Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Week 33: in which I got stuck in an elevator, during which time I had the most ridiculously missionary-esque thoughts. It has happened, ladies and gentlemen. I've now become the missionary I always made fun of.

That happens to me so much actually--I make fun of someone, and then I become that person. Like when I first got to BYU, I always made fun of the stereotypical BYU students. And then I became one. I guess God is just doing his best to help me be more humbled. And wow is he GOOD at what he does! It's okay though, I love being the missionary I always made fun of--you know, the one whose entire letter consists of spiritual things or my favorite scriptures or insights from my revered mission president. And I do it without even thinking, but then I look back over my letter (checking punctuation and such; I just can't seem to kick the habit, nor do I really want to) and realize that I might as well just send it to the Ensign instead of to my former roommate. But it's whatever, I pretty much love it.




So we got in the elevator the other day, and there were two men a little older than us already in there. One of them, the scrawny one, was sure in a hurry. He was jumping up and down and muttering under his breath. The other guy, the buff, chill one, said good morning to us and gave that guy a weird look. As the elevator was going down, it stopped at floor 7, but I suppose the person who'd summoned it had just got into the adjacent elevator. So the doors closed ominously... and the elevator didn't move. It just sat there on floor 7. We didn't notice for a second, but then the scrawny guy made a noise of confusion, followed by a cry of alarm and a stream of swear words. He's pretty fluent in English. Anyways, he pressed all the buttons on the elevator, but the only one that did anything was the open doors button. The doors opened about 4 inches, and closed after a few seconds. So he pressed it again and started pulling really, really hard. Of course, it didn't really do anything. Like I mentioned, he was pretty scrawny. So after a few attempts, the buff guy kind of sighed, shrugged at us, grabbed the door, and YANKED it open! He pulled the door right off the track, so the top part of the door was open all the way while the bottom part was still mostly closed! So we all look at each other, then look back at the door, and the scrawny guy's gone. He BOOKED it. The three of us just stepped daintily out of the door and acted like nothing had happened. But the great thing is, I did not freak out at all. As soon as I realized that the doors were stuck closed, I had this thought: "Gee, I sure hope we're stuck in here for a couple of hours so that we can teach these two guys the missionary lessons and invite them to be baptized." And then I had this thought: "Wow, that really is a great idea!" And then I had this thought: "Oh. Dear. Sister Cutler. What has happened to you?" And then I had this thought: "Wow. I just referred to myself as Sister Cutler." So yes, like I said, I have become the missionary I always made fun of. And I love it!

In other news, Helen is getting baptized this Sunday! I am so excited for her! And she has taught me an important lesson. She first met missionaries over a year ago, and they never thought she'd get baptized. When we told one of them that she was getting baptized, he was shocked! So I've changed my thinking. I know now that everyone can change, anyone can make it. Some people need more time than others, but we can never pass final judgment. We can never say, "Oh, they'll never make it. They'll never want it." Because Heavenly Father sent each of his children here having already prepared a way for each of them to get back to him. No one is too far gone. I have a new wave of hope, and it affects the way I teach people and the way I go finding. Everyone is a child of God, and they used to live with him. And somewhere in their heart is a little part that remembers how he feels, and they'll follow that little part, and it will eventually lead them to His church and to Him.

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