Let's preface the following with some context: I wrote on Saturday and woke up on sunday congested and with a chest-cold. From there, it didn't take long to garner the attention of the wonderful senior sister missionaries in Prague to load me up with medication and everything to clean me up. Then we started making plans for the longest three days of my life.
Sister Ganbataar the mongolian missionary arrived after waiting for a whole year last week. In preparing for new missionaries we have to register visas with the foreign police so they can work here without any problems. The difficulty in that is that there are two offices for registrations: one for Europeans and Americans, the other for everybody else. Our story begins this week on a dark, cold street corner with a single washed out street light and a line of foreigners from russia, the ukraine, vietnam, and the clump of huddled missionary coats and nametags working to stay ahead in a line of people, some of them more shady than others.
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"I can only imagine...what it will be like...." *CLICK*
Elder Anderson reached up and pressed the snooze button on his phone for the first time on his mission. It was 4:00 AM and Elder Thompson had already gotten in the shower, meaning that he could afford a few more minutes. He layed there for a few minutes not really falling back asleep but enjoying the strange combination of NyQuill wearing off, the early morning waking hours on a Wednesday, and the thought of standing in a line of foreigners to register Sister Ganbaatar, the new mongolian sister, into the country. The line would be long, it would be cold, it would be dark, and it would be full of unsavory activity, enough to garner the attention of 5 or 6 czech crowd control policemen who would be regulating conditions at the police station.
"Tomorrow...tomorrow is Thursday! We might get to sleep in to 6:30!" the happy thought drifted by but was interrupted by his red-headed companion hopping out of the bathroom and Elder Anderson taking his turn. As he switched on the hot water, he looked at himself in the mirror and just about didn't recognize himself. A cold, three days of 4 AM trying to get sister ganbataar registered, and the life of a Czech Prague assistant had added a few wrinkles to his otherwise well shaven, well groomed complexion.
Then he thought to himself, "My, it's a good thing I took all those pictures before this week hit. I'm a mess!"
The first two days at the police had been fruitless. Day one they turned him away at the counter when he tried to use a power of attorney to represent Sister ganbataar since she'd already left for her proselyting area. "It has to be her, you can't do it for her," they said. Day two they brought her in and started standing in line. The Czech sunrise was nice at this time of day. At 7:30 however, just as they were about to get into the building, the police closed the line. "The office closes at noon and we've taken enough people for today. Go home and come back tomorrow." The missionaries were furious and to make up for it, Elder Anderson got breakfast for them. It seemed that when he could share food with somebody, or anybody, it made him happy. So he did.
Wednesday had come quickly enough, and after they'd dressed, picked up the sister missionaries, and headed over to the police station, they were ready to go to bat against red tape, sneaky foreigners trying to jump the line, and the layers of bureaucracy that didn't quite moult off over the years.
At about 7:30 they made it into the building and were issued number 829. They left and watched the tally board for a few minutes and calculated that they would be accommodated in about 5 hours. Sister Ganbaatar was about as excited as a toddler at christmas time. "Lets go contacting! We should start talking to everyone! Look at all the people!"
To his eternal shame, the hour of the morning and the lack of breakfast got the best of the otherwise stalwart Elder, and he settled on just doing contacting practice in the hallway. Later, the excited sister piped up again: "We should sing to everybody! Wouldn't that be great? Here's my hymnbook....how about "if you could hie to kolob?"" Elder Anderson was feeling better by this point, but suggested that we sing something a little more mainstream like "I know that my redeemer lives" or the Czech Prague mission song. After a few rousing chouruses from the trio of cold, hungry missionaries, the number "828" flashed on the board and they headed upstairs.
After weaving in and out of the lines and the crowds of people, the missionaries made their way to the desk. They presented the paperwork and declared her entry in the country, but the agent behind the desk frowned. "I'm sorry, but we're missing some paperwork."
Elder Anderson kept his cool, but there was part of him that was livid. He was determined to not leave that desk until her visa entry stamp was properly placed in her passport. After some words with the insurance agent, they arranged for the registration and left successfully.
The remainder of the week consisted of recovery from a cold, another leadership conference, and extending a baptismal date to Armen again. He had quit smoking in the interim, and was prepared for making his first covenant with the Lord.
It had been a good week, he knew that the Lord was pleased with his labors thus far, and he was looking forward to a week of a bit more normalcy before hitting the road again for another three weeks. It was a good life, albeit hectic, and he was looking forward to getting many of these trainings behind him.
Love,
Elder Brent Anderson
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