Made of Eternity

I'm not sure how long I've sat here in front of the computer wondering what to write and how to write it.

When Alan got home from his mission in August of 2011, he started volunteering at a local nursing home, making friends with most of the residents there. When I met him, I started going with him periodically. Now that we're married, we go together every time, unless one of us is sick. This is not something I'd ever think of doing myself, but I'm glad that Alan is a good enough man to get outside of himself and then drag me along. I've learned so much, felt God's love so immensely every time we go. I've been blessed every time I set foot inside those halls and get to hug those people. Because of finals and stuff, we've been unable to go as much as we'd like--the last time we went, I was sick and Alan just went by himself.

That was like 2 or 3 weeks ago.

Ina is a woman in her early 80's. She has lived a full life and survived her husband and her pet pig named Elvis. She lived in Alaska and was an airplane pilot! She has lots of stories to tell, and I love to go and sit next to her and listen to them. I love to see her smile and talk about the latest nail polish color she's got on. I love when she teases Alan. I love her long, thick, curly hair--it's incredible. We have tried to visit her every week, if possible. She doesn't really enjoy being at the nursing home, not able to be physically independent or self-reliant but still feeling perfectly healthy in her mind. Over the last few months, she has been getting sicker. She stopped eating a little while ago. When we come, we tell her silly stories and we bring her pictures and once I made banana bread to try and convince her to eat a little.

Yesterday, Alan and I went over to see her. As we walked towards her room, I got a little confused. Her name tag wasn't by the door. I figured they must have moved her rooms, so I started looking down the halls to see if we could see her or someone who would know where she was. Alan grabbed my hand and we stepped into the doorway of her room. The curtains around her bed were pulled closed, and none of her many pictures were on the wall. Her TV was still there, but there were boxes and empty hangers in the closet. I was still confused, a little bit in shock. Alan knew, but I couldn't bring myself to think it. He approached the lady in the bed next to Ina's, and asked if she knew where Ina was. She was honest and kind when she said "Ina passed away." I couldn't listen to anything else she said. My heart clenched tight and I just remember Alan and I walking out of her room silently. We left the nursing home without stopping to see anyone else.

Alan and I made it to the car and sat there for a little while, me wrapping my arms around him as I stared out the window, still a little bit in shock. It's not like I've never had anyone close to me pass away. I have. That doesn't mean it gets any easier. I remember my great-grandmother passing away when I was little. My mom told me and instead of feeling sadness, I felt numb, and then angry. How dare she leave me? I remember when a girl I knew in High School passed away a few years ago. My mom called me and I remember dropping the phone when she hung up, the silence pressing into my ears and my heart. I just sat there in shock. It wasn't until I was at her funeral, faced with her family and friends and my family and friends that I finally cried.

It wasn't until Alan and I got home that I snapped out of my shock and began to feel upset. The same thought ran through my mind over and over again: I should have been there the last time Alan went to see her. I should have been able to say goodbye. But I wasn't, I didn't, and I regret that.

I think life is like that. It's messy and it's unpredictable and we never know when our last chance is. I mean, Ina hadn't been feeling well for a while, so it wasn't really a surprise, but I still am struck by a deep sadness at the unexpectedness. I thought we'd have more time. Unlike Alan, I didn't guess before we came that she wouldn't be there.

Alan and I laid in bed for a little while together, speculating about where she is now. Her husband greeted her, along with all of the loved ones who'd left her behind in this life, we're sure of it. We're sure she's met our little ones and told them about her time with us. We're sure Alan's grandfather met her, too, and thanked her for the time she spent with Alan and the warmth she gave his heart.

The one truth about this life is that we are all born and we will all die. Throughout our lives, we walk the earth, we pass through time, we touch other lives. And then we move on. It's the natural, eternal progression of things. We must live our lives and we must die. But death is not the end. I feel it stronger now than could ever be possible under normal circumstances. Ina's life isn't over, though her time on this earth is. I imagined her at the feet of her Savior and Heavenly Father, feeling more love than she'd felt from anyone at the end of her mortal life. I imagined her in their arms, feeling safe and well and free.

I didn't get to say goodbye to her, but I know that someday I will see her again. She will be there with my loved ones when it's my turn to leave this mortal life. I will get to hug her and tell her that I'm sorry that I wasn't there. Last chances aren't last chances because of the Savior and his Atonement.

I feel the truth of Elder Uchtdorf's words when he said that "we are made of the stuff of eternity. Endings are not our destiny." I am grateful for that.

And I am grateful for Ina.

Beauty is Experience

I'm pretty sure that if you put me into a philosophical time period, I'd be a Romantic. I love beautiful things. I love experience and emotions and smells (though those are hard for me sometimes) and colors and sounds. I love singing and I love flowers and I love smiles and I love the ocean and babies.

I love it all, but I can't imagine being deprived of my sight. These people are, and they experience beauty in a depth that I don't think I'll ever reach.

I want to live my life in a way that helps me get here, where these people are. To be able to sense the essence of myself inside my babies someday instead of simply seeing it in their eyes or nose? To have myself blinded to aesthetic displeasure and focused on the experience of beauty.

Because of Him

I love Easter so much. It's second only in favorite holidays of mine to Christmas. I love it because I love Spring, and I love flowers and eggs and most of all, because I love the message that comes with it. I love knowing that Christ rose again so that I can one day, too, rise again and live after I've died.

This year I've been struggling to get into the "Easter spirit" (thanks, BYU for scheduling finals right in the middle of it). Alan and I dyed eggs, we bought candy, and I wore a really colorful dress today! I tried listening to hymns this morning, reading scriptures, I've been reading everyone's posts about Christ and the Resurrection, and Alan and I even attended a musical program all about Easter.

I still didn't get into the" Easter spirit" until about two hours ago. I teach the Sunbeams (3-4 year-olds) in our ward. During Sharing Time we hunted for eggs and talked about Jesus and being obedient. When it came time to go to class and have our lesson, the other Sister that I teach with began talking about Christ's life--His birth, His childhood, His baptism, etc. She explained that Jesus is our brother. She pulled out a picture of Christ after He was resurrected and started talking about the nail prints in His hands.

One little girl in our class (Emily) stopped what she was doing and walked over in front of the both of us. She asked

"Why does he have owies in his hands?"

to which the other Sister replied "Because bad men hurt Him. Do you know why He let them hurt Him?"

And Emily was stumped. The other Sister told her that it was because He loves us, but Emily wanted to know more. She had a very troubled look on her face.

We showed her a picture of Christ on the cross, and her face got more and more troubled as she traced the nails with her little fingers. She said

"He died?"

We explained to her that He did die, and then told her about what happened afterwards. That His body laid in a tomb, and that Mary came to check on Him and couldn't find Him. Emily listened intently, and I could see the question in her eyes--she wanted to know what happened next.

We told her. That Mary asked the gardener if he had taken Jesus away, and that when He said her name, she looked up and saw Jesus and was happy.

But Emily's face was very troubled. She was having a hard time understanding why anyone would hurt Jesus--her brother. She took the picture of Christ's crucifixion out of our hands and kept looking at it, asking how the bad men made Jesus die.

As the other teacher explained the nail prints and the cross, Emily got very upset. She sat looking at the picture, and then the picture of His body in the tomb, and the nail prints in His hands.

She got so upset that she started feeling physically ill, and we had to take her to find her mom in order to calm her down.

I was so touched by her small spirit's understanding of this event, and saddened by the fact that she couldn't feel the happiness as strongly as she was feeling the sadness of His death. Emily is not our most attentive child, and she's not the most eager to sit down and understand the lesson every week. She doesn't like to sing in Primary, and she's always really focused on the play time and snacks at the end of the lesson. But just this one lesson, on the one that counted, she was able to feel the spirit and feel that connection with Christ.

In Emily's eyes, I saw my "Easter spirit." Her reaction made me more emotional than I thought that it would, and something about it brought home the feelings I've been searching for this week.

And then I came home and found this video:

It's been all over Facebook this week, and if you haven't seen it, I would STRONGLY encourage you to watch it here. It's the simplest, best and most powerful explanation of why Easter is the most hopeful holiday that exists that I've ever seen, and it made me feel the spirit stronger than anything has in a very long time.

It so accurately captures the wonder of Easter and what Christ did for us. He died for us--for me, and then He took up His life again so that we can all take ours up again--so that I can live again. It was a miracle of the greatest magnitude that has ever occurred, and it was the single most important event in all of history. None of the beautiful things that we experience in this life would be possible if it weren't for Christ. If it weren't for Him, death would be final. We would have no hope for ourselves or those we love. We would be stuck and we would be sad and we would be lost.

Because of Him, I can stand up when I fall down.

Because of Him, I can be with my family, and my husband forever.

Because of Him, I can live without the weight of my mistakes.

Because of Him, I can feel peace.

Because of Him, I can live after I die, and I can feel the warm embrace of my Savior and my Heavenly Father and know that I don't have to leave them again.

Because of Him, I can be happy.

And that is sweeter than any flavor of Peeps or Jelly Beans or candy bar.

Beautiful Things

I'm writing today because I feel especially appreciative of the beauty in my life. There are a couple things that have made me feel this way:

First, a beautiful story. A lovely girl, haunted by a series of events and a kind boy who was patient enough to earn her love, and when the time came, to risk losing her to give her the happiness she had always deserved, to free her so she could be the woman she was always meant to be. A story about how we go on after tragedy changes our lives. We are never the same, but we can be beautiful again--scarred things can be lovely, and scarred people can smile in a way that is more striking than the cleanest, prettiest flower garden. Why? Because in their eyes, we can see the wisdom that their trials have afforded us, and it touches something inside of us.  It's also a story about how the universe affords us miracles at rare, clear, fortunate moments.

Second, a heartwarming reunion. An old friend in a time that was difficult for me. At first we danced around our acquaintance, unable to remember how we'd met, only sure that we knew bizarrely personal things about each other. Realization dawned and so did sweet happiness. He is now married to the girl, and I am married to the boy, and life is sometimes so achingly lovely that my heart feels it will break. I could see the happiness in his eyes, a far cry from the despair and weight that I saw in them last. I wish that everyone in the world could be as happy as possible, as happy as he has managed to be. There is much to rejoice over that we don't even see in our lives. I got a glimpse of that little bit today.

Third, a midnight hug. I woke up last night after a tense dream in which I was hurt by someone close to me. Dreams like these are difficult for me and happen more frequently than I'd like to admit. I lay there whimpering and struggling to breath normally, when suddenly a warm weight wrapped itself around me and my heart slowly began to unclench itself. He was still asleep, I'm sure, but simply having his warm arms around me took away my sadness and filled my soul with a soft, grateful feeling that has stuck with me all day. He is the companion of my heart, and I never knew I could be so safe and content until I found myself wrapped up in a lovely, happy life by his side. The security and joy we share is enough to overpower the fear and difficulties we face.

Fourth, a lovely poetry book, and some lovely quotes.

Invisible

This campus is enormous.

Sometimes...I feel like I'm completely unseen. Like I could twirl and dance and shout, but no one would see or hear. Like I could tumble to the ground dead and no one would stop walking, no one would even slow down to look at me.

Sometimes I feel like...no matter what I wear, no matter how I fix my hair, no matter if I spend two or twenty minutes on my makeup, it doesn't make a difference. No one will look at me any different. No one will remember my face.

Sometimes I feel.....invisible walking through the hordes of students making their way to classes and jobs and meetings with friends and peers. I feel lost in all the thoughts, swirling around in the wind.

Does he like me? 
Did I forget to turn in that assignment due today? 
I hope I did well on that test. 
I don't know how we're going to afford this baby. 
It was really embarrassing when my professor caught me on Facebook in class today. 
Hopefully my grandma is okay.
My roommate is a jerk.
Should I go on a mission?

They swallow me up. There are so many people on this campus, wrapped up in their lives. Some of them seem to wander around, unsure of where they're going, unsure of what they're doing. Some of them never move without a purpose, always thinking about the destination, always thinking about the next task ahead of them.

Among all of the thoughts and troubles and people around me, I feel small and insignificant. It makes it hard sometimes for me to walk with purpose. It makes it hard sometimes for me to look ahead to my destination. It makes it hard sometimes for me to remember all of the things that I'm supposed to be doing next. It makes it hard sometimes for me to wake up in the morning, to crawl out of bed, choose my clothes, do my hair, put on makeup.

I have this fantasy of simply standing still in the middle of a crowd of people. I'm standing in place while they all walk around me. Shoulders brush mine, backpacks bumping into my arms, strings of conversation floating past my ears, the rustling of coats and shoes and pants around me. I could raise my arms above my head, reach my hands to the sky and simply look up. No one would stop. I would be nothing more than a small rock in a great stream of water flowing down a mountain.

I have this vision of myself walking through a crowd, surrounded by a white bubble. It moves with me. People move around it without a second glance at me. It's almost cruel; it isolates me while giving me a glimpse of what I'm isolated from.

The things I struggle with weigh on my mind as I walk every day. I spend so much time walking. I spend so much time thinking. I spend so much time around people feeling alone. I feel lonely and empty, but at the same time so incredibly full. Full of words, of emotion, of sadness and missing things. I feel so full of all of this experience and knowledge, but at the same time I feel that there's something struggling to put itself in the reach of my arms. I sometimes wonder if I know what it is, other times I don't.

Don't think that I'm not happy with my life. I am. I am immeasurably happy with my family, the Gospel, my schooling, my home, my husband, especially. I can't deny that. I am terribly blessed and I am very aware of it, and very grateful for it.

But that doesn't change my feelings. I still feel small and sad and lonely and invisible. It's difficult to concentrate or feel motivated. The weight of feeling so utterly unseen presses on my heart, so heavy. I feel fragile and breakable and thin.

And then, like a fairy-tale but so much calmer, I feel bathed in a warm light that covers me, and me alone. I know that I'm not unseen. I know that I'm not invisible. I may be small and sad sometimes, but I am not alone.

Christ is with me.

And that feels like a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day.

the Proof of His Love

If you know anything about me, you know that I have a weird obsession with Christian radio stations. I LOVE them! It brings me a lot of comfort to know that there are people in the world who are doing their best to sing about Christ and the power that it has in our lives.

I was talking to my friend who is preparing for a mission, and she told me something I found really profound. She said that she's most worried about sharing the message of Christ. If someone can take a step towards Christ, she told me that it would be just as satisfying to her as a baptism would be. I agree--though a mission is not in the cards for me right now, I still think that sharing the message of Christ is a beautiful thing. He is the reason that we have hope in this life! He is the reason that we can look forward to our lives after death. He is the beautiful thing that we are walking towards in this life. 

What can I do in my life to help myself better channel His love and incredible message through me?

It was with these thoughts that I found this song. It's by an Australian Christian band called "for King & Country" and it's called "Proof of Your Love." The video initially weirded me out, but after a few seconds, I understood what it was they were doing with it. The song is just beautiful. Listen--come on. It's not like you don't have time (you already clicked on the link to this post). Allow yourself to be uplifted--there is an amazing spirit in their music.

I just...feel so touched by the verses:

"If I sing, 

but don't have love, 

I waste my breath 

with every song 

I bring an empty voice, 

a hollow noise"

"If I give to a needy soul 

but don't have love, 

then who is poor? 

It seems, 

all the poverty 

is found in me."

It's such a visceral image: we are the poor ones if we serve without love. There is no point to our endeavors, the music we make, the art we create, the things we do with our hands, if we don't put our love into them. 

And the part he speaks over the intercom in the video? I think it's a combination of his voice and the spirit of his words, but I get the chills every time.

"If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy, 
but don't love, 
I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate."

There is no point to our lives without love, His and ours.

I have been pondering ways that I can let my life serve as the proof of God's love. After all, when we die, only our love and knowledge will come with us.

Here are a few things that my soon-to-be missionary friend does:

She smiles a lot. Christ's people should be happy. That should be our defining characteristic. It is definitely hers. Her smile really radiates the light of Christ--and she's not shy with it. I doubt she even knows she's smiling so often! But that's why it's so wonderful, because it's not forced or purposeful. She's really THAT happy. 

She takes every opportunity to bring conversation around to God. She doesn't do it on purpose, but everything she says comes back to the influence that Christ has in her life. This is a huge manifestation of God's love in her life: she can't stop talking about it! I appreciate talking with her and watching the Spirit she feels show through her words. Many conversations nowadays end with her testimony, whether it's formally born or not. I think it's magical.

She serves others. It's not anything crazy, but I think that oftentimes the crazy acts of service people do are partly to be recognized. She doesn't do it for that. She will risk being late to work to listen to a friend in need. She brought me a piece of pie for no reason--she was just thinking about me (what she didn't know was that I had six hours left of my day and a terrible hungry feeling in the pit of my stomach). She'll take your plate to the sink, even as a guest in your home. SHE MADE ME BREAKFAST AT MY OWN HOME. She's just thoughtful. The spirit of Christ that she feels produces those small, utterly meaningful acts of service in her every day life.

How can your life be the proof of His love?

Love

Sometimes life is rough on us, and we don't have time to take in all the love that is around us. Some days we are struck with the fullness of that love.

This weekend I have been struck with the fullness of the love inside me and around me.

I feel very overwhelmed by love. Saturday morning we snuggled in bed and read together--Alan's reading Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card, and I'm tackling Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson. It was refreshingly leisured and slow.

Saturday evening we went driving to see what was on the other side of the mountains westward. It was two hours of olives in tupper-ware and sticky maraschino cherries and giggles about bad radio stations. We went over to the nursing home to see Ina, our favorite Alaskan ex-pilot with a strange, fierce love for pigs and Elvis.

Friday night we went to an art museum and the pool. We sat in brightly colored chairs and drank fancy "mock-tails," watching the little boy a table over point and laugh at the saxophone, cello and drum set at the other end of the room. We pulled on our swimsuits and braved the giggles of teenage couples for a few minutes in the hot tub together.

This afternoon we taught the Sunbeams together. We got on our knees and helped them color pictures of fish and water a little plant and eat fruit snacks and pretend to brush our teeth. We giggled together as each of them drenched the fronts of their shirts and dresses trying to reach the drinking fountain. Ah, three year-olds.

I just wanna kiss you in the morning sun,
I just wanna love you when the day is done,
I just wanna hold you just because I can.
I do.
I do.

I just wanna fold you up into my arms,
I just wanna listen to your beating heart,
I just wanna love you just because I do
I do.
I do.