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Let me tell you a story about when I went to Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1992.

I had volunteered to be a missionary for my church back then. I would need to learn the language well enough to live there for 16 months. My church had an intensive language training program for the first two months in which my group of missionaries studied with native Spanish speakers and advanced language teachers who had already returned from Argentina.

When our group of 20-plus missionaries landed on Argentine soil, I was surprised, or should I say, it was more like shocking to learn that I was required to take a four-hour bus trip from Buenos Aires to the small town I was assigned to live and serve in. It was my first day and the elder (male missionary) who put me on that bus told me to get off at the second to the last bus stop. What? How? What was I supposed to say to ask where to get off?

I could not have been more unprepared at that moment

I was terrified to learn that I would be traveling alone but I did as I was told and somehow I made it to the right place late at night. Another American girl was waiting for me in the only taxi at the bus station when I arrived. Thank goodness she was another American…