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Author Note

My name is Bryan Trent and I'm this site's owner and admin. I served in the Chile Osorno Mission from 1993-1995 and love telling missionary stories. So, I decided to make a blog to share them before they are forgotten, and to allow other former missionaries to do the same. This blog site is completely FREE for use as a resource and to share your stories as long as you are not publishing content for profit. Easily share posts and content on social networking websites like Facebook and Twitter, or send content via email. Please visit the "Policies" tab before posting, and the FAQ tab if you have any questions. Refrain from negative or distasteful comments and foul language please.

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LDS Missionary Memories for Mormon Missionaries, LDS Returned Missionaries and Latter Day Saints " />
Sunday, October 11, 2009 @ 09:10 PM

In or around Octo­ber 1993 I arrived in Chile to begin my mis­sion­ary expe­ri­ence. Arriv­ing in a South Amer­i­can, for­eign coun­try for me was a wide awak­en­ing. The San­ti­ago Chile air­port was old and run-down (they later rebuilt it and when I left Chile 2 years later it was a beau­ti­ful, new build­ing). Things were instantly dif­fer­ent there as well. For exam­ple, I recall going to the bath­room and find­ing a man out­side the bath­room door sell­ing toi­let paper. He was tear­ing 2-ply toi­let paper apart and mak­ing 1-ply and then sell­ing sheets of it. I learned then that Chilean pub­lic bath­rooms don’t come with toi­let paper. You are expected to bring your own. Mov­ing on…

The trip was very long. We had flown from Salt Lake City, to Orlando. Then, after a 2 hour lay­over, we flew to Miami where we had a 5 or 6 hour lay­over. We then flew the red eye for 8 hours to Chile and arrived in the morn­ing. I think we may have stopped for a short-while in another coun­try as well, but we didn’t get off the air­plane. After a 9 hour lay­over in the San­ti­ago air­port, we flew to the south­ern Chilean city of Osorno and from there pro­ceeded to drive in a mis­sion van to the home of our mis­sion pres­i­dent, El Pres­i­dente Hugo Arostegui. After meet­ing our mis­sion pres­i­dent and his fam­ily, we show­ered and sat down to rest for a cou­ple of hours from our long 2-day jour­ney. At long-last, very hun­gry, we sat down for a spe­cial din­ner with our President’s fam­ily and his two assistants.

Not sure what to expect, we politely sat down and waited to be served. To our cha­grin, each of us received a sea-urchin, with a hole in the top, cov­ered with some light tossed salad and grated cheese. The smell was awful, but not want­ing to offend any­one on our first day in town, we each dug into the meat of the urchin. The taste was awful as well — some­where between raw, slimy sea­weed and rot­ting fish as I recall. After a few large bites the mis­sion pres­i­dent and his wife began to laugh and laugh. It was at that point that we real­ized they had only been eat­ing the salad on top of the urchins. The whole thing was a joke and we had clearly been had. Very relieved and with smiles on our faces, we waited for the urchins to be removed and the real food to arrive. After the joke din­ner con­sisted of an amaz­ing meal with bar­be­cued ribs, corn on the cob and other deli­cious eats.

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LDS Missionary Memories for Mormon Missionaries, LDS Returned Missionaries and Latter Day Saints " />
Sunday, October 11, 2009 @ 09:10 PM

Before I begin, I should note that this story is very spir­i­tual to me. At the same time it is some­what irrev­er­ent. It is one of my fond­est, most holy, yet fun­ni­est mem­o­ries from my youth and my mission.

When I was 19–21 years old I served my church as a mis­sion­ary in south­ern Chile. About half way through my 2 year mis­sion I was sta­tioned in a small town called Futrono in the Andes moun­tains. Futrono is a very scenic com­mu­nity adja­cent to a rather large lake, and it was a long drive from the near­est large cities or towns. We did not have a church build­ing in Futrono and there were only a hand­ful of church mem­bers in the town.

Keep in mind that it was still passed 10:00pm at night and very dark. For­tu­nately, at least it was sum­mer and the nights were rather warm. We weren’t about to give her hus­band a chance to change his mind and were deter­mined to get her bap­tised as quickly as pos­si­ble. My com­pan­ion and I each ran in sep­a­rate direc­tions. He to the branch president’s (sim­i­lar to a Bishop) home to wake him up, and I to the house we rented as a church to pick up two sets of white bap­tismal clothes. We all met in cabs at the side of the lake, not far out­side of town, along with a cou­ple of local mem­bers of the church. It was a mostly full moon that night and there was plenty of visibility.

In our church we bap­tise by immer­sion, which means the person’s entire body must be sub­merged com­pletely in the water. The lake was the only place nearby where we could do this. On this occa­sion, I had been cho­sen to per­form the bap­tism cer­e­mony and my com­pan­ion was to do the bless­ing and con­fir­ma­tion (like a spe­cial prayer) after the bap­tism was done. She and I went our sep­a­rate ways and changed into white bap­tismal clothes. Then, in the moon­light we waded into the lake and I per­formed the bap­tism. After the bap­tism was com­plete and it was ver­i­fied that she was sub­merged suf­fi­ciently under the water, we exited the lake and again went our sep­a­rate ways to change into dry clothes. The rest of the group waited at the lake­side, next to a large rock where she would later site for her con­fir­ma­tion blessing.

This is where the story gets inter­est­ing and a bit irreverent.

In an effort to find some pri­vacy where I could change out of my wet clothes I crossed through some trees and entered a field or pas­ture. The ground was some­what muddy so I made my way to a very large, flat boul­der lay­ing in the field and climbed on. I pro­ceeded to change my clothes. As I changed my clothes some­thing hit me in the head and star­tled me. A few sec­onds later, as I con­tin­ued to remove my wet clothes, it hap­pened again, then again. Before long I real­ized that I was being pelted in the head by a small mouse-sized bat. At that point I began to freak out and I found myself jump­ing around, com­pletely naked, like a crazy man, flail­ing my arms and kick­ing my legs in the air. As if on cue, over the hill and down the coun­try road next to this field came a lone car. As the car rounded a cor­ner and its head­lights fell on me (still jump­ing around and flail­ing my arms and legs) the car stopped and flipped on its high-beams. I can only imag­ine what that dri­ver and his/her pas­sen­gers were say­ing as they watched the only “Gringo” (N. Amer­i­can) for many miles around, danc­ing naked on a rock in the mid­dle of nowhere and in the mid­dle of the night.

For­tu­nately for me, the car finally left. Per­haps the car’s head­lights scared the bat off because shortly there­after it stopped pelt­ing my head over and over. I quickly threw my clothes back on and jumped off the rock before run­ning through the field, then the trees, back to where the group was wait­ing for me. Out of breath, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what had just happened.

After the bat inci­dent, and after giv­ing my heart some time to set­tle down, peace was restored and we pro­ceeded to do the bless­ing and con­fir­ma­tion. Ulti­mately, it was a beau­ti­ful and cer­tainly unique bap­tismal expe­ri­ence. Never before have I bap­tised a per­son at night under the moon­light and I sus­pect that few peo­ple in the world, in our church at least, have had a sim­i­lar experience.

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