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. 

Lessons From a Non-Dater on How to Find Your One & Only (Segment 3)

It was Sunday, April 22, 2012 and I was—to put it one way—freaking out. In less than 12 hours I would be on a flight to Mexico and the main thought going through my mind was that the moment I stepped off the plane I was going to get mugged. Add to that irrational fear the fact that I was leaving to do research in a foreign country for several months where I believed there was no possible chance of me finding my "one and only," and you can start to understand why I was hiding under my bedcovers at that very moment trying not to cry. I heard my brother come in and start asking me what time I would be ready to leave, but he stopped mid-sentence when he pulled the covers off my face and said, "Oh, you're crying." He quickly put the covers back over my face and then fled the scene, calling for the family "emotional-emergency responder": MOM.

My mother did come to the rescue that night, but I was still doubting myself as I boarded the plane to Mexico the next morning. I had felt so strongly since coming home from my mission that I needed to get married, but I also couldn't deny the direction I had received to go to Mexico and do research. So, naturally, I felt conflicted. How in the world would conducting research in Mexico with an all-female research team help me find my "one and only"? According to my logic, it wouldn't help at all.

As I waited for a connecting flight in Texas, however, a text message arrived from my mother with a quote from one of my favorite books. She wrote: "A sailor chooses the wind that takes the ship from a safe port. . . . [But remember], winds have a mind of their own." For some reason, I understood her message and I suddenly felt at peace as I realized why I was leaving my safe port.  I had chosen the "wind" I would follow because God had led me to it. And though I did not know where that wind would take me, I could trust in the Master of the wind to direct my course for good.

In reality, I had learned that lesson a thousand and one times over the past year; God was just good enough to teach it to me one more time so that I could arrive in Mexico full of faith instead of fear. Looking back now I can clearly see the path God created for me to travel so that I could find Beto. While I could trace the path quite a ways back, I'll begin where CHOICE Humanitarian came into my life. When I was in high school I participated in Model United Nations (MUN) representing the refugees of Guatemala's 30-year civil war. That experience was so powerful that when my cousins informed me of their upcoming service expedition to Guatemala at the end of my senior year I practically begged them to take me with them. And they did.

The humanitarian agency that directed their trip just happened to be CHOICE, the Center for Humanitarian Outreach and Inter-Cultural Exchange. The experiences I had in Guatemala shaped my studies throughout my four years in college and continue to influence my life today. For example, within two weeks of returning from my mission, I contacted CHOICE headquarters in Salt Lake to see if they would take me on as an intern before I headed back to school in the fall. They accepted my offer and I soon began working on everything from fundraising to event planning to translation and more. My main project while at CHOICE was connected to a project in Mexico that had been evaluated by a research team from BYU. At the end of my internship I organized a meeting with the professor from BYU who oversaw the research to make sure both the research team and CHOICE were on the same page.

To make a long story short, the opportunity to go to Mexico practically fell into my lap as a result of that meeting. After discussing the current project, I told the professor I was interested in doing research like his students had done, but that my real passion was for education and development. At that, the professor pulled out a stack of papers and placed it in my lap and said, "My colleague and I are working on a paper that looks at dropout rates in Mexico. Why don't you take a look at our paper and see what questions or insights you could add and we'll send you to Mexico to research it." I don't think I'll ever forget that moment.

I worked closely with the professor to obtain a research grant, draft my proposal, form a research team, and secure the plans to go to Mexico. At the beginning, however, I realized the colossal time commitment the project would require and hesitated to go. I remember going to the Lord in prayer and having a conversation that went something like this:

Me: "Heavenly Father, if I do this research, I'm not going to have time to date."

HF: "That's okay. You should do this."

So I moved forward with my plans. Every time I questioned what I was doing I would go to the Lord and get the same exact answers: 1) I am mindful of you, and 2) Go to Mexico. I learned to take comfort in the first answer, but I struggled to understand why I was going to Mexico. I am a very studious person and I could see myself using research as an excuse to avoid the dating world for pretty much my whole life if it were necessary, so I sometimes wondered if me going to Mexico was just my subconscious trying to get out of dating. One night, as I was pondering over this very issue, a little light turned on in my head and I could almost visualize my answer. I wrote in my journal that night:

I just made a connection and recognized a pattern of God's hand in my life: I work pretty hard to do many good things and make things happen in my life, but my effort usually seems in vain until God touches whatever it is I'm doing. I was just thinking about how everything with CHOICE, from representing Guatemala in the MUN to my internship to working with my professor, have all just fallen into my lap. Things have simply "worked." I have worked and worked and done my part, but many of the opportunities I have received have come as others have guided me along or in response to promptings of the Spirit . . . The connection I made tonight was that I may work and work and work at finding the right guy, but there is also a need for divine help. I know that God will bring "us" together. I will do my part, but I am pretty inexperienced in the "field" and so I need a power beyond my own. And just as in the past when I have given my all, God will bless my efforts. Not because I am entitled to those blessings, but because that is His character. 

While CHOICE/research/Mexico has required a lot of work on my part, it did seem to just fall in my lap once I was ready for it. God has a way of guiding my life by opening the doors that need opening right at the opportune moments. I try to keep most of the doors before me so that I can prepare myself for what lies beyond, but until God opens the door, I will wait with patience and with faith that he will open the doors at the right times. In other words, I'm going to keep working at being a disciple of Christ, preparing myself for marriage, and strengthening myself for motherhood so that when God opens the doors of marriage and family I will have done my part so as to be ready to walk through the door. For now, I can see that God has opened the research door, so that is the one through which I'm going to walk. – January 27, 2012

In essence, Lesson Number Three is really just the second half of Lesson Number One (which was to trust God). Lesson Number Three is to act! As James teaches us in the New Testament, "Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone" (James 2:17). The other half of faith is works. The other half of faith is to walk through the "door" God has placed before us even though we don't know what is on the other side. For me, I thought the research door was simply a door I should be walking through at that specific time in my life; come to find out, the research door was also the "find your one and only" door too!

If you're reading this, chances are that there is a door the Lord is waiting to open for you or that he already has open. It's most likely not a research door, but it is the door that needs opening in your life. So walk through it! Even if you have moments where you hide under your bedcovers because you don't understand where the Lord is trying to guide you or why, walk through that door.  Faith without works is not only dead, it's not faith. Faith means leaving a safe port and choosing the wind of which God is both the mind and the master. So choose faith, choose discipleship, and then choose to act against all odds. Walk through the door.

Lessons From a Non-Dater on How to Find Your One & Only (Segment 2)

As I mentioned in my last post, my first year back to school after my mission had a very miserable side to it. Amid that trial, however, I learned several incredible lessons that made the misery worth it. I began to learn one such lesson as my best friend and I drove back to school after celebrating our birthdays together at home. The date was Sunday, September 11, 2011. After several failed attempts to find a stake center along our route that was playing the CES devotional, my friend began streaming the talk through her cell phone and we even figured out a way to get the sound on the car speakers. By the time we had overcome the technical difficulties, however, Sister Oaks was already speaking. While I missed a good portion of the talk, what I did hear became my guiding light during that difficult year.

Sister Oaks specifically directed her talk toward the single adults of the church since—having been single until she was 53—she considered herself an expert on the subject. In her talk, she discussed several eternal truths that will protect us from discouragement. It was the third truth she shared that began to change my approach (and attitude) about finding my "one and only." She taught:

Our responsibility is to become the best disciples of Christ we can become. On one occasion, full of worry and frustration about my single situation and my advancing years, I went to a priesthood leader for a blessing to strengthen me. The words spoken in that blessing stay with me to this day and ring truer to me as time passes. I can still quote them: “If you cannot bear the difficulties and challenges of single life, you will never be able to bear the difficulties and challenges of married life.” I sat a bit stunned. Those words were a call to action for me to make my life wonderful regardless of any situation or difficulty I faced. If I made a happy single life for myself, it would determine the happiness I would have as a married woman." (Sister Oaks, 2011)

I add my testimony to that of Sister Oaks. Her words would come back to me time and time again as I faced my own single-life challenges. If I could not be happy as a single person, why would I expect to be happy as a married person? I began to understand that while great happiness is found in marriage, happiness cannot depend on another person making me happy. True happiness comes from the Lord. If I was unhappy as a single person, it was not because I had failed to find my "one and only," it was because I had failed in my relationship with God. The happiness that He gives us is good whether we're single or married.

I remembered Sister Oaks' words one night after an especially hard day when I realized I had gotten my priorities all messed up. It wasn't that my desire to get married and have a family was bad, rather, I had let my worries cloud out my most important duty: discipleship. I made a commitment to myself that night to never get so miserable over my dating situation that I would forget to be a disciple of Christ. I felt as if a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't know how (or like) to date, but I did know how to be a disciple of Christ.

When I began to focus on my discipleship instead of my dating inadequacies, things began to change. When I had focused on dating, I felt like I had to become like the girls who seemed to go on lots of dates, but I didn't want or feel like I could be like them. When I began to focus on discipleship, however, God began to change the things about me that really mattered. Suddenly, it wasn't about being flirtatious, it was about being charitable. It wasn't about how many dates I could get asked on, it was about how many people I could serve. It wasn't about another person or any one relationship making me happy, it was about how I could make others happy. When discipleship became my focus, I found happiness.

Then, once I got my priorities straight, the Lord taught me one of the greatest lessons about marriage I have ever learned in my unmarried life. Christmas brought me home and face to face with the reality of being one of the last single children of the family. I watched my siblings with their spouses and with their beautiful little families and I couldn't help but feel like I was still missing something. Yes, I was happy, but I still wanted to get married. What had changed, however, was that I now knew the reason why.

January 2, 2012 I wrote in my journal, "I need to find a husband, not just because I need to get married and have a family like a good Mormon girl, I need to get married and have a family because it will help me be a better disciple of Christ. . . .People are the material of our molding. We need each other to be successful followers of Christ. I need marriage, not because I am lonely without it; not because it is what is expected of me in my culture; not because of a whole lot of reasons that people conjure up when they desire to be married. No, I need marriage so that I can become more like Christ.

When I finally met Beto (my "one and only"), one of the first things I noticed about him was that he was one of the most sincere disciples of Jesus Christ I had ever met. He loved people and he drew others to him with that love. He loved to serve and he loved God. (Plus, he was incredibly funny and handsome and . . . well I don't want to give too much away. I've got to save something for the next posts!) I know that we will face challenges and that neither one of us is perfect, but I know that with our focus on discipleship we can find happiness and make things work. So, from a non-dater who managed to find a really amazing guy, here is Lesson Number Two for finding your one and only: focus on being a disciple of Christ.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their Stories: Corn People

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Name changed

Works Cited:

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

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

Pathway to Mexico – Fourth Grade Part II

My discovery in fourth grade that I could help other people by learning Spanish may have been forgotten with time if another defining experience had not occurred that same year. Though the circumstances surrounding the event were tragic, it was that very tragedy (combined with the vision and action of my twin teachers) that lit a fire in my little ten-year-old heart that has yet to go out. From October 29th to November 3rd of 1998, Hurricane Mitch hit the Central American states of Honduras, Guatemala, and Nicaragua, killing thousands and leaving millions of people homeless in the wake of catastrophic flooding (click here to learn more). In response to this tragedy, however, a formative life event was suddenly placed on my life path: I became involved in my very first humanitarian project.

My two teachers came to us (their students) with the news of Hurricane Mitch and asked us if we were willing to do something to help the people of Honduras who had suffered the most from the hurricane. Our teachers (I assume) purposefully put us in charge of the project (or made us feel like we were) to give us a sense of investment; and, soon enough, our class of 30 ten-year-old kids had organized a school-wide clothes drive. From planning, to collecting clothes, to ordering the delivery truck and loading it up with donations in front of my elementary school, I felt like we were making a difference. I felt connected to the people of Honduras in some small way—and I liked that feeling! By putting us in charge of the project, our teachers not only taught us about the world, they also empowered us with the experience and confidence to do something about the problems we saw in it—even as ten-year-old elementary school students.

I look back now at the Hurricane Mitch clothes drive or the moment my classmate handed me the book of Spanish vocabulary and I can see little seeds being planted along my path of life. Those seeds had to be nourished by hundreds of other individuals, experiences, teachings, and 'unnoticed' defining moments to get me to where I am today, but I can look back at the clothes drive or the small and seemingly insignificant gesture of a fellow fourth-grader and know that those experiences are somehow connected to who I am and the path I have chosen to take. My life in Mexico is closer now than ever before and it both frightens and excites me. And, despite the fear, I am grateful that this is where my path has led me because I know that it is there where the seeds of service and Spanish will fully come into bloom.

Pathway to Mexico - Fourth Grade

Have you ever looked back on your life and realized that the moments and experiences you never considered to be important were, in fact, the very events that have come to define your present? The small and simple details of life are suddenly significant when you take the time to glance into your past. It is then that you can finally see how each moment and experience not only shaped who you are, but also the path upon which you are still walking. I cannot put a finger on the exact moment I looked back and realized how my path had led me to Mexico; what I can do, however, is remember the moments that created that path.

The life of a fourth grader who happens to have twin sisters as teachers can never be a dull one. Fourth grade was a year in which I published my own books, worked as a newspaper journalist, discovered how water balloons are like division, and filled my classroom with a giant bubble filled with paper mâché animals. Fourth grade was amazing! Knowing where I am now, however, something much more exciting happened to me in fourth grade: I met Manuela.

I don't really remember her name, but Manuela will suffice for the purposes of my story. In reality, the brief nature of Manuela's presence in my fourth grade class led me to almost forget this small experience that I now remember as a defining moment in my life. One day I had no idea of her existence, the next day she was our new classmate, having arrived recently from another country and knowing very little English. She did not stay the whole year and I never learned what happened to her, but while she was in our class I tried to befriend her.  And then it happened, that moment I can still see in my mind like it happened yesterday: a fellow classmate came to me with a book full of drawings accompanied by Spanish vocabulary and told me that I should have it because I was so close to Manuela. Maybe it could help me to help her.

I didn't know what to do with it. Me? Learn Spanish? I still remember looking at the first page with a drawing of a house and what seemed like hundreds of different objects and people and feeling a mixture of incredulity at the thought that a ten-year-old could learn Spanish by looking at drawings, and an inner happiness knowing that someone thought that I was in a position to help Manuela by learning her language. I remember trying to memorize the vocabulary and use it with Manuela, but she was gone before I put my new words to much use. However, while I quickly lost my meager supply of Spanish vocabulary, I never forgot Manuela and the idea that someone believed I had the ability to learn Spanish and use that knowledge to help someone else.