Just wanted to say this (Originally published 11/22/14)

I know this will be a shortish, disappointing post after my long hiatus, but I figured that if I want to get posting again, I should write what comes to me, even if I'm exhausted and haven't been able to put in the time to write something as great as I wanted to.

So this is what I want to say today: I am incredibly blessed. I am so blessed there are not words enough to wrap my arms around and fully embrace all the goodness I've been given. I just do my best to feel it and thank my Father in Heaven for it.

The biggest reason I'm feeling blessed is not something I'm ready to share with all the wide internet at this point, so I will share one moment from today instead. It was simple, but beautiful and full.

Part of the reason I haven't written recently is because I was getting ready for a trip to Australia. Now I'm on that trip, and trying to soak in every moment I have here. Guys, I am not kidding when I say it has been the stuff of dreams and so much more than I hoped for. Again, I am unable to adequately describe how wonderful it has been. I've learned and experienced so much, and I have two more weeks to keep doing the same.

Today, among other things, I went with my friend and his family on a little hike to see the Babinda Boulders in Babinda, Queensland. There were a few different lookout points posted around Babinda Creek and the Boulders, and as we walked from one to the other, it became more and more beautiful.

As we walked through the rainforest, a light mist began falling. The earth was damp and living, full of leaves and moss and the smell of rain. Trees towered overhead, bursting with jeweled greens. Everywhere I looked there was growing.

It was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever witnessed. I felt like the hand of God had reached out to touch my heart and whisper,

"I made this. I didn't have to. There didn't have to be rainforests, or Australia, or Babina. I didn't have to bring you here. I didn't have to show you this. You didn't have to meet the people you are here with, either. But you did, and I brought you here, and your eyes are blessed to behold. This moment is for you.

And darling, beloved Child--I love you. "

Good Ol' Will

I've been thinking about doubt a lot lately, and this quote I memorized as a freshman in college came back into my mind. I love it, and wanted to share:

Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.

--William Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure", Act 1 scene 4

Guidance

I was thinking about some of my some spiritual lessons from my life recently, and an experience I hadn't thought about in a long time popped to mind. I learned a lot from this experience, and the lesson has continued to help me, so naturally, I want to write about it. :)

In my church, there is no formal preacher position. Instead, members of the congregation are asked to share short speeches called talks. We each study and take turns sharing with each other what we have learned. A member of the congregation leadership will approach you, and you can accept or reject the invitation to speak. There is one Sunday of the year where all the children under the age of twelve present a program about what they have learned. Once you are twelve, you may be asked to share a short talk by yourself. (When a teenager is asked to speak, they typically do so for a short period of about 3-5 minutes, with the rest of the 45-minute meeting split between two or three more experienced adults.)

When I was 14 or 15, I received a call from one of the congregation leaders. He asked me if I would be willing to be the youth speaker in an upcoming sacrament service. He told me the topic that he would like me to speak on, and I accepted the assignment as an opportunity to learn and grow.

However, as I began to study the topic he had given me, I felt strangely unattached to it, despite finding some fantastic scriptures I could share. The more I tried to make the topic he had given me work, the more I felt unattached, and even deadened, towards it. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I'd worked on it about a week. I'd tried writing my talk at least three different times on the assigned topic, but it simply never jelled. Finally, I concluded that if it felt so odd and wrong, maybe I should switch topics.

The whole time I'd been studying and preparing, I had run across other scriptures that resonated deeply. I had felt drawn to those scriptures, and had even seen ways the principles in them had affected my life. I gave up trying to wrestle the original assignment into a talk, and wrote my talk based on the scriptures that had spoken to me instead. I planned on getting up and saying that although I had worked very hard to try and make my assigned topic work, it had never felt right, so I had changed what I was speaking on.

That Sunday, as the services began, the program was announced. I was very surprised to hear that the lady who was speaking before me would address the topic I had been assigned, and that I would speak on a topic which had never had mentioned to me. The more surprising part was that despite it not having been mentioned to me, the announced topic was the very one I had felt drawn to and prepared for in the end. For one of the first times in my life, I was certain that the Lord had guided me, and I felt an immense gratitude and wonder that He had. I was shown, in a very practical way,  that He is more involved in our lives than I had previously supposed. He was aware enough of one congregation to know who they needed to hear speak on which topic. He was aware enough of myself and the other lady who was speaking to know who would benefit most from speaking on one topic over the other. He was able to enact His plan for that specific service, despite the simple mistake of a man who'd misspoken when he called to give topics to speakers.

As I have progressed in my life, I have continued to have my eyes opened to the Lord's individual concern for us, His children. There have now been numberless ways that I have felt or seen His guidance in my life, or lives of those around me. He is aware of us. He does hear our prayers, and above that, answer our needs. I know this is true, Amen.


"His purposes fail not, neither is there any who can stay his hand." --Doctrine and Covenants 76:3

Just a thought

Well, I just smashed my finger between my ring and the door jam. Ouch. There's a deep welt from the sudden pressure (actually, it's very nearly a cut), my finger is swelling up, and I am certain there will be some sort of bruise before the end of the day. It hurt, I gotta say it. A lot more than I would have expected.

I had been in the middle of trying to get a surprise ready for my boyfriend, (which is why I was hurrying), and I wanted to just keep doing what I was working on. I tried to move straight from smashing my finger to that task without pausing, but the level of injury demanded that I take a moment to asses my wound and breathe as I let out the pain. And then my mind did one of those things it does:

Sometimes we become physically injured enough we have to stop and asses how we're doing. Why do we have a hard time letting ourselves do the same thing when we are injured emotionally? An injury is an injury.  It's valid to simply make sure that you're ok when you have one, whatever the type. Sometimes, what I need more than anything is to stop and breathe the pain out. I think that's ok, and I think we could do better in acknowledging pain--not getting lost in it, but just saying, "Hey, this feeling is present." I think it helps us move forward more easily.

Just something I thought today.

Exploring

I grew up in a house groaning with books.

There were hundreds of them, no exaggeration. We easily packed 35-45 boxes of just books when we moved. Some were classics. Some were fiction. Science fiction, fantasy, biographies, scientific studies, religious studies, cultural studies, histories, world studies; everything! I think of it now and it amazes me.

Let me tell you, you can learn a lot in a house full of books. There's something to having constant access to the written word that's impossible to duplicable. There were so many times when I just picked something up and leafed through it, and ended up learning something I could have found in no other way.

Tonight, as I was brushing my teeth just a few minutes ago, I was thinking of a story that stayed with me. It was from an anthology of science fiction which, if I recall correctly, was edited by Piers Anthony. The title had something to do with a 24-hour cafe? Anyhow.

One of the short stories in the anthology was about a teenager at the 24-hour cafe. The cafe is at the edge of town, and he works the night shift. A lot of odd people drift in and out of the cafe during his shift, and after working there for a while, the boy starts to suspect that maybe some of the people aren't from our planet.

One night he inadvertently gets into a conversation with a customer who overhears him muttering to himself about how bored he is with his life and its changelessness. As the conversation progresses, the customer confirms the boy's suspicions and admits to being an alien. He teaches the boy how to tell who of the other odd customers are alien, too, and goes on to explain that there is a flaw in space travel. The only known method is random, so you never know where you're going to end up. Because of this, once you've traveled, it's pretty well impossible to find your way back home. A lot of the space travelers the boy sees on his shift are endlessly taking the chance, in an effort to be able to return to the places and the people that they love. It's a vicious cycle of searching for home that wears on the traveler and eventually takes away the beauty and wonder of having been to unknown worlds in the first place.

The boy starts excitedly asking the customer about the galaxies and worlds that he's been to. Because of how the conversation had started, and the kind of questions he is asking, the customer can tell that the boy is thinking of hopping on a ship the next chance he gets. So, instead of sharing his travel experiences with the boy, the customer gives him a piece of advice: Rather than permanently give up your family and home, stay on your world, and explore it. Go away from everything you're familiar with for as long as you need. Travel your own earth and discover the millions of places, people, cultures, and sights it has. Experience entirely new things, and leave yourself the option to return home, should you ever want to.

There is something profound in this advice. After traveling, myself, to entirely new places with hitherto unseen animals, plants, people, places, cultures, and sights, I can attest that there's an endless possibility for new experiences here. I think, when we pause to consider our world, that's part of what makes is so stunning. There is just SO much to experience! I love that.

I love that there is always something new to see. I love that I learned that from a book, looking at the same familiar walls, in the same familiar room, sitting on the the same familiar furniture, that I had known for years. I love that even if you can't go to the place you want at this time, you CAN, if you can read. I am so grateful for that house, bursting with bookshelves and the worlds they contain. I'm grateful for all it taught me about our world, and all it left open for me to discover. And I'm endlessly grateful that I've been blessed with opportunities to go out and discover!



"...there's more to see than can ever be seen/ ...more to do than can ever be done/ There's far too much to take in here/ More to find then can ever be found..." -The Lion King, "The Circle of Life"

Dear everyone,

I have not forgotten that I have a blog. Yes, I have missed writing. I've composed numerous posts in my head and never made it to a computer to really hash them out. But sometimes life comes up on you and you just gotta grab the horns and ride if for a bit.

It's been a crazy couple of months. In May, I started dating someone. I had a lot to work through, but he was patient and kindly persistent. Fortunately, with the Lord's guidance, things went well and I am now so, so happy to be able to say that that man is my boyfriend. Good life things have been happening.

Then, throughout June I was getting ready for a trip I have dreamed of since I was a child. This included working more as a photographer's assistant to pay for it. It took a bit of doing, but guess where I am now? Australia, that's where! I've been here 5 weeks, and my time here has been as amazing as I hoped and more. I could not be happier with the experiences I've had or the people I've met. It has been worth all the saving, planning, and working I did to get here.

(I need to add that I also received a lot of help from many people to meet my goal, and I am very, VERY grateful for it! Thanks for letting me work extra hours, helping me find a great ticket price, and helping me wrap my head around all my passport things. I could not have lived this dream without your help, helpers. :) )

I have one more week here before I go home. It seems amazing to me that the time has passed so quickly. That's the thing about life; it keeps on moving. And even though this is a small post and doesn't carry a lot of insight, that's what I wanted to say: Sometimes it's worth putting down the computer, turning off the camera, and opening up your arms. We only get one go at this. Let's make sure we sink our teeth into it.



Hate is easy. Love takes courage. 
-an internet meme

Partway There

"Imagine yourself a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps you understand what he is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you know those jobs need doing, so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of; throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage, but He is building a palace." -C. S. Lewis


Tonight I am grateful for Suzie. She helped me remember, in the way I understand best, that a partially-built palace is still a structure overflowing with beauty.

Holes

I should be asleep, but I wanted to look something up in my journal, and ran across a poem I wrote last year. It was a quick write, but I like it enough that I want to share it. It's from an entry dated 11 February, 2013; Monday.

Holes
In the movies
grief has straight hair
with bangs over the eyes
And a dark dress
that's still flattering.

What about pajamas
with the covers over the head
and the knotty hair
over the hole
where the ache steady-thrums?

Days stack like potato chips--
Once you pop you can't stop!

This is faith:
The tired feet
go off the edge
on the floor
and out the door.

I have learned--
Light can heal these holes.



"Some days, just breathing is a testimony." -David Elliott

Moments Stitching Together the Sunrise

You know the magic of a perfect moment? When you just don't want what's happening to end, because it exactly matches the way you're feeling?

That happened tonight.

Those moments keep me believing.

A Different Story

One of my facebook friends posted a suicide threat as his status a few days ago. I've been thinking about it.

A lot of people pled for him to seek help and to find a different way to deal with his pain. (So did I.) As I was looking at his responses to those pleas, though, I noticed that he kept repeating that he is unwanted, a horrible person, etc. As evidence that he is not wanted, he shared that his biological father had even tried to kill him while he was in the womb.

Here's what I've come to: That is, yes, a part of his story. The event occurred. There is, sadly, no denying it. But why has he chosen that part of his story to define himself by? What about the rest of his story? He's in his early twenties, so there have certainly been more events to build his self-understanding around.

I know his life hasn't been easy by any stretch of the word. He has faced challenge after challenge after heart-wrenching challenge, and I completely sympathize with that. I've had my share. My pain has been intense and overwhelming enough to create suicidal thoughts, too. I didn't realize that's what was happening until later, but it happened. I am somewhat familiar with the state of mind and condition of heart it takes to get to that point. It's an enveloping black pit with no sign of stars. At times, I've simply had to trust that others could see those stars, and that one day, I would be able to too. And I've learned that it's true: there is more to see.

For this friend of mine, what about those lights he seems to have forgotten? The part of his story where he was wanted enough to be adopted? Or the part where there are people actively reaching out to him, right now, asking him to stay and stick it through? It's been years since I've seen him. We had lost touch, so I have no further examples to give for him specifically, and I don't know much about the circumstances of his life right now, beyond his stated reason for wanting to commit suicide. However, I do want to say that as I have progressed on my journey, I have learned that there is a different story.

It's been my observation that we pick and choose what we use to define ourselves. We often ignore the inconvenient details that undermine, or even disprove, the self-view we've chosen. Mental illness makes it VERY difficult to see clearly. We simply cannot will ourselves into understanding the world and ourselves in a new way. Rather, it's a matter of healing enough to be able to. Of letting ourselves trust more objective eyes, of seeking help at any and all times it's needed, of accepting help and love when they're offered. It's discovering that just maybe, the way we understand ourselves is unclear, and that can actually be wonderful--finding alternate realities which exist, and are even valid.

So. What about your story, the one you tell yourself is real? Are you overlooking some details that round it out and make it more authentic? Does adding those true details lessen the pain? Is there a wider lens which catches the glimmer of the stars? I pray that you will be shown a version of your story that does; one that holds more than you've written for yourself. I pray that my friend will be enabled to see a more complete view and let it help heal him. I pray that he will hold on.

Revisiting 'Trust'

A few days ago I wrote and published a post entitled "Trust." I've kept thinking about it, and there are a few more things I want to say on the subject.

In that post, I talked about how I build trust in other human beings. Since then, I've been thinking about how I built trust in God, our Heavenly Father. I think the principles involved are the same, actually. I've thought about my personal journey of coming to trust Him. I know that my trust in Him is imperfect. I falter. I forget. That's true.

It is also true that He is trustworthy. I've learned this through my own experiences, "proving [Him] now herewith," or, in other words, trying out the commandments He has given, testing them to see whether the promises He has made in connection with them are fulfilled in my life. This is the exact same process of giving another person a chance to show up, forgive, listen, or etc., that I described in my previous post. When I live or keep a commandment, I'm giving God a chance to Show Up; to come through for me. I'm turning to Him to see if He'll make good on His promises--be they promises to forgive, heal, help, provide, or guide. I'm testing Him out. And I am not speaking in hyperbole here: ALL the times I've tested Him, He has Shown Up.

One of the hard things about trusting the Lord, though, is that sometimes the way He "shows up" is different than the picture I had in my head of what that would look like. He shows up, but not always in the way I would have liked. Or in the time I'd have liked. Or even with the answer I would have liked. He is more loyal than that. His love is such that He will tell me 'no' when something is wrong or will hurt me. His love is such that if I need to learn something over a period of time rather than quickly, or to face the consequences of my actions, or to feel and overcome disappointment, heartache, or loss, He lets me. He is not interested in giving me a free ride, but a growing one. His investment in me is about me reaching my divine potential, not in having things easy, and this sometimes means He allows the trials to come. He's willing to say the hard-to-hear truth. He does what will be kindest in the eternal scheme of things, and not the mortal one I am used to thinking within. His ways are not my ways. They're higher.

But. But, but, but. He will be with us in all things. He IS with us in all things--in the heartbreak, the loss, and the disappointment. In the struggles and challenges that seem over our heads.  I absolutely trust Him to be there with me in the thick of things. That is what I count on. Even when I've felt disconnected from Him, when I've been murderously furious with Him, when I wanted nothing to do with Him, He was there. He sent people into my life to speak when I wouldn't, or couldn't, listen to Him. He reached out, over and over, unfailingly.

That, more than anything, is the source of my trust in Him. Experience has built on experience. After years of watching Him reach out, somewhere it finally dawned on me--I trust Him. I don't trust Him perfectly, because, again, I am not there yet, but I do trust Him. I know He's not going to give up on me. So I do my best to not give up on Him, either, and to keep giving Him chances to "show up" in my life.

Even though it took me years to see it, this is is what I learned: He always does.


"...nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted. My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep...
O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever...." -2 Nephi 4: 19-20, 34; The Book of Mormon

Rant (TL; DR)

Here's a secret from my life: Although I LOVE swimming, I have not owned a swimsuit of my own for years, and I go swimming only once or twice a summer. In my Mom's suit. With a girlfriend or two.

Well, I'm going to be at the ocean later this summer--literally living ten minutes away--so the time has arrived to bite the bullet, stop borrowing my Mom's swimsuit, and become the proud owner of a suit or two myself. Hopefully cute ones that I'd feel comfortable with, ones that would give me confidence, right?

Well, let's look at the available styles of swim suit. How many are actually designed to make the women feel comfortable?? Looking at ads recently, all I see is a bunch of women sticking either chests or bums out, like the purpose of the beach is to get hit on as many times as possible. Weirdly, not my goal. I know, I know, you'd think girls live for conquests, but let me tell you, this one doesn't. I happen to want one relationship with one guy, instead of a myriad with as many as possible, where the first (and possibly only) thing on the mind of those men is how I look in a bathing suit--or you know, out of one. Or even how quickly they can get me out of one. (Hint: On the honeymoon. So good luck brother, your odds approach zero.) Call me crazy.

I know sexuality can't be ignored. I'm not blaming men for having drives. I don't blame myself for having one, a very healthy one, thank you very much. I'm not trying to ignore this part of human nature. I'm just trying to find something that is not provocative. I'm so enormously frustrated that I am having a hard time finding a swim suit that I can feel comfortable in. Just because I have a certain shape, shall we say, doesn't mean I want that kind of attention from everyone who sees me. I simply want to feel peaceful while wearing this item of clothing. And finding a suit that supports the way I choose to present my body--which I did approach with optimism at the start--is making me so frustrated I could scream. The only suits I have been able to find that actually support and fit me are ones that show a ton more than I want to show. Apparently being fully covered is only for smaller girls?

I tried on ALL the swimsuits that were my size in a store of my choosing. All of them, even the ones with patterns so ugly I squinted while trying them one, just to give the fit a chance. Results: Not enough support. Enough support, but too loose on the waistband to actually stay on me in the water. (Did I mention I'm going to swim, not just sunbathe?) Too little support. Fits on the waist, but way too small elsewhere. Too small elsewhere, fits on the waist. Nowhere near enough support. On and on, one pieces and tankinis; it was the same story over and over. Well, that was a good use of an hour or two.

Online! Online I can custom-select my size. So I combed through a site, and picked specifically the most covering styles I could find in my size. And they shipped to me, and I tried them on, and guess what? The tankini top is a joke if you're looking for coverage. Apparently smaller models don't give an accurate idea of how things will look on me. Joy.

The best (read: ironic and stupid) part? I did buy a bikini top, and it covers me more. Not as much as I want, but more than the tankini. Well, excellent, because I happen to know of an newly-launched invention that you can add to a bikini top to transform it into a tankini. Let me send off for that.

It came today, and guess what? My compromise doesn't even fit me. The straps that you feed the bikini waistband through are too small for the strap of this bikini's waistband. I could go the next size up on the invention, but...it will almost definitely be too big on the waist. And this bikini top was the only one I could even imagine putting on, as the rest either had too little support (which, as I found at the store, was invariably the case for anything with vague sizes like M or L) or too little material.

Options--keep looking. (Save me now! But I will continue to do so.) Screw it all and wear a bikini, wherein I would be uncomfortable the whole time. (And, you know, judged.) Or borrow my Mom's swimsuit.

I might do that, and use a stupid sports bra with it. (Fits at the waist, but not elsewhere...) Because who needs to have a suit that doesn't make them look like a grandma anyhow? Apparently that's my only option if I don't want to hang out for the world to see.

And yeah, it pisses me off.

Wonderful Things

Wonderful Things from this week (so far):

1. Wearing a sundress today. It had pockets. I could play conference talks on my phone while doing laundry AND CARRY IT AROUND IN MY POCKET. (So cool. Apparently I approve of technology today. :))

2. BBQed turkey!

3. Campfire last night

4. How much I liked my hair yesterday. Also liked it today.

5. Hugs from friends

6. Speaking in Church

7. Two of my best friends came to hear me speak in church. (Seriously, so wonderful!)

8. Ward prayer

9.  Chilling with my fantastic roommates!

10. Talking to my sister on the phone yesterday

11. The weather

12. Going to bed early tonight. (I'm writing that in prediction of making this choice once I log off, haha.)

13. Sleeping really well.

14. The maintenance man fixed our broken blinds, medicine cabinet, towel rack, and window screen. (Hollah!) Also, we have internet again. Huzzah!

15. The smell of campfire smoke
16. Talking to my parents briefly.
17. Matchox match. (Because why not?)
18. Met someone new at FHE.
19. Talking about the stars.
20. Water fight with Corrine.

...and much, much more, but that bed is calling, and tonight, I'm gonna listen. :D Loves! -K.

Trust

I was just listening to a speech given by Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It was titled, "I Have Given You an Example," and speaks of the love the Savior Jesus Christ showed to the people around him. It implores us to follow his example and show love to those around us, especially as we seek to help them find and strengthen their faith in Christ. (The full article is available here: https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2014/04/i-have-given-you-an-example?lang=eng)

Often when I listen to these sort of speeches, a line stands out and rings inside me. There was one in this talk. It was this:


"As a companion to that love, trust them." (emphasis added)


Elder Scott went on to talk about trusting others to make their own decisions and come to faith in the Savior in their own time. But that single line got me thinking.

How much are love and trust tied together? When I think of those I love, there isn't one that I don't trust with something--to be there, to welcome me, to support me, to forgive me, to love me, to accept me, to sacrifice for me, to keep their word, to do their best, to be who they are, to make me laugh, to help me think more deeply; whatever. Always, there is something I have entrusted to them. And maybe this is why letting new people into my life and inner being--those private, deeply flawed parts I guard most jealously--is such a challenge. How do we know whom to trust? How do we discern and decide?

Just like we decide a lot of things. Trial and error, in an automated system that we don't often pay attention to. They are cautious trials, at least for me, but trials nonetheless. I share a little, or make a mistake (the unintentional test!), or ask for help with something small. And if the person I am hoping to trust listens, forgives, shows up, accepts, or otherwise doesn't let me down, eventually they get trusted with something bigger, and then progressively bigger, and on and on, until I trust them in the area(s) that has/have been proven.

I try to make allowance for the fact that they are also imperfect, so it's not a one-test-failed-and-you're-over system, but a process of getting to know another human being and whether they fulfill my needs or not. They aren't necessarily excluded from my life if I find they don't, they simply aren't trusted in the area where they can't meet the need. I turn to someone else who can meet that need instead.

It almost sounds harsh to me, framing it in that light. But heaven knows we do this, all of us! And as far as that goes, I surely know that I don't meet all the needs of all the people that would like to trust me. That's ok. As much as I have wonderful strengths, I also have impressive weaknesses. That's where I am. One day, I hope not to be! But for now, that's part of the package deal, :). I strive to keep this in mind for other people, too. I strive to remember that we can all change for the better. That maybe right now they aren't trustworthy with x, y, or z, but one day they could be. That's one reason giving someone the opportunity to become trusted never completely ends. It seems to me that I will still occasionally throw out a little chance to them, just to see if they have changed. Maybe my glass is half-full?

Anyhow. Trust. For me, it's tied to love, and I'm glad I understand that now. I don't know how to open up, in love, to another human being, without it. And honestly, I don't want to. It exists for a reason. It can be built for a reason. It can be lost, broken, removed, recovered, regained, and re-established for a reason. We need it, and I'm grateful for those who have been patient with me as I learned to trust them, amen!

Untitled

I was just thinking tonight about the hard things I've had to learn. Not the super, gut-wrenching, life-altering hard lessons, but the situations I didn't know I was uncomfortable in that took courage to stand and stare into the face of.

I've grown a lot, and I am grateful; amen.

Making a Difference

Today I was blessed with a reassurance that I didn't even know I needed. Two things happened which enabled this assurance to penetrate my heart and bring peace to my soul.

First, someone in church shared that they had come home from their mission early due to health problems. I did too, and felt that I should talk to her after the class was over and just let her know that I could sympathize with how hard that can be. Turns out she is dealing with the same health problems that caused me to come home, and I was able to share my thoughts with her, both about coming home and how to approach her treatment options. (Those feisty thyroids, I tell ya what!) She seemed to appreciate it.

Then, I ended up talking with another friend and said something I've learned recently that's helped my perspective become healthier. This is what I shared:

I used to think that I consistently fell short and Heavenly Father was somehow disappointed in me, like He was standing by to point out my flaws and reprimand me. But I've realized I was wrong. Teaching this year, I saw a few kids who wanted to earn high (or perfect) scores on their assignments become super upset when they missed one, or two, or three, or ten, questions. Some would cry, some would argue with me, some would stop trying for the rest of the class period. And as the teacher, I was thinking, "It's ok that you made mistakes! You're in school to learn, and you're not going to get everything right all the time. I am SO proud of you for your efforts! Look at what you did do well at, and give yourself some credit for it! Allow yourself some room for learning. Forgive yourself, and we'll try again. I'm here to help you become more successful, and now we know what areas to pin-point so you can work towards that." As this happened throughout the school year, I began to connect that Heavenly Father probably has more of that sort of perspective regarding us, His children. He's probably much more interested in encouraging us to grow than in hitting us over the head for something that He knows we are already working on overcoming. He's on our side. He wants to cheer for the fact that we try, even if we end up stumbling, falling, or failing along the way. We're here to learn, anyhow.

I didn't know that my friend was struggling with a bit of the perspective I'd had before teaching this year. The ideas I expressed ended up affecting her for the better. Again, my way of approaching an issue ended up helping another human being.

So what exactly was I reassured of today? This: That I have something unique, needed, and powerful to offer. There are people who need what I have been through, what I have learned, and how I see things. I make a difference. It may be in unexpected ways, and it may not shake the earth, but my contribution to the world and the people around me matters. And this is my message for you, tonight:

So does yours.

We need each other. We can help one another. And with His guiding hand, we will.


Our Deepest Fear
by Marianne Williamson from A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles


Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give
other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

Muddy Girl Manifesto

I spent most of this Memorial Day weekend outside, like millions of other Americans. I went on a long bike ride, which was glorious. I sat on my porch. I went to a BBQ. I walked to friends' houses instead of driving.

And a realization about myself resulted from these forays in the outdoors: I am a muddy girl.

Allow me to illustrate. The destination of my bike ride was Utah Lake, which is notoriously "gross." The water smells, the mud is a quagmire, and there are a ton of mosquitos. No one swims there. My friend didn't even want to walk close to the shoreline. So I, of course, left him on the bike trail and went to stand on that shoreline and look across the water. We were there, weren't we? No way I was gonna miss out on the view, even if some of the biggest mosquitoes I've ever seen (and let's be clear here, I've lived in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State, so mosquitos are not unfamiliar to me in the least) immediately rose in a billowing cloud above my head.

And on the way back home? I did, indeed, stop along the trail and dip my hands into the Provo River, despite the cold. If I had worn sandals instead of sneakers, I would have waded. It's there, and I'm gonna experience it!

If you've seen me gardening, I was probably out there in my bare feet, gloveless and unheeding of the dirt getting under my nails. Gardening is about digging in with both hands. Dirt washes away.

If it's summer and I'm driving, those windows are all the way down, and so is my hair. I want to feel the wind, and who cares if my hair gets tangled? It can be combed out.

Ceramics class, my freshman year of college, was delightful. I didn't care about getting clay all over me, I just jumped in and had the time of my life, centering the clay and creating. My roommates always made fun of me when I came back from class, wondering aloud if there was any possible way I could have gotten more dirty. I wish that picture of me just after class one evening was accessible...

And oh yeah, doing the dishes is going to result in a little bit of a soaking down my torso and/or legs. And playing with my nieces will result in a spill or two on my clothes. When I go camping, there is no worry about preventing myself from smelling like smoke. I get right up to the fire and let the heat soak in; allow my hair and clothes and body to absorb that wonderful, woodsy smell. I got grass stains on the knee of my pants less than a month ago. Today, my knees collided with the ground while doing the limbo during field day. I probably could have just twisted my head aside and admitted defeat, but I wanted to go all out. Now I have some lovely mud stains to prove that I did, and guess what? That'll wash out, too.

I throw myself in. I'm not afraid of getting dirty; of reveling in the mess that's part of the experience. I like to live a little loud. I'm ok with opening up to and feeling what's happening a little deeper than most people let themselves. I'm not afraid to be uncomfortable. I'm not afraid to be seen unedited. I want to sink my teeth into living. I'm a muddy girl.

I go in, and I get dirty. When it's done, I pull myself out, clean up, and go on living. And you know what? I prefer it that way.

It Was a Nice Fantasy

It was a nice fantasy, it really was, but it just isn't reality. Reality is made of much meatier, more fulfilling, substantial stuff.

Like the woman who taught me to play the flute while she underwent chemo, who let me pay for lessons in folded towels and swept porches. I visited her yesterday, for the first time since serving my mission, and she talked to me about losing her husband--a powerful influence in my life!--and considering the possibility of dating again, now that it's been more than a year and a half. So strange, that this situation could come into being.

And there living is--the unexpected mixing in with the plan, the backup plan, the revised backup plan, and the completely new plan that came from facing the changes.

It hit me, the grief and the wonder that mix up so flawlessly to make living vital. We swing back and forth in the joy and the sorrow and all that's in between. Somehow, that is the beauty--the living, learning, feeling, thinking, and experiencing that makes up the days and years we're here.

There I was yesterday, saying goodbye to the scholars I've taught this year, their faces bright before me. The one whom had started with the most difficulty hugged me the tightest, with a fierceness that surprised me, and it stung my eyes that he had cared, after all. I took a picture of my empty little classroom and choked back the tears. I looked at the small, silent classroom and felt in myself that things will never be the same again. Those children have made me more than I was. And never again will it be the first year, with all the delightful bumbling about I did.

Just like I'll never be a college freshman again, with late nights and the learning of a new kind of friendship, without the walls that come from living in separate homes. I shared all the messy parts of myself without even meaning to, and found people who still loved me. And I passed classes and failed English and fell in love for the first time of consequence. I took so many years to truly say goodbye, inside myself, and not just in words.

And that season ended, and more rose up, overlapping in a wonderful tapestry of learning which I now wear, adding colors and people and places without end. The season of the second year, of hoping for something better, of becoming more than I imagined I could be.

Every day I become more. Occasionally I wonder at the fluidity in me, at how much my perspectives have changed and will continue to change. I think of the things I've held on to all this time. The truths, as well as the inclaritites waiting to break free when I am ready to see what is real. The people, and the places that I carry inside me, ugly and flawed and free.

And then I think of the life I built inside my head; the way I thought these years would stretch. Oh, it was a nice fantasy, it really was. But this is real. This stretches me. This is better.


This is much, much better.

Good Timber

by Douglas Malloch


The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth,
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.

The Lump in My Throat

When I have something important to me that I want to share, I have a hard time talking when I feel I'm not being listened to. I used to keep trying with a person, no matter how evasive or distracted they seemed to be.  This lead to frustration, and even hurt, on both sides. Eventually, I started attempting two or three times in a single conversation. If after that I still didn't feel heard (when I was truly hoping to share something that matters to me), I'd just accept that the other person wasn't presently in a listening kind of place, and keep my thoughts to myself, saving them for a different situation.

Occasionally, one subject arises which I have a deep need to talk about, so I'll try with multiple people, multiple times, to bring it up. And often, I'll be able find someone who is ready to listen for a little while or a long while, and the words get spoken.

But there are these other times. These times when I try and try and can't find the right ears, the right heart, to actually listen. Or the words are slippery and I have no idea what it is I need to say, and I feel guilty to just keep talking without a direction I'm headed in, while someone sits by. Sometimes I am not willing to speak because my emotions are too untidy for me to look at, or too heavy to share. Or I don't want to make the effort to put myself out there a little, or whatever. I just don't always find the ears.

I have made the choice, on multiple occasions, to hold inside what would probably would have been better said aloud, even if it just helped me. I'll be honest here: I've cut off ties of communication with pretty much any possible important category of person by judging them for not being willing or able to listen, whether temporarily or permanently. You know--family. Friends. Ecclesiastical leaders. Roommates. Boyfriends. Co-workers. What are the other categories? Whatever they are, they probably have at least one representative that I could think of. And oh yeah, God too. I've avoided talking to Him on anything more than a superficial level hundreds more times than I care to admit.

When this happens, a lump forms in my throat, a lump which can last from hours, to days, to weeks, months, or years. It's an actual physical sensation: a tightness, an unpleasant tingle. A throat-constricted, stomach-churning, hard-to-breathe, bile-tasting pressure in my mouth. Those are the worst times, of course. There are all kinds of degrees, and being frank, sometimes it builds up for a while before I notice it because I so automatically hold in what I want to say. And I hold it in out of anger, out of a twisted sense of revenge or punishment for those who aren't listening the way I wanted, when I wanted.

It's kind of a ridiculous internal temper-tantrum, actually. The one thing I get most offended about, most often, most easily.


I want to let this pattern go. I want to take it less personally, for one, because it usually isn't. We just get busy with our own stuff--as evidenced with this very preoccupation, haha!

I want to have a different knee-jerk reaction when I'm not feeling heard. Maybe instead of clamming up and feeling superior or hurt or hateful, I could learn to say something like, "Hey, I have something I wanted to share with you. Do you have a few minutes for me to do that?" Often, we just don't know that the other person has a item they want to discuss.

And definitely, I want to be more forgiving, not only toward others who unintentionally don't hear, (because I could use a whole heaping helping of that!!) but towards myself, too. To recognize and be forgiving of this weakness that has developed in me. To acknowledge that there are reasons I've learned to hold it in, and to acknowledge that it will take me a little time and practice to learn a better way. To say to myself, "Hey, we're all still learning. It's ok to start from here--it's not where you're going to end up."


"The ears are the door to the heart." -Voltaire 

Church Today

Church today was exactly what this lady needed. I felt a lot of personal messages in the words of the speakers, especially in sacrament meeting. I am grateful for this day to honor the Savior of mankind, and learn more of Him.

One of the things that stood out most to me today was the strength that we can each gain from a personal relationship with Him. Something one of the speakers said that resonated deeply with me was that when we use the Atonement to overcome challenges, our perspective changes. We change. We become new people. I have seen this in myself and in my life, as well as in the lives of people around me. Through His Atonement, we each are able to be healed and changed into new people. His grace is real, and I have experienced the healing it brings.

He also mentioned that when we have experienced this healing, enabling power in our lives, we become hopeful people. That struck me because I'd been thinking in the past few weeks about how different my perspective is than it used to be, and wondering what changed to make me so much more optimistic. Not only have I been noticing a change, I've had numerous friends comment on my hopefulness recently. Hearing that the experiences I've had with the Savior are directly connected to my increase in hope suddenly explained exactly what has happened to me over the past few years, and filled me with both gratitude and wonder at the Lord's kindness.


Last week in church, our Relief Society instructor had us take a few moments to write down our witnesses of The Savior Jesus Christ and His work for us, God's children. Although my testimony is incomplete and weak in areas, I do want, today, to share that testimony with you. It is the most precious knowledge I have gained in this mortal life.

What I wrote last week in Relief Society:

     I know that Jesus Christ is the Savior, that he knows and loves us as individuals. I testify that His Atonement is real, and can wash away sins, pains, and sicknesses of all kinds--physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. I testify that it is the greatest power on earth or heaven, and that by Him, and through Him, and of Him, the worlds are and were created.

     He is our Elder Brother. He wants us to be happy. His love for us, and our Father in Heaven, was the motivation for His sacrifice.

     I know He was divinely called, and the only being who could fulfill the demands of justice while opening the doors of mercy to us. I know, through Him, that death is overcome, and all will be resurrected at the Last Day.

     I know He is the way, the truth, and the light.  Amen.


"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." -Philippians 4:13, KJV

"And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death with bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities." -Alma 7:11-12, The Book of Mormon

Dream Job

The other night, I went to dinner with my roommate. We've had little opportunity to talk one-on-one before, simply because of our schedules, so as we ate we were also getting to know one another better. She asked questions, I replied, then I asked questions and she replied. I enjoyed it. She is a great girl that I've been wanting to get to know better for a while.

In the course of our conversation, she asked me a question that I haven't thought about in a while. I was surprised at what I learned as I answered.

She asked me, "So, what would be your dream job?" It had been so long since I thought about it that I just blinked, literally. 

And then the word tumbled out, "Teaching."

"Oh, something like Teach for America?"

"No. Just teaching. It doesn't matter what or where. As long as I'm teaching, I'm happy."

And we moved on.

Now, why is this exchange the subject of a post?

Because, folks, I already am a teacher. It's a bit significant that I am working in my dream job. That I teach. Why? Well, because it's a miracle, for one. Two, because I had gotten so used to being a teacher that I'd forgotten both how miraculous it is and how grateful I was when I was first hired. There was a bit of settling into the routine of teaching, grading, and emailing parents, and I began to take for granted that I HAVE MY DREAM JOB, and I'm not even a college graduate yet! Saying that my dream job is teaching, and realizing that I already have that job, brought the gratitude rushing back up again, and I wanted to share it. I am so, so grateful. This is more than I expected or hoped for myself.

The Lord is very kind and generous, in my experience. Nothing has been "perfect." So much in my life has happened so differently than I wanted, or hasn't even happened at all (yet.) But I have seen His hand, felt His care, and experienced His love for me.

He cares about you. He cares about each of us. I testify this is true, amen.



"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but we often look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened before us. " -Helen Keller

Right Now

I just feel peaceful right now. Peaceful in that tired-out, I-accomplished-things sort of way. All mellow with weary eyelids. It's so, so nice. I like this feeling.

Thanks.

Exhibit A

I have this theory that children are the best. I would like to present Exhibit A:

I often tell the kids at school to tie errant shoelaces. At our school, we do "bucket-filling," which is about building others up and complimenting. Sometimes these bucket-filling comments are written on index cards, and even occasionally addressed to me and left on my desk. Now that you know the back story, my bucket-filler from yesterday:

"Ms [my name, spelled entirely wrong] (did I spell you name write) 

When I wrote this bucket filler my soes [sic] were tied. Thank you for Reminding me about them. you rock. [Signed] unanimous"

I'm taking that as unanimous instead of anonymous, because I can. :)

Strength and Progress

We just finished reading Hatchet (by Gary Paulsen) in the reading class I teach. There's a part where Brain, the protagonist, loses all hope. I gave my scholars a homework assignment that asked, "What could Brian think about or do to feel hopeful again? What do you think about or do when you need to feel hope?"

Their answers surprised me in their maturity and depth. I had scholars who talked about praying, about reminding themselves that they can always try again, about seeking help from others. The one that stayed with me the most, though, was from my student Wil. He said that when he needs to feel hope, he thinks that he is loved and that people care about him. What a strength to have! I don't know what other people's lives are like, but experiencing depression as I do, I know that my mind can very easily disregard the positive facts, and I have been caught countless times in the trap of thinking that no one cares for me/I am not loved. There is so much power in remembering that people care, that you are loved. I envy him finding this strength at such a young age. I didn't even begin to know it till my mid- to late-teens or early twenties.

Everyday as I move forward, I find that the little things do work. They really, really do. Enough sleep, enough food, getting out in the world and apart from my head. I don't believe in forcing myself to do things. There is such a harried, utterly stressed, unhealthy feeling to that. But I do believe in pushing myself, which has a distinct emotional difference for me. It starts with a desire that already exists, and is more of a movement through reluctance or a wading through fear than a propulsion to care, as I find forcing to be. It is driven by hope rather than anger or frustration. Forcing makes me feel injured once I have made myself do whatever it was, but pushing makes me feel relieved or proud or clear afterwards. And thankfully, I am in a place, and have been for the past few years, that I desire to feel better (because Gotye is right, "...you can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness....")

Now, because I have desire, I can push myself to actually do that thing I want to do, whether it's getting together with friends, or going on a bike ride, or applying for a job I'm afraid I might not be considered for. I have found strength in this, too. In taking the little steps forward, in knowing myself enough to know when it's appropriate to stay inside and when it's better for me to go out, even when it's hard.

I am so grateful for forward movement. For movement! My sister wrote a poem once, and although I don't remember the line, I do remember the image: Walking through life with boxing gloves up, ready to defend herself. She talked about feeling exhausted from doing so for so long.

I feel like depression is often like that. There's just so much internal noise to fight through, every day, to live the life that I want to live. And it can wear on me. Imagine struggling with the choice to open your bedroom door, in order to imply that you are home and willing to socialize, knowing that it will help you but feeling less than 1% desire to do so. Imagine wrestling with yourself about whether it's worth it to get fully ready for the day, or to feed yourself, or to actually get ready for bed, instead of scrolling down and down and down, endlessly, on your newsfeed. It can just grind on you, for those little deeds to be conscious decisions that must be made, rather than automatic parts of a routine.

For me, it's not every day. There are stretches of time when I feel full of energy and motivated to take on the world, one goal at a time. I take advantage of those times when I can, because I know they may end without much notice. And I am thankful for the times, evermore frequent, when, despite not feeling motivated to do much of anything, I choose to do at least one something, and find happiness in what I did. So it may take me two weeks to fold laundry because it's not the first something I chose to push myself to do, but it does get folded now. Heck, there's laundry to fold!! I'm unashamed to say that's a victory.

What do I have?

I had a bit of a hard week this week. I was all set to write about it and air my complaints, but just before I actually sat down to write, I had this thought pop into my head: What do I have?

It kind of hit me. I had been, of course, focusing on those things that I was hurt or dissatisfied about, and to have that idea enter my mind was a little bit of a shock to the track my mind had been on. So I considered it.

What do I have?

Well, I have a home. A few, actually.

An apartment with girls that I enjoy and get along with and am grateful to know. My parent's place, where I am always welcome and can let down my hair with not only a Mom and Stepdad, but a fantastic younger brother who will talk books all day. My brother and sister-in-law's, who have adorable children that heal my heart whenever I see them, a garden, and a peer-to-peer respect that I need. My friend Devin's, when I can nap or nag or eat or play or just watch hockey. My place of work, where there are children to keep me laughing, playing and learning, and adults who support me and help me feel like I'm making a difference. The mountains, who speak great truth without any words at all. Church buildings and temples, where peace gathers and enters into my soul. And Utah, and Arizona, and New York; the many people and homes who are open to me at any time. Even places I've never been, like my friend Brit's in Virginia, or Josh's in Australia. That's a lot-lot of homes, even limiting it to physical places.

What about the hearts that are homes to me? The people that will willingly hear and let me in? That is a list that would be long, even if it were just those I was 85% sure of or above, and surely I'd miss some, even then.

So I have a lot. An excessive amount. I am watched over, and even though it's been a hard week, I am loved and not alone.

One Defense

My heart's on my sleeve, but my thoughts are buried deep. This is my only chance for privacy.

So yes, you may know what I feel about you, but you sure don't know what I think of you, do you? I'll tell you when you care enough to ask. Which, admittedly, might not happen, and then I'll be only one who knows, won't I?

My Best

Sometimes the best I can do is a back rub, a hug, and a few words I hope you know I mean.

Part of My Life

I've been wanting to write about this subject for a while, but haven't really known what I want to say. There is just so much than can be said.

I'll just relate what happened that made me realize I wanted to write.

I was getting for bed the other night, and actually noticed the last-last thing I do before going to bed, for the first time.

I changed my clothes. I brushed my teeth. I went to my room, and knelt, and prayed, and pulled aside the covers. I turned on the bedside lamp, and reached for the bottles.

I watched my writs flick exactly right to open them. I noticed the expert up-ending of the bottle to shake out, quickly and effectively, the pills, and I observed that I had done this so many hundreds of times that I didn't even think about it anymore--precisely bite the pill in two, along the scored line, because who wants to fuss with getting the pill chopper out tonight? All these things, with my mind running over the day, organizing and analyzing it without the interruption of bothering to paying attention to my actions, muscle memory guiding me.

This is a part of my reality.

Most of the pills I take are supplements like Calcium and iron, but one of them is not. One of them, as inconspicuous as the others, is an antidepressant, and I take it without hesitation these days.

There are some very strong opinions out there about these little tablets. I've been all over the scale concerning them, myself. I've been on and off them and all around them over the years. I've been diagnosed with a lot of versions of the diseases that branch off the word "depression." The most recent, and I think most accurate, starts with an M and contains the idea that it's a long-term condition, but at this point the labels matter so little that I truly can't remember what that M word is, and I don't really feel like looking it up is relevant. I just need to know what my response will be. My responses, I suppose, because there's not one answer. Even in one individual, there's not one answer.

It just is. Like: Hi, I have brown hair. I like chocolate and men and tickling my nieces. I enjoy being outdoors and I have depression and my favorite thing to do on the weekends is try new foods and hang out with friends. It's there, mixed in with all the other elements of what my life has been and how I understand myself and the challenges I've worked through and the ways I keep standing up.

I used to think that I had to hide it. I don't. I used to think that I was obligated to feel ashamed. I'm not. When I was telling someone that I have depression and they got embarrassed, I thought that I was supposed to be proportionately embarrassed, so as to make them feel comfortable.

No.

Life is life, you know? And we all have our different things. The way I see it, we are each working though something. One of mine happens to be this. And I just wanted to say this in a public way:

Responding to this illness is part of what I deal with, and working through it is something I am proud of. I have made so much progress. I know how to feel without swirling into choking blackness now. I know how to stop and give myself time. I know how to get up and go to work and I know how to persist even with heavy grief in my stomach and aching sadness spreading through me. I know how to feel true happiness from the hug of a child or the shape of the mountains while still in the middle of the hurting. I know how to see the beauty I simply couldn't conceive existed before. Sure, I don't see it all the time, but I know that it's real now. I know how to let myself be touched by the small moments of living. I know I know how to cope, and I'm even learning to thrive. Having depression doesn't scare me anymore.

And that is a triumph!

Music

Just listened to music on youtube for a few hours. I have to say, I am grateful for music.

I feel like I am blossoming late in this area and finally finding the music that speaks to me, which is very odd when I think about it.

It's odd because my Dad was a musician. How has this taken me till now? I often think of him, guitar in hand, sitting on that horrible orange floral couch in the living room. I don't remember him playing anything I heard on the radio to and from school. It was all original work, his own compositions or songs from the bands he had been in, I suppose.

He was an avid concert-hopper in college, and still went to concerts when I was little, apparently. My sister even went to her first concert with him. And yet, I grew up listening mostly to my mother's music, followed by my brother's. I don't know how this happened.

My mother is a music-lover, too. Singing and plunking on the piano, wishing she'd had lessons instead of being self-taught. There is something painful to not being able to speak with notes.

I don't know how I was so unaware of what was going on with music when I was little. I feel like the only musical exposure I had was from the guitar-playing man on the couch, the pop and country stations my bus drivers listened to, the voice of my mother in church, and the music class Ms. Cheney taught at my elementary school--xylophones and vocal warm-up exercises, as I remember it. And a couple of Beatles songs, haha!

And here I am in my twenties, finding music that actually matters to me. Me, the girl who has actually cried, not from frustration, but grief, that these hands do not have a way to get the music out from my insides. That I have no instrument anymore. I did play flute once, but it was all so rote and I never got to the point where I could compose, which is want I wanted more than anything. Maybe if I had persisted it would have been different. I've wanted strings, though, not woodwind.

I remember sitting at our horribly out of tune piano and hearing, very clearly, a few bars that were from me, that felt right, and having no idea how to get them translated into actual music. Trying to pick it out one note at a time... Just the satisfaction of hearing the melodies in my mind in the real world, one time! Has anybody else felt this? If only I could sing the way an instrument does! It's still in there, buried deep.

And finally, there is art that matters to me and speaks on a level I cannot articulate. It is an awakening. There's plenty of the stuff that merely entertains or fills the silence, but I have actually found music that deeply moves me, and it's out there, and I found it! And it dulls the ache of the voicelessness. It is a balm. It fills me up.

Some of the songs from tonight:

I Still Ain't Over You (aucoustic), Augustana
Ember and Ash, Augustana
Shot in the Dark, Augustana
Steal Your Heart, Augustana
Half of My Heart, John Mayer
Friends, Lovers, or Nothing, John Mayer
Paper Doll, John Mayer
Perfectly Lonely, John Mayer
Dreaming with a Broken Heart, John Mayer
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, John Mayer
Dear John, Taylor Swift

Begin Again, Taylor Swift

(Post Script: I do see the theme there. I'm aware of it, and I'm moving through it.)