Jacob, a Fish Tank, and Two Gallons of Milk Walk Out of a Store

Before my car and I met Jacob, he decided to take a fish tank on a walk to the grocery store. See Jacob didn't have a car and he didn't have whole milk, and the latter of those two problems was something he could fix, but it meant walking to the grocery store and then walking back with the gallons of milk pinching his fingers, which to him was worth it for the luxury of whole milk. 

But he'd gotten tired of the pinching, so he brought the fish tank. Because a strapping young man like him could carry a fish tank full of milk jugs better than he could handle the plastic gallons squeezing his fingers as he walked. It was in this state that some people he didn't know and that I will never meet found him—carrying the fish tank with the milk, successfully, sort of, at least as successfully as something like that can be done. This family saw his balancing act and offered him, his fish tank, and his groceries a ride home. 

I had never heard this story until I read Jacob's account of it on a site called Anonymous Thank Yous, and when I did I cried. 

Jacob wrote it to say thank you to the people who gave him a ride long ago. I'm writing this for the same purpose, because it turns out that the thought of my husband struggling down the street with an aquarium full of milk kills me. It's enough to make me mad at myself, Katie, where were you when you could have been helpful?, even though I didn't even know him then. 

Thank you, anonymous family—thank you for taking care of my husband who has brilliant ideas that are also unusual and who may be the most lovely and wonderful person I have ever met.

This Thanksgiving, consider using Anonymous Thank Yous to thank a stranger who has touched your life. I'd love to read your stories. You can leave a link to your post in the comments here. I'd also love to hear if anyone else has ever decided to carry their groceries in a fish tank. Anybody? Anybody?

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

Miracle of friendship

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.

The day graduation happened to me

According to all ceremonial purposes, I have graduated. I've done the whole walking thing, and after one more class, I've have a real diploma to cover up the "example" one they put in my cover.

I've had some really rough and dark days in the five years I've been at BYU. I've had some really incredible days too. Looking back, it seems that every moment has been a little bit of both. Of all the let downs and breakdowns, I'll be honest in saying that there have been some times over the past two days of graduation that could actually rank pretty high in the list of most harrowing and emotionally trying moments at BYU.

That being said, here are some of the brightest spots and tender mercies:

• Discovering that the Graham Canyon ice cream at the creamery now has amazingly tasty streaks of graham crackers in it.
• Aneka and I talking about how degrees are still not going to cut it for what we want in life.
• The little red haired girl at the creamery who thinks her dad is weird for not liking dipping sauces and who confirmed to Aneka and me and that yes, we'd rather be moms. She gave me the most excited and sincere congratulations I heard all day—except for Brit's surprised, "You graduated!" and the excited but deep and reverent congratulations of my family.

• The little girl's mother who doesn't think her husband is weird and has a cool purse hook and who keeps track of the little girl who probably has more energy and love than anyone ever. I'd like to be like her.
• The graduate whose cap said, "Daughter #12" on the top. I have no idea what her parents have done and sacrificed to bring twelve daughters (and who knows how many sons) through college. I want to know though so I can do the same.
• The flowers my mom gave me, which were in my favorite color scheme ever—dusty blues, pale yellows, and toned down primrose—with the perfectly hued spider mum and the biggest rose I've ever held.
• My brother saying "I love you" before I said it to him.
• Finally making it to Bombay House and having my family actually like it.
• Seeing my mom's smile after the ceremony.
• My dad being really excited to receive my stole/sash thingy for his garage.
• My family attentively listening to and genuinely laughing at the story I shared.
• Drinking my first Calypso lemonade with my brother in the 7-11 lot.
• Having my grandpa with us at our two family outings.
• The moment when commencement didn't last for two hours.
• Three lovely convocation talks.

• Seeing Sarah Smith, Sara D., Alysa, Megan J., Talia, Christine G., Lori, John Bennion, Kent, Tom, and the man who looks like Ron Weasley in completely unexpected places. These were the kinds of divine meetings only the highest of powers could have orchestrated for me.
• Shaking hands with the man who looks just like Ron Weasley. He wasn't super thrilled to be meeting me, but he should have been. 
• Jenny and I both getting a balloon in the hole above the pendulum in the ESC. This long standing tradition for physics graduates is a tough challenge. We both rocked it—together.

As my period ends

If you're doubting that I mean "that period" as in my menstrual cycle, don't doubt. I am actually saying in this space that as of today, my monthly cycle is winding down.

I feel comfortable saying such things partially because most of my readers are female, but more so I'm saying it to express gratitude. Usually when women speak of their periods it's in terms of misery and lamenting. Unlike many women though, I feel the symptoms only slightly. A bit of discomfort off and on, but not the intense cramping and headaches that many experience.

My gratitude isn't actually so much so for the lack of pain though. I'm grateful for the lack of pain because for me, it means something more. When my mom reached age 24, her periods became more intense and painful than they ever were before. That marked the beginning of a long struggle to have children, as the pain was a manifestation of other problems, including endometriosis. This is why it's just me and my brother.

So with each passing cycle in my body, I feel excited at the thought that my body will—most likely—still be capable of conceiving. Whatever physical problems lurk in my future, they have not yet set in. When all the other aspects of my life seem to be falling apart, I'm grateful that one thing in me will work when the time is right. This is not of course to imply that women who suffer problems with infertility are "broken" or "failing." But in my own personal realm, it means I have a potential in me that is greater than I can imagine. This is something to be grateful for.

With that thought, I'll suggest you download this free album with a special tip of my hat to the song, "On the Hudson," which invites us to "sing of avocado trees and ships and unborn children in your hips."

[JACOB]

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.

It's time for one of these things...

I'm feeling the need for some gratitude listing right about now. Why quelch a feeling like that? And why miss an opportunity to say "quelch"? It's at least seventy times seventy more times awesome than saying "quench."

1. My brother played Risk: Factions with me on Sunday. It was a splendid game, and I'm grateful he still agrees to play games with me after our childhoods have ended.

2. I was really hoping and praying for some good deals while shopping. That prayer was indeed answered when I found these awesome boots at Target that will keep me warm and dry and still make me feel good about the way my feet look when I wear them and it doesn't end up snowing. I'm grateful for this insurance against the dark feelings the cold brings.

3. My dad has been reading my blog lately. I'm really grateful for his constant support of everything I do. He has always encouraged me to write, which has been invaluable for making me a happy person. I don't know what I'm do without him. I'm more grateful for him that my heart can hold.

4. My mom made some really great cornbread last night. I'm grateful for her efforts to make dinner for our family, even when it is really difficult to put together a meal in our kitchen and for our family's ever-changing tastes and preferences.

5. I'm grateful for the ability to write, the chance to move thoughts and feelings out through my fingertips. I sometimes wonder, if I couldn't write, would my fingers swell up with everything running through me?

6. I'm grateful for the Christmas holiday. Now, I hate commericalism and things, but I do love having a chance to think about gifts for those I love. Of course, gift giving is a very imperfect means of expressing love, but I enjoy the chance to think through what each person will enjoy the most and how I can create it for them.

7. I'm grateful for phones and text messages and emails that don't cost a fortune. 

8. I'm strangely grateful for the number eight. It reminds me of a memory trick one of my teachers taught me to remember the eighth amendment (it's sort of gruesome, so I'll spare you the mnemonic device) which then reminds me of all the wonderful teachers I've had throughout my schooling.

9. I'm grateful for Super and his general peaceable approach to setbacks.

I could put a number ten, but I don't want to give anyone the false impression that this is the end-all-be-all of lists.

Why finals are worth being apathetic over sometimes

A lovely non-engagement photo

For those of you who haven't been in college in a while—or ever—finals are the tests that you take at the end of every semester. The kicker comes for me that they happen about four days after classes have ended. By then, I have unattached myself from everything to do with school. During school, classes and I already have a love/hate relationship, making finals the—well, the final straw.

To top things off, I've been feeling rather sick lately. This of course means that studying is nigh unto impossible.

Well, nothing's impossible, but my mortal body thinks of studying as a side hobby that should be second to its well being.

I'm beginning to agree. When I crashed on the couch last night, Super was, well, super. He let me lay there and simply feel sick. How divine this feels compared to the thoughts I tell myself: Get up, Katie. You don't have time to be sick.

How wonderful it is to have someone wanting me well and who's willing to let me decide what I need at each moment, even when studying may seem like the obvious answer.

Sometimes it's not. I get this reminder every finals week. I'd even go so far as to call it the real final I take every semester.

"And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order."
-Mosiah 4:27

Photo credit: Elizabeth, our photographer friend.

The very first snow

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.

Again with the Tuesdays, lady . . .

Today's early morning hours brought cloudscapes that looked like streaks of paint across the sky with the same varying thicknesses a brush would leave. My shift at work was made complete by my winning a victory over a tricky Excel sheet. I had an hour to spare before class. This afternoon, Super and I will raid the 99 cent sock bin at the sock store down the street. Then, I'll have dinner with my best friend.

Once again, Tuesday is full of a wonder and beauty that betray the boxes on the calender.

And tonight, my friends and I will hold our annual viewing of a movie called, The Mouse and the Mayflower. We've been doing this now for over five years; despite going off to college and being really busy, we still watch it every year.

This is one of the few traditions in my life that I hold dear to an extreme level. There was a time when I hated the movie, but now, I can hardly wait till seven tonight.

While we're talking traditions, I am well aware that this season is traditionally a time of gratitude. Typically I take this time to think about the many things I should be grateful for; sometimes I make a list—if not on paper, in my head. What a great thing this is to do, but I'll admit that often it is more of a surface-level form of gratitude for me.

This year, I feel something different. Regardless of the time of year, I feel more grateful than I normally do. When I really put my mind to work on the list, my heart jumps right in with it and feels to sing the joys of people and things. Perhaps it's more circumstantial than seasonal. Nearly losing the best things in my life this year has shown me all I have and all I stand to gain. Though, I wish it didn't take loss to teach me.

I find it interesting that we always celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday. We don't let it shift around and catch us off guard. We feel it coming weekly, rather than numerically. Would it be lovely if every Thursday was full of good food and good people and greater understanding of what it means to have those two things?

My Tuesdays are starting to feel like that. I am more than okay with that.