The poet Robert Browning wrote:
"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in his hand
Who saith, “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”
Some of you may wonder: Is there any future for me? What does a new year or a new semester, a new major or a new romance, a new job or a new home hold for me? Will I be safe? Will life be sound? Can I trust in the Lord and in the future? Or would it be better to look back, to go back, to stay in the past?
- Elder Jeffrey R. Holland
---
As President Monson poignantly put it in the April 2009 General Conference: "The future is as bright as our faith." How true that is.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Things I should have done.
Thank you Weiser Idaho for a memorable weekend.
I rode a horse, drove a tractor, fed cattle, peed in a lean-to, watched a dog cuddle with a dead calf, went to a high school basketball game, and remembered how much I love being a missionary. All of these were firsts except the first and last. I am all about firsts.
I found out today that my old music teacher died of stomach cancer on the 15th. One day as I put the neck on my saxophone, Tony, a die-hard astrologist, cried, "Whoa Lisa, when were you born?" I told him. He pointed to a poster of Charlie Parker, hanging on the wall above me. The birth date said August 29, 1920, only a few days after mine. Then he pointed to the neck of Parker's sax, and to the neck of mine. "You're both Virgos," Tony said. "And look, you play with the neck at the same angle Charlie Parker did." Tony thought I channeled Charlie Parker when I played. Maybe I did. I was playing "Fly Me to the Moon" pretty decently after two lessons, so I could have.
Tony got me started on the bass guitar, and he sold me my Fender Mexican Strat and little Danelectro amp. And I think he was my biggest fan. He encouraged me to pursue music as a career. "You have what it takes," he'd say.
Over Christmas I felt prompted over and over that me and my siblings needed to go visit Tony. We knew he was sick. Every time I'd drive by his studio I'd think, "Go see Tony." Of course I ignored it and we didn't go.
The summer before Grandma died, I thought and thought, "I need to interview Grandma on video." Then I thought, "No, I'll do it at Thanksgiving." She died November 5.
The morning Kaye died, I was cooking spaghetti sauce. Sister Morrill had just had surgery and was dozing in a Vicodin-induced super slumber. I needed some herbs; I wanted fresh basil from Kaye's garden, just across the street. I should just go get some, I thought. Really I need to. The thought came and came and came, but I stayed put and stayed put and stayed put because I wasn't supposed to leave Mo.
I will never know.
I rode a horse, drove a tractor, fed cattle, peed in a lean-to, watched a dog cuddle with a dead calf, went to a high school basketball game, and remembered how much I love being a missionary. All of these were firsts except the first and last. I am all about firsts.
I found out today that my old music teacher died of stomach cancer on the 15th. One day as I put the neck on my saxophone, Tony, a die-hard astrologist, cried, "Whoa Lisa, when were you born?" I told him. He pointed to a poster of Charlie Parker, hanging on the wall above me. The birth date said August 29, 1920, only a few days after mine. Then he pointed to the neck of Parker's sax, and to the neck of mine. "You're both Virgos," Tony said. "And look, you play with the neck at the same angle Charlie Parker did." Tony thought I channeled Charlie Parker when I played. Maybe I did. I was playing "Fly Me to the Moon" pretty decently after two lessons, so I could have.
Tony got me started on the bass guitar, and he sold me my Fender Mexican Strat and little Danelectro amp. And I think he was my biggest fan. He encouraged me to pursue music as a career. "You have what it takes," he'd say.
Over Christmas I felt prompted over and over that me and my siblings needed to go visit Tony. We knew he was sick. Every time I'd drive by his studio I'd think, "Go see Tony." Of course I ignored it and we didn't go.
The summer before Grandma died, I thought and thought, "I need to interview Grandma on video." Then I thought, "No, I'll do it at Thanksgiving." She died November 5.
The morning Kaye died, I was cooking spaghetti sauce. Sister Morrill had just had surgery and was dozing in a Vicodin-induced super slumber. I needed some herbs; I wanted fresh basil from Kaye's garden, just across the street. I should just go get some, I thought. Really I need to. The thought came and came and came, but I stayed put and stayed put and stayed put because I wasn't supposed to leave Mo.
I will never know.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Consider the lilies
Ceci n'est pas une pipe. A concept Magritte perpetuated to explain reality. What is and what isn't. If only he knew how well this relates to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Our Brother would have us focus on what is. Who we are. What we are. I am a daughter of God. I am a strong, confident, talented woman. I possess potential limited only by my own choices.
Our other brother, that Lucifer, terrorizes us with the tempestuous swindling of what we are not. (I'll spare you what I am not. You can probably already tell me that and I don't like to focus on it anyway).
We, as beloved children of God, cannot and should not define ourselves by what we are not. That is not reality. That is not the way of the gospel. Though I've pondered on this idea for the past month, this week it has infiltrated my reality. Heavenly Father often prepares us for these things.
Onto the more superficial.
Substitute teaching. A near-perfect profession for one who's transient, like myself. Near-perfect because let's face it: Does anyone aspire to be a substitute teacher?
No, no. Probably not.
Yesterday I subbed at a middle school in Provo. I love subbing middle school, adapting to the different dynamic in each class, discovering immediately that the class clown is wholly unpredictable on sight alone. The period two class clown was in a friendly verbal dispute with a classmate. I only heard the class clown's final response, which was: "Tu madre." I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I did. And the class caught me. Another girl, who was a 5th period student of mine, had been told all day that she and I looked exactly alike. Sure enough, we did, and we were even wearing almost identical coats. Lastly was period 6. It had come up during class that I served a mission. I don't remember how. Later, I commented to one student (I don't remember exactly what) in formal, proper English. The kind of English no one really uses unless they write for The New Yorker. After the comment, the class clown said: "Dang, did you serve your mission in the medieval times or something?"
Comic genius.
Our Brother would have us focus on what is. Who we are. What we are. I am a daughter of God. I am a strong, confident, talented woman. I possess potential limited only by my own choices.
Our other brother, that Lucifer, terrorizes us with the tempestuous swindling of what we are not. (I'll spare you what I am not. You can probably already tell me that and I don't like to focus on it anyway).
We, as beloved children of God, cannot and should not define ourselves by what we are not. That is not reality. That is not the way of the gospel. Though I've pondered on this idea for the past month, this week it has infiltrated my reality. Heavenly Father often prepares us for these things.
Onto the more superficial.
Substitute teaching. A near-perfect profession for one who's transient, like myself. Near-perfect because let's face it: Does anyone aspire to be a substitute teacher?
No, no. Probably not.
Yesterday I subbed at a middle school in Provo. I love subbing middle school, adapting to the different dynamic in each class, discovering immediately that the class clown is wholly unpredictable on sight alone. The period two class clown was in a friendly verbal dispute with a classmate. I only heard the class clown's final response, which was: "Tu madre." I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I did. And the class caught me. Another girl, who was a 5th period student of mine, had been told all day that she and I looked exactly alike. Sure enough, we did, and we were even wearing almost identical coats. Lastly was period 6. It had come up during class that I served a mission. I don't remember how. Later, I commented to one student (I don't remember exactly what) in formal, proper English. The kind of English no one really uses unless they write for The New Yorker. After the comment, the class clown said: "Dang, did you serve your mission in the medieval times or something?"
Comic genius.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The sky is falling!
I feel it necessary to announce I am ending my long time love affair with my most favorite appendage, my third limb as some say:
It's true. After a long courtship and engagement, my fizzy friend and I are parting ways. Explanation.
1. Soda is bad for you whether it's diet or not. Lying to myself doesn't change this fact.
2. One should never voluntarily put acid in his or her body.
3. My bursitis-inflicted hip flares when I drink caffeine. So does my heart rate.
4. Sometimes it takes the right person to tell you to quit, because from them it finally makes sense.
5. I'm going to save several hundred dollars this year from quitting soda, so maybe I can finally get myself that tube amp I've wanted forever.
Now, I expect all of you friends to support me. Please do not tempt me, call me wanting to get a sip, text me wanting to get a sip, or bring me a Diet Coke in the car ever again. (Megan, this especially means you since you frequently do this. I appreciate it. But since you can't drink soda now that Brutus is gone, I won't either. And if you can still drink Diet Coke even though Brutus is gone, you should just tell me you can't).
Goodbye, Lover.
It's true. After a long courtship and engagement, my fizzy friend and I are parting ways. Explanation.
1. Soda is bad for you whether it's diet or not. Lying to myself doesn't change this fact.
2. One should never voluntarily put acid in his or her body.
3. My bursitis-inflicted hip flares when I drink caffeine. So does my heart rate.
4. Sometimes it takes the right person to tell you to quit, because from them it finally makes sense.
5. I'm going to save several hundred dollars this year from quitting soda, so maybe I can finally get myself that tube amp I've wanted forever.
Now, I expect all of you friends to support me. Please do not tempt me, call me wanting to get a sip, text me wanting to get a sip, or bring me a Diet Coke in the car ever again. (Megan, this especially means you since you frequently do this. I appreciate it. But since you can't drink soda now that Brutus is gone, I won't either. And if you can still drink Diet Coke even though Brutus is gone, you should just tell me you can't).
Goodbye, Lover.
The weight of the world
I've returned from a successful trip to Houston. It was a great time and I will never forget it. Highlights include: Brazos Bend State Park (where we saw real alligators!), Half Price Books, Houston Temple, Good Company Texas barbeque, warm weather, Gulf of Mexico/the beach, "Slumdog Millionaire," seeing St. John's School AKA Rushmore Academy, realizing Houston is a really cool city, and kickin' it with Jeff, one of my dearest friends.
I'm afraid, however, that my post-mission honeymoon is over. As I've faced an afternoon of job searching today, I have felt a consuming feeling of urgency. A do-or-die ultimatum Darwin himself couldn't handle.
People: I NEED A JOB. And I will not rest until that paycheck is made out to me.
I'm afraid, however, that my post-mission honeymoon is over. As I've faced an afternoon of job searching today, I have felt a consuming feeling of urgency. A do-or-die ultimatum Darwin himself couldn't handle.
People: I NEED A JOB. And I will not rest until that paycheck is made out to me.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Holy General Authority, Batman!
Utah celeb sighting! Elder Craig Zwick and his sweet wife are currently sitting inches from me in the SLC Airport. Just had a nice chat with them. I actually met Elder and Sister Zwick in the MTC, had a nice chat with them there. My mom and Sister Zwick were sorority sisters. Elder Zwick and my mom apparently went on a few dates.
I am flying to Houston on a plane with propellers! How cool is that? Frontier Airlines only has Pepsi products. What kind of second rate airline is this?
Anyway, I gotta go. I'll write something worth reading soon. I love you lots.
I am flying to Houston on a plane with propellers! How cool is that? Frontier Airlines only has Pepsi products. What kind of second rate airline is this?
Anyway, I gotta go. I'll write something worth reading soon. I love you lots.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Saturday, January 09, 2010
The one thing I am always lusting after.
Take a guess.
Despite the photos, it has little to do with children and animals.
I'm in the ER with my friend Megan. They just gave her delota. She's a little high.
Despite the photos, it has little to do with children and animals.
I'm in the ER with my friend Megan. They just gave her delota. She's a little high.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Briefs.
Thanks to the original Erin Leigh for this gem.
And yes, it's real.
In other news, my life is figuring itself out very well, thank you. Also, I am sick.
Today I did sealings in the Provo Temple. The wife's name was Nicholas. Pretty sure there was an error there, but she and Martin are sealed nonetheless. Good thing heaven is error proof.
And yes, it's real.
In other news, my life is figuring itself out very well, thank you. Also, I am sick.
Today I did sealings in the Provo Temple. The wife's name was Nicholas. Pretty sure there was an error there, but she and Martin are sealed nonetheless. Good thing heaven is error proof.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Loved ones gather at day's end.
I am packing up my life. My former life anyway.
As my final act as a California resident, I am going through my mission boxes, again, and purging my collection. I haven't done it since I've been home.
By now the initial pain and shock of not being a missionary is wearing off. It has worn off, mostly. But looking at all this memorabilia brings it right back. My many journals. Pictures the kids drew me, notes from investigators and members, recipes from my sisters I reacquainted with along the way. My cookbook from Mrs. Yoder, the Mennonite mother I met at Shriner's hospital, who was there with her daughter Rhoda. I loved Rhoda. She was eight at the time. Tiny thing, in Shriner's because one of her legs was longer than the other. She said to me, "Someday you must come to my farm and meet all my cows, chicken, sheep, goats, turkeys and horses. And my brothers." I told her I wanted to, very much. But she was out of the mission, so I couldn't.
I really miss being a missionary, and few things I have done since I've been home have paralleled even one iota in importance. Please forgive me for writing about this again and again. I do not vocalize how much I miss it. If I do, I cry. A lot. I look at my tags and I cry. I think of the people I taught, who were baptized, who struggle to stay active, and I cry. I know it's their choice, but I am sad for them still, especially when I think of what they went through to be baptized.
I think about serving again in the future, with my eternal companion. And I am very, very happy to think about this.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is where we find Christ's pure gospel. I love Him so very much.
As my final act as a California resident, I am going through my mission boxes, again, and purging my collection. I haven't done it since I've been home.
By now the initial pain and shock of not being a missionary is wearing off. It has worn off, mostly. But looking at all this memorabilia brings it right back. My many journals. Pictures the kids drew me, notes from investigators and members, recipes from my sisters I reacquainted with along the way. My cookbook from Mrs. Yoder, the Mennonite mother I met at Shriner's hospital, who was there with her daughter Rhoda. I loved Rhoda. She was eight at the time. Tiny thing, in Shriner's because one of her legs was longer than the other. She said to me, "Someday you must come to my farm and meet all my cows, chicken, sheep, goats, turkeys and horses. And my brothers." I told her I wanted to, very much. But she was out of the mission, so I couldn't.
I really miss being a missionary, and few things I have done since I've been home have paralleled even one iota in importance. Please forgive me for writing about this again and again. I do not vocalize how much I miss it. If I do, I cry. A lot. I look at my tags and I cry. I think of the people I taught, who were baptized, who struggle to stay active, and I cry. I know it's their choice, but I am sad for them still, especially when I think of what they went through to be baptized.
I think about serving again in the future, with my eternal companion. And I am very, very happy to think about this.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is where we find Christ's pure gospel. I love Him so very much.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
The #1 reason why 2009 has to go.
Did you know the United Nations General Assembly declared 2009 the International Year of Natural Fibers?
Neither did I.
As stated by Wikipedia:
Thanks for helping the world be a bit more peaceful in 2009, United Nations. We need you!
Neither did I.
As stated by Wikipedia:
Tentatively, the objectives of the International Year of Natural Fibres would be:
- To raise awareness and stimulate demand for natural fibres;
- To encourage appropriate policy responses from governments to the problems faced by natural fibre industries
- To foster an effective and enduring international partnership among the various natural fibres industries;
- To promote the efficiency and sustainability of the natural fibres industries.
Thanks for helping the world be a bit more peaceful in 2009, United Nations. We need you!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Bless 2010!
Secret confession: I used to read Ann Landers and Dear Abby every day.
Today as I cleaned out my desk here at my parents', I found an Ann Landers column I cut out years ago. This is what Ann wrote:
"Infatuation is instant desire - one set of glands calling to another. Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows, one day at a time.
Infatuation is marked by a feeling of insecurity. You are excited and eager but not genuinely happy. There are nagging doubts, unanswered questions, little bits and pieces about your beloved that you would just as soon not examine too closely. It might spoil the dream.
Love is the quiet understanding and mature acceptance of imperfection. It is real. It gives you strength and grows beyond you - to bolster your beloved. You are warmed by his presence, even when he is away. Miles do not separate you. You have so many wonderful little films in your head that you keep replaying. But near or far, you know he is yours and you can wait.
Infatuation says, "We must get married right away. I can't risk losing him." Love says, "Be patient. Don't panic. Plan your future with confidence."
Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement. Whenever you are together you hope it will end in intimacy. Love is not based on sex. It is the maturation of friendship that makes sex so much sweeter. You must be friends before you can be lovers.
Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he is cheating. Sometimes you check.
Love means trust. You are calm, secure and unthreatened. He feels your trust, and it makes him even more trustworthy.
Infatuation might lead you to do things you will regret, but love never steers you in the wrong direction.
Love is elevating. It lifts you up. It makes you look up. It makes you think up. It makes you a better person than you were before."
I have only experienced this kind of love once. Or maybe not ever. But I think Ann hit the nail on the head with this one.
Also, my sister left a 1-pound box of See's Candies on the floor of our bedroom. Phoebe, the rabblerouser mini dachshund my mom applies all her affection to, tore open the box with her ferocious jaws and consumed 1/3 of the contents. She just got back from her ipecac feast at the vet. Phoebe's only ten pounds, but she recently chased down a rat in our backyard, gave it a teeth sandwich and snapped its neck. Yet she masquerades as a helpless, innocent, un-potty-trainable, perpetual puppy. What's more, I get to pay half her vet bill. I'm still not sure why, seeing as how I rescued her from certain death as I found her feasting on the chocolates this morning.
May your 2010 be everything you deserve.
Today as I cleaned out my desk here at my parents', I found an Ann Landers column I cut out years ago. This is what Ann wrote:
"Infatuation is instant desire - one set of glands calling to another. Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows, one day at a time.
Infatuation is marked by a feeling of insecurity. You are excited and eager but not genuinely happy. There are nagging doubts, unanswered questions, little bits and pieces about your beloved that you would just as soon not examine too closely. It might spoil the dream.
Love is the quiet understanding and mature acceptance of imperfection. It is real. It gives you strength and grows beyond you - to bolster your beloved. You are warmed by his presence, even when he is away. Miles do not separate you. You have so many wonderful little films in your head that you keep replaying. But near or far, you know he is yours and you can wait.
Infatuation says, "We must get married right away. I can't risk losing him." Love says, "Be patient. Don't panic. Plan your future with confidence."
Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement. Whenever you are together you hope it will end in intimacy. Love is not based on sex. It is the maturation of friendship that makes sex so much sweeter. You must be friends before you can be lovers.
Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he is cheating. Sometimes you check.
Love means trust. You are calm, secure and unthreatened. He feels your trust, and it makes him even more trustworthy.
Infatuation might lead you to do things you will regret, but love never steers you in the wrong direction.
Love is elevating. It lifts you up. It makes you look up. It makes you think up. It makes you a better person than you were before."
I have only experienced this kind of love once. Or maybe not ever. But I think Ann hit the nail on the head with this one.
Also, my sister left a 1-pound box of See's Candies on the floor of our bedroom. Phoebe, the rabblerouser mini dachshund my mom applies all her affection to, tore open the box with her ferocious jaws and consumed 1/3 of the contents. She just got back from her ipecac feast at the vet. Phoebe's only ten pounds, but she recently chased down a rat in our backyard, gave it a teeth sandwich and snapped its neck. Yet she masquerades as a helpless, innocent, un-potty-trainable, perpetual puppy. What's more, I get to pay half her vet bill. I'm still not sure why, seeing as how I rescued her from certain death as I found her feasting on the chocolates this morning.
May your 2010 be everything you deserve.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
I wish The Boss were my boss.
Getting up early is better than getting up late. Or so I am learning. It's like two hours magically appear out of nowhere! I am turning over a new leaf: I am not allowed to arise past 7:30 am. I'm working my way back to 6:30 am. (Thank you to the friends who've gently reminded me of this principle).
In addition to the 'what am I to do with my life at present' dilemma I'm currently in, there's another question that pervades my mental meanderings:
What happened to modesty?
I think it's time we revamped modesty. Not with the frumpy "Modest is Hottest" campaign (and myriad ugly prom dresses to boot), but with tips to be hip yet respectfully dressed. No Shade tees, no Down East, especially no t-shirts under tank tops or sleeveless and strapless dresses (I hope you are cringing as badly as I am right now). Any ideas?
In addition to the 'what am I to do with my life at present' dilemma I'm currently in, there's another question that pervades my mental meanderings:
What happened to modesty?
I think it's time we revamped modesty. Not with the frumpy "Modest is Hottest" campaign (and myriad ugly prom dresses to boot), but with tips to be hip yet respectfully dressed. No Shade tees, no Down East, especially no t-shirts under tank tops or sleeveless and strapless dresses (I hope you are cringing as badly as I am right now). Any ideas?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
If there's such a thing as love
There is no excitement quite as exciting as when your heart (or your mind?) finally figures out that you love someone. I don't think this happens very often in life. At least not with that deep, pure love that is reserved for special occasions. But it's one of the best feelings I've ever felt, and it's been a while since I felt it.
I have always loved love. Loved the idea of love. Loved being in love. Yes. I love love.
My constant prayer since April 2008 is that I might be a conduit of Heavenly Father's love for His children. His love is the purest love.
President Uchtdorf gave my favorite talk of 2009. It's about love.
I love you!
I have always loved love. Loved the idea of love. Loved being in love. Yes. I love love.
My constant prayer since April 2008 is that I might be a conduit of Heavenly Father's love for His children. His love is the purest love.
President Uchtdorf gave my favorite talk of 2009. It's about love.
I love you!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
All is safe within the fold.
I watched (500) Days of Summer. I thought it was really excellent. Mostly because I loved Zooey Deschanel's clothes and because this movie portrays the collective unconscious most of us share about relationships. Summer and Tom's relationship personifies parts of every relationship I've ever been in.
You know, my French teacher Mr. Boorda (who taught me how to say a bad word in French just in case I ever went there and got called this word) told me that humans are 95 percent alike. I remember thinking what that meant about me as a high school freshman. It meant that even though the popular kids thought they were so much better than everyone else, they were still much more like the rest of us than they wanted to be.
Which means there's a 95 percent chance you will identify with my memories of Christmas.
Christmas is so anti-climatic to me. We have our big Christmas Eve dinner. We're having 20 people this year. We eat standing rib roast that my dad thinks is too expensive, but he won't switch to ham or turkey because rib roast is just so good. My mom gets out the china. We drink Martinelli's (I am excited to try the apple-pomegranate). We open a pair of pajamas Christmas Eve night and wear them as we open presents Christmas morning.
We have one nativity in our house. We have gilded gold deer and Santas and angels and garlands and a real Christmas tree that had the smell manufactured out of it.
You know, my French teacher Mr. Boorda (who taught me how to say a bad word in French just in case I ever went there and got called this word) told me that humans are 95 percent alike. I remember thinking what that meant about me as a high school freshman. It meant that even though the popular kids thought they were so much better than everyone else, they were still much more like the rest of us than they wanted to be.
Which means there's a 95 percent chance you will identify with my memories of Christmas.
Christmas is so anti-climatic to me. We have our big Christmas Eve dinner. We're having 20 people this year. We eat standing rib roast that my dad thinks is too expensive, but he won't switch to ham or turkey because rib roast is just so good. My mom gets out the china. We drink Martinelli's (I am excited to try the apple-pomegranate). We open a pair of pajamas Christmas Eve night and wear them as we open presents Christmas morning.
We have one nativity in our house. We have gilded gold deer and Santas and angels and garlands and a real Christmas tree that had the smell manufactured out of it.
And that's really it. Our traditions have degraded into the inessential, managing to be monotonous and nostalgic and stimulating all at the same time. It's just this dinner-that dinner, with no real defining moment or enduring impression. Each year I fight relative boredom, and the tendency to perpetuate a hollow, aimless celebration where the Savior is mentioned only in the prayer over dinner, if He's lucky.
This year more than any year, I feel this is a commentary on my own former surrender to distraction and failure to incorporate my spiritual convictions into my temporal world. This year will not be like the rest.
"Silent Night" has long been my favorite Christmas song. Few other hymns so accurately recount the sacredness of that hallowed night. Few other hymns so delicately convey the calming peace and quiet reassurance our Savior can bring us throughout our tumultuous mortal existence. I need Him. I love Him.
So here it is. My token Christmas blog entry.
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
This year more than any year, I feel this is a commentary on my own former surrender to distraction and failure to incorporate my spiritual convictions into my temporal world. This year will not be like the rest.
"Silent Night" has long been my favorite Christmas song. Few other hymns so accurately recount the sacredness of that hallowed night. Few other hymns so delicately convey the calming peace and quiet reassurance our Savior can bring us throughout our tumultuous mortal existence. I need Him. I love Him.
So here it is. My token Christmas blog entry.
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The snow it melts, the sun it stays.
I'm sorry that all I ever talk about is my mission, how I feel after coming home, etc. Most of the time I do fine. Just like any adjustment, I hit crests of waves and depths of troughs. I only feel the need to speak while in the troughs. I don't know why this is.
Being off a mission is hard, only at times. Being off a mission and at my parents' house is hard all the time. I realized today, after finishing a conversation with one of my companions, that it's hard because largely, my family ignores the fact I was a missionary. Not deliberately. But it doesn't compute as part of their life. Their lives continued in the same pattern while I was gone; having me back is merely part of their pattern.
Today I got a card from my last companion. I found the card at Nice Twice, the train depot-turned-thrift store we volunteered at. It was printed in 1983. It pictures a cartoon girl riding a bicycle, though only the front half of the bicycle is visible. It says: "If there's one thing I need in Waterloo...", open it, pictured is the girl, alone on a tandem bicycle, "It's you."
I loved this card when I saw it. I mean LOVED. I was more obsessed with it than I was the "Smile: This card was sent to you by someone who thinks you're special!" card that some of you may have received. But I never had anyone to send it to, and I loved it so much I wanted to keep it, so I made Mo send it to me. And it just made me cry to read it. Because Waterloo represents a lot. Feelings are so complicated.
She sent me pictures of Jeremy and David, wearing white for their baptisms. I taught these guys. I love these guys.
I have known no greater joy. Lasting, spiritually sanctifying joy doesn't come as often as I'd like it to.
Just so you know, Sting's new Christmas/winter album is pretty great. Let's be honest though, it's Sting. Everything he touches turns to gold. Fields of gold.
Anyway, I am going to the gun store now. And then maybe here.
Being off a mission is hard, only at times. Being off a mission and at my parents' house is hard all the time. I realized today, after finishing a conversation with one of my companions, that it's hard because largely, my family ignores the fact I was a missionary. Not deliberately. But it doesn't compute as part of their life. Their lives continued in the same pattern while I was gone; having me back is merely part of their pattern.
Today I got a card from my last companion. I found the card at Nice Twice, the train depot-turned-thrift store we volunteered at. It was printed in 1983. It pictures a cartoon girl riding a bicycle, though only the front half of the bicycle is visible. It says: "If there's one thing I need in Waterloo...", open it, pictured is the girl, alone on a tandem bicycle, "It's you."
I loved this card when I saw it. I mean LOVED. I was more obsessed with it than I was the "Smile: This card was sent to you by someone who thinks you're special!" card that some of you may have received. But I never had anyone to send it to, and I loved it so much I wanted to keep it, so I made Mo send it to me. And it just made me cry to read it. Because Waterloo represents a lot. Feelings are so complicated.
She sent me pictures of Jeremy and David, wearing white for their baptisms. I taught these guys. I love these guys.
I have known no greater joy. Lasting, spiritually sanctifying joy doesn't come as often as I'd like it to.
Just so you know, Sting's new Christmas/winter album is pretty great. Let's be honest though, it's Sting. Everything he touches turns to gold. Fields of gold.
Anyway, I am going to the gun store now. And then maybe here.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Hallelujah
What would the world be like without Jeff Buckley? I hope he is still making music in the spirit world.
I served in Waterloo for an abnormally long time, for many reasons, but none parallel in importance to Kaye.
I met Kaye January 28. Sister Rider and I lived across the street from Kaye and her husband. We moved in January 26, that night. We cleaned the apartment as a blizzard raged on the 27th. On the 28th we weren't allowed to drive because of the poor road conditions. Having only a five-year-old roster to guide us, we saw the first name on the list--Adele--and went for a visit. Just after we left, Sister Rider lost circulation in her wrist. We had to get to an ER, fast, so we called Kaye. Kaye was sick herself. Rapidly advancing degenerative disc disease, recovering from consecutive neck and back surgeries, she was so limited from her pain. She forgot herself and took us to "Dead Bud." Kaye and I talked for three hours as we waited. I learned more about her and her life that day than anyone had in years, she later told me. I loved her.
My last visit with Kaye was August 19. Late Wednesday afternoon. Larry had just finished installing the new oven. He'd also just moved her sister Vicki's old recliner into the family room, where the couch had been, in preparation for Kaye's recovery from her upcoming neck surgery. She didn't think she was going to live through the surgery. It was the first in a succession of surgeries on her spine, which had degraded at an astronomical rate between February and August. Kaye was so scared. She told us that a few days before, shed been driving down 270 and suddenly felt a great warmth within her. She said, for the first time in her life, she felt forgiven. "Why would that be? Why would I feel that?" she asked us. She joked about her favorite drink, a dirty martini, with three olives. We ran into Kaye and Larry at Applebees that night. They sat at the table behind us. Kaye ordered a dirty martini with three olives. She offered me an olive.
Kaye died August 21. We don't know why. Her husband Larry came home from work and saw Kaye sleeping peacefully on the couch. Something told him to go check on her, right away. Her spirit had long since separated from her body. She was smiling. She was at rest. Her funeral was on my birthday, the 25th. I got to sing and speak. I also got to witness her husband, my dear Brother Larry, return to church after 13 years. It was the best birthday present I've ever been given.
I have felt Kaye's presence often since she passed. She is near, always near. In August I will be proxy for Kaye to be sealed to Larry. I am pretty sure this will be the happiest day of my life, thus far.
Kaye was my aunt, my best friend, my mother, my sister, my daughter--the depth of my relationship with her is one I hope to cultivate with every woman I am so privileged to serve. Rarely are we able to serve people in ways that require transcendent selflessness. I was blessed with opportunity to do this, for Kaye. Words cannot convey the significance of these experiences. Maybe sometime I will tell you about them.
Alma 26:16.
I served in Waterloo for an abnormally long time, for many reasons, but none parallel in importance to Kaye.
I met Kaye January 28. Sister Rider and I lived across the street from Kaye and her husband. We moved in January 26, that night. We cleaned the apartment as a blizzard raged on the 27th. On the 28th we weren't allowed to drive because of the poor road conditions. Having only a five-year-old roster to guide us, we saw the first name on the list--Adele--and went for a visit. Just after we left, Sister Rider lost circulation in her wrist. We had to get to an ER, fast, so we called Kaye. Kaye was sick herself. Rapidly advancing degenerative disc disease, recovering from consecutive neck and back surgeries, she was so limited from her pain. She forgot herself and took us to "Dead Bud." Kaye and I talked for three hours as we waited. I learned more about her and her life that day than anyone had in years, she later told me. I loved her.
My last visit with Kaye was August 19. Late Wednesday afternoon. Larry had just finished installing the new oven. He'd also just moved her sister Vicki's old recliner into the family room, where the couch had been, in preparation for Kaye's recovery from her upcoming neck surgery. She didn't think she was going to live through the surgery. It was the first in a succession of surgeries on her spine, which had degraded at an astronomical rate between February and August. Kaye was so scared. She told us that a few days before, shed been driving down 270 and suddenly felt a great warmth within her. She said, for the first time in her life, she felt forgiven. "Why would that be? Why would I feel that?" she asked us. She joked about her favorite drink, a dirty martini, with three olives. We ran into Kaye and Larry at Applebees that night. They sat at the table behind us. Kaye ordered a dirty martini with three olives. She offered me an olive.
Kaye died August 21. We don't know why. Her husband Larry came home from work and saw Kaye sleeping peacefully on the couch. Something told him to go check on her, right away. Her spirit had long since separated from her body. She was smiling. She was at rest. Her funeral was on my birthday, the 25th. I got to sing and speak. I also got to witness her husband, my dear Brother Larry, return to church after 13 years. It was the best birthday present I've ever been given.
I have felt Kaye's presence often since she passed. She is near, always near. In August I will be proxy for Kaye to be sealed to Larry. I am pretty sure this will be the happiest day of my life, thus far.
Kaye was my aunt, my best friend, my mother, my sister, my daughter--the depth of my relationship with her is one I hope to cultivate with every woman I am so privileged to serve. Rarely are we able to serve people in ways that require transcendent selflessness. I was blessed with opportunity to do this, for Kaye. Words cannot convey the significance of these experiences. Maybe sometime I will tell you about them.
Alma 26:16.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Woes of figgy pudding.
"In the school of mortality, the tutor is often pain and tribulation, but the lessons are meant to refine and bless us and strengthen us, not to destroy us." --Elder Robert D. Hales
I remind myself daily (multiple times, sometimes) that mortality and its accompanying cacophony isn't meant to be punitive. And it's not, I know. 2 Nephi 2 and all of that.
My dad was named the best dentist in the Bay Area by NBC News. They filmed a commercial today, PSA-type stuff. Dad is off the chain about it. I am so proud of my dad.
I'm not one to get gushy, but I am really blessed to have the parents I have. I mean REALLY blessed.
I broke my rule with figgy pudding (my rule: eating what I was served as a sissie mishie, be it elk, goat, rabbit, brain, lard-based, etc.). A dear sister in my area last Christmas wanted to know what figgy pudding was.
Just so you know, you don't want to know what it is.
I remind myself daily (multiple times, sometimes) that mortality and its accompanying cacophony isn't meant to be punitive. And it's not, I know. 2 Nephi 2 and all of that.
My dad was named the best dentist in the Bay Area by NBC News. They filmed a commercial today, PSA-type stuff. Dad is off the chain about it. I am so proud of my dad.
I'm not one to get gushy, but I am really blessed to have the parents I have. I mean REALLY blessed.
I broke my rule with figgy pudding (my rule: eating what I was served as a sissie mishie, be it elk, goat, rabbit, brain, lard-based, etc.). A dear sister in my area last Christmas wanted to know what figgy pudding was.
Just so you know, you don't want to know what it is.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Failure to prepare = preparing to fail (Yes, that's sarcastic).
The latest plans are this: I am moving to Salt Lake City. My sister got me a job at Wells Fargo. It's definitely not my top choice, but it's an income. I have been so frustrated applying to jobs. Chances are, if you don't know anyone in the company prior to applying, you won't be hired.
Katie and I went to see Zero 7 last night. I really didn't want to go. It ended up being okay. Far from the best show I've ever been to. At the very least, it was a cultural experience, being around "alternative lifestyle" people, weed, beer in my face at every turn, an overwhelming amount of Old Spice on the guy next to me, all the things I missed about life. Thanks.
Today my mom walked into a clear glass window, not noticing it was there.
The next two weeks are themed "Quick to Observe" in the Ruefenacht household. We are not getting along as well as we should be.
I am going to pursue a career as a backup singer. And as singer and bassist of a band. Who wants to be in the band with me? (I am serious). We have a drummer. His name is D.H. His dad is a minor celebrity. He voiced Lemuel in the Living Scriptures animated series. I would know. The credits to "Nephi and the Brass Plates" are rolling right now.
I love you.
Katie and I went to see Zero 7 last night. I really didn't want to go. It ended up being okay. Far from the best show I've ever been to. At the very least, it was a cultural experience, being around "alternative lifestyle" people, weed, beer in my face at every turn, an overwhelming amount of Old Spice on the guy next to me, all the things I missed about life. Thanks.
Today my mom walked into a clear glass window, not noticing it was there.
The next two weeks are themed "Quick to Observe" in the Ruefenacht household. We are not getting along as well as we should be.
I am going to pursue a career as a backup singer. And as singer and bassist of a band. Who wants to be in the band with me? (I am serious). We have a drummer. His name is D.H. His dad is a minor celebrity. He voiced Lemuel in the Living Scriptures animated series. I would know. The credits to "Nephi and the Brass Plates" are rolling right now.
I love you.
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