Memoirs of My Mission - Memorias de Mi Misión

29 June 2005 I woke up slightly earlier; it was 0600 hours.  After having breakfast, it was time for me to be driven down to Provo, Utah to a special place known as the Missionary Training Center (MTC).  This is the place where missionaries are trained before they go out to their different fields of labor.  Before we did go down, though, Sister Garrett decided to treat me to a root-beer flavored ice cream, and afterwards, to see Rachael Garrett, the second of the three daughters, who was living in Murray, Utah.  We took some pictures together, one of them simulating a hug, which would later prove scandalous to some missionaries in the field (missionaries are prohibited from fraternizing with the opposite sex during their time in the field).  After leaving Rachael behind, we set out for the MTC, and arriving there, we sat in an auditorium, where I noted Sister Garrett crying.  I never really understood why she cried, except for later on when she told me that...

Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, 0500 hours, 28 June 2005 "See you in two years, Dad.  I love you." "Go get 'em Tiger." With that last farewell, I proceeded forward to the baggage check-in to drop off my duffel bag which my father had gifted me, which at one time had been his.  It was a long olive green GI-issued duffel that was nearly three feet long and about 15 inches wide with his name "B. Dorman" stamped on it.  In it were all of my clothes, many white shirts, many dark pants, a couple of civilian outfits, and the like.  I was also carrying a backpack with different books inside that I would be using as a carry-on. I looked at my flight itineary.  I was going to be leaving in a couple of hours for Denver, and then catch another flight to Salt Lake.  An old family friend, who I had contacted earlier, was going to pick me up at the Salt Lake City Airport. But this was no ordinary family friend.  For her and her family, I had accepted the Gospel only two a...

President Manion's House, 27 June 2005 Nearly three months prior, I had received my mission call to be a missionary in the Mexico Tuxtla Gutierrez Mission.  Over those three months, I worked a little bit more at a car washing center.  All of my coemployees were Hispanics, save for one person, and all of them spoke Spanish.  I would learn the language slowly with my fellow employees.  One in particular, an older person from Guatemala, was surprised that I would be going down to Chiapas, a Mexican state that borders Guatemala, and others would ask me why was I going to go down there for two years. I would simply answer, there are people that need God.  And that God had called me to serve His children in that region of the world, and if God had called me to any other place, I would have happily accepted the call.  I thanked my co-employees for the time that I had there, turning in my uniform. I got home and showered and then put on my suit.  Before a miss...

01 April 2005, M. Smith Hall, Heritage Halls, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT For three weeks I had waited for this moment, ready to strike at the mailman like a rabid dog, with no success.  There would be mission calls in the mail, but none of them were marked with my name on it.  The night previous I had taken an exam which I had stayed up all night studying for, and passing. The days previous, my family and some family friends were trying to guess where I would be serving.  A few said somewhere in Europe, others said in Latin America, others domestically in the United States.  I was very excited, yet somewhat uneasy about where I would go.  I do remember praying to Father in Heaven, telling Him that no matter what the mission call said, I would accept it as coming from Him and would make the necessary preparations. Having read the Scriptures before, I honestly thought I would be called to a mission somewhere in the Southern United States, one where I woul...

October 2004 to March 2005, M. Smith Hall, Heritage Halls, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT. "So, your birthday is up in two months?" "Yes, I'll be 19 on December 4th." "So, are you working on your papers?" "I'm thinking about it." This was a very common cause of conversation at Brigham Young University, and for many, still is today, except that the missionary age has since been lowered to 18 years old for men and 19 for women since 2012.  In BYU and in other places where the LDS Church influence is strong, serving a mission is kind of like a rite of passage for the young man that is about to turn the age where he can be recommended for missionary service.  Back in 2004, that age was 19 for the men and 21 for the women.  I had started on working on the papers but felt very strongly that I should NOT continue on this course.  While others that were turning nineteen at the time were receiving mission calls to various places.  Russia.  Br...

Hello, everyone!  I am going to be using this blog over the next two years to talk about my experiences in my mission that I served for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for two years, among the people of southeastern Mexico.  This blog is not intended to embellish, nor to detract, from the missionary experience in any way.  On the contrary, it is meant to show the realities of serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  For those that are prepared, it can be a great blessing in the lives of those that choose to serve the Lord with all their heart, mind, might, and strength.  You will find friends, that will become over time forever friends.  You will learn to respect the people whom God has called you to serve with.  You might have to express yourself in a tongue, or tongues, that are not familiar to you. I will probably be clueing you in on some aspects about the LDS faith that inspired me to make this decis...