Saying Goodbye

I'm going to try to do shorter posts more frequently so it's not such a burden to read these monstrosities. And also because things are happening so fast that much gets away from me if I wait until the weekend.

I watched missionaries say goodbye this week because their missions are at an end. There were two I'd like to write about. The first is Hermana Wallace, our mission nurse, who is being replaced by my friend, Hermana Ward, with whom I served on the Saturday night shift in the Bountiful temple. Hermana Wallace is from Calgary, Canada. Her companion while she was here was 80-year-old Hermana Nickerson in whose apartment I am now living. Hermana Nickerson completed her seventh mission here in Quito, and spoke Spanish fluently. Since Hermana Wallace wasn't fluent, they were inseparable, and from what I hear, quite a pair.

Hermana Wallace gave her heart and soul to the missionaries of Mision Quito. When we got here, it was like a war zone with walking wounded out in the field. But she calmly answered cell phone call after cell phone call, made doctors' appointments, attended those in the hospital, worked with authorities to get special medicines flown into Ecuador from the US and released from customs, and baked and distributed cookies, all while having missionaries stay with her in her apartment for observation. Many nights her sleep was interrupted. Even I participated in the parade, having to wake her at 1:00 in the morning when a sick young sister who was staying in my apartment spiked a fever. Truly, Hermana Wallace is an elect lady.

At our zone conference last week, el Presidente Lara asked Hermana Wallace, as well as the other departing missionaries, to bear their testimony. Because Hermana Wallace isn't fluent, she wrote out her testimony and delivered it in Spanish. Following her strong witness to the truthfulness of the gospel, she said her greatest regret was that she had not been able to honor her Latino friends by learning their language so she could speak to them and testify to them in Spanish. She cried. I cried. Hermana Ward cried, as did nearly everyone. Then, el Presidente Lara asked the missionaries to form a line and individually say goodbye to her. I told her I didn't know how it was possible to learn to love someone in only four days, but that is a gift the Gospel gives us. (Frankly, it sometimes takes me at least two weeks to decide whether I even like somebody!) Hermana Wallace passed out her last batch of cookies (it reminded me a lot of feeding frenzies I've seen when bait is thrown overboard) and passed her keys and cell phone to Hermana Ward.

All too soon, that will be me. I can't even think about that day--even though I love all of you back home. I know that when my time is up, it will be hard to say good-bye.

We have a beautiful Nicaraguan sister, Hermana Aristhomene, who will be leaving this week. She and her companion proselyte in the large city park called Parque Carolina. They submit the most referrals to other missionaries, probably twice as many as anyone else. Today was her last day at church. The Wards and I attended the investigator's class, both because that seems the place for missionaries to be, and because they teach lessons that we have a small prayer of understanding because the principles are basic, even in Spanish.

Hermana Aristhomene was making the rounds with tears in her eyes, hugging the investigators and new members that she will leave behind this week. As she concluded and regained her composure, the teacher, I believe he's the ward mission leader, told her that one other person wanted to speak to her. An attractive Indian man with a wife and young son began to speak. I don't know what he said, but just like the Cayumbe branch president, I know what he was saying. He was thanking her for finding him, and for making it possible for him to be with his family and his Heavenly Father forever. Hermana Aristhomene could not contain her tears, and neither could I. She is returning with honor--a completely different person than when she arrived.

Well done, Hermanas.