Dear Robert

I am sitting here at home, alone. I have turned off the lights downstairs, except the small light on the corner table...you know, the one I would leave on for you until you would come home at night, after we had all gone to bed. The blinds are closed and the house is dark and quiet.
I am upstairs here in my room sitting, staring at the computer, wondering what to write, and my mind begins to wander. I think of you. Like I always do.Especially at night. As I get ready to go to bed I think of how in a few short hours your day will begin. You will roll yourself out of bed and fall to your knees to say your morning prayers. I know that I will be mentioned in those prayers. I am so thankful for your words on my behalf to our Father. I know that He hears you, and blesses me. I know that you also pray for your father, and your little brother, who miss you dearly.
I try to imagine what your mornings are like. Shower, breakfast, getting dressed, companion and personal study, then put on your coat, grab you bag, put your tag on, and out the door and off you go, to preach the word of God. To let the world know of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
I remember how it was all those years ago when I too wore that same black tag that bore the name of Jesus Christ. I think back with fond memories. But most of all with a great appreciation for the time that I had in Italy and the people that I was able to teach and bear my testimony to.
There are some who refused the gospel, knowing that it was true, but not having the strength or courage to get baptized. To this day I think often of those people, and my heart aches for them. They knew the truth, they felt the spirit, but couldn't or wouldn't take that first step to be baptized.
You are right. The mission is full of ups and downs. And things never go as we plan or hope, but we keep going forward. Hoping and having faith and relying on our Father in Heaven, that He will guide our steps so that our path may cross with that person who is waiting for us and our message.
And tired....oh yes...I am sure that you are tired. 14 months have passed, and you have been working hard every day. No vacations, spring break, or sick days (so to speak). Rain, snow, heat, whatever the weather may be, you are out there in it proclaiming your message. I too remember going home at lunch time and sleeping for a few minutes, so that I would have the strength for the remainder of the day and all that I needed to do.
And yes, 2 years is a very long time. For a mother too. The first year seemed to just fly by and I knew that you would be home soon...but now as I look at the calendar and continue to mark off the days one by one...slowly, oh so slowly, I realize that 10 more months seem like an eternity.
And today especially as I sit here alone I miss you even more. I would love to hear you laugh. To have you tell me the story of the dog biting you, or the birds pooping you you as you ride your bike...or the day you stepped in the fresh cement in SanRemo, then had to walk all the way home. I would also love to hear you tell of baptizing Matteo in the ocean and how you felt at that very moment. Or the first time you asked someone to be baptized. Most of all I can't wait to hear you speak in Italian.
As I think about that right now I have tears in my eyes. It has been my hope and desire your whole life that one day you would speak the language that you were born to speak. (I hope and pray that one day your brother will have the same chance and possibility). I can't wait to hear you bear your testimony..."Io so che la chiesa e' vera......." and to feel your spirit.
For now....I will look at your pictures, read your letters, and continue to count the days until I can hug you again.
I don't think this in a letter that I will send to you. I will just read it an think and ponder. It makes me homesick for you...and I don't want you to be homesick for us.
We love you Robert..Anziano Bona...
Ti vogliamo tanto bene!!!

tua Madre.....Judi