Sunday Series: To Stumble

"And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3)

I believe that we, as people, as much as we'd like to think otherwise, do not walk or run or dance through life. I believe that we all are just stumbling. Can't you see it? We're all toddling through our first steps, just learning to walk, or live, as the case may be. We trip over our own feet ever day, and sometimes we fall.

This view of mine is actually synonymous with Gospel principles. As children of God, we were sent here to grow. We are learning to live just as our children in mortality learn to walk. I am sure we've all seen children and watched them, as they begin to pull themselves up and step along walls. They grin and smile and awkwardly swing their chubby little limbs around. Just like them, we must lean on things around us- people, places, and most of all, God. Throughout our whole lives, we never stop stumbling.

Sometimes it's not a bad stumble, but endearing, like tripping over words when talking to someone, or fumbling when holding something (preferably not anything too valuable or breakable). We as humans are often a little awkward or weird in our moods, and many may view this as a fault. Yet the truest friends anyone can have will view it as just a part of life. I know my best and truest friends deal with all sides of me, those times when I'm most steady on my feet, and also those times when I can barely stand without tripping (metaphorically, of course).

But sometimes it hurts, when we fall and make bigger mistakes, whatever they may be. It can hurt us, and it can also hurt others. We gain bruises and calluses from these falls, and we learn what not to do again. I'm sure everyone has personal experience with this. The pain of admitting to the fall, and not blaming anyone else is not pleasant, but it is redeeming. And this is how we learn, by falling over and over and getting back up to try again. Our Father watches us, and helps us as we shuffle along walls and couches.

To stumble and to fall is not shameful. I think this is the most important part to understand. It is natural, part of our learning here on earth. Just like stumbling children, we must view falls not as failure, but as a lesson. Just like children, we must get up again and again and not be afraid to fall. And just like we would not reprimand a toddler for slipping, we must not reprimand ourselves, only get back up with whatever lesson we have learned. Someday, long after this world's time has ended, we will truly be able to walk and run and dance. But for now, all we can do is continue to stumble and continue to learn.

To Leave Or Not To Leave

Enough to go anywhere

I stare at the wads of cash in my fists. Today, on a whim, I withdrew my whole bank account, got it all in ten-dollar bills. Alexander Hamilton stares at me, daring me. Here I stand, on a street in New York. The people move like water around me, but I am motionless, letting them part and pass.

This is enough money to go anywhere. I could go wherever I wanted, get a job, and be someone else. That's what I realized as I left the bank. I could fly to Europe, to Asia, to Mexico, or even just California. I could start a new life, where nobody knew my name. Is that what I really want? When I walked into the bank, had I just wanted to start over?

Life's been rough lately. Everything is slipping. My friends are fading into the background, now that I can't help them any more. I've been dreaming about leaving this crowded city, going somewhere new and trying again. Literally dreaming, every night. I see foreign countries, new cities and people. Old buildings and new opportunities. Jobs and happiness. I see second chances.

But how can I leave? I have a job now. I have commitments to keep, people to help. An appointment next Tuesday with a psychologist. And what if it's not my friends that have been leaving- what if it's me? Maybe the reason I don't see my friends is because I've been having a bit of a pity party. Maybe I pushed them out. Maybe it's my fault. But...maybe not.

Enough money to go anywhere.

I look again at the cash in my hands.

My resolve hardens. I know what I will-

Thud.

Suddenly I'm on the ground, and my hands are empty. My bag is gone.

Didn't even see the pickpocket coming.

Life of a Dreamer

It's like the colors have extra meaning, and the things that everyone else thinks are important just aren't. It's whirling from one subject to another, sometimes faster than is socially acceptable. It's doing things because you thought about them or wanted to rather than because of society or fashion. It's being different, and not quite understanding anyone else, though it seems they all understand each other. It's like being trapped in the world of your own mind and enjoying it. It's being so scatterbrained that sometimes you get lost in your thoughts and miss something going on around you - a joke, or someone talks to you, and you feel bad asking them to repeat themselves, but you didn't hear because your mind was on who-knows-what, something like why the sky is blue, or about birds flying south, or the physics of Doctor Who, or that one thing that happened last week, whether wonderful or regrettable. It's being an idealist and wondering constantly about the future, whether destiny exists or it's a choice, and not being able to decide which you prefer. It's knowing that your dreaming is the cause of your heartbreak, that your blind faith leads you down the wrong roads all too easily because you can't believe the worst. Because you think you can make it better but you can't. It's somehow still dreaming after everything, imagining your future when you can't fall asleep. Wondering what your husband will be like, what you'll name your kids, how you'll raise them. It's believing that life can be beautiful even when horrible things happen, even when tragedy strikes. It's believing in God because you know He is the only reason that you're still alive, because a world like this beats down dreamers, it crushes them beneath the weight of its expectations, its logic, its "realism." But what is real after all? Isn't our reality two parts a construction of our own minds and one part what everyone else thinks? We make our own lives, but it's hard when you're a dreamer. That one part that rests in reality, it looms so large, and you are made to believe from a young age that somehow the part where others live is so much more important than the other two, and sometimes we dreamers lose to that part, and the two parts that are ours to make wither into dark shadowy places, and our dreaming turns against us. That same imagination that once saw a bright future now sees only the worst of tragedies, only heartbreak and sorrow. It sees the shadow before the sun, the darkness, and the weaknesses, every flaw in this inner world that once was so bright. And it's possible to come back, I've done it. More than once. Every time night falls on the inner world, the dreamer must sit and wait for the daylight. Because if they wait long enough it does come. Because the light from the other part, the "reality" slips over and reminds us that the world is beautiful once more. And God smiles down and blesses us, with something to lift us up and remind us that there is hope. So we find hope and faith and place them in the sky once more, to be the sunlight to our lonely hearts and the truth to our saddened souls, and the core of our brain and ideology. That's what it's like to be a dreamer, two parts inner world, sometimes bright, sometimes dark, and one part reality. And it's hard to tell the difference.

Overrated? Possibly

I had someone tell me recently that love is overrated. I'm not sure exactly what he may have meant by it in his own mind, but it got me thinking. And asking myself questions. This is my answer.

Is love really overrated?

I think the answer is yes.

I also think the answer is no.

Just a few weeks ago, I was finally privileged to meet my cousins' wives. I was also privileged to spend time with them and watch the way they interacted with each other- that is, my cousin interacting with his wife. I was also able to watch my great-grandparents and hear their story. And after seeing them together, I would say love is not overrated. I think that the wonderful parts are exactly as good as we think they are. Love in the proper place at the proper time can be beautiful.

But I also think many people put too much stock in love. Sometimes it seems that people think marriage will solve their problems and love will somehow heal their brokenness. The truth is, nothing can do that except you and God, working together. You have to complete yourself, you have to heal your own heart and put your own pieces together. I believe this has to happen before even considering marriage. And if it doesn't, it's still a personal journey. It's not something that a spouse can do for you.

Yet, if we can do this, if we piece ourselves together, then I believe love can be all that we want. It will be hard, harder than anything. But the things we put the most effort into can be the greatest. I believe that the love we dream of doesn't fall from the sky. It is a choice, made by two people who are complete in themselves (as complete as any of us can be) agreeing to spend their lives together. It is a pact, a choice, and a whole lot of hard work, but that's what makes it worth overrating. The bad times between us will be horrible, but the good times, they will shine.

The place where we go wrong is always in assuming it is easy, or that it will always be wonderful. There are hard times as well, and how you get through them decides whether you stay together. Love is only overrated if we overlook the hard things. And we do, sometimes, as a society, we do. Especially as young people. I finally had to stop reading certain kinds of books because I was overloaded by this overrating of love, by this idealized image of it as perfect and easy and falling from the sky. I hate the idea that love "completes" someone or that it "saves" them. That doesn't happen. You save yourself, and then you choose to love someone. You may not be able to choose if you like them or are attracted to them- that, I believe. But love, the true kind is a choice, and a hard one.

This is why I prefer sad stories, I think. They are truest to our human experience. And in truth, though in the past I've said it's not, life kind of can be Shakespearean. Very rarely does anyone get a "happy ending." And if they do, they've earned it.

So love is overrated, yes, but it's also not. It depends on how you see it.

Keep in mind while reading that I am an optimist with very little experience. But I do believe that this is right.

Good Morning

I am so grateful to my bishop for challenging me to study my scriptures for thirty minutes in the morning instead of right before bed. Since I've begun this practice, only about a week ago, I have already seen blessings.

This morning, I left my apartment absolutely psyched about life. Suddenly being alive was just so exciting! It was wonderful! And it doesn't hurt that it was a gorgeous morning! I'm going to try and get out early tomorrow and take some photos, because Provo mornings are stunning. The sunrise over the mountains, the trees- so many trees- and the leaves just beginning to yellow. The cool air, the peace, it is beautiful. And I had my music playing, I was walking to class, abs everything was positively gorgeous. The world was a miracle.

Just about everything is going well in my life right now. I'm sure I could find reasons to be stressed, but on days like this, why would I want to? I just want to walk around outside and look at the trees, and appreciate the glory that God has created for us. This world is a gift to us, and I love it.

A Wrong Choice

We don't see the results of the path we're taking until we reach the end of the road
It's both regret and heartache
Joy and hurt
We can't know what the future will be when we reach the end of the road
So we must be careful
Follow the map and our guide
Yet sometimes we choose the wrong path and it's a shame we can't turn around
There's no dead ends, but there are rough patches
And though our guide calls out
"Don't get lost!"
We do
But our guide is there
To take us back I hope
There is scolding
But comfort, I hope
A good end to it all
I hope
Because a wrong choice for the right reasons is still wrong
And we can't unmake them now
So we look forward
Hoping and believing
That the end of the path is a little bit brighter
Than this

I Paint My Toenails Red

I paint my toenails red

On days when my life falls apart

Carefully and neatly

At least, this is in order

Outwardly, an expression

I have it together

Inwardly, an explosion

I know nothing at all

My red toenails line up in a row

Ten little soldiers marching off to war

The war is really in my mind

The heart and the mind meeting on the field of battle

But my toenails are red

I struggle with chaos and pressure

The world beating me into a pulp

I try to find a way, the way

I know most of it but the details are lost to darkness

It's the details I struggle with

It's my heart that is hurting

It's blood colors my emotions

At least my toenails are red

Today, it's changing

I'm locking my door to pressure

I'll decide when I'm ready

Today I'm growing up and pushing back 

I will decide for me

And not because it's what I'm told

This will lead me on my own path

And someday, when I can see the details

Someday I'll stop painting my toenails red