In case any of you were unsure, Hispanic people LOVE to feed you. I didn't experience this until a few days ago. A woman in the ward decided that she was going to make pupusas for us. I was really excited because I love them! We got there and we started making a cake while she made dinner for us. When we sat down to eat I was shocked to see that there were FOUR of them on my plate. They were each about 5 inches in diameter. I was naive enough to think that I would be able to easily eat them all...not the case my friends. I got through the second one and wasn't sure I was going to live to taste another bite. They were delicious, of course, but SO FILLING. I successfully made it through the 3rd and was digging deep for the determination to start on the fourth one. Each bite I took, I thought was going to have to be my last. I got about half way through it when Hermana Alas (the woman who made them) came in and asked me if I wanted more. I couldn't do it! I told her it was delicious, but that I was so full. My companion had gotten through her third one as well and when I saw her wrap hers in a paper towel and set it aside to take it home my mouth dropped open. I'm sure she just wanted me to know what it feels like to be in excruciating pain and that's why she didn't tell me I could just take some home for later...How loving of her... So I survived it and a little bit later was able to force down a piece of cake.
We went to another teaching appointment later that night with a young girl. We were almost finished with the lesson when her grandmother offered us a plate of food. Of course we can't decline that kind of invitation because these people show their love to you by feeding you. She gave us this huge plate of rice, beans, tortillas, and some hard cheese. I was just praying that there was at least a little bit of space left in my stomach and that I wouldn't lose everything right there on their carpet. I started eating pretty quickly just to get it in there, and my companion was once again kind enough not to tell me to eat slowly so they wouldn't give me more food. As soon as I finished my plate they brought another one. I was starting to lose hope. I got about half way through it and decided that I never wanted to eat again. The girl that we were teaching must have noticed the look of defeat on my face because then she told me that I don't have to eat it all. She was an angel that night when she took the plate from me and put it in the sink.
So now we all know, the art of eating at an investigators house is: eat fast at first to get the food in there, then slow down so that you don't finish your plate before you have to leave. Otherwise you'll regret it for the next day or so. I didn't eat again until lunch the next day.
The Lord continues to bless us here in Manassas and there have been people placed in our path almost every day that are willing to listen to our message. We have started teaching another girl that I'm sure will be baptized. Guess how we met her. We went to the wrong building to go to an appointment (and yes, we had been there several times before). It was a miraculous accident. We teased each other that the Lord is guiding us in our foolishness. Really, though, I know this work is His work and that the gospel is true. The only way we can find true happiness is by coming unto our Savior Jesus Christ and accepting His sacrifice for us.
Until next week, I hope all is well with all of you. I love you all!
Hermana Heather Larsen