23-29
Feb 2020
On
Sunday, February 23rd Sister Hatfield and I joined the Pagedale
Branch leadership in blanketing the branch territory looking for lost members
on the rolls. We got the list labeled
southwest, with about 12 names on it.
The long-time branch president gave it a quick look and confirmed that
he didn’t know any of the folks on the list.
We scooped up the full time missionaries, Elder Stamper and Elder
Windmiller, and off we went. We went
address by address. I’m sorry to say we
didn’t make a lot of progress. Most
doors we knocked on didn’t answer. We
left notes on each one of them. We did
have a “Fourth Floor, Last Door” experience.
The very last house on the list wasn’t answered by the member, but by a
very friendly roommate. A Presbyterian,
we learned. But she was helpful and
quite sure the owner would be happy to see us sometime when she wasn’t at
work. We chatted long enough that the
member’s young adult son drove in the driveway, so we chatted with him. He explained that the family was actually
long time members. His grandfather had
been a bishop in Puerto Rico when he was a boy and before the family moved to
St Louis. The young man was also
friendly and invited the Elders to make a return visit. We learned that his mom’s day off is on
Wednesdays and that she works in the local grocery floral department. We have more to go on here.
On
Monday, I had a housing breakthrough.
Some sisters in a town called Warrenton have been plagued by mold and a
somewhat scary neighborhood environment for some time now. I have been looking in vain for an
alternative. Everything seemed to be
equally or more scary, be really rundown, or just too far from the heart of the
teaching area. But today, I got a tip
for a townhouse very near the church building in a much quieter part of town. That is, quieter excepted for during the
county fair, because the fairgrounds are in the new neighborhood. I spoke to the owner and his brother the
manager, and things look very promising.
The property is not brand new, but there isn’t mold, and the environment
seems safe. Honestly, I believe the mold
is mostly a problem of missionaries not keeping their place clean and dry. And sometimes I’m a bit skeptical about how
dangerous a neighborhood really is. But
as (Luke Skywalker?) says, perception is reality. Sometimes the best solution is just to change
the perception to help the missionaries get refocused.
We
also had a meeting with Rock Eriksen, the Area JustServe coordinator, and
Mission President Bell. We are all
hoping that the mission and the missionaries can expand their good works by
participating in JustServe. RaDene and I
have been asked by Pres Bell to be the mission just serve coordinators. RaDene will be good at involving the
missionaries if we can get our feet under us sufficiently to give it some
attention.
On
Tuesday the 25th, the housing assistants and I finished a wild goose
chase. The washer we had replaced in St
Charles the week before was still in our trailer because we had tried a couple
of metal recyclers on the county recycling website without success. Why the county would list closed facilities
is a mystery. But this day we took one
more stab at it, with success. We
punched in the address of the facility in central St Louis and were off. The closer we got, the more burned out the
place became, until we finally got to a facility that looked like the epicenter
of a WWII bombing raid. We somewhat
sheepishly turned into the walled and razor wired city block and drove up onto
the scale. The piles of scrap and the
clientele looked like they really were WWII refugees. We quickly unloaded our washer into the mud,
and drove back onto the scale. I was
given a scrap of paper by the weighmaster and he pointed to a block building in
the corner of the lot that looked like a WWII bunker. There was not a single window, and frankly,
from where I was I never saw a door either.
But there was a large arrow painted on the exterior pointing to a spot
where one concrete block was missing and the hole covered by a canvas flap. There were a line of men, so I went and stood
in it. When it was finally my turn,
someone took my paper and my driver’s license.
I had the feeling that giving up my license was a bad idea. I waited long enough that I did start to
worry whether I would ever see it back again.
Even the men in the line behind me thought something was taking too
long. I never learned why. Finally, I was handed $6 and my driver’s
license back through the opening. The
Elders and I had been trying to have some conversations with the men at the
yard, but we really were not on the same wavelength, and so we hustled
out. The $6 didn’t even pay for the gas
of the trip, but at least we were free of the burden of a broken down washing
machine.
That
night while back in the office, RaDene received a call from a father and
referred the call to me. It was an
unsophisticated man who had heard that his son, an elder in our mission, had
gotten himself into trouble. I didn’t
know a lot about it myself. I had heard
that the elder and his companion had been tracked by the vehicle satellite
system to have been out driving around a remote and forbidden part of the
mission in the middle of the night. Pres
Bell was still gathering the facts and deciding what action to take. Meanwhile, this heartbroken father was asking
for more information that I didn’t really have.
I told him I would ask the President to get in touch with him and
assured him that his son was safe and would be dealt with fairly and with
love. I felt very bad for the whole
situation, the Elders, the President, and the sorrowful and worried families
back home. There wasn’t much I could do
but to try to reassure this poor man that everything would work out.
Wednesday,
February 26th, took us to Saint Vincent de Paul. We had collected a small menagerie of things
from the Erickson apartment, storage unit, office, and the real impetus, a desk
that sisters in Oakville had been using as a seat until they got themselves
some bar stools. Then the desk was just
in the way so we picked it up. So that
it would not be perpetually in our way, we went to my favorite local charitable
thrift store, St Vincent de Paul, run by Catholic Charities. We have been there several times since I
arrived here, and they have come to recognize me. They really appreciate our donations. By now, they don’t bother to ask if I need a
receipt, understanding that from one charitable organization to another, a tax
deduction won’t help. Somehow it always
feels good to help the poor. I think I
appreciate that more after having worked with inmates and former inmates at the
Utah County jail last year.
Thursday
was a big day. The housing assistants
and I made a big push to move out everthing that was left in the Erickson
apartment. We stored what seemed
sensible to store for future missionary use, and threw a lot away. Honestly, there isn’t a lot a missionary has
that is worth saving, or even donating, for that matter. We live a vow of poverty, in a manner of
speaking.
That
was the morning. In the afternoon, we
responded to some sisters laboring in St Peters that had felt like they were
being stalked at their apartment.
Apparently this has gone on for some time, with greater and lesser
concerns. Police were even called once,
but were of no assistance. Without an
objective threat of some sort, they wouldn’t do anything. I spoke to management, but they said they
were not the police and couldn’t judge what was legal and what was illegal, so
they were of no help either. Some brave
zone leaders had even confronted the guy once, but after a while he surfaced
again. The problem was becoming too big
a distraction not only to these sisters, but to others. President Bell wasn’t intimidated. We counseled together and finally he asked me
to trade the sisters’ apartment with a pair of elders in nearby St Charles. Elder Fanika stands about 6 foot 5 inches,
pushing 300 pounds, a football player at the University of Nevada Reno. Elder Jensen is nearly as big, a Scandinavian
stock cowboy from Ephraim, Utah. He packs a lassoing rope around the mission,
and wears boots on P-day. Yes, really.
They were thrilled that the sisters’ apartment was one of the newer
places in the mission. The sisters felt
safe, cared for, and content. And
somehow, the creepy guy has not bothered the missionaries since.
Just
as I was heading back to the office, quite exhausted, RaDene called and said
that some elders had called and their apartment was flooded. I went out there, and sure enough, their
water heater had burst, sending several inches of water through their living
room and down the hall. I gave them air
mattresses to move to another companionship’s apartment for a few days. The elders and I then paid a visit to the
management to make sure that they had a plan to dry the carpet and clean
it. Mold is just too big a deal around
here not to manage the problem aggressively.
Happily, they were accommodating, hiring a firm to bring in large fans
and a dehumidifier, pulling back carpets, and wet vacuuming.
Saturday,
February 29th. This day, I
joined the Pagedale elder’s quorum move a poor African American family from
Pagedale to Hazelwood in search of improving the education possibilities for
their young children. I arrived and was taken
short and left rather breathless at the living conditions. As it turned out, there was little to
move. A dresser or two, a kitchen table,
a couple of flat screen TVs, and some boxes of miscellaneous possessions. It all fit in one pickup and a minivan. And honestly, what we moved hardly seemed
worth the effort. Mostly we helped clean
the very dirty, broken down rooms they had used in a house shared with two
other families. It has been a long time
since I have seen such poverty. I take
it back. The missionaries do not live in
poverty. I wish this family the very
best in their quest to better the future of their children. At any rate, so ended the fourth move of the
week.
No comments:
Post a Comment