by K Fletcher

First Day (November 26, 2014)

----
So. The first leg of my flight (to Houston) I was actually alone. The elder I met at the Phoenix temple last Thursday was on a different plane. At Houston I met up with 21 other missionaries, 5 girls and the rest boys. We were delayed about 45 minutes and we finally touched down in Mexico city approximately 6:30pm. Long story short we didn't get to the CCM until 8:15pm. Crazy right? We all thought we were going to die on the drive there. I've been in Mexico before, but it may have been a rude awakening to some of those elders serving there. One of them was wondering if it was safe to be out after dark! haha. 

No activities tonight, but tomorrow (Thursday) is chock-full. So far as I know there is nothing specifically Thanksgiving themed. I teach my first lesson on Friday morning in full Spanish. One day, ready-set-go!

Anyway. I am simply here to let you know I am safe and sound in Mexico and I am so excited. My Preparation day is on Tuesday, so sometime between 9:30 and 5:30 my family can expect an e-mail from me. 

I love you all a lot and tomorrow I get to work!

With love, 
Hermana Fletcher
by K Fletcher

One Last Hoorah

"What did you do 2 hours before you were set apart?"
"Oh, you know, updated my mission blog."

That would be me.
In two hours I will consecrate the next 18 months of my life to the Lord.

I'm so excited.
I'm so excited.

The last few days have been incredibly difficult. It is as though Satan and Jesus Christ are physically battling inside of me. I can feel the spirit of each one so clearly right now. Luckily we all know who wins in this fight, if we allow Him to.

Trials have shaken, prayers have been answered, doubts have arisen, spiritual revelation has been received. And I know this is just the beginning.

For some reason this poem has really inspired my these past weeks.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Oh, the stories I shall tell.

With Love,
Hermana Fletcher