Yesterday, Margaret and I had a hankering for fast food, but there aren't any burger places really close to our house. Rather than driving the two miles to the nearest Dairy Queen, we decided to ride our bikes there. Given the current price of fuel, if we would had driven, it would have added $3 to our fast food fix, so we felt it was a good deal. Also, since we'd actually expended calories to ride over there, I felt completely justified in getting a dipped ice cream cone. I'm sure the 40 calories I burned on the ride was about equal to the number of calories in the ice cream, right? Right?
Burning off calories reminds me of how emaciated I became while in Norway. While some missionaries end up gaining a lot of weight on their missions, Norway on average wasn't one of them. The members hardly ever fed us. While some missions have enough dinner invitations to feed the missionaries lunch and dinner every day of the week, in my mission, I could sometimes go for weeks without even an offer of toast and jam. In only one area did I get regular and frequent member dinners. At first I thought that it was because there were so many good and supportive member there who had a Christ-like desire to help the missionaries. Well, that was a crock...I found out after a couple of weeks of daily gorgings that my new companion had told people at church that his new companion was an Indian and that he only spoke his tribal language and Norwegian. Well, of course everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the real, live Indian, so the invitations poured in before I even arrived. They were really put out to find out that I could only speak English and Norwegian. Plus, I didn't even have long hair (at that point I still had a youthful hairline, though), and didn't wear a loin cloth, but a boring shirt and tie. Thinking back, I probably could have had a lot more success as a missionary in Norway if I had been walking around there in a Dances with Wolves outfit. (Although that wouldn't have been such a great idea during the Norwegian winters, I suppose.)
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3 comments:
Hahaha. Who spread that rumor? You know, when I lived in Norway before we (meaning our MTC group) got there, I did have the occasion to meet a missionary that was Indian, and brought his rain dance costume with him. Now, I don't know if he spoke his tribal language, but he and his commpanion would book dates at the schools to have him dance, and they would make contacts from there.
Hey, I think I may have told you that story already... Old age. oh well.
I won't say what his name was, but I will tell you that it rhymes with Schmaldron. Also, did the name of the Indian missionary you helped rhyme with Schmooqua? Speaking of whom, when I was planning the mission reunion a couple years back, I ran into him and he said, "I don't really do that anymore." Confused, I asked him what he had against mission reunions, to which he replied, "No, the church." Oops!
Oh, so the one who spread the rumor was the same one who said I was faking my headaches? Gotcha. I am not sure who the other native american missionary was, it was a long time ago (like 20 years), but way to put your foot in your mouth, huh?
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