Sunday, November 9, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Missing Eyebrows
Have you ever done something with 100% assurance that it was going to work the way you thought it would and completely resolve the situation exactly how it should and just knew with all your heart that your way was the best way possible only to have your actions create the exact opposite effect that you had planned?
The summer I turned 12, I was able to go to Girl's Camp for the first time. For those of you who aren't familiar with Girl's Camp, it's the summer camping experience created within the Young Women's program of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Every summer, for a week, young women throughout the Church head off with their leaders into the wildernesses of the world to learn and grow and have a lot of fun.
My mother was and is always at Girl's Camp. In fact, I don't think I can remember a summer that she didn't go to Girl's Camp in the last 20 years! In any case, I was happy that she was going to be there for my first camp experience. It made me feel safe and assured that my week would be fun and I would still have a little bit of home with me :)
Camping with 100 other teenage girls is EXACTLY how you think it is: CRAZY. As you can imagine, leaders spend the majority of their days and nights striking the perfect blend of teaching, comforting, refereeing and loving. Not every girl wants to be there but by the end, I think that every girl is glad she goes, if only to be able to share her horror stories with her friends over lip gloss applying in the locker room at school in the fall.
Honestly though, the magnitude of teaching and spiritual learning that happens is amazing. There's much to be learned about not only physical survival but spiritual survival as well. Much of my early spiritual foundations were laid and cemented at Girl's Camp.
I was a complete tom boy and loved the dirt and sweat and camping and cooking over the open fire and all that jazz. It was awesome! I went back every year that I was eligible and even as a leader later in life. It's one of those things that I never grew tired of.
My first year, there was a lot of adjustments to be made. Obviously when you get a bunch of girl's out in the woods, there is going to be some mischief. The newbies are always the ones to get picked on the most and that year I fell asleep in a lawn chair and got toilet papered as well as scared to death on a "snipe" hunt. All in good fun, though and it made for good stories to share later.
That year, I also had another experience, while hilarious in nature is also just now beginning to have deeper meaning to me as I reflect on it.
I like to do things my way. I feel like I am fairly intelligent and well-meaning. However, it is hard for me, once I make up my mind about the way things should happen, to let go of that vision and see things any other way. As good as my intentions might be, I am often short-sighted and in my life, that has caused myself, and others who know and love me, some heart ache.
During the course of my first week at Girl's Camp, we were required to prepare food in a few different ways: open fire, dutch oven, etc. One evening, my mom had a bunsen burner out and we were using it to cook something, I can't remember exactly what it was but I was in charge of the item over the bunsen. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, the burner was in a can, a sterno-like apparatus that we had actually made ourselves with cardboard and wax, also a part of the learning and fun :)
When it was done, my mom asked me to put out the burner and tossed me the lid. In my mind, this was like a big candle so the way to put it out, again, in MY MIND, was to blow as hard as I could. Well, for those of you who know, you can probably complete the story without me telling it.
I drew a big breath into my lungs and then without hesitation, blew with all my might on the burner.
BAD IDEA.
Just as I was about to blow, my mom screamed, "NO!" But to no avail. Encouraged by the massive amounts of fuel, the burner was like a blow torch and exploded in my face, completely erasing my eyebrows and any other hair on my face, as well as causing some painful second-degree burns.
Now, as you all know, my face is completely fine (cute even) so I haven't sustained any long-lasting scars from that moment. I spent the next few days nursing my burns with cool water and love from my mom. But in the end, my face was fine but my behavior had changed forever because I had learned how NOT to put out a bunsen burner.
Good thing to know.
In any case, I wonder why that experience doesn't come to mind when I get so hell-bent on other ideas that I think will make everything right or better or just different? Why do I always have to do it my way? It's selfish, really, when I contemplate the fact that there are billions of other people with just as many good ideas as me.
In my heart, I feel genuinely sorry for some of the ways in which I have behaved or things that I have said that I thought were "the best thing," "the right thing," "the only way that things will work," and so on. I know that all my ideas aren't bad and actually many times, my way is a great way and it works.
But, I want to be open to more ideas, to more ways, to more people, including those I love and who love me. I think I would move through life a little less clumsily and a lot more satisfied with the outcomes of each day.
I also know it would certainly make me more open to guidance from up above and who couldn't use a little more of that :)
Either way, I hope to have less moments of fire int he face and be able to keep my eyebrows, and heart, just right.
The summer I turned 12, I was able to go to Girl's Camp for the first time. For those of you who aren't familiar with Girl's Camp, it's the summer camping experience created within the Young Women's program of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Every summer, for a week, young women throughout the Church head off with their leaders into the wildernesses of the world to learn and grow and have a lot of fun.
My mother was and is always at Girl's Camp. In fact, I don't think I can remember a summer that she didn't go to Girl's Camp in the last 20 years! In any case, I was happy that she was going to be there for my first camp experience. It made me feel safe and assured that my week would be fun and I would still have a little bit of home with me :)
Camping with 100 other teenage girls is EXACTLY how you think it is: CRAZY. As you can imagine, leaders spend the majority of their days and nights striking the perfect blend of teaching, comforting, refereeing and loving. Not every girl wants to be there but by the end, I think that every girl is glad she goes, if only to be able to share her horror stories with her friends over lip gloss applying in the locker room at school in the fall.
Honestly though, the magnitude of teaching and spiritual learning that happens is amazing. There's much to be learned about not only physical survival but spiritual survival as well. Much of my early spiritual foundations were laid and cemented at Girl's Camp.
I was a complete tom boy and loved the dirt and sweat and camping and cooking over the open fire and all that jazz. It was awesome! I went back every year that I was eligible and even as a leader later in life. It's one of those things that I never grew tired of.
My first year, there was a lot of adjustments to be made. Obviously when you get a bunch of girl's out in the woods, there is going to be some mischief. The newbies are always the ones to get picked on the most and that year I fell asleep in a lawn chair and got toilet papered as well as scared to death on a "snipe" hunt. All in good fun, though and it made for good stories to share later.
That year, I also had another experience, while hilarious in nature is also just now beginning to have deeper meaning to me as I reflect on it.
I like to do things my way. I feel like I am fairly intelligent and well-meaning. However, it is hard for me, once I make up my mind about the way things should happen, to let go of that vision and see things any other way. As good as my intentions might be, I am often short-sighted and in my life, that has caused myself, and others who know and love me, some heart ache.
During the course of my first week at Girl's Camp, we were required to prepare food in a few different ways: open fire, dutch oven, etc. One evening, my mom had a bunsen burner out and we were using it to cook something, I can't remember exactly what it was but I was in charge of the item over the bunsen. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, the burner was in a can, a sterno-like apparatus that we had actually made ourselves with cardboard and wax, also a part of the learning and fun :)
When it was done, my mom asked me to put out the burner and tossed me the lid. In my mind, this was like a big candle so the way to put it out, again, in MY MIND, was to blow as hard as I could. Well, for those of you who know, you can probably complete the story without me telling it.
I drew a big breath into my lungs and then without hesitation, blew with all my might on the burner.
BAD IDEA.
Just as I was about to blow, my mom screamed, "NO!" But to no avail. Encouraged by the massive amounts of fuel, the burner was like a blow torch and exploded in my face, completely erasing my eyebrows and any other hair on my face, as well as causing some painful second-degree burns.
Now, as you all know, my face is completely fine (cute even) so I haven't sustained any long-lasting scars from that moment. I spent the next few days nursing my burns with cool water and love from my mom. But in the end, my face was fine but my behavior had changed forever because I had learned how NOT to put out a bunsen burner.
Good thing to know.
In any case, I wonder why that experience doesn't come to mind when I get so hell-bent on other ideas that I think will make everything right or better or just different? Why do I always have to do it my way? It's selfish, really, when I contemplate the fact that there are billions of other people with just as many good ideas as me.
In my heart, I feel genuinely sorry for some of the ways in which I have behaved or things that I have said that I thought were "the best thing," "the right thing," "the only way that things will work," and so on. I know that all my ideas aren't bad and actually many times, my way is a great way and it works.
But, I want to be open to more ideas, to more ways, to more people, including those I love and who love me. I think I would move through life a little less clumsily and a lot more satisfied with the outcomes of each day.
I also know it would certainly make me more open to guidance from up above and who couldn't use a little more of that :)
Either way, I hope to have less moments of fire int he face and be able to keep my eyebrows, and heart, just right.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A legacy
What makes us real?
How is it that we know we really exist in this life? Is it what we are or what we do or what we have or what we say or who we love or what we give or all of that and some more? Or do we not become real until we leave and then what we left behind in the hearts and minds of others that makes us real because it's the evidence that we lived?
I work every day with people who fight battles, mainly battles with cancer. Either they have cancer or they had cancer or they love someone who has cancer or they've lost someone who they love who died from cancer. In any case, most of these people have been through a tremendous experience and I've noticed that no matter what, each one of them is trying to make sense of this life and somehow create a legacy that will live on. Whether they are striving to share their own story or the story of a loved one, it amazes me what poignant lessons people learn and then share for the world to have.
Here's one beautiful example that I just came across today:
Life of a Feather
Her name is Stacy and she died ten days after her last blog, which by the way, was full of hope, optimism and plans for a future. She talked about being able to read again and visiting Machu Picchu. Although she's now free of a cancerous body, those who knew and loved her are left wondering why and how they are going to reshape their lives without her. Does the fact that she's gone from this life make her existence in it all that more real?
There's so much to learn from absences. People joke about not knowing what you have till it's gone. It's true, for sure. But how sad, really. How many times have I wasted what I had because of ignorance or impatience? I want to know what I have while I have it so I can have joy and savor rare moments of bliss. I've all but wasted so many of those moments that no matter what, I won't be able to have again.
I suppose I could get really angry at myself, since I'm such a pro at that. I could probably spend the better part of every day being really pissed off because there's so much I've missed and given up without even knowing. But what good does that do, really? It just wastes more precious time, time that moves on no matter what.
Somehow I've got to find a way to turn that anger and discontent into action and commitment. Do and say the things that enhance and bless the lives of those around me and commit to give all I have to making each moment count. I feel like those are the kinds of things that create a legacy for others to have once we are gone. Those that I admire and miss the most (whether they have passed away or just left my life) were all pros at making moments count. It's with those high hopes, I have to begin to approach every day like it's a gift and live it to the fullest. Then, when I'm gone or when I'm left (because both of those things have and will happen), I'll have fewer regrets and more room in my heart for whatever comes next.
I think about Stacy, a girl I never met who died of cancer a week ago. Her blog tells of the ways in which she was striving to live life to the fullest even until the end. I'm sure her family and loved ones are glad that she lived and loved them and now has left them with a legacy of bravery and hope.
What legacy will I leave when I go? Will people's lives have been bettered because of me or in spite of me? I guess I'll just have to do my best and then wait until I'm not here to find out.
How is it that we know we really exist in this life? Is it what we are or what we do or what we have or what we say or who we love or what we give or all of that and some more? Or do we not become real until we leave and then what we left behind in the hearts and minds of others that makes us real because it's the evidence that we lived?
I work every day with people who fight battles, mainly battles with cancer. Either they have cancer or they had cancer or they love someone who has cancer or they've lost someone who they love who died from cancer. In any case, most of these people have been through a tremendous experience and I've noticed that no matter what, each one of them is trying to make sense of this life and somehow create a legacy that will live on. Whether they are striving to share their own story or the story of a loved one, it amazes me what poignant lessons people learn and then share for the world to have.
Here's one beautiful example that I just came across today:
Life of a Feather
Her name is Stacy and she died ten days after her last blog, which by the way, was full of hope, optimism and plans for a future. She talked about being able to read again and visiting Machu Picchu. Although she's now free of a cancerous body, those who knew and loved her are left wondering why and how they are going to reshape their lives without her. Does the fact that she's gone from this life make her existence in it all that more real?
There's so much to learn from absences. People joke about not knowing what you have till it's gone. It's true, for sure. But how sad, really. How many times have I wasted what I had because of ignorance or impatience? I want to know what I have while I have it so I can have joy and savor rare moments of bliss. I've all but wasted so many of those moments that no matter what, I won't be able to have again.
I suppose I could get really angry at myself, since I'm such a pro at that. I could probably spend the better part of every day being really pissed off because there's so much I've missed and given up without even knowing. But what good does that do, really? It just wastes more precious time, time that moves on no matter what.
Somehow I've got to find a way to turn that anger and discontent into action and commitment. Do and say the things that enhance and bless the lives of those around me and commit to give all I have to making each moment count. I feel like those are the kinds of things that create a legacy for others to have once we are gone. Those that I admire and miss the most (whether they have passed away or just left my life) were all pros at making moments count. It's with those high hopes, I have to begin to approach every day like it's a gift and live it to the fullest. Then, when I'm gone or when I'm left (because both of those things have and will happen), I'll have fewer regrets and more room in my heart for whatever comes next.
I think about Stacy, a girl I never met who died of cancer a week ago. Her blog tells of the ways in which she was striving to live life to the fullest even until the end. I'm sure her family and loved ones are glad that she lived and loved them and now has left them with a legacy of bravery and hope.
What legacy will I leave when I go? Will people's lives have been bettered because of me or in spite of me? I guess I'll just have to do my best and then wait until I'm not here to find out.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Lighter Side
So, while I'm swimming in all this reality, I decided that I needed to get back in touch with some of The Flicted Friend that I once knew and loved. I haven't reflected on anything amuzing from my life lately. I had all but decided to do away with The Flicted Friend for different reasons but I think there are just too many funny things that have happened and will happen to learn from.
Tomorrow morning, I will inevitably regret staying up tonight, but I don't care. I am willing to risk the dark circles under my eyes to share my most embarrassing moment in order to find my lighter side once again and remember how awesome it is to be FLICTED!
I don't have many secrets. If all of my friends got together and told each other what they know about me, my whole life would be shared. Since I have to deal with things from the outside in, I share what's going on in my head and heart, over and over, until it makes sense to me. So, I don't have any secrets, really. If it had an impact on me, then I've told someone about it, I promise.
Many of you have heard the saga of my most embarrassing moment and I suppose it's funnier when I tell it because there are some critical sound effects and hand gestures that I do but for posterity's sake, I must write it down as not to loose it forever :)
I went to Brigham Young University and if ever there was a BYU co-ed, it was me. I loved everything about being at BYU. T-Hall, Deseret Towers, the Morris Center, football games, devotionals, the Wilk, rolling down the bell tower hill at 2 AM in a toga, I did it ALL! I lived in the dorms, on-campus for three years and was even an RA my third year. My memories of my friends and experiences there are sweet and poignant and in my seasons of sadness, I reflect on those good times and I always feel better.
I lived with the same group of friends for three years. We were dubbed, "The Psycho Chics" our freshman year and it stuck quite nicely. None of us minded the label, we earned it over and over. Looking back, I am glad that I was blessed to know these wonderful women who were unique and vibrant and completely in love with life. We had our moments of tragedy and drama but in the end, those friendships will always stand as pillars to my own foundation of a life well lived.
I had many flicted moments while I was attending BYU and my friends were eye-witnesses to so much of the calamity that I attracted. I am sure each of them could share multiple episodes of flictedness. Maybe one day, we'll collaborate together and write them all down - what a HOOT!
This moment of utmost humiliation was no different. My dear friend heather with a little "h" was fortunate to be right by my side through the whole thing. When I look back at it now, I would have not wanted it any other way!
Picture a crisp, early fall mid-morning in Provo, UT. The semester was barely a month old and it was Tuesday. heather and I were walking home to Heritage Halls from the Eyring Science Center where we had our Doctrine & Covenants religion class with Randy Bott (one of my personal heroes). As juniors, we were finally able to register for his class and were loving it.
There wasn't anything particularly different about that morning or the walk back to our dorm. It was the same route we had always taken and both of us could have walked it in our sleep. Campus was bustling with students in between classes and we walked at a slower pace, not having another class to get to. I'll never know how it actually happened but as we were walking between the Wilkinson Center and the HFAC, I either dragged my foot wrong or took a bad step because in an instant, my very existential knee "popped out" of joint and I was on the ground, in a lot of pain.
Due to an ACL tear and repair from high school, my knee had the tendency to cut out on me at random times. Now, thanks to modern medicine, I know that it was due to a tear in the meniscus that was not fixed origianally. Thank goodness I've since had it fixed and it hasn't popped out in over 4 years.
This wasn't the first time heather had dealt with my crazy knee and two times before, she had been able to pull and manipulate my leg enough for the cartilage to slip back into place. Due to her earlier success, that became our initial plan of action: heather was going to pull my leg until my knee popped back in.
Now, picture this, please, you must:
Me on the ground, with my leg in the air and heather pulling as hard as she could to try to put it back in place amongst the 30,000 students who were rushing to get to their next class. We didn't really blend in if you know what I mean.
After about 10 minutes of pulling, heather was tired and sweaty and my knee hurt even more. So she sat down beside me to talk about Plan B: get me to my uncle's and he would be able to pull it back in. Since I was completely unable to bear any weight on my leg, we were in a quandary as to how to get me home, in my car and to my uncle/chiropractor in order for him to manipulate my knee back into place.
Just when we felt all hope was lost, out of the corner of my eye and down the steps of the Harris Fine Arts Center, came our knight in shining armor, a handsome ROTC officer in his uniform, with a radio. In moments he had swooped in, assessed the situation and called Campus Police. He was my hero (and he was a hottie).
While waiting for Campus Police to come and pick me up, he asked if he should try to pull my knee back into place. I obliged him, after all, he was a hottie :) So, and make sure you picture this, there I was sitting on the ground with my leg in the air with a handsome ROTC officer pulling with all his might to try to pop my knee back into place.
But alas, it did not work and then there were three of us sitting on the ground, waiting for help to come.
After a few minutes, a Campus Police officer arrived on the scene by driving his car onto the side walk between the buildings to reach our location. He proceeded to talk to the ROTC hottie, I mean officer. Since my knee wasn't cooperating, he offered to drive me to our dorm or to the health center. I asked him to take me to the dorm, where heather could then take me to my uncle's home.
It was all set.
As if sitting on the ground, in the midst of thousands of your peers watching as first your best friend and then a ROTC hottie pulls on your leg wasn't embarrassing enough, the moment of truth came as my knight in shining armor reached to help me off the ground.
Please, close your mind's eye and picture this with me now . . . I'm sitting on the ground, unable to put any weight on my bum knee. One of the cutest boys I've ever seen is now standing in front of me and reaching down to help me up. He wraps his arms under my arms. Put your hand to your nose . . . he's that close. Now he's counting "1, 2, 3." Then he pulls me up and then . . .
yep . . .
you guessed it . . .
I farted.
Now, it wasn't too loud or gross but it was loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear but who cares about everyone in the vicinity, right? The man of my dreams is 3 centimeters from my face and I farted.
What do you say in that situation? Really, what can you say?
Well, I said the only thing a well-bred southern girl could say, "Excuse me."
He certainly earned his stripes that day because he got me to the car without dropping me or laughing. heather and I fell into the back seat of the police car and laughed so hard that we almost wet our britches. The police officer had been in the car at the moment of expulsion and hadn't been privy to the gaseous emission. No telling what he thought we were on but in any case, he got me home and heather got me to my uncle's and my uncle got my knee back in place without any further gas problems.
Now, if this were any other girl, the story would end there because that's enough humiliation for anyone, right? Sure but I'm not just anyone - I'm the FLICTED FRIEND, remember?
A week later, heather and I were back in Brother Bott's class and lounging in the seats near the top of the classroom a few minutes before the beginning of class. Again, nothing special had happened and my knee was feeling better. She and I were most likely talking about one of the many boys we were in love with and not really paying attention to what was going on around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy walking up the stairs towards our row of seats. I continued talking to heather and he kept walking towards our seats.
Then, in a flash, I recognized him - my knight in shining armor, the ROTC hottie, the man of my dreams - who I farted in front of.
He came right up to me and said, "HI!"
I replied with my head down, "Uh, hi."
He asked, "How's the knee?"
I replied, "Oh, it's better, thanks," and then asked, "are you in this class?"
His response, "YEAH, don't you just love Brother Bott?"
I squeaked, "yep."
He said, "well, I better get back to my seat - hope your knee gets better."
"Thanks," I mumbled.
And with that, he sauntered back to his seat and class began.
Twice a week, for 12 weeks, in my favorite class, sat my knight in shining armor, the ROTC hottie, the man of my dreams and every time he smiled or said "hi" all I could think of was the moment we shared together, 3 centimeters apart, and a fart.
Life doesn't get any better than that :)
If anything, I know that there's no way that I can ever take myself or the situations that life throws at me too seriously. Whatever is going to happen will happen. I didn't plan on farting in front of a cute boy in my hour of need but I couldn't control it either. Sometimes things just come out of nowhere and then I'm left to deal with the stink it leaves. That's just life and that's ok. If I'm trying to do my best, then that's all I can do. The stink will eventually dissipate and the memory will either be a good lesson or a good laugh. And sometimes, I will have to face those moments and memories again and again but the fact that I'm still standing and trying my best makes it easier and easier every time I come face to face with those things. That's the best anyone can do and that's just fine.
Have a good laugh and keep on keeping on :)
Tomorrow morning, I will inevitably regret staying up tonight, but I don't care. I am willing to risk the dark circles under my eyes to share my most embarrassing moment in order to find my lighter side once again and remember how awesome it is to be FLICTED!
I don't have many secrets. If all of my friends got together and told each other what they know about me, my whole life would be shared. Since I have to deal with things from the outside in, I share what's going on in my head and heart, over and over, until it makes sense to me. So, I don't have any secrets, really. If it had an impact on me, then I've told someone about it, I promise.
Many of you have heard the saga of my most embarrassing moment and I suppose it's funnier when I tell it because there are some critical sound effects and hand gestures that I do but for posterity's sake, I must write it down as not to loose it forever :)
I went to Brigham Young University and if ever there was a BYU co-ed, it was me. I loved everything about being at BYU. T-Hall, Deseret Towers, the Morris Center, football games, devotionals, the Wilk, rolling down the bell tower hill at 2 AM in a toga, I did it ALL! I lived in the dorms, on-campus for three years and was even an RA my third year. My memories of my friends and experiences there are sweet and poignant and in my seasons of sadness, I reflect on those good times and I always feel better.
I lived with the same group of friends for three years. We were dubbed, "The Psycho Chics" our freshman year and it stuck quite nicely. None of us minded the label, we earned it over and over. Looking back, I am glad that I was blessed to know these wonderful women who were unique and vibrant and completely in love with life. We had our moments of tragedy and drama but in the end, those friendships will always stand as pillars to my own foundation of a life well lived.
I had many flicted moments while I was attending BYU and my friends were eye-witnesses to so much of the calamity that I attracted. I am sure each of them could share multiple episodes of flictedness. Maybe one day, we'll collaborate together and write them all down - what a HOOT!
This moment of utmost humiliation was no different. My dear friend heather with a little "h" was fortunate to be right by my side through the whole thing. When I look back at it now, I would have not wanted it any other way!
Picture a crisp, early fall mid-morning in Provo, UT. The semester was barely a month old and it was Tuesday. heather and I were walking home to Heritage Halls from the Eyring Science Center where we had our Doctrine & Covenants religion class with Randy Bott (one of my personal heroes). As juniors, we were finally able to register for his class and were loving it.
There wasn't anything particularly different about that morning or the walk back to our dorm. It was the same route we had always taken and both of us could have walked it in our sleep. Campus was bustling with students in between classes and we walked at a slower pace, not having another class to get to. I'll never know how it actually happened but as we were walking between the Wilkinson Center and the HFAC, I either dragged my foot wrong or took a bad step because in an instant, my very existential knee "popped out" of joint and I was on the ground, in a lot of pain.
Due to an ACL tear and repair from high school, my knee had the tendency to cut out on me at random times. Now, thanks to modern medicine, I know that it was due to a tear in the meniscus that was not fixed origianally. Thank goodness I've since had it fixed and it hasn't popped out in over 4 years.
This wasn't the first time heather had dealt with my crazy knee and two times before, she had been able to pull and manipulate my leg enough for the cartilage to slip back into place. Due to her earlier success, that became our initial plan of action: heather was going to pull my leg until my knee popped back in.
Now, picture this, please, you must:
Me on the ground, with my leg in the air and heather pulling as hard as she could to try to put it back in place amongst the 30,000 students who were rushing to get to their next class. We didn't really blend in if you know what I mean.
After about 10 minutes of pulling, heather was tired and sweaty and my knee hurt even more. So she sat down beside me to talk about Plan B: get me to my uncle's and he would be able to pull it back in. Since I was completely unable to bear any weight on my leg, we were in a quandary as to how to get me home, in my car and to my uncle/chiropractor in order for him to manipulate my knee back into place.
Just when we felt all hope was lost, out of the corner of my eye and down the steps of the Harris Fine Arts Center, came our knight in shining armor, a handsome ROTC officer in his uniform, with a radio. In moments he had swooped in, assessed the situation and called Campus Police. He was my hero (and he was a hottie).
While waiting for Campus Police to come and pick me up, he asked if he should try to pull my knee back into place. I obliged him, after all, he was a hottie :) So, and make sure you picture this, there I was sitting on the ground with my leg in the air with a handsome ROTC officer pulling with all his might to try to pop my knee back into place.
But alas, it did not work and then there were three of us sitting on the ground, waiting for help to come.
After a few minutes, a Campus Police officer arrived on the scene by driving his car onto the side walk between the buildings to reach our location. He proceeded to talk to the ROTC hottie, I mean officer. Since my knee wasn't cooperating, he offered to drive me to our dorm or to the health center. I asked him to take me to the dorm, where heather could then take me to my uncle's home.
It was all set.
As if sitting on the ground, in the midst of thousands of your peers watching as first your best friend and then a ROTC hottie pulls on your leg wasn't embarrassing enough, the moment of truth came as my knight in shining armor reached to help me off the ground.
Please, close your mind's eye and picture this with me now . . . I'm sitting on the ground, unable to put any weight on my bum knee. One of the cutest boys I've ever seen is now standing in front of me and reaching down to help me up. He wraps his arms under my arms. Put your hand to your nose . . . he's that close. Now he's counting "1, 2, 3." Then he pulls me up and then . . .
yep . . .
you guessed it . . .
I farted.
Now, it wasn't too loud or gross but it was loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear but who cares about everyone in the vicinity, right? The man of my dreams is 3 centimeters from my face and I farted.
What do you say in that situation? Really, what can you say?
Well, I said the only thing a well-bred southern girl could say, "Excuse me."
He certainly earned his stripes that day because he got me to the car without dropping me or laughing. heather and I fell into the back seat of the police car and laughed so hard that we almost wet our britches. The police officer had been in the car at the moment of expulsion and hadn't been privy to the gaseous emission. No telling what he thought we were on but in any case, he got me home and heather got me to my uncle's and my uncle got my knee back in place without any further gas problems.
Now, if this were any other girl, the story would end there because that's enough humiliation for anyone, right? Sure but I'm not just anyone - I'm the FLICTED FRIEND, remember?
A week later, heather and I were back in Brother Bott's class and lounging in the seats near the top of the classroom a few minutes before the beginning of class. Again, nothing special had happened and my knee was feeling better. She and I were most likely talking about one of the many boys we were in love with and not really paying attention to what was going on around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy walking up the stairs towards our row of seats. I continued talking to heather and he kept walking towards our seats.
Then, in a flash, I recognized him - my knight in shining armor, the ROTC hottie, the man of my dreams - who I farted in front of.
He came right up to me and said, "HI!"
I replied with my head down, "Uh, hi."
He asked, "How's the knee?"
I replied, "Oh, it's better, thanks," and then asked, "are you in this class?"
His response, "YEAH, don't you just love Brother Bott?"
I squeaked, "yep."
He said, "well, I better get back to my seat - hope your knee gets better."
"Thanks," I mumbled.
And with that, he sauntered back to his seat and class began.
Twice a week, for 12 weeks, in my favorite class, sat my knight in shining armor, the ROTC hottie, the man of my dreams and every time he smiled or said "hi" all I could think of was the moment we shared together, 3 centimeters apart, and a fart.
Life doesn't get any better than that :)
If anything, I know that there's no way that I can ever take myself or the situations that life throws at me too seriously. Whatever is going to happen will happen. I didn't plan on farting in front of a cute boy in my hour of need but I couldn't control it either. Sometimes things just come out of nowhere and then I'm left to deal with the stink it leaves. That's just life and that's ok. If I'm trying to do my best, then that's all I can do. The stink will eventually dissipate and the memory will either be a good lesson or a good laugh. And sometimes, I will have to face those moments and memories again and again but the fact that I'm still standing and trying my best makes it easier and easier every time I come face to face with those things. That's the best anyone can do and that's just fine.
Have a good laugh and keep on keeping on :)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Am I Not Shrinking or Just Surviving?
I feel the need to take great pause tonight. As usual, it's late and I should have been in bed hours ago. However, I am up, thinking and writing and hoping to understand and apply what I'm being taught by this precarious mortal existence.
I've rambled all too often about how I hate change, the one constant companion of this life. I reject embracing the inevitable until it literally breaks over me like a tsunami of emotion and reality and I am left gasping for air and struggling to survive in a new world where all familiarity has been completely obliterated.
I know, I can hear you now, "You are so dramatic, Tracy! Please get a grip." And, yes, I must admit, I am dramatic but I know myself well enough to know that unless I recognize the way I feel about the changes that happen, not only to me but to the ones I know and love, then I will never be able to fully embrace them and move to a place of understanding and peace. So that's what I'm doing tonight. I'm trying to keep my head above water in a pool of uncertainty and change.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell, former member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, taught, "When striving disciples reflect deeply upon this mortal existence, certain realities become even more clear. We are immortal individuals whose constant challenge is to apply immortal principles to life's constantly changing situations." (CES Devotional, BYU, 4 January, 1998) I was personally present at that amazing devotional where he also taught that when it comes to the struggles of life, "Not shrinking is more important than surviving."
I've been sick for awhile. I've had a cold this past week but more than that, I've been dealing with some complications from my former surgeries that have caused a lot of physical discomfort for the past four or five months. I've pretended pretty well that nothing was wrong and have been over medicating myself to get by but it's finally caught up with me and now I am facing more surgery. I just found this out yesterday and I am scared.
Don't misunderstand, I am not worried about dying or anything like that. Billy Joel has already taught us that only the good die young and well, let's face it, I don't think I qualify as good or young these days! No, I'm not scared like that. I'm scared because being sick really sucks. I've spent lonely nights in a hospital bed and I've spent weeks on end being physically hampered by surgery and a body that needed to heal. It's hard and I know it's hard and I'm afraid of being sick and the loneliness that will be my constant companion as I recover. I am surely shrinking at the thought of enduring yet another battle.
That has been going through my mind all weekend.
Then I talked to my mom tonight. Always, and I mean always, whether she intends to or not, she puts me in my place every time I start to shrink. I remember my freshman year in high school when I tore my ACL playing basketball. As I writhed in pain at center court, a string of expletives escaped my mouth. Later, I told her that I had said some things that I shouldn't have and she simply replied, without thought or blink, "Tracy, if the Savior could endure the cross without cursing, surely you can endure this." Yes, she always helps me to not shrink.
This time was no different. She called to let me know that my cousin, who's only a year older than me, was not only battling cancer again, but also battling a bad infection that could compromise her treatment as well as jeopardize her life. As if that weren't enough, she told me that another member of our family is also in the hospital, battling for her life. I reconsidered my own situation and, like I said to begin with, am taking pause.
And then, as another reminder of the reality of this mortal sphere, as all of this was going through my head and heart tonight, our beloved prophet, President Gordon B. Hinkley passed away at the age of 97. The news was not shocking and more than anything, I feel like we, as a people, are saddened by his loss but reminded of the beauty of the Plan that God has prepared for all of us. We know that through the beauty of the Atonement, we will again, at some future moment, enjoy the embrace of friendship and loved ones who have gone before.
What a blessing to have been taught by such a pillar of strength over the past twelve years. President Hinkley has counseled and taught by example that we should forget ourselves and go to work. He lived his life as a dedicated Disciple of the Savior and, like so many before him, showed us how to live and inspired us to be better. He was definitely not a shrinker in the struggles of life.
So here I sit, on my bed at 2:30 AM. The reality is that I am still scared and sad and worried for those that I love who are literally struggling for not only their way of life but literally, their lives. I am also scared and sad and worried about the big question mark that is staring me in the face. But, that's only how I feel and not at all reflective of what I know.
What I know is that God is real and He's carried me, and those I love, countless times before: this time will be no different. I also know, from past and recent experience, that embedded in every struggle in life is a life-altering lesson. It's my choice, however, to either learn from it or shrink away from it. I've done both and by far, learning, however difficult, is always the better option.
I have to choose not to shrink, even though the tidal wave is already washing over me and I am feeling like a drowned rat. I have to embrace the change, embrace the fear, and in the end, embrace the updated version of Tracy that will inevitably emerge. I already know I am survivor but in moments like these, I have the opportunity to upgrade to a NON-SHRINKER. It's about time.
I've rambled all too often about how I hate change, the one constant companion of this life. I reject embracing the inevitable until it literally breaks over me like a tsunami of emotion and reality and I am left gasping for air and struggling to survive in a new world where all familiarity has been completely obliterated.
I know, I can hear you now, "You are so dramatic, Tracy! Please get a grip." And, yes, I must admit, I am dramatic but I know myself well enough to know that unless I recognize the way I feel about the changes that happen, not only to me but to the ones I know and love, then I will never be able to fully embrace them and move to a place of understanding and peace. So that's what I'm doing tonight. I'm trying to keep my head above water in a pool of uncertainty and change.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell, former member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, taught, "When striving disciples reflect deeply upon this mortal existence, certain realities become even more clear. We are immortal individuals whose constant challenge is to apply immortal principles to life's constantly changing situations." (CES Devotional, BYU, 4 January, 1998) I was personally present at that amazing devotional where he also taught that when it comes to the struggles of life, "Not shrinking is more important than surviving."
I've been sick for awhile. I've had a cold this past week but more than that, I've been dealing with some complications from my former surgeries that have caused a lot of physical discomfort for the past four or five months. I've pretended pretty well that nothing was wrong and have been over medicating myself to get by but it's finally caught up with me and now I am facing more surgery. I just found this out yesterday and I am scared.
Don't misunderstand, I am not worried about dying or anything like that. Billy Joel has already taught us that only the good die young and well, let's face it, I don't think I qualify as good or young these days! No, I'm not scared like that. I'm scared because being sick really sucks. I've spent lonely nights in a hospital bed and I've spent weeks on end being physically hampered by surgery and a body that needed to heal. It's hard and I know it's hard and I'm afraid of being sick and the loneliness that will be my constant companion as I recover. I am surely shrinking at the thought of enduring yet another battle.
That has been going through my mind all weekend.
Then I talked to my mom tonight. Always, and I mean always, whether she intends to or not, she puts me in my place every time I start to shrink. I remember my freshman year in high school when I tore my ACL playing basketball. As I writhed in pain at center court, a string of expletives escaped my mouth. Later, I told her that I had said some things that I shouldn't have and she simply replied, without thought or blink, "Tracy, if the Savior could endure the cross without cursing, surely you can endure this." Yes, she always helps me to not shrink.
This time was no different. She called to let me know that my cousin, who's only a year older than me, was not only battling cancer again, but also battling a bad infection that could compromise her treatment as well as jeopardize her life. As if that weren't enough, she told me that another member of our family is also in the hospital, battling for her life. I reconsidered my own situation and, like I said to begin with, am taking pause.
And then, as another reminder of the reality of this mortal sphere, as all of this was going through my head and heart tonight, our beloved prophet, President Gordon B. Hinkley passed away at the age of 97. The news was not shocking and more than anything, I feel like we, as a people, are saddened by his loss but reminded of the beauty of the Plan that God has prepared for all of us. We know that through the beauty of the Atonement, we will again, at some future moment, enjoy the embrace of friendship and loved ones who have gone before.
What a blessing to have been taught by such a pillar of strength over the past twelve years. President Hinkley has counseled and taught by example that we should forget ourselves and go to work. He lived his life as a dedicated Disciple of the Savior and, like so many before him, showed us how to live and inspired us to be better. He was definitely not a shrinker in the struggles of life.
So here I sit, on my bed at 2:30 AM. The reality is that I am still scared and sad and worried for those that I love who are literally struggling for not only their way of life but literally, their lives. I am also scared and sad and worried about the big question mark that is staring me in the face. But, that's only how I feel and not at all reflective of what I know.
What I know is that God is real and He's carried me, and those I love, countless times before: this time will be no different. I also know, from past and recent experience, that embedded in every struggle in life is a life-altering lesson. It's my choice, however, to either learn from it or shrink away from it. I've done both and by far, learning, however difficult, is always the better option.
I have to choose not to shrink, even though the tidal wave is already washing over me and I am feeling like a drowned rat. I have to embrace the change, embrace the fear, and in the end, embrace the updated version of Tracy that will inevitably emerge. I already know I am survivor but in moments like these, I have the opportunity to upgrade to a NON-SHRINKER. It's about time.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
A New Volume - No Issues
A work in progress, that's me. No doubt I need to wear a t-shirt all the time that says, "Under Construction" in order to give all around me a fair warning. I'm glad to konw that I can change, though. I would hate to be stuck forever as someone I didn't like.
I'm rambling a lot these days. I feel like a feather in the wind. Well to be exact, I feel like a leaf in a hurricane. Most of you know that I moved here to VA to be closer to Nate and if any of you read my last blog about him, you all know how much I care about him.
But, as life would have it, that future is no longer a reality. It's been three months since we parted company. It's been really crappy and I've felt like staying in bed and hiding from the world. I'm wondering if my silly heart will ever catch up to my brain. I know it will but this in between time is almost too much for me to handle.
So, I've thrown myself into my job. I got a great raise and have signed on to do another triathlon to keep me busy, body and soul. I'm looking forward to another finish line and to raising money for a good cause. I've also considered buying a place of my own and maybe even getting a dog :)
I apologize for being in and out of your lives. I always want to have something great to report but as life goes, things aren't always great for anyone so I've been silent for awhile. But, you know me, I can't keep quiet too long :)
Onward and upwards - like Bishop Miller said, "Anywhere worth going is always uphill." Well, I know that's true and I can't wait to get where I'm going :)
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