One night last week, I staggered into the bathroom for my customary nightly visit. My ears were greeted by a tiny sound of running water coming from the tank on the back of the toilet. Actually, I had been hearing a very slight noise for a long while. And I had tested whether water was coming into the toilet bowl. It wasn’t. This time, the noise was a little stronger than what I had been hearing. So I decided it was time for a repair. This past Thursday, I rehearsed in my head what I could say in Turkish to the plumber so that he would understand our need. I called. No answer. I found myself relieved at not having to stumble through my embarrassingly insufficient Turkish. But I had to complete the call. I called a second number on the card that I had received from him on a previous visit. It was not a working number, or so it seemed. A couple of hours later I screwed up my courage again and, after a language rehearsal in my head, I called. The connection was weak and I had a hard time hearing him. But he apparently could hear me. I did my best to tell him that we had a problem with the toilet. We set a time in the afternoon. He showed up a few minutes early. Maybe he needed the business.
After he removed his shoes (everyone here does so when entering an apartment or a home), I led him straight to the bathroom. I leaned toward the toilet tank and held my hand to my ear. He then listened. He evidently agreed with my assessment because he started tearing things apart. After ten minutes, he said something that I didn’t understand. But it became apparent that he needed to get some new parts. He departed, leaving his tool box behind. When he returned, he tore the tank apart, even laying it on the floor as he worked. After he replaced all the parts in the tank, he asked for 200 lira. I happily paid him. But wait. More was coming.
That night I did my usual stagger step into the bathroom and could hear running water. Still. It was less than the previous few nights. But it was audible. My shoulders sank. I wondered how I could possibly explain to the plumber that his repair did not work. But wait. (Again.) The YVs were coming later in the morning for a Turkish lesson. I could enlist one of them to make the call and explain. That is exactly what happened. The plumber came within a half an hour. He fussed and fussed with the newly installed float device for thirty minutes, brushing it, blowing on it, pulling pieces apart, and finally declaring that it was no good. Off he went again, leaving his tool box. (I guess that I could have charged him a storage fee for the tool box, but I don’t know how to say that in Turkish.) He brought a new float in a new box and installed it. Gratefully, it worked. That repair of the original repair cost only 20 lira. I have heard no noises from the toilet for two days. Relief.
During recent days, and with the permission of the MP, I have sent web links to the documentary series "Messiah: Behold the Lamb of God" to our branch members and to members in the other branches in Turkey. I did so in the run up to Easter, inviting people to view episodes 5 and 6 (messiahjesuschrist.org). I also sent an attachment that lists events of the last week of Jesus’ life to help readers recall a little better what was happening to Jesus in Jerusalem during his last week, which equals next week in our Easter calendar.
I taught my first institute class last evening. It was fun to get back into the teaching mode. The number of students was three, all from the same family. I talked about the premortal ministry of Jesus and our own premortal lives. We are distinguished from other Christians by our belief in humans’ preexistence and by the fact that God has created numberless worlds before creating this one. I think that they got the message. Grandma fixed dinner for the two who were in town and came to the apartment. The third joined by Skype. Because of some big exams that these students face next weekend, we won’t meet again for another two or three weeks.
Our number in church services today consisted of seven persons. These seven, including Grandma and me, are the usual people who attend. Those joining by Skype were almost double our number — thirteen. I am continually amazed at the numbers who are joining us from afar and how much the experience means to them. Our talks were all given by sisters in the branch, including Grandma and one of the sisters in Bodrum who spoke to us via her smart phone (we could not see her, but we could all hear her). In my judgment, we were well instructed and edified.
One of the mission presidents whom we met in Antalya a few weeks ago at the MP gathering has asked that I give a fireside to his senior couples in Bulgaria by Skype. I have invited over our YVs for the first part so that nothing goes wrong electronically. I don't want to be smacked by electronic glitches while trying to talk to these wonderful folks. I am to review the last week of Jesus' life. As usual, I have written a couple of dozen terms on a piece of paper that will guide me in what to say. I have to admit that I am looking forward to the experience. I am sure that Grandma will think that she has heard all of this before. (Well, l am reasonably sure that she will think this.) Maybe she will be within hearing distance, maybe not. I hope that my brain and voice are in working mode. These days frame such important events in Jesus' ministry.
I love you and pray for you.
Grandpa Brown
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