I'm Falling in Love

Dumelang! (Setswana for Hello)I write to you with a box of tissues nearby. The Barlow Center (thebuilding that houses all of the BYU interns) is a breeding ground forinfectious germs. I am one of several who have a nasty cold. Despitemy ailments, I am enjoying day after day of the East Coast life. Maybe I'm sick because of my run to the White House in the rain. Or maybe it's because I get woken up every morning at 6 a.m. due to thetrash collector who comes with beating "drums" just below our window.Who knew that it took 30 minutes to collect the trash? No, I bet it'sthe second-hand smoke that I pass frequently on my way to the Metro.I'm not complaining. No, on the contrary, being sick has reallyhelped my gratitude of health to grow. Elder Maxell said, "The meekare simply more free, more peaceful, and more cheerful." The meek donot complain.There's something about being away from home that makes my prayersmore sincere—I guess it makes me feel closer to family, at least to myheavenly home. As I talk to my Father, I tell him how I long to bebetter, to be more like His Son. When I really connect with Him, mywhole soul is consumed by that desire to "try to be like Jesus." To
my "weakness He is no stranger," but never do I feel harsh judgmentfor my inadequacies when I commune with Him in prayer.And prayers like those seem to lead me places. On Tuesday, I was directed in prayer to sing to someone—just a simple thought, butdefinitely from the Spirit. I went to my internship and picked thesecretary, thinking she might be one who needed a song. She seemed toappreciate the gesture, but I felt empty about it. It wasn't until later that night, while on the phone with a rape victim from Colorado,that I felt the confirmation that I had finished the task. Summer isa girl I've met only once, but who has continued to call me since thatday 6 years ago. As I sang "Where Can I Turn for Peace," I was gladfor the prompting that morning.I'm still expecting miracles—My Uncle Glen shared my last email with awoman at his work. After reading about my desire to share the gospel,Betty emailed me. I have been commissioned to try to help a younggirl named Adoration, 17 years old and kicked out of her house, livinghere in DC. I haven't talked to her yet, but I know all your prayerswould be appreciatedBetty asked me to give a pass-along card to the first grey-hairedwoman I saw, saying that "I am a gray-haired lady, too, and sometimesI need to be reminded that Jesus loves me." I found a lady on theMetro. My approach was, "Excuse me, ma'm, but do you believe in JesusChrist?" We rejoiced together and I gave her the card for the free"Finding Faith in Christ" dvd.You can learn a lot of life lessons on the Metro. In one day, I sawthree blind people, all at different stations, feeling their waytowards the elevators. A young child continued to ask his dadquestions after question, and the father never lost patience or squash
the boy's curiosity. A Muslim man was trying to get his friend toanswer some of life's greatest questions. I was nervous because Iknew he DIDN"T believe in Jesus Christ, but how could I just sit therewhen I have the answers to those very questions…."Excuse me, sir. CanI give you this?" "What's that?" he asked, skeptical. "It's apass-along card from my church." How profound of me, but at least hetook it on his way off the tram.I still can't really tell you what I'm doing at my internship. Rightnow, it's a lot of updating lists on Excel. Working in an office is anadjustment from teaching at the MTC, where the Spirit came when Icalled. A letter came a few days ago from a first time applicant ofTANF. She wrote, "I am a single parent of 2 children pendingforeclosure." As I looked at her neat, slanted handwriting, I picturedher discouragement….And her desire to provide hope for her children."Small and simple things" include working in a cubicle.Our excursion to Philadelphia brought me to tears, especiallyIndependence Hall. I had prayed before that the experience would feelreal to me. Standing in "the most sacred room in US history"(according to our tour guide), I knew I was in hallowed space. Ouron-site professor asked me to sing the National Anthem –I did sofreely, gratitude swelling with each note.While the cheese steaks were yummy, it was nice to come back "home" toDC. As we neared the monuments, it hit me that those are nowlandmarks for me, telling me that I am almost home. I'm falling inlove with the place whose license plate reads "taxation withoutrepresentation."I am in a special ward. The man who was asked to give the closingprayer in Sacrament meeting wheeled up to the front of the chapel, and
after several attempts of getting out of his chair by himself, someonecalled out to just remain seated. He kept trying, so a dear eldercame and lifted him up, and continued to hold him up throughout theprayer; truly, bearing one another's burdens is a sweet honor.Brother Kamosi, a big, happy Nigerian, called me to be a wardmissionary. He told me that the best work in the world was to workfor Heavenly Father. I whole-heartedly agreed.I love you all, and have more stories but no time to tell them. Iheard a quote once that "there's not a person you wouldn't love—onceyou know their story." Thank you for your stories and yourexperiences--I love you so much because of them. Cheers, Sundy