45. Lost and Found

“For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost”

Have you ever lost the T.V. remote and tore the whole room apart looking for it? Or how about your phone? There are few things more infuriating than misplacing something you need in order to do something else. That's how I felt about losing my missionary name tag.

THE NAME TAG

I have a history of misplacing small items, mostly sunglasses, and gloves. I don't have a problem with misplacing socks. If I do misplace a sock, it's usually the pair simultaneously as my supply shrinks almost imperceptibly until I'm all out of socks. Sometimes I’m able to retrace my steps and recover my lost items but other times they're lost forever.

We had two name tags provided to us in the MTC (See "Welcome to the MTC!"). One slid onto our shirt pocket. The other had a detachable green magnetic strip that snapped to a metal bar super glued to the name tag itself. As missionaries, we were instructed to always have our name tags visible, for one reason or another; the most prevailing of theories that I heard was for our own safety (even bad people are more likely to leave missionaries alone). When it would rain or it was cold, of course, we would put on a coat or sweater. Our extra layer of clothing would cover our white shirt pocket so in order to compensate, we’d snap the magnetic one onto the coat, sweater, or scarf, so long as it could easily be seen.

Still a relatively new missionary on November 12, 2014, just short of two months in Mexico, I went on intercambios with Elder Adams one cold, wet muddy day (See "Intercambios" and "Silly Chilly, Muddy, & Moving"). It was winter now, and I couldn't tell the humidity from the rain but lucky for him, Elder Adams loved the mud (He literally went out of his way to go jump from one mound of mud to the next). We first went to Elder Johnson’s area on the other side of Rio Bravo briefly to drop off some things to his household which included Elder Stohel and Elder Anderson. Part of Elder Adams' responsibilities as Zone Leader was to supply pamphlets, and other materials from the Mission Offices in Reynosa (See "Mission Administration"). Although it was cold, we didn't make it past the doorway because we didn’t want to track mud into their home. We did all our chatting and exchanges through the doorway. I remember seeing all the Elders there in the front room, dressed for the day with blankets over them as they did their morning studies. We were there for what seemed like a considerable amount of time. I just stood there awkwardly in silence while I waited for Elder Adams to finish talking. My magnetic name tag was attached to my scarf.

We got a ride back to Monterreal from a neighbor firstly because it was faster but also because the mud and pools of rainwater impeded certain streets and we were in a hurry to our first appointment. We arrived, got out, and our ride took off.

I checked my scarf for my name tag to make sure it was showing and found nothing. It was startling! I only had one other one but it was back at home and a clip-on. We didn’t have time to go get it in the already challenging rain before our scheduled appointment. It goes without saying that I didn’t have a name tag for the next few hours until we could trek back home for lunch.

We had a good appointment. Other than Elder Adams and myself, no one noticed the missing name tag. But let me just say, even though at the end of the day it's just a piece of plastic, I felt like a piece of me was missing.

I couldn’t find my name tag! We retraced our path in the streets. Nothing. I half wondered if it got washed downstream since most of the road was running with rainwater rather than mud. Either way, I had to assume that it was gone forever.

I started wearing my slip-on name tag, my only option, by hooking it to my coat collar or turning it so it hooked vertically down the front of my coat where the sides came together at the buttons. It seemed at least in those places I would be less prone to lose my second and last form of missionary ID. From then on, I would frequently tap my chest or casually brush my neck just to be sure it was still where I left it; there were times when it would almost fall off, but my now OCD-like habit spared me further loss. And that’s the way it was for the rest of my mission when it didn’t go on the shirt pocket. I never got a replacement magnetic name tag although I had that option to purchase one from the mission offices. However, I eventually got a new slide on one because I didn’t trust the magnetic ones anymore. Having a spare one on hand was the wise thing to do.

About three weeks later, I got a phone call from Elder Johnson. Normally, calling other missionaries was strictly for "business-related" conversations such as nightly reports, or arranging intercambios; missionaries rarely have downtime for casual talk that doesn't propel the work. It was a surprise to hear his usual cheerful voice out of the blue. I wondered what warranted the treat and why Elder Johnson and I, both of whom were in separate Districts, and not in leadership positions would have any reasonable permission to call each other. He asked if I had lost anything. It seemed like a random question but I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head. I told him, "I don't think so". Then I detected a smile over the phone and he asked, “Where’s your name tag?”. I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t tell him I’d lost it so that could only mean one thing. It just so happened that while walking down the street in his area, doing his thing, he saw what looked like a name tag covered in mud laying in the middle of the road, picked it up, and it had my name on it. He warned me that it was in poor condition but if I wanted it I could pick it up on our preparation day.

I picked up my lost-now-found name tag that next Monday. It was so worn out by mud that any gloss it may once have had was turned to gritty plastic. It had obviously been run over by traffic during those weeks it was lost. It was cracked across my name but held itself together still the same. The strong steel strip on the back was partially bent, something that only an enormous force could cause. The magnetic bits were coming out of their glued places. Both metal parts were rusted orange-brown. The entire thing was caked in mud. Despite their coarseness, the magnets maintained their strength. The metal "pincer" clip itself had been completely flattened out into an unnatural unfixable and unoperable position.

I wouldn’t wear a name tag that looked so poor as that but I couldn’t discard it. It came back to me! It served as a reminder that nothing is lost forever. It reminded me to be mindful of what is entrusted to my care, no matter how small. It made for a good story and I have kept that tacky name tag as a reminder of that day (although I cleaned it off as best as I could since).

NEVER REALLY GONE

Sometimes we become negligent of the small things in life. Sometimes the most important yet normal things in life become so second nature that we forget about them. There's a song that became popular around the time I started the mission called, “Let Her Go” by Passenger. The chorus, in part, says:

“You only need the light when it's burning low

Only miss the sun when it starts to snow

Only know you love her when you let her go

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low

Only hate the road when you're missing home”

Sometimes, to get perspective, there need to be high moments and low moments. Perhaps one of the reasons why we lose things temporarily is so that we can appreciate them all the more when we have them and get them back. You can't know bitterness without sweetness.

Nothing is lost forever. That's why the gospel exists -- to infinitely extend the blessed relationships we forge in life. The gospel makes eternal families possible meaning we will be reunited again one day with those who have passed away (See "Redeeming the Dead" and "Eternal Family"). Death is not the end. Even the loss of memory or physical wellness will be regained eventually, both in the spirit world and in the resurrection. All the hardships that accompany mortality will one day be vanquished forever. All that is wrong will be made right. That is what restoration is—to bring back what was lost as it was before. I am grateful for a gospel that not only gives but also gives back. And how grateful I am that we have a Savior, Jesus Christ, that makes it all possible, “For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost” (Matt. 18:11).