Brian Holt.
I found out just now that Brian Holt follows my blog. I made weird sound in my throat and accidentally punched myself in the nose I was so excited. David even stopped talking to the cultists in his computer game to ask me if I was okay. I was too happy.
My nose does kinda hurt, but it is so okay because Brian Effing Holt follows my blog. Man.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Preliminary Thoughts
Last night our bishop called and asked us to speak in church in a couple of weeks (don't worry, readers, I will not start my talk with that same phrase. If I am speaking in church everyone can, at very least, already guess that the bishop called us and asked us to speak. This preface is for you, who do not actually know this.) about Elder Scott's talk from Conference in October. Transforming power of faith. I have not read the talk yet, but I did wake up a couple of hours ago, and my brain started whirring about things I could use in my talk, experiences I feel that I have dealing with this subject. As a result I was unable to fall asleep, so just before six, I came into the living room with a notebook and pen and wrote all my thoughts out. Chances are this will not be the talk I give as it is very personal and I don't even know if it relates at all to the assigned subject matter, but I feel the need to share it somehow. I figured that with my family and a couple friends who read my blog would be as good an audience as any.
Every night, without fail, I wake up in the night and need to go to the bathroom. From these trips I have learned things about how my cones and rods operate; things, admittedly, everyone else has probably already figured out.
I have learned that to say my eyes adjust to the dark is not true. More accurately, my eyes adjust to the dim light that is present, even in the dark of the apartment. When I reach my destination, there are no windows to let light seep around the curtains - only complete darkness.
Luckily, there is a light switch. The light is so bright that it hurts my eyes until they make the proper changes and I can see with some sense.
Getting back to my warm, soft bed is more of a challenge, however. After I turn off the bathroom light, I find myself blinded by the darkness. I take cautious steps, navigating slowly, as I will my eyes to see. I pause in the doorway to the living room and look for the soft light from the Home Depot across the street that can't penetrate our curtains, but, unperturbed, finds it's small way in above the curtains. It is so dim that some nights it is of no use at all and I still stub my toe on the door jamb in spite of all my efforts.
A couple more careful steps and I am by the doorway to the study. With no curtains here to block it, a street lamp in the parking lot does a much better job of helping me and I am able to cross the bedroom safely with a little more help from a rather bright alarm clock and slip back under the still warm sheets.
I find that this is how I often navigate through my life, carefully taking steps through the darkness in the world, searching out for those illuminating truths that testify of my Savior's love.
And sometimes, I discover something so powerful that I feel I will never be blind again, but for whatever reason, I am unable to internalize it, learn it, truly understand it, and it leaves me. In darkness that is worse than before.
At one point in my life, I found myself in a long dark hallway with no windows to help penetrate the black. In my unseeing state, I could not find the door to safety and so I paced, anxiously, back and forth.
At one of the dead ends of my hallway prison, there was a little light, so, so dim, but my only light, just the same.
Months before, just after the dark hall had trapped my spirit, I had been in Texas, working with my parents on a little house out in the woods. It was in a terrible state of disrepair when my father bought it: the floor was falling in, the popcorn was peeling off the ceiling, and the wallpaper. Well, it had wallpaper! and isn't that a tragedy in and of itself!
I became very familiar with that wallpaper as it was my job to try and peel it off. Layers and layers of the stuff, at least fifty years old once you got down to the bottom, though the stuff on top couldn't have been put on there much after the seventies. And because I had heard my father say over and over that he wanted to spend as little money as possible, I went in everyday armed only with a few scrapers.
I hated it. If any of you have done similar work, you understand why. Wallpaper is awful! But I feel it was particularly bad and more discouraging in this case because once I peeled away enough of it, what I found was not a wall of solid gold - which, again, if you have done such work you know that's the only wat it would be worth your efforts - but damaged dry wall full of holes that long remained hidden.
Eventually, frustrated, I threw down my tools, to let the house know I was not happy, and sat down on the dirty floor next to my sad pile of wallpaper scraps.
Why was I doing this? I was tedious and pointless work. Slowly, like my eyes adjusting to a little light suddenly in the dark, truth began to dawn on me. I was doing this work, a little at a time, uncovering all the wounds that the house had hid away in shame or fear for so long so that we could fix it. Fix all the holes and hurts it had. My father understood this from the beginning, that the house would need gentle care as the wallpaper came down so the carpenter could come in and fix it. Because a skilled Carpenter knows how to heal a wounded House.
This was my one light, dim and weak against the darkness that surrounded my, but I put all my trust and faith in it. I tried to peel away my wallpaper, but my hands, so clumsy at carpentry, only left me in more pain and I found I had left the safety of my little lit corner.
Every week, I listened to the testimonies of others telling me that they understood the oppressive darkness, but were able to find light in their faith in Christ, able to carry that light with them always to navigate the dark maze of the world around them. Who was I to argue that they knew it? I did too, in my own way, but that they never lost sight was something I couldn't fathom.
The darkness only got heavier as time went on. My light seemed further than ever. I could feel the weight, the pressure of so long being without relief from the blackness around me, that I was sure it was going to crush me.
All the details I remember clearly: writing in an unlined journal during my Provo sacrament meeting, not paying attention because they were speaking a language that I oculdn't understand. I remember what I was writing. Sad, hurt, angry words. I stopped my pen as they passed the sacrament and I felt my anger melt into overwhelming heartache. I poured every last hope I had into a prayer, pleading to the Father that I needed help. That I believed people who believed that the atonement could take away our illness and heal our broken hearts as well as wash away our sins. I listed the people that I believed, trusted, that knew this with certainty. I prayed, begging to believe too, that e could do something, even the tiniest thing, to relieve my pain. "'Help thou my unbelief,' Lord," I begged in the deepest and most sacred place in my heart.
I opened my eyes and my world seemed the same. No light immediately came on in my dark and stagnant hall. I couldn't bring myself to continue writing until Sunday school by which time I had enough control over myself to not need all my concentration to not break down and cry.
The second hour of church passed and I still could not hear a word anyone said. Not really. I blankly walked into the Relief Society room and sat near the back as I always did.
We sang Lead, Kindly Light.
And then there was a small, almost imperceptible, light. One I would not have seen had it not been so completely dark around me. I copied the words of the hymn in my journal, following the kindly light. For the first time in months, I felt the comforting presence that I had been seeking. I felt the conformation that the Lord had heard my prayers, had healed as much as He could at that time. Just like that I was able to ,with my light I now carried with me, find the allusive door, so obvious now, no longer shrouded in darkness. I left the heavy and despairing hall that had trapped me in.
This experience truly was a major turning point in my life. The first time I felt the healing love of my Savior. That I felt the assurance that my faith was in someone who would not leave me blind. It amazes me still that after so long searching, that in one afternoon, after one desperate plea with the tiny faith I had for just more faith, the Lord healed me like he healed the man's daughter in Mark chapter nine.
I am a different person than I was. I can look at my scriptures and not be overwhelmed by the things that I do not understand, because I see them through eyes of faith and know that I will understand all things in time. I can pray and know through faith that they are not empty words nor are they being ignored.
I understand what the phrase "change of heart" means and that from that change comes the light that we can carry to guide us through the darkest maze or corners the world may try and put us through.
I feel humble in telling my story and pray the someone will understand what I am saying, or that the Spirit can testify to you that I truly believe in Christ who is the light of our sometimes dark world.
Every night, without fail, I wake up in the night and need to go to the bathroom. From these trips I have learned things about how my cones and rods operate; things, admittedly, everyone else has probably already figured out.
I have learned that to say my eyes adjust to the dark is not true. More accurately, my eyes adjust to the dim light that is present, even in the dark of the apartment. When I reach my destination, there are no windows to let light seep around the curtains - only complete darkness.
Luckily, there is a light switch. The light is so bright that it hurts my eyes until they make the proper changes and I can see with some sense.
Getting back to my warm, soft bed is more of a challenge, however. After I turn off the bathroom light, I find myself blinded by the darkness. I take cautious steps, navigating slowly, as I will my eyes to see. I pause in the doorway to the living room and look for the soft light from the Home Depot across the street that can't penetrate our curtains, but, unperturbed, finds it's small way in above the curtains. It is so dim that some nights it is of no use at all and I still stub my toe on the door jamb in spite of all my efforts.
A couple more careful steps and I am by the doorway to the study. With no curtains here to block it, a street lamp in the parking lot does a much better job of helping me and I am able to cross the bedroom safely with a little more help from a rather bright alarm clock and slip back under the still warm sheets.
I find that this is how I often navigate through my life, carefully taking steps through the darkness in the world, searching out for those illuminating truths that testify of my Savior's love.
And sometimes, I discover something so powerful that I feel I will never be blind again, but for whatever reason, I am unable to internalize it, learn it, truly understand it, and it leaves me. In darkness that is worse than before.
At one point in my life, I found myself in a long dark hallway with no windows to help penetrate the black. In my unseeing state, I could not find the door to safety and so I paced, anxiously, back and forth.
At one of the dead ends of my hallway prison, there was a little light, so, so dim, but my only light, just the same.
Months before, just after the dark hall had trapped my spirit, I had been in Texas, working with my parents on a little house out in the woods. It was in a terrible state of disrepair when my father bought it: the floor was falling in, the popcorn was peeling off the ceiling, and the wallpaper. Well, it had wallpaper! and isn't that a tragedy in and of itself!
I became very familiar with that wallpaper as it was my job to try and peel it off. Layers and layers of the stuff, at least fifty years old once you got down to the bottom, though the stuff on top couldn't have been put on there much after the seventies. And because I had heard my father say over and over that he wanted to spend as little money as possible, I went in everyday armed only with a few scrapers.
I hated it. If any of you have done similar work, you understand why. Wallpaper is awful! But I feel it was particularly bad and more discouraging in this case because once I peeled away enough of it, what I found was not a wall of solid gold - which, again, if you have done such work you know that's the only wat it would be worth your efforts - but damaged dry wall full of holes that long remained hidden.
Eventually, frustrated, I threw down my tools, to let the house know I was not happy, and sat down on the dirty floor next to my sad pile of wallpaper scraps.
Why was I doing this? I was tedious and pointless work. Slowly, like my eyes adjusting to a little light suddenly in the dark, truth began to dawn on me. I was doing this work, a little at a time, uncovering all the wounds that the house had hid away in shame or fear for so long so that we could fix it. Fix all the holes and hurts it had. My father understood this from the beginning, that the house would need gentle care as the wallpaper came down so the carpenter could come in and fix it. Because a skilled Carpenter knows how to heal a wounded House.
This was my one light, dim and weak against the darkness that surrounded my, but I put all my trust and faith in it. I tried to peel away my wallpaper, but my hands, so clumsy at carpentry, only left me in more pain and I found I had left the safety of my little lit corner.
Every week, I listened to the testimonies of others telling me that they understood the oppressive darkness, but were able to find light in their faith in Christ, able to carry that light with them always to navigate the dark maze of the world around them. Who was I to argue that they knew it? I did too, in my own way, but that they never lost sight was something I couldn't fathom.
The darkness only got heavier as time went on. My light seemed further than ever. I could feel the weight, the pressure of so long being without relief from the blackness around me, that I was sure it was going to crush me.
All the details I remember clearly: writing in an unlined journal during my Provo sacrament meeting, not paying attention because they were speaking a language that I oculdn't understand. I remember what I was writing. Sad, hurt, angry words. I stopped my pen as they passed the sacrament and I felt my anger melt into overwhelming heartache. I poured every last hope I had into a prayer, pleading to the Father that I needed help. That I believed people who believed that the atonement could take away our illness and heal our broken hearts as well as wash away our sins. I listed the people that I believed, trusted, that knew this with certainty. I prayed, begging to believe too, that e could do something, even the tiniest thing, to relieve my pain. "'Help thou my unbelief,' Lord," I begged in the deepest and most sacred place in my heart.
I opened my eyes and my world seemed the same. No light immediately came on in my dark and stagnant hall. I couldn't bring myself to continue writing until Sunday school by which time I had enough control over myself to not need all my concentration to not break down and cry.
The second hour of church passed and I still could not hear a word anyone said. Not really. I blankly walked into the Relief Society room and sat near the back as I always did.
We sang Lead, Kindly Light.
And then there was a small, almost imperceptible, light. One I would not have seen had it not been so completely dark around me. I copied the words of the hymn in my journal, following the kindly light. For the first time in months, I felt the comforting presence that I had been seeking. I felt the conformation that the Lord had heard my prayers, had healed as much as He could at that time. Just like that I was able to ,with my light I now carried with me, find the allusive door, so obvious now, no longer shrouded in darkness. I left the heavy and despairing hall that had trapped me in.
This experience truly was a major turning point in my life. The first time I felt the healing love of my Savior. That I felt the assurance that my faith was in someone who would not leave me blind. It amazes me still that after so long searching, that in one afternoon, after one desperate plea with the tiny faith I had for just more faith, the Lord healed me like he healed the man's daughter in Mark chapter nine.
I am a different person than I was. I can look at my scriptures and not be overwhelmed by the things that I do not understand, because I see them through eyes of faith and know that I will understand all things in time. I can pray and know through faith that they are not empty words nor are they being ignored.
I understand what the phrase "change of heart" means and that from that change comes the light that we can carry to guide us through the darkest maze or corners the world may try and put us through.
I feel humble in telling my story and pray the someone will understand what I am saying, or that the Spirit can testify to you that I truly believe in Christ who is the light of our sometimes dark world.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Procrastinating
I am hungry.
I am supposed to be doing my Sociology assignment. Well, at least the lesson. I don't know that I have had any actual assignments yet. I am still waiting for some of the course material that will hopefully shed a little more light on the issue.
Goodness. I have been absolutely worthless today. I had a very weird, unsettling, and highly emotionally charged dream last night and it really has effected my day which I just think is ridiculous. But what can I do? I have tried several times to reassert myself, but all attempts just roll off my mind as I continue to be unsettled. Nothing bad has happened all day. Probably nothing will. But I can't shake the feeling.
This just leaves me amazed that the power that one's thoughts have over one's body and state of mind. These weren't even conscious thoughts that I worked hard to put into my mind. They were just there in strange pictures and a distorted story.
I also discovered as I was getting dress after my shower that I forgot to take my medicine last night. My birth control packet has the days of the week that correspond with each pill on it which usually doesn't make a huge difference to me because I just take it every night when I turn the lamp off to go to bed. Along with my birth control, I take my orange happy pill, and time without it, even just the thirty-some odd hours I just went without it has a staggering effect on my body. I can feel twitches and shifts under my scalp and my eyes have difficulty focusing.
With this in mind, and remembering the withdrawals I went through as I was getting off the Geodon in May, I cannot understand how people convince themselves that drugs are a good idea. Why one earth would you put something into your body that you are not certain you will be able to get again, and I that you know for sure is detrimental to your body. That thing that you live in all the time. That lets you see and experience the world around you. Why?
Anyway. I think I will try to reassert myself again to my homework and wait just a little little for David to come home so that I can eat. Chipotle here we come.
Eventually.
I am supposed to be doing my Sociology assignment. Well, at least the lesson. I don't know that I have had any actual assignments yet. I am still waiting for some of the course material that will hopefully shed a little more light on the issue.
Goodness. I have been absolutely worthless today. I had a very weird, unsettling, and highly emotionally charged dream last night and it really has effected my day which I just think is ridiculous. But what can I do? I have tried several times to reassert myself, but all attempts just roll off my mind as I continue to be unsettled. Nothing bad has happened all day. Probably nothing will. But I can't shake the feeling.
This just leaves me amazed that the power that one's thoughts have over one's body and state of mind. These weren't even conscious thoughts that I worked hard to put into my mind. They were just there in strange pictures and a distorted story.
I also discovered as I was getting dress after my shower that I forgot to take my medicine last night. My birth control packet has the days of the week that correspond with each pill on it which usually doesn't make a huge difference to me because I just take it every night when I turn the lamp off to go to bed. Along with my birth control, I take my orange happy pill, and time without it, even just the thirty-some odd hours I just went without it has a staggering effect on my body. I can feel twitches and shifts under my scalp and my eyes have difficulty focusing.
With this in mind, and remembering the withdrawals I went through as I was getting off the Geodon in May, I cannot understand how people convince themselves that drugs are a good idea. Why one earth would you put something into your body that you are not certain you will be able to get again, and I that you know for sure is detrimental to your body. That thing that you live in all the time. That lets you see and experience the world around you. Why?
Anyway. I think I will try to reassert myself again to my homework and wait just a little little for David to come home so that I can eat. Chipotle here we come.
Eventually.
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