Gospel Insights From the Never-Before-Published Farewell Letter of Phebe W. Carter [Woodruff] | Meridian Magazine

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Gospel Insights From the Never-Before-Published Farewell Letter of Phebe W. Carter [Woodruff] | Meridian Magazine

The Machu Picchu Travel Journal of Reid Moon: I Had a Dream That You Would Return

The Machu Picchu Travel Journal of Reid Moon

"I had a dream that you would return"

The following narrative comes from a series of seven emails that I sent to my daughter Natalie ten years ago while she was serving as a missionary in the Washington, DC Mission (Spanish speaking at the Temple’s Visitor Center). I've also included an epilogue--updating the story in October 2014--when Martha, the woman pictured in the photo above, had a dream "that I would return". 

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A several years ago I went on a trip to Peru.  Each year Deseret Book has a promotion for LDS Bookstores in which they can qualify for tickets for a trip somewhere as a reward for selling a lot of books.  In the past, destinations have included: Hawaii, Boston, Orlando, Nauvoo and London--to name a few.  Our store qualified for one trip out of a possible two because of our increased purchases from Deseret Book.  Due to several factors, including the fact that we had an eight month-old baby, and the fact that an extra ticket would cost $2,000, and the option for the trip was a “use it or lose it”, I decided to go by myself. 

I had studied several travel guides before I left.  It had been twenty years since my last trip to South America.  After reading the guides, I pretty much knew where I wanted to go, where I wanted to eat, and which sites would be of most interest.   Thinking back on it, it was a lot of me, me, me.  However, in my daughter Natalie's last e-mail before I left on this trip, she reminded me of what my real priority should be. Here's an excerpt from her e-mail:  

“......Dad! do me a favor.  Do some missionary work on your trip to Peru, OK? Don’t forget to take a Spanish or Quechua copy of the Book of Mormon with you and give it to someone you meet on the plane, or on a bus....Wouldn't that be fun?.....I want to hear all about the conversations you have during your trip.”

Even though I have no trouble talking to people about the Church -- I talk to non-members all of the time in the bookstore, you have to be a little more bold to approach people on a plane, bus or taxi.  Throughout my trip, it was as if I could hear Natalie whispering to me, "Dad, do some missionary work, OK?"  

I had a great time in Peru.  I took a lot of pictures, saw some incredible sites, however, what I will most remember are the people that I met and the conversations that we had.

  

Below is my journal entry for Wednesday, October 13th:

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Urubamba, Peru   6:45 am

I feel great this morning.  Yesterday was very exhausting.  After an evening flight from Atlanta to Lima, Peru with a group of other bookstore owners, we only got three hours of sleep at our hotel in Lima. We had to catch a 5:30 am bus to the airport in order to catch our flight to Cuzco.  It probably would have been easier to just stay at the airport.  (Our flight from Atlanta didn't arrive till 1:00 am the night before).  We arrived at Cuzco around 10:00 am.  We didn't spend anytime in Cuzco, before taking a bus from the airport to the ruins of Sacsayhuaman above ancient Incan capital of Cuzco (at almost 12,000 above sea level).  Our group has about 75 people in it--most of them retirement age.  My roommate, Robert Christensen, is an exception.  He's 23.  He went on a mission to Arequipa, Peru two years ago.  We are two of only three people on this entire tour who speak Spanish.  There's also a young woman who went on a mission to Argentina a couple of years ago.  Quite a few people had trouble trudging up and down the endless number of staircases at the ruins.  It's hard enough at sea level--much less at over two miles up in the Andes!  I already knew what was coming--having gone to Potosi on my mission which was at 14,500 ft.  I took it slow and drunk plenty of mate de coca.

I was pleasantly surprised by the water pressure this morning--it can be very erratic here in South America--even in the big cities.  We're in the town of Urubamba (in the Sacred Valley) only a few thousand people live here.  After a nice, long hot shower, I went to breakfast.  Robert is still sleeping.  Breakfast was pretty good:  fresh squeezed orange juice, papaya juice, and pineapple juice with an assortment of scrambled eggs, potatoes and breads.  They definitely cater to the American tourists here at the Inca-land Hotel.  I was more impressed with last night's dinner of Nouveau Andina cuisine:  Roasted alpaca with a sweet demi-glaze sauce, Ceviche made from trout from the Sacred River, assorted vegetables, rice and a few nice desserts: flan, coconut cake, and mazamorra.

7:55 am  Courtyard of the Inca-land Hotel

We have a little over an hour before we have to leave for the Ruins in Ollantaytambo.  This morning I visited with a couple of Quechua Indian women.  They have an open-air display of their hand-woven and knitted items on display in the courtyard of the Inca land.  Hilda and Marlene are part of a six-woman co-op.  They take turns tending their little stand, while the other women in their co-op take care of their kids.  Van Evans, our tour guide, has met the women in this co-op before.  He is very impressed with their work.  I practiced speaking some Quechua with the women.  I will definitely buy some of these items.  Several people from our group stopped by.  At one point there were about 30 from our group surrounding the stand.  I started selling the bags, table-runners, ponchos, hats and dolls.  I told everyone that they wouldn't see any better items in any of the other markets.  I was translating for Marlene and Hilda.  In that one hour we sold about $1,000 worth of items--more than they had ever sold before.  A $1,000 is a normal month for them.  They were very appreciative.

9:15 am   Parking lot of the Inca land

We boarded our three buses and departed for the fortress of Ollantaytambo.   I sat next to Bishop Elias from Cuzco.  He's a young man of maybe 27-28 years old.  We got on the subject of attending the temple.  The Lima, Peru temple is a 24-hour bus ride.  Jon and Nancy Spencer from North Carolina sat in front of us.  I translated as the four of us talked.  Jon asked how many people in his ward want to go to the temple but can't afford to.  Bishop Elias said he has 63 people in his ward with temple recommends that can't afford to go.  He says it costs about US$75 for the bus fare.  That's about the average monthly salary for a person in Peru.  By the time we arrived at Ollantaytambo, Jon and I decided we would talk to some of the other bookstores and see about helping sponsor a trip-by sending an entire bus load of saints to the temple.  Bishop Elias said, that just this summer, two elderly widows were able to go to the temple for the first time--after being members for over 20 years.  If we rent an entire bus, the cost goes down to about $50 a person.  The area presidency wants the members to sacrifice and help pay at least one-half of the cost. Another problem is the cost of garments. Bishop Elias said that most members can only afford a maximum of two pair of garments when they go to the temple.  They will use them for years--continually mending them.  I asked Bishop Elias if it was OK for me to leave my garments at the end of the trip.  He said, "yes", and that his wife would wash them and he would get them into the hands of some members who needed them.

10:50 am   Ollantaytambo, Peru

This fortress of Ollantaytambo is quite impressive.  Van gave us the brief history of the area. A long time ago, these people had a visit from a bearded man.  He stayed with them for a while. He healed their sick and performed all kinds of miracles.  When he left, they followed him to the sea.  He walked on the water and disappeared over the horizon.  They had no name for a person who could do this, so they used the only word they had, "Viracocha"--which means "sea foam".   Van then had us look over across the valley at the face of the sheer cliffs going up.  There was an image, maybe 100 feet high of a bearded man--which had been carved by the people who predated the Incas.  This "bearded white god"  said he would one day return.  The way the image was carved also produced special effects with the shadows on the winter and summer solstice. Van was quoting passages from this story out of a book that is printed locally.  He said we could buy the book in the marketplace. 

There were two ways to climb up to the top.  Robert and I took straight-on approach.  The climb was roughly equivalent to going up the stairs of two football stadiums stacked on top of each other.  Only two Incan fortresses were not conquered by the Spaniards--Machu Picchu, because they never found it, and this fortress of Ollantaytambo. 

We took some several pictures on the way up.  It took a while.  All paths were marked by blue arrows.  We were planning on going around and down the far side (the way half our group climbed up).  I decided I wanted to go check out the marketplace.  As we were going to go down, there was one blue arrow pointing to the path that went straight down and another that went to the left and over, around and down.  I started down one path and Robert down the one to the left.  He said, "Let's go this way".  I turned back and followed him a few steps then turned right back around and said, "I'll see you at the bottom.  I'm going this way".  I remember thinking.  "This is how life is. You come to a crossroads and you need to make a choice".  I really had no desire to see the other side of the ruins.  That was the original plan, however, I just wanted to go to the main plaza where the marketplace was.  I carefully ran down the mountain, taking care not to trip or fall. 

12:05 pm Marketplace in Ollantaytambo, Peru

As I left the arched stone gate of the ruins, I was met by a group of men and women selling an assortment of goods.  I waded through the crowd with several, "no gracias, no gracias".  I went to the first stand and there was a young man sitting there.  I saw the book that Van had recommended.  I asked him how much it was and he said, "Fifty soles", or about $12.  When I gave him a quizzical look he said, " I have to pay 45 soles.  I only make 5 soles for each book" (about $1.25).  I told him, "gracias" and turned around to leave.  He said, "You're not going to buy one from me are you?".  I said, "If I don't, I'll send someone over to buy a book from you".  As I walked away, I saw him tuck the book under a deformed and shortened arm--only reaching to where his elbow would have been.  I didn't notice his arm when we were talking. 

I walked around for a few minutes and then I noticed several people from the stalls running toward the arched stone gate.  A group of tourists were coming down from the ruins.  I saw an Indian woman there at the gate ready to meet the tourists.  She had a baby strapped on her back and a basket of goods to sell.  As the other men and women ran from the marketplace to the gate, one by one they nudged this woman out of the way.  Within a few moments she was at the back of the group.  She tried to make her way back to the front, but to no avail.  She couldn't squeeze through with her bulky load.  Her baby was now crying.  She gave up, turned and left and went and sat down on a curb.  She took her baby out and began to feed him.  I could tell the woman was crying, because she kept wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.   I felt badly for her.  I watched the spectacle of vendors over at the gate frantically trying to sell their wares to a handful of tourists.  I looked back over at the mother with her baby.   I decided to go talk to her.   I went and sat down beside her.  She didn't seem to mind or maybe she didn't notice.  In Spanish I said," Is it like this always?"  She responded, "Todos los dias", or "Every single day"..  They always pushed her aside.  Having the baby on her back made her less mobile and easier for the others to get around here.  None of the other people had babies to carry around.  She had no one to leave her baby with.  She said if her baby started to cry, that she needed to stop and feed him.   

I saw that she had the book in her basket that I was looking for.  I said, " I've been looking for a copy of that book".  Her face lit up, "Really?"  I said, "Yes. In fact, I probably have a few of my friends that might want this book too".  I asked her how many books she normally sold in a day.  She said that she averages about one book a day.  The most she ever sold, was two.  And that was when she would stay extra long hours after the others had left--in hopes of getting any late visitors to the ruins.  In 8-10 hours she would make about $3, if all went well--or about $100 a month.  I looked over at the gate and noticed  some people from our group.  I told her to follow me.  I went up to someone I recognized from our group and whispered in English, "Are you going to buy one of those books"  When they told me they were, I told them that I had someone that I wanted them to buy it from. I told them to say, "No gracias" to the vendors and follow me.   They did and followed me over to the woman.  As the other vendors saw this, they all converged around us and again, butted the woman with the baby out of the way with cries in broken English, "We first.You buy us.You buy us. We first".  I really startled the entire group when I said in Spanish, in a very firm tone.  "If all of you don't turn around and leave right now, I will tell the 75 people in my group how rude you have been to this woman by knocking her out of the way.  !Que verguenza! You should be embarrassed!"  Not a one of them said anything, nor would look me in the eye as they turned around and left.  She said, "gracias" and had now equaled her best sale's day.  A couple minutes later, we made another sale.  That makes three.  That's more than she has ever sold in a day. 

While we were waiting for some more people to come down of the mountain, I asked her, "What is your name?"  She responded , "Marta".  "And what's your baby's name?  "Freddy"  I said, "Freddy?"  "Si, Freddy Choque Haunca".   "How old is he?"  "Six months"  Normally I wouldn't ask someone that I just met her age, but I asked Marta,  "How old are you?"  She said, "I'm twenty-three".  (She looked older, she's had obviously led a rough life-- mostly outdoors in the a very harsh Andean sun).  We sat there waiting for some more people.  She was quiet for a minute then she looked up at me and said, "Will you be Freddy's padrino?"  I said, "Padrino?"  "You want me to be Freddy's godfather?"  She said, "si".  I didn't answer her.  I changed the subject and said, "Let's go sell some more books.  We sold four, then five and  then six. Then she asked me again, "Will you be Freddy's padrino?"   A godfather is a mentor, a role-model, someone special, a close friend of the family.  I had only known Marta a few minutes ago!  I told her that I barely knew her.  I asked her why she wanted wanted me to be Freddy's godfather.  She said, "In my life, no one has ever been this nice to me". 

Robert came over and I introduced him to Marta.  I filled him in on the "game plan" to help Marta sell books.  As we were talking, some of the women who had been so rude to Marta, came over.  They then asked me, "Senor, why are you being so nice to Marta?   I said, "I saw the way you treated her"  In unison they all said, "But Marta's our friend too.  We have to sell things to make a living too.  We have families.  Won't you help us?"  They then asked, "What is your name, Senor?"  I answered, "Hermano Quilla"  I then followed that by "Hermano Luna".  They said, "Quilla?"  I said, "Yes, Moon".  "Are you a brother?"  I said, "Si, de la iglesia mormona".  There were nods of approval.  I asked, "How do you say 'brother' in Quechua?" (They were all Quechua women).  One of the women responded with "wayqi, Wyqi Quilla".  She was immediately scolded by an older woman who said, "You can't call him 'wayqi' !"  She then pointed to Robert and said, "He can call him Wayqi Quilla, but we need to call him 'Turai Quilla' "  (a form of "brother" showing greater respect). 

The remainder of our group was now arriving.  Our bus is supposed to leave in a few minutes.  I asked Robert to hurry and help me sell some more books for Marta and her three friends.  As we were doing so, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the young man that I talked to originally, the one with the withered arm.  I took one of the people from our group over to his stand and they bought a book from him.  I asked the young man, "Are we good?"  He smiled, and said, "Si".

Each one of Marta's friends also had a book bought from them--along with a few dolls.  They were all very happy.  The men usually dominate the selling. Our buses arrived and everyone started boarding.  We quickly made sales number seven, eight and nine for Marta.  I took a picture of Marta and Freddy.  She asked to have a picture of the three of us.  I had Robert take our picture.  She asked for my address.  I told her I had a business card in the bus.  She reached in her basket and handed me a doll that she had made.  "I want to give this to you for your kindness".  I knew that the doll sold for 15 soles and that it would be rude not to take it.  I said, "Marta, I know the customs here and I will gladly accept this doll.  However, I will pay you for the doll.  God has blessed me, besides, we worked very hard to sell those nine dolls.  It would be like we only sold six if you gave me this doll.  She nodded in agreement.  She then said, "I want to give you something"  I said, "Here is what you can do for me.  Next time you see the Mormon missionaries will you talk to them?"  She said, "yes" and handed me a little pin that she made.  We said our "goodbyes" and I gave her an "abrazo"  a hug.  As I was about to leave, she said, " I need to know whether I can tell Freddy that you will be his padrino".  I smiled and said, "si". I got on the bus and then quickly remembered that Marta wanted my card.  I ran to the back of the bus as it was pulling away.  I opened the window and was looking for Marta.  One of her friends was right below my window.  She said, "Are you looking for Marta?"  I said, "Yes, I have a card for her".  She said, "I'll give it to her!"  I handed the card to her as she was running alongside the bus.  I looked back to see if I could see Marta, but I couldn't.  The dust being kicked up from the rear of the bus quickly obscured any view so I took my seat on the back row of the bus. 

I thought back to the decision I made to come down early off of the mountain.  How I had turned around and taken a few steps to go with Robert, then immediately turned back around to go down the mountain.  I wouldn't have seen the rude treatment of Marta.  Which prompted me to go talk to her.  We only spent about a half an hour together.  But I feel I know her so much better.   I wasn't planning on talking to anyone in the marketplace.  I just knew that I just really wanted to go to the marketplace.

I sat pondering the events from this morning as we drove towards our next destination of Pisaq.

12:45 pm   On the road in the Sacred Valley

PART 2

12:45 pm   On the road in the Sacred Valley

I pulled out my little pocket Quechua Dictionary.  Since I carried it with me everywhere. I found it handy to write down new words, notes and addresses.  I wrote down Marta's address inside the back cover.  I could have easily remembered her address,  but I wrote it down anyway.   Marta Choque Huanca, Ollantaytambo, Peru.  That's it. No street, no P.O. Box.   She actually lives in a small village over the mountains from Ollantaytambo, but there's no post office there.  Letters that arrive at the post office in Ollantaytambo are held till a person comes and asks for them.  Marta would like a copy of the picture we took.  I told her I would send her one soon.  I told her not to expect a letter for at least a month.  

I looked out the bus window.  I wasn't really looking at anything.  I was thinking about Marta and Freddy.  "How many times have I not been in tune with the Spirit and missed opportunities like this?"  When I came down off the mountain, I didn't know I was going help Marta.  I just wanted to go see what was in the marketplace.  I guess the Spirit knew that.  Step by step.  Once I was in the marketplace and saw what was happening with Marta. I knew I couldn't walk away.  Somebody asked me a question and it was like waking up from a dream.  I ask them to repeat their question.  "Are you going to the ruins?"

According to our itinerary, we were scheduled to spend the afternoon at some ruins near the town of Pisaq.  We would have the evening free.  We would pass through Urubamba on our way.  A couple of people in our group were already exhausted from the climb this morning and asked if they could be dropped off at our hotel. The more I thought about it, the less excited I was about visiting the ruins in Pisaq.  I preferred to go to Cuzco instead.  After an hour of  winding our way through the Sacred Valley, our bus pulled up to our hotel (The Incaland) in Urubamba.  I could see a few people getting off the other buses. This was only supposed to be a two-minute stop.

I thought some more about going to Cuzco.  Since we're on our own tonight, I thought I would go have a nice dinner in Cuzco.  There were a lot of very nice restaurants there.  I just didn't know how far Cuzco was from Pisaq.  I decided to get off the bus and ask Van.  He told me that I could get from Pisaq to Cuzco in less than an hour by taxi.  The cost was only about diez soles  ($3.00).  It was now 2:30 pm.  I could be in Cuzco before 5:00 pm and spend the evening seeing the sights and having a nice dinner. 

As I was thinking about what type of dinner I wanted to have, I thought of some of the really nice meals I had eaten in Bolivia.  My thoughts drifted back to my mission.  That phrase, "Having a nice dinner" reminded me of Grandma Nelson.   When I was on my mission in Bolivia, she would sometimes enclose a check with her letters and say, "Reid, I want you to take this money and 'have a nice dinner'.  I'm sending you enough money so that you can buy your companion dinner too."  She would send me $50--knowing that It only cost me $5 to buy the biggest steak in Bolivia.  "Reid, this is our secret.  You don't have to tell anybody that I'm sending you this money.  I just want you to eat well.  I don't want you to get sick."   I thought, "That's what I want to do tonight, 'have a nice dinner' -- like the one's I used to have in Bolivia", however, this time I would give Cuzco a try. 

I told Van that I was going to Cuzco--and that I would just meet everyone back here at the hotel later tonight.  He said, "Fine, you know your way around".  I turned to get back on the bus.  As I grabbed the rail to climb up the stairs of the bus, the thought came to me, "You're not going to Cuzco tonight".  I stopped on the stairs and thought, "Why not?  I want to go to Cuzco.  I really want to have a nice dinner.  I don't want to go to Pisaq. And I don't want to stay here in Urubamba either!"  I dismissed the thought and took my seat on the back row of the bus. 

2:45 pm  On the road to Pisaq 

As we pulled away I began talking  to Jon and Nancy Spencer. They have an LDS Bookstore in North Carolina. Their sixteen-year old son Michael is here too. He was already sleeping with his head pressed up against the window.   I told them that I wasn't going to visit the ruins in Pisaq--that I was going catch a taxi to Cuzco.  As I said this, the thought came back to me, "You're not going to Cuzco".  I then asked myself, "If I'm not going to Cuzco, then what am I going to do?"  I looked out the bus window.  We were just leaving the town of Urubamba.  I sat there going over my options.  The longer we drove the more apprehensive I got.   Finally, I told the Spencer's that I was just going to get off the bus now. "Why?", they asked.   "I don't know.  I just want to get off."   I abruptly stood up and made my way to the front of the bus. Van was on the other bus, so I told the tour guide who was on our bus that I wanted to get off.  He looked surprised and asked, "Por que? Senor, why do you want to get off here?  There's nothing to do here.  We're out in the middle of nowhere.  It's too far to walk back."  He was about to say something else, then must have realized that I wasn't kidding. He turned and looked at the bus driver and motioned for him to pull over. 

I went to the back of the bus and grabbed my bag.  By this time there was a lot of commotion on the bus.  Everyone wanted to know why the bus had stopped.  Everyone was asking me questions: "What are you going to do?  Where are you going?  Why aren't you going with us?  You're going to get lost!  You're crazy!  You don't even know where we are.  Aren't you afraid?"   As I made my way to the front of the bus, I thought about that last question, "Aren't you afraid?"  “No”, I thought. Compared to my mission, this was actually quite easy.   I remembered being shot at and chased by soldiers in Bolivia during a military takeover. I was afraid then, but only for a moment-- until I remembered a promise from my Heavenly Father (in my patriarchal blessing) that I would be protected--if I kept the mission rules-- I felt like a modern-day Samuel the Lamanite.

As I stepped off the bus I did remember of a couple of times that I actually did get scared on my mission.  One was on the overnight bus ride from La Paz to Potosi.   It was only my second day in Bolivia.  They put me on a bus by myself.  It was a ten-hour bus ride.  By now, it was early in the morning.  We were on the last leg of the trip.  The bus was winding its way through the Andes Mountains.  We were probably about only about an hour or two away from Potosi.  We were on a single lane dirt road.  The bus hugged the side of the mountain. There was not a foot to spare on either side.   It was raining.  Up ahead I could see a stream, actually more like a small river,  of water running down the side of the mountain and across the road.  The water had eroded away part of the road.  There was a  "V", about two or three feet deep, cut into the road.  The bus stopped momentarily while the driver debated whether or not he could make it through.  Without much hesitation, the driver gunned the engine.  The front of the bus made it through.  However, I  was sitting over the back wheel well of the bus with its two double tires. I had the window seat.  The next thing I knew,  my face was thrown up against the window.  The person next to me came crashing onto me.  He was crushing me!  My breath was fogging up the window.  I could make out a river -- maybe 700-800 feet below.  The back tires were spinning.  They were lodged in the "V".  The bus was now tilted at a forty-five degree angle.   Just as I'm contemplating my impending doom, the bus jolted back up and out of the ditch.  I quickly looked around to see what everyone else's reaction was. Nothing, absolutely nothing!  Half the people were still sleeping.  The rest just sat there as if this were a common occurrence! 

The only other time that I got somewhat scared was a week later in Potosi. It was at night.  Elder Dixon was knocking loudly on a corrugated aluminum door with a quarter or peso.  Whatever it was, it made a lot of noise. No one was answering, so he kept knocking.  The knocking must have woken up every stray dog within a mile.   They started barking and howling.  I could hear them but I couldn't see them.  Elder Dixon could see that I was getting a little anxious.  He said, "Don't worry.  The dogs won't bother us".  I remembered President Hill telling us in our orientation a week earlier, "If you get bit by a dog in Bolivia, you will have to take a series of rabies shots".  I wasn't taking any chances!  I reached in my pocket and pulled out a rock, the size of a tennis ball.  I could finally see the pack of dogs.  They were running towards us.  They were getting closer--about 75 feet away.   I dropped my backpack.  Mimicking my best days as a pitcher in Little League, and hurled that rock as hard as I could toward the pack of dogs.  I couldn't see the rock after it left my hand.  A second later, there was a loud simultaneous "thud, crack, yelp!".  The lead dog did several head-long tumbles before coming to rest a few feet from us.  The other dogs yelped and took off in all directions. Just then our investigator opened the door. We quickly entered the house as I looked back over my shoulder.  

3:05 pm  In a small town east of Urubamba

Well here I was.  I didn't know where so I looked around to get my bearings.   The bus waited and gave me a few seconds to see if I would change my mind.  I waved them on.  The bus took off and left me in a cloud of diesel fumes and dust.  I decided that I would walk back towards Urubamba.  I looked around and could see that I was in a small town.  It wasn't very big.  From  where I stood I could see both ends of town.  I remember thinking, "What am I going to do here?"  I just decided to start walking.  I would greet everyone I saw. I would just "play things by ear". 

 A couple of boys rode by on bicycles.  They didn't look at me.  As they rode by, I said, "buenas tardes".  I turned to watch them go by. One of the boys looked back and said, "hola".  The other boy didn't say anything.   I was walking on the shaded side of the street.  I could see a park on the other side up a little ways, so I crossed over the road.   The sun was very bright on this side.    I passed a very old and weathered man.  I said, "buenas tardes".  He quickly looked up and said, "Oh, buenas tardes!".  I continued walking.  Up ahead I could see a woman standing in front of her little store.  In Peru, it's common to see these little stores.  People turn their living rooms into small convenience stores.  The woman saw me walking toward her.  She looked away and back down at her feet.  As I walked by, I said, "buenas tardes".  She looked up and said, "buenas tardes".  I took a few more steps, then she asked, "Don't you want to buy something?"  I turned around and walked back to the door she was standing in front of.  She said, "Come in".  And I did.  I asked, "Do you have any Inca Kola?" (Inca Kola is the national soft drink of Peru. It has a bright yellow color. It has an interesting flavor--a kind of "bubble gum" and "cream soda" mix)   The woman looked around and said,  "Unfortunately, no".  I asked if she had a "Sublime"--a Peruvian chocolate bar.  Again, she shook her head "no".  I could tell she was getting worried that she was going to lose a sale.  She then took a bottle of water from a display and asked, "Una botella de agua?"  I thought about it and said, "Sure".  I paid her one sole --or a little more than a quarter.   She thanked me,  "Gracias, Senor".  I said, "De nada".  As I walked out, she followed me. "You are my first customer today". She said as she walked along side me.   "Please come back next time you visit". I said, "Lo hare. Bueno. Mucho gusto".  "Nice to meet you too".  As I walked away,  I thought, "I don't even know what town I'm in".

The bus had dropped me off just a half a block above the park.  I was now standing at the corner of the park.  It was actually quite nice. This park had a nice, grassy "futbol" field.   There was a wrought iron fence going around the park.  The fence was about four feet tall.  The two entrances were on the corners.  I saw three children, two girls and a boy, each about five or six years-old.  They ran across the main road to the park.  They walked over to the iron fence and, one by one, bent down and squeezed through.  I continued walking towards them.  By the time the last little girl was squeezing through the fence, I was standing right beside her.  I didn't say anything.  I was just watching.  She surprised me when she reached down and picked an orange flower and handed it up to me.  I looked at it and said, "gracias".  I was about to ask the little girl her name when she ran off after her friends.  I watched them run over toward a swing set and slide at the far corner of the park.  I put the flower in my little dictionary.  I had my camera with me.  I wanted to take a picture.  Rather than hop the fence and run after the little girl, I thought it would be more prudent to go around to the side of the park and see if I could get close enough to take a picture. 

I walked to the other end of the park along the main road.  I was standing on the curb.  Directly across the street and on the same side as the park,  I saw another little house with a store front.  This store had three handmade dolls displayed.  I turned and walked towards the back of the park.  I noticed there were a few sheep grazing on the grass just outside the park fence.  I noticed one in particular- a little black lamb.  He looked kind of cute so I decided to take his picture--one to show the kids when I got home.  He wasn't too cooperative. He kept turning as I tried to take his picture up close.  Finally I got a picture of him.  I walked over to the fence near the swing set.  I was standing under a tall shade tree.  The little girl was playing with her friends.  I was waiting for her to look in my direction. She never did.  So I took her picture anyway.  She was climbing up the ladder of the slide. Her two friends were sliding down.  That was the last picture on that roll. 

I looked around for a place to change my roll of film.  I noticed a bench in front of the little store that had the three dolls.  The sun was very strong this afternoon.  The bench was in the shade, so I decided to change my film there.  I went over and sat down on the bench.  I took out my water bottle and took a drink.  I put the bottle back in my bag and began changing my film.  As I finished putting in the film, a man walked out the door of the little store.  I thought, "Oh no, I'm going to get yelled at for sitting on his bench."  The man, who looked to be about forty or forty-five years old said, "buenas tardes" and continued walking across the street toward the park.  In a load voice I said, "buenas tardes". He stopped and took a second look at me, then walked over by me. I was still sitting. As he got closer I again said, "buenas tardes". He did the same.   He then asked, "Usted habla castellano?  "Yes, I speak Spanish".  He then asked, "Where did you learn?"  I always look for a way to get the Church in a conversation, so I said, "I learned while I was in Bolivia. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ "la iglesia mormona".  I preached to the people in Bolivia about Jesus Christ.  My name is Hermano Luna"  He responded, "Y yo me llamo Javier.  Javier Puma".  He put up his index finger and said, "Un momento, por favor". 

I waited for him on the bench.  He went inside his house and soon came out with a little boy.  "This is my son", he said.  "His name is Israel".  I said, "Como estas, Israel?"  He responded with a huge grin and said, Bien, senor".  Javier then said, "My son Israel has a gift for you, our visitor".  I looked at Israel and he pulled out a card from behind his back.  It had a picture on it.  It was a scenic picture with the title "Yucay, Peru".  Javier said, "This is a souvenir for you.  So that you can  remember your visit to our town".  I said, "Gracias Israel".  I looked down at the card again and then thought to myself,  "So this is where I am....Yucay, Peru".  Javier excused himself again.  So I decided to talk with Israel.  I asked him how old he was.  "I'm five years old".  "Are you in school yet?"  "Si, en el 'jardin' "  "You're in kindergarten? "Si".  I wanted to remember details from this conversation, so I began writing notes inside the card he gave me.  As we were talking, Javier came out of the house again and said, "Pase, por favor. Adelante".  "Please, come in".  I got up and walked over to the front door with Israel.

I stopped at the front door.  The double doors were open. A curtain was drawn across blocking the view to the rest of the house.  There was a little knee-high table with three dolls on it. The ones I saw earlier from across the street.  I also noticed a couple of cards--similar to the one Israel brought to me.  Javier said, "We move the table at night and this is where my two sons sleep at night".  He then led me around the corner.  I saw a couple of older women sitting on the edge of bed. They both were peeling potatoes. They nodded toward me in recognition of my presence.  There was a large bowl with potatoes and water on the floor. He said, "This is my mother and her friend.... ( I forgot what her friend's name was)". "She lives with us too. They are both widows". I looked to the left of them and there was another bed.  There were two double beds in the room.  They were placed end to end.  I estimated the room to be about twelve feet square. There were no other doors leading to other rooms.  Six people live in this little room. I looked back at the two women.  I could tell that they spoke Quechua, so I said, "Imaynallan kashanki?"  That brought a smile to their faces.  They both responded, "Allinllan kashani".  Then they asked me, in Quechua,  how I was and I told them that I was fine too.  The mother told her son Javier to get me a seat.  He brought over an unusual-looking seat.  It looked like an inverted bongo drum.  The mother shook her head and said, "That seat is no good. You don't want our guest to fall".  She patted the bed next to her and said, "Tome asiento aqui".  I then sat down on the bed next to her.  Javier's older son was sitting at a wooden table.  It appeared as if he were doing some type of school work.  Javier introduced his son and said, "This is my oldest son Jehu (a Spanish form of Jehovah). He was about sixteen or seventeen.  I got up and shook his hand.  I then sat back down on the bed. 

Next to the wooden table was a small propane stove on the floor. It reminded me of one of those Coleman stoves used while camping.  Javier's mother got up.  She went over to the little stove and began preparing a plate of food.  She brought it over to me.  "Here, have something to eat. We just finished eating."  It was a typical Peruvian dish.  A plate of rice, some spicy chicken stew, and some small potatoes covered in a yellow sauce.  Javier picked up two soles off the table. He gave them to Jehu with the instructions to go down the street and buy a soft drink for their guest.  Jehu got up and left.  Javier was still standing.  Javier looked over at mother and the other woman then announced, "This is Hermano Luna.  He has come here to preach to us about Jesus Christ."  I looked at the women sitting next to me.  She said, "Good. Let him eat first. We'll listen to his message when he's done eating."  A minute later, Jehu walked back in with a bottle of orange soda.  As I sat there eating, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "Twenty minutes ago I was sitting in the back of a bus on my way to Pisaq.  Now, I'm sitting here with the Puma family.  They've invited me into their very humble home.  They've given me a plate of food and something to drink.  And now they are waiting for me to teach them about Jesus Christ". 

PART THREE

3:30 pm  In the Puma Family's Home

I thought about Javier's announcement to his family--that "Hermano Moon" was going to talk to them about Jesus Christ.   I took his invitation, which at the time was news to me, in stride.  I wasn't worried at all.  In fact, things couldn't have been going better.  I had only eaten a little of my food before I decided to go ahead and start talking with the Puma family.

With all of us sitting on the edges of the two beds, I wasn't able to see everyone clearly.  It was like looking down a church pew.  I moved over to the bench that Jehu was sitting on.  Now I could look at everyone more easily, except for Jehu.  I seemed to be getting the cold shoulder from him.  He didn't seem that interested in our conversation, but I could tell that at least he was listening.

I started our conversation by asking each person if he, or she, believed in Jesus Christ.  As I looked at each person, each one of them nodded their heads in the affirmative and said, "si".  I then asked, "Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Saviour of the world?  Again, they each said, "si".  "Do you believe that Jesus Christ was inspired when he established his Church here on earth?"  They all said, "si".  "How was the Church organized---who helped him with his ministry?  The mother said, "Los doce apostoles".  "That's right, the Twelve Apostles".  In the New Testament it says that, "...Christ established his Church on the foundation of Apostles and Prophets."  I then asked, "Do you know of anyone that has received permission from Jesus Christ to change the organization of His church?"  They all looked at each other.  I said, "I don't".  I asked the group, "Did you know that the Church of Jesus Christ is here on earth and that there are Twelve Apostles and a prophet here to guide us and direct us?"  They all looked at each other. " This Church is called La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Ultimos Dias.  Some people call it La Iglesia Mormona.  Why?  Because of our belief in the Book of Mormon.  What is the Book of Mormon?  I will tell you.  It is a history of your ancestors.  Those that lived here in the Americas during the time of Christ.  They were the "other sheep" that Christ referred to in John 10:16.

The conversation, with mostly me talking, went on like this for quite a while. I noticed that Javier was sketching most of the time that we talked. He was sketching an Inca man playing a flute.  When I would look at him, he would say, "Please don't let me bother you.  I'm listening, but I also feel inspired to draw. Please, keep talking".  The two older women continued to peel potatoes the whole time.  (They had told me earlier that the hotel, where Javier is a handyman,  had asked them to prepare ten kilos of potatoes for a banquet tonight).

By the time I looked down at my watch, is was already 5:30pm.  The time had flown by.  For the previous two hours I had given them an overview of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith and the First Vision, and quoted numerous scriptures from the Bible.  I felt very good about the way the discussion had gone.  They seemed sincere.

Toward the end of our discussion, Javier's wife came in.  Javier introduced his wife, "This is my wife, Doris".  I shook her hand.  I noticed that she had a satchel.   She saw my inquisitive look and informed me that,  "There are paintings and drawings inside.  Ones that were sketched by my husband, Javier. I go to the hotels and bus stops and try to sell them to the tourists".  I asked, "Did you sell anything?"  "No. I don't sell very many, maybe one or two a month". I asked how much each one sold for.  She said, "Cincuenta soles", (about $12).  "Each one takes Javier several hours, if not days,  to complete".  (Each picture measured about 11"X14") 

I did a brief overview of the Book of Mormon for Doris.   She seemed somewhat interested.  I could see that the family still had many things to do--and that is was time to wrap up.  I said, "I have a copy of El Libro de Mormon back at my hotel room. Our train leaves at 5:30 am tomorrow morning.  Would it be possible for me to bring it to you later tonight?   In unison, they all responded, "Claro que si!". I asked them what time would be good.  "A las ocho". I then asked "Is it OK if I bring someone else with me?"  Javier said, "Of course". I told them I would see them at eight. 

As I was getting my bag ready, I heard the mother ask her son Javier for un sol (about a quarter) for a taxi.  She needed to take the 10 kilos of peeled potatoes to a nearby hotel--the one where Javier works. Javier whispered back, "No lo tengo. We used our last two soles to by a drink for our guest".  Of course, I felt badly.  However, I was not totally surprised by their generosity.  As badly as I felt, I also knew that it would be an insult for me to offer to pay for the drink, so I didn't.  Javier told the mother to take a taxi to and from the hotel.  When she returned he said that he would have the money for the taxi.  As I was listening, my thoughts went back to a similar experience that I had in Bolivia. 

Elder Brown and I met a man one day while tracting.  We saw him working in a vacant field. We hadn't seen him before so we approached him while he was mixing a big pile of mud and straw with a shovel. I looked past him and saw a large stack of adobe bricks beside a little shed.  There were also dozens of individual bricks drying in the sun.  We asked if he would like to hear a message about Jesus Christ.  He said, "si, como no".  He asked us to wait a minute while he entered his little hut.

I looked at the little hut.  It was about four-feet tall, five-feet wide and about six-feet long.  It had a piece of corrugated aluminum on top--held in place by four adobe bricks.  After a minute, he pulled back the small blanket, that he was using as a door, and said, "Pasen, por favor".  I looked at Elder Brown, I didn't think the three of us could fit in there.  We both shrugged our shoulders then got down on our hands and knees and crawled in.  The man was sitting inside with his back up against one of the walls.  My companion and I squeezed in.  Our heads were about two inches away from the ceiling.  We were sitting on an old piece of plywood. The plywood was covered by a very thin blanket. It was dark in the little room, so he flipped the cloth door up and onto the roof to let some light in.    

We introduced ourselves as missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  He then told us a little about himself.  This man, whose name I had forgotten, had left his family behind to come to La Paz to look for work. He was from a small village near Lake Titicaca.  Once he arrived in La Paz he was unable to find any work.  He had no bus fare to return home, so he did what a person does when there are no other options, he made adobe bricks--a lowly profession.  Even so, he thought,  he could do better here than in his village.  He was paid about one penny for each brick that he made.  He was able to make about 100 bricks per day.  So he made about $1.00 a day--which in Bolivian currency was five pesos.  We asked him how often he went home.  He responded, "I've only been back once, about six weeks ago.  The bus fare of fifteen pesos (about $3.00) makes it too expensive to go home more often".  He told us that he spent two pesos a day on bread and that he only drank water--to save money.  His food allotment was two baguettes a day--one for breakfast and one for dinner.  Doing this, he was able to save three pesos a day--or about sixty cents. 

After we had talked for a few minutes, he asked to be excused.  He crawled out of the small room that we were in. As he left, he reached on to a small shelf and slid two pesos into the palm of his hand--the only two that were there.  He said that he would be right back.   As we waited for him, I looked around the barren room.  There were no clothes, no pillow, no suitcase, nothing--except the little wooden shelf, about six-inches long and four-inches wide--the one where he got the two pesos.  On the shelf there was only a comb, a piece of a broken mirror, and an empty drinking glass. 

He soon came back in with a soft drink--a Salvietti Cola--not a real cola, rather one made from the tamarind seed.   The liter bottle cost two pesos (about forty cents).  He pulled the empty glass off the shelf and filled it.  He gave us the glass and apologized for not having a second glass.  He motioned for us to share.  After we finished we offered him the glass.  He said, "No gracias, you should have some more... you must be thirsty, you've been out walking all day". He filled the glass again.   

As poor (monetarily) as he was, he still used his only two pesos to buy us a drink. If he makes five pesos a day, then it takes him at least four hours to earn those two pesos he just spent.  I wondered, "Would he have anything to eat in the morning?  When would he be paid for the adobes?"  I wanted to leave some money with him--or let some accidentally fall out of my pocket--but realized that would be too obvious.  My companion had the same thought.  However, as we  looked at each other he shook his head.  I knew that this man would be offended if we offered to pay for the drink.   I then thought back to the Puma family.  They too had used their last two soles to buy me a drink.   As I thought about these two families, the thought of the New Testament story of the widow and her two mites came to mind. She had given her last two mites as an offering.  All of this was going through my mind as we said our goodbyes and I left. 

 As I walked over to the bus stop, I thought back to the two blue arrows on the mountain this morning--then to each of these three stories  with the two coins.  "Are these all metaphors?", I thought.   Before long, a small bus pulled up and I got on.  As I got in I said, "buenas tardes", gave the bus driver one-half a sol (about fifteen cents) and sat down. I thought about the whole metaphor thing, then began thinking about tonight.  I thought about who else I would ask to come with me if Robert wasn't able to.  I decided that if Robert didn't come along, that I would invite Michael Spencer (sixteen years-old).  This would be a good missionary experience for him--maybe get him excited about going on a mission. 

6:10 pm  Incaland Hotel

When I got back to the hotel the buses from our group had not yet arrived.  I went to the courtyard and saw Hilda, Marlene and Roxana.  I asked them if they had sold anything during the day.  They all shook their heads no.  I looked around and found a couple of very nice woven textiles that I wanted to take with me.  One was a type of table runner with many colors in it.  I thought of Joseph and his coat of many colors.  These women make everything from scratch.  They shear the alpacas, dye the wool using flowers that grow in the area, then spin their own yarn.  Marlene had just spent six weeks making a table runner that I had chosen.  The cost was 200 soles, or about $60.   It took Marlene about 250-300 hours to make it.  It will be treasured. Hilda had finished the alterations to a nice bag that I saw yesterday.  She took it home last night and altered it.  I purchased it also.

The buses soon arrived.  Before long, there was a large number from our group looking at all of the hand-made items.  For the next hour, I again helped Hilda and the women from her co-op sell many of their artisan goods.  Finally I saw Robert walked by.  I asked him, "Would you like to go with me to teach a family tonight?"  With a surprised look on his face he said, "What family?".  I gave him the one-minute overview of what happened and he said, "Sure--but I want to get something to eat first". (I thought about inviting Micheal too, but I didn't want to overwhelm the Puma family--besides, their house was only 12'X12')   I told Robert that I would meet him up the street by the plaza at 7:45 pm.  I asked him if he could swing by the small LDS Chapel that was across the street from the hotel--to see if we could get a local member, or set of missionaries to go with us.  He said he would. 

The hour quickly went by.  It was time for me to go meet Robert.  I had excused myself from the Deseret Book meeting that was going to start in a few minutes.  I told Lee Broadhead that I had some missionary work to do.  As I was talking to Lee, several other people heard about my plans this for this evening.  I was in a hurry so I told them that I would fill them in later. 

I went by Hilda's courtyard display of handicrafts to say farewell.  I as I did, Hilda turned to get something.   She pulled something out of her bag and brought it over to me.  It was a beautiful white baby-alpaca neck scarf--one that was about six-feet long and eight-inches wide.  It was as soft as silk.  This type of scarf cannot be found in the regular market places.  You can only find them in the very nice shops in Lima--at a cost of over one hundred American dollars.  Hilda said, "I want to thank you again for helping us sell so much of our artesania.  I made this chalina  myself.  I would like you to take it.  Maybe you can give to your wife".  I thanked her and looked back down at  the scarf.  It really was beautiful.  She then asked smiling, "Why can't you stay here and help us sell everyday?  We don't speak English well.  They buy from you when you talk to them".  I told her that I wished that I could, however, I had a family and job to return to.  She knew that.

Hilda then asked when our group was leaving Cuzco to go back to America.  (I had previously told her about our general travel plans). I told her that in two days we would be in Cuzco--after going to Machu Picchu.  She asked where we would be staying.  I told her, "At the Jose Antonio Hotel". She said, "We would like to come and say goodbye to you there".  I was probably a little bit cynical in thinking to myself, "What you would really like to do is to sell a lot more of your handicrafts". I told Hilda that there might be some changes to our plans.  (Van had told us earlier that there might have to be some different travel arrangements made.  The airline, LAN Peru, had declared a strike and closed down. Our return flight was on LAN Peru).   I said, "Hilda, I would feel very badly if you came all the way to Cuzco (which was at least three hours away by bus) and we weren't able to locate each other. Cuzco has 300,000 people living there!"   She said, "It's no problem".  I thought to myself, "Please don't come".

I was running late, so I gave each of them a hug and said, "adios". (In South America, the only really appropriate time to say 'adios' in when it is a final and forever goodbye).  I waved one more time as I left the arched stone gate of the hotel.

7:45 pm   Main road of Urubamba near the bus and taxi stands 

I couldn't see Robert anywhere.  I was looking up and down the street.  Finally I heard someone yell in English, "Over here!"  I looked around and saw Robert standing in the doorway of a store.  He started walking toward me. I asked him, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, but I still haven't gotten anything to eat.  The pizza place said it would be a half an hour, so I didn't get anything".  I thought about just being late to our appointment.  I thought, "Fifteen or twenty minutes wouldn't make much of a difference, so why not get something to eat first."  After looking around for another minute for something to eat, we decided that we would just leave now.  Besides, we could eat later.  Our plan was to say our greetings, give an overview of the Book of Mormon, and then be out of there in fifteen minutes. What else would we do there?  

8:05 pm   At the Park next to the Puma's home

The taxi dropped us off at the corner.  I could see the lights on through the curtain at the entrance of the Puma's home.  Robert and I walked across the street and over to the front door.  I was filling him in on our two-hour discussion earlier this afternoon.  The double-door was open.  We knocked on the door.  As Javier walked around the corner he was looking down.  I immediately sensed that something was wrong.  When Javier looked up at me,  I knew, without him saying a word, that he was not going to let us in.  Something had happened in the past two hours!

  

PART FOUR

8:10 pm    Outside the Puma Family's Home    Yucay, Peru

.........As Javier stood in the doorway, I couldn't quite make out everything he was saying.  He wasn't looking at me as he talked in a hushed and serious tone.  He was mouthing something like, "algo bien malo, me paso"...something bad had happened, and what exactly, I didn't know.  He was a totally different person than the jovial, happy man  I had met earlier this afternoon.  Robert must have been totally confused.  A minute earlier, I  was telling him about how great this family was---now,  the father wanted nothing to do with us.  I could see Javier wasn't going to let us in, so we asked if we could talk outside. 

There was a bench nearby.  We walked toward it. On the few steps over to the bench, I remembered all of the faces of the people who, when I first met them on my mission in Bolivia, appeared to be ideal candidates for baptism, only to turn ice cold by our next visit.  After our first visit, they would be so excited about our message.  They would want to share it with their family and friends.  Satan would somehow intervene.  Either they would hear horror stories about "los mormones" or someone from their church would give them all kinds of false information.  By our next visit they would be too afraid to talk to us.  I hoped something similar hadn't happened here.

Robert and I sat down--on the same bench where I met Javier earlier this afternoon.  Javier didn't sit down.  He remained standing to my left.  I asked him, "Hermano, que paso?"  Either he didn't hear my question or didn't want to answer.  He just stood there. There wasn't  that look of fear in his countenance,  like the one I would see in Bolivia, rather an inconsolable anguish and desperation.  It was the look that you see in the eyes of a person who had no hope.  Did he think that God was punishing him for talking to "los mormones".  I knew that his financial situation was precarious.  "But, why the sudden change from three hours ago?"

As Javier stood there in the dark, I could see the reflection of a distant street lamp in the tears welling up in his eyes. He looked absolutely devastated.  "Did this have something to do with his not being able to get money for the taxi?, I asked myself.  He stood there gazing off into the distant darkness, then as if he had just heard me ask him what had happened for the first time, he began his story....... "Something very bad happened after you left this afternoon.  We went to the hotel to deliver the potatoes for the banquet tonight.  We were to be paid this evening for the ten kilos of potatoes. We had used most of our money to buy the potatoes.  We were to be reimbursed for the potatoes and paid an additional amount for their preparation.  We waited at the hotel for the group to arrive for the banquet.   We continued to wait and wait. The group of twenty-five people never showed up. I asked the hotel manager for our money.  He said, 'Why am I going to pay you if the group didn't show up'.  The hotel manager was very upset.  He then looked at me and said, "You must have offended them somehow. This is all your fault.  Not only am I not going to  pay you for the potatoes, YOU WILL NEVER WORK HERE AGAIN!" 

I looked over at Robert then back at Javier.  He continued with his story.........."I didn't make a lot of money there, but at least it was enough to pay for our food."  As Javier finished speaking, I saw a woman leave the house.  It was the woman that helped Javier's mother with the potatoes this afternoon.  She left the house with two small children.  They walked in our direction.  As they walked past us, they didn't look at us or say anything.

As I sat there pondering what Javier had just related to us, a young, energetic voice to my right asked, "Hermano, para Ud., que es la oracion?--what is prayer?"  I looked at Robert.  My first thought, was "This sounds just like the missionary prayer discussion. I guess Robert did just get off his mission two years ago".  I sat back and listened.  Robert explained that prayer was a way God's children could ask for help--for a variety of reasons: protection, health ...comfort.  Robert asked if Javier would like to pray.  He said, "no".  Robert then asked, "Is it OK with you if one of us prays?"  Javier shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter to him.  "May we go inside and kneel down", asked Robert.  Javier quickly said, "no".  Robert then said, "We can pray here.  Hermano, would please sit down on the bench with us?"  Javier took a seat. 

I listened as Robert prayed.  He was using this opportunity to show Javier how to pray--showing him that a prayer didn't have to be something memorized--and that a person could be very specific with his or her communication with God.  Robert followed these steps:  first, addressing our Father in Heaven; second, giving thanks for all we have and all that Javier should be thankful for--in spite of losing his job; third, asking for the things that we need help with  (It was during this step that Robert asked for a blessing of comfort and peace for Hermano Javier); and fourth, he closed in the name of Jesus Christ.

After the prayer, we both looked at Javier.  I could tell that his thoughts were still lingering on Robert's fervent plea for comfort on his behalf.  Almost immediately, the spirit of darkness that had consumed Javier was lifted. There was an immediate change in his countenance.  We all sat there for a few moments without speaking.  I then said, "Hermano, I brought you a copy of El Libro de Mormon". 

Javier almost jumped to his feet, it was as if he remembered something. He then said, "Hermanos, por favor, come inside now". We stood up and followed Javier into his home.  As we entered,  I looked around.   Jehu was the only other person in the house.  He was sitting at the same table as he was earlier.  I pulled out the copy of the Book of Mormon that I had brought with me.  Javier motioned for us to sit down.  Robert and I sat down on the edge of the bed--where the two women were seated earlier in the day.  Robert pulled out his missionary copy of the Book of Mormon and then asked, "Hermano, is it OK with you if we read now?"  Robert also asked, "Can Jehu sit with us?"  Javier motioned for Jehu to come sit with us on the bed. 

We began reading 3 Nephi, chapter 11 about Christ's visit to America.  Robert asked if we could each read a verse.  We all took turns reading one verse at a time.  I was very pleased that Javier and Jehu could read so well.  We read the entire chapter.  Robert would quiz Javier and Jehu every few verses to see if they were understanding.  Javier went over and pulled out a copy of the Bible.  I asked to see it.  It was a well-worn copy, although it appeared as if it hadn't been read in some time.   It was also not the standard version used by members of our church.  I looked up a few verses.  The words were similar, but they didn't have quite the same meaning. 

Javier then stood up and said, "I wish my wife were here".  He then stepped outside.  He came back in a few  minutes later, alone.  As he returned, he remained standing.  He stood against the wall.  He then said, "I have something to tell you brothers.  I want you to know that you are angels--sent by God.  You came here tonight and you saved me.  God sent you here to save me.  I was only waiting for my mother's friend to leave.  And then I too was going to leave.  Hermanos,if you had gotten here five minutes later, you would not have found me.  I didn't know where I was going to go.  I only knew that I had no desire to live.  I couldn't provide for my family.  I didn't know what to do.  I just knew that I wanted to forget everything". I glanced over at Jehu.  He seemed somewhat startled.  I could only imagine.

Javier asked, "I wonder where my wife is?" He turned and went outside again.  Robert turned to Jehu and began talking with him, one on one.  Robert would read a verse and explain it.  Jehu seemed to be interested in learning more.  When Javier returned, I began talking with him, one on one.

After a while, Javier heard something and went to the door.  It was his wife Doris  Little Israel was with her too.  As they came around the corner of the curtain, I stood up.  I could see a startled look on Doris' face.  I don't think she expected to see us here.  Israel released his grip from his mother, looked up at her and said, "Look mami, my padrino." and ran over to me.  He grabbed me around my leg, looked back at his mother and said again, "Look mami, my padrino, he came back".  I could tell she was a little embarrassed.  (There was no talk earlier with the Puma family about me being Israel's godfather---that was Freddy, Marta's son back in Ollantaytambo.  That was this earlier this morning. That seemed like a distant memory now. 

I sat back down.  Israel remained standing next to me.  Doris looked over at her husband.  She was still standing and so was he.  He then spoke, directing his remarks at her.  He said,  "Everything is going to be fine.  These brothers have said a prayer for me.  They have saved me from doing something terrible".   I could tell that she was still in a state of shock.  I knew that she didn't expect to see us here.  (Javier had probably made that clear earlier).  The thought occurred to me that she had probably been out all this time looking for her husband.  They had been together for over twenty years.  I think she knew her husband's inclinations very well--and what his tendencies might have been in his earlier state of mind. 

Doris began to speak, "It is not just, nor fair, what they have done to my husband.  It wasn't his fault that the people didn't show up".  Then, as if all of the pain and anguish from their earlier experience at the hotel had returned, she burst into tears.  She again repeated, through her tears, that things weren't fair. "What were they going to do?"  I looked at Javier, expecting him to comfort his wife.  He did not move. 

I very much wanted Doris to feel some peace.  She was surrounded by a cloud of darkness that filled her with despair and hopelessness. I was usually pretty good about keeping my emotions in check. I needed something to happen soon.  Today had been such an emotional roller coaster already.  Thankfully, Javier then spoke up and said, "Let's sit down and hear what the brothers have to say".  We all sat down.  I began talking with Doris and Javier.  I gave Doris an overview of this evening's discussion. Robert continued with Jehu. 

After a while, I looked at my watch.  It was 10:00 pm.  I knew that it was time to leave.  We had a train to catch in a little over seven hours.  I wanted the Puma Family to be able to have family prayers, on their own, after we left, so I asked, "Is it alright if we say a prayer?...Javier, can you say the prayer this time?  He responded , "I'm not quite ready, you Brother Moon, you say the prayer"  I said, "OK, and then will you say one Javier?  He said, "si".  I asked everyone to kneel down.  Everyone did.  I wanted this prayer to be another teaching opportunity.  I followed the steps used by Robert earlier.  I knew that Doris, Jehu and Israel would be hearing this type of prayer for the first time. 

I too, ask for comfort for the family, Doris, Javier....and help for Javier to find work. I ended the prayer and everyone said, "Amen".  I asked Javier was now ready to pray.  He nodded his head yes.  I listened as he prayed.  These are his words, paraphrased, as best I can remember: ........"Our dear Jesus, I am thankful for these brothers you have sent to help me and my family.  They are angels and they have saved me.  I am thankful for my wife and children.  I am thankful for the roof over our heads.......God, forgive me for not being a good father to my family...for worrying more about money and work than teaching my family about thee....Bless me to find work....bless my family....bless Robert's family in Utah...bless brother Moon's family in Texas..."  He then stopped.  I ask him if he was done with his prayer. He said, "yes".  I explained that he should end his prayer "in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen".   And he did so.

It was a beautiful prayer.  It was actually much longer and in more detail than I can remember.  I could tell his wife was in awe of what she had heard him say.  After the prayer we all stood up. There was now a genuine feeling of hope and happiness in this home.

As we stood there basking in the good feelings, I remembered the money in my pocket.  It was given to me earlier.  In the short time that I was back at the Incaland, I had told a few people about the Puma family, the one that I had met earlier that afternoon after getting off the bus.  I told them that Javier was an artist and that the grandmother made dolls--and that I was going back over this evening.  Almost everyone of them said, "Oh, I want something from them.  Here's some money... get me whatever".  I hadn't counted the money.  I then announced to the family that several people from my group were interested in his art.  Smiles came to their faces.  I asked them to show me some of the work in the satchel--the one that Doris was carrying around earlier.  I spent several minutes going through Javier's paintings.  I picked out several pieces.  I also asked how many dolls they had.  "Tres. Just the three on the table".  I said, "I would like those three dolls and these seven paintings.  How much for everything?".   They wanted to discount everything but I said, "No, I want to pay you a fair price.  My friends would be upset with me if they knew that you gave me a big discount". 

Doris added things up and said, "Two hundred and fifty soles" or, about $75.  I pulled out the money and counted it.  There were 245 soles, almost exactly the amount needed.  I reached in another pocket and found cinco soles mas.  I gave the money to Doris.  I did a quick calculation in my head and was pleased to know that the 250 soles would be enough to buy food for their family for at least two or three weeks.  A nice buffer while Javier looked for work. 

I wondered if Doris could be more effective in selling the paintings.  I asked her, "What do you say, when you try to sell your husbands paintings?  In broken English she said, "Friend.You buy painting?"   I said, "Doris, you will have much better luck selling Javier's paintings if you change your approach.  Why don't you say,  Sir, or Ma'am, would you like to by one of my husband's paintings?  or sketches?   She practiced this approach several times.  We wrote it down along with other useful phrases. 

I gave Israel some stickers with Jesus and the Children on them. He was very happy.  I also gave him a Rice Krispy treat in blue foil (one that I had brought with me from the USA).  He quickly opened it and let everyone have a bite.

As we stood up to leave, I asked Javier, "Hermano, we would like to have the missionaries come visit you.  Would you like to have them come and teach you more?"   He responded with an enthusiastic, "Si hermano, as soon as possible". I said, "Good. Do you also know where the Mormon Church is in Urubamba?  He said, "Yes, I know where the it is".

As we stood there in a circle, Javier began to speak.  It was almost as if he were bearing his testimony.  "Hermanos, I know that God sent you here.  Brother Moon, I know that God told you to get off the bus when you did.  He knew that our family needed help.  For this I am very grateful.  I am going to be a better father. We are going to read the scriptures and pray as a family". He paused, then said,  "My wife will now speak to you".  I could tell that Doris was not expecting this.  She thought for a moment and then said, "I am thankful for everything that you have done for my husband.  I have seen a remarkable change in him, in just these few hours"  The father then looked at Jehu.  Jehu stepped forward with the copy of the Book of Mormon in both hands.  Pausing for a moment, then speaking with tears welling up in his eyes, he said, "This has been the most spiritual day of my life.  I never knew anything like this could happen to me or my family.  I will read this book.  I will make sure we read it together.  For this I am very thankful".  I was amazed at the difference between the two Jehu's---the one with tears in his eyes--now holding a copy of the Book of Mormon,  and the one who wasn't interested in the message I had earlier this afternoon.  Javier then asked Israel, his five year-old son,  if he had anything to say.  He got embarrassed and turned and hid himself behind his mother. 

Everyone laughed as we then walked outside.  The whole family accompanied us.  We had already exchanged addresses and email addresses.  (Jehu knows how to use the internet. There's a small internet cafe in town.  It costs about $1.00/hour). 

This was not a tearful goodbye.  We were all very happy.   Everyone hugged everyone as a taxi pulled up.  We said our final goodbyes and got in the taxi.  Javier told the taxi driver where to take us and to only charge us dos soles.  We looked out the window and waved as the taxi pulled away.  It was quite a sight to see a happy Puma family all wave back.  What a day it had been!

10:30 pm  In a taxi on the road between Yucay and Urubamba 

We both took a deep breath and sat back in our seats.  Robert looked at me and said, "I've got a lot of questions about what just happened, but first, I want to eat! I'm starving!"  As we arrived in Urubamba, we notice that everything was closed.  Robert really wanted something to eat.  We pulled up to the taxi and bus stop in Urubamba.  Everything looked like it was closed.  Robert said, "Nooooo!"  We got out of the taxi and paid the driver.

There were four taxi drivers lined up waiting for customers at this intersection.  The first taxi driver said, "Taxi, senores?".  Robert looked at him and said, "No, we just got off a taxi!".  We walked ten more feet and then the second taxi driver asked, "Taxi, senores, taxi?".  Robert again said, "No, we just got off a taxi!"  Robert looked up and down the street---to see if any lights were on, when the third taxi driver asked, "Taxi, senores, taxi?"  Robert mumbled under his breath in English, "You've got to be kidding?"  Again, he said,  "no!", pointed to our other taxi and said, "We just got off that one!".   We walked a little further and we were now next to the fourth taxi.  Robert was getting more impatient by the minute.  We were standing there discussing our options when the fourth taxi driver asked, "What are you looking for?"  Robert said, " A Polleria. I want some chicken to eat".  The man said, "I know where one is.  I eat there almost every night at the end of my shift.  It's up road about six blocks, then over another six blocks--by the main plaza.  You can walk, or I can  take you."  Robert said, "Let's walk." and started to leave.  I stopped him and said,  "It only costs fifty cents.  Besides, it's late. Hop in.  It will be my treat".  We got in--much to the chagrin of the other three taxi drivers.

The taxi took off.  A night ride, in a South American taxi-- is not for the faint of heart.  The right-of-way belongs to whomever flashes their brights first at intersections.  Fortunately, there wasn't much traffic on these narrow, one-lane, one-way streets.  We flew through several stop signs on the way.  After a few minutes we pulled up to a Polleria.  Sure enough, it was open.  We asked the taxi driver if he could wait for us while we ate.  We offered to pay him extra.  He responded, "I told you, I eat here almost every night.  I'll park the taxi, then come in.  You two go ahead and eat". 

10:50 pm         Late night dinner in Urubamba with our taxi driver

We went in and took a seat.  There were six tables.   We were the only customers.  We looked at the menu.  The taxi driver walked in and sat down at his usual table.  I thought to myself, "This guy is not getting off that easy".  I raised my hand to get his attention. I said,  "Vengase para aca--come eat with us"  I pulled out a chair and patted the seat.  He got up, reluctantly, and came over. 

The waitress came over and asked for our order.  Robert said, "I want a 1/4 chicken with some fries"  The taxi driver ordered the same.  I did too.  I said, "I want an Inca Kola to drink" , both of the others said, "Yo tambien".  We all got Inca Kolas.

I tried talking to the taxi driver but he wasn't being very talkative.  He responded to everything with  "si" or "no". I was trying to work the conversation over the the Church but he wasn't biting.   Finally, I gave up.  I thought, "This isn't working.  I'll have to be more direct".  I looked at him then asked, " Have you ever talked to the Mormon missionaries?"  He was a little shocked by the bluntness of my question.  He paused for a moment then responded, "Si, a few times.  I've lived here all my life (he looked to be about 35-40 years old).  I've seen the Mormon missionaries come and go for at least the past twenty-five years.  In fact, about three years ago, I used to go with them to teach.  They were teaching a family that only spoke Quechua.  I speak Quechua, so I went with them on their visits to help translate". 

Our food arrived.  There wasn't much talking while we ate.  Within a few minutes, the food was gone.  Robert asked for the bill.  "That will be diez soles".  "Each?"  "No, para todos".  I thought, "Ten soles--less than $3 for everything--all three plates of food with a drink. Not bad".   Robert said, "I'll buy", and paid for our food. 

As we were getting up to leave, I encouraged the taxi driver to go to Church.  I asked him, "You know where the Church is, don't you? It's right next to the taxi stop."  He responded,  " I know, I've been there.  I just don't like going without the missionaries". 

I looked at the taxi driver and he was in deep thought.  He was standing with his hands on the back of his chair.  He then said, "Elder Cardenas was right".  I thought, "Elder Cardenas? Who's that?" I didn't remember him mentioning any Elder Cardenas.   I then asked the taxi driver, "Elder Cardenas was right about what?"  He said, "About you two", Robert and I looked surprised,   "What about us?".  The taxi driver explained that Elder Cardenas was here in Urubamba about six or eight months ago.  And that he and his companion were being transferred out of the area.  The taxi driver told Elder Cardenas that was concerned because he didn't want to go to Church alone.  So he asked Elder Cardenas,  "What am I going to do?".  Elder Cardenas replied, "Don't worry,  you'll soon meet dos extranjeros (two Americans) and they will tell you what you should do." The taxi driver said, "That never made sense.  I had never never seen two Americans together as companions..... That is, until I met you two 'extranjeros' tonight". 

 PART FIVE

We stood by our table in the restaurant talking to the taxi driver a little longer.  I asked him for his address and wrote it down.  As we made our way to the taxi, I kept thinking about Elder Cardena's comment several months ago to our taxi driver. 

It was a short drive to the Incaland Hotel.  We said goodbye and shook the taxi driver's hand as we got out.  I was getting ready to pay the driver when he said, "No, I can't accept payment, gracias a ustedes".

11:55 pm  Main road outside arched stone entryway at the Incaland Hotel

Robert and I watched as the taxi drove off.  We turned and walked through the arched entry.  I said, "buenas noches" to the night watchman at the front entrance of the hotel.  Robert and I didn't have much time to talk to each other and compare notes during this evening's activities, so we sat on the edges of our beds and reviewed our last four hours together.  We each had questions for the other: "Did the taxi driver say what I think he said about meeting two extranjeros?"  "Yea, he did".  What did you think about the Puma family?" What do you think will happen now...once we leave?"  Our conversation went on like this for about an hour before we both decided we better get some rest before our wake up call in a few hours. 

Two days later........Friday, October 15, 2004   Hotel Presidente  2:05pm

I've really enjoyed the past two days visiting Machu Picchu. The scenery was spectacular.   I spent many hours sitting on a ledge overlooking Machu Picchu, pondering and reflecting on the events of two days ago.  (I'll do a Machu Picchu travelogue later).  I only had a couple of hours before our train left, so I decided to go to an internet cafe. It had been three days since I had last checked my e-mails. 

I grabbed my bags, left my room and went downstairs to the lobby.  I was about to leave the hotel when I stopped.  In my mind I heard, "You haven't talked to the young women at the front desk about the Church".  I reached in my pocket for an Articles of Faith card, I didn't have any left.  I guess I had given them all out in the marketplace earlier.  I did, however, have an Angel Moroni window sticker.  I thought, "This will work".  I went to the front desk.  I held out the Angel Moroni sticker and said, "If you put this in your front window, you'll probably get more people to come in.  A lot of people recognize this symbol". The young woman asked, "Is that the Angel Moroni?".  I was a little surprised and asked, "Yes, how did you know?"  She reached under the counter and pulled out a copy of  El Libro de Mormon--with the Angel Moroni on the front cover.  I asked her where she had gotten the book.  She said she had gotten it from a family that had stayed at he hotel--a year or so ago.  I asked if she had read any of the book and she said, "no".  I asked, "Do you want to know who this angel was?"  She said, "Sure".  I explained that this angel was a resurrected being--a man, a prophet of God who had lived here in the Americas about 1600 years ago.  I talked about Joseph Smith and how this book was translated by him from records kept by these ancient prophets.  I said that the Book of Mormon is a second witness of Jesus Christ---and that Christ visited his "other sheep" here in the Americas.  The phone kept ringing.  So Maribel said, "Tell her and she will tell me later".  She pointed at another young woman behind the counter. Her name was Giovanna. 

I moved to the end of the counter and began talking with Giovanna.  Her first question was, "What is the difference between your Church and la Iglesia Catolica?  I went on to explain some of the differences.  I continued giving a broad overview of the history and teachings of the Book of Mormon.   At one point she asked, "Why is there so much injustice in the world?  Why do innocent little children have to die? It all seems so unfair".  I said, "You asked earlier what the differences were between the Catholic Church and the Mormon Church.  A big difference is our belief about the status of little children.  I turned to Moroni 8.  I read while she followed along. "......For awful is the wickedness to suppose that God saveth one child because of baptism, and the other must perish because he hath no baptism.....and he that saith little children need baptism denieth the mercies of Christ....for behold that all little children are alive in Christ".  We read the entire chapter.  As I was reading, I saw a tear fall to the counter.  I looked up.  She had tears in her eyes.  I continued and finished the chapter.  I looked at my watch. I was 4:00 pm.  The train was leaving in 15 minutes!  I had been talking to Giovanna for almost two hours.  I said, "Tengo que irme".  She said, "But I have so many more questions, what am I going to do?"  I knew that there weren't any missionaries in Aguas Calientes so I said, "Here's my e-mail.  Better yet, here's the e-mail address of my daughter Natalie.  She's twenty-two--the same age as you.  She's a missionary.  I will send her your email address.  She can answer your questions".  I said, "Chau" to Maribel and Giovanna.  I then ran out the door toward the train station.

I got on the train and took my seat.  It was already getting dark. We were in a valley surrounded on both sides by tall mountains--the sun had already set.  As the train made it's way toward Urubamba, I was again deep in thought.  I was amazed at the missionary experiences I was having--with Giovanna and Maribel at the Hotel Presidente.  I had also met a young man (David Mathison) from the Washington, DC area earlier today. We met at the top of Machu Picchu.   I told him that I had a daughter that was a missionary in Washington.  I encouraged him to go visit and to say hello if he saw an "Hermana Moon".  The weather was overcast.  We talked while we waited for the sun to come out.   He was disappointed that he didn't have a nice picture of Machu Picchu.  I told him that I had already taken some nice shots--and that I would send him one.  He gave me his email address.  I put it in my little Quechua dictionary.   

I thought back to Natalie's encouragement to "do some missionary work".  However, I never expected this.   Over the previous two days, I had thought a lot about Hilda, Roxana and Marlene at the Incaland;  about Marta and Freddy in Ollantaytambo;  about the Puma family in Yucay and the taxi driver Urubamba. I had asked Heavenly Father, "What was different this time?"  I often get the answers to my prayers by way of another question being asked of me.  The question this time was, "What were you doing before you met Marta?"  I thought about it.  "I was helping Hilda and Marlene sell their artisan ware at the Incaland"  "And after that?" 

"On the bus ride over to Ollantaytambo I was talking with Bishop Elias about helping raise money for the poorer members so that they could go to the temple". In my mind I could hear the following scripture, "And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom;  that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God".  It was then that I received my answer, "When you are serving your fellow beings and helping those who are in need (my other children on earth)  you are much more open to receiving the promptings of my spirit.  That is why you had the experiences that you did".

It was dark outside.  We had left Aguas Calientes about an hour and a half ago.  The train was coming to a stop.  The conductor said, "dos minutos".  This was a short stop to drop off a few passengers.  I sat there.  Two minutes went by and the train wasn't moving.  I decided to get off the train and stretch my legs.  I walked up the platform a little ways but I didn't see anything of interest, so I decide to get back on the train.  I had my hand on the rail to pull myself up into the train when I heard, "Hermano Quilla".  I thought to myself, "Who's calling me Brother Moon in Quechua?"  I turned around and I saw a woman standing there.  It was one of Marta's friends.  I asked her what she was doing here.  She said, "I was waiting for you".  "Me, why?"  "Marta wanted me to say hello and tell you that she and Freddy are fine.  She has gone back to her pueblo for a few days.  She sold enough the other day so that she can rest for a few days".  I asked her how she knew I would be here.  She said that the other day I told them that I was going to Machu Picchu.  She said, "All trains from Machu Picchu stop here in Ollantaytambo." ( I didn't know that we were in Ollantaytambo).  "How did you know which train I would be on?"  She said, "I didn't, I've  been waiting here all afternoon.  I was hoping that I would see you. This is the last train of the night."   The train sounded its whistle.  I said, "I need to leave now, please send my greeting to Marta and Freddy".  She then said, "I will", then added, "I too have a son.  He's two years old.  His name is Emmanuel."  She then pointed up toward heaven and said, "Emmanuel, like Him".   I felt badly that she had waited so long for me.  I saw her basket, the same one from the marketplace.  It was full.  She hadn't sold much.  The train was pulling away.  I said, "I would like to buy a doll".  She smiled.  I already knew that a doll sold for 15 soles.  I reached in my pocket and pulled out a 20 soles bill ($6).  I put it in her hand and squeezed her hand with both of mine.  She knew that I didn't want any change back.  I said "goodbye".  I turned and ran. I hopped on the train as it was pulling away from the station.  I took my seat.  I looked at the handmade doll.  I thought, "This doll will have a story to tell". 

PART SIX

 9:15 pm, Friday, October 15, 2004   On the road between Urubamba and Cuzco

In Urubamba we switched from the Vistadome train to our three buses for the return to Cuzco.  Our travel group is too large to stay in one hotel, so Van has divided us up.  I'm with the smaller group (10 people) at the Q'uenco Hotel.  The rest (65 people) will stay at the Villa Hermosa.  Robert will be leaving in the morning to catch a flight to Arequipa--where he served his mission two years ago.  He'll spend the next week traveling through his mission.  On the agenda for tomorrow is a planned visit to  the Incan aqueducts at Tipon.   Van also has a humanitarian (cornerstone laying ceremony for a new school) project planned in the afternoon.  I'll play things by ear.   I still haven't seen Cuzco.  I'll either go on the excursions with the group or explore Cuzco on my own.

7:00 am, Saturday, October 16, 2004   Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

I got up early this morning to walk around Cuzco and take a few pictures.  Robert was still asleep when I left.  The Andean sun is very bright this morning--not a cloud in the sky. The cobblestone streets, cathedrals and stone walls haven't changed much in the past 500 years.  I saw several young boys carrying large loads of bread in baskets.  They were making early morning deliveries.  The shopkeepers were out sweeping the areas in front of their tiendas.  I have an hour before meeting the others at the Villa Hermosa.

9:15 am  On the road to Tipon  

I decided to go with the group.  I had a light breakfast of baguettes and fresh pineapple and papaya juice at the hotel before getting on the bus to Tipon.  I sat up front this time to talk to our bus driver Edgar.  I hadn't talked to him much.  For most of our excursions, I've sat on the back row.   It was about an hour's drive out to the ruins.  After exploring the aqueducts, which have been flowing continually for about 900 years,  I went back to the bus to talk with Edgar.  We talked about the Church.  I also had him teach me a few new words in Quechua.  "Chaipi punchaata", or "We leave at noon" was one phrase that he taught me.  His last name is Qosqo--which means "Cuzco" in Quechua.  Edgar Qosqo.  I gave him an Angel Moroni sticker.  I asked if I could take his picture.  He shrugged and held up the sticker while I took his picture.  He reached in his front shirt pocket and gave me a four-leaf clover--one that he had found here at Tipon.  I put it between two pages in my pocket Quechua Dictionary.  After a relatively short ride back from Tipon, the two buses dropped us off at the Villa Hermosa. 

1:15 pm  Cuzco

Van recommended a good restaurant for lunch.  It was nearby--a polleria.  Not everyone wanted to go to lunch with the group.  Some had other plans.  This was our last free afternoon.  Some wanted to start exploring , or better yet, shopping in Cuzco.  I decided to stay with the main group.  Bishop Elias was waiting at the hotel with his wife Janet and their two-year old son when we returned.  They invited me to ride with them to the restaurant.  It was about a ten-minute ride to the restaurant.  The restaurant was quite busy.  The staff set up several tables in the back of the restaurant for our group.  After about five minutes, everyone took their seats.  I was a little bit restless.  I didn't really feel like sitting down with the group--not just yet.  With our large group, the food was going to take at least half an hour.  I had my camera with me so I decided to take a walk.  I made my way to the front of the restaurant.

As I walked toward the front exit, I didn't have any particular plans.  I wasn't familiar with this part of town.   I just wanted to see what was around here.  As I reached the front door, I paused. then looked around  from left to right,  to get my bearings.  There was a plaza with a marketplace across the street.   I saw probably a hundred people milling around.  It was a busy Saturday afternoon.  As I finished scanning the area, my eyes stopped at the scene of  a woman sitting with a young girl nearby.  There was something very familiar about them.   The woman looked up and I saw her face--and her eyes.  "Who could forget eyes like those?--so desolate and forlorn."  It must have been a sub conscience reflex--aided by the impatient push of the crowd behind me. Before I had a chance to think things through, I had already turned and walked away in the opposite direction.  As I walked away, I asked myself, "What would she be doing here?  I haven't seen her in over twenty-five years".

About fifty feet down the sidewalk, I stopped to look back.  There was a window with a stone ledge behind me.   It was in the shade of a tree. I leaned back against the ledge and looked back down the street.   I saw the woman. She was sitting on the ground near the entrance to the restaurant. She wasn't there when our group arrived a few minutes earlier.  Where had she appeared from?  She had her young daughter with her.  The daughter wore her mother's look of hopeless abandonment.   The little girl  just sat there on the sidewalk with her mother--no toys, nothing to occupy the endless hours.  She didn't' cry.  She just sat there, facing her mother, gazing upward at her mother.  Neither one of them talked.  The mother had her arm stretched out--raised above her shoulder.  Her left hand rested on her daughter's hand.  I sat there for fifteen or twenty minutes and watched from a distance.  Nobody stopped to put an offering in the palm of her hand.  Nobody looked at her.  No one stopped.  No one acknowledged her existence. During this brief interval of introspection, I realized that indeed these two women were the same woman--only they had lived twenty-five years apart.   As I sat there, I worried about what had become of the other woman and her daughter--as I often had over the years.  I then asked myself, "How could you have been so cruel to them twenty-five years ago?"  

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(This will be the first time that I write the story of what happened twenty-five years ago.   I didn't even mention these events in my missionary journal).

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............................From the day I got off the plane in Bolivia, I was shocked by the sheer magnitude of the poverty of the people.  I remember the first man who came up to me as I got off the bus in Potosi.   He didn't have any hands.  He stretched out both arms and said, "por favor, caridad", or "please, charity".   I wanted to give him everything I had.  My first companion, Elder Dixon, told me that the man had most likely lost both hands in a mining accident.  Government disability was practically non-existent.  Potosi was a mining town.  I would see many more like this man.  I wanted to give money to practically everyone that I met. But I soon realized, that as a missionary, this was not practical. 

For the next ten months I would occasionally give a peso--about twenty cents to those whom I felt needed it.  It was at about this time when I had a series of unpleasant experiences that soured my whole outlook on those who asked for money--from the aggressive panhandlers to the truly indigent.  There was one experience in particular that was the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back".  One day, Elder Branning and I were walking down a somewhat deserted road in Oruro.  Up ahead I saw a man sitting by the side of the road.  He didn't have any legs.  He had a blanket across his lap.  He had a tin cup and held it out as we walked by.  I reached in my pocket.  I only had one coin--a cincuenta centavo piece--or a half-peso.  I dropped it in his cup and we kept walking.  Almost immediately, I heard him yell, "Hey you, come back here!  This is only a cincuenta centavo"  He then made a sound as if he were spitting on the coin and threw it at my feet.  He then shouted, "You're an American, you can afford to give me more".  He thrust out his had and said, "Give me more!"   I was stunned.  My companion tugged on my arm and we turned and kept walking.  He continued shouting insults as we walked away.  When he had finally relented, I turned and looked. To my complete astonishment, he stood up, wiped the dust off his pants and walked away.  I was livid!  I remember mumbling under my breath, "I will never give money to another beggar, no matter what!"  

A couple of weeks went by.  I continued with my resolute determination not to give money to beggars.  It was common for a dozen or so people to approach us on any given day and ask either me or my companion for money.  Some were quite bold and would come up behind us and tap us on the shoulder, then ask for money.  I wouldn't even entertain the thought. For me, giving was no longer an option.  I justified my logic by saying,  "I'm a missionary. I have limited funds.  I can't give to everyone.  Besides most of these people really don't need the money anyway--just like that old man who threw my money back at me!"

A couple of weeks later, Elder Branning and I were walking along a narrow street.  We were walking back to our apartment.  The sidewalks were only about three feet wide so we were walking single file.  There was a woman and her daughter sitting in a doorway.  We slowed down, to step around them, as we walked by. The mother reached out and tugged on my pant leg.  I stopped.  She asked, "Do you have any money so that I can feed my daughter?"  Without a second thought, I yanked my pant leg from her grasp--almost pulling her off the ledge of the doorstep.  Then I gave her a stare that would cut through lead--daring her to ask me again.  Her shoulders slumped and she looked away.  She put her arms around her daughter and pulled her close.  I turned and walked away.  This interaction only lasted a few seconds. Elder Branning was walking in front of me. He didn't' see what had happened. I didn't think anything of this  woman any further until I met someone later that afternoon.

We soon made it back to our apartment.  We lived in a room on the second floor of an adobe building. Earlier in the week we  had met a man who had opened  a fast-food restaurant.  In 1980, this was quite a rarity in Oruro.  He had gone to college in Texas.  It was there that he was exposed to the concept of "home food delivery".  We decided to give his restaurant a try.  We called in our order--four chili dogs.  He said he would send a young boy with our food in about 15-20 minutes.  He said the boy would be wearing a white smock, a "lab coat".  After about ten minutes we went outside.  We were waiting in front of our place.  After a few minutes we saw a young kid--about 12 years old--in a white lab coat carrying a bag.  He was obviously lost.  We waved our arms.  He didn't see us.  He was about 200-300 yards further up the dirt road--by the railroad tracks.  We yelled.  He still didn't hear us.  Elder Branning said, "I'll go get him". I stood there and watched. 

As Elder Branning made his way over toward the train tracks to get our food from the young boy, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.  I immediately thought, "Are you kidding me? Won't these beggars ever leave me alone!?"  I turned and saw an older man. I looked him over from head to toe.  Then, with a great deal of annoyance in my voice,  asked, "Que quieres?!" "What do you want!?"  (In addressing him in the "tu" form, I was addressing him as if he were a servant or a young child--which was quite disrespectful).  I was waiting for him to ask for money when instead he asked, "Can you tell me where your Church is located?".  Being somewhat skeptical of his question  (thinking he now wanted a place to stay) , I responded with, "Our church?  Do you even know what church we go to?   He then said, "Yes".  Quizzing him further, I asked "What do you even know about about our Church?".  He looked at me, and paused for a second, then responded in a serious tone, "Conozco a su profeta"   I was somewhat surprised with that response. "I know your Prophet?"  I was pondering his use of the verb "conocer" which means to "have met" or "personally know someone"---rather than using the verb "saber"  which means "to know a fact--or who someone is".    Still somewhat incredulous, I asked, "And what is his name?" Without any hesitation he responded, "Spencer Kimball".  I again, found myself thinking to myself, he said, "Spencer Kimball"--not, Espencer W. Keemball like everyone else did in Bolivia".  I was pondering all of this when my companion said, "You owe me ten pesos for your chili dogs".  I turned around and reached in my pocket for some money. As I handed Elder Branning a ten peso bill with my left hand,  I motioned with my right thumb over my shoulder, "This man says that he knows President Kimball".  With a look of confusion, Elder Branning asked, "What man?"  I looked around and nobody was there.  I looked up and down the street for signs of the old man.  He wasn't there.  I tried to explain to Elder Branning, "I just had this conversation with a man--while you were getting the chili dogs from the kid. I was standing here watching you run over there when this man came and tapped me on the shoulder.  He wanted to know where our church was."   Elder Branning then said, "While I was walking back, I didn't see you talking to anyone."  He shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked toward our apartment.

I took one last look both ways down the dusty road --there was no sign of the older man.  I knew that I didn't imagine my encounter with this stranger.  I had been in Oruro for almost six months and had never seen him before.  Twenty-five years later I can still feel the very distinct three "taps" on my right shoulder. The change in me was lasting, profound and immediate--a type of epiphany.  The one bad experience I had had with the man who threw money back at me had jaded my outlook on helping those who were truly in need. 

I was still a missionary. And I still couldn't help every person that approached me--but I could occasionally help someone that was in need.  The question would be whom?  I decided to leave that to the spirit to let me know.  The last year of my mission, out of the hundreds of people who approached me, I did help three--and it was with more than giving them a token peso in a cup .  

Elder Branning and I never discussed my conversation with the older man. However, I did think about doing so when I again had a brief encounter with same man---three days later.  I decided not to.  I was the one who needed a "course correction". 

PART SEVEN

Cuzco, On the sidewalk outside 'La Polleria'   1:35pm

As I watched the woman with her daughter sitting on the sidewalk in Cuzco, I asked the same question that I had asked many times during the past twenty-five years, "Heavenly Father, is this person truly in need of help?"  The words I heard in my mind were immediate, "Yes, you already know that. You knew that when you first saw her."  The thoughts continued,   "I'm telling you now what I was trying to tell you twenty-five years ago-- had been listening. That woman and her daughter--that you treated so unkindly--also needed your help." 

I walked back toward the woman and her daughter.  I reached in my pocket and pulled out a bill.  It was a diez soles bill--about US$3.30--not much, but sufficient for a few meals.  I crouched down beside the woman and daughter.  I looked at the mother.  She was blind in her left eye.  In that brief instance I could see a lifetime of struggle and despair on her weathered face.    I handed her the money.  She clutched it in both hands.  I said, "I want you to have this".  That's all I said.  I looked over at the daughter, smiled, then stood up and began walking toward the entrance to the restaurant.  As I looked back over my shoulder, I could see the woman looking toward heaven and mouthing words of thanks.  I had my camera with me.  I thought about taking a picture--but only for a second--I immediately realized that, given the circumstances, it would have been highly inappropriate.  Besides, I will never forget this brief encounter--nor will I forget the first.

7:25 pm   Near the Plaza de Armas, Cuzco

Tonight was our "Farewell Dinner".  Everyone from our group was to meet at a nice restaurant near the main plaza at 7:30 pm--for dinner and live folkloric music.  Robert had left earlier in the day to catch a flight to Arequipa.  I was staying at a hotel nearby, so I decided to walk to the restaurant by myself.  Once I arrived at the plaza, I couldn't find the restaurant.  That must have been very obvious, because, before long I heard someone yell, in English, "Hey Reid, are you lost?".  I looked over and saw Van with his head, shoulder and arm halfway out of the taxi window.  He motioned me to come over and said, "Hop in".  I squeezed into the back seat of the small Datsun taxi.  He said, "We've got a surprise for you.  You'll never guess who's in the front seat".  It was dark, so I couldn't really see anyone.  The taxi stopped a few seconds later. (We were only a half a block from the restaurant).  I got out and waited to see who was in the front seat. 

I was quite surprised to see Marlene, from the Incaland in Urubamba, get out of the front seat.  Van slapped me on the back and said as he walked passed me toward the restaurant, "She's been looking for you all day".  I looked at Marlene with a look of surprise and asked, "What are you doing here?"   She responded, "My sister Hilda wanted me to bring this to you"  She held out a small black plastic bag, the size of a loaf of bread.  "It's mana--Hilda said that you had asked her where you could find some. She wanted to make sure that you had some to take with you".   In Bolivia they call it "pasankalla".  (I had totally forgotten about asking Hilda about the "pasankalla"). "Mana" is an Andean popcorn with a sweet coating. Valerie had asked me to bring some back with me.  All the kids like it.  I really like it too. 

I asked Marlene how she found me.  She started at the beginning of her saga.  She had left on a bus from Urubamba at 6:00 am this morning.  She went to the Hotel Don Antonio--but our group wasn't there.  (Our hotel had been changed).  She walked around asking at the different hotels if there was a large group of Americans staying there (Cuzco has over one hundred hotels) .  After four hours she found the Villa Hermosa.  She recognized some of the people, so she waited and watched--but I wasn't staying there.   I was staying with the smaller group at the Q'enco.  She waited outside the Villa Hermosa for five hours--till 7:00 pm--and never saw me.  Finally, she recognized Van and asked him if he knew where I was.  He said, "We're meeting for dinner as a group in a half an hour--I'll give you a ride.  Reid should be there".  "That's when we saw you walking in the Plaza". 

Marlene said that she had to leave.  She had to hurry in order to make it to the bus station.  The last bus to Urubamba left at 8:00 pm.   We quickly said our goodbyes.  I gave her a hug and thanked her again.  As she walked away I couldn't help but feel badly about the way I had misjudged Hilda and her sister.  I really liked them.  I had given a copy of the Book of Mormon to Hilda.  However,  when they said they wanted to come here to Cuzco to see me—I thought that it was just to sell more of their handicrafts--when, in reality, all they wanted to do was say, "thank you" and bring me something that they knew I was looking for.  It wasn't the cost of the gift (less than one dollar) rather the magnitude of the selfless act of kindness.  Marlene had spent 18 hours to deliver me something that she and her sister knew that I had been looking for.   

As I stood there on the sidewalk, watching Marlene as she walked briskly towards the bus terminal at the edge of town, I began to ponder the events of the week. As she was finally disappearing from view, her image was replaced by the faces of all of the people whom I had met this week on my trek.    I realized that my trek this week from Cuzco down through the Sacred Valley and on to Machu Picchu had been both a physical and spiritual trek.   The spiritual experiences that week in Peru were so profound that I knew that I could never pass up an opportunity share the Gospel for the rest of my life.

How will I ever forget my experiences and conversations that I had with Marta and Freddy; the Puma family: Javier, Doris, Jehu and Israel; the taxi driver; Giovanna and Maribel at the Hotel Presidente; and Hilda, Roxana and Marlene from Incaland—whose stories I recounted in this narrative.   

There were also so many more children of our Heavenly Father whose stories I did not tell in this narrative: Ronaldo Valencia, David Mathison, Youvana, and Steve and Esther Brzezinski.  And how could I forget "El Bigotes" (Mr. Moustache) who I met while walking down the cobblestone streets of Aguas Calientes (at the base of Machu Picchu).  By just saying a simple “buenas noches” it turned into an enjoyable dinner together with Mr. Moustache at a little restaurant that he owned.   And there’s the gratitude of kids at Hunan Qosqo—who live in the poorest neighborhood of Cuzco—who will now have a new school (built in two days out of adobe) that our group helped sponsor and build. There’s also Kevin and Jocelyn, and the Catholic nun and her friend that I met on top of Machu Picchu.  We took shelter in a little hut during an afternoon thunderstorm and had a very interesting Gospel conversation.  The nun liked my $1.99 waterproof poncho from Wal-Mart so much that I ended up giving it to her.  

And I’m so glad that I didn’t get mad at the lively group teenage girls that I crossed paths with in the marketplace of Aguas Calientes.  I could her them making fun of me in Spanish.  They didn’t know that I went on a Spanish-speaking mission and could understand everything they were saying.  Rather than say a few choice words back to them in Spanish, I ended up teaching these young, inquisitive Laurel-aged girls from Imaculada Concepcion School  in Lima about the Church, Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon.  By the time my hour-long conversation with Lizbeth, Kelly, Patricia, Sheila, Tamara and Brenda was coming to and end, another thirty of their school friends had joined in.  

I just wanted to plant seeds.  I wanted all of these people I met to have a positive experience with someone from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints--so that one day they might be more receptive to listening to the missionaries.  And, besides being very rewarding, it was fun, just like my daughter Natalie said it would be. 

EPILOGUE

I stayed in touch with the Puma family via the internet once I returned to Texas.  Several sets of missionaries taught the Puma family over the next two years.  I also had many Gospel conversations with them during this time.  

To my great delight, after two years, I got a call from the missionaries in Urubamba, Peru.   They asked if I could make arrangements to travel to Peru to baptize the Puma family the following week.  Even with the short notice, I was happy to make arrangements to be there.  Their baptismal service was held at the little chapel in Urubamba on a Sunday afternoon in November.   

This life changing experience in Peru reminded me of the scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants 18: 15-16, “And if it so be that you should labor all your days…and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy…And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many should unto me!

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Martha UPDATE (From my October 2014 to Peru)

Martha's Dream. 

I met Martha ten years earlier in the marketplace of Ollantaytambo, Peru. Due to a brief series of events--that took place in less than an hour during our first encounter--that she had asked if I would be her six-month old Freddy's "padrino"--or "godfather". I agreed.  Staying in touch with Martha was going to be difficult--due to her unfamiliarity with the internet. After my return to Texas ten years ago, I sent her a letter with photos--but I never heard back from her. I assumed that my letter had never made it--or that she had moved. I had all but given up hope of ever finding her. I had searched for Martha on previous trips--but to no avail. I decided to give it one more try on this trip. Before our small group of fourteen arrived in Ollantaytambo, I walked up and down the aisle of our bus showing everyone Martha's photo. I told our group to let me know if they saw anyone resembling Martha. Little did I know that it would be Martha who would be waiting for me in the marketplace--because of a dream that she had had five days earlier! 

As I got off the bus, I quickly scanned the crowd and saw a woman that looked familiar--someone that I had maybe seen on a previous visit. So I walked up to her and asked, "How long have you been around this marketplace?". She responded, "Thirty years". I then asked, "Do you know a Martha Choquehuanca Condori?" She then gestured with her hands and pointed, "Yes, I do. She's standing right behind you". I turned, but didn't immediately recognize Martha, probably because she wasn't wearing the typical dress of the Quechua women --similar to what I had seen her wear ten years earlier. However, when she smiled, I knew it was Martha. We quickly exchanged greetings and hugs and then I inquired about Freddy. She said that she would run home and get Freddy--and his five year-old sister Amaya. Twenty minutes later, she returned and introduced me to her children. What cute kids! By this time, most of our group left to climb the nearby Incan ruins, but two of my friends , Kaitlin and Kenny Kenneth had stayed--to see how this played out. I suggested that we all go to a nearby restaurant and have lunch. Eating out was a luxury that Martha and her children didn't have. By American standards, this was by no means an expensive lunch, but nonetheless a luxury for Martha and her kids. I was happy to see Freddy order a big plate of food. Martha shared a plate with Amaya, but it broke my heart to see Amaya struggle to eat--with her tooth abscess and swollen cheek. I asked Martha about Amaya's tooth and apparent pain. Martha said she had just saved enough money (US $10) and was going to take Amaya to the dentist the following day. I spent most of my time talking to Martha while Kaitlin and Kenny entertained Freddy and Amaya and other guests in the restaurant. During lunch Martha asked why I had never written back. She said she had received my first letter with photos, but hadn't received a response to her letter. I told her that I never received her letter. She said she quit looking for letters from me after seven years. I was mentally kicking myself for not continuing to write. Then, toward the end of our long lunch, two hours later, as my sister and brother-in-law arrived, Martha looked at me and asked, "Can I tell you about a dream that I had five days ago?" I said, "Of course". She then related the following: "Hermano Moon, five days ago I had a dream about you. And during the previous ten years, I've never had a dream about you. It was very vivid. And in this dream I saw you with a group of friends at Machu Picchu --new friends, not the same group you were with ten years ago. When I woke up, I told my children, ‘We need to go to Machu Picchu’. She told me that in thirty-three years she had never been to Machu Picchu--even though it is only an hour and a half by train--because it was a week's wages to do so--but her dream was so vivid that she felt compelled to do so. She then said she went to a chest and pulled out a photo of me that I had sent to her ten years ago--one of me at Machu Picchu. She then packed a lunch and went to the train station with her children, bought tickets, and left on the train with the other tourists. After arriving at Machu Picchu she took out the photo of me and began looking for the very spot that I was standing when that photo was taken ten years ago. After about an hour she found the spot--one overlooking the ruins. She looked around and waited. She and her children didn't move from that spot. She was so sure that she would find me there. While they waited they had lunch and continued to wait. They looked at the face of every tourist who walked by. They did this for six hours! However, the hour arrived that they would have to leave to catch the last train back to  Ollantaytambo, so they left--wondering why they had not found me. On the train ride back, she told her children that she wasn't giving up hope. She continued her daily routine at the market place--paying special attention to each bus that pulled up. Then, five days later, she saw a man, that she thought she recognized--only this time with glasses and gray hair, step off of a small bus--and she was even more astonished when she heard that man ask her friend, "Do you know Marta Choquehaunca Condori?”

Tender mercies.

I have since had several Facebook chats with Martha, Freddy and Amaya.  I look forward to seeing them again later this year on my next trip to Machu Picchu.