Let me begin by explaining that this past weekend has been the most exciting weekend of the year thus far. I got a call on New Year's Day from my mission president (former, shall I say) informing me that I was invited to go with him to San Francisco to see the formation of the first Fijian speaking branch in the Bay Area (and outside the islands, come to find out).
You may wonder at this point why I of all people (being skinny, white, and having no apparent relation to Fijian people) was invited to go--this is because my last four and a half months as a missionary was spent establishing the Fijian language program in my mission, during which I learned a good bit of their language and helped train our first Fijian missionary, Kalevati Volavola.
So of course I said yes. It was a wonderful trip. Then on the way home my plane crashed. It is lucky that I am here to tell the story. As they say, a picture says a thousand words, so I think it would be most concisce for you to just look at this:
As you can see, this was a very traumatic experience, but I find that by facing my fears and posting them, I can overcome them. I just think it would have been much worse had I been in the plane--you see, the big one on the left was empty, just coming to pick me up. It makes a good story at least.
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