With Thanksgiving quickly approaching, I decided to write about ten things that I am very grateful for (once a day for ten days). It's important to note that these aren't in order of importance- just by what pops into my head first.
Item #1: Music.
Music is my love. No, it's more than that. It's my passion and life force. It keeps my world revolving, fuels my emotions, and feeds my imagination. It's constantly on my mind, both consciously and subconsciously. I hear it all around me, all the time. Many times I'll be sitting in class and someone's computer will beep, followed closely by a door squeaking out in the hallway. Instantly my mind picks up on the pitches, and a song with the exact same notes gets stuck in my head. I bet it happens at least twice a day.
People often mistake my passion with pride because I am constantly critiquing others. I don't mean to sound prideful. Music is more than just a talent or hobby to me; it's a way of life. And let's be honest- anyone who truly knows me knows: 1) how passionate I can be about certain things and 2) that I often say things before thinking them through. Put those two together and you get one stuck-up sounding musician. In realty, while I may complain about the fellow pounding "Waterfall" in the practice room next door, I really admire people who try new things and work to improve the talents they already have (those who remain stagnant, however, drive me nuts!). The difference lies between the person who plays "Waterfall" at every single talent show for the rest of their lives, and the person who learns to play "Waterfall," and then moves on to learn "Claire de Lune," followed by "Prelude in C-sharp Minor." It's all about progress.
I'm grateful for music. It brings the Spirit into my life. It drives me forward and challenges me to do better. It gives me something to be proud of- look at all I've accomplished in just thirteen short years. It's my love and my life, and without it I would be an empty shell. It's my way of life. It's who I am.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Immigrant
I was going through my home bedroom closet this morning and found the following story that I started writing my freshman year of high school.
The London alleyway was dark and filthy. There was a sense of foreboding in the air. But Henry Williams didn't even hesitate at the entrance. He hurried through the darkness, stepping over the bodies of sleeping tramps. He ignored their rude remarks. He must get his daughter to the doctor before it's too late. He looked down into his arms. She was sleeping so peacefully. Her soft, innocent face was calm and pale. Her golden blond hair was shining with seat. She was so young, only about five years old.
He came to an abrupt stop in front of an old door and knocked quickly, but quietly. There was a moment's pause and the door opened a crack. Henry could see an old man peering at him.
"What do you want?" the old man growled.
"My little girl is sick," Henry said. "Please, sir, please help her."
The old man opened the door the rest of the way. His gray hair and long beard was unkept and tangled. His clothes were filthy and stained. He reached out a gnarled hand and touched the little girl's forehead.
"There is nothing I can do," he mumbled.
"There must be something!" Henry snapped. The old man tried to hold Henry's eyes, but he couldn't. He looked away. "She's dead."
Tears formed in Henry's eyes. "No," he whispered.
"I can get rid of the body for you, if you want," the old man said. But there was no compassion in his voice.
"No!" Henry shouted. "She isn't dead! She can't be!"
The old man leaned forward and started to pull the body away. Henry gave his sweet, innocent girl one last hug, then let the old man drag her inside. The door closed and Henry was left alone. He crawled over against the wall and started sobbing. He was all alone now, and the light of his life had been taken cruelly by fate from him.
Henry awoke the next morning with the sun shining in his face and he sat up. First his wife had died giving childbirth to his third child. Then his oldest son had died in a horrible house fire, which made Henry and his youngest child, Anna, homeless. They had lived on the streets for two years, until Anna contracted a terrible disease. That was just two days ago. Now Henry was alone. He had no family. Henry stood up and made his way to the alley entrance.
Main Street was bright and busy when Henry stepped out of the dark alleyway. He paused for a moment to look at his surroundings. Wagons and carriages were bustling up and down the street. On the corner to his left, a newspaper boy was selling the morning paper. Merchants were just opening their shops. People hurried up and down the sidewalk, dressed in the latest fashion. Henry's gaze fell upon a group of people standing around in a circle. Curious, he headed over to the group.
As he got closer, he could see a man in the center of the group. He was standing on an old soapbox. He was dressed nicely, although his clothes were a little travel worn. Henry moved closer to try to hear what he was saying.
"This book is another testament of Christ. It tells about the ancient people in the Americas, ancestors to the Indians. It's like having another Bible. I swear to you, that if you read this book and pray about it, you will know if what I saw is true or not."
Some people grumbled and left. Other people said rude remarks to the man. But Henry was determined to see what this book was about. He walked up to the man and held out his hand. The man shook his hand vigorously.
"The name's Henry Williams."
"Brigham Young," the man replied. Henry could see that the man looked tired, but his eyes seemed joyful and young.
"How much for one of your books?" Henry asked.
Brigham smiled. "I'll pay the cost for you, as long as you promise me that you'll read and pray about it"
"Thank you," Henry said. "I will."
"If you have any questions, feel free to ask me," Brigham said. "I'll be on this side of town for another three days."
"Where are you staying?" Henry asked.
Brigham pointed up the street. "Just up there, in the Perkins family home. If you have questions, bring them by anytime. Mr. and Mrs. Perkins are good people."
Brigham Young handed him a book and shook his hand again. Henry thanked him graciously and said goodbye. He hurried off of the street and into a city park. He walked around for a while and then decided to sit down in the shade of a giant elm tree. He couldn't stop thinking about his daughter. Tears formed in his eyes. Just last week, they had sat under this very tree, laughing and being merry. They hadn't thought that it would end like this. He wiped the tears from his eyes, cracked open the book, and started reading.
And that's all I have!! Should I finish it?
The London alleyway was dark and filthy. There was a sense of foreboding in the air. But Henry Williams didn't even hesitate at the entrance. He hurried through the darkness, stepping over the bodies of sleeping tramps. He ignored their rude remarks. He must get his daughter to the doctor before it's too late. He looked down into his arms. She was sleeping so peacefully. Her soft, innocent face was calm and pale. Her golden blond hair was shining with seat. She was so young, only about five years old.
He came to an abrupt stop in front of an old door and knocked quickly, but quietly. There was a moment's pause and the door opened a crack. Henry could see an old man peering at him.
"What do you want?" the old man growled.
"My little girl is sick," Henry said. "Please, sir, please help her."
The old man opened the door the rest of the way. His gray hair and long beard was unkept and tangled. His clothes were filthy and stained. He reached out a gnarled hand and touched the little girl's forehead.
"There is nothing I can do," he mumbled.
"There must be something!" Henry snapped. The old man tried to hold Henry's eyes, but he couldn't. He looked away. "She's dead."
Tears formed in Henry's eyes. "No," he whispered.
"I can get rid of the body for you, if you want," the old man said. But there was no compassion in his voice.
"No!" Henry shouted. "She isn't dead! She can't be!"
The old man leaned forward and started to pull the body away. Henry gave his sweet, innocent girl one last hug, then let the old man drag her inside. The door closed and Henry was left alone. He crawled over against the wall and started sobbing. He was all alone now, and the light of his life had been taken cruelly by fate from him.
Henry awoke the next morning with the sun shining in his face and he sat up. First his wife had died giving childbirth to his third child. Then his oldest son had died in a horrible house fire, which made Henry and his youngest child, Anna, homeless. They had lived on the streets for two years, until Anna contracted a terrible disease. That was just two days ago. Now Henry was alone. He had no family. Henry stood up and made his way to the alley entrance.
Main Street was bright and busy when Henry stepped out of the dark alleyway. He paused for a moment to look at his surroundings. Wagons and carriages were bustling up and down the street. On the corner to his left, a newspaper boy was selling the morning paper. Merchants were just opening their shops. People hurried up and down the sidewalk, dressed in the latest fashion. Henry's gaze fell upon a group of people standing around in a circle. Curious, he headed over to the group.
As he got closer, he could see a man in the center of the group. He was standing on an old soapbox. He was dressed nicely, although his clothes were a little travel worn. Henry moved closer to try to hear what he was saying.
"This book is another testament of Christ. It tells about the ancient people in the Americas, ancestors to the Indians. It's like having another Bible. I swear to you, that if you read this book and pray about it, you will know if what I saw is true or not."
Some people grumbled and left. Other people said rude remarks to the man. But Henry was determined to see what this book was about. He walked up to the man and held out his hand. The man shook his hand vigorously.
"The name's Henry Williams."
"Brigham Young," the man replied. Henry could see that the man looked tired, but his eyes seemed joyful and young.
"How much for one of your books?" Henry asked.
Brigham smiled. "I'll pay the cost for you, as long as you promise me that you'll read and pray about it"
"Thank you," Henry said. "I will."
"If you have any questions, feel free to ask me," Brigham said. "I'll be on this side of town for another three days."
"Where are you staying?" Henry asked.
Brigham pointed up the street. "Just up there, in the Perkins family home. If you have questions, bring them by anytime. Mr. and Mrs. Perkins are good people."
Brigham Young handed him a book and shook his hand again. Henry thanked him graciously and said goodbye. He hurried off of the street and into a city park. He walked around for a while and then decided to sit down in the shade of a giant elm tree. He couldn't stop thinking about his daughter. Tears formed in his eyes. Just last week, they had sat under this very tree, laughing and being merry. They hadn't thought that it would end like this. He wiped the tears from his eyes, cracked open the book, and started reading.
And that's all I have!! Should I finish it?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Bucket List
I got on facebook last night before I climbed into bed and I saw that one of my high school classmates had posted her bucket list. She had a hundred items on the list and she had already started to check many of them off; this inspired me to rewrite my bucket list (since I've already accomplished many of my things). Here's what I've come up with so far. Feel free to add input or ideas. :D
1. Play "Come, Come Ye Saints" on the organ in all of the LDS Tabernacles (Brigham City and Salt Lake are accomplished).
2. Master a piano concerto.
3. Live in New York City.
4. Read the entire Book of Mormon in Spanish.
5. Go to Nauvoo and see the bullet holes in the Carthage jail door.
6. Walk the Mormon Pioneer Trail.
7. Perform on a Steinway Piano in front of an audience. X
8. Go to Sweden or Germany around Christmas time.
9. Give anonymously to a charity.
10. Go on an Alaskan cruise.
11. Run at least a half marathon.
12. Be a vegetarian for at least 3 months or a vegan for at least 1 month.
13. Write an article/paper that gets published.
14. Watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy back-to-back.
15. Own a grand piano.
16. Eat so many beets that my pee turns red.
17. Own a house in Cache Valley.
18. Grow old with the person I love.
19. Do temple work for one of my ancestors.
20. Shake hands with the prophet (whoever he may be at the time).
21. Sincerely invite a non-member friend to come to church with me, and bear my testimony to that individual.
22. See the Northern Lights.
23. Go to a cemetery on Halloween night.
24. Drive a convertible down main street with the top rolled down, blasting music.
25. Run for city council.
Well, it's a good start at least! :)
1. Play "Come, Come Ye Saints" on the organ in all of the LDS Tabernacles (Brigham City and Salt Lake are accomplished).
2. Master a piano concerto.
3. Live in New York City.
4. Read the entire Book of Mormon in Spanish.
5. Go to Nauvoo and see the bullet holes in the Carthage jail door.
6. Walk the Mormon Pioneer Trail.
7. Perform on a Steinway Piano in front of an audience. X
8. Go to Sweden or Germany around Christmas time.
9. Give anonymously to a charity.
10. Go on an Alaskan cruise.
11. Run at least a half marathon.
12. Be a vegetarian for at least 3 months or a vegan for at least 1 month.
13. Write an article/paper that gets published.
14. Watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy back-to-back.
15. Own a grand piano.
16. Eat so many beets that my pee turns red.
17. Own a house in Cache Valley.
18. Grow old with the person I love.
19. Do temple work for one of my ancestors.
20. Shake hands with the prophet (whoever he may be at the time).
21. Sincerely invite a non-member friend to come to church with me, and bear my testimony to that individual.
22. See the Northern Lights.
23. Go to a cemetery on Halloween night.
24. Drive a convertible down main street with the top rolled down, blasting music.
25. Run for city council.
Well, it's a good start at least! :)
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
As I'm sure many of you know, life has been... interesting for me lately. To give a brief rundown of the past three weeks: school and work have been very stressful lately; I lost my debit card and driver's license and haven't had any food or money for the past couple of weeks; my car tire went flat and I haven't had any money to fix it because I didn't have a debit card; I haven't had any personal time to myself (something that I highly value); I spent hours studying for a midterm that I failed; I have no idea what to do for a major; I have to take out a loan for the first time in my life and there have been so many problems come up... it hasn't been very enjoyable. I've tried to do my best to keep my chin up, but I'm sure that I haven't been very pleasant to be around lately.
Today was different though. I got my new debit card in the mail yesterday and I was able to buy bread and cereal for the first time in a week and a half. So I had cereal for breakfast instead of some combination of tortilla shells and peanut better, or just going without. I had an RHA meeting at 8:00 AM and it was probably the most fun meeting I've been to in my 2+ years working with the organization; our advisors, Ben Hess and Todd Fishio, were both in very jovial moods and I don't think I've laughed that hard in at least a month.
On the way home, I decided to stop by the BYU Barbershop to buy some hair gel (which I've gone without for a week) and ran into two friendly faces, Seth Bott (whom I met over the summer) and a girl from back home who was cutting Seth's hair. What are the chances of that? Then, as I exited the Wilk, I ran into my friend Katelyn Absher, who had gotten out of class early and had just happened to cross my path. As I continued my journey, I ran into another friend, Natalie Cook, who was standing on the side of the path and eating a sandwich- she'd been talking to her husband and had been wandering around aimlessly, somehow ending up on the path to Helaman Halls (and the route that I was taking home). She's always so positive and never fails to brighten my day.
As I continued my path through Helaman Halls, I ran into my friend Joanali Evans, and her two little adorable kids (who were so excited to see me!!). Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than seeing little one-year old Mayley smile at me and wave. Finally, on the last leg of my journey to Wyview Park, somebody honked at me (it was a happy honk). I think it was my friend Mitch, but I'm not sure.
Now I am sitting here waiting for my car to be fixed... it'll cost about $270, but my mom gave me $130 to help pay for it and I somehow have $500 in savings. I just ate a big lunch of pasta and pomegranate juice. I finished up my chemistry homework last night (and it actually made sense). My bid is done. My hair is styled. I'm listening to country music. Jessica just called me because her stove was on fire and I was able to instruct her on what to do. It's Friday and I only have two classes to go to. My roommate is singing along to his rock music...
Life can be so hard. Sometimes you think to yourself, How can it get any worse? And then it does. But it's not going to last forever; there will always be that light at the end of the tunnel. And when you do finally reach that light, think about how much more grateful you'll be for that light when all you've seen for the past little while was darkness. It's almost like your reward for making it through the trials you just endured. God's not going to put us through trial after trial after trial after trial; life's to be enjoyed too.
And life is good. :D
Today was different though. I got my new debit card in the mail yesterday and I was able to buy bread and cereal for the first time in a week and a half. So I had cereal for breakfast instead of some combination of tortilla shells and peanut better, or just going without. I had an RHA meeting at 8:00 AM and it was probably the most fun meeting I've been to in my 2+ years working with the organization; our advisors, Ben Hess and Todd Fishio, were both in very jovial moods and I don't think I've laughed that hard in at least a month.
On the way home, I decided to stop by the BYU Barbershop to buy some hair gel (which I've gone without for a week) and ran into two friendly faces, Seth Bott (whom I met over the summer) and a girl from back home who was cutting Seth's hair. What are the chances of that? Then, as I exited the Wilk, I ran into my friend Katelyn Absher, who had gotten out of class early and had just happened to cross my path. As I continued my journey, I ran into another friend, Natalie Cook, who was standing on the side of the path and eating a sandwich- she'd been talking to her husband and had been wandering around aimlessly, somehow ending up on the path to Helaman Halls (and the route that I was taking home). She's always so positive and never fails to brighten my day.
As I continued my path through Helaman Halls, I ran into my friend Joanali Evans, and her two little adorable kids (who were so excited to see me!!). Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than seeing little one-year old Mayley smile at me and wave. Finally, on the last leg of my journey to Wyview Park, somebody honked at me (it was a happy honk). I think it was my friend Mitch, but I'm not sure.
Now I am sitting here waiting for my car to be fixed... it'll cost about $270, but my mom gave me $130 to help pay for it and I somehow have $500 in savings. I just ate a big lunch of pasta and pomegranate juice. I finished up my chemistry homework last night (and it actually made sense). My bid is done. My hair is styled. I'm listening to country music. Jessica just called me because her stove was on fire and I was able to instruct her on what to do. It's Friday and I only have two classes to go to. My roommate is singing along to his rock music...
Life can be so hard. Sometimes you think to yourself, How can it get any worse? And then it does. But it's not going to last forever; there will always be that light at the end of the tunnel. And when you do finally reach that light, think about how much more grateful you'll be for that light when all you've seen for the past little while was darkness. It's almost like your reward for making it through the trials you just endured. God's not going to put us through trial after trial after trial after trial; life's to be enjoyed too.
And life is good. :D
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Success?
Disclaimer: yet again, this is not prideful.
I've accomplished many things in my short 21 years of life (yes, I'm saying 21 even though I technically still have a month and a half); many of them are things that the average 20 year old wouldn't even consider: I've performed in Carnegie Hall, the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington, D.C. temple visitor's center, the De Jong Concert Hall (BYU), the Libby Gardner Hall (U of U), the Assembly Hall on Temple Square, and on the Tabernacle Organ in Salt Lake City, not to mention countless chapels and homes throughout the Intermountain West; I was one of the best choir presidents that Box Elder High School has ever seen and one of the principal accompanists in a community that produces the top musicians in the State of Utah; I was BYU's "Freshman of the Year" and served as the president of the second largest student-run organization on campus; I've read the entire 1st book of Nephi in Spanish; heck, at one point in my life I had two stake callings and two ward callings.
So how can someone who has "accomplished" so much actually accomplished so little? I'm a junior in college and I've never officially declared a major, I'm having to take out a loan to pay for school, I don't focus on my schoolwork as much as I should, and I hate writing bids. Sometimes I feel like I'm broken- I see everybody else around me devote most of their time to studying and their major, and they always seem to end up with As and -As. Then there's me, who is perfectly content with a B, maybe a +B (or sometimes a +C). I'll probably end up with some dead-end job and look back on my life, saying, "a lot of good that did you."
The End.
I've accomplished many things in my short 21 years of life (yes, I'm saying 21 even though I technically still have a month and a half); many of them are things that the average 20 year old wouldn't even consider: I've performed in Carnegie Hall, the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington, D.C. temple visitor's center, the De Jong Concert Hall (BYU), the Libby Gardner Hall (U of U), the Assembly Hall on Temple Square, and on the Tabernacle Organ in Salt Lake City, not to mention countless chapels and homes throughout the Intermountain West; I was one of the best choir presidents that Box Elder High School has ever seen and one of the principal accompanists in a community that produces the top musicians in the State of Utah; I was BYU's "Freshman of the Year" and served as the president of the second largest student-run organization on campus; I've read the entire 1st book of Nephi in Spanish; heck, at one point in my life I had two stake callings and two ward callings.
So how can someone who has "accomplished" so much actually accomplished so little? I'm a junior in college and I've never officially declared a major, I'm having to take out a loan to pay for school, I don't focus on my schoolwork as much as I should, and I hate writing bids. Sometimes I feel like I'm broken- I see everybody else around me devote most of their time to studying and their major, and they always seem to end up with As and -As. Then there's me, who is perfectly content with a B, maybe a +B (or sometimes a +C). I'll probably end up with some dead-end job and look back on my life, saying, "a lot of good that did you."
The End.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Awkward Situations
Before you read this post, please note: this is not meant to be prideful in any way. It's a legitimate concern that I have.
Have you ever been walking across campus and passed by someone who said, "Hey!! How are you?!" You have no idea what their name is or even who they are. Awkward situation, right?
Now put yourself in my shoes; I experience something like this almost every day. Macy's, church, the Wilk... it's all the same. Nowhere is safe, not even the Brigham City Walmart.
One time I was at the mall in Orem, trying on pants at one of the stores (I can't even remember which one). I went up to one of the workers to ask for a fitting room and she looked at me and said, "Hey, isn't your name Skyler?" I replied with a surprised look, "Yeah, it is."
"I think that you were in my freshman ward."
Lying through my teeth, "Oh yeah! I remember now!"
I then went on to have this conversation with this girl I didn't even know, about how she was engaged and how good life was. Now you may be saying to yourself, "Surely you know her; you must have just forgotten her over the years." Nope. I don't think we ever officially met.
Another situation (this one just happened a month ago). It's short, don't worry:
I walked into Macy's (the grocery store) and grabbed a shopping cart. I didn't even make it to the first aisle before some girl was yelling my name from halfway across the store. She seemed excited to see me and we carried on a short conversation before parting ways. But to this day I have no idea who she was.
So why am I writing this blog post? These occurrences are being more and more regular, literally almost daily. I'm almost to the point where I walk across campus and hope that I don't see someone I know. I mean, I know I'm not the best at remember names and faces, but as I hold more and more prominent positions (RHA President, NRHH President, ward organist, the only junior in the ward, etc) it seems like the amount of nameless people that know me increases exponentially. And it doesn't help that I'm so recognizable; my blond hair (and friendly personality) is kind of hard to forget. Just one more hit I'm taking for the team.
So if I run into you on campus and forget your name, please don't take offense. Just nod your head and go along with it, because chances are my brain will be on information overload.
Have you ever been walking across campus and passed by someone who said, "Hey
Now put yourself in my shoes; I experience something like this almost every day. Macy's, church, the Wilk... it's all the same. Nowhere is safe, not even the Brigham City Walmart.
One time I was at the mall in Orem, trying on pants at one of the stores (I can't even remember which one). I went up to one of the workers to ask for a fitting room and she looked at me and said, "Hey, isn't your name Skyler?" I replied with a surprised look, "Yeah, it is."
"I think that you were in my freshman ward."
Lying through my teeth, "Oh yeah! I remember now!"
I then went on to have this conversation with this girl I didn't even know, about how she was engaged and how good life was. Now you may be saying to yourself, "Surely you know her; you must have just forgotten her over the years." Nope. I don't think we ever officially met.
Another situation (this one just happened a month ago). It's short, don't worry:
I walked into Macy's (the grocery store) and grabbed a shopping cart. I didn't even make it to the first aisle before some girl was yelling my name from halfway across the store. She seemed excited to see me and we carried on a short conversation before parting ways. But to this day I have no idea who she was.
So why am I writing this blog post? These occurrences are being more and more regular, literally almost daily. I'm almost to the point where I walk across campus and hope that I don't see someone I know. I mean, I know I'm not the best at remember names and faces, but as I hold more and more prominent positions (RHA President, NRHH President, ward organist, the only junior in the ward, etc) it seems like the amount of nameless people that know me increases exponentially. And it doesn't help that I'm so recognizable; my blond hair (and friendly personality) is kind of hard to forget.
So if I run into you on campus and forget your name, please don't take offense. Just nod your head and go along with it, because chances are my brain will be on information overload.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Lynnisms
I think my roommate plugged the toilet, so while I wait for the smell level to go down and it's safe to enter, I'll blog!
Tonight as I was going through my "special box" (you know, the box where you save all of your important letters and birthday cards), I came across some blue post-it notes that contain the precious knowledge of my former boss, Lynn. Oh how I miss that man and his Lynnisms. He was like a grandfather to me. At this time I would like to share with the world his wise words of life; may you be as enlightened by them as I was.
"I am not a sayer of things."
"I want to be a monkey's uncle. I have no ambition."
"The worst is when you think you're about to get a drink of cool water and it ends up being someone's throw up."
"Do you want to hit him now, later, or both?"
"Chip the barnacles off your butt and get to work!"
"He's gonna hunt you down like a dog in the street."
"Being an extra is like having a pimple on your butt... it's an extra!"
"Susan, why don't pigs fly? Because they don't have wings!"
"When you're sick, you just don't feel well."
"Your marriage won't last longer than a warm fart."
"This is not for eating, it's for looking through." (talking about an orange)
"He's smarter than turpentine on a dog's butt."
"How long is a piece of string?"
"Like chewing an elastic band." (talking about low-fat cookies)
"Like sliding down a banister of razor blades and landing in a bucket of alcohol."
Tonight as I was going through my "special box" (you know, the box where you save all of your important letters and birthday cards), I came across some blue post-it notes that contain the precious knowledge of my former boss, Lynn. Oh how I miss that man and his Lynnisms. He was like a grandfather to me. At this time I would like to share with the world his wise words of life; may you be as enlightened by them as I was.
"I am not a sayer of things."
"I want to be a monkey's uncle. I have no ambition."
"The worst is when you think you're about to get a drink of cool water and it ends up being someone's throw up."
"Do you want to hit him now, later, or both?"
"Chip the barnacles off your butt and get to work!"
"He's gonna hunt you down like a dog in the street."
"Being an extra is like having a pimple on your butt... it's an extra!"
"Susan, why don't pigs fly? Because they don't have wings!"
"When you're sick, you just don't feel well."
"Your marriage won't last longer than a warm fart."
"This is not for eating, it's for looking through." (talking about an orange)
"He's smarter than turpentine on a dog's butt."
"How long is a piece of string?"
"Like chewing an elastic band." (talking about low-fat cookies)
"Like sliding down a banister of razor blades and landing in a bucket of alcohol."
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Happiness
Happiness is...
spending General Conference weekend working on the cabin with my family.
sleeping in the cabin loft with my younger siblings, then waking up and having a big wrestling match with our sleeping bags pulled over our heads.
walking around the Weber State duck pond hand in hand with a certain girl.
driving through small farm towns on a Sunday afternoon and seeing the fields empty and the church parking lots full.
having a fall picnic in a mountain meadow with wonderful friends.
homemade blankets from Grandma.
catching my parents looking at each other with such love and adoration.
getting letters from my best friend on a mission and somehow it's just what I need to hear at that exact moment.
going home and seeing the excitement in my youngest brother's eyes as he tells me about all of his recent adventures.
seeing my teenage sister wear make-up for the first time... while kicking butt on the freshmen volleyball team.
phone calls with my brother, who somehow grew up and became a man overnight.
friends that never give up on inviting me to dinner parties, even though half the time I'm too darn busy to go.
receiving encouraging emails from friends from home, who never seem to forget me.
listening to others humbly share their talents on the piano, even if it's "only" Venessa Carlton's "Thousand Miles."
watching "Up" with my favorite three year old friend who reclines against my knee, then stands up and plants himself right in my lap for the rest of the movie.
getting Naked juice at Macey's and making jokes about it the whole time.
visiting Iranthea with Anna.
spending long days (and nights) with good friends in the Resource Center.
friends who's lives are a thousand times more difficult than mine, but never complain once.
working on the Homecoming float with Jay Brown.
wiping banana off the feet of a dear friend.
going to see the Joseph Smith movie and not even caring that I'm balling my eyes out the whole time.
and last but not least, happiness is knowing that because of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and our Heavenly Father's Plan of Salvation, all of these things will be possible for the rest of eternity. And that, my friends, is very happy news.
spending General Conference weekend working on the cabin with my family.
sleeping in the cabin loft with my younger siblings, then waking up and having a big wrestling match with our sleeping bags pulled over our heads.
walking around the Weber State duck pond hand in hand with a certain girl.
driving through small farm towns on a Sunday afternoon and seeing the fields empty and the church parking lots full.
having a fall picnic in a mountain meadow with wonderful friends.
homemade blankets from Grandma.
catching my parents looking at each other with such love and adoration.
getting letters from my best friend on a mission and somehow it's just what I need to hear at that exact moment.
going home and seeing the excitement in my youngest brother's eyes as he tells me about all of his recent adventures.
seeing my teenage sister wear make-up for the first time... while kicking butt on the freshmen volleyball team.
phone calls with my brother, who somehow grew up and became a man overnight.
friends that never give up on inviting me to dinner parties, even though half the time I'm too darn busy to go.
receiving encouraging emails from friends from home, who never seem to forget me.
listening to others humbly share their talents on the piano, even if it's "only" Venessa Carlton's "Thousand Miles."
watching "Up" with my favorite three year old friend who reclines against my knee, then stands up and plants himself right in my lap for the rest of the movie.
getting Naked juice at Macey's and making jokes about it the whole time.
visiting Iranthea with Anna.
spending long days (and nights) with good friends in the Resource Center.
friends who's lives are a thousand times more difficult than mine, but never complain once.
working on the Homecoming float with Jay Brown.
wiping banana off the feet of a dear friend.
going to see the Joseph Smith movie and not even caring that I'm balling my eyes out the whole time.
and last but not least, happiness is knowing that because of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and our Heavenly Father's Plan of Salvation, all of these things will be possible for the rest of eternity. And that, my friends, is very happy news.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
What Shall We Give?
I love Sundays. I really think that they're a gift from God; no homework to worry about, no work or cleaning, no shopping or worldy music and TV... just church, focusing on the Savior, and visiting family and friends.
But that's not what I want to write about today. Instead I would like to recount an experience that I had last night before falling asleep.
After going through my usual teeth-brushing routine, I read a chapter from "The Book of Mormon" and "Our Search for Happiness" before crawling beneath the covers with my trusty iPod in hand. I selected one of my favorite playlists (a mix of my favorite comfort songs) and closed my eyes to help me relax. The first song that came on is one of my absolute favorites; it's entitled "What Shall We Give" and rather than do it injustice by attempting to summarize it, here are the lyrics:
"What shall we give to the Babe in the manger,
What shall we offer the Child in the stall?
Incense and spices and gold we've got plenty-
Are these the gifts for the King of us all?
The song that followed "What Shall We Give" surprised me, even though somehow I knew it was coming. It's entitled "In the Bleak Midwinter":
"In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.
What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart."
(Here's a link to the song.)
It was no coincidence that these two songs were played back to back. I think I was very teachable at that moment and the Spirit seized on that rare opportunity to teach me something.
I don't want to share my whole experience- perhaps the Spirit will take this opportunity to teach you too . But I came to the conclusion that the one thing we can give our Lord (whether old or young, rich or poor) is our hearts, or more specifically a broken heart and a contrite spirit; that is, the best gift we can give Christ in return for His priceless Atonement is to use it. After all, God's number one purpose is to "bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man" (Moses 1:39).
What use is a gift if it's never used? Just food for thought.
But that's not what I want to write about today. Instead I would like to recount an experience that I had last night before falling asleep.
After going through my usual teeth-brushing routine, I read a chapter from "The Book of Mormon" and "Our Search for Happiness" before crawling beneath the covers with my trusty iPod in hand. I selected one of my favorite playlists (a mix of my favorite comfort songs) and closed my eyes to help me relax. The first song that came on is one of my absolute favorites; it's entitled "What Shall We Give" and rather than do it injustice by attempting to summarize it, here are the lyrics:
"What shall we give to the Babe in the manger,
What shall we offer the Child in the stall?
Incense and spices and gold we've got plenty-
Are these the gifts for the King of us all?
What shall we give to the Boy in the temple,
What shall we offer the Man by the sea?
Palms at his feet and hosannas uprising;
Are these for Him who will carry the tree?
What shall we give to the Lamb who was offered,
Rising the third day and shedding His love?
Tears for his mercy we'll weep at the manger,
Bathing the Infant come down from above."
The song that followed "What Shall We Give" surprised me, even though somehow I knew it was coming. It's entitled "In the Bleak Midwinter":
"In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.
What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart."
(Here's a link to the song.)
It was no coincidence that these two songs were played back to back. I think I was very teachable at that moment and the Spirit seized on that rare opportunity to teach me something.
I don't want to share my whole experience- perhaps the Spirit will take this opportunity to teach you too . But I came to the conclusion that the one thing we can give our Lord (whether old or young, rich or poor) is our hearts, or more specifically a broken heart and a contrite spirit; that is, the best gift we can give Christ in return for His priceless Atonement is to use it. After all, God's number one purpose is to "bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man" (Moses 1:39).
What use is a gift if it's never used? Just food for thought.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Of Thanksgivings, Tabernacles, and Tantrums
Well, I am sitting here working my very last early morning desk shift at Helaman Halls. Part of me is kind of sad, but the vast majority of me is leaping with joy. I am extremely sad, however, that I won't be seeing my coworkers/family as often as I have this summer. I am so grateful for these wonderful people and will never forget them. I'd like to copy Jessica now and tell you a little bit about each of them and the relationship that I have with my fellow CA's.
Jessica Callahan is like my childhood best friend that I have (and always will) remained close to throughout the years. She meows outside of my window, leaves me awkward phone messages, and makes DI runs with me. She's the kind of friend that I can got clear up in the middle of nowhere to some field at 2:30 in the morning and just lay and watch a meteor shower, all the while feeling perfectly safe and comfortable (despite the fact that two days before I was convinced that she was in love with me). She has become such a dear friend and I don't think she'll ever know the positive impact she has had on my life.
Timothy D. Colvin has become one of my very best friends. I know that (for the most part) I can rely on him to always be there, whether it's to help me move or to offer a friendly smile.
Jessica Callahan is like my childhood best friend that I have (and always will) remained close to throughout the years. She meows outside of my window, leaves me awkward phone messages, and makes DI runs with me. She's the kind of friend that I can got clear up in the middle of nowhere to some field at 2:30 in the morning and just lay and watch a meteor shower, all the while feeling perfectly safe and comfortable (despite the fact that two days before I was convinced that she was in love with me). She has become such a dear friend and I don't think she'll ever know the positive impact she has had on my life.
Timothy D. Colvin has become one of my very best friends. I know that (for the most part) I can rely on him to always be there, whether it's to help me move or to offer a friendly smile.
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Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The Start of Something Wonderful
The Brigham City TempleMy mother, Roxie; sister, Kaitlyn; younger brother, Zachary; and myself arrived at the Brigham City Tabernacle around 7:45 on Saturday morning; the groundbreaking wasn't scheduled to begin until 9:00 AM, but we had read in the newspaper that 25,000 people were expected to show up (luckily the actual number was much smaller than that) and we weren't going to take any chances. The temple is being built directly across Main Street from the historic tabernacle, so we set up our chairs and rolled out a blanket within the shadow of the tabernacle steeple. Church workers were setting up the big, red chairs that the General Authorities use for General Conference, and we could hear the microphones being tested. Our seats were good, but not the best. The podium was situated in such a way that the speaker's back would be facing us while his/her front would be facing the see of 500 reserved chairs. So we decided to move, coming to the conclusion that it would be better to stand at the back of the reserved chairs and see what was going on than to sit on the Tabernacle lawn and not be witness to this historic event. Our luck changed, however, when we were told that there were 80 reserved chairs that they were opening up to the public; we took advantage of this opportunity and got some pretty good seats.
The ceremony soon started; President Boyd K. Packer (a Brigham City native) presided, with Elder Russel M. Nelson also in attendance. Before the actual groundbreaking ceremony, there were several speakers that gave some short, insightful remarks. However, the speaker that stuck out to me the most was the wife of President Packer, Sister Donna Packer. What a special, special opportunity it was to hear the eternal companion of an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ share her fervent testimony of our Savior. I could literally feel her strength pouring over the congregation as this sweet woman declared to all present that she knows that our Lord and Redeemer lives. There is nothing more beautiful or wonderful than a righteous woman. Nothing. I'm so excited to be sealed to such a woman someday for all of time and eternity.
The closing remarks were given by President Packer who, as I mentioned before, is a Brigham City native. He's getting older and had to sit in a chair when he spoke, but he promised us with confidence that he would be around for the dedication of the temple. He told us stories of his youth: memories he had in the tabernacle and of attending elementary school in the very spot that we were now sitting. To quote him, "I am home... I can see in my mind’s eye a temple sitting here in about two years time. It will be gorgeous; it will be white. You will see in the design of it reflections of previous temples that have been built, particularly the Salt Lake Temple. It will be a beacon from all over the valley." I could have listened to his stories all day, but it was getting hot and it was time to move on.
President Packer then gave the dedicatory prayer, dedicating the ground to the building of the temple. It was such a beautiful prayer, but most of the things that were said are lost to my mortal mind. However there are some words that stick out in my mind like a flash of lightening. President Packer blessed the ground we were sitting on that it would be protected from harm and damage, especially during the construction of the temple. But then he went on to bless the wards, stakes, and the people in the area that they would be protected from harm and danger, and that the building of the temple will bring great blessings to the area. I feel like our community has received many blessings because of obedience to prophets; the owners of Maddox, a pretty well-to-do steak house that is frequented quite often by General Authorities, were promised many years ago by Church leaders that they would be greatly blessed if they would close their restaurant doors on Sunday. The fruit farmers in the area (Brigham is renowned for its fruit... at least, it used to be before Walmart came in) were likewise promised great blessings if they would keep the Sabbath Day holy. What a leap of faith it must have been to head this counsel, especially for a small, struggling restaurant and poor fruit farmers. But we have all been blessed by abundance and happiness because of those faithful Saints. It was extremely comforting to have an Apostle of the Lord bless us all with safety and protection.
After the prayer, a multi-stake choir from the Tremonton area sang "The Spirit of God." Many of you probably know how critical I can be when it comes to musical numbers, and this instance was no exception. The accompanist was choppy, the choir was a little bit shrill and slightly flat, and there was a kid sitting behind me that was crying and screaming. But then something happened that I can't explain. As soon as the fourth verse started, "How blessed the day when the lamb and the lion shall lie down together without an ire, and Ephraim be crowned with his blessings in Zion as Jesus descends with His chariot of fire!" I forgot all of these minor inconveniences.. To be honest, it was almost as if the heavens were opened and an angelic choir had joined in with the earthly choir. It was completely incredible and words will never fully describe it. I felt the Spirit pour over me like a breath of cool air and I hope I am slow to forget the incredible feeling that I felt.
After the choir, the groundbreaking ceremony took place. Some dirt was overturned by President Packer and Elder Nelson (and many other people afterward, including myself) and that was it. My Mother took us out to Maddox on the way home and I spent an enjoyable day with my family. I can't wait to witness the building of this beautiful building, but I especially can't wait for its completion. What a wonderful blessing.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Small Towns
So this past weekend I went up to my family's [unfinished] cabin, located near the small farm town of Paris, Idaho. Going up there reminded me of the reasons why I love small LDS farmtowns, reasons that I were going to write about; tidy, perfect yards and well kept houses; church houses filled to capacity every Sunday; modest and conservatively dressed people; hardworking saints that still shine with a pioneer attitude; and just an overall atmosphere of humble diligence that I haven't been able to find in the city. That doesn't mean that you won't find these qualities in the city... they just seem to be more prominent in the country.
But this blog isn't about Paris, Idaho. Rather, it's about my hometown, Willard, and the neighboring town of Brigham City, which will begin construction on an LDS temple this Saturday. Most of you probably know how passionate I am about my hometown. After all, it is one of two towns that has a prophet buried in its cemetery (Lorenzo Snow), it has the second oldest seminary program in the Church, the Mutual Improvement Association was first started in Brigham, and Elder Boyd K. Packer grew up there and served as the seminary principal for many, many years. Brigham used to have a trolley system (much like San Fransisco) and Brigham Young used to frequent the town. Brigham City was one of the first settlements outside of Salt Lake City (included with Logan, Ogden, St. George, Provo, and Preston) and is one of the few communities that has a tabernacle. People used to come from all over the West for the fruit grown there. Willard used to have an opera house. Okay, I feel really prideful right now, so I'm going to stop. Basically, it used to be a very important community, but now nobody gives it any recognition. But the Church hasn't forgotten us. When my stake was split a few years ago, Elder Perry (whose family helped settle a town in the area) told us that great things would be happening to the community. When the Brigham City temple was announce to the community, we were told that we were one of the Church's most diligent temple areas and it was about time we got a temple.
Okay, I'm done. Basically, I'm really excited for the groundbreaking this Saturday. So go ahead and smile and shake your head; I'm proud of wher
e I'm from. Ha ha!
But this blog isn't about Paris, Idaho. Rather, it's about my hometown, Willard, and the neighboring town of Brigham City, which will begin construction on an LDS temple this Saturday. Most of you probably know how passionate I am about my hometown. After all, it is one of two towns that has a prophet buried in its cemetery (Lorenzo Snow), it has the second oldest seminary program in the Church, the Mutual Improvement Association was first started in Brigham, and Elder Boyd K. Packer grew up there and served as the seminary principal for many, many years. Brigham used to have a trolley system (much like San Fransisco) and Brigham Young used to frequent the town. Brigham City was one of the first settlements outside of Salt Lake City (included with Logan, Ogden, St. George, Provo, and Preston) and is one of the few communities that has a tabernacle. People used to come from all over the West for the fruit grown there. Willard used to have an opera house. Okay, I feel really prideful right now, so I'm going to stop. Basically, it used to be a very important community, but now nobody gives it any recognition. But the Church hasn't forgotten us. When my stake was split a few years ago, Elder Perry (whose family helped settle a town in the area) told us that great things would be happening to the community. When the Brigham City temple was announce to the community, we were told that we were one of the Church's most diligent temple areas and it was about time we got a temple.
Okay, I'm done. Basically, I'm really excited for the groundbreaking this Saturday. So go ahead and smile and shake your head; I'm proud of wher
e I'm from. Ha ha!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Letters
I feel like I should blog about something, but I don't know what to blog about. So I'll talk about the great letters I have received within the past week. On Thursday morning, I got a letter from my younger brother, Michael, who has been working at scout camp for the summer; my only form of communication is by letter because he doesn't get any cell phone reception unless he's hanging upside down on top of a rock with a squirrel tied around his neck. Thursday afternoon, I got a letter from my best friend and adopted brother, Elder Howard, which was fantastic because he always has the habit of writing things that I need to hear at that specific moment. Then, on Friday, I got a letter from one of my very good friends, Elder Miera, whom I have not heard from in months; he's grown so much since I last heard from him and it was so great to know that he hasn't forgotten me. Then, this morning, I got another letter from Elder Howard (which kind of surprised me) and he told me some more of his missionary thoughts and yet again said exactly what I needed to hear to get me through the day. And last but not least, I got a postcard and souvenir from my dear cousin, Jamie, from her honeymoon; she thanked me for playing the piano at her wedding.
And just a few minutes ago, I found out that one of my best friends, Jeannette Thompson, might be returning to Provo this fall (I thought that I would never see her again). So basically, I feel like I have been blessed with so many good friends. I love y'all!!!!!
And just a few minutes ago, I found out that one of my best friends, Jeannette Thompson, might be returning to Provo this fall (I thought that I would never see her again). So basically, I feel like I have been blessed with so many good friends. I love y'all!!!!!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A Note from a Soccer Kid
So one of my jobs this summer is to go through the buildings after summer camps have checked out for the week and prepare them for the upcoming camp next week. Usually we find plenty of trash and the rooms are in disarray, which gets pretty annoying. But today as I was cleaning up after a soccer camp, one of my coworkers (Megan Nield) found a very touching item on one of the shelves in the room. It was a folded piece of paper, which said "Please leave for the next camp." When we unfolded the paper, we found the following message written in a young boy's handwriting (this is a direct quote, complete with spelling and grammar).
"Dear Youth,
Hi, Im Brian. I was here last week and it was a blast. Weather this is your first year, second year, or third year you'll love it. The best part of the week is day 4. It is the most spiritual. You have an awesome counselor. He is a great guy. He will teach you everything. I just wanted to write this to you so I tell you what an experience this is. By the way, write in your journal so you will never forget it. So have a great week, and remember that you are a child of god and He loves you.
-Brian"
Not gonna lie: finding this note made cleaning up trash and folding blankets for the summer worth it. These kids are here not only to learn how to become a better athlete, but to gain a stronger testimony and to have a "BYU experience," which many of them may not have the opportunity to have. What a blessing it is to be a student at Brigham Young University and to be doing the job that I have now. The hours may be weird and the work may be frustrating, but it's all worth it.
"Dear Youth,
Hi, Im Brian. I was here last week and it was a blast. Weather this is your first year, second year, or third year you'll love it. The best part of the week is day 4. It is the most spiritual. You have an awesome counselor. He is a great guy. He will teach you everything. I just wanted to write this to you so I tell you what an experience this is. By the way, write in your journal so you will never forget it. So have a great week, and remember that you are a child of god and He loves you.
-Brian"
Not gonna lie: finding this note made cleaning up trash and folding blankets for the summer worth it. These kids are here not only to learn how to become a better athlete, but to gain a stronger testimony and to have a "BYU experience," which many of them may not have the opportunity to have. What a blessing it is to be a student at Brigham Young University and to be doing the job that I have now. The hours may be weird and the work may be frustrating, but it's all worth it.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
NACURH, Inc.
One of the highlights of my job (working for RHA, not as a Conference Assistant) is being paid to travel the country for conferences. This past week was spent in San Diego for the national RHA conference, also known as NACURH (which is, by the way, the largest student-run organization in the world. Just FYI). The weather in San Diego was beautiful, never getting hotter than 70 degrees; if it wasn't so darn expensive and crowded, I would live there in a heartbeat. Anyways, for the most part it was just another conference. I sat through a 5 hour business corporate meeting (where we spent over an hour arguing over whether to call a piece of legislation a bathroom, restroom, or "public facility." We eventually settled on "public restroom."), I went to a few NRHH workshops and I'm now ready and excited to take over as BYU's NRHH president, and I ate some pretty good food. But that was it. No beach time, no Sea World. This conference was purely business.
I sat in the San Diego airport for over 5 hours, waiting to board my delayed flight. But while waiting, I ran into one of my seminary teacher's wife, which was pretty unexpected considering that I come from a town of 1, 500 people and she comes from a town of even less. And to make coincidences even better, the kid sitting next to me went to school with my younger sister. Small world, eh?
I also had the opportunity to teach the plan of salvation to two young women.
I sat in the San Diego airport for over 5 hours, waiting to board my delayed flight. But while waiting, I ran into one of my seminary teacher's wife, which was pretty unexpected considering that I come from a town of 1, 500 people and she comes from a town of even less. And to make coincidences even better, the kid sitting next to me went to school with my younger sister. Small world, eh?
I also had the opportunity to teach the plan of salvation to two young women.
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Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Cannon Center Food... Is This Thing Still Breathing?
Okay, maybe the title is a little bit of an exaggeration; the food at the Cannon Center really isn't all that bad and I should probably just be grateful to receive three free meals a day. But sometimes I look at the food they serve and think, "What is that and where did it come from?"
Let me provide some examples that prove my point: A couple of days ago, one of my coworkers (Jessica, I think) had a dish on her tray that looked like it contained chicken poppers or some other form of chicken nuggets, which is one of my absolute favorite foods. Of course, I asked her if I could have one. But was it chicken? No. It was creamed corn that had been battered and then deep fried. What the heck? Who does that?
Another example: sometimes they have this couscous dish at the salad bar which usually looks pretty fresh and tasty; it has tomatoes, green onions, sometimes olives. But it is the most nasty nast bland stuff ever. And for some reason, I always get it... maybe there's some kind of addictive substance added to it? And one time I got it and the couscous was all mashed up... the texture was so gross that I almost threw up (and it takes a lot to make me almost vomit). Imagine the texture of applesauce with the taste of, well, nothing. It was nasty nast.
So what's a safe alternative when the main dish of the day looks iffy and you're tired of the same pasta dish every day? A good old, American hamburger at the burger bar, right? But wait. In order to win your meal, you must first make it past the dragon lady, who's looks breath fire and mouth has tasted the flesh of many a freshman. So far, I have been the only person around who has even come close to taming her. However, sometimes even my charm isn't enough and I end up whimpering back to my table, victorious french fries in hand at the cost of singed eyebrows.
The Cannon Center isn't all bad though. I am literally in love with their bread pudding and my coworkers will attest that I will oftentimes end a meal with three helpings (which usually adds five pounds to my weight the next day). Don't ask me what keeps me returning to the dessert bar for bread pudding like an excited little schoolboy on Christmas day (or Blake during EFY check-ins). Perhaps it's my English ancestry crying for wholesome food.
And for the most part, the Cannon Center workers are very polite and jovial. So many times my day is made by a smile or even a polite greeting and use of my name as I swipe my card for one of my daily meals (at least four of the workers have taken the time to learn my name).
All in all, if one can make it past the rubbery meat and the food that has been so saturated in fat that my heart aches (literally), the Cannon Center isn't that bad of a place. I have gained ten pounds since the beginning of the summer and I'm afraid to say that it's not all from muscle gain (although I am pretty ripped, if I do say so myself). Plus, the soft food has definitely made digestion easier (sometimes too easy, especially after biscuits and gravy if you know what I mean).
And so, my dear Cannon Commons, I salute you. I salute your food dripping in saturated fat. I salute your greasy haired worker and dragon guardian. I salute your hallowed halls filled with overly-excited (and BO smelling) camp participants. And I salute your commitment to keep the Honor Code alive, sending away the slightly scruffy RA but admitting the football jock wearing a cutoff T-shirt and tight spandex shorts. Thank you.
Let me provide some examples that prove my point: A couple of days ago, one of my coworkers (Jessica, I think) had a dish on her tray that looked like it contained chicken poppers or some other form of chicken nuggets, which is one of my absolute favorite foods. Of course, I asked her if I could have one. But was it chicken? No. It was creamed corn that had been battered and then deep fried. What the heck? Who does that?
Another example: sometimes they have this couscous dish at the salad bar which usually looks pretty fresh and tasty; it has tomatoes, green onions, sometimes olives. But it is the most nasty nast bland stuff ever. And for some reason, I always get it... maybe there's some kind of addictive substance added to it? And one time I got it and the couscous was all mashed up... the texture was so gross that I almost threw up (and it takes a lot to make me almost vomit). Imagine the texture of applesauce with the taste of, well, nothing. It was nasty nast.
So what's a safe alternative when the main dish of the day looks iffy and you're tired of the same pasta dish every day? A good old, American hamburger at the burger bar, right? But wait. In order to win your meal, you must first make it past the dragon lady, who's looks breath fire and mouth has tasted the flesh of many a freshman. So far, I have been the only person around who has even come close to taming her. However, sometimes even my charm isn't enough and I end up whimpering back to my table, victorious french fries in hand at the cost of singed eyebrows.
The Cannon Center isn't all bad though. I am literally in love with their bread pudding and my coworkers will attest that I will oftentimes end a meal with three helpings (which usually adds five pounds to my weight the next day). Don't ask me what keeps me returning to the dessert bar for bread pudding like an excited little schoolboy on Christmas day (or Blake during EFY check-ins). Perhaps it's my English ancestry crying for wholesome food.
And for the most part, the Cannon Center workers are very polite and jovial. So many times my day is made by a smile or even a polite greeting and use of my name as I swipe my card for one of my daily meals (at least four of the workers have taken the time to learn my name).
All in all, if one can make it past the rubbery meat and the food that has been so saturated in fat that my heart aches (literally), the Cannon Center isn't that bad of a place. I have gained ten pounds since the beginning of the summer and I'm afraid to say that it's not all from muscle gain (although I am pretty ripped, if I do say so myself). Plus, the soft food has definitely made digestion easier (sometimes too easy, especially after biscuits and gravy if you know what I mean).
And so, my dear Cannon Commons, I salute you. I salute your food dripping in saturated fat. I salute your greasy haired worker and dragon guardian. I salute your hallowed halls filled with overly-excited (and BO smelling) camp participants. And I salute your commitment to keep the Honor Code alive, sending away the slightly scruffy RA but admitting the football jock wearing a cutoff T-shirt and tight spandex shorts. Thank you.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Acquaintance or Friend?
I was sitting alone in the Cannon Center last Sunday, eating my wonderfully delicious (although artery clogging) food, when a random guy came up to my table and asked if he could join me. Instantly I realized that he looked familiar, and after we chatted a bit, he confessed that he recognized me from somewhere but didn't know where. I thought for a couple of seconds, then said, "Were you ever a TA for..."
"Physical Science?" he interrupted. "Yes."
"That's it," I replied. What makes this story unique is the fact that I had taken Physical Science my first semester of college, almost two years earlier. In addition, I only went to his TA lab session four or five times (the session was held Monday nights at 6:30, which conflicted with my Family Home Evening "Pa" calling) and I had never once talked to the guy. For him to recognize me, just one student out of hundreds of other past students, completely blew me away.
Another story: my second semester of college, I was working as an early morning custodian at the Smoot Administration Building at BYU. I would wake up every morning at 5:00 in order to catch the 5:42 bus to campus. There weren't very many other people that would catch the bus that early, so I quickly began to notice that the same girl would be at the bus stop every Thursday. We began talking and soon I began to look forward to Thursdays, if only because I knew that I would be greeted with an enthusiastic, smiling face. As the school year came to a close and I moved home for the summer, I didn't think anymore of the girl named Sarah; she had become just another acquaintance that I had made and would probably never see again.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago: I was sitting at the Helaman Halls front desk, sorting through the mail and thinking that it would be just another day, when up walked a young woman. I recognized her instantly and I could tell that she recognized me too, although I couldn't remember her name (just for the record, I was wearing my nametag). It took me the rest of the day to remember how I knew her... and guess how. Yep, she was the same Sarah that I had seen every Thursday over a year ago. Now she is the female "head sport's camp counselor" and I see her almost every day.
Either I'm just really popular or have a talent for remembering faces (probably the latter), but it seems like occurrences like these two stories happen quite often. I've really been thinking about it recently and I almost wonder if the Lord nudges people into our path to help us along our path to eternal progression; I'm not talking about family and good friends: of course those people have been brought into our lives by the hand of the Lord. But rather, I'm talking about the random acquaintances that are only in our lives for a short amount of time. I can't even count the number of times that I have walked out of the Testing Center and ran into an old classmate that I haven't seen in months, providing me with a much needed self-esteem boost. Or the "best friends" who have helped me through a difficult period of my life, yet now I haven't heard from them in well over a year.
It amazes me how much of a role the Lord actually plays in my life. He seems to make everything fit together so smoothly and seamlessly. Truly He can see the bigger picture while I can only see the day to day things. Just kind of an interesting thought.
"Physical Science?" he interrupted. "Yes."
"That's it," I replied. What makes this story unique is the fact that I had taken Physical Science my first semester of college, almost two years earlier. In addition, I only went to his TA lab session four or five times (the session was held Monday nights at 6:30, which conflicted with my Family Home Evening "Pa" calling) and I had never once talked to the guy. For him to recognize me, just one student out of hundreds of other past students, completely blew me away.
Another story: my second semester of college, I was working as an early morning custodian at the Smoot Administration Building at BYU. I would wake up every morning at 5:00 in order to catch the 5:42 bus to campus. There weren't very many other people that would catch the bus that early, so I quickly began to notice that the same girl would be at the bus stop every Thursday. We began talking and soon I began to look forward to Thursdays, if only because I knew that I would be greeted with an enthusiastic, smiling face. As the school year came to a close and I moved home for the summer, I didn't think anymore of the girl named Sarah; she had become just another acquaintance that I had made and would probably never see again.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago: I was sitting at the Helaman Halls front desk, sorting through the mail and thinking that it would be just another day, when up walked a young woman. I recognized her instantly and I could tell that she recognized me too, although I couldn't remember her name (just for the record, I was wearing my nametag). It took me the rest of the day to remember how I knew her... and guess how. Yep, she was the same Sarah that I had seen every Thursday over a year ago. Now she is the female "head sport's camp counselor" and I see her almost every day.
Either I'm just really popular or have a talent for remembering faces (probably the latter), but it seems like occurrences like these two stories happen quite often. I've really been thinking about it recently and I almost wonder if the Lord nudges people into our path to help us along our path to eternal progression; I'm not talking about family and good friends: of course those people have been brought into our lives by the hand of the Lord. But rather, I'm talking about the random acquaintances that are only in our lives for a short amount of time. I can't even count the number of times that I have walked out of the Testing Center and ran into an old classmate that I haven't seen in months, providing me with a much needed self-esteem boost. Or the "best friends" who have helped me through a difficult period of my life, yet now I haven't heard from them in well over a year.
It amazes me how much of a role the Lord actually plays in my life. He seems to make everything fit together so smoothly and seamlessly. Truly He can see the bigger picture while I can only see the day to day things. Just kind of an interesting thought.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
An Unforgettable Performance on the Tabernacle Organ
Well, I have now officially performed on the Tabernacle Organ in Salt Lake City, and what an incredible experience it was, too. My co-workers and I met up at the Cannon Center around 11:00 and, after a short delay because I had accidentally thrown my car keys into the trash can, we left soon thereafter and arrived in Salt Lake around 12:15. Richard Elliott’s organ recital began at noon and I had wanted to be there for it (and I certainly didn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the organ), so after frantically finding a parking spot near the conference center, I sprinted the three blocks to Temple Square and then ran on to the Tabernacle. I arrived around 12:20 and found the doors locked, but the sister missionaries allowed me to enter a side room, where I was able to watch Dr. Elliott’s last (and very impressive) organ piece through a glass window, so as not to disturb the audience. Sitting with me in the room where two older women and after Dr. Elliott’s last piece, one of them looked at me and said, “Do you play the organ, young man?” I was a little bit surprised, but I replied that I did. “I could tell by the way that you were watching him,” she responded, referring to Dr. Elliott. I wish that had stayed to chat with those two women a little bit more, but I was too excited and in a hurry to meet Brother Elliott, so I excused myself and hurried onto the main plaza of the Tabernacle.
I made my way to the front of the pews, where Dr. Elliott was talking with some of the audience members. I sat on one of the benches and began putting on my shoes. My friends and parents came up to join me and I was soon bombarded with questions as to whether I was nervous, if I was excited, etc. I was nervous, but not nearly as much as I thought I would be. I was, however, extremely excited. This was one of my biggest dreams, and as I stared up at the gigantic instrument I couldn’t help but feel awed at the extremely rare experience I was about to have.
At this point, Dr. Elliott was finishing up his conversations with the audience members, so I moved over to stand nearby. He was talking with an older gentleman who had arrived late and who was expressing his disappointment at not being able to hear the magnificent organ. “Actually,” Dr. Elliott replied, motioning to me, “this young man is going to be playing it for a little bit.” The man’s face lit up. “Oh wonderful,” he said, and then he turned to go find a seat. My nervousness had increased a bit by this point, but so had my excitement. I shook Dr. Elliott’s hand and thanked him for allowing me to have this opportunity. “Not a problem,” he said. Then he proceeded to direct me towards the stand. We advanced passed the velvet “movie theater” rope and it occurred that very few of the general public is allowed to pass that point. As we made our way up the stairs towards the organ console, Dr. Elliott began talking about how the organ was slightly out of tune, as if we were old friends and colleagues; he almost seemed as excited as I was. We crossed the platform and reached the organ console. It was even more impressive up close and in person. Everything was beautifully designed, even down to the organ bench, which curved in elegant bows. There were more volume control pedals than I had ever seen before, and surprisingly there were a few high-tech looking screens. And don’t even get me started on the stops; there were so many and I felt slightly overwhelmed by the variety of tones.
“I’ve never played on anything like this before,” I said to Dr. Elliott. “I’ve only played on a little chapel organ.”
“Why don’t you put your music on the stand and get the bench adjusted while I get the stops ready for you,” he replied.
I pulled out my first song, a powerful arrangement of “Come, Come Ye Saints” by Clay Christiansen (for which I have been preparing for this very occasion), adjusted the bench just slightly, and sat down. Dr. Elliott glanced at my music, pulled a few stops, and showed me which of the five manuals were the great and the swell (which were actually the second and the third manuals, not the bottom one like I was used to). “Okay, whenever you’re ready,” he said. I put my hands and feet in position and began to play.
The first thing I noticed was that the keys were made out of wood (maybe pine?), not the usual plastic keys that I was used to on chapel organs. After that, I became focused on the music; I forgot about the audience, I barely noticed Dr. Elliott as he moved around changing the stops; I even failed to think about on which organ I was playing. My life had become dedicated to conveying the message of that powerful hymn. I thought of the pioneers who had crossed the plains, especially my own ancestors; it was because of them that I was playing that piece. It was dedicated to them; in fact, I had prayed to God earlier that day that my ancestors would be able to hear me play. Dr. Elliott selected very fitting arrangements of stops, conveying feelings of hope, joy, and faith, corresponding with the words of the verse I was playing. Soon the organ rumbled the last chorus of the hymn, “All is well, all is well,” and I added my own improvisation at the end. I let the organ thunder the last chord for a few seconds, basking in the power of the pioneer-built instrument. Then I released the keys and heard the reverberation of the last notes as they echoed around the acoustically unique Tabernacle. There was a slight pause, and then I heard enthusiastic applause. I looked down at the pews and was surprised to see a fairly large audience. I’m sure that I had a huge smile on my face and I was eager for more. I asked Dr. Elliot how much time I had, to which he replied that I had around ten more minutes.
I pulled out my hymnbook, the next piece I would play already planned out in my head. I opened to page two, “The Spirit of God,” and Dr. Elliott began setting the stops. The organ thundered and I thought of the dedication of the Kirtland temple: “And help us by the power of thy Spirit, that we may mingle our voices with those bright, shining seraphs around thy throne, with acclamations of praise, singing Hosanna to God and the Lamb!” (D&C 109:79). What a powerful hymn of praise! In my mind, there isn’t a hymn that expresses greater admiration and glory to God the Father and His Son. “How blessed the day when the lamb and the lion shall lie down together… as Jesus descends with His chariot of fire!”
As the echoes of the last chord of “The Spirit of God,” died out, Dr. Elliott turned to me and said, “Why don’t you pick a softer song now. Then I can show you some of the more beautiful strings and flutes that the Organ produces.” I flipped through the hymnbook and came across “Abide With Me; ‘Tis Eventide.” Perfect, I thought. The different tones that that organ is able to produce are completely amazing; it went from powerful trumpeter to gentle comforter with just a few switches of stops. This song has always brought peace to my heart and as I played I tried to convey the pleading desire: “Oh Savior, stay this night with me; behold, ‘tis eventide.”
The next song truly showed the contrasting ability that the Organ has. I decided to play “Lord, I Would Follow Thee,” dedicating it to a dear friend of mine. Dr. Elliott truly worked his magic on this song, the sound volume swelling slightly in the middle before decrescendoing to nothing more than a low rumble with the last professing statement of “Lord, I would follow Thee.” I held the chord longer than I normally would have; absorbing the deep, low resonance of the organ, my ears sorting through the different tones comprising the pianissimo chord.
As I lifted my fingers from keys, Dr. Elliott said, “Why don’t we open her up for the last song.” I turned to the audience and said, “What do you guys want to hear?” “Battle Hymn of the Republic!” “If You Could Hie to Kolob!” None of them sounded right though. I almost went with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” but then another hymn popped into my head. I turned the pages in the hymnbook to page 134, “I Believe in Christ,” one of my favorite hymns and the quintessential expression of my testimony of the Savior. Once more the organ boomed, this time professing my deep faith in Jesus Christ. I went all out with the pedals on the last first, my feet oftentimes flying in two different directions. I wanted all those within earshot of the Tabernacle to hear of my testimony of the Lord, Jesus Christ, “oh blessed name! With all my heart to Him I’ll sing! I’ll worship Him with all my might; He is the source of Truth and Light!” Dr. Elliot pulled out all of the stops for the last chord; my left foot pressed down on the second lowest note of the pedals while my right foot depressed the “A” above it, causing an even greater rumbling; my right hand played the last “D” chord an octave higher; the whole Tabernacle was alive with the sound of my testimony as the Organ proclaimed with trumpets the divinity of the Son of God.
Finally the last reverberations of the chord were absorbed, but still I sat on the bench, not wanting to leave but realizing that the time had come. I picked up my music books and slid off the bench. As we walked across the stage, Richard Elliott asked me if I was attending classes or just working for the summer. I told him that I was just working. He then asked if I had a job working in the dorms, which astounded me because I had only briefly mentioned to him many months before in January that I worked for BYU housing. (I’m sure that it helped that my “signature” for the many emails I sent him designated me as the “President” of the “Residence Halls Association.” We chatted as we walked and still he amazed me; “So which high school does your younger brother attend? He goes to Box Elder, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Did you go there too? They have a phenomenal choir.”
“Yep, we sure do. Nationally renowned.”
We chatted a bit about the high school choir teacher, Claudia Bigler, who had just retired from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Before I knew it, we had walked through those velvet ropes and were back in the realm of the audience. My parents embraced me and told me how extremely proud they were of me, and then they turned to thank Dr. Elliott. My co-workers then surrounded me, and my friend, Annette, presented me with a chocolate bouquet that they had made. Many of them shared experiences they had when the music had touched them deeply, which made my performance that much more special. Dr. Elliott said goodbye and disappeared back up to the organ. We posed for some pictures and slowly moseyed our way back to our cars.
So one may ask what I was feeling as I was playing the Organ. To be honest, playing that organ didn’t feel any different than playing any other organ that I had played on; I didn’t feel intimidated at all by the skill of Dr. Elliott; in fact, I wasn’t nervous at all. It was just me and the Organ. I guess I had many tourists take video and pictures of me, and I still find it slightly strange that I’m going to end up in someone’s travel log. But it was truly an incredible experience, playing as world famous and historic organ as the one in the Salt Lake Tabernacle. No other instrument compares to the amount of sacrifice that went into its construction. It was only made possible because of the Lord; He provided me with the talent; He provided me with a way to contact Dr. Elliott; He provided me with the determination and the guts to keep persisting and to never give up; He provided me with transportation (thanks to the Howard family, who presented me with their extra car the day before I found out about my performance); He blessed me with supportive family and friends; it is only because of Him that I had this opportunity and I am still amazed with how smoothly everything fell into place. I know that it all came from Him and for that I am very grateful.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Of Tabernacles and Swallows
Good morning. It is 6:00 in the morning and I am sitting at the front desk of Helaman Halls, wondering who's bright idea it was to open the Cannon Center that early. No one ever comes in! I woke up at 5:15 this morning and bumbled around getting ready. And to make matters worse, this stupid swallow built its nest right outside my window and started chirping at 4:30 AM. It's not the pretty kind of chirping that robins or sparrows make, but rather it sounds like it has a worm that is stuck up its nose. I almost got up and shot it with my .22 (or even my BB gun!), but then I realized that the only weapon I have is my little pocket knife... it was way too early and definitely not worth the extra energy.Anyways, after getting ready and mumbling about how early it was, I walked outside of my building and saw one of the most beautiful sunrises I have seen in a long time. And suddenly my life didn't seem so bad. After all, how many people throughout the United States would give anything to have a secure job like me. Sure I have to wake up early or stay up late every once in a while, but how many people stay up all night worrying about whether they'll have food on the table in the morning? Count your blessings, my friends, because one man's complaint may very well be another man's blessing.On to more exciting news: Monday afternoon I was in a pretty bad mood (for reasons unbeknownst to me); to quote my friend Annette, "I wanted to punch a baby dolphin." But when I came in for my shift at the front desk, I saw that I had an email from Richard Elliott, one of the main Tabernacle Organists in Salt Lake City. To quote his email:"Hi Skyler, I’m glad that you persisted! This week is the week that I am playing “catch up” and I am finally scheduling things that had to be put on the back burner due to a heavy workload both here on the Square and on the road. Friday works well for me, if it is still good for you. I can meet you on the main floor of the Tabernacle right after the recital. I generally have to talk to people in the audience for a few minutes, but I will try to get through that as quickly as possible, after which I can take you up to the organ console and give you 10 or 15 minutes to play. If Wednesday or Thursday works better I can talk to the recitalists for those days (Bonnie Goodliffe and Andrew Unsworth) to see if they would be able to host you. I hope everything is going well for you.Brother Elliott"Yeah, I was pretty darn excited. I'm pretty sure I gave a big woot, because my supervisors came out to see what was going on. I now have two and a half days to prepare for this big event in my life and I have been scrambling to find time to practice. It's a dream come true and I have my wonderful high school choir teacher, Mrs. Claudia Bigler, to thank for it. I'm a bit nervous and I'll definitely be overwhelmed since I have never before played on such a magnificent instrument, but the Lord will give me strength. He's already answered so many of my other prayers regarding this. He's provided transportation (thanks to the Howard family), He's provided the talent, He's provided a way to contact Dr. Elliott, He's given me determination and persistance, He's provided supportive family and friends... I have truly been blessed and I am humbled by the love that God has for all of His children. Something as trivial as a 15 minute organ performance may seem like a small thing to other people, but it means everything to me; it represents years of dreaming, months of preparation and persistance, and many, many hours of practice and praying. The Lord has realized all of this and has given me the opprotunity of a lifetime. And so this Friday, I will play for Him. I'll play for my family, I'll play for my friends, and I'll play for my dear pioneer ancestors, who sacrificed so much so that I could live in a safe haven where things like this are possible.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Life of a Conference Assistant
Well, my co-workers have been bugging me to drag my dusty (short lived) blog out of the closet, and so I'm dusting off the old online journal and giving it another shot. Plus, after applying for every scholarship available, forwarding every last lost letter, checking Facebook a million times, and practicing early arrival check-ins for hours, working the front desk at Helaman Halls can get kind of boring. So what do I have to lose? Even if nobody ends up reading this, at least I will feel productive.
My co-workers are great. I feel as if we have been best friends for years, even though in reality it has been a month. I guess in a way we are a family, since so much of our time is spent together; we eat together, we work together, and we play together. I feel very comfortable around them and it's refreshing to be able to act myself. I have also had intimate (not sexual) conversations with many of them and I feel like that has drawn me that much closer to them.
We all have such different personalities, but they're different in the kind of way that makes us a whole, like puzzle pieces coming together to make a bigger picture. It's been interesting to notice the different strengths that every person has brought to the group. We have comedians, hard workers, the compassionates, optomistics... everyone has something to offer. And when one of us is absent for a period of time (whether it be hours or weeks), it feels as if a part of us is missing. We are a Conference Assistant dreamteam and I marvel at the wisdom of those who assembled us. It's my constant prayer that we will remain thus.
The work aspect of my job has been interesting; not quite what I expected, but definitely not bad. So far my work has consisted mainly of front desk shifts, "roving" the currently occupied buildings, and completing projects to get ready for this fall. The worst part has definitely been doing "building inventories," or as I like to call it, "I'm-pulling-my-hair-out-of -my-eyeballs-I'm-so-bored!" For building inventories, we have to go through each room at Helaman Halls and make note of ANY damages in the room. ANY! It's extremely meticulous and takes so much time. But that part of my life is almost over. I have, however, enjoyed all of the parts of the job that has involved physical labor. I really miss working hard and it's been nice to actually use my muscles.
Well, it looks like my desk shift is over. I'll be back soon with more updates of my life!!
My co-workers are great. I feel as if we have been best friends for years, even though in reality it has been a month. I guess in a way we are a family, since so much of our time is spent together; we eat together, we work together, and we play together. I feel very comfortable around them and it's refreshing to be able to act myself. I have also had intimate (not sexual) conversations with many of them and I feel like that has drawn me that much closer to them.
We all have such different personalities, but they're different in the kind of way that makes us a whole, like puzzle pieces coming together to make a bigger picture. It's been interesting to notice the different strengths that every person has brought to the group. We have comedians, hard workers, the compassionates, optomistics... everyone has something to offer. And when one of us is absent for a period of time (whether it be hours or weeks), it feels as if a part of us is missing. We are a Conference Assistant dreamteam and I marvel at the wisdom of those who assembled us. It's my constant prayer that we will remain thus.
The work aspect of my job has been interesting; not quite what I expected, but definitely not bad. So far my work has consisted mainly of front desk shifts, "roving" the currently occupied buildings, and completing projects to get ready for this fall. The worst part has definitely been doing "building inventories," or as I like to call it, "I'm-pulling-my-hair-out-of -my-eyeballs-I'm-so-bored!" For building inventories, we have to go through each room at Helaman Halls and make note of ANY damages in the room. ANY! It's extremely meticulous and takes so much time. But that part of my life is almost over. I have, however, enjoyed all of the parts of the job that has involved physical labor. I really miss working hard and it's been nice to actually use my muscles.
Well, it looks like my desk shift is over. I'll be back soon with more updates of my life!!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
New York City
This is a personal narrative that I recently found. I wrote it for my Utah State English class my senior year of high school (I was 17 years old). And.... I got an A+ on it. Ha ha! The teacher talked about it for a month. I'm still pretty proud of it. ;) Enjoy!
New York City
Cars honking, people rushing, sirens screaming, buildings soaring. The sights and sounds of New York City have always attracted me with its exciting modern charm. New York, the world's most famed and treasured city, with its hot dog stands and colossal buildings adding to the thrilling atmosphere.
Standing on top of the most illustrious skyscraper in the world, the Empire State Building, I look down and notice the tiny cars, silent and ant-sized, weaving around each other, in and out of traffic. The most prominent noise is the soft touch of a small breeze and the quiet whisper of amazed tourists. I look at the horizon and all I can see are lights, stretching as far as the eye can see and creating a subtle glow in the cool night sky. I feel both small and big at the same time. It will never be explained with words or justified with pictures. I can't share with anyone this feeling I have, like I'm king of the world, no matter how intelligent they claim to be.
Descending from one of the highest places in New York, I enter one of the lowest. A place where rats skulk and pickpockets lurk around every corner. A place reeking with a scent unique only to New York: a mixture of sewage, stale cigarette smoke, and pizza. A place filled with the scream of brakes and the clickety-clackety sound of the trans' wheels echoing throughout the concrete tunnels. As I stand there, taking in the murkiness of the subway, a man in a suit runs past me and jumps onto a departing train, just barely missing getting squashed by the closing doors. I remember once accidentally dumping all of the loose change in my wallet all over the floor while reaching for my subway pass. Little children swarmed around me from out of nowhere, all offering to pick up my runaway coins. I quickly went from eight cents in change to about twenty cents, as each child claimed his or her victory over the stupid "country boy." I smiled to myself and told him to keep the change.
My first ride in a subway car was perhaps the most uncomfortable ride of my life. I was way beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. The seats looked and smelled as if they hadn't been cleaned in years. Graffiti protesting war and advocating the rights of animals littered the walls. And oh, the people! I wasn't used to seeing teenage girls with body piercings in places that I didn't even know could be pierced. I wasn't used to black men, massive and bald, who looked like they would kill me rather than sit next to me. I wasn't even used to bearded Jewish men; in fact, I hadn't even seen a Jewish person until I cam to New York City! What I was used to were white "Mormon" people who all believed the same things and behaved the same way. I was a bit skeptical about meeting strange and new people, people that I thought of as scary. I even went so far as to consider myself more superior than the people walking past me in the street... at least, I did until I got lost.
I wasn't really lost forever in the jungle of steel and concrete, although it sure felt like it. I was probably really only a few blocks from where I was supposed to be, my hotel. I looked around for someone who looked like they wouldn't kill me, someone who looked like a "white Mormon." But the only people around me were black. "Oh man," I thought to myself. "This is it. This is where I'm going to die, lost in this unfamiliar place of cement." Then my eye caught sight of the least deadly-looking black man. My heart beating furiously and my palms sweating, I said, "Excuse me, sir. Can you direct me to this street?" My heart stopped. "This is it," I thought. "This is where he kills me." I waited for the knife to cut across my throat, spilling my life blood all over the gum covered sidewalk. But instead of pulling out a knife, the man gave ma big toothy grin. "Sure man," he replied. I let out a huge sigh of relief. The man proceeded to give me very detailed and helpful directions to the street my hotel was on. Then he wished me good luck and I went on my way. "That wasn't so bad," I told myself. "And I'm still alive."
Looking back on all my experiences from New York City, I realize how much I grew from them, even though I didn't realize it at the time. The major lesson I learned was that no matter where you go, people are always the same. We all have the same goals and desires in life. New York City is one of my absolute favorite places because of all of the growing that went on inside of me. I hope to someday visit this amazing and dear place again.
New York City
Cars honking, people rushing, sirens screaming, buildings soaring. The sights and sounds of New York City have always attracted me with its exciting modern charm. New York, the world's most famed and treasured city, with its hot dog stands and colossal buildings adding to the thrilling atmosphere.
Standing on top of the most illustrious skyscraper in the world, the Empire State Building, I look down and notice the tiny cars, silent and ant-sized, weaving around each other, in and out of traffic. The most prominent noise is the soft touch of a small breeze and the quiet whisper of amazed tourists. I look at the horizon and all I can see are lights, stretching as far as the eye can see and creating a subtle glow in the cool night sky. I feel both small and big at the same time. It will never be explained with words or justified with pictures. I can't share with anyone this feeling I have, like I'm king of the world, no matter how intelligent they claim to be.
Descending from one of the highest places in New York, I enter one of the lowest. A place where rats skulk and pickpockets lurk around every corner. A place reeking with a scent unique only to New York: a mixture of sewage, stale cigarette smoke, and pizza. A place filled with the scream of brakes and the clickety-clackety sound of the trans' wheels echoing throughout the concrete tunnels. As I stand there, taking in the murkiness of the subway, a man in a suit runs past me and jumps onto a departing train, just barely missing getting squashed by the closing doors. I remember once accidentally dumping all of the loose change in my wallet all over the floor while reaching for my subway pass. Little children swarmed around me from out of nowhere, all offering to pick up my runaway coins. I quickly went from eight cents in change to about twenty cents, as each child claimed his or her victory over the stupid "country boy." I smiled to myself and told him to keep the change.
My first ride in a subway car was perhaps the most uncomfortable ride of my life. I was way beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. The seats looked and smelled as if they hadn't been cleaned in years. Graffiti protesting war and advocating the rights of animals littered the walls. And oh, the people! I wasn't used to seeing teenage girls with body piercings in places that I didn't even know could be pierced. I wasn't used to black men, massive and bald, who looked like they would kill me rather than sit next to me. I wasn't even used to bearded Jewish men; in fact, I hadn't even seen a Jewish person until I cam to New York City! What I was used to were white "Mormon" people who all believed the same things and behaved the same way. I was a bit skeptical about meeting strange and new people, people that I thought of as scary. I even went so far as to consider myself more superior than the people walking past me in the street... at least, I did until I got lost.
I wasn't really lost forever in the jungle of steel and concrete, although it sure felt like it. I was probably really only a few blocks from where I was supposed to be, my hotel. I looked around for someone who looked like they wouldn't kill me, someone who looked like a "white Mormon." But the only people around me were black. "Oh man," I thought to myself. "This is it. This is where I'm going to die, lost in this unfamiliar place of cement." Then my eye caught sight of the least deadly-looking black man. My heart beating furiously and my palms sweating, I said, "Excuse me, sir. Can you direct me to this street?" My heart stopped. "This is it," I thought. "This is where he kills me." I waited for the knife to cut across my throat, spilling my life blood all over the gum covered sidewalk. But instead of pulling out a knife, the man gave ma big toothy grin. "Sure man," he replied. I let out a huge sigh of relief. The man proceeded to give me very detailed and helpful directions to the street my hotel was on. Then he wished me good luck and I went on my way. "That wasn't so bad," I told myself. "And I'm still alive."
Looking back on all my experiences from New York City, I realize how much I grew from them, even though I didn't realize it at the time. The major lesson I learned was that no matter where you go, people are always the same. We all have the same goals and desires in life. New York City is one of my absolute favorite places because of all of the growing that went on inside of me. I hope to someday visit this amazing and dear place again.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Personal Revelation
Last week I was called to be a Gospel Doctrine instructor. I was quite suprised at this, since I was highly anticipating a music calling. But I know that this was where the Lord wanted me. All week I pondered my upcoming lesson: The Creation. I pulled out all of my resources (seminary notebooks, lesson manuals, books, etc.). I was pretty excited.
However, as Sunday drew nearer, I began to worry slightly about my public speaking skills. I knew that I wasn't the best speaker; oftentimes my words get mixed up or I forget a word. But then my mind turned to Moses, who also wasn't a very good orator. I knew that like him, if I put my trust in the Lord, then everything would turn out okay. I knew that without a shadow of a doubt. I had complete faith.
Finally it was Sunday and time for Sunday School. As I taught my lesson, I had thoughts and insights come to my head that only could have come from the Lord. I was able to recall experiences that I haven't thought about in years. I had several good friends in the class who offered insights and their opinions. In short, the Lord opened up His Spirit to me and the class and in doing so, answered my prayers. I know that the Lord helped me, and I am placing my complete faith and trust in Him.
However, as Sunday drew nearer, I began to worry slightly about my public speaking skills. I knew that I wasn't the best speaker; oftentimes my words get mixed up or I forget a word. But then my mind turned to Moses, who also wasn't a very good orator. I knew that like him, if I put my trust in the Lord, then everything would turn out okay. I knew that without a shadow of a doubt. I had complete faith.
Finally it was Sunday and time for Sunday School. As I taught my lesson, I had thoughts and insights come to my head that only could have come from the Lord. I was able to recall experiences that I haven't thought about in years. I had several good friends in the class who offered insights and their opinions. In short, the Lord opened up His Spirit to me and the class and in doing so, answered my prayers. I know that the Lord helped me, and I am placing my complete faith and trust in Him.
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