From Pirate to Parent

No one can deny the power of a good book. Every once in a while some of us are lucky enough to come across a book that changes the way we see the world and what we want from the one life we’ve been given on this crazy planet. I became one of the lucky ones when, as an eleven-year-old girl, I came across just such a book. 

“The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle” (Avi 1990) is the story of the daughter of an upper-class American family. The book begins in 1832 when, after studying at a private girl’s school in England, Charlotte is about to board the Seahawk and make the long voyage back to America. Despite warnings from the ship’s crew that have scared away the other passengers, Charlotte’s escort insists that she board the ship and, so, the obedient, proper young lady ends up as the only passenger (and the only female) aboard the ship. She eventually learns why the crew did not want any passengers on the voyage as she discovers their plans for mutiny. The story follows Charlotte on her adventurous journey across the ocean as her cultured world is torn apart by the realities of the world outside her sheltered, sophisticated upbringing. 

I read and reread that book time and again. Every time I would follow Charlotte through her journey as she insisted in the beginning to maintain her cultured dignity in the face of so many dirty, vile, mutinous sailors. Then I would struggle with her as time, experience, and confrontation with stark reality began to change her view of the sailors she had once loathed and the captain she had previously clung to as her only connection to her cultured world. And then I would feel her exhilarating new freedom as she left behind her pretty dresses and sophisticated (yet naive) notions and joined the mutinous sailors and became one herself. And I would always end the book with a burning desire to “be a pirate” too and live a life of true adventure.

Over time, “The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle” changed the way I saw the world in two ways. First, it cemented in me a desire to pursue the unconventional and adventurous. Second, it gave me a healthy desire to question . . . everything! It made me look at my life, my culture, my religious beliefs, and my hopes and dreams for the future with a new, more critical perspective. I was determined to do as Charlotte did and see the world and myself with open eyes. I wanted to know people for who they really were, not just the image the world expected me to believe. I wanted to gain the kind of knowledge that would allow me to have my own educated political beliefs. I wanted to know how much of what I wanted out of life was simply a result of my environment and culture; and I wanted to make sure that in the end my hopes and dreams were based on decisions I made for myself because I knew why they were important. More than anything, I wanted to know if the beliefs I held closest to me were based on true doctrine, or if they were simply a product of my culture. In essence, I wanted to understand and make my life and beliefs my own.

After my third or fourth reading of the book I was at the interesting age of 13 when boys were suddenly something other than those annoying kids on the playground I sometimes had to beat up. By thirteen I’d experienced my own crush or two, but my little Charlotte heart had also recognized that middle-school love was a very superficial business (especially since I had recently faked a crush just to have something to talk about with my friends). Now, with a fresh dose of “pirate perspective” from my most recent reading of the book, I was determined to conquer the superficiality of middle-school love and discover the world beyond teenage dreams of Prince Charming and magical prom nights. 

One of the first things I locked onto in my inquiry of the culture of love was what seemed (to me, at the time) to be the typical life trajectory of the average Utah female: grow up, get married, have babies. To a thirteen-year-old girl bound and determined to live an unconventional and adventurous life, this seemed to be the antithesis and the great adversary to all my dreams of adventure. And so it was that at 13-years-old I came to the conclusion that I did NOT want to just grow up, get married, and have babies. I can still remember the moment I chose to confess my feelings on the matter to my mother. We were in the car—in-between stores as we ran errands on a Saturday—and I decided that was the best time to bring up the fact that I wanted to be a “pirate” and live a life of adventure . . . and I simply couldn’t see how marriage and babies would ever allow me to achieve that. I wanted the world to expect more from me than a pretty face, good cooking skills, and a perfectly organized home full of children and a successful husband. It seemed to be a hollow cultural expectation and I didn’t fancy the idea of doing something so unadventurous simply due to cultural motives. I wanted to be a “pirate” and to explore the world and all my potential. 

After hearing me out my mother did something I will never forget—she didn’t say I was being silly or that my view of motherhood was a bit immature; she didn’t even tell me that I could live a little before I settled down—no, my mother simply shared her testimony with me. She did so by painting a beautiful picture of the life she had lived, including her adventures of swimming in the Red Sea, touring the Great Pyramids of Egypt, and walking down the streets of Italy. All these activities, she pointed out, she had done once she was already a mother. Motherhood, in other words, would not equal an end to all my adventure. In fact, even in comparison with these adventures, motherhood had been and forever would be her greatest adventure. I cannot put into words exactly how she said it all, but the power and commitment with which she humbly testified of motherhood spoke to my soul in such a way that I have never been able to forget that moment, nor her message.

My mother’s testimony made a subtle, but very important, change to the way I approached my motherhood investigation. I was still very much an adventure-bound teenager with a determined desire to do more, see more, and change more in the world than what I judged (and forgive me for my adolescent prejudices) to be the aspirations of the average boy-crazy, motherhood-anticipating female. However, now I had not only heard my mother’s powerful testimony of the importance of motherhood, but I had also felt the truthfulness of it and I could not deny it. Plus, her claim that motherhood was an adventure had piqued my interest. So, despite my continued desire to exceed the perceived cultural expectation for me to marry and produce as if it were my only purpose in life, my mother’s testimony made me stop and ask myself if and why motherhood was so important. I was reminded that Charlotte Doyle had been able to achieve an adventurous life, not because she initially sought adventure, but because she had sought the truth. Truth gave her adventure, and suddenly I wanted the full truth about what it meant to be a woman and a mother.

I already knew what the world thought about the two topics (and, to be honest, I found the world’s objectification of women even more unappealing than the cultural belief that a woman’s only purpose in life was to reproduce and raise children); now I wanted to know what God had to say about the topic. In the years to come I listened intently to the words of the prophets and scoured the scriptures for evidence of God’s opinion on the matter of women and motherhood. Nowhere in my study of the doctrine did I find support for the cultural attitudes I loathed. Nor did I find anything that remotely hinted at a “thou shalt grow up, get married, and make babies.” Instead I heard the prophets teaching me to “Be Smart” and get all the education I could get. I heard message after message teaching me that I had a worth beyond my fertility and domestic skills. I found confirmation that women are equal to men and that not only could I make valuable contributions to the kingdom of God, but that those contributions were not dependent on how young I got married or how many children I had. God didn’t just have an opinion about womanhood, he had a powerful doctrine that made the case for strong, educated women of God who could change the world and build up His kingdom.

I was excited. God valued me as a woman. I had gifts and talents that were needed and that I could offer him because I was a woman; and that value was independent of marriage or children. However, my studies also brought forth undeniable evidence for the case my mother had made about the eternal importance of motherhood. While my worth was not determined by my ability to marry and have children, that in no way ruled out the importance of motherhood. In fact, what I found brought about an entirely new perspective to my investigation of the topic. I found that because God understands the power of women and respects and values them for who they are, he has offered them one of THE most important roles in his plan for the salvation of his children. He offers them the opportunity to be mothers. He gives us that honor. He gives us that choice.

Indeed, one of the most powerful influences on my testimony of motherhood was when my oldest sister and lifelong hero made that very choice. My sister—the one who bungee jumped off the highest bridge in the state of Washington at age 14, slept in snow caves she helped build on Mt. Hood, beat an entire group of teenage Boy Scouts to the top of the highest mountain in Utah, preached the gospel in Eastern Europe just years after the fall of communism, and studied and worked as a microbiologist—made the decision to become a mother without any hesitation or doubt. She did not fit the stereotype of the boy crazy, baby hungry female I had imagined up over the years, causing me to question my original prejudice. What is more, our family has a tradition of sending weekly emails that began right about the time my sister had her first little girl. I would drink in every email she would send from whatever part of the country she was living in to learn of her incredible adventures. Those emails changed my life. This amazing, powerful, opinionated, adventurous woman I had looked up to all my life would write of her children and the challenges and adventures of motherhood with so much love and excitement that I became infected with her testimony. My mother had been right: even in comparison with the adventurous life my sister had lived before she got married and had children, it was easy to see that marriage and motherhood were her greatest adventures.

My quest to understand the truth about being a woman and mother had changed my entire perspective on growing up, getting married, and having babies. It was not a mindless, culturally dominated practice that had to be avoided. It was a divine adventure I wanted. Nonetheless, neither my quest to fully understand the power of being a woman and mother, nor my quest for an unconventionally adventurous life were over. As the years passed, my pursuit of adventure drew me to the field of International Relations and Development. I studied political science, economics, quantitative research methods, the realities of war and oppression, and the millions of different possibilities for development throughout the world. My studies also lead me to real world experiences like traveling to an indigenous village in Guatemala, working for an international humanitarian organization, developing and conducting my own field research in Mexico, and actively participating in political and development-related clubs and competitions.

Incredibly, everywhere I went in pursuit of adventure and everything I studied in an effort to understand and solve the world’s numberless problems always brought me back to the critical role of women, marriage, family, and motherhood. (Though I cannot cram everything I have learned into one blog post, a good starting point—if you are interested—is the work of Professor Valerie Hudson. Look her up!). And then something even more incredible happened, I served a mission. When I opened my call and read “Chile, Santiago North Mission” I felt two powerful confirmations: 1) Chile truly was the place where the Lord needed me to serve and 2) God was on board with where I was directing my life—adventures and all. What I could not know then was the profound impact my mission would have on my testimony of the family. As a missionary, you are not only privileged to preach the gospel, but you are also given the unique opportunity to enter and observe hundreds of different homes. From the rich to the poor, the strong to the broken, the religious to the worldly, every home told a story and spoke to the undeniable truth that family is at the root of it all.

Upon returning from my mission, I wanted marriage and family and—as I had longed for all those years ago—I knew exactly why I wanted it. Not only that, I also knew that it would be the greatest adventure and challenge of my entire life. As I have documented on this blog, finding those things has truly been an unconventionally adventurous journey. I think God knew that even though I had come to develop a powerful testimony of marriage and motherhood, my Charlotte heart still longed to “be a pirate” in one way or another . . . and so he lead me to Mexico where I fell in love with the most amazing man (who actually proposed to me dressed up as a pirate!). Together, we have experienced more adventure than I could have possibly imagined as a 13-year-old girl dreaming of adventure on the high sea. Growing up and getting married turned out to be a bigger adventure than all my wildest dreams. It humbles me to know not just how well God knows me and the desires of my heart, but also to know that he has granted me the fulfillment of those desires.

And now, together, my husband and I have made the choice to bring a child into the world. Now I am going to be a mother. Of all the things I have ever done, becoming a mother has been the most physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually demanding thing I have ever done (and I have not even given birth yet!). It is an adventure words fail to describe and that a lifetime of adventure-seeking would never find. There is nothing like the moment I heard my baby’s heartbeat for the first time or saw his little body moving around on the ultrasound screen. There is nothing like knowing that there is another life inside of me and that this little boy will soon be mine to love and teach and raise up to the Lord. Really, I have yet to begin the incredible and demanding adventure of motherhood, and I know I have no clue what I am in for (and maybe that's a good thing!). However, what I do know is that the decision and lifelong commitment to be a mother is one of THE most important things I can EVER do in my entire life. It will be one of my greatest contributions to the world and to the work of God. I know that. 

Perhaps this has been too long of a story to make a such a simple point, but for all its simplicity it is also profound and it has taken me all these years to understand it at this depth. So here it is: truly intelligent women recognize the divinity of who they are and what they are capable of doing as righteous women and mothers. We know these things, not because we have been culturally brainwashed to believe it, but because experience and investigation of the truth have brought us to this undeniable conclusion. I pray that the world can one day understand the true value of women and their phenomenal power to shape the fate of nations and the destiny of God’s children now and in the eternities. 

Lecciones de un Ametuer: Cómo Encontrar a su Media Naranja (Parte 1)

Era el 27 de Abril de 2011. Hacía menos de 24 horas que había desembarcado del avión que me había traido de me querido Chile y fui rodeado con el amor y abrazos de mi familia. Estaba en casa, pero había dejado parte de mi corazón en Chile donde había dado 18 meses de servicio como misionera de la Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Últimos Días. Un día después de mi regreso, me encontré detrás del volante del auto, mandando a mi mamá a sus clases en la universidad. Cuando vi que mi mamá había entrado a su clase manejé hasta la oficina de me papá. Hasta ese momento me sentía tranquila, solo con un poco de nostalgia por las personas que había dejado en Chile.

Sin embargo, el momento que salí del carro me di cuenta de algo verdaderamente aterrador: ¡estaba completamente sola! (Para alguien que ha trabajado los últimos 18 meses con una compañera constante, es realmente una experiencia extraña). ¡Busqué por todos lados, pero no había nadie! Corrí hacia la oficina de mi papá con la esperanza de terminar mi situación solitaria. Al final del pasillo hallé mi respuesta cuando vi a mi hermano y sus amigos. En desesperación llamé "¡David! ¡Estoy sola!" y corrí todo el pasillo hacía él para escapar mi situación espantosa.

Ahora que lo pienso, sé que fui muy dramática y no puedo sino reírme de mí misma; pero muchos misioneros retornados han pasado por lo mismo y testificarán que es una sensación horrible darse cuenta que, por la primera vez en 18 meses (o dos años para los hombres), estás completamente sola/o, sin nadie a tu lado. Eventualmente vencí mi miedo de estar sin mi compañera misional, pero nunca olvidé lo que había aprendido como misionera sobre el valor de enfrentar la vida con alguien a mi lado. Con un compañero puedes fijar metas increíbles y lograrlas, puedes diseñar planes y hacerlos realidad, surgirán conflictos y serán superados, servicio será prestado y disfrutado, y siempre habrá mucha diversión. Además, por medio de la misión, mi testimonio en cuanto a la familia había crecido también. De hecho, creció tanto que sabía que no podía (o, mejor dicho, no debía) evitar lo que seguía . . . necesitaba encontrar a mi 'compañero eterno.'

Solo tenía un pequeño problemita con esta meta: odiaba salir con chicos (nota: no odiaba a los chicos, solo odiaba salir con chicos). Ni siquiera sabía como comportarme en su presencia. Además, no solo tenía el problema de haber regresado recién de la misión (dónde está prohibido formar relaciones románticos durante su servicio), pero tampoco tenía mucha experiencia en cuanto al amor desde antes de la misión porque había evitado a los hombres como si fuesen una plaga. Para aclarar las cosas, déjame explicar que me gustaba salir con chicos en la preparatoria, pero mi mayor miedo en la universidad antes de irme a la misión era enamorarme con alguien y, por consecuencia, no servir como misionera . . . entonces evitaba el juego complicado llamado "salir con chicos" lo más que podía antes de prestar mi servicio como misionera. Ahora que estaba de vuelta a casa, lamentaba el hecho de que tenía casi nada de experiencia en cuanto a hombres y el mundo de amor.

Debido a mi falta de experiencia, si tuviera que escoger sola una palabra para describir mi primer año después da la misión, sería "difícil." Todavía recuerdo saliendo al final de una conferencia de estaca (una reunión de la iglesia) llorando porque cada discurso se trató de la importancia del matrimonio y la necesidad de salir con otras personas para poder encontrar a su compañero eterno. Aunque el tema era perfectamente adecuado, yo me sentía perdida, inadecuada, y un poco culpable por mi situación soltera porque no me atrevía coquetear (y menos salir) con chicos. El mundo de amor en la universidad era un misterio completo que jamás logré entender. Había recibido todo tipo de sugerencia de amor de amigos extraños, líderes , familia, y más; pero aún no entendía el juego del amor y no lo quería jugar.

Sin embargo, antes de que pienses que pasé un año sin esperanza, déjame decir que si tuviera que elegir solo una palabra positiva para capturar la esencia de todo lo que aprendí durante mi primer año de regreso de la misión, sería la fe. De hecho, seré tan osada para decir que era la fe que me ayudó a encontrar a mi esposo. No fue alguna sugerencia de cómo coquetear mejor o una idea para una cita que me guió a mi media naranja; no, fueron los susurros del Espíritu Santo en que aprendí a confiar que eventualmente me guiaron a encontrar a mi mejor amigo y (ahora) compañero eterno. 

El momento en que mi perspectiva sobre cómo encontrar a mi media naranja cambió por completo ocurrió una noche después de escuchar el discurso del Hermano Wilcox sobre la gracia del Salvador. Esa noche escribí en mi diario lo siguiente: 

No entiendo el mundo del amor, especialmente en la universidad. Siento que podré desarrollar una relación saludable y amorosa cuando ya sepa con quién voy a estar, pero soy tan tímida que la probabilidad de encontrar a esta persona es muy limitada. No lo puedo hacer sola. Muchas veces he pensado: ¿Por qué Dios se preocuparía por ayudarme a encontrar a un chico? Hay tantas cosas de mayor importancia que le pueden ocupar y, de todos modos, es mi responsabilidad encontrar a mi compañero eterno. Aunque lo he pensado, sé que, por supuesto, estoy equivocada en pensar así. No solo son importantes mis deseos para Dios porque me ama, pero también son importantes para Él porque en la perspectiva eterna, necesito un esposo. Encontrar a mi compañero eterno es una de las cosas MÁS importantes y simplemente sucede que es un desafío muy grande para mi . . . muy grande.

Mientras contemplaba todo eso, el Espíritu me habló por medio de un pensamiento claro: Si supieras que Dios tenía todo planeado y sabía exactamente qué es lo que necesitaba pasar para que encontraras tu esposo, ¿te preocuparías? ¡No! Confiarías en el Señor. Esto es lo que está pasando. Sé que necesito hacer un esfuerzo para encontrar a mi esposo, pero Dios sabe mi situación y mis necesidades. Él sabe dónde está mi esposo y mis dificultades en encontrarlo. No puedo superar estos desafíos solita. Necesito la gracia de mi Salvador. Puedo aplicar la gracia de Jesucristo no solo en el proceso milagroso del arrepentimiento, sino también en el proceso complicado de encontrar a mi compañero eterno. - el 6 de Noviembre de 2011

Ahora que reflexiono sobre estas palabras, casi no puedo creer qué tan ciertas eran: No podía encontrar a mi esposo futuro solita. ¡Ni siquiera estábamos en el mismo país! ¿Sabía yo eso en el momento? Por supuesto que no. ¿Lo hubiera entendido si Dios me lo hubiera dicho? Es muy probable que no. ¿Me hubiera ayudado saberlo? No tanto. Lo que Dios sí me dijo era que me tenía presente y que yo debía confiar en Él. Entonces confié--aunque aveces me costó muchísima fe--confiaba. Y esta confianza hizo toda la diferencia. Así que, la primera lección (de un amateur que jamás entendió el mundo típico del amor) es que debemos confiar en Dios. Si pudieras saber el fin desde el principio, jamás dudarías. Y con Dios, sabes el fin desde el principio. Solamente no lo puedes ver. Así que, confía en Dios porque Él sí lo ve, y te guiará en cada paso que das.

Why We All Need To Fail

Because of a combination of various factors, I have been thinking a lot lately about failure. I know that sounds like a rather depressing topic, but it has actually been a very positive experience for me. In fact, it has been so positive that I have been telling people on a regular basis for the past month or so that they should fail. I wish I had learned this lesson earlier on in life, but since the past is in the past, I’m doing the next best thing I know how to do and I’m letting everyone else know why we all need to fail.

The first (and really only) person who has ever told me that I should fail was my boss during my years as a college teaching assistant. She was, and is, one of my great heroes in life; but I still remember wondering exactly what she meant when she told all 40+ TAs that she wanted us to “fail and fail big” throughout the next school year. She went on to explain that the only way we were going to improve as TAs was if we tried new things and went above and beyond our past teaching experiences . . . and she knew that taking on that kind of a challenge meant we would probably fail in many of our attempts, and she was more than okay with that.

I immediately liked that perspective, but I had never been okay with failure before. As a result, it took me until just recently to fully accept that perspective and make it my own.

To explain how my perspective finally changed, I feel I should share a few of the moments in my life when I have felt like a complete failure. I do so in the hopes that my readers might find some commonalities between my experiences and their own.

1) Learning Spanish. I HATED my Spanish classes. Hated. Them. Looking back now I realize that that loathing may have stemmed from the fact that Spanish didn’t come to me as easily as most other subjects. In my mind I was a failure at Spanish because I couldn’t speak without a gringo accent. I was a failure because I couldn’t fully express myself. I was a failure because I couldn’t understand the Chileans when I first arrived to the mission field, (even after four solid years of studying the language in high school and college). I was a failure because I lost my personality in Spanish, I couldn’t teach in Spanish, I couldn’t tell stories in Spanish, and many times I got so lost in translation that I couldn’t even remember what I wanted to say in English. Failure. Failure. Failure.

2) Being a Missionary. If a returned missionary tells you that they never once (not even for a split second in their entire 18 or 24 months) felt like a failure on their mission, they are lying to you. The list of seeming failures in the life of a missionary could go on and on: You failed to get into a home. Your star investigators tell you your message is from the devil and you should never come back. You struggle with the language. You’re afraid to talk to people in the street. Your companion is mad at you or you’re mad at your companion. Investigators don’t come to church. You don’t have a baptism for a considerable amount of time, etc., etc. Failure. Failure. Failure.

3) Being a Grown-Up. After I graduated from college I couldn’t get a real job because I was moving out of the country in five months, so I lived at my parents house and got a job working a grand total of eight hours a week. Failure. When we got married and moved to Mexico, we lost our dream job and my visa was rejected. Failure. We bought a car that turned out to be a lemon. Failure. I made some bad travel decisions and had to spend the night at a Greyhound bus station . . . twice. Failure. At my current job I don’t always get my work done on time, I lose my patience with my students, and I’m not as organized as I know I could be. Failure.

So why did I just tell you all of that? Besides hoping my honesty about how many times I’ve failed in life helps me to identify with others’ experiences, I also shared those experiences to compare what I felt about myself and my failures then, to how I feel about them now (explanations to come).

Perhaps the biggest factor that has changed my perspective on failure is that I recently began offering free English classes at our church building. The curriculum that I am using is the same curriculum that they use in the MTC, so in much of my teacher training my mentor and I talked about the importance of getting students to speak from day one. As I have focused on this goal I have recognized in my students the same fear I once had when learning Spanish: the fear of failure. 

Some students are so afraid to try a new word or phrase because they know that they will say it wrong. Then, when they do give it a try and mispronounce a word or mix up the grammatical structure, they apologize so profusely you’d think they had committed a serious crime. So I have started telling my students to fail. I tell them that I want them to fail—that they have to fail—because if they are not failing it means they are not trying. After ten years of trying to master the Spanish language, I know that if they are not willing to fail, they will never learn English. True learning requires failure.

So how does this translate into real life? First of all, I want to highlight the difference between “failing” and “being a failure.” Many times, during those crazy months after arriving in Mexico when it seemed our life was one long chain of failures, Beto or I would say to the other, “I feel like a failure.” One night, after I had admitted that very thing, Beto looked at me and said, “There are a lot of times when I feel like a failure too. And then I remember the miracles God put in our lives to bring us together—and I think about how you are mine forever—and that’s how I know that I am not what I am feeling. I am not a failure.” We might have failed, but we were not failures. Along those lines, President Uchtdorf once stated:

Satan would rather that you define yourself by your [failures] instead of your divine potential. . . Don’t listen to him. We have all seen a toddler learn to walk. He takes a small step and totters. He falls. Do we scold such an attempt? Of course not. What father would punish a toddler for stumbling? We encourage, we applaud, and we praise because with every small step, the child is becoming more like his parents. . . . Compared to the perfection of God, we mortals are scarcely more than awkward faltering toddlers. . . . God understands that we get [to our eternal goal] not in an instant but by taking one step at a time. I do not believe in a God who would set up rules and commandments only to wait for us to fail so he could punish us. I believe in a Heavenly Father who is loving and caring and who rejoices in our every effort to stand tall and walk toward Him. (Four Titles)

God is not worried about our failures as much as He is worried about whether or not we get up after we fall. Society, on the other hand, is very worried about failure and makes us believe that the only acceptable outcome of our actions is perfection. God is focused on perfecting, and that process requires failure. As Brother Willcox so masterfully depicted in his analogy of the piano student, the student is not just presented with the options to either “be a concert pianist” or “never play the piano.” The student becomes a concert pianist over years of practice, and errors are expected in that learning process. 

So too, we are not left with the options to either be perfect or to be eternally condemned. Errors are expected in our learning process. Or, put a little differently, errors are  the learning process. We learn from opposition and often times that opposition comes from our failures, allowing us to juxtapose actions and consequences. Borrowing from the words of Adam and Eve, because of their failure their “eyes [were] opened, and in this life [they had] joy, . . . Were it not for [their failure they] never should have had seed, and never should have known good and evil, and the joy of [their] redemption, and the eternal life which God giveth unto all the obedient” (Moses 6:10-11). 

If I had given up on Spanish anywhere along my failure ridden path I never would have known just how well I can communicate in this beautiful language. I would have missed out on relationships with hundreds of incredible individuals, including my angel husband. I would have missed experiences of a lifetime that have had eternal consequences. I owe much of the events of the last five years of my life to the fact that I was willing to fail when it came to Spanish (even if I didn’t like it).

If I had given up the first time someone refused to listen to the message of the gospel on my mission, I never would have met the people I was sent to Chile to find. If I had refused to teach after the first time I totally slaughtered a lesson, I never would have learned to truly teach according to the Spirit and touch people’s lives. And if I had lost hope during the months and months without a baptism, I never would have had the chance to sit across from a very special daughter of God and testify to her that God loves her; and she most definitely would not have been baptized the last day of my mission.

Finally, if Beto and I had given up anywhere along our crazy journey . . . who knows. I used to think that if I failed at anything I would somehow compromise any possibilities for future success or opportunity . . . for the rest of my life. Life would somehow be over. It was silly of me to think like that. As President Uchtdorf puts it: “We can feel so burdened by our failures and shortcomings that we begin to think  we will never be able to succeed. We might even assume that because we have fallen before, falling is our destiny” (You Can Do It Now!) But it’s not!!!! As I look back at our crazy adventures this past year, there really wasn’t anything else for Beto and I to do but to keep going. Life didn’t end and, believe it or not, our failures brought us to a place with more opportunity than we could have imagined. We may have suffered quite a bit, but our entire future was definitely not jeopardized by the fact that life didn’t go exactly as planned.

So why do we all need to fail? To put it one way, we need to fail so that we can accomplish the things that truly matter. Anything that is worth our time and effort will come with the risk of failure. That risk and the consequences of our failure are the price of our eventual victory—and we will be victorious if we persevere. We cannot content ourselves at being perfect in mediocre goals that we know we can achieve; we need to push ourselves and risk failure in the pursuit of higher goals. Once our vision is on that higher goal, our lack of perfection becomes obsolete because we know we are participating in the process of perfecting who we are. And we know that that process requires failure. 

And that is why it is so important that Christ offered himself to be the Savior of the world, because We. Need. To. Fail. And HE is the reason we can fail and still achieve the highest goals of all. As President Uchtdorf explained, “Without the Atonement of Jesus Christ, life would be a dead-end road without hope or future. With the Atonement, life is an ennobling, inspiring journey of growth and development that leads to eternal life in the presence of our Heavenly Father” (Four Titles). May we all learn to love ourselves a little more as we embrace a positive perspective on failure and continually trust in Him who helps us overcome and triumph every time we fail.

Applying the Atonement

Growing up, I often struggled to understand the phrase commonly used in the scriptures and church meetings indicating that we should “apply the Atonement” in our lives (see Mosiah 4:2). I recognized that comprehending the magnitude of the Atonement is a feat we cannot fully realize in this mortal life, but I always felt my attempts fell short of even mortal expectations. 

It was easy to notice the significance of the Atonement in my life when I considered the fact that, because of the Savior’s sacrifice and resurrection, I would see my grandmother (who died of cancer when I was eleven) after this life. And it was beyond relieving to know that I could be forgiven of my sins--big and small--because of the Atonement. But I could not content myself with an image of the Atonement carefully placed in a glass case with a “Break in Case of Sin or Death” sign.

Perhaps it was because I was raised by two very practical parents, but I felt I could not truly discern the enormity of the Atonement until I found a way to practically “apply” it as the scriptures say into every potential situation life might throw my way. And for a long time I wasn’t really sure how to do that. Yes, I loved my Savior. Yes, I felt and experienced the blessings of the Atonement in my life. But I lacked an understanding of how the knowledge of the Savior’s suffering, death, and resurrection could be an active component of my every-day life.  

My testimony of the Atonement continued to grow throughout my first two years of college, but I still felt I was missing something. Elder Bednar once stated that “Knowing that the gospel is true is the essence of a testimony. Consistently being true to the gospel is the essence of conversion.” I knew that the Atonement was real and powerful. I had a testimony of it. What I lacked was conversion. How could I be consistently true to the Atonement of Jesus Christ? How could I consistently put it into practice? I was half-way through my mission before I finally discovered how to “apply the Atonement” in my life and turn a testimony of the Savior’s sacrifice into conversion to the Atonement. 

At the mention of my mission, it is likely you are thinking my big "aha" moment came as a consequence of an incredible experience with a particular investigator, or an amazing talk by a visiting General Authority (and, undoubtedly, all of those experiences had an impact); but, in reality, my big "aha" moment came after four days of being shut up inside our apartment with a flu so nasty I had lost the ability to speak. The mission nurse had prescribed several medications I could take to get me back on my feet and preaching again; but, for some odd reason, I had left the bottle of medicine and its instructions on my study desk. 

Wednesday morning came around accompanied by our regular morning study time. Wednesdays, however, were not really regular. Wednesdays were extra special in my mission because it was the day that our mission president had asked every missionary to specifically study the Atonement. So, despite my shivering, sniveling, shaking body, I sat down at my desk and began to search the scriptures for a greater understanding of the Atonement. I don’t remember exactly what scripture I was reading at the time, but I happened to glance over at my bottle of medicine and the instructions lying next it as I pondered on the meaning of the Atonement--and that’s all it took. In an instant an entire analogy popped into my brain and I scrambled for my scripture journal so I could write it all down before any detail was forgotten. The analogy goes something like this (please keep in mind that no analogy is perfect):

You get really sick so you go to the doctor. The doctor tells you there is a remedy for which he gives you the prescription. You go to the pharmacy at which time the pharmacist asks for the prescription and checks the doctor’s signature before giving you the medicine. Once you have the medicine in your possession you carefully read the instructions which explain how to APPLY the medication. You apply the medication and you get better.

This simple sequence of events takes place basically every day of our lives--only spiritually--and it goes something like this:*

We sin, lose hope, feel lonely, face heart-wrenching trials, make big life decisions, and go through any number of emotions and experiences every day, so we turn to God. God tells us there is a remedy--the Atonement of Jesus Christ. We obtain full access to the Atonement of Jesus Christ through His Priesthood Power. (For example, the words of the prophets of God, both ancient and modern, guide and uplift us along our path. The prophet also holds all the priesthood keys that enable us to receive a valid baptism, be given the gift of the Holy Ghost, make additional covenants in the temple, and be married and sealed to our families for time and all eternity, etc.) 

Thus, the priesthood is the proper authority needed to validate access to the full remedy of the Atonement, just like a doctor’s signature on a prescription allows us access to physical remedies. And just like the pharmacy and the pharmacist are there to help us when we need a particularly powerful remedy--or simply need help understanding the doctor’s instructions--we have the Church and church leaders to help us  to better understand and apply the instructions given to us by God. 

Most importantly, God has provided us detailed and personal instructions in the scriptures about how to apply the Atonement of Christ in our lives. Those instructions can be summed up and practically applied by living the Gospel of Jesus Christ. As taught in the scriptures, living the gospel includes having faith in the Savior, repenting of our sins, making and keeping sacred covenants with Him, receiving and seeking the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end (see 2 Nephi 31 and 3 Nephi 27:19-21). As we apply these steps to our every-day actions we are literally applying the atoning blood of Christ into our lives and we will be healed.

In essence, to apply the Atonement we must live the gospel Christ taught. His life and ministry were not a mere lead-up to his sacrifice, death, and resurrection. His life and teachings are the way to apply His Atonement. He came and taught us how to make his sacrifice a practical and living reality in our every-day actions and choices. He is the great remedy and His life was the grand explanation of how to apply His sacrifice to every aspect of our lives.

Finally, the word ‘apply’ has two definitions that bring greater light to this analogy. The first is to “bring or put into operation or practical use.” This was the definition I had been trying to understand and implement for so many years. I had wanted to know how to put the Atonement into practical operation and I have finally come to understand how to do just that: live the gospel! Every time I face a trial I look to the “instructions” and I realize that I can more fully live one of the principles and/or covenants contained in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. For example, maybe I just need to have more faith in God; or maybe I need to change and repent of certain habits or beliefs; or perhaps I need to remind myself of the covenants I have made and trust in their promises as I better fulfill mine; and it is always likely that I need to more actively search for and use the gift of the Holy Ghost. Doing any one of these things is to apply the Atonement.

The second definition of 'apply' is to “give one’s full attention to a task.” As such, it is no mistake that the final "step" of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the task to endure to the end. Indeed, the task of living the gospel by faith, repentance, making and keeping covenants, and receiving the Holy Ghost is a task that we must use over and over again throughout our entire life. This is the process we must use to apply the Atonement for it is the only way that He can enter into our very being and cast out every malady and imperfection. Living the gospel to gain access to the full blessings of the Atonement is the task that requires our full attention. It is why we are here. There is no other task that merits our total application and hard work as does the effort to live the gospel Christ has showed us how to live. 

*Analogy Reference:

Sickness = Sin/Trials/Decisions/Situations XYZ

Doctor = God 

Remedy = Christ & His Atonement 

Prescription Signature = Priesthood Power 

Pharmacy = Church 

Pharmacist = Church Leaders 

Instructions = Scriptures 

Application = The Gospel of Jesus Christ (Faith, Repentance, Making & Keeping Covenants, Receiving & Being Worthy of the Holy Ghost, Enduring to the End). 

Paradise

The green rises with the mist rolling off the foothills of the valley.
This is home, my Paradise.
Farms are scattered everywhere,
While "downtown" boasts a cafe, a post office, a church.
Mostly, home is full of people, children, animals, families, nothing else.

Paradise . . . it's often forgotten in this big 'ole world we live in,
But it is always Paradise that gives me something to believe in.
They tell us we're simple, as if to offend.
We thank them for the compliment they so willingly lend.

Each day goes by slowly, graciously.
(They say time is relative, and indeed, it is here.)

I know one day I'll leave this town of mine
For something much bigger, full of the grind--
The grind of the world, its relentless pace--
But I know I will soon return to this place.

This place with its simplicity, the people, my home,
The port of peace from which I launch to roam.
Security,
       Beauty,
           Simplicity,
                    Peace,
I feel it all as the mist rises and disappears to the East.

The Benefits of Affliction

A couple weeks ago my husband and I had a part-member family in our home for a Family Home Evening. As we thought about what we would share for our lesson, we both felt it would be a good idea to go over the Plan of Salvation (especially since there is so much to learn about it that it didn't matter if they had received the same lesson from the missionaries the day before). What we had originally planned to be a 15 minute overview turned into an hour plus lesson as the husband and wife (both investigators) asked question after question and marked every scripture Beto and I mentioned as we testified of the doctrine of our Father's plan of happiness. At the end of the lesson, we all felt like we could have continued teaching and learning, but it was already 10pm! 

One thing I drew from that experience is that we take our knowledge of the plan of salvation for granted. The truth about who we are, where we come from, and who we can become is LIFE CHANGING. I saw it over and over again on my mission and I saw it during our little Family Home Evening just the other day. But it's not just life changing for investigators and new members. Several days after our awesome FHE, I went through one of the hardest weeks of my life. It seemed like one tragedy after the other added to disappointment after disappointment until I was so emotionally sick I didn't get out of bed one morning to go to work (which I don't think I've ever done before) and told my husband I didn't want to deal with life that day. 

Thankfully, I have been blessed with the best husband ever. Before he left for work, he encouraged me to think about what I had taught at Family Home Evening and apply it to myself. Later in the day, since I was still in emotional paralysis, he sent me a message to tell him everything for which I am grateful (i.e. apply
my other post about gratitude!). And, as always, the miracle of gratitude did not fail me. As my emotional paralysis turned into an attitude of gratitude, I felt the Spirit return and life started to get better. I decided to keep the spiritual momentum going and turned to the scriptures, my patriarchal blessing, and the words of the prophets to buoy me up. As I did, I came across several quotes about affliction from Elder Neal A. Maxwell, whose own afflictions took him beyond this life. Several of his quotes spoke of the vital role of affliction in giving us the experience God's plan was designed to deliver. He states:

The sobering indication "All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good" (D&C 122:7) tells us that while we are doctrinally rich, we are usually experience poor. Gods's plan is designed to correct the latter deficiency; one's soul shivers, however, as one contemplates the implications. (Faith, 34-35.)  

God said he would structure mortality to be a proving and testing experience (see Abraham 3:25; Mosiah 23:21). Clearly He has kept His promise and has carried out His divine intent. Therefore adversity must be part of the pattern rather than always an aberration. Therefore even our fiery trials, as Peter said, should not be thought of as being "some strange thing" (1 Peter 4:12). Hence, throughout the varying lengths of our lives there is rolling relevance contained in the counsel to endure it well. (Endure, 2.) 

And if regular experience alone is not enough, some afflictions can be designed to mold us to a greater degree than we ever imagined possible; as Elder Maxwell explained, 

Exceptional souls are not developed . . . by being made exceptions to the challenges that are common to mankind. (Prove, 116.)

We undergo afflictions such as are "common to man" (1 Corinthians 10:13). Additionally, God will deliberately give us further lessons and experience which take us beyond the curriculum common to man and on into uncommon graduate studies or even postdoctoral discipleship. (Not My Will, 4.) 

As I digested all of Elder Maxwell's teachings, every word hit home, but the following two quotes are the ones that shot bright rays of light and truth right through my heart: 

How can you and I really expect to glide naively through life as if to say, "Lord, give me experience, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken. Keep from me, Lord, all those experiences which made Thee what Thou art! Then let me come and dwell with Thee and fully share Thy joy!" (Ensign, May 1991, 88.) 

Like his Master, the true believer loves his life but is willing to lay it down or to see it slip slowly away through affliction. If he is given a "thorn in the flesh," he does not demand to see the rose garden. ("'True Believers in Christ,'" 139.)  

Let us not forget why we are really here. Yes, "men are that they might have joy" (2 Nephi 2:25), but we did not leave the presence of the Almighty God for a simple pleasure trip. We came here to prove ourselves. We chose to leave the presence of our heavenly father, the God of the universe, to experience this life and demonstrate our loyalty to Him, despite all that we knew could happen as part of our mortal experience. Why? So that when we returned to his presence after this life, we would be worthy of the eternal joy that awaits us.

In fact, true joy has nothing to do with our house, our job, our things, worldly approval, or life running smoothly. Nothing at all. True joy is the joy rooted in eternal things that cannot be taken away by mortal circumstances. True joy can be present even in our darkest hours; we need only to remember its source, our Savior.

As I worked my way out of my emotional fog, I found another ray of light in my patriarchal blessing. I had often read the part of my blessing that talks about how I will face trials in life and will overcome them because I know it is the Lord's way of helping us to learn and progress. What I had never noticed about the phrasing before was that it actually states that I will overcome my trials because I understand the Lord and his way of helping us to learn and progress. "Because I understand the Lord." Isn't that so interesting?! It had never occurred to me that I understand the Lord, nor that understanding Him could specifically help me through my trials, but as I read those words I realized that I do understand Him (if only to a small degree) and that that understanding makes all the difference.

Most importantly, I understand that God loves me. I understand that He loves all of us and He wants the best for all of us. What is more, He has allowed us the chance to really understand what "the best" truly is. In fact, He wants us to understand Him so intensely that He has invited us to His home, the temple, so that He can personally teach us. As I thought about this truth, my mind immediately went back to the incredible experience I had less than a month ago as I sat in the house of the Lord and witnessed one of the most sacred ordinances being performed--the sealing of my best friend to an incredible young man, her companion for time and all eternity. Witnessing a temple marriage has always been a powerful experience for me. It is one of those crystalline clear moments when eternity is so tangible you can actually see it. As the sealer gave the couple advice, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit and touched by the truth of his words. It was the first sealing I had been to since my own and I could not deny the absolute beauty of eternal marriage and the power of temple blessings. 

In the presence of eternity, it was easy to understand everything Beto and I have been through in the first ten months of our marriage. The overwhelming blessings and the vision of who we can become that Gad so openly shares with us in the temple not only make our earthly experiences worth it, they also give purpose to all the sorrow, grief, pain, disappointment, tragedy, betrayal, and opposition we could ever face in this life. As Paul taught the Romans, "The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if it so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Romans 8:16-18.)

Do we get it? Do we really get it? We are children of God. We are divine. We are joint-heirs with Christ!!!! We have been promised all that God has. All. Of. It. Those are not just nice words of comfort offered by a caring friend who knows nothing of our sufferings. Those are words of truth spoken by God himself, the creator of the universe. He has promised us all that He has. And He knows what we are going through. He is suffering it all right along with us. Why? Because He loves us, He wants us back, and He knows that we need the benefits of affliction to make it there.

80-Year-Old Angels

A few months ago I got the exciting news that my best friend was getting married! When she asked if I would be able to make it to the wedding I told her I would do everything in my power to get there, but the more I thought about it, though, the more impossible it seemed. Nevertheless, after talking things over with my husband, I started looking for good flight deals and discovered that if I flew in to Las Vegas and took a bus from there, it would cut my travel costs in half! This was wonderful news, especially since we would be needing to buy three plane tickets this summer--one for my best friend's wedding in June and two for July when Beto and I would both be flying to Utah to see my family before my brother leaves on his mission. What had once seemed like an incredibly daunting financial feat was now a possibility.

As with most things in my life, however, this little trip turned into quite the adventure. The day of my flight finally arrived and I spent most of the day packing and making sure things would run smoothly at home while I was gone. Then it was off to the airport! Beto and I grabbed something to eat at the McDonald's in front of the airport and then we said our goodbyes and I was on my way. After maneuvering my way through check-in, airport security, and immigration, I found my gate and settled in. The U.S.A. vs. Ghana World Cup soccer game was on every television in the area so I took advantage of the situation and just enjoyed the moment. I should have taken it as a bad sign when my phone suddenly died and refused to turn back on; I had NO idea what I was in for in the next 15 hours!

I discovered the first and most important setback of the trip as I boarded the plane at 6:30pm (Mexico time): it had begun to rain. We sat on the tarmac for over an hour as we waited out the worst of the storm and then took our place in the long line of delayed flights still waiting to take off. We were in the air by 8pm, a full hour later than scheduled. That, of course, is when I started to worry. I had given myself an hour and a half to get from the airport to the bus station (which, according to the internet, was only a 15 minute shuttle ride away . . . and shuttles were "always waiting" at the airport exit). With the flight delay, my hour and a half had quickly turned into 30 minutes. I knew I was in trouble, but even then I didn't know exactly how much trouble I was in for.

The plane touched down at 9:30pm Las Vegas time (which would be 11:30 in Mexico City) and I quickly made my way to baggage claim and through customs. By 9:40pm I was at the shuttle office with a full 35 minutes to get to the bus station (my bus left at 10:15). Unfortunately for me, the internet lied. When I asked for a shuttle, the girl at the desk told me she would have to call for a shuttle (i.e. shuttles are not "always waiting" at the airport exit), but that even if I could get on a shuttle at that very moment, I would never make it to the bus station by 10:15 (because the shuttle ride to the bus station would definitely last longer than the 15 minutes I'd read about online). In fact, the bus station, she informed me, was on the other side of the city; and my only real hope of making it there on time was to take a taxi.

Alright, so I would have to take a taxi. The problem with that solution was that a taxi would cost $35 USD and I only had $20 USD on me (it was actually a 20 dollar bill we had received for our wedding that we hadn't had time to exchange.) Solution to the problem: use my debit card at the ATM. Problem to the solution #1: the ATM was back inside the airport, several minutes away and my time was already short. Problem #2: once I got to the ATM I couldn't remember my pin. Now don't jump to any conclusions and get to thinking that I am extremely forgetful or didn't think things through all the way (although both those accusations could be true). The reason I couldn't remember my pin goes back to January when, along with other things, my debit card was stolen. After the robbery my parents ordered me a new card and sent it across the border. When I received it I decided to create a pin that was totally different from my old pin, just to be safe. The problem was that I never wrote it down and I never used my card after that. In fact, I didn't even activate my card until several months later when I needed it to buy my plane tickets . . . at which time I realized I couldn't remember my pin. So I called the international number for my bank and was informed that I would only be able to change my pin at a branch in the U.S. (since my bank doesn't exist in Mexico). So, ironically, I had been planning all along to go to the bank during my short stay to resolve the issue.

Back to the story! I couldn't remember my pin. After several attempts at the ATM I decided to hope for compassion and returned to the taxi pick-up. I handed the driver my luggage and told him to take me as far as he could on $20 and then jumped in the back of his taxi. The driver did have compassion on me, but not so much as to take me all the way to the bus station. Instead, he took me as far as $18 could take me, gave me $3 dollars change (I know, he gave me a whole extra dollar back!), and gave me his water bottle and some directions. It was now 10:10pm and my bus left in five minutes. The taxi driver had gotten me as far as the Strip and told me to use the rest of my money to take the bus. So I started running through the crowds (trying not to be completely overwhelmed by the huge buildings and shiny lights all around me) until I found a bus.

The bus doors opened and I heard a little voice saying "Please pay before boarding." I was so confused! In Mexico you always pay the bus driver as you get on the bus, but the bus driver was hidden inside a bullet-proof, black-tinted glass case! So I just stood on the curb with a look of utter confusion on my face until the bus driver opened his door and yelled at me to get on. So, with my three remaining dollars clutched tightly in one hand and my suitcase in the other, I boarded the bus in the middle of the Las Vegas strip. The driver had asked me where I needed to go as I got on the bus and I had told him The Plaza Hotel (because, according to the internet, it is right next to the bus station). A few blocks after boarding the driver stopped the bus and came out of his bullet-proof cabin and motioned for me to get off the bus with him (imagine me with a face of total bewilderment). With the bus still running and traffic going by, the driver stepped off the bus with me and pointed toward the Palazzo Hotel and started giving me instructions how to get there. "I actually need to get to the Greyhound Bus Station" I told him, to which he responded with as much confusion as I was feeling until we clarified that the bus station was next to the Plaza Hotel, not the Palazzo. So he ordered me back onto the bus.

Before I got back on, I admitted I hadn't paid yet and showed him my three dollars in the hopes that I was supposed to pay him directly. Though I could tell he was completely baffled by my ignorance, he kindly led me toward the back of the bus (and past all the complaining passengers) to a little machine. Once at the machine the driver entered in the standard bus fare of $6 and motioned for me to put the money in the machine. I cringed inside as I told him I only had three dollars. He just shook his head and told me to put what I had in the machine and went back to his bullet-proof cabin. I struggled with the machine for a few more minutes and then tried to blend in with the bus to avoid the annoyed glances of my fellow passengers. All I could think was "I'm definitely not in Mexico anymore." (Why does transportation have to be so technologically complicated?!)

By this time I already knew I had missed my bus to Salt Lake--I'd seen someone's watch before the whole bus fare fiasco that had said it was 10:20pm--but I was hoping to get to the station in time to make it on to the next bus out. Eventually the city bus was approaching my stop and the driver called me over the intercom asking me to come to the front of the bus. Thankfully, he had called me up to give me directions to the Greyhound bus station. He told me that if I went left at the next stop light and walked through the Golden Nugget that the Plaza Hotel would be on the other side and the bus station would be right next to it. I followed his instructions and, as I crossed the street at the stoplight, I was able to wave goodbye to the very kind, patient, and informative bus driver who at least helped me figure out American transportation technology and got me to the bus station!

My adventures, however, had only begun. As I walked into the Golden Nugget I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. To my right, a woman up on a stage was asking a man in the crowd to take off his shirt, so I decided to look straight ahead. Straight ahead, a woman (with much less than a shirt on) was doing a dance I never want to see again, so I looked to the left. To the left there were two women (wearing about as much as the previous woman) dancing on top of a bar . . . so I decided that the sidewalk was my safest bet and stared at it until I was out of the lion's den! Confused and disoriented I looked around for the bus station and then, when I couldn't see it, asked a nice-looking lady for help. She kindly pointed out the great big sign that said bus and I sheepishly thanked her and walked away.

I walked into the Greyhound bus station at 10:45pm knowing several important, and rather unfortunate facts: 1) I had missed my bus; 2) I was now on the other side of the city from the airport; 3) I had no more money and no access to money (due to the forgotten pin number); and 4) what happens in Vegas simply shouldn't happen. As my luck would have it, more unfortunate facts were on their way. The lady at the counter informed me that the next bus to Salt Lake (which left at 7:55am) was already full and the next bus would leave at 10:15 the next evening. She also informed me that I could not be refunded for my ticket unless I paid her another $20 for the refundable ticket. Though I already knew it was hopeless, I made a half-hearted effort to withdraw money from the ATM inside the station and then wandered over to the waiting area.

I felt the most comfortable sitting next to my fellow latinos (not that I am one biologically, but I feel latino) and eventually asked one of them if I could borrow their phone to call my parents (since mine was broken and wouldn't work in the U.S. anyway). My mother didn't answer. So I sat and thought and thought and thought of possible solutions to no avail. A while later the woman whose phone I had borrowed returned and said she had received a message from someone about 20 minutes earlier. It was my mother asking who was calling. I quickly texted back that it was me and that I'd missed my bus, had no money, and didn't know how I was going to get home. No reply. The woman (and her phone) disappeared for a while so I borrowed someone else's phone, but after the 10th attempt I essentially gave up on calling my parents. It was, after all, 1:00am in Utah.

So I sat and prayed and sat some more. Eventually I wandered back to the front desk to see if I could get on a waiting list for the morning bus, but that was a no-go since the waiting list was already several customers long. I was running out of options and, since I no longer had a ticket for a Greyhound bus, I could very possibly be out of a place to stay. Back in the waiting area I tried to ignore the gruesome Forensic Files documentary showing on the giant screen TV and blasting over the bus station speakers. After several horrific murder stories I simply couldn't handle it anymore and decided to give the ATM another shot. As I stood at the ATM entering one pin after another, my prayers were answered when I heard two elderly men mention Salt Lake City as they were talking to a Greyhound worker.

I spun on the spot at the sound of their voices and immediately made my way toward their shining, glowing, aura. I really didn't know what I was hoping for, but I simply had to talk to them. "Excuse me," I said, "but I couldn't help but overhear you talking about Salt Lake. Are you headed that way?" They, of course, were not going to Salt Lake (I mean, really, who would go to the Greyhound bus station at 12:30 in the morning to take a bus that leaves at 7:55am?) They were, in fact, waiting for their 90-year-old friend who was coming on the bus from Salt Lake that would arrive at 1:15am. Their friend had just lost his wife and had travelled to Montana to spread her ashes in the mountains. He had gotten off the bus in Salt Lake City and quickly got lost. Someone saw him wandering the city and called the police, who took him into custody and then returned him to the bus. His friends were rightfully worried about him and had personally come to the bus station to pick him up and make sure he made it safely home. They were asking if his bus had arrived when I heard them mention Salt Lake City.

"You wouldn't happen to be from Utah, would you?" they asked me with their unmistakeable country-boy accents.

"I am," I admitted. "How could you tell?"

The older one leaned in and said with a chuckle, "You just happen to be the only woman in here with sleeves that cover her shoulders."

I laughed too. "And where are you from?"

"We live in a little community about 65 miles north of here," one of them answered, and then added with a knowing eyebrow raise "with a population that's about 50% Mormon."

The other man leaned in and whispered "And we're some of those Mormons."

"Oh good," I said. "Me too! What are your names?"

The older of the two reached out his hand and shook mine, "I'm Brother Gary."

"And I'm Brother Roger" the younger one followed.

"And I'm Sister Ashley!" I finished off.

The craziness of the bus station melted away away as Gary told me about fighting in World War II with Leroy (the 90-year-old man coming on the bus), and Roger told me his conversion story and how he had served later on in the Vietnam war. Their stories came one after the other and I couldn't help but feel safe with these two funny, but amazing men.

As the time drew nearer for their friend's bus to arrive, Gary looked at me with a rather serious and fatherly look and said, "Now you sit right at the front of your bus and don't talk to anyone but the bus driver until you get to Utah. Alright?"

"Well," I hesitated, ". . . I actually missed my bus and the morning bus is full and has a waiting list and the next bus after that heads out at 10:15 tomorrow night and I don't really know what to do." The words came rushing out in a tumble.

Gary and Roger looked at me with alarm and one of them said, "Well we can't let that happen!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I was wondering if you would take me to the airport."

"Well of course we will!" Gary exclaimed. "It's the only thing that can be done!"

Relief coursed through my body as I told them how grateful I was and that they were the answer to my prayers. They would hear none of it and simply told me not to move an inch while they went to help Leroy off the bus. It took them a while to accomplish their task since, as I quickly learned, Leroy has dementia and had caused such a ruckus on the trip from Salt Lake to Vegas that the bus had had to pull over three times just to keep him from stealing other passengers' things (he obviously thought they were his). Eventually Gary and Roger led a very disoriented Leroy into the bus station and out onto the street.

While Gary went for his car (a very grandfatherly Lincoln sedan), a woman approached me and asked me (in Spanish) if I was related to the men. I told her I was just traveling with them and she pointed toward Leroy and explained that he had tried stealing her bag on the bus. "A man like that simply shouldn't be traveling alone!" she said. As if on cue, Leroy wandered over to the two of us and tried grabbing the woman's bag again. I took Leroy by the arm and gently lead him to the curb where Gary was waiting for us in the car.

The trip to the airport took on a quirkish excitement all its own. Gary was driving, Roger was in the passenger seat giving directions, and I was in the back making sure Leroy didn't try jumping out of the car. After giving Gary the initial directions, Roger informed us all he was going to call his wife Sally because, even though it was a little past 2am in the morning, he didn't want her to worry.

"I'm not going to call my wife" said Gary, "I told Bettie I'd be home when I got there!"

I couldn't help but laugh to myself at that one! Roger quickly had his wife on the phone, assuring her that everything was alright and that they had safely picked up Leroy. "We're gonna take just a little longer though Sal. We're taking a young lady to the airport who got stranded at the bus station. She's heading to Salt Lake!"

We were now on the free way and Roger decided to consult me about our path to the airport, "Now there are two ways to get to the airport" he said. "We can either get there on the highway or we can cut through the Strip! You decide."

"I'm okay with whatever is best for you" I said.

"Well the Strip is faster!" Roger hinted.

"The Strip it is!" I replied, and Gary took the exit to the Strip. As we drove through, Roger pointed out New York, New York, MGM Grand, the "hotel that looks like a castle," and "that other famous place on the corner."

"You know what we call tourists around here?" Roger asked me. "Tourons! One part tourist, one part moron! You don't think these buildings got this big and fancy because the owners let all the tourists win do you?" I had to admit, the name seemed very fitting.

We were now off the Strip and getting closer to the airport. Roger commented that Gary probably knew his way around this area, but Gary was quick to reply in his gravelly, small-town grandpa way of speaking: "Well, I may know my way around here, but I, in no way, would be averse to people giving me directions." So Roger pointed out the airport exit and off we went. The only problem was that we never got to the airport and somehow ended up on the freeway again. "Well how in the world did we end up here?" Gary said in confusion. "One second we were on our way to the airport and the next we're on the freeway! Young lady, you are definitely in the company of three old men! . . . Now, how do I go left?"

"There is no left."

"Well then let's go right."

After several minutes of hilarious conversation, we found our way back to the first airport exit and Gary and Roger successfully found the second exit we'd missed the first time around. All too soon we were at the airport terminal and Gary was getting my bags out of the trunk. Leroy tried to get out of the car with me, but Roger kindly informed him that he wasn't home yet and wouldn't be taking a plane either. I gave Gary and Roger both a hug goodbye and told them they were my angels and then walked into the Las Vegas airport.

It was empty. Or almost empty. A few security guards were walking back and forth through the check-in areas and I spotted a handful of travelers trying to catch some shut eye on those ridiculously uncomfortable airport chairs. I spotted a clock that said it was 2:30 in the morning. That meant it was 4:30am in Mexico and it had been almost twelve hours since I'd eaten anything and 21 hours since I'd gotten any sleep. So I found an airport wheelchair and tried as many possible ways of sleeping in it as I could until I gave up and went looking for food. I found a 24-hour snack store that charges those outrageously high prices for food-like products, and then remembered I didn't have any money. So I found an ATM and punched in random pin combinations until that got boring and wandered back to my wheelchair at the Delta check-in.

I noticed airport employees trickling in around 3:15am so I decided I'd be the first in line at check-in. By 4am I was speaking to someone at the desk, hoping for the best. The good news was that I could buy a ticket at the airport counter. The bad news was that it was hundreds of dollars, nothing in comparison to the $69 flights from Vegas to Salt Lake I had seen online. The Delta service agent helping me apologized for the high prices, but said I wouldn't find anything better for a flight that left the same day. She suggested I check out Southwest so I headed over to that line (which was considerably long by that point) and waited my turn, only to find out that the ticket was the same price.

The energy and strength I had received from my 80-year-old angels was wearing thin and I felt all my hope slipping away when I reached into my pocket and realized I had $1.50 in coins in my pocket. I had seen pay-phones earlier so I hastily made my way to the nearest one in the hopes that my parents would answer their phones now that it was almost 6am in Utah. I inserted the coins, dialed my mothers number, and then choked back tears as my mother said, "Ashley? It is so good to hear your voice!"

"It's . . . it's g-good to hear yours too!" I squeaked out. They had been praying for me. Ever since they realized my mom had missed all my calls, she and my father had been on their knees, praying for me to make it safely home. I have no doubt their prayers sent two cowboy grandpas from the-middle-of-nowhere Nevada to a Greyhound bus station in Las Vegas at 1am in the morning so they could get me back to the airport. (After telling my parents about my adventures, my dad started calling the men--including Leroy--the "Three Nephites.") After several phone calls, conversations with airline officials, and one online purchase, I had a flight to Salt Lake that left at 6:30am. It was now 5:40am and my gate was on the other side of the airport, so I ran!

I arrived at my gate right at 6am as the final passengers were boarding the plane and, panting, made it to my seat. My neighbor lent me her phone so I could text my parents and let them know I had made it on the plane, and then the final leg of my crazy journey was underway. We touched down in Salt Lake an hour later and I literally walked out of the airport and into my father's arms. Over a day without sleep and 15 hours without food, but I was home!

The rest of the day was spent stopping by my family members' work or home to surprise them (no one but my parents knew I was coming), taking a three hour nap, and then celebrating my best friend's marriage at her pre-reception in Paradise. The next day made the entire adventure worth it as I listened to the powerful promises made between God and two incredible individuals in the House of the Lord. In fact, it makes all the craziness in life make sense and gives every adventure purpose to know who we really are and who we really can become.

I thank God for his goodness in the promises he makes and the protection he gives to us in this life. As I told my taxi driver about the adventures I had had up to that point in my journey, he told me, "When I'm in those type of situations, I just think to myself that I could have just received the news that I have terminal cancer, and then it's not so bad." I've thought a lot about that since and I can see the great truth in his words. My life is so blessed. I am married to my best friend (who is an incredible man and servant of the Lord) for time and all eternity; I have an amazing, loving, and supportive family; I have been blessed with good friends; I have the priceless blessings of the fully restored gospel of Jesus Christ; and I have angels watching over me whenever the journeys of life get just a little too adventurous. God is good.