Esperate, Chicharrones!

January 14, 2013

So, on Highland, the street where we spend 70% of our time, there’s a little girl, maybe like 6 years old. I don’t really remember her name, but I think it might be S or something like that. She’s always on a scooter and she follows us around a lot. We’re kind of popular with the kids on Highland because they are impressed that we speak Spanish and English, and also I give them stickers (which may or may not be creepy, but I don’t think it’s too creepy, right?). S really likes us and always asks for as many stickers as I will give her. She also talks about a million miles an hour without really saying much of anything. She’s pretty funny.
The other day we were on the street and she and her friend started following us around and talking to us and tried to stop us from walking away so they could keep talking to us. They gave us nicknames. Hna B is Taquito and I’m Chiccarrones. I don’t know why, but it’s a pretty unfortunate name. After having talked to us for about 10 minutes, I started walking away even though S was still talking because I was afraid she’d never let us go. Hna B was nicer and was still standing there listening to them. When S realized I was walking away, she ran down the street after me and yelled, “Esperate, Chicharrones!” It made me laugh.
This week: We’ll start with the ugly, then move onto the bad and the good. Our investigator S has completly disappeared. He moved out, his phone is disconnected and he isn’t speaking to J 1. The woman who J 1 rents a room from is also mad at him (because she was upset that S was upset. Long story) and is threatening to kick J 1 out and won’t let us into the apartment anymore.
We’ve taught M (J 2’s wife) and J 2 a couple of time this week, but always separate because they avoid being in the same room as each other if at all possible. M is actaully doing pretty well right now and we’re happy about that. J 2 is always hiding the garage, working on the car.
Friday and Saturday I went on a 2 day exchange in Garden Grove in English. We taught this lady, T, who has 9 cats and talked at us for over an hour. She was pretty nice. She wants to get baptized but her husband won’t let her.
We ate dinner with a member on Friday and we were looking at family pictures with the wife while the husband was finishing cooking. I looked at a picture of one of their great-granchildren and asked, “What’s her name?” The wife said, “It’s a boy!” So, I kind of felt like an idiot, but she didn’t actually seem all that offended, so that was good.
We spent Saturday knocking doors. I am terrified of white neighborhoods. One lady yelled at us because we don’t believe in the right Jesus (so she said. I didn’t realize there were multiples), and we got turned down at every door. Except one. An older lady anwsered it and said, “Are you my Mormon missionaries?!” And I said, “Yeah, I think we are.” She invited us in, and it turns out she was a member. The sister I was on the exchange with (who is from Vernal, FYI) was new in the area and didn’t know many members (especially since they cover 2 wards) so she hadn’t known that the lady lived there.
M and her kids came to church yesterday and loved it. It was great. Except that the Relief Society lesson went over 12 minutes and M fell asleep. Also, F shocked us all by showing up to church even though we haven’t seen him in 2 weeks. We went to do service for Sister B yesterday and she said she decided I wasn’t allowed to go home, and I said okay.
Oh, also, I don’t know if I told you last week, but Hna G (the excommunicated lady) got rebaptized last Sunday! It was so great. She was so happy and we were so happy for her.
Also, I don’t know if I told you this either, but last week S and J 1 bought us tacos. All of Hna B’s were carne asada. Two of mine were carne asada, but 2 of them looked a little sketchy. I shouldn’t have asked what they were. They were cabeza. I’ve never chewed so much and had so little happen.
Okay, that was all this week. Kind of lame. I don’t even know if you are still reading. But if you are, I love you. And if you aren’t, I still probably love you, but a little less.
Con amor,
Hermana Poulson
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