A few years ago, a sweet and energetic young missionary started her mission in our little tiny branch here in the secluded mountains of North Carolina. She was excited about the prospect of meeting others, of teaching the Gospel, and ministering to any who were willing to listen. While I believe her heart was in the right place, a few things seemed to be holding her back.
One Sunday in the hallway, she bounced up to me and asked me what part of Utah I was from.
I smiled and shook my head. "I'm not from Utah," I replied.
"You're not?" she asked.
"Born and raised right here in these mountains," I said. "Did someone tell you I was from Utah?"
She smiled. "Oh, no. I just assumed you were from Utah because you're pretty."