Experiências Missionárias: Bees! Bees!
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|Warning: This is not a real spiritual story, but it's good for a laugh.
I was serving in Toledo with Elder Morris at the time. Morris hadn't been in Toledo very long, so he had to suffer under my ideas of how to get places. We had just finished a discussion with an old man on the far east side of Toledo. We had a lunch appointment with Irma Jaci on the other side of town. We started walking as fast as we could, as missionaries are known to do when lunch is involved, towards her house. It became evident early on that we were not going to make it on time. Inspiration would have told me to stay on the road, but hunger told me to cut through a small section of jungle. I knew Irma's house was just on the other side, and the road around the 'mato' would have taken us at least another 25 minutes. So poor Morris was forced to follow me into the heart of the Brazillian jungle.
Morris was always a good sport and so our journey became a fun adventure. It was only after crossing a river using vines and a fallen log and after wading through grass and plants up to our necks for almost a half an hour that we relized our short cut wasn't so short. At the moment we were about to give up and resort to eating grubs and ants, we saw the road. We were thrilled.
We half ran to the only thing seperating us from the road to Irma Jaci's house, a short barbed-wire fence. Being the kind and considerate person I always was (he he), I let Morris go first. He was carefully climbing the fence, so as to not tear his mission clothes when I heard an eerie humming sound. He was just about over the fence when I realized it wasn't the humming of bees like in the hymn Joseph Smith's First Prayer. It was more like the humming of bees who had just discovered that you were standing in their hive.
To make a long story short, I gave Morris an enthusiastic shove of encouragement and flung myself over the fence as fast as possible. As is the case with most people being attacked by bees, we both went into luanatic mode. We sprinted to the street and started to beat ourselves with our bags in a futile attempt to kill the now swarming bees. We danced around and spun and swatted and kicked and beat ourselves furiously while yelling something to the effect of "Bees bees, they're everywhere...ahh they're sting-crazy...ahhhh"
Of course the whole event took place about 15 feet from the bus stop, and not 30 seconds after the bus had dropped everyone off to go home for lunch. So there we were, a couple of crazed weirdos, dressed in white shirts and ties, flailing all over the street while beating ourselves with our bags and screaming in a language no one could understand.
Needless to say, we were late for lunch, and we never tracted on that street again.
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