I don’t want to drive up to the pearly gates in
a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully tailored clothes, my hair expertly
coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in
a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I
want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making
sandwiches for a sick neighbor’s children. I want to be there with a little
dirt under my fingernails from helping weed someone’s garden. I want to be
there with children’s sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on
my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.
–Marjorie Pay Hinckley
