I can still see her out there, the second mission companion in a row I had driven crazy, furiously scrubbing her clothes in the concrete basin serving as washing machine in Brazil of the 1980s. I sat inside, fuming as well after another argument, but gradually embarked on a crucial mental trajectory. Maybe the problem was me. Maybe it wasn't these Brazilian companions who couldn't seem to work within a schedule to save their lives. Maybe there was something to be said for their spontaneity -- and something wrong with my rigid reliance on agendas and veiled criticism of their modus operandi.
It was one of many instances of introspection that a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints supplied, one of multiple painful interior shifts that strangely form the crucible of Mormon missions but prove the most underrated aspect of public perceptions of them.