25 octubre 2010.

25 Oct

Hey family.

This week, the miracle of the cactus came to frutition. I think I told you all about the cactus we threw rocks at, right? Ok, I just searched my history, and I didn’t. So. Cactus story.

A while back we hiked up a really tall hill that takes us to a part of our area called San José el Alto. We walk up this hill quite often, but this time we had a particularly strong bout of thirst, and my companion looked at me and told me so right before we got to the inactive member’s house that we were going to visit. There wasn’t really anything we could do about it, so we knocked on the door and waited.

Turns out that the sister didn’t have time to see us, and she asked if we could come back in half an hour. We said sure and she shut the door. We looked at each other, exasperated, because we knew that there was practically nothing to do on the side of that hill for half an hour. I looked at him and he looked at me, and I said ‘Vamos por las cocas, no?’ He said sí, and we started to walk.

After about five steps we looked at each other again. We had both felt the impression that we definitely shouldn’t go for sodas, but we didn’t know what to do. We talked about it as we walked, and again we felt that we weren’t supposed to leave.

Not having any idea what to do, not knowing anyone that lives in that area, and with all the people shut quietly in their homes (and of course we didn’t want to knock doors for the umpteenth time), we started throwing rocks at a cactus. That’s right. Throwing rocks at a cactus.

We did that for about fifteen minutes, in the which time, a little family walked down the hill and went into a house right behind us. We kept throwing rocks. When we got sick of that, we looked at each other, and both felt a distinct impression to knock on the door. They let us right in.

I had the pleasure of baptising this woman last Saturday. Her name is Ana. Her mother and stepfather are also going to join the church. Her five year old son is the nightmare of the poor primary president.

I know that this church is true. I might sleep through our meetings on days when I got up early to climb the hill and make sure our investigators get to church, or when the high councilor is especially boring, but I know it’s true. God lives. May He be with you.

Advertisements

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: