03--soto La Marina

Chapter Three Soto la Marina

The Denver headquarters of the Los Angeles-El Paso Express are located in a nondescript building on the corner of 17th and Arapahoe, several blocks from downtown proper. The building’s white exterior is chipped and peeling, and weeds grow through the cracks of the asphalt parking lot. It was from here that I had chosen to begin my pilgrimage back to the Mexico Tampico Mission. It was early evening in mid-June when Jason and I pulled into the parking lot. Vendors had gathered on the sidewalk, selling all manner of Mexican food items, from tamales to elote to paletas. I grinned as I recognized pieces of a culture that had once so dominated my heart. I entered the main building, feeling dozens of eyes turn my way, and knowing they were staring at the light-skinned gringos and wondering what purpose we had in invading their domain. As I approached the main ticket desk, I turned to Jason and whispered, “Watch this.” I then proceeded to order my ticket in fluent, Mexican Spanish, and Jason and I watched with surreptitious glee as the dozens of watching eyes widened in disbelief. My language skills were not what people had expected from this “güerro.” After purchasing my ticket, Jason and I sat on the tailgate of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, eating a dinner of tamales and listening to Enrique Iglesias belt out the chorus to “Enamorado por Primera Vez.” Jason was my best friend; we had been inseparable since the first day of kindergarten. He had faithfully served a mission in the Ukraine Kiev Mission, and had been home for eight months. When the seven o’clock hour arrived we embraced, I thanked him for giving me a lift, and we confirmed that he would be at the Greyhound terminal at the proper time two weeks hence. And thus I boarded the bus that would carry me south, back to a land that had filled me with faith and dedication to the gospel cause. A land where once I found my testimony of the restored gospel of Christ, and where I once again hoped to renew those fires of faith.

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The bus navigated the tight streets of downtown Denver, and within a short time we were southbound on I-25. Filled with excitement, I stared out the window, looking westward, as the sun began its final descent over the Front Range. The energy coursing though my veins made it too difficult to concentrate, and thus instead of reading the book I had bought especially for the trip, I simply gazed out the bus window as darkness slowly enshrouded the land. As the bus passed south of C-470, the televisions came to life with an old Harrison Ford movie. I shook myself from my silent reverie, settled into my seat and watched the movie. The glowing lights of Colorado Springs passed by us unheeded, focused as we were on the on-screen action of Harrison Ford and Willem Dafoe. The jagged mountains stood black against the starry sky as we passed out of the city and into the night. The movie had ended when we reached Pueblo, and so in silence we coasted into the southern reaches of Colorado. By the time we reached Trinidad, I was fast asleep, dreaming of the days to come, and the weeks of adventure that were finally here. The bus lurched to a halt at two in the morning. I blinked my eyes open and saw the darkened cityscape of Albuquerque. The bus driver announced, in Spanish, that we were stopping for half an hour for restroom and refreshment breaks. Although my backpack was filled with two days worth of meals (mainly in the form of pop-tarts and cans of ravioli), I decided to diversify my collection. Braving the frigid morning air, I entered the convenience store and bought some candy, beef jerky, and a cold 7-Up. After finishing my business at the truck stop, I hurried back to the waiting bus, drank my soda, and drifted once more into sleep. I awoke the next morning, the dawning day breaking over the Caballo Mountains of southern New Mexico. Two hours later, the highway began paralleling the Rio Grande and the bus followed the river into El Paso. On the other side of those sluggish waters, I could see Mexico—unfinished concrete homes, rebar poking out of the roofs, chickens roaming the street. After descending from the bus, I hitched up my backpack and trekked my way to the bridge, where hundreds of migrant workers were streaming north. I pushed my way against the vast currents of humanity, moving slowly south. Ignorant of customs and immigrations protocols, I simply walked into Mexico and found myself in Ciudad Juarez. The familiar sights and sounds rushed upon me, and the grin that had been straining at the surface of my face for the last hour finally broke free into a radiant and uncontrollable smile. I had come home.

Thursday, August 15, 1996 The hits just keep on coming. More on that later. I spent most of the day in meetings with President Goodman. In the morning, we all took turns showering. I noticed that the handles on the shower knobs were labeled C and F, which at first I supposed meant caliente (hot) and fría (cold). I was wrong, they meant cold and freezing. As the others were showering, I stood outside the office door, breathing the cool morning air and looking out over the palm trees, the unfinished concrete houses at the base of the hill, the radio antennas off in the distance. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of a city coming to life. I took a deep breath and

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started feeling better about life. Even now, five years later, I can still remember every detail of that moment of peace on top of the hill looking out over the twin cities of Tampico and Madero. It became my custom over the next two years to search for such majestic moments of solitude. I often found a sense of peace in the sun’s first light that I could not find in the hectic work schedule that consumed my days. That first moment of early-morning reverie is one of the sacred moments in my life; it gave me time to clear my soul of the negative feelings that had tormented me the night before and seek communion with the divine. In the intervening years, that moment has become even more sacred, for on that very spot where I once sought peace and clarity now stands the Tampico Mexico Temple. At seven o'clock the office elders gathered the greenies and introduced us to the devotional. Every morning at seven, all the elders all over the mission were doing the same thing. We started the day with a hymn, a spiritual thought, a brief reading from the missionary handbook, and a prayer. As we began the day thus united, we pleaded for the Lord’s spirit to be with us during our labors throughout the day. I could almost feel the windows of heaven opening on our behalf as every elder, in a unity born of faith, called down the powers of righteousness to aid us in our efforts. Later that morning, the APs took us to a pharmacy called Benavides, where we had our photos taken. These photographs were used for the president’s Transfer Board. As the others were having their pictures taken, I quietly observed the alien streetscape that surrounded me. I stared incomprehensibly at strange advertisements for foreign products, and with revulsion at the casual trash and litter lying in the gutter. And once again, I noticed a strange, fishy smell that was beginning to saturate the city. I fought to quell a panic that began fluttering in my bowels when the Assistants announced the task complete and we returned to the safety of the mission home. It was with profound relief that I sat down to a familiar breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Sister Goodman had prepared a hearty meal for us which we gratefully and ravenously consumed; none of us knew what new foods the following morning would provide. The tension in my body uncoiled, the panic subsided, and I even let loose with a hearty laugh as I witnessed the copious amounts of maple syrup which President Goodman heaped upon his unsuspecting pancakes. The mission president finished the interviews that he had begun the previous evening, and then invited a group of eight Mexican elders into the living room, where he assigned us to our first field of labor. He called my name, and pointing to a slightly built elder with wire frame glasses, introduced me to Elder Jesus Lopez, my new companion. I was called to serve with Elder Lopez in Soto la Marina, a small town located four hours north of Tampico. Elder Callister’s name was called next. He was assigned to work in Mante, a large city to the west that was far and wide considered the hottest in the mission. He accepted the call with unconcerned equanimity, promising us that he

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could survive the heat, as long as it was a dry heat. We would not have expected a more loquacious response from him. The other companionships in our district were also given their first assignments in the Mexico Tampico Mission. Elder Felley was called to serve in the tremendously hilly city of Tantayuca. Elder Stauffer was assigned to labor in Ciudad Victoria, the capitol of the state of Tamaulipas. Elder Tonks was sent an hour south to live and serve in the town of Panuco. And Elders Fister, Taylor, and Watkins were all assigned to labor in various congregations in the twin cities of Tampico and Madero. And thus, MTC district 60-B was disbanded. Earlier that day, Sister Goodman had commented on the feelings of love and unity that she felt between the members of our little group. She noted that ours was the largest group to ever come to Tampico from a single MTC district, and it showed in the way we loved and supported each other. Throughout the remainder of our respective missions, we kept close track of each other, rejoicing in each other’s victories and commiserating in each other’s sorrows. At each zone conference, we would seek each other out, ask for news from other members of the district, and share personal stories of laughter and woe. Ours was a special district, and together we achieved great things in the Mexico Tampico Mission. The day continued with a light lunch of sandwiches, accompanied by a small bowls of jalapeños for the Mexican elders. I ate one on a dare, anxious to show my new companion how tough I was. I kept a straight face through the entire ordeal. I don’t think I learned my lesson from that experience, although my new companion certainly did. Throughout the rest of our time together, he was always able to coerce me into eating the strangest of foods, and I would acquiesce, as if it were part of some strange initiation rite. By four o'clock, our meetings were done, and those of us who had to travel long distances were escorted back to the offices, and from thence to the bus depot. The next bus to be heading north didn’t leave until seven-thirty, so Elder Lopez and I had time to run to Chedraui and buy a few more essentials, including the suggested water bottle with which to stave off dehydration, a suggestion courtesy of Sister Goodman. We returned to the bus depot, and I sat on my Sampsonite suitcase watching the sun go down, and catching a brief sparkle of its golden rays dancing off of the Rio Panuco. My brief moment of reverie did not last long. Before I knew it, I was with Elder Lopez on a bus to Soto la Marina. They showed movies on the bus. One was a Disney, “Angels in the Outfield,” and the other was an R rated movie called “Back to Back.” At this point in my mission I was still trying valiantly to ignore the movies, despite the fact that each luxury bus had four television screens scattered throughout the interior. It was hard to avoid the movies, and eventually I gave in. The bus dropped us off in dusty Soto la Marina at eleven-thirty at night. My first impression of my new area was of a dark, quiet, little pueblito. The stars were clear and bright as we crept down the main road like thieves in the night.

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We dragged my luggage for twelve blocks before arriving at a house with attached apartment buildings. Five apartment buildings composed the ground floor of a building whose top floor was the living space of our landlord. Until recently, the elders had held church meetings in their home, so it was larger than what an apartment for two elders would have warranted. My dinner that night consisted of soggy cornflakes in warm milk. My apartment stinks. I saw my first cockroach in the bathroom, and shortly thereafter, my second in the kitchen. I was excited, but now I’m near tears. I suppose I’ll learn full reliance on the Lord. It’s almost midnight. Buenas noches! Friday, August 16, 1996 I was hating life this morning. I got my first look at our bathroom in the full light of day, and saw that it was disgustingly, disturbingly, disappointingly dirty. Bathing that morning consisted of standing underneath a single jet of cold water shooting out of the pipe in the wall that served as our showerhead. We then did service in a small neighborhood located on the southern edge of town. Barrio Blanco was a very poor rural area, separated from the rest of the city by the Rio Soto la Marina. The area had no electricity and no running water. Barrio Blanco was the first area that I entered as a servant of the Lord, and I was overwhelmed at the level of poverty in this small, overlooked corner of a small, overlooked town. The homes in Barrio Blanco were small, adobe affairs with thatched roofs. Farm animals ran loose in the enclosed areas surrounding the houses, and often ran around inside the houses themselves. Elder Lopez and I cut Viki’s grass with rusty machetes. The grass was waist high, and located in a small area behind Viki’s house. The family members were less-active, and the morning’s service was a way for Elder Lopez to check on the needs of the family. The work though, was tough on my pampered American system. I paused from my fruitless grass-hacking at one point, and looking up, I saw a group of buzzards circling overhead. No doubt waiting for the pampered American to keel over. It was hot, I was blistered, and I couldn’t understand a thing. I wanted to go home. After a good lunch, we went proselyting. We met members, less-actives, and investigators. I started to speak and understand. I am happy now. These people are so humble. They live in small houses, have absolutely nothing, and give it all! Animals wander the streets in this small town—dogs, chickens, goats, etc. It’s strange. I taught an English class tonight. One of my students breastfed her baby in the middle of my class! My bathroom stinks, but I don’t need to worry about my companion taking all the hot water. There is none! Sister Goodman would later inform me that the bathroom in Soto la Marina was the worst of all the mission apartment bathrooms. It was dirty, tiles were loose or missing, and the showerhead was absent without leave; it was just a pipe sticking out of the wall.

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Saturday, August 17, 1996 Okay, I want to go home now. I have blisters on every part of my body, I’m perpetually drenched in sweat, I have cockroaches in my bathroom, the language is confusing, the drinking water is warm and stale, Barrio Blanco is depressing, there are goats copulating in the streets, the houses here would fit inside my living room at home, the language is confusing, the showers are cold, my shoes are killing me, I’m sunburned, I’m exhausted, the language is confusing, and another Mexican breast-fed her baby in front of us. I WANT TO GO HOME! And thus for the first and only time during my mission, I cried myself to sleep. Sunday, August 18, 1996 I’m a little bit better now. I just get so frustrated when I can’t understand what is being said to me. If I can’t understand the conversation, I can’t contribute. If I can’t contribute, then I’m not doing my job as a missionary. Today, we met with two branches. My companion is president of both and I guess that makes me his counselor. The first was in Soto la Marina. We meet in a rented two-story building. There were twenty people in attendance, including ourselves, most of which were children (five adults, two missionaries, eight teenagers, etc). My companion talked, I talked about 1 Nephi 3:7. Sacrament was interesting. I taught Sunday School in Spanish. I’m impressed with Cesar, a less active, Sara, who is very active, and Estela, who is an investigator. Of these three, the only one who continued to attend church regularly was Sara. She was so humble and happy. She had three kids who came to church with her every week, and a husband who was supportive, but not interested in our message. We went home, ate, and then took a bus to Abasolo, where there was a nine-person branch. Because of my deficiency in the language, I had had no idea that we were going to meet with two branches. When my companion informed me that we were going to Abasolo, I had no idea where it was, or why we would be traveling there. I just followed him in complete faith that he knew what he was doing. Abasolo was a forty-five minute bus ride to the north east, thirty or forty kilometers upstream on the Rio Soto La Marina. The nucleus of the branch was a single family, and a few of their close associates. We never proselyted there, so I never learned the area very well. In Abasolo we did the same thing we did in Soto, except Dulce taught Sunday School. Dulce was a returned missionary who was one of the strongest members of the Abasolo Branch. There is an old woman here, four foot nine, named Lopez, who is very funny. She shook her fist at me and threatened me with a nasty beating if I didn’t obey the mission rules. The only endowed members in either branch are here, about forty kilometers from Soto la Marina. After the meetings, they fed us. My first beans and rice. I also ate raw broccoli with lemon juice and agua sandía. Agua sandia was a fairly common recipe in which water, sugar, and watermelon were blended together to make a delicious and refreshing

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beverage. It was all very good. Elder Lopez and I ate while the family stood around and talked to us. It was very humbling. My Spanish is improving, but coupled with my asocial nature, I am having a difficult time. If I can just understand the language, I can lose myself in the work. I met Dulce Alejandra in the Abasolo branch. She is a six year old who tried to teach me some Spanish. She would point to objects, say the name of the object in Spanish, and have me repeat it. I remember her as an adorable little girl who was missing her front teeth. I love the people! Monday, August 19, 1996 This is my first P-Day in the field. Only thing to report is washing clothes at Cesar’s house. The “washing machine” was a tub that had a thing that agitated the water. Then we rung, rinsed, and hung. I studied and slept, then visited two investigator families. I shared a Book of Mormon scripture with each: 1 Nephi 7:12, about faith. Then we hopped on a bus to our district leader’s house in Aldama. Aldama lay approximately one hundred kilometers to the south of Soto la Marina, a two hour bus ride. Because it was located halfway between Soto and the mission offices, we often spent the night there on our way to zone conferences or other activities in Tampico. During these first few months, we had district and zone meetings on Tuesday mornings, which meant that we had to travel to either Aldama or Tampico every week. Later, this practice was changed, and we had district and zone meetings on Monday evenings. My first week in the field was scheduled for a zone conference, and thus we spent that Monday night in Aldama. This apartment is an even bigger mess than my own place in Soto. Oh well. Tomorrow is a zone conference. Good night.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents: “This place is strange. Animals walk freely in the streets and houses—dogs, chickens, goats, and pigs. And all the houses are very small. But the people are so cool! The houses are only big enough to sleep in, and maybe eat. So when the missionaries come to visit, they grab two chairs, put them in the shade, and we talk outside. I’ve only actually been inside two houses other than my own. People like to talk and are very friendly. I went to bed happy and excited after my first day’s work.” Tuesday, August 20, 1996 I attended my first zone conference today, and I saw Elders Watkins and Fister. It was great. During every transfer cycle, we would interact with the Mission President twice—once in a Zone Conference, which was a meeting of two or more zones, and again in a one-on-one interview. For most of my mission, a transfer cycle was six weeks long, though there was a time near the end of my mission when it was only four. Zone conferences were often festive affairs

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because elders would interact with missionaries that they did not see on a regular basis. Former companions, close friends, and casual acquaintances would all swap stories and trade news from around the mission. Because me first zone conference came just a week after arriving in the mission, I did not have any former companions, or casual acquaintances. It was thus a relief to me to see two other members from my erstwhile MTC district. Fister was a member of Zona Bosque, to which my district belonged, and Elder Watkins was serving in Zona Tampico, which met with us that day. Seeing them provided my shaken morale with a sorely needed boost. At the conclusion of the conference, Sister Goodman had a box of Trix cereal for each companionship. Sister Goodman was an amazing and caring woman. When she had arrived in Tampico two years previous, she had focused her efforts in a campaign to equip each apartment with fans, hot plates, and refrigerators. She was the ideal “mission mom.” I also received a postcard from Peru from my parents. My Spanish is coming along; my understanding of spoken Spanish comes and goes, but it is more coming than going. I could understand Spanish when it came from the mouth of a gringo like President Goodman, but not when it was spoken by a native, like my district leader. I’m writing this in a bus terminal in Tampico. I spent the whole day here, and we’re heading back on a late bus. I met my district leader, Elder Quiles, and his companion, Elder Prunty. The latter is a great guy. His first three weeks were a struggle for him also. It makes me feel good that what is happening to me is nothing unique. He cheered me greatly by promising that I would soon become accustomed to the culture, and my ears would soon start picking up words and phrases spoken in Spanish. I received my first quincena today. Two hundred pesos to last me fifteen days, roughly equivalent to $35. We went shopping, and I rode my first micro. It was cool. Micros were the mode of intra-city public transportation that most people used. They were kind of like buses in the United States, but they were smaller, had a larger variety of routes, and there were millions of them on the roads and streets of any sizeable Mexican city. If you knew a few micro routes you could go anywhere in the city for a few pesos. We didn’t have any micros in Soto la Marina. Wednesday, August 21, 1996 We got home late again last night. I slept poorly and woke up cranky. This was partly due to the fact that our neighbors owned several chickens, among them a few roosters. They woke me up every morning before my alarm clock did. It rained last night. Apparently, the drainage in Soto la Marina sucks. Before our morning study, we had to run to the store to buy milk, and thus I first experienced the joys of navigating a Mexican street after a rainfall. There are lakes in the streets.

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We went to Barrio Blanco, and I had to fight off depression. It’s a struggle not to give in to despair. I’m understanding more and more, though. I can hear the words in a sentence now, instead of just a slur of them. I still can’t understand too well. I tend to translate in my head as I go along, and that’s not too effective. It’s pouring outside right now, my pants are dirty, and this morning, I took a shower with what I think was a tarantula. Life is good and getting better. Elder Lopez is patient and kind. I can understand everything he says. He likes to cook and is good at it. Thursday, August 22, 1996 We might have a member family staying the night because there is a tornado or something. This is another example of my struggle to understand the language. There was a hurricane approaching Tampico, and Hermana Sara asked if she’d be able to take shelter in our home if the wind and rain got too severe, which it never did. It rained off and on all day, more on than off, and my shoes are incredibly muddy. Less than half the streets in Soto were paved, and even the paved streets had a thin layer of dirt on top of them, such that when it rained, the streets were slick and muddy. The people continue to impress me. For example, a poor, humble, rural family fed us dinner, and their home was smaller than my family’s garage! Their furniture consisted of only three beds, a patio table and chairs, and a stove. We showed up on their doorstep just as they were sitting down to eat. Not taking no for an answer, the family set two more places and invited us to dine with them. It always amazed me that people so poor could give so much. Today I saw the following: four dung beetles working in pairs which I likened unto ourselves, a half-eaten rotting dead dog, and no breast feeding. This was my first day in Soto la Marina without the latter. As I began to learn the streets of Soto la Marina, I started making a mental map of the area in my head. The main highway from Tampico to Matamoros cut through the town from north to south, and the southern boundary of Soto was defined by the river. On the south side of the river was Barrio Blanco, as I already described—poor, rural, and lacking basic infrastructure. On the west side of the highway existed the town proper. All the paved streets were in this sector of the town. The area contained three plazas and our house was located five blocks west of the central one. Further to our west and south, the paved roads terminated, and dirt roads were the norm. These were the areas where the poorer people built their homes and established their lives. On the east side of the main highway was another area of poorer homes; it was an area crisscrossed by gullies and shallow ravines. The areas that were paved contained straight, geometric blocks, while the unpaved areas were less regular, though they often exhibited some semblance of order.

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Friday, August 23, 1996 We got a call from the mission offices this morning saying, “stay indoors all day.” Apparently there’s a cyclone or a hurricane ripping through Tampico. I don’t know which, because I can’t communicate very well. Up here in Soto, we haven’t felt much. There is a LOT of rain. It rains hard, then soft, then hard again. There’s also a lot of thunder. I spent the day reading church magazines and Jesus the Christ with a short siesta in there sometime. With nothing better to do, I’m writing in my journal. In our bedroom, Elder Lopez and I each had a fan, which kept us cool at night. On either side of my bed were some crates, in which I stored my books, journal, and other items I wanted to have close at hand. Outside our bedroom door was the kitchen, which contained a single wooden table with shelves on the underside. On these shelves we kept branch documents, and on the top of the table we ate our meals. The refrigerator was a half-sized model that sat upon the kitchen counter, and the hot plate was plugged into an outlet close to the large metal sink. It was gas powered, and it frightened me the first few times I lit it. To round off the motif, we had a few more small crates in which we kept our food. The bathroom was in the area between the kitchen and the living room. The latter contained various clotheslines strung across the walls, for drying our clothes at the end of a preparation day. This was my home for eleven of the most miserable weeks of my life. Saturday, August 24, 1996 There’s just something about Saturdays that really get me down. I was feeling as bad, if not worse, than last Saturday. Then, during a visit with Edelmira, a poor single mother who lived on the east side of Soto, we made contact with a two-fingered guy, who was a friend of Edelmira’s family. He had come to drop off some much needed food and medical supplies for the needy family. We had a great talk with him. Then we came home, I saw a cockroach, and I killed it. This was my first kill. Needing to release some built-up stress, I went on a cockroach-killing rampage, hunting down and murdering as many of the filthy beasts that dared cross my path. Elder Lopez just laughed at my insane, yet gleeful killing spree. At least it pulled me from the doldrums. I tallied my kills, and concluded that I’ve got seven now. I’m in a good mood now, even though I have four blisters on my left foot. My right foot is doing just fine. Today I saw the following: a flattened chicken in the road, a cat eating the intestines of a large turtle, a dog playing tag with eight cows (Mahana, you ugly!), and a dog that appeared to have nipples and male genitalia. You gotta love Soto la Marina. Sometimes, I just had to play games to keep my mind distracted from the misery that surrounded me, or the intense pain that shot through my feet every time I took a step. I had started to catalog some of the weird stuff I saw each day, and would often ascribe silly motives to the animals I saw wandering the street.

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Sunday, August 25, 1996 Up until six o’clock p.m., this was a great Sabbath. I gave a great talk on testimonies both here and in Abasolo. I also conducted both meetings, a scary proposition with my fledgling language skills. As we were eating lunch after the Soto meetings, the mission president’s pink blazer pulled up outside our house. His arrival on our doorstep was a complete surprise to me, but my companion was expecting him. President Goodman drove us to Abasolo. While Elder Lopez sat in the passenger seat, I sat in the rear where I had the opportunity to contemplate the countryside. It has a peculiar beauty all its own. A green desert, scrubby and scraggly, hills and gullies, vast expanses of open space. I love it! President Goodman attended Sunday meetings with us in Abasolo that afternoon. He had come to organize a branch presidency in Abasolo. My comp is still president, but he now has counselors. His first counselor was Hermano Matilde Pastor, the father of the family that served as the nucleus of the rest of the branch. Hermano Guerrero, his close friend, was set apart as second counselor. Two years later, before I returned home, I heard that Hermano Matilde had been set apart as branch president of both the Abasolo and the Soto la Marina branches. Soon Abasolo will have missionaries of her own and it will grow rapidly. President Goodman left after the meetings, but Elder Lopez and I lingered for dinner and further socializing with the branch. We left the house at 6:30, just missing the last bus to Soto la Marina. We waited and asked around, and an hour later, we found a bus traveling in our direction. However, due to heavy afternoon rains, the road to Soto was washed out. We had to return to Abasolo. So, then Hermano Guerrero drove us to Jimenez, where we hopped on a bus going north, in hope of getting around the washout. We got off at Tres Palos, a small podunk town located on the Tampico-Matamoros highway. We tried to find a bus going to Soto, but to no avail. Finally, a luxury liner let us sit on the floor in the back, for a price of course. This was a fairly common practice in Mexico. Bus drivers were able to pocket this money directly, since they didn’t have to report it to the company. I was beginning to panic and despair when we finally found this one bus that was heading in our direction. They were going to Poza Rica, through Soto la Marina. It’s now almost one o'clock a.m. We arrived home six hours late. Earlier that day, I performed my first priesthood ordinance in Spanish. I ordained Miguel Angel Alonzo Aymara to the office of deacon, thus making him the fourth priesthood holder in the branch, all of whom were youths. ¡Que padre! He was one of the sons of Hermana Reyna, one of the three women who were the core members of our branch. Reyna had a daughter and three sons, one of whom was ordained a teacher under Elder Lopez’s hand the same day I ordained his brother a deacon.

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Monday, August 26, 1996 It was P-Day, and what a short one at that. We awoke, went to the bank to deposit the branch tithing money, did our laundry (which alone took three hours), went to the post office, paid the water bill, and wrote letters. It’s now early evening. Tonight, we are going to Aldama, to the home of Elder Quiles, our district leader, and his companion, Elder Prunty. Aldama, as noted earlier, is located one hundred kilometers south of Soto la Marina. Thus, we had to catch a 7:00 bus on Monday evenings in order to get into Aldama at a decent hour. Tomorrow morning, we will have a district meeting, and Lopez and I will return afterwards. Every week we had zone or district meetings. Because our district was so spread out, we only met every other week, and we rotated meeting places. Sometimes the Aldamans would come to Soto, and the other times, the Sotoans would go to Aldama. On the off week, all four of us would travel to Tampico for a zone meeting with the entire Zona Bosque. I wrote seven letters today, mailing them in two envelopes. It saves stamps that way. The letter I wrote to Rebekah asks her to contact Zach, Shawn, and Jason and give them my address. Thus, I have been able to contact twenty people with only two stamps.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “People are very friendly. We were walking in Barrio Blanco on Saturday and came across a herd of eight cows. We stopped and talked with the herdsman (or whatever you call him). People are always willing to stop, talk, and listen. Life moves by at a slower pace here. People and relationships are more important than schedules. As I indicated before, animals are everywhere. In some house, chickens walk in and out. I’ve seen cows, horses, dogs, chickens, goats, pigs, cats, cockroaches, crickets, dung beetles, and vultures. Along with other disgusting sights, I can include the dog that died this morning on the street outside my apartment. I expected the first month or so to be hard, and it is. I can’t believe that this is what I signed up for! It’s hard work. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s like nothing I imagined. However, I know that this work that I am doing is of God. I’m learning to lean on Him like I never have before. I really can’t do this without Him. I’m learning what it means to be humble, and how blessed we truly are as a family.” Tuesday, August 27, 1996 I don’t think my feet have ever been so tired in my entire life, nor has my entire body been so consumed with fatigue. We gave a first charla to a contact, Adela. We gave her a Book of Mormon. The spirit was strong. I hope things develop on this front. They didn’t. Adela was only in town for a few days, and

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then, like much of the population of Soto la Marina, she returned to Ciudad Victoria where work opportunities were more plentiful. I’m still frustrated with the slow pace; I feel the work should be progressing faster, but until my Spanish improves, I can’t do much about it. Soto la Marina was a tough city to work in. However, Elder Lopez and his previous companion, Elder Wright, had baptized an older lady and her daughter a few weeks before I arrived. Any baptisms were an anomaly in Soto la Marina, and two were almost unheard of. Thus, during my time with him, Elder Lopez focused more on keeping his new converts active than on finding new people to teach. This focus was often frustrating to me as a greenie. Eric Lemuel, a fourteen-year-old member, stayed with us for the last day or so, but we found him a home with Hermana Sara. He had contacted us on the street the previous week. Eric was a member of the Church from a remote ranchito, and was in town to attend school. However, he was desperately searching for room and board. He lived with us briefly, and then we passed him off to Hermana Sara. Even though she didn’t have much space in her two-room concrete slab she called a house, she willingly took in Eric, fed him, and gave him a place to sleep. There are so many good people here in Soto. I want to teach them all the gospel of Christ and point them to eternal life. Wednesday, August 28, 1996 Well, twelve weeks down; only ninety-two to go. I’m tired, but happy. Today we taught a first charla to an ex-investigator and his friend. The investigator had a Book of Mormon already, so I gave one to his friend. I was still a little shaky on names, but the ex-investigator was the water vendor, Lozano, with whom we were to spend many fruitless hours in the coming weeks. However, having taught a charla, my spirits lifted somewhat. I was feeling pretty good. However, sometimes I feel like I’m not a good missionary. I miss home, friends, family, books, music, and my whole past lifestyle. I think about them a lot. I wish I could focus more fully on the work. If my calculations are correct, I should get a letter from home on Tuesday. We shall see. People keep feeding us. Good food. This cultural trait made me uncomfortable. People were earning just enough to feed and clothe their own families, and I did not want to add to their burdens. I think it came down to a question of faith. Many people believed that we were servants of Christ, and as such treated us as they would have treated Him. I hope the Lord blesses all who showed us kindness, regardless of whether or not they accepted our message. Theirs was the widow’s mite. Bugs keep dive-bombing me. I think they smell my gringo blood. I met some children today in Barrio Blanco. It’s so sad to think of these children growing up in such conditions.

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Thursday, August 29, 1996 So, I’m tired, my feet hurt, the language is still eluding me, the work is going slow, and I’m weighed down by past transgressions. I knelt down in prayer and offered the most heartfelt longings of my soul. I have been so prideful in the past, thinking I could do this work on my own. Hey, I know the scriptures, I know the gospel. But, no. I need the Lord now like I’ve never needed Him before. This is His work, I am but a tool, an unworthy and broken one at that. But with a touch of His hands, the hands of the Master, the hands that created and organized universes, the hands that were pierced on Calvary that I might live, with a touch of those hands I can become a pure vessel of my Savior’s message to humanity. Friday, August 30, 1996 I feel like I’ve just fought a war, and in a way I have, and still am. Tonight, I went on a split with Elder Quiles. We went to Barrio Blanco shortly after sunset. As we crossed the bridge over the Rio Soto la Marina, I realized how happy I am. I’ve never been so miserably happy in my life, nor so happily miserable. On the way back, in the dark, I banged my shin on a piece of rebar close to the bridge. Since it was dark, I had to limp to Hermana Juana’s house before I was able to find enough light to examine my wounded leg. I discovered a nice three-inch gash to show for my evening’s proselyting efforts. I was rather proud of my first bloody battle wound. At Hermana Juana’s house, where we met up again with Elder Lopez and Elder Prunty, my companion asked me to take a picture of him with the family. He handed me his camera, and I took several steps back in order to fit them all into the frame. I took one more step back, and almost fell into the pit that the family had been digging for their new latrine. They yelled “aguas” which literally means “waters,” but as I later learned, also means “look out!” Add to this the mirror falling and shattering at my feet yesterday and the many blisters all over my body (nine on my left foot, three on my right), and you could conclude that I’m feeling pretty ragged and worn. I hope my spirit is being refined and strengthened, also. If I had known in February how tough this really is, would I have still sent in my mission papers? Yes! How could I do otherwise when the path from Gethsemane to the cross was a much more difficult road to tread, even for a God? Saturday, August 31, 1996 I have bug bites on every single part of my body, but I am happy. Today we taught a family in Barrio Blanco how to make pancakes. It was sort of like Homemaking Night for Relief Society. I still think about home, but now of what will be as opposed to what was.

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This is a lot like camping, I’ve decided. Only . . . different. Purified water, a lot of walking, untamed animals, and so forth. Darren prepared us will. We did not drink water out of the tap in any of our areas, though I knew some elders who tried it in Victoria. Instead, we had a large bottle of purified water, called a garrafón. It contained twenty liters of water, and when it was empty, we took the empty garrafón to a store, and exchanged the empty one for one filled with water. One garrafón would usually last one companionship one week. Some cities had wandering water vendors who negated the need to go to a store. In Soto la Marina, the water purification plant was a block away from our home, so we went there. Each garrafón cost five pesos to exchange. Note: large beetles make a crunching noise when stepped upon. Pretty disgusting. I’m losing lotsa weight! Sunday, September 1, 1996 Today was a good Sabbath; they usually are. This was my third in the field. I bore my testimony in Spanish to the Soto and ‘Solo branches. In Soto, I taught a Sunday school lesson about prayer. I felt good; my Spanish was better than it’s ever been, and I was on top of the world. Hermana Sara complemented me on the lesson and on my Spanish afterwards. She’s awesome, an exceptionally strong member in this weak branch of the Church. We had twenty people in attendance: four adults (all of them women), two priesthood holders (both Aaronic), two elders (us), and the rest were kids. As I was bearing my testimony, I looked up and saw two kids being breastfed. Geez. I love this branch and the people. Hermana Juana lived in a small house close to the bridge, on a bluff overlooking the Rio Soto la Marina. She was a compact, heavy-set woman with two kids, Eduardo and Eliu. Hermana Lety was one of Elder Lopez’s baptisms from the month before. She lived with her sister and their horde of kids at their mother’s house (also an Elder Lopez baptism) in the same neighborhood as Hermana Sara. Hermana Sara lived in a small two-room house on the western extreme of Soto la Marina. Her two rooms included a kitchen/dining room, which was in the process of being built, and a bedroom/living room. The bathroom and latrine were outside near the edge of their property. Sara lived there with her husband, their three kids, and Eric Lemuel. Hermana Reyna lived with her family in a home located several blocks south of our own house, on the flood plain of the Rio Soto la Marina. Her husband spent most of his time in Ciudad Victoria working, and thus we only met him once. However, the two of them owned a large lot, upon which he had built two houses for his family. One was a concrete affair that was still under construction, and the other was made of sticks, thatch, and mud. They had a nice lot of land, with lots of shady trees, and several hammocks strung between them. My time in Soto la Marina taught me not to underestimate Mexico’s rural poor. Conditions were sometimes severe in these peripheral areas, but indigents

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often owned large plots of land on which they had their small homes. Our poorest investigator, Hermana Edelmira lived on a plot of land as large as the one upon which my parent’s home was built. However, only a small portion of it was used for a house. The rest was just an enclosed area where pigs and chickens and children ran free. I just wish we could get some leadership and let this branch take off. In Abasolo we have two Melchizedek Priesthood holders, who are now serving as counselors to Elder Lopez. We also have a Sunday school teacher, Dulce. Her sister, Natali, directed the hymns, which was one less calling I had to fulfill in Abasolo. The branch in Abasolo has more potential than Soto’s, but so much farther to go. They only had ten members in attendance today. Not a whole lot more to the day than those two meetings. We fasted all day, and then ate beans and rice in ‘Solo. I hope to be able to throw myself into the work soon. It’s difficult. I’m shy and don’t know too much Spanish. I’m coming to love these people so much, even though I sometimes become impatient because it takes twenty minutes to say “good-bye.” I had noticed that we would often be standing near the door or gate and on our way out, and yet the conversation would continue. I was always so impatient to be off and doing other, more missionary-ish things. Monday, September 2, 1996 I read some old letters today. While they all brought a smile to my face, only a few actually brightened my day and have inspired me to do more as a missionary. These letters were from my dad, Weston, and Darren. My dad talked about being positive, Weston talked about serving God, and Darren talked about losing myself in the work. All of them expressed confidence in my abilities. I also wrote a poem today. It’s called “On Walking the Dusty Road.” On Sunday I read the chapter in Jesus the Christ entitled “From Sunshine to Shadow.” In this chapter, Talmage relates how many of the Savior’s followers began deserting him when it became apparent that he was not the temporal and political deliverer that they had expected. It set me to wondering what I would have done had I walked the dusty roads in Galilee. Would I have felt His Spirit, and sensed that He was the Son of God? My answer came to me as I continued to contemplate the dusty roads of Soto la Marina, especially that interminable road that carried us to Barrio Blanco. I knew that choosing to walk the dusty road of discipleship in this day indicates that I would have been one of those who had chosen to walk it in antiquity. The road, wherever and whenever it may be, requires the same levels of sacrifice and dedication from all who walk it. And for those of us who do, we are never alone as we follow in the footsteps of the Savior of the World. I’m feeling pretty good. We did laundry today and cleaned house. Tonight we go to Aldama again. I hope I can remember how good I feel now and put it into practice on Wednesday. Only time and the Lord can tell.

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Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “The Abasolo branch is even smaller, but, I think, stronger. It consists of a single family. Namely: Hermano Matilde Pastor and his wife, their two children Isaac and Dulce Alejandra, his mother, and his wife’s two sisters Dulce and Natali. And there’s one other guy, Hermano Guerrero, who serves as a counselor in the Branch Presidency. “Last week, when I was conducting the meeting, I called on Matilde’s wife to say the closing prayer. President Goodman, who was there to set apart Matilde as first counselor in the branch presidency informed me that she is a deaf-mute. And all this time I just thought she was exceptionally quiet. Boy, did I feel dumb. She does speak, but it’s the garbled speech of one who can’t hear. I couldn’t tell; mumbles and Spanish all sound the same to me! Yesterday, though, I was able to discern the tell-tale signs that she was deaf. “As I said before, this is difficult work. Not only the work, but the struggle to understand, to not give in to despair or home-sickness, to not be negative on the culture. I’d have to say that this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. However, as I’ve also said before, I love these people. I know that this is where I need to be, even if sometimes I long for home. This is where the Lord has sent me, and there’s a reason for it.” Tuesday, September 3, 1996 I didn’t get too much sleep last night because of a storm in Aldama. Mucho thunderings and lightningings. In the morning, power was out in Aldama. We had to walk to the bus station in the dark and rain at 5:45 am. I stepped in a puddle up to my ankle. I was loving life. We had a zone meeting. Elder Fister, who was serving in Zona Bosque, is doing great. Because we were in the same zone, I talked with him every time I was in Tampico. I caught a glimpse of his yellow weekly planner, and saw that it was filled with charlas and appointments. I was a bit jealous that he was so busy. And then he showed me a notebook where he was taking notes on the confusing network of micros that criss-crossed his area, and I felt a little bit better about not serving in the grande ciudad. I received three letters, my first in the field. (From dad, Blake, and Kelli.) We came home at 7:45 p.m. and visited Hermana Sara. She’s going to teach seminary here in Soto. I shared my seminary experience with her and bore my testimony. We were planning on enrolling Hermana Reyna’s two kids, Maria Reyna and Fidencio, as well as the transient, Eric Lemuel. Today I saw: a cat without a tail, three really, really, really drunk Mexicans, and a cat playing with a beetle the size of my thumb. I came HOME tonight, not just to my house. It’s amazing how fast I can come to love these reprehensible living conditions. I’m having the time of my life. I’ve never been more frustrated, never been more tired, never been happier.

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Wednesday, September 4, 1996 I don’t think I’ve ever sweat as much as I did this morning. We dug out a small room in Hermana Reyna’s half finished concrete house. It was dirt floored, and we dug into it two inches, preparing it to receive a new cement floor. It was cool. Rather hot, dirty, and exhausting work, actually. Afterwards, she fed us on what had been the best food I had yet eaten. We took a flour tortilla, spread some mayonnaise on it, threw on some tuna, beans, and rice, rolled it up, and ate. My companion, Elder Lopez, is really starting to get on my nerves. I’m trying not to let it bother me. He wants to do everything his way. I can never try to do something on my own without him interfering. I want to say, “I’m not stupid! I just don’t understand Spanish!” Tonight he asked me to lend him my extra water bottle, the one I keep in the fridge so I can have cold water at lunch and dinner. I love him, but I don’t like him. Elder Lopez was from Monterrey, one of the most prosperous cities in the Mexican Republic. I don’t want to defame him here, only to report the facts, and the fact of it was that Elder Lopez and I didn’t get along well. Most of that was probably due to the lack of communication between us. He once gave me some horchata without explaining what it was. I hated it, though later in my mission it became my favorite Mexican drink. Some of my dislike for him, however, was purely intolerance on my part. Had I been more Christ-like, I would gladly have lent Elder Lopez my extra water bottle. I make no excuses; sometimes, for no reason at all, people just get on your nerves, and Elder Lopez often got on mine. Thursday, September 5, 1996 We got seminary established and started in Soto la Marina. Hermana Sara is the teacher, and we have three students. Only a third of them showed up today. We held it in our house at 6:00 p.m. We later moved it to Sara’s house, and the other two students continued to be absent from class. I know that Eric Lemuel enjoyed the lessons and the time spent studying the gospel, and I know that Sara learned a lot from her experience as a seminary teacher. They are studying the New Testament this year. We also taught a powerful first charla to Arturo, the son of an investigator, Edelmira. Dang cool. Of all Edelmira’s children, Arturo, her firstborn, was the most interested in our message and had the greatest desire to learn more. However, being the eldest, he also carried the heaviest responsibility in caring for the rest of his family. He worked every day to provide for his widowed mother and younger siblings. Thus we rarely found him at home, and he almost always worked Sundays. We didn’t get much else accomplished today, as Elder Lopez was unwell most of the afternoon. We visited with the mother of Hermana Lety this morning, shared a scripture, and bore testimony. It was great. On my list today: several fluorescent green beetles (two still living, the rest squashed in the road), a one-legged Mexican, a spider the size of my outstretched

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hand, and a used baby diaper in the middle of the street. That last one attracted a lot of flies for some reason. I love Soto la Marina. I hope I’m here for a while. Friday, September 6, 1996 We shoveled cement for an hour this morning. Fun work. The seminary class was at 3:00 p.m. today. Afterwards, we visited Hermana Olga in her tin roof house. Hermana Olga was a young girl who was baptized by Elders Lopez and Wright two months previously. We were currently trying to teach the charlas to her mother and brother. Her home was filled with tiny bric-a-brac and odds and ends. While we were visiting, it rained and was really loud on her tin roof. We went to Barrio Blanco and it was really muddy. We then visited Hermana Juana. She gave us atole to drink. At first it was okay, but by the end, I was gagging down every swallow. This was a drink that I never learned to like. It was a corn mush drink, with a vague animal crackery taste. I hated it the first time I drank it and I hated it every time thereafter that I was forced to drink it. But drink it I did. These were poor people, and they were giving me food that should have been on their children’s plates. I could hardly spit it out and demand better in such circumstances. Besides, the Mexicans sat around savoring it as if it were a special treat. As soon as we left, I grabbed my water bottle and took a good long drink, a fruitless attempt to wash the lingering taste from my mouth. I taught an English class to Lozano. He’s a forty-year-old neighbor of Juana, an investigator. He was so excited and proud about learning English. These people are great. Missionary work is still slow, but we are building, strengthening, and edifying the kingdom of God in Soto la Marina. By small and simple things are great things brought to pass. I did many klutzy things today. It feels good to be me. Saturday, September 7, 1996 A day of ups and downs. We started cleaning and preparing the branch meeting house. We finally got around to emptying the port-a-font that was in the front room of our meetinghouse. My companion was upstairs sweeping out the Sunday school rooms, while I grabbed a bucket and started tossing water out the front door. A half hour after starting, Elder Lopez came downstairs, and, seeing how I was approaching the task, got angry with me. Apparently he thought I should have been throwing it into the street and not on the sidewalk, as I had been doing. My companion and I got into an argument about my font-emptying methods. Afterwards, I cried, prayed, and apologized. This evening we visited Lozano and I shared a scripture. His wife and brother-in-law were also present. We read Helaman 5:12 and I did it the way they taught in the MTC, as I had realized this morning I needed to do. First I explained the background, and then asked someone to read. Unfortunately, I asked Lozano’s brother-in-law to read the passage, and he was barely literate. It took us five minutes to read the one verse. Then I shared my feelings, asked him

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about his, and then extended an appropriate invitation to all those present. I ended with my testimony. Wow! The spirit was incredible. At the end of our meeting, I bore my testimony of the Book of Mormon. Since this was the last appointment of the evening, I was able to go home feeling awfully good about my day. I love what I’m doing here in Soto la Marina. There are times when I miss home, family, friends, books, and school so much it hurts. But for some strange reason, I have found happiness in a poor, dusty, Mexican town. I saw an American tourist today. He was taking photos of a dirt street in Soto la Marina, and we just passed him by. He asked me a polite question in English, and I responded, but that was all the further our interaction went. I wish I had talked with him more. All is well between Elder Lopez and I. And as it turned out, today was Elder Lopez’s Hump Day. Sunday, September 8, 1996 Well, gee, it’s been another great Sunday. Another great week. This morning I woke up and went to the chapel. We waited and waited. Nobody showed up until 10:20. I conducted the meetings and gave a talk on the fall of Adam. Before the meetings started, we were visited by an investigator family from Barrio Blanco. Unfortunately, they only stopped in to say “Hi.” The family consisted of Viki and Lionel and their children. We had cut their grass on my first day in Soto, and later we taught them how to make pancakes. Our other meeting in Abasolo went better. We had eleven people—more than I’ve ever seen in that branch. My talk went a lot smoother here. It usually does because I’ve had a chance to practice it in Soto la Marina. I tried to teach Dulce how to waltz, but to no avail. Part of the problem was the size difference between us. I towered over the six-year-old, which kind of made waltzing a difficult proposition. We had fun anyway. We returned home at 8:00 p.m. Life is dang good right about now. My Spanish is better now than it’s ever been, though it’s still frustrating and slow. I taught Sunday school about prophets this week. It was great. I spoke, I listened. I only had three students, so that made it easier (Reyna, Lety, and Juana). On the road from ‘Solo to Soto, I saw a soccer field in the middle of a cornfield. ¡Que raro! This is my fourth Sunday in Mexico. I can’t believe how time flies. And it’s supposed to start going faster. I love being a missionary. I love teaching these people. I love these people. Though my living conditions have never been worse, I’ve never been happier. What I meant here was that my level of happiness was much higher than my miserable living conditions would have warranted. I spent a lot of time in my journal trying to convince myself that I was happy. By accentuating the positive, I started to see life in a more positive hue.

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Monday, September 9, 1996 I always knew that someday I would have to pass through hell and high water for my Lord. I just never thought that it’d be so literal. Today we went to Aldama early, and went to the house of a member to celebrate Elder Quiles’s birthday. He turned twenty-three yesterday. Then we went on splits here in Aldama. Elder Prunty and I had to pass through a section of trail that was ankledeep in water, and lots of it. The heavy rains from the last few weeks had flooded out the shortcut that Elders Quiles and Prunty had used to travel to that particular neighborhood. Prunty, ever the dedicated servant, didn’t want to lose time backtracking. Instead, he forged ahead, walking through the deep water to get to his appointment. You have to admire dedication like that. However, I just thought the whole thing stunk. The people we visited were awesome—an hermana who has severe arthritis and her family. Elder Prunty left a blessing on the house. Commenting that I liked her rose bushes, her children showered me with roses. The kids walked with us for a ways, and one of them insisted on carrying my backpack. I watched Elder Prunty make some contacts. I wish I could do that. Elder Lopez and I didn’t do a whole lot of tracting, and thus I never really learned how to contact during my tutelage under him. I saw a Mexican with a donkey—Juan Valdez, I thought. It was pretty cool. On the way back to the apartment, I stopped at a corner store to buy a Coke, which is where I first learned of Mexico’s unique soda selling customs. In order to buy a soft drink, a deposit must be made in order to take a new bottle out of the store. Families that live in the area will pay the deposit once, and then exchange an empty bottle for a full one when they desire to buy another bottle of coke. For those who were just passing through the neighborhood, such was not an option. Instead, the storekeeper poured the soft drink into a plastic bag, stuck a straw through the top, and sent me on my merry way. This was the only time I did any type of missionary work in Aldama, and thus these are my only memories of this delightful little city.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “Store-bought stuff is very cheap. I can buy a half-liter of coke for two pesos. You can look up the exchange rate, but I think it’s close to thirty cents. I can also buy packages of cookies (of six) for only $1.20 (that’s 1.2 pesos). It’s great. Except that the imitation Twinkies aren’t that great. Of course, absolute price is meaningless. You have to consider that I only receive $215 every two weeks. This equates to 60 US dollars per month. “On the bus, I watched the last half hour of Goldeneye. Since coming to Mexico I’ve seen Angels in the Outfield, Back to Back, Assassins, Under Siege 2, Sudden Death, Ace Ventura 2, Three Ninjas Kick Back, Born to be Wild, Johnny Pneumonic, and Walk in the Clouds. At first I tried to avoid watching, but it’s pretty difficult. I’ve just decided to go with the flow and use the opportunity to study my Spanish.

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“Mexicans sing all the hymns slow. It’s been hard to adjust. And imagine a room of twenty people trying to sing “I Believe In Christ”; which, before this time, they’ve never even heard. The hymns in our meeting are sung off-key, but dang it all if it doesn’t bring a tear to my eye. I love it!” Tuesday, September 10, 1996 I had an interview with President Goodman today. Everything is just fine. He really liked my last letter to him, and will print a portion of it in an upcoming mission bulletin. Every week we had a form to fill out and send to the mission president. Besides the statistics, it also included a space to write a letter to the president. This week, I used that space to include my own set of statistics, including numbers of mosquito bites, blisters, and cockroaches killed. We also had a zone meeting, and a commitment pattern test. President Goodman liked springing these pop quizzes on the zones from time to time. Only seven of us got 100%, including my district in its entirety (Lopez, Quiles, Prunty, and I). It was great. Of the other three, one was one of the zone leaders, and one of the sister missionaries. I received three letters today—from my mom, dad, and brother, Ryan. They really picked me up. I look forward to writing to them again in a week. Yesterday we didn’t get the opportunity to wash our clothes since we went to Aldama early in the day. I guess that means that we’re going to be stinky all week. I bought a cheap $126 watch. I like it and I needed one anyways. Elder Quiles had received a watch for his birthday from one of the members in Aldama, and it got me to thinking that I needed something similar. I bought a cheap black plastic model with glow in the dark hands and hash marks at the grocery store Chedraui. I no longer wear the watch, so it must have died somewhere sometime, but I can’t remember when or where. However, it served me well throughout my entire mission. Elder McCall, my zone leader, gave me ten American stamps today. He’s a good guy. I respect him, the other zone leader, Abadía, and the two APs, Boone and Sandoval. Wednesday, September 11, 1996 For one reason or another, today was a very tough day. For the life of me, I just couldn’t get started, even at 7:30 p.m. This morning, we cut grass for Hermana Sara with machetes. I did a better job this time than my first try. However, I still blistered. My comp said I have the hands of a woman. I could have killed him. I’ve been missing home a lot lately. School has started again; Suzie and Ady are back at the Y. Time marches onward, life continues for my family while I’m here. In his letter yesterday, Ryan mentioned a movie I’ve never heard of. I am now officially out of the loop. Tonight we spent two hours with Hermana Juana, and as far as I can tell, got nothing accomplished. I wish I could speak and

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understand Spanish better. Also, I believe that my testimony is strong but my faith is weak, if that is possible. Thursday, September 12, 1996 Good day today. I started it with a breakfast of French toast. The smell alone brought back memories of countless Sunday mornings with my mother. I made myself scrambled eggs with maple syrup for lunch, and grilled cheese sandwiches with Kool-Aid (my mom sent it) for dinner. Ever since I had moved into the apartment in Soto, I had been afraid to light the hotplate. I had never lit a gas stove before in my life, and the sudden puff of flame that accompanied a successful lighting scared me half to death. Previously, I had always had Elder Lopez light the gas stove for me. But, on this day, with the determination to make something of myself as a missionary, I lit the hot plate all by myself. I prepared grilled cheese sandwiches for both myself and Elder Lopez. My companion was decidedly unimpressed by the dinner that I prepared; not enough zing for his taste. And also, today we walked along a trail on the side of the Rio Soto la Marina. It was very similar to the trails in Cherry Creek State Park (only with a Mexican accent). I guess the whole tone of the day was set when I sang “Families Can Be Together Forever” to Hermana Reyna’s family this morning. Because I could not communicate with my companion very well, I was not able to discern the method in the madness of Elder Lopez’s daily plans. We would leave the house, visit people, and come home. Most of the times, I never understood why we were at any given home at any given time. For example, I have no idea what the purpose of our morning visit with Hermana Reyna was, it just was. And the handful of investigators we did have (Lozano, Edelmira, etc.) were not progressing towards any goal that I was aware of. We would drop by their house, say hi, sing a hymn, and move on. Although I never understood Elder Lopez’s planning strategies, he had baptized more people in Soto than any previous companionship so I trusted in his leadership. Friday, September 13, 1996 We spent most of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon at Hermana Reyna’s house. We were trying to wire her home for electricity. We finally completed the task after six hours. During this time, I really had nothing to do except watch Elder Lopez and hand him tools from time to time. I was bored out of my mind, and the boredom gave me ample opportunity to think about how much I disliked my companion. Now the house has a light switch and two power outlets. What a luxury! Tonight we visited Lozano. He told us that he hadn’t read the Book of Mormon. I felt genuine sorrow. I really want him to read and pray about it. Lozano was the type of investigator that should have been jettisoned after the first discussion. He loved to talk about everything except the church and he never

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followed through with his commitments. I threw so much fruitless effort into this man. Later in my mission I learned that a missionary’s time is best spent on receptive souls. I shared another scripture and asked him to read tonight. Tomorrow we’ll visit him again and read and/or discuss what he read. I’m really excited about tomorrow’s visit. We’ll see how things progress. Saturday, September 14, 1996 What a waste of a perfectly good day. We left an hour early to go and cut grass, which isn’t a bad thing. Around the corner from Hermana Reyna’s house lived the Familia Zuñiga. They owned a little corner store and had a house set atop a hill overlooking the river. Their land contained an overabundance of trees, with winding, twisting paths leading to the crest of the hill where the home was located. I loved visiting this family because they often gave us free Cokes from their corner store. This morning, we cut the grass on the side of their land that faced the river. They had a goat tied up in the area, to act as a lawnmower, I suppose. However, I accidentally let the goat loose and had to chase after it. What makes me mad is that afterwards, Elder Lopez spent another five hours with Hermana Reyna’s electricity. It’s good to help out, it’s good to serve others, but our purpose as missionaries is to be teachers, not electricians. I’m fighting hard against some very negative feelings towards Elder Lopez, towards Mexico, towards just about everything. I’m feeling lonely and homesick and feeling like Elder Lopez and I aren’t doing enough as far as missionary work is concerned. I felt like we were running in circles, going back and visiting the same tired and unresponsive people day after day, without any feeling of progress towards any type of goal. However, I don’t know what to do about it. Just keep moving, survive, I guess. Sunday, September 15, 1996 I woke up with a headache this morning. By 3:00 p.m. it was pounding heavily. I got up to give my talk, and the headache left. My Spanish, while still halting and slow, was such that I was able to depart from my text several times. On completing my talk, I sat down and the headache immediately returned. This morning I also woke up with a pain in my left knee. I looked down and saw two strange, soft, fluid-filled, large bumps on my knee. After church in Soto, Elder Lopez and I took some scissors and cut into them. They were filled with water. We drained the water by applying pressure on the bumps and then cleaned up the mess on my knee with some cotton. Finally, I used the scissors to cut away the remaining dead skin. It was pretty disgusting and hurt a lot. I don’t know what caused it, but I attribute it to a strange knee-sucking vampire on the loose in Soto la Marina. It may have been a spider-bite, but after describing the occurrence to Sister Gillespie more than a year later, she diagnosed it as a housewife’s knee. Perhaps we’ll never know what really happened during the early morning hours of September 15th, 1996.

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Tomorrow is Independence Day and the whole town is filled with a festive air. Banners are up, music is playing; a band was warming up in the village square. While the 16th is Independence Day, most of the celebration takes place the night before. At midnight, there is a Grito, or shout, which the president of the nation leads from México City. He leads the nation in shouting, “Viva, viva, viva Mexico.” It’s great. I gave my talk today on the resurrection. Just as I’m starting, who should walk into the chapel, but Edelmira, an investigator who recently lost her mother. I had the perfect audience for my message. “But the resurrection is more than important doctrine. It is comfort, peace, consolation,” I said. Then I shared my experience with the death of Sister Tate and affirmed the reality and hope that we will see our loved ones again. I couldn’t have chosen a better subject on which to speak that day. I taught another Sunday school lesson (on scriptures). I’ve decided that if I’m going to start feeling better about the work, I need to focus. Stop thinking about home, about books, about how much Elder Lopez annoys me. I need to focus and with focus will come Spanish, courage to overcome my timidity, and a love for ALL Mexicans. I look forward to the coming week. Both branches had more people in attendance than I’ve ever seen here! Monday, September 16, 1996 The bus to Aldama was supposed to leave at 9:15. We left Hermana Juana’s house half an hour early. And what do you know, but the bus left early also. Soto la Marina was not a major transportation hub; thus buses never truly departed from here. Instead, they passed through. In this case, the bus route we took to Aldama was a portion of the TransPais line that plied the asphalt between Matamoros and Tampico. From experience, the bus station attendant was able to tell us that it would probably pass through around 9:15 p.m. However, favorable or adverse conditions could change the arrival times considerably. Had we shown up on time, we would have missed our bus! We spent another full day with Reyna's electricity. I took advantage of the time and studied and wrote letters. I think I have the first charla memorized. I finished reading Jesus the Christ last night. It only took me a month to read. One month ago I did my first proselyting in Soto la Marina. I washed my clothes finally. We did it at Hermana Reyna’s. She had a washing machine even more ancient than the one we had used at Cesar’s during my first couple of weeks. I don’t know why we stopped doing our laundry at his house, but for some reason, our laundry experience in Soto just kept getting worse and worse. I’m feeling much better now than on Saturday night. I always seem to get depressed on Saturdays. I wonder what I could do to avoid it? Great day, great life. I love it!

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Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “I promised that I would write somewhat concerning my daily schedule. As such, here goes. “I get up every morning at 6:30 a.m. This is half an hour later than in the MTC, and believe me, it makes all the difference. First thing I do is turn off my alarm clock. I have a cute little clock (it’s pink) that I bought from Elder Felley in the MTC. It doesn’t have a snooze button, so I am sure to turn on the lights and hop into my sandals. “I take a shower in my disgustingly dirty bathroom. I’m glad Sister Goodman advised us to buy sandals for the shower, because it’s incredibly gross. As I may have noted before, my shower consists of a single jet of cold water. I actually kind of like it now. A few weeks ago, I was cheered when Sister Goodman told me that our bathroom is the worst in the mission. It can only get better! “When I’m done, Elder Lopez showers, and I get dressed and read a few pages out of the Bible. I started sometime in the MTC, and I’m just about finished with Deuteronomy. “At 7:00 we have a devotional. Every missionary is doing the same thing at this time. We sing a hymn, read a scripture, review a paragraph in the missionary handbook (the book of rules) and have a prayer. Then we begin companionship study. This lasts until 8:00 a.m. “With that out of the way, we have breakfast. For a whole two weeks, I ate nothing but corn flakes. However, recently I’ve been trying new stuff. I’ve cooked scrambled eggs, French toast, and even tried fried eggs. It’s a lot more difficult than it looks. “After breakfast we have personal study time. For the first three months in the field, it’ll last until 10:00. Thereafter, personal study will end at 9:30. The rationale behind this is that I need more time to study Spanish. After this three month probation, my training will be considered complete. “I spend my personal study time with several things. I read the Book of Mormon in both English and Spanish, as well as the Doctrine and Covenants. I also spend five minutes working on Spanish pronunciation, as per President Goodman’s advice. I read a chapter in the Spanish for Missionaries book also. Then I spend some time memorizing the charlas. I have a year in which to do it, after which, I’ll be eligible for senior companion. I just about have the first charla done. “We leave at 10:00, and work until 1:30 p.m. doing various things. At 1:30, we turn in for lunch. Because this is the only area wherein the members don’t feed us, we have to make our own lunch. This has its advantages. We receive more money and we get a two-hour lunch break. At 3:30 we go back to work. “We work from 3:30 until 9:30, at which time we go home. I write in my journal and go to bed by 10:30. During free time throughout the day, during lunch or before bed, I read what few church books I own. I just finished Jesus the Christ last night. It took me a whole month! I think I’ll start Truth Restored today. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I finish all my books. Start over, I guess. “So, that’s my exciting day. It’s actually tough work. The other day, while we were digging ditches or something, I was wheeling the wheelbarrow full of dirt to the place of dumping, I stopped to take a rest and thought, “This wasn’t in the job description.” Service projects are fun, but are often hard work. I’ve done everything 84

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from digging ditches to shoveling cement, from cutting grass with a machete to wiring a house for electricity. And you know what? This was part of the job description.” Tuesday, September 17, 1996 We went to Tampico this week to pick up our Quincena. The bank in which our money was deposited, Bancomer, does not have a branch in Soto la Marina. So, while we had just come to Tampico the week before, it was still necessary for us to come back again this week. We spent half the day in Tampico, doing our grocery shopping and running other miscellaneous errands. While shopping in Tampico, it started to rain—a heavy rain, a downpour. However, it turned into a drizzle for our walk to the bus station. After our zone meeting, I received three letters—from Mom, Shawn, and Jason. Big J got his mission call to the Ukraine Kiev mission. How exciting. During the bus ride back to Soto la Marina, we were stopped by some twenty soldiers. All of them had big guns, and two of them boarded the bus and had Elder Lopez and I open our backpacks. They had me open my black scripture bag, and then, satisfied, they left. Elder Lopez told me that it was a routine search for guns, but it was still kind of scary. For one reason or another, I’ve always been terrified of foreign soldiers. I made a budget today and hope to track my spending meticulously. While shopping at Chedraui, I saw boxes of Frosted Flakes, and wanted to buy a box. Unfortunately, I was still unsure how far my money would take me. I hope to see how much I can splurge and where. I want frosted flakes! I want a Big Mac! I want warm showers and cool autumns. I want a cheery fire and a toasty blanket. I want the companionship of a good book. I just can’t DO IT. I’m not a people person. Why did God call me? Wednesday, September 18, 1996 This morning, all the doubts I’ve ever had about the church attacked me at once. I got on my knees and prayed. I was hit with a memory of a simple Youth Conference moment. Realizing this was my answer, I pondered, what does it mean? The meaning eventually came. At one point in my life, I knew, nothing doubting. This led to the discovery of when these doubts began: second semester at BYU, the same time I sent in my mission papers. Cause or coincidence? And then, finally, I remembered how much fire and energy I had before that time, who I was so many years ago. I CAN DO IT. I had a great day as a result. I spent three hours digging a hole in the ground, and then was able to laugh and joke with the family. This was time we spent with Edelmira and her sons, digging a hole that would someday be their new latrine. When we finished with it, it was about as deep as I am tall. With the project complete, we sat in chairs, drank lemonade, and shared a friendly moment together. I can be a great missionary, weak Spanish notwithstanding.

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As an extension of my revelation, I remembered the song “Forgiveness” from that same Youth Conference, and Elder Lopez and I had a great day together. During that Youth Conference, the summer before my senior year in high school, the final book in a seven-book fantasy series I had been reading finally arrived in bookstores. I bought it, and was so engrossed with it, that I brought it with me to youth conference. I read it during every down moment we had, between sessions of seminars and classes. During dinner one evening, I went into the lobby of the Laredo building to sign a Book of Mormon that would later be given to a friend of the stake young men’s president. The friend had helped us earlier in the summer by being a chaperone for a stake camping trip. While I was thus engaged, my friends grabbed my new book and took turns signing it, bearing their witnesses that fantasy books were Satanic in origin and that I should not read them. I did not discover their sophistry until I returned home later that evening, and when I did, I was so hurt and offended, that I thought to forgo the conclusion of the Youth Conference the following day. That night I took my parents’ minivan to 7-Eleven to fill up on gas, and when I started the car, Don Henley’s song “Forgiveness” was playing on the radio. I rethought my position, and decided that I must forgive others even as Christ has forgiven me. Several years later, I met the author of the book, and he signed my copy, laughing at what others had written before him. No ill feelings remained on any side of the disagreement, and remembering this experience helped me to be more tolerant of my companion on this day. Thursday, September 19, 1996 Yesterday’s vision led today to something else. It reminded me of all the many people who expressed to me the belief in what I am to accomplish in my life. I fear that I am off course, and may need to correct my path. Notice, however, that I wrote these words while acting as an authorized servant of Christ in a small Mexican town. How off-course could I have possibly been? The answer is, I wasn’t. A common tactic that Satan uses on new missionaries is to drudge up the memories of past transgressions to make the missionary feel guilty, unworthy, and useless. Many times, a missionary is compelled to consider even the smallest of misdeeds, and thus the guilt that Satan piles on his shoulders detracts from what could otherwise be a very effective ambassador of truth. What if there are unresolved things in my past, from my years of inactivity, that need to be cleared up? What if these past transgressions are keeping me from becoming an effective tool in the Lord’s hands? My misdeeds were not, in fact, serious enough to warrant confession, but they preyed upon my mind nevertheless. I do not go into detail on the nature of my sins, for the Lord has forgiven me of the same, and as such, has promised that he “remembers them no more.” God has forgiven me, and he literally does not remember my misdeeds. If he does not remember them, then why should I? I am forever

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indebted to my savior for such a wonderful gift. I may be a mess, but I am His mess. I wrote a letter to President Goodman, asking to speak with him at his earliest convenience. Unfortunately, it won’t be delivered until Tuesday. I hope I don’t lose my nerve. I spent three more hours in the hole. I talked and had a good time with another family. Life is good. Friday, September 20, 1996 In a moment of despair and frustration, worried that I am not living up to my full potential as a missionary, I stumbled across my patriarchal blessing and found the strength I needed therein. God is so awesome! We spent the morning finishing Hermana Reyna’s electricity. I think we are finally done. We went to Barrio Blanco and talked with Viki’s family. We took a one-hour lunch break, during which my companion confessed that the twohour breaks we had been taking were unauthorized, and then visited Sara, Juana, and Edelmira. I love the work that I’m doing, and I know that as I improve my ability with the Spanish language, I’ll be able to be not only more effective, but to be happier as well. Saturday, September 21, 1996 While I was teaching Lozano a little bit more about prayer, the language absolutely flowed. It was wonderful. The spirit was present, and I said, “Lozano, I know that . . .” just like Hermano Meik. We walked out into the boonies of northern Soto. It was a beautiful area, though about as poor as Barrio Blanco. We had rarely worked this area, but Elder Lopez, sensing that he was about to be transferred, wanted to ensure that some of the less active families and ex-investigators in this area would not be lost when he left the area. During my lunch break, I studied some music. I want to learn more than just directing. I’m teaching myself to read it and sing it. I went to the spare room and sang “Do What Is Right” which has always been one of my favorite hymns. Despite my poor singing ability, I was able to feel the spirit and the message of the song. I know that what I am doing here in Soto la Marina is the Lord’s work. I spent some time rereading my patriarchal blessing. I know that I can learn to be an effective missionary and fulfill all the Lord wants done. Sunday, September 22, 1996 This morning I prayed that I would finally be able to give a talk that I feel good about to the Soto branch. And I did. It was even better than the one I delivered in Abasolo. Surely the Lord has blessed me. After Sacrament meeting, Elder Lopez informed me that instead of teaching the lesson that I had prepared

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for the Adult Sunday School, he wanted me to teach the combined Young Men’s and Young Women’s Class. I was angry with him, feeling that he had not given me sufficient warning. I had five minutes to prepare a lesson for my class. I only had four students: Lilianna, Eric Lemuel, Fidencio, and Maria Reyna, the sixteenyear-old daughter of Hermana Reyna. Reyna and Eric were very active in their participation, and I appreciated it. Lilianna and Fidencio were harder to reach. The lesson was about testimonies, and the spirit was very strong. It was awesome! Same old same old in Abasolo, with a twist at dinner time. I ate a cactus, a prickly pear, to be exact. I think that the branch was pulling my leg. Nopales, as these cacti are called, are most often eaten cooked with eggs and beans. However, they gave it to me raw. I had no idea what to think, worried as I was about the health risks involved with eating a raw cactus. I shrugged and thought, “here’s to martyrdom!” In truth, the cactus was actually pretty good. I read The Holy Temple by Boyd K. Packer, the small booklet adaptation. I think I learned a few things, felt the old familiar fires, and basically rediscovered the feelings of my first couple of years of activity. I was so happy back then, in high school. I made my mistakes. I stumbled continuously on my pride, but I was happy. Even that first semester at BYU was great. But a combination of factors conspired against me, and I was almost toppled. But I’m setting things straight, relighting the fires that once burned so brightly in this old heart of mind. There were thousands of birds in the plaza. Every Sunday, as we walked back home from the bus station, we would pass by the central plaza just as the sun was setting. The plaza was surrounded on every side by tall shade trees, and each tree was filled with birds, screaming and singing and making noise. It was amazing and beautiful. Monday, September 23, 1996 My companion is being transferred, and I truly regret that we never truly learned to work as a team. Elder Lopez’s new assignment was as a zone leader in Huejutla, in the heart of the Huasteca. He served in that capacity briefly before being called to the offices as supplies secretary. I don’t know where he finished his mission. Transfers came on Monday nights. In Soto, the APs called our landlord, who then passed the word to us. Because Elder Lopez was receiving leadership calling, he had to call the mission president back, and to do so, we had to find a phone to use, since our apartment didn’t have one. We found a kiosk several blocks north of the town plaza from which we called President Goodman. Elder Lopez was so pleased with his new calling because he had always wanted to serve in the Huasteca. He was so pleased, in fact, that he nearly danced all the way back to our apartment. I feel kind of bad that we didn’t get along better, and I can’t help but wonder what I could have done to make things move a bit more smoothly. He made us do our laundry by hand today for some reason. I spent a good portion of

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the day crouched over a bucket in the bathroom. He’s always doing things like this without giving me an explanation why. I can’t help but worry a bit about what my next companion is going to be like. This will be my third, and so far, I have not had a companion with whom I have been best friends. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. I hope all works out for the best.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “We ate some coconut ice cream with a family in Barrio Blanco. It had little bits of stringy coconut in it. It was good. Which is quite a contrast with the chicken I ate the day before. It was gross. “I shared a message about prayer with Lozano. It went pretty smoothly. In the middle of it, a water delivery came, and we helped unload the truck. We then continued where we left off. I really like this family and hope to see them embrace the gospel. Also, we spent considerable time with the family of Edelmira (herself and her three sons, Arturo, Freddy, and Martin). She also has a daughter, Mercedes, who lives in a different house. Edelmira lives in a one-room grass roof house and always enjoys feeding us everything from fried eggs to beans to beef. “So, anyways, life is good, and the work is progressing. Although Tampico is one of the highest-baptizing missions in Mexico, Soto la Marina is the lowestbaptizing area in the mission. I think the only reason missionaries are even here, is because otherwise there would be no Melchizedek Priesthood holders to lead the branch. Before I leave, I want to see a potential priesthood holder become active, either through conversion or reactivation. I want to see the Soto branch really take off.”

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Elder Barrett showing off the tremendous amount of mud that was present in the streets of Soto la Marina

Elder Barrett with Lozano, a local water vendor Note the unique three-wheeled bicycle

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