Chapter Six

A Peaceful Interlude

I sipped at my glass of water, watching the happy newlyweds dance the “baile de
billete.” This was a wedding custom that I had never before witnessed, and I assumed
that it was unique to Mexican culture. Since that time, I have seen variations of the
activity in other weddings, though none with the gusto and flair that amused me that
evening in Matamoros. Any guest who wished to dance with either the bride or the
groom had only to pin a peso of any denomination upon one of the two, and their wish
would be granted. The money would be used later that week to help the bride and groom
pay for their honeymoon.
“Will you be doing this next week, as well?” I asked Lety Moreno, who was
seated next to me. She had been a true friend to me during my missionary service in
Matamoros, and I was happy when I had heard the news earlier that evening that she
would be getting married the following week.
“Claro que si,” she said. Of course.
I smiled, happy to see Lety so happy. Seated beside her was Carlos, her fiancée,
whom I had met only a few hours before. He was a new convert to the church, having
been baptized nearly a year past by Elder Burch during his second tour of duty in
Matamoros. As the three of us sat chatting, the DJ finally terminated the baile de billeto,
which had extended through three songs. It was time for other traditions.
Lety caught the bouquet, Carlos the garter.
I was about to walk off the dance floor after the garter-throwing, headed for the
safety of my table, when the DJ once more started the music. Before I could escape,
Lety had grabbed my arm, and forced me to dance with her. I glanced over at Carlos,
with whom I had stood shoulder to shoulder during the garter toss, and noted that he had
asked Magda to dance. Seeing that he had a dance partner, I acquiesced to Lety’s
demands.
 WALKING THE DUSTY ROAD

The clock in the foyer of the rented hall chimed out ten o’clock, and soon
thereafter, the bride and groom took their leave. I had never met either of them, and
knew only that they were from Barrio Modelo. I was present as a guest of Magda
Olvera, who had served with the bride as a young single adult leader in the Matamoros
stake. With the wedding party over, I figured that Magda and I would call it a night, and
return to her home. I had arrived in town earlier that afternoon, and though I only had a
brief opportunity to re-acquaint myself with the neighborhood, the long day of travel had
taken its toll on me.
Oblivious to my fatigue, Magda gathered a small group of friends from the
Matamoros First Ward and staked out a plan of action. Six of us, including Lety, Carlos,
and the Cítalan brothers piled into Magda’s tiny car and drove to a nightclub in the heart
of Matamoros. We sat at a table in the darkened lounge, listening to live music and
sipping glasses filled with ice cubes and Sprite.
I had known all these individuals during my tour of duty in Matamoros. Each
one had aided me in my endeavors to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ in this busy border
town. However, that night I was not a missionary; I was just another young single adult
from the Matamoros First Ward. I drank it all in, loving every moment, enjoying the
time I spent with people who were so dear to me.
Matamoros had been my first “home” as a missionary; it was the first assignment
that truly reached deep into my soul and touched a part of me, changed me forever. I had
arrived on a brisk November evening in the dead of night, a callow and uncertain youth.
Matamoros had welcomed me with open arms. It had sheltered me, challenged me, and
forced me to uncover a theretofore unknown confidence, an untried strength.
And the people who were now sitting with me around that table had been a part
of that transformation. They had been among the best friends I had found during my
entire mission. Too soon the evening ended, and the six of us parted ways. Too soon, I
knew, I would have to leave Matamoros once more. But I knew, as I came to know those
many years ago, that Matamoros would always be a part of me.
And I a part of it.

Tuesday, December 17, 1996

What I’d give for a warm fire, my comfy afghan, and a good book. It was
COLD today. The morning had been brisk, but not frigid. Thus, neither Elder
Ramos nor I brought a jacket when we left the house that morning. Towards the
end of the day, it started to rain, the wind began whipping through the streets,
and we turned our faces towards home. We walked home that evening in the rain,
bone-chilling wind, fogged-over glasses. I had to laugh. Here I was in absolutely
miserable conditions in a crummy little border town. That walk home was the
longest, most miserable walk in my mission. I was in my short-sleeved shirt, and
drenched to the skin. Laughing made me feel better.
We did start the fourth charla with Elisa today. She was sleepy, so we
made an appointment to return. She was having trouble comprehending the pre-
existence. We also had a great talk with Yuvia, the less-active granddaughter of
the bishop. If we can turn her around, we may bring the rest of the family back.
She is very thin due to chemotherapy two years ago. She’s only twenty now.

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Wednesday, December 18, 1996

Elder Ramos left today for a zone leaders council in Tampico. I’ll be
senior comp in our area with an Elder Jimenez, who was the companion to the
zone leader from Valle Hermoso, a city an hour to the south..
I think I did okay. We made a contact (Beatriz), and taught her the first
charla. She was from a small town outside of Matamoros and was living in a tiny
apartment close to our chapel while she attended the UAT Nursing School, which
was located across the street from the stake center. We also taught a second
charla and set a baptismal date, as well as a wedding date for the Rodriguez
Treviño family. When we arrived home, I had to plan our day tomorrow, the first
time I’ve had to take the lead in doing that. The day was an amazing learning
experience for me, and great preparation for the eventual day when I would serve
as senior companion.
Before leaving at noon, Elder Ramos and I went to lunch with Magda.
She bought us pizza today. It was great. After Elders Ramos and Schott had
departed for Tampico, Elder Jimenez and I had the responsibility to escort a pair
of sister missionaries through Matamoros. They were being transferred to Valle
Hermoso, and since there were no direct bus routes from Tampico, they had to
travel first to Matamoros, transfer to a different bus station, and then travel an
hour back to the south to Valle Hermoso. We met the sister missionaries and
helped them with their luggage.
It’s been cold all day, but not nearly as bad as last night. I finally got a
letter from Shawn. He sent it through the pouch. I also received a letter from
Weston, on a mission in India. Life is good.

Thursday, December 19, 1996

Well, my first full day as compañero mayor. I planned, I taught, I did

fairly okay. We taught a few charlas, planned a few appointments, and had a good
time. I’m not really that fond of Elder Jimenez, but I think it’s only a personality
thing. He’s a hard worker, a dedicated servant of the Lord. If I were a better
person, I would be more tolerant.
The water in our pipes froze last night, and everyone was COLD this
morning. Our electricity keeps surging, and we don’t know why. We only have
two light bulbs, two electric heaters, and two refrigerators. We really should be
fine.
Elder Ramos returned late that night, and Elder Jimenez and his
companion Elder Schott slept over. The next morning, they joined us for
devotional before returning to their area in Valle Hermoso. I had enjoyed the
experience of working as a senior comp. It was challenging, but I had pulled it
off successfully.
Five shopping days left until Christmas. It’ll be grand.

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Friday, December 20, 1996

I’m not quite sure if this was one of the best or one of the worst days I’ve
had on my mission. On the one hand, it rained all day and the mud was
horrendous. It was wet, slick, mud, worse than that in Soto la Marina. However,
we had a great family home evening with Elisa’s family. We invited the Baez
family to come over to Elisa’s house and watch What is Real? with us. The Baez
family were good solid members of the Church. Hermano Baez was the first
counselor in the ward bishopric and his brother, Lupe, was the ward mission
leader. Hermana Baez brought refreshments to the Family Home Evening, and a
good time was had by all. We also had another great talk with Yuvia (she is
preparing references for us. She is awesome!),
I also met up again with my erstwhile companion Elder Hoover. My
limited language abilities had imposed a barrier between us that neither of us
were ever able to overcome in Soto. Months later, my ability with the Spanish
language greatly increased, I was able to greet him with joy and tell him how
much I enjoyed our time together in Soto la Marina.
All in all, I think the good outweighed the bad. Even the bad moments
were fun because I knew that I would look back on these moments with fondness.
At least, those were the thoughts that whipped through my mind as I navigated the
muddy, slippery streets on the way to meet up with Elder Hoover, or later in that
evening, as we slogged through the thick, sticky mud on the street outside Elisa’s
house. That which we now endure, we fondly remember. I’ve tried to be positive
with every new experience. Sometimes it’s not possible and sometimes it the only
way to survive.

Saturday, December 21, 1996

I was shaving in the bathroom in the front hall this morning when I heard
a knock on the door. I opened it, and standing on our front porch was President
Goodman. Slap my butt and call me surprised! President Goodman seemed to
have an uncanny ability of finding me unawares. This was the third time he had
surprised me in as many months. He joined us for devotional, and then had brief
talks with each of us.
During my interview with him, I asked him about miracles. In my study of
church history, I had read numerous accounts of miracles, visitations of angels,
and appearances of the Savior. I asked the Presidente why such occurrences
were not as prolific in our day, though I had no doubt that such things did occur.
He explained to me the sacred nature of miracles, and why we do not publish
them before the world. President Goodman then promised me that if I lived my
mission worthily that I would see miracles, both great and small. He finished by
telling me that the apostles of our day see and talk with the Savior with the same
frequency of the apostles and prophets of old. Again, the sacred nature of the
experience precluded their annunciation before the world.

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I got my Christmas package today. It has lots of candy, a few new ties,
and some sweatpants for the cold nights here in Matamoros. Other than that, our
day was kind of a waste. Elisa had her pre-interview, and because she has yet to
find a testimony about Joseph Smith, we have to postpone her baptism for a week.
Yuvia was at the ward activity; and that was a plus.
That evening, at the ward Christmas party, I learned that tamales are a
traditional Christmas food in Mexico. Back home, we ate them throughout the
year, without thought to their traditional role in Mexican society. During the day,
we gave some service to Magda, received our quincena, and so forth. I was tired
all day for some reason. Oh yeah, because it is Saturday.

Sunday, December 22, 1996

One day closer to Christmas. Elder Burch is talking to his family as I

write this. It’s making me anxious to talk to my own family. It’s pretty much got
center stage in my mind. I try to focus on the mission, but it’s going to get worse
before it gets better. And for a whole week after, I’m going to be trunky.
My day went by okay. We didn’t have any investigators in church. That is
so frustrating! We ate lunch with an RM. She came home Tuesday. Her name
was Leticia Moreno, and I had I met her at the ward activity the night before. She
became one of my best friends in Matamoros—preparing references,
fellowshipping investigators, and providing sound counsel and advice. Likewise,
I helped her through some difficult adjustment periods, challenged her to write in
her journal, and talked her away from a bad decision in progress. On this day, as
we ate lunch with her, she and Elder Ramos, who was also close to the end of his
mission, talked about how quickly their time in the mission field had flown by. As
I sat there listening to their banter, the weight of my six long weary months heavy
on my shoulders, I realized how important it was to make every day count, to use
every moment I had to preach the gospel, because all too soon, my time to be a
missionary would be finished. I did not want to go home with any regrets,
wishing I had worked harder or spoken more.
We visited Yuvia briefly, Elisa wasn’t home, neither was my contact
Beatriz, Familia Lastra, nor Familia Silva. Thomas Ventura, a man to whom we
planned on teaching the second charla, wasn’t home either. In other words,
nobody was home. The only people who were home, the Rodriguez Treviño
family, were watching Independence Day, which just made me trunky. Brother
and Sister Rodriguez would soon marry, and subsequently Sister Rodriguez would
enter the waters of baptism. While my companion gazed with fascination at the
TV screen, I examined Hermano Rodriguez’s collection of Church books, many of
them in English. I asked him if I could borrow some of them and he cheerfully
agreed.
I grabbed the two that interested me the most. The first was a biography
of Howard W. Hunter, and the second was a collection of talks by James E. Faust
called Finding the Light in a Dark World. At this time, I also noticed a slender
tome written by Joseph Fielding McConkie entitled, Here We Stand. I had seen a

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copy of this latter book in the hands of Elder Messervey at a zone meeting, and
became fascinated with it while I casually flipped its pages. I once more picked
up the book, opened it and examined it more closely. I promised myself that when
I finished with the selection of books I had already borrowed from Hermano
Rodriguez, that I would return and ask to borrow this little gem. I read Here We
Stand three times at various points in my mission, and it completely changed the
way I taught the gospel. More on that later.
It was a relaxing day, all said and done. Soon, I’ll be sending for a
subscription to the Ensign for my family. I hope they enjoy it. With the money my
parents had sent me in their most recent letter, I sent Magda across the border
and she bought a cashier’s check. I mailed the $10 check to the Office of Church
Magazine Subscription, and ordered the Ensign for my family. They never knew
who ordered it for them, though they always suspected it had been their home
teacher. The other day, we saw What is Real? in Spanish. I can see how far my
Spanish has progressed because we watched the same thing in the MTC, on
August 8th. I understood a lot more this second time through.
I love Matamoros. I love the people. I can’t wait to call my parents. It’s
going to rock. Like I indicated earlier, that’s where my mind is now. It was hot
again today, but I didn’t complain. I like the heat. Well, the next few days will
pass slowly. That’s fine because December has flown by.

Monday, December 23, 1996

All in all, it was a regular P-Day. We did our laundry, and the laundromat
was exceptionally crowded due to the coming holiday. We went home, cleaned,
napped, and so forth. I started reading the biography of Howard W. Hunter.
What an awesome and humble man he was! I wish I could have gotten to know
him better. Already, I love Gordon B. Hinckley with all my heart and sustain him
with the same. I know that he is a prophet of God. I know that the Lord prepares
His prophets, as President Hunter was prepared throughout his life. This is my
testimony and I bear it with gladness.
Near our home, on the corner of Lauro Villar where we caught the micro
every morning, was a Benavides and a delicious panadería. The Benavides was a
fairly standard Wal-Greens style pharmacy, and we bought several important
household items there. In addition, I often found special treats that I never found
anywhere else—like the morning I found a Hershey’s White Chocolate bar that I
bought for an exorbitant ten pesos. The panadería, on the other hand, was my
usual morning stop. I developed a love for Mexican pastries, a love that first
manifested itself in Matamoros.

Tuesday, December 24, 1996

A pretty uneventful day, when all is said and done. I write this with a
throbbing pain in my right knee. Tonight, as we were walking home in the rain, I
stepped on a stone to cross a puddle. Only the stone wasn’t a stone. It was a

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floating piece of debris that happened to be floating over an open manhole. My

entire right leg plunged into it, banging itself on the sides of the hole on the way
in. My left knee slammed into the ground. I made so much noise that my
companion thought that I had broken my leg. I pulled myself out and continued
on my way, limping. That and the ferocious horse-sized dog are the only things to
say about my Christmas Eve.
I received letters from Mom, Ady, and the Andersons, and a package from
Rebekah. Adrianne sent me a collection of small cards with various paintings
depicting the life and ministry of the Savior on them. I eventually used them as
gifts for the people I baptized, writing my testimony on the back of each one. The
package I received from Rebekah contained fudge, a loaf of banana nut bread,
and some Rice Krispee treats.

Wednesday, December 25, 1996

Well, I talked to my parents today. It was the highlight of the day. I talked
for an hour and a half. It was great. I am homesick now, but that’s a small price
to pay.
We ate a lot today. Every home we visited fed us something. Add to that
the fudge Rebekah sent me, and I’m about to explode. The last few days have
been difficult since everybody is out of town. In a few weeks, life will return to
normal and we will be working hard again. It’s been a good Christmas.
I love the mission field. I still have a few things that I need to work on.
For example, pride, and I need to stop watching TV. It’s not that I intentionally
do so, but if it is on, my gaze strays. I’ll figure something out. I want to be
obedient.

Thursday, December 26, 1996

We gave a first charla today. After which, Juana (the lady) invited us to
return, meaning that we didn’t need to ask for a return appointment. We asked
her to offer the closing prayer, which she did until she got so choked up that she
couldn’t continue. She just said a quick “amen” and started wiping her eyes. My
companion asked her what she was feeling, and then identified the Holy Spirit. I
have a lot of hope here. I still thought that a wonderful first charla always meant
that the person had been converted and would simply topple into the font
thereafter. However, there were always social, economic, cultural, and religious
obstacles that had to be overcome. And there were times, when we just couldn’t
get around them.
It’s funny how we encounter all these great first charlas. Invariably we are
searching for someone else when we stop, ask for help, and end up teaching a
great charla. This in turn probably influenced my proselyting style later in my
mission. Often, I would ask for directions as a pretext to begin a conversation,
which would then lead to an invitation to listen to our message.

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Tonight, Armanado’s wife told us not to return and gave us back his copy
of the Book of Mormon. It was sad. Armando lived on a narrow street (a
callejón) close to Magda’s house and downwind of the open sewage canal which
flowed through our area of Matamoros. He was the neighbor of Zacarias to
whom we had taught a first charla some weeks previous.

Friday, December 27, 1996

This week has really been difficult. We gave a first charla today. This
young mother was a contact that I had made during my day and a half with Elder
Jimenez. We were most of the way done when her husband came home and
started shouting for his dinner. That’s really no way to treat a wife. Oh well, we
weren’t making much progress anyhow. There were screaming kids underfoot
that made it difficult to teach.
We paused this evening at sunset to play basketball with Felipe Silva, an
inactive that we have been working with. He’s got a great family, a wife and three
kids. They are always fun to visit. His family came out to fetch him home for
dinner. We stopped our impromptu game and visited with Familia Silva briefly.
He bought us Gatorade afterwards and we walked home with his family.
I received a letter from Kelli today. I’m determined to be a better brother
to her when I get home in a year and a half. I miss her and am proud of her
activities.

Saturday, December 28, 1996

This day, slow, boring, and useless, was redeemed by the single greatest
moment in my missionary life. In the evening, I went on another split with Elder
Burch. We went to teach the third charla to Tomas Ventura and his wife. They
lived in a little shack on the northeast corner of Guerra and Periferico.
Tomas and his wife had set a goal to be baptized on the 5th of January.
As we sat down to teach them the third discussion, Tomas vocalized some of the
emotions that had been swirling around in his soul ever since he accepted our
baptismal invitation. He had many doubts, fears, and feelings of unworthiness.
He admitted to being a drunk, despite his very best efforts at reform. He felt that
the blessings of the atonement were beyond him; that salvation was too far
beyond his reach.
I didn’t feel like I could handle the situation, but since I was with Elder
Burch, I knew that I had to. Of the two of us, I had the greater in-field experience,
and though his people skills were better than mine, my Spanish was still slightly
superior to his developing skill. As Tomas’s feelings came pouring out, I looked
over at Elder Burch and saw a glimmer of panic in his eye, an emotion that I
could feel mirrored in my own heart. How could we, with our limited Spanish,
even hope to comfort this man and assuage the guilt and doubts he felt at this
moment? I was very tempted to tell him to hold on, and I would return with Elder
Ramos the following day. However, the spirit whispered to me that this man

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needed to feel the love of God tonight, and that Elder Burch and I were the chosen
vessels for that task.
I took a deep breath and plunged forward, rehearsing in my mind the
mantra that I had repeated every morning for the last few weeks: if not me, then
who? I opened my mouth, and as the Lord has promised, He filled it. The most
fluent Spanish of my mission to that point flowed out of my mouth and into the
hearts of my listeners. Never before had I spoken the language with such power
and beauty, with such eloquence and spirit. I don’t remember what I said, I only
can recall the feeling. His wife began to cry. I felt inspired to have a special
prayer. We talked briefly afterwards, and then closed with a hymn, “I Am A Child
Of God.”
The sprit was electrifying. It was gentle. It was fire and it was peace.
Never before in my life have I felt like that. This, this is why I am here. My
weaknesses notwithstanding, I am a servant of my Lord and King, Jesus Christ.
As we left the small house that evening, and after traversing a discrete
distance, Elder Burch turned on me and asked “Did you feel that?” I was still in
a state of shock and simply nodded my head. We looked at each other, both
aware that something amazing had just taken place, that the Lord had spoken to
Tomas and his wife through us. I had somehow provided the words that they
needed to hear that night, and we were both so keyed up we had to share the
experience with someone.
We walked down the street, to Magda’s house, to relate to her what had
just occurred. When we arrived, Magda had just inserted a copy of Independence
Day into her VCR and was sitting down to watch the movie. Unfortunately, we
stayed and watched it with her. Of all my many mission indiscretions, this was
the one I regret the most, coming as it did on the heels of an amazing spiritual
experience.

Sunday, December 29, 1996

I woke up, showered, didn’t shave, and was out the door at 7:20 with Elder
Burch. We were going to run by Elisa’s house and bring her to church. We
arrived, met a drunk, crazy guy, and found Elisa asleep. That was rather
disappointing. We went back to church, finished sacrament meeting, and my
companion asked me to teach the Gospel Essentials class. I obliged, teaching a
lesson about the pre-existence. It was rather boring, as I had zero preparation
time. During the course of the lesson, I had the opportunity to share some of the
same thoughts that I had shared with Tomas the night before. However, this time,
the words did not come so easily, nor the language so smooth. And thus I learned
an important lesson—only the Spirit can teach the truths of which I had been
called to testify.
Elders Burch and Manzo had a baptism today. I was a witness and stood
in the circle for the confirmation. We then went to work, to eat, and then home.
Elder Ramos has been feeling sick, and Magda made me promise to take him
home after lunch. Elder Ramos slept and I listened to the tapes my brother made

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me for Christmas. It was relaxing. I cranked out a letter to the family and now I
find myself writing in my journal. It really wasn’t much of a day or even a week.
The last year, though, has been wild. From last January, returning to
BYU, preparing for my mission call, the numerous blind dates my roommates set
me up on, the dance concert with Suzie, receiving my mission call, the temple, the
weekend with Darren, the MTC, Soto la Marina, and Matamoros. Where will I be
in a year? In two? In five? In twenty? Fifty? It’s hard to say. I know where I’d
like to be, and thus I will steer a steady course.

Monday, December 30, 1996

P-Day was spent in sleep. Not a whole lot more to say than that. We
filled out a bunch of investigator records this morning, did laundry, cleaned the
bathroom, and so forth. Every P-Day, Elder Ramos, in his capacity as ranking
elder in the apartment, assigned a different chore to be completed sometime
during the day. More often than not, we traded and finagled, and thus each of us
usually ended up with a chore that was not too onerous or distasteful. We
finished off the banana nut bread that Rebekah sent. It was dreamy.
We met a guy tonight who is in a real interesting situation. His father is
from Mexico; his mother is from India. He’s married to an American, but has
been deported because he lacks papers. He’s trying to get back to the states, and
to his wife. He was baptized yesterday, and I sincerely hope that his prayers will
be answered. He started talking to me on a micro as if he knew me. I should have
recognized him as Burch’s baptism from the day before. I didn’t, and I felt a little
guilty. After all, I had helped to confirm the man a member of the Church. Other
than all that, we did nothing. I’m not complaining; I needed some rest. This week
will probably be as slow as last week.

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents

“On Christmas Eve, I was struck with a sudden craving for eggnog. I didn’t
understand it; I’ve never been a big eggnog fan before. For some reason though, I
wanted some for my Christmas Eve. I looked up the word “eggnog” in my Spanish-
English dictionary, and told my companion I wanted some. Well, go figure, but
eggnog in Mexico is an alcoholic beverage.
“On Saturday afternoon, Elder Burch and I went on a split. I like going on
splits with him for several reasons. One, he’s a fun guy. We laugh together and have
a good time. And two, he’s an American. No, I’m not racist. When you’re on a
split with an American, you find yourself outside of your comfort zone. I tend to
stay on the ball and concentrate more when I know that I’ve got the greater Spanish
experience between the two of us. No passing the ball if I don’t understand an
investigator’s doubts, fears, or questions.
“My camera seems to be jacked up. It won’t take pictures. I tried switching
batteries, and it still won’t work. I think it might be the film. Darn automatic
cameras. I should have gone with a cheapo manual thingamabob. I just do NOT

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have a lot of luck with cameras. I’ll probably rewind this film, of which I’ve taken 18
out of 24, and cut my losses. I pray I’ll do better next time.
“The heat has returned once more to Matamoros. I’m ready for it. In
another week or so, I’ll be wanting the cold back. David O. McKay once said that
the love of the work is what constitutes success. This being the case then, I guess
you could say I’ve been successful.”

Tuesday, December 31, 1996

Elisa broke down in tears today and shared with us her problems. She
wants a divorce because her husband hits her on occasion. However, she is afraid
of the eternal consequences of such a choice. The teachings of the Catholic
church forbids all divorces for any reason. Because the church was such a part
of the culture, even less-active Catholics followed many of the mores and taboos
imposed by their religion. It saddens me to think of how she was trapped in an
abusive relationship, wanting to get out, but believing that God would be
displeased with her if she did. She is really having a hard time of it all, and I
really want to help her. I just don’t know how. I think that tomorrow, after lunch,
I shall fast for her.
The only other thing of note today is our visit with Familia Sobrevilla.
Abigail finally had the courage to shake my hand, and I held Abril while she fell
asleep. Abigail was an eighteen-month-old child who was always so very shy.
Whenever I tried to shake hands with her she always hid her face from me, and
sometimes even cried. This was a triumphal day, because she finally overcame
her fear of this big dumb American. Her older sister, Abril, age three, liked me,
and fell asleep in my arms as we talked with her parents. It was a very tender
moment.
Tonight, I’m making root beer floats with strawberry ice cream because
there wasn’t any vanilla at the Benavides. I had to send Magda across the river
for the root beer because you can’t find it anywhere in Mexico. I should have
figured that they would be similarly short on vanilla ice cream. Mexicans don’t
like the flavor. Go figure. Root beer floats are a New Year’s Eve tradition in my
home, and on this first New Year’s away from home, I shared the tradition with
Elders Ramos, Manzo, and Burch. The two Mexican elders had never had such a
treat before, and I was delighted to introduce them to the tradition. It’s been one
heck of a year.

Wednesday, January 1, 1997

I woke up last night at midnight, not that I had much of a choice with all
the screaming, singing, and fireworks. I had me a root beer float, talked with
Magda on the phone, and then went back to bed. I woke up, finished Teachings of
the Prophet Joseph Smith and went out working. I had been fascinated by this
book since my parents had first sent it to me several weeks before. I read it
between meetings at church, during interviews after zone conferences, and at just
about every spare moment I had. I soon developed a reputation in the zone and in

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the ward as a scholar. “That Elder Barrett,” people would say. “He’s always
reading something.”
Considering that today was New Year’s and that everyone is still out of
town, today was a fairly good day. We taught two first charlas. One of those may
be illegitimate. She was the daughter of a member of our ward, and we were
unsure of her age. I say she’s eight, but Ramos says she’s nine. If the former,
than she wouldn’t be a convert, the latter and she is and is our responsibility.
We’ll check on Sunday. No letters again today. I wonder if everyone’s forgotten
that I’m alive. It’s quite possible.

Thursday, January 2, 1997

I went on a split with a very talkative elder today. I had gone on many
splits in the two months I had been companions with Elder Ramos. Most of them
had been fairly productive. The least rewarding experience I had had had been
with Elder Shaw. However, he had loosened up in the last month, and we had
become good friends.
But about today. It wasn’t half-bad. We taught a first charla to a friend of
Yuvia’s. Not only was it a good charla with a fellowshipper, but it was also a
good way to help Yuvia feel excited about the Church. She was very involved
with the charla, defending the Mormon Church and affirming our reverence and
love for the Savior. She shared her testimony with her friend, something I had
never heard her do before. When we finished the charla, she was energized and
filled with the spirit.
In the future, I think I’d like to invite less-actives to other charlas. It has a
two-fold purpose. First, it introduced the investigator to a member of the ward,
and second, it helps the less-active to feel the spirit. I dropped this proposal
pretty quickly, discovering that not all less-active members are as excited about
the church and willing to participate in a charla as was our friend, Yuvia.
We also taught a sixth charla and we’ll baptize on Sunday. The Rodriguez
Treviño family had gotten married in Monterrey over the Christmas break and
they were ready to get baptized. We didn’t get much else done because we spent
WAY TOO much time talking—three hours on a single charla. That should be
against the rules. My companion du’jour spent this time in the sixth charla, which
in my mind should have been a mere formality. I had planned for a half an hour
to forty-five minute discussion. This elder had other plans, and we were with the
Rodriguez Family the entire morning. We left home, taught the charla, and then
went to lunch.

Friday, January 3, 1997

We helped Hermano Baez build a house today. Actually, we tore down a

ramshackle wood house to salvage materials to complete the new one in its place.
He was constructing a new house so that his mother would have a place to live.
The lot was located in an open field on the eastern edge of the city. There were

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several houses in the field already, constructed by well-meaning church groups

from Texas and beyond. Footpaths had already begun to be trodden down, the
harbingers of permanent streets in the fledgling colonia.
It was great fun ripping the roof off that run-down shack. Elder Burch and
I had another good talk, parts of which I need to repent of. After the roof had
fallen to the earth with a tremendous crash, Elder Burch and I climbed the
wooden walls and began ripping out the old and rusted nails. We sat on the top
of those walls, our legs hanging on either side of the wooden perimeter, while our
companions remained below helping Hermano Baez dismantle the dislodged roof.
We spoke of many things—of journals, of girlfriends, of life and love—frequently
breaking into such boisterous fits of laughter that our companions worried that
we would tumble to our deaths. Of all the considerable time I spent with Elder
Burch, this memory is the one that has stayed in my mind most vividly over the
years.
I really want to be a good person, a good missionary, and be worthy of all
the blessings my Heavenly Father has in store for me but sometimes my tongue
slips and my thoughts wander. I am working, though. I am improving.
Tomas Ventura skipped town last night; he crossed over to the states. His
sort-of wife Eloisa (they weren’t married), still wants to be baptized, but geez,
what a way to lose an investigator.
I am having a great time. I wish I could remember and record every
minute of every day. As I was talking to Elder Burch that day, I realized how
much I loved my mission and wanted to remember even the minute, mundane
details. I realized that my half-page journal entries were not going to be able to
provide the detail I wanted, but if I wrote longer entries, I would run out of space
or desire before the end of my mission. Part of the reason I am writing these
memoirs is to correct the insufficiencies of my original journal. This will have to
suffice.
Those were golden days in Matamoros, with Burch, Ramos, and Manzo.
All the elements of a great mission were in perfect alignment—we were working
hard, I loved my companion and housemates, and the ward I was serving in was
fully functioning and supportive. I reveled in those Golden Days, knowing that
they would someday come to an end.

Saturday, January 4, 1997

I had to be senior comp today. I guess I’m getting a lot of leadership

training, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult. I guess, though, that it is easier
now than with that first split with Elder Burch a month and a half ago.
This day had a bunch of good things and a bunch of bad. We taught a
couple of charlas, had a couple of no-shows, received a couple of references,
invited a couple of less-actives to church, and so forth. It was great.
Elder Manzo and I had a great time together. He was a hilarious elder
who loved his mission. One story will illustrate his jovial and fun-loving nature.
Elders Manzo and Burch were contacting in their area, when they came across an

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old man who did not want to talk to them. He tried to shoo them away by telling
them he already attended meetings at another church. “Which one?” queried
Elder Manzo. The old man, obviously lying and just trying to get rid of the
annoying missionaries, waved his hand vaguely and replied, “you know, the one
over there, around the corner.” Elder Manzo’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh,
the Church of the Holy Apostasy.” The man nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah,
that’s the one.” Burch and Manzo walked away, stifling their boisterous
laughter.
In the two months that I’ve been in Matamoros, I’ve gone on a bunch of
splits. I’m getting lots of experience in being a senior comp.

Sunday, January 5, 1997

Well, when I say nothing happened today, I mean it. We left the house at
9:30 to collect investigators and bring them to church, but no one was home. We
went to church and were overjoyed when the Sobrevilla family, a less-active
family with whom we have been working, walked through the front doors after
sacrament was passed.
We met in the stake center, and it was the nicest church buildings I ever
met in on my mission. It consisted of two elongated buildings, separated by ten
meters of open space. The front half of the two buildings were connected by an
indoor breezeway, with the front doors facing north. The western building
consisted of the Stake President’s office, offices for the bishops of Barrio I and
Barrio Modelo, classrooms, the baptismal font, and the Relief Society room. The
eastern building contained only the chapel and the cultural hall. A large outdoor
basketball court occupied the land to the west of the building.
The meetings passed normally. I received a letter from Suzie (finally), and
I plan on writing her back tomorrow. What a dear friend she was and is. Burch
and Manzo had a baptism which I stood in the confirmation circle for. We ate
lunch with Lety Moreno, a returned missionary. She told us some of her mission
stories and bore her testimony. She’s awesome
Then we returned to the chapel for our own baptism, Hermana Maria del
Rosario Treviño Banda and her eight-year-old daughter, Angela. I slipped while
going into the font and almost fell. As I regained my footing on the stairs, I
looked out at the gathered congregation, flashed them a sheepish smile, and
hoisted a royal half-wave with my right hand. Elder Burch, who was serving as a
witness, thought the expression on my face was so hilarious, he almost died trying
to hold in the laughter. For years afterwards, this was the story he always told
about Elder Barrett.
These baptisms weren’t very smooth for some reason. As I lowered
Hermana Treviño into the water, a sharp cry escaped her lips. Afterwards she
confessed that she had always had a fear of drowning. After the baptismal
service, as I went to change clothes, I realized that I had forgotten to bring a
change of shirt. I spent the rest of the day with a shirt that was wet below the
waist.

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I really want to see Elisa in that font. Yesterday she told us that she
couldn’t accept Joseph Smith. She enjoys the Book of Mormon and admits that
he did not write it. What can I do to help her to progress? In my personal studies,
I am in Ecclesiastes (started it this morning), 1st Corinthians (I’ll finish it
tomorrow), and Jacob. I’ve also returned to Articles of Faith after an absence of
some time, and also Finding the Light in a Dark World. The gospel is really
coming alive, and I’m soaring to new heights. God is awesome.

Monday, January 6, 1997

It was a fairly relaxing P-Day. We did our laundry and went shopping. I
think I may have spent more than I should have. For some reason, today while I
was in the store, I started missing the King Soopers near my high school, and also
my Food-4-Less days in Provo.
I finished reading Finding the Light in a Dark World tonight. It’s a
collection of talks by James E. Faust. This was another book I had borrowed
from Hermano Rodriguez. I finished reading it while my companion interviewed
district leaders, and once again, elders in my zone were amazed at the numbers of
books I was devouring.
Elder Faust’s book was fairly good and really humbled me, I think. All
my life I have looked forward to getting married and starting a family, but am I
really ready for such a huge responsibility. Am I capable? This last week has
brought a new spirit of humility into my life. It is new, and I know not from
whence it comes, that is, what caused it. It is of God, and I feel so much closer to
him now. It’s the Celestial Kingdom or bust!

Extracts from a Letter to my Parents

“I’m getting a lot of experience on how to be a senior companion. This

week I went on two full-day splits. One was with an elder from Seattle. I don’t want
to write negative stuff, so I won’t say much about it. Only this: he’s been out longer
than me, and he kept trying to show off. He interrupted me when I was teaching to
explain something I had said, or tried to make me explain something his way. I
wasn’t very happy with him.
“At the end of the night, as we were riding the micro home with Elders
Manzo and Burch, he (the elder with whom I was working) made a contact, which is
good, because he is opening his mouth and speaking to people. The problem is that
it was one of the most incoherent and directionless contacts I’ve ever seen. He said
some pretty inappropriate stuff. Even Elders Burch and Manzo thought so, too.
“But enough about that. I don’t like dwelling on the bad and talking about
people behind their backs. If I were a better person, I would see him as a child of
God and love him regardless of his seeming faults.
“Have I told you about Yuvia yet? She is a twenty-year old less active, the
granddaughter of the bishop. We visited her several times this week, and both times
she loaded us with food. Once it was corn on the cob loaded with spices. It was
great, but very, very, very hot. It was the absolute most picante thing I have ever

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eaten. I drained several glasses of water. I finished mine, but my comp couldn’t
stomach his. The other time, she gave us a delicious cake with a glass of milk. She
then sent us on our way with a bag of Doritos.
“I am loving the food still. Elder Manzo says that the food in Matamoros is
the best he has eaten in all his mission. He has the same amount of time in the field
as Elder Ramos. Today I ate cactus again and had a drink that consisted of water,
sugar, cinnamon, and rice called horchata. Every now and then, I spice up my food.
The food is not made spicy, but there is always a bowl of salsa so one can flavor to
one’s liking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same salsa twice—red, green, watery,
chunky. It comes in all varieties.”

Tuesday, January 7, 1997

It was cold again today. It started out in the low 40’s and kept dropping.
Not that we spent a lot of time outside anyways. I was sick. I still am. I’ve got a
bad case of diarrhea, and it sucks. We went out working in the morning, but
because of this incredible pain in my stomach, we came home some time ago. We
got in a quick visit to Maria Rodriguez Treviño, and talked with her teenage son.
I don’t think we were making any progress with him.
When we were teaching Tony, a contact whose only interest in the Book of
Mormon was as a history book, I made the decision to never again doubt the
gospel or the Church. Since making that choice, and keeping to it, the Lord has
poured down blessings upon my head—an increase of the spirit, an increased
desire to work, and a more sensitive conscience and willingness to obey it.

Wednesday, January 8, 1997

Well, we left today at noon, due to my continuing sick feeling. We got in

a good day’s work, nevertheless. We taught two first charlas. One was to Emma.
She seemed receptive and attentive and I found myself talking like Hermano
Meik. The other charla was to Efraín, a cousin of a couple of less-actives.
Another good charla, even if I do say so myself. I found myself teaching both
charlas in ways I’ve never done before, quite possibly the spirit directing me, or at
least I hope so.
The rest of the day was muddy and cold. I took a near-freezing shower
this morning. At some point in the previous month, our water heater broke down
once again, and the coveted hot showers had come to an abrupt end. Some
thoughts today about the Atonement and the importance and source of spiritual
strength. I need to build mine.

Thursday, January 9, 1997

Magda went up to Brownsville today, but I received no letters. I haven’t

heard a word from my family in over two weeks, not since Christmas. I went
longer in Soto without letters, but I didn’t have American mail there. It put a sad
finish on an otherwise great day.

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I went on a full-day split with Elder Shaw while Elder Ramos conducted a
baptismal interview in Elder Hoover’s area. I think Elder Ramos intentionally
saved this duty for Thursdays, since these were his least favorite lunch
appointments. However, I looked forward to working with Elder Shaw, whom I
had grown to like and admire after interacting with him during our weekly zone
meetings and various other splits.
We had a good day together; we talked a lot. He told me that he really
wanted to be less serious and learn how to talk to people like I can. This threw
me for a loop, that he looked up to me for this ability that I didn’t know I
possessed, that in fact I thought was a weakness. Since I had come to know Elder
Burch, and had seen his amazing people skills in action, I had begun to emulate
him in my own work and combining that with my own native cheery temperament,
I had begun to create a unique teaching style all my own. Elder Shaw admired
my fledgling people skills, my ability to put people at ease, and coax them into an
open dialogue.
At the time, I thought I was simply imitating Elder Burch, not recognizing
how much of my new teaching style came from my own naturally optimistic and
upbeat personality. My sunny disposition and constant smiles found the chinks in
the toughest emotional armor. I had gradually begun to be myself, and this
transformation had been so gradual I had not noticed it until Elder Shaw called
my attention to it. I was, of course, flabbergasted. Where had this skill come
from? I had convinced myself that I was lacking in the social skills necessary to
be an adequate missionary. The Lord has made me strong.
Earlier, we had had a talk when I admitted to being moody, which he
wouldn’t believe. While I had begun to be known in the zone as a reader, and
while that was perhaps a calculated move, what caught me by surprise was that I
was coming to be known and remembered for being a cheerful, upbeat, and
positive elder. It was such a natural part of my personality, and I often fought
against it, believing that a missionary should be deadly serious, for the gospel of
Christ is a Serious Topic. However, I began to learn that smiling, laughing, and
accentuating the positive are just as much a part of the “good news of Christ” as
is reverence, veneration and worship. Perhaps my cheery temperament is an
asset, not a liability.
I like Elder Shaw, and I really opened up to him today. And he opened up
to me. We talked about positive aspects of his personality, and found ways in
which he, Elder Shaw, excelled as a missionary. I learned, for the first time, and
not for the last, that a good missionary was the best possible version of himself;
Elder Shaw did not have to be the best that Elder Barrett could be, nor did Elder
Barrett have to be the best that Elder Burch could be. The Lord wanted us to use
our unique talents to bring souls unto Him, not to be homogenous scripture-
spouting robots.
I didn’t get to see much more of Elder Shaw after this split. He landed in
the offices as financial secretary and stayed there for nearly a year. When he
finally escaped back into the field, he was assigned to be a district leader in

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Tantayuca, and later he served as a zone leader in Panuco. He finished his

mission in that small rural town.

Friday, January 10, 1997

We walked and we walked and we walked. When we were done with all
that walking, we walked some more. I wouldn’t be complaining, but we didn’t
teach a single charla, and we had more than a couple no-shows.
We had a long, heart-to-heart with Elisa. I don’t know what more we can
do. She still doesn’t know that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and she has some
growing doubts about some of our other doctrines, like baptisms for the dead. She
wants us to prove ourselves, to convince her using the Bible, but it doesn’t work
that way. Doctrine comes from God to man, not the other way around. We do
not read the Bible and then force God to conform to our interpretation of its
passages. The Bible is a record of doctrine, not its source. Elisa needs to pray. I
want to see her in that baptismal font.
There are unexpected transfers tonight. We still don’t know who’ll be
leaving. I’ll know in fifteen minutes.

Saturday, January 11, 1997

I think another chapter in my mission has closed. I’m still in Matamoros,

still in the same house, and still in Barrio Uno. Only now, I’m in a different area
with a different comp. My new companion is Elder Jimenez. He has only three
months more than I have, and this is his first time being senior companion. I think
we’ll have a lot of fun together.
I received letters today. One of them was from Grandpa McKnight, a
former Sunday school teacher still living in the Aurora Hills Ward. He’s doing
well and is now serving as a counselor to Bishop Kristjanson. What a faithful
man and wonderful life!
We made several contacts and taught a few charlas. We’re still unsure
where our area is, but it’ll get straightened out.
When there were still three companions working the Matamoros First
Ward, Elder Ramos and I were in the area furthest west, Manzo and Burch in the
middle area, and Rico and Van Slyke in the area furthest east. When the latter
two were transferred, the ward was divided down the middle and Elder Ramos
and I took the western half. When the ward was split into three areas once again,
Manzo and Burch chose to take up residence in the eastern third, Rico and Van
Slyke’s former area. Jimenez and I thus moved into the middle third of the
Matamoros First Ward.
I think another chapter in my mission has opened.

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Elder Barrett posing with a horse in Matamoros

Elders Ramos, Burch, and Manzo at a laundromat on P-Day

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Elder Barrett striking a dramatic pose in the streets of Matamoros

The dramatic effect is lost when you learn that I’m wearing a Mickey Mouse Tie

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