I don’t ever remember getting lost in Sears when I was a little boy. We did not have Walmart back in the day, but my mother did frequent Sears and Woolworths. I was also coerced into shopping for clothes for my sisters several times a year at the mall. I tried my best to be a royal thorn in their flesh, so I would not be invited back. It never worked. My mother continued to load me in our Plymouth station wagon and haul me along. She used to mumble things under her breath about me burning the house down if I was left alone. I think being hauled through Casual Corner and other girly stores as a young boy damaged me permanently.

It never occurred to me that wondering off and getting lost could have been a good strategy for being excluded from their shopping excursions. I was obviously not a very bright kid. I just accepted my sentencing to the “junior’s section” at J.C. Penney’s, and never attempted an escape. All that time I could have easily walked away and become “lost.” I did not enjoy the attention that being lost brings until I was an adult.
In 1999, I participated in my first medical mission to Mexico. It was a memorable trip in many ways. That initial excursion prompted ten more just like it since that time. Albert Garcia and I became good friends that week we were down there. He has assisted me in hosting numerous medical clinics down there since that first campaign. The ultimate memory of that trip was getting lost in downtown Ciuadad Victoria.

One of the volunteers in the medical clinic who will remain unmanned to protect his guilt asked me if I wanted to walk from the hotel back to the church, where the clinics were being held. I asked him if he knew the way. Well of course he did! (If you ask him, he would likely reverse the role of the two characters in this story. In other words, I was the one who initiated our trek from the hotel to the church.) At any rate, we got lost. It was getting dark and we were wondering farther and farther from our original destination.

My walking partner did not know how to say hello in Spanish and my language skills at that time were pretty limited. We asked several people about the location of the church we were searching for, but only got quizzical looks in return. They were actually very kind, but the language barrier created a complete breakdown in communication.

We finally flagged down a taxi. Wow! That was a memorable ride. I think that man took us to every church in that city except the one where we belonged! My genius brains finally kicked in .Why not go back to the hotel and ask the clerk at the front desk for directions? He knew about the clinic we were hosting. Our taxi driver understood enough of our broken Spanish to get us back to the hotel and ultimately to the church. Our entire group was breaking up into a posse to go search for us, as we drove up. He charged us a whopping $8.00 for our tour of the city.

I learned a few things while we were “lost” that night. I learned that there are decent and kind people everywhere. I learned to feel deeper empathy for people in my own county who cannot communicate in English. And I learned that my friends would actually search for me if I became lost.

I missed the boat when I was a little boy. Surely if I had wondered out of Casual Corner and down the corridor of the mall my mother would have never hauled me along on another trip to shop for clothes for my sisters! She would be too fearful that I would get “lost.” Actually it is not that simple. I have been on eleven medical mission trips in Mexico since 1998. They keep inviting me back despite the fact that I wondered off. I think my mother would have done the same thing…

I am heading to Torreon, Mexico today to lecture to a group of Mexican ministers from all over Northern Mexico. Several of them have become wonderful friends. They will be gathering this week in Torreon for an annual seminar. I am going to try really hard on this trip not to get lost, because these guys know me really well now. They might just decide that the posse can be disbanded this time!