Get. Over. It.

Missionaries are young. Oftentimes dumb. Myself included.

The Lord knows that eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-something year olds are going to need some guidance, so He gave us Mission Presidents.

A significant problems that plagues our generation, and society at large, is selfishness. For whatever reason, our natural instinct is to look inward, focus on our needs and desires, and disregard all else.

Our Mission President in the Arizona Mesa Mission is really smart.

In a meeting, he once spoke of how sometimes things don't work out for our benefit. Sometimes things are hard and things don't go our way. Not every event in our lives is designed to make us happy. He offered some wise counsel on what to do in those circumstances.

"Get. Over. It."

Sounds harsh. Think about it. In those words are expressed great love.

If we sit around and stew in our own disdain for our circumstances, we won't be happy. Have you ever heard, "life's what happens when you're making plans?"

Or a more appropriate alteration, "life's what happens when you're sitting in your room listening to moody alternative music, fuming about the unfairness of it all."

A Father To Me

I'm certain that no father has any clue how significant of an impact he has on his children. (Except our Heavenly Father, but he's all-knowing; He's got a bit of an advantage.) 

 I'm sure my own dad doesn't know how much he's influenced me. He once sent me a sweet note in which he wrote, 

"The day you were born was both wonderful and scary for me. Wonderful because I was blessed with a beautiful baby girl, and scary because I didn't know the first thing about little girls. But the first time I held you all I could think of was how lucky your mom and I were."

 He may not have known then, but he sure figured out how to be a father to a girly, bow wearing, ballerina. 

Growing up, I thought my dad knew all and had no weaknesses. 

I never even questioned when he told me that Ketchup was invented by "Mr. Ketch and Mr. Up". Trusting, not gullible... 

I thought his "moonwalk" was perfected. I could always count on getting a wink when we made eye contact in Sacrament meeting. 

I was always amazed when he knew how to help me with every problem on my math homework, and afterwards, could flawlessly polish my fingernails and braid my hair. 

And even though he teased me relentlessly (and still does), I thought my dad was superman. H. David Burton said, "Dads make great heroes". I concur. 

My dad travels a lot for business, and he has a time-involved job. But somehow he always made time to come to every dance recital, every science fair, and every "Daddy Daughter" youth activity. 

In The Family: A Proclamation to the World, we learn that the family is central to the Creator’s plan. Central, in my mind, means most important. 

My dad understands that. 

He always put our family as the most important thing in his life. 

Opposition in All Things

"Oh girls, nevermind. Sorry to be rude, but nevermind."

"I would appreciate it if you would stop pounding on my door."

"We aren't Mormon and we're never going to be. Don't come back."

Each of these sentences were punctuated with a slammed door. Me on one side, the speaker on the other. Leaving neither of us confused as to why.

As a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I have a defining feature that is easily recognizable. My badge.

My badge bears my name, and the name of the church; it represents the most important parts of my life -- my family and my Savior.

And it gives everyone around me permission to scoff, scorn, and ignore me.

Wait, what?

I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

Half of My Heart

Part of being a missionary means that I agree to "go where He wants me to go".

Sometimes that's hard -- sometimes I think I want to stay.

But eventually I realize that God knows best, and I should probably just listen. Because I know that whatever He says I should do, I should do.

I just got the news that I'm getting transferred to a new area.

I've been serving in the Mesa South Stake for the past six months, and it has no doubt been the best six months of my life. I have loved every moment I've spent here. (Or I've loved it in hindsight...)

The thing that made these months here so special for me has been the people I've gotten to associate with. I'm only beginning to understand what Christ's command to "love thy neighbor as thyself" truly means.

Ode to Onions and Lucille Ball

I'm like an onion.

Or a cake. Cake have layers. Everyone likes cake.

But seriously. Lately, I've noticed that the more I change and improve myself, the more I'm aware of how far I have yet to go. One layer comes off, and another bitter, eye-stinging layer is revealed.

It's infuriating.

Here's an example. I consecrate all my time, thoughts, and energy on not cracking my knuckles. It's tough and it takes dedication. But after days and days of concentration, I finally have the sweet, little victory of realizing it is no longer a habit.

Only then, after I've ridded myself of my outermost imperfection, do I recognize my other annoying habit of clicking my tongue. (I provide a never-ending supply of irritating sounds.)


It's a constant, uphill battle to self-improvement. And at times it's discouraging.

Because as we know, in the New Testament, Christ commanded us to be perfect.

Perfect. There are many interpretations of His meaning behind that declaration. The way I understand it is best explained using an example from my life.

Alone in the Universe

I've been thinking lately about my self perception.

And the ever-ambiguous charge to "be myself".

But that requries knowing who "myself" is. When I was younger, I didn't really know. So, utilizing my fourteen-year-old ingenuity, I created an outline.

Smart. Kind. Determined. Perfect love for others. Vast knowledge of current events and all things scriptural. Multitasker. Even tempered. Diligent. Perfect hair. Perfect body. Perfect grades. Good friend. Good sister. Good daughter. Everybody loves me.

The most important part was the last one. I based my success on whether or not people liked me.

That is not a happy way to live, let me tell you.

Over analysing. Constantly comparing. Always doubting.

Bending to that harsh, little voice that wants nothing good for me.

"I know"

I've been thinking a lot lately about what we call a testimony. I think sometimes we get carried away in the dramatics of boldly declaring that 'we know   with every fiber of our being, beyond the shadow of a doubt that something is true.'

And sometimes we do know something that surely.

But sometimes we don't. (I'm talking about myself here.)

Sometimes I say "I know" when I'm not certain. I want to give you a revised edition of my testimony. Things that I can't deny to be true. Things that have been confirmed to me in the most personal, sacred ways.

I know that this gospel is good. I know that through doing my best to live it, I'm a better person and I'm a lot happier. I know that I've been blessed by following God's commandments.

I know that God answers prayers. I've witnessed this too many times to deny it. It's not always in the way I want, or in the way I'm expecting -- sometimes it takes weeks or months or even years. But without fail, He answers me.

I know that through consistent study of the Book of Mormon and application of its teachings, I can find peace and happiness in my life. I know that I can find answers in the Book of Mormon. I can't explain to you all the details of how it came about, I don't know the entire history of each person featured within it's pages, but I know that I love it. I know that it has blessed my life.