Two Things

First thing.
Guys! Guys.  I'm really good at my job.

Today, I spent 10 1/2 hours typesetting.  Right around hour 7, InDesign decided it wanted to be cute with me.  Behold, InDesign:MineSweeper:

No, I don't know how that happened, either.

I got the typeset back to normal for a minute, but I guess InDesign was feeling really needy and/or special, because then it decided to do this:

That's when Sam and I decided we should quit and start the program up again.  I FINISHED the typeset (yay!), which was very exciting because it's my first finished typeset.  I didn't do the first six chapters, but I did the rest of the book.  So Sam was walking me through the finishing stages, which include scrolling through the entire book one paragraph at a time to look for extra spaces and missed chapter headings and whatever all else.  

Hey, remember that typeset I was tellin' you about?

Ruined it.

Found an entire chapter that I had not formatted smack in the middle of the thing.  Yay.  We spent an hour trying to salvage what we could, but the stress of the situation at the end of a 10 1/2-hour workday proved to be too much for me.  I had a mini nervous breakdown and Sam dragged me home.  She has to spend a few hours tomorrow fixing it. 

Sam awarded me with this for something completely unrelated, but I'm pretty sure I earned it today:

Second thing.

I gave a talk in church yesterday.  You can read it if you want to.

Theme: Christmas in the Rearview Mirror

Topic: The Worst Christmas Ever

Don’t answer this question out loud, but think about it: how many of you have already put your Christmas decorations away?  When did you do it?  Boxing Day?  New Year’s Eve?  Last night?  My Christmas tree is still up.  I put it up in November, and it’ll probably stick around until May, much to my roommates’ chagrin.

I can’t help it.  That’s the way I was raised.  My mother famously said that she started listening to Christmas music in January.  She shopped for presents throughout the year.  She made Christmas a big deal.  Because of her efforts, Christmas surpassed Saint Patrick’s Day as my favorite holiday somewhere around my ninth birthday.  Now I celebrate it with all the fervor of an overzealous Who.

Although Christmas holds a special place in my heart, or maybe because it holds a special place in my heart, I’ve had three Christmases that are humdinger contenders for the worst Christmas ever.

The last Christmas with my mother was wonderful and terrible.  We knew we were blessed to have that extra time with her, but we also knew it was the last Christmas we would have together.  Every gift was special.  My mom invited a family friend who had nowhere else to go that year (which was so typical of my mother).  We watched lots of movies, ate fancy meals, laughed about gag gifts, and enjoyed each others’ company.  But it was all soured by the whispers of death that swept a steady undercurrent through our traditions and conversations and gift-giving.  

Then there was the Christmas after my mother died.  We were in a new house with really weird architecture, so there wasn’t much room.  We were all crammed into a tiny penta/hexagonal-ish living room.  Throughout the morning, someone would open a gift and get really excited about it, and my dad would say quietly, “Your mother picked that out for you.”  Christmas, which is usually loud and boisterous and something worth remembering, was subdued--it didn’t really feel like Christmas.

This year was our first Christmas with a blended family.  It’s hard to try to reconcile two sets of traditions.  It’s hard to open your heart to dozens of strangers and suddenly have to call them family.  It’s just hard.

But the thing is, it’s Christmas.  These were very difficult situations, and they dampened the cheer of the season, but they could not smother it entirely because Christmas is so much more than two or three days of chaotic family gatherings, even if those gatherings include a reenactment of the Nativity and stories about “the true meaning of Christmas.” (which is a phrase that I kind of hate) Christmas is an idea that is central to the Christian faith.  As so many people have said, the spirit of Christmas is the spirit of Christ.  The best remedy for the worst Christmas ever is sharing the spirit of Christ. 

President Monson said: 

Let us make Christmas real. It isn’t just tinsel and ribbon, unless we have made it so in our lives. Christmas is the spirit of giving without a thought of getting. It is happiness because we see joy in people. It is forgetting self and finding time for others. It is discarding the meaningless and stressing the true values. It is peace because we have found peace in the Savior’s teachings. It is the time we realize most deeply that the more love is expended, the more there is of it for others. 

Matthew 25: 37-40 reads:

37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

President David O. McKay declared: 

“True happiness comes only by making others happy—the practical application of the Savior’s doctrine of losing one’s life to gain it. In short, the Christmas spirit is the Christ spirit, that makes our hearts glow in brotherly love and friendship and prompts us to kind deeds of service.“It is the spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ, obedience to which will bring ‘peace on earth,’ because it means—good will toward all men.”

Loneliness, misery, and heartache do not belong to the Christmas season exclusively.  They run rampant year-round through the world, through our ward, through our friends’ lives.  So it is with opportunities to serve, to lift up our brethren, to lead them to Christ.  The remedy for the worst Christmas ever just so happens to be the remedy for the worst week ever or the worst Monday ever. 

President Monson said:

Because He came to earth, we have a perfect example to follow. As we strive to become more like Him, we will have joy and happiness in our lives and peace each day of the year. It is His example which, if followed, stirs within us more kindness and love, more respect and concern for others.
Because He came, there is meaning to our mortal existence.
Because He came, we know how to reach out to those in trouble or distress, wherever they may be.
Because He came, death has lost its sting, the grave its victory. We will live again because He came.
Because He came and paid for our sins, we have the opportunity to gain eternal life.
We can turn from the paths which would lead us down and, with a song in our hearts, follow a star and walk toward the light. We can quicken our step, bolster our courage, and bask in the sunlight of truth. We can hear more clearly the laughter of little children. We can dry the tear of the weeping. We can comfort the dying by sharing the promise of eternal life. If we lift one weary hand which hangs down, if we bring peace to one struggling soul, if we give as did the Master, we can—by showing the way become a guiding star for some lost mariner. If we are to have the very best Christmas [or January or Valentine’s Day or Monday] ever, we must listen for the sound of sandaled feet. We must reach out for the Carpenter’s hand. With every step we take in His footsteps, we abandon a doubt and gain a truth.

My testimony is that Christ can heal all hurts.  He can mend broken hearts, He can bring families together, He can fill you with love and understanding.  If we remember Christ—His birth, His ministry, His atonement, His death and resurrection—if we strive to do as He would do and serve as He would serve, we can have the Spirit of Christmas—the spirit of Christ—to bless and guide us throughout the year and throughout our lives.

The Talk I Gave in Church Today

Hi, my name is Aubrey Warner. I'm 23, the fourth of eight kids, and I am not a native of Utah. We lived here once in a while, but mostly I grew up in Chicago.  There, my family was one of two LDS families at my elementary school.  We didn't do a lot of things that the other kids did, and I thought that everything we didn't do, we didn't do because we are Mormon.  For instance, my mom is allergic to beef so we didn't eat it, but I thought it was against the Word of Wisdom.  I got some things right; I knew that we didn't drink iced tea, but I didn't realize that most Mormons probably have sugary cereal, drink pop, and eat at Burger King.

Even when I was a child I knew that as a Latter-Day Saint I have beliefs that set me apart from those of other Christian faiths.  One of the most significant is that of a living prophet:  I believe that the Lord has appointed President Thomas S. Monson to direct, instruct, and lead His church in the present day.  But why is it so important to have a prophet to follow?  How does following the prophet bring us closer to Christ?  I think the answer becomes clear when we study the words of the prophet.

In his latest address to the members of the church, President Monson admonished us to seek out and live the "abundant life"-- a life he says will be "filled with. . . success, goodness, and blessings."  He gives us three keys to doing so: the first is attitude, the second, believe, and the third is face challenges with courage.

President Monson asks that we invest in a positive attitude.  He states, "So much in life depends on our attitude.  The way we choose to see things and respond to others makes all the difference.  To do the best we can and then choose to be happy about our circumstances, whatever they may be, can bring peace and contentment."

Attitude is a choice.  The greatest gift God has given us is our agency.  We must use our agency wisely and righteously, no matter the circumstances.  2 Nephi 2:27 tells us that we are "free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil. . ."  Choosing to find joy in our situation, however powerless we may be to change it, is a victory over Satan for Christ.  Choosing to employ a good attitude is choosing to let the Light of Christ brighten the darkest and most difficult times in your life.


Key number two is pretty big, and I think it deserves some serious consideration:
BELIEVE.
Believe in yourself, in others, and in eternal principles.

I have never really thought that believing in myself was an essential part of the gospel, but it makes sense.  I am a daughter of God, and with that divine inheritance my  only limitations are ones that I place on myself.  President Monson will back me up.  He says, "Don't limit yourself and don't let others convince you that you are limited in what you can do.  Believe in yourself and live so as to reach your possibilities."

Three summers ago, I participated in a study abroad program in England.  We spent one rainy afternoon in the city of Oxford ad I fell madly in love-- with the grand architecture, with the elegant, willowy river, with the fact that there are no formal classes at the graduate level of the university there.  I decided that after I complete my Bachelor's degree, I'm going to attend that school.

But then I came home and I settled into my old routine and doubts crept in one by one.  It's too far away, I'll never get good enough grades, I'm never gonna graduate, it's too much of a stretch to think that someone like little old me could end up in one of the most prestigious schools in the world.

Then one day, as I was stewing in my disappointment and misery, the Spirit whispered this crucial truth (and it has stuck with me): "The only thing holding you back is you."

Doctrine and Covenants 6:43-47 reads, "Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good, let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail. . .

"Look unto me in every though; doubt not, fear not. . .

"Be faithful, keep my commandments, and ye shall inherit the kingdom of Heaven." [emphasis added]

The Lord has expressed His utmost confidence in us-- He believes in you.  If you believe that He is God, that He created all things in Heaven and on Earth, if you believe that He provided the perfect plan and makes all things possible for His children, why is it so hard to believe that He  believes in you?

"You can achieve what you believe you can.  Trust and believe and have faith."


I recently read a book about a woman who travelled all over the world with her husband.  She said that the more she travelled, the more she came to realize that we are all God's children.  She was born in raised in Turkey, was engaged to a Nigerian man, ended up marrying a Canadian, with whom she traversed the globe.  Everyone she met was someone else God loved and looked after.  She realized that everyone deserves the same respect and care that God himself would give them, regardless of how they treated her or how she thought herself superior.

This reminds me of the story of Zeezrom in chapters 11-13 of Alma.  When Alma and Amulek first meet Zeezrom, he harasses the believers and tries to trick Amulek into denying God.  For a good portion of their mission Zeezrom is a thorn in their side.  But when he was ready, the Lord had mercy on Zeezrom and sent Alma and Amulek to heal him from a grave illness.  He repented and went on to baptize hundreds into the Church.

"Therefore, whosoever repenteth, and hardeneth not his heart, he shall have claim on mercy through mine Only Begotten Son." [Alma 12:34, emphasis added]

It is essential that we believe in ourselves, believe in others, and believe in the eternal principles that bind us together and make us equally important in the eyes of the Lord.


President Monson's final key to the abundant life is face challenges with courage.  I believe that this encompasses both of the previous points.  President Monson said that "Courage. . . is . . . not so much. . . a willingness to die manfully, but. . . a determination to live decently."  He continues, "There will be times when you will be frightened and discouraged.  You may feel that you are defeated.  The odds of obtaining a victory may appear overwhelming.  At times you may feel like David trying to fight Goliath.  But remember-- David did win!"

Yesterday, my sister-in-law gave birth to her third child, a beautiful, healthy little girl.  I had the privilege of bringing her other two children (just 3 and 1) to see baby Browyn.  As I watched Kelsey press her nose to the glass of the nursery window and saw the pure joy on my older brother's face while he cradled his daughter, it became very clear to me that this is the abundant life.  These are the blessings that will some day be ours if we heed the prophet's voice and obey the commandments of God.  I know that families are eternal and that, likewise, our joy can be eternal.

I know that President Monson knows what he's talking about.  He delivers messages to us that God would give if He were here.  I am so grateful to belong to this church and to know that it is led by a prophet.  I know that the abundant life can be ours if we follow his counsel and live our lives the way Christ would have us live.

Out Beyond This Home So Dear

Perhaps my first significant experience in receiving personal revelation occurred when I was a Senior in high school and I was trying to decide where I should go to college and what I should study.  For weeks on end I fasted and prayed.  I asked the Lord to tell me which school I should attend and in which program I should enroll.  When I didn't receive an answer, I became frustrated.  One night, in near desperation, I poured out my soul in fervent prayer.  I told the Lord that I needed an answer, and that I wanted to do what was right.  Suddenly, my cries were quieted by a gentle, yet overwhelming thought: "I trust you to make the right decision."

My life changed that night when I realized the power that I have over my own life.  So long as I am immersed in living the life of the gospel, in consecrating my time, talents, and efforts to the Lord, I have the right and the power to chart my own course, and the Lord will protect me from any major wrong decision.  And when I take the time to include Him, He takes the time to show me the way.

The next remarkable thought came to me shortly thereafter.   I had been called, that summer, to be a primary teacher in my home ward, but I felt like I ought to attend the singles' ward.  Torn, I took to fasting and praying (and having my mom teach my class so I could attend the other ward).  Then, one fast and testimony meeting, as I again poured out my heart in prayer, a veritable tide of testimony bearers swept onto the stand simultaneously.  The Spirit of God burned within me, and I had my records transferred that day. (And to prove that God has a sense of humor, my first week in my Orem ward, the same thing happened.  I thought, "Ha, ha. Okay, I get it.  I'll have my records transferred.")  I felt or heard, "This is where you belong."

Then again, when I wanted to know whether to Book of Mormon was true, a quiet thought replied, "Haven't you had hundreds of witnesses? Haven't you felt its truth taking hold, working in your life?"  And when I wanted to change my major it was, "If you want to tell your mother's story (and you need to tell your mother's story), you need to change your major."

So when I sat in Sacrament meeting several months ago and sent an ardent petition Heavenward concerning my sincere desire to serve a mission, the thought came, "Those experiences are not yours to have."


That thought made me so sad.


But I couldn't let it lie.

I took that prompting to be my answer, and if God didn't want me to serve a full-time mission, I asked Him to point me in the direction of the alternative one I was to serve.  Yet every conference talk I listened to on the subject, every homecoming I attended, and every scripture that mentioned missionary work brought to my mind an irrefutable sense that I belong in the field.  I wrestled with these two disparate answers to the one weighty prayer I've had in my heart for so long; if those experiences were not mine to have, why do I feel the Spirit so strongly when I listen to talks about missionary work?  If my mission is here, how come I want to talk to the bishop about putting my papers in?  Despair, discouragement, and confusion clouded my mind.

My dad told me that I would make a great missionary.  My bishop insisted that I will never regret serving a mission.  My sister expressed the greatest confidence in me.

The prophets have said that I ought to go.



My most recent experience in receiving personal revelation occurred Sunday afternoon when I answered the call to bear my testimony: "Despite my shortcomings, I can be a great instrument in the hands of the Lord in building the Kingdom of God."




I don't know what these next two years will bring.  I don't know why the mission was wrong for me in May, and is so right for me in November.  I'm terrified out of my mind, but I have heard and felt the call to serve, and knowing how much the Lord loves His children, I must answer.  The Lord has provided all things for me in the past, and as I rise to the occasion and give of my time, talents, and efforts, He will protect, guide, provide for, and love me in ways that I can't comprehend.

I used to always hope they'd call me on a mission, and now the time has come for me to receive a white envelope addressed to Sister Aubrey Anne Warner, to report to the MTC, to say goodbye to my family, and to experience the best (and hardest) two years of my life.

Things to Suck On (Thanks, Robbie)

I woke up a little more tired than I had been when I went to sleep. I think it was

resistance, a hesitation to face the day's terrible absoluteness. The spare bedroom seemed stark, colorless, lifeless in the cold November sunlight. My air mattress had deflated a little, but I stayed in bed until the ache in my shoulder forced me to get up. The morning moved slowly; every action seemed a pointless ritual I could not help but perform. And then we were at the church setting up displays, pinning flowers to lapels, arranging tables and chairs, straightening skirts, brushing tears from faces, praying so fervently for survival and understanding.

The last thing I expected my father to say, with his family gathered around him in our too-small house, was "Your mother passed away this morning." It couldn't have happened. I hadn't said goodbye. She was supposed to have died at home surrounded by loved ones, sprawled dramatically on her fainting couch. Last words. Shouldn't there have been last words? Shouldn't I have said goodbye? It couldn't be true.

Yet there I was in my brightest orange outfit (the one she had told me to wear to her funeral), my long hair cascading down my back, tears spilling down my face, staring at her body in a great white casket.

The stillness- the unbelievable stillness.

I expected her any minute to sit up suddenly, throw her single yellow rose in the air, and to laugh. To laugh and to make some snarky comment about the carnations. But she never stirred.

She didn't look peaceful. She didn't look serene or happy or any of the things they tell you dead people are. She looked like a waxwork sculpted by someone who had never known her, never seen the tenderness or the intelligence behind her eyes.

The casket closed.

The procession marched on.

We sat and listened to stories. We cried. We listened to music- songs she had picked herself- and we cried. They all watched us file out. We cried.

A lone piper on the horizon gave voice to the sadness I didn't know how to express.

The carnations on the unyielding metal box. Even Brandon cried.

Two years faded uneasily into obscurity. I stood with a single yellow rose at the granite marker with my name scrawled on the back. I cleared away the dead leaves. I placed the rose carefully in the built-in vase. And I felt the weight of it all. It tore a chasm in me, wrenched open a space between my collar bone and my hips, an abyss vast enough to accommodate every awful second of the last two years.

I don't know how I have lived without her. Worse still, I don't know how I have gone several days at a time without thinking about her.

I could no longer predict her answer to a question of paraphrase potential advice. I can't remember how she smelled. I have forgotten the precise warmth of her hugs. I feel like I have lost so much of her reality, like she was my mother in some distant, marvelous dream and I've awoken to the horror of my lonely life.

And now every day is another dreary funeral. I trudge along, weary, listless, saturated in grief, able to see but unable to enjoy the best parts of life.

Ann is my new therapist, and she hopes to change all that. She has already proven more effective than Jack. We meet on Thursdays. I believe that our meeting was an act of divine intervention. I have faith that Ann can turn things around. I can't yet see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I can sense it- that slight change in atmosphere which promises better things.

This is a letter she had me write to myself:

Dear Aubrey,

These last two years have presented challenges you never imagined you would face, and trials you could only hope to survive. The days seem long; the world isn't quite what it used to be. Sorrow and disappointment have become staples. Most days you can't find the strength to confront simple tasks, much less the emptiness of your broken heart. When that is the case, I hope you will read this and find a small piece of comfort.

Remember the love of your Savior. Look to Him. Think of those times He has granted you a glimpse of paradise, and know that the full realization is not far off. A Sunday evening at the end of Spring, Asher in your arms, singing silly songs with Kelsey. A glorious sunset of burnished orange and fiery red. A family together in the warm embrace of a winter evening by the fire. The serenity of a deep sleep after a long day of work. All of these moments are treasures from heaven.

Your life is tedious and painful now, but it will not always be. Heavenly father is waiting to bless you with a loving husband, beautiful children, and endless, endless time in which to enjoy them. Remember this and rejoice.

A Refresher Course in Friendship and Life

I was delighted yesterday when I got a text message or an email or something that informed me that I didn't have to attend rehearsal. I was delighted because it meant that I could go see Uncle Vanya by Utah Shakespeare in the Park. The show was amazing, and so was the feeling of coming home. It was summer again, with my makeshift family in the basement of the HFAC smiling, hugging, cracking jokes in thick Russian accents. And it rolled over me-- the immensity of what I have gained.

Kat and Jordan and Jackie came over and, after an interior design party, we all watched Thumbelina on the newly rearranged couch. The familiarity was so comforting that I resolved to sleep in my own bed last night (let me explain the significance: when I get very lonely, I sleep on the couch in front of the TV. For some reason it makes me feel secure and important. I have been sleeping on the couch for a week, and my bed has been turned into a giant catch-all. the visit from Kat and Jordan and Jackie effectively banished my loneliness to the extent that I was willing to clear away the detritus and sleep in my own bed) . So I stayed up a few minutes later, changed my sheets, and was about to crawl under the covers when I decided that I should thank the Lord for this small but significant achievement. So I knelt to pray.

It wasn't extraordinary. It was short and sincere. but I had the strangest feeling- it was as if I had been screaming for weeks and weeks, screaming with my whole being, tirelessly straining against the infinite silence. During this prayer the feeling dissipated. It was replaced with an understanding of Heavenly Father's patience and His love for me.

I have never doubted. I read C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed this week, and it's largely about how he felt abandoned by God after the death of his wife, Joy, and how he found his way back to faith. But I never felt that way. When my mom died we turned immediately to God for comfort. He has yet to fail me. I am ever surprised by His ability to console and His willingness to forgive and uplift.

I have never doubted (except myself).

How can I be doing so well one minute and floundering the next?

I just got this great job as a substitute teacher. I work for Kelly Educational Staffing, which supplies the Provo School District with subs. I have worked two days. I think it's too much for me to handle, but I don't want to quit because I need the money and Kelly needs employees. I only have to stick it out until December. It seems so far away from here. I purposefully left my phone in my car so I wouldn't have to answer a call if I got one this morning.

I'm about to fail my English class, which wouldn't bother me (seriously, I've been failing classes for the last 9 years. No big.) except that I would have to take it yet again, which would be attempt number four. I just wanna pass this stupid class.

I can't get excited for She Stoops. I mean, I am excited because I know the show is going to be great, but I can't be excited about my part yet. This bothers me. It's totally diva. I don't want to be a diva. I want to be agreeable and easy to work with. I want to learn from this experience. I want to work really hard and I want to create something worth watching. I suppose all of this will happen in time. I just have to find a way to fall in love with my character.

I don't much like it when someone tells me to enjoy life, as if that is the magic end-all that will put my sufferings into perspective and snap me out of this awful funk. I certainly believe that there is always something to be grateful for, always some sample of love to be relished. In every bad situation there is the possibility for immense good. I just think it cheapens the significant experiences of life when I just enjoy every minute of it. I would rather celebrate the cadence of life- its rises, its pitfalls, its exhilarating unpredictability. Sadness can be rich, deep, and full. Happiness should expand and breathe and thrive. Love will be glimpsed, lost, and sometimes overwhelming.

I don't have to be happy to be truly alive.

~~~

Recorded 10/28/10

My Kindness Shall Not Depart From Thee

Things aren't perfect. I haven't suddenly realized that when I thought I was wrong, I was wrong. I still feel lost and unsure and like I need to make some decisions again, come into my own again. But I have felt God's love for me today. I have heard the Spirit's sweetest, most precious assurances that I have not been forgotten, that the Lord loves me because I am His, that He will continue to love me and to care for me wherever my life takes me. I don't feel empowered as I once did. But I feel loved, and it is enough. I know that I have an incomprehensible, difficult journey ahead of me. But today, at least, I know the Lord will never leave me to suffer alone.

Maybe it's time to grow up. Maybe I need to start letting go of my childish fears and longings. Maybe I'm starting down a path that will change me, make me stronger and better and older. Maybe this week the Lord let me feel so utterly alone so I would remember that I don't have to be lonely anymore.

This illness, these disorders, or whatever it is- it's something I've been hiding behind. I've been using it to rationalize my behavior to myself. I can't accept that anymore. I have to come to terms with my mind and my thought process, with my particular line of reasoning. This low that I'm experiencing will not be the last. I have to learn to live within the realms of my emotional capacity. I do not, however, have to let these moments (hiccups, stumbles, temporary regression) define me. The Lord has given me this life. It is a precious, brief gift. I can't waste it in misery. The atonement makes my happiness possible. I pray that I may find joy in these brief, shining moments. I pray that I may remember the warmth of His eternal embrace and perfect love.

So what am I going to do about it? I feel like the answer to that question is the answer to all of my problems. It's there, lurking somewhere beneath the surface of my hopes and dreams, and if I can persuade it to show itself, I'll know how to make this sorrow mean something more, become something better.

"The son of God hath descended below all things. Art thou greater than He?"

Borne on the air by a choir angelic
Your words fly to me and adhere to my failing heart

And in that moment, I'm in thy loving arms
Filled so completely
With
What it is to be
A child of God.

~~~

Recorded 6/27/10

Twenty-One Going On Three

An inexplicable sadness washed over me this morning as I cruised State Street on my way home from rehearsal. You see, there was this awkward moment after I said goodbye to Meg when we ended up walking the same way to our cars. For some reason, I was unable to find anything intelligent to say. I ended up babbling about Sub Zero ice cream and the summer heat.

Meg is so grown up, so mature, so personable, so very much a woman. I, on the other hand, am awkward and juvenile. I still love Disney movies with all my heart; my favorite band is Hanson; I tend to watch movies over and over again; I live in a state of immediacy, concerned with my immediate future and feelings; I find it hard to express myself, and therefore spend much of my time being frustrated. All things I associate with childishness. By the next light, my mind had drawn a vivid parallel to a small child imagining that she is a mother, cradling her baby doll, smothering it with sticky-faced kisses, placing it gently in her own bed and insisting that it sleep. Then, satisfied, she toddles off to her plastic kitchen to place pizzaappleburgercorn in the oven for "some bites".

I have been playing at adulthood. I have created this life for this version of myself who yearns to live abroad and to really make her mark, but I live at home, safe in my bed with my teddy bear and my Harry Potter books on tape. The whole situation was punctuated, perhaps, by how deeply I was touched by Toy Story 3 and how out of place I felt at Jenn's bridal shower; my thoughts neatly illustrated by the day's events.

I really honestly feel like I've been living a lie. The sadness and the horror and the loneliness of such an epiphany seized me, and my confidence died. Today I grieve for myself, for the person I was, the person I thought I had become. I am alone and uncertain, stripped of my identity. Square one. It's time to set out to find me again.

What I don't understand is why I feel this way. Why should one failed conversation mean that this collection of personality traits and habits and interests I've carefully cultivated is irrelevant? How can one insignificant moment shatter my reality so thoroughly? Why should I doubt myself and my progress over the years? I was finally sure. Do I question my confidence, or do I scrap it and start all over?

I'm really glad that tomorrow is Sunday. I always seem to feel better, securely anchored after a good church session. I'm grateful that I always have something to fall back on, somewhere to start afresh when I need to.

I used to feel that looking for synonyms in a thesaurus was like lying, that my writing wasn't honest if I had to consult one to find an appropriate word. I've come to realize, however, that the thesaurus is an opportunity for growth. I use words that feel good, words with which I can really connect and relate. The thesaurus enables me to speak my mind, maybe a little more eloquently than I otherwise would have been able to.

"Soul n. 1. [Essential nature] spiritual being, heart, substance, individuality, disposition, cause, personality, force, essence, genius, principle, ego, psyche, life. 2. [the more lofty human qualities] courage, love, honor, duty, idealism, art, poetry, sense of beauty 3. [a person] human being, person, being."

"Hope n. 1. [reliance on future] faith, expectation, confidence."

"Experience v. undergo, feel, live through; see ENDURE."

~~~

Recorded 6/26/10

In Which We Discuss Prayers, Shrinks, and Doubts

I didn't do much today, so this shouldn't take long.

First off: the Lord really does provide, especially if you're looking for opportunities to serve people. More than you can imagine, He delivers on that particular prayer every time.

Second: it took every bit of self control I had to sit in that chair for half an hour, but I went to my first therapy session this afternoon. It made me realize just how much anxiety I live with every day. We did a relaxation exercise, and when it was over everything came rushing back and about knocked me off my seat (cause I was sitting. Get it?)

Also, I don't know whether this guy, Jack, takes me seriously. He seems to be giving me tools to fill up my anti-anxiety utility belt, but that's just it: he's teaching me to live with my disorders, not trying to figure out what's causing them and whether they can be eradicated. I don't want to just deal with it the rest of my life. I want to be healed, I want to get better. I just don't know how to explain to a man with a PhD that he's doing his job all wrong.

But the services through the school are free, and we are uninsured. So.

One of these days, someone will figure out what's wrong with me and will be able to fix it. In the meantime..

~~~

Recorded 5/6/10

Heartless Fiend on a Sleepless Night

STRESS! Stress stress stress stress stress stress stress stress stress stressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstress

stressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstress

stressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressstressSTRESS!

Nothing really stressful happened until around 6:30 PM, but for some reason every-day life got the better of me today. Clearing crap off of Megan's (my) computer took so much emotional concentration. It drained me, which frustrated me, which put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. The hard thing about frustration is that it's really good at masking other emotions, so it's hard for me to figure out how I really feel after one of these episodes. It's four in the morning and I'm so empty that I'm not even tired. I have to force myself to think about how I felt today because I'm not sure. All I know is while I was signing up for a gym membership, the guy in the office offered me a free month to help ease my immediate financial burden, and then I had a panic attack. It was really short and super pathetic.

Sometimes I feel like people think I'm putting on a show to gain their sympathy. As nice as Joe was, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm crazy (a lot of other stuff happened and our 30-minute consultation turned into an hour-and-a-half-long MESS). Or super manipulative. I'm sorry that you feel that way, Joe. I assure you, my erratic behavior is a result of my being emotionally disturbed (that's not crazy, right?). I am seeing a therapist, though, so I might not even try to kill you in your sleep.

Yesterday I ran out of gas on the freeway. It was odd to be trapped alone inside my car as the traffic whizzed eagerly by and Cornelius (my car) trembled in fear. The isolation and the danger and the time issue should have cause me considerable distress. It didn't. I tried to sort through my feelings, send a little brain man to thumb through the index cards I have on file in a rusty old cabinet and tell me exactly what it's like to learn that a final is two days sooner than it should be and to lose all hope of being seen as a punctual person and to have reckless semis zoom within feet of my head. I guess he didn't get the memo, though, because I was just as blank then as I am now. This makes me feel crazy almost more than anything else. Here I lie, calm, collected, wide awake, with not a care in the world, while somewhere just below the surface is a soul-sized knot of worry and fear and gross emotional smoothie. I guess it makes me feel crazy because I'm so out of touch with myself. I'm so not in control.

There are moments like the one at Anytime Fitness wherein everything explodes out of me at once for no reason at all, and then there are times like this when I can't seem to feel anything, not even the horrific panic that sometimes paralyzes me. I don't know whether this is just my brain trying to make up the difference, but I don't like it.

I mentioned earlier that I'm afraid of losing the battle, of losing myself in the sadness. Well, I don't want to lose myself in apathy, either. Just make me a robot. At least that way I can shoot lasers out of my eyes and be much better at math.

The only other thing I really did today was a spot of visiting teaching, and thank the Lord for that (the visiting teaching, not the utter lack of productivity). I have to admit, I thought that I could get along with Sephra because she is quite an agreeable person, but I never thought we could ever really be friends. She just didn't seem like my type, you know? I am SO happy to say, however, that we have quite a few things in common! For example, we're both bookworms who suffer from college sucking all of our leisure time out of our schedules syndrome, AND we both love British TV shows! I'm so glad there's another Doctor Who fan in the ward! There is no bond quite as strong as the one forged when nerds discover another nerd's deepest nerdy nature. Here's hoping for a never ending friendship!

I'm grateful for a Heavenly Father who knows me and who loves me enough to answer my prayers. It's kind of awesome to take a step back, away from the demands of life, and to discover that I have just exactly what I need. I'm in a really difficult situation right now (though I found my calendar, so I'm confident I'll screw my head back on soon). Even so, I've been blessed with the right people and the right circumstances to see me through. Basically, God is my Q and He's given me some pretty freakin' sweet gadgets because He wants me to 007 these shenanigans, minus the booze and the killing people.

This is good- the stony surface has cracked and a trickle of hope is shining through. I feel a bit better (but still NOT TIRED! Kill me!).

Anyway, Jim Dale and I have a date. I'munna see if he can't maybe put a little spell on me and read me to sleep. Fingers crossed!

~~~

Recorded 4/27/10

If this is me as an insomniac, can you imagine me as an alcoholic?

The Best Day of the Week

Have Sundays always been this awesome? If I had a day like this every week, I wouldn't be having such a hard time.

Man, Lord sure does know His stuff. Today I skipped out on singing for another ward (though I listened in on the talks), taught the Relief Society lesson, and held choir practice right after Sacrament Meeting. It was a TON of stuff to juggle,and I nearly gave up on it. My trust in the Lord somehow overruled my anxiety, though, and I am so grateful. I am miles away from yesterday, and I never want to go back. Certainty and peace and love flooded through me at every turn. I can't contain my joy!

The bishop gave me three tickets to conference. I'm taking Shell and my dad. I've never been to a general session, so I am super excited! We'll be sitting where our nosebleeds will get nosebleeds, but it doesn't matter because we'll be THERE!

I couldn't express my gratitude for today it I had all the time in the world. It's like my heart has been zapped back to life, like all of the color and sound have returned to the world. I don't know what tomorrow will be like (I am performing a scene and I'm not memorized yet), and to be perfectly honest, I'm afraid of feeling miserable as I have been for the last few weeks. But in my ever-changing world of influences and decisions, the one sure thing on which I can always depend is the Gospel. I've heard it said a million times, and I'll say it a million more because right now I can't be sure of anything. Last night, however, when I opened my scriptures, though the words meant nothing to my angry and impatient mind, an undeniable confidence in its truthfulness reverberated through me. Every minute of every meeting today was filled with that same indescribable, palpable happiness. Whatever I do, however I feel, I will always know this church is true.

~~~

Recorded 3/28/10

The Day I Lost It in Salt Lake

FHE today-went to Salt Lake, obscure caravan of cars. The rain, so uncharacteristic of the springtime weather, drizzled over roads, over cars, over minds and moods. Lighthearted conversation in the back seat. Buzzing, buzzing small talk, information, life plans, stories. My brain overloaded. My body overreacted- nervous, angry, frustrated, sad ball of energy and anxiousness filled my chest, overflowed into my eyes, into my throat. I didn't cry (it was a near miss).

Parking garage- possible death trap. Endless maze of ramps and turns and cars and pillars. Everything echoes, everything is swallowed up. Maybe I'll be swallowed up, keep driving into the very bowels of some monstrous concrete demon, never to be seen again. We stopped on level 3. "Maybe next time," yawns the beast threateningly.

Elevator. So many bodies. Moves so quickly, so many sick faces. My stomach dropped out around level 1. Confusion, noise, panic- panicked laughter. Back down to level 1. Hello, stomach. Nice of you to catch up again. Care to join us? No vertigo. Good. Empty elevator.

Lobby- awkward. Social situations aren't my forte. Gaze out the window (stunted window- robbed of its potential, denied the possibility of ever swinging wide again. Locked, trapped, stuck) at the magnificent temple. Castle. Palace. Stretching high into the heavens, bridging the gap. Mottled by the aforementioned rain. Stained. Beautiful. Perfect. Peaceful, even by sight. Quiet chat. Bad memories- not mine, but important. Announcement. File slowly into theater. Bodies. Confusion. Hesitancy. Family? Ward? Politely inclusive? Let's sit over here.

More announcements. Beautiful broken English. She'll be writing home to her family this this week. The lights dim, the bodies hush, though minds keep whirring- I can almost hear them. Red velvet curtain slides back, doors close automatically. Music swells. Movie begins. Something stirs inside me. Why am I crying before the movie has really started? Silly. Lame. Pathetic.

Pain, ridicule, torment, death, hardships. One man, one people endured so much. So much, they cracked, they broke, they died. Bodies aren't people. Bodies break. Strong people, people of the Lord, survive. Joseph Smith died- murdered, martyred, shot dead. He survived his test. Good man. Great man.

Something inside me stirs. God knows me. He knows what it'll take to make me break. But He wants me to be strong, to be brave, to endure, to live through. He gives me what I need. Christ was broken, beaten, crucified. But He lived through. He lives now. That little ball of anger, sadness, heartache, rage, anxiety- it dissolved. Nothing was left but my tears. Fear- gone. Worry- absolved. Pain- gone. Instead, I hope. I hope in a melancholy sort of way because I know that I'll break. Some day, it'll be too much. Some day my mortal shell, my body, my stamp on this earth will be gone. But the purest love sings through my soul. I know things will turn out just so. There is no end to my spirit. There is no end to God's love or wisdom. Broken I may be, but perfect I may become. That is the plan. that is the truth- my future, my hope.

Lobby again. Hushed conversation. Souls touched... by what? Song? Script? Cinematography? Spirit? Doesn't matter. Beautiful broken English testimony (another story for her letter). Beautiful message. Beautiful city lights blurred by careless motorist. Glimmering streets, rain-slicked, reflective. Freeway. Church. Home. Shower. Bed. Prayer. Love- every side filled with, painted by, bursting to share.

~~~

Recorded 3/23/10