Saturday, September 12, 2015

The Power of Words

It's been a while. Hello again.

Sometimes, I just need to write. I want to write, because I think words are beautiful. I want to write, because I want to create. I want to write, because maybe, just maybe, my thoughts can be powerful one day.

But, what happens when words fail me?
Because, sometimes that happen. Sometimes, feelings are just so powerful, so passionate, so painful, so wonderful, it becomes impossible to describe.

Feelings are quite something. They sneak up on you.
I still think about Mom, Dad, Keegs and Liam everyday, but now, it's not always as painful. They don't control my thoughts. Their memories are there, and they are beautiful. I can say things like, "Oh, Keegan and Liam would LOVE the new Wellness Center," and I won't burst into tears. I am growing up. I am moving along everyday, and it is beautiful. I have a wonderful husband, and wonderful family and friends, and life is beautiful.

And then, sometimes, all I have to do is something simple. Something as simple as playing the piano, and I remember those times when Dad would come stand next to me, studying my fingers hit the keys, perplexed at my ability to play the keys while staring at a piece of music. Sometimes, if he knew the song, he would try to sing along. The memory is so vivid, so alive, that sometimes, it's almost like I can feel him.
And it's amazing how the smallest thing like that, something so simple, makes me tear up a little. Sometimes, even a lot. And no word can describe the feeling.

I don't want to write to say "Woe is me" or "Let's look back on the past and remember how amazing they were." I don't want to continue writing about pain, because that just causes more pain and more hurt and more reminding. And I don't want that. Nobody does.

And so, I stopped. I stopped writing because I didn't know what else to write about. What do you write about when you feel like you've said it all, and nothing is really that different? What do I say?

But maybe it's ok to still write about the simple things. It's ok to write about happy things. I don't need to dwell on sadness. Yes, they are gone, and yes, sometimes, once in a while, I will still have a good cry and let it out. But, those are rare.

It's time to focus on good things. Happy things. Things that reminded me of them. Things that will bring me closer to them.

I've missed writing, because it was words that comforted me. It was words that sometimes I felt, even saved me; words from family and friends, words from the scriptures, words from blessings, words from writing.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

I Believe in Santa Claus

I was on my dad's shoulders. It was a cold night on Christmas Eve, back when Santa Claus was still real. We had just finished at Grandma's house. (For as long as I can remember, every Christmas Eve, Santa came to Grandma's and left us something. It was there that we would also give our gifts to each other within the extended family. I always loved Christmas Eve.)

I was admiring some present I got, when Daddy said, "Jensen! Look at the sky! Do you see him?"
I looked up, trying to see. There it was... a flashing red light! Surely, that could only mean one thing...
My dad chuckled, "Yes, you're right! It's Rudolf! That means we have to hurry so that you can go to bed! We don't want to be late for when Santa comes!"

I remember telling Ian to hurry up, and telling Mom and Dad to hurry to get us home! (Keegan and Liam didn't exist yet.) As soon as I got home, I got into my new Christmas pajamas, brushed my teeth, made sure that there were some cookies and milk for Santa, and hopped right in bed! It took me some time, but eventually, the adrenaline wore off, and I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, we saw that Santa came! There were presents for us to open, and music for us to listen to. I went and checked Santa's plate. He had eaten all the cookies and drank all the milk.


A couple nights ago, we were parked in our car, waiting for Jake's brother to come out of his apartment. We were going to go to the store. As we were waiting, I looked out the front window. There it was: a flashing red light from those high towers. I smiled a little. The memory broke through and I remembered that cold night on my dad's strong shoulders.

My husband looked at me and smiled. "Hey you, where are you right now?" Now, he just knows. 
I smiled a little and simply said, "During Christmas, Dad used to tell me that those flashing lights was Rudolph. Back in the days of Santa Claus."
He teased me a little, and asked, "What? You don't believe in Santa?"

I was quiet for a little bit. My response surprised even me. "Well, of course I believe in Santa. Santa was my dad." 
And then the tears came.


This year, I've been reading from the New Testament. I really wanted to focus my studies on the life and ministry of the Savior. I want to know who he was, not just as the Son of God, but what was his personality like? Was he fun? Serious? Stern? I think (from my perspective) that he was a little bit of everything. 

As I was reading, there was one particular story that stood out to me, and has been on my mind for the last couple of weeks. I refer to the account in Mark 9, though it is told in the other 4 Gospels as well.

Jesus is with his disciples, and a great multitude of people are there, most likely either to listen to him teach or to ask for healing, (it doesn't specify in the scriptures.) As he is there, a man comes through, holding his young son, and says,

"Master, I have brought unto thee my son, which hath a dumb spirit. And wheresoever he taketh him, he teareth him: and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth, and pineth away: and I spake to thy disciples that they should cast him out; and they could not."
He brings his son to Christ, the son still gnashing and foaming. Christ then asks, "How long is it ago since this came unto him?
The father responds, "Of a child. And ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the waters, to destroy him: but if thou canst do anything, have compassion on us, and help us."
To which Christ says, "If thous canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth."

Now, I don't know exactly how this really played out. I don't know how the father sounded, and I don't know what he was thinking. But when he responds to the Savior, it hit me. In tears, he straightway said, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."

I know this story could have happened numerous ways. I've heard of different interpretations, and seen different reenactments. When I read this story, though, the way that I saw it was this: I wonder if the father, after years of trying to protect his son, maybe feeling like he failed, maybe feeling like it was a punishment for something that he has done... I wonder if he was holding him close, tears streaming down his face, and begging, "LORD! There are so many things that I believe! I have struggled for years, and it has been so, so hard! I've wanted to give up, but I just can't! He is my child, my only child and I love him so much! There are things that I may struggle with, but I don't want to let faith go! Lord, if I didn't believe, I wouldn't be here. So please, strengthen what I do know, and help me with what I don't know. Help thou my unbelief!"

And after that, the Savior commands the spirit to come out of the child.

Why did the Savior say that to the father? Why didn't he just perform the miracle when the father asked? I wonder, maybe, since he does know us better, he asked the father so that the father could come to terms with himself. Maybe the father was struggling with his testimony. Or maybe it was that he needed to really know for himself if he had the faith enough for the Savior to be able to perform this miracle, the last hope, this father desperately needed. Maybe it was a test.

For whatever reason that was, I'm grateful he did. Because centuries later, I read this story, and it hit me.

There are days that are happy and amazing. There are days when I am overflowing with gratitude for my Savior and for my Father in Heaven and for this amazing plan. I feel elated, as if I could fly, that one day that I will see my family again, and that we are still a family, and that our family will continue to grow, and it will be a joyous wonderful occasion.

And then there are days that I am so heavy. I feel the heaviness of not having my own father or mother to guide me through things. There are days that even though I know and understand that I am not alone, there is still a part of me that feels isolated. I find myself missing them so much, that I just feel the need to have a day and allow the sadness to do its thing, then leave.

And when those moments come, sometimes I wonder... "Am I ungrateful? Am I losing faith? I already know everything will be ok... so why do I feel this way?"

Then, there are stories like these; stories of real people that experience anguish and sadness, even though they have faith. A story about a father's love so strong, that he held on to the belief that one day, his son would be healed. A story about (in my opinion) a father who understood and knew that he was not perfect, and that he didn't know everything that there was to know... But he did have the faith to know that Christ would help him with his doubts, or unbelief.

Reading that brought me so much comfort and joy, knowing that one day, I can have a full knowledge if I am willing to rely on faith until that day, and knowing that I don't have to know everything right now... is a wonderful feeling...


There will still be triggers, like memories of believing in Santa Claus while being on Dad's shoulders. And when those memories happen, I will cherish them. I'll probably cry, because I just want those times back.
But the feelings are still alive, and they are still real.

I'll remember to be grateful for those feelings. The feelings are a result of love. 
I'll remember to be grateful for now, because I don't need to worry about knowing everything now. 
I'll remember to look forward, and not back.  

Way back then :) 

The last hug I gave my Daddy before I entered the MTC.

I am so blessed to be raised by 2 of the Lord's strongest spirits. :) 

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

A post for a Brother

In about a week, it will have been a year since I should have returned from my mission.

Which means it's been about 18 months since the accident.

Mind blown...


How am I doing? 
Fine, I guess.
Isn't that what I am supposed to say? 


Nobody likes a "Debbie Downer." But what about a "Rebecca Realist?" Where is that fine line? 


How am I doing?
Fine, I guess.
Today is hard.
So tired. So so tired...
Struggling, but it's just a phase. It will pass.
It has to.


Fact: it's time to move on.
I know. I know that.
And I have. For the most part. But there are still triggers. Stupid blasted triggers. They like to hide and shoot at me from out of nowhere. Pretty normal though. It's not even new anymore.
But, they still surprise me.
Like this morning when I was triggered simply because of a phone call. Or  it may be boredom, not doing anything for X amount of hours can put me over the age. 
Or maybe it's just plain depression. That's the only explanation that I can think of.

Last night, I couldn't help myself. I got on Keegan's Facebook page.
It was a hard night. Work had not gone as well as planned, which is all part of life, I know. But man, sometimes people are just heartless.
I stared at his picture.
I don't know why I did it. But I started typing him a message on his wall. Maybe I just needed to get things out of me, vent my frustrations. For whatever reason, I just wanted to talk to my brother. I wanted to talk to him about being married. I wanted to talk about work. I wanted to know what he's been up to. Can he still play basketball in heaven? Or date? Or do gymnastics? I just wanted to have a conversation, like we used to.

Mostly though, I wanted to know his secret.
How was it he was always so happy?

How did you do it, Keegs? 

I typed and typed. I typed until I couldn't anymore. I told him everything I was feeling. I wrote it like a letter. I finished and stared.
It's not like he's going to read this. 
I know it's been 18 months. I know it's been a while. But when it's you, it doesn't matter how much time has passed. The feeling will sometimes last longer than desired. Sometimes, it kicks you in the gut.

I wanted to send it in a private message.
There wasn't any option of that.
I deleted the message.


I wonder what it was like for Jesus's disciples. What was it like when their best friend was gone? Where could they turn to? I'm sure they were more than devastated. It had to have been scarring...

I wonder what it was like when he appeared to them again. I wonder what that feeling is like; to see one that you loved so much who have died to come back and see you, and speak to you.

I wonder what it was like even after he was gone. Did it still hurt, even though they knew where he was? Was it still hard even though they knew that his purpose was done? 

Was it hard knowing that his purpose of living was to die? For them? For all

What was it like when the person who literally had ALL the answers was gone? What was it like when they just wanted to talk to their friend, their leader, their brother, but he couldn't physically speak to them? 

How did they go on?
What was their secret? 

Did they have gut-kicking moments? Did they still grieve? Did they still experience heartache? 

I have a hard time believing that they didn't have some moments like that. Maybe that's just me though. But, they were still human, right? Heroes, but human.

Did it feel like how I feel? 
I can only assume it was.


So maybe he couldn't read my post. I won't lie and say that's ok. 
But I know that someday... someday it will be. 
One day, we will talk face to face again. 
I'm sure there will be lots to talk about by then. 

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Personal Love

We stood at the top of the tower, overlooking the magnificent field that was once a battleground. There was a peaceful and even spiritual feeling for me as we pointed out different locations that momentous occasions happened in the history of America. The last time we were in Gettysburg, we were both fourteen years old.

My mind pondered a lot about the history facts that we had relearned, thinking about the young men, both the Confederates as well as the Unions, who sacrificed their lives for what they all believed was right for America. (I realized that it would be like my husband, my brother, my cousin who is now serving a mission, his younger brother, and my cousin's fiance all going out to war, against our own states! They were ridiculously young!)

A few minutes passed, and we decided it was time to head off and see what else Gettysburg had in store for us. As I was about to turn around and go down the stairs, I saw a hawk fly by. Then, another. I allowed myself to watch them. I watched their wings, noting how wide they spread as they flew across the sky.

I've always wished that I could fly. Maybe that's a "lame power," but that's all I've ever wanted; to be able to defy the law of gravity, be able to lift myself off the ground and explore the world, see what it has in store for me. I want to be above the world. For a moment, I was slightly jealous of those hawks.

Then I realized something about the birds. They weren't flapping their wings. Their wings were spread wide, allowing the breeze to move them along. Every once in a while, they would flap to stay on their course, but for the most part, the wind was moving them. They weren't just flying; they were soaring.

For some reason, it intrigued me. All growing up, I've heard things about how the wind could be a symbol of hardships and trials, and how if we are a rock, we can stand up against the trials, and fight against it.
But at this moment, my mind saw the wind from a different perspective.
Perhaps, trials can get us to a destination. Instead of always pushing against it, and hiding from it, and staying mobile... they allow us to push forward.
And by so doing, we don't just get through it. We soar.

Two weeks before... 

The air was humid, the sky was cloudy, but I felt free as we whizzed past cars, buses, buildings and people. My smile was so big and so bright. It was the first time that I felt so alive in… months really. I looked to my side and saw my husband on his bike. He smiled at me, and I knew that he was feeling the same way. We both served our missions in cities, but it’s a completely different feeling when you’re not a missionary.
Besides, I never rode a bike during the mission.

At one point, we parked the bikes at the designated station. (Pittsburgh has just started a new biking system the week before. It is called NextBike. You rent a bike for the day for as long as you want, and there are stations throughout the city.) Across the street was an art walk. We walked, hand in hand, admiring the talent of various people. Some worked with wood. Others worked with pottery. One artist had pet frogs that he would photograph doing various poses, and then repaint them. 

The inner imaginations of the mind is an enigma.

At one point, it began to rain. Scratch that. It began to pour! People began to leave, but we didn’t. The rain made me think of Oregon, and I became even happier. This smile was genuine. He smiled back. We continued down the way, stopping and admiring the art. My husband made a point to talk to the artists, and ask them how they create their work. They all appeared to appreciate that. My heart was full of love.

Eventually, the rain stopped, and we continued with our bike ride. We rode for hours. There were no plans, only life. We went where we felt, and we admired it all. It was beautiful.

No one would have guessed that just that morning, I was in tears. No one would have guessed that morning, my heart was seared open. No one would have guessed that for some odd reason, it was as if my mind was reliving everything: from the moment I was told about my family’s passing all the way in Oregon to the moment I heard the gunshot of the military gun as they began to lay them in the ground, and everything in between. It was unplanned, it was uncalled, and it was tearing me inside and out.

Flashback of memories filled my head. Usually, I can shake them out, make myself busy, and put the memories aside. But for some reason, this day was not like that. Both my mind and my body were too tired to fight back, or even move the memories aside. Instead, they allowed the memories to play on the stage that is my mind, and it was like I watched everything from start to finish. The memories became tears, and the tears slid down my face. I let them. I let the memories cover me. It has been the lowest that I felt in such a long time.

There were dishes in the sink. I didn’t want to wash them. The floor needed to be swept. I couldn’t bring myself to get up from bed. Laying around seemed so much nicer and so much easier.

Through my tears, there was a prayer in my heart. I knew that these circumstances couldn’t be fixed the way that I wanted it, so it would be ridiculous for me to pray for that. I wasn’t sure what I needed to ask, but I felt desperate for something, anything.

I found myself asking, “I just need to know that you are aware of me. I know you’re there. But I need to know that you know that I am here, feeling this way. I don’t care how it is. I’m not asking for angels. Just a miracle.”

Seconds later, my phone rang. It was my husband. I answered. He asked how I was doing, and I couldn’t hold it in. I couldn’t help it. I was honest about it. This day was a hard one, for no apparent reason. I wasn’t trying to be sad, going out of my way to gather all the feelings and memories. It just happened. 
But, I'll be fine. I know I will be. I just need a moment. 
We said our goodbyes. I took that as an answer.

I stayed in bed, feeling pathetic, but also slightly justified. Could I help it? I’ve been doing good for a long time! I haven’t had a day like this in months! Before, they were much more frequent. But having that attitude made me feel awful. Thoughts of “Wow, Jens, your life is not hard. Toughen up!” and “The world is full of people that have it far worse than you! Count your blessings!” made it even harder to find the will power to stop feeling so depressed. I laid there longer, facing the wall.

Then, to my surprise, I heard the door open. I knew that I had locked it, which meant that it could only be one person. 
My husband came up to me, and hugged me so tight. I cried some more. (Seriously, where were all these tears coming from? Darn memories!) He looked at me, and simply said, “I think we need to go out.”

After I had calmed down, we left home. We decided to go to downtown Pittsburgh and see the city. As we were driving, curiosity got the better of me. I asked, “What made you come home?”

He answered, “Well, first of all, I was worried. You didn’t seem ok when I left, which is why I called. After we got off the phone, I put in my route for work, but for some reason, it took us the long way, which passed by home. I felt that I should just see how you were doing.”

Some days are hard.
Some days are beautiful.
Even after months and months, the days still happen. The thoughts still come. No, not as often. But they still come. 
Perhaps, it's just me. Perhaps, it's how I handle things. 
But every time, the moment lives, and then it passes. Sometimes, they are fleeting, like a bird soaring. Sometimes, they drag me down, like a rock. 
Sometimes, a day is just a day. No abnormal happiness or abnormal sadness. Just a normal day. 

A New Normal Day.

The Lord answers prayers, sometimes by sending miracles. But sometimes, He answers simply by listening. Sometimes, I just need a listener. Sometimes, I need an answer. He sends them when he knows that I really need it.

Sometimes, he answers by giving me little thoughts of soaring birds and working through trials. 
Sometimes, he answers by sending my best friend and confidant to wrap his arms around me.
Sometimes, he lets me live a little. I enjoy the new friendships that I have gained on the other side of the country. We are all in the same boat, and we talk and laugh together, and the moment is beautiful.
Sometimes, it's through feelings. 
Sometimes, it's through the realization of the many blessings that I have.

Regardless of how he answers, I come to learn a little bit more each day how personally he knows me, and how personally he answers me. 

He doesn't answer everyone the same way. Because we aren't the same. We are unique and different and struggle differently. Therefore, he answers differently. 

He knows me because he personally loves me.

*Someone asked if I would start putting some pictures on this blog. I hope you enjoy!*  

Riding downtown with Jacob!

Gettysburg with my husband! 

Thursday, May 28, 2015

A Father/Daughter Dance

She got in the car, and I started to drive. It was time for another girls’ night at Pizza Pie CafĂ©, our favorite. We talked about boys, our crushes, our frustrations. Somehow, the conversation led to the wedding topic. What will we have at our weddings? What is the most important thing?
I answered without hesitation. “The most important thing to me is to have a Daddy/Daughter dance. You know, my dad and I are really close, so to me, I feel that would be like our last moment with him as my authority figure, before he hands me off to whoever my husband is. Everything else doesn't really matter. Just a dance with my husband, and a dance with my dad.”


The walls were white, and surrounded the gym. The doors held pictures of our younger selves, both together and separately, from the years before. The chandelier hung in the center of the tent, and the cake was beneath it. The music filled my ears as I stood, welcoming the line of guests who so graciously came on our behalf.

It could not have been more beautiful! As I marveled at it all, I still couldn't believe that it was for us. I was now a married woman. As a girl, you always imagine what your wedding day is going to be like; the colors, the dress, the groom. Certain things are important.

The line lasted 2 hours exactly. After that, we were definitely ready for some fun! The sharing of the drinks was sweet, and the stuffing each other’s face with cake was hilarious! He asked me to dance to our song, “I’m Yours,” and it was wonderful.

Then, my aunt announced that there would be a Mother/Son dance, as well as a Brother/Sister dance. It seemed only fitting. Ian took me by the hand, and we danced. I thought that I would cry, but I didn't. I smiled, and he smiled, and he made it as enjoyable as he could. He understood this was important to me, and he was so positive.

Then something happened that I did not anticipate.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and it was one of my uncles. He asked, “May I cut in?” Ian smiled, and said “Yes.” I was surprised, but so happy. He took me by the hand and danced with me. My throat became choked up, and I could feel the tears coming to my eyes. I could see my uncle also had tears filling his eyes. We danced for a while.

I felt another tap, and turned around. There was my second uncle, the younger brother of the first. I had been living with his family since everything happened. At this point, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. I let them. He held me close, and we danced.

There was a third tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see my dad’s best friend, who, like my uncles, I look to as another father figure.  He took me by the hand and we danced.

After a few moments, there was a final tap. I turned to see my grandfather, my mother’s father. We both had tears. He took my hand, and we danced. He said, “This is the first dance I’ve danced in about 20 years, you know?”

It is moments like this that makes the world stop for even just a moment.


I realized something a few days ago. Something that is taking me some time to accept, but I know it is true.

As much as my Mom, Dad, Keegan and Liam love me, and would be there for me always, I think that there are going to be times when they won’t be.

Maybe that’s shocking for some people. When everything happened, I felt their presence a lot. I felt that they were with me through the initial shock and hardship of everything. I felt that they were with me through dark moments, and even happy moments.

I felt them so strongly in the temple when I was sealed to the love of my life. I swear I could have reached out and touched them, it was so strong. It was special. It was personal. They were there for me. For us.

But… I did not feel them at my reception. I did not feel my father standing beside me while I danced with those important men in my family. And if his presence was there, it had to have been fleeting, as if to say, “Jens, I love you more than you could ever know. And right now, I am needed elsewhere. But I want you to know I am proud of you.”

The more that I experience, both happy and hard, I am coming to understand that I will feel each one of them specifically when it is the Lord’s will, or when He sees fit.

I don’t know why they had to pass when they did. I don’t know why they passed the way that they did. I don’t know when I will see them again. I don’t know when I will feel them again.

I have a firm belief that for whatever reason, they are where they are because they need to be there. I firmly believe that Ian and I were saved because we need to be here. Is that doctrine? I cannot say. But one day, I believe that I will know.

In the meantime, I believe that life will go on. Now that life has been moving at a faster pace, and more things have been happening, maybe it is time that I start doing things on my own, with my husband. Maybe I don’t need that constant feeling of them pushing me along, getting me on my feet again. Perhaps, that point has come when it is time for all of us to do our part.

And how can they do their part if I’m constantly begging them to come back and comfort me, when I already know what I need do? How can they progress if I’m constantly feeling like they need to be with me at all times?

They can’t. Nor can I.

What I need to do to progress is simple:
1. Keep the commandments.
2. Repent when I don’t.
3. Let the Atonement figure out the rest.

Life is meant to be enjoyed. Relationships are meant to last forever. Why would we come here and create families, only to have them split and separated after death?

Heavenly Father would never be that cruel. He provided a way. So, do I need to worry about that? 

No, I don’t. It’s already taken care of.

It’s all taken care of. We just need to do our part. 

Me and Jacob. Mr. and Mrs. Hall! 

Just married! Logan Temple, 5.15.15

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Happy Ever After

Life is a glass, and there is water in that glass. We have all heard that phrase before. Sometimes, the glass is half empty, sometimes it's half full, but nevertheless, it's all the same. It's a glass cup, and there is water, waiting to be consumed.

I've always been fascinated by people. We really are quite incredible. Being an English major, I've kind of started thinking in terms of stories. All of us have a story. We all want a Happy Ever After.

I'm getting married in 9 days. It's crazy when I think about it! I was that girl on the mission that thought that I would never get married. It wasn't my thing. Ya, it's a nice thought, but things are too scary things in the world, and I just don't want to deal with the drama. It's too much.

I was very wrong. I'm getting married to an amazing guy, one who has been there for me for years, and especially this year. There are days that I'm shocked that he still wants me around, that he still cares for me, because I'm kind of a nut. He is strong for me when I'm not myself, when I'm depressed, when I'm angry at the world, at the people around me, at the situation that we are in.

I consider myself a realist, though people may think it's pessimism. Maybe I'm a little bit more on the pessimistic side nowadays. I live in fear a lot. It's hard not to sometimes, when the biggest thing that I've feared has already been realized; when one minute, my life was perfect and normal and happy, and then literally the next minute, it was flipped upside down; four people that I loved more than anything else on this planet were gone in an instant, and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

For me, it's really hard not to live in fear. Fear takes over me, causing extreme anxiety attacks, causing the littlest things to push me over the edge. It eats at me, making me expect the worst sometimes. At times, it even gets me to a point where I am too afraid to try anything new, because what's the point?

And this guy is the absolute opposite. He tries because to him, failure is not trying at all. He puts himself out there because why not? "Life is short, so try things" is his philosophy.


It was late, and we were hungry. We had an amazing date, walking around old town Pocatello, admiring the art and architecture that was on display that night, but we had forgotten about dinner. Trying to limit our eating out, we ran to WinCo to buy us some food. 

Driving down the road, we were discussing marriage; what were our expectations, what were our goals, and lots of things. I mentioned, "You know, I think sometimes people are shocked, because they get married expecting it to be a fairy tale, and it's not."

He got wide eyed. "WHAT! It's not a fairy tale?" He smirked a little, indicating that he was trying to be funny.

Nonsensically, I responded, "Hate to break it to you, but it's not."

Going along with it, he said, "Hmm, well, I'm planning on it to be a fairy tale."

"Oh, really? I'd love to see that. People are still human, you know. Things still get hard. There aren't any white horses or pretty princesses or magic spells. Bad things still happen." I was trying to get my point across.

His answer threw me in for a loop. "Let's think about this, Jens. Life is a fairy tale. Let's think about all the fairy tales that we know:

Snow White: evil step-mother, both her biological parents die, she's pretty much an orphan, and step-mother hates her and wants to kill her because she is jealous. She has to run away, and she lives with SEVEN MEN! What a night mare! And she still lived happily ever after, yes?"

"Yes, but..."

"Sleeping Beauty: Gorgeous, and has to sleep for however long (which sounds nice in my opinion). Prince has to cut through thorns and bristles, and kill a dragon before he can even get to her in the highest tower! Trials, no?"


"And let's not forget RAPUNZEL! Locked in a tower for 18 years, no social experience whatsoever, creepy handsome guy comes along. A few frying pan smacks later, she has to go on an adventure to find out who she is... Then she finds out she's a princess, gets married, and lived happily ever after! You know I could go on and on!"

At this point, I couldn't respond. I knew he was winning his argument. He smiled, and said, "You best believe in happily ever after, because that's what I am shooting for." 


Life is a glass, and there is water in that glass. Is it half empty? Is it half full? It's up to you. 

I could focus on the emptiness of my life. My mom and my dad are gone. My two youngest brothers are gone. I won't see them again in this life. Mom and Dad aren't here to help plan my wedding with me. I won't dance with Dad at my reception, or my Mom won't be able to sit by my side. I struggle with many emotional and mental effects because of it, more than most people ever witness. I struggle with a lot of things. I struggle in school. I struggle to connect with people. Sometimes, I feel like an outsider.

Or... I could focus on the fullness of my life. I have a great family and friend support system. We have each other for when we have bad days. I have an amazing fiance' who has been there for me since day one and beyond, with an amazing family who have helped me in so many ways. My wonderful family and friends are helping us with wedding planning. Maybe Ian and I will dance at my reception. I can use my experience to help others. I am going to school and getting a degree in English. Maybe I'll do something amazing with writing. I can be someone who opens her arms to anyone who needs it.

The ones who live happily ever after are the ones that hope for and shoots for it. And the beautiful thing about happily ever after is... it doesn't end.

It's an eternal journey.

Walking along the artwalk. 

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Wise Words of a Seminary Teacher

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times...

High school. That's a whole new world in it of itself. A new bizarre world where everything that you do or don't do may be a pivotal choice in your life. Boys like girls, girls like boys. Dating becomes a new adventure. Friends can make or break you. If you're like me, you were also exposed to many things that may have traumatized your young teenage mind.

I was a sophomore in high school when I had my first "official" boyfriend.  I was head over heels "in like" with him, and I felt that he felt the same way.  We couldn't actually go on dates, but we saw each other in school everyday. He held my hand. He kissed me in the parking lot. (It was awful, by the way.)

We started "dating" on November 7, 2007. It was great, I thought. Then, he sent me a text message on December 5, 2007 to tell me he didn't want to date me anymore. (I sure did know how to pick them.) We didn't even last a month.

He played his cards well, I'll give him that. He didn't start dating my best friend until at least 3 weeks later. He made sure that there was at least a little bit of time for the blow to settle before asking her to be his new girlfriend as he sat next to me at the movie theatre. There was a group of us there. I thought it was just going to be us girls. I guess he couldn't wait any longer. I was 3 weeks from becoming 16.

The following week or 2 were what I deemed to be the hardest 2 weeks of my life. Not only did my best friend start dating my ex, but she also became better best friend with another friend of mine. Soon, they didn't want me around. My ex didn't like me because they didn't like me. They left me out of the loop. I felt that sides were being created. I did have one friend, thank goodness, but she was involved with clubs during lunch some days, and so I would be alone in the hallway.

For me, being alone was the worst thing in the world. I was less outgoing then, and so I sat by myself. I hated going to school for those 2 weeks.

On a day that was particularly hard, when I was by myself, I went across the street to the seminary building. I walked into the classroom that I was attending and I saw my seminary teacher. He was a good friend of my dad, and I had known him for a while. Maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe it was my countenance, but he could tell that something was up.

We started talking. I vented, telling the whole story about the boy, the breakup, the betrayal, and now the loneliness that I felt. I talked about how I was just trying to do what was right. I complained about the hardships of high school, and how I couldn't wait to get out and be done and move and yada... the list went on.

This wise seminary teacher took a little while to let it all sink in. He didn't say much at first; nothing more than the "huh... mmm-mmm... okay..." I sat there, waiting. Waiting for him to tell me what to do, waiting for him to tell me that because I've been through these "hard times", I would be blessed. You know, something that would validate my concerns.

Instead, he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Do you know what you're real problem is?"

I was shocked. I had a problem? Are you serious? I was being what I felt was persecuted and betrayed by other people, and I was the one with the problem?? But I could see he was being totally serious. So, I responded, "No. What is my problem?"

His answer changed my life. "The problem here is, you're not trusting the Lord." 

I don't remember much about the rest of the conversation. I know that we talked about ways to trust the Lord and to have faith. But that one statement changed the way that I viewed my trials.

And now, 7 years later, when things can be what I deem in my young adult life the hardest thing that I've ever done, when there are days that I feel alone, days where I just want to talk to my dad face to face, days where I wish that Mom was here to help me plan a wedding, days where I miss Keegan's happy-go-lucky personality, and days where I miss seeing Liam playing with his friends... sometimes it's hard to trust. Sometimes, it's really hard to believe that there is a purpose with their passing. Or, maybe not that it's hard to believe in A PURPOSE. Rather, it's hard to understand what THAT PURPOSE is.

I think that's what it really comes down to. I don't think that we as people don't believe in a purpose. We just want to know THE purpose.

And yet, sometimes that's the point. We just continue to move, to plan, to live. Because of the Atonement of Christ, we are able to do that.

Just think. Whatever trial you are going through RIGHT NOW, whatever feelings of inadequacies you are feeling RIGHT NOW, whatever feelings of anger, depression, confusion, heartache... it has already been felt FOR YOU.

Take a moment. Think about the hardest thing you've ever experienced. To know that the Savior went through that exact feeling (which, if you really think about it, is amazing. Because since no two people are exactly alike, we all feel and experience differently.) creates a remarkable connection between you and the most powerful being who ever walked upon the earth. A connection that can literally give you an ability to move not only forward, but also upward in your life, no matter how far along the path you may seem, no matter how unpopular you may be, no matter how ugly you feel.

Perhaps one of THE PURPOSE is to be able to create that relationship with our Savior.

So... what happened after that dramatic 2 week fight? 

Things did get better. Things did calm down. We became friends again, but it was never quite the same. We all got involved in different things because of that. Soon, I made more friends. Those friends are still some of my closest friends 7 years later. (One of those friends is now my fiance!) Because of the influence of my friends, I decided to go on a mission. I served for a year. I'm still alive today because of it.

Did all of that happen because of one fight? Probably not all of it, but it definitely influenced me in many ways. I look back now, and I realize... "Wow. I'm so glad that happened. Because who knows where I would be now."

Alma 36:3
... Thou are in thy youth, and therefore, I beseech of thee that thou wilt hear my words and learn of me; for I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions...