On the sweetness of Mormon life.

You see the cleaning lady at your work in the front row at church. She does not speak English. She is beat down by life. Huh, you think, I did not realize she was Mormon.

But she is not Mormon. Her son is. He is tall, slim, polished, confident, giving his missionary farewell talk. She listens intently to her headphones for the translation. It as if they are from different worlds.

He turns to her and bears his testimony in Spanish. He fights back tears.

You are a hardliner on immigration, but sometimes you see the other point of view.

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