The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Bleating

Make a difference. Adopt a goat today.

I decided if I were to make any progress in my "speaking-in-the-present-tense-with-some-creative-adjectives-and-made-up-verbs" Spanish-speaking abilities I would have to apply myself a bit more, hence accompanying the Lazaro Spanish congregation to the mountains to preach. 

One little, two little, three little Mexicans, four little, five--GAAAAAAHHH!!!

 CLASS FIVE GRANDOTA ALERT!

This is not an optical illusion, people. This is Mother Nature's anomalies at their finest. Ah, I love that sister. Almost as much as she loved that goat.

We piled into a collectivo and took the windy, vomitrocious road to the mountains. You can see the brothers placidly hanging out the back of the collectivo. What you didn't see was THIS!:

Ahhahah, I caught Raul in the middle of a story looking positively batty. I have never laughed so much as in that car ride. There's something about only understanding two-thirds of what's being said, having people fly off seats and into your lap, and capturing pictures of people looking like escaped Tyrannosaurs that really gets hilarious.

We searched hill and dale to find interested persons, which turned out to be almost everyone. I was able to sit with an illiterate, aged woman and teach her some Bible truths. She gave us all she had to sit on, a bucket and a broken stool. She was absolutely delighted to learn God has a name, tears welled to her eyes as we talked to her. At another door a man offered us seats and told us how he was studying the Bible in the United States but now didn't know how he would continue, considering he was living on the outskirts of nowhere. After speaking for 20 minutes, he was like, "Oh...I speak English." What are the odds? I can tell you. Not very high. Anyway, since I wasn't able to come back the Lazaro cong is going to come back and take care of every one. Well, I mean, not like they have a choice, Jehovah is just making sure we find everyone who's looking for him, isn't he?

After a long morning we feasted on chicken soup...chicken and water, baby, spiced up with lime and salt. I made tortillas. No, I tried to make tortillas...I promise I can do it while I'm alone, but under the watchful eyes of my miniature jefe (behind me) you can see why mine came out like sheets of shameful swiss cheese.

Everyone who picked up a deformed tortilla threw their heads back in laughter at my handiwork. They still tasted good, OKAY? Where I come from, tortillas grow out of plastic packages...

Goats - The portable friend you can eat.

My next Latin American quest will likely be in Spanish, so I need keep it up. If anyone wants to watch movies in Spanish with me, or sing Enrique Iglesias songs with me, or carry me around like a goat, give me a ring.