It's my birthday! Oh, and I am an Italian grandmother.

I am an Italian grandmother. That's it. That's all I have to say this week. 

According to our investigator Ted, I am an Italian grandmother. Because I am "equal parts tiny and fearsome."

 .............................fair. 

 Unfortunately, the mission this Italian grandma serves in has recently changed its rules regarding communications on pday. We are encouraged to limit our email time to an hour or so and are no longer allowed to message back and forth outside of that hour. We have also been asked to stick predominantly with Google hangouts over Facebook messenger. 

 Tragic, I know.

 Oh well.

 This pday had been crazy, so our emailing has been split into 30-minute increments. Forgive the scatteredness/shortness of this email, but it cannot be presently avoided.

This week was an adventurous one. 

 On Monday we visited our little family from Iraq, and they pulled us into the best dinner of my life. Seriously so good.

 They had some sort of tomato and bean gravy over lamb, a snazzy rice dish, and fried cornmeal meat pockets. So good. 

 She sent us home with leftovers and called us her family. Best day ever. 

 On Thursday we had a really hard day (I can't remember why), and we saw the hand of God lightening our load in the form of a shopping cart.

 We were rolling on home at the end of that long day and almost crashed into a random shopping cart in the middle of the sidewalk. 

 So, of course, we clambered into it and took goofy pictures and then rode on home with a slightly better attitude.

 God knew we needed to laugh, so He gifted us with a shopping cart. 

On Monday we went on a whirlwind tracting session with a Spanish speaking sister. A complicated set of circumstances formed us into a trio, and she wanted to experience tracting in the English world, so we set some goals (one of which was to make someone laugh) and started knocking. 

 The very first door we knocked was an old lady who seemed slightly put out at us for being on her front step. We started talking to her, formed a kick line, and left her laughing. 

 No big miracles came from the hour we spent knocking doors, but we shared the gospel, became better friends, and smiled more. It was great.

 And now my missionaries are calling for volleyball. I must go. Bye.