Lessons From a Non-Dater on How to Find Your One & Only (Segment 1)

The date was Wednesday, April 27th, 2011. Less than 24 hours earlier I had stepped off the plane and been welcomed into the arms of my family after serving an 18 month mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Chile, Santiago North Mission. Now, a day after being welcomed home, there I was, dropping my mother off at the curb and wishing her well in her college classes. After she disappeared into her class building I drove the car to my dad's work and parked outside. As soon as I stepped out of the car I realized, with terror, that I was (as most returned missionaries fear) completely alone! I looked all around me and couldn't see anyone. I ran into the building and started making my way to my father's office. At the end of the hall I found my saving grace when I caught sight of my brother and his friends. I called out in desperation, "Dave! I'm alone!" and then I literally ran down the hallway to escape my awful situation.

Looking back on that moment I can't help but laugh at myself and my awkward 'returned sister missionary-ness,' but I can also remember that sudden comprehension of my lone condition and how real that alarm truly felt. While I got over my fear of being without a sister missionary companion within a reasonable amount of time, I never forgot what the mission taught me about the value of facing life with someone else by my side. With a companion, goals can be set and achieved, plans can be made and accomplished, conflicts will surface and be overcome, service can be rendered and enjoyed, and a lot of fun can be had too! The mission also strengthened my testimony of the family, so much that I knew I couldn't (or maybe shouldn't is a better word) avoid what was coming next . . . I needed to find an "eternal companion."

I just had one little problem: I hated dating. To make things worse, I didn't know how to act around guys. Not only had I just returned from a mission, but all I had done during my two years of college prior to the mission was avoid guys like the plague. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed dating in high school, but my biggest fear in my early college years was that I'd fall in love and not go on a mission . . . so I avoided the complicated game they call dating as much as I possibly could before putting on the black name-tag. Now that I was home, I really wished I had given myself at least some experience.

If I had to choose one negative word to describe that first year back from the mission, it would be rough. I still remember leaving a stake conference in tears because every talk had been about dating and had only made me feel more lost, inadequate, and guilty for not liking to date. The world of dating at BYU was completely over my head and I, to this day, have yet to figure it out. I had heard every type of dating advice from friends, strangers, church leaders, family members, and more; but I still didn't get the game and I didn't want to play it.

If, however, I had to choose one positive word to capture the essence of my first year back from the mission, it would have to be faith. In fact, faith is what helped me find my fiancé. It wasn't any specific flirting tip or a terrific date idea that led me to my one and only; instead, it was the promptings I received from the Holy Ghost that I learned to trust and follow that eventually led me to find my best friend and (soon-to-be) husband.

One night, after listening to Brother Wilcox's incredible talk on grace, I was able to make a connection that changed my whole perspective on the "how-to's" of finding Mr. Right. I wrote in my journal that night, "I don't know how to do the dating thing. I feel like I can do the whole relationship thing, but being forward enough to get one going is an entirely different ballgame for me. I can't do it on my own. I have often thought, Why would God worry about helping me 'get a guy'? There are so many more important things for Him to do and it's my responsibility anyway. I am, of course, wrong in that thought. Not only are my desires important to God because he loves me, but they are also important in the eternal perspective of me being able to have a family. This is one of THE most important things and I just happen to struggle with it . . . A LOT."

I continued, "As I pondered over this I had the thought, If you knew that God had everything planned out and knew exactly what needed to happen for you to find your husband, would you be so worried? The answer is NO. I would trust the Lord. I know I need to make my effort, but this is essentially what is happening. God is aware of me and my needs and He knows where my husband is as well as my shortcomings in finding him. I can't bridge that gap on my own. I need the grace of the Savior's Atonement just as much in the process of finding my husband as I do for the miraculous process of repentance." – November 6, 2011

Looking back at those words, I almost can't believe how very, very true they were. I couldn't find my future husband on my own. HE WASN'T EVEN IN THE SAME COUNTRY! Did I know that at the time? No. Would I have understood it if God had told me? No. Would it have done me any good to know that? No. What God did tell me was that he was mindful of me and that I should trust him. And so I did—even though at times it was exhausting to have faith—I  trusted. And that trust made all the difference. So Lesson Number One: Trust God. If you could know the end from the beginning, you wouldn't doubt; and, with God, you do know the end from the beginning. You just can't see it. So trust God because He does see it and He will lead you there.

Their Stories: Corn People

It was 5:20 on a cool Mexican morning when I found myself rolling over in a lumpy, worn-out bed looking for the culprit of the tiny beeping sounds that had woke me up. My hand soon found the small cell phone and clumsily deactivated the alarm. A rooster crowed outside my window and I laughed to myself as I realized that the roosters in the village had probably been trying to wake me up for over an hour. My first weeks in the village I would wake up every time I heard a rooster or a donkey break the silence of the night. However, I had grown accustomed to the sounds of rural Mexican life as the months had gone by, and now it was the foreign sound of a cell phone alarm that had abruptly ended my dreams.

Like most mornings, my brain was trying to work its way through the fog of sleep to figure out why I was even awake—especially at 5:20 in the morning! When the fog began to clear and little rays of realization began to appear, I jumped out of bed and ran quickly to my backpack to find a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. Laura*—my host and adopted Mexican mother—would be at the door soon to take me to the corn mill. Two months earlier she had invited me to go with her, but she had decided not to wake me when she found me sleeping that morning. Today would be different. Today I would be awake!

I had just finished pulling my hair into a bun when Laura knocked lightly and pushed the door open. The look of surprise on her face was all the reward I needed for waking up so early. I followed her out the door, picked up a pail of corn as she directed, and silently we walked up the hill to the corn mill. The strain of the corn pails reignited the dull ache in my arms left over from carrying water to the house the night before, but the walk to the corn mill was short and we were able to make it without taking any breaks.

We were the first to the mill so we set about getting things ready—turning on the lights, cleaning the trays, and organizing the different buckets. Women began arriving and we shared  groggy smiles of recognition and friendship as we silently began milling each bucket of corn. The process was quite simple and worked similarly to my family's miniature wheat grinder at home: the kernels were emptied into the top tray which funneled the kernels into the mill, after disappearing for a moment the kernels would reappear in the bottom tray in a dough-like form. The women would quickly knead and shape the dough, place it in their corn pails, then quietly make their way back to their homes to start turning their dough into a batch of tortillas that would last them for at least two days when their turn at the corn mill would come round again.

As simple as the process was, I was fascinated by it. At the heart of my fascination was a growing understanding of the importance of corn in the lives of the people with whom I was living. From my first day in the village, it had been evident that corn was important. The men planted, watched over, and harvested the corn while the women milled it and then spent several hours each day turning it into tortillas. (And there were tortillas in every meal!) All growing up, my parents had taught my siblings and me to work in the family garden—to harvest our own food—but I had never experienced this kind of connection with the earth. If the corn grew, the villagers would eat. If it didn't . . . . well, no one was ever very keen to broach the subject or confront the potential consequences of such a catastrophe. So, naturally, the villagers were customarily preoccupied with anything and everything that had to do with corn, rain and getting a good harvest.

As much as I thought I had learned about the importance of corn for the Mexican people while I lived and worked with them, my understanding only grew once I returned to my university classes in the fall. For example, while in the village, the women explained to me the steps that must be carried out before the corn can even be milled. Each night, the women fill a pail with corn kernels, water, and pulverized limestone (yes, limestone powder!). Overnight, the limestone and water soften the corn so that, when it is milled, the corn comes out as a dough. Simple enough. What I never realized, however, is that this process—known as nixtamalization—has been going on for THOUSANDS of years.

As I studied the process of nixtamalization in my Mexican history class,* I learned that "without the process of nixtamalization, a diet based on maize [corn] could have been the ruin of Mesoamerican civilization" (Tate, 88). In other words, the process I had seen women carry out on a day-to-day basis in the villages was also the dietary foundation of ancient Mesoamerican civilizations! Why? Because placing corn kernels in water and limestone powder breaks the skin of the kernel allowing the minerals to enter the grain "improving the amino acid quality of proteins in the germ and releasing vitamin B3" (Tate 2012, 88). Not only does the process increase the nutritional value, but it also improves the flavor and aroma and reduces the mycotoxins in the corn.(1) While scholars are not sure when this process began, it is clear that civilazations as old as the Olmecs—widely thought to be the first stable civilization in the Mexico region—used the process of nixtamalization. (Watch this video or read here to learn more about nixtamalization.)

Because corn was so vital to the survival of these civilizations, it makes sense why the Olmecs, Maya, Aztecs, and other ancient peoples of Mesoamerica all worshiped some form of corn or rain gods. The most telling belief about man's connection to corn is found in the Popol Vuh, a "scripture-like" compilation of the Maya. According to the creation story told in the Popol Vuh, the gods tried to create man many times without success. In their first attempt, the gods ended up creating the animals of the earth. Since the animals could not speak, they could not worship the gods, so they tried again, this time creating man out of mud. Once the gods realized that this attempt was also a complete failure, they tried again, this time making the beings out of wood. These beings walked and talked (unlike the mud beings which easily crumbled), but they did not have a heart and did not worship the gods, so the gods sent a flood to destroy all the wood beings (whose ancestors the Maya believed to be the monkeys).

On their fourth try, the gods got it right. This time they took of the staple foods of the earth, especially corn, and formed man into the living, breathing, speaking, god-worshiping being that he is today. Essentially, for the Maya and other ancient peoples of America who took on their beliefs, man is literally made of corn. That connection to the earth and the powerful gods who control its elements became such a dominating belief that one Mesoamerican civilization after another built temples and offered sacrifices to the gods so that the corn could grow and the people could continue living.

One of my favorite commentaries on this creation story offers a stark contrast with our way of living:

In our urban civilization the productivity of the land is something rather remote which is taken for granted. It is associated more with chain stores and can openers than with the soil, and, if our thoughts go a step back of that, we envision a man on a tractor or behind a team of horses, something picturesque, but unrelated to our efforts to earn our daily bread.

The Maya, who has to struggle against climate, tropical pests, and a too exuberant vegetation, sees things in a very different light. His livelihood depends literally on the sweat of his brow, not on the steaming flanks of a pair of horses. Even now, with the benefit of crops introduced from the Old World to vary his diet, 80 percent of his food is maize. He eats it with every meal year in and year out, and so the failure of that one crop is a disaster to him. The maize seems to be fighting beside him in an unending defense against every kind of enemy, trying to survive in order that the man and his family may also live. (Thompson 2002, 87)

 While I would never suggest that we go back to the way the Maya lived and begin to worship corn gods, I do believe that we can learn something from the clear contrast in our ways of living. While living in and experiencing the humble way of life of rural Mexico, I wrote " They may be 'poor,' but I am living in the middle of the Mexican desert with some of the happiest people I've ever met. Their examples have taught me that I should never have (or want) so many of the material comforts of the world that I forget to be happy." I remember thinking the same thing on a humanitarian trip in Guatemala when I realized that I didn't want to offer the people any of the material things we have in our society. I was almost afraid that the material development would be what they would get out of our service, rather than better health and education (we were building a school house). More than anything, I wanted to share what they had with the people that I love.

Whether in Guatemala or Mexico, here are a few of the lessons I've learned from the "corn people:" love and trust in God (that's right, they don't worship corn gods anymore); put family first by developing and nurturing your relationships; have a connection with nature, it's good for the soul; sacrifice for your education, it is worth more than any money you will ever be paid because of it; and be grateful for what you have, gratitude can turn any trial into a blessing and any blessing into happiness. I think back on that early Mexican morning and give thanks for the opportunity I have had to learn from the "corn people." They have been some of my greatest teachers, and all they did to teach me was live their lives. My hope for all of us is that we will never get so used to living in the world that we forget to live from the earth and the God who gave it, and all our blessings, to us.

*Name changed

Works Cited:

Tate, Carolyn E. Reconsidering Olmec Visual Culture: The Unborn, Women, and Creation. Texas: University of Texas Press. 2012.

Thompson, J. Eric. "The Meaning of Maize for the Maya" in The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics, edited by Gilbert M. Joseph and Timothy J. Henderson, 86-91. London: Duke University Press, 2002.