REALITY

I remember being little. It wasn't too long ago, I guess.

My brothers would often chase me around the unfinished basement and up the staircase and around the furniture and back down again until they caught up with me or I found the perfect hiding place. Those were the only kinds of adventures I ever had. Those shivers of excited and pretended fear that shook my little frame and popped out in giggles and squeals were the only manifestation in my life of fright in any form. I knew nothing of hunger or cold or desperation, yet I complained of being hungry before dinner or chilly when I stepped outside or upset because I scraped a knee. I've wasted so much time whining and wishing and waiting.

I wasn't being ridiculous. I was honest. I was a little girl.

The world outside my house is a big one and an exceptionally frightening one. I still have not seen all the hunger or the cold or the desperation that goes on... not even in my own neighborhood. I won't ever see most of it. I can solve almost none of it.

There are books so big with words I can't pronounce and in languages that I'll never learn, and they come by the hundreds of thousands of million-bajillions. Places that I'll never hear of will sit undiscovered by me or anybody. And as if this planet wasn't enough to deal with, there are bigger things that cannot be explained or imagined that float along far outside of our atmospheric bubble.

I am far more a little girl now than I used to be, so why is it that I feel ready to face this enormous place? My emptiness is filled with one simple truth: I am a daughter of God.

What can I be afraid of?

Knotted

This is a poem that I love from President Packer's most recent conference address, "Prayer and Promptings."

With thoughtless and impatient hands

We tangle up the plans

The Lord hath wrought.

And when we cry in pain He saith,

"Be quiet, man, while I untie the knot."

What a beautiful, uncomplicated parable! I'm finally learning to loosen my grip on the knot and allow the Lord to take over. It's hard at first, but seeing the benefits that come has most effectively changed my attitude. Now it's not a matter of wondering if I should trust Him or not, it's a matter of allowing Him to do with me what He will.

Small World?

My mission papers have been officially submitted! My stake president said that my call should come in two or three weeks and I can't believe how excited I am.

Any guesses as to where I am going?? :)

(For your benefit, here is a list that you can choose from.)

Undercurrent

I have found a kind of truth that will not let my thoughts wander far. The outline of this map surrounds the ground that is safe and wonderful. I trek a multitude of terrains within these borders, sometimes meandering slowly, allowing the air and the details to fill me up and other times I sprint rapidly with only seconds to glance fleetly at the horizon. Everything is beautiful. There is so much to explore here, more things than I could find in my short lifetime.

In the times when I come to the edge of these safe lands, I watch others who dwell outside and see them exploring dangerous and hostile areas. They are thrilled at the risk and sometimes have no idea there could be another way to live. Unfortunately I've walked those vicious roads too. I still do by accident sometimes. But I know where I live now, and I want these people to live here too. There are several rules and boundaries that should not be crossed here, but there is so much depth. Steep cliffs and snow and glinting, blinding sun, and there are caves and ravines that are deep and full of life that we cannot see with our human eyes. Oceans full of green things and sand and multicolored life forms that blink and gape at us. Prairies with hundreds of different kinds of grasses and flowers and insects. Forests and deserts and islands. It is safe here and it is a seedbed for growth and discovery. Everything here denotes truth and expands our minds. Each element of this place within the secure lifelines is a metaphor and a lesson to be learned.

I need to tell people about this place! Cry out as loudly as I can and show them the way. The rules to be followed here spell out FREEDOM. My mind becomes flexible and stretches farther than I ever thought possible. Do not try to stop me. You cannot. This undercurrent of joy and of excited energy tugs gently at my heart, reminding me of home. This is a feeling I have known before, and this is a feeling I want forever.

Butterfly Sonnet

My Spirit finds protection in this cloak;

A comfort only stagnancy can yield.

This sanctum, where I'm rid of duty's choke,

Sets free my mind, yet still my body sealed.

In my cocoon my body's limp and frail,

And, though I am at rest, I yearn for growth.

The longer hidden from the outside gale,

The more I wish that I could nurture both.

At once, a realization of the truth

Upsets, and rest no longer satisfies.

I shed the selfish wishes of my youth.

I dry my wings and soon my Spirit flies.

It pains both mind and body, yet the ache

Releases me, and freedom shall I take.

Silent Skirmish

The yellowing grass is matted down. It is still upset that the blinding sun has turned cold. I didn't notice for a while because the trees had been putting on such a beautiful show, but now that their gold and red appendages are dropping to the ground my attention is refocused. I hear crunchy footsteps with ears that are turning pink and I wriggle myself into scratchy wool things that climb up to my chin.

Today brave flakes began to drift down in occasional spurts, asking permission to join the leaves in their descent. Apparently the leaves didn't mind because by the end of the afternoon, the air had accompanied more of the feathery cloud shavings carefully to the ground.

Everything is frosted with white, but browns and oranges refuse to be hidden so early in the season and they peer out around the edges. Jack-o-lanterns sparkle with powdered snow. Thin skins of ice have grown on car windshields. Peppermint hot chocolate clings to the corners of my mouth, but newly brewed apple cider waits patiently on the kitchen table. Wafts of 'Silent Night' float through our ears even as we apply gruesome costume makeup.

Winter will come, but not without a fight.

Curse you, Bob Ross!!

I had an adventure today.

I'm sure every one of you has had the desire to paint. It looks so inviting to dip a clean brush into a little mound of color and make it do whatever you want it to do. Right? Right. I'm sure every one of you has seen multiple episodes of Bob Ross... with his floofy hair and his happy trees and clouds... and it looks like anyone could do it! Right? Right.

I've had Grandma Jean's old oil painting things stored away since she died. I attempted to begin to try to sort of kind of paint once a long time ago, but I got intimidated and worried and I stopped. But this week I dusted off the paint box, took inventory of brushes, easels, canvases, palettes and even more and planned to paint. I was smart and checked out a book from the library all about oil painting. Once I could tell the difference between a flat brush, a bright brush and a filbert, I took things seriously.

So this afternoon, I galavanted to Robert's Arts and Crafts Store ((my first time!)) and came out with arms full of little tubes of oil paints in colors such as "phthalocyanine blue," "alizarin crimson" and "burnt umber." I had a bottle of linseed oil and one of turpentine. I put my grungy clothes on and found a nice little place to set up my studio and I was all set! And guess what??

• I successfully dyed my hands blue within the first ten minutes.
  
• I cried.
  
• I laughed.
  
• I mumbled rude things to the canvas.
• I mixed colors like a pro. And then like a not-so-pro.
• I dyed my hands blue. Again.
  
• I used almost the whole bottle of turpentine.
• I never did get the clouds to look like clouds, so there aren't any.
• I got paint smudges on my face and clothes.
• I used paper towel after paper towel. After paper towel.
• I dyed my hands a yucky shade of green.
• I came off triumphant.
  

And now I can tell you that I am officially a painter.

-ish.

Well, it's finished and I'm happy. That's what being a painter entails, right? It was a lot harder than it looks, but I'm going to do it again! Hopefully I'll get better, and then I'll sell my masterpieces and make money. Ha. But seriously, I need a job. Anybody need a slave?

And according to the computer... neither floofy nor phthalocyanine are words. Hmph.