Here A Little, There A Little

T'was the week before Christmas

 

 

We were not really in our area this week! We had exchanges with Dunstable/Luton, so Elder Larsen and I hung out for the day, while Elder Greindl and Elder Herzog did their 3 hours of driving with an instructor to be able to drive from now on. 

 

 

While I was looking in Luton I brought a Romanian Book of Mormon with me because I had enough room in my bag too. We bumped into this Romanian and he was shocked I had one and he really wanted to learn more, and now the Dunstable/Luton Elders have been teaching him. That was super cool!

 

 

On Wednesday we had interviews with the mission president and his wife and that's always amazing. We learned about asking better, more engaging questions. It is definitely a working progress; the Savior always taught in questions, so teaching with questions is a powerful thing.

 

 

Thursday we spent quite a lot of hours on the streets and had a miracle. We found a mom and daughter from India who had been struggling but wanted to give church a try! They came and it was great! 

 

 

Friday we went to the temple with Laura, who was baptized last month! Elder Windsor and Elder Haymore came as well because they had someone that was supposed to come. It was awesome to have them join. 

 

 

We had exchanges with the ZLs on Saturday and I went to Watford with Elder Malhotra. We put 2 people on baptismal date in their area! That was so much fun, and such a miracle. Elder Malhotra made us his special "spicy chicken tacos" at the flat and they were sooo good! 

 

 

For P-day, we got together with the District, played some Basketball and Spikeball, and enjoyed some Ghanaian Jollof Rice from a member. 

 

 

Hope everyone else has a fantastic week!

 

 

PICS AT THE BOTTOM

 

 

If you care to read, here is an amazing poem that was in a conference talk I watched by Boyd K. Packer in 2001 called "The Touch of the Master's Hand":

 

 

Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

     Thought it scarcely worth his while

     To waste much time on the old violin,

     But held it up with a smile:

     “What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,

     “Who’ll start the bidding for me?”

     “A dollar, a dollar”; then, “Two!” “Only two?

     Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?

     Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;

     Going for three—” But no,

     From the room, far back, a gray-haired man

     Came forward and picked up the bow;

     Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,

     And tightening the loose strings,

     He played a melody pure and sweet

     As a caroling angel sings.

    

    

     The music ceased, and the auctioneer,

     With a voice that was quiet and low,

     Said, “What am I bid for the old violin?”

     And he held it up with the bow.

     “A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?

     Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?

     Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice,

     And going, and gone!” said he.

     The people cheered, but some of them cried,

     “We do not quite understand

     What changed its worth.” Swift came the reply:

     “The touch of a master’s hand.”

    

    

     And many a man with life out of tune,

     And battered and scarred with sin,

     Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,

     Much like the old violin.

     A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine,

     A game—and he travels on.

     He’s “going” once, and “going” twice,

     He’s “going” and almost “gone.”

     But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd

     Never can quite understand

     The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought

     By the touch of the Master’s hand.