Elder Benjamin Hill: ¡Estoy Argentinizando! (in Pellegrini)

(There were scheduling problems all over the place yesterday, so my companion the zone leader is giving me time today, too. Thus, my message is a day late. I'm not dead.)

Friends and family,

That verb, "argentinizar", is a local word that means "to Argentinize", just like "Americanize" in our vocabulary. I never thought of that before, and I think it's really funny. But anyway, I have to mention again the ongoing miracle in my life of my surprising ability to speak and understand Spanish; what I have accomplished is so incredibly far beyond my natural ability, and I cannot attribute it to anything but a Higher power. However, I am definitely still dealing with culture shock, and the severity varies daily. On the best days, I feel like I can understand and speak anything I want, and that Spanish is as natural as English; on the worst days, I feel an actual mental pain at every single Spanish word I hear or speak; but it is all slowly passing. I'll try to be patient with that; I'm obviously not giving up in any way. And guys, the people here speak so fast it sometimes feels like I'm in a society filled entirely with Jacob Hill, but Spanish; I hope that gives y'all more accurate imagery of how it feels.

But hey, I had a scary realization this week: I am already a tenth of the way done with my mission. This has been a painful couple of months, but somehow it has all gone by in the blink of an eye, and it reminds me of the fact that two years, believe it or not, REALLY is not that long. A little over a hundred weeks, and I'm already starting my eleventh. I'll try to get my head in the game, because I get the feeling that my growing isn't anywhere close to finished. I'll buckle up, because it'll be a fast, rough ride.

Now, one more challenge I've dealt with recently: the music rule. The Missionary Handbook only states that the music should not drive away the Spirit, and I selected the music I brought accordingly; but now I'm here, and it turns out that the interpretation of that rule by the Mission President (and, therefore, the law for our mission) is that, except on P-day (I'll take that small victory), we can only listen to hymns by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, other peaceful arrangements of hymns, and similarly peaceful instrumental music. That made me angry for a while, because, frankly, it seems like the interpretation of a zealot; that's how I felt. I decided to do the right thing and ask the Higher authority what He thought, and I got an interesting answer, almost immediately: the hymns have been ordained for use in the building of Zion. While the other songs I have are good songs that bring the Spirit, I realized clearly that they are not meant for this work, and thus do not bring the right Spirit. I have already felt it with a couple of the songs that used to bring the Spirit before: when I break that rule, it doesn't bring the Spirit anymore, because they are not meant to be played here. Seriously, there are still parts of my mind that are trying to start open warfare against that rule, because music is such an enormously gargantuan part of my life, but I have felt peace for choosing obedience. I still hate it, but I can see happiness in the future if I obey it now, so I'll do my best. It's a weird feeling. But obedience brings blessings, and exact obedience brings miracles, right? I can already feel that that's exactly right. It reminds me of what someone said in Mission Prep class before I left, that he had been scared to pray to know if he should serve a mission because he already knew what the answer would be; likewise, I already knew what the answer would be, and it was definitely the answer the kids in the Primary classes would have given: obey. Always.

Now for a couple of milagros. Elder Avila felt on Tuesday that he should call his family again for a reason he didn't know (not a selfish reason), but he asked me what I thought. I felt it was wrong, so I replied with a negative. He nodded, and we moved on. We went to a lesson, etc., and then returned to the capilla about two hours afterwards; he said he still felt like he should call them, but still didn't know why. He called them and discovered something: even in that small timeframe, his mother had had a fall and resulting ankle problem while running, and was in the hospital to care for it. That was astonishing, because I had felt a bit abnormally strongly that it wasn't right before, but the second time it felt good; and if he had called the first time, he would never have known about the accident. I won't even try to go into what would have happened had he actually called earlier, because I obviously can't know. I'll take it for what it is - a miracle. A small one, yes, but a miracle is a miracle, and miracles are impossible.

Second milagro. We were searching for the house of a member who had not been to church in a long time, and the search took us to a dirt path branching off the main road, lined with multiple tiny adobe shacks, all inhabited. They were basically the poorest abodes I have ever seen personally, but it was impressive that they seemed like normal families, just living their lives happily. It was humbling. But the member didn't answer the door, so we walked back. We talked with a woman who lived along the way about the Gospel, but she turned us away after a lengthy discussion about why she is angry with God for abandoning her, and that the purpose of life is to suffer, etc., etc. We tried to help, but she turned us down; so we just went to the next house and asked if we could share something, and we were greeted with the very common, "soy católica", but we were eventually allowed in, regardless. We answered some questions they had about the purpose of life by teaching about the Plan of Salvation, and bit by bit the woman who greeted us opened up. She never said anything, spécifically, but I saw it in her face that she believed what we were saying; and when we gave her a pamphlet of the Plan, she took it, gazed at it reverently for a moment, and put it caringly back on the table. That was so simple, but so powerful; it was the first time I have seen the Gospel actively touch someone's life in my presence. It reminded me of why I am here, and why I am loving this work, even if it hurts like the dickens right now. I'm here because this is true, and I'm here because it has become the resonant frequency of my soul, amplifying itself by its own power in my life, and it is more beautiful, perfect, and powerful than anything I could ever have imagined by myself.

Now, a thought about the Gift of Tongues that I have so often mentioned: it is not just for missionaries. None of the gifts of the Spirit are only for missionaries. They are promised to all of the disciples of Jesus Christ that earnestly seek to follow Him, and we are even promised that we can develop more, if we seek after them diligently, with real intent to share those gifts with others as Christ did in His life here. We can all be such unimaginably beautiful instruments in His hands, and we can all be so powerful, if we just follow Him. I really don't have any more time, but this testimony suffices me: all true disciples of the Redeemer have His power, not even only to those who hold the Priesthood; all of us can have the power to do all things He did through faith and through the gifts of the Spirit, which are given to those who actively seek Him. But be sure to ask God for them in faith, nothing wavering, for he that wavereth is as a wave of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed (James 1:6).

Con amor abundante,

Elder Hill

Fotos: