Wishing you a Joyful Easter

Tomorrow is Easter and it is a huge holiday here in Brazil. For weeks the stores have been filled with brightly wrapped chocolate eggs that hang from low ceilings. They make a colorful arbor to push your shopping cart under. They can be as small as an egg or as large as a football and many have prizes,candy or toys hidden inside the hollow interior. Brazilians give them to their children and friends instead of easter baskets and they are surprizingly expensive.







Happy Easter, Love, Colleen and Marsh

How Can I Be

I love this video and thought you might enjoy it, too. The words are so inspiring to me. The young man on the left is serving here in our mission. He has a beautiful voice and even stronger testimony. He is one of our best missionaries. This video was made several years ago and you can find it on You tube under, 'How Can I Be.' Love, Colleen

Three Month Interviews

A couple of weeks ago we finished up our third series of Missionary Interviews. Every three months we do this. For four weeks every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday we travel to different zones where Marsh meets with each missionary for at least ten minutes, often more, depending on the need. This time one zone averaged over thirty minutes per elder. Each zone is made up of ten to twenty missionaries. Twice we did back to back zones, one before lunch and one after. These days are long. Most often we leave our house by 7:30 AM and get home in the late afternoon or evening. Most of our zones are in areas far from the Mission home. This month we put over 3,100 miles on the odometer. Our two districts, Botucatu and Pouso Alegre, are each a three hour drive to the outer edges of the mission. On the drive to Botucatu a bridge had been washed out and we had to backtrack half an hour to a small junction and take a different winding road into Jaú. I love the drive no matter the distance and no matter the weather. Blue skies and billowing white clouds, or grey and overcast, the cane fields and orange groves and green hillsides dotted with white cattle are always beautiful.

Most zone leaders have their missionaries studying their scriptures, reading their ‘Preach My Gospel’ or practicing teaching discussions while they wait their turn. Often an elder will play the hymns on the little keyboards in the chapels and others will sing along. When both companions are finished with their interviews they sling on their backpacks, give hardy handshakes and bear hugs and head out the door and back to work. Occasionally, a whole zone will wait until the last missionary is finished and then go prepare a late lunch together at one of their ‘casas.’ Some of the zones are very spread out and it’s an hour or longer bus ride to get to the Zone interview. They like to be together and they buoy each other up.



During the interviews I make good use of the timer on my I-Touch (the missionaries are fascinated by it and check to see what music I have downloaded,(none)and bargain with me to trade it for their dinky little cell phones). I give Marsh a signal when he has two more minutes left and again when ten minutes have passed. Then I turn off the timer and wait while he finishes talking with the missionary. I enjoy this time because I can visit one-on-one with the elder or sister who is sitting beside me awaiting their turn. It’s a chance to get to know them personally, to learn how they are doing, and see that their health is improving if they’ve been sick, or to hear about their families. I hand out worm medicine to those who have passed their one-year mark. I ask about their ‘casas’ and discover that the electricity has been off for a week, or that water is dripping down the wall near their bed when it rains, or that they need a refrigerator, desk or bed frame. We talk about their investigators and their hopefully coming baptisms. We practice my Portuguese and their English. They chomp on thick slabs of freshly-baked banana bread that I bring. Each interview month I bake around twenty-five loaves and that gives each missionary two slices apiece. They could easily eat a whole loaf each. It’s Grandma Tanner’s recipe and they love it! I tell them that I married Marsh to get his mother’s banana bread and hot fudge recipes and I’m only half kidding.

When the missionaris finish their interviews I send them off with the things they requested for their houses. We have eighty or so houses or 'casas' and keeping them supplied is a never-ending process, like trying to fill up a black hole. There is always something needed. I am hoping that soon we will have stocked all the houses with the big stuff, ovens, fridges, beds, desks, and the like. Finally we bid our last missionaries adieu, climb into our SUV, lock up the gates of the Church and head home.

Pedra Grande

Last September we took our office missionaries and assistants on a well-deserved P-day. For weeks they had not taken a day off, and neither had we. We were planning to visit nearby Holandia, a quaint town founded by the Dutch trying to escape the devastation of WWII. During September the residents celebrate their Dutch heritage with a month long festival. You would swear you were in Holland as you stroll down shaded streets brimming with flowers and lined with tidy little Dutch shops. Everywhere you see blond, braided, blue-eyed kids in colorful Dutch costume performing the dances and music of Holland. Then you hear Portuguese spoken and the illusion is broken.

Missionaries are not allowed to drive automobiles in Brazil and with eight of us going I knew I would have to drive one the cars. I hadn’t driven the freeways yet but I figured I could do this.

We found out the night before that the festival was closed on preparation day so Marsh told the elders to pick another place and we would take them there. They chose to climb Pedra Grande, Big Rock. I was leery of driving up a mountain side, but the elders assured us that it would be a piece of cake with a good road and a large area to park in. I assumed that we would drive to the parking area and they would hike to the top. I would wait in the car studying my Portuguese until they returned. I was surprised when they appeared dressed in their suit pants, white shirts and ties. And church shoes. How were they going to hike in those clothes? Marsh and I were in our Missionary clothes, too, but I figured that we would just be waiting down below for them. This was a clue that the day was going to be different than I had thought.






Marsh drove the smaller Zafira minivan with three of the elders and I followed in the heavier four-wheel drive diesel with three more elders. We drove about 50 kilometers and then turned off the freeway and followed a narrow dirt road that grew narrower and windier as we climbed. Hey, wait a second. Where was that nice flat parking lot I’d been promised? After a few kilometers the road became steeper and more deeply rutted with jagged rocks poking up everywhere. Hey, wasn’t this driving up a mountain road, just what I’d said I wasn’t going to do? I worried that we’d pop a tire or put a hole in the oil pan as we jolted along. Still, I think we would have made it to the top with no problems if it hadn’t poured rain the night and day before and turned the dirt into slick mud. My four-wheel-drive diesel was straining and the oil light came on. You could smell the hot oil. I was sure that I was going to burn up the engine so I stopped.

Ahead of me Marsh was churning up the mud and struggling to get traction on the steep slippery grade. He began to slip and slide and finally came to a stop about thirty feet from the top. Try as he might the wheels just spun helplessly in the thick red goo. The Elders loved it. Mindless of their shiny shoes they piled out of the cars into that sticky muck and with Marsh at the wheel and the engine revving they pushed that minivan with all their might. The tires spun madly but the car only slipped and slid sideways toward a trench. I had visions of the car sliding backward over the missionaries in their clean white shirts. I could see the headlines. Mormon Mission President Kills 6 Missionaries and Destroys Two Cars. How was I going to tell their mothers? The Church would send Marsh and me packing. We’d probably be back home in Huntington Beach in time for Sunday dinner. But. These were determined young missionaries having an adventure and with another mighty superhuman heave, they pushed that car with its tires whining and spinning furiously up the last few feet to the top of the hill. There was triumphant celebration and high fives all around.



Now it was my turn to get up the hill. I turned on the engine. No red warning light. With the missionaries cheering me on, I jerked and jolted to the top of the grade and finally there was my nice safe flat parking area. We were perched on top of a mountain of solid rock. What looks like paved surface is one massive chuck of granite. It was worth the struggle to be able to see the whole valley from every direction. The rain from the night before had cleared the smoky air and we had a rare day with brilliant blue skies and beautiful clouds. I learned that my idea and a twenty-year-old missionary’s idea of what constituted a ‘piece of cake’ were worlds apart.


I made it...alive!











Our Brazilian assistant, Elder Gabriel, was going home in three weeks. There on top of that mountain of granite with the wind whipping all around us we sang 'God Be With You Till We Meet Again’ to him. It was a sweet moment.






Since that day we've taken other elders to that mountain three more times and only in the four-wheel drive. It's a peaceful and beautiful spot.

Mission Conference with Elder Russell M. Nelson

Elder Russell M. Nelson came to our mission on February 24, 2011 along with Elder Steven Snow of the First Quorum of the Seventy, Elder Carlos A. Godoy 1st Counselor in the Brazil Area Presidency and their wives. They were scheduled to arrive at the stake center at 1:25. We had asked the missionaries to come at noon for district meetings and to be seated in the Castelo chapel at 12:45. Every one missionaries looked outstanding. I was so proud of them. Their hair was trimmed, their shoes were shined. Everyone was wearing their best suits and dresses. Some, like Elder B., had purchased new clothes just for the Conference. He goes home in two transfers and had worn out every pair of pants he owned (I’ve repaired a couple of ripped seams for him). Our twelve sisters sat on the front row as usual and added a lovely spot of color to that room full of handsome dark suited elders. Everyone had worked hard to be ready. Best of all was the clean bright look they each had about them. The chapel was very quiet as we listened to Sister Poast play hymns but we all felt the excitement as we waited for our Apostle.

They arrived right on time. Marsh and I met their van at the front of the building and led them into the chapel where our missionaries had risen to welcome them. Elder Nelson wanted to shake the hand of every missionary, so Marsh and I sat on the stand while our Conference visitors stood in front of the pews and shook hands with our elders and sisters as they filed quickly by. We had been looking forward with great anticipation to this special day for months. I had a bird’s eye view of the elders and sisters and could see their faces as they approached Elder Nelson and then shook his hand. They only had a moment with him and I’m not sure that he even had time to read their name tags. But it was enough. I found myself thinking as each one passed by him, ‘Do you know what a great teacher Elder N. is.' 'Can you feel Elder T's powerful testimony?’ 'Can you sense what a sweet disposition Sister C. has, ' and Do you know the sacrifices Elder S. made to come on his mission’? I watched each missionary walk quickly by and I wished that Elder Nelson could know these wonderful missionaries like I do.' I feel incredibly blessed that I do know them and I love them. They are the very best in the world.

We began the meeting singing ‘Povos da Terra, Vinde, Escutai!' (Hark All Ye Nations). I will never get tired of hearing the beautiful hymns sung by 160 good young elders and sisters singing with all their hearts and voices. From the very first note my heart wells up with thankfulness that I'm a little part of this.

Elder Nelson, Elder Snow, Elder Godoy and their wives each spoke and gave wonderfully inspiring messages. Elder Godoy joined the Church when he was seventeen, the only member in his family. He told our missionaries that the sisters who found and taught him were his angels on earth. The message they brought him had blessed and changed his life and the seeds that they had planted in him would bear fruit forever. Years later he met one of them in Church and she was so happy to see that he had stayed active in the Church. She hadn’t known what had become of him. Years later he was able to bless her by performing a temple sealing for her daughter and son-in-law. He encouraged the missionaries to stay in touch with their investigators and converts.

Sister Nelson asked us to try a five day experiment based on the Scripture found in 2Nephi 32:5 For behold, again I say unto you that if ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do. She said that many had tried it with amazing results. First, pray each morning in the name of Jesus Christ to have the Spirit with us throughout the day. As we go through the day and reach a difficult moment we should pray for the Spirit and visualize him near you. Then feel what we are inspired to do. She suggested we should let the Holy Ghost lead us to and see what we are drawn to do. Sister Nelson encouraged us to see what the Lord wants us to learn about becoming increasingly pure.

Elder Hansen lead a double quartet of Elders in singing Sweet Hour of Prayer' and it couldn't have been more perfect. It was celestial. I don’t know how much musical training Elder Hansen has, but he was at his best. The elders were responsive to his every direction and I wanted it to go on for longer. It brought a beautiful spirit to the Conference.

The talks were inspiring and just what we needed. I wrote pages of notes for Elder H. who was sick in the hospital and couldn't be there. He had been so determined to be at the Conference that he'd had a suit brought to the hospital certain he'd be released in time to attend. I knew how disappointed he was. We closed with 'Love One Another' and a prayer by Sister Stapley.

When the closing prayer was said, Elder Nelson asked Marsh and me to meet with him for a few more minutes. We had about twenty minutes visiting with him before he left for the airport and Salvador. It was a wonderful day and was over all too soon but the things we learned and the things we felt will last for a long time.

Multi-zone Conference

I love this view from one of the stake centers where we hold our Multi-zone Conferences.

We just completed our third series of Multi-zone Conferences. Every three months we hold four of these day-long training meetings, each with three zones and around fifty missionaries. We began each Conference day at 9AM, broke at noon for the lunch hour, and ended the day around 4:30 PM.

These Multi-zone Conferences are a time to train, teach, motivate and inspire our missionaries. During the first hour Marsh taught about prayer. He invited the missionaries to share experiences they had had with prayer. They told of so many wonderful incidents that had happened in their lives. One Brazilian sister from the Northeast told of an experience she had had as a little girl before she and her family became members of the Church. They were living in extreme poverty and she and her brothers and sisters had gone for three days without food. Her mother was desperate and prayed fervently for help from above. While she was praying she felt a strong impression to go out to the back of their shanty and cut the tall grass there. She was weak from hunger and it seemed an odd thing to do, but the feeling was unmistakable so she took an old scythe and began to chop at the weeds. Up popped coins. The more she hacked, the more coins sprang up. Unknown to anyone but heaven, a pile of money lay hidden in the tall grasses. She gathered all she could find. Then, as she was going inside her house a passer-by by handed her a chicken. She had enough to feed her children and knew that it had come from God in answer to her urgent prayers. This answer to her mother’s plea filled this sweet-natured sister with a simple sure faith in the reality of a Heavenly Father who hears and responds to heartfelt prayers.

I took thirty minutes of the nearly seven hours of training to teach the missionaries in the three areas of health habits, cleaning skills and personal grooming and dress. This time I did it almost completely in Portuguese with a little translating help from the Assistants. It felt good. The missionaries were so encouraging and attentive. They even laughed at my jokes. In the last part of the training I taught them how to iron a shirt really fast and then challenged two elders to race each other. We set up ironing boards, gave them each a hot steaming iron and away they went while the other missionaries cheered them on. It was fun.


After lunch we acknowledged those who had had birthdays in the previous three months. We called them up to the front, gave them a prettily wrapped cupcake and sang them the Brazilian birthday song, twice, each time clapping and singing faster and faster. The missionaries love these birthday mufins (one ‘f’) which I buy at McDonalds. They’re a cross between a muffin and a cupcake, unfrosted and less sweet, but big, sticky, and delicious. One American whose birthday falls in the coming three months will be going home just a few days before the next Multi-zone Conferences and will just miss getting a cupcake. He came up to me very seriously bargaining for the last unclaimed cupcake I still had in my basket. “I want that cupcake.’ he said. I quickly realized that he was serious and wouldn’t be put off, so I gave it to him. I’d been eyeing that cupcake myself, but I’m glad I had an extra one for him.


At the end of the day we loaded them up with their personal mail and packages that had been collecting for weeks in the mission office. Some hauled away bags full of things for their houses. Fans, and irons, pots and silverware, sandwich makers, toilet seat lids, even an ironing board went home on the buses with the missionaries. If I could, I’d send them home with the washing machines, and refrigerators, and ovens that they also need but alas, Marsh and I have to deliver those big items when we can. Finally we sent the missionaries off, hopefully better trained and full of new ideas and enthusiasm for their work and Marsh and I got ready to do it all over again three more times with the rest of our twelve zones.

The Rainy Season

It is summer in Brazil and that means rain; days and days of steady rain. When we arrived in Campinas last July it was winter and the area was in the middle of a drought. There had been no rain for several months and the air was grey with smoke from all the fires burning in the cane fields and from little spontaneous fires everywhere. For several more months there was no precipitation. Everything smelled of smoke and even the air inside our house and the chapels was smoky. I began to get more and more calls from our missionaries with respiratory problems and raw throats. I longed for rain to clear away the haze and let the sun shine through blue skies again.

I got my wish. The rainy season arrived with the summer and we now have rain. Oh, how it rains. The storms usually follow a pattern. The morning begins clear and cloudless. As the day becomes hotter and more humid, the sky piles high with ballooning white clouds. Toward the late afternoon they rapidly blacken and hang heavy and threatening and the day becomes as dark as evening. Then in a fury the storm begins. The rain falls in sifting sheets so thick that the city view behind our house disappears. Lightning illuminates the sky and thunder cracks and rumbles. The storm rages for a few hours and then moves on. The downpour stops, the sun comes out again and the distant clouds silently shimmer with far-off lightning.

Last December a storm broke while I was baking hundreds of Christmas brownies for our missionaries. Lightning and thunder cracked right outside my window. It made my heart jump and knocked the power out twice. The downpour was so intense that I couldn’t open the windows in my hot, steamy, un-air-conditioned kitchen. For five hours the wind blew the rain with such intensity that it crossed five feet of covered balcony and streamed under the closed but un-shuttered doors and flooded ten feet into our three bedrooms. I had wondered why the beautiful wood floors were buckled and whitened. Now I know it’s from the rainwater that often pours in during a storm. Now, even if the sun is shining I don’t dare leave the house without battening down the doors because the day can quickly turn stormy.

For the first three weeks of January it rained hard and steadily, filling the rivers and saturating the ground. I worry about our missionaries. They get drenched in the sudden downpours and walk through the water in holey shoes. Occasionaly they get sick going from the hot, steamy outdoors to riding in air-conditioned buses in wet clothes. Many of their apartments are leaky and damp when it rains, though hot and humid. We are working hard to fix that. They rarely complain and always have a bright smile for me.



One morning several days ago we got an early morning call from one of our missionaries who lived in a low lying area. During the night the river had overflowed and completely flooded the ground floor of the home where he and his companion lived. The fire department had come by boat to evacuate the elders from their second floor apartment. They couldn’t take much with them and had no idea when they might return. There was concern that the apartment would be vandalized and their things stolen while it was vacant, but so far that hasn’t happened.

That day we also got a call from another set of elders who had been helping ward members salvage belongings from their flooded homes. They had been working in waist high flood water all day with drowned rats floating among the household items and wanted to know if there were any health risks to them. There were. I spent the next few hours learning all I could about the possibilities of contracting disease and then calling those missionaries who might be at risk with advice for prevention. So far, no one seems to have gotten sick from contaminated floodwaters though illness can occur up to twenty-one days after exposure to the most dangerous pathogen so I will be on the lookout for a while more.

In the early morning hours of January 13th the steep waterlogged hills in an area north of Rio gave way to an avalance of mud and debris that smashed down on three town and killed more than 1300 people, leaving over 14,000 homeless. This is said to be Brazil's greatest natural disaster on record. I am so sorry for them. Many members lost their homes but thankfully, all the missionaries were safely accounted for. Here in our mission we see places where slabs of sodden land have given way and slid downward but nothing comparable to the disaster in hilly Teresopolis. For the last week the weather has been sunny and we are drying out, but the rainy season continues through April so we shall see how it goes.