Sunday, January 20, 2013

One transfer

One transfer, six short weeks is all it takes before my sisters come home.

When I first received my call, I was under the impression that as a sister going to Korea, I would like be solo sister in a district full of Elders at the MTC.

As much as I loved serving around Elders, I'm so thankful that wasn't the case. Instead I was grouped with five spectacular sisters that changed my life.Their triumphs and trials awed me throughout our entire three months together. That doesn't mean class time together either. We all shared the same dorm room, ate meals together, laughed together and cried together. We were together 24 hours a day,  7 days a week, for an entire three months.

Sister Barber sacrificed everything to join the church, and even more to go on a mission. Her testimony was one that manifested itself through her life's choices.

Sister Milius was a beautiful, intellectual ray of sunshine. She lived in Africa and China. She had this way of approaching spiritual learning with an excitement I've never since encountered. Whenever she had an epiphany, her face would brighten and she raise her hand to excitedly tell us all. We called those moments "milephanies".

Oh, Sister Foy. Our little Poy-Poy. Sister Foy and I laughed the entire time we were together. Most of the time it only took one look. She invented the word Brogus. Whenever she accompanied me on my physical therapy visits, I knew I would never get any Korean studying done. Somehow, she always knew the exact things to say at the right moment, and when to stay quiet and listen with a heart wide open at the right moments as well.

Sister Markland was (and still is) a boss. She lived through Hurricane Katrina and has the fire ant scars to prove it. Sister Markland is good at loving people. She is good at quietly making people feel good about themselves. There is no doubt that her love is of the most genuine kind. She speaks Arabic and Korean. I don't know how people can be that smart. But she is.

And of course Sister Painter. I never valued Sister Painter as much as I should have. I don't even think I realized until I was home that she saved my life in the MTC. As my body headed for septic shock after surgery, she knew enough to know something was seriously wrong. She literally fed me, clothed me, and took me in. What more Christ-like actions could you ask for?

These women are my sisters. My ์ž๋งค๋‹˜๋“ค.

And they come home in one more transfer. Six short weeks.

I may not have written them as much as I should have. But they were always there in the back of my mind, urging me forward, just as much as I was urging them.

Oh I can't wait to see them again.

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