This week was crazy. Case and point, I´m writing this on a Saturday and not a Monday. Gotta love it.
So President Robertson is leaving the mission, and this week he wanted to say goodbye to everyone. The proposed method was through Zone Conferences, and the offices were basically in charge of putting it all together. Everyone had to eat lunch, so I pretty much made goodie bags for every Zone with plates and cups and stuff. They got to buy their own food, but we set the budget and gave them the money. The conferences themselves were great. President´s final words were awesome. He really is inspired. He recited a poem from memory that I´ll include because I´m a sucker for a good rhyme. Overall, everything turned out very well. I felt a little overwhelmed because I realize that in a couple of days I´ll be doing all of this on my own, but I´m sure we´ll be just fine. Being in the offices is great. I feel like I know everyone in the mission.
While in a Zone Conference, I thought about how awesome the Church is. I would have to say that there are very few organizations that put you into contact with the highest quality of people that this world has to offer. If you want to see well developed, wise, confident, incredible people, come look at the leadership in the Church of Jesus Christ. One of the ´´10 Habits of Supremely Happy People´´ is that they surround themselves with other equally happy people. There are a lot of happy people in this world and in this mission. I look forward to spending time with such people. I realized as well that being around people who are happy and successful makes you want to do the same. I´ve never felt so motivated to be a good person. I´ve never felt so driven to be happy. I´m very happy right where I am.
Nonetheless, I did think a bit more about how driving our truck (the stick shift) is like working in the offices. Here´s what I came up with. In the mission, you´re used to your normal missionary life. 2 pedals. Stop signs. People yield. Car works pretty well. Then you come to the offices. You still only have 2 feet and 2 hands, but now you´ve got 3 pedals and a weird stick on your right side that forces you to drive with one hand occasionally. Oh yeah, you´re also in Argentina where people do not yield; there are no stop signs; and the whole thing stops working if you put something in the wrong place and forget about it. Basically just sitting in a chair stressing out about whether or not the stick should be in that gear or if you should give gas or less clutch or brake and stop and breath or something. It´s not that bad. I was just thinking about it that way as I drove the truck on Tuesday. I promise I´m getting better. I´m not that bad alright?
So that was my week. We have transfers coming right up and I´ll be swamped with that for the next 3 days. It´s going to be a party and I´ll tell you all about it next week. Until then, have a great one,
Élder Sultán
Misión Argentina Buenos Aires Oeste
The Race
attributed to Dr. D.H. "Dee" Groberg
Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
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| President Robertson, Elder Sultan, Hermana Robertson |
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