Sabbath.

I started writing this post last Sunday after church, but the day got away from me. So I'm finally finished it and posting it now.

We had a great Sunday at the Jolley house. We've been making a concerted effort to have people--neighbors, fellow members of our church or Dan's co-workers--over for dinner on Sundays, but today all of our plans fell through. We love having friends over, but it was a nice change to have a quiet Sunday. I read a book. An entire book that I started just yesterday. It was cold and rainy outside and I planted myself on my bed with my old lady sweater on and fuzzy socks and 126 blankets and a heating pad and sat comfortably at my favorite temp of 80 degrees (Flllllllllooooorrrrrriiiiiiiiiddddddddaaaaaaaaaa, are you still there?)

I had friends join me on the bed for awhile, at which point no reading was accomplished at all, but silliness sure was.

I want to be one of those people who always has a book she is reading, but I'm not. Instead, I go months without reading anything and then for my birthday or Mother's Day or something, Dan watches the kids and I read a book in a day. Nothing too deep either. I don't have the brain power for that anymore.

I should back up and say that the morning was a little crazy. Daylight Savings reared her ugly head, and though this is supposed to be "the good one" where we all get sleep, anyone with kids under age 10 knows that's not happening.

So we got ready for church really early and had time to spare and so the girls colored.

And my writing activity with June for the day consisted of my helping her spell out "No Gwen" so that Gwen wouldn't take her stuff anymore.

At some point during church, I was looking through my purse for something and found a page of the hymn book. In my purse.

I hope we don't sing that one soon. Whoops.

I felt prompted to share my testimony, and I fought it. I play the organ and I teach Relief Society, and I'm an obnoxious over-commenter during most any class, so everyone hears from me a lot. Too much.

Actually, that's only half the reason I didn't want to. The main problem was that I felt like I should share a hard experience from my mission. 

You know how some experiences are really hard but a little while later you can laugh about them? Or at least smile about it? The burden from it has been lifted.

This experience still haunts me to this day, eleven years later. I still feel terrible about it, but I also recognize that it was a necessary teaching moment for me.

On my 22nd birthday, I had just finished up my fourth transfer in Romania. I had been serving with Sora Brandstetter for two transfers, and it was the best experience. I felt like we could run from place to place without getting weary. We were on the same page with regards to obedience. We taught a lot. We were also really good friends and laughed constantly. It was the best.

The day I turned 22, we went to a transfer meeting to get our new companions. It was there I found out that I would be receiving a "mini missionary". We had an odd number of sisters in the mission at that time and rather than having one companionship be made up of 3 missionaries, my mission president would often ask local members if they could serve as a missionary for six weeks. This was good for us because companionships of three can be really awkward on a doorstep, and it's good for the mini missionary to see what missionary life is like. Win win.

So I was asked to be a senior companion and I was assigned a mini missionary. This sweet sister that came to me wasn't particularly active in the church. She only came with casual clothes. She didn't know the lessons or even a lot of the doctrine. She was of both Romanian and Romani descent (Gypsy is the non-PC term), and our cultural differences and the language barrier were significant. But she was kind and loveable and wanted to do right.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get over how hard it was to serve with her--both to be in charge of everything as senior companion and also to figure out how to get her missionary clothing, teach her the doctrine and the lessons and find and teach people. I. Was. Stressed.

My 33-year-old self would have had the wisdom to slow down and do what was important. This was a great opportunity to help this girl become strong in the Gospel!

But 22-year-old Heather couldn't stop going the pace she was used to. I forged ahead, becoming almost robotic in my missionary work. I taught everything and at the end of each lesson, my sweet companion would bear a simple testimony about the Church. 

It was during such a lesson that a great investigator we had stopped me and said, "Sora Beck, you are a great teacher. You are so clear, and I understand you perfectly. But I feel love from your companion, not from you."

I was simply sick. Still am a little. But it made me think and made me change some habits.

The truth is--I still struggle with this. I would rather check things off my list than almost anything else. And I know that's wrong.

Anyway--my testimony was a shortened version of that story but the point of it was that I was so grateful that the Lord loves us enough to chasten us. The bad news is that we mess up. But the good news is--we get to change!