rough weekend...

This morning I received word that two former students from my high school were killed in a motorcycle accident at about 4:30 a.m. David, one of the people killed, is the brother of one of my concert choir girls who I was section leader over during her sophomore and my senior year of high school. The other student who was killed, Janet, is another one of my concert choir girls.

I only met David once, and I must say that he is one of the funniest, nicest men I've had the opportunity to cross paths with. He came into PartyLand on Saturday morning and bought a bunch of stuff to decorate his sister's car with at her reception. Lineah was married on Friday, and the reception was held on Saturday night. David died today, Sunday morning.

Janet is such a sweet, kind girl. She was in my soprano section. She started out with a shy voice, but by her senior year when she performed in the end of the year concert, it wasn't so shy anymore. She had a big heart and a big smile, and was friendly to everyone. Janet graduated from high school in May of this year.

It's been a really hard year for Mountain View High School. Two students committed suicide during the school year, one of them a good friend of my sisters'. Now two alumni as well. Man. Things like these you never see coming. David and Janet will be missed dearly -- they are very loved people. They touched a lot of lives, mine included.

woman of light...

Lately I've been trying to get in touch with the incredible people in the blogosphere. I've kept writing on my own, but I haven't read many of the blogs I used to when I was in high school.

As I was reconnecting, I noticed a remembrance button for a name I recognized. After doing a little digging, I received an email from one of the other women whose blog I love, informing me that my friend Char had passed away in June of last year.

I had no idea -- I didn't know Char in person, but I knew her through her words and her photographs. It's actually been really, really hard to wrap my head around. I read her stories all through my years in high school. Her photos, her words, her recipes, her advice, her music -- she was an absolutely beautiful, inspiring, and genuine friend. All of the things she wrote about meant so much to me when I was in my junior and senior year. I read her blog every time she posted, until I left the blog world settle into the new world of "grown up" that I had been tossed into.

Char stopped in to visit here every once in awhile. She commented on pictures from the dances I went to, saying that I looked lovely. That was a time when I was feeling like a rather ugly duckling; she didn't think so.

She gave me advice on how to see the world as a beautiful place.

She was real, you know. She was beautiful and smart and kind and funny. She helped me be stronger and better. She truly was, and is, a wonderful, exceptional, beautiful woman of light who touched my life.

I miss you, my friend. Until we meet in heaven -- I hope it's full of light and warmth and beauty. But of course it is, because guess what? You're an angel there now.

not so sure...

I am a very small, rather insignificant part of this world. What I think and say probably don't matter much to anyone. Especially when it comes to questions about the great plan of life. It's been on my mind a lot lately, the Lord's plan. So many things make me wonder. Wondering about what God is doing is kind of pointless though. He's going to continue doing what He does no matter what my small objections or questions may be. Still, I ask. Rhetorically, of course. I don't expect an answer. Even though I'd like one.

I've been thinking a lot about how the world is today. How society is. The more I think, the more I realize that there are so many things that I don't know. That I don't understand.

I don't understand

...why some people have so much and most have so little.
...the lack of compassion in society.
...why there is so much pain and destruction.
...why people actually choose to hurt others.
...why people cheat and lie and steal and injure and kill.
...the thinking behind using other people or abusing other people.
...how a desire for power can cause an utter lack of humanity.
...the disregard for common courtesy and individual decency.
...why awful, ugly things are considered entertaining.

But the biggest thing I don't understand is why God lets someone hurt someone else. I don't understand it at all. Yes, I know about agency and that if God were to take away a person's agency He would be going against His own laws. If He did that, He would no longer be God. But it still bothers me that an all-powerful, omniscient being would stand by and let terrible things happen. As I've been thinking about it a lot, I can kind of understand the people who say, "I don't believe in God. If there were a God, bad things wouldn't happen. I can't believe in a God who would let so much suffering occur."

I'm not saying I don't believe in God. I've seen and learned and experienced too much to go back on that. I am saying that I can see their point. Even for me it's a hard thing to swallow.

It's probably wrong for me to be bothered. I know that the Lord allowed for an Atonement to provide healing for those who have been hurt or taken advantage of. It isn't just for the perpetrators. It's for the victims, too. But why are there victims at all? Again, back to agency. One of the main laws.

This all stemmed from a commercial I saw for a movie. The whole thing was just awful. There was destruction and violence and anger and pain. The world was literally falling apart. For a moment it was as though I saw the future on the screen. It terrified me, so much so that I started to cry.

Because isn't that what is going to happen? Wars and rumors of wars; secret combinations and not so secret ones; fires and earthquakes and storms and droughts; illnesses; pain and suffering everywhere. It is happening, right now, all over the world. And it scares me to death. People are being hurt everywhere. More people are going to get hurt. And I hate that. I hate it so much that it makes me want to yell at God like I would yell at my dad if he weren't stopping someone from hurting my sister. WHY?! I want to scream. Don't you even CARE?! You say that you do. Prove it!

But who am I to do that? It's wrong to be angry with God. After all, He does know what He is doing. I may not understand what it is right now, but it will all be made right. He's promised it will be. It just frightens me and it makes me so angry that people get hurt, people who have no control over their situations and are just written off as "collateral damage".

I fear for the future of the world. It's the opposite of faith, I know. It's something I'm trying to become better at. Right now I'm just being honest. I mean...I'm going to have to raise my kids in the future. What is it going to be like? How will I answer their questions and prepare them for things I don't even know about yet? The world moves so fast now and changes so quickly; I'll be learning right along with them. How will I know what to do for them and how to teach them?

I want to be a good part of this world. I want to help those around me. I want to be good and faithful and valiant. I want to be strong for my family and my friends and my future family. I don't want to be afraid--but I am.

sad times...

Before I write anything else, let me say this: I know that there is a ton of beauty and goodness in this world. I see it every day. It's there, it's tangible, and it's easy to see if you are willing to look for it.

Lately the good has been tinged with feelings of sadness. There are a couple of reasons for this. First is that because of the time it takes to keep up with all of my classes, and because of the number of hours I need at work, I had to leave LDC.

The decision to leave wasn't made lightly. I'd been thinking about it for a few weeks. I came up with some ways that I could make it all work, but each time I felt tired just thinking about it. Christmas break came around and I realized something: I didn't really miss choir. I love singing the music and testifying through song. I love learning from Brother Eggett. I love being with my group of girls and guys. But even with all of that, I didn't miss it. Still, I didn't want to leave because I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do.

After thinking about it for a long time and talking to the Lord for awhile about it, I came up with a pros and cons list. The cons outweighed the pros by a long shot. Some people can do it all. I am not one of those people. The good thing about LDC is that I can go back to it when I have more time to be a 100% dedicated member. The bad thing is that by the time I can go back, a lot of my dear friends will be gone, the third years (Sierra, Allie, Jon, Mike, Jenny, to name a few). I hope that we'll be able to keep in touch though! I'll admit it, I miss everyone.

BYU is a hard place to be. It's so, so, so big. I see people I know, but I don't know them. Most of the people I see aren't close friends. Erin, Amelia, and Tiana are there, which is awesome (Erin and Amelia used to be in LDC and Tiana is a good friend from the junior high and high school days), but other than that I don't really know anyone. We're more like acquaintances rather than friends. That will probably change (I hope) but for right now it's a lonely place. Boring, too. Very boring. You can only study for so long, you know?

Third, one of my sisters' friends committed suicide this morning. He went to school with them. I don't know him, but from what I've read and heard today it sounds like he is an awesome, awesome kid. I wish I wish I wish this sort of thing didn't happen. I wish it so much. No one even expected it. It was totally out of the blue. It's so horribly sad.

So, so many sad things happen in this world. A lot of good, happy things happen too. Right now, though, I'm feeling the sadness.

day 86...

a picture of somewhere I've been...

Odd fact about me: I love cemeteries. Once I suggested a road trip from the north end of the county to the southern end, stopping at all of the small town cemeteries. My sisters thought I was crazy and went back to planning a trip to Lagoon.

A cemetery, to me, is a place of both sadness and joy. A cemetery is full of history and stories and memories, whether in a town with only a handful of plots, or near the nation's capitol with its hundreds of hundreds. In a way, a cemetery is full of life: full of life lived. One cemetery in particular stands out in my mind: Arlington National Cemetery, across the river from the Washington Monument in D.C. I often find myself wishing I could go back, to walk along the paths and remember. It's an incredible place. The miles of white stone, etched with names and dates of people who lived the history we now study. The air still and respectful, filled with the silence of the sleeping heroes. You can walk for a whole hour without seeing a living soul, yet you cannot take a step without feeling the presence of many.

Arlington is one of my favorite places in the world (that I've seen so far). I hope to go back someday, for it truly is a spectacular place.

if i die young...

"...bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses. Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song."

Have you ever heard the song "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry? Sometimes when I listen to it I close my eyes and imagine it. The imagery and feeling is, to me, beautiful and sad. It's like a Litmus Lozenge in the book Because of Winn-Dixie, the sweet mixed up in the sadness. That's what it's like.

follow the crowd...

Everyone has probably heard by now that there has been confirmation regarding the death of Osama bin Laden, known terrorist leader who has been in hiding for nearly a decade. I'm following the crowd in posting about it, but whatevs. It's on my mind, so why not write about it.

I don't like how everyone is so celebratory. It makes me feel sick to see all of the posts and comments, saying things like "**** you, Osama!" and "It's about time!", among others. Even as I read President Obama's speech, in which he said that bin Laden has finally been "brought to justice", I felt sick inside. To think that so much joy and in-your-face attitude can come from this...it's odd to me.

Don't get me wrong, I am no terrorist sympathizer. I think what they stand for and what they do is horrible. Taking life for any reason, especially to use fear to drive your cause, is wrong. Racial and religious purity and power, destruction of democracy, elimination of those who think and believe differently than you do, I don't stand for those things.

I believe in America. I believe in freedom and liberty and equality. I believe in safety and security for everyone. I believe in democracy, in the freedom to choose, in the freedom to believe as you wish, in the freedom to act as you wish as long as your actions do not infringe upon the rights of others. I believe that peace is the ultimate goal, and that war is a last resort, to defend life and liberty and to promote happiness for others who are suffering and who are oppressed.

I do not believe in celebrating the end of life, no matter what a person or group has done. I can see that with Osama bin Laden's death comes many things: he can no longer do any harm. He can't plan anything. He can't lead anyone. He can't spread ideas to the illiterate who know nothing else. This event also ends things for many people, for people who lost family and friends in the fighting. But truly, is justice served with death? A life for a life, or a life for thousands of lives. Does that make things right? Does that make it okay to jump and shout in the streets, proclaiming things like, "I bet my son is escorting him to hell" or "Take THAT, [insert obscenities]!" or "Oh yeah, JUSTICE, baby! Get where you belong!"

Do people remember that there was celebrating in the Middle East on the day the towers fell ten years ago? Do people remember? I remember. It sickened me then, and I was only in fourth grade. Now, in my own country, people celebrate death. It sickens me. To see such thirst for blood and revenge...

I know that this isn't everyone. Not everyone feels this way. It's just what I've personally seen, read, and heard tonight while I have been with my family and friends.

I recognize that for many, there are reasons to celebrate. People can point these reasons out to me, and I will acknowledge them. I accept those reasons because I can see the point, but I won't celebrate. There will be no drinks for me tonight, and not just because I don't drink.

happy 24th...

Pioneer Day in Utah, celebrating the day the Mormon pioneers viewed the Great Salt Lake Valley for the first time from the mouth of Immigration Canyon (state holiday and I still had to work-at the Boy Scout office, no less, where we're supposed to be all patriotic-pffft-but hey, we only had 12 people come in, so next year we will probably not be open). My neighbors are setting off fireworks. Loudly. I don't go to watch-I feel like I'd be intruding since I wasn't invited and I didn't pay for them. Instead, I wrote something and found something from the 4th that I wrote. I didn't post it then, because Q had done the same thing and I didn't want her to think I'd stolen her idea. So now it's 20 days later. I think that's long enough. :)

Fireworkings
on July 24, 2009
Cannon shouts stop my heart,
relieving the constant drum
and creating a discordant
rhythm.
A rest from the steady beating.
Shells explode-
spill sparkling, streaming ribbons
of light-
Red as blood.
Blue as tears.
Proof that all darkness must end.
I cling to that.
Let it wash me away;
peace among the chaos.

Fireworks
on July 4, 2009
Explosions of color
paint the night
black canvas.
Streams of red, drips of blue,
splattered patch of white.
Green, yellow, purple, orange
burst loudly into life-
popping colors,
shining colors,
colors in the night.
Bold summer flowers-
flashing shades and tints
of every kind
in a garden of stars
and darkened air.
Blasting outwards into
giant blossoms,
showing off their
finery before
wilting slowly
downwards
back to Earth.
Wisps and tendrils of
gray-the only ghosts left
of streams of red, drips of blue,
splattered patch of white.
Softly, softly fading
from the black
canvas of night.

I don't know if they're any good, but again, I like them. The second one seems a bit happier though, doesn't it?

Summerfest Fireworks Show in June 2009

the Rose...

I've been thinking about death lately. I guess it's because one month ago today Buddy died. And I've been thinking about roses, because roses and death kind of coincide. Roses signify peace, beauty, sometimes strength, and sometimes a little bit of the darkness in each of us. And death, even. A black rose or wilting rose is often aging and death.

Today I'm thinking about roses and Buddy. I remember the time when he walked over to one of the rosebushes in the front yard, and instead of sniffing out a flower he found a cat. That was interesting. He always loved to let the cats know who was in charge. It drove that beagle nuts when Oreo, our neighborhood joker, would sit just out of reach on the other side of the fence. Or when Buddy would be inside on the couch, just resting, and suddenly he'd get a whiff of cat outside in the yard. Up he'd get to the window, hackles raised, quivering from head to toe with blood lust. Still, he never did know what to do with a cat once he'd caught it. He'd corner it near a fence or something and just stand there, whining and barking, completely clueless.

I miss him.

I miss Buddy so much. I didn't write this piece because of missing him-it was actually during a Sunday School lesson where my teacher was talking about how cutting the flower from the plant causes it to die, and that can be like a testimony. But I wanted to write a little bit about Buddy, and share this poem I wrote. I don't know if it's any good, or what sort of symbolism you might pick up from it ('cause I didn't really have much in mind), but I like it.

the Rose

The beauty of the Rose-
so fragile and fair-
pricks hearts by its grace.
Silent pleading for gentle
praise and tender care.

The beauty of the Rose
contains courage and strength.
Bright colors stand out from all,
proclaims itself to those
who see.

The beauty of the Rose;
The courage of its fight;
Both encompass the hidden darkness
of forgotten sharpness
within,

only discovered, and accepted,
then loved,
by the one who
truly knows
the Rose.