Confession: I sort of wish I was Maid Marian

I really thought the confession well had run dry, but apparently as I live life, I continue to generate more confessions. I should probably be more embarrassed about aspects of this confession than I'm going to be, but the embarrassment is outweighed by my current enthusiasm. I'm sure in a few months it will wear off and I'll reread this blog post and blush a little bit, but for now...

Some of you know of my medieval...leanings. I studied medieval history at Cambridge for two summers during my masters program, did most of my masters work on Tolkien, have a penchant for King Arthur, love the brilliance of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and am generally drawn to other various medieval appropriations, whether in book, film, or song. [Side note: No, I did not go to BYU and therefore no, I was not part of the "medieval club".] My interests are primarily scholastic in nature. However, I have been known to indulge in the occasional guilty pleasure.

Behold:

Robin Hood.

Be still my beating heart.

I know he doesn't look like much here, but rent, check out, buy, whatever, this BBC series. Trust me, you won't be sorry. It's smart, it's funny, the music is great, and the cast amazingly stacked with talented, reprehensible creatures as well as surprisingly charasmatic ones.

I was up until 1:00 this morning finishing season one, and for those who know how strict I am about my bedtime on a weeknight know, it takes a lot to break that routine. But I just had to know what happened.

I can hardly wait for season two to arrive...waiting...waiting...not so patiently...

(If you're still not convinced (this reference is primarilyfor the ladies because most men I know have not seen North & South), Mr. Thornton plays the Sheriff of Nottingham's right hand man...so if Jonas Armstrong (Robin Hood) is not enough to tempt you, just think about that one.)

(Picture courtesy of Emily via email this morning. Subject line: "welcome to work ms. bradshaw")

In some ways I might be a 12-year-old boy...just sayin'

Okay, not really, but I sort of felt like it last night. I'd had a long day...it did perk up mid-day, but then there was the metro break-down on the way home and subsequently a very crowded train and a man who did not need to be standing as close to me as he was, smelling the way he did. Then the pollen explosion during my "hill workout" (I'm not kidding, I could feel it coating my mouth and skin) and the cramping hamstrings and calfs...I know, I'm borderline whining. But all this to get you to the end of my day, which was really great

I'm laying in my bed, watching season one of Robin Hood (greatest Netflix find this year), brushing my teeth, trying to decide if it's too early to turn in for the night, when Emily gchats me from the second floor asking if I'm home. Then asks what I'm doing. I tell her. Then I say, though I think we should be playing Nintendo. She agrees. I head down to the (much cooler) second floor.

Super Mario Brothers 3: I love that game so much. I think it was the first videogame I ever won. Countless hours spent on it as a teenager. It was actually kind of scary to find that after this many years, I still go to the same blocks, use the same turtle shells, the same tubes, fly in the same places, and still play with the B button constantly pushed. AND, we both found ourselves playing along with the other when it was their turn. There were lots of close calls and gasping, but we made it all the way to level 3 without losing one life. But let me just tell you, the water world is HARD!! It always has been. But Emily has a cheat book (seriously, 12 year old boys!) and we got the frog suit out of one of the mushroom houses.

The dumb squids stole our suit from us long before we were ready to give it up, but we had fun with it nonetheless. About that time, I had to put myself in bed for real and wished we'd had time to get to the level where we could use this bad boy:

I love the Tanooki suit.

I can't wait until the next Nintendo night.

p.s. I ended my game at level 3 with 15 lives. Just sayin'...

A boring, mish-mash day

1. I've been listening to the same two songs on repeat for the last 2 days.

2. In an attempt to get my hands on my SAT scores, I've discovered I need to submit by mail, a form to drudge my scores out of the SAT archives. It brought to my remembrance the days of yore when I had to register for college classes over the phone and I felt a teeny bit old.

3. Generic allergy medicine does not equal brand name. I will never make that mistake again.

4. I watched a movie this past weekend that made me want to compete in track and field again real bad. I've been working hard to move from marathon mode to 10k-and-below mode but I forget how much "quick" hurts. I'm not used to my lungs feeling like they're going to explode, but I kind of like it. Today I noticed that, tired as I was, there were hints of that old familiar feeling of sore but strong muscles that can and will work through anything. Mmmmm...I can almost smell the hot rubber of an all-weather track now...

5. I had an inexplicable urge to watch a Bollywood movie while on my run yesterday and my celebrity-crush on Hrithik Roshan came rushing back. I kind of want to watch Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai. Or Krrish.

One of my favorite clips from KNPH, for your viewing pleasure:


And maybe a picture of Hrithik, just so you get the idea:


6. I ate a cookie on Sunday and felt sick. I haven't had one since then. I got a little scared today that perhaps -- I'm almost afraid to say it outloud -- I'm reexperiencing an extended period of time during college wherein I lost all desire for sweets. I suppose there are worse things in life, but still, it was a strange realization.

7. I had a really funny thought when I woke up this morning but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Then around mid-morning for some reason a quote from the movie Emma to my mind: "And I know how you like news." I love that quote. And I love that movie, except for the middle part with Jane Fairfax and all that nonsense. I always have to fast-forward through the picnic scene because it's just so uncomfortable.

8. The sunrise was beautiful this morning.

9. Today, due to a series of events I will not outline here because (if you can believe it) they are more boring than the rest of this blog posting, I revisited the story of David and the Bathsheba aftermath. You know, the part where the prophet Nathan tells David the parable or the rich man taking the poor man's only lamb and then tells David "thou art the man." I remember the first time I was taught about David's fall. I felt so betrayed that all through primary we learned about David and Goliath and about David's friendship with Jonathan and all these wonderful things and then BAM! You get to seminary and learn about Bathsheba and all that mess...I remember that day in seminary so clearly. I literally cried through most of the day. It was the cause of some great soul searching during my sophomore year. Every time I think about that story, my heart feels so heavy, both because it is so tragic and because feeling the weight of the Lord's chastisement is my worst nightmare. Basically, he told David, I've given you everything, and had you felt like it wasn't enough, I would have given you more. And yet, and yet...you had to go and take the one thing you shouldn't have taken, and that was where you fouled up. You can hear the love wrapped up in the tremendous disappointment and feeling of tragedy in God's voice. My worst fear, truly, is for God to be disappointed in me because of a lack of faith and obedience.

10. Can't end on that downer. I found, no joke, an eyebrow about an inch long this morning, hiding. In fact, the only reason I saw it was because sometime, somehow it had turned BLONDE. Weird. I plucked that sucker right out. I almost sent it to you, Tom. You know why.

Genius (or maybe I'm just a little slow on the technology front)

Can I just tell you how much I love 

 
my computer, 

 
Google, and 

 

my little brother Tom.

I've only recently discovered that my computer has a webcam with a built-in microphone and that Google's videochat is really high quality, all thanks to Tom.  We had a little video chat session tonight.  I can't tell you how much it lifts my soul, especially when I'm missing my family.  It's the next-best thing to actually having them physically here.  The first time we videochatted I almost emailed Google kind of a schmoopy thank you email because I was just so happy to have been able to see my little brother in real time, all thanks to their genius.  Sometimes it's hard being so far away.  

When I wake up I want to see something I love...

I have been mocked for many things many times: my inability to keep a white shirt clean, the crumbs that usually surround my plate (and sometimes my chair) at the end of a meal, my cookie...fascination, various laughs that manage to escape despite my greatest efforts to keep them in, varying levels of clumsiness and grumpiness, and the list goes on and on. Well, according to some (one witness and two who I floated the story by), we just added a new one to the list.

It all started with the big move, which, mercifully, is reaching its end. I still have one corner of boxes to be addressed and a huge Goodwill pile (ginormous suitcase that almost weighs the weight limit, anyone?) to dispose of. This was a more taxing move than the others have been. I think because it's the first time I've moved without really needing to. I mean, granted, I haven't had a bedroom door for the last 2 years but other than that things were fine.

I deemed Sunday an "ox in the mire" day and started unpacking my books. There was no way I was feeling the spirit with all that clutter, so I decided to pull the "house of order" card and got to work. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and slightly lonely though, so B came over to keep me company while I tried to figure out how I wanted to arrange my books.

Now, if you'll refer to the post immediately preceding this one, you'll remember that I was feeling badly about my possessions. But as I unpacked I realized that had I not owned so many books, it literally would have cut my move almost in half. I'm not exaggerating. The mountain of boxes blocking my way on all sides was almost all books. I was also surrounded by five bookshelves: one very large, dark wood, 5 shelf; one tall and blonde and one short and white, both from IKEA; one nasty particle board that I inherited three houses ago; and one very cool fold-up three shelf that, up until 3 days ago, was occupied by sweaters and jeans in my closet. That's a lot of literary paraphenelia. I was feeling a little bit better.

Traditionally, the nicest bookcase (my large one) has held Tolkien, Lewis, Rowling, Austen, Gaskell, Scott and Eco, along with all my medieval manuscript and politics books. So I put them across the top three shelves. No brainer. Then I started to fill in with my other favorite books (my nonfiction tastes, having taken off last year, filled almost an entire shelf!), relegating my box labeled "American Lit" to the corner where the particle board bookcase had been banished. After I filled the big bookcase, I moved onto the particle board, where my reference books, Horatio Hornblower (the cad), Spanish materials and family history documents were destined to land. I filled that bookcase when suddenly I realized I hadn't done anything with American Lit.

Now let me just pause here to say this: it's not that I don't like American Literature. I have liked lots of books written by Americans. Anne Fadiman, an American, is one of my favorite authors. I just read The Grapes of Wrath and was terribly moved (being a Californian I think made me cry through it all the more). Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls holds a dear place in my heart. But when I looked at the box of books and thought about them in the blonde IKEA bookcase which I had placed nearest my bed, I felt sick. I didn't want to wake up to American Literature every day. I wanted to wake up to the large brown bookcase full of Tolkien, Lewis, etc. But the big bookcase doesn't fit in that part of the room. I had two choices: I would have to either wake up to AmLit or relegate the Brits to a second-rate bookcase. I stood in between the bookcases for probably five minutes. B finally noticed I had stopped moving and asked what the matter was. Lost in my thoughts, I explained my dilemma to her, not even stopping to think how ridiculous it might sound. Her laughter brought me back to someone's version of reality (certainly not my own - mine dealt with the dilemma of book placement!). I maybe should have been embarrassed (and maybe should be embarrassed for this very lengthy confession as well) but I wasn't. It is a big deal to me! When I wake up, I want to see something I love. So I decided: the Brits would have to move. Turns out they fit perfectly in the blonde bookcase. AND, non-fiction got to stay in the nice bookcase and was promoted to the top shelf. Suddenly it was like my world fell back into place. There was balance in the room: my favorite books were in an okay bookcase and my second-favorite books were in a great bookcase, and both got top-shelf status. I felt pretty good about my decision. B decided to mock me a little further, though, by pointing out that I had been referring to my books by name as I, yes, talked to them, and that at one point I apologized to Gaskell when I thought she was going to have to sit next to Dickens (He is not a favorite. However, I soon felt at peace when I realize that Gaskell is actually the perfect combination of Austen and Dickens, which happened to be the two authors I had placed her between). Anyway, all that to say, the books are unpacked and my room feels more like home. You can call me a nerd, it's okay. I'm actually pretty comfortable with that. You can call it a commentary on certain specific aspects of my life. I'm less comfortable with that.

Oh, and the fourth and fifth bookcases? I finally have a place for all my church books, right next to my reading chair, and one for my sheet music, right next to my piano. That makes me happy.

4GB of RAM. Take that.

I finally broke down and bought a new laptop.  I told myself I wouldn't buy a new one until next year at the earliest but I have secretly been shopping around for the last few months. The decision was ultimately made when it took me a full 2 minutes to open my iTunes to play my brothers a song.  This may not seem like a big deal, 2 minutes shouldn't justify a multi-hundred dollar purchase, but it was indicative of a larger problem.  I could only run one program at a time if I wanted my computer to play nice.  Blogging was becoming increasingly difficult as my processor seemed to be stuck in molasses mode.  Defragging the hard drive had stopped working.  I was simply out of disk space and working with a processor that had simply run its course.  

So last week I braved the dreaded Fry's.  

Fry's = geek heaven.  It's actually a great place if you have money to spend.  If you don't, it's the worse tease of a store there ever was.  For those unfamiliar with Fry's, it's bigger than Costco.  No joke.  It was an old Incredible Universe store/warehouse, so the store is ginormous and they've filled it with every possible electronic you could want or dream of.  Displays of high-def televisions, Blue-ray players (I can't tell you how much I want Planet Earth on Blue-ray), washers, dryers, mixers, mini-laptops, sound systems for your car, house, bedroom, computers...the list goes on and on.  I went in focused: all I wanted was my laptop.  They had the one I wanted for a really good deal.  All the brothers and Dad came, which meant it wasn't going to be a fast trip.

Sure enough it wasn't, but it was okay.  It was actually fun to stand in the Bose demo room and try to talk my dad into buying a new sound system for the family room.  And to sit in the plush chairs and watch Indiana Jones in high-def.  The only downside was that they didn't have my computer in stock.   Ha.  So they gave me a raincheck and told me to call back in a few days.  Which I did.  No luck.  The boys "had" to make another run out there the following day.  They checked for me again.  No dice.  So I called today.  Only to find out that they had discontinued my laptop.  Pray tell, why would you give someone a raincheck for a computer you weren't ever planning on getting in?  [sigh]  I fumed internally for about 2 seconds and then asked Tom if he would help me find a new laptop.  Off we went. 

First stop: Circuit City.  Packed with customers, short on help.  Ugh.  They had my laptop, but...not in stock.  Of course.  At this point, I'm sure you're asking yourself why I didn't just order one online, and I have a good reason for that.  Because Dad has all the software I need right here at home and Tom has the skills to easily transfer all my files from one computer to the other.  It was just easier to do it here at home with the safety net of nerds.

Second stop: Fry's, to see if they had any satisfactory alternatives.  Negatory.  It was picked so over it really was a wasted trip.  And there were SO MANY SHOPPERS out today.  We couldn't figure out why people were out en masse on a Monday.

Third stop:  Best Buy #1.  Also packed.  What the?  Despite the packed-ness, we found a GREAT deal on a laptop almost exactly like the one I wanted out at Fry's but of course they were, you guessed it, out of stock.  By this time I hadn't eaten in several hours (and had gone on a long run this morning and been cheated out of the bagel I had thought about all morning [cough-Tom-cough]) and was starting to get very grumpy.  I started snapping at no one in particular.  Tom knew it was time to 1. feed me, and 2. find a computer. STAT.  The guy at Best Buy said they had my model out at the store in La Mesa.  I handed Tom the keys and said to drive me there because I was done.  He did.  Happily. 

Fourth stop:  Best Buy #2.  We walk into a deserted Best Buy.  Amazing.  We described the laptop to the salesperson.  They had no record of the model in their store, on their website, or anywhere in their system.  So they call the store in Mission Valley.  No one answered.  Why would they?  By that point I was ready to walk out of the store and eat my old laptop for lunch.  Low blood sugar really isn't good for me.  My brothers like to say "feed the beast" when I get like this.  It's fair. 

Finally another salesperson overhears the drama of the non-existent laptop and solves the mystery.  Well, not so much solves the mystery as to why it's not anywhere in the system so much as points out that there is a box with that model number in the cage behind us.  Sure enough, it rings up with the specs and price we had seen in Mission Valley.  Retail really makes no sense to me at times, so I didn't ask questions.  I just purchased the computer and we walked out of the store.  Tom then drove me directly to Santana's.  I was then not only in possession of a new laptop but also a California burrito.  It takes so little to make me happy.

Now instead of 512 MB of RAM I now have 4GB, along with a whole bunch of other cool things, including an unexpected remote control that wasn't in the computer specs.  Take that!!!  

(We still have yet to actually figure out how to use the remote, but it's still cool!)

A better confession than White Christmas viewing in the morning

So, I'm moving almost as soon as I get back from the Christmas holidays. Not far, just a few blocks away from where I currently am.  As such, I'm trying to get most of my life packed up before I take off so that I can enjoy Christmas at home and not have to stress about packing things up as soon as I get back.  Tonight, my goal was to get all my books packed up.  That might not seem like a very big goal, unless you've been in my house or helped me move.  (A great Reid quote: "You know, Julie, this move would be a whole lot easier if you weren't such a nerd.")  And here is my confession: 

Number of standard-sized file boxes I just filled with my books: 14.  

And I still have a few stragglers without a home, but I'm out of boxes.  

My room feels so naked.  

The best part about packing up the books is being reunited with the gems I have read (I don't revisit certain shelves often enough) and discovering some gems that I haven't read yet (thank you Stephen for stocking me up).  I have some great books to read over the break and some great winter reading for when I get back (failed expeditions to the South Pole anyone?) without having to spend a dime.  Good thing, too, since I'm now on a spending freeze...  

[sigh]

"I finally found my people"

Some of you know of my love for Anne Fadiman, a contemporary author and editor. The first book of hers I ever read was Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader. This collection of essays awoke a part of my literary soul, and I quickly dubbed it my favorite book without really knowing why. That was about 5 years ago. I originally determined my "favoriteness" based on subject matter--I realized (with a mixture of relief and delight) I was not alone in my literary quirks. I remember also loving her writing style, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made her so different from other essayists I had read.

I soon discovered she was the same Anne Fadiman who was the editor of a magazine of which I had just taken a subscription, The American Scholar. Again, it was a magazine with content I loved but couldn't quite put my finger on why, or at least why I loved it so much more than other literary magazines. In my frenzied grad-school state, I simply attributed it to the talent of Anne Fadiman and moved on. I had Tolkien to dissect, after all. Then grad school ended and my quest for finding books on my own began. It has been an interesting process of discovery, learning to articulate my likes and dislikes with 6 years of education behind me. You'd think I would be better at it than I am, but school mostly taught me theory and dissection, not so much enjoyment and identification. Add in there the recovery from burn-out and you have a very eclectic reading list and one confused reader.

In my search, I discovered a book Anne wrote about 10 years ago called The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. Odd name for a book, I thought, but I was excited to read it. It had been recommended to me by a friend and was by an author who, up until that time, I had only known and loved as an essayist/journalist. I could write an entire posting on why I loved this book, but I will spare you the book review (for now). Suffice it to say for this discussion that it was during this book that I began to (i) discover why I liked Anne and (ii) identify her genre.

Anne is a creative journalist--I don't know if that's a real term, but that's how I like to define her. She takes a story, a subject, gives you really interesting information - succinctly - and then personalizes it. I got to the end of the book and found myself crying with this beautiful, loving Hmong family. Anne had me the entire way along, but she did not emotionally manipulate me. She simply told me a story that mattered in a way that captured me. The book went on my shelf next to my copy of Ex Libris.

Which brings us to yesterday. Almost. Two or three weeks ago I attended a book exchange. Of course I brought out Ex Libris (both copies, one recently given to me by my best friend who read it and knew I would love it. It's comforting to have friends who know me so well...). It has been a while since I've read these essays, and as I explained the contents of this book I found myself getting excited; I decided it was time to reread them myself. As I have revisited this book in the last week or so, I have felt almost giddy inside. With a little bit more experience behind me, some of these essays have taken on new meaning and give me new reasons for delight. Inspired, I went to Borders yesterday in search of another collection of essays recommended to me, hoping they might be in the "Anne" category. I was planning on just perusing the essays, not buying, but Borders didn't have the book. Plan foiled. I decided while I was there to enter Anne Fadiman's name into the computer, just to see if I had by chance missed any books she had recently written or edited. Turns out she put out another collection of essays last year. I walked straight to the shelf, breathed a sigh of relief to find a copy there, and went straight to the register. (Thank you again Millie for the gift card.) I had a feeling Anne wasn't going to let me down.

When I purchased the book, I expected to glean inspiration from her essays (which I have). I was surprised to find that (at least so far) her preface is what has impacted me the most. In fact, I can say that I experienced a revelatory moment as I read, one of the most profound I've ever had in my search for my authorial identity. In her preface, Anne gave her genre a name--the familiar essay--and began to outline its form and structure. It sounded so much like what I was trying to construct but have always felt just off the mark. She identified her inspiration, Charles Lamb (people, we have a predecessor!), and the time period when it had its heyday (early nineteenth century). (Mom, I finally have something we can put on my Christmas wish list.) I kept thinking, why have I never heard of this genre before? Well, Anne goes on to explain that while it is considered a dying genre, it is clearly one people still enjoy reading because the small amount out there is still being devoured.

What is the familiar essay? Quoting from Anne's preface in At Large and At Small:

The familiar essayist didn't speak to the millions; he spoke to one reader, as if the two of them were sitting side by side in front of a crackling fire with their cravats loosened, their favorite stimulants at hand, and a long evening of conversation stretching before them. His viewpoint was subjective, his frame of reference concrete, his style digressive, his eccentricities conspicuous, and his laughter usually at his own expense. And though he wrote about himself, he also wrote about a subject, something with which was so familiar, and about which he was often so enthusiastic, that his words were suffused with a lover's intimacy. [...] in other words, about the author but also about the world. (x-xi)

I found myself grasping for a pencil to underline this paragraph and in the margin the words spilled out: "I have found my people." The flow of thoughts that came after that and the understanding that began to overwhelm me felt as beautiful and delicious and smooth as mint being covered in dark chocolate.

Maybe this excitement seems disproportionate to the discovery, but for me it has opened up a new world. I now have examples to study, to emulate, to perfect and then from which to digress, to make the style my own, to innovate, and, maybe even one day, to improve. In her first essay in this new book, Anne quotes her brother Kim as saying, "When you collect nature, there are two moments of discovery. The first comes when you find the thing. The second comes when you find the name." She continues the thought: "Without classification, collection is just a hodgepodge." For this writer who has been floundering, viewing her jump drive of files as "just a hodgepodge," finding "classification" has suddenly made those files take on new meaning.

The thoughts which followed that revelation are for another discussion another time, but they are worth addressing at some point: why do I need classification to validate my style's existence? Part of it is because I needed something to focus it, a mentor and a teacher; I have now found a great source for that. But why the psychological relief? It is something worth thinking about. More on that later...

Pornification of a Generation

I just read an article in Newsweek entitled, "The Pornification of a Generation." The article offered no surprises, but was a reminder as to what we are facing as far as sex in the media and the way it shapes our ideas of sexual identity and sexual behavior.

The following is a quote from the article that I feel summarizes the problem quite well: "...[P]orn themes have gone from adult entertainment to prime time, seeping into nearly every aspect of popular culture. Sarracino and Scott define "porning" as the way advertising and society in general have borrowed from the ideas and characteristics central to most American pornography: sex as commodity, sexuality as overt, narrow views of women and male-female relationships, bad girls and dirty boys, domination and submission."

The article focuses on how this "porning" of a nation is affecting teens' conceptions of their sexuality and their sexual behavior (including the way they dress and the way they view themselves in relation to the opposite sex), but I think the portion of my generation that remains single also needs to take a good hard look at how it is affecting our view of our own sexuality, how we interact in male-female relationships, and how it affects our ideas of how relationships should feel and be.

I have struggled with my relationship with my body for years. Of course, some of it is the normal female obsession/comparison, but a lot of it has to do with images in print and film media that I have internalized, both consciously and unconsciously. I made a decision early last year to eschew any and all of these images. I came to realize just how harmful they were to my self-esteem as well as the adverse affect they were having on my relationships with men (i.e., not feeling pretty enough to think I had much of a shot with any of them). I decided I needed to detox. I stopped going to certain types of movies, stopped watching television (not that I watched a ton, but I just didn't even turn it on--the commercials are even terribly sexual!), avoided even looking at magazine covers in the grocery store, listened to music conducive to feeling the spirit, and became concerned with just being healthy and being the best person I could be. A lot of changes occurred, one of the most important being that I became much less self-centered. I began to see myself and others in healthier ways. I am sometimes still plagued by the images of airbrushed women and get scared that the men of my association are expecting that unrealistic perfection in a companion (if I had a million dollars, hours a day to work out, and was grumpy from not eating, I could maybe look like that too, but alas, I am solidly middle-class, have limited time to work out, and like to have energy when I run...), but I can't worry about it. I push those fears away and try to have faith that as I try to avoid becoming over-sexed by media, others are making similar efforts.

I guess my point in blogging about this is to encourage us to take a step back, try to cleanse ourselves of these images and these expectations, and to show more reverence for the human body. It is sacred and should be treated with respect. It is not something to be worshipped the way the world worships, but to be worshipped the way God worships it. It is a gift from Him. It is a part of our soul. When we are resurrected our bodies will be reunited with our spirits, never to be parted again; it is part of the process of perfection, but that means so much more than having it look perfect, according to whatever cultural standard we happen to be living in. We should show it reverence through good health and constant care, but that attention should be matched and balanced by the attention we give to the perfection and health of our spirits. It is a balance I find difficult to achieve because I see my body in the mirror every day, and my spirit requires a little more effort to assess, but I believe that if we will heed the admonition to nourish both our bodies and spirits then we will be blessed with feelings of the approval from God as well as a healthier relationship with ourselves and others.

Thoughts?

Book Snob

Okay, I admit it. I'm a book snob. Someone once accused me of it and I was offended. And now I'd like to say I'm sorry I was offended. You were right.

Book recommendations are a tricky thing. My taste sometimes falls into mainstream and sometimes falls into quirky. Most of the time when people ask me for book recommendations I hem and haw until they get tired of waiting for me and end up changing the subject. In fact, I think I sort of bank on the fact that they won't wait for my response. Why? Because most of the time the books I love other people hate and it hurts my book self-esteem when someone bothers to come back and tell me they just couldn't get into one of my favorite books. I mean, it's fair enough. I find sort of random things funny. I identify with characters on strange levels and for strange reasons (they aren't strange to me...people just look at me real funny sometimes when I say what I really think about certain books. In grad school I could do this and be thought of as a valuable contributor to class. Now I'm just the local book snob.).

Well, here comes the snobbery for all to see because I have a rant. It's a rant against mediocre fiction. The last two books I have read have been terrible. Not just sort of bad, but really awful. Now, I do have to take some responsibility for my actions at this point. I have this annoying trait of finishing something I've started. I could have, at any point, put these books down. I was disgusted enough with them both that I should have. But I didn't. Why? Because I had to know if there was going to be any redeeming moment in them at all. I have this unfailing hope and faith that somewhere in the 400 pages of awfulness, evidence that an editor actually read the manuscript would come forth and the book would stop careening down the path of cliche and unoriginality!! I know this sounds harsh, but honestly, I want my time and money back. I'm not even going to admit which book was the first one I read. It's not even worth mentioning. All I can say is that I read it out of a "needed to know" obligation. The End.

The second book was a book by Shannon Hale, an author I really feel is very creative. I like her children's literature and have found it to be some of the most original and delightful fantasy I've come across (The Goose Girl and Enna Burning - the second one is particularly good). I recently came across a new-ish book she wrote in the non-kiddie section (I typed "adult section" but that sounded kind of wrong). I thought, hmmmm, and opened up the front cover. The prologue had me intrigued. It appeared to be about a girl who was obsessed over the Colin Firth version of Pride & Prejudice and was determined to rid herself of her fantasy obsession. The prologue was biting and I thought, ooooh, a good satire. I love a good satire. And since Hale had a good record with me, I bought it to take with me to the beach. What a disappointment.

The idea had such potential, but my biting satire instead turned out to be wish-fulfillment, and not even well done at that. I kept reading until the end, hoping for some ending other than the one I knew was coming. Even during the airport scene (which could have been so much funnier than it actually was) I kept thinking, there's no way this guy is getting on the plane. She wouldn't do that. But she does. I chucked the book across the room.

Now, please don't think I'm a cynic. I'm not. (I prefer to describe myself as an optimistic realist.) That being said, it's not that I didn't want the dude to get on the plane. There just wasn't nearly enough precedent for him to get on the plane. It was weird. It felt forced. I found myself examining my own writing, questioning what my own first story would be, if I were to finish writing it. Would it get caught in this weird place between satire and wish fulfillment? Maybe. Hopefully I'll have the good sense to never try and publish it. I'll lock it away in a drawer and pirate it for material 10 years down the road, not subject already vulnerable women to unlikely (and ultimately unentertaining) scenarios.

[sigh] Okay. Rant over. I'm returning to non-fiction for a while. I've had a lot of good luck with that genre this year, thanks to some excellent recommendations. (My friend, you know who you are, you have not failed me once. Thank you. You're at the top of my list. Don't blow it.)

N.B. I realize this may deter many of you from ever recommending a book to me again. That is not my intention. I love book recommendations. In all fairness I should point out that these books were not recommended to me. I chose them all by my lonesome. I wonder what that says about my own judgment... It reminds me of the time I rented P.S. I Love You and was mad the whole time and am still talking about how much I hated the movie.

Assignment: Please leave a comment about any of the following: Rants about books you hate/were disappointed in (and why - I'm curious). Praise for books you love (and why - I'm curious). What wish fulfillment literature does for you (love it? hate it? indifferent? it serves its purpose?). Or anything else you want to say (but try to be nice...or if you can't be nice, be articulate.)

826 Valencia

I was first introduced to 826 Valencia by a good friend of mine. Days after we were discussing our respective ideal situations for employment, I received an email from him with the subject line "I found your dream job," accompanied by this link: http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/233. He was right. Dream job. The clip is about 20 minutes long, but well worth it. Please watch it. You'll like it. You may love it like I do. At the very least it will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

In summary (for those who don't want to watch the clip despite my encouragement), 826 Valencia was started by professional writers who wanted to give back to the community. They moved their offices into a retail space in San Francisco and created a space for a tutoring center for kids. The space they rented out was zoned as retail space, though, and so they had to come up with something to sell. They settled on a pirate supply shop. And the project only grew from there. Seriously, watch the clip.

The first time I watched this video I was struck with the generosity of these writers. And their ingenuity. And creativity. There are too many homes where children are not receiving the attention they need to succeed in the fundamentals, let alone to inspire creativity. For these writers to recognize the need and to do something was enough to make me want to pack my bags and move to San Francisco (not that I'm a great writer, but just to be involved in a project like this...). It's not often you can get lots of kids to willingly engage in anything that appears to be even remotely related to school. But, put them in an environment where they are working side-by-side with professional writers, as well as other more advanced writers, in a fun environment (who desn't like pirates, I mean really...and even better...a pirate supply store!) and you can't keep them away! In addition to that, give them an opportunity to have their writing and ideas legitimized through publication and you've got a dynamite program. It is such an effective way to learn and grow.

These guys also understand that this goes beyond just helping kids be successful in school. It provides them with real life mentors. These one-on-one tutoring opportunities often go beyond the homework assignment. You can't help but influence those you serve. These kids are getting an opportunity they might not otherwise have. It not only increases the quality of their lives but also the lives of their families. And as Dave Eggers reminds us in this clip, happy families equal happy communities, happy communities make happy cities and a happy world. By small and simple things... ("it all comes down to homework" he jokes).

Take a look around 826 Valencia's website, especially if you like pirates. You can also look at the 826 National website to see their other writing centers around the country (the superhero storefront is my other favorite). If you live in any of these areas, I would encourage you to support their efforts, whether it be financially or with a donation of your time. I know I don't often push stuff like this, but I really believe in what they are doing and hope that others will catch the vision. It really is a brilliant approach. Kids feel less like they are in school and more like they are somewhere fun. The atmosphere inspires creativity. And when you have a speciality shop (like a pirate supply store) you are bound to get a mix of the delightful and the crazy. What better inspiration for writing than people-watching.

Also take a look at the store page. It's a treasure trove for great pirate stuff (you can order online!) as well as a funny log of the happenings in the store. I wish I worked there for so many reasons.

Oh, and for those who are familiar with http://www.mcsweeneys.net/, these are the same guys.
(Someone's gchat tagline with the John Hodgman 9/11 link reminded me that I wanted to blog about 826 but hadn't!)

Pure Religion

For years I've had this dream of serving a humanitarian aid mission. I remember when I first filled out my mission papers, I hoped and hoped that they would call me to serve as a humanitarian missionary rather than a proselyting missionary. Not that I didn't want to share the gospel with people, but I really felt a strong desire to bring physical comfort and hope to people. I wanted to prepare them physically so that they could be fed spiritually. I didn't end up serving a full-time humanitarian mission for the church, but it is a not-so-secret hope that at some point in my life I am asked to devote the majority of my time serving those in need, instead of spending only nights and weekends here and there after a long day or week of work. While I am happy to do it, I look forward to the time when I have the capability of doing even more.

Today I toured Welfare Square and the Humanitarian Aid Facilities in Salt Lake City. I've had lots of experience serving in the bishop's storehouse, donating time to the cannery, etc. but never have I seen it on the scale that it operates on here. The bishop's storehouse is enormous. The second we stepped out of our car, I could smell the baking bread, ready to be sliced and packaged for distribution to the poor and needy. There in welfare square, all the temporal needs of an unemployed, poor, needy individual can be met. Their spiritual needs can be met as well. Some of the things that impressed me the most:

• The church has five transient bishops called just to serve at welfare square. In the LDS church, a bishop is the steward of his congregation, both temporally and spiritually. When a member is in need of food, a job, or other temporal assistance, he or she meets with the bishop to determine the need and together they make a plan to fill that need. Five bishops serve here because 80-100 people per day come in off the street into this particular bishop's storehouse for food and/or clothing. The majority of walk-ins are not members of our church, and no one is turned away. All are expected to serve in exchange for the assistance they receive. Some serve at the storehouse, some serve at D.I.
  
• Deseret Industries is the church's thrift store. The one at welfare square is the biggest one I've ever seen. Today I learned that 15% of clothing donated is kept in the D.I. stores; the other 85% is sent to the humanitarian center for distribution. Many people who work at D.I. are there to receive on-the-job training to prepare them for employment elsewhere. Some are U.S. citizens, some are refugees, some are immigrants. While they receive job training, those who need it also receive language training as well as application and interviewing skills. Last year they placed over 100 people in jobs. Many are not members of the church. I did not realize this until I walked past three muslim women hard at work behind the scenes. I felt a swell of emotion as I considered the church's philosophy on helping any in need, not just tithe payers.
• The grain silo on Welfare Square was built in 8 days during the Great Depression. This may not seem like a huge feat until you consider the fact that it holds 16 million pounds of grain. It's big. Real big.
  

The humanitarian aid center was my favorite place of the day. We saw where the other 85% percent of D.I.'s clothing went. They bale them into 1,000 pound bundles and send them over to the humanitarian aid center. From there the clothing is sorted by gender and general age and repacked into 100 pound bundles, ready for shipping. No soiled or damaged clothing is retained for distribution. The discarded clothing is sold to second-hand or rag stores and the money is used to pay for relief kits. Absolutely nothing goes to waste.

There isn't enough room to talk about how I feel about the various relief kits available. There are palates of materials called an "orphanage module" and another one that's a relief module. Then there are newborn kits, hygiene kits, school kits, cleaning kits, wheelchair initiatives and donations, Atmit production (a porridge-like substance malnourished children are able to digest), health services provided in third-world countries, and the list goes on and on. I fought back tears of emotion throughout the day as I considered the products the church produces, their quality, and their determination to give freely while helping the recipients to become self-relaint and teaching them to give back in service. The church's purpose is to attend to the sick and the afflicted, to improve the quality of physical life so that eventually they can be fed spiritually. I thought about the millions of lives that are affected by this...and that's when the tears really came.

The process is so streamlined, and yet so individual. The relief kits that go to one country are different than what goes to another country. The food will be different. The clothing will be different. You have to see it to really grasp the magnitude of it all. It makes me want to give all my money, all of my time, and everything with which I have been blessed to contribute. Both Welfare Square and the humanitarian aid center are full and busy, but the Spirit is special and very strong there. It was a strong and needed reminder of what I really need to be focusing on. I can get so easily distracted by the things in life that don't really matter. But helping the poor, helping the needy, helping those affected by tragedy--not only abroad but my neighbors as well...that is where my focus needs to be. I need to emulate the Savior's example. I need to be better. I am going to be better.

If you are looking for ways to contribute to LDS Charities, feel free to poke around on this website. They really are doing amazing things. It's Pure Religion.

Escapism

My father once asked me (a month before I started my grad program in English lit), "Julie, can I ask you, what is the purpose of fiction?" I was rendered speechless; I was embarrassed to discover I had no good answer. I fumbled around for something to legitimize my new course of study, but was never really satisfied with my answer. I mean, there are lots of good things about fiction. It can be highly instructional. It provides a forum for creativity. It's good for lots of things. Recently, though, I discovered, or finally admitted, that one more exists: Escapism.

I don't often use literature to escape because I'm usually reading for information or edification. It is still escaping in a sense, because it transports me from my current surroundings to the world contained in the pages of a book, but escaping my world is not usually my primary purpose in reading. However, my confession today is that there are two books (well, one book and one series) I use exclusively as escape-literature (one more than the other) and they both fall into the same genre: Fantasy.

I should explain that I consider this admission a confession because I have been accused in the past of being a book snob. Maybe I earned that label. Maybe not. I will say this: There aren't many fantasy authors out there that are high on my respectable list of well-knowns. That being said, I may not look the type, but I did almost my entire master's degree on medieval literature, its appropriations in literature throughout history, and, more specifically, Tolkien and his creation of Middle-earth. I know I just said I "don't do fantasy" and that Tolkien technically falls under fantasy, but Tolkien really is in a category all by himself. Growing up, I had never given much thought to Tolkien or The Lord of the Rings and was only vaguely aware of the existence of The Silmarillion, though I had no idea what it was or what it was about. Fantasy lit just wasn't my thing. But I'll admit, the movies came out and I was mesmerized. I read LOTR for the first time the fall before I started graduate school. I loved it. Then I took this heinous research methods class required of all first-semester students. [A side note of little interest to anyone but me: My professor was frightening. I'm not kidding. She was severe, socially inept, and brilliant. I have never been more intimidated in all my life. Sadly, she was one of only two medievalists on campus and I spent almost my entire graduate career under her watchful, condescending, tactless eye.] When my professor assigned the class to choose an author and read the authorized biography, I chose Tolkien. I was curious to find out more about the creator of Middle-earth. I passed many lovely fall evenings in front of my fireplace learning about his many eccentricities and acknowledged brilliance. A top philologist (he was recruited to work on portions of the O.E.D.) and medieval studies professor at Oxford, he wrote in his "spare time" (usually between the hours of midnight and 2 or 3 a.m.). I had no idea such a brilliant individual would deign to write something that could be termed fantasy literature. Just goes to show you the trouble book-snobbery can get you into.

While everyone walked around calling Tolkien's creation fantasy, he declared his creation a "mythology for England." Since England had been conquered and reconquered so many times, no solid mythology exists, no great origination story for this tiny, powerful Island, so Tolkien took matters into his own hands and created one himself (The Silmarillion). The creation story in that book is one of the most beautiful I have ever read. I could go on and on, but I'll just say this: One of the reasons Tolkien's version of fantasy is so excellent is because it has just enough of the world I recognize and know, but with an other-worldliness that isn't so far out there that I have to work to imagine it. It just feels familiar.

I know many people make the jump from Tolkien to Harry Potter, and I do so here only to point out that while they are not on the same level academically, they are on a similar level of accessibility to escapism. While Tolkien doesn't require me to work to believe, he does require me to think. Rowling, however, doesn't demand that I think because she eventually explains everything, whether it's through Dumbledore or his Penseive (or a thorough explanation from Hermione or Harry). Regardless of the level it's written on, Rowling has masterfully crafted something that evokes some of the same feelings as Tolkien's world: it is just close enough to my world for me to relate, but creates another world so magnificent and fantastic (as in fantasy-like) that I am willingly led into believing that Hogwarts does exist and that Harry really is going to save the world. Which brings me to my next point.

Savior literature. Had I finished my thesis, you would have have 70+ pages on this (aren't you glad I didn't? ha ha). I think this is the reason these two stories resonate so deeply with readers, the reason these are two of the best-selling novels/franchises ever. Well-crafted stories about good vs. evil, about one individual in whose hands the destiny of the earth resides, resonate because it is the essence of our existence. It is the story that is being written every day. Savior literature. It's powerful.

Anyway, this posting started out discussing escapism because I was going to confess that I just spent the last two weeks reading Harry Potter from start to finish--2 weeks, all 7 books-- because I was emotionally escaping from the news that my dad has cancer. It was the only way I could think of to cope. Harry Potter is an easy world to escape to, and I went easily and willingly. I emerged from Book 7 just yesterday. I've been thinking a lot over the last two weeks and have come to a few conclusions [spoiler alert, fair warning]:

Book Conclusions
1. No matter how many times I read the series (I think this was my 4th time through), I will always cry when Dumbledore dies. Always.
2. This was my third time through Book 7, and I still cried when Snape revealed to Dumbledore that his patronus is a doe...And this time through it finally registered that the reason Snape asks Harry to look at him right before he dies is so he can die with the vision of Lily's eyes before him. I know, I'm a little slow.
3. Snape is Rowling's most masterfully crafted character. I had a lot of theories about Snape. One of them was true. The other half of the puzzle, though, that part that completes Snape, the part about his connecton with Lily, I never would have guessed. Never. But it makes perfect sense. Brilliant.
4. My imagination will never be as alive as Rowling's. Ever. Hallows, horcruxes, souls splitting and connecting, wand lore...never in a million years would I have come up with it. I hope I get more creative as I get older. Maybe my children will teach me a thing or two.

Life Conclusions
1. Sometimes your mind needs to shut down when it's traumatized. It's good to listen and give it the rest it needs for however long it needs it. Don't push yourself back into the real world before you're ready to be there. Don't worry about it - you'll know when you're done. Also, it's good to escape to something that gives you a happy ending. Harry's friends and family suffer, some die, but there is hope in the end. That's always a good note to emerge on.

I've had the urge to go back and start reading the series again, but I know it's time to be done escaping and time to deal with reality.

Go fiction.

Patience and Timing.

Things I’ve learned in my short 27 years on earth:

1. I am almost never right.
2. God is always right.
3. Impatience makes me and everyone around me unhappy. Plus, it causes me to miss out on lots of really great experiences.
4. I am where I am for a reason.
5. Sometimes my life is not always about me and my needs; sometimes my life is about someone else’s needs.
6. Patience often requires respecting someone else’s agency.
7. “Hanging tight” is an answer to a prayer.
8. When I align my will with Heavenly Father’s, he does everything he can to bless me.
9. If I resolve to see God’s hand in my life daily, I will find it.

Timing and patience. Patience and timing. Why is this lesson such a difficult one to learn?

For months—really since graduation last year—I have been trying to determine my life's direction. After praying, fasting, planning, and searching, the constant feeling is to stay where I am, doing what I am doing. This answer has been less than satisfying. I have an advanced degree, some fairly good writing skills, and a desire to do something more, and yet here I remain, working in a job for which I am incredibly overqualified (not to mention in which I have no interest) with no forward momentum. I have tried to maintain a good attitude and set some goals to help make each day productive both intellectually and otherwise, but at the end of most days I wonder what exactly I contributed to the world I live in; I wonder what God could possibly hope to accomplish by asking me to stay in this job. My sister-in-law once aptly described this situation as being “stalled in an awful gear.” But as the months have gone on and I have thought more and more about this, I think that it can’t be true; no gear is truly “awful.” Harder than others, yes. But maybe that’s what real growth is, and it just hurts a lot more because I’m finally entering the big leagues.

I find my greatest challenge as I strive to work through this phase of my life is to be grateful. I feel that I have always been happy, grateful, optimistic, and actively pursuing worthy goals—I delight in life's joys, big and small. However, entering a stage of life where my progress is no longer marked by set milestones, graduations, or other measurements of progress has caused me to lose sight of some of these things; I have fallen into the bad habit of crying foul that “nothing is happening!” I have turned this fact into the single issue of my life, forgetting the many miracles I witness daily as I serve in Relief Society, as I interact with my family, and as I successfully wake up each day and make it out the door to run. I forget that there was a time in my life, not too many years ago, that I was not healthy enough to do that. And yet in spite of these things, I have felt fully justified in feeling frustrated and complaining about my lack of direction (which I define as a lack of moving forward in the direction I want to move, when I want to move; see also willfulness, pride, learned-thinking-they-are-wise).

These feelings prompted me to reread several journals, talk my parents to death on the topic, and revisit the time before graduate school to see where I came from and in what direction I was heading. Finally, information in hand, I turned to Heavenly Father to get righted, to make sense of it all. The answer? Something is happening. The answer to stay put is not a fun answer, but it is an answer, and I should give daily thanks for the ability to receive answers to my prayers instead of pitching a tantrum against Heavenly Father for not giving me my way.

I am being blessed. I am being refined. One day at a time. As such, I have set about trying to answer two very important questions.

How do I happily endure and learn through this refinement process?
1. Make God’s will my will. With a big, grateful, genuine smile on my face.
After a particularly crisis-filled weekend, one with a distressed “nothing is happening!” phone call home, my dad sent me an email. He said, in part:

The adversary failed because he wanted to take away risk and speed things up and because he felt he was so smart and had a better way. He wanted God’s power to enforce his will. This thinking can also be a temptation to us as well. I visualize that when you make this transition of self will to God’s will, and that it becomes desirable through disciplining your thinking as to why it is desirable from an eternal prospective, that the desires of your heart will, when it occurs, be natural and good without the feeling that “it is about time.” There will be so many other challenges in life when the feelings you are having now will occur again and again that when you learn what you are learning now, this experience will make you equal to all the things that are forecast in your patriarchal blessing.

My father is a wise man, and he was right.

Intellectually I get it. I will be happier if I make God’s will my will. But what happens when I feel like I am praying and praying, and fasting and fasting, and searching and searching to know what is God’s will and I am still not getting what I feel are answers?

Elder Scott’s seminal talk on prayer (April 2007 General Conference) gives some insight into this particular problem:

Some misunderstandings about prayer can be clarified by realizing that the scriptures define principles for effective prayer, but they do not assure when a response will be given. Actually, He will reply in one of three ways. First, you can feel the peace, comfort, and assurance that confirm that your decision is right. Or second, you can sense that unsettled feeling, the stupor of thought, indicating that your choice is wrong. Or third—and this is the difficult one—you can feel no response.

What do you do when you have prepared carefully, have prayed fervently, waited a reasonable time for a response, and still do not feel an answer? You may want to express thanks when that occurs, for it is an evidence of His trust. When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior's teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. As you are sensitive to the promptings of the Spirit, one of two things will certainly occur at the appropriate time: either the stupor of thought will come, indicating an improper choice, or the peace or the burning in the bosom will be felt, confirming that your choice was correct. When you are living righteously and are acting with trust, God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision.

It is both interesting and encouraging to consider that sometimes our decisions do not matter to God. Not that they do not matter, but that sometimes it is just our choice. Daunting, but exciting! However, sometimes Heavenly Father does have a preference as to the path we take and if we will submit to His will, that path will open up, sometimes with a tap of the door, and sometimes with a gigantic shove! How do we know when resistance isn’t a big fat ‘no’? By the feelings of the Spirit that accompany it. That is where our experience with God and prayer and revelation comes in. If we really think about it, we know what it feels like when we are going in the right direction, no matter the resistance.

2. Learn that dark times do not necessarily mean I have been disobedient. If all is right in my life, I have to be willing to push through the darkness.
The scriptures are filled with examples of bad or hard things happening to righteous people, things that require their faith to push through. It is meant to stir us up into remembrance of God, but sometimes those experiences can make us question our standing before Him. Sometimes it even shakes our faith in His love for us. But at the end of the day, when we have put our lives in order and have affirmed through feelings of the Spirit that He does indeed love us and approve of us, we still have to address the trial and how to push through. Elder Maxwell described this struggle in his talk entitled, "Jesus, the Perfect Mentor":

Though our view of eternity is reasonably clear, it is often our view of the next mile which may be obscured! Hence the need for the constancy of the gift of the Holy Ghost. I think you will see this a number of times in your lives. You have cast your minds forward and are fixed on the things of eternity, and all of that is proper and good, but there is sometimes fog in the next hundred yards. You can make it through, but don't be surprised when it is the short-term obscurity through which you must pass as a result of your faith in the long-term things.

That fog, that darkness, is part of the refining process; it is the real test because in my heart of hearts I know things will work out. They always do. The issue is what to do daily to get there, how to make each day meaningful in the meantime, and realizing that my entire life is going to be “meantime.” Meaning, there will always be something I’m hoping for, striving for, waiting on. In order to be a wise steward over my time here on earth, I need to make the days count.

3. Use my power to do good: Be anxiously engaged in a good cause.

I was recently considering this concept of being a wise steward over my time when one Sunday I randomly looked down at the sacrament program. I do not usually read the scripture on the front cover, but for some reason I thought, “Someone goes to a lot of trouble to thoughtfully pick out a scripture. I should read it.” I have impeccable timing. Or, rather, the Spirit has impeccable timing. I just happened to be listening.

Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness; For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves, And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.
(D&C 58:27-28)

As I said, impeccable timing.

The problem is I forget this principle. Regularly. God does not want to command me in all things. We have our agency for a reason, to see what we will do with it. It is the great test of this life and to forget it is to miss the point of why we are here. So, with the answer I have to stay put in my job, my house and my life, I need to continue being the best person I can be, magnify my calling and reach out to those around me. Engage myself in a good cause. Use my power for good. Reap the rewards.

Why is our patience tested so thoroughly throughout our entire lives?

Because I’m not “moving” anywhere, hitting any milestones, I oftentimes feel frustrated. (It must madden God to see me still feeling dissatisfied, or at the very least must make him shake his head at me.) Even during the process of studying for and writing this article, I struggled to internalize these principles, to find a good reason why I should not only smile and go along with it all but embrace it and give sincere thanks.

One day it all finally came to a head – the head; I had a very fervent heart-to-heart with Heavenly Father. It went something like this: “Heavenly Father, where are you? When will I get an answer I understand? Why the silence? This answer to stay put has been going on for a while now…is it still valid?” I will admit that this prayer was accompanied by a fair number of tears.

I woke up the next morning with a determination to adjust my attitude; I was going to show a little more faith. All day I was a better employee at work, tried to keep myself productively occupied, and was overall more pleasant. I thought, “Okay. Peace. That’s a good assurance that God is listening. I can deal with that for today.” I went to institute that night, reluctantly, tired from the emotional energy I had put into being “faithful,” but I knew I should go. Part of the lesson was on Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego and their refusal to worship the golden image set up by Nebuchadnezzar. My mind had been wandering during most of the lesson, but I drifted back to attention as I realized we were spending more time than usual on a very familiar story. We were discussing their response to Nebuchadnezzar’s threat, which ended up being my answer – the answer:

O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.

This response is incredible. These guys were not about to mince words; they were going to give it to the king straight. They proclaimed their faith in God’s power but did not deign to dictate His actions. They proclaimed their resolve to be obedient, even in the face of death. What courage, what trust, to say, “God has the power to save us but if it is not His will, if He chooses not to, we still will not betray him.” They proved themselves to be God’s friends in the face of their darkest hour. I imagined their thoughts as they were led to the furnace. Were they afraid? Of the pain, maybe. But did they doubt God’s love for them and power to deliver? Not at all.

The Spirit began to teach me over the course of the rest of the evening and the next day. This time in my life is a critical part of that great test. Will I remain God’s friend in the face of what feels like a very dark hour, or will I become angry with God? Will I use my time wisely, or will I spend my time crying foul? Will I be grateful for the time I have been given to freely develop my talents, or will I wander, waiting for my life to be planned out for me? I suddenly felt, acutely, the wasted energy spent on worry over the course of the past year. I resolved to be a better friend to God and a better steward over my agency.

Brigham Young said:

Let the will of man be brought into subjection to the law of Christ-to all the ordinances of the house of God. What, in his darkness and depression? Yes; for that is the time to prove whether one is a friend of God…. We should so live that our confidence and faith may increase in him. We must even go further than that. Let us so live that the faith and confidence of our Heavenly Father may increase towards us, until he shall know that we will be true to him under any and all circumstances and at all times. When in our darkness and temptation we are found faithful to our duty, that increases the confidence of our God in us. He sees that we will be his servants.
(Brigham Young, Discourses of Brigham Young, selected and arranged by John A. Widtsoe, p.45)

So this is growth: to discover, learn, and apply, always moving forward, trusting God and therefore proving myself to be a worthy friend.

What will I do? I will continue to ask for direction. If none is given, I will move forward until the Spirit says stop. Sometimes I am not sure which direction will make me happy, but I suppose that is part of the adventure of life: testing out our will and seeing where it will take us while patiently and actively waiting on the things in God’s timetable. It's kind of exciting.

The Power of Music

This morning I woke up before the sun and rode my bike down to the Belle Haven Marina. The morning was crisp and quiet. It was just me, my bike, and a quiet Mt. Vernon trail. It's been kind of a long week and I just felt this need to get away for a moment, farther and faster (and frankly with less effort) than running could take me. The marina at sunrise was the perfect place. I composed the perfect relaxing playlist for my outing. When I arrived at the marina, my playlist finally arrived at a song a friend introduced to me the other night: a Cambodian lullaby, part of a collection of lullabies from around the world. When I first heard it, the feelings were similar to what I felt upon listening to it again this morning. I don't know that I entirely understand it and therefore am having difficulty explaining it, but I was deeply touched. How is it that a song with words I don't understand and a tune I don't recognize is able touch me that way? What is it about music that makes it so transcendent?

Music has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. Since I'm on the younger end of my family, the music started in my house long before I entered. Almost all my older siblings played a musical instrument of one sort or another and we usually spent Sunday afternoons around the piano singing or playing those instruments as a family. My own training was primarily classical in nature but I've always been drawn to all types of music. I've had many spiritual experiences through the preparation, performance, and observation of music, and, over the last couple of years or so, I have stopped to think about why that is. I don't know that I've come up with a good, concrete answer. I have lots of theories and ideas, but I won't outline them all here. I will, however, make this very general and obvious statement: I think music means more than we think it does.

Sure, you can give scientific explanations of places in the brain that are stimulated when one listens to a piece of music, thus creating a sense of pleasure, but I'm talking about something more. I'm talking about music on a spiritual level--not necessarily spiritual music, but music of all kinds, tempos, beats, etc., that awakens something dormant, that causes you to be surprised by the joy you find welling up and spilling over. D&C 25:12 tells us that God considers the song of the righteous to be prayer. Prayer has the power to heal, to move mountains, to call upon the power of God through our faith. It would follow then, that music could have the same power. It's interesting to stop and think about that. What is it about music that gives it so much power?

Thoughts?

Some side notes/afterthoughts:

(1) If the song of the righteous is like a prayer, then what is the song of the unrighteous?

(2) I think Tolkien may have had more insight than he realized when he wrote the Ainulindale, "The Music of the Ainur" (first chapter of The Silmarillion). It's worth a read; don't let yourself get bogged down in the names; unless you're a serious Tolkien reader you don't need to keep many straight. All you need to know is that Iluvatar is God, Melkor is the dissenter (a Lucifer figure), and the Ainur are like demi-gods (Michael and others, if you will). It's one of the coolest creation stories I've read, mainly because it deals with creation and visions through music.

(3) Another thing about music I have considered a bit in the last year or so is its place in "one eternal round." Music's relationship to mathematics and the components of famous and timeless pieces are fascinating to consider. The thing that really spurred on this particular thought process was this NPR segment: http://www.wnyc.org/music/articles/27256. It's fascinating (the parts about motives and mathematics, etc., not the crazy Wagnerians, though they are fascinating in their own right), especially if you like Wagner and/or the humanities in general.