Guest Post: Why I Won’t be Seeing Heretic as a Former Missionary
Main image: author Laura Parry on her mission in the Sure, Uruguay West mission, May 2005 – December 2006.
Two sister missionaries walked home quickly from their last appointment of the day. It was a dark winter night and they were eager to get back to their apartment. The rural street had few porch lights and only the very occasional bobbing of car headlights along the road. Suddenly, a man appeared and grabbed the missionaries.
This is not a scene from the new Hugh Grant move, Heretic, this is an experience I had on my mission in Uruguay.
Earlier that day, my companion and I’d had a great time visiting and taking pictures with members and investigators. We knew we were both being transferred to new areas soon, and even though it was not advised, we brought our digital cameras along that day to take some pictures. By our last appointment of the night, we found ourselves 15-20 minutes away from home, a walk which required crossing the interstate. While we walked, a man in a mask came running up behind us, asking if we had any money, and before we could even respond, he wrapped one arm around my neck, and one around my companion’s neck. He turned us around, back toward the way we came. He held a pistol to my companion’s cheek.
He started telling us a story about how he had 4 kids and he was an escaped prisoner. I don’t remember more details, but he was trying everything he could do to intimidate us. He licked my companion’s cheek. After walking for a while, he asked for our money. He let us go to get money out of our bags. Then he hooked his arms around us again and we continued walking. The road we were walking was raised, and sloped down on one side, leading to trees and shrubs as tall as I was. Our attacker stopped again and told us to go down into the bushes. I told him I wasn’t going in there, and that we were representatives of Jesus Christ. He pulled my hair and grabbed me from behind, and then started to unzip my jacket. He put the gun into my companion’s breast. He grabbed us again and my companion said, “In the name of Jesus Christ, leave us.” He started a little at that, but kept us walking until we came to a fork in the road. He pointed his gun at us and told us to give him our bags, and then he took off running on the intersecting road. My companion and I ran home, holding hands and crying, thinking about the terror we’d had for those moments and how it could have been much worse.
We made it home to the apartment above a member’s home. The member called the police and our mission president. I had 50 pesos and some teaching materials in my bag; fortunately I had tucked my digital camera into my coat pocket that night. My companion lost her camera with her stolen bag. I spoke to the mission president on the phone. He asked why we had our cameras, and I said, to remember the people here. He asked how we knew we would be transferred, and I told him we’d asked one of our leaders and he had told us we would be transferring. In my mission journal, I wrote the mission president, “kind of chewed us out” but I don’t know what was actually said. I believe it was advised, but I can’t remember for sure, that we not tell our parents what had happened. At the time, that seemed like the best decision to me. But looking back, my companion and I needed so much more support than what we received.
Despite our experience the night before, we went back out to make our appointments the next morning. It was a foggy day, which added to the eerie feeling we shared. We were both so jumpy, and frankly, traumatized. That would be normal. But the story gets stranger. We had assumed this attacker was just some random person looking to steal a few bucks. But during a visit to a less active member that morning, we met a man at this member’s house, who we’d interacted with a few times previously. He asked us how we were doing and we told him we were leaving the area soon, and he said, “Yes, it’s not safe for ladies out on these streets….” As soon as we left the house, I turned to my companion and said, “It was him, wasn’t it?” And she looked at me and burst into tears. We both had a clear and distinct impression that he was the one who robbed us, that we could only attribute, at the time, to the Holy Ghost. In our minds, the mugging was targeted, because this man knew we’d been out taking pictures with people we’d taught.
The following day my companion and I were transferred to different areas. In my new area, I had a difficult time being out at night. I had startle reactions for some time when I heard noises while out after dark. My new companion wondered what was wrong with me. Beyond checking on our physical safety right after the event, nothing was done that I remember to check up on our mental health, or see how we were doing in the days or months following what happened.
Having left the church in the years following my mission obviously changes my perspective on my mission as a whole, and what happened during this event. In rereading my mission journal, what I took from this was a warning from God to obey the mission rules with even greater exactness. How not obeying with exactness led to the robbery. That I would only be blessed if I followed the rules even better than I was following them (which was pretty well, if I say so myself.) For me, serving a mission was a very intense time with lots of anxiety, and this event ratcheted up the pressure I already felt. If I could go back and visit my younger self at that time, here’s what I would tell her: “Sometimes bad things happen. This wasn’t caused by disobedience. It’s ok that you are scared. You don’t have to be strong and act like nothing happened. It’s ok if you want to call your mom and cry. (And you should be allowed to call you mom.) Your mental health matters and you need to talk to a professional about what happened.” While I don’t have lasting effects from what happened, I am not planning to see Heretic. Sitting in a dark theater for two hours to be reminded of how vulnerable missionaries are would not be my idea of a good time.
Guest author Laura Parry owns Roots & Branches Wellness, a counseling center in Lehi, Utah specializing in maternal mental health and couples therapy. She holds a Master’s of Social Work from the University of Utah, and in 2019 became certified in perinatal mental health (PMH-C). In addition to helping clients through the perinatal period she enjoys working with those experiencing faith transitions. She earned a clinical yoga certification in 2021, and loves using the healing power of yoga, nature, and therapy for clients and for herself. She lives in Lehi with her husband, 3 kids, 2 cats, and 1 dog, and loves reading, hiking, and playing the piano. Please visit her website and Instagram @_lauraparry for more of her work.
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