Preface: Mike and I were serving as Service Missionaries in Houston, Tx. At first we were called as teachers, me as EnglishConnect 2 and Mike as a Computer teacher...but within a couple of months we were called as Directors of the center. The Center was called El Centro at first, but as ICE became a militant body, to capture immigrants or anyone looking or sounding like them and deporting them, the Area Presidency had us change our name to The Community Resource Center. We were housed in an inner-city LDS meetinghouse. We had 17 English classes a week, taking place on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. I wrote and taught the curriculum for a US Citizenship class, then President Trump said it was too easy, so the Test was made longer and harder, so I wrote and taught a curriculum for that test. I also designed, a library of English reading books for those students to use. We had wall to wall books donated for that library. We were released by President Nelson November of 2025, after serving 2 years, but the stake presidency asked if we would serve to May. Serving by teaching and directing, also meant feeding everyone dinner at first, then we went to once or twice a month, when I trained them, and every day for the missionaries.
They called a couple working as EnglishConnect teachers to take our place, in April, but had not released us, since their calling had not gone through the red tape from Salt Lake City. Then, Brian called me and said mom would die shortly and she was streaming several stories together and didn't make sense when she talked. Linda called me the next day, afraid I would not make it in time for her death.
We immediately trained our successors and made a flight to leave, telling the stake presidency. Then my surgical procedure for the next week was canceled, so we moved our flight a week sooner. We had to schedule someone to take my choir to practice, and send all the information to our successors. We showed up to our last time at the Center and introduced the new couple to everyone, so they would know to give the rolls and questions to them. I had gifts for all the teachers, missionaries, and students. Some of my former students were in tears. I loved them all. Brother Haines' wife painted a watercolor of a lighthouse and framed it...for me because she said we were an example of sharing Christ's light. The staff had signed cards, took pictures with us, and the Goehrings brought a cake.
The first day spent with my mother was a shock. This wasn't my mother. She wasn't making any sense. She would repeat stories over and over, but would never finish them before she started another story, (which she wouldn't finish before she started several others.) We spent an hour of her pushing the chair button moving her chair up and down. When it moved her to a stand, it quit moving and she would say it was broken...to which we would say it was not...then she would push the down button and the up and down would start again. Whenever she wouldn't make sense or we didn't understand her and we would attempt to clarify or tell her what she said was not correct, she would angrily say "You're not listening....Listen to me." I left that night crying. She wasn't listening to US!
Another thing that hurt my feelings was that she seemed to not want me to help her. Everything I tried to do, she didn't want me to do. "Move this closer". I did. "No, it has to be closer." So I moved the tray table to allow the walker to be closer. "No, don't move the table". The Kellee moved the table and she let her. One time, I wanted to put her eye drops in her eyes, and she wouldn't let me because only Brian and Linda do it right. Another time I was right in front of her and she called a lady from across the room to put her barrette in her hair. I was wondering why I had even come.
The 2nd say spent with my mother was spent much the same. The same story lines. The hour up and down in the chair. She wanted her hair washed. Everything I tried to do was wrong, or she didn't want my help. I managed to wash her hair for her, but after drying her hair, I was combing it and however I tried to put the barrette in her hair it was never how she wanted it. I spent so many times trying to follow her directions, but it was always wrong. I spent so long trying to do it, I couldn't take it anymore and asked Mike to do it. I went in the other room and cried, while Mike patiently spent 10 minutes trying to please her with that barrette before he did it to her liking.
When Sunday came, I was so sorrowful for having to deal with mother. I prayed and prayed to know what to do. One of the speakers in Church talked about several miracles in the scriptures. When she mentioned the miracles of the Jaredites being able to keep their own language through divine assistance due to their prayers. I thought about my prayer being about the same thing. Mom and I were speaking different languages.
My husband and I speak different languages. He sees and says things completely opposite of what I do. Even when we might be saying the same thing, the way he says it means the opposite of what I would say. For example: I always like to get to church early--way early. He once told the Sunday School class that being on time for me is being late. I would have said that to be on time for me is to get there early. Another example: He was changing a light bulb and wanted me to turn on the switch to make sure it worked. He asked me to turn on the 2nd switch. I was standing by a group of 4 light switches in a row on one plate. I count from left to right, and lifted the 2nd switch. I did. Nothing happened. After some confusion, it became clear that to him the 2nd switch was actually the 3rd switch on the plate, because he was counting from left to right. Another example: I asked him to get the keys that were inside my purse in the zippered compartment. He unzipped the outside of the purse because (he said the inside of the purse is the side of the purse closest to his body. To me. IT IS CRAZY. But because he thinks differently than me, we even interpret scriptures differently.
I have worked with those who speak a foreign language. For a few years, I have been trying to learn their language. We understand each other when the spirit intervenes, and we see each others' needs, we understand the requests.
Now, I have a mother, whose language is kooky. She is rambling things in MY language that don't make a lick of sense. She is frustrated that I don't understand her. I am frustrated that she doesn't understand me.
I was reading the scriptures in 2 Nephi 27: 23.
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