“Thirsting for the Living Water,” Ensign, Aug. 2001, 60–61
As a child, I was never taught to read the Bible. I went to church on Sundays, but I contributed nothing and felt nothing in return. I was disillusioned by my religion. I remember having serious arguments with my mother over a metal object called the Santísimo that my parents worshiped and expected me to worship as well. I could not. I searched for a better alternative, wanting to find God—wanting to know if He even existed. I thirsted to know Him and His words. But I could not seem to find what I sought.
There were moments when I felt close to quenching my thirst. When I held my first child, a daughter, in my arms for the first time, I had a feeling that God really did exist. Many years later, when her sister was born, I experienced the same feeling. Once I told my cousin that I felt in my heart I was somehow going to become a priest with real authority from God. She said that was impossible because I had a family to take care of.
Most of the time, however, an inexplicable tiredness weighed upon my soul. I was spiritually thirsty and could find no place to drink.
In April 1994 I was living in the city of Monterrey, Mexico, earning a living as a taxi driver. One day it rained for hours, sending water cascading down the mountainsides. After driving around in the rain for hours, I found myself in a little town about eight kilometers (five miles) from Monterrey. It was about 9:30 P.M., nearly time to go home. Suddenly I saw two young men on foot. They were wearing dark trousers and white shirts, and they looked drenched from head to foot.
When I approached them, I opened the door of the taxi and called, “Get in! I’m going to Monterrey.”
The taller one, who had a very fair complexion, replied, “We don’t have any money.”
“No charge,” I replied.
They quickly got into the taxi.
As I drove, we talked. They asked if they could share a message about Jesus Christ with me. I agreed and gave them my address.
When I got home, I woke my wife and told her about the two young men. “What a coincidence,” I said. “One is Mexican and the other is American, and they are both named Elder.”
“Elder means missionary,” my wife answered, knowing just a little about the Church.
From deep within me, I felt something stir. These young men had left a feeling of exquisite wonder in my heart. I felt that I was close to finding the water that would quench my thirst, that it was within reach.
The missionaries came to our home on 5 June, and I was happy to listen to them. Two weeks later, on 19 June, I was baptized. My wife was baptized four months later, in October. Our oldest daughter had been receiving religious training at a school. When she went to church for the first time, she cried, “Papa, this is so much better than what I am learning at school!” She too was baptized in October.
In December 1995 we were sealed as a family in the Mexico City Mexico Temple for this life and for eternity. Now we are a family enjoying harmony, peace, and happiness. We know who we worship. We know where we came from and where we are going. We love God’s word, especially the Book of Mormon, and we love His Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through these gifts we have found that well of living water the Savior spoke of to the woman of Samaria: “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life” (John 4:14).