“He said to give him your bag,” I quickly translated from Spanish for my newly-arrived, American trainee as she looked confusedly between me and the gun in fear, the brash sound of the pistol being cocked still echoing in our ears.
We quickly handed over our standard, missionary shoulder bags. The two robbers turned to leave.
“Wait—” I called out desperately (and probably a little foolishly) after them. “Can I at least keep my scriptures?”
“You’ll find them dumped on the road later,” they replied as the pair hurried away.
My trainee started sobbing while I just hugged her in shocked silence. We were literally standing on our meetinghouse’s doorstep—and I was days away from finishing my LDS mission. Why would this happen here? Now?
We would find some of our o