had water, so we filled up some pots, pans, water bottles and buckets and hefted them up the 4 flights of stairs to our apartment to bathe with. I couldn't help thinking of Rebekah  in the Bible, hastening up and down the stairs of the well to draw enough water to satisfy several camels. Oh, it felt heavenly to pour a bucket of water over my head after 48 hours! Thankfully, we were blessed with three days of rain after that and our water is back to normal (we hope).

2. Sister Attacked By Dog!

    Poor Sister Freitas, one of our Brasilian roommates, hobbled home with blood dripping down her legs on Friday night after several hours of hopping from one hospital to another in search of a vaccine that no one claimed to have. She was attacked in the home of an investigator when she went out back to use their latrine. The dog bit both of her legs before the owner pulled him off and the bites, though small, are deep and didn't stop bleeding until Sunday morning! Sister Freitas and Sister C. Silva took several pictures, excited by the mission experience, but also super nervous about infection. Sister Freitas is on the mend now, ready to get back to work tomorrow, and I think the investigator came to church on Sunday.

3. New Beginnings!

     Sister Ellis has a gift for drawing, and this gift was put to use in designing a huge temple to decorate the wall for the Young Women's New Beginnings activity. We got to help prepare for the event and oh, how it made me miss my YW days! It's so fascinating to see that some things are the same, despite where you are in the world or what language you're speaking.  The Young Women here are super strong, and many of them are the only members of the church in their families. It was so fun to work with them for three nights in a row!

Well, that's all folks. I hope y'all are well, happy and healthy!

-Sister Whitaker

Turn, Turn, Turn

    I saw two nests with baby birds in them this past week and thought to myself, "Oh! It must be spring!" And then I thought, "No, that's not right... It should be almost Fall here now...." But the truth of it is, there's no such thing as seasons in Bahia. It's all one eternal Summer. So how do the birds know when to lay eggs? How do the flowers know when to bloom? I guess it's all just random here. I decided that when I get home, I'm going to write a book called "700 Days of Summer", because that's about how long it will have been before I experience anything but Summer weather again. I left just before Fall began in the US to greet the Brasilian Summer and Spring will be just around the corner when I get home. Strange.

   To everything there may be a season, but I'm not sure what that means in Bahia. I believe this could be one reason why people here seem to have no sense of time. They can sit around in their homes doing nothing but watching TV for days and days at a time and never feel like they've wasted a moment. As a missionary, I feel like I'm in a time bubble. It's as if the world has actually stopped turning and I'm just going to keep doing missionary work until it starts again. The lack of changing seasons doesn't bother me when I'm keeping track of time in mission transfers. But how do these people live their whole lives like this?

    There's a hazy laziness that seems to be draped over the people if Bahia. The hot sun, the lack of change, all these things contribute to the lack of motivation people seem to have here. It's nice to enjoy a summer day every now and then, sipping ice-cold juice and lounging in the sun while kids play in the street. But when does it end? There's never a cold spell to urge the people to get back to work, back to school, back to SOMETHING! It's almost Twilight-Zone-ish. Maybe it only seems that way to me because I only see people while they're at home. I know that they do have work and school. I just never see them there. That must be it. Surely, that must be it!

   Yesterday as we walked for miles under the hot sun to accompany our investigators to church, and as one after the other turned us down because of sore feet, messy houses that needed to be cleaned, a stuffy nose, or a lack of sleep, I reflected on the words of Alma. Just like him, I found myself wishing, "Oh! That I were an angel and could have the wish of my heart! That I could go forth with a voice like a trumpet and preach repentance unto all people!" (Ok, that's not an exact quote because I'm translating from Português) I wanted to stand on a mountain and yell so all could hear me in the whole city: "You lazy people! Wake up and see what's really important! Can't you see that the answer to all your problems is right here, waiting for you to get off your couches and accept it?!" And then I thought of Christ, preaching to people who wanted what He was offering, but weren't willing to do their part to accept it. How incredibly frustrating that must have been for Him. And then He ended His mission by suffering for their sins, weaknesses, laziness, pains... everything. Every person who ever lived, He suffered and died for them. How could He do it? I marveled over this as I boiled inwardly, making the long walk to church unaccompanied by those I've been trying so hard to help. How could he take this heartache over and over again for years and then, having been rejected by the people, suffer for them? 

    Then it hit me. He suffered for all in the hope of the few who WOULD accept His offering. This realization hit me with such force that I burst into tears (probably freaked out my companion and all of the Brasilians around us on the road). His hope for the few gave Him the strength and the love necessary to pay the price for all. I feel like the more I understand the atonement, the less I comprehend it. What infiinite love! I stand all amazed at my Savior more and more every day. 

    As a missionary, I am constantly humbled to represent such a Perfect Being. And it gives me strength, somehow. The more I recognize how unqualified I am for this work, the more I rely on Him and see His hand mold me into someone better. I'm doing this work for Him, because these people are so important to Him. Every soul is so precious, and I'll keep doing this work, sweating and teaching all for the hope of the few who are ready now to accept the blessings of the Gospel.

    This Church is true. I know it. I know it, and I can not deny it. Missionary work is not easy, but it really is worth it, just for the changes I'm seeing in myself and the lives of others. I know that Jesus Christ lives, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is His church, and that He loves all of you more than you can possibly understand.

    Pray to Him. He wants to hear from you.

I love you all!!!

-Sister Whitaker

So Much Love!

Oi família e amigos!

     I'm officially going to get fat in this area. I just know it. It's funny, because the members don't feed us a ton here like they did in Salvador ("Sister, comer mais!"), but all the people on the streets who see us passing by every day have come to believe that we're starving and they all want to take care of us. They don't want to come to church or anything, they just want us to come into their homes and eat all their food and say pretty things about Jesus. There's one young woman, Camila (22), who always wants us to stop at her house every single day. Her house is the cool place to be, and once word spreads that we're there, the kids and teens come from up and down the road to peer through the windows or crowd into the house to be with us. I've never felt more like a celebrity in my life. They're all so proud now that they've learned to say my name (or, the Brasilian version of it, anyway) that I hear it from all directions. "Seester Weetah-kuh! Seester Weetah-kuh!" They all want to touch me and hear me speak in my dreadful American accent. Whenever we enter the house, Camila slips a few reais into the hands of a 13-year-old, gangly black boy named Mataus (who can dance exactly like Michael Jackson) and before I can untangle myself from the crowd of enamored children to protest, Mataus sets off at a run down the street, sandals slapping against the cobblestones, to buy something from the local mercado for us to eat. "No, no," I protest. "We're not hungry!" But Camila won't have it. Sometimes I think I can stop Mateus before he sets off, but Camila is a sly one and she always sends him when I least expect it. Then I have to swim my way out of the crowded house. "No. No! Stop that boy!!!" But it's no use. Whether we want it or not, Sister Ellis and I are made to sit at the table every evening and eat biscoitos with juice.

    We always end up teaching several lessons while we're there, and when we finally convince Camila to let us go, we're only permitted to leave after I've sung a hymn to them (one verse in English and one in Português) and we've all knelt in a circle and had a prayer. Man, I love those guys! Only four of them have come to church so far, but we're working on it.

    It's nice to be so loved. Really nice!  I feel completely spoiled here. The only problem is that it's hard to tell who's actually interested in our message and who just wants us to keep coming to their house. And when we realize that it's the latter, it's hard to know how to tell them that we can't keep visiting with them, because we need to be teaching people who want to be baptized. This past week was wonderful and awful for just that reason. It's wonderful to have so many friends here and to be so loved by all the people, but it's like a knife in the heart when you have to accept that they just aren't willing to accept the restored gospel. Why, people? Why!? Don't you realize how much better your lives could be?!

     I love, love, love this gospel and the effect it's had on my life. Don't you ever forget it, my friends and family: this church is true!

     Thank you all so much for your letters, your emails, your prayers and your love. I promise I'm doing my best to respond to everyone!

     

All my love,

-Sister Weetah-kuh

Enchanting Thoughts

    Six-thirty a.m., the alarm goes off. Four sister missionaries crammed into the same room one by one slide onto their knees without ever opening their eyes and slip naturally from sleep to prayer. The day begins without a word from anyone as they each find their own corner of the tiny apartment in which to exercise. This morning's breakfast of choice is the same as yesterday's and all the days before: bread and milk with Nescau powder and vitamina. Then begin the hours of study, practice, and preparation for the day. 11:30: Fully clothed, hair pulled away from the face and neck in the captive knot of choice, Chaco sandals securely fastened, the four sisters kneel in prayer. I think of the people we've planned to visit for the day, and of the people we might encounter. Joselha's husband doesn't want her to go to church, what can we do to help her? Tamiris has been keeping all of her commitments, but she didn't come to church. We need to try again to find the house of that one man who asked us to visit him.... All these thoughts swim around my head as I rise to my feet and, together with my companion, descend 4 flights of stairs and make my way down the long, dark hallway of our apartment building. The big metal door opens with a deep groan, and we are splashed with the almost blinding light of the sun. Good morning, Jequié! 

Anything can happen today. 

We are missionaries!

Yes, my life really is that epic. Someone should make a movie about it.

I think one of the most tragic words in the English language is "disenchanted". If you ever were once enchanted by something, stay enchanted! If you're not enchanted by life, you need to stop. Look around you. Breathe in the scents. Take in the colors. Listen to the sounds. Allow yourself to be swept off your feet, if only for a few minutes!

    What enchants you about your life currently? Here in Jequié, I'm enchanted by the gorgeous green mountains that surround the city. I'm enchanted by the clip-clop of horse hooves on cobblestones as they pull carts through the streets. I'm enchanted by the children who gather to whisper about us as we pass and then urge the bravest of the bunch to call out to us, "Fala Inglês!" (speak English!) and when the request is granted they split into peals of delighted giggles. I'm enchanted by the little boys who play futebol in the road. I'm enchanted by the man who gives us bushels of bananas for free just because he likes us. I'm enchanted by all the houses that sell gelaginho for 50 centavos. I'm enchanted by the terracotta rooftops, the daily-baked rolls of bread that everyone eats for breakfast from their local bakery (pre-sliced loaves are a joke to Brasilians), the many fruit stands that sell bananas, coconuts, mangoes, oranges and avocados the size of your limbs for super cheap. I'm enchanted by the women who walk around with umbrellas to protect their skin from the sun (it's so hot here I finally joined the ranks last week).

   Overall, I'm just enchanted by Brasil. Sometimes it's easy to become so focused on work, work, work, that one starts to forget the magical scent of mango trees on the air and "disenchantment" starts to set in. What was once "Ah! Brasil!!!" becomes, "eh, Brasil." Then I have to skid to a halt and  ask myself, "Just Brasil?! Did I really just think that??" And then it's time to stop in the shade for a few minutes and soak in the blessing of living in such a place for 18 months of my life.

   I think the same thing happens to us all in our day-to-day lives. We become so caught up in our routine that we forget how blessed we are. There exists a cliché dream in the US of lounging on a tropical beach, sipping coconut milk through a straw. Well, that's people's reality here and they can think of nothing more glamorous than taking a car to the McDonald's drive-thru. One of my companions had a packet of mayonnaise from Burger King that she kept on her desk like a trophy.

    Now that I'm here, sometimes I lose myself to daydreams of sitting on my couch at home during the cold autumn months with fluffy socks on my feet and an over-sized sweater that I can slip over my knees while sipping chamomile ginger lemon tea and watching the fallen leaves get soggy in Oregon's rain. It's the little things like that which make life enchanting and, no matter where you are in the world, these "little things" exist in some form or another. Never become disenchanted with anything! Relish the good where you are when you are! It's in treasuring the simple joys of life that we become truly grateful people. It's a form of worship, really-- recognizing the blessings that God has given us. I love what James E. Talmadge said in his book "Jesus the Christ":

      "Though the sun shines and the rain falls upon the just and the unjust, the righteous man is grateful for these blessings; the ungodly man receives the benefits as a matter of course with a soul incapable of gratitude. The capacity to be grateful is a blessing, for the possession of which we should be further grateful."

I love you all so much! I'm so grateful for every single person in my life!

_Sister Weezer

The Lost and Forgotten

Jequié is quite the adventure, let me tell ya!  

   Here, there is no rhyme or reason to the numbers on the houses, so when we have only the address of a person to go off of, it's basically the same as having nothing. At first I found this frustrating, but it's actually turned out to be great for meeting new people! All we do is wander around the streets, asking people if they know who "Maria da Carma" is and where she lives and before we know it we've got 5 new investigators! The people here are extremely friendly. Even more so than the people in Mussurunga! They all are eager to help you find whatever you're looking for and will drop whatever they're doing to lead you to your destination if they know where it is. We've even had a guy jump in his car and chase us down to let us know that we'd walked right past the house he'd directed us to. He knew because he'd been watching us from the top of the hill to make sure we didn't make any wrong turns. 

   Yesterday as we were walking down the street, a young woman yelled from her porch in very enthusiastic broken English, "Hi! I love you!" And then she insisted that we come meet all her relatives and eat churrasco (Brasilian BBQ) with them. How could we refuse? Needless to say, we have a lot of new friends on that street. 

   Highlights of the week:

   - A man who looked like an Abercrombie model tried to kiss me (don't worry, I gave the standard awkward missionary cower and apologetic squeal of protest)

   - A super evangelic woman drove us from house to house, with her arms gesticulating in a gospel passion, to heal the sick of the neighborhood (don't worry, we explained to her that we don't have the priesthood, which has been restored in these latter days through a living prophet, but that we can always pray and be healed according to our faith. We have a very promising new investigator from that experience).

   

This area is SUPER "crente" (evangelical). Everyone's always trying to tell us that we're prophets (despite our constant protests that missionaries are not prophets) and saying "Walk with God, my daughter! Amen!"  They believe that everyone's a prophet and whatever you want to believe is true. They all "love to hear the word of God" and will eagerly invite you into their home with hallelujahs, anticipating a wild spiritual adventure of yelling at devils to leave and Jesus to save and peace and love and praise be! Then they're confused by the calmness of our message (sometimes disappointed) and aren't sure what to think of us. 

    Because of the confusion of house addresses (you always have to go by landmarks here, not addresses), we spend a lot of time getting lost and I'm coming to appreciate the beauty of what it means to lose yourself, or forget yourself, in the work. Here I've come to see that to forget myself means to forget that I don't speak Português well and just start talking. It means to forget what I like or don't like and try things out. When I'm really focused on the work and the people here, every once in a while I'll realize I'm eating something atrocious and something will say, "Hey, you don't like that!" And I'll think, "Oh, I forgot. But you know... now that I'm eating it, it's not so bad..." Or sometimes I'll be chatting away with someone as easily as walking and then I'll realize, "Hey, you don't speak Português!"  "I don't? Huh, I forgot." And then I keep speaking.

   It truly is in losing yourself that you find yourself. It's scary at first, to let go of who you think you are and always have been, but once you do, you start to find new things about you that you never knew you had. Then it's just downright exciting!

   A challenge for you all: This week, go out and do something that you think you don't like. It'll be so fun!

  I love, love, LOVE this work and this Gospel! I know it's true with all my heart and I'm seeing miracles every single day here.

-Sister Whitaker

Sendin' a Rowdy Howdy from Jequié

Well, I'm relieved to report that I didn't get on the wrong bus and end up in Rio de Janeiro (I told Sister V. Silva I most likely would). Rafael and Carol, the coolest recent converts ever, threw me a going-away party (missionary-style, of course) and escorted me to the bus station with Carol's mom (who isn't a member but who will do anything short of, well, nothing, to help us missionaries). They three of them, with Sister V. Silva made quite a fuss about carrying all my things for me and making sure I got on the right bus. It was actually very funny, watching them all dash about in different directions to ask different people about the buses, talking over each other, calling out instructions to me, etc. They even hopped the gate (I don't know how they got away with that) to walk up to the door of the bus itself with me. It was rough, saying goodbye to them, let me tell you.
    I slept the whole way there (very awkwardly, I might add, as I was alone for the first time in months and sitting next to a boy who was also trying to sleep). When the bus arrived in Conquitsa, President Andrezzo was waiting for me in plain sight and everything went very smoothly. Don't worry, mama!

   Now here I am in Jequié and let me tell you... It's nothing like Salvador. In fact, many times during the day I find myself thinking of how much it looks like the more podunk towns of Utah. Of course, it's definitely Brasil, NOT Utah, but the mountains that surround Jequié resemble Utah's mountains, I think.

  So, Jequié, where do I begin?....

   Several times throughout my first few days here, I found myself thinking of a movie line from "Return to Me". It's that part where the heroine realizes that during her heart transplant she'd been given the heart of her new boyfriend's dead wife and, while sobbing in the arms of her friend she yells, "What was God thinking?!"
   I've found myself feeling that way. No, not like I have the heart of my boyfriend's dead wife, but the desire to cry out to the skies, "What was God thinking?!"

  When I first met Sister Ellis (my Senior companion), I was surprised to find that she speaks even less Português than I do. We live in a house smaller than the one I was living in before and there's another companionship living with us in the same house (Sister C. Silva, who was in my district in Salvador first transfer, and Sister Freitas, a newbie). It's strange to have a companionship of Brasileiras and a companionship of Americanas living together. But wait, the fun doesn't end there! When we got to this tiny house, I learned that Sister Ellis has only been in this area for 2 weeks and doesn't know it very well yet, that we don't have a single active member of the church living in the bounds of our area, and that we're basically opening this area. Whewy!
   Needless to say, we're expecting a lot of miracles here and I've already seen more than I can say. The first miracle is that I'm speaking Português a TON more now. The second is that people are actually understanding me. Every day we see a million miracles.
  And so, what was God thinking? Whatever it was, I'm sure it had something to do with the fact that this area needs miracles. Miracles that only come from those who are relying heavily on faith because they have absolutely nothing else. That's me and Sister Ellis alright. I'm constantly amazed by the faith of that woman. I feel honored to work with her! Y'all get to hear more about her next week, because I'm out of time now. For now I'll just say that she's a cowgirl with a Treemon'in Utah accent that thickly carries over into her Português.

   I have a testimony of this work. I KNOW that the Lord is very much aware of His children and their needs throughout the world. Miracles are born of faith.

  I love you all!!!

-Sister Whitaker

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Renee Borage!

Daddy, I read this joke on a Laffy Taffy wrapper (thanks Grandma and Grandpa Gurney) that made me think of you and laugh and laugh:
What do you call a Dinosaur who lost his glasses?

..... A Doyouthinkhesaurus

Emehjency, ehverybody to get from street!

I was ecstatic two weeks ago during transfer time when I learned that I would get to spend another transfer in Mussurunga with Sister V. Silva, and these past two weeks with her have been awesome! We really went to town, working hard and with new enthusiasm, finding really great people. Then, on Friday of this past week we were really on fire! I was talking to everyone without even thinking about how bad my Português is and we were committing everyone to baptism like crazy. And then came a phone call from the Zone Leaders, right as I was talking to someone on their doorstep. In the background I could hear Sister V. Silva's mournful cries of, "Não! Por que!!!"

    Long story short... I'm being emergency transferred. No, there's no scandalous story behind it. There are a lot of Brasilians who serve mini missions of a few weeks to a few months and one of them finished hers in Jequié, about 10 hours South of Salvador. Another mini-mission-er is beginning her mission and she's going to train with Sister V. Silva. And so... tomorrow night I'm taking a bus (all by myself) 10 hours to Vitoria da Conquista, where there will be a Zone Conference, and from there I'll take another bus (the next day, think) to Jequié. And who will be my new companion} (that's a question mark, because I can't figure out how to use it on this computer).... Sister Ellis. An American!!! Say what}} Just when it's so important for my Português to improve-- right before I start training new missionaries! I'm just trusting that the Lord is in charge and that somehow it will be a good thing for me to work with an American. Who'd have thought I'd ever be nervous to work with someone who speaks English}

 

    I almost didn't get to email today. It's Carnival time here in Brasil and Salvador is Brasil's party capitol, so Carnival is super strong here. People in the CTM were certain I would have to stay inside during the week of Carnlval, but no. It's so strong here that everyone goes to the beach to celebrate and here in Mussurunga NO ONE is left. It's a ghost town. The most exciting thing I've seen in two days is a cockroach chasing a lizard (yes you read that correctly. Weird). My legs were extremely sore yesterday from trying a new workout routine and I was walking like a cowboy. That, coupled with the empty streets and dead silence where normally there is booming music, made me feel like I was in an old western film and Sister V. Silva and I practiced our best cowboy hootin' and hollerin'. 

   Today everything is closed. Yesterday only a lot of things were closed. Today it's everything. That includes all the internet houses. So we got special permission to use computers in a member's home. We're lucky. If I ever don't email one week, it's not because I died. It's because there's a party going on and everything is closed. Just remember that.

 

    In other news, my fiance readjusted the wooden leg of his turtle, so now it's shorter and makes a loud thumping sound as the little guy hobbled around. We can hear it all the way up in our apartment. This thumping inspired my very own version of "The Highwayman", to be read Anne of Green Gables-style:

The moon was a ghostly lantern

   Hanging o'er the trees.

My hair was a sweaty rat's nest

   Tustled by the breeze.

And the turtle's leg was thumping,

   Thumping, thumping!

The turtle's leg was thumping

   As I fumbled for my keys.

"Hurry, Sister Whitaker,"

   My companion did implore.

"I'm tired and I'm hungry

   And my feet are oh, so sore."

Digging 'round the pamphlets,

   The books and hand-out-cards,

Had the depths of my black bulsa

   Turned from inches into yards}

"I'm hungry too," I said aloud,

   "And my feet are also sore.

"Don't fret, my dear companion,

   "The keys are here, I'm sure..."

Then we heard the old man hacking,

   Hacking, hacking!

We heard the old man hacking

   From the house next door.

"Good evening, my buneca,"

   We heard old Carlos say.

My key-hunt became more urgent

   As I waved and said, "Oh, hey!"

Sister Silva, too, began to search

   The pockets of her pouch

When she saw old Carlos rise

   From the comfort of his couch.

"A word, my bonny sweatheart}

   "I've waited here all day."

He'd looked for me by moonlight,

    He'd watched for me by moonlight

To come to him by moonlight.

    He knew we'd pass this way.

My companion jumped like a madman,

   Raising her voice to the sky:

"I have the keys, afterall!"

   And she raised the chaves high.

Snow white were the tiles of our apartment.

   Beet red was the face of old Carlos

As he stood on his porch in the moonlight,

   Stood like a dog in the moonlight,

And he spat at the ground in the moonlight

   With a bunch of white hairs at his throat.

Applause!

I love you all!!!!

Sister Weezer