My email this week is going to be just like my week: different. I am going to tell it through a story. A story from the perspective of my hands. (For the sake of the story, my hands will be named hands.)
|my Fourth of July picture|
It was a nice summer day in Lyon, France. Hands were getting ready to celebrate the 4 of July! They loved being filled with traditional american food, even if it would be different from any year previously. They were filing through some credit card reconciliations when all of the sudden there was a pain on the ring finger of poor right hand. A staple had latched itself into the finger and ripped out a chunk of skin. Poor, poor ring finger. A bandaid was quickly applied and before they knew it, they were off to a park! Chili dogs and watermelon were among the items of food they held. Even root beer floats were put in the hands! They caught frisbees and shook hands, and placed themselves over the heart as the national anthem of their home country was sung. What a good day for the hands! Little did they know what the rest of the week held.
look at this shop we found!!!
They pushed the body out of bed early the next morning, because they had a lot of work ahead of them in the coming days. All packed, they headed out, clasping the steering wheel of the Vivaro, on a trip they knew would wear them down! They stopped in a ville called Clermont, to take a washing machine away and install a new one. They've gotten pretty good at that. They kept going, picking up a snack here and a snack there, driving down the beautiful french backroads and countryside, seeing cows and hills and villages. After a 5 hour drive, they arrived at their first destination. A little ville called Albi, where they were responsible, with 3 other pairs of hands, to take down all the furniture, throw away all the garbage and old stuff, and load it all into the van. They worked and worked, took stuff up and down stairs and sweated a lot, for it was quite hot. When they thought they had done a good job, they needed to fit it all into the van. It seemed impossible, every way the shelves or the boxes or the ovens turned, but eventually they high fived the hands of Elder Wiberg, because it was a miracle! It all fit! This would be the first of at least a dozen miraculous tetris games in the back of the van.
They saw a town called Rodez, where they rested, and got up early the next day to go to Montpellier. First unloading needed furniture for the missionaries there, they eventually ended up at IKEA, where they bought some more furniture and tried to fit a couch into the already cramped car. Then the unexpected news came that they needed to go back to Albi and take away more things. They drove to a southern ville called Perpignan (which was blazing hot and comparable to Nevada), and finally pulled into Rodez for the night, again. They spent the next morning hammering desks and hauling wood pieces to décheteries. (They love décheteries because they can dump off all the junk and make more room for more junk lol). The hands turned the lock on the door and were done with the task!
After going in a big circle, and going through several bandaids, the hands found themselves back in Montpellier, eating tacos with the missionaries there. They were super hot, but cooled off in IKEA again. After going in a giant circle TWICE, the hands drove on. Until their next challenge... to completely remodel an apartment in Cannes.
The hands found themselves in a beautiful beach ville, famous for it's film festivals. There, they would spend hours and hours breaking down more furniture, bringing boxes of new chairs and couches into the apartment, while also taking piles of wood and metal out. They were scratched and scarred, dusty and dehydrated! With a nice milkshake to keep them going, they did it! Another round of high fives! They were getting stronger and buffer! They were serving and helping hands! They were holding up the tired hands that hung down, by working to make their busy missionary hand lives easier.
|"the field is white, already to harvest"|
Throughout this process, the hands were often pressed together in prayer. Prayers of thanksgiving for finding parking spaces, for being led to the right places, for the tender mercies given by the hands of a loving Heavenly Father. Even in such tasks that seemed insignificant or unimportant, they saw the guiding hands of God. And not only that, they saw the work of the Creator's hands as they traveled from country to forest to desert to sea. And eventually, poor little ring finger got better! Even though it was hurting itself, it healed through service, and the bandaid came off!
|we saw the Eiffel Tower, it was 'sweet' (lol get it?)|
After doing all, and more, that they went to do, the hands headed for home, exhausted and dirty, yet happy and fulfilled. They had shaken the hands of many of their friends, they had taken many pictures, they had liften and driven and thrown. The hands were glad to be home.
Just like these hands, there have been many others throughout history that have served. Yours have! Your neighbors and ward members! Your family and friends! But the most important hands are those that created this earth. Those that blessed and healed and comforted. Those that were nailed to a cross. Those that are always stretched out to us. The hands of Christ that will support and uphold us. With the help of those hands, the smallest things such as going on a moving trip for 5 days in P day clothes, can be enriching.
Fin (The End).
Your Favorite Missionary