Prerequisites: Part One

I recognize that many of you do not share my beliefs. You may be a Protestant, a Catholic, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist, an Atheist, an Agnostic, or an adherent to one of the many other religious traditions throughout the world. I’d ask you not to reject my message simply because I’m a Mormon. I understand that you may not believe as I do. But I’d ask you to suspend your unbelief during our discussions and wait to decide whether I am right or wrong after we are done talking. And it might take a long time before I finish what I hope to write!

Because we come from such varying backgrounds, I’ll assume that you and I have no common beliefs (I’m sure we do, but we won’t know until we get going.). So let’s get going!

Before we begin our discussion about the Redemption and Resurrection made possible through Jesus Christ, there are a few things we need to talk about as prerequisites. Just as a building needs a solid foundation to stand, the doctrine of the Redemption and Resurrection cannot be understood fully unless we first lay a strong groundwork of foundational doctrine.

As I’ve thought about it, I recognized that there are five foundational doctrines underlying the doctrine of the Redemption and the Resurrection: (1) There is a God. (2) He has a plan for us. (3) He has established laws as part of his plan. (4) He has granted us our free will―what I’ll call agency. And (5) He covenants with those who accept Him as their God.

The house that I hope to build as I write will collapse if I don’t first sink these footings. For some of you, these discussions will be review, for others, introductory. But I hope that they’ll sink deep into your heart and that they’ll edify all of us.

Throughout our discussion, I’ll refer to various books and writings including, The Holy Bible, The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, The Doctrine and Covenants, The Pearl of Great Price, (the links will take you to a brief description of each book) and the teachings of men whom I accept as living Prophets and Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ.

PREREQUISITE 1: THERE IS A GOD

God’s Physical Nature

Millions have debated the physical nature of God. Counsels have formed. Faithful have fought. And it seems that we’re farther than ever from reaching a consensus. This, despite one of the first passages in the Bible: “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.” Gen. 1:27. So if we want to know what God looks like, we need only look in the mirror.

God has a face. He speaks with a mouth. He has arms to hold, hands to heal, a heart that feels. His eyes can pierce us through to the soul. His mind knows all things. Yet the misconception that He is without body parts and passions has persisted for almost two millennia.

But in 1820, as if to end the controversy, God revealed himself to a boy who wanted nothing more than to follow Him. His name was Joseph Smith. Joseph lived in upstate New York near the town of Palmyra. When he was fourteen years old, there was a great religious fervor. Preachers of different faiths proselytized the community, urging all to accept Jesus. They said it didn’t matter which church you joined, as long as you accepted Jesus. But Joseph soon recognized that as soon as people joined one church, they would begin fighting with members of the other churches about the meaning of the Bible, how to be saved, and the nature of God.

It was a confusing time for Joseph. He often wondered, “What is to be done? Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together? If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?” Joseph Smith-History 1:10.

Knowing that God is not the author of confusion, Joseph turned to God’s word, The Holy Bible. He studied daily and mediated on the meaning of the scriptures he was reading. One day, he read James 1:5: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”

Because his words are better than I could ever write, I quote Joseph’s account of the impact that this verse had on him:

Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did; for how to act I did not know, and unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know; for the teachers of religion of the different sects understood the same passages of scripture so differently as to destroy all confidence in settling the question by an appeal to the Bible.

At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and confusion, or else I must do as James directs, that is, ask of God. I at length came to the determination to "ask of God," concluding that if he gave wisdom to them that lacked wisdom, and would give liberally, and not upbraid, I might venture.

Joseph Smith-History 1:12-13.

On the morning of a spring day, Joseph tested James’ promise in a grove of trees near his home.

Again, Joseph’s words:

After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.

But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction—not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being—just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.

It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!

Joseph Smith-History 1:15-17.

Joseph Smith saw God and His Son, Jesus Christ. He saw their faces. Their eyes pierced him. He heard their words. He saw that they had bodies of flesh and bone, just like we have. But he saw that their bodies were perfected and glorified, not subject to illness or death. And he saw that Jesus was in the express image of His Father.

God clarified the confusion of ages about His physical attributes to a mere boy.

Yet this theopany merely confirmed what the Bible taught. As I said, we are taught that we were created in God’s image. The Bible also teaches that God spoke with Moses “face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend.” Exodus 33:11. Jesus testified that He looked just like His Father when one of His apostles asked him to show them the Father: “Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; . . .” John 14:9.

I conclude this discussion about God’s physical attributes by quoting three more passages of scripture. During Joseph’s life, he had the privilege of seeing Jesus Christ many times. One time was after Joseph and members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had built their first temple. Joseph said:

[I] saw the Lord standing upon the breastwork of the pulpit, before [me]; and under his feet was a paved work of pure gold, in color like amber.

His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, . . .

D&C 110:2-3. But Joseph was not the only Prophet who was permitted to see Jesus. Daniel of the Old Testament also saw him:

Then I lifted up mine eyes, and looked, and behold a certain man clothed in linen, whose loins were girded with fine gold of Uphaz:

His body also was like the beryl, and his face as the appearance of lightning, and his eyes as lamps of fire, and his arms and his feet like in colour to polished brass, and the voice of his words like the voice of a multitude.

Daniel 10:5-6. So did John the Revelator:

I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet,

Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: . . .

And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;

And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.

His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire;

And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.

And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.

And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:

I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; . . .”

John 1:10-18.

So to really know God’s physical nature, all we need to do is read the Scriptures. He has revealed it and restored our knowledge of it many times. Because we know the Jesus is in the express likeness of the Father, we know what both of them look like. And one day, all of us will stand before God, and we will see His face and, hopefully, feel His arms clasp us in His loving embrace.

The Dance

THE DANCE

The night envelopes us as we make our way back to the apartment. Every few minutes, lights cut through the blackness; each set brings hope of a ride back to Otavalo. We try to thumb them down, but most of our gestures are ignored. We are forced to continue along the dirt road that would take us to the highway. There, we might catch a bus which will carry us the remaining five miles to the city.

Fireflies flicker around us as random thoughts flash and fizzle in my mind. As the ideas fire, I catch hold of one: The past five months have been difficult. I had worked my heart out, and yet, the fruits were minimal.

My mind is clouded, and I can not see past its dark negativity. Initially, I was excited to serve. As a child I had dreamed of being like Ammon. But here I am in my own land of Ishmael, but I had yet to find a Lamoni.

I can’t help but feel guilty. I’m missing something; I’m coming up short somewhere. What lack I yet? Becoming emotional, I let my thoughts be drowned out by the heavy "clump, clump" of my feet on the uneven ground.

"Could today have been any worse?" I ask my companion, hoping that he would see behind the mask of the question and find the words to soothe my troubled soul.

"It wasn’t so bad. We were able to do a little of what we planned."

A troubled sigh escapes me; he had failed to hear my cry for help. Elder Rekoutis is a good missionary and a good friend, but perhaps I need to go to Someone greater. I ache to go home and pray.

Lights behind us signal new hope. Instead of passing by and hurrying along, a truck splashes through a puddle and stops. The driver’s shoulder rotates as his window descends into the door, and a broad smile greets us. Two gold inlayed stars in his front teeth dominate his grin. He wears an Al Capone style hat backward with the brim flipped up. It almost looks like a natural part of the long, jet black hair pulled into a loose pony tail behind his head.

"You going to Otavalo?" His Spanish sounds perfect, no trace of a Quichua accent. Quichua was slowly dying out, and he is typical of a new generation.

"Sí, can you give us a ride?"

"Sure, hop in," he responds, motioning us to climb into the truck bed. My companion and I step onto the bumper and into the back. Squatting, we brace ourselves for the ride. We sit quietly as the wind whips past us. I allow it to push back the feelings and thoughts that come all too easily. Looking up, I stare into the void of the night sky, ignoring the glimmering stars that look down on me.

The ride is short, and we soon are within the municipality of Otavalo, nestled in the Andes Mountains of Ecuador. Two and three story buildings dominate the streets. The joints of each structure come together in perfect right angles, creating cinder block, rectangular faces and flat roofed losas.

In minutes, we’re back at the apartment. My companion and I study together, but fatigue overpowers us, and we get little out of it. Afterwards, I shower, waiting secretly for the time that I can commune with the Lord. The time comes, and I kneel. I begin, but my words are robotic, almost recorded. I continue, but I feel that each word hits the ceiling; I receive no comfort. The question still remaines: What lack I yet? I finish and struggled into bed.

I’m not excited for morning, especially because morning brings a holiday. Holidays mean a lot of walking with little contact with people, and most appointments fall through. Just what I need. Tomorrow morning’s holiday holds even less promise because it is El Dia de los Fallecidos, The Day of the Dead. Morning looms ominously ahead, like the sky right before a thunderstorm. Wrapping myself in that darkness, I close my eyes.

The morning is typical. It is time to study personally and the scriptures bring little comfort. I still cannot understand how the prophets of old could do it. I am doing exactly as they did but the results are so drastically different. Discouraged, I angrily close The Book of Mormon. It is time to go, and I reluctantly step out onto the street.

The first few hours pass just as I had suspected. "What’s the deal?" I blurt out to my companion. "We walk and walk and it doesn’t do any good to talk to people. They just stare at us with that glazed over a look, like our words are bouncing off their ears."

"Relax, Pankratz!" Elder Rekoutis’ face is tight. His forehead wrinkles as he looks at me. His glare does little to help me obey his command. "Look, it’s not my fault that Luis couldn’t translate for us. We’ll just have to do our best. WON’T WE?"

Flinging his proselyting bag over his shoulder, he turns and tromps away. The conversation was over. Rolling my eyes, I follow. It’s time for English class. Brooding, I walk grudgingly behind my companion the entire way to the church.

I have to check my day planner to make sure what day it is when we arrive at the chapel. The grounds are full. "What’s going on?" I ask, the tension from before giving way temporarily to curiosity. I cannot help but speculate about what is happening, and honestly, my speculation is not too favorable for the members.

"I don’t know." Rekoutis responds. His countenance has relaxed since our last discussion. Forgetting the contention, he looks at the grounds with eyes suddenly full of wonderment and excitement. "Let’s go find out."

"¡Guokis! ¿Ima nasha tac cangichi?" Greet the members as we enter the chain link gate of the chapel’s grounds. Puzzled, we weave through the throngs of people to find the Bishop. Spotting him near the back of the yard, we dodge our way to him. The bishop salutes us, joy beaming from his face. "Elderes, ¿cómo están?" His eyes glow with kindness as I listen to him. It takes little effort to discern what is happening. Today is the day of La Compania’s ward party for The Day of the Dead, and we are invited to participate with a special invitation. English class immediately loses importance. Even the pupils are invited to take part in the celebrations.

I look out on the throngs of people. Here is the fountain of my problems, ignorance, apathy, and misunderstanding. If these people were not so backward, maybe I would have the success that I want. I am so tired of members who refuse to help us. I have had enough of evangelical congregations’ persecutions, of their lies about the church. If only they knew who they were. If only they were like the people of Ammon, then I would be happy.

Despite my mind’s justifications, I still do not feel comfortable about placing the blame solely on them. I try to reevaluate my thinking. It’s difficult to see past the present hurt, the longings of a young missionary, but I try. Perhaps they merit another chance. Perhaps another look will reveal something. Elder Rekoutis seems to appreciate them. I watch for a moment as he laughs and plays with them. He is smiling.

I place my thoughts in the back of my mind when the Bishop calls us to attention. There is to be a special presentation by the sisters of the ward. They will perform several traditional dances. Finding our place on a hill that overlooks the dance floor, my companion and I sit. For the first time in a long time, I am full of anticipation. In five months on this mountainside I have yet to see a dance or a ceremony that links these people to their past, to who they are.

The dancers stand ready next to the sports court, a cement slab, that will be their dance floor. I scan through the dancers, and in the front of all of them stands Janet, the Bishop’s daughter. Of all the children that I know in the La Compania, she is my favorite. As I look at her, memories of her and her brothers pleading to be thrown into the air flow into my mind. Janet is a special little girl, naive and energetic. Secretly, I have adopted her as one of my nieces.

A 6/8 indigenous Andean rhythm begins to play, and the dancers take their places. Janet is blushing and her embarrassment shows in her eyes as well. The collar of her blouse bounces as she moves to the simple step, bounce, step choreography of the dance. Catching her glance I cannot help but smile. She sees me and rolls her eyes as if trying to escape my attention. For a moment, I turn away my attention to observe the people of the ward.

The cheery music still plays as brightly embroidered blossoms shine brilliantly against a multitude of gleaming white trousers and shirts, like May flowers defying a late snowstorm. Beautiful children closely trail their mothers. An occasional blue poncho and the women’s dark skirts brake the simple white pattern that runs throughout the crowd. Babies with fat, round faces are strapped snugly to their mother’s backs. Men and women smile as they observe the dance, gold lined teeth shining in the sunlight. They are glowing.

The music continues, and my attention is drawn back to Janet. She is glowing like the rest, but her glow is contagious, flowing out from her, and bathing all in her radiance. I am caught up in Janet’s warmth, and in an instant, the scales of darkness that cover my eyes fall to the floor. The light of Christ illuminates them. I see the ward members as they are, my brothers and sisters, a beautiful and a chosen people. The dance now done, I am somehow different. Something has changed. I feel complete.

To the west the sun sinks and begins to set. The colors of the countryside are crisper as the sun makes its descent. Long shadows stretch from the adobe houses and across the grass of the church’s lawn. The shadows mark that it is time to go. We bid our friends farewell, as the sun sinks completely behind the hills to the west. A new feeling overcomes me as we walk away from the party.

Stepping beside my companion, I feel ashamed for my earlier actions. I think of ways to apologize. Searching, I turn to him and say, "Today was awesome. Wasn’t it, Rekoutis?"
He looks at me and smiles, understanding exactly what I’m saying, and answers, "Yep, it sure was, Pankratz. It sure was."

Night is upon us, but the moon and stars cast silvery shadows on the mountainside as we walk the dirt road to the highway. My feet move to the 6/8 beat of the music in my head. Tears quietly stream down my cheeks. I am filled with emotion as the clouds of negativity give way to the bright celestial lights above us.

Fireflies flicker around us as thoughts glow warmly in my head. As the ideas fill my mind, one prevails and catches hold of me: How grateful I am to my Heavenly Father for sending me here. Even though I have not found a Lamoni, I have been with the people of Ammon.

Worthy of Our Parentage

We are who we are in a very large part because of our ancestors. Their choices have shaped our opportunities and our circumstances, for better or for worse. Thankfully, I am descended from a long line of noble ancestry. And I owe everything to them.

I am the product of hundreds of years of searching for Eternal Truth. My ancestors, without exception (at least that I know of), came to the United States of America seeking religious freedom. On my mother's side, many of my ancestors were Puritans and Pilgrims. In fact, one of my great-grandfathers, Richard Warren, was on the Mayflower and was part of the scouting party that eventually chose Plymouth as a place of settlement.

The rest of my ancestors on my mother's side came to America to establish Zion. They were from the British Isles and the Netherlands. Mormon missionaries came to their countries and taught them in their homes, streets, and churches. My ancestors recognized that the fulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

One of them was named Mary Soar Taylor. Mary lived in Nottingham, England and was widowed when she was still a young woman, leaving her alone to care for her two sons, Jesse and William. Missionaries came and taught her that the True Church of Jesus Christ had been restored, and she accepted their message with all her heart.

She and her children wanted to join the Saints in Utah, but they were poor and had to wait several years until the opportunity came for them to come to Zion. In 1856, they left England and arrived in the Midwest where they would continue their trek. They couldn’t afford a wagon, let alone a team of oxen, so they pulled their belongings and supplies in a handcart in the Martin Handcart Company. But they left for Utah late in the summer, and an early snow storm caught their company on the high plains of Wyoming.

They were stranded.

Providentially, Elder Franklin D. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had found them before the snow storm as he was returning from a mission in Europe. He had a fast team of horses and a carriage and made it to Salt Lake City on October 4 to report that there were still two companies on the plains.

Even though Brigham Young immediately sent help, Mary, her children, and their company didn’t arrive in the Salt Lake Valley until late November. Many died, and those who didn’t lost toes, feet, fingers, and legs. William eventually died from the effects of the experience. (For more information about the Martin Handcart Company, see James E. Faust, "Go Bring Them Home from the Plains," Liahona, Nov. 1997, 3; James E. Faust, "A Priceless Heritage," Ensign, July 2002, 2; "Remembering the Rescue," Ensign, Aug. 1997, 38; Paul H. Peterson, "They Came by Handcart," Ensign, Aug. 1997, 30.

Of all people, I think the members of the Martin Handcart Company were justified in complaining and criticizing Brigham Young and the other leaders of the Church. But they didn’t; other members of the Church did. The following is an account of one survivor of the Martin Handcart Company as he responded to criticism:

Some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded.

An old man in the corner … sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it, then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.

In substance [he] said, "I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there, too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? …

"I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it."

He continued: "I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

"Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company." (James E. Faust, "The Refiner’s Fire," Ensign, May 1979, 53).

I know that Mary, Jesse, and William felt the same way.

In fact, Mary wrote a brief history of her life and closed it with her testimony. She said:

I have written this sketch of my life as stated for the benefit of my grandchildren and others and I also add my testimony of the divinity of this work. I know that it is the work of God and hope and trust that any of my posterity that may come in possession of this may be strengthened in their faith by it, and be worthy of such parentage for truly we suffered much for the truth's sake, but the reward of the faithful is sure.

It's hard to hold back the tears when I read my grandmother's words. She gave everything because she knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the restored Church of Jesus Christ, containing the Fulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And I strive to be "worthy of such parentage." I will be faithful to the end to this Gospel and to this Church. It is the least I can do for Mary and for Jesse and my other ancestors on my mother's side who gave everything to come to Zion.

And I am equally beholden to my father's ancestors. They were Mennonites. The Mennonites were part of the Anabaptist movement of the Reformation. During the Reformation, several men in Switzerland decided their infant baptisms were invalid because they did not have the option to choose for themselves. They were rebaptised, and thus the Anabaptist movement was born.

Among all the sects which emerged in Reformation Europe, the Anabaptists were the most radical. They sought to Restore the ancient Church of Jesus Christ. They actively proselytized their neighbors, and many rejected the authority of their secular leaders. As a result, the Anabaptists suffered severe persecution. Among the most radical of the Anabaptists were those living in the city of Munster, Germany. There, one Anabaptist leader claimed to be the prophet Enoch and Munster the city of Zion. They drove all non-believers from the city, but their neighbors retaliated and slaughtered the Munster Anabaptists.

After Munster, the Anabaptist movement needed leadership when a former Catholic priest, Menno Simons took the lead of the largest group of Anabaptists. He preached the need for the separation of Church and State, the importance of Faith and Works to gain salvation, and pacifism. The were known as the Mennonites.

The Mennonites gathered in communities and supported one another physically and spiritually. And because they were pacifists, they were driven from place to place. Finally, they were allowed to live in Prussia in the early Seventeenth Century. After one hundred years and prosperity in Prussia, the Prussian government demanded that the Mennonites give their sons to serve in the military.

Cathrine the Great of Russia, hearing of the Mennoites' prosperity in Prussia, invited them to come to the Ukraine and Crimea, which Russia had just acquired in the Crimean War. She promised that they would never have to serve in the military. But in 1871, Czar Alexander II of Russia ordered all men within the boundaries of his empire to submit themselves to military service. However, he opened a ten-year window of emigration for anyone opposed. The decree outraged the nearly forty-five thousand Mennonites, and after several failed attempts to dissuade the Russian government, the only solution was emigration.

And my ancestors ended up in the Midwest states of Kansas, Missouri, and the Dakotas. Their search for Truth and their desire to live according to the Truth they had received brought them here. Little did they know that the ancient Anabaptist desire to restore the ancient Church of Jesus Christ had been fulfilled through Joseph Smith. And little did they know that one of their descendants, my father, would find the fulness of the Gospel.

Dad was in high school working in a grocery store in Moses Lake, Washington. There were Mormons working in the store with him. And he had felt that there was something missing in his life. He approached the Mormons and asked if they had anything about their Church that he could read. They did better by bringing him to the missionaries and giving him a copy of the Book of Mormon.

Dad knew the Book of Mormon was truly Another Testament of Jesus Christ before he even finished reading it. He joined the Church and later served a mission in the Netherlands. While there, he had a mission companion named Jan. Jan's mother had just passed away, and his little sister, Diane, had to leave BYU to take care of her siblings.

Dad and Diane started writing each other. They were later married and had eleven children.

As you can see, I am who I am because of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And I feel an immense responsibility, more of a privilege than a responsibility, to share this Gospel with all the world. It is the Gospel that my Mennonite ancestors strove to restore, and it is the Gospel the prompted the ancestors on my mother's side to leave everything to come to Zion.

May I be worthy of such Parentage!

Christmas

The angels had good reason to sing that first Christmas night. In a vision explaining his father’s dream of the tree of life, Nephi saw the “most beautiful and fair [of] all virgins” holding the Son of God. (1 Nephi 11:15-22.) Instantly, Nephi recognized that the tree of life symbolized Christ and knew that the baby born in Bethlehem was the embodiment of God’s love for His children. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16.)

And God’s love abounded as Jesus walked among men. As Jesus healed and served, He testified that He merely did the works of the Father. (John 14:10.) That is, if Heavenly Father had been in Roman-occupied Jerusalem, He would have healed the sick, raised the dead, caused the blind to see, and lifted the sinner. For it was “God’s love [Jesus was] showing [us].” (Jeffery R. Holland, “The Grandeur of God,” Ensign, Nov. 2003, 72.) The same sorrow which filled Jesus as He lamented over Jerusalem filled Heavenly Father, as did the same compassion which Jesus showed to sinners, even to a woman caught in adultery. How can we imagine a stern and unforgiving God when He refused to condemn one guilty of the heinous sin of adultery? (See John 8:1-11.) True, God cannot “look upon sin with the least degree of tolerance,” and “no unclean thing can dwell in the presence of God.” But He wants us to repent of our sins, and when we do, immediately, He will extend the blessings of the plan of redemption to us until “He takes us on His shoulders and casts our sins behind His back.” (Alma 34:31; Holland, The Grandeur of God, 73.)

Thus the greatest manifestation of God’s love for us was the offering of His Son as the “great and last sacrifice” for sin. (Alma 34:10,13-14.) None of us compared to Christ premortally. The prophet Joseph Smith taught that many years will pass after our deaths and resurrection before any of us attain perfection. (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith [1976], 348.) Yet Jesus continued “from grace to grace” (D&C 93:14) until He attained Godhood many billions of years ago, enabling Him to create all things. (Moses 1:32-33.) Despite His premortal perfection, Jesus yielded Himself as a willing sacrifice to the will of the Father. No one deserved greater praise, glory, and honor. Yet no one suffered more. (D&C 19:15-18.) Still, to glorify the Father and to exalt us, Jesus “descended below all things.” (D&C 122:8).

Yes, the angels sang that first Christmas night because over Christ’s manger bed loomed the shadows of Gethsemane’s trees and of Golgotha’s cross. And the silence of that night portended the silence of the empty Garden Tomb.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”(Luke 2:14.)

Something to get you into the Christmas Spirit

Did you know that the inhabitants of the American continent also knew of the birth of Jesus Christ? I wrote this story about the signs that let them know about the birth of the Savior.

-Craig

P.S. There are endnotes which give translations of the Quichua words used in the text.

To learn more about the account of the first Christmas on the American continent read 3 Nephi 1:4-21.

To read prophesies about the birth of Jesus Christ by prophets who lived on the American continent anciently, go to 1 Nephi 11:13-23, Mosiah 3:2-8, Alma 7:7-13, and Helaman 14:1-8.

On the Morrow

Mashcag inhaled deeply. He loved the scent of the soil just after the rains ended. It mixed with the smell of harvested choclo1 and reminded him that the festivities to celebrate the harvest would soon begin. His stomach growled, anticipating the feast that Mama2 would prepare. Perhaps she would make Mashcag his own roasted cuy.3 He was practically a man: thirteen harvests had passed since his birth, and he could work a full day with his older brothers and Taita.4 Harvesting choclo made Mashcag very hungry, and the hind legs of a cuy would not be enough this year.

Clouds of tiny flies buzzed around Mashcag’s head, and some landed to feed. They couldn’t get through his thick, black hair and started biting his face, chest, and arms. His ears itched, but scratching them didn’t help. A larger fly landed on one of his knuckles bit. Mashcag slapped it, leaving a bloody smudge on his hand. He hated the bugs in the choclo. He wondered why all bugs couldn’t be like fireflies. They didn’t bite; instead, they scattered darkness. Mashcag was just a boy when he first saw them. He remembered reaching out to catch them. Each glowed just enough to light up a small, pale-green circle on his dark skin. He had asked Taita what they were:

"Mashcag," he had said, "every night, all year long, the stars look down on us from the heavens. They see us eating choclo and squash, and after the harvest, when we eat cuy, they get jealous and come down to feast with us."

"They want cuy, Taita?" Mashcag had asked. "Then why don’t they come down for weddings? We eat cuy then, too."

Taita had smiled and said, "Yes, Mashcag, but the stars are very high in the heavens, and it takes a long time to come down. The choclo harvest lasts many weeks, but a wedding is only for a day. It’s the harvesting that lets them know they need to come down."

Mashcag still remembered the twinkle in Taita’s eyes and his sly smile when he told him, but as a six-year-old, he believed everything that his father said. And he was crushed when his oldest brother, Weyana, said that the stars didn’t come down from heaven to eat cuy: the lights were only bugs. But when Mashcag went crying to Taita, his dad smiled again and said, "Of course they’re bugs. Didn’t you know why bugs have wings? To go home to heaven after they’ve eaten cuy!"

The fireflies had come and gone several times after that night, and it was time for them to come again. The harvest would be over tonight, and the feasts would begin tomorrow. Mashcag would wait for them after he finished his work.

Even though a cool breeze blew from the west, the sun’s rays were oppressive. Sweat dripped from Mashcag’s nose and stung his eyes. He wanted to wipe his face, but his hands were dirty. Examining his bare arms and chest, he decided that his right forearm was the cleanest. Leaning forward, he drew it across his eyes.

"Get back to work, Mashcag, or we’ll never finish by tonight," Taita said as he bent and cut a choclo stalk. He handed it to Mama, who was trailing him. She quickly plucked the dried ears from the plant, placed them in a woven, reed basket, and handed the bare stalk to Sumag, Mashcag’s eight-year-old sister. Sumag’s arms were full of choclo stalks, so she carried them to Cusi who piled them into a hut-shaped stack. They had been working all morning, and Sumag was exhausted. Her brown eyes drooped, and her cheeks were limp. Usually, she danced and laughed until Taita, Mama, or one of her brothers would beg her to stop, but the long hours in the field had been too much for her. Her hair, which glistened like obsidian in the sun, had come undone from the cloth which Mama had used to wrap it into a pony tail, and it spread across Sumag’s back.

"Taita’s right. You’re already falling behind, and I don’t want to wait for you again," Weyana said. He had already cut six stalks and laid them on the ground for Mashcag to strip, bundle, and carry to Cusi. Weyana was scowling, and Mashcag knew he had better listen.

It was difficult to match Weyana’s pace, and as Mashcag worked, he watched the smooth strokes his brother used to harvest. When Weyana used his obsidian-toothed sickle to cut the choclo stalks, the muscles and veins in his forearm bulged. Mashcag looked at his own undeveloped arms and wondered if his muscles would ever be like Weyana’s.

Moments later, Mashcag had enough plants to bring to Cusi. Gathering them, he tried to flex his forearm and sighed. Not even a ripple. Mashcag jogged to Cusi, handed him the stalks, and sprinted back to keep Weyana happy.

"Go put the choclo in the hut, and I’ll start on the next row." Weyana said after Mashcag got to him.

Mashcag nodded and lifted the basket. It was heavy, perfect for building muscles. As he walked to their home, he curled his wrists up and down until his forearms burned.

The hut was comfortable. Mashcag had helped Taita pack mud between the horizontal, wooden poles that framed its walls. The roof was thatched with a mixture of weeds and choclo stalks. Inside, three more wooden poles ran across the ceiling. Taita had built a platform where Weyana, Cusi, and Mashcag slept. About a dozen pairs of choclo ears tied together by their husks hung on the uncovered parts of the poles. Mashcag was relieved to see that most of the floor was covered with choclo. He hadn’t realized how close they had been to running out. There were two rooms on ground level, one for eating and Sumag to sleep in, the other was Taita and Mama’s bedroom. The shade in the home was cool, and Mashcag wanted to curl up on the pounded-dirt floor to sleep.

Suddenly, Cusi screamed for help. Mashcag dumped the choclo in the middle of the main room and ran to Cusi, but both Taita and Weyana were there before him.

Cusi looked more silly than hurt: lying flat on his stomach, choclo stalks buried him to his waist; his face was covered with dirt. Weyana and Taita stood over him and smiled. Taita bent as if to pull Cusi from under the pile. Instead, he plucked a slender-stemmed weed and put it between his teeth.

"Chewry,5 do you know what happened?," Taita said, trying not to laugh. "You were trying to make it look perfect, but you forgot to make it stable. First make it sure, then make it pretty." He bit off the end of the weed and spat it out before he put the stem back in his mouth.

"Taita, please get this choclo off me," Cusi said. "I was just trying to please you and build the stack like you and Weyana can." Cusi’s voice trembled and cracked as he blinked back tears.

"Wowkeygo,6 now you want our help?" Weyana said. "‘I can do it myself,’ you said. You sure did." Laughing, he turned to Mashcag, "Did you see Cusi’s face when the stack fell on him? He looked like a cuy about to be roasted." Mashcag chuckled as Weyana screamed in horror, turned to run, and fell beneath the weight of an imaginary choclo stack.

Cusi couldn’t hold back the tears now.

Taita looked at Weyana and shook his head. Throwing his weed to the ground, he grabbed one of Cusi’s arms. Weyana, a little embarrassed, helped to pull Cusi from under the choclo stalks, making the plants’ dried leaves rustle. Mama brought water, and Cusi washed his face.

Taita, Weyana, and Mashcag started gathering stalks to rebuild the choclo stack, but before they could start the base, Cusi said, "Get back to work. I’ll fix the stack. It fell because of me, and if you three don’t finish harvesting, then we’ll have to come back tomorrow." He took Mashcag’s bundle of stalks and began rebuilding.

"But Chewrygo,7 it’ll take all night to . . . ," Taita began.

"Then it’ll take all night, but I’ll get it done," Cusi interrupted. His face tensed, and he yanked his dad’s bunch from him.

"Alright, let us know if you need our help," Taita said. Cusi nodded but didn’t look at him.

"Taita, are we done yet?" Sumag asked. Her eyelids sagged, and her arms hung at her sides. Taita walked to her and picked her up.

He hugged her and said, "No, but I think you are. Would you like to go lie down?" Sumag nodded, and Taita started for the house. "Take a break, and we’ll get back to work after I get back."

Sumag was asleep before Taita and she left the field.

*****

Taita returned, and the harvesting continued. Hours passed, and Mashcag dropped the field’s last bundle of stalks next to where Cusi was working. Taita and Weyana had finished cutting at the same time and were taking turns drinking from a bowl of water. Taita walked to Cusi and said, "That’s a good looking stack, chewry. Let me help you finish it," he said.

"Taita, I told you I’d fix it, and I will," Cusi growled.

Taita shrugged his shoulders and said, "Whatever."

Mashcag filled the water bowl and drank it. He filled it again and poured it on his head. The sun had descended a little and its rays weren’t as oppressive. Its golden light accentuated the green, rectangular fields which covered the valley floor and climbed the ridge of mountains surrounding them.

Mashcag’s people had wandered here from the north long ago. It was one of his favorite stories: famine had driven his ancestors from their homes. They had traveled from valley to valley, but either other people lived in them, or their soil was unfruitful. One morning, after many years of traveling, the sun cast its first light on the peak of a green mountain in the west and gradually forced the night’s shadows to retreat to the east toward another mountain. As the sun melted the shadows and light climbed the slopes of the eastern mountainside, a heart-shaped crater appeared. Mashcag’s ancestors said that it was a sign from the Great Spirit. They began planting their fields and building their homes that same day. To honor the mountains surrounding the valley, they named them. They called the western mountain Mama Cotacachi because she gave birth to their hope, and they called the eastern mountain Taita Imbabura to honor the great Father who led them to their new home and saved them from starvation.

Almost four hundred harvests from that morning, Mashcag stood on the bench of Taita Imbabura, directly beneath its heart. Below him, Hatune Cocha sparkled. Mashcag could see several dozen people bathing and swimming along its eastern shore. He envied them. Hatune Cocha’s water was cold and would feel perfect after a long day in the fields. A stream wound from the lake’s western shore northward like a silver serpent until it fell into a canyon and became the sacred falls of Peguche.

"Cusi, are you thirsty?" Mashcag asked. He had already filled the bowl. Cusi kept working. He had nearly rebuilt the stack that fell on him. It wasn’t as neat as his first attempt— several choclo stalks jutted out from its edge—but it was steady. Cusi sat on top of the stack, as he worked to taper it to a point.

"Thanks. I’m almost done with this one. Could you hand me another bundle of stalks, Mashcag? I don’t want to jump down just to climb back up," Cusi said.

Taita and Weyana had gone home.

Mashcag grabbed an armful of stalks and gave them to Cusi. After finishing the stack, Cusi jumped down, and Mashcag handed him the water.

"Let’s go home. I think that Mama should have supper ready by now," Mashcag said.

"What makes you think that I’m done? Look at what I still have to do," Cusi said pointing to the pile of choclo stalks which had been gathered while he was repairing the first stack. Maschag looked at the canes and sighed. There was enough for another full-sized stack.

"That’ll take you all night. Leave it for tomorrow, and let’s go eat," Mashcag said.

"No. I’d rather get it done. Besides, I told Taita that I would finish tonight, and I will!" Cusi said and emptied the bowl. Giving it back to Mashcag, he turned and started stacking stalks.

Mashcag rolled his eyes. "What if I helped you? Instead of being out here all night, we’ll be done in half the time," Mashcag said, even though he was tired. "Anyway, I wanted to watch the fireflies tonight. I might as well be doing something productive at the same time."

"But you don’t know how to stack choclo. You’d just slow me down. And I couldn’t let you help me after I refused both Taita’s and Weyana’s help," Cusi said.

Mashcag shook his head and sighed. Mashcag’s muscles ached. His stomach was growling, and he wanted to go home. But Cusi kept plodding along, even though he was sweating and struggling against the weight of his arms, and Mashcag wasn’t willing to leave him without help.

Mashcag thought for a moment and said, "Teach me then. I wouldn’t be helping you; you’d be helping me." Cusi stopped working and looked at Mashcag. Their eyes met, and Cusi nodded.

"Thanks, wowkeygo. I’d love to teach you," Cusi said and smiled.

Mashcag and Cusi worked together for an hour. As they worked, they talked. At first, Cusi explained the proper technique of stack building, but after Mashcag learned it, their conversation shifted to the festivals and to the girls who would dance in them. They laughed often, and Cusi seemed to have forgotten about his accident. He was smiling. Realizing how grateful his brother was for the help, Mashcag felt new energy. He was surprised by how quickly they were building the choclo stack.

"You two didn’t come to eat when I called you." Mama stood behind them holding two large bowls, one in each hand. Neither Mashcag nor Cusi had heard her coming: they had been debating which of the village girls was the prettiest. They stopped talking, and Mashcag blushed. Setting the bowls down, Mama pulled a towel from her anacoo8 and motioned them to come to her. "I know you want to get your job done, but there is always time to eat. Now, wash up." She dipped the water bowl, and Mashcag held out his hands. Mama let the water trickle from the bowl as Mashcag scrubbed. "It was nice to stay and help your brother, Mashcag," Mama said.

Mashcag took the towel which Mama was holding and dried his hands while Cusi washed his hands and face.

"I’m not helping him, Mama. He’s teaching me. I figured that it might be my turn to stack next harvest," Mashcag said.

"And he’s a quick learner. Besides, it’s nice to have someone to talk to," Cusi said.

"Either way, it’s time to eat," Mama said, uncovering the two bowls which were filled with small, red potatoes and toasted choclo kernels. Mashcag could smell ground ewchews,9 and his mouth watered. Sitting between the two stacks of choclo, he began eating.

"Thanks, Mama. I couldn’t have gone much longer without eating, and Cusi won’t go home before we’re finished," Mashcag said.

"That’s right, and I’ll stay here until the job’s done," Cusi said while Mama handed him his bowl.

"Thank you, Mama," he said and sat beside Mashcag.

"So, you’re still determined to work through the night. . . . Taita and I are worried that you two will work yourselves to death. We don’t want you to get sick," Mama said. "Please come in if you’re too tired."

"I’m fine now that I’ve got food. Will you be alright, Mashcag? You still want to watch the fireflies, don’t you?" Cusi said in between bites.

"I can go on for a few more hours, at least, and I have been waiting for the fireflies to come. They’re late, and I can feel that they’ll be here tonight," Mashcag said after he had swallowed a mouthful of potato.

"You and fireflies! Mashcag, I don’t understand why you like them so much," Mama said, "but they are pretty." She smiled and pinched a piece of potato skin from Mashcag’s cheek. "Well, how often do the stars come to earth?" Mashcag asked.

The sun was sinking behind the skirts of Mama Cotacachi. Taita Imbabura had visited her during last night’s storm, and snow lingered on her rocky, saddle-shaped peak. Shadows stretched across the valley as the sun’s last rays deepened the countryside’s colors to golden greens and deep browns. The sun sank until only a sliver of light remained and its golden hues dimmed to red and turned the clouds purple.

"Do you still believe that the fireflies are the stars?" Mama asked. "They should be here soon, Mashcag. I hope that they’re as wonderful as you remember them, and I hope they don’t eat your cuy." She breathed in the dusk air and looked at the sunset.

The day’s last beams of light danced on Mama’s face and made her black hair shine. Wrapping her arms around herself, she said, "You can keep your fireflies and their starlight, Mashcag. I prefer sunsets. Each is different, and you don’t have to wait a whole year to see one."

The sunset’s rose-colored light faded to a pale blue-gray. But as it did, Mashcag noticed that Mama Cotacachi’s shadow—rather than melting into a darkened valley—grew increasingly defined and shorter. Slowly, the sky brightened. But the light didn’t come from the west or the east, and the sun stayed behind the mountains. The light, it seemed, came directly from heaven until the valley glowed as if it were midday. All darkness fled: the clouds, trees, and mountains cast no shadows.

Mashcag’s weariness disappeared with the shadows, and he wondered if he were asleep. The beauty of that moment was too beautiful to be real, and he decided that he was dreaming.

"Mama, is something wrong with my eyes? I saw the sun go down, but it isn’t dark." Mashcag heard Cusi say and realized that he wasn’t asleep. Any wonder he had been feeling was gone as quickly as the light appeared. His stomach felt upset, and his heart began pounding. He felt uncovered in the light and wanted to run for the hut. But he was too afraid to run, let alone stand.

"I see it, too," said Mama.

"What’s happening? What evil is doing this?" Cusi asked.

Mashcag swallowed and waited for Mama to answer.

"Not evil, Cusi, not evil," Mama said and took both of her sons by the hand. "Look!" she said, pointing to the sky with her puckered lips. The sky’s brilliance had prevented all of the stars from shining except one.

"That is one big bug," Cusi said.

Mashcag ignored him and said, "But that can’t be giving off all this light. It’s too small."

"No, but this must be a sign from . . . ," Mama said and paused. "Do you hear that?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I’ve never heard anything more beautiful. It’s as if—as if the mountains, valley, lake, and river were singing." Mashcag strained to hear what his mother was hearing.

And in an instant, his ears were opened.

"I hear it, too, Mama; I hear it, too," Mashcag said, and Cusi nodded. "I hear voices singing, but what are they saying?" All three began sobbing, and Mashcag sensed something he had never felt.

"Peace. They’re saying, ‘peace,’" Mama said.

The singing of the unseen voices granted them peace and filled them with love for each other.

They sat together for several minutes watching and listening. Mashcag’s hunger was gone, although he had only finished half of the potatoes and choclo. Anyway, eating would distract him, and he didn’t want anything to interfere with the vision. He placed his bowl behind him, and pulled his knees to his chest.

Wondering about his father, Weyana, and Sumag, Mashcag looked toward the hut and saw them. Taita carried Sumag in his left arm, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Weyana put his arm around Taita’s waist, and Taita’s arm rested on Weyana’s shoulder.

When Taita saw Mashcag, he smiled and said, "Lovely, isn’t it?" Mashcag could only nod and return the smile. Weyana sat beside his brothers, and Sumag reached out for Mama to take her. After letting Sumag down, Taita sat next to his wife and held her. The six of them, illuminated by celestial light and music, didn’t want to move.

"What does this all mean?" Cusi asked. "Do any of the village elders’ stories explain it, Taita?"

"No, Chewry, none," Taita said.

"Then do you know what’s happening?" Weyana asked.

"No, I’ve never seen anything like this," Taita said. "But I feel that we needn’t be afraid. A few minutes ago, while Mama brought Mashcag and Cusi their dinner, I went to the cuy pen with some of the stalks we harvested today. I stopped for a moment to enjoy the sunset, and as the sky grew lighter instead of darker, I collapsed in fear. I thought that we had offended some ayah10 and that our valley was being consumed in flames," Taita paused. Sighing, he continued,

"As I trembled on the ground, I heard someone singing ‘peace.’ "

"We heard it too, Taita," said Mashcag.

"I hear it right now," Sumag said.

"Yes, my beauty," Taita said taking her little hand in his. "I think we all do." Taita’s voice cracked, and he began crying. Mashcag was amazed because Taita never cried.

The valley glowed brighter, and the singing grew louder and more beautiful. Mashcag had listened to many birds singing and the rushing of the river. He had heard the wind blow through the mountain passes. All of them had awed him, but none could compare to the heavenly song which he was hearing. But he couldn’t understand anything but "peace": the other words seemed muffled and confused. But still, they were beautiful, and there was something familiar about them.

The golden light from heaven brightened to vivid white. All of the colors of the mountains and plants blended with it and glowed. Mashcag looked at his family; even they shimmered, but it seemed that they were not merely reflecting the light.

And in the midst of the light a man dressed in a robe whiter than snow-capped mountains appeared. He had piercing blue eyes. When Mashcag first saw the man in white, he was startled, and chills ran up his back.

"Fear not; for I have been sent to teach you of these signs and wonders," the man in white said and smiled. His smile filled Mashcag with such love that any fear that he had felt disappeared. "On the morrow, in a far away land shall be born the Hatune Keyshpeecheeg Apoonchy, or Savior."

"A Savior, a Savior from what?" Taita asked.

"A Savior from sorrow, pain, death, and sin," the man in white said.

"Who is this Savior," asked Mama.

"He is the Son of Taita Howapachamanta,11 even the Son of God, the Creator of the heavens and of the Earth. His name is Keyshpeecheeg Apoonchy Utahshcah,12 but He shall not come to this land in mortality for He is called to another nation." The man in white closed his eyes, and for a moment, his countenance saddened. "And after He has done all that He was called to do and has ministered to His brethren, they shall mock, torture, and slay Him, and this land will be as dark as it is now light. Fires shall not be kindled, nor shall the sun shine." The man’s face softened as his smile returned. "But the Savior shall rise triumphant over death and hell, and He will come to visit you and your kindred."

"Why must He suffer?" asked Taita.

"He shall endure these things so that you don't have to. With his blood, He will purchase your souls, and He will give you everlasting life and joy if you follow Him," the man in white said.

"What must we do to follow Him?" Taita asked.

"All will be revealed to you in time, but I have told you all that I have been commanded, and I must return to He who sent me," the man in white said.

"Please stay. You have said many things that we cannot understand. Please, teach us of our Savior," Taita said, kneeling in front of the man. Mama was weeping.

But the man in white just smiled and said, "Be patient and glorify Taita Howapachamanta." The light which surrounded him gathered until it formed a pillar reaching heaven, and he disappeared.

The westerly breeze rustled several bushes that bordered the choclo field. Bathed in the heavenly light, their bright orange blossoms shone brilliantly against their dark green leaves. Mashcag gasped as the once muffled words of the heavenly song became clear, and looking heavenward, he saw thousands of men and women dressed like the man in white singing in the sky. Their chorus echoed throughout the valley, "Glory to God, glory to God, glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth, good will toward men."

Had he tried, Mashcag couldn’t have described what he was seeing and hearing. He simply let it wash over him. And as suddenly as the host had appeared, their glory faded into the light, and the singing stopped.

But peace remained.

Mashcag and his family sat together, and no one dared move. But after Mashcag was sure the visions had ended, he stood and gathered a bundle of choclo stalks. Silently, he laid the stalks down and continued building. Taita, Cusi, and Weyana joined him. No one spoke; they didn’t need to.

Turning to look at the heart-shaped crater on Taita Imbabura, Mashcag paused. The heavenly light revealed the heart’s center, and it glowed as if it were on fire.

"Who needs fireflies?" Mashcag said.

Endnotes

1. Corn. In order to maintain the phonetic quality of the words in Quichua, I have anglicized those that would lose their pronunciation if their correct spelling were maintained.

2. Mom

3. Guinea pig

4. Dad

5. Son

6. Little brother

7. Little son, used as a term of endearment

8. Cloth which women wrap around their waists as a skirt

9. Peppers similar to jalepenos

10. Spirit

11. Heavenly Father

12. Anointed Savior or Jesus Christ.