Elder Cook: Mason's Story

My story begins a year before I left on my mission. Going into my senior year of high school there was a lot of hype going around about how good our football team was going to be. I was one of the starting wide receivers, with the hopes of playing college football.

  The summer before school started we as a team had begun practicing for the season. Before too long I found myself injured. I had taken a shot to my right knee by a defensive player. Worried about our dream season, college football and a mission, I was nervous to find out the test results of the MRI. When the results came, it was all good news but a lot of bruising, even in the bone marrow, which I thought was a weird thing to hurt. I took a month off and got back in and played! We ended up going 13-1 that season, losing in the state semi-final game. It was a record breaking season for the school and for many of us the players. I thought all was well and life went on. 

  On March 21, 2016 I opened my mission call. I was called to the Trinidad Port of Spain Mission speaking English! How cool is it to serve in Spain speaking English! At least that's what I thought until I found out Trinidad is actually an island in the Caribbean. Excited nonetheless, I left on August 3rd, 2016 for the Provo MTC.

  The MTC was a challenge, mentally and physically. If you could push through everything until you got to partake of the sacrament it seemed to be a breeze after that. Getting to that point each week was hard though. I felt the soreness in my knee as I'd exercise each day, but I never took much thought to it. At that point I had lived with a sore knee for a little over a year now. After 18 days in the MTC I got shipped to Guyana. Another country in my mission which I had no clue where it was!

  Upon arriving in what I thought had to have been Africa, I was assigned an area in the middle of the Amazon rain forest! Linden, Guyana. A place that at the time didn't even show up on Google maps! The area was pretty hilly and we had bicycles. Again I didn't give much thought to the pain in my knee. Sometimes I didn't even notice it was there. It was always sore but I became accustomed to the feeling and didn't usually think about it.

  One day about 4 transfers in we as a zone were playing football in the nation's capital of Georgetown. It had rained that morning, like it does most days, and the field was covered in mud. We had fun slipping and sliding in the mud. I remember going home that evening and not being able to walk very well. The pain was intense so I called my mission president who advised me to stay inside for a couple of days. 

  After resting for a couple of days I got transferred to a new area closer to the coast and the pain slipped away. I had a couple bad days here and there with the pain but I never thought anything was too serious. 

  A year rolled on by and life was great! We were having success and people were accepting our message! But that all changed quickly when I received a transfer call that I was going to be serving on the island of Tobago! 

  My first impression of this island was that it was amazing. My flight landed about 5:30 pm right on the beach. The sun was beginning to set over the beautiful blue-green island. This was the prettiest place I'd ever been to, but the beauty was not all there was to this little island. It would soon become the hardest time of my life.

  My companion and I were assigned to cover the whole island by ourselves. I had heard rumors that this was a tough place to serve. We had a small branch of about 25 active members, and a teaching pool of about 2 people. All day every day we would be out in the hot sun walking door to door, finding no one. Everyone cursed at us because of our skin color. We were spit upon, rejected and despised by the people. 

  After my first transfer I was ready to leave. It was a difficult task the Lord had given us. We wondered each day if we could make it another day. We were depressed, lonely, and felt unsuccessful. We started to become less productive and chose to take naps instead of proselyting. After my third transfer there I was sure I was going to leave, but the Lord asked me to stay for another 6 weeks. 

  It took a lot of bravery, courage, and willpower to get up each morning knowing we'd go to another door and the people would hate us. We kept telling ourselves there is someone here who needs us. The problem wasn't the people, it was us. We were doing the best we can, but we lacked the faith to find. That transfer the future relief society president was baptized and confirmed. But it didn't wash away the stress, guilt, depression, or loneliness. 

  I finally got transferred. I felt a lot of stress leave as I received that phone call. I next went to Trinidad to serve, but the stress only followed me there. My knee quickly started having problems. The whole transfer I couldn't study, sleep, walk or even sit down without my knee hurting me. So I called up my mission president and I went to the hospital. This would prove to be a challenging time. Medical care in a third world country is slow and poor. A week after my first appointment with the doctor I had an x-ray taken. Negative. I called my mission president to give him the results, and he said something that shocked me. He tole me, "Elder Cook, I've called your mom, we're going to see if you can have an MRI taken. If they find something wrong we won't do surgery here, you'll have to go home." The thought had never crossed my mind. And what added more stress to the situation was that he had called my mom. Stress and anxiety filled me as I waited another long week to have an MRI. I took the MRI on a Friday and they said they'd have my results on Saturday. They didn't come in that day. I was mentally checked out at this point. The thought of going home early scared me and I couldn't work properly anymore. 

  They told us that on Tuesday the results would come in, and they did! But the doctor cancelled our appointment, so again, another long couple of days waiting to find out what the verdict was. Finally we found a time to meet with the doctor that Thursday, and the results came back that I had torn my meniscus. But how could this be? I hadn't done anything to hurt it! The doctor said that there was no bruising in the knee as to suggest that this was an old injury. "Well, this is it," I thought, my last week as a missionary. It was decided that I needed surgery and I'd need to return home. All the stress went away as I finally after so long knew what my fate was. Later that night as I sat in our apartment I received a phone call from my mission president. He explained that my parents had called him and they wanted to talk to me about possibly staying out for the 3 remaining transfers of my mission. However, my mission president said he would only let me stay 6 more weeks. He said that my parents would be calling me the next day and that we'd make a decision together. 

  Well, here came the stress again! The next day I fasted and prayed and did everything I could to align my will with Heavenly Father's. I was so nervous to talk to my parents. What would they say? Should I stay 6 more weeks or return home a little earlier? It was a painful day. The phone call came and my mom told me the decision was mine, but she'd like to see me come home. My dad said he'd like to see me fight it out for another 6 weeks! What was I supposed to do? After talking and counseling with my parents I gathered enough courage and was brave enough to say I should come home then and have the surgery. 

  This was the hardest decision I've ever made. I felt like I had served well, but my time in Tobago was haunting me. I felt like I could've served better, been more diligent, but I wasn't. How could I live with the thought of that time haunting me for the rest of my life?

  The plane ride home was miserable. It was hard to sit down for so many hours and have constant pain shooting through my knee. I didn't sleep, even though it was a red-eye flight. I still couldn't cope with the fact that I hadn't served to the best of my ability. I arrived in Houston and I walked through Immigration and saw the American flag and wept. What a sight to see. I was home, in my country. I felt peace and comfort in that moment. I knew the Lord was proud of my effort. I had given it my best shot! I did the best I could in the situations I was in. Even though I screwed up, made mistakes, and wasn't the most diligent missionary at times, I knew in that moment that the Lord accepted the effort I gave. 

  I returned home to Utah on April 3rd, 2018. I know that even though I made mistakes, failed, and couldn't finish what I had been called to do, I gave it my best effort. The anxiety, stress and depression soon left me as I knew the Lord loves me regardless of my shortcomings. Whether you serve a day, a week, a month, or 20 months, and even if you fall short by a mile, the Lord is extremely proud of you and the effort you put forth, if you do your best. I know the Lord is telling us that, "Everything happens for a reason, I have a plan for you, and never forget I love you!" 

2 Nephi 2:24: "But Behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things."

Elder Mason Cook

Trinidad Port of Spain Mission