Dear Family,
This email might jump around a bit, I have a lot of things moving through my head and I don't know how well it will fall out haha.
First thing first. Missions are super cool. It is a time where people find out who they truly are. It is also a time that people try out new things. New hairdos, new cloths, new confidence. So, back story, once upon a time, two sister missionaries told me that they read on my blog that I had waxed. Well, I was thoroughly confused as I think I would remember such a traumatic experience. I looked everywhere to see if I could figure out what they were talking about. After a lot of searching, I finally got that they were just kidding "forehead slap." Well, now they don't have to be. Yup, waxing hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts like you were forcefully removing each hair from each follicle in a forceful manner. Yup...waxing hurts :)
Although it sounds like there are a few things that the house needs, it is good to hear that things are moving forward. I got my flight plan today, and you should have too. I fly into SLC at 355 from Paris. Time is moving by so quickly.
Wait! Who is Dad working for now? You never told me that he left Thyssen!
And finally, I was reflecting back to the beginning of my mission in Timisoara with Elder Harrison. I was thinking about the goals that I had for my entire mission, some of the things that we had been working on and the progress that I have made throughout my mission. I thought about some of the things that I wish I had done better at, things I can still accomplish (and will accomplish) and things that have pasted. But one of the most powerful things I can remember is from my first transfer here in Romania. I was thinking about block knocking. Now, some of you may think you know what "block knocking" is, but you are probably wrong. We don't walk house to house and knock a city block. Oh no, we go into a giant communistic cement building. One where the walls are thin enough to hear through. We go door to door, trying to share our light with others. At this specific time, the part that I want to share, we were in a very poor block. One where there were only extremely small rooms. Think about your bedroom. Most of your bedrooms are bigger than their entire apartment. We knocked on the door of M and I (I am pretty sure that those were their names). "I" opened the door and asked what we wanted. When we told her our purpose, she politely told us that they had no money to pay for electricity, but if we wanted to come in for a bit, we could. We walked in to find a dark room, kitchen in one corner, bed in the other. Next to the bed was a crib with a 3 month old baby. The room was slightly cold which was pretty impressive seeing as how it was in the negatives outside and blocks are not known for their insulation. I's husband came in and we gave them a short lesson. I don't remember what we said, or what they said in return, but I do remember what followed. M offered us an apple each. Although I didn't much understand Romanian at the time, I understood two upraised apples. How could I, a young man from America, consider taking an apple from this couple. I pretended to not understand, and as I did so, I thought back to all the comforts of my home in the US. I thought about Mom and her cooking. Dad and the home for which he provided. I thought back to all the food that we had back in our own apartment, and I just couldn't take the apple. I politely refused the apple, but Romanian's will not let you leave unless they give you something, anything to eat. After another refusal, Elder Harrison turned to me and said "Take the apple." I knew it was all they had to eat. I knew what a huge gift it was. I was humbled to the core (no pun intended). As we left the house, I placed the apple in my bag. We had just started a fast, but I knew the first thing I would eat when I ended it. The next evening, as I sat at FHE, I opened my bag. Ending the fast with a prayer, I pleaded with my Father to bless the family that had given me that apple. Tears fell down my face as I took my first bite, and I knew that God was aware of their lives. He knew them, much better than I knew them, and had sent us there to plant a seed. I never saw the fruit of that seed. I don't know if I will ever know in this life if they become converts, but I am so grateful for the lesson that I learned. We are truly a blessed people. I feel ashamed, sometimes, when I think of all the amenities and blessings that we have of which we never acknowledge. Find something this week that you are grateful for and tell your Father why you are so grateful for it.
Much love,
Elder Ormsby
