Willing to Stand Alone

Having recently started a new job I am still getting to know the people I work with and they are still getting to know me. This kind of situation often leads to interesting encounters for me. A couple colleagues and I were headed to our team Holiday party and my supervisor told me I had earned every last drink I'd have that night. I laughed and said, "I should just make sure you know this now - I don't actually drink."

"That's okay - you are not the only one, so don't worry!" was her quick reply.

The funny thing is it never crossed my mind that I should be worried about not drinking. And I didn't feel like I needed someone else to not drink with me in order to feel comfortable.

At the bar I started talking to another girl who I've had a few conversations with, including telling her I am from Utah. It turns out she is roommates with a girl I go to Church with. Her statement to me: "You know you're not the only Mormon who works here, right?" I had no idea, but it warmed my heart to know, and I started planning on going and talking to this colleague the next day and felt an immediate bond with her.

That experience made me think of a story that President Thomas S. Monson shared in General Conference back in October. And made me grateful to see in a concrete example that I am willing to stand alone if I need to, and a reminder of how helpful it is to not have to stand alone all the time.

Enjoy the excerpt from President Monson's talk Dare to Stand Alone:

I believe my first experience in having the courage of my convictions took place when I served in the United States Navy near the end of World War II.

Navy boot camp was not an easy experience for me, nor for anyone who endured it. For the first three weeks I was convinced my life was in jeopardy. The navy wasn’t trying to train me; it was trying to kill me.

I shall ever remember when Sunday rolled around after the first week. We received welcome news from the chief petty officer. Standing at attention on the drill ground in a brisk California breeze, we heard his command: “Today everybody goes to church—everybody, that is, except for me. I am going to relax!” Then he shouted, “All of you Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A rather sizeable contingent moved out. Then he barked out his next command: “Those of you who are Jewish, you meet in Camp Henry—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A somewhat smaller contingent marched out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants, you meet in the theaters at Camp Farragut—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”

Instantly there flashed through my mind the thought, “Monson, you are not a Catholic; you are not a Jew; you are not a Protestant. You are a Mormon, so you just stand here!” I can assure you that I felt completely alone. Courageous and determined, yes—but alone.

And then I heard the sweetest words I ever heard that chief petty officer utter. He looked in my direction and asked, “And just what do you guys call yourselves?” Until that very moment I had not realized that anyone was standing beside me or behind me on the drill ground. Almost in unison, each of us replied, “Mormons!” It is difficult to describe the joy that filled my heart as I turned around and saw a handful of other sailors.

The chief petty officer scratched his head in an expression of puzzlement but finally said, “Well, you guys go find somewhere to meet. And don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”

As we marched away, I thought of the words of a rhyme I had learned in Primary years before:

 

Dare to be a Mormon;

Dare to stand alone.

Dare to have a purpose firm;

Dare to make it known.

Although the experience turned out differently from what I had expected, I had been willing to stand alone, had such been necessary.