Like a Prayer

You know how sometimes they say you're beating a dead horse? I just fell into a tiny canyon of depression thinking of some dead horses on whom I cannot seem to resist performing CPR (when I'm not flogging them just to make sure they're not faking). I just need to quit being in denial about their accidental deaths and stop getting horse slobber all over me. I've been given signs and wonders and direct counsel from friends of my soul and as much as it is going to hurt to leave My Little Ponies behind, I have to pull it together and just work it, bring my A game (wow sorry, too much ANTM! It's the new O.C. You have to have some kind of thrashy link to American pop culture when you're all alone in a foreign land.). I had to get over my depression real fast by doing pushups to Michael Jackson's "Black and White" (that's a Sunday song, right? 2 Nephi 26:33! Well, it's after midnight anyway.), and now I'm ready to write! I have to say I've been much more enthused about blogging since Eminem left a comment on my last post. Seriously so blessed, freestyle-style.

But My Little Ponies. Wow it's hard--it's so hard. Sin embargo, sliding into this world has been like sliding back into my real self--for the first time in a long time I wake up every morning feeling bright and clean and happy. The world fits with me again, I don't feel as much bitterness clouding my heart, I got to leave a lot of demons behind...Provo was getting a little toxic for me in my advancing age and my vision was twisted by things I was thinking. Here, I honestly feel washed with light. I can't express what a sweet relief it is being in the company of the members here. They have reminded me of the glory of my Savior and what a treasure His gospel is. I never completely forgot, but my perspective had shifted just enough that the artificial culture was starting to strangle my testimony of real truth. I know life is a never-ending battle to keep that from happening--to constantly keep your focus heaven-ward--but this is a glorious time of refreshing for me. I needed it so much.

I spent most of this weekend with my friend Manuelcito. I met him when he taught the institute class on Thursday. He is such a tender and powerful teacher that it makes you want to pass out King Lamoni style...he's just so strong and clean and bright that talking to him erases my cynical thoughts and insecurities and I just want to be good, and not worry about anything else. Manuel has an amazing gift to motivate people this way. He served in Guadalajara and I knew some of the elders in his mission from the MTC (47F, if you are reading this...it was Pugmire. Ha!). Manuel is in medical school right now and his dream is to start a foundation for the poor in Mexico who cannot afford health care. He wants to have enough supplies and resources so that he can visit rural villages and offer medical treatment to people who need it. He is the young men's president in his ward and also their seminary teacher--they all love him and follow him around at church. Besides the fact that he is generally a much better person that I am, we have a little bit of the same spirit in us. He told me that today..."Me siento mucha confianza contigo, de veras. Tu me comprendes bien." My mission president gave me a blessing before I left for Mexico and promised me that I would find myself among brethren who would strengthen and uplift me, and that's really happening already! Gibran came back from Utah this week (after like 5 days) and we got Mexican hamburgers and went to a playground to eat. Mexican burgers have pineapple and cheese and onions, and some other things I couldn't identify that taste amazing together, unless you go on the swings right after. :) I told him about "yo sabo" and tried to convince him that "quesoburgesa" and "celefono" are real words. He has been amazing with me, too--so has my friend Adriana, the bishop's family, and Manuel's family, Los Rojas. I have been exceedingly blessed.

Today was like a drop of sunshine! It really was a perfect Sunday. Attending church services in Spanish still feels like a pillar of yes to me--I'm like a little sponge of appreciation. I love the way faith and dedication to the gospel are expressed in the Spanish language, it is stunning to me. Certain phrases and principles that I struggle with in English seem to be softened and sound more loving. All the members are too good for me and I'm getting used to giving all the hermanos un besito when I meet/saludar them. After church I ate with Manuel's family and his mother practiced her English--painfully--on me. I asked his little brother Ilan what American music he likes, and he eagerly told me, "Madonna and Hillary Duff." (JAJA! I get such a kick out of asking people what American music they like here because invariably the bands are extremely different from each other--the other day the bishop's son told me he likes the Killers and Amy Winehouse.)

After Church Manuel told me he had a surprise for me and that we were going to do something I would love...so we went to a nursing home to lift up the hands that hang down. :) (See, that's why we'll be good friends.) There was an enormous courtyard with a bleeding-heart statue of Christ in the middle...most of the residents were sitting on benches that lined the balconies above the courtyard. As we walked past them they all greeted us and seemed so eager for company, it made my heart ache. I squeezed their hands and asked them how they were and let them touch my hair; I wish I could do something real for them that would make them feel strong and needed and fully loved again. President Monson speaks often of the lonliness of the elderly and how meaningful a kind visit can be for them. I thought about that all afternoon.

We went specifically to take the sacrament to an hermana who is very ill and can't leave to come to church anymore, but we talked to many of the residents there--I was surprised that we had to show ID and go through double doors like at the youth detention center. Visiting hours are very strict, too, and since it is a Catholic nursing home we aren't permitted to sing our hymns there because it is considered proselyting. I felt a little dismal about that because the hermana was talking about how much she misses being at church and hearing the singing. I wanted to sing to her. Sometimes on my mission all we could do was sing because there were no words we could come up with that wouldn't trivialize genuine suffering. Manuel told the hermana about the rededication of the Mexico City temple in November and she began to weep softly and cried, "I can't go to the temple...I want to go to the temple." I felt her despair burning me. We read some scriptures with her and Manuel gave her a blessing and she was smiling and joking by the time we left. I love meeting people like her because even though it's dreadful to see unhappiness, at least they will have one more wisp of a prayer going up on their behalf. I am deeply happy being here and grateful for this gift of a Sunday.