what can you do for America?

It's hard to believe that it's been 14 years since I was sitting in the family room with my backpack on and my shoes untied, more captivated by a radio than any 10-year-old child in this generation has ever been.

I'm saddened today -- not so much for the loss of 14 years ago, nor by the actions of the terrorists. Those feelings, though still tender upon memory, have been eased to a reverence through forgiveness, stories of courage, and hope in the goodness of humanity as thousands reached out to a suffering nation.

But I am saddened by how in such a short time -- 14 short years -- America has remembered the tragedy, but not the need to stand together as a nation, to fight for the ideals and values which birthed this country, to put others before self. As a whole, America appears to have forgotten the lessons we learned about pride, about ignoring threats, about selflessness before personal gain.

Wake up, America. Remember not just the days of dust, debris, destruction, and death. Remember that events like these serve as a wake up call, an easily forgotten reminder that evil is out there. That evil, given any chance, will rear its head and strike the innocent. Remember your part in this, as you sat rooted to the spot watching the Towers fall, the Pentagon burn, the fields of Pennsylvania fill with smoke.

Remember that America needs YOU, the very best you that can be given. Not our ignorance, our pride, our selfishness, our all-about-me needs. It needs our love, our committment to becoming better every day, our fight for freedom and justice for all humanity.

"God bless America, land that I love. Stand beside her and guide her through the night with a light from above."

counter attack...

I keep finding a thought spinning around in my head.

"Wow. Look how much you've lost this year."

In some ways, it's kind of true. I have lost a lot. Often it seems that every time I turn around, some big, awful thing happens that leaves me feeling as though I've been decked across the face. 

I've lost important, meaningful things. I've lost a lot of my freedom that comes from living on my own and having a car at my disposal all of the time. I've lost opportunities, I've lost time, I've lost money. And worst of all, I've lost people I never dreamed I would lose -- or prayed and begged the Lord to let them stay.

But amidst all of that gone-ness, there are so many things I've gained. I've gained new friendships, new opportunities, new responsibilities, new dreams, new knowledge, and maybe even new wisdom. I've gained a better understanding of the Atonement, and I've gained a greater sense of the Holy Spirit's whisperings. I've gained patience and compassion, strength and resolve. Well -- maybe less in the patience department, but more than I had before.

I feel as though I'm closer to my family and to God than I've ever been in my whole life, and that's after all of the mistakes I made.

Admittedly, I'd like to give in to the anger that keeps working it's way into my heart. I'd like to curse and cry and scream and let the whole world know how much my heart is hurting -- but I won't. I don't need to.

There are bigger, more important things in this life. I'm holding out for them.

peace in the storm...

I hate you.

That's been running through my mind a lot today. Vicious and cruel, broken and empty -- there have been various tones of the sentiment.

All day, though, I've seen evidences of how much I am loved. I saw it a lot last night as well. Today I really felt it.

Though I've had my world turned upside down again and my heart wrenched from my chest, I'm okay. Life goes on. Not only does it go on, but it goes on happily, joyfully, with people who love and are in their turn lovable.

I've made serious mistakes. I've lost a lot, including the one person who meant the most to me in the entire world. But I have not lost my faith. Nor have I lost my Heavenly Father. If anything, I feel closer to him than I've felt in a long time. All day I've been comforted and sheltered from the turmoil raging inside my heart. There have been tears, yes. Tears, however, can often be as healing as a good laugh. At least they are for me.

I'm still angry. I'm still heart broken. I'm still confused and sad and scared.

But I'm not alone.

pardon my French...

Okay, I'm going to be straight up honest in sharing these thoughts. Forgive me, but I'm freaking out.

What the hell am I doing?

Seriously. What am I doing? I cannot afford to get involved with a guy again. I cannot afford any more male "best friends" who turn out to be painful lessons that take months (or in some cases, years and therapy) to get over (abuse sucks, just saying).

I like him. I like him. But I keep seeing these little red flags that are bred from a frightened mind remembering the past, and I can't get away from them. Memories and moments crop up out of nowhere -- I duck or flinch or, when feeling most vulnerable, cry "Don't touch me!" and proceed to pass out the second I stand up.

Yes. That did happen.

I catch myself thinking "he's just like everyone else," "all men are the same," "it'll never be different." I keep expecting something awful to happen. I keep waiting to be hurt.

He isn't like that. He is not the past. He is not those other guys. He's good and kind and honest and sweet. And as Chelsea said, "If you set him up for failure, he'll fail from the start, no matter what he does."

Every day, I keep trying. Keep being friends, keep saying hello, keep playing and hugging. And yes, let him hold me when there's a chance for it -- I like it. Because he's different. He is not the past, and neither am I.

Still I ask myself, over and over again, what am I doing?

once upon another time...

People say that there are those who come into your life for a reason -- usually to teach you something -- and then they leave. Their sole purpose is to give you perspective and insight into your life, to help you become better by showing you ways to change.

That's a nice thought. It's a real nice one. But thinking about it and experiencing it are nowhere near similar.

Being on the left behind end of this phenomenon sucks (yes, I just said sucks). Watching the person who meant so much to me just disappear from my life, at no (tangible) fault of my own, just circumstances and personal changes, really sucks. Going from best friends to barely speaking, pushed aside and forgotten, hurts. Feeling abandoned, betrayed, stabbed in the back, because that person knows me -- knows me for me. And once said that we'd be friends no matter what.

"I'll always be there for you."

Well. Where are you now? Not here. Not even there.

When did that happen? Almost overnight, it seems. Best friends one day, near strangers the next. Because that's how it feels when I'm with you now. Like I'm with a complete stranger. Like I'm a stranger to myself. 

What happened to us?

There's another saying, the saying that "people should be allowed to change." That's great when it applies to me. I don't like applying it to someone else, when their change leaves me feeling alone and confused, wondering if I said too much or not enough. If I should have been different, or better. 

How could I have been different or better, though, when with you, I could be nothing but myself? 

Once upon another time, I was important. It was a different kind of important than the every day, "each person is important" sort of way. It was different because I was important to you. I'm still important. I still matter. But not being important to you, especially when you still mean so much to me, is absolutely heart breaking. 

Lucky for me, you never made me happy. I was happy on my own, and I was happier with you next to me, but I didn't need you. My heart aches with missing you, yes. However, I can be, and am, happy on my own.

I didn't need you as a friend. I wanted you as a friend. It's because I loved you -- love doesn't need. Love wants. I wanted to love you, because you were my best friend. Maybe you still are my best friend -- maybe I still love you. I probably do. It makes sense, because what's happening to us is painful, and if I didn't love you, it wouldn't hurt so much.

You taught me about happiness -- you taught me how not to need. You taught me to want, and to hold onto those things that I want. You taught me that it isn't about "fitting" together. It's about "rolling." We rolled, you know. Or at least, I rolled with you.

There's more than that, though. Whether you meant to or not, you taught me that love lets go. Because I've never loved anyone like I loved you -- and love is about the other person. I learned that even more as your friend -- the more you told me, and the closer we got, and the more I shared with you -- nothing you did or said could push me away. Until now. 

Even now, though...I can't explain it. I care more about you than I do about how hurt I feel by what you're doing. Not talking to me, not answering, not being the friend anymore -- despite it all, I care about you. Which is so frustrating, because I can't let myself react in the ways I desperately wish I could. That's why I can't be as angry as I want to be. That's why I can't scream and throw tantrums and shout to the world that I hate you. Because I don't hate you. As much as I want to be immature and childish, I can't be.

Do you know how hard it is to be the one who is left behind? To be the one who is expected to wait, to be patient, to always be there when you change your mind again? Do you know what it's like to be shut out by your best friend, the person you trusted with secrets and fears and dreams you'd never shared with anyone on earth before?

Strangely, I'm not destroyed. As much as I loved you and invested in our friendship, and as much as it hurts, I'm beyond functioning. I'm happy. I'm as normal as I ever get (with the exception of minor emotional breakdowns due to a number of factors).

I don't understand how I can be so hurt and so at peace simultaneously. Perhaps it's because I don't really need you. I just wanted you in my life. 

But, when do we ever get everything that we want? 

Perhaps once upon another time.

"you weren't alone for long..."

Every once in awhile one of my primary students will say something that leaves me speechless. Sometimes I'm amazed at the sincerity of what they're saying, and the absolute truth in it. I often find myself so grateful for their insights. Many times I wish I could go back to that time, when the world was untainted by the worries and cares I have now, before trust was broken and fear set in.

My class has four students -- three boys, one girl. Sophie is a precocious, talkative, practical little thing. She always has something to say, and she knows many of the scripture stories as well as or better than I do. She also has a very clear picture of life and love. Sometimes the things she says shock me, not in a bad way but in a surprised and "wow, you're seven and you just totally blew my mind" kind of way. For example:

During our lesson today (love one another), I told a story about a time when someone did me a kindness and reminded me that even though I felt alone, the Lord was still aware of me. Sophie raised her hand and said she had something to share. I don't remember the exact words, but it went something like this:

"Even when you feel alone, you're really not. Like the time when my mom accidentally left me at the library. I was so scared and I cried and cried and cried, but then I remembered all of the other times I'd been lost. Any time I'd been lost before, I hadn't been lost for long. My mom always came and found me -- it might have been five minutes, or two, or even just thirty seconds -- but she always found me again. And it's okay to cry, because that happens when you're alone and lost and scared, but just because you feel that way doesn't mean that you're not loved. You're never lost for long. When you feel like that, you can remember the times you felt sad or scared before and how it wasn't forever. You weren't alone for long. Because someone will always come and find you."

It's not often that the words of a seven year old can leave me speechless and near tears -- it was one of those little miracle moments that come around when you least expect them, and when you need them the most.

lesson Three...

If you talked to your friends the way you talked to yourself, there's a chance you wouldn't have very many friends.

 

To be very honest with you, dear reader, I do not want to write this post, because once it's written and posted...it's written and posted, meaning that people will be aware that I'm aware of this problem in my life. Then, they'll expect me to change it.

Nothing is wrong with change, I understand that. Where I get hung up is that I'm not able to change fast enough. But that is beside the point of this post. The point of this post is to address the next lesson that I have realized I need to learn, that being the statement above in italics.

What led to the recognition of this problem was a conversation with my friend Parker. As usual, he had gotten me talking about things in my life that very few people can get me to talk about. After about fifteen minutes of listening to me, he interrupted and said, "Stop saying that you're stupid." I laughed it off and replied that I wasn't saying that, and he responded, "Yes, you are. I've counted six times in the last five minutes that you've referred to yourself as 'stupid.' Stop it."

The sad fact was that he was right. The sadder fact was that I honestly hadn't noticed. Six times in five minutes? That's ridiculous. But if I replay conversations in my head, it's true. Be it stupid, immature, boring, fat, dumb, whatever word you like -- I use it frequently in reference to myself.

Once he'd pointed this out to me, Parker said something that has made me think a lot more about this (and I'm paraphrasing here): "If you were to talk to me like that all of the time, I wouldn't want to be your friend. And if someone else were to call you names and talk badly about you, I'd tell them to shut up and possibly punch them in the face. So why on earth is it okay for you talk that way about yourself to me, or anybody?"

TOUCHE.

But really! I mean, if someone else comes up to you and says, "You are so stupid," it makes you feel angry, indequate, or hurt (or any combination of feelings). It's never okay for anyone else to treat you in that manner, nor is it okay for you to speak that way to another person. It's just as bad then to talk to yourself that way.

By no means is this easy to do (I'm finding that most of these lessons are similarly easier said than done). However, recognizing this problem in myself has caused me to pay attention to my patterns of speech, and in some ways my patterns of thought. I've noticed that I don't call myself "stupid" as much as I used to. Granted, part of that may be the fear that Parker will find out and deck me (which he wouldn't), but most of it is because I know it's not fair to myself. Slowly, I am removing that word from my vocabulary. I still slip up (Brianna can attest to that), but it's getting better.

  

The hard part is removing other such words from my vocabulary. It's easy to see from the experience with Parker that I don't realize I'm speaking in certain ways. Then there are some words that I don't particularly want to stop using because they're safe and familiar. In some ways, they're a part of the identity that I have established. However, if that identity is one that is uncomfortable going outside or being with people, then perhaps it truly is time to change things. Or change more things.

The way we talk and behave towards others is a big indicator of who we are. I'm beginning to see that it is much the same in the ways we talk and behave to ourselves. It's easy to believe that my words and thoughts towards myself don't count and don't matter, but I'm beginning to see that this idea isn't true. It's a false belief -- hearing my inner voice say the words "you are so fat" hurts just as much as hearing my classmates say those same words did when I was in elementary and junior high school.

  

The biggest problem is less related to the words we use and more to the meanings attached to them which can lead to improper ways of seeing and thinking about yourself, others, and the world. It isn't necessarily the words that hurt the most. It's the belief in the ideas that the words hold. The words "stupid" and "fat" don't mean anything -- the ideas surrounding those words and the societal definitions that we buy into are what hurt. I would never project those definitions and ideas onto a friend or family member. I don't buy into those ideas in the context of my friends and family. Why then is it okay for me to apply such ideas and definitions to myself?

In short, it's not okay. It isn't easy, and it isn't just about removing a word from my vocabulary. It's about treating myself better. My friends are not verbal punching bags. Neither am I. It's time to tear up my stock receipts in the ideas of society and use words that encourage good thinking, good speaking, and good acting -- not just in others, but myself.

Be your best friend. Take care of all of you -- mind, heart, body, spirit -- in the way you think, speak, and act. After all...

If you talked to your friends the way you talked to yourself, there's a chance you wouldn't have very many friends.

still a student...

I've been thinking a lot about the first lesson post I wrote. About worrying less about how my life looks to others and more about how it feels to me.

By no means am I a master of this principle, or any of the others that I have written about. I often find myself thinking and acting in ways that are completely against the things I am trying to learn. Sometimes I stop short and tell myself, HEY! Remember that one time when you thought of that one thing and you were going to work on it and become better? Well...better remember it now and QUIT STOPPING YOURSELF FROM PROGRESSING.

Not all of the voices in my head are particularly kind.

Anyway. For example. I've been spending a lot of time on my own lately in the House. Natalie and I see each other in the evenings for a few minutes, sometimes for an hour, but most of the time we're just two friends sharing living space. We both work a lot, I at my three jobs and Natalie at her job and in her volunteering.

This time alone hasn't been lonely time. I rarely find myself feeling sad or upset. Instead, I have found that I am able to get a lot of things done: keeping up with the housework and making sure things are nice; playing with my dog; adventuring with friends; reading; writing; cooking; thinking; singing; perhaps soon drawing.

While I was in the kitchen today, boiling eggs by myself for the first time ever, I stopped and looked around me. Here I am, I thought, boiling eggs and planning meals for the week, debating on whether or not to make a cake or brownies, brainstorming potential primary lessons, cleaning the kitchen, singing hymns and talking to my dog in my Snow White voice, musing on life and its mysteries, mentally checking to see if my camera is ready for tomorrow morning, and trying to figure out which big chore I'm going to complete on Friday night. I looked around the kitchen again and thought, I LOVE my life!

Then another not-so-kind voice (which sounded remarkably like one of the people who works in the same building that I do) said, Yep. You're a total Molly Mormon. You just keep on proving it. You are doing nothing important with your life except cleaning the house, cooking the food, and thinking about the Gospel. Oh my gosh, LOOK AT YOU! You are so NOT awesome. DO SOMETHING with your life, okay? Jeez.

And for a minute, I started to be ashamed. I remembered all of those things that person told me a few weeks ago, telling me that (and I quote/paraphrase) "your life is so boring -- don't you do anything worthwhile at all?" and "wow, you are such a Molly Mormon -- you like teaching primary. And cake pops, seriously?" and  "next time you make a decision you should think for yourself, instead of relying on the misguided examples of other people."

Remembering those things she said brought me spiraling downwards. I hated myself. Even though I had been angry when she'd said all of those things to me, I believed her words for a second. I AM boring, I thought. I am everything she said I am --  I SHOULDN'T like these things. I should be more adventurous and daring, maybe try something new. I probably shouldn't even like Disney movies.

But as I looked at my reflection in the Kitchen Aid that I was putting back in place, I thought of what I'd proclaimed to have learned. WHO CARES if that person thinks I'm a Molly Mormon? WHO CARES if my life appears boring to her? It isn't boring to me! I like my life. I like teaching primary and making cake pops. I like doing dishes (sometimes) and singing and boiling eggs and cleaning and playing with my dog. I like the way I am. Besides, that person has no idea where I've come from and what kinds of decisions I've made.

You know what? This is my life to live. It isn't hers.

We are all students of life. The person who said those things is learning about life, just as I am. We're both in different places and taking different roads. What I need to remember and continue to practice thinking is that though others may tell me that the life I live is boring and housewife-ish, it doesn't matter. What they think doesn't matter. I feel comfortable this way. I feel happy this way. All of these things bring me joy, and to me they are worthwhile.

I don't plan to change the world. I plan to change myself. That is what is most important.

lesson Two...

God understands your tears just as well as He understands  your words. After all, He gave you both.

If you have read anything that I have ever written, or talked in person or on the phone with me, you will know that it is rare that I am ever at a loss for words. Yes, I'm actually a shy person, but once you get to know me and the walls come down, the flood gates open and out come thoughts, dreams, jokes, laughs, and more.

There are times, though, when I can find no words to express the thoughts and feelings inside my head and heart. There are times when I find myself cradling broken fragments of memories in my fingers -- snippets of conversations replaying in my ears, flashes of faces in my mind, scenes of love and loss stuttering like an old film in front of my eyes -- those broken fragments are often hard to hold. A forgotten moment can have an edge sharper than a knife when it is brought again to light. Even with the times of joy mixed in, the bite of shattered hopes lingers longer than the reminisces of happiness. Finding words can be as difficult as finding peace.

I am a person who must express what I'm feeling and thinking in some way or another. My first choice is through words, be they written or spoken. I have to get things out. Not doing so results in sleepless nights or nightmares, and withdrawal from others, among other not so healthy coping methods. And so the times when I can't find words, when I can't express how I feel...those times are very hard.

Today has been a day of no words. It hasn't been a bad day by any means, but there were things festering inside of me that I was too afraid to look at, because I knew that if I looked, it would hurt. I pushed those things aside -- I've probably been pushing them aside for a few days. But those things will not stay buried for long. Soon I got too tired, and almost too curious, to not look. And I did.

It was one of those moments when I saw much of my life -- where I've been, where I am, where I'm going -- and it seemed as though I was nothing. No matter what, I'm not good enough. Yes, I've accomplished things, but I'm not good enough to be really worth something in others' lives.

I thought of the older man at my sisters' workplace who was fired shortly after he began working there because he couldn't do the work well enough -- he'd needed a job so badly.

I thought of the friend whose parents are upset at her for things she couldn't control -- she would have kept her word if her car hadn't broken down, and if she'd had the money to fix it.

I thought of all of the people who have lost homes in the fires, all of their belongings and possibly pets -- they couldn't forsee that the places they lived in would be in the path of a monstrous wildfire.

I thought of the girl who has become a good friend in a short amount of time, who got in some trouble with a boy and when she told him she was pregnant, he left her, and when she lost the baby he came back and told her it was all her fault -- she deserves so much better than that.

And then the thought came to my mind -- 'you are not enough. Your writing center job, your associate's degree, your high honors, your house, your life -- YOU -- are not enough to help any of those people.'

My heart aches for these people, and it aches more that I can do nothing to help them. It is a literal ache, one that hit me so hard that I doubled over and did the only thing I could do: I began to cry. I leaned against the wall for what seemed like a lifetime, crying and crying because of the pain I felt in my heart for these people and my inability to help them. And another thought came: how could I believe in a God who let things like this happen to people, especially to those who don't deserve it? And why will He not make me enough, when I have constantly tried to give everything to Him?

I then began to berate myself for worrying about things I can't control and for questioning the Lord. I remembered that everything happens for a reason, and it makes people stronger if they will learn from it. You shouldn't doubt, and anyway, you should be praying rather than crying, a not-so-kind voice said in my head. Mid-sob, though, I was hit by something that I'd never thought of before. I was so surprised that I stopped crying. And another voice answered saying, The Lord understands tears. He hears those just as He hears your words.

I was stunned. How had I never thought of that before? All of those times I'd avoided talking to the Lord because I knew that I would have no words to say and I would merely cry -- He gets that. He understands that there are times when I will be unable to speak, to voice the things that are inside of me. And it isn't just when I'm sad, either. He understands the tears of joy just as well as the tears of sorrow.

Tonight the pain I felt has not been assuaged very much. My doubts are not as prevalent, because I'm trying to step back and remember the "big picture principles." I still ache inside for these strangers and friends, and I will not lie and say that the tears have ceased completely. However, I do know that it is not weak to show the Lord my tears. He understands them -- He gave them to me as a gift, a way to express feelings when I cannot explain them through words.

God understands your tears just as well as He understands your words. After all, He gave you both.

lesson One...

Worry less about how your life looks to others and more about how your life feels to you.
There are a lot of trends I'm seeing lately that have started to concern me. I see people documenting their entire lives on the Internet through cell phones, web cams, blogs, Facebook, twitter. At first I thought, oh hey, that's cool! I want Instagram! Then I can show what I'm doing and be cool like everyone else.

But then I started to think more about this sort of thing, this instantaneous documentation and the ways I project myself to the world. I began noticing my motivations, and what I saw made me unhappy with myself.

The event that stemmed all of this thought seems a ridiculous catalyst. It all started with a hamburger. I was at my professor's home for an end of term class party. I'd spent the majority of the time playing with his son, Cade, and I finally got Cade to eat a cookie so that I could have my own dinner. As I stood in line behind my classmates and other students from my professor's classes, I noticed that each of them created similar hamburger ensembles:  bun, burger, cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, mustard, ketchup. They then got guacamole and chips, lots of watermelon and cantaloupe, and for the most part skipped the cookies and shortcake, choosing just to take the strawberries.

My heart sank as I saw each person follow this pattern. I don't really like lettuce, I generally avoid tomatoes, I think dill pickles are gross, mustard is evil, and guacamole just looks yucky to me. However, I felt that to NOT have all of these things was to be too different, and that people would criticize me in their minds for being unhealthy and picky. And so, I copied the pattern I saw and forced it all down.

Looking back, I recognize that those people probably weren't paying that much attention to what I put on my plate and what I didn't. In the moment, though, I was absolutely terrified that they would judge me and mentally call me names like fat and immature. But why was I worried about that? Because those are the names that I called myself. I called myself unhealthy, picky, fat, immature, and projected my own thoughts onto the people around me. I forced myself to eat what I thought people wanted me to eat. I was so worried about how others would perceive me that I forgot the most important thing: how did eating food I don't like make me feel?

As I thought about that experience, I realized that this happens with more than just food at a party. What I pin on Pinterest, the status updates on Facebook, my pictures that I take and post, the things I choose to talk about -- so much of this has been to make people believe I'm a certain way. I was trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be. But if the me I really am and the me I pretend to be don't match up, then does that mean that I am going to spend my whole life pretending?

My answer?

No.

I'm not saying that virtual documentation and distribution of life events/outfits/meals/things is a bad thing! Honestly, I kind of wish I had Instagram because then I could have something like a photo journal. I actually think that and other things are very good, but only if the motivation behind them is correct. I feel that if my motivation is to put on some face that I think others want to see, then my motivation is wrong. If I'm wearing a particular outfit to show that I'm in style, but I'm horribly uncomfortable, then WHY the heck am I wearing it? If I'm working out to "fit in" with society, but not because I want to be healthy, WHY? If I'm eating a certain way to assuage the fears of imagined rejection, but I hate what I'm eating, then WHY am I eating it? If I tell a close friend who I know I can trust that I'm doing great, but I'm actually falling apart at the moment, WHY?

Life isn't about the appearance, and in this case I mean more than the physical appearance. It includes the appearance of how you're living, and why you're living. If how you're living and why you're living are not comfortable or happy or the way you really want to live, then why are you doing it?

And so I say, to myself just as much to anyone else:

Worry less about how your life looks to others and more about how your life feels to you.

Because why be someone you're not truly happy being?