After Hello

"And what comes after hello?" she asked.

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you want," he said. "Just as long as it's not goodbye." 

Remember Tess? She lent me a book that put everything I ever wanted into words.

A huge, bustling city brimming with life

 Freedom. That was what I felt standing there on the corner with a park on one side of me and a cluster of shops on the other, the small bookstore with its open door and rolling carts of books beckoning me across the street. The freedom to go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted. I was a single person in a city of millions.

Meeting someone utterly new, completely unknown, and turning them into a profound friend--maybe something more

 I thought back to that moment when I had taken his picture. I smiled, thinking of all that had happened because I had chosen to follow him. Such a simple decision, almost impulsive, but it had changed everything. It had changed me.

A lively adventure filled with whatever happened to cross the path

"What's a 'yes day'?" I asked. 

"It's a day where you find ways to say yes."

"To what?" I looked from Sam to Vanessa.

"To goodness," she said, spreading her arms wide. "To life."

"To things you might otherwise say 'no' to, " Sam added. His eyes flickered up to mine, the brown as warm and dark as my chocolate.

"Like saying yes to a damsel in distress?" I asked with a lift of my lips.

"Exactly." Sam matched my smile, and I felt my heart flutter in my chest.

Learning to see inside my soul and help share the burdens of other souls

 "Art can conceal as well as reveal," she continued. "It takes courage to remove our masks. But it takes greater courage to allow those we care about to remove their own masks when they are with us." Vanessa fanned a row of feathers--all green except for one solitary white one--above the arched eyes. "When we grant others the opportunity to be open and vulnerable, that is when we can see the truth. In them. And in ourselves."

Moving from self-preservation to self-actualization

My hands trembled, both from excitement and from fear. Could I really pull this off? Should I? I wasn't an artist--not really. Not like Vanessa, who ruled her world with magic and muses. Not like Aces, who lived his life with passion and built his own three-dimensional version of reality. Not even like Daniel, who could play music that sounded like the voice of God. 

I was just me. But sitting at that table that had once been a door, I thought being me might be enough. 

Savoring the little things, the humble moments of the day

Sara sat up, rubbing at her eyes with a loosely curled fist like a child might after a nap. A faint pink line creased her cheek from where she had leaned against his shoulder. The pattern matched exactly the black stripe that ran down the sleeve of his hoodie. 

He felt a strange and sudden flash of pride at seeing it. Even though he knew it would fade--it was already fading--for a moment, they were connected, like halves of a whole, and that made him happy. 

And getting another shot at happiness


"I don't want this to be good-bye, either," he said. He pulled out two tattered sugar packets from the bag and held them out to me. His eyes danced with light and life. "So tell me, Sara without an h--what do you want?"

The last time Sam has asked me that question, I hadn't known what to say. This time I did. Aces had given me the answer. "I want my life to be filled with passion."

Sam chuckled under his breath. "That's a tall order."

"But not impossible. Someone once told me that if you don't know what you want, you'll never get it."

"I see. And something tells me that a smart girl like you will find a way to get whatever she wants."

"Hey, I learned from the best."

"True." Sam granted me that point. "But I think there is one lesson left." He bounced the sugar packets on his palm. "Instead of saying good-bye, let's say hello instead."

I lifted a packet from the palm of his hand. "How is this going to become a hello?"

"The same way it became two tickets for Jess, or a coupon for a free manicure. You trade your packet; I'll trade mine. And if we keep them moving, eventually we'll find what we're looking for."

"This little packet will bring me back all the way to New York?"

Sam smiled. "You never know. Maybe my packet will take me all the way to Arizona."

I grinned, catching the spirit of the adventure. "Are you proposing another quest?"

"You game?"

I turned the small packet over in my fingers. "Yeah," I said. "I am."

"Good." He tucked the square of sugar into his pocket. "Then the next time I see you, we'll have a proper hello."

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a matching lift of hope in my chest. "And what comes after hello?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you want," he said. "Just so long as it's not good-bye."

All in one day.

The Gambler

Slow down, we've got time left to be lazy
All the kids are bloom from babies into flowers in our eyes
We've got fifty good years left to spend out in the garden
I don't care to beg your pardon, we should live until we die

We were barely eighteen when we crossed collective hearts
It was cold, but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye
And you turned, put out your hand, and you asked me to dance
I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight

I swear when I grow up I won't just buy you a rose
I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely
For even if the sun stops waking up over the fields
I will not leave, I will not leave 'til it's our time
So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side

It was the winter of '86, all the fields had frozen over
So we moved to Arizona to save our only son
And now he's turned into a man, though he thinks just like his mother
He believes we're all just lovers, he sees hope in everyone

And even though she moved away, we always get calls from our daughter
She has eyes just like her father's, they are blue when skies are gray
And just like him she never stops, never takes the day for granted
Works for everything that's handed to her, never once complained

You think that I nearly lost you when the doctors tried to take you away
But like the night you took my hand beside the fire thirty years ago
'Til this day, you swore you'd be here 'til we decide that it's our time
But it's not time, you never quit in all your life
So just take my hand and know that I will never leave your side
You're the love of my life, you know that I will never leave your side

You come home from work, and you kiss me on the eye
You curse the dogs, you say that I should never feed them what is ours
So we move out to the garden, look at everything we've grown
And the kids are coming home so I'll set the table; you can make the fire

This is a semblance of what I hope my marriage and family will be much, much later in life. I hope to share a sweet, leisurely love with my spouse. To live life unhurried, merely savoring what is in front of me. I hope to look back on the past with a knowing smile, and to listen to my grown children's stories of their own lessons, labors, and loves. It is almost like a glimpse into eternity.

(These lyrics aren't mine. If you'd like to find the song, you are welcome to it.)

Home

Can I tell you something I did?

Yesterday I checked a deed off my bucket list.


I have always wanted to travel down a road as far as I could go. Some unfamiliar path that stretches farther than the eye can see.

I did it.

And it was one of the coolest things I've ever done. Riding along on my bike, I passed seemingly endless fields of gold and green, aged houses with rustic charm, and sparkling canals teeming with life. All this from my little hometown area on a Thursday evening.

The reason I embarked on this bike ride was not actually to check it off my bucket list, but to blow off some steam. However, my ride soon became something of a higher nature. I noticed all the simple beauties God has placed here, and it brought the most genuine smile out of me. And, when I realized I was completing a goal of mine, I couldn't stop smiling! So, I cranked up my John Mayer tunes and pedaled even harder, going farther and farther. By the time I had to turn around, I was at least five miles away from anything I could recognize.

If it hadn't been so late, I would have pedaled to the mountains.

Rainy Day

Call me crazy, but rainy days are the best.

Drizzly, overcast days make me a little more ponderous, a little more thoughtful. Sure, the sun is wonderful, but how often do rainy days come around? They're special, and for me, special things happen on those days.

Take yesterday for example. It was the second day home from my last year of girls' camp and--as you've probably already guessed--a cool, wet Saturday. Waking up smelled like rain, leaving me feeling clean.

Later on, my friend and I made a visit to the Rexburg Temple for baptisms. Honestly, I can think of no better way to polish off a week of spiritual feasting than a trip to the temple. The beautiful white building was stark against the dusky clouds, and numerous couples were reverently filing in and out of it. Once we had gotten settled and began waiting to be baptized, I felt completely peaceful. And I couldn't stop smiling. Quite a few college-aged men and women waited with me and my friend, and the coolest thing was that we were all there, doing the Lord's work. All was well and right. Coming out of the temple, my friend and I felt so good! Clean in every sense of the word.

A little while after that, my parents returned home from Utah, and I loved catching up with them over a batch of cookies. Rain continued to fall, keeping the world shiny and new. My missionary brother would be jealous because rainy days are his favorite. Since he's in Los Angeles, he doesn't get too many of those. So with the exception of this brother, it was nice to just be with my family and enjoy the sound of rain pattering on the roof.

Then, I went to work in that never-ceasing rain. I work at small, family-run amusement park, and when I got there, the only thing running was the go-karts. Soon, even those people left, leaving me and a different friend (we'll call her Tess) to clean up the park. As we wiped down fences in the downpour, Tess and I talked about everything. It felt great to tell her what had been on my mind, and she felt the same. Usually the both of us are too busy to merely converse like this, but because of the weather, nothing could stop us. And while we continued to clean benches and tables, we got the brilliant (no sarcasm here) idea to go puddle jumping. So we did.

Tess and I were little girls again, giggling as we sloshed through puddles and stamped in miniature streams. And since nobody was in the park but us, nobody cared. When the two of us clocked out, our manager let us put up one of the inflatable slides. I went down first, careening into a puddle so cold I gasped. Tess came down seconds later, and we crashed into each other, slipping again when I tried to get back up. I don't think either of us stopped laughing.

Never underestimate the power of a moment. As I mentioned in my post "The Hiatus is Over", it is the little moments that matter most in life. They fill in the cracks between the big events and lessons, creating the map that is our lives. I believe I have done better about cherishing those small every-day things. Through doing this, I am better able to use my agency, to recognize what exactly I am doing, and if need be, to change it. Ultimately, this brings me closer to my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. I will do everything in my power to follow Him, for He is my Lord and my Light.

For me, rainy days are spiritual, thoughtful, and a fun change of pace. They never seem gloomy or disappointing. Actually, it almost feels like I glean more out of them than regular days.

Writer's Dilemma

With the exception of some inspiration on Sunday, I've hit a major writer's block.

For quite some time, topics and experiences have stepped into my mind, wondering if I'll ever put them to words. The thing is, I can't. Part of me wants to write them, but once I sit down and think of what exactly I'm going to write, I draw up an emotional blank. It's as if there is no conviction behind the ideas.

What then? Could I write about something I feel nothing for? I think if I did, I'd feel like a hypocrite. 

Then... what responsibility do writers bear?

Everyone has learned that writers possess many purposes: explaining, persuading, informing, entertaining, and sometimes even relieving. However, I believe a writer's real purpose is truth. Whatever form it may take, be it memories, stories, or documentaries, the words must be true. I don't think people realize the effect their writing can have on others. Their words go out to millions of people, all with different perspectives and beliefs. A handful of letters can change all that. For better, or for worse.

So then, are writers just aloof creators, streaming words effortlessly, never taking thought as to what they are putting out there? Do they do it all for the sake of a story? Quite possibly. At least, I presume they would be more careful if they recognized the extent of their impact. And yet, there are writers who are very deliberate in what they create.

I'd like to think some of my favorite authors know what they're doing with their writing. Jane Austen, Orson Scott Card, J. K. Rowling, Charles Dickens, Ally Condie, C. S. Lewis, Brandon Sanderson, the list goes on! Still, I wonder if a writer can become desensitized after a long period of time. Much like some doctors grow so accustomed to the human body that they forget what a marvel it is. Could a writer really forget the power of writing? Thereby leading themselves to abuse it, or to become careless?

I guess the heart of the matter is the fine line of presenting evil without making evil attractive. For example, people swear. I understand that. Accordingly, a minor curse or two is acceptable, though not preferable. Nonetheless, must there be sexually crude things? Just the other day, I was immersed in a book by one of my most favorite authors, when I came upon a shockingly inappropriate passage. This guy is LDS! His previous books are clean, though not in a naive or innocent way. This recent stumble of his disappointed me greatly. Now, understand, I am familiar and pretty okay with flirtatious-bordering-on-innuendo type stuff. It's fairly normal in today's society. But, there are deeper and darker things out there, and it wounds me that great writers would stoop so low.

There is a careful balance to depicting things as they really are. One must be truthful in writing, lest they mislead the reader--both good and evil must receive their due--but at the same time, one needs to present the difficult side of the truth in such a way that readers do not find it attractive. Thus, if a writer depicts truth in that sense, then readers should not fear. In fact, in an essay of Orson Scott Card's on this very topic, he stated that those who cannot understand why there are unsavory things in a book "have no perspective."

This gave me pause. The author I mentioned earlier possesses an otherwise clean track record, so did I miss something? Was there a higher purpose to that seemingly crude passage? I still haven't decided yet, but Card's words struck me even so.

Through all this rambling, I've come to a conclusion about a writer's responsibility. Foremost, writers, no matter how or what they write, must feel conviction for their work. Otherwise, what good is he to the world? There are already so many writers lacking care and substance floating around, spewing less-than-admirable work. Need there be any more? Additionally, a writer must convey truth. He must show both good and evil, but do so with caution. As a budding writer myself, I want to fulfill these requirements. In fact, much of the reason I write is to share the truths I've discovered.

My hope is that readers--you guys--can find truth and conviction in my writing, and that you may glean something from it. Something to help you, to give comfort or understanding. That is why I write.

My House on a Sunday Afternoon

It's June.

My brother is asleep on the couch.

A fan hums while it blows away the muggy summer heat.

My dad messes around with his smart phone as he sprawls on a different couch.

The cat stretches out luxuriously on the carpet, oblivious to the world and its cares.

My mother reads about jewelery online.

There's a book left open on the sofa, its pages turning when the fan comes its way.

A pair of house-shoes sits in the middle of the room.

Dove chocolate wrappers litter an end table.

The blinds are down.

My nails are painted a tropical hue.

We still haven't brought in the Sunday paper.

And I don't have a care in the world. 

(I wish this picture was actually part of my house.)

Mockingbird

I'm going to mimic a friend here and share a bunch of quotes that have lingered with me lately.

 “Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.” Robert Frost

 “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.

"This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something." Elizabeth Gilbert

 “In the end, all men die. How you lived will be far more important to the Almighty than what you accomplished.” Brandon Sanderson

Sometimes we just have to wait long enough...then we find out why exactly it was that we kept believing.

“Expectations were like fine pottery. The harder you held them, the more likely they were to crack.”

 That's what I am here for. To make people happy.

“The journey is part of the experience - an expression of the seriousness of one's intent. One doesn't take the a train to Mecca.”

“But God doesn't call us to be comfortable. He calls us to trust Him so completely that we are unafraid to put ourselves in situations where we will be in trouble if He doesn't come through.”

“There's nothing like deep breaths after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons.”

“It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.”

She celebrated her laughter, her longing, her utter sense of well-being. This, she knew, was how living should feel. 

“It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.”

 "She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward. "

It's only half past the point of oblivion: The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run, the breath before the kiss, and the fear before the flames.

"The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain."

My friends, this is what's been on my mind.