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Monday, October 19, 2015

Grandpa, I was wearing my helmet!

There I was, sitting in now the sixth doctors office hoping against hope that they wouldn't turn the blonde American away too. Abba's "Fernando" was playing softly in the waiting room, and I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself.

Rewind about 28 hours.

We were riding our bikes down Hainichener Straße after an awesome temple tour with the Temple Engineer's nonmember girlfriend on Tuesday morning. Going down the hill, I hit the curb, flew off the front of my bicycle, and landed on my hands and face. Sweet Sister Hubrich picked us up within a few minutes and rushed us to the emergency room. 5 hours later, I walked out of the hospital with a cast on each arm and a good sized lump on my forehead that was slowly turning lovely shades of black and purple.

On orders from my Russian emergency room doctor, the next day we went to try to find a doctor who would take another look at the XRays and decide if my right wrist was broken and if my finger was broken enough that it needed to be operated on. Cranky secretaries, ditzy secretaries, apologetic secretaries, condescending secretaries, nice secretaries; doctors office after doctors office said no. We finally walked into the sixth doctors office and the secretary took a look at the lump on my head (which had increased sizably since the beginning of our search earlier that morning), and she said she would talk to the doctors to see if they could squeeze me in. That led to another hour and a half wait and when they finally allowed me to see a doctor, I don't think the doctor even looked at me. She just saw the color of my finger and told me to come back on Friday. Another day gone. Wasting time is a very choice form of torture for a missionary.

After being so sick last week, I couldn't understand why Heavenly Father would allow this to happen - launching us into hours and hours of waiting rooms and cold hospital halls with no one to talk to and no phone service to try to get some missionary work done that way. I couldn't see the point of it. But then I started to.... 

Ward members brought by chocolate and get well cards, the phone was ringing off the hook with concerned members of the Relief Society and primary asking what they could do to help, investigators offered to go grocery shopping for us, and my sweet companion helped me with everything: washing my hair, getting me dressed, binding the cuts on my  knee - everything. The amount of love I have felt in the past week is indescribable.

This week I felt God's comfort wrap around my shoulders like a warm blanket - one carefully woven with the friendship of people that He purposefully placed in my life by divine design.  

I'm also pretty sure that Heavenly Father was trying to teach me to have patience with myself. Sister Rückauer and I could laugh about that one as I even struggled to turn the pages of my scriptures during companionship study, and when I dropped the phone during our phone call with the Assistants. 

To answer the question that I know Grandpa is asking: YES I was wearing my helmet. The latest news from the doctors is that my finger won't need surgery, my wrist is only minorly fractured, and that I better just get used to having an ice pack on my face whenever we are home.

All is well that ends well. And with God, the power of the priesthood, and Schwester Schönherr's 'there-there's on my side, its all going to end well. 

Liebe Grüße,
Sister Grace Hendricks

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