New obsession? Not quite.... But close...

Thanks to my beautiful friend McKann, I have now been introduced to this magnificent website. It completely made my day, and I'm sure that it will continue to do so in the future. Take a look. I know you want to. :-)

On another note, I'm missing my brothers quite a bit today. (I also miss my sisters, of course, but I'm used to that.) Who would have thought, right?! David's all grown up now (seriously, we're basically the same height) and running all over the place (literally. He's a cross-country runner.), and Steve is off traveling the world (again, literally. He lives in New Zealand now.). How did this happen? One year ago, we were all living at home, driving each other nuts. Heck, less than a year ago this was happening!

Reasons (more like conversations) why I miss my brothers:
Scenario 1:
April Fools' Day. This year. David yawns.
Me: "Dave, why are you so tired?"
Dave: "Well, last night I needed to put up all of my traps, so I set my alarm for three in the morning, put on all black clothing and my night-vision goggles, and went through the house humming the mission-impossible theme. Now I'm kind of sleepy."
Yes. He really does do things like that. I love him.

Scenario 2:
My parents and Dave are out of town for a few days, the house is being remodeled by random people, and Steve's been gone all day, leaving me alone (without a car) with the strange remodelers. Finally, Steve gets home. I take the keys from him.
Me: "All right, see you in a couple of hours!"
Steve: (Sad look) "What?! I just got home! Why can't we watch a movie or something? Or get some food?!"
Yes. Sometimes, he really did want to spend time with me. I love when he does that.

Strange how you miss things you never thought you'd really miss, right? I even miss getting caught in the cross-fire of Nerf battles and Airsoft wars. Sure, it could be painfully loud and obnoxious, but it was home.

A picture of the three of us on my birthday this year. They were probably fighting over who got to light the candles for a few minutes before mutually agreeing that I got to do it myself because it was my birthday before this picture was taken.

Enjoy it while it's here, the snow's just around the corner...

I love this time of year. It just makes me smile. A lot. Today, I ended up walking about seven miles to and from campus, crunching leaves and singing all the way. It was wonderful. The Logan cemetery and the mountains  that surround me are changing all sorts of brilliant colors. A few weeks ago, I was talking to my older sister as we were enjoying an early autumn up on the mountain of Brianhead. I mentioned that fall and spring are pretty well tied in my heart for the most beautiful times of the year. She thought for a second, and then said: "Isn't that amazing? Birth and death. They're the most beautiful. In Christ's life, His birth and His death were the most beautiful. They represent the two greatest things ever done for us. Isn't Heavenly Father wonderful for giving us a reminder of those every year?" (Her answer was much more eloquent and brilliant, but I sort of got the gist.) It made me think. And it made me love fall even more. :-)

I've been looking up pictures of autumn on the internet today:

All right. This has to be one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. can I just walk down that dirt road forever?

Isn't it just magical? I feel like it's a bridge to some incredible place... It also reminds me very much of the Sacred Grove, which is, indeed, an incredible place.

While there are very few pictures of the adventures I've had with my father, This picture reminds me very much of a drive he took me on last year. On our way up the mountain, he took a turn on a dirt road and we took the spectacularly scenic route. It looked very much like this.

I'll bet Boulder Mountain looks like this in the fall. Sadly, I've never been there this time of year. Though I'd very much like to. Maybe someday!

Can you imagine just curling up under that tree with a good book?! I know I can. Mmmm...

Only in my dreams...

Because.... Friends are just great.

For me, this past month has been an emotional roller-coaster. I've laughed, I've cried, laughed so hard I cried. I've felt hyper, lethargic, energetic, lazy. I've felt faithless and hopeless, ecstatic and ambitious. Like a slob, like a neat-freak. Lonely, claustrophobic. Pretty much the emotional spectrum.

A few weeks ago, I decided to go to a hockey game. Not a big deal, right? Well, the people I was with were a little different from the people I normally spend time with. Don't get me wrong, different isn't a bad thing. But sometimes, it's really not my favorite. The ladies I was with had a tendency to swear---a lot. Luckily, the two that swore the most were sitting in front of me. At least, I thought it was lucky. Sitting in front of them were two other women. These women were from the opposing team, a mother and a sister of the opposing goalie. Long story short, these women ended up being offended by the language of the women sitting behind them. Both sets of women ended up screaming at each other, some with poor language, all with poor judgement. In the end, the mother of the hockey player ended up attacking one of the girls in front of me. I don't think I have ever been in a situation that made me feel so ill. In two minutes, these women helped me to lose faith in the goodness of people, and in true kindness.

All I knew for sure is that I had to get out of there. I didn't care if I had to walk home, I just needed to leave. In my somewhat hysteric state, I texted a friend from home that also lives up here, asking if there was any way she could come and pick me up. She replied instantly, telling me that another friend from home was driving. I can't even begin to express the relief I felt. As I waited outside the ice rink, I began to feel less relieved, and more... nervous. My old friends, they've found their place up here. I didn't want to mess with that. The minutes that I was waiting for them were hardly any better than those spent in the ice rink itself... I don't think I've ever felt so unsure about asking a favor. My anxiety continued to grow in the three short minutes it took them to get there. I didn't know what to think when they came, I just knew I was a burden.

As soon as they pulled up, they rolled down the windows and called to me. The looks on their faces were not of annoyance, or condescension. The only things I saw in their faces were love and true caring. There was no "How the heck did you get into this situation?" or "Now, thanks to you, we're missing time with our new friends." as I got into the car. They could tell by my face that I was in no mood to talk about what had just happened. Sitting in the dark back seat, all the emotions I had felt within the last fifteen minutes bubbled over, and I began to cry. Quietly. I think. My concerned friends pretended to be ignorant of my emotions and just made wonderfully comfortable, clean, happy conversation. At the risk of sounding completely cheesy, the warm feeling that bubbled up inside of me was undeniable. My tears flowed in earnest at this point, more from happiness and relief than anything, though. I could see the friend driving periodically checking on me in the rear-view mirror. When we got near my street, he stole one more glance and said "I think it's time for a walk."

As I walked to the nearby elementary school with two of my best friends in the whole world, I felt a peace that I hadn't in quite a while. They single-handedly brought back my good attitude about people in general. Playing around on an elementary school playground with these wonderful people helped me in a way nothing else could.

My friends stayed with me until they knew I was feeling better. Then, they walked me home. Simple, but so important. Don't underestimate what you do.

And So It Begins...

Well, I've taken the plunge. I no longer live at home. Instead, I live with four girls that before a few days ago, I had never even met. But I love them. They are wonderful. I don't think I could have been more blessed when it comes to roommates. Seriously.

The Roomies with Zorn the Zucchini.

Ice skating with the Institute...

The past few days have been a little bit strange, to be honest. But that's expected, right? I'm not quite homesick, yet... I still feel like I'm at EFY or something. (My mother's doing. She kept telling herself that before I left, and it sunk into my brain.) I do miss my family. But I know I'll be visiting them many, many times throughout the rest of my college experience (and, you know, the rest of my life). The only time I've shed tears is when reading this post by one of my incredible young women's leaders from home. I was re-reading it, actually. This is something that I'm never going to have again. I miss my leaders. I miss my girls. I know I'll grow to love Relief Society just as much or more, but I think I'll still miss it. Just a little bit.

But life is so grand! I love my little apartment. It's really quite fabulous. There are even purple doors! It's great! Monday night, the roomies and I had family dinner while watching a movie. It was wonderful. Then we went to FHE and an Imagine Dragons concert on campus. I'll be honest, I've never been much of a concert or party goer. But I did have fun. Lots of it.

After a week of classes, and seeing what's in store for me, I have one thing to say: I'm glad I learned how to read before I got up here. Apparently I'm going to need that skill. Who knew?

I feel like I'm in this major transition point in my life. I can't decide if I love it or hate it, yet. I'm trying to lean more towards the love side, because I'm planning on enjoying the next few years of my life very much. After all, isn't how I feel about it up to me?

I Will Not Be Still

Last week, I went to the baptism of a friend of mine. She is eight years old, and quite possibly the funniest person I have ever met in my life. Before this experience, I hadn't been to a "live" baptism in years. It was such an amazing experience. I don't think I've ever been so excited for someone else. My face was seriously about to split from the huge smile that wouldn't go away. Right before her dad baptized her, he came up to her older brother (who was sitting next to me at the time) and asked him if he wanted to come be a witness. The look on my dear friend's face as he walked up to witness his baby sister's baptism was so priceless... Watching a family have this experience, it was amazing! It got me so fired up!

More and more of my dear friends (and some that aren't quite so dear) have been receiving their mission calls, becoming elders, and submitting their papers. I'm feeling a little bit of mission-envy. But it's all right! I can definitely wait three more years. Less than that, now, actually! Every time I see one of  "my boys" preparing for or leaving for a mission, it makes me happier than almost anything else. I honestly am having a hard time containing my excitement for them. One of my best friends is submitting his papers next week... I went to the temple with said friend this week, and I felt a huge surge of joy as he was talking about it. He just became an elder, and he's even more excited about it than I am. (Which is saying a lot!)

There's this song that I rediscovered on an old EFY cd this week. It's been getting under my skin. I love this gospel. It makes me happy. Doesn't that mean I'm supposed to share it? It doesn't matter if I can't express my thoughts well. He'll help me out, if I try!

I've never been the kind to testify,
I don't have the words his truth deserves.
But it's a simple thing he asks:
A worthy heart and willing hands.
He says if I'll make the choice,
He'll help me find my voice.

He calls me to serve and I cannot fail him,
The one who has given me all that I have.
I place my trust in him alone,
He knows the yearnings of my soul.
Because he believes in me,
I will go willingly...

How can I keep this gift to myself
When I can lift somebody else?
I am a witness of his miracles and his mercy
I put my future in his hands
Knowing he's made me all I am
When I put my faith in him, the truth begins to
speak
His power is real; it moves me until I will not be
still

Lifting the hands that hang down in sorrow
Strengthening knees that bend in despair
Reaching the hopeless hearts who do not know His love
Seeing their lives begin to change
I know I'll never be the same

How can I keep this gift to myself
When I can lift somebody else?
I'll be a witness of his miracles and his mercy
I put my future in his hands
Knowing he's made me all I am
I put my faith in him, and truth begins to
speak
His power is real; it moves me until
I will not be still.

His power is real.
I trust in his will.
I will not be still.

Sure, I'm a little jealous that my male friends get to put their papers in already. But just because I have to wait a couple of years before I go on a full-time mission, that doesn't mean I can't start sharing the news now. "How can I keep this gift to myself?" I can't.

It may be cheesy, but I really am so excited.

Why I Am the Way I Am.

This post has been in the works for a long time. It's a very important subject to me, so I've had a really hard time expressing my thoughts about it. The person I am most like in this world, the one from whom I get the majority of my personality, is my father. I don't know why I have found it so difficult to express myself on the subject of my dad, but the past couple of weeks have made me even more grateful for him. Three of the closest friends I made in Europe no longer have their dads here to hug and talk to face-to-face... It made me think a lot. It made me miss my dad even more (and my mom).

What traits do I get from my dad? Only the best and the most difficult. And a lot in between. For instance:

-We're both incredibly stubborn. Especially when we know we're right. Like when someone's not coming to church for a stupid reason, or someone is keeping others from progressing.
-While we can both do fine being with people when needed, solitude is golden. Especially in the mountains.
-Attention is not the favorite thing in massive groups of people.
-Fishing is one of the most relaxing things in the world.
-Green. I realized on my last fishing trip with my dad that we both love the color green for the same reason. Wild grass and aspens, man. Who couldn't love green up in the mountains? (Or in Europe, we've discovered)
-70's Rock. His love for it has infected me.
-His love for the mountains, and hiking in those same mountains, has definitely been passed to me.
-Sometimes it's easier just to give up something we want rather than have to explain it to someone else. That doesn't mean we won't be disappointed when it doesn't happen.
-We both sunburn super easy. (Pretty sure we both burned when we went fishing for my 16th birthday in the rain. Do you sunburn in the rain? Probably not.)
-For being so short, we can both be rather aggressive.
-At the same time, though, we both hate confrontation.
-We both love spending time together. But we're both incredibly busy. Sometimes it takes sacrifices to spend time together. One summer, my dad watched an entire Dickens mini-series with me. (It was about 10 hours)
-As a result, we both like British movies. (Although his have more requirements than mine do.)
-We both misplace things a lot. (The difference being that he usually finds the things he's looking for eventually)
-We both hate talking on the phone.
My father is an incredible man. Sometimes, we're more alike than I'd like to be. But then I realize what an honor it is to be like him. It may make it a little bit harder to get along with each other all of the time, but the other times are what make it so worth it.

There are some traits of my dads that didn't quite make it to me, but I sure wish they had:

-His steady hands. (Being a dentist, it's pretty important for him.)
-His impression of Mrs. Bennett from the five-hour Pride & Prejudice. It's pretty brilliant.
-His impression of Hagrid from the Harry Potter books read by Jim Dale.
-His patience. (When it's necessary.)
-His ability to tell stories.
-His ability to turn every story into a spiritual one.
-His sense of direction.
-His running ability.
-His wisdom.
-His ability to cook. (i.e. baking, grilling, cooking in general)

I love my father very much. I love spending time with him. I love listening to his stories. When I was little, I used to insist that I was going to marry my dad. While my views on that have changed quite a bit, there are many things that my dad does that will be very important to me when looking for a husband, I think. (Don't worry, that will be in a very long time.) My father's influence has made me who I am.

Now I'm moving away. I'm moving to a place I've only visited once. A place my father doesn't want me to go. I think he's going to miss me. But not as much as I'm going to miss him.

There aren't loads of pictures of me and my dad on this computer. But I feel like this one pretty much explains us. He's always teaching me something. Sometimes (most of the time), he has to teach me more than once.

Thresholds.

I've been diving into a lot of firsts lately. First time staying with my sister and her husband? Check. First time leaving home for more than a week without my parents? Check. First time riding the St. George Shuttle? Check. First time talking to a complete stranger for four straight hours? Check. First time going to Europe? Pending.

I'm going to Europe. On Wednesday. For sixteen days. Is this crazy to anyone else? If not, it probably should be.

This has been one of the busier summers of my life. (I can't decide between this summer and working full time two summers ago. This one probably actually wins. I've spent much less time at home, and that's kind of how I describe busy.) This Europe trip seems to be just one more exciting thing to cross off the list. But it's more than that. It's the only thing I've done this summer that's made me nervous. Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly excited for this adventure. I just happen to be terrified at the same time.

I keep getting lectured on not getting robbed. Apparently it's a big concern over there. I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm kind of naive. I've only ever remembered living in Utah. Utah is a wonderful place, and I love not worrying about getting robbed as I walk down the street in just my socks. Of course I'm more careful at night and such, but this is different. I'm going to a place where there are trained professionals ready to steal my stuff and feel good about it. I've been told not to be warm and friendly to everyone I see on the street. Apparently a smile means more to some people. I've been told to keep track of all my stuff at all times. I've been told to never go anywhere without someone else. I've been told to not listen to the stories of people I meet, for fear of someone else coming up to cut the strap of my purse or to steal my camera. In short, I've kind of been told to not give in to any of my natural reactions while walking the streets of Europe. It's going to be a wondrous adventure, but it's also going to be a big challenge. And I am scared.

This time next week, I will probably be walking down some street in France. Perhaps I'll be eating a pastry. Or singing in a cathedral.

I'm ready for a big adventure before really moving out. I think this just might be it.