Dear Grandchildren,
In our services yesterday, our numbers jumped to eight. Imagine. A 267% increase from last week’s three attenders. What unit wouldn’t want that kind of spike? One of the persons who came is a forty-four year old woman from Mongolia who has been in the country for the last eight years. She joined in 1988 and could remember singing "I Am a Child of God" when we sang it together today. The YVs in Istanbul thought they had a live contact in her. But she turns out to be a member. When she came to pursue a masters and doctors degrees, she said, she could not find the Church. So she attended a different faith on and off for a year, then switched. Finally, she found us online. She speaks Mongolian and Turkish and understands Russian. We think that she will be a wonderful addition to our numbers.
A fellow brought his two children this morning. The children made Grandma think of her own grandchildren and she became a bit emotional. They are twelve and ten and both speak four languages (Russian, Azerbaijani, Ukrainian, and Turkish). When we blessed the sacrament, the dad knew exactly what to do. He couldn’t find the prayer on the water in Russian, so Grandma found it in Turkish and he was fine.
As you might guess, our service was mostly in English and Turkish. Fortunately, one of the young women in attendance is a church member who is fluent in both Turkish and English. I had called her yesterday to ask her to interpret if needed. Her younger sister is the investigator who is very warm about joining and attended last week.
Actually, we met the two sisters last Wednesday afternoon. They came by the Metro from their uncle’s apartment, where they have been staying, and then walked almost a mile to us in the afternoon heat. We treated them to dinner at a seaside restaurant after our meeting. They had expressed a desire to another SV to learn more about forgiveness and repentance. So we talked, but mostly about forgiveness. I taught them that there are two principles. First, heaven where God lives is a holy place. Second, we as humans are unholy and can do only a limited amount to change that condition. Therefore, we need someone who can create a bridge between us and God. That bridge builder is Jesus whose suffering for our sins and whose resurrection offered forgiveness for sins and overcame death so that we can go back to God.
Before we came here, one of our neighbors—Jeneal Petersen—rang our doorbell twice and forced me out of my stupor or whatever I was in at the moment. She had in hand the name of a woman currently living in Turkey who had lived in Jeneal’s home while she attended school. Jeneal has a hard time getting around these days, so her big effort was not lost on me. The second time she came to the door, she left a couple of papers with information about this woman. I brought them in my carry-on bag and, for a week, had been pushing them from one side of the living room table to the other, promising myself each time I touched the papers that I would call the woman. She teaches at a university somewhat near Istanbul and is nowhere near us. So I saw no urgent reason to call her. But Friday I finally picked up the two papers, found the woman’s mobile phone number, and called. After she said hello, I wasn’t sure a couple of times that she was still with me. When we met later, she said that she thought my call was a joke and wondered whether to hang up. After she connected me in her head to Jeneal, she became very friendly and said that she was in town. That was a happy surprise. In Jeneal’s papers, there was something about an uncle living here. The woman gave me her email address and I said that I would write her. I did so immediately. She also said that she would try to meet us that afternoon. In an email reply, she suggested a café and a time where we might meet. It was not far from our apartment. So out we went into the afternoon sun and found her and her uncle sitting at an outside table (in the shade, of course). I knew the inside of the restaurant was cool but they seemed content to sit outside. So we sat outside. In the heat. And made friends with her and her uncle. She wanted to know as much as possible about Jeneal and her health and so on. As it turned out, she was in town only until the next day when a relative was being married. After that, she was headed for the south coast for a vacation with her mother before returning to work. So we caught her in the one window that came open. Serendipity? Maybe.
We have spent virtually every evening eating in a restaurant. We have learned that some restaurants are good and some not so good. One evening we went across the bay on a ferry for dinner at a place we found a couple of days earlier when we went exploring. That evening we walked all along the city’s main drag only to learn that most of the establishments were pubs and bars. No food places. So we retreated to this little café. We were watching our time because a person can get on a ferry or Metro within 90 minutes of the beginning of the first ride and not have to pay extra for the second ride. We arrived back at the ferry terminal on time, but the next ferry to our part of town was leaving an hour later. So we did what any reasonable people would do. We boarded an earlier ferry and took our chances with a much greater distance to go after landing. After landing (we knew where we were and how far we had to go to return to the apartment), there was a lot of talk between Grandma and me about how to get home at 9:45 at night. I didn’t want to walk. So the key was to find a taxi. We found one after walking about a quarter mile. I had memorized the number of our street in Turkish and repeated it to the cabbie. He seemed to understand. You don’t know how good it felt to sit in a car seat, moving effortlessly a couple of feet above the ground, and not have to walk all that way. The fare was less than three dollars. Happiness.
I love you and pray for each of you.
Grandpa
PS. Every morning I arise about six and open the windows in our apartment. The inside is still usually pretty warm, so a little outside air typically is good for a slight cool down. Almost never does a breeze blow. The slightly cooler air just seeps slowly into the apartment. Three days ago, a rather stiff breeze was blowing. So I was happy for the movement of the air throughout the apartment. I don't know whether we were cooler, but the moving air made the place more pleasant. Until. Until a gust caught a copy of a painting that was leaning against the wall and sent it crashing to the floor. The painting was not hurt. But on its way to the floor, it caught a vase that was sitting just below it on a small desk and hurled it to the floor. The vase did not survive. The shattered glass seemed to go everywhere. Your mother insisted that I put something on my feet. For the next hour, with your mother's help, I was sweeping and mopping the floor on my hands and knees. Obviously, the whole thing kept me humble. As it should be.
I love you and pray for you.
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