Driving and Dogs

This last week I drove to Mexico City twice, once with my wife and other with a group of elders. Before I get into what the traffic is like, I’d better explain why I had to make the trip twice. We went to immigration both times to get a green card. Because I have such awful handwriting, I had to go the second time to prove to them that I can never sign my name the same way twice. To be sure, it was a pretty tough price to pay for having poor handwriting and an awful signature. Even though it was less than sixty kilometers it took us more than six hours through very heavy traffic and incredibly confusing roads.

Some things I’ve learned about driving here. If they are not honking at you or flashing their lights, it means that you are sitting and waiting for someone to let you in--which will never happen. Lanes and lights are not absolute. In a way it’s a very practical way of driving—use lanes and lights when they suit the situation or your time frame to get where you want to get. I should point out that in three weeks of driving, I have never seen anyone getting any kind of a ticket. Narrow alley like streets which we would consider to be likely dead ends are often parts of major thoroughfares. Sometimes I almost wanted to pray and hope that my car would fit through…and that no one was coming from the other direction. The last thing I’m going to note, though I could go on forever, is the tope or massive speed bump. These you find everywhere instead of stop signs, and they work very well in regulating the flow of traffic. The only problem is that sometimes they are nearly invisible, and you do not want to cross these guys faster than five miles an hour.   

Last week I got to know one of the local dogs better than I would have liked. I left some of my DNA with him. We were with some sister missionaries at the house of investigator. All the lights had failed and it was groping, black dark. The mother of the house was not home and I could hear a dog barking, but I could not see it. A man’s head appeared over a wall that separated the house’s small patio from the street. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, so I drew closer. Ouch! The dog bit me in the ankle before I even saw it, ruining a perfectly good pair of socks. And as I withdrew it bit me again in the shoe. The sister missionaries came to the rescue, cleaning my wound and getting me some antibiotics.

We gave a discussion at a member’s house to a couple of ladies. While we were saying to opening prayer, I had a distinct impression that I should not teach what I had prepared to teach, but instead I should teach the plan of salvation. It turned out to be the perfect thing to discuss with these ladies. One was a young mother who had just lost her baby daughter. When we discussed death and what comes after, the husband of the household found a scripture about the wonderful things that happen to children who die before the age of accountability. The young mother was moved to tears.  I find that I am getting these kinds of promptings often.  

Getting to Know the People

I really love this place! It is a wonderful mixture of the old and the new. There are cows in the fields in the middle of town, and of course the odor. Bicycle taxis that ferry entire families to Church—the driver looked like an over worked horse. Little tiendas on every street and Wal Marts along freeways. Though there is as underlying feeling of poverty, no one here seems to have given up or to be looking for someone to give them a handout. Whole households work long hours for meager wages, banding together to make ends meet, and, in spite of their poverty, they are a very happy and friendly people willing to give you some of what little they have.

On Tuesday, Chrise and I went to what we thought was going to be a family home evening at the home of a member. Two elders were to join us. When we got there with our cookies and music, we found that no one was a member or knew what family home evening was. So we combined family home evening with a missionary discussion to grandmother, mom, nine year old daughter, and five year old son. Chrise played the keyboard and we all sang I Am a Child of God in Spanish. They loved the song so much that they asked to sing it a second time, and then they wanted the sheet music we had brought with us. I don’t think any of them had ever seen chocolate chip cookies, but I mistook their reserve in eating them, especially the children. They loved them to be sure, but even when we encouraged them they held back from going for thirds. Then the grandmother spoke out, telling the kids that the remainder of the cookies were for family members who were still away working. She named each one of them. To them the cookies were a rare treat that must be shared. The mother kept disappearing and returning and finally she came back with a whole tray of rice pudding in cups. I shuddered to think how much work had to be done to pay for this, but they insisted that we eat.

On another night we came upon the home a young couple, each twenty-one. The husband had just come home from a very hard day of work. The wife worked in a little tienda at the front of their house. Everything was clean and simple and meager. We sat on stools in their bedroom-kitchen-living room about eight feet by ten feet. Love was plainly there in the way that the looked at each other. Chrise asked to see their wedding pictures, and for more than twenty minutes they showed us pictures, laughing at memories, now three years old. When I asked if they would like to prepare to go to the temple and be sealed together, they glanced at each other, smiled and nodded. We will be seeing a lot of this beautiful young couple over the next several weeks.

In to Mexico

We had a flawless flight with a very friendly ticket agent upgrading us to business class, so I had lots of room for my long legs. The mission president and his wife picked us up at the Mexico City airport. From the start we felt embarrassed by the royal attention we received. Some of the Mexican members of the mission home together with the mission president’s wife had prepared a special feast in our honor, even killing a turkey. During the feast each of the local members introduced themselves and told us a little of their history in the Church. Of course it was all in Spanish, and if there was a problem with the night it was that my wife felt a little isolated.

Then we were shown our palatial house. Chrise and I were totally blown away by the size of it--four bedrooms and three baths with a very soft, king-sized bed. We were both expecting something much more austere. Of course every paradise has its bad side. There is no garbage disposal and, more importantly, no dishwasher. This was no problem for my wife—she designated me dishwasher.

A couple of nights later we prepared a dinner for a very lively pair of Mexican sister missionaries, who were going to help us get into the missionary work. One of the sisters really wanted to talk to me. She was especially interested in my story of how Chrise and I had met. Since she was going home within a couple of months, I found myself sharing my ideas of how to transition from being a missionary, bearing my testimony about the things that had worked for me. In the middle of the discussion, the sweet sister broke into tears and said that what I was saying was an answer to her prayers.

One other small problem with our paradise we live within a few miles of away from an active volcano. I attaching a  picture I took of it while I was out for walk in front of our house. The smoke you see, both in front and on the top, comes from the this volcano.