The past five years have been mountains of change in my life: peaks that I look back on with a heavy, grateful heart. When I returned home from Ghana, everyone I talked to was insistent that I write a book of some sort of my experience there. I laughed it off as a fun idea. "I would love to!" said I. But it never happened. LIFE happened. I studied, I grew, I struggled. I decided to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It came as a shock to everyone, including me. But I knew it was the right thing. I knew because it felt the same as Ghana. No matter how frightening and unknown it seemed, my inner-workings were driven towards it by a force that was not my own.
So I graduated from college, and I went. I did it. I lived in the Baltic states (Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia) for 18 months. I learned Russian. I taught people about Jesus Christ, and drew closer to Him in the process. I experienced things beyond comprehension, and especially beyond explanation. I was transformed. But I don't want to spoil it. Because for the second time, I'm hearing demands for the written word. And now I can feel it; it's time. The story was too incomplete three years ago when I returned state-side from my first international endeavor. It's still far from finished, but I now have a better idea of how and why I would share it. After all, what's a graduated return missionary to do with all that spare time?
Thank you. To all of you who have had faith in me, even when I wasn't deserving. To all those who have been invested enough in my journey to want it in your hands. You are my muse, my motivation, my inspiration. I know this work will not be a bestseller, but I do know what it could mean to family and friends, my future children and their children, and anyone out there who's in need of a light at the end of the tunnel.
There is hope. There is light. There is good. It's all waiting within us.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Friday, September 14, 2012
Words
Somewhere in between
The switch from thought to speech
A sieve, a sponge, a trap
Steals meaning from this mouth.
And though the wit exists,
The sentiment persists,
No words will ever span
What needs to be let out.
The switch from thought to speech
A sieve, a sponge, a trap
Steals meaning from this mouth.
And though the wit exists,
The sentiment persists,
No words will ever span
What needs to be let out.
Carry Me
Carry me back
To those times when we
Would chase after sunsets
And breathe in the breeze.
To car rides and whispers
As you took the wheel,
Told me your stories,
And I fell asleep.
Long talks on your steps,
And short walks to mine.
Sun-kissed and so adept
At blurring the lines.
Never reading the same page,
Always pointed opposite ways.
But we laughed about it
All the same.
Back to those days
The days when I
Would watched you change
And grow to be
The one I believed.
Who helped me see,
The one who still
Protected me.
Who didn’t stay angry
And held my hand
Kept it from hanging,
And taught me to stand.
Somehow I knew
Though we'd never say
That things weren't right,
That I couldn't stay.
But You and I,
We’d been born to fight--
To those times when we
Would chase after sunsets
And breathe in the breeze.
To car rides and whispers
As you took the wheel,
Told me your stories,
And I fell asleep.
Long talks on your steps,
And short walks to mine.
Sun-kissed and so adept
At blurring the lines.
Never reading the same page,
Always pointed opposite ways.
But we laughed about it
All the same.
Back to those days
The days when I
Would watched you change
And grow to be
The one I believed.
Who helped me see,
The one who still
Protected me.
Who didn’t stay angry
And held my hand
Kept it from hanging,
And taught me to stand.
Somehow I knew
Though we'd never say
That things weren't right,
That I couldn't stay.
But You and I,
We’d been born to fight--
To never fear
What we’d been told.
We raced, we struggled,
Wrestled with fate.
And lost ourselves in losing
That unfair, foolish game.
You needed the freedom
To find your own start
I had found my own,
Though I'd never known
Our lives were meant to part
And I, in fear,
Said my silent goodbyes,
Before you knew my heart.
I’m so sorry that
I couldn’t be
What you have always
Been for me
So sorry it's taken
So long to say
The things I should
Have, initially.
I could never ask
A thing of you.
For you've already given
Much more than was due.
But if you're still there,
Still watching, just know:
You're always with me
Wherever I go.
What we’d been told.
We raced, we struggled,
Wrestled with fate.
And lost ourselves in losing
That unfair, foolish game.
You needed the freedom
To find your own start
I had found my own,
Though I'd never known
Our lives were meant to part
And I, in fear,
Said my silent goodbyes,
Before you knew my heart.
I’m so sorry that
I couldn’t be
What you have always
Been for me
So sorry it's taken
So long to say
The things I should
Have, initially.
I could never ask
A thing of you.
For you've already given
Much more than was due.
But if you're still there,
Still watching, just know:
You're always with me
Wherever I go.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Amelioration
It's been ages. Seems like that's almost always the case. But I promise to be better. Even if I'm the only one reading these.
On that note, I've officially converted to the world of mobile blogging--mobile everything, really. With my schedule lately, it's the only way I'm getting anything done.
Currently, I happen to be listening to a discussion on the events and attitudes of the post-war (World War II, that is) order in American History, a class that has surprisingly gained my favor. General Education, I've found, does have its value. My professor, Dr. Madsen, is a genius. Not in the sense of the word that most would assume, though. Let's just say I have a really hard time not believing everything that comes out of his mouth. It also helps that he possesses a knack for comedic wit and, without fail, increases my vocabulary in every single class period. No, it's not a crush.
The word of the day?
a·me·lio·rate /əˈmēlyəˌrāt/
Verb: Make (something bad or unsatisfactory) better.
Taking a positive spin on things. Fun to say, and in general a great way to go about life. So the word of the day has now become the goal of the week: amelioration.
On that note, I've officially converted to the world of mobile blogging--mobile everything, really. With my schedule lately, it's the only way I'm getting anything done.
Currently, I happen to be listening to a discussion on the events and attitudes of the post-war (World War II, that is) order in American History, a class that has surprisingly gained my favor. General Education, I've found, does have its value. My professor, Dr. Madsen, is a genius. Not in the sense of the word that most would assume, though. Let's just say I have a really hard time not believing everything that comes out of his mouth. It also helps that he possesses a knack for comedic wit and, without fail, increases my vocabulary in every single class period. No, it's not a crush.
The word of the day?
a·me·lio·rate /əˈmēlyəˌrāt/
Verb: Make (something bad or unsatisfactory) better.
Taking a positive spin on things. Fun to say, and in general a great way to go about life. So the word of the day has now become the goal of the week: amelioration.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Ascent
This is a part of something that's become very important to me. I'm going to Wiamoase, Ghana in about 80 days, and I'm doing everything I can to prepare for the field work, volunteering, and learning I will be doing there. This post pretty much sums up how I'm feeling right about now. If you like what you read, check out ghanaspeakss.blogspot.com
You won't regret it. Also, feedback is especially welcome.
The inadequacy is setting in again, which reminds me of something that Ashley ended class with on Wednesday. Critical Unhappiness. A really fantastic term for something that I otherwise would not have recognized as a definitive dilemma in my life. Well, I'll describe it first, then I'll decide if it's really so terrifying.
It's the point someone needs to reach during extreme distress, discomfort, or trauma, before experiencing growth, gaining knowledge, or losing his or her pride. It's the mountain top of turmoil, the rock-bottom of hardship. And it sucks getting there. But once you're there, either you've got great perspective, or you understand that the only way to make your journey worth it is to dig a well, and let others benefit from your struggles. And hopefully, if I've done this right, I'll have accomplished both.
There are a million ways that I could relate this to my life. God does it to me continually. And no, I still haven't learned my lesson. One prime example of this in my life, however, is one of the highest cliffs I've ever had to scale. That's right: a straight vertical, no gradual slope, no warning, and a ravenous pack of wolves close behind. I had two choices. I could start climbing or resist the challenge and resign to eventual defeat via White Fang. I know, I'm on a roll with analogies today, but bear with me.
August of 2009. I was preparing to move to Provo for school. I was excited, I was dating the love of my life (so I thought), and everything was headed in the right direction. I had never been so happy, and I was ready to get out on my own and experience "the world." One week after relocating, things headed downhill. College wasn't easy, I didn't have friends, my roommates hated me, and God wasn't giving me the things that I thought I deserved. I missed home, I missed family, and I missed AJ.
All I wanted was to crawl back into my shell and roll home. But I was better than that. There was no way that I could face my parents with such defeat. I scrambled up the face of the cliff, hanging on for dear life, abandoning my spiritual and physical needs--the carabiners, lines, and anchors that were there to keep me safe--free-climbing until I couldn't lift another limb. I was so close to deliverance, just a foot or two more and I could survive. But I didn't have the footholds, or the energy and endurance I needed. I refused to look down; I was afraid of what my parents would say, what people would think, what I would think if I could see where was, what I was doing, and where I was headed, should I fail and fall. On a side-note, I'm conveniently terrified of heights, which really emphasizes my predicament here.
And so I hung there, barely keeping my finger-holds as the weight of coursework, homesickness, the loss of a best friend, and depression did everything it could to fight against my grip. If only I had used my clips, if only I had secured my anchors, if only I had been just a little stronger. Why was I even here? Why haven't I let go? Endless hypotheticals entertained my daily thoughts, until one day something said to me, word for word.
Stop. Listen. Your eyes are only as good as your ears.
And I, being the cynic I was, came to the conclusion that it made no sense, and that even if it did, I didn't have time for riddles, because I was busy preparing to give up.
I've decided that you never really know that you've hit critical unhappiness until you're past it. Because as I sat there contemplating my epic failure, I started to listen. And at first all I could hear was the noisy howling of my predators below--everything that I was running from. But then I heard something different. Footsteps. The rough, gravelly scrape of rubber against the sandy ledge above me shook me out of my stupor. And, for the first time since beginning my climb, I did something I had not thought to do. I was so busy focusing on not looking down that I never bothered to look up. And as I did, my eyes beheld the extended arm of a long-forgotten friend. How long had He been there? I knew the answer, but I was too ashamed to admit it.
And only then, as I was pulled from the precipice of misery, was I able to fully comprehend my plight. I looked out over that view, side-by-side with my constant Companion, with new perspective. I was stronger than before, and I was stronger than I thought I was. I had learned lessons: never climb without your lead, always rely on your anchors, and listen with your ears, ifyour eyes can't see.
So here I am, almost two years later, approaching a comparable ascent. I won't bother lying to myself--I can't avoid culture shock, which has surprisingly familiar symptoms. So the question is, now that I know what's coming, how does that change my approach?
I don't know if any of you know anything about rock-climbing, but the approach to a technical climb is the journey required to get there. It lacks the physical demand, but is often almost as dangerous as the climb itself. It requires complex forethought and preparation, as well as consideration of where along the base of the wall one will need to commence his or her climb in order to ensure the best, and safest, path to the crown of the rock.
In order to do that, I need to know my rock. I need to know it up and down, side to side, and then I need to break it down. The best approach is one that's done with confidence, but without recklessness. One that's observant, but keeps a focused gaze on the obstacle ahead. There's a lot that I can learn from my past, and I've only just realized how much that is in writing this. I want to quote my good friend Heather, and my future commrade in Ghana. She inspires me.
"I just had to document that I'm feeling overwhelmed right now. That way...when I've sorted things out, I can remember that [insert challenge] is hard, and that I can do hard things. The end."
I've done hard things. And I've had the time to sort it out. I can do more hard things, even the things that I think are too hard. The end.
You won't regret it. Also, feedback is especially welcome.
The inadequacy is setting in again, which reminds me of something that Ashley ended class with on Wednesday. Critical Unhappiness. A really fantastic term for something that I otherwise would not have recognized as a definitive dilemma in my life. Well, I'll describe it first, then I'll decide if it's really so terrifying.
It's the point someone needs to reach during extreme distress, discomfort, or trauma, before experiencing growth, gaining knowledge, or losing his or her pride. It's the mountain top of turmoil, the rock-bottom of hardship. And it sucks getting there. But once you're there, either you've got great perspective, or you understand that the only way to make your journey worth it is to dig a well, and let others benefit from your struggles. And hopefully, if I've done this right, I'll have accomplished both.
There are a million ways that I could relate this to my life. God does it to me continually. And no, I still haven't learned my lesson. One prime example of this in my life, however, is one of the highest cliffs I've ever had to scale. That's right: a straight vertical, no gradual slope, no warning, and a ravenous pack of wolves close behind. I had two choices. I could start climbing or resist the challenge and resign to eventual defeat via White Fang. I know, I'm on a roll with analogies today, but bear with me.
August of 2009. I was preparing to move to Provo for school. I was excited, I was dating the love of my life (so I thought), and everything was headed in the right direction. I had never been so happy, and I was ready to get out on my own and experience "the world." One week after relocating, things headed downhill. College wasn't easy, I didn't have friends, my roommates hated me, and God wasn't giving me the things that I thought I deserved. I missed home, I missed family, and I missed AJ.
All I wanted was to crawl back into my shell and roll home. But I was better than that. There was no way that I could face my parents with such defeat. I scrambled up the face of the cliff, hanging on for dear life, abandoning my spiritual and physical needs--the carabiners, lines, and anchors that were there to keep me safe--free-climbing until I couldn't lift another limb. I was so close to deliverance, just a foot or two more and I could survive. But I didn't have the footholds, or the energy and endurance I needed. I refused to look down; I was afraid of what my parents would say, what people would think, what I would think if I could see where was, what I was doing, and where I was headed, should I fail and fall. On a side-note, I'm conveniently terrified of heights, which really emphasizes my predicament here.
And so I hung there, barely keeping my finger-holds as the weight of coursework, homesickness, the loss of a best friend, and depression did everything it could to fight against my grip. If only I had used my clips, if only I had secured my anchors, if only I had been just a little stronger. Why was I even here? Why haven't I let go? Endless hypotheticals entertained my daily thoughts, until one day something said to me, word for word.
Stop. Listen. Your eyes are only as good as your ears.
And I, being the cynic I was, came to the conclusion that it made no sense, and that even if it did, I didn't have time for riddles, because I was busy preparing to give up.
I've decided that you never really know that you've hit critical unhappiness until you're past it. Because as I sat there contemplating my epic failure, I started to listen. And at first all I could hear was the noisy howling of my predators below--everything that I was running from. But then I heard something different. Footsteps. The rough, gravelly scrape of rubber against the sandy ledge above me shook me out of my stupor. And, for the first time since beginning my climb, I did something I had not thought to do. I was so busy focusing on not looking down that I never bothered to look up. And as I did, my eyes beheld the extended arm of a long-forgotten friend. How long had He been there? I knew the answer, but I was too ashamed to admit it.
And only then, as I was pulled from the precipice of misery, was I able to fully comprehend my plight. I looked out over that view, side-by-side with my constant Companion, with new perspective. I was stronger than before, and I was stronger than I thought I was. I had learned lessons: never climb without your lead, always rely on your anchors, and listen with your ears, ifyour eyes can't see.
So here I am, almost two years later, approaching a comparable ascent. I won't bother lying to myself--I can't avoid culture shock, which has surprisingly familiar symptoms. So the question is, now that I know what's coming, how does that change my approach?
I don't know if any of you know anything about rock-climbing, but the approach to a technical climb is the journey required to get there. It lacks the physical demand, but is often almost as dangerous as the climb itself. It requires complex forethought and preparation, as well as consideration of where along the base of the wall one will need to commence his or her climb in order to ensure the best, and safest, path to the crown of the rock.
In order to do that, I need to know my rock. I need to know it up and down, side to side, and then I need to break it down. The best approach is one that's done with confidence, but without recklessness. One that's observant, but keeps a focused gaze on the obstacle ahead. There's a lot that I can learn from my past, and I've only just realized how much that is in writing this. I want to quote my good friend Heather, and my future commrade in Ghana. She inspires me.
"I just had to document that I'm feeling overwhelmed right now. That way...when I've sorted things out, I can remember that [insert challenge] is hard, and that I can do hard things. The end."
I've done hard things. And I've had the time to sort it out. I can do more hard things, even the things that I think are too hard. The end.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Pieces
From that First glance that we both broke
To the first time we spoke.
In broken sentences, tinged with Hope.
The little pieces—those mattered most.
Careful words and Cautious touch,
To keep from breaking each other’s trust.
Then walls caved, their defenses aflame.
Whose fire soon broke through both of us.
You told me that you'd never break.
And you were right, to my dismay.
Did you speak for lying's sake,
Just promise for my heart’s content?
I could have weathered winter's frost,
Left my haven, Put down my guard
But all you gave were broken starts
And broken keys to padlock hearts.
In broken sentences, tinged with Hope.
The little pieces—those mattered most.
Careful words and Cautious touch,
To keep from breaking each other’s trust.
Then walls caved, their defenses aflame.
Whose fire soon broke through both of us.
You told me that you'd never break.
And you were right, to my dismay.
Did you speak for lying's sake,
Just promise for my heart’s content?
I could have weathered winter's frost,
Left my haven, Put down my guard
But all you gave were broken starts
And broken keys to padlock hearts.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Tantrum
Have you ever been so thoroughly and astronomically close to exploding that you can't even understand your own thoughts? I'm so done. Done with school, done with people, done with everything that has anything to do with solving the ever-constant issues that evolve with life. Yes. This is a tantrum. I realize that childish vehemence won't really help in this situation, but can someone please tell me why things can't just work out ONE time? Does everything in life take this much stubborn persistence and fortitude? I'm determined that the people that have things just "fall into place" are lying or seriously deluded.
I'm so close. I have to keep reminding myself. Just a little more, and you'll be done. But lying to myself doesn't always help, and it never solves the problem. I have a research proposal due today at 4pm, and I have an impossible amount of work to do on it. It's in terrible shape, and I'm pretty sure I have no clue what I'm doing. I have a research paper due next Wednesday at 5pm. I happen to be slightly more prepared for this deadline, but I need to get at least a 290 out of 300 in order to get the grade that I want in the class because the grading scale is so significantly unbalanced. Following that, I have a final project to create, a reflection to write, and a job to quit. I have a book read, a job to find in California, a contract to sell, belongings to pack and store, an apartment to clean, and a final to take, all before the end of next week. I have rent to pay, and an eventual eight hour drive home to make. Depending on how successful I am at job-finding, I will continue my job search once that drive is completed, deal with the familial issues that await me there, and finally try to consolidate the thoughts in my head.
That's as far ahead as I can think. But my problem is that I can only think about everything that is coming my way, and I'm struggling to reel myself in enough to focus on what I need to do now. I just want to be done.
Please?
I'm so close. I have to keep reminding myself. Just a little more, and you'll be done. But lying to myself doesn't always help, and it never solves the problem. I have a research proposal due today at 4pm, and I have an impossible amount of work to do on it. It's in terrible shape, and I'm pretty sure I have no clue what I'm doing. I have a research paper due next Wednesday at 5pm. I happen to be slightly more prepared for this deadline, but I need to get at least a 290 out of 300 in order to get the grade that I want in the class because the grading scale is so significantly unbalanced. Following that, I have a final project to create, a reflection to write, and a job to quit. I have a book read, a job to find in California, a contract to sell, belongings to pack and store, an apartment to clean, and a final to take, all before the end of next week. I have rent to pay, and an eventual eight hour drive home to make. Depending on how successful I am at job-finding, I will continue my job search once that drive is completed, deal with the familial issues that await me there, and finally try to consolidate the thoughts in my head.
That's as far ahead as I can think. But my problem is that I can only think about everything that is coming my way, and I'm struggling to reel myself in enough to focus on what I need to do now. I just want to be done.
Please?
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