Once upon a time, I was a sister missionary, and I was brave.
You see, in Taiwan, there are a lot of bugs. Lots outside, but even more inside. In every single area, we lived in apartments that were always one of hundreds of others--and although we'd do everything we could to keep the bugs out of our little areas, they would just avoid whatever we'd spray at or on them, run up a couple of stories to another apartment, then come back in a couple of days when the spray would wear off.
At first, I got pretty grossed out by the numbers of cockroaches I'd see invading my personal area, but after a few months in the country, I was pretty good about just grabbing a shoe, spray, or paper towel and killing whatever bug I saw right off the bat, without making too big of an issue over it. Most of my companions had been out even longer than I had, so they, too, were quite accomplished bug-squishers.
However, after several months on the island, I had one companion who came to me straight from the States.
This girl was (and is) an amazing person--optomistic, funny, and one of my favorite companions. She could bring the Spirit into any lesson we taught, and she had so much enthusiasm that it couldn't help but impress everyone we came across. I LOVED this girl. Still do, in fact. But, she did have one tiny little flaw. Insects of any form terrified her. Even the smallest cockroach was enough to send her running into the other room, calling for me to come be the hero and save the day, which, as her Trainer, I was usually more than willing to do. I'd come in, do the dirty deed, and then she'd get back to eating/brushing her teeth/whatever it was that the dastardly insect managed to interrupt by showing up.
One morning, however, even my nerves of steel were tested in a big way. We were sitting in our study room, having personal study, when Sister Smith gasped, jumped up, and ran full-speed out of the study room into the kitchen. I assumed (correctly) that a bug of some sort was involved somehow, and followed her into the kitchen to grab the bug spray.
"I just saw the BIGGEST spider I have ever seen in my life crawl out from under my desk!" she managed to gasp to me through her hyperventilation.
I had had a little experience with her exaggerated descriptions of a few cockroaches before, so I kindly, but condescendingly, patted her on the arm, then headed back into the room to take care of what I was sure an average, regular spider. I sprayed around the desk area for a moment--when nothing dropped down from under the desk (this was STRONG stuff--usually enough to stop any bug in its tracks), I sprayed again.
That's when The Thing ran out from under the desk, and I couldn't help it--I shrieked. Like a little girl.
This spider was HUGE. Bigger than the palm of my hand. I had never seen anything like it, and I've grown up in the desert, so tarantulas were common to me, but I did know this: it had to be killed. Immediately, before it could hide somewhere only to come out later, bite one or both of us, and kill us dead. I grabbed my shoe in my left hand, gripped the spray even more tightly in my right, and sprayed.
I hit it with the spray, but still, it ran. Fast.
I sprayed it again.
It jumped. Far.
I shrieked again, tried to hit it with the shoe, and missed.
It dodged under my proselyting bag. I shrieked yet again, kicked my bag out of the way, and sprayed it again. The dang thing just would not die!
I tried to hit it with the shoe again, and it jumped out of the way, causing me to scream yet again. By this point, Sister Smith was literally rocking back and forth in the other room, plugging her ears and humming Primary songs so she couldn't hear the raging battle going on in the study room. I finally managed to slow it down enough to literally drown it in a puddle of the poison I was spraying on it, then smashed it with a shoe, just in case. Steeling up my nerves, I picked it up in a bunch of Kleenix, then flushed it down the toilet, hoping and praying it wouldn't twitch or move as I did so. I was just sure I would die of grossness were anything like that to happen.
Both of us were jumpy for the rest of the day, and we didn't hold companionship study in that room again for a good week, although we finally got over it to the point of being able to go in the room without flinching or allowing our skin to crawl after a while.
That was a freaky experience, but I was pretty proud of myself for how I dealt with it. I stepped up to the challenge and killed the dang thing without freaking out TOO badly.
Fast forward about four years: by this point, I've had four years worth of a man around the house who can be my bug-killer, and my skills in this area have been woefully neglected. Two weeks ago, I was teaching a piano lesson to my 12-year-old neighbor. Clark was sleeping, but Jack was being especially fussy and clingy, which, when you're teaching a piano lesson, can be really irritating.
He had just come to me for the fifteen-thousandth time, whining about something or other, when I glanced at him.
And stopped cold.
The boy had a spider on his face. Granted, it was only a daddy-long-leg, but still. It was a spider on his FACE!! I flipped out and immediately started trying to flick the spider off of his cheek with my hand, so I could kill it. He thought I was hitting him, and started crying and trying to run away. I grabbed him, and tried desperately to move the spider off of his face without traumatizing him more, but the spider wouldn't move!
I then tried (gently-ish) squishing the spider against his face, so I could just wipe it off once it had died, and that didn't work--mainly because he was screeching, I was still panicked, and my brain obviously wasn't functioning clearly in that moment.
Finally, I paused for a moment to gather my senses, and I moved so that my angle would be different, then used my forefinger to carefully flick the spider AWAY from him without actually hitting his face. It worked--the spider landed on the floor and was consequently squished and disposed of, and I comforted Jack with a hug and some kisses. We went on with the piano lesson as if nothing had happened (although I still felt my skin crawl from time to time), and I resolved to call the exterminator THAT DAY.
What in the world happened to that brave sister missionary?
I wish I knew. If any of you see her, please let her know I'd like to have her back.
You see, in Taiwan, there are a lot of bugs. Lots outside, but even more inside. In every single area, we lived in apartments that were always one of hundreds of others--and although we'd do everything we could to keep the bugs out of our little areas, they would just avoid whatever we'd spray at or on them, run up a couple of stories to another apartment, then come back in a couple of days when the spray would wear off.
At first, I got pretty grossed out by the numbers of cockroaches I'd see invading my personal area, but after a few months in the country, I was pretty good about just grabbing a shoe, spray, or paper towel and killing whatever bug I saw right off the bat, without making too big of an issue over it. Most of my companions had been out even longer than I had, so they, too, were quite accomplished bug-squishers.
However, after several months on the island, I had one companion who came to me straight from the States.
This girl was (and is) an amazing person--optomistic, funny, and one of my favorite companions. She could bring the Spirit into any lesson we taught, and she had so much enthusiasm that it couldn't help but impress everyone we came across. I LOVED this girl. Still do, in fact. But, she did have one tiny little flaw. Insects of any form terrified her. Even the smallest cockroach was enough to send her running into the other room, calling for me to come be the hero and save the day, which, as her Trainer, I was usually more than willing to do. I'd come in, do the dirty deed, and then she'd get back to eating/brushing her teeth/whatever it was that the dastardly insect managed to interrupt by showing up.One morning, however, even my nerves of steel were tested in a big way. We were sitting in our study room, having personal study, when Sister Smith gasped, jumped up, and ran full-speed out of the study room into the kitchen. I assumed (correctly) that a bug of some sort was involved somehow, and followed her into the kitchen to grab the bug spray.
"I just saw the BIGGEST spider I have ever seen in my life crawl out from under my desk!" she managed to gasp to me through her hyperventilation.
I had had a little experience with her exaggerated descriptions of a few cockroaches before, so I kindly, but condescendingly, patted her on the arm, then headed back into the room to take care of what I was sure an average, regular spider. I sprayed around the desk area for a moment--when nothing dropped down from under the desk (this was STRONG stuff--usually enough to stop any bug in its tracks), I sprayed again.
That's when The Thing ran out from under the desk, and I couldn't help it--I shrieked. Like a little girl.
This spider was HUGE. Bigger than the palm of my hand. I had never seen anything like it, and I've grown up in the desert, so tarantulas were common to me, but I did know this: it had to be killed. Immediately, before it could hide somewhere only to come out later, bite one or both of us, and kill us dead. I grabbed my shoe in my left hand, gripped the spray even more tightly in my right, and sprayed.
I hit it with the spray, but still, it ran. Fast.
I sprayed it again.
It jumped. Far.
I shrieked again, tried to hit it with the shoe, and missed.
It dodged under my proselyting bag. I shrieked yet again, kicked my bag out of the way, and sprayed it again. The dang thing just would not die!
I tried to hit it with the shoe again, and it jumped out of the way, causing me to scream yet again. By this point, Sister Smith was literally rocking back and forth in the other room, plugging her ears and humming Primary songs so she couldn't hear the raging battle going on in the study room. I finally managed to slow it down enough to literally drown it in a puddle of the poison I was spraying on it, then smashed it with a shoe, just in case. Steeling up my nerves, I picked it up in a bunch of Kleenix, then flushed it down the toilet, hoping and praying it wouldn't twitch or move as I did so. I was just sure I would die of grossness were anything like that to happen.
Both of us were jumpy for the rest of the day, and we didn't hold companionship study in that room again for a good week, although we finally got over it to the point of being able to go in the room without flinching or allowing our skin to crawl after a while.
That was a freaky experience, but I was pretty proud of myself for how I dealt with it. I stepped up to the challenge and killed the dang thing without freaking out TOO badly.
Fast forward about four years: by this point, I've had four years worth of a man around the house who can be my bug-killer, and my skills in this area have been woefully neglected. Two weeks ago, I was teaching a piano lesson to my 12-year-old neighbor. Clark was sleeping, but Jack was being especially fussy and clingy, which, when you're teaching a piano lesson, can be really irritating.
He had just come to me for the fifteen-thousandth time, whining about something or other, when I glanced at him.
And stopped cold.
The boy had a spider on his face. Granted, it was only a daddy-long-leg, but still. It was a spider on his FACE!! I flipped out and immediately started trying to flick the spider off of his cheek with my hand, so I could kill it. He thought I was hitting him, and started crying and trying to run away. I grabbed him, and tried desperately to move the spider off of his face without traumatizing him more, but the spider wouldn't move!
I then tried (gently-ish) squishing the spider against his face, so I could just wipe it off once it had died, and that didn't work--mainly because he was screeching, I was still panicked, and my brain obviously wasn't functioning clearly in that moment.
Finally, I paused for a moment to gather my senses, and I moved so that my angle would be different, then used my forefinger to carefully flick the spider AWAY from him without actually hitting his face. It worked--the spider landed on the floor and was consequently squished and disposed of, and I comforted Jack with a hug and some kisses. We went on with the piano lesson as if nothing had happened (although I still felt my skin crawl from time to time), and I resolved to call the exterminator THAT DAY.
What in the world happened to that brave sister missionary?
I wish I knew. If any of you see her, please let her know I'd like to have her back.
Comments
It's also kind of funny this happened now, because just last night I was talking to Jen Pug on the phone, and she said, "Heather, I am sorry. I am about to kill a spider, and I am a big wussy about killing bugs so you are going to hear some screaming."
As for Jack, I think I would have been crying or throwing up everywhere. Lets just say, I still will always look up to you as my brave-spider-killing woman.
Laurie Jayne