Judge not that ye be not judged.

Who you are is more important than what you do.

God will force no man to heaven--neither should we as parents, friends, or leaders, try to force people we have responsibility for to obey.  We should help them understand who they are, so they want to behave in a manner conducive to what they are.

Personal History--Meeting Kirby

Men's voices upstairs, I heard them through my dream fog and woke to find I had fallen asleep over my books. Great, I'm a mess, I thought. Hair mussed, wearing gray sweats and sporting old glasses instead of contact lenses, all I could think was, how was I going to avoid being seen. I was in my room and no one knew I was home, but that wouldn't last. I was going to have to get up, and the floor plan of my college apartment was not going to work to my advantage.

I recognized Marty's voice, and the voice of Ann, my roommate, but there was a new male voice that I didn't know. It sounded like Ann was going to make good on her promise to cut Marty's hair. Well, I was just going to have to move as quietly as possible. The vanity and sink were just outside my bedroom door, the bathroom was on the left. Stairs just to the right of the vanity led up half a flight of stairs to our front room and adjoining kitchen, that's where the three of them were talking. Hopeless, I thought, they're going to see me.

I sneaked out of my room and glanced at the mirror above the sink. Brown eyes behind plastic frames, dark shoulder length hair gone limp, and baggie sweats, not my best look. Just then I heard Marty's voice from above. “Hey, is that Sherri? Come meet my brother, Kirby.”

Great, I thought. I ascended the stairs reluctantly. There they were. Marty, tall, with straight, light brown hair, blue eyes and a square chin. He wore a collared shirt with wrangler jeans. He was the kind of guy who looked nice in a cowboy hat, and often wore one. My roommate Ann was short and petite with cropped brown hair, a cute pixie face and a bright smile, and then there was Kirby, tall and broad shouldered. He wore a yellow ski jacket, over a navy turtle necked shirt. His jeans were baggie, his hair, black, grown slightly over his collar, his eyes a piercing blue.  I'm not sure how long it took for me to realize that I was looking at my perfect man, but it wasn't long. After the introductions, and feeling I couldn't make a neat escape, I slumped into an over stuffed chair with my feet curled up, and as invisibly as possible, began to make my assessment of the situation.

Marty and Ann had taken their position inside of the kitchen. He on a chair with her behind , trimming his hair. They were talking. Kirby was on the couch He could both see and be seen by Marty and Ann. I chose a chair that was out of sight from the kitchen. Since Kirby was watching the haircut, and I was successfully being ignored. I was watching Kirby.

I had dated Marty a few times over the past month. He was nice looking, outgoing, ambitious, and smart. We had had some fun, but things had kind of stalled between us, and the last time we had gone out, I'd told him about Rick, my returned missionary friend from Maryland, who I'd been writing to for three years, and who was due back at school in January. I had meant to discourage Marty, and it had worked. I hadn't heard from him for a week or two.

It was December 1982. I was a Senior at BYU finishing my bachelor's degree in Elementary Education with a minor in English. This was my first semester back in school since my own 18 month mission to Hokkaido, Japan, which had ended in July. Next on my to do list were two things: graduate, and get married--not necessarily in that order. I had found myself recently praying nightly for Got to help me to find the perfect man before I left this prime male hunting ground and ended up an old maid school marm in some po-dunk little Utah town. Still, as much as I had been longing to meet my Mr. Right, I had hardly expected him to come waltzing into my apartment and take a seat on my couch, but there he was. Now what was I going to do about it? Well, I wasn't going to make a very good impression in the state I was in. Best stay as innocuous as possible and regroup.

For the next few days I went about my life as usual. I went to class, studied, did my homework; but on my way to and from classes, I kept my eyes open for Kirby. I saw him around a few times. He seemed to be spending his time hustling girls and skiing. He didn't seem to remember me, so I figured I'd start fresh on Sunday.

Of course, living at BYU, the primary social unit was the local church group--the student ward. That is where I figured I would see Kirby next. I dressed carefully that day for church. I chose a dark purple dress and high heels. I took extra time with my hair and make up. This time, I wanted to be noticed. Our ward meetings were held at the school. I walked down the hall, head held high, with a big smile on my face. Marty and Kirby were just ahead in the hallway, so I approached Marty and said, “Hi.” Kirby came over then too, and wanted to be introduced. We started a conversation, and this time I had lots of attention. When it was time to move to Sunday School class I fell in step with Kirby; Marty was a few steps behind. “Hey,” he said, “she came over to talk to me.” Kirby and I didn't slow down, we just kept walking and talking together. I wasn't interested in spending any more time with Marty.

During Sunday School, Kirby and I sat near each other in classroom desks and chairs, and when we broke up for Sacrament Meeting, Kirby asked me If I'd like to sit by him for that meeting as well. I agreed. Afterward, as we were walking out of the meeting, surrounded by other people, one of Kirby's friends started talking to him about their plans to go skiing on Tuesday of that week. "You know, I just love skiing," I said. Kirby didn't miss a beat, well, if I was free, would I like to go along? . .”Of course, I would love to,” I said. We walked home together and Kirby went back to Marty's apartment where he was staying. Before he left me at my apartment, we made plans to get together later that evening.

During the intervening hours, I found out later, Kirby took a drive up Y mountain and spent some time sitting on a rock, looking over the valley below. His mind was whirling, trying to figure out what to do about this girl he had just met, who had taken a fast hold of his heart, this girl named, Sherri.

The snow was falling, big, white, clumpy flakes. Suspended in a cloud above snow laden pine trees we rode together, nestled in our own world of wonder. It had been a day of fun and sport. We had spent it playing the rhythm of a fall line on a crisp December, Alta, Utah, afternoon. As the ski lift silently climbed, we nestled in a white frosty world. Kirby drew me close, his arm around my shoulders.

“Are you cold? He asked.

“A little.” I replied.

He reached out to shield my face from the falling snow with his hands, and as he did so, drew his face closer to mine. The kiss was sweet, soft, and wistful. Everything blurred and contracted around me. Afterward, we snuggled. I nestled in his arm, perfectly fitted, awestruck and silent.

The lift came to the top of the run and we skied down again, but our hearts were shaken. The lodge seemed to beckon. Over food and cocoa, we curiously explored the magic of more shared kisses, at once so simple, and so sweet, as to make us oblivious to all else but the dawning of love.

Sherri and Kirby 1983