Day 4 your favorite photograph of your best friend(s)

Cindy and I, on one of our long, chilly walks around Rexburg.

I've known Cindy since I moved to North Carolina in fifth grade. The first two years of our acquaintanceship were inconsequential, but after a birthday party of a mutual friend where we didn't really have anyone to talk to but each other, things started to change. We discovered we both loved writing and Harry Potter. Apparently that's all it took. One Saturday afternoon visit turned into two, which turned into a sleepover, which turned into multi-day sleepovers every month or so. By that time, I was completely hooked on Cindy's love for classic literature, Broadway musicals, and long walks through the woods. God knew how badly I needed this beautiful, interesting, fun, smart, talented, spiritual person in my life.

After a little drama on my part (trying to decide what school I was going to,) and a little nervousness on Cindy's part (wondering if we were going to drive each other crazy,) we decided to room together in college. Best. Decision. Ever. Cindy and I enjoyed being English majors, going to concerts on campus, sitting outside on a blanket for entire summers, and just living in the kind of environment that only BYU-Idaho can offer.

We also looked after each other, in a way that only roommates and girls and best friends can. We saw each other through a lot of emotional turmoil, with hard classes, newfound independence, and of course, guys. And yes, there were days when I hurt Cindy's feelings, or she hurt mine, or both, but at the end of the day, we always found reasons to be grateful for each other. It was a wonderful, beautiful thing. I miss those days...I think about Cindy all the time.

About 7 years into our friendship, Cindy met a wonderful man named Mahon, and if you know anything about them, you already know that they're probably the happiest, most loving married couple ever to exist. I was privileged to be Cindy's maid of honor, and loved seeing her so, so happy.

Still do, in fact.

No, Cindy no longer functions as my best friend. I don't tell her all my secrets, or all the funny things that happen during my day, or my silly-or-otherwise plans for the future. But regardless, I treasure what we've had and hope that we will continue to keep a special, deep place in our hearts for each other. She singlehandedly kept me afloat, kept me holding on, in a time in my life when I didn't have anything else. To tell you the truth, I didn't even have me.

I think it's because Cindy helped me stabilize who I am that Tim has helped me to change so much. (I think he's little uncomfortable that he fills this "best friend" role, but he probably should have thought of that before he started spending all of his time with me. :) )

Tim and I, after a lovely night of ballroom dancing - on my birthday, even!

You know, I'd never really thought about how alike Tim and Cindy are before, which is probably why I find it so baffling right now...

For one, they are undeniably intellectual. Cindy and Tim always have such interesting things to say about things they've read, and have figured out so many problems, and explored so many options. Talking to them is, without fail, an enjoyable experience, simply because they have so much brain, and they care deeply about the things they think about. Plus, Tim and Cindy work hard to do the right thing no matter what, demonstrating both diligence and spirituality. The most helpful insights I have ever received have been from these two vastly intelligent people - and they give them to me all the time.

They both struggle with their health, and have for a long time. Cindy and Tim have very different health issues, of course, but the stress of doctors' appointments, insurance, medication, and being "different" and "limited" is a familiar experience to both of them. They invite me to be understanding and nurturing, and their experiences inspire me to appreciate my own wellbeing so much more.

Tim and Cindy are both extroverts, but possibly as a result of problematic health, the intense need for people and fun is quickly followed by an intense need for silence and rest. No matter what extreme they're in, they need physical touch in order to feel loved. Being a little more even keeled myself, I love going along for the ride as they have their highs and lows. And at the end of the day, who doesn't want to sit close to someone you love and watch a well-written, funny TV show? I have many fond memories like that with both Cindy and Tim. And I, too, love physical affection.

They're creative, whether it's art, poetry, dance, whatever. They're predominantly visual people, with an undeniable penchant for music and words. They're also curious. They appreciate adventure, emotions, and the wisdom (and JOY) that comes from experience. While they are certainly more passionate about visual arts, dance, and music than I am, not to mention better at it, I'm completely fascinated by people like them. I'm also fascinated by adventure and words (Does "British Literary Pilgrimage 2010" mean anything to you? :) ) so we're certainly in good company there!

But even with all of these similarities, I don't think that Tim and Cindy could ever really be friends with each other. They simply have very, very different philosophies about life. Cindy favors industry, tangible results, duty, and convention. She plays by the rules, and she's good at it. I can't tell you the number of funny looks I've gotten from her over the years, the number of times she told me to be reasonable, to get to work, to focus on my chosen destination. Because of her, I have deep, conservative roots, and a love and understanding of social norms because of the benefits they have to offer.

But by the fall of 2008, I'd taken this advice too far. I was sadly uptight, yet occasionally a bit flippant - a stellar professional with this inexplicable goofy streak. With Cindy's excellent influence, I'd gotten good at conforming to the system - I just forgot to figure out what made me happy.

That's when I met Tim. Tim encourages me find my own version of happiness, now that "the rules" are securely under my skin. He reminds me that sometimes the "rules" I perceive are really a result of my skewed perspective - so why follow them if they're erroneous AND they make me unhappy? He's the guy who encouraged me to skip class when I was having a hard day, for example, and who tells me it's OK that I talk his ear off sometimes. He thinks it's OK that people are strange, because he knows that finding your certain kind of strangeness in someone else often forges the deepest bonds. He values connection over convention.

Tim is spontaneous. He loves to break from the norm, question the rules, and live in the moment.

"Joy is in the journey," Tim tells me.

...And what a joyful journey it's been.

Day 3 your idea of the perfect first date

Perfect FIRST date?

It would probably be best if I didn't realize it was a date until afterward, frankly.

If a guy is too flirtatious in the beginning, it feels very predatory to me. Yikes. On the other hand, if he plays it too casual, I'm convinced he doesn't like me and I don't put in any effort at reeling him in.

The balance? A ready arsenal of get-to-know-you questions, to be used as needed. Ideally we'd go somewhere that we could chat, but that it would also be OK if we didn't.

(I actually went on a first date that was like that -- we paddled around in a little kayak through this golf course. When we wanted to talk, we did, but if we didn't we just concentrated on the oars. Worked great for me. Probably the best date I had that whole summer. Thanks again, Ben.)

After the first date though, he'd better start talking about how pretty he thinks I am or something, otherwise I'm going to give up on him again. And then he can start subtle touchy type stuff.

But the first date? I don't know you, man. Gerroff me!

Chastity, God's Love, My Life: A Testimony of Truth

I have a friend who wants to date Mormons. We laughed about this at first – she’s a Catholic living in Utah – but then she finally explained. She is absolutely in love with the idea of waiting to have sex until marriage. She’s sick of being propositioned on the second date, so with Mormon boys it’s so nice not to have to worry about that. My friend complained that she just doesn’t understand why other boys can’t respect that, or wrap their brains around that concept.

“Well gosh,” I told her, “it’s not at all a part of modern culture.”

Which is a shame. I genuinely believe that any time anyone has premarital sex, they are “playing marriage”. That ends up making a mockery of the most sacred and special and life-changing relationship you will ever ever have, EVER. I KNOW that's not right. And I respect both my God and my future husband too much to put myself in situations where my conviction of the sacredness of sex and marriage will be questioned.

And here's the really cool thing about most Mormons. Sure, we're raised to believe this stuff, but in this crazy world we're in, you just can't live your life coasting on what other people tell you. So people who act like they're not down with the premarital sex thing usually really believe it's wrong! It's a conviction, not a culture. For the most part.  Our doctors are amazed when we inform them that we are not sexually active, but really, it’s just a part of who we are. There’s extra light in our eyes.

I mean, I know that there are things in my life that I struggle with, just like everyone else. I have my ups and downs…but I want you to envision a graph. My line, even with all the ups and downs, is always at the top half of the graph, because God is in my life in frankly unimaginable ways. Other people have ups and downs too, but I worry sometimes that they are just living on a lower plane, when their lives could be AWESOME. I'm not saying that my life is perfect because you add God to the mix and BLAM, everything is fixed. Just that living spiritually is a generally happier way to be.

Spirituality is a necessary component that gets you out of bed in the morning and gives you a reason for living. Yet, there are a ton of things in life that dull that sensitivity to spiritual things, and pull your line downward on the graph, so to speak. That’s why I don't swear, or drink, or wear skimpy clothes. It takes something awesome -- like the power of words, or my body's inherent value -- and cheapens it, whether it's by focusing on the negative or distracting me from the positive. Or both. And that makes it a lot harder for me to use these amazing resources that God has given me in order to make my life, and the lives of other people, as wonderful as they should be. I went through a time when I had a really self-destructive mindset, and it was so amazing how God pulled me out of it in order to change my life, and enable me to change the lives of others.

Let me just say right off that I love my father. Even though I’m nearly 23, he’s still “Daddy” to me. When I call him just to say hello – which is often – we usually talk for at least an hour. He’s generous and intelligent and enthusiastic, a combination which often results in him explaining really interesting things to me. My dad loves to give me advice and is an amazing listener, and he always seems to know exactly what to say in order to make me feel less crazy. I love that I get to be one of his best friends.

However, my father grew up in a physically and emotionally abusive home, and it carried into how he raised me. Not going to mince words here – he has been emotionally abusive. Our relationship (and his parenting) has MINDBLOWINGLY improved since I was a kid. But I am still in the process of healing from, well, from my upbringing.

The worst part of it was the November after I turned 15. For the first time, I was the oldest kid at home and I was just so sick of bearing my father's disproportionate reactions. So I wrote him a note and told him that I couldn't take it anymore, and if he didn't knock it off, I was going to take every pain pill in the house. (We had a lot; my parents have had multiple joint surgeries.) I put the note on his pillow, and then went into my room to sob for a while.

Eventually the incoherent sobs formed into a desperate prayer. "Heavenly Father, I can't handle this, I can't do this, I can't take this for another 3 years before I can move out, if there is any way to get me out of here please do it, things are never going to change and I just don't have the strength to do this anymore, are you there? can you help me? are you there?"

It was about then when the thought shoved itself into my head -- divine intervention at its most personal -- that if there was any time to read the scriptures for comfort, this was it. So, desperately throwing my eyes around the room, I found my scriptures: Old Testament, New Testament, The Book of Mormon (which has the same light and truth that the Bible does, but talks about the people in the ancient Americas instead of the people of ancient Jerusalem), and Doctrine and Covenants (which is a collection of revelations -- you know, like God talking to His children -- written down. Most of them are God talking to Joseph Smith about what Christ's church was like when Christ was on the earth, and how to make the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that way again. Pretty amazing if you ask me.)

I blindly opened the book and flipped around until it felt right, and started reading. I found a chapter in Doctrine and Covenants, which comes from a time when the early Mormons were being persecuted and really didn't have a safe place to call home. If possible, I cried even harder when I found the verses. Remember that I was suicidal at this point, even though I was working so hard to be a good person despite being in a pretty hopeless situation, and you'll understand the weight of these words:

"For verily I say unto you, blessed is he that keepeth my commandments, whether in life or in death; and he that is faithful in tribulation, the reward of the same is greater in the kingdom of heaven. Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow after much tribulation. For after much tribulation come the blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be crowned with much glory; the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand."

It was a message from God, directly to me. “Sara, I know you don’t want to live anymore. But I am going to make up for every hard thing that you are going through. You can’t even begin to understand how awesome things are going to be – not yet, but soon.” 

Wow. Those verses wrapped me up in this overwhelming and protective sense of God's love. I found the following verse in the Book of Mormon a few days later, and cried again, knowing how apt a description it was:

"But behold, the Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love."

Having finally combated the more concrete part of the problem -- that my wonderful daddy can be a real jerk sometimes -- my angst was redirected to the more abstract side. How my dad treated me had affected how I thought of myself. After some counseling, and no longer being on survival mode, I could finally see: Wow, I think I’m pretty worthless. But I was still functioning, mostly because I knew God obviously didn't think I was worthless, and I tried to be a good person for Him, if nothing else.

I lived with this mindset -- I think I'm awful, everyone else thinks I'm awful, but God disagrees -- for the next two and a half years. By that time, the stunning truth of God's love had been somewhat overpowered by the crippling idea that His love was the only kind I would ever deserve. That's when, in a general psychology class that I didn't actually have to take, I was given the assignment to smile at everyone I had eye contact with. For a week.

WHAT?? my brain screamed. No one wants me to smile at them! They'll think I'm so weird! They'll be mean about it! Who DOES that? What kind of crazy idea...? AAHHHHHHH!!!

But, even as a senior in high school, I had a sense of adventure that to this day pushes me to do things that are just a little outside of the norm. So I tried it. And, hesitantly, tentatively...I liked it.

A few days later, I went to seminary. Seminary is a unique program of the Church where high school students get together during the school year -- often at very early hours! -- to read the scriptures and talk about the lessons in them. My house was too far away from the gathering point for me to meet every morning, but a nice woman in the ward agreed to meet with me and my siblings once a week so that we could participate in seminary too. That week, we were studying the New Testament, and since the school year had just started, we were on Matthew 5.

I don't know how I held it together long enough to get out of there, but somehow I did. And then I bawled. Again. (My early life involved a lot of crying, can you tell?) Here’s why:

"Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

God loved me, yes, but other people did too. Not only that, but it was my responsibility to share God's love with them. I had light, and there was no hiding it. So that year, I smiled at everyone. Joked with them. Made friends. There were certainly days when I was still afraid, and God had to offer me some more reassurance. But overall...it was incredible.

These experiences were the start of a brand new life for me. It wasn't perfect, and since then I have definitely had my share of dark, lonely, and painful hours. But I know I've had worse, and survived. I can survive anything, because God is tutoring me -- me, personally -- to be the best Sara I can possibly be. And He's never going to give up.

Because of these experiences, I know that God exists. I know that the Holy Spirit acts as a messenger and a comforter and a guide, and I can live my life to always have His presence. I know that Jesus Christ suffered, to an impossible degree, so that I can become a new person every day, even when I sin and making stupid and hurtful and lazy mistakes that pull me away from becoming the person God wants me to be. Jesus Christ, God's Only Begotten Son, also takes my paltry, weak efforts to be good, and expands them -- magnifies them -- so that with Him, I accomplish more and receive more blessings than I could ever deserve. I rely on Him to bring me back to our Father -- Christ's Father and my Father, and yours. Christ's eternal sacrifice makes me clean, even clean enough to be in the presence of the perfect and holy and eternal Creator of the universe, who fathered my spirit and wants nothing but the very, extremely, most perfect best for me. Heavenly Father wants me -- us -- to be what He is, with our own infinite children and planets and knowledge to direct them all accordingly. To love them all perfectly, like He does.

HOW INCREDIBLE IS THAT??

To bring it back to our original point, I think that's why it's so important to be chaste before marriage. When we have children on this earth, we're practicing for when we're like God. Why would you ever fool around with that? That's why Mormons are so strict on dating and marriage and such, you know. The temple is the only place sacred enough for a man and a woman make that promise to God and to each other: that they will do everything they can to become, together, how God the Father is. It's the most sacred and special responsibility any person can ever have, and premarital sex takes all that light and truth and holy, sacred potential...and flings it out the window. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

So yes, I agree with my friend: people become so jaded about sex that they forget what it's for in the first place. But I seriously doubt that people even really understood "what it's for in the first place" to begin with. People can't forget things they never knew. I'm just grateful I do know it...and grateful that some wonderful guy who knows it too will take me to the temple someday, and we can get started on our eternal work, together.

It does make life frustrating sometimes though. I live with the knowledge that I am meant to be like God perpetually on my mind. Sometimes it’s pushed to the back, and that's why I need Christ; He brings it closer to the front. But it’s always there. This brings my life to such a higher plane, and I love it that way. But what I find so hard to understand is why so many people live beneath their privileges. I know, from experience, what it’s like to live “lower on the graph”, to use my analogy from earlier. Why would anyone ever do that by choice?? Again, it’s taking something amazing – like WHO YOU ARE INHERANTLY MEANT TO BE – and cheapening it by focusing on the negative and distracting from the positive. I am far from perfect in this regard, but I struggle on a daily basis to change my life so that it perfectly fits with Heavenly Father’s idea of How To Become Like God 101. And it kills me to have to wonder if other people are trying to do that, too, whether it’s my family or my friends or that guy I might like to date if he would just shape up, fer cryin’ out loud.

Really, it just shows how important it is for me to be a good person. If I’m doing good things, I have the Holy Spirit in my life. Since these people are in my life too, they’re bound to rub elbows with the Holy Spirit a bit. Also, by living close to God, I have a better perspective. My favorite thing about this summer is how much I have learned about seeing people as God sees them. He knows their endless potential, and if I try really hard, and squint a little, I can see it too. The moment I realize how superb they truly are, there’s this rush of love that pours out from my heart, toward them. No, I don’t understand their exact purpose in life, or know their life story. That’s God’s job. I’m just grateful to catch a tiny glimpse of how that crazy messed-up mortal, who bears the seed of divinity, will bloom into someone like Heavenly Father someday.

And, every now and then, I catch that same glimpse of myself. Those moments make everything, ever, worthwhile. They are when I can finally give everything I have and am and do to God. It’s like if your dad asks you for some nails and a board. You were going to make a birdhouse with them, since but he’s got the know-how and supplies to build a mansion out of it, you hand them over. And that mansion, because you added those nails and that board, is especially for you.

That, all that, is what I know to be true. I say it in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Dependence: When other people do things for you, based on your self-depreciation. Your connection to other people prevents you from doing things you can do yourself. Your actions and opportunities are determined by others, to your detriment. 

I know people who are dependent. This is for a lot of reasons, ranging from emotional abuse to addiction to mental illness. I flat refuse to be one of these people, so being independent comes fairly naturally.

Independence: When other people could do things for you, but your pride or distrust prevents you from allowing them to do so. Your relationships are limited as you disconnect from others.

My father insists this is a good thing, because it means that I don't need anyone. I guess this is true, since it means I get to pick and choose who I have in my life. They're there because I want them, not because I am dependent on them. 

But today, I learned the hard way what interdependence is.

Interdependence: When you could do things yourself, but you allow others to do them, recognizing the efficiency thereof. You are free expend your energy on your own particular kind of excellence, rather than only your (independent) survival.

---

My glasses are broken. The earpiece is loose to the point of falling off at the hinge (no, it's not the screw; it's not that simple.) My glasses sit crooked on my face, and their weight is mostly on my nose instead of my ears. It's terribly uncomfortable. So, I looked up directions the closest Lenscrafters, copied down the insurance information my parents recited over the phone, and drove to Murray.

Anyone that knows me knows that I don't do well with finding new places. Lenscrafters was no exception. Oh, I got to the street fine, but made an assumption that lead me not to the mall, but to the similarly named strip mall just before it. The strip mall, by the way, had several optometrists, none of which were Lenscrafters, or for that matter open. So I maintain that between the name and the plethora of almost-but-not-quite places, my confusion was justified.

I parked in the strip mall to get my bearings, next to one of those little decorative parking lot islands. You know the kind -- they slap a tree and a couple of rocks in the middle of a parking lot, with a little curb around it. Well, I misjudged how far I needed to pull forward before I turned out of the space. My car rolled onto the curb. No big deal ordinarily, but then my car jostled and made the most horrifying crunchy, scraping noise you can think of.

"Oh geez."

Instantly, I stopped the car and put it in reverse. Touch the accelerator - repeat awful scrapey noise. But I was off the curb at least. My caution was extreme as I pulled forward some more. That's surprising considering my blood pressure in that moment.  Did I have a flat? (Done that before.) Did I bend the rim? (Done that before, too.)

The car didn't seem to be handling poorly, so I didn't think so.  That's when I noticed the great big ROCK placed in just the right place to produce that gut-wrenching sound. As I drove, there was a new noise.

Great, I thought. I broke something essential on the underside of my car. I pulled into the mall just across the way -- ironically, in that moment I realized it was where I should have been to begin with.

Parking once more, I decided I'd just have to get out and look at it. I shut off the car. Now I'm going to be stuck in Murray, and have to call someone to pick me up. 

I got out, and closed the door behind me. Dad is going to be so sad. He just gave this car to me, and it was in such good shape. His other kids break cars. Dah, I hate that apparently I'm no different. I'll have to get into my savings to pay for the tow truck, and fix my car, and WHY THE HECK DO I EVER LEAVE THE HOUSE? I rounded the front of my car, and looked down.

"Oh."

It wasn't as bad as I expected, but it was certainly more obvious. A strip of red, somewhat mangled plastic that used to border the passenger side hung down to the ground. I dropped my purse and sat on the asphalt to take a closer look. My glasses fell apart again as I leaned over, so I snatched them away from my face and folded them into my purse. The question at hand -- literally at hand, as I shifted the abused plastic a bit -- was whether or not I could fix my car. The glasses would just have to wait.

Laying down on the ground, I tucked the purse beneath my head and examined the underside of my car more closely. There was a plastic bolt that would have held the piece up, but the piece had cracked at the hole, allowing the bolt to slip out. Could I slip it back in?

The answer was no, I found after I dirtied my hands and made the cracked hole into a broken curve. However, that curve fit excellently around the bolt. The misfit fix held up to my tests (banging on the already battered piece of plastic, grabbing it and shaking, etc.) Therefore, I came to the only conclusion I could, given my broken car and my broken glasses: I need to keep duct tape in my car.

A gas station seemed as likely a place as any to find the tape, so I pulled into one nearby. No such luck though, just Scotch tape. I bought it anyway, plus $20 in gas, and returned to my car. The glasses are now a barely-tolerable fix with the tape. The car went from barely-tolerable to silly-looking,-but-may-hold-together-a-little-better. Until, that is, I get up the nerve to tell Dad and ask what I ought to do.

I keep hand sanitizer and tissues in my car, so I cleaned up my hands the best I could before I left. As I drove away, I realized I really wanted to cry.

Hold it together, I told myself. It's fine. Crying about it won't help anything.

In an effort to "hold it together," I analyzed why exactly I wanted to cry. I didn't just want to cry, I decided. I wanted to hide my face in some good man's neck, and feel his arm around my shoulders, and inwardly lament of how infernally stupid the whole stinking mess was, dang it.

I can't do that, I reasoned. I have better things to do, like get myself home in one piece. There's no guy here anyway, Sara. So suck it up!

But I wondered what the situation would have been if there was a guy around. That's when it call came flooding to me. If there was someone there to have my back, I wouldn't have to drive home if I didn't want to. Or get out and get on the ground and look at my poor car. Or try to navigate a new town all by myself. Or drive myself to get my glasses fixed as they break off my face every few minutes. In short, every disaster of the evening could have been prevented if someone else were around who was willing to look after me a bit.

I'm not saying that I can't manage by myself. Obviously I did just fine given the circumstances. I'm usually really proud of myself for handling situations appropriately. Not this time. I was mournful that I had to handle it at all. I may be an independent woman, but I am also a traditionalist. I love when men take charge, when they make sure I know I'm allowed to be fragile.

I felt fragile today, and I didn't like it. And for the first time in my adult life, "kicking trash" and fixing my fragility myself wasn't the solution I craved. The idea disturbs me because I don't have a lot of options for not taking care of myself. But I think it's a good thing that I'm no longer out to prove that I can take care of myself. I already know I can. I just don't want it to be an unremitting requirement of my life anymore.

Day One

My strongest instinct right now is to run. Just run, straight back to Rexburg.

It's the same feeling I had the first day of my Euro-trip. Our tour directors sent us out to explore Galway. I linked on to a group of about ten people (far too large for travel, by the way) and we wandered the streets of a touristy little Irish city. At first, my bravado propelled me into a flippant leadership role: "I don't know if this is the right way, but what have we got to lose? Let's try it!" The other ten girls complied easily enough. However, as the shops thinned out, so did my bravado. We turned around.

I spent the remainder of the trip as a ready and willing follower, and the remainder of the day as an anxious small-town American.While Galway isn't huge, it was still formidable to my Oxford, North Carolina and Rexburg, Idaho sensibilities. The rub of people and streets in big cities blisters those sensibilities very quickly.

So, Salt Lake is reminding me of that right now. I miss familiar faces. I have said goodbye far too many times in the last week: the 40 other pilgrims, my parents, my sister and her family, Tim, Natalie, Chelsea, and finally my little brother this morning. Joe has been the PERFECT roadtrip companion, so parting ways at the airport almost provoked tears. It didn't help any that he took the GPS with him. I hate finding my way around. I don't know where the nearest gas station is, where to look for apartments, OR how to navigate all the blasted construction. The only thing I know is that the little town that holds my best friends is straight north on I-15.

However, that is not the path I intend to take.

Like the clothing and toiletries and electronics waiting on my bed, I carefully lay out all of the reasons I'm not on my way to Idaho right now. Inconvenience is a big one, seeing as it's a 3 or 4 hour drive. My dignity is another. I know they wouldn't mind, but as hard as today is, I would be humiliated to suddenly hurl myself back into Tim, Natalie, and Chelsea's arms.

These factors helped me to stay in Europe, too. You can imagine how inconvenient it would have been to turn around and fly home again. And how ridiculous I would have looked to unexpectedly arrive at the door of Kensington 205, while the pilgrimage went on without me. And yet, I think the real motivation for staying in Europe is the same one that will keep me here in Utah. Now that I've worked through a few panicked compulsions, I remember that I do, in fact, have a sense of adventure.

This brassy streak, like a thread of gold through cooler-hued stone, is a valuable and sometimes subtle aspect of my personality. It's the fight response beneath the flight. It inspires me to be excited about my 3pm appointment to inspect an apartment. It reminds me that I looked forward to this internship as a prospect of impressing professionals in my chosen field. It's the same thread of "shining dawn", to translate the Latin, that made the hole-in-the-wall hostel in Galway endearing. There, I made an amusing video of the labyrinthine path up to my room. Here, I write an exploratory blog post. And in both places, I try to hear Tim's voice in my head, telling me that I'm brave. It's a good thing I can hear it in my head, or I might run away to Rexburg to hear it in person.

But no. I sit here quietly and try to feel him patting me on the back, and to you, readers, I echo his words:

It's okay, Sara. You're going to do just fine.

Thanks, Tim...maybe you're right.

Selfishness is never going to be worth the hardship we endure. Unselfishness gives us purpose and makes it all worthwhile. Rather than daring to hope that I'll get what I want, I can dare to hope that I'll give what others need.

Integrity and Humility in Résumés

In the name of “marketing ourselves” on our résumés, we are often tempted to present our strengths as greater than they are. We oversimplify the situation and ask “to market?” or “not to market?”, seeking an obvious answer that provides justification for inflating our abilities. But this internal sic et non disregards an essential quandary: will our guiding principle be integrity, or merely persuasiveness?

 When we overlook this question, it is not inevitably because we are morally corrupt people. In reality, we tend to ignore it because we are afraid—afraid that others will notice that our weaknesses exist, afraid that those weaknesses will be perceived as so great that our skills will be discounted. In short, we fear that who we really are is not enough to persuade an employer to hire us. The temptation to disguise and deceive proves most appealing when we do not trust others to witness our shortcomings with a merciful eye. We forget that others, like us, are weak, and assume that they exemplify every strength that we wish we had, except for one: the capacity to forgive.

However, C. S. Lewis suggests in The Screwtape Letters that we ought to give ourselves the same approbation we would give to others for comparable greatness. When we do so, we both recognize our own worth and also see how indispensably others have contributed to it. The opportunities that demonstrate we are valuable people are not of our creation; they are given to us by others. Our power only extends to our ability to collect the courage we need in order to receive the opportunities they offer. When we do so without resisting the forgiveness of others, or concealing our weaknesses, we discover that we are “magnified”. Our weaknesses do not fade into the background, but rather our potential employers can at last see us “up close”, swarming with strengths so potent that few (even ourselves) have ever observed anything like it. In light of these unforeseen abilities, there is essentially nothing to forgive.

Yes, a detailed, honest view of who we are is frightening to put forward. Unlike fiction, there is no safe place in writing résumés. There are no pseudonyms offering concealment, no images to symbolize lingering emotional aches. All we have is who we are, but on closer inspection, we finally find that this is enough. When we truly understand that we have the capacity to exceed expectations and not just meet them, we have the freedom to be honest regarding our shortcomings. In order to have the courage to be humble, we must first display our inherent power to achieve.

Honesty and Obstacles to Education: English 495 Senior Writing Seminar Assignment

Metaphor of the Day: Homework is like brushing your teeth. Kind of annoying, especially when you'd much rather go straight to bed...but let's face it. It's essential.

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"Another reason people don’t use their real voice is that it means having feelings and memories they would rather not have. When you write in your real voice, it often brings tears or shaking – though laughter too. Using real voice may even mean finding you believe things you don’t wish to believe. For all these reasons, you need to write for no audience and to write for an audience that’s safe. And you need faith in yourself that you will gradually sort things out and that it doesn’t matter if it takes time." (Peter Elbow, "How to Get Power through Voice")

My understanding of this assignment was that we were to discover what our core obstacle was to getting an education, and discuss it with full honesty. I’ve struggled with this assignment. I know what my core obstacle is...I just don’t want to talk about it. So after missing several deadlines, I met with Brother Ward and frankly told him that he didn’t know what he was asking of me. I survive by compartmentalizing my emotions; I succeed academically by removing my heart. Honesty is a hard thing to commit to, regardless of the venue.

Palmer states, “The goal of a knowledge arising from love is the reunification and reconstruction of broken selves and worlds.” That would be really, really nice – and I think, or hope, that it’s true. As I have learned more about myself – through professional counseling; wise, genuine friends; and an aching, downtrodden reach toward my Savior – I have learned the power of honestly acknowledging shortcomings.

Sometimes these shortcomings are our fault – sometimes not. That is not the point. We must confess the deficiencies that make up so much of our characters, so that the Savior can change our characters. “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans. It is this: The moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves you,” states Murray. As we have discussed in class, we must deeply understand the problem before the truth of the solution will become compelling.

I cried as I sat in Brother Ward’s office, while in the act of explaining that I intentionally muffle my emotions. On one hand, I did so because I was frustrated with my failure. But on the other hand, I cried because it felt so good to look the truth in the eye and confess that I was simply not up to the challenge. Individually, we don’t have to be up to the challenge of our own emotional disconnection, in our educations or otherwise. All we have to do, at least to get started, is to acknowledge that our disconnection exists, and ask for help.

---
Hearing: let's see how far we've come / let's see how far we've come
Feeling: a little overwhelmed, but OK

opportunity

Metaphor of the Day: Being honest when you don't want to is like wearing flip-flops in the snow. It seems fun for a minute, and maybe you even pretend it's more fun than it is. But, in the end, it's neither practical or comfortable.

---

I have been praying very carefully lately:

Father, please, if an opportunity comes, help me to act on it. And Father...if an opportunity never comes...help me to be OK with it.

Sometimes, I have a hard time being honest with God. Cognitively, I know how crazy that is -- He's God, He knows everything anyway! Feeling that is another matter, of course, but I'm trying.

---
Hearing: hairdryer
Feeling: a little rushed...

The End

Metaphor of the Day: Living your life one day at a time is like choosing to be executed by drowning in chocolate. You just gotta enjoy it while it lasts, man.

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Summer Session is coming to a close. Although classes do not start until Thursday, roommates will begin to arrive on Monday. I couldn't be more excited to see Natalie and Chelsea and Rio and Jennifer, and get to know our new roommate (Callie?)...not to mention all of the fabulous neighbors that will be back in town. But at the same time, I wish summer would never end.

Seven weeks ago, I knew I desperately needed to rejuvenate. I intentionally didn't set any goals...I was going to play hard and love hard and take things one day at a time. (Yes, those sound a lot like goals, but they're so different from my typical stress-inducing ones that nonetheless, they are un-goals in my head.) I don't know how well I've done with any of that, but I do think I am ready to go back to school-life with a new perspective on this strange thing we call life.

Taking life moment-by-moment is still the way to go, especially because sometimes being sad and being happy are the same thing.

Classes are not what life is all about. It's about those moments when you know you're home.

Love is scary, and a lot of work, but if anything is worth feeling like a cold, lonely miner tapping away at the rock with a little pickax, looking for something to keep -- this is it.

---
Hearing: the dishwasher and the air conditioner. Profound, no?
Feeling: A little lonesome, but mostly just enjoying the time to reflect

Getting the Glow

Metaphor of the Day: Women are like sunflowers -- they reflect the brightness that they follow.

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Lately, I've been considering the influence of women for good in the lives of those who surround them. I'm essentially receiving a scholarship based on my ability to be a good example. I taught Relief Society recently and we talked about, well, Relief Society. I've been doing a lot of thinking about what it is to love people for exactly who they are, weaknesses and all. The cover story of the most recent Ensign (September issue, actually) is a article from President Uchtdorf on -- get this -- The Influence of Righteous Women. Needless to say, it's been pretty constantly on my mind.

I think what really sealed the deal was an observation from a friend of mine. He basically said that a lot of girls are pretty, and nice, but with the really quality ones that he would actually date, there has to be something extra...something that has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with how in tune she is with the Spirit. Christ's-image-in-her-countenance kind of thing.

At first, I thought this statement was simply to his credit -- that he's looking for a girl with that "something extra" that means she will be an excellent mother in Zion. But then I realized: his statement could also be to my discredit, if I don't measure up. He's far too sweet to criticize me, so I know he didn't mean it like that, but still, it made me wonder. Do I have that glow? Can people -- worthy priesthood holders included -- tell just by looking at me that I deeply love the Savior?

I suspect not. There's so much more I could be doing to bring the Spirit into my life. Once upon a time, I read my scriptures and wrote in my journal every single day. I worked really hard to build that habit, but where is it now? Things like that. My life is off-center, so to speak.

So, in an effort to recenter my life on the Savior, I spent some time today brainstorming what I can do to be better...

Daily
Study the scriptures
Pray always, with sincerity
Meditate
Write in my journal, especially with gratitude
Go for a walk -- be outside -- find God in nature. (Very transcendentalist, I know.)
Sing / listen to excellent music
Serve! There's a thousand little ways to do it; I just need to be alert.
Keep my apartment clean. You'd be amazed how much it helps!
Exercise. Just something small every day -- enough that I can get to sleep at night!

Weekly
Go to the temple
Prepare for Sundays by reading the lesson, etc.
Create something -- write or something. Just allow God to show me what it's like to be Him.

Generally
Ask Heavenly Father tough questions -- "what do I need to change?" etc. Ask for forgiveness.
Silence what I want because of a need to know what He wants. Stop whining!


Here's the thing though. To quote the aforementioned article from President Uchtdorf, "I invite you to rise to the great potential within you. But don't reach beyond your capacity. Don't set your goals beyond your capacity to achieve. Don't feel guilty or dwell on thoughts of failure. ...Do the best you can, and the Lord will provide the rest."

In other words, I may know that my ideal day involves an hour of reading the scriptures and my ideal week involves going to the temple 3 or 4 times ... but I also know that it ain't gonna happen any time soon. With this in mind, I'm contemplating some realistic goals for "getting the glow". Some things are naturally going to be easier than others, and don't seem like such a stretch to picture in the normal course of my life.

There's only 18 days left of the 7 week break (I'm not used to calling it Summer Session yet.) I promised myself I would take this break one day at a time and I think I've done a pretty good job of that. But I also think I need to take that idea to the next level and bring Jesus Christ deeper into my life one day at a time -- instead of just sitting around thinking about it.

---
Hearing: really old EFY music. Like, '97.
Feeling: chastened, but determined

Changes, Pt. 3: Single

Metaphor of the Day: "Hope" is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul-- / And sings the tune without the words-- / And never stops--at all--

Emily Dickinson

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This blog is a resource for how I can be happy in spite of the stressful things in my life. Looking over the things about which I've written, I realize that so much has changed.

Even in just the last 3 months, I've learned an incredible amount -- particularly about forming healthy attachments. Due to some hard childhood stuff, I spend a lot of my time "emotionally snacking" in relationships, because not asking for a lot is much, much safer. On the other hand, when I finally feel safe with someone, I tend to "emotionally gorge". It's exhausting in its intensity, and unhealthy. My homework assignment: find the middle ground. I need to realize, essentially, that people aren't automatically going to be completely unreliable, and therefore it's OK for me to take risks. And even if they are unreliable, that's OK, because I can be emotionally satiated, not starving.

Sometimes, being single is hard. It's easy to blame a lack of dates on my body type, or my introversion, or what-have-you. It's easy to want a boyfriend because he would be a convenient, reliable resource of love. I'm learning, however, that I have a lot of resources for love: all of my roommates, many of my neighbors, my family, a handful of awesome guys, etc etc. So not only can I be single, I can enjoy it, because I am emotionally satisfied and not clamoring at one person to fill those needs. It's fabulous to realize.

On the other hand, I have this internal debate going about whether or not it's OK to need people. I try really, really hard to be a strong person; I try not to "need" people, whether that effort is subconscious or otherwise. When it comes down to it, yes, people just need people:

God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.

Spencer W. Kimball

But...you mean I have to rely on other people to help me, even though they may have no interest in doing so? What happens if I get used to them helping me, and then they stop? Where does that leave me? Well...it leaves me with a whole lot of other people who are willing and able to fill in the space. However, someday, aren't I supposed to learn how to love someone enough that they can't be replaced?

I took a close look at my soul the other day. Do I think I'm loveable? Do I really believe that someone is going to love me forever and ever, for just being me? The honest answer was -- no, I don't believe it. I think he'll leave before he gets a chance to see who I really am, deep down, flaws and all.

I hate thinking it's impossible to have that kind of love in my life. So I'm trying to do something about it. It feels a little like flailing around in the dark for a lightswitch that may or may not be there. Maybe the best I can do is a flashlight, or a candle. Whatever the case, I trust that the way will be made clear. Maybe it will be like being introverted -- it's something that never really goes away, but I found coping methods. Or maybe it will be like a sin, repented of, where I shed it like old skin and a new person is exposed, stronger, better, more like God.

I guess we'll just have to see?

---
Hearing: not a lot to lean on, I'm looking for a light to find my place in this world
Feeling: weary

Changes, Pt. 2: Measure of Beauty

Metaphor of the Day: Being around a beautiful girl is like having a pet boa constrictor: a bit dangerous, but it's fun, so who cares?

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This blog was to be a searchable, categorized resource for how I can be happy in spite of the stressful things in my life. Looking over the things about which I've written, I realize that so much has changed.

Some things, though, don't change that much.

The Long and Short of It

I still feel most like myself when I look in the mirror and see short hair. For one thing, I just have the face for it. For another thing, I've had short hair ever since I started thinking of myself as an adult. When I cut it short for the first time, I had recently acquired my first full-time job and was in the process of fading out of the Young Women's program and into singles' ward. I left home for the first time not long after that, to come to school in Idaho. My college friends have no concept of what I look like with long hair.

In short (no pun intended), a pixie haircut has become a part of who I am over the last three years. But at the same time, I have become who I am over the last three years. I'm a little scared to grow it out again, in the same way I was a lot scared to cut it short. What if it's just not me? I don't really have an answer to that.

I Could Not Ask for More

Another thing that hasn't changed very much is my concept of my body shape. Let's face it: I am not a tiny person. And sometimes, that's hard. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and have to close my eyes. The mirror we keep in the hallway of our apartment stretches you just enough to be flattering, without you really noticing that it's doing it. You just feel attractive. There are days that I hate that mirror. I feel pretty when I look in it, but we all know it's lying. So am I not pretty?

I don't say this to throw myself a pity party. Every day I have to firmly say, Sara, stop comparing yourself to them, yes, but that doesn't mean I don't feel pretty a lot of the time. I try to take good care of myself. I could do better, be better, look better. But it could be a lot worse, too. I'm very healthy, so I have a lot to be grateful for. I just have to remind myself of that a lot.

To See or Not to See? That is the Question.

In addition, I discovered a couple of years ago that I simply have Really. Big. Eyes. It's mostly the whites of them that are big, but whatever the case, it's earned me a long-standing comparison with lemurs. I don't find the comparison to a lower primate to be particularly flattering, but I do enjoy that other people notice that I have big eyes. It's part of the Disney Princess standard of beauty.

It annoyed me for a long time that I wear glasses. Sure, they frame my eyes, but since I'm nearsighted, they also make my eyes look smaller. Why on earth would I want that?! Plus, I have no concept of what I actually look like without glasses. I toy with the idea of contacts for about two months out of every year ("toy with" here meaning "tell everyone I know that I am DEFINITELY going to get them this year").

This year is no different in that regard, but in another way, something has changed. Firstly, Cindy was a doll and did a photo shoot with me here in town; a few of the pictures included me without glasses. I like these pictures -- mostly. Secondly, I've met two particular girls. One is in my relief society, another was in a class. They, too, have ridiculously large eyes, but neither of them wear glasses. Looking at them, and at myself in these pictures, I'm not sure that Huge Eyeballs are the way to go. It's a little weird to look at the thing that you rejected out of vanity, and wonder if they might actually contribute to your appearance. I'm over contacts -- ask me again in a year.

What (Not) To Wear

When I first arrived in college, my personal style was a disaster. I was tired of hiding, so believe me, I didn't! My typical attire involved messy short hair, bright mismatched layers, drawn-on Converses (and jeans), the works! Cindy was wonderfully patient with me and my fashion choices, and so I gradually got over it. Then I worked in a very professional job for a year, and for a long time just really enjoyed collared shirts, skirts, slacks, neutral colors, and high heels.

My current style is a combination of the two extremes. I currently favor skirts with Converses, collared shirts, bright colors, and slightly messy hair. However, I also acknowledge that my personal style is not so personal at all; it is very much affected by the tastes of whomever I happen to be hanging out with most. This annoys me, but 2 Christmases ago Cindy wrote an entire short story for me to remind me that the people around us are just as much a part of who we are as the choices we actively make. So I try to be OK with it, and try to keep figuring out what I like best.

---

On my bathroom wall, I have a picture of Jesus. As silly and incongruous as it sounds, I made a speech bubble for him, written in marker:

"You are always beautiful to me."

All this post really says is that I don't know how to be happy in regards to my physical appearance. However, Christ's love for me is never unsure, never changes. So this is what I keep coming back to, in the end.

Changes, Pt. 1: Introversion

Metaphor of the Day: Introversion is like having to ask the participants of the Running of the Bulls to take a number and form an orderly line.

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The original purpose of this blog was to be a searchable, categorized resource for how I can be happy in spite of the stressful things in my life. Looking over the things about which I've written, I realize that so much has changed. For example, introversion was once a huge part of my self-definition. Now, it has all but faded into the background.

Two years ago, I rejoiced in knowing that God made me an introvert on purpose, no matter how hard that might be for me sometimes:

"O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken until thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue."

"Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the LORD?"

Now, I relate better to John Mayer:

My stupid mouth / got me in trouble; / I said too much again / to a date over dinner yesterday...

There are still days when I'm "peopled-out". It's still not easy for me to meet new people, or strike up a conversation with mere acquaintances. And there are people in my circle of friends with whom I will probably never deeply connect, because we are both more inclined to listen than to talk.

The biggest change, then, is that all of this bothers me so much less than it used to. I firmly believe that we can overcome weaknesses. This isn't to say that someday our weaknesses will -poof!- cease to exist. Rather, we can learn methods to get around them, so much so that our weaknesses just don't matter anymore.

If men come unto me, I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble, and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me, for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

You don't have to knock down a wall to get to the other side. You just need the Savior.

Thicker than Water: A Short Story

For my creative writing class, we're required to meet with our professor 3 times during the semester so that we can receive one-on-one critique on a work of fiction we've written this semester. I met with Brother Harrell today, and I swear, I floated home. He said he really, really enjoyed it, that it was just plain well-written. He was so delighted to hear that it was the 5th draft of the story, because he could TELL I'd put the work into it. His only criticism was that the conclusion was too open-ended, but then as we sat and talked about it, the less he felt like it deserved the criticism. (I added more to it anyway; the expanded version is included below.) He said my writing was "beyond my peers". It was so good to hear that yes, I am good at this, yes, my work does pay off. When he ran out of things to say (which was pretty early on in the appointment!) he started asking me about my plans for the future -- "Are you a creative writing emphasis? Good." "Have you thought about publication? No? Good. It's good to have humility. Publish in the school's literary journal before you graduate, and then in one or two other tiny journals in the next ten years and you'll be doing really well." It was so awesome. 

So without futher ado, here's my magnum opus of Fall semester 2008, a literary-genre short story entitled Thicker than Water.

Her mother’s room smelled like stale cigarette smoke, cats, and dirty clothes. The aroma surrounded Katie in an uncomfortably intimate way, like the arm of a stranger around her shoulders.

“So…this is it.” Katie shifted the position of the box tucked under her arm. The amount of stuff crammed into her mother’s room – under tables, on dressers, piled high on shelves – was incredible. “I guess I’ll start gathering up some things for her then.”

Aunt Jess watched Katie attempt to marshal her fortitude. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself for a little while?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll be fine. You go bring her some dinner and I’ll head off to the hospital to meet you as soon as I’m done.”

“Well…if you’re sure. But call me if you need anything, okay sweetie? And – thank you.” Aunt Jess gave Katie a quick hug before she walked back through the tiny front room, spoke for a moment to Cameron’s roommates, and was gone. Katie smiled vaguely at the hug – she’d only opened contact with her aunt in the last four months, but she already felt closer to Jess than she’d felt to her mother for years. That was why she offered to gather things for her mother’s hospital room – to give Aunt Jess a little less to do, and so she wouldn’t have to see her mother, not yet.

Katie reluctantly turned her attention back to the disarray. All of the floor space was taken except for a shuffling path from the door to the bed, which Katie dropped onto. She had no idea where to start. For now, Katie was on her own in an oppressive tangle of puzzles, quilting squares, boxes of who knew what, and glass unicorn figurines.

Katie waded carefully across to the other side of the room and picked up one of those unicorn figurines. It was heavier than she expected. The figure was reared up on its hind legs, front hooves waving in the air. There was something vaguely familiar about it, and as she held it, bittersweet memories began to edge heavily into her mind. She put down the glass unicorn and turned away from it, and from the memories. It had been hers as a child.

Katie stared around the room, wondering again where she should start. She leaned over the side of the bed and extracted a shoe box from the wreckage. In it were a mostly-empty pack of cigarettes and prescription bottles of Lithobid and Symbyax. Holding her mother’s bipolar medication was startling and surreal; it was a tangible symbol of her mother’s mental illness, something that had always been so vague to Katie. Underneath laid a pile of letters, many of them still in their envelopes. Katie pulled one from the box and turned it over. Her own name, in childish scrawl, stared back at her.

She kept my letters.

She slowly pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it with trembling fingers. Dear Mommy, said the letter, dated the year she was ten, I miss you! Daddy says you live near Grandma now that you don’t live with us. Is that fun? Do you play tea party with her like you do with me? I want you to be here to put braids in my hair. Daddy says he needs more practice with ponytails before he does braids. School is good. Miss Shell my teacher is reading my class a story about a mouse who talks and fights with swords. I don’t know what the book is called but the mouse’s name is Martin. I like it a lot. Do you have kitties at your house? I miss you Mommy! I love you. Love, Katie

Katie dug into the box and pulled out another letter at random. Cameron, she had written the year she was sixteen, I haven’t heard from you in months, again, and I don’t know why. You’re supposed to be my mom, and I’m hurt that you won’t even take the time to write me. What do you want from me? That was the year she had given up on her mother.

For the next five years, she made no attempt to contact her mother. Her family moved across the country, she fell in and out of love, she went away to college. Katie didn’t tell her mother any of it. She moved on, learning to forgive her mother, but mostly just to forget. For years, Katie had dreamed she and her mother could be best friends, sharing the same quirky sense of humor and the creative, girly side she only roughly remembered. It had been the great emotional success of her life to finally give up on that dream and accept that her mother’s illness left her with nothing to give to her daughter.

Then, Aunt Jess had found her profile on MySpace. She sent Katie a tentative, hopeful note, asking to initiate a relationship with her grown-up niece. Katie tried to make her reply as encouraging as possible – Jess sounded so nice, and so sad about never making herself a part of Katie’s life – but Katie left no question about how she felt about her mother.

Feel free to update my mother on how I’m doing, Katie remembered writing, but I do not want messages from her relayed to me. I would be happy and eager to hear that she is doing well, etc, but I'm not ready to talk to her just yet. I don't mean that in a mean way, just that I don't want to get my hopes up only to get hurt – again. As a child, I was so hurt by her leaving, by how she’d write pages and pages of letters, and then nothing for months or sometimes years at a time, and then try to step back into my life after all of the hurt she caused. I realize now that that was just part of her cycling through mania and depression, but I can’t do that again.

And yet, just months later, she was here on summer break, visiting Aunt Jess and about to reconnect with her mother.

She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and hastily punched in the first speed-dial number. Katie sat through two long rings before her father’s voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi Daddy…how are you?”

“I’m all right.”  The sounds of the football game in the background quieted as Katie heard him turn down the TV. “How are you?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m…frustrated. Confused.” Katie imagined him there, sitting in his big recliner in the living room of the house where she grew up. His voice crackled slightly over the phone, and re-realizing that he was a thousand miles away hurt enough to make Katie’s eyes prickle with tears. “Dad, why am I even here?”

He slowly exhaled. “Because you thought it was the right thing to do?”

 “But I haven’t seen my mother in more than ten years. I haven’t written to her in five. It’s like I’m some kind of glutton for punishment.” Katie swallowed hard, and held the phone a little tighter. “There are so many memories here, Dad.” Or, Katie thought, things that should have been memories, if her mother could have stayed. “I know she left us for a good reason,” she continued. “But part of me is still that little girl who doesn’t even know what manic-depression is. All the little-girl part of me knows is that my mommy left.”

“I know, princess. It’s not fair. But think about the part of you that isn’t a little girl any more. It’s not fun being the adult, but now that you’ve accepted she can’t take care of you, you need to remember – you’re the one who decided to be there.”

Katie sighed. “I know. But what else was I supposed to do, though, you know?”

“Yeah…it’s like that country song. ‘Blood is thicker than water’.”

“But ‘love is thicker than blood’.” Katie shook her head. “I’ve loved Jenny like a mom from day one. I don’t need another mom.” Because Katie and Dad were friends, in addition to father and daughter, Katie knew what he would say next. She also knew that deep-down, she couldn’t disagree.

“Jenny is the best step-mom you could ask for, I know. But no matter what, Cameron is still your mother.”

***

When she finished filling the box with pictures and knickknacks and magazines, things to make the hospital room more homey, Katie finally talked herself into driving to the hospital. The smell there was like her mother too, from long ago when she worked nights at Sharp Memorial and would let Katie wear her nurse’s cap. Katie stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor. She leaned back against the elevator wall and tried to smile at the other woman there, holding a bunch of get-well balloons.

“Visiting someone?” the woman asked.

“My mother.”

She made a sympathetic face. “That’s so hard.”

“In more ways than you can imagine,” Katie sighed. She glanced at the bright balloons in the woman’s hand. “Are you visiting someone too?”

“My daughter had surgery yesterday. I’d bring one of those big obnoxious singing cards, but she’d never forgive me for it.” The woman grinned.

Katie laughed, and watched the elevator doors open. “This is my floor. Nice talking to you.”

“You too. Best to your mom.”

“My mother,” Katie corrected automatically as she slowly walked through the elevator doors. 

My mother, Katie repeated to herself, moving toward the bleak, graying door of the hospital room where Aunt Jess and her mother were waiting. Daddy’s voice replayed in her head – I know it's not fun being the adult. But remember, princess – you're the one who decided to be there.

Katie took the last heavy, hesitant steps toward room 845, the room with Cameron Hendershot printed in sterile letters on a form posted outside. She was here out of obligation to a deeply-rooted idea that what was easy and what was kind weren’t always the same thing.

She is my mother, at least, if not my friend.

Katie knocked softly on the door.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I've come to a sad conclusion. I have too many friends.

For a lot of people, that statement is simply impossible to imagine. For someone who would much rather have very few, very close relationships, the prospect of having ties to about 20 people in about 4 different groups is profoundly daunting.

I can already see things that this would teach me, ways that this situation will expand who I am. But my comfort zone has already undergone some major readjustments lately!

Mehhh. Someone tell life to leave me alone.

There and Back Again: Postscript

"Oh my gosh!! you posted a blog!!! I just wanted to tell you that it was really beautifully put. I totally agree with you 100%. You are absolutely freakin' awesome, and I'm glad I've been lucky to have gotten to find out about it. :) That was a beautiful verse, and very interesting."

"You're so sweet to me. Thank you for being such a fabulous friend. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU! When you and Chelsea get here we are going to party it up. Oh gosh I am so excited."

I'm kind of relieved too, honestly. I've been hanging out with four of my roommates, and some boys. They've been wonderful about keeping me from being desperately lonely and bored, and really the girls can be SUCH fun to hang out with. But I'm so tired of boys! So much so that I don't even want to talk about why I'm tired of them, but it'll be so welcome to have all of my wonderful people back, and to just try my DARNDEST not to care about anyone but the people who actually know and love me and see who I am. I don't want to just "have fun". It's not enough. But I didn't know what else to do this summer, you know? And now it's almost gone and I feel like I've spent another summer doing nothing -- nothing except getting spiritually sandpapered.

But what else was I supposed to do?? I chose to burn my time and emotional energy like it was cheap. Because it was -- I didn't have anything better to do. And now I'm coming out of that, dying to make something that actually matters again. I'm ready for real life again. Parts of it may stink, but that will be okay. It's real. Not shallow or meaningless. Real and full of pain that means something, and joy that means even more.

I guess it's all part of the Lord's plan. If I come out of this with nothing but the resolution to *never* settle for anything other than the absolute best, to seek joy and not fun, to love myself wholeheartedly even when it seems like no one else will, then maybe that'll be enough. The Lord will make sure I get what I need to out of it.

Part of me wonders when I'll quit only getting what I need and get what I want too. I guess that's what I get for asking the Lord to shape my desires into His plans for me, rather than the other way around.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see, and trust the Lord to do what He needs to do to make me His.

There and Back Again

It's been a long time since I sat down to write a blog post. I've been reading over old posts and thinking things like wow, that is so true and Oh my word, I'm a completely different person now and Gosh, I can't believe that bothered me so much at the time.

And even, Why on earth is this bothering me so much now?

I don't really have an answer to that.

Sometimes when you change and it's a blooming outward, and you sail along like puffs on dandelion. Other times when you change it's root growth instead, becoming more stable and solid, and drinking deeply. Even from the storm that surrounds you. I've become more "myself" this year, more grounded on the fact that I am OK, just being me.

What is getting me lately is that sometimes, other people don't make the effort to find out how awesome I am. (That is me being really hypocritical, because of course I don't go around finding out how awesome other people are.) I know that I am pretty, and fun, and smart, and it would be nice to know that all of that is plain to everyone else. But I don't think it is.

Does buried treasure want to be hard to find?
Or does it wait, shining and lonely
For a stubborn thief to come
80 paces to the left,
wary of the booby traps,
and dig deep
To find the gem whose price is far above rubies?

I just wrote that, but in the process I did a web search to make sure I was quoting Proverbs 31 correctly. Interestingly enough, I found someone else's blog post. She said that she always thought the scripture should say diamonds instead of rubies, but then she did some research and found out that rubies are actually even more precious than diamonds -- more rare, and one of truly excellent quality will sell for even three times more than a diamond of the same quality. Then, she found a definition of "virtuous", and her paraphrase is what caught my eye:

"Good,righteous, pure, kind, benevolent, generous, strong thru wisdom, grace and fear of God, conforming to what is right and just…….seldom sought."

Go figure.

One of my roommates is getting ready for a mission, and she's going to be wonderful at it. She was just now -- literally just now -- saying that she once really worried about being in the MTC, being able to make all of those connections with the scriptures. "I'm just not good at that!" she said. "But the thing is that every scripture I've read in preparation for Preach My Gospel says 'have the Spirit with you and the Lord will do the rest.' And I can do that! I may stink at the technical stuff, but I can sure be obedient!"

I love roommates, especially ones that are in tune with the Spirit and say exactly what I need them to, while having no idea that they did it.

In much the same way, I can really stink at the technical aspect of showing people just how awesome I am. But I can feel the Spirit, and seek to keep it in my life, guiding my heart. And anything that pulls me away from that simply isn't worth it.

heartsore

As my family and I sat around the table, having just finished reading Mormon 3, I had everyone flip back to the 7th, 8th, and 9th verses.

"I think it's interesting," I said, "that even though people are wicked, they can still succeed. On the other hand, we see all the time that even though people are righteous, things are still hard. I think it goes to show that God doesn't always work in a way that makes sense to us mortals. The bad guys won't always be punished and the good guys won't always get the easy road. Not temporally anyway."

I have been having a mysteriously hard time lately. To the point that I am getting off of a certain medication to see if it's getting my hormones off-kilter. I need some time to relax and recenter, but if I don't keep busy, then all the whiny, stupid, pessimistic bits of my brain start talking Really Loudly. (Kind of like when people are saying mean things about you, but not to you, but they talk loudly because they want you to hear anyway.) The inside of my head hasn't been the usual comfy, sunshiny place I've come to know and love, to say the least.

I've prayed about this, and sought guidance and comfort in the scriptures. Previously I've gotten messages like, "Sweetie. Keep doing what you're doing, and when something needs to change, I'll let you know." But continuing to what I'm doing hasn't really fixed anything.

This brings me back to the aforementioned scripture, and, in turn, an Elder Maxwell quote, about how sometimes enjoyment just needs to be deferred. People who do good things aren't always going to have a good time. Just because I'm paying my tithing and reading my scriptures and working and trying to be there for my friends doesn't mean that everything will always be great. In short, just because I'm doing my best doesn't mean that Heavenly Father will give me what I want when I want it.

Just because Heavenly Father doesn't bless me in specific ways does not mean I have to be afraid that He doesn't love me. On the contrary...maybe right now He's showing me what I really do want most of all: peace. A steady, strong relationship with Him. Faith. I know He loves me, and it's not like He's trying to be mean. There's something here to be learned, a way to grow.

I leave for school on Friday and I'm sure that to some degree, things will change. Classes will be nice, as will having more people on hand to spend time with. But the change I want most is for all of this to make sense...for me to find peace and joy in the Lord once again.

"Therefore, dearly beloved brethren, let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed. " D&C 123:17

So in the meantime all I can think of to do is to keep trying and keep praying, and keep loving the Lord the best I can.