A Nametag Near Catastrophe (June 29, 2015)

One thing that is very, very important to the identity of a Mormon missionary is our black nametag. After months of wearing one on my left shoulder every waking moment to tell that world that I am indeed a representative of Jesus Christ, it gets to a point where, quite frankly, I feel a little naked if I walk out of the apartment without my little black square that represents hours of knocking, biking, studying, teaching, preaching, and working (as missionaries do). Because, right now, it is such a part of who I am, that's why;)

This week, I got two new name tags!!! Yaaaaaay! It was a much anticipated event. (I ordered two magnet tags because the pin ones that I have were starting to destroy the shoulder on my shirts, that tends to happen when you stab cloth repeatedly with a pin every day, oftentimes multiple times a day because it's exceedingly difficult to pin something straight on your shoulder, oddly enough.)

I received my tags on Thursday, and in my excitement I immediately took off my pin badge and clipped on my magnet one, feeling pretty fly. But then. Tragedy.

That evening, we biked over to a potential investigator's home, because although the elders had indicated to us where she lived, we have thus far been unsuccessful in catching her while she is home. It was dark and cool, which is a blessing as I am still learning how to
deal with this whole humidity thing. (It's not too terrible yet, I am a lucky girl.)

I rode over a bump in the road and it sounded like a pebble flew off my tire, but then my companion behind me said, "You dropped something!" I stopped, feeling confused, because I didn't think I had, but, well, I stopped. I wheeled my bike back around. I couldn't see very well in the dark, but I checked, and I had my wallet, the iPad, and the cell phone, so I said, we should be good, and then Sister O said, what about your tag?

Whoops.

No tag.

Um. Uh. Uhhhhhhh...

We looked around and we found the magnet, but we could not find the tag. I felt pretty... deflated, but we had stuff to do and I knew we couldn't spend forever looking for it, and it was dark, so I said, okay, we'll keep an eye out but let's go visit that potential investigator. Started gearing up in my head to be the-work-moves-on mode, so I went to put my bag back in my bike basket, and guess what was sitting in my basket?

Hello, name tag!

This is a happy missionary. The fact that the tag ended up in the basket makes no logical sense, but it did. And to me, that is a miracle.

Yes, I am a happy missionary.

:)

Sister Lisa Luke


P.S. A bonus story

This week was once again excellent! I love this area and Oba Shimai is wonderful, I feel that we are really getting to a point where we teach well together. The district is wonderful and I feel very happy here.

We had an experience this week that strengthened my testimony, a little miracle that slipped into our lives so casually it almost felt normal, which was really strange to me. We had found a potential investigator and had tried to point out his home on a map for the elders to visit, but they had been unable to find it and we weren't entirely sure, so when we were close to the same area, we decided to try to find his home once again. We rode around the neighborhood for a while, finding landmarks that were familiar but we couldn't seem to find the house that we remembered. We had another appointment that needed to be attended to coming up, so we parked our bicycles and said a prayer before our final attempt to find this man's house.

This time, instead of riding, we walked our bicycles up the street that I felt was right from the image in my memory, and even though we had ridden past a house a number of times, we felt that it was right, and so we decided to do a housing approach to find out if it was right. We walked up to the door, both of us feeling that the entryway was different, but when we rang the bell, the potential investigator came to the door and he remembered who we were.

The power of prayer is something that never ceases to amaze me. Time and time again, the Lord in His mercy helps us and guides us in His work, and I feel of His love each time He sends these miracles our way.

I love being a missionary.