On December 16, I received a phone call from Sra. Isaura, one of our contacts in the town of Quinsaloma, about three hours or so away from Guayaquil. We had previously studied with both her and her sister, Sra. Isabel. However, Sra. Isabel passed away from cancer during our last week of convention rounds. Two of the brother workers from our staff were able to attend and have part in her funeral as they were relatively close to Quinsaloma at the time. Now, Sra. Isaura informed me, the one month anniversary of her sister's death would be December 30, and she wondered if someone would be available to come and have a part in the memorial mass. She knew how much her sister loved us and wanted to give us plenty of notice so that we would be more likely to come. Receiving such advance notice was quite a thing, as this is not a typical Ecuadorian custom! I told her that I didn't know what our plans were that far in advance but that I would be in touch with her. What to do?! I had no worker companion and wasn't likely to have one until I met up with my new co-worker in my new field mid-January. I wrote to LeRoy, our responsible brother, asking him what he thought I should do. In the end, I went. Don Moisés and Ruthi Guzmán kindly accompanied me. I had no idea what to expect but had thought of a few verses that might be appropriate for the situation, and we took along several hymnbooks just in case. We arrived in Quinsaloma around 7:00; the "mass" wasn't supposed to start until 8:00, which means after 8:00 Ecuadorian time. We were hopeful that they might at least start on time, since we had asked if they could have it a little bit earlier, due to the fact that we planned to travel back to Guayaquil after it was over. Anyway, after arriving in town, we found a Chinese restaurant at which to sup. Then we set about trying to find the place where the service was to be held. Sra. Isaura had told me it would be in the home of one of Sra. Isabel's sons, but I didn't know where that was, other than the fact it was on the main street through town. We walked up and down the main street but couldn't decide for sure which house it would be. Sra. Isaura wasn't answering her phone, so we just kept wandering. Finally, right at 8:00, Sra. Isaura called me, asking where we were. As it turned out, we had guessed the correct location of the service and weren't far from there. "We're on our way there right now too," she told me. So, a little after 8:00, the three of us from Guayaquil, Sra. Isaura and her mother and brother entered the house of her nephew, where a few other family members were already present. We sat in the living room, and Sra. Isaura headed to the kitchen to join a couple of other ladies who were already there. After a short while, I began to get the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps they were about to serve us something to eat. I headed to the kitchen, and sure enough, they were preparing to dish up enormous platefuls of food for us. "We've already eaten supper," I apologized profusely. They couldn't understand why we would have done such a thing but didn't end up making us eat. I didn't bother to explain that when I hear that a service is to be held at 8:00, I would plan to arrive at least 15 minutes ahead of time without expecting to be fed, especially if I don't arrive until the actual time the service is supposed to begin. A slight cultural difference. I suppose it was around 8:15 or slightly thereafter when everyone in the house congregated in the living room. "What exactly is the format of the service?" I asked Sra. Isaura. "We're just here to listen to your message," she told me. Oh???? As it turned out, a bit of an informal conversation got underway with different ones sharing memories of the deceased. I interjected some of the thoughts I had had regarding Sra. Isabel and what she was in the process of learning and learning to love before her death. All in all, though a bit awkward at times, everything went fine. We finally left around 9:15 or so. Sra. Isaura expressed her sincere appreciation for the effort we had made to come and share with them, and to me, that really made it all worth it. It had been evident during the service that her desire was really for her family members to listen to what we had to say, rather than sharing their own thoughts and ideas regarding religious beliefs, which made us feel hopeful that she's receiving something for her soul. After we got in the car, don Moisés informed us that he had received several messages from Sra. María and Jorge, recommending that we not travel back to Guayaquil that night. As it turned out, we headed to Quevedo instead, about an hour from Quinsaloma, in the opposite direction from Guayaquil, which is where don Moisés' mother and sister live. I, of course, was completely unprepared to spend the night anywhere other than where all of my things were, but it turned out okay. Sra. Anita, don Moisés' sister, lent me pajamas, and I did without everything else until the next day around noon when we finally arrived back home in Guayaquil. I don't know that I would be so interested in repeating the experience, but it left us with quite a lot of memories and an at least somewhat interesting story to tell.
A few pictures in Quinaloma's main square after supper and before the service
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