It's good to be home

I just took my niece Elizabeth for a short walk around the barn, showing her the chickens, horses and kayaks until she fell asleep in my arms. I wore a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. It was lovely seeing as how it is currently 71 degees outside. It's good to be home.

Homeward bound

I'm noticing a pattern. I always stay up too late procrastinating the night before leaving town. Tomorrow I'm heading down to AZ for my first Thanksgiving at home since my senior year of high school back in 2001. If I recall correctly, it was over that Thanksgiving weekend that I saw the movie White Christmas for the first time. The song 'Sisters' is one of my ringtones and will be the alarm that I will wake up to in the morning.

The plan is to take off at around 7:30am. Which isn't terribly early, but its early-ish. Especially since that time is less than 7 hours away and I still have to pack. And read 50 pages and do reading summaries for one class before I leave. Dang. I should have started hours ago. But I didn't. Because I'm procrastinating. I similarly stayed up late procrastination on Thursday night before going to Oregon. It has happened time and time again. Oh well. I'll end up being productive soon. I've already made a packing list. I'll post this blog. Then I'll start packing. Then I'll go to bed. Arizona, I'll see you soon.

The answers are in the scriptures

Today I was trying to find where I'd written my flight information. I was looking through my bags and saw my Book of Mormon and thought, "the answers are always in the scriptures". I opened it up and sure enough, I'd used the paper with my flight info on it as a bookmark. The answers were in the scriptures.

It marked Mormon chapter 6. In mourning the loss of my car, I sought out a pattern of how to deal with tragedy from the scriptures. I'm not sure how much this theory will hold up against social science research, but here are some principles that I picked out from my study.

Now i'm not claiming that my car dying is comparable to the death of near a quarter million Nephites and the ultimate destruction of their civilization, but Mormon was in a position of extreme loss and mourning. And even though my situation pales in comparison, there are still lessons to be learned. Here we go:

• It is okay to be torn up about tragedy (or, as Mormon words it, having a soul "rent with anguish".
• It is natural to question how this came to be. "Oh ye fair one, how could ye..."
• And to wish for how it might have been otherwise. "Behold, if ye had not done this...".
• But it is important to eventually accept the reality of thing. "But behold, ye are fallen..."
• And it is okay and good to mourn and feel sad. "And I mourn your loss."
• And it helps to understand that the questioning and the pain will linger for a while.
• But eventually, notwithstanding the natural course of mourning, you must not dwell there forever. There must be acceptance. "But behold, ye are gone, and my sorrows cannot bring your return."

So I think I'm at the acceptance/mourning phase. I've accepted that it is gone and that my sorrows cannot bring my car's return. But its still sad and challenging. Anyway...I love the scriptures. It's where the answers are.

27 hours in Oregon

I spent 27 hours in Oregon. I flew up to attend Abby's wedding. It twas lovely. Here are all the pictures I took of myself with other people.

Jacob & Abby got married!

This picture would be better if Mel could have been in it.

Abby's sister Lizzy is pretty much a stud

I got to catch up with Jessi, a beloved roommate from 6 years ago.

You're Dead to Me

Dear car,

You're dead to me. Literally. And figuratively. (And just for the record, if you weren't dead to me literally, you wouldn't be dead to me figuratively.) For the past year and a half you have introduced numerous expenses and stresses into my life. These include but are not limited to: 1 citation, 1 ticket, 5 accidents, 1 paint job, 2 failed safety inspections requiring around $500 in repairs each time, and lots of money spent towards gas, insurance and maintenance. I've endured having no heat, getting a flat tire and worst of all: getting Utah registration and license plates. I got Utah plates for you. Utah license plates!! Does that mean nothing to you!? Apparently not. So you're dead to me.

Perhaps I'm being unduly harsh. Perhaps, underlying all my anger (a secondary emotion) is some hurt (the primary emotion). Beneath my angry dinosaur (rarr!), I'm sad. I trusted you. I relied on you. I've grown attached to you. I have never wished you an untimely death. I have grown reliant upon you for transportation. I've associated my relationship with you with autonomy and independence. I'm comfortable with you. I've given your the honor of housing my Tibetan Prayer Beads and my seat belt buddy Limey. I've trusted you to listen to me singing more often and more loudly than any person and more than even my shower. You've heard me voice many of my insecurities. You've heard me pray. You've heard my weak attempt at screaming (rarr!). We've served together. We've traveled together. We've gone to church together. We've gone to the temple together (granted, you stayed in the parking lot). We have gone all over the state of Utah together.

I remember the first time we met in St. George. It was in the Tuacahn parking lot. (Wow...I'm starting to tear up just thinking about it.) I remember how nervous I was at first as I drove you back to Provo. I remember our jaunts to the grocery store. I remember our drives to Salt Lake, to Logan, to Sandy. I remember out many rides to and from the RTC in Spanish Fork. You've taken me to attend mission reunions, to visit friends, to go grocery shopping and to provide rides for others. You were the vehicle that took me home for Christmas last year. I remember when you were backed into...both times, but especially the second time. I still keep a shard of the old door's window in my pocket. I remember our daily drives to and from campus this semester. I remember our recent drive back to St. George and Tuacahn a month and a half ago. Those were good times. We've had a lot of good times together. Thanks.

Why can't we have more such times? Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me behind? Why have you forsaken me? Is it because you an AZ snowbird at heart? Was the ice and snow too much for you? Were you looking for another free ride to Arizona for the winter months? Was it simply your time? Was it my neglect that lead to this untimely end?

I feel so alone and so limited. Everything is different now. And what hasn't changed I feel like I need to change. I can't imagine living where I live without you. I shall likely move at the end of the semester. I am sad that you are gone. I'm also a little mad. When I said goodbye earlier, a part of me wanted to find a sledge hammer and just rip into you. Another part of me wanted to hug you and cry. As it was, I simply tore off the "A" and "E" from "Taurus SES" and put it into my pocket and said goodbye.

So my dear travel companion of recent days and years, you are dead to me. And I am sad. And my life is altered. I know that things will work out in the end. I know that there are good memories that I can and will cherish. But for the next little while, I'm just going to hurt as my life shifts and conforms to accommodate the holes left by your exitting. Thanks for the good times. You shall be missed.

Your owner,

Allison

Inspiring quotation

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness, concerning all acts of initiative and creation. There is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision."

-Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

New hobby

So, it turns out that I love writing letters to missionaries. So I guess that its quite convenient that I have two younger sisters, a cousin and a good friend out serving right now. I started my missionary letter-writing back in March or so when my friend Jacci left on her mission. I met Jacci when I was a missionary. I was serving in Killeen, TX at the time. It was winter. My companion and I were on bikes. On my first night there I'm pretty sure I witnessed a drug deal. Jacci gave us rides in her jeep and went to lessons with us almost daily. She was such a great help to the work. Her support made such a difference. So, when she received her mission call, I decided I wanted to try to return the favor by being a support to her missionary efforts the only way I knew how: I decided to start writing her regularly. Plus I lent her my mission Book of Mormon. I've also written to Jess, one of my favorite cousins as she is serving. And now I'm writing Kris & Nor.

So why do I persist in writing to all four of my missionaries? Well, I loved getting mail on my mission and want to provide that service to those I care about. Plus, I love writing letters. And I love having an outlet for spiritual thoughts. In my life, I've written well over 200 letters to others. I wrote at least 150 as an RA. I wrote at least 25 when I was Laurel president. I've had pen pal correspondence with cousins. In conjunction with the directive to "never suppress a generous thought", I've written a lot of letters of thanks and admiration to people who have blessed my life. I've written missionaries. And confession: when a friend of mine in high school was investigating the church, I'd write her a letter each week detailing one of my favorite Book of Mormon stories. I am a nerd. But in the best way possible.

So I'm excited to be writing again. I'm excited to be serving people I love. And I'm excited to be able to write out detailed thoughts gleaned from my Book of Mormon studies and applied to missionary work. It's a good life.