tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90813111619120807372024-02-20T09:01:22.771-08:00What's the Rush?Olivia Clyde's mission experiences while serving in the Russia Samara mission. Returning April 2014Samantha Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07860007675519191537noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-71361939041326807212014-04-21T17:06:00.000-07:002014-05-01T17:06:46.433-07:00it.<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I don't know how to start this.</span><br />
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Good afternoon good evening and goodnight--not to you, but moreso these gaming boys whose cross-room shouts steeped with preteen voice malfunctions are preventing this experience from being as monumentally spiritual as it could be. </div>
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I still don't know how to start this.</div>
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Hahahah-- this feels like nothing I've ever experienced.</div>
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I won't talk so much about past week experiences, as much as everything in a whole. Probably the single most unavoidablly difficult task on these week's to do list. (Getting to my gate not included.)</div>
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I know that Jesus Christ lives. </div>
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I woke up this morning, naturally to the morning sunlight, and refused to check my phone, which usually speeds up the heartbeat until it rings. Instead--my mind just occupied itself with thoughts of what Christ did throughout the good majority of His life. Going here, going there, walking all around----the entire time choosing, moreso just naturally having compassion on others. </div>
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He gave them everything. The least of least, captured His time, attention, will, and love. </div>
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And it made me think about we 80,000 and counting, are called to do here as missionaries. </div>
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To go and do what the Savior would. To live like Christ would. To find and help, reach out and serve the way He was so apt to do.</div>
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And how, for no reason at all, should this indescribable blessing and privilege be conditional with waxing on, waxing off of a black nametag.</div>
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A mission has let me know that this is life long. The gospel is eternity long. The relationships Heavenly Father gives us are eternal. Heavenly Father works with His children. In order to work effectively, any good manager or mentor would know his employees and coworkers to a good degree. Heavenly Father knows His children to a great one.</div>
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I tried to keep the signs down to a minimum, manifesting themselves against their will once upon a final weekly planning. Sister Hancock was my best friend to eventually hug me through the tears, as I told her I didn't want to set goals for the last week of my mission. Oh, to understand what is happening--only makes one push it aside to forget it and be where I know how to be best. </div>
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I love you so much. Easter was amazing. Easter Russian cake incredible. Miracles are still happening. I am so grateful for the blessed support and influence you have all been to me on this mission, and in my life. Thank you for your incredible examples of Christlike service and love. </div>
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See you on the other side,</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-71866106129150060902014-04-14T18:02:00.000-07:002014-04-14T18:02:01.877-07:00Pweel<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">So I got 27 minutes and waning.</span><br />
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Astronaut day was <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1266025465" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span>! Everyone loves Gegarina, however it's spelt in English for his space accomplishments--not to mention dashing billboard pearly whites.</div>
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Speaking of teeth.</div>
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Sister Henricksen and I were enjoying our last of 4 exchanges together, when we came comin' round the mountin' when we came--meaning up and over the beautiful bridge of the Balakovian canal. It stretches over the gorgeous Volga River, one of the few things I've been slighted on throughout my time here in the motherland. Anyway-- the sunshine dancing on the rolling blue waves, a view that stretched for miles, and the chilly breeze brushing our pony tails all over our faces. Not the best contacting strategy if you ask me. Haha-- so we're walking, when all of a sudden this Russian middle ager man leprechaun strides his way up to on the spot inform us that we are the world's most beautiful girls, and where in the world did we get those bright beautiful teeth, doggone it. Taken aback by the absolute lack of normalcy for how to greet 2 passing maidens, I couldn't get a word in--- before he asked more pressingly, "must've gotten them implanted in Germany---they got GREAT TEETH THERE!!!</div>
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Sir, don't put words in my mouth, (<i>or </i>for that matter,<i> </i>foreign teeth), in my mouth. Thank ya.</div>
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Hahah-- we were already on our busy way past him, distance now increasing, when he tipped it off with yet more detail, "I SERVED THERE IN THE ARMY!!!" and at this point anything might pacify him/ deter him from booking it after us, so I called "ZDOORAVAH!!" meaning splendid, with a fitting over the shoulder doubled thumbs-up. Haha. I don't know why I did that. But, it got a laugh out of him so I guess that's all the world really needs.</div>
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Give or take the incredible light of restored gospel truth.<br />NEXT!!!</div>
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We loved loved loved conference. Loved. </div>
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Boyd K. Packer's closing testimony anyone. Anyone.</div>
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A miracle <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1266025466" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on saturday</span></span>, as we were finally abe to see dear dear friend Olevtina, who has been on her sick bed for so long.</div>
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And then, Remember how Natasha again came to church??? We joined her in her kitchen <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1266025467" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on thursday</span></span> to hear the warmest, most wonderful review of her first-time experience at church. There was a tangible, contagious lightness in the way she gracefully smiled, thinking back on the light she felt. And then her thoughts that she didn't shy from sharing about wanting her daughter, Kasoosha, to also join in and see for herself. Oh. She will be baptized. And to see Rustam, basically silenced from the spirit and disbelief at someone so receptive to our <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1266025468" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">sunday</span></span> meeting. Rustam's silent mode happens rather rarely. Haha. </div>
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Family, I just know the gospel is true. We had a kind of scary experience, heading in to a podezd, stairwell, <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1266025469" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> after watching conference and a baptism with our investigator, Daniel, who is soon set for baptism. It was finally time to confront his parents and hear their voiced permission for his decision--something we've been attempting for weeks. Daniel nervously dodged the task, turning down even hints of approval from his mom over the phone. We finally stopped on the dark staircase, and I offered a prayer so that we could have the spirit with us, and to calm Daniel's nerves. And then the miracle happened with them in the kitchen. </div>
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More for next week. No, I can't say that or I'll burst in to tears because it will be my last email home.</div>
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I know the gospel is true, I know it I know it, it makes me cry, and I know it.</div>
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I love you all, pray to be kinder!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-53394824079039857942014-04-07T20:40:00.000-07:002014-04-13T20:40:57.106-07:00Hi!<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
An olden Russian man was sitting on a pipe--already step up from smoking one--that ran parallel to the apartment building we were passing. We asked him for some direction, so I righteously capitalized on the opportunity by initiating gospel conversation with a chap, rather than chick. A neighborhood babooshka overheard the raucous, who happened to be sporting a rather demographic-contradicting pair of silver moonboots, passing by and looking fly. It's safe to say that any perfect stranger who interrupts a moment with any other perfect Russian stranger with an arm raised, finger pointed in our faces, will not be blooming in to Progresso material at any point in the ensuing 24 hours or months.</div>
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Don't let that into deter you from the pearls of wisdom we happened to learn from our new-found friend, Viera. She went off on an anti-American rant, despite our pleas to disengage from the fact that it's our country of origin, and insisting on our love for the motherland. "You can only love Russia if you're born here," she chirped with inspiring accusation. I guess I missed that fairy easy to slip addendum of a guildeline on page 63 of the Russian rulebook. Continuing. Throughout the conversation, her armful of clothing continued to drop to the ground--I finally made the attempt to restore it, doing best to not invade personal space while tucking the shirt back in. My technique was deemed sub-par by the way she snatched it and rewrapped it herself, and added that my shirt-wrapping efforts were indicative of my non-Russian roots. Ahhh!!!! Smiles and curtains, keep it together.</div>
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She avoided well all jump-cuts to the topic of family, <u>finally</u> proclaiming "you're from America, you speak English!! Ya don't even have your own language," as if inhabiting and setting a virtually unmapped continent weren't challenge enough. Step it up forefathers? Haha--needless to say, Viera had a good heart and some pretty pumped up kicks.</div>
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I think the highlight of the week may have been our district's rendition of "redeemer of Israel," for the opening hymn last Friday. It's been ages since I've heard a good baritone, giving an aspiring altos something to work with. Haha, thank you Elder Hansen. Haha, there's a reason they choose that one for the opening of general conference more often than not. HOW WAS CONFERENCE!? We only watched Elder Holland's talk, which will suffice for holding us over until next week for when translation comes in.</div>
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Natasha came to church. She came came came to church!!!!!!! Family, I could cry---I don't think I've ever been quite so excited about an investigator, who is so head-on solid. Vested. Wanting to know for her and her daughter, and the welfare of her family, if this church is what she needs. She came-- early, so she was greeted by the increasing flow of incoming members who would stop and introduce themselves. And, even though she'd just worked the night shift and was exhausted, not even being home yet-- she decided to stay for sacrament meeting. I'll never forget the mutual eye contact that Brother Andrei Markets and I made, me from the piano and him from the sacrament table--- that seemed to say, "SHE'S HEREEE." Hahaha, I couldn't believe it. And, I had the opportunity to climb up the stairs and share my testimony in the comfortable middle of my dearest Russian brothers and sisters. I looked out at the congregation, all 50 pairs of eyes on me--as I began to convey what our Savior means to me. It was not a dry 2 minutes, as I told them all how much I've come to love them--- and how I can't do anything to express how much life-touching good a mission, for Heavenly Father, has done, for me. How much indescribable, blessed joy. Oh, and the tears rolling down Anaitt's, Sister Hancock's, and other's faces--- a foretaste of what I hope forever will be. To understand my love for those people and the mutual conviction of the gospel. No greater gift.</div>
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I love you, share the gospel.</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-41594904132501756492014-03-31T20:39:00.000-07:002014-04-13T20:40:03.332-07:00Pineapple<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Wow. Short email this week.</div>
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Another slapdash night of planning, phone calls, brushing teeth, and 120 mph heartbeat. Bedside prayer in record time as margin for obedience error is waning is hardly enough to pacify the missionaries before heads hit the pillow. I drifted in and out of sleep for the following few hours, but finally action needed to be taken--- usually meaning putting on a sweatshirt, drinking water, or cracking open a Lithonia. Insomniac sisters mean business. This time, still nothing.</div>
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Finally I realized the stuffy room wasn't helping anyone, so I jumped up, twisted the handle, and cracked the window--ready for the fresh breath of <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1346021193" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">2am</span></span> night air to flood in. Instead we get something different. The low moan of an injured cat sounded in our sleepy ears--- yet to be joined counts later by 4 other cracking comrades--- when Sister Hancock said she was going to kill someone making her mutual consciousness known. And charity issues. Haha, kidding. So THIS is what goes on around here at night??? The dissonance of the dying cat choir was the final straw. Window got shut back up real fast.</div>
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Haha. Good, quick week. Amazing district conference. Wonderful, with all leaders from near and far, including president Schwab and a leader from Ukraine.</div>
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Natasha is progressing so so so well!!!!!!!</div>
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Things are looking up with our investigator, 14 year old Dash. Ok, there is no way that this notebook will permit to correctly type her name. She knows baptism is RIGHT. She just has some things that are holding her back.</div>
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I will never forget the spirit that illuminated that Russian kitchen on Friday night, as her family---- FATHER INCLUDED--- joined the missionaries around the table for French toast, and a discussion about God and His existence.</div>
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Wow. I cannot believe how wonderful it was. If my short thrown out words cannot convey it, maybe the video clip that I didn't get of my and Sister's Hancock's wordless elevator hug might do the trick. Pure joy, to see this man finally pull up a chair and offer his thoughts. And encourage his daughter to participate in the gospel discussion, although still not even a member himself, let alone meeting with the missionaries--despite the burning testimony of his wife Cveta and son Grisham. They are the people in the pic back a few months ago around a Christmas tree???</div>
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Anyway---I think Michael's conversion, just might be the ticket for his daughter's.</div>
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LOVE YOU,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Happy Conference!!!!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-49831734749639827562014-03-24T20:36:00.000-07:002014-04-13T20:37:08.234-07:00Limonada<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
We rounded the street corner in the chilly sunshine after Friday's district meeting. "Hello!" we called to the grandmother, occupied with her charming grandson- both about 20 ft away. A little surprised, as we were sure would be the case. So, we kept the conversation rolling to make light of it. A few more casual questions about weekend weather, etc... when suddenly the grandson's agenda decides to manifest itself a little more plainly than before. The kid scoops up with his shovel a heap of the snow debris with an expression in his eyes that said "hit the highway," and launches whatever he can at the surprisingly agile sisters, more adept at dodging threats of a toddler than he thought. Three can play at this game. "Come on Sonny, be nice," the grandmother urged, still trying to chat with us. The child continued his revolt, as we endured all of 4 snow firings--before the woman understood it could be used as a way out. "look, he really doesn't like when I talk to stranger," she caved---only empowering him and weakening her future defense as an authority figure. Pity. Salvation anyone? Looks like toddler temper tantrums would be 1-0. She began to laugh. Seeing that the missionaries were retreating due to inclement spouts of weather and receptions of the gospel message.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
"Whadduya bet that kid gets a raise in allowance as soon as they're home?" I asked Sister Hancock. Her laugh solidified the suspicion.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Words cannot express how incredible the past week went with regard to a precious pearl named Natasha. This woman, who Sister YOUNG and I met with way back when, has finally come out of the woodwork, after months of us still making the attempt to stay in touch.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Natasha is an interesting woman--always with a look of distress, glitchy eye contact that happens on rare occasion, with dark circles under eyes as she works so much to support her less than perfect family. A mother of three, whose husband is a heavy drinker, is hopeful of discovering truth and getting things right as she enters the later stages of her motherhood-- that is to raise her last daughter differently. This time, "with God."</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Natasha words come fast, as she describes minor details about the things and efforts she has made in order to seek out truth, amongst all the other corrupt churches she has come in contact with over the years.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
We had 3 lessons with her over the course of this past week, each making leaps and bounds of progress. She prayed in each--- the first, most heart warming last Monday-- as she thanked Heavenly Father that "these girls have not given up on us. Forgotten us. We should and need to talk with them more."</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
She has been reading the Book of Mormon assignments we've been giving her. She told us on Friday of how she invited Kasusha, her 16 yr old daughter, to pray and read it with her. We finally watched the Restoration film this past week--- and there was nothing more exciting than the endearing scene of Kasusha coming in to sit on her mom's lap, up to the crowded table, to view it with us. And then, to hear her express that she didn't see the point of so many things in so many other churches. How it didn't feel like real, sincere, and committed worship the way her friends at school did certain things.</div>
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And then, Natasha re express her desire to be baptized. Here. In this church. After expressing, that after more than a year of meeting with Jehovah's Witnesses, they still had not invited to her join. Just to quietly study and be patient. She asked us why we had been so seemingly hasty- and the spirit guided each of our answers-- if it is right, and one feels that through the help of the Holy Ghost----<em>why wait??</em></div>
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Natasha really, really liked that.</div>
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So, <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1346021192" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">May 3rd</span></span> it is. Which, happened to be the day before her birthday. I'd venture to say rebirth could be a rather fitting birthday present.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
I didn't care about the burnt tongue from the tea on the way out----I could not keep quiet as I just gawked at Rustam, our guy friend member, and SIster Hancock, as we headed out and home on Friday---- doing victory dances of shock and disbelief, incredulous joy. WHAT JUST HAPPENED!!!!! ahhahaha, I cannot believe how blessed we are being, to know and see this process. AHHHH!!!</div>
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Have a great week!!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Love,</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-69490989153741194302014-03-17T18:08:00.000-07:002014-03-17T18:08:52.017-07:00You!<span style="font-size: small;">So I'm hurryin' on up back to <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_117924134" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">sunday</span></span>
school yesterday-- just dried my hands and about to head out of the
bathroom, when one of the babooshkii from the Dachney branch, hair
snow-white, comes right on in. She happens to be one of my pals, I just
don't know her name, but if you could keep that on the downlow I'd be
forever grateful. I hug her and ask how her week went--when she drops in
to story mode. So I drop in to courteous listener mode, because I like
that kind of thing. Haha this email isn't mapped. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Apparently she'd been on her way to church that morning. You should know that Saratov is a beautiful post-winter-depression <i>mess</i> in
terms of weather conditions:) The sun is shining, the skies are blue,
and the streets, sidwalks, and roads are mud mud dirt water and more
mud. Along with washed up ice patches of snow still trying to melt.
Anyway. Boots not the shiniest they've ever been. In fact, never more
atrocious:) But Mom doesn't have to know! Haha--SO this woman. She took a
spill on her way to the church, tired, frail, old as she is. Banged up
her poor knee. She showed me her coats, skirt, explained they were <a href="http://wet.as.could.be/" target="_blank">wet.as.could.be</a>!!!
And how, in a jumble, managed to brush herself off and rise to her
feet. A woman, hurrying past, gave her one look and threw in her
insensitive 2 cents with the words, "you forget wherever you are going
and head straight home, clean yourself off!" </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Well, my
nameless Russian friend knows better than to consent to the verbalized
opinions of inferiority from irrelevant passerby's-- and called back "I
most certainly will not!! I have the sacrament to take this morning!!"
And continued on her hastened way. Hahaha, what a hero she was to me.
Even moreso when she again recapped this woman's attempts to deter her
from her righteous goal, with the resolute, "of course I'd never heed
that devilish girl." Hahaha. Heehee, my smile seemed to say. On that
note--"Scatter Sunshine," sister Clyde's smile seemed to sing as I
curtsied and ran out of the bathroom. Best behind-the-scenes pick me up I
ever got. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Companionships
and the quality thereof come in alls hapes and sizes--but each and every
pair shares one underlying characterisitc---there are <u>two</u> of us.
Understandable, the anxiety was of a distant district leader upon the
recepit of SIster Clyde's 'just tryin' to spice things up/we are home
safe and on time text. Every single night, I send the commonplace,
flavorless singular Russian word, pronounced "Doma," which means "at
home." <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_117924135" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Thursday</span></span>, in a rhyming panic, the addendum my fingers came up with was</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;">"Doma, Doma, home alone-uh!" </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Hahah--the
prose part giv ing a somewhat Dr. Seuss-like falre of whimsical apathy,
regarding the fact that I was seemingly Sis. Hancock-less. Elder Wall,
just beacuse someone cites beloved Christmas babylon doesn't mean you
need to call in the big dogs. Zone Leaders-- we're hooommmmeeee!! :)</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">There was
nothing like making our way around the outback apartment buildings, away
from town center one a crisp sunny Mid march afternoon. All Russian
retirees began to creep out of winter's fast-fading shadow in order to
pich a lawn chair and enjoy eachother's company. A few elderly folks
stopped us in our tracks, and we had the most pleasant street chat, as
we asked if they'd been athletes--and other ears perked up, joined the
conversation, at the desire to tell a little of his or her glory days.
Some threw in some Ukraine comments that we didn't address, and then we
were able to talk about what we were doing there. It was rather
charming. I won't ever forget 79 year old Genaddi, with his blue eyes
and nice gray trench coat. At first a tease, who didn't take the two
american girls seriously. Whose thoughts and opinions softened, and
wound up welcoming us back next time he was out to play stickball with
the neighbor kids. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">We then caught a
glimpse of an upclose Russian wedding!! As guys in tuxes hopped out of
decked-out hummers where bridesmaids awaited them outside an apartment
building. Thus began the bag of tricks and obstacles that the groom is
required to pass through in order to advance up the stairwell and snag
his prize of a bride. We saw her, Rapunzel, wave and giggle outisde the
window on the stop story, and couldn't help but sign up to be flower
girls. Story for next week.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Favorite
moments of the week--- the sunshine filling Gallina's kitchen, as we
thought two women in Relief Society about the miracle of the
Resurreciton--a theme that we so often take for granted--at least I
do--since I've heard about it since primary days. We shared Abidadia's
glorious take on it in Mos 16--- how Christ is the light and life of the
world. It is my favorite. The spirit ever present, as we together sang a
colorful version of "He is Risen," and lonely Lioba loved every second,
seeing as how her beloved son as fallen ill and passed on at the age of
30. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Bogdon brought
his bud to church a week ago. Meet Danielle, or Daniel is Russian. Um.
This kid is due for baptism in a month. 14 years old. Already committed
to read the Book of Mormon. Mom already signed his permission sheet. He
prayed, although nervous, at the end of yesterday's lesson. Miracles,
Moroni 7: 26. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;">I just keep having this feeling, that life is a
whole lot simpler, when we simply aim to make our will line up with
God's. Until there is little to no overlap. No margin for error. I love
this gospel so so much.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Have a great week. Call me!!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Love,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Sister Clyde</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-3859630924217102742014-03-10T17:56:00.000-07:002014-03-17T18:11:20.915-07:00Leaf<div>
Hahaha. Email titles ain't comin as naturally as they once were.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lessons Learned</div>
<div>
-Nothing
spikes blood pressure in yound and old like trasnfers-the rumors,
threats, and hopes thereof. Haha, I think we over anxious sisters and
elders have scarred the senior couple Reeds for the duration of their
most likely transnfer-less time left in the field.</div>
<div>
-Doesn't matter how much faith you have that this time, <u>just</u>
might work--it is physically impossible to accurately arrive at any
scripture and page destination on the street while wearing gloves.
Sister H, those babies have GOT to come off before they wax antsy of
waiting, take the book and run. Haha</div>
<div>
-If stealthy, it is possible to capture the various displays of
meat and pork around the area; clearly a limited time offer going on
here. (see photo below)</div>
<div>
-As much as you might intend to
develop photos, sometimes there's no stopping society from shutting
down, in honor of the one and only "Women's Day." March 8th, a time for
flowers, chocolate, congratulation, and kisses. This year no exception!
Hah, except completely and yes in every way shape and form--maybe.
Anyway, could've probably guessed it by the garage door down over the
store window that our needed shop was closed---just before we could
verbally indicate the fact to each other, we were interrupted by the
most tragic lament of a most distraught little boy--small, alone, and
crying aloud to voice his despair: "WHAT? CLOSED!! WHY!! Whyyyyyy!!! As
he threw his arm in the air to shout at they sky with a box of
chocolates in hand- I think I remember laughed, as he kicked the wall,
after heavy forehead pressed against the door--and finally in his
defeat, set off. </div>
<div>
"ооо нет -- зто закрыт???" I asked for clarification.</div>
<div>
"
Daaaaaa" he pouttingly revealed, before making for the highway to go
sing about it on his Russian harmonica that he DIDN'T MAKE IT IN TIME TO
BUY!!!! hahahah, it was the funniest saddest greatest experience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A very very intense couple of days. Transfer calls
came in a WEEK ahead of schedule for all sisters. All week long with
nervous thoughts hopes expectations and questions marks for what was to
come for my final cycle in the mission field. To be pulled out and train
a newbie was a very heavy side of possibility. I had to calm my
thoughts after losing a little sleep when sisters came and stayed with
us, full of news and inklings to the future since they would be heading
up to samara to get Miss Ukrainian Sister Bonja up and outta here due to
visa requirements. Talk to them." Wow. She made potatoes, chicken, and
pickled tomatoes with bread. Hahah, with tea and jam and do re mi.
Roostam came with us, and I will never forget watching this very normal
wonderful woman putting a prayer cloth over and around her head,
securing and tying it the way one would a bonnet, in order to read aloud
Moroni's promise. Something she does before any period of scripture
reading. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
WAIT I GOTTA GO!!!! LOVE YOU HAVE A GREAT WEEK</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
SISTER CLYDEEE</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-51200509749954083932014-02-24T17:46:00.000-08:002014-03-17T17:48:01.515-07:00Sup<div>
Family family family. Frostbite frostbite frostbite.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday
we talked to the world's most glamorous 60 year old. Such a colorful
woman of sparkle, shine, and character. Her name was Valentina, who was
promised always to have guardian angel protection from Provoslavni saint
Valentine. She believe in going all out for all holidays, and it's
household protocol that every kid gets a quantity of balloons equating
his or her age, come each new birthday. She puts her hand on her heart
for her grandmother, who had <u>15</u> children during the war, and
treasures her handsome son who she feels looks like a young
Schwarzenegger. We explained our church on several different occasions--
and she finally revealed that fear was what kept her from coming to us.
Nat as much positive promotion going on around Saratov Russian streets
as we'd like.... we detailed sacrament meeting, a time to renew self,
and our baptismal covenants while singing hymns, and partaking of bread
and water.</div>
<div>
"Well, I'll be honest. You don't know how many elderly folks can't
take standing up in our dark temple for hours on end... Sitting down on
chairs sure sounds nice..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Valentina, come.
But she doesn't want to. YET. So, we offered a prayer, she took down our
number, and I helped her collect her shopping bags off the ground. And
almost fainted, because the one on the right was filled with 53 potatoes
and I though my arm might fall off. Haha, she went her way, she Sister
Hancock and I commenced our frostbite survival dance because it had been
33.5 minutes since the last sign of any blood circulation. OWWWW.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This week we had a lesson with cute recent convert
Natasha. She showed us her my little pony pictures. Such a good
artist!!! At one point Natasha and I said the exact same word at the
same time. Sister Hancock calls out, "jinx!!" And then promptly
explained that it's what we say when two English speakers simultaneously
say the same word. "Oooooo," Natasha and her frosty emerald-eyed
grandmother's expressions seemed to say, as they both attempted to
pronounce the newly found English entity. "CHEEKS!!" They victoriously
cheered.</div>
<div>
I give it a B-. Job well done. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This week
we went knocking. A woman saw at the door, thought us JW's. No no,
no need to worry. "Ahhh, gotchya. Just a sec." We both sat there,
wondering what in the world we were waiting for as she disappeared in to
her house for 3 more minutes. </div>
<div>
Next thing we knock, she come to the door and offers us a 100 ruble bill. </div>
<div>
Mam. Surely you have not taken us for beggars.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
But, she had.</div>
<div>
Hahahah.
Take it and run? Nope. We are good sister missionaries. Not much time, I
promised I'll write more next week!! Huge men's day celebration of
Saturday. So fun to see everything that the members of our branch served
up, and the military man who got up and showed us all his world war 2
sketches. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I need to tell you everything that happened at Zone
Conference last week. Especially with regard to the two elders who were
caught up in the almost kidnapping. I am so sure that Heavenly Father is
real, and words cannot describe what their closing testimonies
communicated with regard to the near-death experience. I know Heavenly
Father lives, and knows and protects his servants.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Have a wonderful week,</div>
<div>
Love Sister Clyde</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
found a funny man like Russian elf who I LOVE and speaks great English hammering away at the piano.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-46075762087293918582014-02-17T17:30:00.000-08:002014-03-17T17:30:45.337-07:00Check This<br />
<div>
My fingers did the dialing, as the spirit did the string-pulling.
Nothing like the sweet clear echo of a wine glass's finger-traced brim
than the sound of Lena the lawyer's lesson-end words; "I had the very
thought today--'where in the world is Clyde?? Been years since she gave
me a call. I figured-- maybe she went home---and within half an hour I
heard the phone ring." :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
VICTORY!!!!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lessons with
her happen only one in a periwinkle moon, due to the fact that they've
developed a sort of "Music and the Spoken Word" pattern. Haha,
inductively reason as you wish. A few gospel thoughts will be
expressed--and then a 5 minute discourse by Lena---and then a calm,
cool, spat out Segway "you know, it's funny that you mentioned the world
'love,'-- in fact, that reminds me of a hymn about how we can love more
our neighbors," while companion speed shuffles through the pages, Sis
Clyde humming starting note, "three, FOUR!!" and all three LDS maidens
break out in to Plan B version of "Love at Home. Hahaha, which happens
to be more repetitive than I thought. The theme became starkingly
apparent on verse #3 of 4--and pretty soon turned in to the
call-response section of a rock concert when the lead singer on stage
goes;</div>
<div>
Schooooooooollll'sssss. <strong>OUT! FOR!</strong></div>
<div>
Audience: --<strong>SUMMER!!!!! </strong></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Except
it was Lena's living room, missionaries and a member, with a one-man
audience of Lena answering every opened ended conditional phrase of her
tone deaf "loooovvveeeeeee, at hoooommmmeeeee.</div>
<div>
And then us, with controlled clenched stomachs erupting in to giggles after the third or fourth time it happened.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
---alright girls, that's enough" </div>
<div>
hahahah. I feel like we're just getting started.</div>
<div>
And then Lena told us how a woman can know whether or not she and a
man would make a good match--not personality match, not talents humour,
common interests---but indeed by the scent of his perspiration. Sweat.
What?!! EWW. </div>
<div>
Needless to say we made the eye contact to signify that it was time for hymn number 2. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Haha. Sorry if that was too much info.</div>
<div>
Had
a nice week. I love these Russian people so much. The people in my ward
have become my brothers and sisters for life. Anaitt and her husband
are so warm friendly, funny, and charming. In their living room for
Armanian dinner and testimony exchange, or missionary council meeting
after church. I never want to say bye. I love Grisha, Maxcim is like our
brother. Amazing Zhenya in the man and missionary leader we got to work
with in Balikova. Who is the driest wittiest person you ever did see,
and passed me a five ruble bill immediately upon meeting, in response to
my comment, "that'll be 5 rubles," on the telephone after giving him
someone's phone number." </div>
<div>
And then that night, telling over the space of 40 minutes how he
had gradually and completely resolved to live every facet of the word of
wisdom before age 12, without ever even knowing it existed. hahahaha.
Just how his taste buds experienced, detested, and vowed that they would
never touch THAT specific substance again. It was amazing, and I am so
happy for the sisters that are so privileged to work with him and hear
him bear testimony on meetings.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ahhhhh. I love the gospel. I don't have a whole lot
of time. Digging in to the Limhi, Zarahemla, middle goodness of Mosiah.
So great. Read your scriptures if you want to understand more how
Heavenly Father works with His kids. And loves them so incredibly much. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love you all and miss you,</div>
<div>
Have a LOverly week,</div>
<div>
Sister CLYDE!!</div>
<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
SOCHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII</div>
<div>
OLYMPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII<wbr></wbr>IIIIIIIIICSSS</div>
<div>
I WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII<wbr></wbr>IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII<wbr></wbr>IIINNNN.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
hey hey. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our activity at the church!!! I translated for the lovely Russians to
the right of me while Elder and SIster Reed gave their talk on mini
acitivni people </td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-19847109485289677742014-02-10T16:48:00.000-08:002014-03-17T16:52:41.483-07:00FEB 2<div>
Nothing like subway sandwich lunches on the mission leadership
council---in SAMARA. Woot woot ( we were given pressing notice right
after transfers and moved right on up on an 8 hour train the next day),
while everyone judged the size and taste of the newly-delivered variety
of 50. President Schwab asked if anyone had any recent stories, on a
more casual note from our more serious discussion. Well, we'd hate to
disappoint....</div>
<div>
"So there's a backwoods path that Sister H and I often take home
when we're in a hurry to make curfew. At one point on the sidewalk is a
thick black pipe that stretches right across the middle---we've noticed
it on several occasions, and are always sure to give each other a verbal
"heads up" when moving swiftly, before smoothly hopping over it while
the desert, hills, mountains and vales sing and ring "carry on." Well,
it was a chilly frosted night not 2 weeks ago, when two quick-paced
sister missionaries could bne spotted from afar across the dark horizon.
Movin, movin, movin through the snow, gots to go. Sure enough we
reached the sidewalk, but this time with concentration fixed apparently
elsewhere---Thoughts got topsy-turvied as our boots catch something, and
our bodies are so to say propelled in to pen air, effectively
catapulted by the sly slippery black serpent of a notorious pipe from
below. "OOF!!!" we seemed to say as we simultaneously hit the ATE IT on
the earth. Hahah--mutual looks of "where in the world am I?" and "I'm so
glad you're on the ground with me." Hahah, with President and wife
completely laughing at the news of the spill. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You can thank us for the no shame in self-deprecation when we're home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fast
fast week. Mostly in Samara, then shot to Penza еще by train, for
immediate exchange with sisters Coleman and Henricksen. Just neat to see
how Heavenly Father knows the exact size and slice of what to dish up
for a quadruplet bunch of missionaries on an opening ceremony Friday in
February. Sister Coleman and I this time were working together---and it
sounds like they lived in NJ at one point and can remember Sam and me
from our nursery days??) Usually there's plenty of dross to get through,
when it comes to all day street conversations......and therefore
rejections:) but, it's all in a wonderful day's work as we are out on
the streets to represent Jesus Christ and appreciate just a little bit
more what He did and does. I don't know--there was something interesting
in this exchange, as Heavenly Father just seemed to opened up the
window of opportunity, snap his fingers, and poof, pops the perfect
person walking around the corner at drop-second timing. I love picturing
that, every time we have a conversation of gold. Sister Coleman and I
just laughed together, looking back on the day after coming in 20
minutes early at night due to some good old-fashioned frost bite:)
Reminscing about the seemingly perfect situations--of Angelica, a 16
year old who at first had no interest---but then, let the spirit warm
her up as she began to randomly tell us of her concerns in life. "I
don't know why you would ever choose this town, Penza." Then looked at
me and continued, "the devil walks these streets." Whoa. "The sun goes
down, it gets dark, and then the violence comes out." She was so stark
and serious in expression. Completely unexpected to see a younger girl
talk about that kind of thing. And so neat, as 2nd cycle sister coleman
was able to bear her testimony about how in our church, she could find
safety. Feel safe, and escape the dangers of society, penza, the world.
Angelica then insisted that we accompany her a little farther on her
walk home, clearly new-found friends in her book. She agreed to drop in
to FHE, can't wait to see!!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, another couple at night, as well as a former
friend that the missionaries had bumped in to. She was speeding home and
we joked that she had ample pace for Sochi, and what was she waiting
for. Hahah. Something like that, so we stopped and chatted with this
here Tatyana for a little. It was nice to have some background
conversation before jumping in to our purpose since the allotted time
frame doesn't always allow for it. I told her she looked like Liv Tyler,
American actress from Lord of the Rings. She was happy to hear it. And
then, hear a little more about the gospel. Unfortch she declined to
leave her number, insisting that she'd call the next morning since she
had our flyer. (New and improved, I might gush.) A little disheartened
after the situation, we mutually decided to have faith, saying, "she'll
call. she'll call." Haha. </div>
<div>
'Twas a sweet experience on the Saturday morning bus ride home
through the snowy winter meadows of Russia to receive a text from Penza
sisters saying, "Tatyana CALLED!!!!! She's coming to church
tomorrow!!!!"</div>
<div>
A little faith never hurt anyone:)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday
we were sitting in RS with our baptism-bound investigator Anya
in-between us. The teacher is an older, jolly woman with gray hair and a
lovely warm winter fleece. All of sudden she starts getting a little
flustered and mid-sentence says, "Sisters, everything is bad to me,"
before 3 hopped up to catch her in a chair while fanning her. Hahah,
what's uh...goin on here?? We all just sat and observed, as she must
have felt faint in the middle of her lesson. She submitted to the sips
of water from a plastic cup, but soon enough couldn't take it any
longer--- It was perhaps the oddest thing yet to see her face poke
between the nursing arms of her RS sisters in action in order to
continue, without skipping a beat, the exact same gospel-topic lesson
she had just beforehand truncated. Hahahhaa, I'm not quite sure how many
in attendance could take her sincere attempts seriously as she said
"the gospel was restored by a prophet in the latter days." Wait, like
don't you need an aspirin or something??? We couldn't help but
graciously laugh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last night we met a nice young man while sliding in
to an apartment stairwell to sit on a FURNACE, warm up, and send in our
weekly numbers to our district leader. His name was Eric, and he is from
Azaberjhan. He is muslim, and thought it was fantastic that we girls
were sporting skirts. Hahah he wants us to call him as soon as we ever
have car trouble or someone's getting up in our face. Will do. </div>
<div>
Hope you're loving life and 'lympics without me!!! </div>
<div>
The Olympics will never not hold place in my heart. How is Bob Costas. Anyone. I am here in Russia so tell him to stop by.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Haha, have a lovely week, keep praying for missionary opportunities!!</div>
<div>
Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-3450013842388694332014-02-04T14:25:00.000-08:002014-02-04T14:25:08.535-08:00FEB<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I'd know those bright orange lips anywhere.</span><br />
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Forward was the only direction our feet could hope to take us---the surrounding area void of any substantially stocked bushes, trees, stop signs to hid behind and whimper 'til the coast was clear. We approached the long lost acquaintance from Christmas past--this time, with a strolling sidekick. Yay, looks like this contacting positions calls for Sister Clyde's obligation to do the undoable. That is, entertain the mandatory small chat with this Russian Rouge character, simultaneously masking all indication of <u>very</u> present fear. I stared cooly in to her crystal eyes, ornated with all the eye shadow and liner this side of the Black Sea has to offer--while picturing someone calm, cool, and collected like Joe Nydegger to put me at ease. Except Joe <u>never</u> had the defined ivory cheekbones of a doll and the creamy bright orange lips of an Arabian sunset. AAAH.</div>
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"So.... do you have children?.... How's your family???"</div>
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Low gasp of a laugh, "а как же!!!" = "I wouldn't picture life without it, How EVAHh NAUGHT???"</div>
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And then a little more inquiry as to the whereabouts of each, dancing around the lack of material I actually had---since the gospel is still not something she's drawn to. </div>
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"Well, we'll be running now," she indicated delicately---before stopping dead in sentence tracks to add, "Don't freeze now," before she froze us anyway with the ominous eye contact of mystery and ice.</div>
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Gulp.</div>
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Then they continued their shuffle away. I turned to the nearest source of sympathy, surely Sister Hancock would understand.</div>
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"I'm so scared of her."</div>
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Dear Vova, and all other roommates of Russian One Direction---we can't autograph your Book of Mormon.</div>
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Elders, go ahead and make your ND jokes about being socially permitted to drink whole milk, as long as you pick up 1.5% kind for us sisters at your stocked grocery store.</div>
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Neighbors, thank you for the chance to do our new JUDO jumping jack workout in the chilly cement hallways </div>
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Liodmila, you are my Russian hero for adding while discussing a recent inactive woman, that it's all the same- no matter how much she might be unintentionally neglected by the ward in any case, it would be no reason to fall away from the church. </div>
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Bogdon, thank you for giving the opening prayer in sacrament meeting yesterday.</div>
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As for spraying Sister Clyde with cologne last night when she wasn't looking--- she's not too happy. And I still smell like Bloomingdale.'s Yugh. </div>
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Haha, what a lovely week. Lots of things happening with NEW CYCLE, after an 8 week one. Transfers were juicy--- as there is a war going on in Ukraine right now, so now all Ukrainians and surrounding Eastern European country people are in danger with visa requirements and on the fence, apparently with bags packed should they be pulled out---missionaries included. So, we are on the edge as a mission and praying that the three main ones can stay since they are visa-less. Sister Hancock and I are still together for the time being----- told to "enjoy the time we have remaining together," seeing that delayed MTC visas may come in any week, meaning new missionaries and needed trainers from the sister pool. Hmm. We're nervous, concerned, excited, and hopeful. </div>
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I don't got no time, so I will copy and paste what I shot to my president already today</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">This has been a good week, as the Lord continues to teach us things together as a companionship, and separately as individuals. There have perhaps been few moments when I have experienced the amount of faith, hope, excitement, and enthusiasm I had for my calling and the work to be done here than when, for the first time, we were let in to the home of recent convert and brother forever, Bogdon. The little boy you've met on a few occasions. His mother is less active, baptized 14 years ago. We had a meeting with the Reeds, and with their good help, encouraged him to invite his mother to attend sacrament meeting with him again. He shyly, hopefully said he'd try.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">And then, <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_134595185" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span> night came, and I gave him the call, wondering if it'd be alright to stop by (as it hasn't been in the past.) At first he turned it down, surely doubtful as to how his mother would react, (who is married to a nonmember man who apparently hasn't been super supportive of the mother attending church). Two minutes later, in the middle of a conversation, my phone rang again, Bogdon telling us to be over in 15 minutes.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px; outline: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">So, we were there sharp.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">Wow, Yulia the mother invited us in. Usually quiet, like she was at his baptism, was more talkative and warm. She wanted us to sit down and eat the sandwiches they'd quickly prepared. She began asking questions about missionaries, missionary life, all sorts of things-- with, I'm sure, astonished Bogdon sitting and watching all mystery unfold--as his shy, less active mother befriended the two sisters who he'd come to know so much over the past few months. We eventually were able to suggest and invite her back to church. "I've been thinking about it--and wanting to," was her response. I wanted to die of happiness, to imagine this little boy, who weekly boards a bus alone to faithfully show up, surrounded by others who have family support. </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">Bogdon, for quite possibly the first time vocally and in front of family members, offered the closing prayer. I can't imagine the feelings and thoughts wiring between this mother and son. I couldn't stop gushing after we'd left the apartment. President, I am so excited about this little priesthood holder-- whose future is so, so so bright---and would and WILL BE so much more, when he has a mother, and younger brother accompanying him to church. It was a miracle. This is what the gospel is all about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">Dasha, Anya still working towards baptism!!! </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">'Twas rathuh cold this past week:) If the new accumlating collection of gloves, scarves, moo moos, and hats in our front hallway THROWN at us by all Russian church members isn't indication enough, I don't know what is.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">Love you all!!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.899999618530273px;">Sister Clyde</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">One of my favorite!! With all of these incredbile people during the children's primary program!!!</span></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">EVGENNIYA the woman in SORCECOR ROBES that I always bring up totally snuck in on the left!!!! hahahahah</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-73881323313189712282014-01-27T12:29:00.002-08:002014-01-27T12:29:58.718-08:00You!<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Finally starting to understanding the phrase, the "Frozen Chosen." </span><br />
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Phew, after denied entry into 3 different pink apartment buildings, Sister Hancock, Andrei and I trudged quietly through the neighborhood in to the cozy comfort of January snow. It was like the perfect page of "Goodnight Moon," with nothing but black white and gray, a splash of Valentine pink, and a bowl of mush. We finally found the right address of new Nina. We hit the doorbell--"Girls, I'm watchin' a film"--"just 15 minutes, that's all," before she yielded and pushed the domophone button to open the building door. We walked in to the hallway and began to de-dress, when Nina's admonitions began. She had a 100 (yes, one century) year old mother waiting in the next room, who would most <u style="font-style: italic;">definitely</u> be nagging on Nina for hosting this episode of nonsense. Nina <i>was</i> 65+, you know. You think she'd be allowed to have a playdate by now without being grounded afterwards. Haha, and we had every intention of sharing the lesson we'd come to teach. Somehow in the midst of repeated lament that she was never gonna hear the end of this, Nina consented to let us pray and sing-- the 100 year old mother mumbling the entire time. Just when we though we'd have room for spiritual thought, the plug got pulled and Nina said, "no time for tea? No time for YOU." Well, we would feign call this pow-wow a lesson without doctrine and one more prayer-- so missionary matters called for desperate meaures. Nina agreed to one more prayer by SIster Hancock. We panically folded our arms and I used my native tongue to remind her of the mandatory multi-task at hand--<div>
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"DOCTRINE," I called to her from across the room, her surprised, determined eye contact reading "ROGER THAT," as her head bowed and she started in Russian. Hahaha, had to keep my laughing quiet as she wove through Restoration truths to Plan of Salvation principles-wondering whether emphasis on tithing or church auxiliaries would be next. Haha--nothing like perfoming under pressure. Gold medal goes to Sister Hancock.</div>
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Speaking of which, someone better be recording every important olympic moment. That includes all events on ice minus curling, add skiing and snowboarding. One day there will be time. maybe. Jane do it. </div>
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So we have felt a stronger bond with the elders, as we've all collectively become a quadruplet pack of parents to the new senior couple. haha, helping the cautious, fantastic Reeds get from point A to point B in their refiner's fire, known as FROSTED WINDOWS on public transport. hahah, how are they EVER going to memorize the bus stops and when to exit when they don't know what the area looks like, let alone how to ask ANYONE Russian for help!!? It's been amusing to share with the elders. Elder Tippetts made a small batch of brownies to distribute to us and them. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_600153660" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">On Friday</span></span> he and Elder Wixom shared with us the secret to getting baked goods back in return. "So honestly, you just bake something small and give it to Sister Reed in a large case of tupperware..... and she'll just completely fill it in return."</div>
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Brilliant.</div>
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"So we'll just send on over two or three cookies in a crockpot??" I asked with all sincerity.</div>
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hahah the laughing approval said yes. </div>
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<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_600153661" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday</span></span> night made for some miracle contacting before our lesson with former-investigator Anya. Who, loves men, and has recommitted herself to a <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_600153662" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">March 1st</span></span> baptism!!! Sister Hancock and I were in the water, not grabbing on to much, when finally the opportune moment came. Paddle, paddle, paddle, RIIIDDDEEEE. We rode that wave all the way down the street- talking and walking with the world's most wonderful couple. An older man and woman-- me in the front with Natalya. We finally got to thoughts of belief, and I asked if she believed in God. "Yes, but here," pointing to her head, "just not here," pointing to her heart. Then explained the reality of soviet times, being raised with the firm decree that God is not. And then the world being turned upside down and He suddenly was. I told her that that was the first time I'd ever heard anything like that in Russia. We talked about principles in our faith, that she found missing amongst the inconsistent onces in her orthodox one. Really neat.</div>
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Amazing lesson with the Reeds and Tatyana, a less-active. Who, usually hardened, allowed her heart to melt by that presence, without a second thought for the language barrier. She cried, as she talked about missing her two dead sons and desire to finish long-lost motivation to finish the temple work. She agreed to come to church. We finally got out of that small wooden house, and headed back in the snowy freezing darkness, and I closed my eyes and prayerfully thanked Heavenly Father for the beauty of this mission, tearfully expressing the purest joy I am allowed to feel on this mission and the richness of these experiences.</div>
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We had an amazing zone training <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_600153663" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Friday</span></span>. Sister Hancock and I got to present part of it. We just felt like the missionaries needed to be inspired, reminded. I was able to share a very real personal analogy that I'd love to share with you in person. Raincheck? </div>
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Love you all, have a greaT week,</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-11330787464502838992014-01-20T12:16:00.002-08:002014-01-20T12:16:57.303-08:00Yeh<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Go, go, go---oh wait? Family photo by the Christmas tree? Ok, make it quick--now we're shifting poses so all present can get their good side? Alright, thanks so much0---what's that, one last shot down the hallway, into the sutdy, and in front of teh giant World Map---neckscratch, hastening, if you insist...quick, point to America and they'll claim the Motherland---"cheese." Now RUN. Don't care if you can't run in the elevator to get home faster---run <u>anyway.</u> Run through the snow, through the ice, through the---</span><br />
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what's THIS??</div>
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And yet more pressing...who decided to plant Lake Tahoe in the middle of Saratov.</div>
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Suddenly all vested hope of making the bus stop in time vanished in to the frostbitten air as the biggest pond of frozen glacier enveloped our only path---and was only processed as endangered boots had already trudged 3 erroneously deadly steps in to it--a stride and a half = a week and a half in bed with a headcold. Haha, mutual shrieks of fright and thrill as thoughts short-circuited in panic and Sister Clyde went DOWN. (We most definitely DO NOT have time for this). Haha, you're welcome to the world for the comic relief-- and PS, pretty sure we got the ab workout of our lives as we attempted to get up and resume the Arctic marathon the entire way to the finish. </div>
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Don't worry- I'm alive we're alive we're good, it's good.</div>
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Wow-- could you believe the magic view of looking out in to the vast Russian <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_667474086" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">midnight</span></span> purple sky as we crossed the barren, frozen snowy tundra horizon with Makcim to our late night lesson with Alan?? Wow, I haven't seen stars that magnificent in a long long time. And then the far off smoke stack, heaving thick, rich, beautiful puffs in to the portrait of a scene. Mesmerizing. </div>
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Little time left-- but nothing beats the Russian primary program--with a grand total of 3 child participants---and then the ranks improved by 66% increase as sister missionaries were full-blown expected to get up every other 2 minutes to sprint down the chapel and perform in the background to give the child choir some kind of soprano/baritone effect. Just didn't wanna be raining on the youngsters parade or something. Haha- at least it gave us the happy chance to enjoy watching Elder Wixom's hair turn gray as he followed creepy investigator Ralf all over the back half of the chapel, monitoring his behavior when within the same square mile of sister missionaries. hahaha, Sister Hancock and I giggled about that this morning.</div>
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Dasha is becoming our friend!!! She is opening up more and more. We had the most successful lesson at their house with funny Cvetlana, her mother, and Grisha-- the wonderful autistic boy who shoots us the flirtiest looks in sacrament meeting--and every other hour of the block. We all sang a hymn around their REAL family piano, I played--and it felt like something out of the perfect Christmas story book. And then we reminded her about baptism yesterday after reading choice verses in Mosiah 18 and then Dasha offering, VOLUNTARILY, answers she received to prayers over the week so that her dad would be protected--just moments before getting in a serious car accident. We were so happy she had opened up. She is starting to feel more like our sister, as we dropped off a note and banana bread for her last week. (Much better with added marshmallows- apparently endorsed with Martha Stewart's stamp of approval) Yum. </div>
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Last night---open up your DOOR, Zinaeeda--cuz here we come-- with 3 men, too. No, not the two last week with whom we watched the Restoration film with at the branch building in order to put off their cake and wine. Hahha, guess that's what we get for busting and bringing in for repair 7 pairs of boots at once. Hhaha, we most certainly AVOIDED the wine. But anyway- this lesson with Borees and Nikolia was incredbile. WOw-- and the theme was thrown out on the spiritual fly as I welcomed everyone to the meeting, and then the words- prayer and answerers to it spilled out. Haha-- and the spirit was so so so so so so strong-- as Boris understood. UNDERSTOOD!!! Jarom 1:4, D&C 88:63, Luke 18:1-- all amazing things to read if you are thinking about the quality of your prayers as of late. Learning more and more about that with each passing day.</div>
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Yesterday poor little Valentina looked up in confusion, as an unexpected winter coat crashed on to her from the lofty coatrack-- hahaha, I look over my shoulder to find her requesting that | assist her in restoring it to its proper place---on the hook, as opposed to her slumped, 80 year old back, neck, and head. Hahaha, smiling the whole time.</div>
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BAPTISM <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_667474087" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">ON SATURDAY</span></span>, and ANTON drove us, and I prayed 3 times that we would LIVE!!! hahaha, and we made it-- felt like trying to stop a wedding. There's another one this week and he wants to COME. And he told me-- in an awkward, sweet, clearly misunderstood way, that he'd been wanting Sister Clyde to baptize him. </div>
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Awwwww!!!!! </div>
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----We've got priesthood origin work to do. Hahaha. </div>
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Have a great week!! The new senior couple is here, from Hurricane UT!! We've all been helphing them move and get settled in to their new foreign world! They are the REEDS, and they are doing great.</div>
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Love</div>
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Sister CLYde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-70014316991716817882014-01-13T09:02:00.000-08:002014-01-17T09:02:52.259-08:00Old New Year<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Maybe it might help to paint the picture of a few characters to be encountered on the path of a Saratov missionary. </span><br />
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After passing the aparment dumpsters and peering out on to Prospect Ctroitelli, it's not uncommon to find little Larissa, busy about her sidewalk sweeping. Always with an orange vest, latex gloves, and a whimsical mood equivilent to Amy Adams's "Giselle." Over age 55, Larissa never married and works hard for her living,l never allowing wordly cares to rob her, or those she greets, of teh happy magic to be found in each day. Sometimes I think she might float away when she cheerfully assures us she hasn't time to meet:)</div>
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Ever-loyal Andrei, ready to lend a missionary hand-- requires no less than 4 already existing movie characters to do his own justice. Take the eccentircity of "A Series of Misfortunate Events's" Count Oloff, the temping peculiarity of the Cheshire Cat and Mad Hatter combined--the chilling long-limbed mysertery of Jack from "Nightmare Before Christmas," and confusing splendour or Willy Wonka, right after he slapstick tumbles on to the Chocolate Favorty's red carpet premiere. </div>
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And then, irreplaceable President Yemsove-- with his quiet magic touch to any sacrament meeting he presides at. Little hair on the head, perfectly round glasses, and a sensibly humble voice that could narrarate any documentary worth recommending to someone else. He fell in love with his current happy wife in the temple a year ago-- and still at age 60, has a happy sense of charm left in him as he holds her hand, and winks at the greeting sister missionaries. Haha. Yesterday he bore testimony about how, although many claim across the pulpit, "I love you" to all in the congregation, it would be ever more fitting to say "Brothers and sisters, it seems to me that I love you." And then when in to vivid detail about what it means to truly love a person-- to know him, personally, to an extent--and then, to help him and serve him. He talked about Christ, the love He has for others. And then, at the climactic part of his talk, when the room became more reverent than already 'twas, President Yemsove said, addressing each one of us, "Brothers and Sisters....." and we all waiting--- "it seems, to me, that I love you." </div>
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With beautiful, trusted sincerity in each and every word. Smiles of happy satisfaction spread across the chapel. Haha, a choice moment indeed. </div>
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We are still working with Dasha and Nadya with regard to upcoming baptismal dates. They are younger girls--both 14 and thereof probably perfectly suitable for Philip and Henry. You've got 2 years to learn and understand Russian in time for birthday #16:) It's clear that they are still young and a little fearful of a lifelong commitment. But, we had a wonderful lesson with Dasha <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_114368549" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on saturday</span></span> at her house--where she and her funny brother Grisha had arranged, in a heap of a panic, four cups of poured and sugared- tea, along with a small plate of neatly arranged Russian pryianniki cookies. hahah, quite quaint to find it neatly arranged on the table. We simply read from the Book of Mormon, discussed the prinicples in first Nephi, read a verse about baptism-and closed, instead of pressuring her by re-extending the commitment. I think she was pleasantly surprised-- as she looked at my family photo album, and asked for quick help on her English homework. We couldn't help laughign at the rather pessimistic phrases in need of correction, all along the lines of.</div>
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1. I don't trust those who lie to me more than once.</div>
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2. He avoided caring about those who didn't care for him. </div>
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3. She stopped visiting him after he stole her pocket change.</div>
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Hahahah, why the Russian gloom in foreign language learning?? </div>
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Great lesson in the park yesterday-- mind you, freezing!!!! since this here Nikolai still turns down invitations to meet at our prayer house. Well, he brought a friend, names BORIS. Properly pronounced in Russian, Bahreese, sorry to disappoint family. Anyway-- Boris was pretty excited as he listtened to the story of the Restoration, and read the promise in the BOM--before digging in and actually looking up the references!! It was so neat and refreshing as it was clear he trusted in the promise. We hope to meet with him again!!</div>
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So my coat nametag busted again. Sister Hancock and I have tried to come up with all the creative alternatives we could muster. Hmm. One of them, her idea-- to duct tape russian coins to the back of the nametag, and continue using the other half of an extra tag magnet, hoping the force might be strong enough through the fabric. Ehh Ehh. We did it in a frenzy right before church, while I held the tape and she arranged the money on the tag. "This is resourceful," she optimistically observed," before Sister Clyde added in similar tone, "This is ree----diculous:)" Hahaha, photos attached. </div>
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Wow, reading today in Matthew <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_114368550" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">10:28</span></span>, about how Christ admonishes his apostles to not fear those who might hurt them, causing them physical harm, but <u>he </u>who might cause harm to their body AND soul. It was so clear and interesting, that he warned them of the many tactics and motives of the adversary-- who might so fully, and capably, try to bother, stop, inhibit the Lord's servants. Discouragement, contention between companions--also family, friends, investigators-- temptation to question our testimonies and doubt our faith. It's been interesting to understand more how real the adversary's power can be-- and how noble and more powerful God and the power of His spirit really are. </div>
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Hey!! Keep going with member missionary work!! Make your "game plans" as Elder Nielsen referred to in last General Conference. And DO it!! Thanks for everything, hope you're all safe, happy, and ever-learning.</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-72021493817388878982014-01-06T08:54:00.000-08:002014-01-17T08:56:54.273-08:00FRIENDS<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">We four sister missionares gathered in the Penza apartment kitchen with bowls of cereal and freshly sliced oranges in hand. Taking the lead on exchanges, I raised the ever-familiar question--who would like to offer the prayer?" --trusting that one of the younger sisters would chime in---silence. Well, might as well take the initiative and save the waiting cornflakes from getting any more soggy. So, I prayed in Russian. Asked for protection on the sisters, the apartment, a few more requests, before a blessing on the food. At the sound of the closing and "amen," a feeling of uneasiness began to seep in, as the reality of a three-person audience was deduced to an embarrassing one. My tired eyes opened to the commonplace of our dark Saratov bedroom, my ears to the humbling laughs of newly awakened companion, probably taken aback by the impromptu <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_114368547" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">4am</span></span> prayer. I groaned and humbly asked, "what do the scriptures say about vain repetitions??" before Sis. Hancock laughed and revealed that she had subconsciously, exhaustedly folded her arms in lying position at the sound of it. </span><br />
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I am so grateful for a mother who encouraged me to be good and attend all youth activities-- even when senioritis and sticking it to the man dominated the twin daughter and world through them. Who drove us to school all those years before we got licenses-- the triple whammy with 2 to the high school and cherry on top Salt Brook excursion. haha I am so grateful for a dad who taught and encouraged us once upon an NYC orchestra performance--to <i>close </i>our eyes in order to drink in the music with our ears, void of distraction and fully able to taste the richness of sound. He who also did late-night gymnastic stretches in the living room. Thanks for everything parents.</div>
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Last week a woman came hobbling up to us in the park on New Year's Eve. The magic in the air, as this holiday is 100% more anticipated in Russia than Christmas ever will be. Weird, huh?? We just finished up a really neat conversation with a younger cute girl named Aleyona, who decided to linger longer than planned as we talked with her about baptism, and she gave us her number in order to call her. We turned and were thinking about heading back for dinner, when the sound of her passing words, "FREE CHRISTMAS TREES, get 'em while they be hot...." echoed in our ears. Our feet made the sharp turn in direction towards the spot behind the building that she'd explained. All missionary task went out the window as our dinner hour would now be used for something beyond pressing. </div>
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The new addition leaves the new livingroom count at now an impressive 3. </div>
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I was asked to teach training for district meeting. The Holy Ghost, Spirit, and the role he has has consumed my thoughts as of late. Understanding what he does. John<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_114368548" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">14:26</span></span>-- and then tapped in to neat thoughts from a talk I heard in RS during the MTC. How we, as missionaries, have this indescribable opportunity to introduce these people to the third member of the Godhead. They may close every written read prayer in teh name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost---by that in no ways guarantees that they understand his literal purpose to testify of the reality of Christ as our Savior-- to bring all things to our remembrance, to confirm answers to prayers--to suffice as the peace as a gift that the Father sends His children, when His Son isn't physically present to do so (John 14:15-27). We talked about Rosemary Wixom's fantastic talk from the 1st presidency devotional-- about John, the little boy who with awe asked the teacher, who had just told the story of Christ's life, "really??? He did that for <i>me???</i>" We talked of the little Russian boy Makceem, with his grandmother Anastacia-- who was shown the pictures of the prophets in the Book of Mormon by the two american girls-- before the one of Christ appearing to those in the Americas--- and him quietly commenting "зто хорошо-- зто очень хорошо." "That is good. That is very very good." Ugh, how missionary hearts sang as this little 6 year old felt the spirit, unknowingly on the snowy russian street. Talking about how we don't always follow up on our commitment as missionaries to not only aid people in FEELING the spirit, but also RECOGNIZING it.</div>
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Anyway, pay attention to the spirit this week-- and what Heavenly Father is trying to tell you.</div>
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I love you all, merry merry RUsisan Christmas and Happy New Year!!!</div>
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MOM HAPPY BIRTHDAY FOREVER!!!</div>
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STEW HAPPY BIRTHDAY A WEEK AGO!!!!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Cyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-47899680676232200142013-12-30T08:49:00.000-08:002014-01-17T08:49:56.361-08:00New Year's Eve<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Remember the festive Sunday in church--when generous Russian grandmothers rememebered all, missionaries included, with New Year gifts of ornaments, chocolates, woolen socks, and eskimo Ugg boots (thanks Cveta, not mah brand, but means of warmth? daaaa) There was a buzz of excitement floating around Sunday school when someone pulled out a purple balloon to play with, and the energy level officially reached hyperactive. The missionaries all played bad guy throughout the block to keep it away from mischievous children and more than once I raised a threatening pen or two to the inflated toy, yielding desired gasps of fear and aspirations for obedience, haha. Eventually it fell back in to dangerous hands and hallway reverance once again retreated. While fits of chatter festered when suddent POP!!! </span><br />
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The balloon was stomped to smitherenes by the world's smallest babooshka. </div>
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Hahaha- settled. What a wonderful, fast week 'twas. Christmas was delightful to see all of your faces. It wasn't until yesterday in RS third hour that I then understood that Philip had been MIA 3 1/2 times as he continually dished himself up seconds of nothing other than the famous Christmas rice pudding. Good choice bud, and the only worthy justification for burning camera time. Officially excused. Haha, and where's my portion? Anyway-- it was the best Christmas present, and sister hancock and I just hugged eachother afterwards as the final tears of happy, spiritual bliss were shed as we remembered our families and how happy we are to be serving Heavenly Father. </div>
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It was quite funny to be in on the famous FHE at the Gorina's last week. We anxiously awaited the arrival of our investigators, Rooslan and his kind of tude-oriented buddy Deema. They finally showed up at the tail-end--just as we had hoped to squeeze in a last word of spiritual thought before jumping out the door and on a panic bus ride home to make the <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_114368546" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">9:30</span></span> deadline. Instead of warm-up and smooth segway in to what the gospel of Jesus Christ really means for us, and could mean for Rooslan, Natasha Gorina took the liberties of immediately saying to recently-seated Rooslan-- "what is your name, young man??" He answered. "Well, it would be well for you to know that here in this church we forego with pride alcohol, tobacco, narcoticss, tea and coffee. And, life is tremendously better because of it." Hahahah-- the crickets sounded as the festive room of adults and missionaries felt silent and Rooslan took in the new, most likely utterly confusing introduction he'd ever heard-- as sister Hancock and I did all we could to put a stop to hit, but could then do no more as we turned our heads to silently giggle at the misfortune of his first 15-second impression of the event we had so encouraged him to attend. Hahaha, there is no replacement for those kinds of situations. And even better, as sharp Elders Wixom and Tippetts were making their way out and attemtping to befriend our investigators, because to bear a quick testimony of the Plan of Salavtion in passing. Elder Wixom, clearly on the spot and many thoughts in his head, attempted to say, "Death, it's a scary thing..." but really mixed up the closely-related Russian vocab and said with the earnest, turned up eyebrow look of concern, "Death, it's a funny thing....." hahahah and I couldn't hide the instant smile on my face as Rooslan's eyebrows were also now turned up in again, confusion. AHHHH. Hahaha, so we booked it down the stairs, all investigators following behind us like a bobsled race through the snow and to the busstop. </div>
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I've been thinking a lot about how there is this kind of frequency comfort we've reached here as missionaries in the field. Where we can average and maintain a frequent constancy of gospel-oriented contact-- so much so that there is no time to fear, procrastinate, worry-- just let it happen because it's our duty responsibility and joy. I've thought about what life could be like afterward---and how with time, it would be easy to fall in to a place where that ability, that frequency drops--- and discomfort and worry might be much more apt at truncating the gospel encounters that would be prime for taking place!!! I want to ensure that that frequency, although might not remain the way it is as a full-time missioanry---- never distracts me from the life-long effort to keep doing what we are doing. Keep it up!! I'm so amazed with the legions of strong, faithful adults in the church, who still work so much to serve in their families, callings---and also share the gospel amongst others in the nonmember workplace. And how years, even decades, have not changed these oftentimes once-missionaries to share the truth that is so incredible important.</div>
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We had an amazingggg youth encounter on the way home from knocking last night!!! The teenagers, two guys and a girl, were tickled pink at the fact of our nationality. Hahah-- When tall basketball seeming Vova, fun cute guy found out, he insisted that we meet and follow up, after the other two Pavel and Nastia knew we were missionaries--and happened to still be interested, despite their proclaimed atheism. In excited parting, Vova threw Sister Hancock and me into his arms in a hug and there was nothing we could to have stopped it. Hahah-- so we both gave the polite one-handed double pat of approval on the shoulder so as to not be dead finish adamently against the nelzya embrace. Hahah, good boy Vova. Carry on.</div>
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I am so excited about Christmas Tree woman Meela!!!!!!! This is the week her work schedule disappears and she can finally meet!!</div>
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We set baptismal dates yesterday with Dasha and Nadya, teenage girls who are worried about membership in the churhc--we'll see where it goes!!</div>
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Last week had the WEIRDEST opportunity in the world to hear a cute autistic Russian kid sing every single world to "Call Me Maybe" as he stuffed more mashed potatoes in to his mouth---including the ones I was inconspicuously dishing out of my bowl and in to his since lunch had happened an hour ago and I didn't want more. hahahah, he just kept looking up at the ceiling, in his singing element and Sister Hancock loved every second. </div>
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Love you all!! Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, be safe!!</div>
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OLYMPICS AROUND THE CORNERRR</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-48041592352155311782013-12-23T11:12:00.002-08:002013-12-23T11:12:58.956-08:00CHRISTMAS!<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">We often climb in to the rickety old elevator to shoot up to the apartment building's top. Hit the mechanical button to the 8th floor--or 9th if 8th is out of order. Then wait in peaceful silence as the iron doors slide shut and we defy gravity, rusty Russian style. Haha-- contradictory to the fact that Samara is widely known for its advanced Space facilities and capacities-) Sometimes it's a little too peaceful, so much so that a cautious hand of one missionary or the other will extend, ever so inconspicuously in to the space above our heads-- just far enough to tap the ceiling, signifying victory, securing 1st place, and earning justification to initiate the first attack of an elevator jellow match- or playfully and effectively shoving the other sister against the wall as she stries to defend herself, then all laughing and hoping the extravaganza's intertia isn't enough to dislodge the elevator circuit and make it out alive:) </span><br />
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We do what we can to spread Yuletide cheer.</div>
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Christmas Eve is <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_34004520" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span>!! Yesterday I saw Sister ancient Yevgennia(sorcerer robes and now Wicked Queen of Naria fur wardrobe-- you think I'm joking don't you) perched on her guard stand. A sacrament chair. I thought it might be nice to get down and personal with her for once, letting her in to my life for once instead of being the subject of her next private Lecture Hall of oration. I whipped out my photo album to a wonderful picture of lovely twin sister, Samantha--and noted that she was now currently serving on a mission in Rome, Italy. Evgennia's ancient countenance gushed with joy and admiration, "how wonderful, just wonderful," she oozed with joy. But then the excitement suddenly drained from her face---as her pointed finger of infamous warning raised to my face and said--- "She is a happy person." No argument there-- and then continued the prophecy--" She is happy, and will be happier than you ever will be in life." Gulp. Hahahahahah WHYYY!!! In laughing confusion I cried, "Evgenniya, you don't think I'm happy?!!" And she hushed me with "NO! NU!! I think you are a happy-- but she will always be happier than you. The Lord will require much from you, ALL of your life," far by the gravest voice in the building at the time. I was finally forced to leave her side, dismayed as I'd intended to ask more about my future from this wonderfully distorted 8-Ball of a Evgenniya. I let others in on my pain as I recounted the story aloud to the <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_34004521" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">sunday</span></span> school class of missionaries, Anton, and Anaitt, ending with their spouts of laughter. </div>
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Sam, don't let it go to your head.</div>
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Russians or NOT OK to let anyone get away without wearing a snow hat. Hats are naht my thing. Haha- unless baseball caps. Anyway, l've heard from 32 people in the past month that it is time for me to put a hat on. Last night we were knocking with Anaitt, when I quickly massaged my temple since I had a very minor headache. Anaitt saw the move in the corner of her eye, and immediately informed me with a smile, "sister Clyde, you have head pressure because you didn't wear a hat outiside." Haha, I could lose all major debit cards in my wallet and Russian would still blame in on my neglect to throw on a crocheted winter beanie. Haha, hope you're laughing dad. </div>
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So Andrei is the interesting gymnast man who isn't letting the sisters out of his sight. He is completely normal, just kind of weird. See past the oxymoron and reflect with me. He literally came out with us on EVERY SINGLE ONE of our 5 lessons yesterday!!!! He's making this companionship a trifecta!!! hahaha, and it was fantastic, as we scrambled to meet every one of our goals for the week. Such a blessing. </div>
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Tamara is the woman who showed up a week ago at the baptism. It was so lovely, as she had readily agreed to pop right in and enjoy the spirit's company and kindness from all the wonderful Solnechney members. We, along with Andrei and Bogdon, led her home in the icy snow as we sang Christmas hymns. I have no idea how she is independently mobile, as we finally got up to her apartment building and knocked on the front door, to deliver her home to her young family of shirtless grandsons haha. Bye Bye, see you <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_34004522" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span>!! Anyway-- we went back the next day, and had no luck after Romeo-ing the window with a few knocks, not rocks--since their front door wouldn't open. No luck. So we're walking <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_34004523" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on friday</span></span> night--about to grab dinner, when I noticed a woman in the corner of my eye. TAMARA?!! We quickly ran over, when she pled for us to take her money and purchase some loaves of bread for her, and candybars for ourselves. "Tamara, where do you live??" Then she pointed to a wildly different aparment building. "She's crazy. She's crazy," I informed my companion. hahah, simulatenously realizing that we had freshly delivered a nice new grandmother to a family that had nothing to do with her, no recepit either!!! Oy vey, so we scadaddled to get the bread, and drop it off at this NEW apartment. Hahah, so much funny new update ensued in the following 2 days with her, as we finally had a sit down lesson, but then she refused to come to our activity since her older Son had forbade her. Ughhhh, what a bust!!! Anyway, more late gotta go!!!!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">sAY HELLO TO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD Christmas TREE saleswoman, Meela!!!!!</span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">
Hahaha, just bought a new tree:)</div>
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And, cool RUsisan landscape on way home from Penza exchange on the busss</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-69767706124309244912013-12-16T11:09:00.000-08:002013-12-23T11:09:55.804-08:00I dont have an apostrophe key..dont judge<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Dont judge.</span><br />
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Haha, no time so I will write quickly. </div>
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We poured out in to the hallway of SIster Zinaeedas humble happy apartment at the close of a speakerphone lesson with little guy, Nikita. Bogdon had joined us as a member-present peer, friend, and somewhat moral support for a topic most 10 yr olds dont appreciate and all baptisms require:) Elderly Zinaeeda with gray hair, slurred Russian, and tired smiling eyes, bade us to suit up, suit up--as Father Winter doesnt take kindly to those who think to defy him, teh cold and the mittenless. We thanked her heartily, which earned us teh Zinaeeda specialty we have come to expect, a hearty kiss planted right on the cheek- no shyness about it; a little moisture, maybe. haha. In the midst of it all, my gaze stumbled once upon a preteen, thinking to escape the fate. My thoughts wired, determined that he be privileged to receive the same treatment. Haha--my arm extended as he began to slip out the door, grabbing the nearest think I could--his coathood; and effectively dragged him back in to Zinaeedas waiting embrace. Pucker up. Hahah, Bogdon couldnt help but satisfactorily complain, and we all left laughing.</div>
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Nikita got baptized. It was beautiful. Grisha did too. I sent pictures-- there are the elders sitting in a row with miracle Anton who has accepted a baptismal date and is so so so receptive to the spirit. He came to FHE last week, and just ate up the spiritual happy atmosphere of a family in Russia who lives the gospel, and the lesson on trials from the missionaries and amazing convert Rustam. Anton came to church again yesterday and sat next to yours truly!! Thats me. Haha. Sister Hancock and I have assurred ourselves that we will get to participate in the process of his conversion since he is so amazing, even though he lives in the area of the elders. </div>
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We intend to purchase our very own humble Christmas tree in no time:) Tell no one that the emergency fund is being dipped in to. Anaitt is home, she;s home!!!! She took us out to meet her amazin Armanian friends, who she had purchased gifts for while home in America. It was such a beautiful, choice site to see these amazing beautiful armanian women, here in Russia- connecting with eachother in their native tongue, laughing over the things they all knew and identified with, over tea, chocoalte, and mandarin oranges. I was so grateful to behold that site in this corner of the world.</div>
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I cant not hung a happy Christmas tune, everywhere I go. Sister Hancock and I sometimes feel like we are on the survival edition of Mission Extreme, the worlds next needed reality show--as we run up Mount Everest every sunday night in our coats and snow boots, sweating and dodging men and the flames alongside the snow covered earth in order to be obedient. Hahahah, and laugh so hard just picturing it.</div>
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LOVE YOU ALL!! Share this amazing gospel!!!</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-14721182500417564412013-12-09T23:32:00.000-08:002013-12-22T23:35:41.848-08:00Charlie Brown<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I remember making our way to the church yesterday in the new-found snow. It's like the twilight zone to be looking at the exact same Russian view I first beheld when I got here a year ago--the cozy gray skies, snow blanket fields--often time slipper slush streets. The air's not too cold, but the snow boots are now requirements for entrance-you wouldn't believe the scoffs and turning up of noses traight out of a film-setting situated in the cruelest of high school microcosms when wearing anything other than top notch winter footgear. Haha</span><br />
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We were near turning the corner, when we saw a humble couple down the road. We greeted them and began to turn to the woman--when I noticed the man's patient countenance and had trouble shiftin gover. He seemed almost taken aback by the uncommon pleasantess from two young foreign girls--and his kind crystal eyes wouldn't break contact, just sweetly observing and attempting to process what was going on. I could spend the whole email elongating on it--but eventually had to turn away from the friendly couple and continue on the journey. I put my hand to my heart before the words, "все возможно тепер" escaped my mouth in to the chilly open air. "Everything is now possible." </div>
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Great week. Exchange with Sister Platt. It's so neat to reunite with her every couple of cycles, and discuss the things we've been learning. We randomly stumbled in to an old potential named Alla. She was seated on a little-mermaid like rock--when she saw us passing, confused my face for her friend's, and called out to us. We approached her and got up to pace with eachother. She had a bad cut above her eyebrow-and she told us she had fallen after drinking vodka, and felt pretty ashamed. We then had a lesson-where she revealed that she wanted to change her life. I knew that her recent doings had humbled her in to finally hearing our message. She invited us back to her apartment that night.</div>
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We brought our friend Lioba along- and all made our way in to the living room that wasn't a living room--but a heavenly Kardashian haven of gaudy white furniture rugs and leopard statues. She advised us to not place our satchel bags on the couch--as it was white--but on the floor--as it was less fluorescent white. Hahah. She sat there on her chair, wrapped in her moo moo patterned fluff blanket and we bore testimony of the atonement. She agreed to come to church, and said she needed friends, and change. Definitely an interesting experience. Not as interesting as our next contact with her, but I and my companion are not so sure it has proper place in this email. hahah</div>
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Remember the way we would discreetly gather together as many pages as we could during bedtime story portion of babysitting, just enough so the "nodding off" child wouldn't notice, that you might resume other personal agenda pursuits by an average of 2.5603 minutes sooner??? And there's always the kids who have memorized every punctuation point's place from start to finish for the Cat in the Hat--- who then catch you redhanded in the act, before demanding the backtrack if not "start over" to make ammends--and then the sequel in order to teach you a lesson??</div>
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Foiled.</div>
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Anyway. Yesterday amazing kid Antone showed up to church after we gave him a church tour of the building on thursday--even after telling us he wouldn't be able to make it due to class!!! We saw the rather familiar green puffer jacket, and him, making his non-chalant way in to the building before church. WHATTTTT!!! He sat right in between us during sacrament, stayed all three hours---and got acquainted- our doing-- with fellow 17-year old lovey Liza. Heh heh. He had questions, was the kindest kid you'd ever met, and a total miracle to top off the week!!</div>
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Recent Text message exchange with Bogdan. (Pronounced "BogDON")</div>
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The snow began to peacefully fall--and I thought I'd let my bud in on the mutual joy</div>
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"Look! Through the window!!"</div>
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And then Bogdon didn't answer sister clyde. Mid morning fractions must have been his excuse.</div>
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I told him about my feelings next time he called to say hello.</div>
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Haha. SO- the next snow fall was a little different. I heard my phone beep, and got to it 15 minutes later while walking home.</div>
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"снег."</div>
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"Snow."</div>
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Thank you, Captain I love you Bogdon Obvious. Hahaha, a smile on my face for sure.</div>
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Have a lovely week. Tell me about the first presidency devotional that I so crave each Christmas season!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-41262074789840293882013-12-02T12:35:00.000-08:002013-12-06T12:42:43.592-08:00It's that time again....<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">We were all treated to the festive Thanksgiving feast hosted by the Childers, office couple. Apartment-made missi</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">onary dishes and sides aligned the table- the left side have a more weighty significance; то есть, dessert region. Can someone say cinnamon roll cake? Turkey and stuffing disappeared on to elders's plates while I found my apple pie's other half on the plate of conventiently sliced ice cream wedges. Now we're gettin fancy. I joined others at the table while Elder Traitor across the way self-commented but for really all to hear, "let's do this in the right order," foregoing all maincourses as he put a brownie up to his mouth. Hahah. I took a first bite of my dessert. Let's just say I wasn't thankful to whatever person who decided to give the same pale cream yellow tint to Lavell's vanilla (former Creamery worker here) as he already had to </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">freshly churned butter. UghHh!!!! "Hmm, this is possibly the warmest ice cream that's not melting I've every eaten.." my tastebuds observed. Who puts that much wedged-butter on a place next to the dessert table anyway?? Jokes on sister clyde, surrounding laughter communicated. Haha. I'll get the last laugh. Even if it's only in the quiet, bitter email home to my family on P day.</span><br />
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Looked out the window and what did we see?? Enough snow to cancel the next 3 minutes of companion study. FIRST REAL SNOW!!! I told Arizonian companion Sister Hancock of the Salt Brook (and NPHS) (and BYU Grad School) dream come true, should the lifetime chance through the grapevine rumor spread like wildfire through town and society, to any and every child's anticipating ear of the smallest percentage of a chance of any given second of the academic work day being annulled due to "inclement weather." I think they meant possibly the most CLEMENT weather that ever graced the face of this and any other side of the world **except Arizona.** haha, oh the fondest of memories I have and always will of the Acorn drive inhabitants, 14 years of age and under, coming together as a mighty force of snow- sledding comrades and Stick it to the Snowplow champions. </div>
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Evgennia- aladdin narrator with the Sorceror robes, silver teeth, and internal wisdom that could change the world- got up to bear her testimony yesterday. Smiles were adeptly masked. As pressing as the words were, the one thing that made lasting-effect might perhaps be the climactic bow she simultaneously bowed with her grand "AH-MEN." hahah</div>
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Women here of all ages pay copious attention to hair maintenance and color experimentation. Something's getting in to the senior ladies, judging by the more daring side of their violot-purple tints. </div>
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So President Schwabb and his wife were just in America, for a minor surgery. They also got to see their youngest daughter go through the temple since she's recently been called on a mission to not-so-far away Estonia!!! How neat. They got back in town <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_504570953" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> night. Their absence was kept on the downlow--and it's a good thing Sister Hancock pocket-dialed him <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_504570954" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> night, otherwise we wouldn't have had a chance to hear from someone sitting in the Salt Lake Airport on their way here for the whole 18 months!!! </div>
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We finally accepted an invitation to dine with our best friend, another spicy ward grandma--babyshka doesn't to justice-- named Tamara. She's a ward mission leader who can't hear half the things we say until she puts in her hearing aid and it's upgraded to a nice 25 percent. She made us wait and help feed the neighborhood cats, as she told us" people around here do things for other people--and if I'm not here to do this, who's gonna do anything for the animals??" haha, it was indeed sweet as we helped pour the milk and summon the kittens to the kibble. We ate a great meal, and then offered to sing Christmas hymns, in English as a foreign treat. And flop. Haha--looks like lyrics fade fast when not tapped in to with pre-mission frequency. Sister Hancocks and my voices would simultenously taper off in to confused laughter come every third bar of each and every verse for Silent Night and all other season favorites. Gimme that russian hymnbook.</div>
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Nikita is for sure, getting baptized on the fourteenth. We finally found the source of the quiet trouble--no, not Nikita. Not even suspected mother Lena, who voiced concerns from time to time--but indeed, the snow-white fair aunt with ebony hair and hushed opinions that when voiced, GO. Hahah, kind of creepy and exciting to stumble in to her icy presence randomly late one night heading home in the dark. But, all is well. We're making desserts, and Anaitt should be back!!!</div>
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Amazing exchange we got to do up in Samara this week! Sister Walker is an amazing missionary. Lots of craziness, heading off on the four-plane process of visa renewal in KIEV!! Very exciting--and so great to stumble in to a random man in the airport, who stopped us as we passed and said, "wait-you missionaries??? I wanna be baptized." We all gulped in disbelief, before his Russian face broke in to a smile and we became instant friends, finding out he was a member who'd served his mission in Moscow 8 years prior, now heading home from a business trip to his wife and kids. It's so great to find them, and no matter who they are, become fast and sure friends. We swapped funny stories and experiences about mission life before hopping on our flight back to moscow. </div>
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So call me crazy, but I was back in the JS Doctrine book again. And felt impressed to type the whole section home today. Right now the topic is on apostasy--and how in modern days, anyone who apostasizes usually has an issue or two with church leaders down the road. It was so interesting to read about the men who not only abandoned the faith after finding, erroneously, fault with Joseph Smith, but rose up in anger and rebellion against him and all church members. I've had thoughts before that should I ever choose to go astray--why not do so peacefully, and leave everyone else be?? </div>
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----And then I read this.</div>
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Daniel Tyler recounted, "soon after the prophet's arrival in Commerce from Missouri prison, Brother Benhunin and myself made him a visit at his residence. His persectuions were teh topic of conversation. He repeated every false, inconsistent and contraditcotry statement made by apostates, heightened members of the churhc, and outsiders. He also told of how most of the officials who would fain have taken his life when he was arrested, turned in his favor on forming his acquaintance. He laid the burden of teh blame on false brethren.</div>
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"When the prophet had ended telling how he had been treated, Brother Benhunin remarked: "If I should leave this Church I would not do as those men have done: I would go to some remote place where Mormonism had never been heard of, settle down, and no one would ever learn that I knew anything about it."</div>
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And then, this.</div>
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"The great Seer immediately replied: "Brother Benhunin, you don't know what you would do. No doubt these men once thought as you do. Before you joined this Church you stood on neutral ground. When the gospel was preached, good and evil were set before you. You could choose either or neither. There were two opposite masters inviting you to serve them. When you joined this Church you enlisted enlsited to serve God. When you did that you left the neutral ground, and you never can get enlisted to serve God. When you did that you left the neutral ground, and you never can g et back on to it. Should you forsake the Master you enlisted to serve, it will be by the instigation of the evil one, and you will follow his dictation and be his servant." </div>
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Wow.</div>
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Reminds of everything I've ever learned about the gospel, everything I have yet to learn and share, and how falling away from the truth would never ever happen. </div>
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I can't believe the good the gospel does, the joy that sharing it brings. Merry Christmas!!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-17071277897336611732013-11-25T12:19:00.000-08:002013-12-06T12:26:12.595-08:00Nov Still<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Hahaha good old title creativity appears to be taking a backseat and fast. </span><br />
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Every week two worlds collide within our ward building--as both the earlier and later branches intertwine in the midst of their churchblocks. The main hallway morphs in to a perfect bedlam of the newest Saratov Stock exchange--<i>especially </i>for those with badges on. Yesterday, after the lesson of bliss with the investigator of suspense--Nikita- Sister Hancock, Tamara, President, and I spill out in to the mix of Russians intersprinkled with Americans and Armanians. I fall upon the guests of honor--Nikita's mother and aunt, who need ALL immediate attention with regard to scheduling imperative detail for the baptismal service of 10 year old Nikita for SATURDAY!!!! Meanwhile, BTW minor detail--it might help to know that relationships with these two women--Lena and aunt--have been RATHER fragile and on the fence as Nikita has fought and sought for an answer of confirmation---so of course every percent of my attention is on them---when I simultaneously have babushka Tamara Feodorova <i>tugging</i> on my arms in order to get me to a private conversation with the branch president, who I'd JUST BEEN WITH---while other Russian girls scurry past, tossing out birthday clementines, when Liodmila from the other ward demands the contact info switch for her granddaughter referral-grabbing clementines out of my hand, putting her phone up to my ear, as I record the Russian phone number being relayed to me in the phone on my hand. Bogdan is stealing my bag and checking his wristwatch calling "GO HOME!!" in English, molodietz kid. While OTHER liodmilla shoves us it to a corner to say "Cheese" as she snaps the directory photo of the two sister missionaries. </div>
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Post mission sundays will never be the same. </div>
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Run-on paragraphs will never be literarily legal.</div>
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Wonderful exchange with Sisters Johnson and Scott in Balikova. Went really well--and ever pleasant to have a personal choeffeur named VAGEEV--haha, the same crazy man who gave us a run for our money just two weeks ago at 2 in the morning. I can't count how many times he turned over his shoulder to me in the backseat to grunt-call "KA-LYDE!!!" in order to get my attention he already had. Hahha, Sister Hancock giggling in the frontseat the whole time. We invited him to our activity but he wanted to sleep instead. Ugh, what a tough work schedule to be a taxi driver night owl. Been thinking a lot about the verse, "Is not life more than meant, and then body than raiment?" when I see this crazy crazy world. Full of those who claim they can't find a spare second for anything. There's so much more to the purpose of our lives than the fast paced demand!! I suppose it will be a grave awakening--when the day of reminiscing dawns on us--to find that the work hours punched can't and won't bring us the same value that relationships with family and Heavenly Father always will. </div>
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I love my mission. Don't have a whole lot of time--we're hopping on a train to Samara in two hours for an exchange and then VISA TRIP, take 2. Hey there Kiev, what's doin. Going to Ukraine to legalize-Sister Hancock, Sigman, Elder Fennemore, other assistants will be there--just before hopping in mission van speed trip back down, just in time for a happy hearty Thanksgiving meal of missionaries at the Childers. How lovely. Praying for pie of the pumpkin assort.</div>
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LOVE YOU!!</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-14525433573596490432013-11-18T12:00:00.000-08:002013-12-06T12:11:36.220-08:00Still NOV<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Yesterday Vlad, our 17 year old friend we found on the sidewalk, officially became the </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">man</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> by making our lesson and simultaneous dreams come true. Afterwards was our dinner hour that wound up being spent at the branch when we were summoned in by the ward Russian choir for accompaniment reasons. I sat down at the piano and started the intros as instructed by the passionate director with a black moustache. The singers did all they could to conform to the unforgiving margins of the </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">correctly</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> played notes. As most quality directors do, the moustache man continued to voice his spoken praise to the bunch--and even began to put analogies to his directions of encouragement-sort of putting paint on his choral canvas. Way to go man--whose name I still don't know. As I'm focusing on the page, my ear starts to perk up when my mind starts to interpret his russian directions--something along the lines of, "no, no--you musn't sing with human feeling. No more human feeling." Hahah, my eyes definitely pulled up to meet SIster Hancock's as we shared quiet, stifled, mutual laughter. Next thing was the reminder to soften the dynamics with an articulately-put, "SING LIKE BABIES!!! babies." Rumor has it he's taking after Mack Wilberg.</span><br />
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Wow what a week. Shot up to Samara, fetched Sister Hancock, race back to Saratov--say hi to your new home, but now blow it a kiss goodbye before our now-boarding bus to Penza. Haha. It's been a crazy, great week of making our goals come to pass with help and a couple good old miracles sent from Heavenly Father. We saw some really neat things on the exchange--after a few hours of not seeing much in the cold Penza rain. A man approached us, in the middle of a just-ignited conversation with a woman, insisted on receiving a Book of Mormon, and a follow-up meeting for the next day. Haha, it was so incredible--and even more amazing to see Sister Kiestler then continue with the woman, who happened to know a little English. She bore her testimony in a foreign-to-our-nature-as-<wbr></wbr>missionaries- language, ie our native tongue. The spirit was so profoundly strong, as she said is slowed, simplified english phrases, that she knows the gospel is true. And that this is Christ's church. And that the book in her hands will strengthen her faith in Him, and in God. I just watched in happy awe, to see how the spirit and all tied things together for what was a needed miracle in this sister's life, as she comes to the end of her time here. </div>
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Some of my favorite smaller things, are the ability to peer out the bus windows on our way to different cities--and finally get a taste of the rich russian landscape. And at all different seasons of life, too. Right now, the golden orange of autumn has waxed old, and now it's woodsie, somewhat eerie birchwood white forests of trees that stretch for miles, or clear tundra green fields against smokey gray skies. It's mesmerizing. Haha, and SIster Hancock and I didn't shy away from the opportunity to hop off and stretch and the 10 minute pit stop. Usually it's fun or deep conversation between us-- but now, just staring out in to the silent scene beyond the winding road around us. Fantastic, 'twas. I'll run through it alone some day.</div>
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So Tatyana with the moon eyes--kind of broke our hearts. It's tough, because her husband who is literally approaching the end with cancer, doesn't appreciate her leaving with time constriction. She broke down in tears with us last night in the dark when she peeped out the door to tell us the news and return the Book of Mormon. We listened--it was really the only option--before offering a prayer for her, and reading together Mosiah 24:14. One of my favorite stories of a people who trusted and cherished their relationship with Heavenly Father so much, that they heeded a prophet's encouragement to continue to pray in their hearts to not lose their lives. She cried even more--as the scripture assures in His words, that He visits His people in their afflictions. We'll miss Tatynana, but I have a feeling we'll hear from her again someday. </div>
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I've been reading a lot in the teachings of Joseph Smith doctrine book, and eating up every word. Right now, around the part where the saints worked and sacrificed with enthusiasm to construct the temple in Nauvoo--then the miracle of Zion's camp in an effort to rescue the saints in Missouri. I just keep learning about how members of the church are more and more blessed, as they turn over their lives to God. And how that principle can be applied in all areas and stages of life. I read the quote from Spencer W. Kimball that got here from Nana a week ago in the mail. And I cry every time I read it. Haha. I really really love the gospel, its history, its majesty so much. Today in Matthew--how Christ <i>required</i> the faith of the two blind men before doing what was most likely a simple task to Him. Their, or the fuel to have it be brought to pass.</div>
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I love my mission, in short. Walking out of a store this week, a weird kid named Deneese approached SIster Hancock and me. He made the effort to help us with our groceries, after insisting on waiting for us. Not needed, but sure? Then we talked with him outside and he said he'd met elders. And then we said we had to go, based off the spirit- and he insisted on hugs and kisses from us, only to be disappointed. I shook my hand away from his, as we were off in a jiffy to enjoy our dinner. Silly Deneese. Delicious dinner.</div>
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Have a great week!!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-67511532017956224122013-11-11T18:09:00.000-08:002013-11-17T18:10:11.931-08:00Changesss<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">When in a world where business of schedule dictates daily routine task, it becomes commonplace for an individual to develop a specific way of habitually carrying out those tasks. In a lifestyle where disciplined timing is a must, it's no wonder that application and shedding of outdoor winter apparel has been wired down to a science. Wax on, wax off. We're standing in the crowded hallway of the Zavadskoy Branch building, about to enter the chapel, teeming with Russians in anticipation of the Saratov District Conference. The coat racks were loaded, and still without our stuff. Let the routine begin. Hats off, scarves next--pull the middle finger fabric on each glove for swiftest removal, before moving on tot he main course. Now comes the coat- ready for dispatch. My left hand grips the outter cuff of the sleeve to then corecully tug while my left arm quickly glides out from the tug's momentum. But this time, there was a glitch in the system. My fingers gripped the sleeve and pulled, full fource--much to the oblivious dismay of passerby Elder Christensen--who was effectively whacked in the chest by my enthusiastic hand.</span><br />
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Happy Thanksgiving to you too.</div>
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Oh, if you only knew the last few crazy days of life. The new cycle had been especially anticipated, what with SIster Young preparing for the departure home and all. The excitement began on Thursday-as the Balikova sisters showed up early for the soon rescheduled exchange we'd be conducting with them, this time on our home turf. Headed off to three days of on and off conference with amazing member of the 70, Randall Bennett, who also came down with President Schwabb and the assistants. Great day of council and learning--and subway sandwiches, yum-- then followed the exchange. ANyway-- inbetween that with previews, reviews, cleaning and tyding the apartment while suitcases laid everywhere-- in addition to welcoming in the Penza sisters to the peanut gang on Saturday night--and anticipating saying bye to my precious companion, and then being head honcho after she was gone to lead the gang on the last night in the area before shooting up to Samara on a train with them and four elders. Whoo. Tryihng to catch my breath remembering the stress of cleaning and locking up the apartment at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_780791099" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">2:00 am</span></span> while throwing suitcases and duffle bags in to a jammed elevator in addition to our three persons. Sight and sound only enhancing the pleasure of the experience. Hahah. </div>
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So exchanges went very well. It was our last one of the cycle with Balikova sisters. They came--and we did a preview, outlining some area of work we'd like to work on in general--be it finding, transport contacting, knocking--or teaching on the street---and then an attribute we'll be workign on, like focus, or charity, that we can learn fromt eh sister we'll be paired with. Last of all, we each set a numerical goal we'd like to see for the area--number of books of Mormon passed out, lessons with members present, new investigators. And then, reviews are always great for feedback. It was our last one of the cycle-- we've attended the mission leader training councils--which have recently been conducted over skype so we save traveling money and time, which is still fun to get together with zone leaders Elder Hangen, a deep thinker genuis who likes the Boston Red Socks, why I don't know, and then Elder Davydov. I can't explain this Ukrainian in the allotted period of time. Hahah. It's a neat time to dissect the issues and successes currently in the mission-- and offer opinions on matters as we come to conclusions about implementing certain things amongst the missionaries throughout exchanges.Sister Young and I were able to call all of the sisters and give a kind of booster conference phone call as we shared recent experiences about faith, and seeing the fruits of our teaching through blessings from Heavenly Father and baptisms. </div>
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So last day with SIster Young, let me bridge to the most important part. We learned last week that we'd be missing out on the traditional drop off of a secluded, peaceful trainride up to Samara together, to be brought to the office and a grace period of 15 minutes to accept the circumstances and bring all you've experienced together to a fully-closured ending. Instead, she'd be heading back up in the same van as President Schwab with another elder, booking it back to mission headquarters in time for their departing dinner and president interviews. That meant saying goodbye right after the conference ended. But right after the turn off the translated broadcast, the silver-haired District President gets up to the stand to regretfully excuse the fact that President Bennett and Schwab were dismayed to leave early on their way back to Samara. "What?? They're riding in the same prospective vehicle as my companion in the next half hour--surely that doesn't mean...." when I looked over to my left down the row to see frantic note-scribbling sister young shoot me a look that says, "Now, We're going." In rushed panic I grabbed all my things, and climbed over our investigator and Russians to follow her out, not knowing what's going on. " We scurried in tot he hallway, where all the other leaders and elders were waiting, rolling suitcases. Sister Young and I ran to grab coats, as I heard her add, "I can't believe they're making me rush this with you." She then grabbed the 15 notes she'd just penned to investigators and church memebrs-- and hurriedly assigned me to pass them out like no one's business after the conference. I didn't know what to think, and emotions were running fast as I braced myself for parting with her. She stopped talking, we looked at eachother and recognized the moment had come, and then hugged eachother. Tightly. I couldn't keep my tears back as I embraced the sister I've grown so close to over the past four months--helped serve other sisters---and seen so many miracles--and hardships--and laughed, and loved eachother--and now it would all be gone, in a moment. Ugh, I'm cryin again just thinking of it. We whispered to eachother how much we loved eachother, with promises of seeing eachother again some day soon. And then there's little Bogdan, who now has the priesthood and has passed us the sacrament, who comes stumbling out behind us to get in his last word for someone he's loved so much. And I see, in his clossy 12 year old eyes, how much he truly treasures the relationship he has with the missionaries who have taught him. Ugh, this moment. We followed them hurriedly out to the car--and Sister Young looked at me and firmly said, "Olive Garden," affirming our plans to eat at her favorite restaurant after seeing the Saratov Approach together in a a time period soon enough. Before she jumped in the van, the door was shut, and they were off.</div>
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I felt so strange walking back in to that building, with sisters who aren't even my companions. I beckoned Bogdan to stay by me, because he's the only one who could help me feel a little ok after feeling so abandoned. Hah, such a surreal feeling it was, even surrounded by hordes of other missionaries and people when we went back in. And now, she's on an airplane home. </div>
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So strange to see the roller coaster of life that a mission puts one through. Strange can probably be interchangeable with a million other adjectives. 90% of them are blessedly good context. Pick one, it'll probably fit. </div>
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This morning at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_780791100" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">2 am</span></span> the taxi man was in perfect time when Sisters Johnson, Sigman, and I jumped out the door with boxes bags and all. He was a chipper older man for so early in the morning, as he helped us load in the heaps of baggage in to his trunk. While manually holding up the trunk lid while he threw other bags in, I noticed something probably not good. "Whoa there, your car--it's like, movin', man..." were my exact thoughts as the taxi began to roll away from us--without anyone in the driver's seat. Hahah, oy vey it's too early for this. I had the shotgun on the way to the train station, and did what I could to make conversation and help him remember his role in the situation--telling him, "eyes on the road," as he inquired repeatedly as to whether we were Americans and insisting on excavating the wedding announcements of his daughters from the stuffed glove compartment. Haha- we got his number, and he made us promise to call him again on Tuesday morning when Sister Hancock and I need a ride home in Saratov.</div>
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We got the call. Looks like my buddy and I have some unfinished business together:) Sister Hancock is coming back down with me to Saratov. I can't wait to be there for her first train ride. Haha, she'll be a great addition to Solnechney.</div>
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Love you all, have a great week, the gospel means everything to me. </div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-65397961035168366332013-11-04T18:01:00.000-08:002013-11-17T18:08:20.239-08:00November<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What do two do when making their quiet way home down a vacant Russian neighborhood road---when a russian car pulls a sharp right out of nowhere, windows down, and something so foreign and far from any Motab our spirituals ears have become inclined to expect??</span><br />
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Ie, the far too familiar 'round the world sound of The BG's, "Stayin' Alive." </div>
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Oh ho ho, the battle we fought and lost to immediately start grooving to the disco beat heard the entire way down the dark street. </div>
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Hope life is well! Yesterday we went Chacnee Dome knocking--instead of apartment building. We live in the heart of our city--but just a ten minute walk back, where the earth knows no sophistication, and concrete is a mystery of the future. Dirt roads, rolling hills, real land--and a far off scene of the gray clouded sky that fools me in to thinking I'm approaching the Californian coast. </div>
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The internet man just place Sunbeam Seven teacher and asked all of the gaming russian preteens to be quieter. But now the wayward boys are announcing their scores across the room again. If I didn't have a name badge, I'd take them out and teach them about a little pastime we like to call baseball to help them make more of their lives. haha </div>
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Continuing--I can't get enough of the scenes. The old wooden, and rarely brick houses that line the streets, and seem all to colonial to have something as modern as doorbell posted on the fence. Often the Russian houses are painted bright, fantastic colors like reds, greens, blues--and throw in the splashes of bright yellow and orange leaves from the surrounding bushes and trees, as well as teh holly berry bunches every now and then, and you have a very content Sister Clyde. I feel like I'm in the middle of Fiddler on the Roof, or Indiana where "A Christmas Story" takes places, with the exact same 40's like circumstances of Ralphie's and Randy's world. </div>
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It is with highest hopes that you one day have the chance to understand and know татьяна или мои любимы слушательница. Tatyana. She's a mixture of Rose Filoramo's rendition of Adelaide, and still Aunt Rinda. Yesterday we were giving wonderful new Nina a small tour of the church before sacrament meeting started-when out of nowhere pops member Aleckzandra and her--in an elegant wig, flashy bebop glasses, bright red lips, and a leopard print scarf against her cashmere white turtleneck. We showed her the paintings of Christ ont eh walls, explaining that we don't have/worship through icons like all Provoslavnees do; basically spiritual trinkets in picture form of Saints which they use to pray to God. She stopped all chatting to just take them in with her wide eyes and cutest sense of reverance.</div>
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Next in the chapel, people quietly filed in while we explained to her sacrament details. She looked at me with her wide moon eyes and whispered that she couldnt' take the sacrament, not having been batpized-then leaned in to whisper so innocently, "I even smoked this morning. And had coffee." Haha, she doesn't even know about the Word of Wisdom, and I could've hugged her right then. We encouraged her to take it if she felt comfortable. </div>
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The prayer on the bread was offered, and we were eventually served. I knew she would do as I do (follow follow me) after I took a piece. Eager to see her reaction after eating, but well aware the 90 degree angle headturn from an 8 inch distance would be socially frowned upon, I stared down at my lap. A few seconds later, my periferol catches her ruffling through her bag to pull out a hankerchief. I then hear sniffling, and look over to find tears streaming down Tatyana's cheeks. It was the sweetest experience that made me reflect more on how spiritual an ordinance it really is. She told me that she had wanted to take the sacrament her entire life, but had always been told my priests that she wasn't worthy. She told Sister Young that there had been a "rock" in her heart--that disappeared when she got to participate. Haha, how great.</div>
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Everyone is still surprised when finding out where we're from. Ha, I'll never forget the shock as we seemingly "graced" a 16 year old girl with a hug, as she fanned her face in jaw-dropped awe to have physical contact with AMERICANS. You think she'd just seen One Direction.</div>
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For dinner, Sister Young adepty skins and dices a variety of vegetables and potatoes. Breakfast is usually rushed cereal and bananas with 2.5% milk-blah-- haha, I've chosen to accept it and promised an instant return to skim someday) before studies--jam and granola or tuna toast equals lunch for me-but we've agreed to BBQ chicken pizza for next to last meal on Friday since Sister Young is going home!!!!!!! SO WEIRD. Halvah is crushed sunflower seed mixed with sugar, a popular treat for russians here. Plenty of beer/chips stores, which we steer clear of:)</div>
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Sis Young is leaving, how fast time flies. Lots of funny stories. Like when she accidentally challenged intimidating friend bachelor Anton to pray about the Law of Chastity after successfully closing our Word of Wisdom lesson. (Difference in Russian is minor heh heh) In the same lesson I made the inconvenient mistake of of teasing him, intending to call him "shy/sheepish," but really ended up telling him he was "slimey." Not nicest thing for a chap to hear from a sister missionary. Hahah. But maybe it's a little true, ok? Who knows where that B&W came from. Hahah, no comment.</div>
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Love the mission, keep sharing the gospel. Have a great great week</div>
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Love ,</div>
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Sister Clyde!</div>
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Ray roomies dana</div>
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Next week I have a new companion weird!! Sis Young is from Sandy Utah, dad!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10848122682725901920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9081311161912080737.post-49117968017983284012013-10-28T12:56:00.000-07:002013-10-31T13:04:41.141-07:00Handshakes<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Not much time this week. </span><br />
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Russian specific noticings. Ahh, my thoughts while writing don't wire as quickly anymore</div>
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It is bad luck to shake hands through a doorway--I've had many a handshake turned down and rescheduled--by pulling me IN to the home, by the man head of the house, as I carelessly extend just above the threshhold. Haha, superstition is a real real thing. </div>
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Russian men can be spotted everywhere on the street with a bouquet in hand, soon to be delivered to waiting sweetheart. So sweet to see that they're not ashamed to broadcast it to the world. Not even for big occasions--just to say hello.</div>
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So I came to the conclusion long ago- under whitehandbook direction alone--that what happens in Saratov, stays in Saratov. Haha-- one of these days we'll sit around a campfire and collectively know all what really went on during these best 18 months...hahah that being said, I couldn't help but tell of the street encounter as we headed on foot to district meeting. A man named Volodya, formal name Vladimir, decided to accompany us without permission. A nice friendly chap, who had apparently been drinking not water. That is not a typo for hot. After insisting that he stay with us after we'd explained that we're missinoaries and sort of hurrying, I asked him what he occupied his time with. A lot of times it's the occasional "oh you know, work--" with usual career responses like accountant, lawyer, storeworker. Russian declination allows one to throw words around in any order, because grammatified endings will always make the sentence. I was surprised to hear him utter the words "people, and first person conjugated form of the verb, to kill." Heh heh heh.... really Volodya," not buying in based off his happy tone of voice. And details later when I'm home:) Hooray for cliff hangers and distance??? hahaha, all in all, we made it safely and happily to district meeting!!!</div>
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So on to lighter matters, shall we?? There was a wonderful lesson <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_945867414" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> with a fun lady, the Russian version of Aunt Rinda. She was so colorful with her stories and descriptions, wide eyes and bebop glasses. She had a lot lot of faith and love for her husband who was recently diagnosed with cancer. We were teaching the first lesson, when her black cat starts giving me a run for my money that I WASN'T PAYING. Ie, please get off me, no one understands critical points of the Reformation while you are perched upon my shoulder. We're heading back Tuesday and she agreed to read 3 Ne 11. We'll take it!</div>
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So the news is out--- Gallia's baptism came to pass!!!! I'll do what I can to desrcibe one the more powerful experiences on my mission. She's had a lot of hardship in her life--being born right in the middle of the ward, and suffering what childhood was like behind the iron curtain. She's been worried about her upcoming surgery, and often has a look of concern on her face. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_945867415" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">On Thursday</span></span> night, the eve of her baptismal interview--my companion and I went over the questions so that she'd feel a little more prepared. Thinking question specifics at the end about tithing and things would be where a hold up might pop up, we were surprised to find that Gallia was having serious trouble with number one--that is, her faith in Jesus Christ. </div>
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Sister Young and I both had the impression the following day in companion study to watch Finding Faith in Christ with her, just prior to the interview.She sat there, tuned in to the entire thing--as she had read and studied each of the stories in the bible on her own--nodding, and taking it all in. Elders Brieden and Romney showed up--and we were all careful not to move a muscle, as the spirit permeated the room. The screen went black, and we were all awaiting her response, to find out if precious Gallia's heart was just a little more sure of who our Savior really is. I knew testimony needed to be born. I was seated behind her, and in order to be in front of her face, I hopped off the bed and around to sit up on the stool placed directly in front of her: sometimes teh spirit speaks and manifests itself in urgency. I looked Gallia in the eyes, and said to her that I know, I know---that Jesus Christ is <i>real.</i> That He did everything He said He did and would do. That He is our Savior--and only through Him can we ever hope to return to Heavenly Father. With tear filled eyes, I felt the confirming, mutual witness of the spirit- as she, herself, came to know who He was too.</div>
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I'll never forget her smile of joy, as she was brought back up and out of the water on the following <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_945867416" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span>. </div>
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So much happy indescribably joy to see another come unto Christ and utter the words, "I'm clean! I'm clean..." hahah and she knew it. </div>
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Love you, have a great week </div>
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Sister Clyde</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun on the Train! Can you spot Olivia?</td></tr>
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