The old, faded purse meant everything to me. I had bought it a few months prior to leaving on my mission. Normally, I’m not too attached to my possessions, but the purse had come to be a sort of symbolic representation of survival to me. Through the first months of my mission, while serving in South Dakota, many sisters talked about how many different bags they’d had to buy, how the straps often broke. For some reason, I always asserted that mine wasn’t going to break. I’m not sure the source of such determination, but I hoped to will my purse to survive the 18 month experience in a way that felt reflective of my hopes for myself. The first third of my mission had been brutal. I went through experiences that included the loss of a grandparent, intense depression, multiple hospital visits, physical sickness, and a companion who nearly died. Seven months into my mission, I was sent to Brazil, where things remained difficult for me. Yet through it all, my purse remained int