An American Party in a 3rd World Country

I am a few days late, but I thought I would give you a little update on my past couple of days:

Saturday night I got to socialize for the first time with a General Authority. As some of the couple missionaries were headed home in the next few weeks, the Area Presidency hosted a party at his house for all the expatriates and missionaries who work at the office. All three members of the Area Presidency are either in the first or second quorum of the seventy making them official "general authorities." I spoke a little with all three, but mostly with an Elder Goldman. He was a charming man from South Africa. The whole evening struck me as a great contrast to the morning I had wondering around some of the poorest areas of Accra. I sat and looked around the room. A wide assortment of colorful dishes decorated the tops of the three tables that had been cleared for the party. Cookies, chips, hot rolls, avocado dip, fresh vegetables, pasta salads, potato salad, just to name a few. And it didn't just look good, it tastes delicious. The whole affair, in the spacious house with vaulted ceilings evoked emotions of guilt. I looked around the room again. All white. Except for the maid. I am not sure what it is about prosperity that makes us feel guilty. I mean, I don't think celebrating in a manner customary to Americans is inappropriate, even if it is a bit glutinous. So what that just less than 3 miles away there were young children huddled up under a shanty in a feces infested slum? What would I have us do? Stop celebrating? Stop thanking God that we are not the ones down at Jamestown? Would God have us all go without until we all have enough? But then I realized that of all the people in that room only two were being paid for their work. Everyone else, including myself, had paid their own way, emptied their pockets, and drained the blessings of prosperity that had so abundantly been given them, in order to serve the people of Ghana. And they served them in the best way they knew how: they taught them the Gospel of Jesus Christ. At this humbling thought my vision changed. I no longer viewed those around me as rich, boisterous, glutinous Americans, but rather humble servants who had undoubtedly given up much grander parties, including births, marriages, graduations, first words, first steps, first dates. These were saints. They had come together to remember why they had come to Ghana in the first place. We would that all could celebrate with vaulted ceilings. They worked everyday that one day all can enjoy a wedding feast with much higher ceilings.

On the way home a beggar tapped on the car window asking for some money. As always King Benjamin preached in my heart, "are we not all beggars?" We gave him some cookies.

On Sunday I decided to sleep in and go to the local ward which commenced at 10:30. The chapel is located on the temple "compound" (that is really what they call it). It is a nice building. A two story building, the stairs are on the outside. The chapel itself is located on the second floor and has a modest wood venire. There were 4 pale faces in the congregation, and none on the stand. Myself, a councilor in the mission presidency, his wife, and a BYU nurse here doing an internship. The meeting was nice, but not as memorable as the previous week. Rob might be interested to know that yes they had a Kawai piano, but it was an electronic and doubled as the organ as well.

Well, I don't have the cord to my camera on me right now so I can't post any pictures. But I will get around to it. Here is at least one more from Jamestown that I didn't put on before

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