#15 Hitting the Buttons (By Grandpa)

Dear Grandchildren,

For me, an apartment's appeal lies in its stairway. If I have to climb the stairway, the apartment totally loses its appeal. If I don't have to climb, the apartment receives much, much more love from me. In fact, the love is in negative territory for apartments with a lot of steps. For the past 37 years I have told anyone who would listen that our young family suffered much in Egypt because we lived on the top floor of an apartment house and walked up 85 steps. Every time. The number of steps never changed no matter how many times I counted them. I have now met the match.

Grandma and I went off to zone conference a few days ago and went to one of the SV's apartments for dinner the first evening. We wended our way through the city streets, much as one would experience in Egypt, and then came to the apartment building. The Sister was guiding us because her husband had suffered an accident earlier in the day and was resting. She pulled out her key, let us through the street door, and then stepped in front of us to lead us up the stairs to their apartment. Up we went. My legs began saying, " O No you don't." My will had to say, "O yes you do." It was that kind of an ascent. But I had no idea where we were going. Or how far.

We passed the doors of other people living in the building on the first floor up from the street. Then the doors on the next floor. Then the doors on the third floor. (I think you see where I am going with this.) Out of an old habit, I began to count the steps as soon as we began to climb. When we finally hit the top step I said under my breath, "Eighty-six." 86! These guys had been living in that apartment for fourteen months, going out every day perhaps multiple times, and climbing those eighty-six steps each time they returned home. I mean, that's serious torture. Or something. That sort of daily experience makes them heroes in my mind.

And so it goes in that city. One of the SV couples lives in an apartment with more than thirty steps to climb to reach the front door. Another lives in an apartment with only ten steps on the outside, but a bunch inside the place. To go to the interior office or the bedroom requires climbing sixteen steps. Man. Those guys are really tough. Or I am a major wimp. I don't even know how many steps are in our staircase. I haven't climbed it. Yet. I just step inside the lift and hit the button for the fourth floor and enjoy the ride, whether my hands are empty or carrying a bunch of groceries. My appreciation for our four-person lift just grew and grew the past few days. Someday I'll give it a big hug. But not today. I'll wait a while to see if it keeps working.

For people in our situation, the MTC is the vehicle to see that we get a debit card that allows us to make certain payments while serving. Somehow we missed ours. Either we weren't paying attention or the offer did not come to us. We left and arrived without the precious card. On Thursday evening, it finally came into our hands. It had been promised weeks ago, but was finally delivered rather than being sent to our address via some courier service. We were excited. So that evening we tried several ATMs to get some needed money. Nothing worked. We tried three ATMs and were told on the screens that we needed to contact our bank. O brother.

The pin number is tied to cards that we received when we went the first day to the MTC. We were told that the cards would allow us to open electronic gates and to eat lunches (for which we paid at the end of our training). But because I had no idea that that number was important in some other setting, I dumped mine. By very good fortune, Grandma kept hers. Her card was the key to our pin number. She later read in the materials that came with the card that we had to activate it. That's why our attempts had failed. So she activated it the next day. Then the moment arrived. We stepped up to an ATM, inserted the card, punched in the needed information, and ... were denied again. Fortunately, our president had not gone to bed. (Don't ask how I knew that.) I called his cell phone and explained our dilemma. He made two phone calls that evening. One of the people called me on my cell phone and, while I waited for another person to dig into our card's troubles, he explained how these things sometimes go off the reservation. He invited me to call him anytime I have a problem. Then his colleague came on the line and said that our card had been refreshed by the bank. Ahhh. Sweeeet. Naturally, at 10:30 p.m. we went immediately and tried the card. It worked. Sweeeet again! Now if it will work tomorrow ....

I love you and pray for each of you.

Grandpa Brown