What a difference a week makes. Last Saturday as I was trying to get a trailer off the the truck’s hitch, it was 25 degrees and overcast. Today it is 55 degrees and sunny. I’m writing today because tomorrow Eileen and I need to take a car to Brookfield, a town about 2 hours northeast of us. More on that later. On Monday, President’s Day, I was no more successful at unhitching the trailer than I had been two days earlier. Giving up, humbled, and just tired of vehicles in general, I called the one senior missionary elder in the Kansas City Facilities Management (FM) group. They run the lot where I had left the truck and trailer. Elder Shelton agreed to call me when they had time Tuesday afternoon to look at it. I arrived to find Elder Shelton and a Church FM employee trying to uncouple the truck and trailer. Watching them struggle to do so made me feel a little less stupid. After a few minutes the FM employee walked away to one of their garages and came back with two things, a five-foot crowbar and a can of WD-40. Using the crowbar, he popped the trailer hitch off the ball. He then sprayed it down with lubricant and all was well. Their kind efforts working on a trailer, something simple for them, was to me, a God-sent tender mercy.
During the first four months we were here, we had eight car accidents. During the last two months that number has doubled, with four in a nine-day span. Wednesday evening one occurred that I feared would someday come. One that was more serious, one in which you wonder just how the missionaries survived to walk away from. To use a few of their words to describe the incident, “just a little over the speed limit … a bump … airborne … rolled … airbags deployed.” When I asked if they were hurt, both said no, with only one having just a single small scratch on his arm. The next day both said, when I pressed them, that they were a little sore in their upper back and neck. I am grateful for the divine protection they must have received. Not something they deserved because of their less than careful driving, but something from a loving Father in Heaven; another God-sent tender mercy to the two missionaries, their families, President and Sister Sommerfeldt, and me.
As neither of the elders can now drive, both have been in other accidents while they were driving in the last two months, there will be an off-schedule/emergency transfer on Monday. So that the elders in the area will have a car, Eileen and I are taking one to the area tomorrow. The former car is unfortunately, beyond repair.
To address the rise in accidents, my driver training in zone conference is going to change. Beginning next week, we are going to use a “case study” approach, analyzing specific recent accidents in the mission. I’m going to use pictures, street maps, speed and other relevant data to drill into the incidents and discuss as a group what went wrong. While no names will ever be used in the discussion, my hope is that just the fear of not wanting to be the subject of next zone conference’s case study will be enough to encourage better driving. I am grateful that when I had to call each elder’s mothers on Wednesday evening to tell them about the accident, that I could say their sons were okay. We have to change behavior before similar calls with a different message are necessary.
The last couple weeks have been more challenging for me (Eileen) than usual. I love the medical side of my role here, but just like when I was working at Primary Children’s Hospital, I dislike the management (political?) side of the role. I have also had several situations recently where the nature of the medical issue is confidential and are just things I can’t talk about, yet my relationships with the individual missionaries are ones I don’t want to forget. Russell has suggested waiting several weeks and then going back and adding pictures of individuals on old postings without saying much as a way for me to keep the memories alive. Earlier this morning I was telling Russell that I am very grateful that the missionaries feel comfortable enough with me that they will call when they are struggling with emotional issues. Little do they know that they are helping me find joy and meaning in my calling here. We all want to feel useful and appreciated.
Gerry, pictured below, is 85 years old and still works on our cars with his grandson. He is always pleasant but it seems like he wonders how so many cars can be damaged. Sometimes we have had as many as 5 cars in his shop at one time.
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