(a handwritten letter to the Kommandant)
Dearest Kommandant, (that's
me, his mammy)
Life's pretty chill around here. Me 'n' Elder Hafer are
working hard. Due to the touristy nature of Punta Cana, everything is far apart
and the cheapest guaguas run at 30 (!!!!!) pesos a pop. That adds up. If we
want to take a guagua to a part of our area called Villa Playbol, for instance,
we have to catch one to El Cruce, hop out, get on anotherun, and from thence to
Villa Playbol. Two more to get back and we just had to shell out 120 pesos. No
thanks. So, we walk a lot. From here on out, I'm gonna use place names as if
they meant something to you. So's ya know.
Elder Hafer and I were walking in Villa
Europa, going around and trying to get to know people. Unfortunately, of all
the people we tried to visit, the only one who was even home was a persnickety
lady who just complained that she didn't feel good because she had a baby
growing in her belly and for us to come back in two months when she no longer
had a baby growing in her belly. Well, we left her to give birth and trudged
through the street ready to write the afternoon off as a failure and start the
45 minute walk back.
And then, a miracle. The dirtiest little boy I'd seen all
day came running up. "Hey, Mormons! My aunt wants to talk to you!"
Alright. Sounds groovy to me. So we followed him. Turns out that his aunt was a
charming lady named Victoria about 50 years of age. She was baptized in 1991
and was a firm member until 1998. She moved out here, went inactive, (the
Church didn't open a branch until 2011 out here.
Not a perfect excuse, but 13
years [particularly since her husband is not a member] are significant) sort of
just moved on with her life. Then, just a little while ago, she commented to
her sister that she wanted to go back to church. Her sister was a dry member
(active but unbaptized) for five years. She loved the church but couldn't be
baptized because the father of her children viewed marriage as a social
construct and refused to marry her. In time, she realized her man was a goober
and a video game addict, so she packed up her two kids and peaced out. That was
six years ago. She'd still not gotten baptized or gone to Church in those years
because of an unfortunate occurrence, but now, she too felt a desire to return.
In short, God showed us a miracle in which we found a
less-active who wants to come back and five new investigators (husband,
daughter, sister, and 2 nephews of Victoria) who could be baptized. What a
beautiful experience.
But not all experiences are beautiful. The other day, Elder
Hafer and I were out contacting houses along a highway divided into three
roads, each road being divided from the others by a swath of grass. This place
is Friusa Called. It's called Friusa. Well, we contacted for a while until it was
time to visit a less-active member named Victor. He had brought his nonmember
girlfriend to church the Sunday before and so we figured it was time to reactivate
this Kit-Kat. We took his dats and put the cita. Cita is appointment. Sorry.
Spanglish.
Now, Victor is a volunteer firefighter, so he lives at the
fire station. He told us it was on the highway just outside Friusa. So we
started walking. And walking. And walking. Aaaaaand walking. Eventually, the
sun set, and we were still walking. Every time we passed a rest stop or gas
station or random restaurant, we'd stop and ask, "Hey, do y'all know where
the fire station is?" They invariably pointed down the highway and said
some amount of time in between 15 minutes to 5 hours. Cheery. So we kept right
on walking.
Finally, we saw a charming little puke-green over-described
cinderblock building with the words CUERPO DE BOMBEROS emblazoned on the roof.
Hallelujah!!! We triumphantly flounced in and were like, "Hey, is Victor
here?" And they were like, "No."
FLKKXBLGTHGHS!!!!!!!!1
It was just as well, really, because it was past 8:30. We
had to get home. And this time, we'd just catch a guagua. Easy, right? Wrong.
See, since some genius decided to put the fire department on a remote highway
miles from anywhere, all traffic goes whipping past and in the dark, no one
could see us in time to stop. Four guaguas passed us and we started to get desperate.
And then, God decided to get us home in time.
Around the corner turned a gargantuan tourist bus. We didn't
even bother trying to flag it down because these behemoths don't stop for
anyone. They fill up at the hotels and then go thundering down the highway.
Nonstop. We weren't going anywhere with this one. And then. To our eternal
surprise. It flashed us with its brights. And it stopped. The door hissed open
and the driver looked down at us. "Are you guys Mormons?" We nodded.
He looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "I don't know much about
your church, but my son is a Mormon missionary. Y'all want a ride?"
And this has been the story of how we got a catered ride
home on a bus that was nicer than the plane I flew in on. For free. God's out
there. And He's watching.
Anyway, it's time to go to district meeting. Give everyone
my love!
Love, Dallin
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