Sunday, July 26th, hooray, its RaDene’s birthday! There is no one I’d rather celebrate. The trick is doing it by myself, when she is
such a people person, and parties are verboten.
Well, that didn’t take long to get fixed. The darling sisters in our neighborhood were
knocking on our door at 7:30 a.m. and, er, we were still lounging in bed. I think I embarrassed them to death when I
answered in my bathrobe. They blushed,
backed away, and apologized all the way off the porch. I pulled it together and made an omelet for breakfast,
and off we went to Pagedale to sacrament meeting. We went from church to the office so boarding
passes could be printed for a few missionaries departing for home the next day,
along with travel treats, copies of mission letters, and other instructions and
papers to be assembled. Blessedly, Patty
and Paul Hintze invited us to dinner, our first in someone else’s house
(besides the mission home) in many months.
They are such good people, and good cooks! Patty had graciously given RaDene a gift
earlier in the week and now blessed her with gooey cake, a St Louis tradition,
and a berry pie from a local vendor that now goes on our repeat list. Paul, in addition to being a area authority
seventy, is a leading physician at Mercy Hospital. His job presently is to discharge COVID
patients when all CDC protocols and milestones are satisfied. We learned a lot about the sickness. Then as if on cue, at 9:30 p.m., four of the
neighborhood elders dropped in with homemade cookies for Sis Hatfield. Fortunately, we were not yet in our
jammies. But being aroused and practically
put to bed by young missionaries on RaDene’s birthday was symbolic. We love, and are loved by, these beautiful
young people who have sacrificed all for the cause of the Lord. She received scores of birthday wishes from
the missionaries all day long on the MSLM Facebook page she administers. The society I could not provide our mission
family supplied in abundance.
Monday, July 27th we wished farewell to two sisters who were
headed home a few weeks early for school (at least that was the original plan;
who knows if that will actually happen for them). Each one of them takes a little piece of your
heart with them as they go. Then, more
sadly, later that afternoon we saw a young elder leave very prematurely. For some, the mission is just too much. I certainly can empathize. It is hard.
Then we buckled down to finalize tranfers for tomorrow for the five
elders arriving that afternoon. Originally,
this group was supposed to be 10, but five have dropped out. Some I know got cold feet, after serving and
then being at home for months. This is a
very hard time to be a missionary. I
made a reservation at a Super 8 hotel in Washington—my option of last resort
after the Missionary Department chains could not help us. This is our first, but probably not our last
hotel arrangement for a mission bursting at the seams with missionaries but
still slated to receive 35 more in August.
Monday night was my housing coordinator nightmare: Sister Liddle was moved to Springfield,
Illinois and I had missed the late breaking news about it on the President’s
transfer board. So there she was, in a
tri with no bed, and at 9 p.m. at night, there wasn’t much I could do about
it. Fortunately, the Springfield sisters
had an air mattress. That would just
have to do until we could get there with a bed.
This is the first time in eight months I failed someone. But I’ve learned, missionaries are
resourceful and resilient. Sis Liddle
will be okay until we get there.
Tuesday, July 28th is transfer day. We modify the usual plan a bit by setting up
shop in the mission office parking lot.
We had thought we might actually conduct the transfers from the office
itself, but Pres Bell wisely and carefully asked everyone to stay socially
distant, outside, and masked up. In some
ways it is remarkable that we have managed to get hundreds of young people
through the COVID months with only one companionship suspected of contracting
the sickness (although never confirmed by test). My job was to take Elder Hobert and Elder
Bingham to Washington and check them into the Super 8 hotel. I have only a few shaky leads on an
apartment—Washington, Missouri has very few rental vacancies of any sort. They followed me out with their mission
assigned car (a rental, and a soccer mom minivan at that—even rental car
companies are having a hard time getting new cars because of manufacturing
shutdowns). I took them to lunch and we
checked in for 10 nights, and I asked that the cable be removed from the back
of the TV. The hotel obliged, sending
their housekeeper to do the job. At
least they have a couple of big beds, a microwave, and a minifridge. I encouraged them to get cozy with the
mission leader in the ward, get keys to the building, and make a few meals in
the church kitchen, and maybe study there a few hours a day to get out of the
cramped hotel space. I said a prayer
with them and left, very motivated to find something for them as soon as
possible. Like Sister Liddle, yesterday,
Elders Hobert and Bingham are well adjusted, confident, and have no unmet
expectations. They will be fine for a
while. This is certainly an expensive
way to house missionaries, however. I am
amazed at the resources the Quorum of the Twelve are dedicating to the
continuation and regrowth of missionary work.
Meanwhile, while I went West to Washington, I had sent the housing
assistants east across the Mississippi to set up other bedrooms. Now we rendezvoused in Farmington, Missouri,
first to take down a tri where sisters beds had to be set up without room to
pass between, and move that bed to the elders in a tri, also in
Farmington. We moved the furniture into
the Elders’ apartment, when I needed to call Sis Hatfield about something back
in the office. In the course of the conversation
with her, I felt to ask, “now, there is a Tri in Farmington, right?” She agreed there was, and then said she would
double check the board. Ugh, we had
forgotten to take into account the elder that had left unexpectedly. The President had solved the departed
missionary slot by removing the Farmington Tri.
So while we were right a few days ago, were weren’t right today. So we quickly removed the extra furniture and
made a bet on whether the elders, who had not been home while we had been
there, would notice that some things had been moved around. We decided against the surprise, and gave
them a call to let them know.
Wednesday, July 29th started with an intense effort of
searching and calling for an apartment in Washington, Missouri, knowing full
well that I had just put elders in a hotel room there. I am pretty discouraged about the whole
thing. I announced to no one in
particular in the office that it was time to pray more intently about the
need. After reaching that conclusion, I
actually felt more at peace about the situation than I had in weeks, even though
there was no observable reason to feel better.
I just let the Washington project go, and turned my attention to
apartment applications for vacancies I had found in South St Louis (Oakville)
and Lake St Louis (Missouri River). Some
of these big landlords’ have very complex application processes that don’t
reflect the realities of the mission very well.
For example, criminal background checks, while understandable, are
really hard when we don’t know who will be assigned to an area. We recruited the assistants to the president
to subject themselves to a background check in Oakville so we would have real
live persons to complete the application checklist. Each time I need to get a background check,
it invariably requires some phone calls to parents to get help finding social
security numbers and sometimes, driver’s license information. It is easy to forget that these young
missionaries are still in a transition from youth to adulthood, and a mission
helps them on their way.
We have information that the Church is going to try to help
missionaries complete their endowments on a priority basis when temples
reopen. Sis Hatfield has worked with the
temple secretary here to identify 12 missionaries that have not received there
endowment. It has been a very long time
since the Church sent out missionaries without their endowment in any
numbers. It feels a little like the
story of Joseph F. Smith being sent to the Hawaiian Islands in the 1850s when
he was 15, and unendowed. We had the
Frontenac sisters over for dinner, first, because we haven’t had them over for
a while, and second, we want to recruit them to water our flowers for the next
five days while we go to Utah for Amelia Rose’s baby blessing. They are such dedicated, strong, sweet young
women (currently, Sis Huffaker and Sis Jarman).
Afterwards, we nervously begin to pack small travel bags. It is hard to be ready to go, or even want
to, at some level, with important work that so many are depending on us to
do. But on another level, we ache to see
our families, even if briefly, and are so anxious to see our newest
granddaughter.
On Friday, July 30th, we awoke to a strange text message
indicating that Elisa and the children are not feeling well. We finish our morning preparations and head
to the office. Late in the morning, I
receive an unexpected call from a leasing agent in Washington. Yesterday, nothing was available. Today, she called to say something has
changed, and would I be interested in taking a look? Would I ever!
Except, of course, I can’t. I’m
headed to Utah in a few hours. I simply
can’t make it out there and back. It’s a
good hour’s drive, one way. I make an
appointment to see it anyway. Considering
the alternatives, I wonder which elders might be up to the task of evaluating
the situation. That would be risky. Then Sis Hatfield has the brilliant idea of
sending the Evertons, who are on the case in minutes. I give them a mental checklist of what I need
and what I would like, and send them with my check to make a deposit if the
vacant apartment passes muster. They get
to the appointment and call me. I’m
excited to help them decide to put down the deposit and bring back the application.
But my excitement is suddenly stunted.
Elisabeth is not feeling well at all.
Some frantic calls are made to her parents in Arizona and us, and just
that fast, the blessing is off for Sunday.
RaDene jumps on the phone with Delta, and although we are too late to
rebook in normal circumstances, the kind agent helps us play the COVID card and
gets us our full cost back. But we are
stunned. The anticipation had been so
high, and now, just like that, we aren’t going.
Disappointment doesn’t begin to describe the feelings. Sis Hatfield and I have worked so hard to
clear the decks, and suddenly, we don’t have anything to do or anywhere to
go. We drive 10 miles to a church
parking lot to talk it out. It turns out
to be a rather interesting experience in people watching. This particular church building, in the heart
of Frontenac, is visited by missionaries, what looks to be a primary
presidency, several sets of casual walkers, a police cruiser, and several
others with unidentified purpose.
After coming to grips with our feelings, we did what anyone would
do: we went for ice cream at Andy’s our
favorite frozen custard. I don’t really
know what that means—its just great ice cream, owned by a member. The gal that took our order saw my badge and
asked if I wanted a box of mistakes. She
said that two other sets of missionaries had been by already today to get
some. I said no, I like mine fresh! We finished off the evening doing some
service by visiting some sisters that needed a smoke detector, priesthood blessings,
and some good advice from an a wise, skilled Sister Hatfield. These sisters have had some relationship
problems, and RaDene helped them with some ideas and perspective. She is such a blessing to so many
missionaries.
On Friday, July 31st we had to set our priorities because we
didn’t think we would be in town doing our assignments. I had the luxury of spending found time on
apartment applications. And at lunch
time, I persuaded RaDene to take the short drive to our apartment so we could
have lunch together. That was a
first. I can’t figure out why—it seems
like we ought to taking a break for lunch together often! Thinking about Spencer’s sick family, we
thought about what we could do for them.
The best we could come up with is order pizza for them, which we
did. Having it on the brain, we got an
itch for some good pizza ourselves. We
called our resident consultant, Elder Jacob, who recommended Dewey’s. We ordered, and then went to pick it up to
take home. I’m not sure why, but our
order was much too slow, so we were a little miffed. But we got the pizza home and oh, my, it was
good. We have identified our favorite St
Louis pizza. I loved there veggie pizza,
which is pretty much a singular experience.
After dinner, we went back to the office, and believe it or not, we
worked late, even though we were not scheduled to be there at all. The project was to fill teaching supply
orders for missionaries all over the mission.
This consists of finding the order, going down the list and pulling the
books and pamphlets and pictures and cards and whatever off the shelves, and
then boxing them up and labeling them.
The push was the Missionary Leadership Council being held tomorrow,
where all the zone and sister training leaders from all over the mission will
be together to train, counsel, and set goals.
It also is a convenient time for the leadership to take supplies and
mail from the office out to their various zones around the mission. So, we decided to get it done.
Which also determined our Saturday, August 1st. Sister Bell loves to feed the missionaries
and had planned a wonderful lunch for 50, but had not recruited any help. Sister Hatfield realized this, and recruited
the Evertons to go with us to the St Louis stake center to provide the bodies
to make the lunch happen, as well as distribute the mail and supplies, which
took the housing assistants to bring their trailer to get it all there. Instead of laying sod with my son Spencer in
Utah as I had planned, I helped cook, serve, and clean up, which took almost
all day. I honestly don’t know how
Sister Bell had planned to pull this off without the office staff, but we were
available, so we pitched in.
It was late in the afternoon, but I had the idea of renting bikes and
riding around Forest Park, the pride of St Louis, boasting about twice the
acres of New York’s Central Park. The
problem was our service at MLC took so long, we couldn’t get bikes, take a
ride, and get back before the shop was closed.
But we decided to go anyway and see what was possible. We were discouraged when we found the shop,
near the park, but found the customer line out the door and into the parking
lot. Timing didn’t seem like it would
work at all. But RaDene found the rental
manager and arranged for us to get bikes and locks and we would leave them
locked to the fence when we were done for the day. The manager was very helpful, more than fair,
and confident that the bikes would be safe until he got there on Sunday morning. I was less confident, but finally was ready
to take the risk—the bike ride was important to us. We headed off on our bikes the mile to the
park and off we went. It was gloriously
sunny, but only warm, not blazing hot, which was a miracle. We circumnavigated the entire park, which is
filled with community goods, like the zoo, museum, sports courts and fields,
ponds, creeks, and seemingly endless groves of trees and lawns. We got off our bikes and soaked in the
landscapes from the World’s Fair Pavilion set on a stately hill at the center
of the park. We grabbed some bad Mexican
food on the way back to the bike shop and then locked the bikes to the fence,
as instructed, leaving the keys on the appointed ledge. It felt sketchy, but we had no choice.
We thought we would make up for the bad
dinner with some good ice cream at a local shop we had found. It was in a beautiful old neighborhood and
looked charming, but the line was out the door and felt like we couldn’t
wait. So we left. Our way back towards the freeway took us by
the bike shop, and to our horror, the bikes were gone, and someone was crossing
the lot with bikes that looked suspiciously like our rentals. I whipped the car around and cut off the
would be thieves, only to be greeted by the shop owner who had safely stowed
our bikes and was on his way home on his own bike that was like the ones we had
used. All was well after all. Still tasting the bad Mexican, our trip home
took us very near to Andy’s, so yes, we made our second stop in as many days
for our favorite frozen custard. It didn’t
make up for not meeting our new Amelia Rose, but it did satisfy some primal
urge for cream and sugar.