Spoiled.

Guys,

Sometimes I feel spoiled by the Universe. It's almost like I'm cheating at life and I haven't been caught yet. But now I'm confessing. Sometimes I cheat.

(I had to stick a wedding picture in here, because of reasons)

It's called prayer.

Haha. Gotcha. Don't stop reading though! This is gonna get good.

Ok for reals though, I have three stories to share that I think about whenever the topic of prayer comes up.

Story numero uno:

August 2011, Paris France. I'm staying in an apartment with 3 other sister missionaries in Paris, and I'm having a great time. In the morning I have to take a train by myself to Brussels, to rejoin my companion at the time, a native French speaker who I don't really get along with. We don't jive. I'm dreading it.  As I kneel to pray that night, I want to be a good missionary, but I also want things to let up. I want something easy.

I say, "I'm going to be on the train by myself tomorrow, and I know that whoever I sit next to, I need to share the gospel with. I know that. And I will, I promise. But" I sigh heavily, "if you could just make it easy, or if the person sitting next to me could speak English, that would be amazing."

In my heart I think it is a faithless prayer. But I think if I could just have this one boon - one missionary conversation where the person I'm talking to is not fighting desperately for an out, where maybe they even want to talk to me, and where maybe they aren't psycho but totally normal and someone I relate to - then maybe I could continue to preach another day.

These thoughts running around in my head, I go to sleep.

The next day I bid those lovely sister missionaries farewell and board a TGV to Brussels. I find my seat, next to the window, and wait nervously for my unwitting neighbor to find his seat, half hoping no one will appear.

He does appear. He sits and rummages in his bag for a moment. I turn towards the window, already mentally backing out of my promise. I can't do it. He's young, only a few years older than me, but tall and self-assured, well dressed.

"Excusez-moi, est-ce que vous parlez anglais?"

Excuse me, do you speak English? The question, and the questionable accent, startle me from my window. "Yes!"
 A sigh of relief, from him. "Do you have a pen or a bobby pin? I need something small..."

I don't remember anymore what it was, but he was trying to jimmy something, a phone or watch. As he fiddles with the bobby pin I provide, he asks me another question.

"So what do you do?"

The easiest way to bring up the gospel, for sure. I'm a missionary, for my church. I came from America, learned French, and spend my time teaching people about Christ.

"I've seen your temple."

He is Dutch, and had studied for his Master's degree at NYU. He passed the temple in New York City often, and had wondered about it before. He has been raised with Jewish traditions - the son of a Jewish father and an atheist mother - but leans atheist, and isn't technically a Jew as that status comes through the mother's line. He is at a crossroads in his career, considering taking a job in Korea, and wondering for the first time if it wouldn't be better to believe in a God or higher power who could help direct him.

Alain is his name. We talk easily for the entire train ride. I find myself sharing some of the deepest parts of my testimony more clearly than I ever have before. He thanks me as I get off the train in Brussels. He stays, continuing north to his parents' home in the Netherlands.

Alain is the answer to my prayer. He is the easiest missionary discussion I have ever enjoyed, and all in English.



Well... I was not planning on waxing so mind-numbingly verbose in this story, so maybe I'll share the other two stories as separate posts, because this baby is LONG.

So... to be continued!