Day Seven; Sunday, July 6th, 2014.

“mmmmm…” said Raconteur, holding out his cup. “Can I have some of that?”

Mom nodded and poured the orange, sweet-smelling, icy cold drink into his cup. He put the lid on and stuck in the straw. He took a long draw on his straw, murmuring how delicious it was. 

He took another drink, and then stopped abruptly. He put his hand to his mouth and spit something into his hand. He stared at it, disbelieving. Then he exploded.

“I just drank a fly!!!” He threw it violently away. “Gross!” He looked so revolted that we all laughed.

It is somewhat of an adjustment being in places low in elevation and high in humidity. I love the tall trees and the mighty rivers. I love the humidity in the cool of the evening, when it feels like I am breathing in a soft, cooling mist.

However, I do not love the oppressive heat caused by the humidity, and I definitely do not like the bugs.

It is a common occurrence nowadays to see a ‘Mighty Hunter’, weapon in hand, hunting the lands of the RV, searching for prey. 

Wo unto the prey when they are spotted! For down comes the weapon with a crack, and the prey is now...well, not prey any more.

The reason for these ‘Mighty Hunters’ is as follows:

Someone is sitting on a chair, busily engaged in an activity. They swat lazily at a fly, continuing with their activity. As the low drone of the fly persists, they become more and more annoyed. Finally, they snap. They throw down their activity, shove aside their chair and violently grab the fly-swatter, goaded past all chance of endurance. On one of these rampages, I killed easily over twenty flies, maybe over thirty.

Ah well. I would hate to be the one to break the old adage; “There is always a fly in the ointment”.

Today we went to church at eight o’clock. We went with the missionaries. It was remarkable. It was a fast and testimony meeting. With several hundred missionaries, and a transfer coming up, you better believe that pulpit was full! There was only one civilian who managed to make it up there. The rest were military (belonging to the Army of Helaman, all wearing their telltale badges).

We went over time.

The elders served the sacrament, and as I watched these young men, who have left home and family to serve the Lord, I couldn’t help thinking about the other thing these missionaries serve; the truth of the gospel and the love of Christ.

It caused me to reflect. Just how much was I treasuring this gift and using this power?

Too little, I fear.

Afterwards, we went to the old temple quarry sight, for the Nauvoo temple.

Then we had several hours just to do nothing! The first since we left home, I think.

Later, we walked the Trail of Hope. We walked the path the pioneers walked as they left their beloved Nauvoo. They crossed the Mississippi, glancing back only once, take a parting look at the temple they sacrificed so much for. They then turned their faces resolutely westward, to strike out for Zion.

The Mississippi is at flood stage right now, and it is magnificent. It 

is huge. We had a fun time wading a little.

‘Till next time!

Emma