2015

There's something magical about the change to a new year. It's kind of strange. After all, it's not between seasons, or even between years of school. It's arbitrarily placed just after midwinter. Of course, it does make sense to position it there- now things will begin to warm again and the earth will renew. New life, new plants, and a new start.

I am excited for this new year, for the chance to begin my first full year as an adult. There's a lot of wonderful things happening this year- I have two cousins (cousins-in-law? Is that a thing?) that are ready to pop! And I will be eligible to serve a full-time mission for the LDS Church in July. I'm enrolled at BYU, and next semester's classes will be great. I've got a job I love, friends I can trust, and times to look forward to.

This past year has been an interesting one. It has held, for me, so much growth. There were some regrets, some pains, and many mistakes. So much happened, both because of my decisions and out of my control. My grandmother had numerous surgeries that culminated in getting her kidney removed. She finally looks and sounds like herself again! There were family issues and family joys. This was the year my dad wrote AND published a book (it's called Driving Lessons for Life and I'd recommend it even if it wasn't my dad who had written it). This was the year I began writing in earnest (and then kinda slacked off for a while). This year, I had a disastrous relationship that taught me a lot about love, about myself, and about the person I want to become. This year, I graduated high school. I thought that high school was pretty fun, but after a semester of college, I think it's safe to say high school pales in comparison!

This next year, I have plans. I will write. I will draw. I will blog. I will be a better friend and a better human being. I will begin a mission. I will work hard and play hard and dream big. I will eat healthier (and more- I have this sneaking suspicion that I've accidentally skipped dinner many a time). I will be the girl I want to be, and strive to become someone I wouldn't mind seeing in the mirror every day. I will make an effort to be closer to God and find more depth in my spiritual life.

2015, I'm ready for you. It's going to be a fun ride.


On a side note (totally unrelated and not serious at all) one of the first sentences I uttered this fine year was "It wasn't have anything in it," in reference to a cup that almost got knocked over. Hopefully not a reference to the future of my English major or anything....

My Finals Week Miracle

This post is really late, but it couldn't be helped. It's been so busy! But more on that later

My finals week miracle occurred on Wednesday night at about 11:20 pm. But before we get to that, we've got to set up the context. That night (that whole day) I was fried. Picture an egg on a skillet, burnt black- about that fried. Between stressful finals, work, and friends, my brain was dead. I was at the end of my rope. That night, two of my friends and I went to a bagpipe/Irish band concert (and while I'm glad we went, I probably should've gone to bed early). It was nice to get out, but I'm sure I was horrible company. Basically didn't want to talk or anything. I was just angry at the world, in a way.

So I dropped my friends off and I was driving home, after the concert, and  kind of broke down. I just prayed that Heavenly Father would send someone to help me out, because I just couldn't go forward any further. It was the end of my rope, and I just couldn't handle what I had left (two of my hardest tests, and getting ready to come home for the holidays).

After I'd composed myself, I went inside, and it was just normal. I had kinda figured I was going to have to make it one way or another, and I could wake up later than I had been, take my tests later and sleep in a little. I was just getting ready to go to sleep when my roommate comes downstairs and says "There's people here to see you! They insist on seeing you, so you have to come up." Lo and behold, it was my visiting teachers. At 11:20 at night, with a plate of cookies and a message- "You can make it, and this too shall pass." They had no idea that it was the night I needed it most. No one knew besides me and God. And that was enough. He knew what I needed, and He inspired them to come. And the cookies were delicious :)

The moral of the story is that God knows what you're going through, and He will send the help you need. He will not leave you to make it through on your own.. Don't forget it, especially during this wonderful season!

My roommate also helped by covering the plate and leaving this lovely note :) 

Sunday Series: To Never Escape His Notice

"And Jesus entered and passed through Jericho. And, behold, there was a man named Zacchæus, which was the chief among the publicans, and he was rich. And he sought to see Jesus who he was; and could not for the press, because he was little of stature. And he ran before, and climbed up into a sycomore tree to see him: for he was to pass that way. And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up, and saw him, and said unto him, Zacchæus, make haste, and come down; for to day I must abide at thy house. And he made haste, and came down, and received him joyfully." (Luke 19:1-6)

How small must we be to escape God's notice, and how wicked to not receive His love?

There is nothing too small for Him or too sinful. God loves all. God is love, as the scripture says. The story from Luke illustrates this quite well. Even a publican who was too short to be seen in a crowd was seen by the Savior. I love this story. If Zacchaeus was seen, how could He miss us? He has a place for us and will reside with us if we but strive to see Him.

Allow me to explain that last sentence. Jesus may not have gone with Zacchaeus, had he not climbed that tree to see Him. Zacchaeus sought the Savior, and as a result, the Savior came to him, even into his home. Zacchaeus was a good guy as well- giving to the poor and striving to right every wrong he had done. This seems to me to be a wonderful metaphor for how we ought to live.

I'd like to use this to suggest three guidelines to inviting the Savior in.

1) Give to those in need, whenever possible. 

This is not just those in financial poverty, or those suffering from hunger. Nourish those who are starving spiritually and emotionally as well. Take hold of the outstretched hand, heal broken hearts, bind up their wounds, and help them on their way. They need the help often just as much as those who need money and food. It is almost harder to help someone who is suffering in a metaphysical sense, because their needs are so much less definable. A few dollars or a meal may not help.

Aid all you can, in every way, with needs that are spiritual, temporal, mental, emotional, and otherwise.

2) Seek out the Savior

This is not a casual action. This is the willingness to go to any end, use any means, just to glimpse His face, as Zacchaeus did. Run ahead; climb the tree. Even if He does not see you, you have seen Him and know that He was there. It is necessary to seek out the Savior in all we do, and in all we are striving to be. And it is climbing the tree that places Zacchaeus in the right place and time to meet and shelter Christ.

3) Receive Him with joy

Do not falter in that crucial moment- when the Savior comes to your door, answer it with haste! Do not drag your feet or murmur. Do not wring your hands and hesitate. Receive Him with joy and gladness as Zacchaeus did on that day centuries ago. If we have done all we can, and striven to live the best life we are capable of, then He will gladly remain with us until the end of days. If this is true, what reason might we have to hesitate?

Broken And Used

What do you do when you just feel used
Tired and broken, bent and bruised
What do you do when you can't get up again
When it's all hard and it's all pain
What do you do when you're falling apart
What is to be done with a worn out heart
What do you do when there's work to be done
And helping others, and staying up til the sun
What do you do when the burden weighs too much
When you're limping and stumbling without a crutch
What do you do when to be heard is a must
Yet as for ears to hear, there's no one to trust
What do you do when you need to be told it's okay
That the stress doesn't matter and tomorrow's another day
What do you do when you need to be held
When you're weeping and crying and you already fell
You don't need to be picked up, helped, or caught
Just need a friend who will stay, empathetic without a thought
What do you do when you just feel used
Tired and broken, bent and bruised.

Courage/To Run Or Stay

sometimes the courage required to run
                                                              takes more strength
than what it takes to stay

and sometimes the words on the tip
                                                          of your tongue
are just the wrong words to say


occasionally a sailing ship
                                            will run aground
on a reef or jutting rocks

and for each of those run aground
                                                       there is another
that never left the docks


sometimes the fear of leaving
                                                so big it consumes all
is so much worse than to remain

but every time staying because
                                                  you're terrified of loss
is worse than to stay with the pain


sometimes to go is harder than to stay
                                                               to not leave it behind
and that is when you truly know

if you stay when it's easier to leave
                                                         and barely can leave
when it's easier to go

then you may have found something worth fighting for

Notes

What is music to me?

Music is connection. Can't you see it? The cords of headphones tangled together, the stretching lines of the staff, all twisted and twirling around us. It binds us together tighter than any other bond. To make, to listen, to music with another, is a new trust, a deeper bond. Music is favorite songs listened to and understood by someone else. Laying stretched out with the volume up, trying to hear more than just sound. Music is what the soul is made of. It is no coincidence that our favorite songs feel like home, or that when someone likes the same music as us, we immediately become friends. It is no coincidence that listening to someone's music can help you understand them. Music is an expression of the beauty in everything. In pain and sorrow and joy, in funny times and serious. Music is fault and fascination. Music is connection. Pulling all these ideas together, pulling all these people together. Music makes the human soul dance, and erupt in color and light. Music helps us to feel understood and loved. Music is like a hug, a hand to hold, a string of hope tethering us to this world when all else is lost. I need music like I need to eat, but more. Because in addition to nourishing and expanding my soul, it is a comfort, a warmth for my soul, and an empathetic word when no one else is near. Music is necessary to the survival of what we are.

We are human, and we are music.

Exam Week and Juliet

O finals, finals, wherefore art thou finals?
Deny professors and refuse thy grade
Or if thou wilt not be thus sworn, my foe
Then I'll no longer be here a student
'Tis but thy subject that is my enemy:
Thou art necessary, though not straightforward
What's final exams? It is nor heart nor soul,
Nor emotion, nor any other part
Belonging to humans. O be some other thing!
What's in a final? That which we call a class
By itself alone would suffice just as well;
So tests would, were they not finals call'd,
Retain that lack of terror that doth beset
At finals week. Exams, doff thy name
and thy being, for thy grade of me
Take classtime instead

Existential College Hamlet

To read or not to read, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous review
Or to take arms against a sea of tests
And by opposing fail them. To die- to sleep
No more; and by sleep to say we end
The study and the many failed GEs
That student is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Never to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream-aye, there's the rub.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this student's burden,
Must give us pause-there's the respect
That makes calamity of so much stress
For who would bear the whips and scorns of grades
Th'professor's wrong, the proud peer's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd hope, our own delay
The insolence of students, and the spurns
With patient merit th'procrastinator takes
When he himself might well his grades have made
With a new pencil? Who would backpacks bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the longed-for time after finals
The undiscovered country, from which break
He must one day return, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear these ills we have
Than leave them for marks we all know of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is covered o'er with the grand weight of books
And reviewing with great notes and effort
With this regard, "fail" grades do turn awry
And lose the name of action

Confusion and Being Human

I am confused by people in the best and worst sort of way
I am confused when they disappear for many a day after day
And I am confused by their friendship sometimes; why do they want to be
Friends with someone so confused and absolutely baffled as me?
I'm confused by birthdays, whether we all forget or remember
I am confused by what to do the entire month of December
The bafflement that follows a single kindly deed
The sadness that follows when I don't know what they need
I am confused by people, in a new manner every day
And the best part is I wouldn't want it any other way

Sunday Series: A Peculiarity

Our Gospel Doctrine teacher today made an interesting remark today. He mentioned how it's funny that members of the Church get offended more often than nonmembers do. So, if I tell a nonmember I can't participate in something, they're more often fascinated, whereas a member would react by asking why I couldn't; after all, they're doing it and they share your standards right? This struck me as a fascinating thought.

I find that we, as members, sometimes go into conversations expecting to be offended my those who do not share our beliefs. Have you ever talked to someone about your beliefs and expected them to react negatively? I have. The stories of rude nonmembers are prolific and spread like wildfire. Yet, truly, they represent a fraction of interactions so small as to be nearly insignificant. That's not to say it doesn't happen, but that it is very rare. Most of those adhering to other systems of belief do not react in such a negative way, and I've come to resent that stereotype for harming how I relate to others in a spiritual sense. It's difficult to speak about my beliefs with the fear of judgment and rejection hanging over my head like a cloud.

We truly are offended less by nonmembers than by members. And sometimes we give offense as well- in our tone or words. The times this occurs are most often when we are blunt about sensitive subjects. I've seen it happen more than once, in religious and secular matters. A blunt manner leaves no room for compassion, or for hearing any other viewpoint or angle on the subject. I have tried being blunt once or twice, and it never led anywhere good.

That being said, could it be that members go into discussions with other members with a more blunt manner? With the view that things can only be one way? Or, perhaps, without a place for other views on certain doctrine. Members do seem to hurt each other more than nonmembers ever have. One sister in my Gospel Doctrine class responded to the original thought with the story of a grandmother speaking to her grandchildren. "I walked across the plains," she said, "but I would much rather do that than what you must do." They lived in an LDS community. These children would have to stand up to their friends. This peculiarity of offense requires more strength than trekking thousands of miles and facing years of persecution, she seems to be saying.

Doctrinal disputes seem to cause more uproar than any other discussion. The world thinks the Church is crazy and backwards for not supporting gay marriage? No big deal to the majority of members. A woman starts a group to ordain females to the priesthood? That becomes an issue for everyone. And perhaps that particular dispute is a little extreme, but I think it is representative. There were multitudes that were offended one way or another, and feelings hurt all around. There were heated debates and it spread like wildfire. I, personally, have heard so much more about Ordain Women than I have about any issue between the Church and the world. If you want a less extreme issue, look at steady dating in high school, or whether it's okay to drink caffeine, or evolution, or perhaps the reasons behind a man being able to be sealed to multiple women, but a woman only being sealed to one man.

The whole point, I guess, is that we Latter-Day Saints tend to battle more within the ranks than without them. Sometimes our greatest enemies are those we should be able to call on to support us. And this needs to stop. The stereotype that those who are not members will reject our beliefs needs to stop- spread better stories than that. The blunt, stubborn mannerisms need to stop- actually, I think this is just a general statement. Blunt and stubborn rarely ever got anyone anywhere. Our Church is so accepting of those outside it. Let us be equally accepting and supportive to those inside it.

Now, after saying this, I'd like to look at the positive side of the issue- the part where the statement I heard in Sunday School is wrong. I have met some absolutely wonderful members within the church that would never dream of judging or causing offense, that tread with care among the feelings of others. They may not be completely immune to gossip or being offended themselves, yet, I think it is fair to say that, the majority of the time, "no corrupt communication proceed[s] forth" from them (Ephesians 4:29). They are wonderful role models and phenomenal friends.

I think it can then be said that there is as much variability in who a person can be within the Church as there is for a person outside of it. It is more often than not that this peculiarity of offense is true, but it is by no means a constant. All we can say, then, is that we are human, and that we can try to become better humans than we were before, by striving to be kind and not take or give offense.

Freckles And The Universe

If I think freckles are like stars
Does that make my skin the sky?
And all the cells, the bones and veins
Are their own universe
Connect these stars to make constellations
And maybe in these pictures
I can finally see my soul

It's sad when I second guess something I've written because I'm afraid of what people will think of me when they read it.

Random Song/Poetry

We're dancing on a silver screen
We're falling; can you hear us scream?
We're bent and broken, just like you
We're living trying to make our dreams come true

We're trying to find what we can be
We're crying when things aren't what they seem
The world's lies, they surround and fight us
But we know deep down inside us

Typewriter Poem

Okay, storytime. I really love typewriter poems- I look them up all the time. Mostly on Pinterest. And today I wrote this one. It's not the best, definitely not up to par with the ones that I like the most, but I think it's nice.  This one happened when I was looking through old pictures on my phone and found one from tech theatre, where we'd had to do age makeup (that was a great class). It inspired this poem. Storytime over. The end. :)

Brain Dump: The Effect We Have

Every once in a while, I come across things like this

or this

and they always get me thinking. First of all, the obvious, wondering if anyone ever has done that about me. But also wondering why this happens. Why is there such fear around telling someone about your feelings for them? And why on earth don't we believe people can have feelings for us? 

I've had a couple close calls this year, where I almost lost some people who are very important to me in a very permanent way. I also seem to have lost several friends in a not-so-permanent way. These situations have only made me wonder more about this. About how friendships are handled and about how people don't believe they can be loved. It bothers me because on some days, I'm one of them. 

It is on those days that the first image I shared becomes a sort of comfort as well as fascination. Just imagine it: imagine the sheer number of people that you've noticed, thought were attractive, or liked and noticed every little thing that made them unique. And then think: someone has looked at you that way. In this wide, wide world, through the long years, someone has looked at you that way. More than one someone. Because the truth is, we're lied to about beauty for the first eighteen to twenty years of our lives. Because we're told by many sources that the standard of beauty is fixed and immovable, and to be beautiful you must measure up to this bar, arbitrarily set by people with cameras and darkrooms and fashion magazines. Yet, there is no fixed standard. Everyone is beautiful to someone; everyone is someone's type. But we don't always believe it.

So believe me when I tell you this: That someone has seen you and thought you were beautiful. They have watched you smile and breathe, watched you talk about something you love. And in that moment you were everything they needed, just as so many have been for you. And part of me thinks that this is the very definition of humanity, this give-and-take of beauty and love. Humanity is constantly loving and changing and worrying. 

Worry. 

That's what else is on my mind. I'm so worried. About anyone out there who doesn't believe me when I say that someone has thought you are beautiful. Someone has seen the light in your eyes. I'm worried about those who don't see that. Who don't see how many hands area outstretched to help, how many people they'd hurt if they...left. I'm so worried that it's almost a panic. And it's a good thing it's a busy day or the worry would overwhelm me, I just know it. I am so worried about the desperate measures these people will go to in order to escape the living lonely hell that life has become. I'm worried that they'll be different than I was, back when I truly believed that no one cared. I'm worried they'll hurt themselves in more permanent ways. It is a constant prayer in the back of my mind, that they will feel loved today, that they will see light. That they can see this caring that I have no clue how to express except to write these words and tell you these things, all of which are true.

I love you.

You are beautiful.

I have seen you and the light in your eyes. I have watched you laugh and smile. I have seen your despair. I have seen your soul, your strong, strong soul. And it is beautiful in a deeper way than anything superficial ever could be. 

I love you, my friend.

And I'm worried about you. I'm here. Let me help. Let me pick you up, shoulder part of your burden, just for a while. Anything to preserve the beauty that is you, the glory weighed down by shadows. 

You are beautiful, special, and wonderful, and your loss would leave a hole so wide, a chasm so deep, that it would last forever. The people that you know? None of them would ever ever stop missing you. 

Worry and beauty are on my mind today.

Epitome Of A Tragedy

The girl on the road crying, abandoned
Left to fend for herself by someone she loved
The rain pouring down and the cold rushing in
He took his coat back and drove away

The child in the bathroom and cold metal at a thin wrist
Eyes filled with desperation and a need to be seen
What does it take for pain to mean more,
To be better than living?

The tear-filled eyes at the funeral of a suicide
Life ending too soon because, you see
Oblivion is inevitable and some choose to go early
They were pushed to the brink and they jumped

Crying alone in a room at night because it hurts
This weight on your shoulders, you should never have borne
You shouldn't have to hold it, but you must
Or everything good will fall apart

A loss, a pain, a hurt, a scar
The heavy weights on tender hearts
This is not how it's meant to be
This is the epitome of a tragedy

Blue

today the city haze is blue
like my heart; the shade is true
clear as the sky cloudless above
but darker, my heart, with love

blue is the color of love i believe
as wide as the sky as far as we see
friends and family herein abound
in a sea of love. can you hear the sound?

waves roll in and out like the tide
but this sea is entirely inside
of a heart not mine, i am for sure
a resident of this sea azure

we all have a sea within our soul
and a tide only rarely within our control
it's blue like skies and the city haze
and here is where i'll spend all of my days


















PAD Day 31

Beneath The Gilded Mask

There is a gilded mask worn only over saddened eyes

A mask with one sole purpose: its owner to disguise

Gold and shaped to appear like wings outstretched in flight

To hide the face of a person deep within a darkened night

Feathers splayed out from a shadowed and hollow expression

Hidden deep within, a soul left with only one possession

A heart that may refuse to beat for a moment longer than it must

A mind so bruised it can no longer see why it ever desired to trust

They don the gilded mask in quiet moments of despair

A mask meant only to conceal the anguish that is truly there

But it is not solely anguish that the gilded mask can eclipse

It ensconces offense and hate, and angry words behind tight lips

Veiled fury and cold hearts too can the gold mask stifle

But the mask when worn too long becomes but a simple trifle

A thinning shroud no longer able to conceal the corpse beneath

'Til it is shown, a rictus grin, bare bones and rotting teeth

Emotions in full view of the world, greeted by disgust and fear

Though safety and love is all they desire, they cannot find it here

Skeletons run from the closet to the crypt where none shall ever expose

Everything they attempted to bury, their fears and griefs and woes

There is a flimsy gilded mask worn over saddened eyes

A mask with one sole purpose: its owner to disguise

Just A Minute More

steps lightly prancing
above the ground where we're confined
a jump, a hop, and we have a skip
skipping is light and fleeting
the steps are young and freeing

for when the world is heavy and dark

and our eyes see only pain

the memories that hurt us rushing in

resurrected from the grave where we buried them

the burden becomes too much to bear

a small light step

perhaps a twirl, and our movement

becomes like dancing

light like flight and full of happiness

that pushes the dark away

it may be temporary, for only a minute more

long enough to find a place where we can be alone

but that's enough 

to be composed another moment

and then they never see

a golden mask we wear

designed for a bird in flight

the mask we wear to hide the dark

to light our path a little more

a skip, a hop, and we can smile again

look for the skip and know

that is the moment when the heaviest weights

are born on weary backs

and they must hold it

just a minute more

Brain Dump: Risks

What do you do when multiple choices are set before you? When each has its own merits, but attendant risks as well. When none seem better than the others, what do you do?

Do you pick the riskiest choice, that leaves you with the most knowledge?

Do you pick the slightly less risky option and just hope that it works out?

Or do you pick the easiest and remain comfortable in your ignorance?

Does what you choose depend on what the choice is? On what the possible results are? I find myself at quite a crossroads this night. To confront, to tell- or to leave in darkness, sweep under the rug and just let it quietly die, as it has been doing so far. I struggle to determine the gravity of the situation- trifling, or absolutely necessary- as that will be the factor in the end that makes the choice. Many things come to this crossroads eventually but none so emotionally wrenching as this: the possible loss of a friendship before it had a chance to truly begin. And not knowing the reasons why.

So perhaps this writing is choosing the second option on my list of three. Something less risky, but that still may yield unfavorable results. I doubt that any choice would yield positive ones. And perhaps this writing is just what I needed to release the tension and anger building inside me before something truly devastating occurs. Like losing my temper. I hate losing my temper. Or damaging this pseudo-friendship further. But perhaps it never existed except in my head and the only thing that will die is a delusion. I hope that is not true.

Really, this isn't risky at all though. The chances that the person in question will read this are undoubtedly minuscule. And I needed to write it.

A question, dear readers, though your numbers are few.

What do you do at such a crossroads? Do you sit back and watch? Do you do as I am doing?

Or do you take the leap?

Escape The Rib Cage

when i stand up straight
                                i can see my ribs pressed against the underside of my skin
                                             like they're straining to escape
my heartbeat pulses at every point in my body
                                pushing life and breath to even the furthest
                                              to the tips of my fingers and toes
sometimes it's weaker than others
                                other times every pound is painful
                                              and other times i can hear it in my head
ba-bump, it says, again and again
                               ba-bump
                                              ba-bump
it pushes against the confines of muscles and veins
                               shoving itself towards open air
                                              but it is restrained
a heart trying to escape
                               to see new sights and hear new sounds
                                              yet to escape would be to kill me
the skin is tight around my rib cage
                               one by one, i count them with my fingers
                                              one, two, three, four, five
i breathe deeply and push my shoulders back
                               stand tall and confident
                                              and hungry




PAD Day 30

Memories Both Old And New

Christmas is a time for remembering many things, and the season is full of wistful gazes and beautiful music. I was able to listen to some of that music tonight- and by that, I mean, I compiled a playlist made up of all the songs my high school choir used to sing for the Christmas season.

It brought back a lot of memories. I struggled to remember some of the titles, but Google came to my aid. This list, to me, sums up some of my favorite high school memories- Christmas, and the love that I felt from and for my choir. The beautiful music that came from it, and the joy we felt in singing it- sometimes with passion (There Is No Rose), sometimes recklessly at the top of our lungs (Psallite), sometimes respectfully (E'en So Lord Jesus), and sometimes in memory of someone we'd lost (Ubi Caritas). I miss those days. They were times when we all felt an unusually high sense of belonging.

We performed a Madrigal Feast every year- a Renaissance dinner and short play, followed by a concert. I remember how much fun rehearsals were each year, and the concert that followed always brought tears to the seniors and to those younger students that they were close to. I remember my junior year especially well, because that was the year some of my best friends graduated and/or left. These were people that had thus far been present for my entire high school experience. This was the only year that I really cried.

Memories are a central part of Christmas. In fact, it is memories of Christ that make up the core of it. Traditions are part of these memories as well. I am so excited to travel home for Christmas and participate in our family traditions once more. To spend time with my family, talking about past years. We have many traditions around Christmas. We go to Grandma's on Christmas Eve, and we always have a Peppermint Pig. We hang our ornaments on the tree and the kids always help hand out the presents. And we get to open one present at home- always pajamas. Christmas is a day we most often spend at home, playing with siblings and enjoying the company of our family.

This year will be different, though, because I will be "coming home." Travelling home from this new place that I've found at college. I'm an adult and things are changing. It is strange to think that someday soon- not too many Christmases from now- I will not be spending the season the same way; I will have a husband and family of my own to spend it with. But I can still have Christmas traditions and memories. And I will have many new memories as well. That, after all, is the core of Christmas: memories.

Memories are so important to who we are. They shape us- I truly believe that much of who we become comes from what we go through, and without memories, those experiences would mean nothing. Memories are what give us language and friendship and love. Is it not memories that come, when you wish to think of happier times? Is it not reminiscing on days gone by that brings us comfort in loss? Memories are pieces of souls.

Memories are created by and for souls. We have the memories we do because of who we are, and we also are who we are because of the memories we've made. It is a wonderful cycle of becoming and growing and creating beauty and relationships that last far longer in memory than perhaps they can in time.

What do I mean by "we have the memories we do because of who we are"? Just this: That who we are puts us where we are, with whoever we might be around. Who we are places us in the right place to make memories that fit our souls. If you were someone else, wouldn't you be somewhere else? Whether from a different country, background, or even simply just possessing a different personality, can lead us to be in far different places and, of course, to create radically different memories. Two people may not even remember a particular event the same way. Our souls and identities are active participants in creating themselves- is this not true? It is what I believe.

The saddest part about Christmas, I think, is the memories of loss, of regret, and of pain. For those must resurface with the good memories. How many wonderful recollections of joy are tainted by the remembrance of the pain that came after? Some grief can be sweet, after a time, knowing that the ones lost are happy, or in a better place. But some heartbreak will always be sour to the taste, and painful to the touch. Christmastime is a wistful season, melancholy mixed with joy and longing with love.

And some times the nostalgia fills us, the recollections too big and too painful and it seems we cannot bear it. It is in these moments that we need the most important Christmas memory of all- the original one. It's ever so difficult in a world of wrapping paper, gifts, and receipts. It's ever so hard to remember that the sweetest gifts are often the simplest. Like a note, a letter, a handmade object.

A baby in a manger.

The sight of a star.

Simple.

Yet the sweetest of all

The Philosophy Of The Martyr

This is the graveyard of dreams

A tombstone labeled "Future"

And a bullet labeled "Me"

This is the place I die

For a cause that I stood behind

To protect all those that cry

This is the crypt of the fallen

All those who died for their passion

And I shall be one of them then

This is the death of a martyr

Noble and brave, but soon gone

Preaching their passion from the coffin

PAD Day 29

Confident Change

Confidence is found in the most unlikely of places
She finds it in the quiet whisperings of God
And in laughing with her friends and family
She finds it in moments of inspiration and creativity
Most especially in those moments where she wants
         to change the world
It is in those confident moments
That who she is pours out onto paper
In pictures, in phrases, poems, in art
When she sees her soul on paper, then, again
She smiles because deep, deep inside
She holds on to one unshakable truth
That she is beautiful, she is worth it
          she can change the world
Even though she's surrounded by a country
Whose people no longer seem to care
A country that seeks pleasure and not right
She lives where morals died, where dreams faded
And she wants to have courage to dream and do what's right
           she has the courage to change her world
She holds a smile for everyone and a laugh
Her heart could hold the world if she let it
Loving so deeply that loss breaks her open
And the state of the world unleashes a flood
            tears come when she can't change the world



PAD Day 28

A 2:22 Haiku

there is a longing
for that one kind of safety
that came from your arms

Irreparable Beings

Can we be broken irreparably?

Oh yes. Every time we are broken, it is irreparable. And the pieces that are lost are irreplaceable. But we learn to live with the cracks and the gaps in our hearts. And one day, we find that we are filled with light- that we have been all along but were unable to see it. It is this light shining through our broken places that truly makes us beautiful.

Sometimes the pieces may shatter completely and fall to the floor- but this is not the end! Mosaics and stained glass windows are crafted from bits of broken glass, and so we too may reshape ourselves from the remnants of what we once were. It is not a repair, but a recreation. These pieces that once made us up- they are not useless. Their purpose does not vanish because they are broken. After all, they still make us up.

We may be broken, but that doesn't make us damaged. Damage comes from abandoning the work, leaving it unfinished, or not starting at all. Letting your soul shatter and sprinkle down and then walking away. Leaving a pile of shards, of fractals of your heart, and though this is beautiful, it is heart wrenching.

For we all have beauty within us. And like a puzzle, our broken pieces can fit back together, but unlike a puzzle, they fit in infinitely different ways. Like fractals, we are geometric, and we must discover the end  we love best. We put ourselves together and break again and again, for the sole purpose of discovering the best creation we can produce of ourselves. Breaking is an opportunity to start anew, to make something more of yourself, or to make the same person again and be reminded of your own worth.

In being broken, we do not lose something- we gain it.

Unsaid Questions

It could, perhaps, be seen as strange, that I possess in my mind a wealth of questions for someone I haven't yet met.

It could, perhaps, be viewed as odd, that I've planned out how to ask them.

They are questions for a future far distant, that should not yet be even crossing my mind! Or should it? Years in advance, and I know the questions that I will ask.

They are slightly prying, perhaps, and that is why they must wait in the confines of my mind. They are not light, and that is why on certain nights they sit heavily upon the shoulders of my soul. The truth is, I want to know what makes you tick. Why you think what you do, what you think of yourself, what your first reaction to anything is. What's on your mind when nothing else presents itself- what do you keep coming back to? They may not be asked aloud, as a typical question would be, but rather with actions. With behavior and interest. But they will be asked.

It could be seen as quite abnormal, for me to think about this at this time. After all, I will not ask them for years yet, and perhaps not learn the answers for longer. My queries will be simply that for time beyond this moment, and yet they cross my mind again and again as I stay up late, as I remain awake to write, to speak, to hear. It crosses my mind that I don't know you yet, that I wonder what you are doing at the exact second that I pen these words. Where are you in existence, and when will we meet. Who will you be?

You could be anyone

For there is no "one" that these questions belong to, but rather a thousand potential ones surrounding me.

These questions will go unsaid for many years, but they are on my mind tonight.

The Way Out

the lowest of lows 

is not a nice place to be

it's dark there

full of only pain

and self-deprecation

the lowest of lows

is wishing for the end

for uncaring, unliving

because caring, living, loving

is too, too hard

it hurts too much

there's one way out

the only viable way

is denying the pain

any place in you

believing in a plan

and in love

the only way is to

defy all demons

inside and out

to say only

"I am beautiful"

and

"I am worth it"

PAD Day 27

Change

as we grow up
we're told lots of things
that we can't be beautiful
unless we're flawless
or scantily dressed

we grow up noticing
only our squinty eyes
crooked noses, chapped lips
and pimples
and a million other flaws

so our faces are caked with paint
to cover up who we are
to look like Photoshopped models
come to life
it doesn't work

we grow up not knowing
that our eyes sparkle with light
our laughter makes the sun
shine brighter and makes
the world better

the world tells us that
our bodies are only for sex
and pleasing the opposite gender
not that they are sacred
or that we are treasure

we grow up and are told
it isn't okay to think well
of ourselves
it's conceited to hold your head high
to stand on your own feet

we are told that insecurity
is the proper way of life
and we should always
see the best in others
the worst in ourselves

we grow up being taught
that all that's wrong
in the world
is what's right
and what's correct

change

we should grow up
knowing what truly matters
and that it's okay to
look in the mirror, and
say "I am beautiful"


PAD Day 26

Toward The Center

A Big Bang, you say. Created the universe, you say

But what is at the center of creation?

Expanding, you say. Moving away, you say

Existence grows ever larger

A grand cosmic balloon, growing at inconceivable rates

The center of creation ever distancing

Galaxies and stars flying away from where once they were housed

Pushing spacetime to new limits every passing moment

I ask again, what is at the center of creation?

What is the origin of all this wonder?

Something so large it could only be made of light

A God's world, in the middle of it all

Pictured in a mind, a God standing, hands upraised

Thrusting out new beings, elements, and light

Proceeding forth to stretch what once was into something new

A God is expanding our cosmic balloon

A Big Bang, you say. Created the universe, you say.

But what is at the center of creation?

Expanding, you say. Moving away, you say

But who caused the Bang?

To Comprehend Infinity

there is a certain distance
a separation in my head
between the truth
and what I know

it occurs when thinking
of the size of the universe
we know how large it is
but do we?

measurements and figures
and facts fill busy minds
but comprehension
it cannot be

how could we continue
if we understood just
how small
we truly were

The Composer

keep your eyes open when you sing
lest you lose yourself in the music
swept away by the tune
it flows so strongly against the soul
sweeping violins and soaring flutes
notes jumping like silver fish
and the bass of it all
rocks in the streambed
look around you and see the scene
and do not close your eyes
for if the music claims you
as it threatens so often to do
then you are lost to me and I to you
flickering clarinet, gentle harp
I plead with them to leave you be
but you are gone, gone
as your voice soars above it all
rains down its beauty on all who hear
keep your eyes open when you listen
your voice sweeps me away
to strange worlds, oceans deep and wide
islands with palaces built of sound
ringing with beauty in every form
dancing through the hallways
with the conductor's baton
I cannot bear to hear you sing
it sweeps us both away
apart and closer together in exhilaration
sweet and joyful yet painful
for it must end

you must always sing, and I will listen
your voice is the light
the guide to my path
I walk down trails of eighth notes
half notes, sforzando, forte, pianissimo
crescendo and then fall again
leading me through a dark forest with music
someday I'll meet you at the end
and perhaps we shall sing together

TBT: Bookeaters

An ole short story I discovered in one of my notebooks. I'm considering expanding it to a full novel someday- let me know what you think!

He watched as, like a nightmare, his friend's teeth lengthened, sharpened. They sank into the book, ripping out chunks of it The sound of the tearing paper was a cry of pain. Then as it vanished, Ter saw the wonder in it. The glow of the story lit Page from within, and civilization returned to his face. And yet...the story was still in Ter's mind, fresh and true. He could rewrite it as soon as he got back to his desk.

Page licked his lips. "Thanks," he said in his guttural voice. "I know...that must've been hard." Ter hummed a nondescript affirmative. "Have you ever seen one of us Eat before?

Shaking his head, Ter looked into Page's eyes. "It was kind of...beautiful, near the end."

"Yes," Page smiled, "I was hoping you'd see that side of it. And I can recite the story to you, every word. In fact, I cold recite every story I've ever consumed."

"But...I don't understand. The Scholars said that Eating erases a story from all memory...but I remember it as well. I could write it down right now." Ter looked down at his hands, realizing that he was beginning to question all that he'd been taught.

Daydreaming

dancing thoughts yesterday

from one to the next

flitting like a butterfly goes 

from blossom to blossom

heard a phrase in a talk

"hopefully I've grown"

how do children grow?

what if we graphed their height?

exponential, but shallower than the typical

much less steep

yes? and if we graphed the rate

at which they grew

(the derivative of their height) 

a reverse exponential

thoughts dancing from one to the next

music is a wonderful thing but

how hard it is to focus on

both words and harmony

simultaneously, singing hymns

what if we translated them to english

from other languages? and a project

was born of this

nearer my god to thee

mon dieu, plus pres de toi

veuille affermir ma foi, reste avec moi

the lyrics are different, in a way

both beautiful and poetic

still, even in translation

google translate and dim memories

of two years of high school french

my god, more near to you

i want to strengthen my faith

rest with me

or wanting strengthens my faith

this, i am unsure. but both fit

both are poetic

we'll call it poetic license

apparently that's an excuse for this kind of thing

for everything

"poetic license"

in sunday school we discussed the

"narrative paradigm

theory" that all communication

all we do

is in the form of a story

we live storytelling

comprehending the world as narratives

complete with cast, conflict, plot

are we heroes or villains?

can we be the villains of our own stories?

or the heroes? truly

i think sometimes we're even the background

to our own lives

a poem for a story

for the rambling thoughts

like a swarm of butterflies in my head

it's hard to focus when

you're so tired

PAD Day 25

I wrote this poem on Monday while reflecting back on how my thoughts had been drifting on Sunday 

Mortal Monarchy

Monarchy and utter rule

A tyrant on a throne

Why did they let him reign?

In truth, they should have known

Warnings from a prophet

Warnings from a God above

Given through prayer and revelation

To a man the people loved

And this warning, something true

What did it really say?

Just this: that kings made of mortal men

Shall always go astray

PAD Day 24

This poem was written in reference to the Book of Ether in the Book of Mormon

Loads We Carry

she carries her load on her own

weaving through the crowd

an invisible Mountain

resting on her shoulders

tense muscles, but a ready smile

she carries her load alone

despite offers to help

because who could she trust 

not to suddenly drop the Mountain?

and then she knows it would crush her

she carries her load in solitude

because the definition of alone is

"in the middle of a crowd but unnoticed"

and she is every day: they see her face

but they fail to see the Mountain she holds

                                                         m

                                                     mount

                                                   mountain mou

                                                 mountain mounta

                                    m        ountain mountain mount

                                 mou    ntain mountain mountain mountain mo

                             mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain       moun

              mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain      mount

            mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mo

       mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mount

      mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain

   mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain 

 mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain mountain G mountain mountain 

                                                                                                I

                                                                                              R

                                                                                               L

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