Nearly 50 years ago I was finishing my mission in Caborca, Sonora, Mexico. My Mexican companion and I were both new to the town, and so we worked hard to make contact with current members as well as possible investigators of the church. Allow me to read from my mission journal a few entries that illustrate my challenge to be Christlike to all. Keep in mind that I had only four months left in my mission. I was a “seasoned” missionary.
September 29 – I have seen it rain before and it rained pretty hard while I was in Culiacan, but I have never seen rain like today. It was raining slightly as Elder Mugica and I left for the correo, [the post office] and while we were there, it really started to come down hard, and so we waited until it slackened and then set out for Tres Estrellas [the bus station] to pick up the books Hermana Hernandez had sent. We never made it as the streets had turned into rivers. We came back home, soaked to the skin. In fact, you could see the hairs on my chest my shirt was so wet. I bought this little book on the way home as my diary pages ran out.
9:15 pm – Presidente Badillo picked us up at 5 pm and took us to help four Americans that had had a car accident. They had identified themselves as masons to the motel clerk, and they told him any mason would come to their aid. The clerk thought, “Mason, Mormon, same thing,” and so he called the branch president, the only Mormon he knew. Two of the Americans are in the hospital, and the other two are in the motel very nervous. They are quite old and don’t speak a word of Spanish. We spent all afternoon helping them out, buying medicines, talking to the mechanic, dealing with the police, etc. The poor people are very upset. Their car doesn’t seem to be in too bad of shape and should be fixed by tomorrow. The lady was really nice but is without a cent. Their car is insured, but they have only $300 in the bank. The one guy may have a broken rib, but it is his heart condition that is bad. They told us he had spent nine days in the hospital in Guadalajara. I hope the guy doesn’t die on us. Needless to say, we didn’t get any proselyting done.
September 30 – We spent all morning with those darn Americans again. First we got two of them out of the hospital, then I went with the two women and translated for them in the Transit Department as they made their statements. Mexican laws are really bad concerning accidents on state roads. It will be a mess trying to get all of this cleared up. Two took the bus back to San Diego, the other two are still here. The one lady is scared they will put her in jail. This is sure hard on proselyting.
October 1 – We wasted nearly the entire day with the Americans again. The two hospitalized ones are finally gone. I sympathize with their pathetic situation, but I would much rather get back to work and teach the gospel.
I am embarrassed today to share with you these entries. How could I, a servant called by God, have seen these people as a bother, as an interruption to the Lord’s work? I wish I had thought and acted more like St. Francis of Assisi who said, “Preach the gospel, and sometimes use words.”
Later that same week, as I was lying in bed at night reading the New Testament, I read Matthew Chapter 25, a chapter I had probably read dozens of times before: “Then shall the King say unto them…Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungered and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Naked and ye clothed me; I was sick and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungered, and fed thee, or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in, or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Tears filled my eyes. The Savior’s words spoke personally and directly to me. What was I thinking? How could I, a veteran missionary, have thought that care for the helpless was not the Lord’s work? The four stranded Americans were not hungry or thirsty or naked or imprisoned, but they were frightened, abandoned, injured, and in need of succor. They were the least of my brethren. I was reminded that night that they were sons and daughters of Heavenly Parents, and I was merely the Lord’s instrument to guide them to safety.