CANYON HURTADO - THE SOUND OF SPURS

On my last trip out when I was returning home from ministering in the valley of Elqui, east of La Serena, I took a detour south from Vicuña across the cactus badlands. This route took me over a summit between two valleys in the foothills next to the Andes. This slow one lane dirt road without any other traffic took me down into the Hurtado Canyon, where we have two men working with our ministry. Each man I have written about before; in Hurtado a police officer and further down the canyon close to Fundina, a Methodist preacher who isn't able to read, but who is able to study using our videos. I got bad reports from both locations.

The police officer was not at the station but was instead in a Santiago hospital with cancer. And the Methodist pastor is having critical marriage problems. So neither man has been effective in ministry this last year.

Just outside of the small dusty town of Fundina, with 3 kids running circles around us, I spent a long time counseling the wife, Paulina, who really needed someone to talk to, until her husband, Solomon finally returned from errands. The biggest problem they have is that the isolation is getting to be too much for her. Solomon isn't about to move as the only thing he knows to do is to raise pigs. And he provides the food for the pigs by collecting figs from wild trees along the river. So Paulina is quite stressed over not having any hope of a change.

It had gotten dark. I was very tired. So, I finally had to excuse myself and continue a mile down to Fundina (a pueblo two blocks long with three street lights) to a home that rents out beds and provide meals. They had the same upstairs room for me, as always. Everyone knew me from other visits and gave me a warm reception. A meal was instantly started for me in the kitchen as I ventured up to my room and shower to shed the dust from the road. Each time I stay in this room, I feel like Elisha going up to the roof to the room provided by the Shunammite woman.

  When I finished my meal, I went out to the dark street and sat down on the squatty wooden bench next to the front door. To sit on the low bench I had to stretch out my legs over the sidewalk. To my left was a bar where all the ole boys were whooping it up. If one was attentive, behind the roar of music, clanging of beer mugs, laughter, and shouts, was the jingle of many spurs. Other Huasos were arriving on their horses and when they dismounted, there was a louder jingle jangle of spurs as their shadowy forms moved to the light cascading across the sidewalk from the open doorway.

Then the contrast hit me hard. Here I am as if in a movie set of the wild west 200 years back in time, and in a couple weeks I will be in Seattle in a completely different environment. I had the sensation that I am going to leap 200 years into the future when I soon come home on furlough. I felt as if I really was displaced in time.

 
 

Then it was like the Holy Spirit sat down next to me on the splintery bench. Thoughts came concerning, who was I to have this unique experience, a missionary traveling the back roads in South America? Who am I? I am nothing special! I am just a tool in the hands of our Lord; no different than any of my Supporters who are just as important as missionaries where they live. And I believe the Spirit of God wanted me to tell ya-all, just that!

You, my friends are tools in the hands of the Lord where you live. "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." Ephesians 2:10.

Nikki and I send our gratitude for the sacrifice that so many make in order to put diesel fuel in our tank and beans on our table.

Blessings in Christ to all, Larry and Nikki

Video Instruction Ministries
% Harland Beery
P.O. Box 1332
Silverdale, WA 98383, USA
www.gault4him.org