In one area of my mission, there was a woman who lived in a small apartment with her adult son who was bedridden by severe cerebral palsy. The missionaries would go visit them often; we would chat with her son and the elders would give him a shave or help change his bedding. Their tiny apartment was filthy. I would wear my oldest clothes for visits and my companion and I would plan time to stop at home afterwards in order to change because the lingering odors were overpowering.
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