Circuit overseers are usually older married men, who travel from one congregation to another with their spouse within a specific circuit of congregations. This is their life. Voluntary contributions at the kingdom hall pay for all their living expenses. They would visit your congregation for a week at a time, offering encouragement through talks and their participation in the field ministry. They were revered. It was a circuit overseer who put the idea into my parents head that they should look into serving where the need is great.





I remember my parents coming home one night and talking excitedly about the possibility. "Could we really do it!? Like really, really do it!?" my mother asked my father. I don't actually remember her saying those exact words but I'm sure she said something to that effect at some point. Preparations took at least a year, maybe 2. During this time, my sister and I didn't really think much of it. There was no way my parents were actually going to pack up all our stuff and drag us away to another country, it was never gonna happen. I didn't concern myself with it.



It happened.



Once it dawned on my sister, who was 2 years older than me, that this fantasy might actually become a reality, she protested. Saying that she protested is putting it lightly. She was 16, her social life was in full swing, she was devastated. She kicked and screamed and spit and snarled but in the end she sat next to me on that plane. Our birthdays are 2 days apart and she was 2 weeks away from her 17th birthday. She vowed to return to the States the moment she turned 18, and she did.





Me, Dan (another missionary), Alejo (Pablo's Father) and my father.

The time I spent in Ecuador is one of the things about growing up as a Jehovah's Witness that I definitely do not regret. One of my favorite quotes from Mark Twain holds true in my mind, based on this experience:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

Certainly there is nothing that can broaden your perspective or increase your capacity for empathy like travel. Seeing how people from different cultures and socioeconomic backgrounds live their lives changes the way you look at the world and for that I will always be grateful to my parents. These changes were not apparent to me immediately, I was 15, I was an idiot. As an adult, looking back on that time, I realize that it was invaluable.





Cuenca





My parents had decided on Cuenca, the 3rd largest city in Ecuador. It was a mountain town, sitting in a valley at an elevation of 8400 feet. To give you some perspective, endurance athletes like to train in Denver because of the altitude. It's called the "Mile-High City" because it's official elevation is exactly one mile, or 5280 feet. Climbing a flight of stairs at 8400 feet when you've lived your entire life next to Lake Erie will nearly make you puke from exhaustion. Between the culture shock from moving to a 3rd world country, learning a new language, and the inevitable sickness from having limited access to safe drinking water, the first year was a blur. Before I knew it my sister Brooke was gone. It was just me, my parents, our dog Oreo, and the canaries. The canaries were named Fred and Gloria, after the circuit overseer and his wife who started this whole thing.





Oreo and Fred

You don't need a lot of friends. You really don't even NEED 2 friends, you just need 1 really good friend. I found that friend in Pablo. We lived on a dead-end dirt road that lead to a large square park where the little old lady who owned the corn field beyond our backyard would graze her sheep. On the other side of that park lived Pablo and his family. He introduced himself to me at the first meeting my family attended in his congregation. The language barrier didn't phase him and so we became fast friends. Pablo's family was relatively wealthy. By that I mean that they lived in a 5 bedroom house, owned 2 vehicles, and had a live-in maid. I mention this only because it allowed Pablo to do things that the average Ecuadorian kid couldn't. Things like mountain biking & playing video games. Things that I enjoyed and that reminded me of the life I left behind. This is significant when you consider that the kingdom hall we attended didn't even have a parking lot, nor did it need one. There were maybe 5 families that owned vehicles, and of those 5, only 2 vehicles were less than 15 years old. Our vehicle was not one of them. Since my parents did own a vehicle, this made them prime candidates for working some of the rural territory that was assigned to our congregation. Don't forget, my parents were there to PREACH. Aside from the extremely rare occasion when I was in a car group with a girl I liked, I didn't enjoy the preaching work in the States. That being said, the rural territory was FUN. My father would drive our 1980 Toyota Land Cruiser sometimes for over an hour through a mountain pass until we reached one of a few small towns where our congregation was assigned to preach. It wasn't so much the preaching that I enjoyed, it was the adventure. Climbing a steep mountain path to reach a small stone hut just to find nobody home was my idea of a good time. Preaching this territory required waking up very early however, and the only thing I enjoyed more than being outside was being in my bed, so I tired of it quickly. Besides, I basically lived at Pablo's house so I was rarely home to go with them anyways. As long as I was at the meetings and I got my required 10 hours a month in the preaching work my parents pretty much left me alone.





One of the reasons my parents cited for moving our family to Ecuador was to get us children away from the corrupting influence of life in the United States. Turns out, Ecuadorians are just as, if not more, materialistic than Americans. Being poor has no bearing on ones capacity for materialism. Just because you can't buy it doesn't mean you can't really really want it. I got drunk for the first time at the age of 15 with a group of boys from the congregation. When I asked why my vomit was green it was explained to me that I had disappeared at one point and they found me behind Pablo's wet bar drinking Creme de Menthe straight from the bottle, true story. We visited the strip club in the red light district just outside of town when I was 16. I tried my first cigarette around this same time. We were teenage boys, we thought about 2 things: girls and mischief. I tell you this not because it is a reflection on the character of the Jehovah's Witness kids in Ecuador, but because I love irony.





My dear friend Pablo





During our time in Ecuador we returned to the United States twice. The first time, I spent almost the entire trip in the company of my good friend Matty Hackett. In anticipation of my arrival he bought me a skateboard and we spent a fair amount of time doing that. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and seeing all my old friends made it extremely difficult to return to Ecuador. About a year later we visited again and I eagerly anticipated another fun filled vacation. Upon arriving however, I was informed that Matt had been disfellowshipped the week before. This meant that there was no possibility of seeing or talking to him, my heart sank. Jehovah's Witnesses have to be prepared to turn their backs on friends and family at a moments notice due to the shunning arrangement. I'm no psychologist, but I have to imagine that this has some impact on ones ability to form close relationships. I had essentially lost a very good friend and although I was heartbroken, I moved on fairly quickly, this is the way it has to be. We returned to Ecuador and I wouldn't see or speak to Matt until after my own disfellowshipping almost 20 years later.