Hello family and friends,
This week was full of exciting
things, just as it always has been here in India. By now I'm sure you all know
that India is filled with billions of people. If you somehow still don't know
that, I'll tell you as an eye-witness. It is filled with billions of people.
Now you know:) This week, and every day I get to experience that while traveling
to our proselyting area. In Mumbai, the traffic is very bad. Small roads, lots of cars, and no rules. You
do the math, and I end up sitting in an auto in the sun for 45 minutes just to
get passed one stop light. Whether it's green, red or yellow, you can't tell
because the lights are burnt out. And if by some chance they are working,
Rajeev is color blind and doesn't care if you are late to an appointment. To
fix this problem, we take the local trains. The advantage here is that they are
always coming and going. They are also really cheap, allowing me and my
companion to go halfway across the city and back for 50 cents. Sounds great,
right? Well, kind of great. Because of these factors, most of the city uses the
local trains. This time, no traffic as with the vehicles, but keep your bag
close and your hand on your wallet, because you are literally walking through a
sea of people. You thought Disneyland at Christmas was bad, try Ghatkopar local
station at 6 p.m. on any given Wednesday. I always had dreams of going to play
college football somewhere, but this is the closest I will ever get to the real
deal. I literally duck my shoulder and storm into these trains as fast as I
can, with everyone around me doing the same thing. There are no lines, or any
other form of civility. We often start jumping (mostly being pushed) on and off
the trains while they are still moving. At times like these, you almost have to
forget the wonderful virtues of patience, humility, and kindness. It truly is
very difficult to "seek after things which are praiseworthy and of good
report", especially when Pradeep puts his elbow in your back and
accidentally spits chewing tobacco on your shirt. After all, the work must go
on, and it 's the only way to get to our area. One might say, wait for the next
train. You do that, you wait all night. Each train is filled to the max for
hours at a time.
If you are really lucky you get to
hang off from the side of the train out of the doors. It's cooler in the wind
than the hot and sweaty inside, but you do have to dodge the other trains
passing by within feet of you. Inside the train you are face to face, back to
shoulder, leg to knee and mouth to ankle with everyone. This week I was so
smashed into the train that my feet actually came off the ground and I was just
suspended there, being held up and supported by two random old men. I almost
lost my favorite shoes. Nice people they were, invited them to church as my
sweat dripped onto them, and theirs onto me. It's not as bad as it sounds,
we're all brothers aren't we?
Anyways, to finally get to the point
of my letter this week, one day we were traveling on these horrid trains and I
looked down and my name tag was gone. My MTC name tag, the tag I have had since
day one about 23 months back. I hurried and looked towards the ground to see if
I could see the tag among all the feet. My companion and I, with the help of a
few others looked to see if we could find it, but nothing. We finally
approached our stop and I had accepted defeat, there was no possible way of
finding something so small in that train full of people. We got off and went finding
or tracting. As we walked I thought of all the memories of my mission
associated with my tag. From the first day I had it with an orange "dork
dot" on it, to the time it fell off my shirt and down a bunch of stairs
and made so much noise as Elder Basil and I were trying to sneak into a
building to knock doors. I thought of the times I had been scolded for wearing
the Savior's name on my chest, and how proudly I would take that scolding any
day. I had another tag back at the apartment, one I never wear because it's too
white and pretty, I prefer the one that has roughed India from the beginning. I
also have a few of my grandpa's tags, but I didn't want them to see the same
fate.
So as I walked, I was sad. My shirt felt lighter, and it seemed to be a
fore shadow of things to come. I wasn't excited. We continued to walk and
talk to people, my companion having a tag that people could read and me just
pointing to my shirt pocket only to nothing there. We eventually got back on
those trains and made our way back to Ghatkopar later that night. I had almost
come to terms with it being gone. I made fun of many of my friends here on the
mission who lost their first tags, because we all know the second just isn't
the same. I was guessing it was Karma, something people in India believe and
have taught me all too well. But as we got off the train and started walking to
get an auto, my companion Elder Ravi who I have learned to love, yelled,
"Your tag!!" In one motion he jumped down onto the tracks from the
platform without even looking both ways, as a silly American would have done.
The tracks of the trains are almost as nasty as you can imagine. Chewing
tobacco spit, and big ole rats crawling everywhere. There is trash everywhere
and it is smelly, mostly because the ditches between the tracks that are
supposed to be for water drainage, are filled with trash and sewage. And
through all of this my companion runs and jumps over multiple tracks and picks
up a name tag that reads, "Elder Armstrong The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-Day Saints" As he ran back I lifted him up to the platform in
amazement. He handed me my tag and I hugged him laughing as he told me
"Elder, I prayed we would find it."
To anyone who reads this letter, God
is good and he is a God of miracles. Even something so small that is seemingly
unimportant, as a name tag, can be found with Faith in Him and his Son. I had
given up, after all, it's just a name tag, in this giant of a city, but God
knew I valued it, and that made it important to Him. And thanks to a very
faithful companion, who not even until the last second stopped looking, it was
found. I'll never forget my time here in Mumbai, or this wonderful testimony
builder. Miracles are wrought by Faith, and Miracles will never cease, unless
people cease to have Faith.
Thanks for reading my letters, I
hope they help you in any way. Go Jazz. Go Jazz. Go Jazz.
Love Elder Armstrong
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