If there is any one period in my life which has changed me, it was my mission. I knew that was probably the best option for this paper. Of course, the first time you leave home always leaves a mark, as does the first time you live in a foreign country with a bunch of strangers. But more than simply teaching me to live on my own, cook Italian food or speak the Italian language, my mission had a profound impact on the way I see people who are different. People who are sad. People who are poor. People who suffer in ways that I probably never will. And it changed the way I see my relationship with them, as well as God’s relationship with all of us.
This change came slowly as numerous events reinforced each other and built upon my preexisting outlook. Some of my favorite experiences on my mission were not generically "successful" missionary experiences. No baptisms. No commitments kept. Just people who were happier as a result of what I'd done. For sure, the baptisms and real spiritual progress were amazing as well, and that is what I sought for on my mission. However, on my mission I saw more than ever the many ills that are in the world. How many people who are totally alone in the world, and will talk a missionary's ear off for an hour while standing in the rain if you let them. How many widows need someone to vent to, or how many forgotten grandmas just need someone to care for a few minutes. How many people have had a life of misfortune and hate, and are powerless to fight it. How many people have allowed the facades of "happiness" to rob them of even the smallest particle of joy. I am essentially the same person I was before, but now at least slightly more sympathetic.
I had plenty of experiences I could have drawn on in writing my personal narrative. I finally settled on a period of time I spent in Toscany. This period was transformative for numerous reasons, not the least of which is that it was the first time that I really became a missionary. I had been junior companion to quite experienced missionaries for my first four transfers, then I got a surprise call from the APs, informing me that I would be transferred to a new area to "bottle-break" a new missionary (replace his trainer after the new missionary's first two transfers) and become district leader of the small Prato district. I suddenly had responsibilities not only for my own behavior, but for my companionship and district. My companion was amazing. We worked hard and had a lot of fun. Six weeks later though, I got another surprise phone call from president, calling me to train a new missionary. Again, my resolve increased with the new responsibility, and we worked harder than ever.
It was in this situation that my story takes place. With all of our hard work and effort, we were seeing but few results of the progressing investigator variety. We spent a lot of time working but it seemed that no one else spent any time listening.
Furthermore, in Prato I had effectively my first exposure to the crisis of immigration, fear of terror attacks, deep moral degradation both in society and among the religious, and other vices of the world. I initially attempted to portray all of these facts in my personal narrative by telling the story of what was a pivotal train ride, when all of these things were weighing heavily on my mind after a rough day of fighting it. I will spare the details of these experiences here as I did in the narrative.
Instead, I chose two experiences I had with individuals from very different worlds: a homeless refugee from Africa, and a sophisticated gentleman who was the only person I ever met who actually used the supremely honorific form of address while addressing us. The juxtaposition of these two individuals is meaningful to me, because it represents the common thread running through all peoples' lives regardless of their identity and social standing. Felix, as I have named him, had nothing. He was nothing in the eyes of many who saw him every day. He was uneducated as they come, a mechanic by trade. Mario, on the other hand, had everything: family, friends, money, respect, education. Yet they wrestled with the same problems, and struggled to find faith in the same being. And their lack of faith led them both to be unhappy. No matter who you are, peace comes from within.
That is the peace I found on that train ride I left out. God taught me that lesson as I was honestly in a very depressed state of mind. He showed me what the world creates through its filth, then showed me what He only could create through His love.
There are many other lessons I could write, many experiences to recount, but this is the moral of the story. Maybe if I have time I'll come back and continue.
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