the big day

I'd been practicing for months. Coaxing my hair into any sort of curl was a painstaking and physically and emotionally draining process, but my fancy dress demanded to be topped by fancy hair, so I did my best. And when the big day arrived, I was confident in my ability to achieve a certain level of success. I just had to wake up at 4:30 to do so. So I set my alarm and went to bed, only to awaken every couple of hours. I kept trying to tell my body to take advantage of what little sleep time it had, since the following day would be demanding, but to no avail. Until suddenly it was 7:00 and my mom was knocking on my hotel room door. And I was still in bed. Whoops. I can't really explain how it happened. Maybe it was the sleeping pill finally kicking in. Maybe it was the white noise of that blasted heater. All I knew was that I now had only 20 minutes to get ready. On my wedding day. So I did. For the most part, I was a pretty good sport about it, and I was on time to the temple at 7:30.

The session and the sealing were both beautiful and wonderful experiences. Pictures went well, with only a few, minor hiccups. The luncheon was fun and tasty, and I was so grateful for everyone who came all the way to Manti to be with us on our special day. But then the madness set in.

We were a little late getting back from Manti, but I wasn't too worried, since my woefully straight hair would require very little touch up before the reception. But first Christian and I had to pick up the flowers to decorate the reception hall. Seven dozen vendela roses that I carefully coordinated and that I was really excited about-Gone. Just gone. The Flower Patch said that someone had already picked them up, which was crazy talk, no one had. I tried to keep it together and remind myself that it wasn't directly the fault of the girl trying to help me, but I was upset, and I think justifiably so. She took me back to their fridge and let me have my choice of their pitifully small selection. Crestfallen, I settled for some red roses that would not match my wedding colors, but at least they wouldn't clash too much.

So Christian and I were late to our own reception. There were already guests there when we arrived, still in our luncheon clothes, with the chair covers and sashes and the red roses in tow. Wonderfully nice people put the covers on and put the roses in vases on the tables for me while I got into my dress. I thought for sure that things would go smoothly now. Not so.

The shoes that I was supposed to wear with my wedding dress were no where to be found, and Christian's tux was locked in a car to which we could not find the keys. So I spent most of the reception barefoot, and Christian spent the first twenty minutes in a white dress shirt with no tie. We were so occupied with these things that we forgot to give my side of the family the matching ties that Christian's mom so graciously bought for everyone, and we forgot to put out the sign in book that Christian had spent a lot of time and money on making himself. The caterer was understaffed and other people had to pitch in. When the time came to clean up, some of the people in charge were MIA. But I was done. Christian and I were off to Park City, deciding that they could burn down the reception hall for all we cared.

And at the end of the day, everything was great. I was married to my love. I was part of an eternal family. I had gained so many family members that I loved. I was blessed with friends to pitch in and fill in the gaps left by...less reliable people. It was one crazy roller coaster getting there, and my reception might not have been exactly what I had hoped, but the end result was the same, and that's all that really matters.

why I don't believe in anger

When you read the title of this post, you probably interpreted the word 'believe' in the sense that "I don't believe in anger the same way I don't believe in premarital sex," meaning that I am opposed to it, that I avoid it. But what I really meant was something more like, "I don't believe in anger the same way I don't believe in fairies," meaning I think it is a myth, something imaginary. So yes, when you say you are angry, I believe you are making it up. Now that all of you are "angry" with me for questioning your emotions, let me explain.

Out of all the things they tried to teach me in elementary school, most have gone to my subconscious, a vast pile of things I know but don't remember learning. A few lessons stand out, though, and one of them is that anger doesn't exist. Perhaps I remember it so well because it was an object lesson, or perhaps because over the course of my life, I have repeatedly noticed evidence to back it up. The object was a Hershey's kiss. The premise was that the thin, shiny wrapper was the anger that only served to mask another emotion. The underlying emotion, represented by the chocolate, was the bulk of the real problem. One could not properly deal with the issue (chocolate) without removing the anger (the wrapper) and seeing the problem for what it really was.

Anger can be a mask for a multitude of unpleasant emotions. Frustration (disappointed expectations), hurt feelings, sadness. In my personal case, anger is often (OK, almost always) a mask for hunger. But then I think to myself, "I'm not really angry with this person. I'm just hungry." This allows me to not be angry. Do I always succeed at being pleasant to be around when I'm hungry? No. But sometimes I do. It's possible, because I recognize the real problem. Imagine, however, that I didn't know, that I went around being angry and not realizing how hungry I was. I would be a very unpleasant person, upset about various real or perceived offenses that really didn't matter. I would endeavor to force my bad mood on those around me and damage the relationship I had with those people. And I would not be fixing anything, because I'm not dealing with the real issue.

It sounds silly with hunger, but imagine someone I loved hurt my feelings. I feel negative emotions because I love that person and desire their good opinion, I desire a good, strong, loving relationship with them. But admitting this is hard. Being vulnerable is hard. And dealing with those kind of hurt feelings can be hard. The easy way is to throw on the shiny wrapper of self-righteous anger. It gives us a false sense of superiority and of control, so in a way it makes us feel better. But what does anger do? It belittles the other person in order to feed the false superiority, it builds walls between the two people in self-defense. In effect, it worsens the very problem that it is masking. You cared enough about the relationship to feel hurt in the first place, and to "fix" the problem, you are damaging it even more.

I believe this is why the JST removes the "without cause" from Matthew 5:22 "whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause is in danger of the judgement" I believe this scripture constitutes a commandment to deal with real emotions and real issues instead of choosing anger. I believe that we are not given commandments over which we have no agency, and as such, I believe that we can choose which emotions to allow and which to cast out. I believe we choose how to deal with those emotions, and that anger is an ineffective and destructive way of doing that. And that's why I don't believe in anger.

why I don't vote

My sister will be turning 18 soon (yikes!) and received a letter from an elected official trying to solidify her vote. It prompted her to ask who I was going to vote for in the upcoming elections. She didn't understand why I wasn't going to vote, and I struggled to explain how I feel about it. But then I found an example that I'd like to share with you.

I consider myself to be a peacemaker. Not because I'm a saint, just because conflict makes me uncomfortable, and I'd rather we all just be friends. As such, I am rather adept at seeing both sides of any given argument; even when an issue seems to be completely black and white, I can sometimes just sense that there's another side, I just haven't found it yet.

For example, Kony 2012. Surely there could only be one stance on this one, right? What sane person could argue against bringing such a deplorable human being to justice? However, you'll notice that I did not repost any emotional videos rallying support for that cause. I just felt like...something was off. Maybe I just didn't think that posting that video would change anything. Maybe I prefer to be blissfully ignorant of vast miseries that I cannot cure. Or maybe I just have a sixth sense for different but valid points of view. Anyway, yesterday Christian showed me this, which states rather convincingly the other side of the argument. I thought it was interesting and informative. http://thedailywh.at/2012/03/07/on-kony-2012-2/

And it seemed like such a great cause, a no-brainer! If such a worthy cause could have definite cons, what of a politician? I can form opinions on actions but I have trouble forming opinions on people. Any president we have is going to do things that I disagree with and other things that I support. In regards to most of the issues, I don't consider myself well-enough educated on the issues to for my opinion to really matter, and if I were well-enough informed, I would see the good in both candidates. Sure, I'd like to vote for the candidate who promises to lower gas prices, but for now I will leave the voting to those more qualified and who have a better understanding of the big picture.

best Christmas Ever

I was fairly certain my week in Washington would contain a proposal, and I knew I would be staying in a giant Italian villa, so I was excited. But I had no idea just how awesome it would be.
As soon as I had walked in the door, Christian's nieces and nephew came to meet and greet me, including hugs. It was just the first taste of how welcoming his family would be. In fact, they started to feel just like family to me in only a couple of days, even before Christian asked me (officially) to be a part of it. Then they eagerly led me on a whirlwind tour of the house, though it still took me a while to learn how to get to my bedroom. Christian's sister offered to tape little fishies on the wall leading to my room so that I wouldn't get lost. It was such a beautiful house.


And who wouldn't want to stay in a house with someone like this cooking for you?


But, like I said, what I was most excited for was the proposal. Christian had mentioned that there was a beautiful park where he wanted to take me for a walk. So when we were walking in this incredible, snowy, enchanted park, I thought it just might be time.


I wasn't too worried when it didn't happen. I just figured that all his hints about my shiny little Christmas present meant that he would pop the question on Christmas day, and decided to be patient just a few more days.

On Christmas Eve, I was in the middle of crochet/knitting lessons with his oldest nieces when Christian asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. I almost said no because I was in the middle of something, but decided to go. His Dad loaded us into the bucket of his tractor and carried us across the field to an incline with a gap in the trees that was perfectly positioned to watch the sunset.


As we sat there watching the beautiful sunset and listening to Christmas music, my suspicions were once again aroused. At one point Christian pulled his phone out of his pocket and I was sure it was going to be a ring instead. But then Bruce started to back up the tractor and we headed back toward the house. "It's OK, I told myself. Tomorrow." But we didn't head toward the house. We headed instead toward a grove of trees on the edge of their property, and Bruce dropped us off for a walk. I thought maybe he just thought we'd enjoy it or maybe he had business to do with his tractor and needed us out. Then, as we turned a corner on the path, this is what I saw.


Candles and hot chocolate and fancy German Christmas cookies. I asked Christian what were in the cookies, to which he slyly answered that it was a "secret recipe". Turned out the secret recipe contained traces of tree nuts, to which I am allergic. For a moment, I think Christian thought he had poisoned me and thereby botched the whole thing. But it was only a trace so I was OK, and Christian literally threw my cookie away, just to be safe.

See that red box with the green ribbon? This is what was inside.


When we went inside, his sister asked if I would be her sister as she hugged me. I said yes, but really I felt like I already was. We then feasted on a fancy prime rib dinner and enjoyed a wonderful pageant put on by the little ones.



Christmas morning was equally delightful, with more presents than I had ever seen under one tree, gleeful children, and being showered with unexpected gifts from my new family.


In short, it was a Christmas filled with everything that makes Christmas wonderful to me. Family (especially children), delicious food and goodies, remembering the Savior, and presents. I got the best Christmas gift of all this year, and it was definitely the best Christmas ever.

P.S. Our date is April 7th, in the Manti, UT temple!

beauty

There is a saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think I had to hear that saying a few (billion) times to really understand what it means, that everyone has a different standard or definition of beauty, a different idea of what qualifies as beautiful. The world is busy contradicting this bit of tried wisdom by convincing you that there is only one beauty ideal and that every woman should strive and sweat and starve and spend in order to approach this ideal. Unfortunately, the ideal presented in the media is not only unrealistic (plastic surgery, make-up artists, air brushing), it's unhealthy. Those "beautiful" models you see in the media, the ones who are 6'2" and 120 lbs.-- are underweight.

Generally, health and beauty go hand in hand. Shiny hair, soft skin, and white teeth, for example. It's natural selection. So why have we let the media separate them? And what sense does it make to put beauty before health in our list of priorities? I fully support America's getting in shape. I support exercise and healthy eating habits. I support losing weight when needed. But I DO NOT support the media inflicting body image issues and self-hatred on women and girls by lying to them about what the perfect body looks like.

Now, I want to be beautiful as much as the next girl, but, according to this adage, I cannot be beautiful to everyone. So who do I want to be beautiful for? Do I want to be beautiful to all the shameless gawkers at the gym? Do I want to be beautiful to the men that spend their time drooling over Victoria Secret catalogs? Do I want to be beautiful to someone who buys into the media's lies and thinks that all women should look the same? No, of course not.

I once heard a DJ commenting on how one new movie made so much more than another new movie. "Of course more people wanted to see [movie A]. Why would you want to see a cute brunette in [movie B] when you can see a hot blonde in [movie A]?" Personally, I am proud of not being beautiful to him.

First and foremost, I want to be beautiful to me. I want to look in the mirror and feel good about the way I look. I want to feel good about my strong, healthy body and everything I can accomplish with it. Secondly, I want to be beautiful to people who see more in me that a pretty face. If someone thinks you are not good for anything but to be looked at, to be seen and not heard, to be an object--why in heaven's name should you care what they think about the way you look?

Take back your health. Take back your positive body image. Take back your confidence. Take back everything that you can do and be that has nothing to do with your dress size. Take back everything that the media's lies have stolen. And help the women in your life do the same. For help doing this, check out my new favorite website, http://www.beautyredefined.net/

a blanket apology

As I have already boasted many times, I have the best job in the world. However, I have recently become aware of an occupational hazard that, I'm afraid, is affecting the people around me. For that, I would like to apologize.

In order to effectively communicate with my Spanish 106 students, I find it necessary to adapt my speech in several ways. For example, I have to talk a little bit slower than natural, I incorporate charades at every opportunity, and I frequently repeat myself. Last week I was talking to a co-worker who speaks Spanish better than I do and I used the word correr, which means to run. I felt more than a little bit silly when I realized that I was unnecessarily running in place in the middle of the hall. On a later occasion, I found myself speaking rather slow Spanish to my supervisor who, once again, speaks better Spanish than I do.

So, if on any occasion you have felt that I was insulting your intelligence by talking down to you, by insinuating that you needed help to understand the simplest of words, I'm terribly sorry. Force of habit. If you would be so kind as to point it out to me, I would be more than happy to put my hands in my pockets and speak more quickly and with more intellectual words.

Now I'm scared to see what happens to my communication skills if/when I become a stay-at-home mother of small children...

things I don't understand: part 1

I consider myself to be a relatively smart person, and people frequently tell me that I'm right about that. In spite of my....shall we say thoroughly adequate intellect, there are many things in this world that I don't understand.
For example, the current Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial. It has no human actors, it just portrays two cartoonized cereal pieces. The first one licks the other and is then eaten entirely by the other. So, what? The cereal is so delicious that it eats itself? Moreover, the commercial announcer starts off by saying, "Hey, ladies!" Like men don't watch TV or like Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Or maybe because cannibalistic cereal somehow appeals more to women? I'm skeptical.
Or the billboard by Carl"s Jr. "Alcohol does to a teen's brain what weather does to billboards." But you are an adult and your brain is therefore invincible (not to mention your liver) so feel free to become inebriated whenever you like. If a substance can destroy your brain at any stage in your mortal development, wouldn't you rather just avoid it altogether?
Or the facebook poke. I mean, consider the possible messages a poke could convey. it could be one step more annoying than "I'm not touching you!" It could be an effective self defense maneuver of poking someone in the eye. It could be the infuriating "iron finger" my dad thrusts into my ribs when things get too quiet and he really wants a purple nurple. A poke could be something that one does to ascertain whether or not someone is dead. So when you facebook poke me, are you virtually checking my pulse?
Or those people who don't hold hands, they just interlock pinkies. Really? At EFY when hand holding was scandalous but your undying love required some form of PDA, maybe the interlocking pinkies made sense. You are a university student now.
Or how they decided to tear up all of Provo for construction right when school started and Provo's population skyrocketed.
Or BYU girls who still think leggings are pants.
I don't know. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought.