Mailmen and Circuit Riders — June 14, 2003

You've heard the expressions, "Come rain or come shine," and "Lord willing, and the creek don't rise." Well, I think Larry hasn't heard the last half of either of these. His dad was a mailman, from whom he picked up a few of his habits, and Larry is following the Lord's will, and I'm following Larry.

So, Monday the 9th, off we went for a short jaunt to the south, in rain with the creek rising. Larry had six towns he wanted to stop at to visit his Reps and
Bucalemu countryside exchange their videos. I was looking forward to seeing Pichilemu which is in route, once again, because I remembered the only transportation in that beach town was horse drawn taxis. After passing through the town not a horse was in sight. It breaks my heart to see Chile loosing its culture. We stopped there for lunch and ate a fried fish called merlusa. You can't imagine how good that was, so fresh and delicate.

Then on to Bucalemu, where we met up with our first Rep. Next we headed inland for Paradones and Lolol. We stopped at Lolol for the night. The homes in this area were very old adobe with hand made tiled roofs. A smartly dressed young woman walking along a street directed us to the hostel, Capri, where a widow showed us the rooms she had to let. Cold and dank, not too clean either. But knowing I had my own sleeping bag comforted me, plus there was a private bathroom supposedly with hot water. She promised breakfast and said she was going to freshen up the room and change the sheets while we made our trip to the church. We paid a deposit and took off to visit the pastor representing our ministry for that region.

Boyecura countryside When we drove up, the pastor was just arriving home for tea. His wife had a little convenience stand at one side of the church which she was closing up, and she joined us. Larry and the pastor started in right away discussing the success of his ministry in Lolol with the video tapes, while his wife was in the kitchen preparing something light for us to eat. The men went through the tapes the pastor had used the past year, one at a time and he explained how and why each one was effective. He decided to keep several he had been using for another year, and he wanted more videos than Larry could leave with him. We were happy to see the ministry in full swing and returned to the Hostel Capri.

Next morning, we got up early, decided against the "hot" cold shower, dressed, and took a peek outside. Rain was pouring off the eves, puddles were everywhere so close together that it looked like a shallow lake between us and the main house, where breakfast was waiting. I had heard the old lady chopping wood earlier in the morning. I knew we would get at least hot instant coffee with sugar.

Larry had no trouble bounding across puddles landing in the shallower parts of the lake. Our hostess was watching me calculate and with crinkled eyes, kindly pointed out another route. We passed through her large kitchen with a big wood
Boyecura stove, into the dining room to a window table. Gloomy rain outside. This widow was a cheery person. Her eyes were twinkling, her statements were unabashed, her smiles broad. Her little cheeks were like crab apples. First thing she brought us was hot milk with coffee. Boy was that welcomed, it took the chill off right away. Next she carried in a large tray with plates of hot, home made bread, butter, thick slices of real ham, not processed lunch meat, sliced cheese and home made coffee cake with raisins. She was in no hurry to leave and engaged us in conversation. After five years of marriage, pregnant with her fourth child, her husband died of a stroke. She had been widowed forty years. There were three leaks in her dining room roof, which didn't phase her at all. She was just a perky, cheerful, rise above it all, woman. We had paid what we thought was too much for our room and board, but her breakfast was so ample and delicious, Larry left her a large tip.

It's amazing how Larry drives right to these little places. No street signs, and it seems to me like he's driving in circles, zig zagging through countryside and old towns. Then suddenly he would stop by a house in some pueblo, and someone would come out to the car before we could get a door open and greet Larry with a handshake and a blessing.

While driving further south to Vichuquén, we passed a large lake with a concentration of black necked swans which was followed later by salt water marshes covered by fiery red carpets of vegetation. As we drove along the salty
  red marshes, signs advertising salt for sale attracted our attention. When a young lady walking toward us down the middle of the muddy road was opposite Larry's window, he asked her if she had any salt for sale. Although it was raining, she politely stopped and stood in the down pour and chatted, telling us the salt she had recently harvested from the marsh was not of table quality. She said it was hojualla. I didn't know that word, so we told her it didn't matter. She motioned for us to follow her as she turned around and retraced her tracks running before our car; the rain pelting down hard on her head and back. Fifteen seconds later she darted into a house and emerged with a bag full of sparkling snow flakes of salt. Again she apologized that it wasn't of table quality but was hojualla. I moistened my finger and touched it to the salt and tasted it. It left a mineral twang in my mouth. I knew that had to be loaded with minerals. We gave her the equivalent of $1.25, which was way too much, but we were thinking of her diligence in returning to her house in the pouring rain to make a sale.

 
 

We continued south to Vichuquén and then after meeting with Pastor Ronaldo Ramirez we left to travel west to cross over a pine tree covered coastal mountain to a small rural beach community. Traveling along some of the ridges of this
  range of hills the wind and rain of the storm rocked our car. Larry kept his eyes on the pines that were straining and bowing over the gravel road.

We started descending to the coast with the last light of day. In front of us on the last ridge before the sandy beach, we had a breath taking view of the silhouette of a farmer ploughing with his horse. With one last tricky curve, we abruptly saw the ocean. Sea level at last and safely off the slick muddy road onto the hard packed sand road. We were in Lipimavida. This is a town? Again Larry seemed to know exactly where he was going. We continued on to a typical evangelical church on the beach.

Nikki with Rep. Edith and family, Lipimavida Larry had arranged a week before by phone to spend a night in a tourist cabin our Rep there owns behind her home. The lady who has charge of the videos met us at the gate and ushered us in to park next to the beach cabin. We hardly had the car parked than her twenty-ish daughter came sailing around the corner, all wrapped up from the fierce wind, unlocked the cabin, and showed us in. She asked how late we wanted to sleep before we got together the next day to exchange videos. Larry was really tired, and we decided on ten o'clock. He had driven long and hard for two days in unnerving weather conditions. We went to a little store, bought instant coffee and milk, local grown papayas in a glass jar, peach juice and some potato chips, then a
  couple hours later we drove down the road to a restaurant our Rep recommended. We ate a shellfish soup, which warmed us all over and made us sleepy. The next morning we were greeted with blue sky.

The family waiting for us was one of those aglow with Christ families. Mother, father, and daughter. The daughter started telling us how God had ministered to her in perfect timing because the videos from the year before met her exactly where she was in her spiritual growth and now she was ready to go on and share what she was learning with others.

We went away full of fellowship. Sweet, sweet fellowship. We left the beach and returned home.

Larry and Nikki