Day 56 (Letter Sent to the CTM District)

Meant to write to you all last week, but I have time now.

In most, or all of your lives I'm probably just a passerby. Hopefully a good one, a friendly face and voice. Maybe even helpful once or twice? We were spoiled, I think, to be in the same place, same time. You all made it easier to endure the Fake World, and also to re-enter the Real World again. When we all get back to the ***Real World!***, we'll be in different places, the whole world opened. I'm thankful to have known you.

I'm the only American in this corner of the world. Itaqui is tucked away by the Argentinian border which can be seen when walking (endlessly) on the outskirts of the town, which is crawling with riderless horses, ownerless dogs, ponies, cats, chickens, etc.)

There's so much time (again, walking/waiting), to be alone in thought, in between expressing everything I can with my companion. Possibly the same for you, but for your sakes I hope it's a bit more busy in general. Anyway, here, time seems distorted, somehow the hours always pass rapidly, more so than any other time ever before. My companion Elder Gonçalo is hypercompetent and has a photographic memory (he's the opposite of me). Glad he's here.

We've taught everywhere from humble, aging shacks of tin and concrete to more upscale properties. The whole range of comfort, from nothing to (relative) luxury exists here, but everyone, regardless of position, already knows Jesus Christ, at least by upbringing. It's a small blessing always to remember (I assume it's the same in most smaller Brasilian cities). Different story for our fellow missionaries from the CTM headed for Japan.

For you, each one, I'll assume these first 2 weeks haven't been easy. They haven't been "easy" for me, I've been sick my entire time here, so imagine: the end of every day, I fall through the door coughing, dusty, sweat-drenched, spent. My bedroom window(!) faces a blank wall. The other windows face the blank walls of our apartment complex parking lot. First week, surviving on peanut butter and "Club Social" crackers hoarded while at the CTM (I knew it was a good idea!). Lay down with a headache, backed up to the lungs with mucus, waking up in the night to stumble through the dark for water.

And still happy. Also still like windows(!).

Everything about being here is better every day, and I hope the same for you all.

The language from here on out is still a wall to climb, sometimes it's hard to see how I could one day, for example, just follow a conversation happening at full speed in the background, or listen and fully understand a Sacrament talk, or to actually convince someone through conversation I'm really a "Pãolista" (everyone thinks I'm from São Paulo until I speak). I'll give it 3 months... or 6 months... Again, and most importantly, I'll be happy the whole time.

When we arrived over Santa Maria by plane, I looked out my window and we were in a room of cloud, walls, floor, ceiling, a great bright cavern. We dropped through the "floor" of cloud and saw the city of Santa Maria for the first time. Set in a valley, surrounded by rolling green, dark mountains forming the horizon, all of it lit golden by the sun. It was just a moment of beauty, and a good introduction.

By the end of 2 years I think, there'll have been more walking here than anywhere else, and plenty of it in dirt and pebbles. So much talking, too. If you're lucky your companion has already forced you to make a lot of street contacts, or your splits companion if you've had one yet.

To close:

When we were leaving the CTM, I tried to write everyone a note with our limited time. Sorry if you didn't get one, and if you did, if I seemed impersonal. Hopefully it was evident through action that I cared. And still care.

I'll keep you posted.

I can hear Elder Kyle's voice on the street in the P.A.S. mission:

"Eu sou Americano, *hehehe*..."

P.S. Mom and Dad, sorry I didn't write more, had to send something for the CTM district. Just know I'm doing great, still a little sick.

Email: smith.hopkinson@myldsmail.net