Editor's note: This article, written by a Meridian reader, describes her experience holding signs in favor of California 's Prop 8.

“Maybe you should take an extra water bottle,” my husband suggested. “Someone might need it.” I grabbed one and put it in my bag as we walked out the door.

It took a while to find a parking space, but at last we were standing on a wide sidewalk in front of a well-known bookstore in Southern California . Like others at each corner of the intersection, we were displaying large, yellow “Yes on Prop 8” signs.

I held my sign directly in front of me. The strong winds curved it around my body.

“What is Prop 8?” a young man on the busy street corner asked, almost whispering.

“It's an amendment to the California state constitution,” I replied. A Yes vote on Proposition 8 is a vote for traditional marriage — marriage between a man and a woman.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, still speaking softly, as if he didn't want anyone else on the street to hear.

“Well, in the year 2000, this same measure was passed by sixty-one percent of the voters, but just recently, four judges from San Francisco struck it down. Now we're trying to restore the will of the people with a constitutional amendment. Are you a registered voter?” I asked.

“No. I'm not old enough yet,” the young man said, “but if I were I'd vote Yes.”

I smiled and held my sign higher as he walked away.

Long, loud, repeated honking drew my attention to the street. Looking toward the traffic, I couldn't tell if we were being flipped off or given a thumbs-up. I had already seen plenty of both.

A man in a truck yelled loudly and powerfully as he drove by. I couldn't understand anything he said, but he was undeniably angry. In contrast, a parking enforcement officer smiled sheepishly as she waited to turn at the light. “I'd honk to show my support, but I might get in trouble,” she confessed.

On the street, a man walking with his young son stopped and asked about the proposition. Hearing my explanation, the man responded, “That sounds like hate and discrimination to me. That's so old school.”

As they walked away, I straightened my arms and for the first time held my sign over my head, gripping it tighter on the sides as the wind pushed against it.

Two men in a car at a red light shouted, “Kill those gays!” Shocked and dismayed, I shook my head and grimaced, not believing what I had heard. My husband called out, “No! Don't say that!”

Still shaken, I realized that a lady on the street had approached silently from behind. We stood, shoulder to shoulder, as she quietly shared her support. When I repeated the horrible words the men in the car had yelled, she said, “Gays are children of God, too.”

“Of course they are,” I replied.

A woman and two very young children walked back and forth on the sidewalk. Their thumbs down, they yelled, “Boo! Boo!” over and over, as loudly as they could.

Suddenly, six men emerged from the bookstore and stood around me, flooding the air with crude and derogatory statements. I kept my eyes on the traffic and tried not to look at them or pay attention to the rude things they were saying.

Then one of the men declared, “I just got married.” I turned and looked at him, and he motioned to the man next to him by way of explanation. “What do you say to me ?”

Seeing his anger, I chose to say nothing. My husband noticed what was going on and walked over to stand quietly beside me. Getting no response from us, the men finally gave up and walked away.

Out in the street, an older couple drove past slowly, waving enthusiastically. I felt buoyed and encouraged and tried to focus on their positive response.

After a while, a man joined us, carrying a huge, handwritten poster with “No on Prop 8 (hate)” on one side and “Don't Support Bigotry” on the other side. He crossed each of the four crosswalks in turn, circling the intersection.

As he waited on our corner he taunted, “Haters! Bigots!” I smiled patiently, but my smile only upset him more. He hurled what he considered a terrible insult at me. “So, you just smile, do you? You are so Sarah Palin.”

I was smiling on the outside, but inside I prayed for a way to show him that my “Yes on Prop 8” sign did not represent hate. To the contrary, I felt great compassion for him, as I do for all those personally affected by this issue.

I stood on that street corner because I knew my conviction about marriage was based on a doctrinal foundation: my belief that marriage between a man and a woman is central and essential to God's plan for His children, both now and in the life to come.

A woman approached and said, “Look at me. I want you to look at me.” She pointed to another woman standing nearby. “This is my partner of thirty years.” She pointed to two teenage girls. “These are my children. What do you say to that ?”

My husband responded, “Then you'll probably want to vote No on 8.” “You bet I will!” she replied.

The man with the “No” poster was standing nearby. The woman turned to him and asked if he needed anything. He mentioned he was hot and thirsty.

On impulse, I pulled the extra water bottle from my bag and handed it to him. He accepted it gratefully, and the woman turned to me, amazed. She said to me, intently and directly, “That was a very nice thing to do.” Then as an aside to the people with her, she said, with surprise in her voice, “She's a giver.”

My husband and I smiled at each other, gratefully acknowledging the inspiration behind the extra water bottle, and I breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanks.

I watched to see if the man with the poster would drink from the water bottle. He did. After a while, he stayed across the street, chatting with one of the other “Yes on 8” sign holders. I was pleased to see that they were developing a nice rapport.

When it was time for us to go, my husband and I crossed the street to talk to them. The man holding the “No” poster told us about his experience living in a foreign country where, he said, you could never protest on the street.

I remarked, “Isn't it wonderful that we can stand here holding our signs with different opinions, peacefully? This is so America !” He agreed and thanked me again for the water bottle.

“I hope you know we're not haters,” I earnestly told him. He conceded, “I guess I was just really angry when I first arrived.”

As my husband and I walked to the car, I realized that I was already looking forward to the remaining Saturdays before the election, when we would again stand up for Prop 8.

Regardless of the winds of resistance, I thought, I will hold my sign high.

And I'll be sure to take an extra water bottle in my bag.