I was only nine years old when my father accepted a three-year work contract in Singapore. Saying goodbye to my best friend the night before we left was absolutely wrenching. It was a cold December night as we cried, hugged, and exchanged promises that we’d keep in touch forever. Never mind that we had fought like cats and competed fiercely since first grade.

Later that night, my family of six drove 45 minutes north from our home in Orem, Utah, to a hotel in Salt Lake City. We stayed the night and woke early to catch one of the first flights out, headed to Los Angeles. From there, it was a quick vacation in Hawaii, then a stop in Hong Kong before finally arriving in Singapore.

I only remember a few things from Hong Kong: the sights and smells of Stanley Market, buying imitation “Izod” shirts for a couple bucks off the street, and one experience I never expected—and have never forgotten. It was the kind of moment that cracked open my sheltered little world and showed me that even in a place as strange and unfamiliar as this, I could still feel at home.

It happened during the day while we were walking down a busy city street. Hoards of people hurried by, nearly everyone with jet-black hair. I must have stuck out like a sore thumb—even at nine, I was taller than most of the men around me, and my red hair practically blazed in the sunlight.

Everything felt unfamiliar. I felt completely out of place. And then, through the crowd of hundreds of strangers, we spotted two young Caucasian men in white shirts and dark jackets. Without hesitation, my father cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed as loud as he could, "Elders!"

I’m sure we startled more than a few locals. I couldn’t help but smile at my dad’s total lack of inhibition, even though we were the visitors on their turf. But sure enough, the two young men turned toward us, grinning from ear to ear. With faces lit up in joy, they waved and shouted back, "Mem-bers!"

(We each recognized the other's affiliation with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)

I still laugh thinking about it—how the missionaries instantly knew, and how thrilled we all were to spot one another. It felt like a reunion between family members who had never actually met. The light in their eyes was just as bright as if each of them were Alma, who “did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord.” (Alma 17:12)

Later, when we visited Australia, we tried to repeat the experience. We spotted two young men in suits and shouted across the street, but it turned out they weren’t missionaries—probably just businessmen. We laughed at our mistake and never found out what they thought of us.

Instead, we found the connection we were looking for at a local ward (congregation) on Sunday. Over the years, I’ve felt that same sense of home in Indonesia, in New York, and everywhere else I’ve attended church around the world.

I’m so grateful that my experiences overseas as a young child taught me something that has stayed with me ever since: I don't have to be at home to feel at home. People who share common beliefs and values—no matter their background or culture—can create that feeling of belonging wherever they are.

_________________

•   To discover how to start choosing more effectively now, read The Jackrabbit Factor (FREE!)  
•   If you want more step-by-step guidance on creating the life you really want, join me in the Mindset Mastery program.
•   If you want my help overcoming that giant obstacle right in front of you, learn more and sign up for Genius Bootcamp.