Recently, someone I love told me that I am a pioneer woman. I think this may be the greatest compliment I have ever received, and I'm liking that this disclosure happened right around the time of Utah's Pioneer Day holiday. It has given me lots of time to reflect on just what this means.
We often talk about how our modern struggles are just as hard as those of our pioneer ancestors, except they look really different. What is the same? Read more.
My friends all seem to be having babies lately. So, in my latest post for Women's Services, I wrote a little bit about how nurturing fits into those of us who feel less like nuturers.
Loneliness has often been a battle in my life. I need people. A lot. I need people who care about me to check in with me, to share with me, and to sit with me. Sometimes, I need someone there all the time, which while it is a real need, can sometimes be an impossible demand for the people I love to meet. I have many good people in my life who give a lot of their time to me. I'm really grateful for them. Still, I have days and moments when I am very alone, despite all they can do for me. Check out my post on the BYU Women's Services blog about how I handle these moments.
Today I rediscovered the album Beautiful Letdown by Switchfoot. Despite all their popularity, Switchfoot is at heart, a Christian rock group. I love this album for those moments when that shines through.
It's particularly true in the last song on the album, "Twenty-four." I thought it might be good mood music to accompany my last post on miracles.
"I want to see miracles, see the world change, wrestle the angel for more than a name."-Switchfoot
Sometimes the definitions of words escape me, or vice versa. Recently though, it came to my attention that what I've been seeking and asking for is a "miracle."
A miracle in the sense that I'm asking for a change of heart—in myself and others. I'm asking for a deep outpouring of love and forgiveness and wholeness. In someways, it is both daunting and comforting to be asking for a miracle. Daunting because it's a big change and miracles don't happen every day. Comforting because I know miracles are exactly what God deals in.
On Friday, a miracle happened, not the one I'd been requesting but one in the same vein. An old friend from study abroad Kris sent me an email with some writing she'd done recently. Her piece was prompted by another friend in our group Christine who'd just happened to send her something she'd been writing.
When I call these people "friends" I mean it of course, but it is fair to say that we are not all very close these days. Our lives have gone off in different directions, and even to begin with, we weren't all evenly close to one another. There were gaps, not subgroups, just gaps—people you knew but had yet to really connect with. We did pretty well overall though.
But when I read Kris's essay, I knew something wonderful had taken place in my heart. So I wrote back. Not a reply but a response from my heart about all her concerns and thoughts that in the writing exposed my own concerns and thoughts. The words made us friends in a deeper way.
Now, we're playing a sort of written Telephone game with everyone in our group. We are each writing a piece prompted by the one we received from a friend. The idea is making me so happy. I love seeing connections happen between two people, however unlikely they may be.
Those are my kinds of miracles, and really, they're the kinds I've always been seeking and treasuring in my life. I believe they are possible between any two people, born at that moment when someone finally says, "Me too."
It's a moment I live for, and one that I'm willing to keep living for always. My God is a God who brings people together and heals all the differences between them.
In other good news, my oatmeal today tasted awesome. It's good to taste awesomeness.
It was recently brought to my attention that my great-grandfather once cleared a bar.
Cleared a bar. That's the common way of saying he knocked out everyone (which means at least more than three men to upwards of thirty) in a room by himself with his brute strength.
I didn't get any more details on it from his son, my grandfather. I just know that it happened.
Sometimes that seems like a completely foreign world. In my world right now, there are no bars, and even if I went into one, I wouldn't want to set down my root beer long enough to punch anyone. And even if I did set it down, I wouldn't know who to punch. And even if I did know who to punch, I wouldn't know how to punch them. And furthermore, if I did punch them, they wouldn't know what hit them because my fist would have no impact.
Sad story for my strength.
Still, somewhere in my blood courses the potential to clear a bar. I may not know how to swing, but I am the type that would go down swinging if the cause was right.
Somewhere in me is the strength to wipe out a small army for a good cause. Somewhere in me lies the power to bring down a house of villains and ruffians if needs be.
This also means that somewhere in me sleeps the strength to raise a house, to bless nations, to uphold those who hang down, and generally move mountains.
I've been thinking about this in conjunction with this great video from Brandon Flowers. What hit me are these words, "Tell the devil he can go back where he came from. His fiery arrows drew their beat in vain. And when the hardest part is over, we'll be here. Our dreams will break the boundaries of our fears." Check it out. To learn more about Brandon Flowers, I suggest you watch the second video at the bottom.
I just ran across the most lovely post from a wonderful lady named Ashley, who I've only met once. I've mostly come to admire her through stories like this one.
I'm sure you'll admire her too. I'll invite you to read it by clicking on this link here. Then you can finish reading my thoughts here, which are less profound than hers.
Did you read it? Good. Now, I'll say a few mediocre things.
I too have never really liked stories about people praying and finding things they lost. I hated them because prayer never worked that way for me. Then one day, Heavenly Father taught me a powerful experience about why it wasn't working. It was because every time I lost something, I said a prayer like this: "I know I was stupid for losing it. I know you have many other things to do, and I should have just kept track of it." I put all this guilt on myself and didn't really believe God loved me enough to help me find things that are important to me.
When I did realize that, He answered. He answered immediately, with just the kind of dramatic finding that I heard about in other people's stories. He was just waiting for me to ask in faith.
My favorite quote from Ashley's post is this: "I can't quite pinpoint what it is, but lately I've been more of a
skeptic than a believer. I've carried around the weight of unanswered
questions. I've felt the burrowing burden of question in my own
beliefs. I do feel the process is important, and even healthy, but I
also am learning that there is a time to stop and simply believe,
because sometimes that is the thing that saves us, that brings us back
to who we are supposed to be."
I've been searching for a lot of answers lately. I've been finding them, and this process has been beautiful. But I'm discovering that there are still some key things I do not know. In thinking of one in particular, I thought I had to know that to believe it. But that's backward. It's okay to believe in things that I do not yet have a knowledge of. God will help me find it.
About a year ago, I spent an afternoon and an evening eating potatoes, chili, and strawberries; talking about heroes and causes; and arguing about capitalization. I knew that everything had changed. And it did. I spent the next week thinking about pink lemonade as an intervention tactic, which is still a thought that crosses my mind. I was not ever thus before.
I’ve been through some periods in my life of deep depression and discouragement, but nothing compared to what I’ve been through more recently. I was not ever thus before.
People often say that things heal with time. I’ve always thought that was true. It’s only a half truth though. Satan is the father of all lies, especially the ones that have some truth in them.
Yes, time dulls pain and makes us forget some things, but time alone has no power to heal. We can let time pass and try to forget our sins and pains, but they never go away unless we confront them with the power the Savior extends. True healing comes only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Time may be a component, but the changes and the lasting peace that accompanies real healing—those belong to Him. When we rely on His Atonement, then we can truly say, “I was not ever thus nor prayed that thou shouldst lead me on. I loved to choose and see my path but now, lead thou me on.”
The variations on lyrics to Andrew Bird’s “Fiery Crash” are remarkable. Though it seems clear that he’s saying “Dramamine,” everyone else on the Internet finds that to be something about “jet waves driving me.” I can’t say exactly who’s right and who’s wrong, but it’s clear that my airplane experience is intrinsically linked with that motion sickness pill. One night flight, it knocked me out when I least expected it. I remember every inch of my body going limp. “You were hurtling through space, g-forces twisting your face,” says Mr. Bird. Which is exactly what it was like in a relaxed way. My often tense and anxious body gave into the comfort next to me and knew everything was just fine. Unable to move anything, I succumb to goodness and peace in ways I can only do when I truly feel powerless.
I don’t often feel like this. Usually my mind is filled with the worst things that can happen. I only get through airplane flights because for some reason I’m good at shutting down my fears quickly in that setting. That’s usually the healthiest route for me.
But I like the way Mr. Bird sings about these fears that sometimes take us over. Actually thinking it through can allow us to arrive at the fact that what we envisioned will not happen. But it’s crucial not to be stuck in the middle of the scenario.
“Where every human face has you reaching for your mace. So it’s kind of an imposition, a fatal premonition. . . . But to save our lives you have to envision the fiery crash. It’s just a formality. Why must I explain? Just a nod to mortality, before you get on this plane.”
"Think nothing," he says on the subway. I'm not sure I'm capable of this, but I did it once on a subway too. That's where this movie gets me.
Few movies are everything I want. Even fewer are everything I need. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close sunk into me in a pleasing and soothing way. It was instructive to my mind: here's crazy. Here's uncrazy. As everything goes in and out of focus for Oscar, I get closer to the holes in my mind, the gaps in my way of thinking, and they close up in the example of how we deal with fear.
My dearest friend Kent hates seeing people who essentially live the Gospel, but don't experience any of the blessings. This statement seems contradictory at first. If we live the Gospel, we are promised blessings right? Yes, we are. We have a loving Father in Heaven who stands ready to pour out blessings upon us.
So how is it possible that there are these people who do not experience the blessings? I believe it's because their hearts are not in the right place. They are doing just that, going through the motions, but they are not fully dedicating their hearts unto God. I feel I can say this because I have sometimes found myself in this state. I live the Gospel, but I forget to ponder on the deep doctrines and the love that comes with every little action we are asked to do. This comes down to the desires of our hearts.
There are in my mind three stages of desire: 1) we think we want something but we do not really understand it, 2) we want something and we know why it is a good thing to want, and 3) we want something good, we understand it, and we are actively seeking after it with our whole souls through prayer, faith, and work. Surely, there are other ways we could look at it, but I find these three to be helpful for me.
It is not enough to simply want to be good, to possess good qualities, or to have good things. We must desire deeply and be willing to commit ourselves. It can be easy to desire something at the first level, but it is a very different thing to reach the third level.
We must desire the best of things at the third level. When you recognize that you should desire something with your whole soul, it makes you a lot more cautious about what kinds of things you give yourself to that deeply.
When we desire the things of God with our whole heart and soul, we are bound to receive them. D&C 11:17 says, "And then, behold, according to your desires, yea, even according to your faith shall it be done unto you." D&C 88:32 also speaks of those who receive less glory from God because they are not "willing to enjoy that which they might have received." What a sad thing that is to me. When I read it though, I feel determined to seek out more light and love from the Lord and to enjoy His blessings.
I suppose this has become a rambley post, mostly because it is a thing deep in my heart that my mind keeps circling around.
I'll stop trying to say things, and instead encourage anyone to view this video. Here, Elder Oaks explains this concept far better than I ever will.
I'll spare the categories and just cut to the chase: see My Neighbor Totoroand savor it. I was afraid it would scare me. I was afraid I wouldn't like it. I was afraid I would miss something by not watching it with subtitles. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get it back to the library. I was afraid I'd never get it to play on a computer past the first five minutes.
I am obviously afraid of many things. I watched it in spite of those. It's a children's movie after all, right? Yes. And no. It's a movie for everyone. For me though, it was a movie for the mom I am not yet: both literally and spiritually.
I'm afraid of more things than just not liking movies. Unlike Satsuki and Mei, I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of things hiding in corners. I'm afraid of monsters. I'm afraid of ghosts. These are things we normally stop fearing once we're no longer little kids. I think Satsuki and Mei have beaten me to overcoming these though. They step into the darkness with a loud growl and a laugh to scare away anything scary. This is a lovely method, but can a grown woman scream every time the sun goes down?
I'm afraid of my own children some day coming to me with fears that I also have: things under the bed, making new friends, and dark spaces. I need to respond with comfort, proper assurance, and real answers—things I need to give myself now.
I'm afraid of worse things: like losing children. I recognize that I'll become an over-bearing mother who can't let her kids out of her sight. Though I recognize that, I'm determined not to become that. As Satsuki and Mei ran around free in their world, I was nervous. I wanted them to be safe. I wanted someone to know where they were at all times. But as the movie went forward, my worries left. The example of trusting, loving, and hopeful parents stood in place of what I feared. Their children were taken up by a cat bus, for crying out loud, and I was totally okay with that. It's a safe world. My children won't have a Totoro exactly, but are we not constantly encircled in the care of angels? I believe that. I can trust that. I can let my children run. I can escape my own fears.
When people think of Mormons, they often see us as a people bound up by rules. They might mistakenly think that our entire religion is a great list of dos and do nots. It's easy even for myself to start thinking that my relationship with God is based entirely on the commandments. I do know that God gives us commandments for our good, for our safety, and for our growth. However, His first commandment to us is to love Him. There must be faith, hope, and charity in our lives. Obeying His counsel helps us to develop those, but they are also conditions of the heart that we must choose to live with.
Moroni 10:23 says, "And Christ truly said unto our fathers: If ye have faith ye can do all things which are expedient unto me." It is through our faith that Heavenly Father manifests His power in our lives. In the video below, Elder Neil Andersen talks about how this simple principle is at the heart of what we should focus on in our lives.
"Smart girls like us, we can get at least a C on multiple choice tests without even going to class," I told my roommate, Aneka.
Aneka notified me that while this is true, the test she was about to take was for American Heritage—the most infamously terrible and unpassable class in the history of BYU. This class makes grown men cry. Though designed for freshmen, even a seasoned college student will only scrape by with lots of effort.
More importantly though, Aneka is Canadian. They definitely don't prepare you to take American Heritage in Canada.
Of course, Aneka would study and prepare and nail this test on a normal week. These past few weeks have been anything but normal. She's been distracted by this brown-haired man who has two broken thumbs but seems to love her still the same. In our apartment, we're learning to let love trump all other pursuits. American Heritage didn't stand a chance. All you can do at that point is pray though, since in some realm of the universe, it still matters whether Jefferson declared the pursuit of happiness or whether that came from John Locke.
I was at work when I got this text: "I got a 73! I don't even know what letter that is cause I've never done so bad, but I'm so happy!"
This sign that things work out made me so happy that I started crying right then and there for Aneka who got a C and the boy who can't use his thumbs.
I tend to fluctuate in my love and hate of C Jane, but at the end of the day, I must always confess that she is a great writer. After watching this vlog on her fifth love though, I must also confess today that she is a great person who is not so different from myself.
My first thought as I glanced at this article was jealousy that there are 601 comments on it. Then I read it. If all of those 601 comments are good and positive, Simcha Fisher deserves every one of them.
These are beautiful thoughts, which I agree with completely. (I wouldn't disagree as I don't have the credentials for that.) I wanted to share it with my readers, because I want to hear your thoughts as women, girls, inbetween those two, mothers, grandmothers, and even as men, boys, and fathers.
Here's what resonates with me: we have so many expectations of what we are capable of and of how things should feel. We are usually wrong: we are capable of everything, and there is always deep joy to be had somewhere.
I include this picture of my brother and me from about five years ago because this was a moment when we were deeply grateful for my mom, who tried to get us to win her a cake at the elementary school cake walk for twelve years, between the two of us. At the last time possible, we did it.
I tend to abuse the word "favorite," but when it comes to Book of Mormon prophets, I truly do have just one favorite above all others: Jacob, the brother of Nephi.
For as long as I can remember, I tend to turn to his writings for comfort and guidance. The Spirit often uses his words to teach me because Jacob the prophet and I share some ways of thinking. That's a bold comparison, putting myself with a cannonized prophet, but I say this because his personality comes through so strongly in his writings that I can see how it matches my own.
Jacob was also a writer. Nephi commanded him to write—to write of great prophecies and revelations, to write of what he knew, to write of truth—all for a people who only sometimes listened. "Wherefore, we would . . . that all men would believe in Christ, and view his death, and suffer his cross and bear the shame of the world; wherefore, I, Jacob, take it upon me to fulfill the commandment of my brother Nephi" (Jacob 1:8).
Jacob speaks often of responsibility, at times with a certain resignation. He accepts his calling to invite his people unto repentance, but he seems so sad about it. The cruelty and unfeelingness of his people is directly opposite to the soft heart he bears to them. You can see that he feels personal sadness for those he teaches. He cannot bear seeing them suffer and hurt each other. In this respect, he is a man after my own heart. He is anxious about people and eager to heal them. He keeps fighting a battle he may be losing with faith that good will always come of it.
I'm grateful to him for his writings, for every letter engraven in a plate of brass in the hopes of bringing someone unto Christ. I respect his courage to keep writing and to remain unshaken.
Before I say adieu, I would highly recommend this article on Jacob, which brings out the story of a man who was also a prophet.
Last week, my ever lovin' Bethany and Mr. Jimmy G got married. I've been waiting about seven years for this day. In May of 2005, I insisted that Beth begin spending more face time with the boy who drew her ships and circles and thought he could love her. I pulled up my car in front of a maze of towering rose bushes and boldly knocked on his door that fateful day. That's where it all started—at least my part of it. And I always knew this was how it would end. And by end, I mean begin.
Around senior year of high school, we began betting sodas. Not being real gamblers, we never staked more than an IBC on our opinions. I developed this idea though that Beth owed me a soda for saving her love life.
"If they don't get married, I'm giving up on love," I said. That become a sort of mantra to my dark dating life over the following years. I was certain that if things couldn't work out for Beth and Jimmy G, then they didn't work at all.
As we all entered our twenties, I realized my oath was a bit ridiculous. At times, I braced myself for the eventuality that things might not work out. I think I reached a point where I was willing to love for myself independently of what happened to two of my best friends.
Still, when I got the text from Beth saying they were engaged, I cried this mix of joy and relief and bliss that I didn't expect to well up from my soul. I asked for more story and laughed at her texted response, "Keep calm. I will call when I can."
Now that this deal is sealed, I've been thinking about why it was I felt fine staking my faith in love on two kids who started falling in love at fifteen.
Here are some reasons: 1) They talk. I believe they know how to communicate and to work through problems and difficulties. 2) They appreciate the strangest things about each other. 3) Something about the two of them together just feels so beautiful to me. They fit and balance and make all kinds of sense to me.
I can't think of any more reasons. The simplicity of that baffles me into a sort of reverence and awe at what love does.
I made sure to pay the debt Jimmy G said I owed him. "You owe me a soda—for saving your faith in love."
So, I sent them off with some soda. In an act of faith in the future, I also made sure that I caught her bouquet.
I have never written a blog post about snow before now. If I had written one last year, this is probably what it would say: Today it snowed. I walked out the door—late per usual—and wondered what was so wrong with the world that it would decide to pour down cold, dangerous, icy, gross snow. Ugh.
(And that's the nicer version of the anger that would have been going on in my head over snow.)
A switch has flipped since then though. Last Friday, I donned Super's red snow hat and walked out the door. The sky was light in that pre-snow shade of grey, and it was warm outside. I knew this would mean the first snow was about to show itself in some format. And snow it did. Nothing major—just a white dust for the cars and roofs tops that left the grass still yellowed green. At some point, it turned more to rain than anything fluffy or white.
The concept of snow hasn't changed; it still makes me cold, still makes the roads icy, still turns the sidewalks into freezing rivers, still makes my socks wet, still makes my world look different. But it no longer makes me sad.
This year it's beautiful, and I'm going to welcome it—and try not to let my welcome wear out by January.
In our church meeting last week, one of the speakers asked why life seems so hard, why our trials seem to outnumber our blessings. Then he answered his own question, "Because we have ungrateful hearts." Could it in fact be true that by being grateful life could be easier, richer, happier?
The snow proves it true for me. It drifts in and recolors my world, bringing its warm front before the downpour, but this time, it's calm and bright.
