14 Sep 09

My new name for this area is Foodfield. I have never, ever been fed so much. People
are practically throwing food at us. Thank goodness President has a rule: no more than four dinner appointments a week, so if someone else tries to feed us a fifth time in a week we have to politely decline. I'm going to forget how to turn on a stove by the time I go home. I am so blessed to have a senior companion with the energy of a small child; if I weren't going like crazy to keep up with her pace, I would definitely be packing on my own personal food storage. Isn't it wonderful the members love us so much! I'm grateful.

Fairfield could also be called "The Area Where Nothing Ever Goes According To
Plan" ”Ever Not Even A Little Bit." My last area was so predictable. (Well,
"predictable" is relative. Probably as predictable as missionary work can be.) But
it's amazing to see God's hand in every detail. People boach (don't show up for)
appointments, maps are inaccurate, we get lost, and then we always end up in the right place at the right time for the right person that needs to be found right then! This was one of those weeks where that sequence of events occurred over and over. We found some amazing new investigators.

One in particular, we found after we had spent most of our morning tracting a street
where not a single person answered the door. I've never had that happen to me before. Ever. Of course we finished the street quickly and needed something else to do before our community service, so we decided last-minute to go street contacting on Post Road. This is one of the main roads with a gazillion yuppy stores; they charge arms and legs for things like organic rice and hand-painted oil pet portraits. I kid you not. People really do love their animals like children, and pay ridiculous amounts for oil portraits of their precious pooches. ANYWAY, after we tried to talk to a lady who said, "GO AWAY! I don't want to talk to you" (usually people say something to that effect, but a little more tactfully), we ran into this woman. She was sitting on a bench outside a store with her baby girl in a stroller next to her. She is a young mom who has recent-convert friends in Norwalk, and they've been trying to convince her to meet with missionaries. When they saw us her baby girl started giggling, like she recognized us, and she immediately invited us to sit next to her on the bench. She told us she felt very safe in our presence, even though we were strangers. It was the craziest thing. Anyway, we have a
return appointment with her this week. Pray for her, please!

Here are some tidbits of the wisdom of Connecticut children.

Investigator trying to convince her son to eat breakfast: "Don't you want to grow up
big and strong?"
Son: "No, I want to be cute."

Member's son, when we asked him if he wanted to be a missionary: "No, I want to be a
spaceman."

Member's daughter, when saying the closing prayer for our lesson: "Bless the
missionaries that they can go far away and go to the doctor."

Member's daughter to the three of us: "Where are your moms?"

Member's daughter to her nonmember father: "Jesus isn't happy when you smoke!"

There you have it. Children are smart. Lessons learned: be cute, go to the moon, go to the doctor, don't smoke, and don't forget your mom. Until next P-day,
Sister Monson