Prologue

Prologue

In March of 1996, I received a call to serve in the Mexico Tampico Mission of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the time I received the call, I was a freshman in my second semester of studies at Brigham Young University. During the previous months, I had watched as other friends received calls and departed for missions to Canada, Puerto Rico, Ecuador, Brazil, Russia, and India. I received my call with enthusiasm and zeal, even going so far as signing my name Nathan “Mexico” Barrett on a few late-term assignments. On a Sunday afternoon shortly before I received the call to serve, I left my freshman apartment to walk in the cool afternoon air. My destination was Rock Canyon, a forty-five minute walk from my apartment. As I entered the canyon, I began searching for a secluded spot, and once found, I knelt down in prayer. I poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father, asking him if what I was about to do was pleasing unto him. I fully expected a soul-filling epiphany, but only received silence from the leaden sky. I looked up, as the gray clouds began to drop small bits of snow, and tried once more. Nothing. I walked slowly back to my apartment, wondering why God had not answered my prayer. I even wondered about the veracity of the entire gospel message. However, shortly before I arrived back at my apartment the true profundity of the experience hit me. God had not ignored my prayer. His answer was a silent one. “You know what you must do. Now get up and do it,” was the answer I received in that secluded glen in Rock Canyon. I went into that canyon hoping to receive a testimony, not realizing, perhaps, that I already had one. There had been many influences in my life that had prepared me for the moment in which I accepted my call to serve. There had been many forces in my life building my testimony, strengthening my spirit, and

PROLOGUE

shaping the way in which I viewed the gospel and the world. Telling the entire history of my testimony is a subject beyond the scope of this present work. However, I can identify several major factors, experiences, and influences which led me, eventually, to Tampico, Mexico. Youth Conference, 1991 I was born in the covenant, my parents having married in the Idaho Falls Temple in 1972. I grew up in the Church, attending Primary and learning the gospel from faithful church leaders. However, when I was eleven years old, my family slipped into inactivity. I was too young to understand all of the reasons behind their decision, and my memory of the time is too imperfect to recall if it was a gradual event or a conscious and deliberate choice. My return to activity began with an invitation to attend a Youth Conference in the early 1990s. The invitation had been extended to my mother, who in turn extended it to me one evening while I was watching television. I shrugged my shoulders and agreed to go, and on that flippant response, the rest of my life hinges. The Youth Conference activity that year was a “pioneer trek” over Shrine Pass Road, located in the mountains above Vail, Colorado. While I enjoyed myself that weekend, it probably would not have had a lasting impact on me were it not for the events of the last day. It was during this time that the stake leaders had set aside an hour for a testimony meeting. I sat on a log in the back of the forest clearing, moved by the many testimonies borne that day. I longed to be able to say that I, too, knew that the church was true, that God lived, and that Joseph Smith was His prophet. The testimony meeting lasted three hours, but the time flew by too quickly for me. Later that evening, as I returned home to my family, I struggled with a new array of emotions. I had felt the spirit, of that I was sure. But I did not know where to go with that knowledge. A few days later, I received a call from Sister Laura Pierce inviting me to attend the early-morning seminary class that she would be teaching that fall. I eagerly accepted her invitation. She later told me that I was like a sponge in those early months of seminary. So many truths that my peers took for granted were new and fresh and amazing to me. In October of that year, after a particularly moving lesson, the spirit whispered to me that my place was with the Lord’s Church. I arranged for a ward member to pick me up that coming Sunday, and thus began my activity in the Lord’s Church. Jason Shirk Perhaps no other individual has had a more lasting impact on my present spiritual health than Jason Shirk. He and I had met on the bus on our way to our first day of kindergarten. He sat down next to me, and with innocent trepidation, I simply asked him, “Do you want to be friends?” He replied in the affirmative, and, true to our word, we became friends.

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We grew up together, Jason and I, nearly inseparable. During my years of inactivity, it was Jason who kept me from straying too far from the principles and practices of the restored Church of Jesus Christ. Despite all of the other bad habits I picked up during those three years, Jason was a lifeline to the saving principles of the gospel. When I made my decision to come back to church, it was all the easier, because I knew that I already had at least one friend in the ward. Jason and I often walked home from school together. During one such walk, shortly before my reactivation, I related to Jason the feelings I had had during the testimony meeting at youth conference. “I want what they have,” I told him. “I want to know that the church is true.” Jason’s pace slowed as he thought about my words. He responded with careful deliberation. “The only way to get that kind of faith, is to get on your knees and ask for it.” Several years later, Jason and I served Bishop Darryl Kristjanson as assistants in the priest’s quorum. The presidency meetings that we had with him were some of the most spiritual moments of my young life. After one such meeting, in which we knelt down in prayer to ask the Lord to guide us in calling a third assistant, Jason and I were so filled with the spirit that we could not calm down afterwards. We drove to the Denver Temple, and there read each other our patriarchal blessings. It was a tender moment between the two of us, one that we have never forgotten. Jason was called to serve in the Ukraine Kiev mission shortly after I arrived in Mexico. He served with honor, returned home, married in the temple, and today, has three beautiful daughters. We are still best friends, and we are able to pick up the thread of a continuing conversation months later, as if no time at all had passed. He truly is and has been one of my best and dearest friends. Shawn McDowell Shawn was a tender soul, one who always defended those who were most often picked on or made objects of mockery. Perhaps that’s why he first befriended me during our freshman year of high school. We were in the same geography class, and I was still awkward and shy and lacking in social graces. He sat next to me, talked to me, and we soon developed an honest friendship. That was the year that I began attending church meetings. In addition to those meetings, I was also participating in other church-related activities, including church basketball. That year, our team was pathetically bad . Eagerly, I told my teammates about my new friend, Shawn, and how I thought he would really help our team. The next week, I invited Shawn to play for the Aurora Hills Ward Youth Basketball Team. Shortly thereafter, the stake passed down a new rule stating that all players on a team had to attend church once a month to be eligible. Shawn accepted the rule with equanimity and began attending church meetings with us. The rest, as they say, is history. He started dating Shawna King, a girl from the Aurora Hills Ward. He cultivated friendships with the other members of our teacher’s quorum,

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and by the end of that school year, he was no longer hanging out with his old group of friends, but exclusively with his new Mormon buddies. That summer, Shawn and I were partners on Darren Jensen’s varsity hike. We shared a tent, food, and important wilderness responsibilities. During the evenings, as we watched the stars appear over Rocky Mountain National Park, we shared some deep theological discussions. By the beginning of the following school year, Shawn was quite the “dry Mormon.” I cannot relate in full all of what happened between Shawn and I. Suffice it to say that we were the best of friends. He helped me through some of the most difficult moments of my high school life, and I in turn helped him in his spiritual progress. We laughed together, cried together, and in all, we were like brothers. During the next summer’s varsity hike, as we were looking at the stars, Shawn said to me, “If there is a true church in this world, it’s the LDS church.” Shawn took the discussions several times, but disliked the missionaries who tried to teach him. He thought they were pushy, arrogant, and rude. It wasn’t until the Chucky Cheese tragedy and its aftermath that Shawn made the decision to be baptized. In June of 1994, I entered the waters of baptism with him, and as an authorized servant of our Savior, I baptized Shawn Daniel McDowell a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In later years we lost track of each other, but the impact we made on each other’s life has remained. Darren Jensen Shortly after I started going back to church, I met Darren Jensen, who was the teacher’s quorum adviser in our ward. Darren worked for the Rocky Mountain News as a circulation manager—a glorified paper-boy. On the weekends, I would help him throw papers, and in those early morning hours, we developed a lasting friendship. His influence was felt by the entire quorum. One young man, after being ejected from his own home by his mother, lived in Darren’s basement for three years and became a part of the Jensen family. Darren was responsible for planning the varsity hikes. The first year, he asked each young man to bring a walking stick on the hike, and told us that we were to keep the staff with us at all times. He explained that it was a symbol of the priesthood—a mighty tool that aided us in doing righteous tasks, but hindered us from doing foolish things (like rock climbing). Each hike had a theme, and each night of the hike, we had a fireside presentation centered on that theme. The first year’s hike, through Rocky Mountain National Park was entitled “Heroes of Righteousness.” The following year in Routt National Forest was entitled “Even As I Am.” The final hike was in Canyonlands National Park and was entitled “Out of the Dust.” When I bought my first set of scriptures, it was Darren who drove me to Deseret Books to make the purchase. When I balked at the high price of scriptures, he reminded me of the sacrifices made by Lehi and Nephi to obtain the word of God, and reassured me that there would be no purchase more important in my lifetime.

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Later, as a junior in high school, as I was doing research at the public library, I came across a section of anti-Mormon literature which filled me with a vile spirit that I could not shake. I knew I needed to talk with a wise and trusted friend; instead of going home that evening, I dropped in on the Jensen home. They were sitting down to dinner, but they invited me to eat with them. After the meal, I asked for advice and counsel from Darren. He opened my eyes to the vast capability I have inside of me to do good, and of the fear that Satan has of my potential to influence the world around me. We talked late into the night, and I left reassured and recommitted to doing my part in building the kingdom of God. After the last quorum member graduated from high school in 1995, Darren felt strongly that his work in Denver was complete. He cast about for new opportunities, and accepted a job in Chico, California. I saw him one more time, when he flew to Utah to escort me through the temple in March, 1996, when I received my own temple endowments. Before we parted, I tried to give him back his copy of Jesus the Christ, which I had borrowed from him two years previous. He shook his head, and told me to keep it. He wrote his testimony on the title page, and I have treasured that book ever since. Ingrid Tate and Sylvia Crowell The waning months of 1993 were difficult ones for the Aurora Hills Ward. In September, Ingrid Tate passed away. She was the wife of a prominent member of our ward—a former member of the bishopric, and current Young Men’s president. Though her death was not at all unexpected, it was still tragic. She left behind a grieving husband, two teenage daughters, and a three-year-old son. The priest’s quorum were asked to serve as pallbearers at her funeral. Three and a half months later, another tragedy struck at the heart of our ward. Sylvia Crowell, a nineteen-year-old ward member working at a local pizza parlor, was killed when an armed gunman entered the establishment and shot Sylvia, her manager, and three other coworkers. The tragedy sent shockwaves through the entire community. The night before the funeral, I helped prepare the chapel for the coming event. We set up 800 hundred chairs in the overflow, cultural hall, and stage. The following morning, there were still people standing in the back; more than a thousand people had showed up for Sylvia’s funeral. I was in the choir that day, and from my vantage point on the stand, I could clearly see two classes of people. Some people were sad, but had a hope of seeing Sylvia in the future. Other people, however, were inconsolably mournful. I knew then, that I had to share the gospel message of hope and salvation as a missionary. I knew that the gospel of Christ had a profound and concrete effect on the lives of His disciples. Shawn walked away that day with a similar conviction; shortly thereafter he committed to baptism.

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Other Influences The following are samples from journal entries covering three years of my adolescent life. I have chosen only those experiences that were intensely spiritual or helped to develop in me a desire to serve. However, no one should assume from this limited sample, that I was anything other than a normal teenage boy. I had to cull these wonderful experiences from hundreds of angst-ridden pages detailing my most recent unrequited love, or talk of mundane experiences at high school, or dolorous complaints about my job at a local dry cleaning establishment. I developed a testimony during my late teen years, but it was still an innocent testimony untried by the fires of adversity. Saturday, July 24, 1993 I finished the Book of Mormon for the first time last night. I started in Ether and continued for two hours until I had finished Moroni. I got to bed an hour later than I should have, but the blessings far outweigh the consequences. Also last night, I had a dream. I remember neither plot nor characters. All I remember is the message: When you obey the commandments of God, blessings are abundant. When you trespass the laws of God, you not only hurt yourself, but other people as well. Wednesday, September 1, 1993 Tonight, I went over to the Tates to help move some furniture. It took us about half an hour, and then we all relaxed and ate some ice cream. Some of the guys decided to hit some golf balls in the back yard. By some mischance, a ball that Noah had hit flew and hit Stevie Tate in the face. He had a deep cut beneath his eye. Brother Shirk put some ice on it. The leaders knew that Stevie was going to have to go to the hospital. They decided he needed a blessing. I have seen many priesthood blessings, but this was the first time I saw a blessing with consecrated oil. Brother Shirk anointed Stevie, and Brother Warren sealed and blessed. I had tears in my eyes during this latter part. I was witnessing the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood. I saw what it means in our lives and in the lives of those we love. I praised God in my heart for this wonderful gift and swore that, when the time came, I would be ready and worthy to receive the greater priesthood. Friday, October 8, 1993 I had a dream last night in which I wore a scarlet letter on my chest. The whole ward mocked me and I ran, crying, to the primary room. As I hid there, I heard a voice say, “Is there anything thou hast done, that I cannot forgive thee of?” I will always try to remember my Father’s love.

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Thursday, March 3, 1994 Last night I decided I was going to work hard to develop my relationship with my Savior. I read the accounts of His crucifixion, of the pain He suffered. I want to come to know and love Him as I have come know and love Brother Joseph. I prayed for the longest time to that end. Just by dedicating myself to this cause, I have come closer to Him. I also had a dream last night. I was walking down a dark street. Cars began to pass me, on the way to somewhere. I noticed that the people in the cars were people from the ward. I tried to get a ride, but nobody stopped, not the Jensens, not Bishop Kristjanson, not Bishop Pierce. And then the cars stopped coming. I was alone on that dark street. A lone man came by. He was strong, whereas I was weak, exhausted. He carried me on his back to the place I needed to go. Only then did I see His face. I realized then, that I was in the presence of my Savior. It was He who carried me when I was too weak to continue. Wednesday, April 27, 1994 I picked up Jesus the Christ for the first time in months. As I began to read it, my heart swelled up with all the love that I have for my Savior. Tears welled up in my eyes and I had to stop reading for a moment. Over the last three years, I have developed a relationship with my Redeemer. I have gotten to a point where my love is strong, my devotion a mountain of adoration. I have never believed that such emotions were possible. The magnitude of these feeling defy description. And just as I love Him, He loves me. He cares for me. He wants to see me succeed. Not only in this life, but in the eternities. To do so, I must follow the example that He has set. Tuesday, August 9, 1995 On Sunday, the 6th, I was ordained an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Bishop Kristjanson did the ordination, with my dad and many other individuals standing in the circle. The blessing was a wonderful one. I was told about my service in the pre-mortal world. I was a mighty spirit and I stood strong with Jehovah. I was a valiant warrior in that pre-mortal war. I taught many of my brothers and sisters. I shall teach them again, in this life, and when I do, they shall recognize my voice and believe on my words. Sunday, August 21, 1995 I want to rise out of the world, but I don’t want to alienate it. This is the time in which He is preparing me. When all the preparations are complete, I will be thrust into situation after situation. I will have the opportunity to stand against

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the world. And I won’t be alone. Backing me up, supporting me, at all times will be my cherished brother and our Heavenly Father. As I stand against the world, bearing witness of God the Father and the Son, I shall be supported. My clumsy lips will be given the grace of a dancer and the mysteries shall open to me as I expound them. The time is fast approaching when sides must be chosen and drawn. Some will join with us, to stand against the world. Others will stand to oppose us. But we bear the sword of truth and spirit, and though the world is strong, the hand of the Lord cannot be stayed. In that day, I will be on the Lord’s side. But I will not stand alone. From this day forth, my life is the Lord’s.

When I entered the Mission Training Center on June 5, 1996, I was a callow and untried youth. I had a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but it was as yet untempered by the adversities and trials of everyday life. I had developed a solid understanding of gospel principles, but I lacked solid interpersonal skills. I felt comfortable writing my deepest religious feelings, but felt incapable of vocalizing my testimony to adherents of other faiths. I loved the Lord, had a desire to serve Him, and even daydreamed of the wondrous things I would do on behalf of His kingdom—move mountains, convert entire villages, stand bravely against mob violence. I had set my foot upon the dusty road of discipleship, honestly ready to serve our Lord. However, I did not yet understand what He would require of me, nor did I realize in what ways my testimony would be strengthened, transformed, and quickened by sharing it with the people of Mexico.

The following pages are transcribed directly from my mission journal. Sections written in an italic font are post-mission redactions that add details, clarify statements, or expand on incomplete stories. Although I tried to be as accurate as possible with these italicized portions, actual journal entries reflect my understanding and knowledge at the time I wrote them. However, in many instances, I have changed names or essential details about a person or event. I used three sources for these memoirs—my mission journal, letters that I wrote to my family, and my own memory of the events three or four years later. In some cases, I found that these sources did not agree on details and particulars. I tried to synthesize these sources. Witnesses of the events may remember them differently than here transcribed, but such are the vagaries of memory. These memoirs do not pretend to be the “official version” of these events; they are simply how I remember the “best two years” of my life.

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