Another year down

2014! I'm a little bit in shock that this year is over. How did that happen? As always, as I reflect on the past year, I'm amazed at my life. I would never in a million years have thought I'd be where I am right now (in good ways and bad ways), but I guess that's life for you, huh? Things never really go how you expect, but somehow they seem to work out for the best—even if you thought your plans were what would be best.

I didn't realize that I'd done a yearly recap for so many years in a row now. Gotta keep track of life somehow, right?

Here's the 2013 recap, the 2012 "best of" list, and 2011's highlights.
Enjoy the 2014 version. I can't wait to see what 2015 brings!

The Heart of God

I was going through a little packet of writing samples that is circulating around our office right now, and this one in particular really touched me. It's from the book The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming by Henri J. M. Nouwen, and he makes reference to this beautiful painting by Rembrandt.
(In case you'd like to read the scriptural account of the story he's talking about, here it is.)

“In Rembrandt’s painting, the elder son simply observes. It is difficult to imagine what is going on in his heart. Just as with the parable, so also with the painting, I am left with the question: How will he respond to the invitation to join the celebration?

“There is no doubt—in the parable or the painting—about the father’s heart. His heart goes out to both of his sons; he loves them both; he hopes to see them together as brothers around the same table; he wants them to experience that, different as they are, they belong to the same household and are children of the same father.

“As I let all of this sink in, I see how the story of the father and his lost sons powerfully affirms that it was not I who chose God, but God who first chose me. This is the great mystery of our faith. We did not choose God, God chooses us. From all eternity we are hidden ‘in the shadow of God’s hand’ and ‘engraved on his palm.’ Before any human being touches us, God ‘forms us in secret’ and 'textures us’ in the depth of the earth, and before any human being decides about us, God ‘knits us together in our mother’s womb.’ God loves us before any human person can show love to us. He loves us with a ‘first’ love, an unlimited, unconditional love, wants us to be his beloved children, and tells us to become as loving as himself.

“For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life—pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures—and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair.

“Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not ‘How am I to find God?’ but ‘How am I to let myself be found by him?’ The question is not ‘How am I to know God?’ but ‘How am I to let myself be known by God?’ And finally, the question is not ‘How am I to love God?’ but ‘How am I to let myself be loved by God?’ God is looking into the distance for me, trying to find me, and longing to bring me home. In all three parables which Jesus tells in response to the question of why he eats with sinners, he puts the emphasis of God’s initiative. God is the shepherd who goes looking for his lost sheep. God is the woman who lights a lamp, sweeps out the house, and searches everywhere for her lost coin until she has found it. God is the father who watches and waits for his children, runs out to meet them, embraces them, pleads with them, begs and urges them to come home.

“It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God. Yes, God needs me as much as I need God. God is not the patriarch who stays home, doesn’t move, and expects his children to come to him, apologize for their aberrant behavior, beg for forgiveness, and promise to do better. To the contrary, he leaves the house, ignoring his dignity by running toward them, pays no heed to apologies and promises of change, and brings them to the table richly prepared for them.

“I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it as difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who is looking for me while I am doing the hiding. When I look through God’s eyes at my lost self and discover God’s joy at my coming home, then my life may become less anguished and more trusting.

“Wouldn’t it be good to increase God’s joy by letting God find me and carry me home and celebrate my return with the angels? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to make God smile by giving God the chance to find me and love me lavishly? Questions like these raise a real issue: that of my own self-concept. Can I accept that I am worth looking for? Do I believe that there is a real desire in God to simply be with me?

“Here lies the core of my spiritual struggle: the struggle against self-rejection, self-contempt, and self-loathing. It is a very fierce battle because the world and its demons conspire to make me think about myself as worthless, useless, and negligible. Many consumerist economies stay afloat by manipulating the low self-esteem of their consumers and by creating spiritual expectations through material means. As long as I am kept ‘small,’ I can easily be seduced to buy things, meet people, or go places that promise a radical change in self-concept even though they are totally incapable of bringing this about. But every time I allow myself to be thus manipulated or seduced, I will have still more reasons for putting myself down and seeing myself as the unwanted child.”

Don’t you just love that? I can so relate to him in having that view of God sometimes: up there on His throne, one ear half-turned away from me until I shape up and turn again to Him. So wrong. His hands are always extended out to us. Always! But being that we're human and [hopefully] fighting that daily uphill battle to overcome tendencies of the natural man and temptations of the devil, odds are we mess up a lot, further distancing ourselves from Him. And yet, “For all this . . . his hand is stretched out still.” Jacob reminds us “how merciful is our God unto us, for he remembereth [us] . . . and he stretches forth his hands unto [us] all the day long.” I think of the father of the prodigal son, imagine him going outside every day to see if today would be the day his son came back to him. I think of his joy in knowing that his son finally came to himself and realized that, regardless of the appeal of the world, the greatest happiness he’d know would be with his father. I just love that connection we can make between this story and of ourselves making that painful, mistake-and-temptation-ridden journey back to our Heavenly Father. “When I look through God’s eyes at my lost self and discover God’s joy at my coming home, then my life may become less anguished and more trusting.”

(Other images of the prodigal son:)

The God of hope

Oh, hey. Sorry I'm negligent of my blog. It is what it is, though. What can you do.

This past weekend we had stake and regional conference, and I wanted to share some thoughts that stemmed from one particular talk. One of the counselors in our stake presidency talked about a trial in his life and the "what do I need to learn about me?"-genre questions which followed that certain event (or as he kept saying, in the third person, "What does John need to learn about John?").

He talked a lot about Abraham, one of my favorite characters in the scriptures. My sister and I talk often about how his "qualifying trial" is an example of what we must all face in this life. We will all have really hard, soul-stretching, life-altering trials come our way, and there will come a point where we'll have to ask ourselves, "How far can I go? How long will I remain faithful? How much will I trust in the Lord?" I used to get to hung up on why I had to go through certain trials when Heavenly Father knew that I was willing to be faithful through them. Wasn't it enough that He knew my heart and knew that I would remain faithful to Him no matter what? But there are lessons to be learned—lessons about ourselves—in those qualifying trials, maybe the biggest of which is hope and trust in our Heavenly Father.

Back to Abraham. So here was a guy who, right from the very first thing we read about him, had some pretty sweet promises from the Lord. He was promised land, titles, posterity, and just wonderful, wonderful blessings. The most poignant one to me, however, is the promise given to him and his wife, Sarah, of a child. This promised blessing was something that was just impossible. It just was. The scriptures say "Sarai was barren; she had no child" (Gen. 11:30). And Abraham himself was freaking old: "Abraham and Sarah were old and well stricken in age; and it ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women" (Gen. 18:11). For him it was maybe just bad odds; for her it was impossible.

But, man, his faith! "Being not weak in faith, [Abraham] considered not his own body now dead, when he was about an hundred years old, neither yet the deadness of Sara's womb: He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief; but was strong in faith, giving glory to God; And being fully persuaded that, what he had promised, he was able also to perform" (Romans 4:19–21). He didn't doubt that Sarah could carry a baby in a womb that was "dead"! That just blows my mind. He just didn't even doubt that the Lord would fulfill all His promises. He knew that the Lord "was able."

But not all of those promised blessings came soon. They had to wait, like, their entire lives for some of them, and even longer for others! And then, when that promised, impossible blessing of a son finally came, Abraham was asked to sacrifice it. Like, again, impossible. But Abraham, I think, had already learned something about Abraham. He had learned that he trusted God. More than that, "Abraham believed God, and it was counted unto him for righteousness" (Rom. 4:3). He held fast to those promises and he knew without a doubt that they would be fulfilled. He had hope: "the confident expectation of and longing for the promised blessings of righteousness" (Guide to the Scriptures, "Hope"). Have we, through our qualifying trials, learned to trust God? Do we believe the God of hope?

As this counselor in the stake presidency pointed out, Abraham is our great example of hope; of holding fast to promises. He "against hope believed in hope" (Rom. 4:18) because, through his waiting on blessings, he had developed faith and trust in Heavenly Father and knew that He was faithful. I also love how that attitude rubbed off on his wife, who was skeptical at first (is that just a woman thing? Doubting that God can do the impossible in our lives?) but ended up receiving "strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age (when it was impossible!), because she judged him faithful who had promised" (Hebrews 11:11). I guess Sarah learned something about Sarah, too. She was strong when she believed.

I guess all of this is just to say that Abraham was awesome. And God IS AWESOME. His promises are great and they are sure. He will fulfill them all in His time and in His way. And He can do impossible things. And thank goodness for Abraham's example of hoping and trusting in God and believing Him. Because we saw how it all unfolded for him, and, I think, if we can try to be as faithful throughout our trials as Abraham was throughout his, then not only will we learn what we need to about ourselves (hopefully that we have more trust and faith and hope in the Lord than we thought) but also we will see things unfold with that same fullness as they did for Abraham.

So here's to hope. Here's to trusting in Heavenly Father's oh-so-sure promises and believing Him when He says He is able.

P.S. I made this little sign for my office of a scripture that someone mentioned in our work devotional last week. I thought it went right along with this!

Cancer-noia

Am I the only one out there who is perpetually paranoid about contracting some horrible disease? Both times I spent time in Africa, a good portion of that time was spent worried that someone was going to run up and stick me with an HIV-infected needle or that I was going to get bitten by a malaria-carrying mosquito (oh wait—that one actually happened).

But really. I didn't eat at Taco Bell for like years and years after that hepatitis whatever scare, and I can hardly touch raw meat and have to religiously disinfect any possible salmonella breeding grounds in the kitchen. I use hand sanitizer like it's a drug (which, at this point, it pretty much is). 

All these worried tendencies are nothing, however, compared to my cancer-noia. As I write this, I'm waiting for some doctor results to come back to tell me, in my worst-case-scenario mind, whether or not I have cancer. (I really don't; I promise.) I'm not worried about it, although the ultrasound technician spent an awfully long time wielding that gooey, looking-through-my-skin ultrasound instrument. Anyway. So as I wait (I'm not really waiting... Just bored at the moment), I thought I'd give you a glimpse into my paranoia-filled mind and make a list of all the things that I'm positive are giving me cancer:

1. Standing in front of a microwave when it's going. After pressing that start button, I leave the room always if I can help it. Microwaves at stomach-level seem somehow worse...

2. Walking through a metal detector while talking on a cell phone. People probably thought I was so weird every time I walked through the metal detectors in the library at BYU, because if I was on the phone, I'd put the phone down as I walked through. One too many waves going on there.

3. Goiters. Just don't ask any follow-up questions. It's a real thing. You know, for some people.

4. Looking at the light from a copy machine while it's scanning. Again, coworkers have almost certainly seen me looking up after I press the start button and have thought that I'm super weird. Whatever. I can get away with it, though, right?

So, yeah. Basically I'm insane. Please tell me I'm not the only one with crazy, irrational cancer-related fears. 

Merely me.

I watched Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella the other day. The Brandy version, of course. It may or may not have been while working, and on YouTube. Dare you to judge me.

I can never get enough of the song-and-dance, interracial goodness of that film, although I'm not quite sure how it compares to the Broadway version. Anyway. As much as I love every single song in that movie, one line in particular stuck out to me this time through: "a girl who's merely me." You know the song it comes from—the two stepsisters are getting out their frustration and negative emotions through song (what a great idea, right?), and, like, psychotic jealousy and violent tendencies aside, they make a valid point: "what's the matter with the men?!" Why can't a fellow ever once prefer a girl who's merely me? Just a usual girl.

The more I get to know people, the more I realize things about myself (that whole trying-to-not-compare-myself-to-others thing is obviously going really well), like the fact that, for as wonderful as I (and my mother) think I am, I'm really just an average girl. There really aren't a ton of things that I'm really good at, let alone great at. (Except maybe editing. Or kissing; I'm a great kisser.) And the more I think about that, the more I'm okay with it. I don't have to be great at anything to have a good sense of humor, an empathetic heart, or a fun personality. I don't have to be an expert at anything to still be a hard worker or a good friend.

So, yeah. I'm just a solid (though hopefully not in the hefty, solid-chocolate kind of way), usual girl. And that's enough. And someday there'll be a fellow who will prefer that. And that'll be good enough for me.

Me, on a rare bare-bones-makeup kind of day, lounging at the lake house of some dear friends.

BTdubs, a quick grammar goody on "who's" vs. "whose." YES, there is a difference. Learn it; love it; use it. Here we go:

Who's=contraction of "who is" or "who has" ex: "who's at the door?" "Who's seen that movie?"

Whose=adjective. generally talking about the possessor of an object. "Whose coat is this?" "Do you know whose this is?"

A wonderful wedding

So about a year and a half ago, at Thanksgiving, my aunt told me a secret: she had signed up for an online dating site. After having been divorced for 30+ years, she was more than ready and more than a little nervous to begin the journey to finding someone with whom she could spend eternity. I was thrilled for her and excited to be her confidant in the sometimes-scary world of online dating. I had been considering that bold move myself, and together my aunt and I had a few good discussions about why this was going to be a good thing—no matter what, we told ourselves. It would be healthy and useful to get to know different people and to work on developing relationships. 

Fast forward to a few months ago, and while I've been on this roller coaster of dating craziness (which ultimately ended in my getting off online dating {minus Tinder, of course}), and I'm happy to say that my aunt found her perfect match. So it was with tears of happiness that we welcomed her new husband into our family a few weeks ago. 

My aunt just so happens to be pretty good friends with one Elder and Sister Oaks, so he performed their marriage ceremony in the Salt Lake Temple. It was so sweet. I knew that I couldn't remember everything he said, but I did make a strong mental note of two things he said prior to the official ceremony. He talked about how we choose marriage partners for their similarities as well as for their differences. I loved that idea. Obviously everyone is going to have differences, but I know that for me, I don't want someone who is exactly the same as me. I already have one of me. I just love that idea of choosing someone for their differences as much as for their similarities. 

The other thing he said that really struck me was this: he said to the soon-to-be-wed couple that in a few minutes he was going to pronounce them husband and wife, but no one can pronounce happiness or kindness or gentleness or selflessness or any of the other things that are required to make a marriage work. Those are things that you have to work at every day and learn to develop within a relationship. I just thought that was a sweet idea.

And so of course I bawled through the whole thing. It's me. But I loved Aunt Linda's reminder to "never, never, never, never give up." The fact that she found someone so great for her is proof that the Lord is always watching over us and that He can do anything. 

Here are just a few of my favorite pics from the big day:

The happy, happy couple.

My parents and quite possibly the funniest aunt-and-uncle duo ever.

Brother and sis-in-law with a photobombing cousin.

Aunt Linda with her kids and their kiddos. Love those matching blue ties, and their wearers.

Cute cousins!

Me and the sibs.

 Just brunching with "Dallin," as he introduced himself as.

Corner-of-the-temple selfie.

Beards much?

Sibling selfie, minus a few.

The temple on a perfect day!

This little guy. My heart.

So here's to never giving up. Here's to getting outside your comfort zone and trying new things to meet new people. And here's to eternity! So happy for you, Ron and Linda!

Matching faces... and really nice jackets

It's so interesting to me to find out what things people find important in looking for a match. (By the way, I've taken to using the word "match" a lot when talking about dating, largely based on a story one of my coworkers told me about her 9-year-old nephew who went to school on the first day and came home lamenting that, in the girl department, "there were no matches!" Classic.) Granted, I'm taking all of my data from a few close friends, but still. Their opinions are varied enough that it makes me laugh.

Obviously, we all want someone who shares our beliefs and values (which can be surprisingly varied, considering the fact that we all date people from our own religion. Still, discrepancies about levels of dedication and conviction are more than I would have thought). We all want someone who's about on even grounds with us as far as education and intelligence go. We all want someone with whom we get along well and who makes us laugh (genuinely laugh. I'm not talking my pity laugh here, although the range of what I can find humorous does stretch pretty far).

But as far as the nitpicky things, sometimes our stipulations just make me laugh. For example, I am not someone who thinks that I have to have a gazillion things in common with a potential match. Basically if our senses of humor match up, I think we can have a good time no matter what we're doing. Plus I always like to try new things. But I've noticed other friends who thrive on knowing that they and their love interests like the same music, the same sports, and the same TV shows. Again, as long as we're genuinely laughing (and not laughing) at the same things, I'm good.

I laughed at another conversation I had with a friend. She knows my physical preferences as far as guys go (don't worry, I'll get to that), and she mentioned that looks aren't really as important to her—what she really likes is someone who has a "matching style" to hers. And, she added, "really nice jackets." Haha! But, I mean, seriously. I've seen Grease, Indiana Jones, and X-Men. I get the really nice jackets thing. I just never would have given it any thought as it pertains to finding a match.

       

No, my thing is matching faces.

If you know me, you probably already know this. I still can't decide if it's narcissism or insecurity that leads me to prefer guys who have my same or similar hair color, eye color, face shape, and general physique. Sometimes there'll be a blond-haired, blue-eyed, on-the-skinny-side guy who shows interest in me, and that just completely baffles me. Doesn't he see that I'm a brown-eyed, brown-haired, not-tiny girl? I genuinely don't understand how such a complete opposite could be interested. My coworkers have taken to mocking me for this tendency of mine: "So basically, you just want to marry your brother?" (No. First of all, my brothers don't really even look that much like me. Secondly, no.) I tried to explain this from my own, seemingly logical, point of view:

Like most people, I'm sure, there are certain of my physical features that I'm more self-conscious about than others. And I want someone who is going to complement and not clash with me. I don't want to be stuck for the rest of my life with someone whose thin nose makes mine look huge, whose skinny face makes mine look chubby, whose eye color doesn't go with mine (or more importantly, won't produce little brown-eyed babies. I'm just thinking of my posterity, here). I just want us to look good together. ... right? Am I insane? Does this logic make sense to anyone else? I know you've all seen those couples where one person is normal-to-good looking, but then seeing them with their significant other brings out their weirdness in their features. No? Am I the only one noticing? But then there are those people who you think, "meh, you're okay-looking," but then seeing them with their significant other makes them so much better looking. You haven't noticed? Well I have.

So regardless of the fact that there are cute matchy couples out there (though, admittedly, there is a fine line between matchy and confusion as to whether a couple really are siblings) and my desire to one day be counted among them, this article was pretty effective in shooting down all of my hopes for that. And really, I do look for more than just a nice face, but this article made the argument that I should be looking for only one thing:

"agreeableness."

Yep. So. There's that. I am struggling with this. I mean, is it so impossible to think that I might find a nice guy who also has a face that matches mine? Is that really too much to ask for, or am I really just insanely too picky? Another question for the void, I suppose. Unless of course you have an opinion you'd like to share! Feel free. :)

12 things I like about winter

I am a Utah native—born and raised in the midst of the purported greatest snow on earth—and have not once been skiing or snowboarding. Travesty, I know. Along with that, I'm pretty warm-blooded, meaning that I run on cold. All. The. Time. I'm wearing a coat indoors right now as I write this. Hence, I'm not the biggest winter person, but I've decided to take stock of all the things that I do like about wintertime. Odd that I chose the very end of winter to reflect on what I like about it? Oh well.

And also, I'm including the pictures I took from my past two weekends in a row of going snowshoeing. I know—me, snowshoeing? I'm trying to get better at winter, here. Be proud of me.

Here's the list of things I like (dare I say love for a few of them??) about winter:

1. Coat pockets. I'm not a huge fan of coats/jackets like so many other people, but I do have to say that I appreciate always having a place for my lip gloss, phone, and keys other than my pants pockets. Once summertime rolls around, I have to carry a bag around with me all the time, and it's annoying. I have honestly worn holes in the pockets of my jeans where my lip gloss goes because I don't always want to haul around a bag. It's kind of a problem.

2. Cuddling. Does this even need an explanation? You're cold. I'm cold. Let's be not cold together.

3. Hot chocolate. Yes, they make it sugar-free, much to my delight. :)

4. Heaters. I just love being warm. When I'm in my car, you can pretty much count on the fact that I have my heater going full blast. My passengers often have to tell me that they're too hot before I even notice that it's a million degrees.

5. Sweaters. I am not a fan of long-sleeved shirts. Like, at all. I don't think I even own one, and if I do, I am certain that I didn't buy it. Sweaters, on the other hand, are one of the best inventions ever.

6. Winter pajamas: socks, sweatpants, sweatshirts. Coincidentally the perfect cuddling attire (though if you ask me in summertime, you know I'm going to say that it's shorts and t-shirts).

7. Boots! Remember how I own sandals? Uh... no, no I don't. I bet that 20 years from now, we're all going to realize how ridiculous and tacky we all looked in our skinny jeans and boots, but for now I don't even care. Boots = best thing ever. (Although, again, when I re-make this list for summertime, you know I'm going to say that sandals are the best thing ever.)

(looking at this picture makes me think that maybe I had them on the wrong feet... is that possible?)

8. Scarves. I wonder who first thought that your neck being cold was a really big issue...?

9. Sledding. I haven't been in a really long time, but it's fun, right? Until you have to climb back up the hill...

10. Snow when it is perfect and pristine and picturesque and you don't have to drive in it.

11. Snow-covered mountains. The only thing more beautiful than the mountains in Utah is the snow-covered mountains in Utah. I love when it looks like a postcard come to life.

12. ICE SKATING! I love ice skating so freaking much. Although, really, you can go ice skating anytime, right? It's just such a wintery thing that I had to add it to the list.

And... I'm out. What else is good about wintertime?

Muddling things, as mom says.

Confession: I once kissed a guy at the end of a blind date. Granted, it was a really good date including bike riding (winner), but still, we'd only known each other for about three hours before we were lip-locked on his driveway. I know, I know. Not my proudest moment. And let's not even get started on my cuddling stats. 

Much to my mother's chagrin, my number one love language is physical touch, and as such, I'm naturally more drawn to guys who are touchy and am, myself, quite touchy also. 

Over the past few years, I feel like I've become a bit looser with my lips (again, sorry mom.) (but really, as I think about it, I went years having the same boyfriend who I kissed a lot. So maybe the last statement really isn't true, it's just that it seems worse now that it's not all with the same person. Huh.). Don't get me wrong—I'm not going around kissing every guy I see, but if we've had a few good dates and there's chemistry, and he goes for it ("it" being a kiss or cuddling), I'm not going to stop him. Maybe it's part of that whole if-I'm-not-getting-married-anytime-soon-then-I-might-as-well-enjoy-it mindset. And I go back and forth on being okay with that, and then thinking that I shouldn't be quite such a lip liberalist. I know people who won't kiss someone unless they'd also feel comfortable saying "I love you" to them, which seems kind of extreme to me, but at the same time, kissing someone who you hardly know isn't really that great of an idea either. (I once made the rule that I wouldn't kiss someone unless I knew their middle name. Def broke that one recently. Whoops.) But I can never really decide once and for all where I lie on this issue. 

Here's the problem. The one that my mom always likes to point out to me, which, really, is preaching to the somewhat stubborn, maybe-too-fun-loving choir: when you get physical with someone that you're dating (or, perish the thought, with someone you're not even dating yet) too soon, it muddles things. 

Muddle, verb

1. To throw into a state of mental uncertainty

2. To undo the proper order or arrangement of

3. To make a mess of

Basically, getting physical too soon clouds your judgment of the person and your probably-not-too-substantial relationship (if you can even call it a relationship yet!). It messes up the natural order of things and overall just makes you confused and anxious for no good reason. And when I say "you," I mean "me."

Let me illustrate the distorted thought process here:

"I like kissing/cuddling" —> "I like kissing/cuddling with you" —> "I like you." ("Really? But wait. . . I don't even know you yet!")

See the problem?

I know this. I recognize the problem. And I still do it.

So a few months ago I went to this awesome Institute class about relationships. The speaker was so funny and clever, and I about died laughing. I wish I had written down any of the hilarious things she said, but trust me: it was great. One of her main talking points was about the stages of a relationship, as listed here:

1) Attraction

2) Uncertainty

3) Exclusivity

4) Emotional Intimacy

5) Engagement (like, literally engaged)

The problem comes when the physicality begins before even step number 2. Isn't the "uncertainty" label alone enough to dissuade me from picking up the pace before then? Apparently not. 

She also talked about how important it is to be a crock pot instead of a microwave when it comes to relationships. You get the analogy, right? No need to explain that one. Taking your time generally leads to better outcomes.

vs.

As one of my friends so aptly put it: "It's great being a microwave if you want instant gratification. But if you want something that will fill you up and even give you leftovers, it's better to invest in a crock pot meal." But really... who's got time for that? Hence why it's so hard to develop quality relationships: it takes a lot of time. Go figure. 

Maybe my mom will regret calling me "Mindy Annie" all these years because, just like Ado Annie, I have a problem: 

kissing is my favorite food!

The eternal predicament is destined to continue, my friends, unless something drastic happens. Please share with me your kissing-and-cuddling-delaying tactics. Or should I just embrace it? (haha... I didn't even make that pun on purpose.) What do you think? Mom, you don't need to comment; I already know your stance :)

Club 25

When I was growing up, I had this one friend in my neighborhood. We went to the church together every week, girls' camp every summer, and we always had a lot of fun together. Even though we shared a lot of the same beliefs, I think our families came from quite different political backgrounds, and she was the type to really care about politics and me not at all. I'm not sure if she would have totally self-identified as a feminist, but to my 13-year-old, Mormon-girl self, she was the closest thing I knew to one.

(Okay, I'm more like 8 or 9 in this picture {bottom left}, but it was the closest I could find!)

I feel like she understood much better than I did the things that I now find wrong with my church's organization for teen girls. I am by no means saying that it's bad or untrue or anything like that (because it is a wonderful program and there have been some really positive changes made in the decade or so since I was in the organization), I'm just saying that I think there are things (and maybe a lot of that is just cultural also) that shouldn't have been, such as focusing so much on preparing for marriage, the subtle undertones of getting an education "just in case," and making sure that whatever choice you do make as far as education and training goes will go hand-in-hand with motherhood. After a successful 6 years of weekly iterations along these lines, at 18 I felt I was more than prepared to step up to my destiny as a wife and mother. [Enter reality.]

(A classic snapshot from high school)

My friend, however, had other plans, one of which she referred to as "Club 25." She would talk about this club as if we had both agreed upon being members, which I definitely hadn't. Basically the premise was just that we wouldn't get married until we were 25. I don't recall now her reasoning behind this club (though I have to assume it revolved around getting a good education and having a good career and not needing to rely on a man or a title to achieve any of that) because to be honest, I probably tuned her out a lot when she talked about "our" plans for Club 25. There was no doubt in my mind that, despite her assumption that I was on board with her, I would be married and have 2.5 children by age 25. So I went to college with the "find-a-husband" mindset, and she went off to college with the "preparing-for-law-school" mindset.

(One of my favorite pictures from freshman year)

Now here we are, years later, and I laugh at what has happened. We both turned 26 last year (we're less than a month apart, so that helped the whole idea of the club), and while she was working on her law degree and celebrating her one-year wedding anniversary (because yes, she got married only a few months after turning 25, still being the only one of us to uphold the tenets of the club), I was still single and wondering what I was going to do with my life.

Now, I'm not saying that my youthful points of view were bad. Marriage and motherhood and family are all extremely important, and I still very much plan on one day having my own family, but honestly, there are other paths. There are other purposes that God might have for us. And that just wasn't something I was taught in my youth. It wasn't something anyone talked about, besides my friend. Maybe that's the very reason she was so adamant about it. And although I don't hold any hard feelings toward those who in my younger years steered me toward that path and no other, I sometimes wish that I had paid more attention to my friend's speeches about Club 25. Maybe then I would have thought out an actual career path instead of my "just in case" one. Maybe I would have been more willing to develop talents that I didn't think would be useful to my life as a wife. Maybe I wouldn't have spent years feeling that my life was on perma-pause because I wasn't a wife or mother.

Or maybe not. My life hasn't gone how I planned, but I still believe that God has been slowly leading me to find my purpose. Or, more appropriately, His purpose. I'm not sure that I know it yet, but I feel its subtle prodding here and there, and I know I'm on the right path.

So just consider me an honorary member of Club 25. I realize I already missed the deadline, but I've stopped missing the point.

Girl talk

Last night, I told my sister that one of my friends was coming over to hang out. Ensuing exchange:

Sister: so what are you guys going to do?

me: paint our nails and talk about boys.

I couldn't get over the fact that I'm 26 years old and I said that sentence, considering the last time I said something like that was probably over a decade ago.

But really, sometimes you just gotta. And unsurprisingly, our conversation probably sounded a lot like it would have were we two 14-year-old middle schoolers as opposed to the mid-twenties working women that we actually are. What can you do.  

After our thorough discussion of all the boys in our lives right now (a surprisingly long list for two albeit very cute girls), we came to a few conclusions:

1. Boys are just mostly dumb. Right? I mean, sorry to the three boys who read my blog, but it's kind of true. I'm not saying that girls aren't also dumb, but it's just a different kind, I guess. A kind I don't get. 

2. There's cute, there's smart, there's spiritual, and there's funny, but rarely is there a boy who is all four. And really, is that too much to ask for? To quote a dear friend: "that's not too much to ask for, but it might be too much to get." 

3. When will we stop being surprised by all the crazy twists and turns that result from this world of dating? It's impossible and sometimes scary and sometimes exciting to guess what could happen literally from one day to the next. In short, expect the unexpected and just embrace it!

P.S. does 5 dates in one week seem like a bit much to anyone else? 

On being broken

"I am the Lord that healeth thee"

 -Exodus 15:26

Have you ever just felt broken? Like life gave you one too many surprise punches in the face (or crow bars to the knee, or whatever), and you just couldn't do anything about it? I've been thinking about this topic these past couple of months, of being broken. Of feeling so hopeless and so completely shattered that you have nothing left to do but start picking up the pieces of your shattered self and finding any way to put them back together again. You know, rereading that, it sounds pretty dramatic, especially for what it physically equates to:  lying in bed. Doing nothing. Not even being able to remember what it felt like to be whole. 

For me, this brokenness came last year in the form of a very real and very sudden heartbreak, and the very real, almost tangible loss, for the second time in my life, of the hopes and dreams of a lifetime. I'm fairly certain that this brokenness is also what sent my immune system into a tailspin, resulting in the worst sickness of my life, just adding to my brokenness. I remember moments  where the only thing I could do was repeat over and over, "I can't. I just can't." Can't what? I'm still not sure. 

Tangent. I remember toward the end of my mission, I was getting sick all. the. time. and I also kept having these really strange health-related things happen to me, like that one time that a piece of bug or plant (the doctor couldn't definitively say) got suctioned to my eyeball. Yeah. That happened. The sisters who had been out for as long as me were experiencing similar phenomena, and we decided that we were just falling apart. We were worn out and worse for the wear. We said that by the time you had at least two things seriously wrong with you, it was time to go home. Missions are pretty good at breaking you, maybe not in the same way as a heartbreak, but breaking you nonetheless. 

So, clearly there are different levels of brokenness. Different levels of being left to wonder how to go on. Sometimes this brokenness is caused by others, or by exhaustion, or by sin. Whatever the case may be, I think we all find ourselves at one time or another facing this brokenness.

So what, I implore, is the point of this brokenness? Yes, it is just a natural byproduct of mortality, I understand that, but I am also a firm believer in the fact that to every thing there is a purpose. A few weeks ago my little cousin posted something on her Facebook that made me reflect even more upon the why of being broken. She said, talking about last year, that it was "a year that has completely broken me down and therefore allowed me to rebuild myself into the person I've always supposed to be." Wa-bam. That's getting down to the heart of the matter. I definitely think that you have to be broken before you can change, and sometimes more of a break is needed for a bigger change. Like when you break a bone and it has to be reset (and sometimes re-broken, right?) before it can begin to heal properly. Same concept here. (Almost.) 

You may or may not know of my affinity for Christian rock. No? Well, yes. I love it. And this has been one of my very favorite songs lately. It's called "Strong Enough," and it just happens to drive this point home:

"As I rest against this cold, hard wall,

will you pass me by?

Will you criticize me as I sit and cry?

I had fought so hard and thought 

that all my battles had been won,

only to find the war had just begun

Is He not strong enough?

Is He not pure enough

to break me, pour me out, and start again?

Is He not brave enough

to take one chance on me?

Please can I have one chance to start again?

Will my weakness for an hour 

make me suffer for a lifetime?

Is there any way to be made whole again?

If I'm healed, renewed, and find forgiveness, 

find the strength I've never had,

will my scars forever ruin all God's plans?

Is He not strong enough?

Is He not pure enough

to break me, pour me out, and start again?

Is He not brave enough

to take one chance on me?

Please can I have one chance to start again?

He took my life into His hands 

and turned it all around.

In my most desperate circumstance,

it's there I've finally found

That You are strong enough.

That You are pure enough

to break me, pour me out, and start again.

That You are brave enough

to take one chance on me

Oh thank You for my chance to start again."

Isn't one of the requirements of the gospel of Jesus Christ to have a broken heart? Is that not the sacrifice we have to be willing to make to be called His disciples? Now, I'm not saying that this broken heart is always the same as the one I'm talking about, but surely they're in the same realm. 

So here's the crux of what I'm trying to get to, here: sometimes we have to be broken in order for the Lord to begin to rebuild us into what He needs us to be. Apparently I have a lot of refining to be done. But something that I experienced quite vividly with my most recent brokenness was just how willing He is to help us rebuild and how efficient He is at doing just that! I loved what Elder Dyches said in this past general conference: "Jesus Christ heals body, mind, and spirit, and His healing begins with faith." He also pointed out the how of accessing this healing power: 

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Matt. 11:28-30). 

Simple as that.

Another slight tangent that that song brings up: the brokenness caused by sin--how much of God's plans for our lives does that actually mess up? Despite our sins and mistakes, are we still eligible for the blessings/opportunities/wholeness that we would have had, had we not messed up? I contend that yes, we are. And what's more, I believe that because of the humility that comes with repentance, we are better able to receive those blessings, that wholeness, than before. (though, caveat, you of course can be humble and therefore that kind of receptive without being compelled to be humble. obvs.)

Wow am I grateful for a Savior who came to earth to "[heal] the broken in heart, and [bind] up their wounds" (Psalm 147:3), who came for "they that are sick" (Matt.9:12), who said to so many, "thy faith hath made thee whole" (Matt. 9:22), and whose mere garment "made perfectly whole" those who touched it (Matt. 14:36). He has been my Healer, my Savior, and my support through the most broken of days--the most broken of hearts and bodies. He has been my hope when I didn't have any. He has been my motivation when I couldn't. I just couldn't. 

Here's the thing, though. His healing comes on His terms. He asks, "Wilt thou be made whole?" Basically: if you desire MY healing, are you willing to have it be done MY way? But His way is always the best way, and that's why, when we allow Him to rebuild us, we can be confident that we are 100% whole, and rebuilt in an image that's maybe just a bit closer to His own.