Veni, Vidi, Volo In Domum Redire

I came, I saw, I want to go home.

Let's talk about home tonight. What is home and why do people, such as myself, obsess about it so much? According to a wall hanging in my neighbor's house, it is: "No matter what, No matter where, It's only home, If love is there." Okay, love seems to be a great reason to go home, but what kind of love are we talking about here: A. Familial. B. Locational. C. Sentimental. D. All of the above?

This train of thought is stemmed by months of time at home and a weekend visit from one of my school friends that is causing me to approach my home in my perception of his perspective. Would anyone be surprised that the result of this thinking included mental and emotional breakdown?

Me neither, unfortunately. But did it really have to happen at church in front of my friend and peers?

Yes, it did.

How can I even begin to articulate the depth of my emotion? How can I provide any explanation?

I love my home. In my perception, home is the town where I grew up, the water, and my younger three siblings. It is my father's cemetery. It is all of the sights, scents, and sounds that are distinctive to this region. Everything that I have become was the result of my home. Things were hard. Things were terribly difficult. Yet there were the most glorious times. Love, death, and everything in-between. In short, home used to be a place of refuge and happiness.

But that security has passed due to circumstances beyond my control, and somehow I still feel the need to apologize for it because I am embarrassed that I am still having a hard time and want to go home. I don't know where home is anymore, beyond my location. My world is irrevocably crumbling around me and I am powerless to stop it. In addition to being powerless, I am dreamless, passionless, and discouraged. Life is beautiful and wonderful, but it is beyond me why I am here and where I even belong? The worst of it is that I was such a Daddy's Girl that the thing I look forward to the most is getting back home to him. With every particle of my being, I look forward to that day! I came, I saw, and now I can't wait to go home.

"I've had my run, baby I'm done - I want to go home" (Michael Bublé).

Veni, Vidi, Volo In Domum Redire

Nemo Ante Mortem Beatus

Nobody is blessed before his death.

Time is a blessing and a curse, and I have had an over abundance of time in the last six months because of my hip injury and surgery. Despite all of this time to think about life, six months isn't enough time to heal all my wounds. The more I think through things, the more I realize that I don't have a clue as to anything in life. The paradox to my life is that while I have been given everything, I have nothing.

This morning I was on Facebook and one of my friends had posted a link to this amazing song by Brandon Heath that illustrates, to a degree, what I mean. "Wait and See." I dare you to look it up. The basic point of the song is that despite all of the uncertain times during life, "there is hope for me yet, because God won't forget all the plans He's made for me, I have to wait and see - He's not finished with me yet."

There is the promise of everything, but it will take my lifetime for me to have it. Nemo ante mortem beatus. Get it yet?

Yeah, me neither, but I'm trying. That's why I'm here, right?

My experience with this process has often proven to be lonely because it seems that I have to lose everything in order to gain it. This loneliness is somewhat hilarious to me though because of its irony: I am the lonliest in a crowd of people and as happy and content as a lark alone in my driveway on a starlit night.

Case in point:

When the world is cloaked by night
And the clouds are laced by moonlight bright -
Silence of the soul makes plain
A place where peace again may reign.

My lonely path is bedecked by lights -
Glittering beacons from Heaven's heights -
Endowing my way of weary terrain
With tender assurance that life is not vain.

This quiet interlude of peaceful Might
Enraptures my soul with sublimest delight!
Then with the midnight song, like rain,
My soul is cleansed by the heavenly strain:

The "ribbits", and crickets, though hid from my sight,
Boldly encourage my heart to flight!
Flee from the fear of grief and pain -
Flee from the memory of disdain.

For within this sacred Cathedral of Night
My soul may forget Mortality's plight -
And though I'm alone, Angels will entertain
Until with God I shall ever remain.

Everything is backwards, topsy-turvy, and inside-out for me! But "there is hope for me yet, because God won't forget, all the plans He's made for me. I have to wait and see: He's not finished with me yet. Still wondering why I'm here, still wrestling with this fear, but oh He's up to something, and the farther on I go, I've seen enough to know that I'm not even nothing, He's up to something."

He's not finished with me yet.

I have this funny feeling that life I'll hurt a lot more before He's through, so perhaps I lack the gusto with which I ought to declare the motto Dad and I adopted, but no one survives life anyway: Bring It On... And then when I finally die, I will see everything that He has given me.

Nemo Ante Mortem Beatus

Felix Nativitas

Merry Christmas - But it isn't only about the gifts.

When we think about Christmas, we usually think about presents, Christmas trees, Christmas music, holiday lights, cookies, family, and our various traditions. Traditions are a major part of the holiday season for my family. My Oma came from Germany, so we celebrate Saint Nicholas on December 6th by putting our shoes by the front door for him to fill. Other traditions include the advent candles and our singing. But the most beautiful and tender tradition we have is held on Christmas Eve, the holiest night of the year.

When I describe Christmas Eve to my friends, I always tell them how we dress up for the occasion, about the feast that my Oma always prepares, the carols that we all sing around Oma's piano, Opa's spiritual challenges, the gospel reading, and our loving gift exchange. That is the basic formula for each Christmas Eve, although each year seems to be a little bit different - and a little bit more tender.

The Christmas of 2010 is one that I hope will be forever engrained in my heart and soul.

During the months preceding Christmas, I found myself at school with a hip injury that would send me home early, with the semester uncompleted, and give me ample time to reflect upon my life. Considering the upcoming holiday, I spent a lot of energy looking back on past Christmas's, and anticipating the next few weeks. I worried a lot about how the holiday would be celebrated because I was afraid that my Oma would not be able to have Christmas at her home, and that families would not get along with each other.

I was almost sick with dread because of Christmas, so I decided to do something about it "with an eye for any fate." I put my energies into my gift giving; I spent many wonderful hours knitting for my mother, painting for my aunt, and thinking about each person in the family and why I loved them so much. I also fasted and prayed earnestly that we would be able to make it work.

By the time Christmas Eve came around, I saw that our family has never been more beautiful. Because I had slept over at my Oma and Opa's house the night before, and helped out wherever I could, I was able to see everyone as they came in. I have never seen my Opa so handsome in my life! I don't believe a man could look better in a tuxedo than he did. The evening seemed to be especially blessed because Opa invoked heaven's blessing on us all, before we sat down to eat the feast that Oma carefully and lovingly prepared for us. I cannot express to you how beautiful it was to listen as siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents talked and laughed together!

I have never enjoyed caroling as much as I did that night, when everyone, with the possible exception of Hans, sang together. I honestly believe that music holds a definite power to invite the spirit and unite families in ways that are otherwise impossible. That Christmas we did something a little different - we divided parts to the Twelve Days of Christmas, and were very goofy while we sang. My heart was full to the bursting point watching Aunt Katherine's "eight maids a-milking, with hand gestures to indicate milking; Ryan's "four calling birds," as he stood on one leg and flapped his arms; and dear little Reed, standing in front of the fireplace, happily singing about the "partridge in a pear tree." We had so much fun together, but it wasn't just a goofy time for us. When we settled down to reverently sing Silent Night, I couldn't help being touched when listening to Oma sing in German, and watching the tears fill Lara's eyes as we looked on at the scene.

After we had all sat around the Christmas tree, Opa asked us wbout his challenge from the preceding year. Much to our shame, no one could answer him. For me, I couldn't answer because I didn't have the courage to reveal everything that I was feeling. I still don't know if I know how to articulate it, but at least I can try.

My answer to his query came as the following scene was etched into my heart. If ever Norman Rockwell had a scene to paint, this would have been it: Opa, in a tuxedo without the jacket, sitting on his armchair by the grand window, Christmas lights brightly twinkling from the outside, an old-fashioned lamp brightly shining to provide Opa with light as he read a depiction of Christ's birth, beautifully wrapped presents on the floor surrounding the tree, and little Spencer, with his bright red hair, lying on the floor at Opa's feet. I couldn't keep a few tears from falling as I looked at the scene, when I reflected about how Christmas is a time of gifts, without being about the gifts.

Opa wanted to know if we had tried to cultivate the spirit in our lives and our testimonies of Christ through the year. And while I couldn't speak, that was the culminating point of my realization that along with my family, I have. Christmas is the one blessed time of the year when we may sit with our families and report on what we are giving to that Child. "What shall we give to the babe in the manger?" That Christmas, my gift was a gift of love and gratitude. Although God took my father home from our family circle, He has helped sooth the tears and has brought additional people into our hearts and home.

"God bless this home - And all those who live and visit there." That blessing, written on the wall above our heads, surely came to pass that Christmas as I, with my family, enjoyed a sacred evening of love, testimony, and gift-giving: "these are the gifts for the king of us all."

Felix Nativitas - Merry Christmas!

Familia, Amor et Vita

Family, Love and Life

It is the middle of the night and I cannot sleep. Everything in my life seems to be perfect and falling apart. Why is that? I don't want to make it sound like I am complaining, but I am overwhelmed with the goodness and the sulkiness of life right now. I cannot even fathom how difficult these next few months will be for me. I am facing surgery in the next couple of weeks, recovery and more physical therapy, and months without many friends my age. I love my home so much, but I need to be out living my life - and I can't.

Family

I am happy about something wonderful though - this weekend has been one of the most beautiful that I can remember since dad died. I feel as though everyone is trying their very hardest to make the family work, which is bringing the spirit of Christmas deeply into our home. For the first time in years I feel like I have a complete family. I still miss my dad and nothing can change that, but what we still have is a beautiful thing.

Love

I want to be in love but I think that I might be too picky to ever be in love. I definitely have a very specific type that I am attracted to, but the men in that category put me in the friend zone, marry/date other women, or are younger and on missions. All three of those groups are problematic, so I am facing another single year. I need to stop complaining though, but I am overwhelmed. It is looking as though I am stuck here until next Fall, so I don't have a chance to find someone who will love me until then. I really hope that no one reads this post because I am so disgusted with myself for being upset about that... But I am so ready to be in love. I have a lot of love to give - but only to the right person. I am definitely not the type who will just kiss anyone. I believe that kissing is a beautiful and intimate expression of adoration for another person. Kisses lose their meaning when they are just given out to anyone who asks. It is funny that although I firmly believe this, I am frequently propositioned to make out. Do people really see me as though I were a floozy? Oh well.

Life

As for life, all I really have to say right now is that my labrum hurts a lot. I am shaky and exhausted, but the pain of it is keeping me awake. No one understands how it is, but I hurt all of the time. I miss walking and running around. I have many months ahead of me before I can even hope to do either of those easily. I just feel like I am caught in limbo. It is halfway exciting though to see how this will all turn out. Something good is bound to come from it. Something good always comes from hard times, the tricky part is trying to find it. But the search makes the adventure fun. It is also exhausting.

Que sera.

Familia, Amor et Vita

Vita et Mutatio

Life and Change.

When I began my college career, I didn't anticipate learning much beyond the necessary academics that would ensure my ability to graduate. At the time I believed that I would systematically pass through the conveyor-belt type education, follow the stereotypical pursuit of marriage, and settle down with my husband, my child-bearing hips, and multiply and replenish the world. Of course I knew that there would be bumps along the way, but what I didn't realize that I was going to hit the largest "bump" that every single person has to conquer:

Life.

You could laugh and say, with the typical vocal eloquence of our society, "no duh." While presuming that every person lives each and every single day of their life, one may even foolishly presume to say that I couldn't have just discovered that life exists when I reached college age. The very idea of it! Obviously I must have lived every day because my body has been in existence since the day that I was born. I used to believe that idea as well - until life hit.

For my friends birthdays, I typically like to leave each of them a little note to make them laugh on their special day. Usually they are simple and meaningless ("May your life be like toilet paper - long and useful." "Boogers are like Birthdays - the more you have, the harder it is to breathe."). However, some of them have meaning beyond a laugh:

"May you live all the days of your life." (I cannot remember who this quote has been attributed to).

Surely, living cannot simply mean waking up in the morning, going through the daily routine of life, and falling asleep at night. That is not to say that living cannot happen in the interim - but existing is not purely synonymous with living. Living entails so much more! It begins with opening your eyes, looking around you, acknowledging the unpleasant, relishing in the good, and trudging through both with the zeal of a conqueror!

When I initially embarked in my schooling, I couldn't possibly have dreamed about the adventures that life was about to hand me. In fact, I had assumed that I had had my bit with life when I spent years watching my dad die of cancer. Because of this assumption, I planned my life out in such a way that not only did I doom myself to fail all of my plans, but I had also set my appointment with Life.

And now here I am - I am a couple years older, and a lot more battered than I was when I began. Interestingly, I am indescribably happier as well. Perhaps I didn't marry my first tall, dark, and handsome, like I thought I was going to do. And maybe I didn't pass every semester with flying colors. But I haven't failed.

Like the wind, life merely has changed my course - and it will likely be doing it again and again.

However, there is another thing about this life and the change therein, which comes as surely as the rising sun, that plagues me. There is always a tinge of sadness that is as certain as the gray sky of dawn. I am trying to not dwell on it - but it is hard not to acknowledge it. I am worn out, battered, torn, twisted, inside-out, and sideways. What is with that? I'll admit that there are days that it seems like it would be nice to be able to just quit and go back to an "easy" life! But I know from my meager existence for the year and a half after Dad died that that is simply not an option. There is a stubbornness deeply embedded within my soul that won't let me give up my right to live. Longfellow perfectly articulated what I mean in "A Psalm of Life" that he wrote:

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream ! —

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal ;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle !

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !

Let the dead Past bury its dead !

Act,— act in the living Present !

Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate ;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

My goal now is to make my life sublime, wherever I may be. Maybe I am pseudo-discouraged that I am a year behind graduating because of life right now, because I had to come home to heal and am without the majority of my friends, and because (although I am embarrassed to acknowledge it - and won't confess to it on a dare) I am as single as the day I was born...

... But I'll live ;-)

Vita et Mutatio

In Mutatione Fatum

Fate in change.

What is fate? What is destiny? Is there such thing as set events that we have no control over? I personally am inclined to believe that there are certain things that are going to happen, inasmuch as they are a part of a cause and effect cycle. Despite the predictability of mankind, man is not a stagnant creature and must therefore always be changing and developing, which thereby makes him unpredictable. However, as man does something, he causes a chain of unavoidable situations that will further develop his mind, character, relationships, and behavior. This reactions could be recognized as something similar to fate, without being worthy of the title. Perhaps I had better not attempt to enter into this discussion, because i am not adequately prepared to defend my budding thoughts on the matter.

However, the undeniable fact is that man's reactions to events will develop his life in ways that would not be possible in any other way. Perhaps mankind has merely looked in awe at what circumstances that they have happened to survive, and whilst marveling at their inability to have foreseen this outcome, and used the grandiose word "fate" to articulate their wonder. But again I digress into a conversation that I am not qualified to participate in.

What did Rob Thomas mean in his song, Little Wonders, that was featured in the Disney Film, Meet the Robinson's? "Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of fate. Time falls away, but these little wonders still remain."

Right now I am caught up in my own "small hours," where I am limited to spending a great deal of my time alone in my small apartment. My time is falling away somehow, but not idly by any means. I feel terribly idle because of my tiring tenure here alone, but I know I am being guided towards something... I can feel that there is something just out of reach that I am being prepared for, but I cannot know what it is. Perhaps I just need to learn more about being patient? But like I said, I don't know what it is.

Through my experience with watching dad suffer through his cancer, I definitely know and understand that our lives are built upon the small moments. I could not be the person that I am today without having had those experiences. Although they possessed some of the loneliest and frightening Gethsemane moments, I am undeniably stronger for having had them.

I am going to be deliberately vague here and start talking about how difficult this small hour is for me right now. It is the middle of the night and I still cannot sleep. I am in a lot of emotional and physical pain right now. There are people out there, both friends and family, who insist that it is undeniably my fault that I am in this pain right now. And who knows, perhaps it could be...but if people knew the whole story, then who would think that a pill would save me from these pains? If the full story was out, who would have the courage or desire to condemn me for being more emotional? They think that it is merely a decision, when it is not. It is caused because of a reaction to a decision that I made several years ago, which has governed my life in ways that I haven't realized until I finally let go of that decision. If you take something emotionally traumatic and brush it aside as though it was entirely your fault and decide that you never wanted to accept it as reality, by focusing too far into the future, then your mind and body will react in ways that you would never dream possible. When my counselor discussed these reactions with me, it was humbling to realize that the very behaviors that I have been condemned, censured, mocked, and ostracized for, were a bodily reaction to a very traumatic series of events that were beyond my capacity to control or understand, which I ignorantly assumed were entirely my fault and have paid dearly for. If people only would be willing to try to understand who I really am, then they would learn about this inconvenient truth and reality that they have unknowingly despised and rejected me for. They would also understand my disdain and fear of taking medications. Perhaps there would be some form of compassion. Perhaps there would be some mercy. Perhaps there would be some healing.

Perhaps.

But I have to be stronger than a wistful "perhaps." I cannot change the viewpoints of other people, particularly those of whom I have specifically been addressing. But "perhaps" these small hours that I have been given will inspire a way for my family's weak understanding and acceptance of who each of us are, to be restored and strengthened. "Perhaps" there will be a healing.

Perhaps.

But maybe at the end of the day I really am the person to blame. Perhaps it is my stubbornness in their predictable stagnancy that is damming them for changing. Or perhaps they are changing and I don't see it. But perhaps I cannot see them changing because we don't see each other or have much to say when we do. But this whole paragraph is unlikely because it is only a worst case scenario. Instead, I believe the that most truthful statement in this paragraph is this: because I haven't opened them up to the information about why I react to things the way that I do, they cannot be responsible for reacting in their uninformed and narrow scopes.

So why is it that I am venting right now? Honestly, probably because I haven't had the courage to put any of this information out in writing before. I have not had the courage to acknowledge what the real problem has been. And that is why it is the middle of the night and I cannot sleep. I am scared because I finally have admitted to myself about how much I have been hurt, and the pain of truth and remembrance rivals the pain in my body. I can no longer escape the haunting memories of past small hours. I cannot escape from myself anymore without becoming terribly sick.

At least writing it out tonight has made it slightly less intimidating and lonely to be here with myself when the rest of the world is sleeping. Maybe now I will have the courage to turn the lights out and succumb to my mind through sleep. Maybe I wont be haunted tonight by the shadows and footsteps of my past. Maybe.

"Perhaps."

In Mutatione Fatum

Mone Me, Amabo Te, Si Erro

Advise me, please, if I err.

I've lost him, without really even trying. I feel helpless and alone because I know that there is no way that I could ever have him again. In some ways I feel a clear and distinct relief, but that is not without it's pain. I'm not miserable, by any means. Honestly, I have survived far worse things. I'm not very old, but I've already lost my father and my very first love. I can survive this too.

When giving advice about college degrees, Henry Eyring III said that the shower is the one place where you don't have to think about anything other than what you are most passionate about, which is one way to discover what direction you should lead your life.

I think about a lot of things and nothing when I shower. I think about happiness and what I can do to obtain it. And when I think about happiness - I think about him and how I felt whenever he walked into the room.

I was at home whenever he was there.

And now he's gone.

Alec Baldwin articulated my feelings in Elizabethtown (2005), when his character was addressing Orlando Bloom after his "fiasco." He said, "I cry a lot lately."

I have had so many opinions about my relationship with him, which are pulling me into a million different directions. A lot of them tell me that I cannot ever go back to him, he didn't deserve me, and that I must have someone incredible out there for me.

How perfect does a guy have to be?

Let me just talk about him for a minute or two. He is a home body, like myself. He adores his siblings and drops everything for his family, because they are his priority in life. He is a go-getter. While most teenage boys are hitting on girls, watching football games, playing video games, or picking their noses, he went to college when he was sixteen years old and graduated with a B.A. in business and economics before he served an honorable mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Brazil and New Mexico. He doesn't lead the typical "privileged" life that many kids lead. If he wants something, then he makes it happen by putting in honest work for it. He also doesn't give up at anything. He also has the most beautiful forearms and hardworking hands that I have ever seen - but that is mostly trivial and an added bonus. He is honestly a good person. An amazing person.

Good people aren't immune to everything though because they are still people, subject to every temptation and trial like everyone else.

I have dated plenty of good people and some who were only in it because I happen to be a girl. Perhaps he didn't treat me as he or I know I need to be treated. But there is a difference in the week after it ended. Usually what happens is that guys will do anything to make life miserable for me, which is pretty rude. But he isn't displaying any of that. He has no anger, malice, or selfishness. He wants me to be okay. I cannot express it fairly here. But the point is that he is doing whatever he can to make himself a better person so that one day he can be the kind of person that could deserve someone like me.

I want to just give in and ask the world for it's opinion, except I don't want it either. Mom? Help? Okay - so I need to get on my knees and really find out what I need for myself, because I am an adult and I am the only one who can take responsibility for myself.

So, to quote my fabulous roommate, "SUCK AN EGG!"

Okay, so I'm kidding about that. But seriously:

Mone me, amabo te, si erro.