07--faith, Hope, And Charity

Chapter Seven Faith, Hope, and Charity

I woke up excited by the prospects of a new day. I had arrived in Matamoros the previous night, and instead of exploring my old area, I had spent the evening with the young single adults from the Matamoros First Ward. Today, I would grab my backpack and explore the streets and neighborhoods where I had once preached the gospel with Elders Ramos and Jimenez. I followed Magda’s street towards the canal; the heart of my area lay in that direction. As I crossed over the black waters, I took a deep breath, remembering with morbid fondness the disgusting odor that emanated from the canal. How often had I crossed that canal? How often had I done so and hated the smell? Today, as I crossed the smelly waters, I cherished the memories that accompanied the stench. On the other side of the canal was a neighborhood of government-built prefabricated homes. I wandered through those homogeneous streets, but could not find a single home that I could distinguish from the others in the neighborhood. Although I longed to visit the Sobrevilla and Silva families, I recognized the hopelessness of the cause; the unending same-ness of the houses and my own imperfect memory had defeated me. I returned to the main drag, and began walking towards the area I had worked with Elder Jimenez. A micro approached me, and a sudden memory flashed through my mind. I knew where that bus would take me; I knew that it was the same route we used to take to the home of Hermana Ladezma. I hailed the micro, boarded, and found a seat. However, the neighborhoods it took me through were strange ones. I did not recognize the streets that we passed. After ascertaining that I had indeed gotten on the wrong bus, I yelled “Baja”, and the driver stopped to let me off at the next corner. Upon descending from the bus, I looked around, and realized that it was indeed my area, that the bus had been the correct one. I shook my head in confusion and sadness. Could my

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memory have really deteriorated so much in only two and a half years? Or had these neighborhoods really changed so much? However, the realization that I had been on the correct bus availed me little as I began wandering the streets once more. Nothing looked the same as I remembered it, and I soon lost myself in unfamiliar streets and neighborhoods. After half an hour of fruitless wandering, I chanced upon a street that made me pause. I looked at it, studied its muddied expanse, and smiled. This street had to be the one on which the Cítalans lived. Here also lived a convert from my days with Elder Jimenez. Picking my delicate way up the muddy street, I looked around anxiously for Erika’s house. I knew that she lived near the intersection, on the left hand side of the street. However, before I could find it, I found myself at the canal, an extension of the one I had crossed earlier that morning. I knew I had gone too far, but as I looked behind me in frustration, I could see no house that looked like Erika’s. While standing in the muddy streets, the smelly canal flowing beneath me, I wondered how a city that I had loved so much could change to such a degree that it was now unrecognizable to me. I was a little sad, knowing that Matamoros had passed me by. This dingy city on the banks of the Rio Grande would never again be my home. I had loved it, I had cherished it, but it was no longer the same. It was changed, and I was lost in its streets. I stood confused for a moment more, thinking these gloomy thoughts. I decided to return the way I had come, catch a micro and try my luck in the areas I had worked with Elder Ramos. As I once more began my careful navigation of the soggy streets, a car passed me going the opposite direction. A curt honk caused me to jerk my head towards the car, and there behind the wheel, I finally saw a familiar face. Carolina Cítalan was on her way to visit her family who lived nearby. She invited me to eat lunch with her family, and I eagerly accepted. Upon arriving at the Cítalan homestead, Hermana Cítalan greeted the both of us with joy, and sat us down for lunch. The rest of the family arrived as we were eating, and they too greeted me with warmth, welcomed me as if I were one of the family. I reflected once more on how much had changed in the city of Matamoros, and also on how much I loved this simple and faithful family. Some things, I concluded, never change.

Sunday, January 12, 1997 I’m sitting here talking to Elder Burch. These are some of my favorite memories. I had recently moved my stuff out of the master bedroom, and across the hall into the bedroom that had been abandoned since Rico and Van Slyke had gone south. The room was much smaller than my last one, and three of its four walls were outer ones, with two walls containing large glass windows. It was cold in that room and I was not anxious to spend more time in it than was absolutely necessary. That Sunday night, I was sitting on Elder Burch’s bed, which was located in the living room, discussing our new zone leader. Elder Castro had taken my place as companion to Elder Ramos, and shared with him the duties of zone

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leader. He was to take over leadership of the zone when Elder Ramos finished his mission the following month. Elder Castro was a whip thin elder from Coahuila who spoke fluent English. Although his language skills could have worked as an advantage in his leadership position, Elder Burch and I were unimpressed with our first interactions with Zona Matamoros’ new commander. Today was not just cold, but it was DAMN cold. I’m sorry, but that’s the only way to describe it. It was in the low 40’s, but the wind-chill factor made it worse. Who would have thunk that I’d be frostbitten in Mexico? Sacrament meeting was cool, in more ways than one. All the missionaries gave five-minute talks. I gave an abbreviated version of the talk I delivered at the Soto conference in October, a copy of which was still in my suit coat pocket. The six of us had had no prior notice that we would be giving talks, and for some reason, I was elected to be the first to discourse that day. I had to walk from our customary pew in the rear of the chapel, to the front while the other five sat and watched and wished me luck. As I was walking to the stand, all alone I started humming a song in an effort to give myself a dose of courage for the task at hand. With a start, I realized that it was the Cougar Fight Song. How I miss BYU, Weston, Suzie, classes, and so forth. After my talk, the bishop stood up and asked all the elders to sit on the stand. Then Elder Manzo talked. Elder Burch stumbled and stuttered and he was followed by Elders Ramos, Castro, and my companion, Jimenez. I’m really not that fond of the new ZL. I think he takes himself way too seriously. He’s silent, stone-faced, and sober. Not my favorite type of person. He is also condescending; telling us when we are doing something wrong and correcting our mistakes before we have even committed them. What I’m trying to say is that he treats us like children. He was a sharp contrast to Elder Ramos, who had implemented a more empathetic and gentle leadership style. Our new zone leader snapped would reprove with sharpness, but omitted any increase of love after the rebuke. In church that day, he had asked Elder Burch where his companion was, and Burch pointed to Elder Manzo, who was talking to a stake missionary on the other side of the breezeway, within sight of each other, in the same room. “You’re supposed to be with him,” replied Elder Castro, and stalked off. But, enough negativism. In my personal studies I am in the Book of Isaiah (oh boy, fun), Philippians, and Mosiah 3. I’m still reading Articles of Faith but should finish it soon. I’m looking forward to this week and establishing my area. I like Elder Burch. He’s of the same caliber as Smith and Bach, although he’s kind of a screwball. Monday, January 13, 1997 I’m having another “I want to go home” day. I really don’t want to go home, but rather return to the good ole days. Those days in high school with Darren and the Quorum, the days with Zach and the Kouch, with Rebekah,

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Weston, and Suzie, my books, my warm house, and my family. The good old days are gone, and I am left with a day with below-freezing temperatures, a companion with a puerile sense of humor, and a zone leader with an ego the size of Matamoros. I’ve been awfully negative these last couple days. It’s really not as bad as all that. I’m in the service of God, my testimony grows day by day, and I am about to certify the sixth charla, and thus make myself eligible for senior companion. I’m really counting on a transfer in February. My new room is a closet and a refrigerator. It’s got two large windows, which doesn’t help at all. The cold was coming on something fierce and we all huddled close to our electric heaters. On this night, we didn’t even hold our zone meeting in the stake center; we simply gathered around the space heaters in the living room, and had our meeting in the comfort of a relatively warm house. The church, lacking any type of central heating, would have been an icebox.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “I’m freezing my buns off right now. It is only a few degrees above freezing and our house doesn’t have a heater. We have these small electric heaters that I suppose take the chill off, but I’m still cold. Last night, at 4:00 a.m., we lost electricity for about half an hour. It was a miserable moment in my life. I was shivering under the heavy blanket Magda gave me, thankful for the sweatpants you sent me. It is bone-chilling cold, and the wind makes it worse.” Tuesday, January 14, 1997 I bathed myself for the first time in two days. It’s kind of difficult to get up the courage to shower when the water is near-freezing. I heated a pot of water on the stove and bathed with a plastic cup. It was great. The temperature this morning started out three degrees below freezing. It rose to two above in the afternoon. Elder Manzo heard on the radio this morning that ten people died during the night due to the cold. He also heard that it had snowed in Chihuahua. It’s colder in the states, but here there are no heating systems in the houses, and so the people suffer more from the rare and random cold snaps. I went on a full-day split with Manzo in order to learn my area. He and Burch had worked this same area back in November. He introduced me to the members who lived there and gave me the addresses of some former investigators. However, since he and Burch had been concentrating their recent efforts in their new territory, he had no current investigators to pass into my hands. It was cold all day. We didn’t get much accomplished, but I learned tons. We petitioned the zone leaders for permission to have a shortened day due to the bitter cold snap that had swept into town. Elder Ramos readily agreed, and Elder Castro reluctantly agreed. I still want to take a regular shower. Perhaps someday.

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Wednesday, January 15, 1997 We attended a funeral today. Brother Escobedo died yesterday morning. I ate lunch with him and his family on my first day in Matamoros. He was a good man, a former stake president, one of the faithful. It was not infrequent for prominent church leaders to become less active after their release from a high profile calling; Hermano Escobedo did not. He was humbly serving as the adult Sunday school teacher when he passed away that January. We all missed him, and shortly afterwards, his wife began preparing for a mission. I later learned that she served at the Mexico City Temple Visitor’s Center. His sister was also greatly influenced by his example. She lived in the FOVISTE, the same neighborhood in which we lived, and it was to her home that the elders went when they desired a free haircut. Her three sons were baptized by Elders Trejo and Messervey shortly after I arrived in Matamoros. After the funeral, Magda delivered some mail to our little group of six missionaries. I received a catalog from the Foundation for Ancient Research and Mormon Studies (FARMS) and for the next three months, I spent much of my free time flipping though its pages and daydreaming of the vast amounts of knowledge represented by the numerous books inside that catalog. I don’t know if I’m just short on patience or what, but my companion is really starting to bug me. And it only took five days, too. He’s just a big, overgrown kid. I accidentally let slip today that I had no money, and an hermana insisted on giving me twenty pesos. I wouldn’t accept, but with tears in her eyes, she told me she wanted to support the work of the Lord. I humbly accepted her money, and I now know from whence cometh our quincena. This money really is sacred. She had given the money into my care, and I felt that it was my duty to reserve it for special uses; after all, it was sacred. I was loath to use it for something as prosaic as bus fare, though my companion had other ideas. In fact, the first real argument Elder Jimenez and I had was over the use of this sacred twenty-peso bill. He wanted to ride home in a micro, and I thought we should walk. It was a long and tiring trek from our area to our home in the FOVISTE, but I insisted we do it. Elder Jimenez and I had problems from the beginning of our companionship, and I recognize now that the cause was our own dumb pride. I resented the fact that this missionary, who had only a few months more experience than I, had invaded “my” city and attempted to tell me how to do missionary work in “my” ward. Elder Jimenez on the other hand, was never fully confident in his own leadership abilities, and as a result tenaciously defended any perceived challenge to his authority. Our cooperative efforts did not have a propitious beginning. Our area is being established. We have a few investigators now.

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Thursday, January 16, 1997 It’s a lot harder to establish an area than I thought. We spent the day contacting, and came up with twenty contacts, only three of which yielded charlas. One of the charlas was bien potente, but the other two were only más o menos. I’ve learned not to prejudge the final outcomes on the manner in which they start. Charlas that were chafa often led to baptisms, while powerful and spiritual charlas often led to no more than a second visit. We ate lunch with the Cítalan family. They lived in a small home off a dirt road that was usually clogged with mud. In contrast to Soto, most of the urban poor in Matamoros possessed only small tracts of land, but even so, the Cítalan family’s lot was larger than those of their neighbors. They also owned a small apartment on a major paved street, in which half of the family lived. They are amazing. They had lived in Matamoros for lo these five years, and had come up to Mexico’s northern border from Mexico’s southern border. The Cítalan family originally hailed from Tapachula, the southernmost city in Mexico and had come to Matamoros seeking the economic promise of the borderlands. Hermano Cítalan drove a micro, and if we were ever lucky enough to board the one he was driving, he would let us ride for free. He was second counselor in the bishopric, his wife was Relief Society president, the two eldest sons, Pedro and Pablo were returned missionaries, the former was serving as young men’s advisor, and the latter as elder’s quorum teacher. They had one other brother, Josue, serving a mission, and Magda said he was the best of the bunch. It was Josue who had reactivated an inactive Magda three years ago. There was also one young son, Gabriel, still a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and a daughter, Carolina in her late teens. I got into an argument with my comp tonight. We fought once again over the use of the money given to us by Hermana Lupita. I finally gave in and in a fit of childish rage, threw the twenty pesos at him. He calmly picked up the bill from off the dark street, walked over to a street lamp, and waited for a micro to pass by. I reluctantly joined him and rode the micro with him. We had our problems, and I often thought he behaved like a child, though often, I was no better. It’s going to be a long couple of months. I am going to try and love him, and with the Lord’s help, I’ll succeed. There is a circus in town; I like watching the elephants. The circus was camped on the open field between the Gigante Supermarket and the entrance to our gated community. We used to cut across the field on the way to a bus stop on Lauro Villar, but with the circus in the field, we walked along a dead end street behind the circus, and cut across the Gigante parking lot. From our vantage point behind the circus, we had a clear view of the elephants. Friday, January 17, 1997 We spent most of the day in conferences with President Goodman and his assistants. Hermana Goodman no estaba. The new AP is Elder Mejorada, and I

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like him a lot. He’s a good guy. President Goodman took some time out of the conference to answer some questions I had posed in my letters to him. He said they were intelligent questions and we all should know the answers. I had asked him about the Lord’s purpose in having a “chosen” people, and he spent an hour and a half teaching the Matamoros and Valle Hermoso zones concerning the subject. I had my interview with him and asked him a few more questions about celestial marriage, temple work, and mission transfers. My question about celestial marriage was a request for him to clarify some confusions I had about the 132nd section of the Doctrine and Covenants. He explained it all very clearly to me, and later in my mission, I had the opportunity to impart that knowledge to a stake missionary who asked me the same question. I also asked him how he handled mission transfers. He first told me about his transfer board, which I had seen in his office on my first day in Mexico. The transfer board took up most of one wall, and contained a schematic of the entire mission. The board was divided into vertical columns representing each zone, and each column was divided into blocks representing districts and areas. Hanging on the board were large magnets, and upon each magnet was the photo and a brief mission profile of one elder. A couple of weeks before transfers, the mission president would begin to play around with the current arrangement, moving magnets around, trying out different combinations of elders. During his two and a half years in this position, President Goodman had come to recognize that for the most part, the Lord would let him exercise his agency and find suitable combinations. However, there were times when the spirit would whisper very strongly that certain elders should not be together, or, in contrast, that a certain elder should be sent to a specific area. President Goodman concluded his explanation by saying that the Lord expected us to use our mental faculties; that He would not command in all things, but He would be near and whisper guidance to us if we needed it. He finished by reading 1 Nephi 18:1-3, which stated that while Nephi built his ship, he prayed unto the Lord oft, and received instruction from time to time. We should labor in the same way: Pray often, and from time to time, the Lord would direct us. In the interim, we were to be “anxiously engaged in a good cause, and bring to pass much righteousness.” That man is a stud. I was in the interview for a lengthy period of time, what with all my questions. When I finally finished with the president, Elder Jimenez was really insistent that I tell him what we had spoken about. I related to him all that I had learned. Afterwards, we went to our area and taught a first charla, the husband of a previous first charla. We were contacted by an excommunicated member who wants to come back to the Church. My comp asked why he had been Ex’ed. That is just NOT a good question to ask. Oh well. It was a good day in all respects.

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Saturday, January 18, 1997 What a week! A whole grip of first charlas and not a single charla de seguimiento (second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth). We hope to change that soon. We already have a few investigators progressing well, and I have some high hopes. Today we taught three charlas (one of them to the on-duty janitor in an Evangelical church), made fifteen contacts, and showed up at a no-show (our lunch appointment). Instead, we walked to a nearby bakery and had sweet breads for lunch. Additionally, I defended the Jehovah’s Witnesses from a man who had already rejected our message and barely restrained myself from bashing a man whose logic left him wide open for a few pointed remarks. When one contact started rambling about William Soto Santiago, and how William Soto Santiago was a righteous preacher, and William Soto Santiago preaches that Joseph Smith was a false prophet because his name does not appear in the bible, I asked the gentleman, “who is William Soto Santiago? I certainly never saw mention of his name in the bible.” This gentleman was the aforementioned Evangelical janitor. He kicked us out of his church and continued preparing the building for evening services. We continued on our way, and to cheer myself up after our depressing day, I teased a number of chained and leashed dogs, for which my companion scolded me. As night was setting in, we passed by a school yard in which twenty kids, dressed in Aztec costumes, were performing a dance for a small audience of individuals. I was amazed by this near-pagan ritual, this Indian dance that, according to my companion, had something to do with the Virgin of Guadalupe. All said and done, it was a good day. Sunday, January 19, 1997 We taught a great first charla tonight. She was interested and she had already talked to a member. We had contacted Patricia some days ago, and between then and now, she talked to her neighbor, a member named Hermana Ladezma. When we had contacted her earlier that week, she told us she was busy, and asked that we come back later. We made an appointment for Sunday, figuring that she would be yet another no-show. However, Patricia just wanted time to do her homework; she walked down the street to the house of Hermana Ladezma and asked her about her religion. In the following weeks as we taught the gospel to Patricia and her family, the Ladezma home became our base of operations. It was to their home that we rode the micro every morning, and, having oriented ourselves, would begin working the streets and colonias in the vicinity, proselyting in an ever widening radius around the Ladezma home. On that Sunday night, when we arrived on Patricia’s doorstep, she was anxiously waiting to hear our message. We had a good talk with her.

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The rest of the day was pretty normal. I received a letter from Ady. She’s thinking of serving a mission. Familia Lastra was in sacrament meeting today, as well as Felipe and his wife. On talking to Magda this afternoon, she said a few things that, when taken together with other factors, yields a startling conclusion that I am loathe to believe. Could it just be coincidence that both Elder Ramos and Magda told me, on separate occasions, that they planned to be married by July of 1998, neither saying to whom? A few weeks previous she told me that Elder Ramos was going to receive a special reward for his patience with my sometimes impertinent sense of humor. My suspicions had been increasing, and Magda added yet another piece to the puzzle as we walked home with her after church. What did she mean when she told me she knew who she was going to marry, but refused to tell me with whom? There are other factors, and more likely than not, I’m jumping to unfounded conclusions based on circumstantial evidence. I’d like to ask Magda about it; I think we are good enough friends to allow a frank discussion. Life is good. I’m about to jump into Jesus the Christ again. I really do think I might end up killing my companion. I wonder if I’m a good missionary. I don’t like to pry and pressure. I take a person’s word at face value. I like to believe in a person’s basic goodness. I noticed how some missionaries would dig and pry and grope and try to catch an investigator in some sort of untruth. I was more relaxed in my relationships with investigators. If a person did not want to talk to the missionaries, and if they were willing to lie to avoid it, then I figured that was their right. It often made me feel like I wasn’t trying hard enough; I just didn’t think anyone should be forced or manipulated into listening to our message. Monday, January 20, 1997 I talked to Elder Burch today about my growing concern about Ramos and Magda. He agreed with my conclusion and added some evidence of his own. Later, he talked with Magda on the phone, and she told him everything. Elder Burch had a way with people, and that afternoon, he called Magda on the phone and weaseled the whole story out of her. I still haven’t talked in depth with Elder Burch about that conversation, since we had to leave immediately for our zone meeting. However, he did have time to confirm yesterday’s conclusion. There are some definite plans between the two of them. Where did I fail as a comp? This should have never happened, yet somehow it did. I can’t recall leaving him alone with Magda once, yet at some point, they started talking about marriage. When? Where was I? Did I fail my companion and my God? My dad wrote me the following week with sage advice—this wasn’t a tragedy. Juan Carlos and Magda are both active and will probably raise a righteous family. Sure, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Count it as a cheap lesson and move on. My new companion has no control over his money, which has forced me to be conservative. I think I could cheerfully strangle him. I certified the sixth charla today.

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Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “In a more negative vein, I think I’m about ready to kill my companion. I know a lot of it is culture, the way he hovers when he speaks, not giving me personal space. It’s a Latin American thing, even though none of my other comps bothered me in this way. It’s a little disappointing to go from a companion that I really enjoyed to one that is trying my patience. Elder Ramos and I were always having a great time. Elder Burch told me that Elder Ramos told him that I was one of his favorite companions. It’s kind of nice to be appreciated.” Tuesday, January 21, 1997 We had a very full day—seventeen contacts, three charlas, two hours with less actives, and a partridge in a pear tree. After having given one of the worst charlas of my life, we chanced upon a JW street vendor who mocked our beliefs. Being in a bad mood already, I open-fired on the poor guy in a “Bible Bash,” my first in the mission. It made me feel better afterwards, but now I wish I hadn’t. It accomplished nothing. We also gave a charla to two young women who seemed very interested in our message. The only obstacle will be their very drunk, very Catholic father. I am searching for a way to improve my relationship with my comp, but am still a little short on patience. Wednesday, January 22, 1997 It was a good day, but I’m feeling kind of crappy and I don’t know why. We taught three charlas, received our first baptismal commitment, and set up several fellowshippers. I think the problem is that we have nothing scheduled for tomorrow, except contacting. I’m still frustrated with my companion, and I feel that his behavior with members, investigators, and contacts is juvenile. I told him so after a particularly embarrassing episode dealing with the Claudia’s non-member mother. We were visiting in the home of the Relief Society secretary when her mother came over to visit. She was not a member, and since her daughter was very active, she had had to rebuff over-zealous missionaries many times in the past. She was in a sour mood, and was very rude to my companion. She told him she didn’t like our church, and that we didn’t have anything good to offer her. To that, my companion tilted his head, flashed a cheesy grin, and in an almost childlike voice proclaimed, “the church is good. It’s very good.” Claudia’s mother just shook her head and stalked off into the living room where she could spend some time in peace. When we talked about it afterwards, I was surly and blunt. I think he took it personally, though I don’t know how else he could have taken it. I didn’t handle it very well. During the day, I was trying to be positive, but by the end, I was wearing thin on patience. I am just destined to be a bitter, cynical, sarcastic 184

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old man, shunning the rest of society in my extensive library harbored in a lonely valley in the Rocky Mountains. The sun will come out tomorrow. Thursday, January 23, 1997 I actually finished today with good feelings towards my companion. That’s not as good as it sounds; we got into a discussion today about his inefficient planning. It didn’t heat up like other discussion this week, but it was still dangerous. I decided just to submit. I still see us both as junior companions. However, the reality of it is, he is the senior comp. We had a pretty good day besides all that. We taught three charlas, all of them firsts. We really need to be teaching some seconds. We were rejected several times. The Very Drunk Catholic rejected us on behalf of his family, who were otherwise interested in our message. We also made twenty contacts. I want to be faithful and endure to the end, keep my covenants. This means more than simply being active in the Church. We played with a circus elephant this morning. The elephant had wandered close to the fence that morning, so Elder Jimenez and I, along with Burch and Manzo, walked closer to the fence and patted the hulking behemoth. We took photos and in all had a good time. Friday, January 24, 1997 It was just one of those days. By 3:00 I was wanting to crawl back to my bed and try again tomorrow. We just weren’t getting anywhere. Since we were new in the area, we were still making many contacts and slowly building our teaching pool. The majority of these first few weeks were spent contacting, searching desperately for people to whom we could teach the gospel, and on this day in particular, we came up dry. I’m more tired now than I’ve ever been and a week off wouldn’t be unappreciated. We gave service this morning at a public clinic and received brief thankyou notes for so doing. We took machetes and cut their entire lawn. It was hot, grueling work, but I felt satisfied when we finished. Elder Jimenez had contacted the director of the clinic the day before, and had asked him if we could serve in some way. My companion, though I found many other faults in him, was always good at finding ways to serve the people of Matamoros. On the good side, one of our investigators, Patricia, attended the Relief Society Enrichment Meeting and really liked it. I have a lot of hope on that front. We contacted her last week, taught her the first charla on Sunday, verified on Wednesday accompanied by Hermana Cítalan and Claudia (the Relief Society president and secretary) and tonight she went to Enrichment. Tomorrow we ask her to be baptized. I hope it goes well; I’ve been having a tough week. I think it’s only a low ebb. He never said it would be easy; He only said it would be worth it.

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Saturday, January 25, 1997 It was just one of those days. This time I was on the other extreme, and I had a great day. We taught six charlas, a personal record. One of those was to Patricia, and she accepted a baptismal date, although with some reservations. We also taught the first charla to her father, who was five pages into the Book of Mormon by the time we finished with both charlas. Antonio had come to visit his daughter, and the four of us sat on the front porch talking. We had planned to teach the second charla to Patricia, so my companion went ahead with that discussion, while I started the first charla with Antonio. We thus had two simultaneous discussions occurring on that front porch. When I finished with Antonio, I sat back, and let the moment soak in. My heart nearly burst with joy and love. The feeling returned later in the evening as we celebrated the birthday of Hermana Nájera, a less-active, with the Cítalan family. We had dropped in for a visit with the Nájera family, and to wish Hermana Nájera a happy birthday. As we sat there eating pastries and sipping hot chocolate, the Cítalan family showed up with a birthday cake. The two families had always been close, and the Cítalans had been largely responsible for the conversion of the Nájeras. As we sat eating cake and sharing laughs, I realized how much I loved Matamoros. I have never loved a people like I love the people of Matamoros. I have not had this feeling of love near bursting my heart since I left the Aurora Hills Ward. I have found my home again. Before leaving that evening, I asked to have a hymn and a prayer. Hermana Nájera called on herself to say the prayer, and we all thought that was a hopeful sign of her imminent return to full activity in the Church. Sunday, January 26, 1997 Well, it was a good day. We spent a portion of my time talking to Hermana Cítalan. What a wonderful family she has. I love these people so much. I don’t ever want to leave. I am thankful that we are so close to the U.S. After my mission, I’ll be able to hop across the border and visit my loved ones frequently. We had a good sacrament meeting. Several menos activos, including Familia Nájera. We’ve been working with them for some time. In all, it’s been a fabulous week. We taught 17 charlas, made 74 contacts, 64 hours of proselyting, 7 hours with less actives, 4 hours of service, and 180 people in sacrament meeting, more than I’ve ever seen this ward have. It is quite a change of pace from my beloved Soto la Marina. That whole era seems like a half-remembered dream, as if there was nothing before Matamoros. Monday, January 27, 1997 Magda called tonight with a question about the difference between immortality and eternal life. With characteristic zeal, I unloaded all my guns and

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tried to teach her. I had learned so much about the gospel during my personal studies that I wanted to teach all of what I had discovered. That’s my problem. I know the gospel, but I just can’t seem to teach it. I always go for the overkill, and end up confusing the issue rather than clarifying it. I soon learned, though, to teach my investigators with the bread and milk of the gospel, to teach the basic principles and guide them to a firm understanding of the plan of salvation. However, there were still moments when I tried to teach everything about every principle, especially when I had a receptive audience. Several months previously, President Goodman had taught me an important principle. During one of my extremely inquisitive interviews with him, he told me that as I learned the gospel and how it worked, as I learned how my Father in Heaven accomplished his purposes among the children of men, I would come to a point where I would be able to answer most of my own questions. I strove to achieve that level of understanding, and it became an important tool in my progress as a missionary. Whereas others thought I had an expansive knowledge of the gospel, the reality was that I was able to apply my basic understanding to a variety of questions, concerns, and doubts. As my reputation grew, I became known as a source for answers to gospel questions. Magda had called that evening and asked specifically for me, so even at this early point in my mission, my reputation as a scholar was well known among the members of the Matamoros First Ward. My companion is still a putz. He was about to leave this morning to the laundromat in a bright orange T-shirt. Elder Ramos told him to change, and instead of complying, he refused to go at all. We eventually went in the afternoon, and as a result, arrived late to our district meeting. We found out that one of Elder Burch’s baptisms yesterday was, well, it may have been bad. His convert has been sleeping with one of the ward members. She confessed her sin to the bishop immediately after her baptism. Elder Burch and I shared a guilty laugh over this one, and marked it as one thing we would reminisce about on our yet-future ski trip in Colorado. We had become close during the three months we had lived together in Matamoros, and had begun planning our post-mission get-togethers. When something hysterically funny or poignantly memorable happened to the two of us, we would imagine ourselves talking about it on a chairlift in the Colorado Rockies.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “Do you remember that old blue Ford Fairlane we used to own? I think I saw it the other day. This is like the Land of Lost Goods. We walked through the “pulga” looking for shoes for my companion and I kept on expecting to see a T-shirt I had discarded years ago. “On Friday, I was really frustrated. I don’t know exactly why. Elder Jimenez was more annoying than usual, we were getting rejected at every hand, we only taught a single charla, and that to a lady who refused to read the Book of Mormon, and my feet were killing me. I was more tired than I had ever been before. Crawling into bed that night was the only good thing that happened that whole day. Can you

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picture it? Can you feel the depths of my frustration? I longed for home like never before. But the sun will come out tomorrow. “And it did. On Saturday we taught six charlas. Two charlas constitute a normal day, and three is considered good. We taught six. And most of them were good. They all accepted the invitation to read the Book of Mormon, albeit with varying degrees of excitement.” Tuesday, January 28, 1997 We taught the first charla to Patricia’s sister this afternoon. She was very receptive. We hope to commit her to baptism by the end of the week so that we can set the baptismal date the same as her sister’s. Tomorrow we will teach the third charla to Patricia. This one is key. In a Catholic culture, like Mexico’s, claiming sole divine authority was sometimes a little tricky. I hope we do okay. My companion was actually okay today. I don’t like to be negative, but sometimes he can really get under my skin. I am going to send away for a Church Almanac using the money my mom sent me today. We did a lot of walking today, and my feet are killing me. I really am happy. I love what I’m doing and I can’t believe how fast the time is flying by. It is unreal. I helped Elder Burch with a sympathy letter this morning. A friend of his had died in a skiing accident and since he knew the family well, he felt that he should write a letter to the parents of his deceased friend. However, he did not know how to approach such a delicate subject, and asked for my help. Together we composed a tactful and thoughtful sympathy letter. Wednesday, January 29, 1997 It was another of those days. By 3:00 I was ready to crawl back into bed. I was tired, hungry, and had a headache, the former probably caused by the latter. However, my day did a 180-degree turn. We had two great follow-up visits. One was to Rosario, the sister of Patricia, and the other to Elda and Angel. These latter two were a young married couple, one of our first contacts in the area. They were so hard to get a hold of, that we had almost written them off as lost. However, on this follow-up visit, the two of them expressed their desire to continue with the charlas and keep learning about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They lived in a humble home built of lumber scraps and cinder blocks, located eight or nine blocks from the home of Familia Ladezma. We also taught the third charla to Patricia, and it went well, despite my attempts at overkill. She was so receptive that I just wanted to unload everything on her. We also had a fairly good charla with a contact. She told us that she doesn’t talk to other religions, but she knows we help the poor, and that seemed to make a difference in our case. Patricia told off some JW’s this morning. They had come knocking on her door, and she told them that she was studying with the Mormons. The JW’s tried to dissuade her and tell her all the nasty things that Mormons do in their secret temples, yet Patricia, one of the most solid investigators I ever taught, responded 188

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with her fledgling testimony, to which the Jehovah’s Witnesses had no reply. All is right with the world. Thursday, January 30, 1997 Well, we taught another six charlas today, all of them firsts. I am grateful for those who have received us, but I wish we were teaching more seconds, thirds, and fourths. If we are not inviting people to baptism, we are not doing our job. Today was so full, but here are a few highlights. We taught a charla to a lady who was really into witchcraft and the occult. We also provided some money for an investigator who is having a difficult time with life. After the family had related to us their sad story about having no money for diapers for their newborn baby, we replied that we had no money and could not help them. However, as we left the home, I felt that, as ambassadors of Christ, we had to do something. I insisted we walk the three blocks to the home of Angela García, a wonderfully faithful member, and I explained to her the situation. She gave us twenty pesos, and we returned to the home of the investigator, and discretely handed her the twenty-peso bill. We were halfway down the block, when the oldest daughter finally caught up with us and responded with their thanks. We were led to a lady who was well prepared to receive our message. She had already read the Book of Mormon, which a friend had given to her just before she moved from Reynosa to Matamoros. She had been looking for missionaries for several months to teach her more about this book. We taught Patricia’s brother the first charla, and I reflected on how much mileage we were getting out of just this one family. Although she lived with her husband and two children, her parents and siblings still visited her often, and when they did, we were always ready and willing to teach them a charla. We gave Patricia several back issues of the Liahona (the Spanish-language Church magazine). I received letters from dad and Zach. I saw a BYU pamphlet that made me trunky. Friday, January 31, 1997 We taught the second charla to Patricia’s sister, Rosario. It went well, although she was a little hesitant about a baptismal date so soon. It’s scheduled for the 16th of February. She is open and honest, and likes to smile and laugh. After the charla, I helped her do the dishes while we talked about life as a missionary. It was pleasant. We also taught Anna Laura, a young truth-seeker, the same charla. She accepted baptism unflinchingly. I hope all goes well on those fronts. Other than those two charlas, we didn’t get much accomplished. We did have a good followup visit with Rosario and Lety, the investigators who received money yesterday through us from Angela Garcia. I love life. I developed photos today and got a good yield. I’ll take another stab at photography.

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Every person mentioned in this journal entry is a woman. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that teaching so many women was not the best use of our time as missionaries. Later in my mission, I learned to teach entire families, but at this time, most of our investigators were women. There were several reasons why we taught so many women. First, women tend to be more naturally inclined to their spiritual yearnings. They listen to their emotions much more readily than do men. Second, and closely related to the first, is the cultural emphasis on machismo. Mexican culture does not allow for men to be religious, though some few bucked the traditions and were devoted to their beliefs. Machismo is the religion of the bars and cantinas of Mexico, and since these are the places where men congregate, they would allow no room in their lives for other spiritual pursuits. And lastly, we spent most of our proselyting hours during daytime hours, times when the men were working and the women were at home. Had we been wiser missionaries, we would have gained entrance to the household by way of the wife, and returned in the evening to teach the husband. I did not gain that pearl of wisdom until later in my mission, and learned then that such efforts paid off in the end. It was harder to put forth that extra effort to meet the husband, but that simple act could have saved us so much heartache and pain in Matamoros. Even if the husband felt no desire to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ, by asking his permission to teach his wife and children, his ego would be sated, and more often than not, he would consent to his wife’s desire to listen to the missionary discussions. Saturday, February 1, 1997 What an absolutely wonderful day! My companion and I have been getting along well all this week, and today simply rocked. We taught a charla to a young lady, and the spirit was intense. It was a great charla. We then had a follow-up visit with Gaby, the young lady who had been well prepared. She had read, she had understood, and she had felt a peace and tranquility. She talked to her mother, who told her if she feels good about it, then by all means pursue it. Unfortunately, her boyfriend had other plans, and would not allow Gabriela to continue her discussions with the missionaries. Finally, we taught the fourth charla to Patricia, who accepted everything as we presented it. She even understood a somewhat confusing passage in First Peter, and unflinchingly gave up coffee. She is definitely one of the elect. If only she can accept that gaining a testimony does not have to be a gradual process. It can happen instantly when the Master touches our lives. While conversion is a gradual life-long process of bringing ourselves and our lives closer to the Savior, a testimony can burst suddenly into our hearts. When we make that initial acceptance of His will, the choice to follow Him and His anointed prophets, the Holy Spirit testifies in our hearts and mind that such is the will of Christ, and a testimony is born.

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Sunday, February 2, 1997 What an absolutely wonderful day! The hits just keep on coming. We had a couple of investigators in sacrament meeting, one of which was Patricia. She attended all the meetings, as well as Burch and Manzo’s baptismal service. I think she really enjoyed it. She was thoughtful, which was good and bad. It was good because I want her to be thinking about this, and bad because I couldn’t tell if she was enjoying herself. This evening, quite by accident, or perhaps the design of a divine hand, we showed up at her house at the same time as Hermana Ladezma, Claudia, and Lorena, who all arrived independently. Hermana Ladezma had seen Patricia at church that day, and had decided to drop by for a visit. She was the member who lived closest to Patricia, and had answered many questions for her, even before we had started to teach her. Claudia, as Relief Society secretary, had been out making visits, and decided to stop and visit Patricia. Lorena, the non-member niece of Hermana Ladezma, had been coming home from work, and seeing her aunt visiting with Patricia, stopped also and made her acquaintance. We sat on her patio, and had an absolutely wonderful time. We were all laughing, including Patricia, and we were all having a good time. Earlier, we visited Rosario, Patricia’s sister, who was visiting with a friend. We taught her friend, Rita Teresa, the first charla, which was a good review for Rosario. On the bus home this evening, I had a good talk with a family of clowns. They were a pleasant lot. We talked briefly about the meaning of life—to find happiness and share it with others. The oldest son of this clown family was anxious to justify his career choices to me, and as such, waxed philosophical about the importance of being a clown. Many such entertainers traversed the buses and micros of Mexico. They would board, ride a short time while singing, dancing, or otherwise entertaining, ask for money, and then disembark. Yuvia was in church today and bore her testimony. Hers was an honest testimony, and as such, was refreshing in that it departed from the oft-heard litany. She bore a beautiful testimony of the savior, and went on to say that she did not know if the Book of Mormon were true, but she was trying to find out. I was happy to see her not just in church, but participating. Although she lived in my old area, it was still a joy to see her progress. All said and done, I had a great day. I have been loving life the last couple of days. The spirit I have been feeling has been absolutely dreamy. I never thought that I could feel this good working this hard. I love the mission. This is the work of God. We are tools in His mighty hands, and He directs us to those of His children whom he has prepared.

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Monday, February 3, 1997 Well, that’s it. Elder Ramos leaves tonight on the midnight bus to Tampico. It’s been a great journey with him; he’s one of my best friends. I’ll miss him. For some reason, we did not receive the replacements for either Ramos or Manzo for another week, so for the next seven days, Burch and Castro worked in both of their areas. As a final, sad footnote to this era, Elder Castro was unimpressed with Elisa, an investigator that Elder Ramos and I had worked with. Elder Castro felt that since she had never gained a testimony of Joseph Smith’s divine call, he would only be wasting his time with continued visits to her home. He dropped her from his teaching pool and moved on to greener pastures. P-Day today was a little different. We ate lunch with Hermana Huerta: beans, potatoes, and flour tortillas. She had invited Elder Ramos to eat lunch, as a final farewell, and he brought along his favorite companion, yours truly. And of course, we had to bring our respective companions with us. It was an early lunch, around noon, and the day was cool and bright, the food excellent, as we sat on the front porch and enjoyed the meal. Elder Jimenz and I also spent some time with Familia Nájera. I had noticed that the eldest son had a Super Nintendo and I reasoned that it would be okay to play a few levels of Super Mario World on our Preparation Day. Also, after our zone meeting tonight, we ate hamburgers and watched “Called to Serve” at Judit’s house. The whole zone was invited to this farewell feast, though Elder Ramos and his companion opted for dinner with Magda. Judit was a stake missionary and had served faithfully in the Mexico City North Mission only a few years previous. Since she lived in the far east area of our ward, I rarely visited her at her home, and only spoke with her on Sundays. The whole day was a good-bye to both Ramos and Manzo. But I know that they have fought the good fight, they have finished the course, they have kept the faith, and henceforth there is a crown of glory laid up for them. They served our Master well. I want to be worthy of the same honors that they have received. I want to walk in the footsteps of the Master. Tuesday, February 4, 1997 It was a good day. I’m running out of steam on this whole journal thing. It’s just getting very difficult to write daily. But, I have a goal, and I’m going to achieve it. We taught the third charla to Rosario today. I think it went well. We also taught three first charlas. A four-charla day is superb! We are just striking gold or something. I’ve never taught so much before. I wonder what we are doing different. What was different was the fact that I was actually getting along with my companion. I had stopped focusing so much energy on noticing his inadequacies and imperfections, and we were developing a relationship of love and trust between us.

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Today, Patricia told us that she felt good about a 16th of February baptismal date. She’s starting to come around. I hope the same happens with her sister soon. I’ve really been enjoying Elder Jimenez lately. I don’t know why. I’m loving life; nothing could be better. Wednesday, February 5, 1997 My zone leader is a punk. We had a crappy day today, and I came home complaining. He told me that maybe if I showed up to devotional with a tie on, I would have the spirit, and I wouldn’t complain because I would then have good days. I seriously doubted that the fact that the only people home today were ones who rejected us had anything to do with the fact that I sang a hymn and prayed this morning without a neck ornament. I told Elder Castro to shove it. I only attended devotional sans tie once (this morning) and the way he went about correcting me was not going to effectively bring about results. After I had calmed down, I told him he should try using the commitment pattern in his dealings with other elders as well as in his missionary work with investigators. This was the first time I came out in open rebellion against a zone leader, and it would not be the last. Spending a formative time of my mission with Elder Ramos, who had been not only my favorite companion, but also an effective zone leader, had taught me that such leaders are only human. Zone Leaders had lost their aura of mystique in my eyes and I soon learned to speak my mind to them, even when it would have been wiser to remain silent. We had a family home evening tonight that was a wreck. We had gathered both Patty and her sister at the home of Hermana Ladezma, only to discover that their VCR wouldn’t work. I gave an impromptu talk based on D&C 121 and 122. I think I did okay. Patty has firmed up her commitment to be baptized, but Rosario is still unsure. I think Patty enjoyed the FHE despite its illpreparedness. Thursday, February 6, 1997 We arrived home a little late because we were watching “Animated Stories from the Scriptures” with Angela Garcia and her family. We had begun planning an FHE re-do for the following night, and we thus wanted to track down a VCR that functioned properly. We found one in the home of Angela Garcia, one of the sisters in the ward who fed the missionaries once a week. Her husband was not a member, but her father was. She had three kids, the eldest of which was so lightskinned that Elder Burch and I called him “primo,” Spanish for cousin. In process of time, Angela Garcia would become my “Mexican mother.” She mended my pants, fed us good food, and generally took excellent care of our physical welfare. Before we committed to using their VCR, we had to ensure that it would work properly, So we popped in the animated story of Abinadi and King Noah, and I was amazed at how much of the language I understood.

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Earlier in the day, I impressed myself with how smoothly and quickly the Spanish came to my mouth. I must give credit where credit is due. When you are on the Lord’s errand, you are entitled to the Lord’s help. I gave some thought today on how I would handle JW Bible bashers. Elder Jimenez loved to talk with the Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I soon learned that such conversations often degenerated into a see-saw battle of competing proof texts. The minute the Bible is used, everyone goes on the defensive. It is not common ground; it is a battleground. We should preach from the scriptures of the Restoration. That is our message. These and similar thoughts were born from my recent reading of Here We Stand, by Joseph Fielding McConkie. I read the book three times during my two year missionary service and it had a profound impact on the way I taught the gospel. The Bible is a battleground, a place where sects and denominations have been quarreling about doctrine for years. If we could teach our message using only Biblical proof texts, then what need was there for Joseph Smith or the Restoration? Relying on the Bible to prove our doctrines made us little better than any of the numerous squabbling sects of Christianity. Our message is that of a restored gospel, and as such, we should preach our message using the scriptures of the Restoration. Such was our message. I stopped teaching our message from so-called common ground, and began teaching from holy ground, and there I made my stand. Friday, February 7, 1997 Elder Castro was at a zone leader’s council in Tampico, so Elder Burch and I worked with Elder Jimenez in our area. It wasn’t much of a day, but boy did we have fun. We started with a morning of service. We cut down a few of Patricia’s trees. Her backyard was overgrown, so Elders Jimenez, Burch, and I took an axe and a couple of machetes and went to work on the problem. We had a lot of fun hacking and slashing away at the foliage, and we were exhausted when the task was complete. The job, which should have been fairly simple and straightforward, was made a thousand times more difficult by the thorns which covered the trees at which we were hacking away. When we were finished with the job, Patricia fed us lunch. The day ended with a family home evening. We watched “How Rare a Possession” with Patricia, her two kids, and Familia Ladezma. Between the two was a whole lot of nothing. Elder Burch and I talked a lot today, some of it about Elder Jimenez. Elder Burch was ready to kill him by the end of the day, and I have to admit, my patience was wearing a little thin as well. Just when I had begun to work well with Elder Jimenez, I had to spend a day with Elder Burch, who complained incessantly about my companion. When Elder Burch pointed out his annoying idiosyncrasies, I would notice them as well, and they would soon bug me as much as they bugged Elder Burch. I soon joined Elder Burch in complaining about Elder Jimenez and found that in vocalizing the petty complaints I had about my

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companion, his faults became magnified them in my mind. All the hard work and efforts I had put into learning to love Elder Jimenez were nullified by twelve hours of proselyting with another American elder. I think Patricia’s social conversion is complete. She now has several friends in the ward, and is beginning to be integrated into ward activities. Potente! I can’t believe that I’ve been in Matamoros for three months. It’s unreal. Saturday, February 8, 1997 My companion was especially annoying today. I don’t know if it was him or me. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure it was me. I had begun thinking negative thoughts about him again, and so, once again, by focusing my thoughts on his annoying little habits, I amplified them and made them worse in my mind than they really were. This morning, Elder Burch was complaining to our fearless leader, Elder Castro, about my comp. He, Elder Castro, told me that he was going to have a talk with Elder Jimenez. The day was pretty useless, although we taught four charlas. I just don’t think we had the spirit. I hear the same happened for Burch and Castro. Not only did they break a window with a soccer ball, but they, meaning Elder Castro, got into a very heated argument with a ward member. For the first time, the secret plans between Magda and Elder Ramos were made public, and Elder Castro got into a shouting match with Magda over her inappropriate behavior. She did not care at all for Elder Castro’s opinions, and that made him all the angrier. Matamoros is a very screwy city; missionaries are always getting into trouble up here. Elder Ramos wasn’t the first missionary to get engaged here. Apparently, during the Castro-Magda debates, Magda cited several past missionaries who had likewise gotten engaged in this border town. When I heard about it, I concluded that Matamoros was a strange city, too far from the disciplinary influences of the offices. I’m surprised at how close of friends I am with Elder Burch. He and I spent even more time together this week than we had during the previous months. We both had companions whom we did not care for, and so, in the evenings, we would rally together for strength and support. We told stories, shared amusing experiences, and dreamed of that far-off day when we would reminisce upon the whole mission experience from the chair lift of a Colorado ski resort. Burch was still in his first area, and an area remote from the rest of his mission, so his mission wide friend-making campaign had yet to begin in earnest. Sunday, February 9, 1997 “The sun also rises” was the phrase that penetrated my mind and soul as we were coming home this evening. As I watched the last rays of a setting sun disappear from the darkening sky, I thought of the irony and hope in that symbol. The sun may go down, we may walk in darkness, but the sun also rises.

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Rosario is having some struggles making a firm decision about getting baptized, Patricia’s husband has told her that she can’t be baptized, and my companion is a world-champion first-class putz. Patricia had not come to church that day, and in the afternoon we went to visit her, only to discover the sad news that her husband had denied her permission to be baptized. I later learned that we could have avoided the heartbreak and sorrow by taking the time to meet her husband, talk to him personally, explain to him our message and what we hoped to accomplish with his family, and then to ask his permission to proceed. Without the catalyst of her sister’s faith, Rosario likewise faltered on the path of discipleship. The sun set on that day, and I was walking in darkness, struggling through the greatest disappointment of my mission thus far. But the sun also rises. Today, I ended up in the nursery helping the sisters care for the little ones. I was squatting, talking to Abigail Sobrevilla, and an unknown little one-year-old walked into my arms. I picked her up, held her in my arms; she put her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. It was a very tender moment. I am reminded of the purity and the innocence of these children, who will grow up and be pillars of faith. I want to exclaim, “Behold your little ones.” I have walked through my own valley of shadows, and I know without a doubt that my Savior loves me still. He yet beckons to me and will continue to do so, after all, is there anything I have done which He cannot forgive me of? True, the road is tough and difficult, but it is a sure road and one that has not been barred to me. I have given my life to the Lord. It is not an ending, but rather, a beginning. The best Spanish I have ever spoken came out of my mouth today while giving my talk on Joseph Smith. I am in the service of my Lord and King. It is true. It is all so very true. And the sun also rises. Monday, February 10, 1997 It was P-Day. There’s not a whole lot more I can say than that. It was like any other preparation day in the last eight months. Last night, Elder Jimenez went to sleep without filling out our stats, so I got a martyr complex and filled them out by myself. The datos were to be filled out every Sunday evening, during the dialogo de acuerdo, and then reported to our file leader. For some reason, Elder Jimenez just didn’t feel like doing it that night, so after he fell asleep, I filled them out for us, and then walked across the hall to Elder Castro’s room and turned in our datos. I don’t want to start a fight, so for now, I am just trying to set the example. Tonight we are having an interview with the zone leader, and I hear that Elder Castro plans to rag on him. I want to be loyal to my companion, but we’ll just see how things work out. I was sent on a split with Elder Burch, while Elder Castro had a private interview with Elder Jimenez. Thankfully, I was not forced to choose between defending a companion I did not like and supporting a zone

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leader I did not trust. I received a letter from Adrianne today. Minor changes (transfers) will come tonight; there are new arrivals coming in from the MTC.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents “Yesterday, I gave a talk in sacrament meeting, as did Elders Burch, Castro, and Jimenez. I spoke without benefit of notes or outline, except for the one in my head, and I gave a fairly clear, lucid, and understandable talk about the importance of the mission of José Smith. I felt good about it; my Spanish had never been better. Afterwards, Hermana Cítalan complimented me on my talk and on my Spanish. If she had known that I’ve studied Spanish for the last seven years, she would have asked why I wasn’t any better.” Tuesday, February 11, 1997 Well, go figure. They went and made my companion a district leader. Elder Castro was rather surprised by the calling, and to be perfectly honest, so was I. Our fearless zone leader resorted to sarcasm to express his astonishment. “Maybe if I break the rules and plan inefficiently, they’ll make me an assistant to the president,” he carried on in English during our breakfast time. Although I was as surprised as Elder Castro, the call was extended, and Elder Jimenez accepted. I knew that he needed to learn how to be a leader, and that being a district leader would help him to develop his own unique leadership style. When he returned home to Ciudad Obregón, I was sure that he would be able to serve as an effective leader in his home ward because he had learned to be a leader in the mission field. I could not begrudge him the opportunity to learn and grow, despite whatever personal disagreements I had had with him. It was a rainy and muddy day. Most of the mud was very slippery, so we were sliding and skating our way home in the dark tonight. At least it wasn’t cold. The day ended on a high note during a visit with Rosario. I was silently listening to my companion, when Rosario asked me what I was thinking. I opened my mouth, and the Lord filled it. It was a very powerful moment, though I don’t think it touched Elder Jimenez in the same way it touched me. As we left Rosario’s home that evening, we walked along the dark streets, and my excitement was bubbling over. I clapped my companion on the back, and asked him what he had thought, if he had felt the spirit the same way I had. He answered in a surly manner, telling me that I should keep my comments shorter next time. My excitement deflated, and I walked quietly beside my companion. I thought that he was just puffed up from his new leadership calling, and he was a little angry that Rosario had interrupted his monologue to ask for my thoughts. I was certain that when I had opened my mouth, the spirit had filled my mouth. I was reminded of that day in December with Elder Burch and Tomás Ventura. This experience was of a similar magnitude. That one experience redeemed an otherwise worthless day.

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Wednesday, February 12, 1997 It was drizzly all day, less so in the morning than in the afternoon. Thus, in the first part of the day, we gave service to a preschool-kindergarten. We cleaned up a large trash field that adjoined the school. As I mentioned earlier, Elder Jimenez was really good at finding service projects. The trash field that we worked in that day was one of many on the margins of the city. They were places where people dumped their garbage, and these fields were everywhere present in the southern part of our area. These trash fields posed a health risk to nearby schools, so the director of the kindergarten was appreciative of our desires to help. I picked up, by hand, seven hefty trash bags full of trash, and we were still lacking. Oh well. It still looks a heck of a lot better. Last night I received a letter from home with photos of Christmas. I got really homesick. I also received my church almanac, which I sent away for on the 30th. The church almanac was the Pioneer Sesquicentennial Edition, as the church was about to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the arrival of the pioneers in Salt Lake Valley. As such, the almanac contained all sorts of wonderful information about the pioneer trek, demographic data on the pioneers, and stories of their struggles. It also contained the standard information about stakes, missions, and temples. I was fascinated by my new book, and devoured several pages of information every night. Of all the things that Elder Jimenez could have remembered of our time together, he remembered my church almanac the clearest, and to later companions, as he spoke of his time with Elder Barrett, he spoke of the book that captivated so much of my attention that February. We only taught one charla, and my companion really annoyed me today. I’m going to make an extra effort tomorrow to like him and also have a lot of ánimo. These last two days have really sucked. Tomorrow will be better. The sun also rises. Thursday, February 13, 1997 I taught my 100th first charla today to an illiterate who liked to talk a lot. I asked him what he thought of God, and he told me his life history. Oh well, he was cool. By which I guess I meant he accepted our invitation to read the Book of Mormon. I did not realize until I got home and added the tallies on the last page of my journal that this young man was my 100th first charla, so the event passed without celebration or fanfare. We also talked to a lady, a JW, who claimed to know and study the Bible. The problem is that it isn’t the Bible she knows, but a chain of scriptures that supports her beliefs; she ignores the rest of the Bible. The Protestant world is like that. Start with an ideology, build on scriptures that support it, ignore those that don’t, and then preach using the over-used phrase, “the Bible says.” I was annoyed with the abovementioned lady because she acted like she knew the Bible so much better than anybody else, and she cited scriptural references supporting her beliefs. However, as I mentioned, she had little idea

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what the rest of the Bible said; she only knew that portion which supported her ideology. For example, in an attempt to prove that Jehovah should be the sole object of our worship, this lady threw us the first of the Ten Commandments as part of her line of reasoning. However, for some reason I did not understand, Elder Jimenez countered by asking her what the second commandment was. She didn’t know. Though my companion’s question had no logical connection to the argument, it served to illustrate my point, and I jumped in with the conclusion that she really did not know what the Bible said, only what others told her it said. It’s impossible to read the Bible without a predetermined ideology. And when we Bible bash, we only become another one of the squabbling Protestant sects. I did not like Bible bashing, and this scene with the Jehovah’s Witness was not premeditated. She was visiting one of our investigators, and when she saw our white shirts, ties, and black nametags, she ripped into us with her carefully memorized litany of biblical proof texts. We defended ourselves, but did not feel like we made any progress. She was not convinced, and only became defensive. The experience made me all the more certain that Bible bashing is not the Lord’s way. Apart from the spirit of contention that it engenders, a bash challenges the underlying ideology with which an individual reads the scriptures and thus puts the individual on the defensive. It is easier to teach true doctrine using the new scriptures of the Restoration. As Brigham Young said, “it is easier to convert someone to the Book of Mormon, than to convince them that the Bible is saying what it is really saying.” And by taking that tack, preaching from the scriptures of the Restoration, we could avoid Biblical battlegrounds and set ourselves apart from the hundreds of squabbling sects who preach their unique interpretations of the scriptures. Friday, February 14, 1997 My companion, who had never been good at managing his funds, had blown his money on food and unnecessary micro trips within our area. We ran out of money yesterday, so we had to walk to and from our area today. It was a waste of time—one hour each way—and I’m really tired as a result. We taught a few charlas, one was to a rock. He either wasn’t paying much attention or he was really dumb. I couldn’t tell which. My heart just wasn’t in the work today, and that made it a little difficult. We’ve passed Rosario’s house every day this week, but she just hasn’t been home. Not a whole lot more to my day than that. In the evening, on our way home, we encountered Leticia Moreno and her cousin. They were coming home from playing basketball in a park near Lety’s home, and we accompanied the two of them as we walked along Avenida Roberto Guerra. Lety was a compact young woman, round and jovial and always ready to share the gospel with those around her. She possessed a magnetic charisma, a presence, a strength of character, that was oddly appealing. A recently returned missionary, Leticia was currently serving as a stake missionary.

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That night was the first time I had really talked to Lety Moreno, and she would become one of my best friends in Matamoros. She was then contemplating a solution to a perplexing dilemma. A young single adult conference in Victoria was scheduled for a weekend in March, and she really wanted to attend and reconnect once more with former friends. However, the conference was the same weekend as the Matamoros Stake yearly temple trip. She did not know which option would be of greater spiritual value in her life. We also talked of journal writing. I confessed my goal to write every day of my mission, and she confessed that she hadn’t written in her journal since half way through her own mission. I challenged her to write in her journal, and we parted for the evening. I can’t believe I’ve been in Mexico for a half of a year. And most of that has been in Matamoros. Sometimes Soto seems more real than this, and sometimes it’s like a dream. Either way, the time is just zooming by like I heard it would, but never believed it could. Saturday, February 15, 1997 I went on a full-day split with Elder Rule today. He’s one of the new elders in the house. Elder Rule was a tall, thin, dark-haired young man from Idaho. He had been Elder Shaw’s companion in the MTC. I learned a lot today; I really like Elder Rule’s way of working. He’s very natural and sincere and one of the most obedient and dedicated elders I ever worked with. Because of his natural sincerity, one never felt condemned or belittled by Elder Rule’s obedience, but rather felt an increased desire to likewise be obedient. We had a lot of fun working together, and I learned a lot. We identified some ineffective methods that we were using with our own companions, and talke about what we can do better. After having spent a day with Elder Rule, I was excited about the inevitable day when I would serve as a senior companion and would put into practice the ideas we generated between the two of us that day. Now, after a day that was one of the best to date, I’m back with Elder Jimenez, and I’m hoping to hold on to this ánimo. I’m going to strive to be more Christ-focused and draw closer to Him. This entry is a bit choppy because my comp keeps interrupting me. We said good-bye to Rosario tonight. I made the unilateral decision, without consulting Elder Jimenez, that Rosario was not progressing towards baptism. I told her, as we left that night, that this would be our last visit, and wished her the best in her life. Elder Jimenez agreed with the decision I made, but was a little put out that I had not consulted with him first. The other new elder in the house was Burch’s new companion, an Elder Mastache from Michoacan. Elder Mastache was a wonder to watch in action. His diplomatic skills were second to none; he could defuse the hottest situation, dodge inevitable Bible bashes, and make everyone like him and the church that he represented. He and Burch did wonders in their area in Matamoros.

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Sunday, February 16, 1997 In the best of all possible worlds, we would have baptized Patricia and Rosario today. It was tough to say good-bye. We plan on visiting from time to time, but we don’t want to sow discord among the family. I went on a brief, one-hour split with a member this morning. He was one of the recently baptized sons of Hermana Escobedo, one of the first baptisms I witnessed as a missionary. We went to fetch investigators, even though he was not a member of our ward. He got out of Sunday school, whereas I was excused from correlation meeting for so doing. We both got something out of it. Sacrament meeting was the same old same old. I guess I’m stuck in a rut. I did have another tender moment holding a three-week-old baby, watching her as she fell asleep in my arms. It was a beautiful sight. I started calling this young child “mi hija,” or my daughter, and often held her during sacrament meetings. I got in trouble once, when I introduced her mother as “the mother of my daughter.” I’ve been kind of down and homesick this week. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but I think it is hating my comp. I was having a great couple of weeks, and then, wham, I started being intolerant and insensitive and I had a bad week as a result. Such was the advantage of keeping a journal. I was able to look at past entries and see a correlation between success and loving my comp. In my personal studies, I’m in the Book of Ezekiel, and also Alma. I’ve started the Doctrine and Covenants again and I’m in section 30. I’ve also enjoyed reading my church almanac this week. I’m beginning to see a bigger picture, as far as church history is concerned. I was able to see that there was an order in which the gospel was carried to the world, from the European nations where the tribe of Ephraim was found, to Latin America from whence Manasseh will be gathered. And soon, the work will pick up in the former Soviet Union, and the ten tribes will be gathered to the true church of Christ. I’ve really been trying to put things in order. I’ve limited my letter writing, stopped writing letters during the week, started praying with more purpose and fervency, and yet, this pall of gloom hangs over my head. I guess it just goes to show that if I have not charity, I am nothing. If I obey the rules 100% and still hate my companion, I’m not going to progress. That’s the key. That’s the step I need to take.

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Elder Barrett crossing one of Matamoros’s many sewer canals

Elder Barrett pretending to jump into one of Matamoros’ many sewer canals

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