So one of the investigators who is an eternigator that I worked with in 3rd ward gave me some exciting news. She has agreed to be baptized, and it's in two weeks. I will be present for another person I taught being baptized. I was present for probably 80% of the lessons before those sisters snatched her right out of my fingers. She wants to do it at the lake. If this is a reality, I so hope she chooses me to do it!
So, I guess I realized that part of my missing sanity is unknown to the majority of you, assuming you even read this... wink... but one of the guys who I baptized died a couple weeks ago. But I've just about fully recovered from this shock. I bet he is doing pretty awesome, teaching the gospel to other people on the other side of the veil. He was a great guy, and I liked him a lot.
A few days ago, this UPS driver is about ready to leave the complex when he stops us, asking who we were. Then he hands me a bag that would soon begin to haunt me. Within were some grainy white poweresque demons known as magnesium. Now, according to Journey to the center of the Earth, this stuff is highly explosive. I can confirm it's truth, though not by fire. It says on the container to take 2 teaspoons of it twice a day, it'll make you sleep better. I mixed it up real good with my lemonade and everything is fine. I then pounded that stuff and whipped open my email. Mom warned me a few days back to work up my tolerance to this devilish substance or I'll be spending my time in the bathroom. I dropped my head in annoyance. My fatigue had taken my memory of this warning from my brain. Well, anyways, nothing bad happened to me the entire day. I couldn't believe my luck. Maybe I just had a tolerance already because of all the bananas I eat? Well, I continue on, dropping it into my beverages like no man's business only to find out that it was by the grace of God that I was saved, but now that I had a knowledge of my mistakes, I was held accountable and forced to pay the price. What have I done?
A longgg time ago, I went to the doctors for my bad sleep. Those clowns told me that id be called shortly by the sleep people to set an appointment. Well, my fellow people, i got the call 21 days later. This would've been fine if they set the appointment for the next week. No, I have to, ahem, get to wait for August 22nd. What's going on? The day I received that news was the day that I received 2 and 1/2 hours of sleep. I fell asleep twice in the first 5 hours of the day. But I got to mingle with the Mission President who caught word of my extreme struggle. He told me that if i needed to talk, he'd speed down to Coeur d'Alene from Spokane to talk within 5 minutes, because his car doesn't have tiwi, the angry tracker which yells at us when we drive too fast. When he was assured I was ok, he told me to let him know if I start going crazy again, he'd try a wrestling move called "the sleeper" on me. I told him I would beat him in the name of the Lord. So that sums up my relationship with him. Haha.
One day, we decided to just cruise through the boons on an adventure. Our gps had a great idea and led us down some crazy trail in our Corolla. It was all fun and games until a hidden dried river sneak attacked the trail and our car took a heavy hit. "AGGRESSIVE DRIVING!" "Shut up, tiwi". So, the front of the car looked as if it had taken some serious damage. I was so upset with the boons that we retreated to safety where we actually did some serious missionary work. Then at the end of the day, I assessed the damage and realized that this was something I could fix. It took some comparing with other parts of the car and two different work sessions, but I was able to put the car together back to its original state, just like Joseph Smith and the Church of Jesus Christ. Boys. Unlike that scenario, however, our corolla does have two scratches on the bottom of the car in the paint. However, my hands were guided and I fixed that son of a gun right up. Since the check engine light never erupted, we can assume we're good!
We had the opportunity to do some painting for a family who is moving out soon. One of the bedrooms was described as pepto bismal pink. We got to work painting it a celestial white color. It was a lot of fun and I enjoyed it until a drop of paint betrayed it's brethren and me and leapt right into my eyeball. Oh, the weeping and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth that ensued. That all happened internally of course, but it did hurt! The member said to me, "What, your eyes aren't white enough?" My dry humor came in clutch, saying, "nah, they're pretty red from lack of sleep, so."
My oh my, someone almost beat the salmon with salmon gravy for nastiest meal ever fed to me. I knew right off the bat that something was afoot when they heard I was from pleasant grove, because they whipped out a large collection of doterra oils, saying it could heal everything. They grab this crock pot covered in tin foil from the depths of their rv, slap it to the table, and get ready to send my tastebuds across the world. Let me tell you. They didn't have any bbq sauce and so they chose to make some, and they did it with mustard. How they did that was beyond me, but believe you me, this was no bbq sauce. I don't even know what this food was called! It had a few beans, followed by legions of pickles and onions and many foreign items of terror. It kinda smelled like gasoline. I take my first bite and my thoughts are "wot did I just put into my mouth??" Anyways, they didn't give us water, so we had to choke it down dry. These seagulls start flocking up and all I can think is "Please, seagulls! Take it!" It was so bad that I gagged pretty significantly when no one was looking. I fought my way through a couple more spoonfuls before my body was done. I gagged so hard that it literally hurt me, and I was stuck clutching my chest. "Is everything Ok, Elder Ruth?" Oh, nah, it's ok. I'm just having my acid reflux. "Oh! We have just the thing." *yanks out a bottle of digest-zen* so that was pretty bad. And I'm not messing around, Elder Glidewell couldn't eat it either. *shudders* that oil smelled like black licorice and tasted like dirt. Looking back on it, im not sure it helped me feel better, but good on them for trying to help a guy out.
That about wraps up the goods this time around. Other than that, we rode our bikes around at least 5 miles a day, and one day, we did 15. So things are good. I'm not dead yet. I continue fighting, and I am tired as heck. Pray for my sleep, cuz y'all gone make me lose my mind up in here.
 |
| On my bike |
 |
| Can I keep him? |
 |
| My backyard |
No comments:
Post a Comment