Juffa and Satan

On Thursday we had a lesson with our little Iraq family. The mom pulled us in, sat us down, had us teach her kids about who Jesus wants them to be and then whisked us away into the kitchen. Where she proceeded to show us how to make the best sweet rice of my liiiiiiifffffee. 

As a missionary in this situation (pulled into a house and kept captive for a couple of hours), there's an immediate stress inducing alarm that goes off in your head. We strive to limit our time with investigators and members so that we can stay purpose centered (and so that we don't use such things as an excuse to hide from the strangers outside). 

You go into this argument mode where you debate back and forth about whether or not this is an effective use of the Lord's time and if your reason for staying is self-centered (...because you want to take a break from the strangers outside). All while trying to silently communicate with your companion without alerting the other person. (Not every missionary does this, but I've met a number who do.)

Anyways, that was happening, and then the thought came to my mind to "trust in the Lord and His love for you."

So we stayed with our little family. And boy am I glad we did. Because now I know how to make the best sweet rice ever. I think Americans do dessert all wrong. Next time we go over, she's going to make us Baklava!

On Friday we had a faith-building experience with an anti. We were out tracting, and we met this guy named Greg. When we knocked on Greg's door, he swung open the door, told us he was busy with a family gathering, and then promptly proceeded to advise us to "actually study" our religion. He told us that we were completely wrong, that he felt bad for us, and that it wasn't our fault we'd been unfortunate enough to grow up in the Mormon faith. And then He attacked our doctrine. 

I can't remember what he said exactly or what we said in response, all I know is that he started out as an anti-experience and by the time we walked away he was commending our service to Jesus Christ. 

Thank goodness for the spirit that softens the hearts of those we come in contact with.

On Sunday we saw two miracles. 

In this area, we talk to a lot of good people who have zero interest in seriously considering what we have to say. 

I woke up with maybe a couple of milligrams of faith. That's it. That's what it felt like anyway. 

I said a prayer that morning and told God that " I don't have the faith to find any people to have a gospel-centered conversation with, let alone someone new to teach. If anything happens today, it has to be solely on Thy shoulders. All I have to offer is my physical abilities to bike around outside and knock the doors."

And that was enough. (Shocker, right? ...Not really.)

We were biking from one sacrament meeting to another when we ran into Chris and his young son Jesse. They were out on a walk, visiting family in Arizona. He told us that he did not believe in Jesus Christ, was wondering if there was a God, accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon, committed himself to read the parts we had marked for him, and promptly gave us his info to send to the missionaries in his area. 

WOW. SO EXCITING. 

And then basically the exact same scenario happened when we knocked on a random door and met Damian. 

WOW.

And the good news is that Damian is actually in our area, so we get to bug him (with the spirit of course) until he lets us (the spirit actually) teach him. 

Anyways, God is real. He is aware of us, He loves us, and He is willing to use His power to bless us. 

HALLELUJAH.

Love,

Sister Barlow

Ps. The Juffa and Satan thing is because my housemates and I were renaming each other Saturday night. Sister Hanson asked Sister Blaylock (my companion) what name she thought of when she looked at me. She promptly responded with "Satan." Ha. Classic. 

Juffa is just the funniest way we could think to say "Jeff." I don't understand either. 

Pps. I work out almost every morning as a missionary and now I kinda sorta have biceps. I'm impressed.