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.

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.

Lessons From a Non-Dater on How to Find Your One & Only (Segment 5)

I woke the morning after our first kiss, not sure how I felt about everything. Part of me was still soaring with happiness, but the other part of me was facing the fact that I had just jumped into a totally complicated situation. I told my roommates from the study abroad group about everything that had happened and they couldn't contain their excitement. Nonetheless, I was still worried about what I had done by kissing Beto. I didn't want to hurt him, and I really liked him, yet I couldn't see how things would EVER work out. Abby, Selina and I had planned to meet that morning about our research, but the meeting turned into a therapy session for me instead as I told them about the night before, and they helped me figure things out.

After that, we finished up our projects in the community for the day, helped the study abroad students write goodbye notes in Spanish to their host families, and then loaded into the trucks to head back to the city. Before we left, Beto asked me on a date that night and I had to laugh at the thought that this would be our first date . . . after the first kiss. Even as a non-dater, I have to admit that the date was fun. We went out to eat and then Beto drove his car through the richer side of the city to see the beautiful homes on the hillside overlooking Irapuato. It was such a stark contrast to the villages where we had been working! When we came back to the CHOICE Center we sat in the car and talked and talked and talked. While we spent some of our conversation talking about our families and interests, most of our conversation centered on topics such as life after death and the Atonement.

At one point, I asked Beto why he was going to read the Book of Mormon. I will never forget that moment. The light was shining through the car window, illuminating his face, his eyes were filled with sincerity and love, and he said, "Porque quiero saber la verdad." ("Because I want to know the truth.") I knew, in that moment, that he meant it. I also knew, even more than I knew his love for me, that he loved God; and that was exactly what I needed to know. Somewhere in our conversation, Beto asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. The answer was so obvious I couldn't help but laugh at the request. It took me all but a millisecond to say yes!

The next five days were spent in Mexico City with the study abroad students before they flew home. Since Beto's family is from the state of Mexico, we took this opportunity to meet them all. His father and sister came to meet us on the grounds of the Mexico City Temple and we ate dinner at his mother's restaurant with his two older siblings and his niece and nephew. On Sunday we went to church at the LDS church just a few blocks from Beto's house at 8am and then went to the evangelical church which Beto had grown up attending.  After  the meeting, Beto introduced us to all his friends and introduced me as his girlfriend.

It all seemed so very, very unreal. That morning I had skyped my parents to tell them that I was dating a non-member from Mexico and then introduced them to Beto. They took the news surprisingly well. They appreciated hearing how wonderful I thought he was and how he was the most sincere disciple of Christ I had ever met. Despite how crazy I thought it all sounded, they simply said, "you're not a crazy person, so it must not be crazy what you're doing." I sure felt crazy, but I was so grateful for their trust.

Once in downtown Mexico City, Beto and I took a walk through the International Fair, enjoying the booths from countries all over the world as we went. We found so much to talk and laugh about, as well as to dream and plan together. Eventually our walk took us beyond the fair and past a street photo gallery. At one point I asked Beto, "What are we doing?" (i.e. What are we doing dating each other? . . . We're from two different countries with different cultures and religions. This is crazy!) Beto simply responded with, "We're loving each other." And it was true. Despite all of my doubts, there were two things of which I was sure: 1) I loved God and 2) I loved Beto. Still, knowing that didn't keep me from telling Beto that I thought we were crazy.

At the end of our walk we stopped in the central plaza and sat on the step of the Angel of Liberty Monument

(see picture). We talked about all sorts of things as we held hands and watched the people and cars go by. I told him that I had decided that day that I would only share the gospel with him when he asked me questions. Otherwise, I would get too excited and try and shove the gospel down his throat rather than him gain his own testimony. "But," I told him, "I really hope you have a lot of questions so that we can talk." He assured me that he was going to have a lot of questions. That news, of course, made me very happy.

The Monday before the study abroad students left we visited the ancient city of Tenochtitlan (with the famous Pyramids of the Moon and the  Sun). Throughout our adventures climbing pyramids and walking through the remnants of the ancient city, Beto and I talked about the pre-mortal existence(which Beto had never heard of before and found fascinating) and the Book of Mormon people (whose descendants may have lived in the very place where we were walking). We saw missionaries on the Temple of the Moon that day and in the Castle of Chapultepec the following day. Seeing them filled me with a hope that Beto would soon be taking the discussions and standing in the waters of baptism.

Tuesday night came quickly and, with it, the realization that I would not be seeing Beto for at least another two weeks. (Once the study abroad students left the next day, Beto would stay in Mexico City with his family and I would head back to the villages with my research team.) The past five days had been incredible—magical—but the realities of our growing romance led me to my knees that night with a sincere desire to know what my Heavenly  Father would have me do. I recognized that what I was doing (dating a non-member from Mexico who had never thought of moving to the U.S.) was totally crazy. I also explained that, while I loved Beto, I loved God more; and that, if I wasn't supposed to date Beto, I would stop. However, if I should continue in the relationship . . . I wanted to know as well.

I fell asleep that night, completely confused, but sure that an answer would come. Morning came all too soon and, with it, 'goodbye.' Beto and I held on to every last moment we had together, then kissed goodbye in the middle of the Zocalo (the plaza in front of the capitol building of Mexico) where our bus came to pick up the study abroad students and take them to the airport. Once we had dropped the study abroad students off at the airport, our bus began the long journey back to Irapuato.

The Zocalo

Now empty—except for me, my fellow researchers, the bus driver, and his assistant—the bus was quiet. I stretched across the seats in the very back of the bus, hoping to get a nap before we arrived. When sleep would not come, I found my neglected journal and decided to try and catch up on the three weeks I had missed while I was so busy falling in love. I stared at my journal, now open in front of me, and tried to wrap my mind around everything that had happened over the last month. I didn't know where to start! As I searched for an adequate explanation of the crazy turn of events in my life that had led me to be dating Beto, I had to reach farther and farther back in time to all the moments I had felt so strongly about going to Mexico. I remembered prayers that had been answered, scriptures that had given me faith, Priesthood blessings that had been my guiding light, "doors" that had opened at the right time, and a hundred little details and moments that had brought me to where I was.

And then . . . my mind reached back for one more memory . . . and into my mind came the words of my mission president as he gave me a blessing before I came home from my mission. They were the only words I remembered from that blessing and, though I had not thought about them for a very long time, they now came flooding back to me with a clarifying force. I could hear my mission president's voice and his words: "You will be led by the Holy Ghost to find your husband." I sat up in my seat with a shout of "Oh!" that wakened my fellow researchers. Selina turned and asked, "What?" to which I replied, "Oh! . . . Oh! Ooooh!" I was so surprised by the answer. In my mind I asked the Lord, "So, you mean I found him?" I almost didn't believe it. But it was true, despite all my fears and doubts, I had followed the promptings I had received to go to Mexico and—in following the Spirit—I had been led to find Beto.

The answer arrived with such clarity that I have yet to doubt it. I never expected to get such a dramatic answer to the question of whom I should marry, but as with most "big" answers I've ever received from the Lord, it was really just the culmination and realization of all the little answers I had received along the way. I quickly learned why the Lord had given me such a strong answer, for within the next 24 hours, the opposition began in full force. I now knew that Beto was the man I was meant to marry (and wanted to marry), but Beto still needed to learn for himself whether or not the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true, restored church of Jesus Christ; and that quest for the truth almost never comes without opposition.

Though we were no longer with each other, we emailed and skyped as often as time and circumstances permitted. In between weeks in the communities, we had long conversations about the newest forms of opposition and how to overcome them; and we addressed Beto's numerous questions about the Book of Mormon, the Priesthood, and other gospel principles. I will never forget our conversation about the Plan of Salvation that began as a chat over Skype about our potential to become like God (which Beto found blasphemous in the beginning) and ended with a video chat with me drawing out the whole plan on a notebook and holding it up for Beto to see while we read through scriptures about our pre-mortal life, the fall, life on earth, the commandment to be perfect as God is perfect, death, resurrection, kingdoms of glory, etc. etc. It was an unforgettable experience.

Throughout the rest of my time in Mexico, Beto came to visit several times and I went to Mexico City once as well. But the time to leave came all too soon. After a tearful goodbye, I returned home with a summer full of adventures, research, and a heart that belonged to someone else. My first night back in my Provo apartment I knelt by the side of my bed and was overwhelmed by the memory of prayers offered from that very spot throughout the year before. I was so humbled as I realized how God had answered each and every one of those prayers. So many miracles, so many promises fulfilled—how could I ever doubt the Lord again? (I knew I would doubt again because I am human, but how can we doubt? God loves us and is mindful of our needs and desires! That is all we need to know.)

As I worked on research and then began classes again in the fall, Beto and I continued our relationship over Skype. We talked every day! Then, one day, Beto announced that he would be getting baptized in two weeks'  time. I was so shocked. The last I had heard, he was planning on being baptized when he came to visit in December. He explained, however, that when the missionaries had asked him if he would still be baptized if I wasn't in the picture, he knew that he would still do it. He could not deny the truth that he now knew. And so he had asked the missionaries if he could be baptized that very weekend, which wasn't possible, so they planned the baptism for the next weekend, September 15th, 2012. I was beyond happy! The day of Beto's baptism came quickly and, though I could not attend, we spoke just before he left for the church and soon after the baptism. With a happy heart, I realized that—for the first time in my life—I was now dating a member!

* * *

Based on the moments explained in this segment of our story and others I chose not to share, Lesson Number Five is to never give up what you know to be true. After the Lord answered my prayer, I knew that I was meant to marry Beto. That didn't mean it wasn't hard to hold on through all the opposition. After Beto learned that the church was true, he knew he had to act on and remain true to that knowledge, despite the mounting opposition. One particularly difficult day (while I was still in Mexico), I was wondering how Beto and I would ever work out when the song "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz came to my mind. I hadn't listened to the song in ages, but I quickly found it on my iTunes and let it play. Every word spoke truth. More than anything, I knew that God knew Beto and I were "worth it" and I needed to hold on to that truth.

God is leading us all to where we need to be, to the people with whom we should share our lives and our love, to the experiences we need to have, to the people we can touch. But just because he is leading us there doesn't mean that the road there will be easy, nor the end once we get there. The things that are of the greatest worth for the souls and salvation of man are the things that require the most work, faith, and sacrifice. Finding the truth, finding your 'one and only', holding on to your 'one and only', making a marriage (or any) relationship work, raising a family, living the gospel, preaching the gospel . . . these things require the greatest amount of work and faith, but they also bring the greatest joy. So hold on. God knows it's worth it.

Lessons from a Non-Dater on How to Find Your One & Only (Segment 4)

The evening of April 27, 2012 I sat around a restaurant table in Irapuato, Mexico with the leaders of CHOICE Humanitarian, their family, and the man whose development project we were to begin evaluating the following week. My research team and I had arrived only days before, but we had already put our research plans into motion, including a visit to several villages where the project would be implemented. I was thrilled by the adventure, the possibility to contribute to the world of international development, and to live and work in rural Mexican villages all summer long.

As I sat looking around the table at the many happy faces—new friends, mentors, leaders, and fellow researchers—and listening to the talk of evaluation and longitudinal studies, a surprising thought came to me as if it had dropped out of the heavens and into my head: "this is happening because of you." It was an interesting thought because I knew that so much of what was going on was dependent on so many others and wasn't a result of my doing alone. However, it was such a clear thought that, after months and months of doubting my decision to go to Mexico and do research, I finally knew I had made the right choice. I knew, in that moment, that it was indeed the Spirit that had led me to Mexico and, though I did not know exactly what it was, I was there for a reason.

Selina, Abby, and Me (the research team!)

I met that 'reason' a week later. At the end of a week living in the village of Garbanzo, Abby and Selina (the two other student researchers) and I took the bumpy bus ride back to the city along the many dirt roads that wound their way through little mountain communities. We arrived at the CHOICE Center (our weekend lodging and research headquarters) around midday to find the place deserted. Soon after we had deposited our dusty backpacks in our rooms, however, the director of CHOICE arrived with a young man named Beto.

All winter semester Abby—who had come to this area of Mexico just the year before on a two week study abroad—had talked about their amazing expedition leader from the past year, Beto. She always spoke with such high regard for him and was so excited when she heard he would be the expedition leader for the new study abroad group coming that summer. I couldn't understand how a person could be so amazing that someone would be that excited to see them again; especially after knowing them for less than two weeks, but I was just about to find out!

Beto had arrived earlier that week and was just returning from running several errands for an expedition that would be arriving the following day from Utah State University. I came out and shook his hand and introduced myself. Honestly, I don't remember what I thought except "so he's Beto. He seems nice." Then, after I showered and got ready, he came over to our side of the CHOICE Center and began to talk with Abby. I was working on my field notes, but I couldn't help but think how nice, kind, funny, cool, and a tease he was. From the light and happiness he radiated I couldn't help but wonder if he was LDS, but Abby informed me later that he was not. There was no doubt, however, that Beto loved God.

We needed food and watches and so Beto offered to take us downtown. We got food at the grocery store and then parked at the central plaza. It was nice to be with someone who was so confident and knew where he was, where he was going, and what he wanted. He was easy to talk to and he treated everyone with respect, including the poor man who offered to wash his car. His music all spoke of God and everything about him glowed with that happiness that comes with being a disciple of Christ. He helped us find a place to by cheap watches and laughed at how excited I was to know the time (I was going crazy in the villages without a phone or watch because no one ever knows what time it is!).  On the way home he stopped by a strawberry store so we could all buy strawberries and cream (a dessert famous to Irapuato). Somewhere in between the teasing, laughing, and conversation, the four of us became fast friends.

The weekend passed quickly and we were soon making our way back to the villages once more. This time, however, we rode with Juan (the director of CHOICE) and Beto through all the towns on the other side of the mountain to check on the engineers group from Utah State University. Along the way we drove through the village of La Joyita, which is where Beto lived and worked as an intern for five months when he first started working for CHOICE. He had conducted an evaluation of the community and taught classes to the villagers about how to take care of their animals (he is a veterinarian). Since then he had worked with CHOICE for two years, leading expeditions, helping my professor and his students with research projects, conducting a six week evaluation of an education based organization in Chiapas (in Southern Mexico), and he even organized an expedition with the single adults in his church to take toys to the children in La Joyita. Needless to say, I was impressed (and with me, that's saying something).

After dropping us off in Garbanzo, Beto and Juan returned to the city and we got to work on our research projects. On Thursday, Beto came up for a little while  to drop off food and water for the expedition that would be there the next week from BYU. I was excited to see him again, but he only stayed for 20 minutes or so. Still, that moment made me realize how grateful I was for his friendship because he was so legitimately cool (and nice)! In fact, we all really liked Beto. That night, Selina asked me if I had ever considered marrying someone from another country. I responded immediately with a no and a long list of all the reasons why not: "It's hard enough communicating just being two different genders," I had said. "Then you throw in different family backgrounds and things get more complicated . . . so why would you ever add on another language and a different culture? Nope. I'd never do it." (hahahaha)

Friday night I had a crazy dream where I was with Beto at "his house" (not that I had ever been there, I just knew it was his in my dream). Beto's house was by the side of a lake and so we all went and played in it. When I woke up I thought what a funny dream it had been, but then moved on to other things. We returned to Irapuato and arrived at the CHOICE Center around noon. I got working on my field notes  and then we talked with Juan and Beto about what we had learned that week. At some point, Beto got a text message from one of his friends from his church that her little sister would be playing in a handball tournament in a city not too far away. Beto invited us to go so we all jumped into his car, but Selina sat in the front seat on the way there so she carried most of the conversation while I just listened.

All along the way Beto would point things out in the cities we were passing and tell us about the history of the different industries or things for which each city was famous. At one point, Selina and Beto got talking about how much they like to travel. Beto said he would love to travel to Venice, but that he was saving up his money to be able to build his house by the side of a lake. I about jumped out of my  seat when he said that and I asked him to repeat what he had said just to make sure I had heard him correctly. Only the night before I had dreamed about being at Beto's house. . . by the side of a lake . . . and here he was, saying that he wanted to build a home by the side of a lake. In the moment, I thought the connection rather odd and surprising, but I couldn't make much of it.

We enjoyed our time at the handball game and then Beto took us downtown and bought us dinner in the central plaza where it seemed the whole city had shown up to watch the local soccer game. We had a lot of fun goofing off and joking around. At one point we were joking about something and Beto said "Por eso solo te quiero un poquito." (That's why I only like you a little bit.) Even though he was joking I was excited that he had said he liked me and sad that he had said he only liked me a little. In my mind, though, it was still all about friendship at that point.

When we returned to the CHOICE Center we found the little kids (who live there because their dad takes care of the animals) were still awake. We joined them in their game of hopscotch and it was so fun to see Beto play with the kids. They adore him. They tease him to no end and then try and do everything he does. At one point we had piggy back races, wheelbarrow races, rescue races, and we even tried piling all three kids on Beto's back. By 1:00 am Beto was teaching the kids how to do parkour! Their mom finally called the kids to bed after that and we all called it a night.

The next evening we played with the kids once again. This time, however, we decided to dance. At this point in the story I have to stop and admit that if it had not been for the following events, I may have never lowered my barriers enough to ever fall in love.  One of the girls did a dance move (called a tour jeté) which I had learned in my dance classes as a little girl. I  got excited and explained that I knew the move as well and began to go through the movements. As I went to swing my leg through, however, I scraped my toe along the cement. I looked down to discover that half the skin on my big right toe was gone and was replaced by a bloody mess. (Oh me and my clumsiness!) I limped over to our side of the CHOICE Center and promptly stuck my foot in the sink and placed my toe under running water. It hurt! I shouted and then slugged Beto  when he tried to tickle my foot while it was in the sink (don't worry, I apologized later). Everyone was around me—Abby, Selina, the kids, Beto—watching me we wash out my toe and listening to me shout.

Beto disappeared for a second and came back with his veterinary supplies. He made me sit on the recliner and then got to work cleaning out my toe. I indeed admit that I probably never would have fallen in love if it were not for this accident because it was one of the only ways I would have let someone else take care of me. Over the next few days Beto was so sweet to check on me and take care of my poor toe, cleaning it, bandaging it, etc. Tuesday morning Beto thoroughly cleaned out my nasty gross toe and then bandaged it up so I would be able to wear tennis shoes. Then we all headed over to the hotel to meet up with our professor and his study abroad students who had just arrived.

Beto taking care of my toe

Once introductions were made, everybody piled into the cars and we all took off for Garbanzo. Beto, Selina, Abby, and I all crammed into the cab of the truck and laughed and talked all the way to Garbanzo. While in Garbanzo I worked on my evaluation and Beto worked on the projects with the students. Though we were both doing separate activities, we still found time to laugh and talk at mealtime, as well as when Beto would fix the bandages on my toe, and when we would play soccer with the village kids at night. One night, while fixing my bandages, Beto told me he was going to miss my toe, to which I replied that my toe would miss him too. As cheesy as it was, that was the first moment we both (albeit inadvertently) admitted some sore of affection for the other. :) Thank goodness for injured toes!

Up to this point, however, I was still quite blissfully unaware of how much my life was about to change in the following week. I liked Beto, for sure. I found it rather exciting that he showed interest in me. But did I have any clue I was about to fall in love with him? Not at all! Things really began to change in Guanajuato. After working with the study abroad students in the village during their first week, they invited us to join them on their weekend trip to the historic city of Guanajuato. Guanajuato is absolutely beautiful! Colorful houses cover the hillsides, tunnels run through the hills, and European architecture can be seen everywhere you go. After checking into our separate hotel rooms and eating a lovely dinner with my research team, Beto accompanied me to the University of Guanajuato where I was interviewing the son of one of the village families who was studying there.

Roaming the streets of Guanajuato

After the incredible interview, Beto and I walked the student to his bus stop and then decided we were close enough to our hotel we could just walk. That was the first time we had ever been alone together and it was really fun. Beto took me to several historical spots and would tell me the stories as we went along (I LOVE HISTORY). We raced to the top of the steps of the University of Guanajuato, listened to the bards, got a picture with Don Quixote, and walked through beautiful plazas. When we arrived at the hotel we found Selina and Abby and told them to come and see the city with us. We had so much fun roaming the city, taking pictures, dancing to the street bands, and sitting in the plazas.

While we sat in one plaza a really funny man came up and started talking to us about his eight foreign wives and his one Mexican wife. He gave us copies of his poems to read and possibly buy if we liked them. He told us he would be a famous poet when he was dead and then started rambling off about all the women in the world he has yet to love. Beto paid for the poem and then read it out loud to us. It was called "Cuando un hombre te ame" (When a man loves you" . . . or something like that). I thought it was very sweet.

We ate breakfast with the study abroad group in the morning and then our research team, accompanied by Beto, headed back to the mountains to attend a wedding in a little village named Potrerillos. On the way there I rode next to Beto in the cramped cab of the truck because I was the only girl not wearing a skirt (and could straddle the stick shift). I couldn't help but notice that I didn't mind sitting that close to Beto! All along the way on our three hour plus trip we never ran out of things to talk about. Selina had brought her scriptures and read them out loud to us, which stemmed really deep gospel conversations. Later, Beto told me that he really started to fall in love with me when he heard me talk about God.  I didn't know that at the time though, and we still hadn't expressed any interest, so, when Abby started asking me about the kind of guy I was looking for, we had quite the conversation. To turn the attention away from me (and because I was interested) I asked Beto what he was looking for in a woman and why he had never dated much. He said he hadn't dated much because he was kind of demanding. He listed off what he was looking for, however, and I silently noted that I might just qualify.

We arrived at the wedding and, after eating, found we didn't have anything to do for several hours, so Beto and I just sat and talked and talked. To be honest, I think that is where it started to be more real to me. We connected easily on so many different levels and I loved seeing people from the different villages come up to Beto and talk with him like an old friend. I especially loved how the children were drawn to him. Around 7:00 pm the dancing started: first the bride and groom, then more people joined with La Víbora de la Mar (a fun traditional wedding dance/activity), and then  everyone else. An older man invited us all to dance so we went out and started dancing and danced the rest of the night. (Beto never asked me to dance because, as he informed me later, I had said I didn't like to dance . . . which is true, but I wouldn't have minded dancing with him!)

La Vibora de la Mar

We piled back into the truck and started the long trek home around 9:30 pm. Abby and Selina fell asleep early on and, even though I was tired, I tried to stay awake to keep Beto company. We talked, but we were both so tired that it wasn't that great. With an hour left before the city, I was so tired I didn't have any more willpower. I leaned my head up against his headrest (even though it wasn't that comfortable—nothing was at that point) and promptly fell asleep, but not really. Every once and a while I would open my eyes to see how close his face was, but I just pretended to be asleep so I could have an excuse to be that close.

When we arrived at the CHOICE Center I got out of the truck, walked to my room, and fell asleep with all my regular clothes on. When I woke the next morning, I discovered that there wasn't any water so I walked outside to start the pump. I was kneeling next to the water tank when Beto came up behind me and tousled my hair. Now that I think about it, that was the first sign of affection that was really obvious. And, from the bolts of happiness that ran through me at his touch, I realized I might be falling for him too.

We were gone almost all Sunday long with the students at the local LDS church and at Juan's, so we didn't see Beto all that day. When Monday came around we returned to Garbanzo and our different projects. That evening, however, we traveled together to another village for a town meeting about the development project we were evaluating. When we arrived, I introduced myself to all the men and then stood to one side. At one point the men called out to a man who had not yet joined the meeting and said "arrímate!" Not understanding the word, I looked at Beto and asked him what it meant and he explained, as he walked toward me, that it meant to come closer, but that the literal translation was—he leaned in closer so we were touching—to do that. Oh my heart! 

We drove out with the village men to look at the land they were planning to use for the project. Once we were there, Beto and I stood alone off to the side and talked. I told him I had missed him the day before and he told me he had missed me too. We then began an immature thumb war battle in the middle of the meeting (although we were off to one side). Oh, the things we do when we're in love! The next few days were filled with little gestures of affection and ill-fated attempts at doing something together in the middle of all the projects and research that were supposed to be going on. Maurine and Hannah (my roommates from the expedition) brought up the budding romance one night, admitting that they couldn't help but notice what was going on. I confessed that I liked him and they said they had been asking him about me and that they were pretty sure he liked me too. This, of course, made me very happy!

Wednesday, after working on my research and  pretesting my questionnaires on a couple students, I went looking for my professor so he could help me with my many questions. Instead, I found Beto. He let me talk through all my  worries and helped me translate my interviews. After that, Beto offered to go with me to interview another college student from the village (college students are rare in these rural communities) who was there visiting his family. When we got to his home, however, we learned that he had already left. His sister had his address in the city though, so I gave my notebook to Beto so he could write it down. After he took down the address we sat there for a while and I laughed and joked around with the family. I noticed that Beto was still writing in my notebook and couldn't help but wonder what he was up to.

The family invited us to stay and eat dinner with them and we accepted. We all filed into the kitchen and I sat across from Beto. I was really tired at that point and so I kind of zoned out. I could tell Beto was looking at me though, and then I saw him write something big on the last page of my notebook. He held it up so that I was the only one who could see it and I read "Te quiero 20 rayitas mas que cuando estabamos en León" (I like you 20 times more than when we were in León), which is when he had told me he only liked me a little. I smiled and responded, "igual," (me too) to which he said "asi no se dice!" (That's not what you're supposed to say!). I realized how lame a response that was, but I was surrounded by other people and couldn't say more! Nonetheless, I was sooooooo happy! When I went back to the house where I was staying I read the other notes he had left me throughout the notebook, telling me how much he liked me. I was on Cloud 9!

However . . .  me being the awkward, non-dating-intelligent person that I am . . .  all I did that night was give Beto a hug. Our real chance to talk came the following day. Beto had left after breakfast on Thursday and was gone for some time. I worked with Abby and Selina on research, went to lunch, kept working, and then, when Beto got back, went with Abby to get water from the huge containers Beto had brought up. Abby and I started walking back to the house where I was staying and I talked with her about my worries about liking Beto. When we were about to say goodbye, I turned around and saw Beto coming. He hadn't heard our conversation, but I could tell he was determined to have a talk.

We sat on the doorstep to my room and began to talk about my research and other such things, but then I asked him, "Beto, sabes que te quiero?" (You know that I like you, right?). He said yes and I asked him what we were going to do. He replied that he hadn't been able to sleep the night before because he was trying to think of how we could make things work. That comment completely threw me off because I realized JUST how serious he was about this whole liking me business. He explained that he had asked my professor about master's programs in the states and had talked to Juan about getting a job with CHOICE in the states so I could be closer to my family, versus him continuing with CHOICE in Mexico (which was the plan). It was a lot to take in during one conversation! What I didn't know how to say was how important my belief in the restored gospel is to me and how little he could know me until he understood that.

Eventually Selina joined our conversation and then I had to leave to go talk with some villagers. When I came back about 15-20 minutes later I could tell Selina and Beto had been talking about something. There was a tension in the room so thick you could cut it with a knife, but no matter how many times I asked what they had been discussing, no one would tell me. Selina, however, recounted the conversation to me later that day:

Beto had told Selina how much he cared for me and about his plans and hopes to be close to me. Selina said it was one of the most intense conversations she's ever had because she looked at Beto and told him, "Beto, you have to understand that, for Ashley, our church means everything to her." He had said, "I know, that's what I love about her!" But Selina responded, "No, you need to understand, that means she would never marry someone who is not a member of the church." She then explained that we had gotten him a Book of Mormon (I had gotten it from the Elders that Sunday) and that we had wanted to give it to him—not in an effort to force our beliefs on him—but because we loved him and wanted to share with him what has made us so happy. She then told him "Creo que,en esta situacion, te valdria la pena leerlo." (In this situation, I believe it would be worth your time to read it.) I will forever be grateful to Selina for having that conversation!!!

That is, of course, where I walked in on the conversation. Later that night, Beto and I went horseback riding with some of the youth in the village. It was perfect. It was raining lightly as we made our way to the corrals, rounded up the cows in the field, and brought them in. At one point Beto leaned over his saddle and said "I've never been so happy in my life than right now." When we got back from riding, Beto walked me back to the home where I was staying. As we got closer to the house Beto said, "Selina told me how important your church is to you, and she told me about how you wanted to give me a Book of Mormon . . . I'm going to have to pray about it, but I'm going to read it." I gave him the biggest smile I could and then suddenly became awkward because I didn't know what to do next.

The Kitchen

Beto saved the day when he said "do you want to keep talking?" I said yes and we quickly determined that the only place we could be alone to talk and out of the rain was in the kitchen. We turned on the lights, pulled up the chairs, situated ourselves, and then I asked, "do you want to know more about the Book of Mormon?" Gratefully, he said yes. I was surprised when I started, how little (almost nothing) he knew or had even heard about the church. So I taught the whole entire first missionary lesson; from the church as Christ established it in his day, to the apostasy and restoration, to the Book of Mormon and knowing its truth through the Spirit. I recommitted him to read and pray. I was so nervous about how he was receiving it the whole time I was talking, but I felt the Spirit when I testified that Thomas S. Monson is the living prophet today.

After that I started telling stories about my mission and, after a while, I laid my head on his shoulder. I could tell he wanted to kiss me and I wanted him to, but neither of us really knew how to make it happen. Finally, I broke the silence and asked "Beto, would you kiss me?" As in, is that something you'd actually do? He said yes and I responded, "It's just that I don't know how." I explained how the only other time I'd ever been kissed was by my childhood playmate in front of my pre-school class. I remember being so mad at my friend after the kiss because the teacher separated us for the rest of the day and I felt the boy had ruined our friendship by kissing me. Beto and I laughed at the story and then I asked him about his kissing experience. He had only kissed one other girl he had dated for two weeks and quickly learned he didn't want to date.

We talked for a while longer and then he took my chin in his hands and kissed me. At first I was surprised at the simplicity of it, but when I realized I had just been kissed, I kissed him back. It was wonderful! Beto then asked if I was mad at him (like my preschool friend). I laughed and said no, so he kissed me again. At moments I felt confusion about why I was kissing a non-member Mexican in the middle of the Mexican desert with rain falling on the tin roof of a village kitchen, but for the most part I liked it! At one point I told Beto that I knew that God had guided me to this point in my life, and that, if God meant for us to be together, then it would work. If not, there was still a reason he wanted us to be together now and he would bless us both in the end. After a time I suggested we go dance in the rain before we said goodnight, to which Beto agreed. After dancing in the rain, Beto walked me to my door and gave me one more kiss goodnight. Once alone, and after a prayer of gratitude, I quickly climbed into bed and fell asleep with a smile and the feel of his kisses on my face.

I had to buy everyone ice cream after our first kiss!

*   *   *

As I have considered the many lessons I learned because of the peculiar way in which Beto and I finally met and fell in love, I have often thought about a principle taught in the book, "The Alchemist." The wisdom with which Brazilian author Paulo Coelho writes turns his simple story into a deep and beautiful commentary on the challenges, sacrifices, and joys of finding your own "personal legend" in life. As Coelho teaches throughout the book, each one of us has a personal legend—a mission, dream, or purpose in life. Many people live their whole life, the story explains, without ever pursuing their personal legend. Those who choose to go after their dreams, however, find that even with the challenges, "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it" (23).

As I look at my own story, it is not hard to believe that all the universe did indeed help me fall in love. Seen in the light of the gospel, this principle became Lesson Number Four: God answers our prayers, but, as President Kimball taught, “it is usually through another person that he meets our needs." I look back at everyone who took part in my love story and I know I couldn't have made it to Mexico and had the faith to fall in love with a truly incredible man without the help of countless individuals: Abby, Selina, Tim, Juan, Anali, Arantza, Ana Laura, Jeff, Julie, Wayne, Maurine, Hannah, Adam, Chris, Stuart, Jim, Annie, Lourdes, Christina, Mary, Vicky, Magdali, Juanito . . . . I could go on forever. I think back to that moment at the restaurant just a week before meeting Beto, when I had so clearly felt that those people were there because of me, and I realize that, though they might have been there because of me, they were really there for me. These were the people God had placed in my path to help me achieve my "personal legend." I am so grateful for a God who answers prayers and places the necessary people in our path in order to do so.