Reminds me of a time on my mission when we went to go clean an old man's house. He'd had a stroke a couple months prior, and his family (who lived across the street from him) weren't taking care of him. The little shack he lived in was covered—and I mean absolutely covered—in garbage and feces. To date, it is one of the nastiest things I have ever seen. We wore full body scrubs and face masks, and we sanitized the heck out of our PPE. But everyone that came to help was gagging hard. At least one church member threw up. And once we got through the layer of garbage down to the feces-encrusted mattress that he'd been sleeping on, we found beneath it a dead Centipede. This wasn't some cute little millipede that you find out in your garden. It was a big old terrifying monster with pincers and venom that would make you miserable in eight different ways. And it was lying dead under his compressed mattress. The most galling thing was that his family came out onto the street to complain that we were doing this. That they could take care of him just fine. They were letting him live in this squalor, but what we were doing was offensive because it brought to light just how negligent and wicked they were. We didn't say anything to them. What was there to say that wouldn't result in hands being thrown? But I think the takeaway is that sometimes there's an elephant in the room. It's big, it's annoying, but it needs to be addressed. And other times there's a centipede under the mattress. It's venomous, it's dangerous, and it's rotting. But it still needs to be addressed all the more, even if you have to go digging through someone else's garbage and feces to do so. Not because you want to, or because it's easy, or because it's fun. Or even because someone asked you to. Because it's right.