Christmas Eve

Christmas Truce by Fritz Vincken
" It was Christmas Eve, and the last, desperate German offensive of  World War II raged around our tiny cabin. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door... "

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

"You'll be safe in the woods," he had told me. "Take care of Mother. Now you're the man of the family."

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. "Kommt rein," Mother said finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, "The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow." Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They'd lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn't shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, "Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes."
This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann G ring, Hitler's No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year's. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. 

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht¡ªGermans!
I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Fröhliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"
"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."
The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. "But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I'd ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who's inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"
Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends¡ªlost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "this Christmas night, let us forget about killing."
The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile¡ªand hurry up before the others eat the dinner!"
Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother's bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.
Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn't going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick," she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American's wound. "Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him. "No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago." Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry's wound hadn't become infected. "He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away¡ª"for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal's wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother's best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.
The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim's map, the corporal pointed out a stream. "Continue along this creek," he said, "and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course." The medical student relayed the information in English.

"Why don't we head for Monschau?" Jim had the student ask. "Nein!" the corporal exclaimed. "We've retaken Monschau."
Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. "Be careful, boys," she said. "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: "...they departed into their own country another way."

A brief treatise on time

Earlier this week I was at dinner with a couple of friends. One of the people, one who has always struck me as very busy, commented that not having time for a person didn't mean she didn't care. I thought about this for the next few days and had a couple more experiences with the concept, but have come to the conclusion that in relationships (i.e. when we have to deal with people) time is a valuable commodity. It is like the flour in a cake, the egg in a quiche, the meat in a Sunday roast. It is the foundation of a building. Without time there is no relationship.

I realize that different people speak different love languages. That for some the giving of service or gifts or words or touch is more important than the gift of time. It is interesting though how time is an element of each of those other gifts. What gift is more meaningful? One that someone has put time and effort into? Or whatever was the first item he saw when he walked through the doors at wal-mart? What service is more meaningful? Sure I'll help you out with bathing the kids and putting them to bed tonight, or I spent all day at work making money to pay the bills, and now you want more of my time? What gift of touch is more meaningful? A pat on the head or a long embrace? Which words say more "I care about you"? I'm so glad you are here! We couldn't have done it without you! You look so good today by the way. Or does 'sup send the better message?

As one to whom the love language of time speaks very loudly, nothing says "I don't love you" like "I don't want to spend time with you". I've done enough people watching to know that universally people spend their time on the things that they feel are the highest priority. That priority list doesn't always stay the same of course, it is fluctuating as things move around in the time management matrix. And even though gifts and words don't speak as loudly to me, I still understand that an untouched or cast aside gift, says I didn't want it. Not giving a birthday gift to someone who speaks the language of gifts, doesn't say I love you. Withholding physical affection from someone who speaks touch, doesn't say I love you. Neglecting to say thank you, and not giving or withholding compliments doesn't say I love you to the person who speaks words. Ignoring bids of attention for help, refusing to take out the trash, or lend a hand, or even being unaware of when you could have helped out, doesn't say I love you to the person who speaks service.

Lately I've been thinking about why time does speak loudly to me. I realized that in great measure love spelled T-I-M-E to me. But why?

I went and read Elder Uchtdorf's 2010 October General Conference talk "of things that matter most", because that's where I heard that quote about how love is spelled. He talks about how the basics are related to maintaining four types of relationships.
"As we turn to our Heavenly Father and seek His wisdom regarding the things that matter most, we learn over and over again the importance of four key relationships: with our God, with our families, with our fellowman, and with ourselves. As we evaluate our own lives with a willing mind, we will see where we have drifted from the more excellent way. The eyes of our understanding will be opened, and we will recognize what needs to be done to purify our heart and refocus our life."

Relationship #1: God
"We improve our relationship with our Heavenly Father by learning of Him, by communing with Him, by repenting of our sins, and by actively following Jesus Christ, for “no man cometh unto the Father, but by [Christ].” To strengthen our relationship with God, we need some meaningful time alone with Him. Quietly focusing on daily personal prayer and scripture study, always aiming to be worthy of a current temple recommend—these will be some wise investments of our time and efforts to draw closer to our Heavenly Father. Let us heed the invitation in Psalms: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Wait we need meaningful time alone when strengthening our relationship with God? Why did he say just that? He didn't use the word gifts, touch, or service, he only implied them in the gifts of obedience and temple work. (Both of which require time, actually). But the part about being still, doesn't that mean waiting on The Lord, being patient? Is patience a gift of time?

Relationship #2: Family
"Our second key relationship is with our families. Since “no other success can compensate for failure” here, we must place high priority on our families. We build deep and loving family relationships by doing simple things together, like family dinner and family home evening and by just having fun together. In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time. Taking time for each other is the key for harmony at home. We talk with, rather than about, each other. We learn from each other, and we appreciate our differences as well as our commonalities. We establish a divine bond with each other as we approach God together through family prayer, gospel study, and Sunday worship."

Families have to do stuff together! He said simple things. "Taking time for each other is the key for harmony at home". And talking with each other (instead of about each other- telling friends about what a great soccer player your son is isn't the same as telling your son that he is a good soccer player) is important.
As a single adult, I don't yet have my own family. Many times singles refer to roommates, friends, and wards at their surrogate families. If these people really are surrogate families, wouldn't the things Elder Uchtdorf said apply? Would there be more harmony in homes where groups of single people live if they took time for each other? Would there be more harmony in Wards if they took time to do things together? I'm having a difficult time pulling out the languages of gifts, words, service, and touch in what he said about families. It seems like with children and spouses there really is no way around it. You can't give your kids cool presents at Christmas but not spend time with them, thinking that they will feel loved. The absent father who sends money, provides for all the temporal needs, isn't the same as the father who also gives his presence as his present.

Relationship #3: Fellowman
"The third key relationship we have is with our fellowman. We build this relationship one person at a time—by being sensitive to the needs of others, serving them, and giving of our time and talents. I was deeply impressed by one sister who was burdened with the challenges of age and illness but decided that although she couldn’t do much, she could listen. And so each week she watched for people who looked troubled or discouraged, and she spent time with them, listening. What a blessing she was in the lives of so many people."

Service really stands out to me here, putting the needs of someone else above your own. There are so many ways to love people, depending on what they need. But I think the key is being aware of what they need, which to me just goes back to time. How would you know that Sister Jones needs a ride to the airport if all you ever did was wave at church? She wouldn't ask you! How would you know that Sister Davis needs a babysitter for 30 minutes so she can go pick up her daughter who missed the bus home, if you weren't close? Nobody wants to burden anyone else so they don't ask favors from people they aren't close to. But I think Heavenly Father wants us to learn to ask favors from each other... Because doesn't he want us to take care of each other? Doesn't he want us to give our time to each other? Building relationships one person at a time seems like it would require time. When we divide our time between too many, does that effect the quality? Does it effect the individuality? Do we begin to see the needs of others more in a generalized "I'm-not-wearing-my-glasses" kind of way, instead of seeing their needs in a specific and individual "now-that-I-got-glasses-I-can-see-the-individual-leaves-on-the-trees kind of way?

Relationship #4: Yourself
"The fourth key relationship is with ourselves. It may seem odd to think of having a relationship with ourselves, but we do. Some people can’t get along with themselves. They criticize and belittle themselves all day long until they begin to hate themselves. May I suggest that you reduce the rush and take a little extra time to get to know yourself better. Walk in nature, watch a sunrise, enjoy God’s creations, ponder the truths of the restored gospel, and find out what they mean for you personally. Learn to see yourself as Heavenly Father sees you—as His precious daughter or son with divine potential."

Reduce the rush. Did he mean the noise too? And take the TIME to get to know yourself better. I have to spend time with myself!? To me this part brings things full circle. "Be still, and know that I am God". Will giving gifts to myself help me to love me? Will serving myself help me to love me? Will having a bunch of friends help me to love me?

"Strength comes not from frantic activity but from being settled on a firm foundation of truth and light. It comes from placing our attention and efforts on the basics of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It comes from paying attention to the divine things that matter most."

Did Elder Uchtdorf say all that because his love language is quality time? Or is time really the foundational principle behind love, behind charity?

Is what matters most to me, what I love, really where I spend the most of my time? And if it is, I think maybe I need to evaluate my time every so often like I evaluate my budget every so often. Where do I spend my time? Who do I spend it with? What do I spend it on? There are no rollover minutes. At the end of the day, that's all there is. And at the end of the day, have I paid attention to the divine things that matter most?

"My beloved brothers and sisters, I am not certain just what our experience will be on Judgment Day, but I will be very surprised if at some point in that conversation, God does not ask us exactly what Christ asked Peter: “Did you love me?” I think He will want to know if in our very mortal, very inadequate, and sometimes childish grasp of things, did we at least understand one commandment, the first and greatest commandment of them all—“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind.”And if at such a moment we can stammer out, “Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee,” then He may remind us that the crowning characteristic of love is always loyalty.
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,”Jesus said. So we have neighbors to bless, children to protect, the poor to lift up, and the truth to defend. We have wrongs to make right, truths to share, and good to do. In short, we have a life of devoted discipleship to give in demonstrating our love of The Lord" (Jeffery R. Holland, Oct 2012).

The crowning characteristic of love is loyalty. Can you imagine the conversation before The Lord? "I did care! Just because I didn't have time to go to church doesn't mean I didn't care! Just because I didn't get to the temple doesn't mean I didn't think it wasn't important! I didn't do my visiting teaching, but of course those sisters were important, they are thy children! Sure I didn't help my old lady neighbor but that doesn't mean I didn't care! I was busy, Lord! You understand how it is with work, and traveling and planning vacations, and my calling, and my kids, and all the things I had to do... But even though I didn't give my time to you, you were still important to me. I never hurt anybody, I was good person. "Yea lord, thou knowest that I love thee? Oh to stand with confidence and say that.

"This is the call of Christ to every Christian today: “Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep”—share my gospel with young and old, lifting, blessing, comforting, encouraging, and building them, especially those who think and believe differently than we do. We feed His lambs in our homes by how we live the gospel: keeping the commandments, praying, studying the scriptures, and emulating His love. We feed His sheep in the Church as we serve in priesthood quorums and auxiliary organizations. And we feed His sheep throughout the world by being good Christian neighbors, practicing the pure religion of visiting and serving the widows, the fatherless, the poor, and all who are in need" (Robert D. Hales, Oct 2012).

"I consider charity—or “the pure love of Christ”—to be the opposite of criticism and judging. In speaking of charity, I do not at this moment have in mind the relief of the suffering through the giving of our substance. That, of course, is necessary and proper. Tonight, however, I have in mind the charity that manifests itself when we are tolerant of others and lenient toward their actions, the kind of charity that forgives, the kind of charity that is patient.
I have in mind the charity that impels us to be sympathetic, compassionate, and merciful, not only in times of sickness and affliction and distress but also in times of weakness or error on the part of others.
There is a serious need for the charity that gives attention to those who are unnoticed, hope to those who are discouraged, aid to those who are afflicted. True charity is love in action. The need for charity is everywhere...
Charity is having patience with someone who has let us down. It is resisting the impulse to become offended easily. It is accepting weaknesses and shortcomings. It is accepting people as they truly are. It is looking beyond physical appearances to attributes that will not dim through time. It is resisting the impulse to categorize others...
Charity, that pure love of Christ, is manifest when a group of young women from a singles ward travels hundreds of miles to attend the funeral services for the mother of one of their Relief Society sisters. Charity is shown when devoted visiting teachers return month after month, year after year to the same uninterested, somewhat critical sister. It is evident when an elderly widow is remembered and taken to ward functions and to Relief Society activities. It is felt when the sister sitting alone in Relief Society receives the invitation, “Come—sit by us.”
In a hundred small ways, all of you wear the mantle of charity. Life is perfect for none of us. Rather than being judgmental and critical of each other, may we have the pure love of Christ for our fellow travelers in this journey through life. May we recognize that each one is doing her best to deal with the challenges which come her way, and may we strive to do our best to help out.
Charity has been defined as “the highest, noblest, strongest kind of love,” the “pure love of Christ … ; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with [her].”
“Charity never faileth.” May this long-enduring Relief Society motto, this timeless truth, guide you in everything you do. May it permeate your very souls and find expression in all your thoughts and actions" (Thomas S. Monson, Oct 2010).

Charity, especially the kind from the above quote, seems to me to have a foundation in time. Patience with someone who has let us down.. Isn't that giving them time? Visiting teaching... Doesn't that take time? Kindness... Isn't that time? Forgiveness... I know that one requires time! (Lol)

Why does time speak loudly to me? Is it because it really is everywhere? Or do I see it everywhere because it speaks to me? Is it really foundational to love and charity? Or do I just see it as such because it is what I want to see?

The person I talked with at dinner earlier this week mentions almost every time that I see her, that we need to get together. We still haven't yet. She hasn't had time. Lol. I give her the benefit of the doubt... But after an extended period of that, the benefit part seems to wane and all that is left is the doubt. Did you really want to do something?
But if love is time...
Psalm 27:14
Then I also need to give my time.

The Fall

Tomorrow is supposed to be cold. Cold mornings make me want to stay snuggled in bed. But I love the fall afternoons and the cool breezes. It is perfect running weather.



Lately (the past 3 or 4 months) I feel a significant lack of belonging. I'm not sure where I fit. Or if I even do. It feels like too many pups and too few teats and it isn't my personality to shove another out of the way (assert myself?) just so i can get mine. Maybe if I'd gone to byui (ha!) or worked at ussa (ha!). But comraderie is only part of belonging. I feel no sense of community. I have no people. I'd initially tried very hard to find a niche and resist that "seat's taken!" voice that has berated me for several years now. Admittedly, there was a time when I was beginning to feel like I had a place, that I belonged (I even almost changed my address on my driver's license!), but I lost whatever place it was, like a rug pulled out from under my feet and I landed hard on my rear. And now I'm just feeling part of the adversity of destroyed confidence and shaken sense of self worth, I suppose. I feel like I've been knocked off balance and lost my sense of equilibrium. Where can I turn for peace? Where is my solace when I feel like one of the fall leaves, withering and brown, trembling for dear life at the slightest breeze?

Is this just part of the natural man existence? Part of The Fall? At times I feel like my sins and weaknesses so easily beset me. That I'm so easily beset because I have trouble letting go, and letting God. I was trying to think about what it was exactly that is so hard. I think it is when things aren't fair, when I perceive injustice, when I feel used, when I feel abused. But I need to remember that just because its not fair or right, doesn't mean it won't end up being ok, and it doesn't mean that I'm being used and it doesn't mean that I'm abused. At least not always.

Someone recently sent me this quote:
"We make New Year's resolutions to chip away at some weakness and then make the same resolutions a year later, and a year later, wondering how long God will put up with us. We bury ourselves for less than stellar Sunday school lessons, our annoyances with our children, our lackluster prayers, our 15 extra pounds, our irritability with coworkers, our messy garage, our lack of professional development and take it as a given that God's reaction to these sins and weaknesses would be disappointment, even anger for our lack of commitment, charity, obedience, or sacrifice. We contemplate longingly how much better our lives would be if we could just get rid of these pesky weaknesses that undermine our strengths and separate us from God... Weakness can actually contribute enormously toward spiritual progress and joy if we respond to them with humility and the ability to learn. Great strengths can come out of weaknesses. Such strengths are grounded in the lessons, perspectives, and virtues we can gain as we turn to God with our limitations, pain, disease, struggle, and affliction. This is not to suggest, however, that God wants us to be constantly preoccupied with our weaknesses. Of course we want to improve, but in that process it is vital that we not lose sight of our strengths – our gifts, our goodness, our talents, our virtues. Although weakness can be our great tutor and the seedbed of our greatest learning, ultimately, I believe we are here to magnify our strengths, our callings, and our gifts– not to magnify our brokenness."

All people are broken. No matter how awesome they think they are (and I think those who toot their own horns about their awesomeness are blind in a way, and it's sad because change can't happen, potential can't be realized while unaware. And that's for anyone, own-horn tooter or not. You cannot change what you cannot or are unwilling to see). All people are broken because of The Fall. And because they are broken they have the potential to be so much more than if they'd never been broken or never had weaknesses. But there has to be a balance and perhaps the strengths we now have were once weaknesses turned through His grace, and our present weaknesses are strengths not yet turned through His grace.

I recently read an article on the unrelated topic of feminism. http://mormonscholarstestify.org/1718/valerie-hudson-cassler
The author talked about The Fall, that while it often is thought of as a curse, it is really a blessing (because of Christ's Atonement- without that it would be a curse!) "Jesus’ performance of the Atonement repaid Mother Eve’s faith in the Plan, her courageous opening of the door represented by the First Tree [the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil]".

Am I in any way like Eve? Full of faith in the Plan? Courageous enough to partake of that fruit from that tree? (I guess I ended up on this planet because I chose to partake of it.) Since the fruit of the tree of life was sweet above all that is sweet, does that mean the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil was bitter? or maybe bittersweet? I've had some pretty bitter experiences. But I've had some sweet ones too. Or maybe the sweet ones have come as I've partaken of the Savior and His goodness.

I appreciate the fall trees, all their vibrant colors and beauty. And I'm even beginning to appreciate the tree of The Fall and what it has brought to me.

Thankful

I really love Thanksgiving. I think it is actually my favorite. Growing up we frequently spent Thanksgiving with my mom's sister and her family. Her family is the reason why I went to Texas A&M, so you can imagine what fun it was to be there during Thanksgiving.

I had a couple of friends who each day this month have posted on their blogs about the things that they are thankful for. I really like that. I think it is really neat and I have enjoyed reading what they have written.

Gratitude is good.

Be compassionate. Be good.

It is really funny how when I have been thinking about something it seems to find me also.

I recently was talking with a friend about some of my frustrations about doing everything to the best of my ability to be kind and generous when there isn't really anything in return. I know that true charity has no expectation, and there have been somedays when I have really had no expectation. But there have also been some days when I get the impression that I'm more of a bother than anything else. Those days are difficult to keep up the nice attitude an cheery disposition. I'm a real human being after all. I don't deserve that. I don't deserve to be used or taken for granted or just a thing to satisfy someone else's needs. Sometimes it is just tiring trying to practice true charity (true charity is when you give even when you get nothing in return).

But I saw this poster today and it just warmed my heart. It is comforting to not feel alone in valuing compassion and kindness. Heavenly Father put it up for me to see and know that He notices and He cares even if others don't.

Elder Robert C. Oaks said, "The Book of Mormon provides insight into the relationship between patience and charity. Mormon, after pointing out that if a man 'have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity,' goes on to name the 13 elements of charity, or the pure love of Christ. I find it most interesting that 4 of the 13 elements of this must-have virtue relate to patience (see Moroni 7:44-45).
"First, 'charity suffereth long.' That is what patience is all about. Charity 'is not easily provoked' is another aspect of this quality, as is charity 'beareth all things.' And finally, charity 'endureth all things' is certainly an expression of patience (Moroni 7:45). From these defining elements it is evident that without patience gracing our soul, we would be seriously lacking with respect to a Christlike character."

I recently read Mosiah chapter 4 and I think I have a new favorite chapter in the Book of Mormon. I've been praying and studying about the love of God and how to have it more abundantly. King Benjamin really wanted it for his people and he talked about it to them

Elder John Groberg once said, "The more we obey God, the more we desire to help others. The more we help others, the more we love God and on and on. Conversely, the more we disobey God and the more selfish we are, the less love we feel.
"Trying to find lasting love without obeying God is like trying to quench thirst by drinking from an empty cup--you can go through the motions, but the thirst remains. Similarly, trying to find love without helping and sacrificing for others is like trying to live without eating--it is against the laws of nature and cannot succeed. We cannot fake love. It must become part of us. The prophet Mormon explained:
" 'Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
" 'Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love' (Moro. 7:47-48)."

Goalsetting

Setting goals has been on my mind recently. And it's kind of funny how when I'm thinking about something it usually comes up.
Yesterday someone asked me, "So what are your goals for this new year now that you've had a birthday?"
I wasn't really quite sure what to say. I do set goals, but I usually don't write them down. They're typically just things that I think about, that I want to work on, or change, or achieve.
For example, I realized at the beginning of the school year that I stay up too late and it causes me to not want to get up the morning. So I decided to go to bed earlier. I didn't write anything down. I just started going to bed earlier on a consistent basis.
Same with my scripture study, magnifying my calling, attending the temple, etc. I didn't write any of those things down. I just went ahead and did them. Maybe those kinds of things are just simple one step goals and don't require a whole lot of planning and writing down.

As far as having multistep goals that require planning and effort, and writing them down with a plan to achieve them... Those are much less frequent for me. And when my friend asked me what kinds of goals I had planned for myself, this is what I thought this person was talking about. And I didn't really have anything that I felt comfortable sharing.

In late August/early September I had this big goal that I wanted to achieve but I wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. That was one I wrote down. I wrote down the goal and what I needed to do to achieve it. It's funny looking back on it because that goal isn't really measurable. The items needed to achieve it are, but the actual goal I was trying to achieve wasn't measurable. I don't know if it makes as much difference as usually taught, because I have been progressing toward said goal. But it also isn't a goal that really has a timeline to achieve. But maybe that's the way real goals should be. They should be measurable and have a timeline. But maybe not all are like that. I don't really know.

Last year (around December) I actually created a vision board for myself. It is kind of like a visual for goals. I got the idea from an article I read a long time ago about a man who upon moving into his new big fancy dream house that he finally was able to buy, he was unpacking his office and he found a vision board he had created many years prior. On the board he found a picture of the house he just bought, cut out from a magazine. He had forgotten about cutting out the picture and putting it on his board. It was funny because he bought the exact same house from the picture. I took my vision board apart when I moved rooms after breaking off my engagement with Brad. I haven't made a new one yet.

I'm not sure what I would put on it. It was kind of hard to make the first one because the majority of the things I desire are not tangible things. And sometimes it is literally impossible to even visualize how to bring them into fruition. That kind of thing requires the powers of Heaven.

Like I said at the beginning, it's funny how when I think about something it comes up. Today I read 2 Nephi 8-9 and this quote:
"Keeping everything in balance can be a real problem... Often the lack of clear direction and goals can waste away our time and energy and contribute to imbalance in our lives. ...Our main goal should be to seek "immortality and eternal life." With this as our goal, why not eliminate from our lives the things that clamor for and consume our thoughts, feelings, and energies without contributing to our reaching that goal?" ~ M. Russell Ballard
There was a follow up question that said, "How do you spend your time, money, and energy?" I think that we spend our time, money, and energy on the things that are important to us, and where and what we spend those resources on indicate what our real priorities are.

Pumpkins

I really like October. The air gets a little cooler but the sun is warm, honeycrisp apples can be found in the stores, some trees begin to change colors. Fall is one of my favorite seasons. October always reminds me of pumpkins. And pumpkins are actually kind of cool. Did you know that there were so many different kinds? I did not!

Some of the kids decorated pumpkins like characters from different books they have been reading...

 Flounder from the Little Mermaid, Nemo, Tinkerbell...

 Thing 2...

Clifford, Papa Smurf...

 Kung-Fu Panda, Lightning McQueen, Jack Skeltington, some giant bat-thing?...

Hello Kitty, a cool Shark, and my favorite ninja turtle... Michelangelo!

Some of these kids are so cool!

A Knowlton Knight knows what's right.

This school year I am working at 4 different campuses. Each is unique and has its own special things. One of the schools is called Knowlton Elementary.

And a Knowlton Knight knows what's right. In the office there is a mural with knights on either side of the drawbridge.  Very cool. The picture doesn't really do it justice.

Knowlton is a fun little place.

Librarians

This past week I was sitting in the library to use a printer (I still don't have a computer and I really need one!) and two children came in to return their books and check out some new ones. Sounds like a great idea! Only the librarian didn't think so. She immediately chastised them for being in the library and told them that they needed to get harder books. She didn't want to see them in there every day! She told them to get books that would take them at least a week to read.

As I sat there I wondered if their parents ever took them to the city library to check out book. I thought about myself as a 9 or 10 year old. It never took me a week to read any book. But I don't recall any school librarian telling me she didn't want to see me everyday. Maybe I didn't go to the library at school since I'd already read everything. I thought about the librarian at Hamilton high school and how she was a Nazi about her library. No students! was kind of her motto. I don't think I ever checked out a book from her anyway. Thank goodness for other people (Mrs. Jones) who continued to encourage reading and thinking.

I really loved to read as a kid. I remember my book collection that I kept in this wicker shelf my mother gave me. I remember around 7 or 8 years old I really liked to read those Goosebump books and the Babysitter Club series. I had a lot of those. My mom introduced me to a lot of books. She always loved to read. She introduced me to the Box Car Children, Ralph S. Mouse, Henry Higgins and his friends, Anastasia and her little brother Sam, and Fudge.

I wanted to be a writer once.... well a couple of times actually. Sometimes it was highly encouraged but other times it wasn't. I remember talking about wanting to be a writer when I had this interview for a big 4 year scholarship. It was the Terry Scholarship, and is given to students wanting to attend UT or A&M. They pay for your trip to go to the interview and everything. We had to drive to Temple I think for the interview and I had to sit on one side of a long table with about 5 adults on the other side. It was kind of intimidating.  They asked me a lot of questions, one of which was about what I wanted to do with my life. I talked about writing, why I liked it, how it made me feel. We had to have 3 reference letters to apply for the scholarship. I chose teachers from each of the three high schools I had attended. They were all my English teachers actually. They all wrote very nice things about me, about my zest for life, love of learning, and skill at writing. They were the kinds of influence that made me want to be a writer. They loved all the things I wrote about. But I remember sitting there across the table from these grown ups who hadn't ever met me and them asking me,what I wanted to be when I grew up and then responding with a disappointed "Oh".

Either way, I didn't become a writer. That influence just wasn't there when I was in college. I dabbled in journalism but A&M was closing their program so I switched to speech communication and then dabbled in telecom and radio, and found a niche in rhetoric and communication theory. I liked to learn about how and why people interact with each other. I really liked linguistics and took a health communication class from my adviser in the comm department who was actually a speech-language pathologist. She suggested I shadow at a clinic to see if I liked speech-language pathology. So my path went down that way.

But I think there is a part of me that would still like to write.

Things always work out

This past weekend was General Conference. I really love conference time. I went to my friend Jess' home to watch it, despite her warning about her kids. I'm really glad I was able to watch it with her and family.

For some time now (consciously since late July) I have been actively seeking to feel the Lord's love and see His hand in my life. Knowing of my Savior's and my Heavenly Father's love for me isn't something innately there for me. For whatever reason it is a spiritual gift that I have to learn to cultivate here... and sometimes have to work very hard at if I want to feel it. Those who seem to feel it so abundantly and frequently don't know what a beautiful blessing it is to have feelings of His love with such ease. And of course anytime one attempts to put forth conscious effort in spiritual matters that's when things get harder. At least that is what happens to me it seems.

His love is a beautiful thing. When I feel it I feel empowered. I feel hopeful and bright, I am confident in who I am and what I do. I want very much to teach my own children about His love so that they can face the future with optimism and confidence. I don't want them to lose trust in God's love because it really does "sustain and motivate one along the path of righteousness."

Being with kids this weekend was a lot of fun, but a lot of work too. My friend really is a super woman. I don't know how she does it. But somehow she does. And she does well too. Perhaps it is that love of God that sustains and motivates her.

Tonight I had to teach the family home evening lesson. Discipleship kept coming to my mind as I thought on what to teach about. There was a lot in the Sunday afternoon session that made me think about discipleship, what that means and what that looks like. We watched some highlights from some of the talks and talked about being disciples of Christ.

"Ultimately it is by submission to His will that helps us become as our Savior is. Again, becoming like Him and being one with Him is the ultimate goal and objective, and essentially the true definition of true discipleship".
~Daniel L. Johnson

I know the Savior went through the wine press alone but sometimes I feel in a wine press of sorts at times. I wonder if others ever feel that way. I'm sure someone does. Maybe we all do at one point or another. In fact, I'm sure we do because President Eyring said, "The great test of life is to see whether we will hearten to and obey God's commands in the midst of the storms of life. It is not to endure storms but to choose the right while they rage... It will take unshakable faith in The Lord Jesus Christ to choose the way to eternal life. It is by using that faith we can know the will of God. It is by acting on that faith we build the strength to do the will of God. And then it is by exercising that faith in Jesus Christ that we can resist temptation and gain forgiveness through the Atonement".

Who knows, maybe there is something really great right around the corner. But if not... things always work out.

Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now.

There were times when I was crying from the dark of Daniels den.
And I have asked you once or twice if you would part the sea again.
But tonight I do not need a firey pillar in the sky.
Just want to know your gonna hold me, if I start to cry.

Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now.

Oh great God, be close enough to feel you now.

There have been moments, when I could not face Goliath on my own.
And how could I forget, we marched around our share of Jericho.
But I will not be setting out a fleece for you tonight.
Just want to know that everything will be alright.

Oh great God, be close enough to feel you now.

All praise and all the honor be, to the God of ancient mysteries.
Who’s every side and wonder, turned the pages of our history.
But tonight my heart is heavy, and I cannot keep from whispering this prayer,
“Are you there?”

And I know you could leave writing on the wall that’s just for me,
or some wisdom when I sleeping like in Solomon's sweet dreams.
But I don’t need the strength of Sampson, or a chariot in the air.
Just want to know, that you still know how many hairs are on my head.

Oh great God, are you small enough, be small enough to hear me now.

Song of the Day.

Por que asi me siento yo.

Beach cruisers and sand volleyball

I like riding a beach cruiser. It is a big bicycle with fat tires and a fat seat. There are no gears to change and if you want to break, pedal backwards.

I pedaled behind Kathleen this morning as we headed to the beach for volleyball. My sarong was tied up to keep it out of the chain and my white legs pumped up and down as the chain squeaked in rhythm with the pumping of my piston like legs. I couldn't help thinking that my legs are fat, like the fat tires and the fat seat, but oddly pallid compared to the locals.

I got sunburned on Saturday, so today my goal is to stay out of the sun as much as possible while Kathleen plays volleyball. Kathleen played on one court with some friends. She comes out so often she knows most everyone. Some guys on a neighboring court were short one person because he hadn't shown up yet and asked if I'd like to fill in for a game until he gets there. Me? I'm intimidated by the tall, dark, toned women who are all completely unabashed at running around in nothing but their bikinis. Would I, the short, fat, pasty girl, without the personality to make up for it, like to play with some handsome, tan, muscle-ie men? Why not?
Can I just say that sand volleyball is like the toughest workout ever! My core was so sore when we got done from constantly shifting my balance in the changing sand. These people must be amazing. They make it look so effortless. The game went ok, but of course my teammate and I lost. They were nice guys. But I was so done! I made a little chit chat post game but seriously felt like I was going to black out, so it didn't last very long, until I thanked them for the game and dismissed myself. Guess I should have eaten a little protein for breakfast instead of just cereal. I was really grateful to sit on my towel in the shade after that game. And I'm so grateful that I didn't pass out in front of anybody.

Why leave pickles by the mailbox?

As I arrived home this afternoon I noticed that someone had left pickles by the mailbox! What the random... And who does that?

It is a true story. Had they still been there when I passed by I would have picked them up. But they were gone when I went by again an hour later. Who left them and for whom they were left will remain a mystery I am sure.

There must be an epidemic in the neighborhood because some mysterious visitor left me a gift with instructions to meet them this evening at a given place and time. My roommate handed me the mysterious note and said she found it outside which I did not believe because I had been outside and there hadn't been any card on the porch. I knew that whoever it was had been intercepted because she was outside watering the lawn. Of course she denied knowledge of the culprit and of course I didn't believe that either but there wasn't any sense in probing further because I'm sure she'd been sworn to secrecy by default.

Can I just say anonymous notes and such can be a little bit nerve racking for the recipient, especially when it involves the recipient taking an active role. Sometimes it is difficult to get all excited about putting yourself out there to meet some unknown person/s and to be there or be square.

I have some really vivid memories of 5th grade and being square. I was really nervous about being in a new school. One of the first assignments we had was to come up with a product and a commercial for it using a prop from a box the teacher provided. By the time the box got to me there weren't very many things to choose from. I chose a plastic stick that had one of those things inside it so that when you turned the stick the part inside would slide to the other end and make a funny sound. My product I made from that was called Mr. Loony Shampoo. I used the stick like a shampoo bottle and when you turned the bottle upside down to squirt out the shampoo it made the noise. Other students in the class were supposed to provide feedback based on each presentation. The majority of critiques on my commercial involved how I should have made better eye contact and looked up more. I was so nervous and shy and I didn't know anyone. I remember it being so hard to look up at the other kids, and honestly I don't think I looked up at all during the two minutes I was in front of the whole class pretending to shampoo my hair with this silly Mr. Loony Shampoo that made a noise when you used it. I remember that two boys were pretty nice about it though. Their names were Mark and Robert. Mark had a really cool watch and Robert's favorite color was black and he was allergic to chocolate.

I remember there were two Andrews in my class. Both were really tall. Andrew Ramirez was quiet with a dark complexion and Andrew Davis was a red head and an only child. I knew he was an only child because his mom worked with my mom at the primary school and one time I went to his house and in true only kid fashion was excited to share all his I'm-the-only-one-my-parents-have-to-spend-money-on kind of toys, like the batting cage in the backyard. It was a sweet cage and he and I fed balls through the pitching machine for each other.

I remember that on the first day I met Kristen Clement who was new that year too, but it was because her mom had died recently and they moved to a different house. She had three sisters and her dad. We became friends because neither one of us knew anybody.

I also remember the time that OJ (his real name was Oscar) blamed me in front of the whole class for passing gas and everyone laughed. I tried to turn it around and blame him but he just laughed and didn't care. It was during math class on the day we learned about tessellations and had to make our own.

I remember once we had a program we were supposed to practice for so we were on the stage in the auditorium but the air conditioning wasn't on. It was really hot and I started to feel sick standing under the bright stage lights. Before I could even say anything about it to the teacher, I stepped through the row of kids in front of me and barfed everywhere. Kids scattered like nothing I'd ever seen before.

I remember on field day our class was really excited about the tug-of-war. Maddy Dizdar was probably the most popular girl in the class, maybe even in all of fifth grade, and she was planning out how we would win the tug-of-war. "All the fat people need to go at the back," she said before she turned to me and said, "Except for you, Breanne. You can go at the front because you are strong."

I remember what it felt like to shave my legs for the first time. I got to school and it was chilly but I was wearing shorts. There was heavy dew on the grass and on the playground equipment. And for some reason I want to say it was November. My legs felt so different that surely others noticed as much I did. If it really was November, I had just turned 11.

When I went to meet my mysterious gifter/s I remembered all of these things and I worried that no one would be there waiting, that the joke would be on me and I would be the square.

I was much more fortunate than my younger self. Friends were waiting and excited that I had come. I thought there must be something to be learned about letting me be loved.

If her bite was as big as her bark

God sure puts some big things in small packages sometimes. My roommate has a little shih tzu aptly named Kely (pronounced kay-lee), which means "little one" in Malagasy.

This morning she seemed like she needed to go out so I put her on a leash and we went outside. Some big dogs were outside on somebody's lawn two houses down. They had collars so they obviously belonged to somebody and I assumed they had gotten out. And I just find that irritating. The most irritating thing about it is that it happens all too frequently and the dogs come down to the end of the cul-de-sac where we live and go under the fence.

Kely of course when she saw the dogs started barking because she is a big thing in a little body and isn't afraid of anything just because it is bigger than she is. The other dogs began barking and Kely tugged on the leash ready to chase them away.

"Why not?" I thought. "We are close enough to the house and could escape them if we need to." So Kely and I chased the dogs. Kely loved it and the dogs ran away... All the way home to their yard. So we shut the gate. Hopefully they will stay there! And hopefully they lived there... haha!

The Soft Heart and the Love of God

So this has really been on my mind a lot lately, this concept of the soft heart and how to soften the heart. I am surprised at how hard mine is sometimes and how quickly it hardens at times. I realize that it is a leftover process that is no longer useful, but once served a preserving and protective purpose. Now though, it is getting in the way and it's function is no longer necessary at least not in the same way.

A soft heart is essential to receive good things, feel good feelings, think good thoughts, feel love, and give love.

At the same time I recognize this, the softening of my heart is much easier said than done. Not only is it like old crusty leather that is beyond repair, but whenever I peel away those hard shell layers to get to the softness underneath, it is raw and bleeding under there still. I'm not sure it is ready for the cover to come off yet. I fear my heart will bleed out before anything could stop its seeping or even gushing at times. I feel like not only do I have to soften my heart but heal its hemophilia and heal the raw wounds that should have already healed long ago, all at the same time. And that is hard.

I started a new book recently, seeking some answers for this process of heart softening, and this stuck out to me:
What is it that pries open a hardened heart? What enlarges and softens the most shriveled of human souls? What is the most desirable, the most delicious, the most joyous above all to the soul? That's easy to answer: It's being flooded with God's love, being awash with His profound acceptance and glory, being encircled and comforted and healed and set free to go and do!"

That is true. When I feel awash with God's love is when I feel motivated and empowered. It is amazing.

"When filled with God’s love, we can do and see and understand things that we could not otherwise do or see or understand. Filled with His love, we can endure pain, quell fear, forgive freely, avoid contention, renew strength, and bless and help others in ways surprising even to us."
Elder John H. Groberg

I hope for all people that they feel the love of God like that, in that Lehi-partaking-of-the-fruit kind of way.

The softening of one's heart

Lately I've been thinking about the concept of letting go. I recently watched the following video that is about a man who lost his wife and three of his children in a car accident when they were hit by a drunk teenage driver.

The man talks about his experience with letting go and finding peace and forgiveness in spite of very difficult circumstances, that would lead me to ask a lot of why questions. It is slightly unfathomable to me to think of a shaking, or defining, experience as something to just let go of, as if it never happened or didn't matter. Because honestly there are things that do matter and do make a difference. In the story of this man who lost several members of his family, that experience changed things. There isn't any going back and pretending that didn't happen when he wakes up in the morning to a cold side of the bed. And I've often thought, how can I deny the experience that shattered the mirror when I cannot deny that the mirror is shattered.

But I realize that in part I think about it wrong. I guess it is just to deny the negative and painful parts. I don't have to deny the shattered mirror i just have to deny that which keeps it shattered. Does one have to be ready for that to happen? Or can it just happen? Did that man just deny what he felt about the loss of his wife and young children? How did he let go of the pain, and loss, and hurt? How in the world does one let go of things that are terrible and unmendable? Or let go of repeated offenses that were purposeful in nature? And how in the world is it as some describe, "just gone" because you "let it go"?

In thinking about this I realize that there is something to be said about the heart in all of this process of letting it go. And I think there needs to be something said of a soft heart as well.

"The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away
On either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by."

Edna St. Vincent Millay "Renascence" [1912] last lines

Sometimes my heart feels like that - either pushing the sky apart or being caved in on, and usually the later. And I find it an interesting paradox that the heart that actually splits the sky in two for the face of God to shine through is the soft one. The hard heart is the one that the world caves in on.

But how does one cultivate the soft heart? How can rocky and impenetrable soil be changed to Eden?
I wonder if all people's hearts start out the same? Do they all begin tender and soft? A virgin planting ground that has never seen sorrow, never seen weeds or cracked earth, but never seen lush fruit or goodness either? How does soil that was once fertile and waiting to be tilled get back to that place after drought, natural disaster, and environmental damage? And doesn't that take time?

Of course through the Savior all things are possible, but I find myself asking "Lord, how is it done?" because some things have long lasting effects, some things take a while to heal, some scars never completely fade away, and sometimes it is really something that seems impossible to change, to become new, to live life fully, devotedly, and joyfully.

The Lord told Enos and countless others in not so many words that it, and all things, are done though faith in Him. And this is where I find myself in a predicament because I believe the Savior, I know that he died for me that all wrongs might be made right. I in short have faith in the Son of God. Or do I? Am I doing it wrong? Have I missed the whole point all along? Because I still have hurt and pain that doesn't let me go. How do you just "let go" of something that is there? How do you just ignore when the broken mirror still hasn't been swept, or when it has, there are still shards underneath bare feet? Just let go?  I must fail to see something because for some reason knowing that someone can take all pain but doesn't (despite prayers and righteousness) does not make me feel better. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong when the answer always seems to be to give it to the Lord, or let it go. Let it go where??

And in the midst of all, how can I learn to love? Because that is what truly softens the heart. How can I make my heart soft? Because that is what causes things to let go, I think - a soft squishy heart that just lets things bounce off of it, or is able to absorb them. A soft heart can release. A soft heart can find solace. How does the heart soften?

I feel like I have more I should say about this soft heart but I realize that I don't know much about it. The imagery I see is of soft garden soil, sweet new grass, baby's skin, ripe uncut peaches, and the green blanket that my grandmother gave me. The soft heart is a place and it is a feeling to me. It is warm, inviting, never cross, always patient, and its eyebrows are turned up instead of down. At least that's how I imagine the soft heart.

A piece of peace

Why do the mountains bring me peace? I have no idea what it is about this place that draws me, but there is something about the majesty or grandeur of mountains and being in them that makes me think of God. I feel him in this place. I feel him outside, but not when I just stand in the front yard... I feel Him more in the quiet stillness of the woods. I feel Him in the looming mountains. I feel Him in rushing water, and in still water. I think it is the largeness and the quiet that makes the difference.

Coming home

I haven't visited my mission since the year I did my leveling coursework at Tech... April 2009. And it has been so long that I forgot where I was from.

As I drove through the mountains I had this overwhelming feeling of coming home. It was funny because all was suddenly right with the world and I knew which way was up and which way was down. I knew that I had a place an belonged, and that place was mine and I was it's. But I can't really tell anyone that because they wont believe me. I didn't grow up there, I'm not from there, so how can I claim it as my own. It was funny because all it took for this rush of love and belonging was to recognize the mountains and smell the air.

It has been too long because I'd forgotten. I 'd forgotten the smells and the sounds. I once remembered them so well because I'd visit them as I'd fall asleep, pretending to be there because I missed it so much. A lot changes about a person while they are away I suppose because I don't remember the last time I thought about those little things that I once played over and over in my head.

That feeling of being home felt good and it helped things make sense. I know the people from my mission, the ones I taught, the ones that used to come out with us... I know that they love me. And I realized that my mission and the things of my mission are the only times that I truly feel confident about being loved, being wanted, and being worthwhile. I know what I did there mattered. I know that it mattered to those people, and I know that I matter to those people.

And I'd forgotten that is what home feels like. It is unconditional love. It is confidence in being loved, being wanted and being worthwhile. It is confidence in the fact that one matters.