...feeling the pure love of Christ.

It’s really an indescribable feeling. Sometimes for me it feels like a “burning in the bosom” or a “fire in my chest” other times I simply find my eyes filled with tears. When I’m really feeling it the most, feeling like my entire chest is about to explode from the swellings of my heart, I find I just want to put my arms around everyone I see, hug them, and never let go. I want them to really feel how much I love them—I’ve even done it to perfect strangers.
In the April ’09 General Conference Elder Todd Christofferson spoke of this love in his talk The Power of Covenants. “It is by the Holy Ghost in you that others may feel the pure love of Christ and receive strength to press forward.” (emphasis added)
The past few weeks, with our ward putting Elder Ballard’s 21 day promise to the test, this quote and its implications have once again come to the forefront of my mind. As I’ve prayed each day for my friends and loved ones, I’ve prayed they would feel of our Savior’s love, that they’d have a desire to come closer to him, to repent, and to experience the true joy of the gospel of Christ.
I’ve felt so strongly that this phrase from Elder Christofferson is a reminder of how I must be more valiant, more conscious of working to have the Savior in my life. How can I help others to feel of God’s love if I am not living worthy to have the Holy Ghost and therefore help others to feel the love of Christ? How can else can I help them to have the desire to have the light and love of Christ in their life--light and love that I need… that I must have so that they can see it… then want it... then work to have it.
“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14-16)
It is the Holy Ghost that lies within each of us that allows others to feel of the pure love of Christ. It is this love that gives confidence and instills faith and hope. These are the tools available to all of us as we enlist in the fight to press forward, to engage that perfect brightness of hope, and to come unto Christ once again.
There’s just something about feeling the pure love of Christ.

...someone who would desert a dessert in the desert.

It came to my attention today that the English language is once again just plain weird. Did you know that desert, desert, and dessert are all the same word yet totally different?

desert - a landscape or region that receives very little precipitation

desert - abandon: leave someone who needs or counts on you; leave in the lurch; "The mother deserted her children"

dessert - a course that typically comes at the end of a meal

I knew the difference between spelling the place desert and wanting some dessert (cause who doesn’t want seconds (you know, two “s’s”) but deserting dessert? And I’m not talking about a sand cheesecake…

Huh.

There’s just something about someone who would desert a dessert in the desert.

...wearing an extra long shirt.

I had a softball game last night, the first of the season. We hadn’t received our shirts yet, so I wore an old jersey with an extra long shirt under it, you know, so I can change into my new shirt w/out flashing anyone, and a pair of my favorite new Capri’s. Favorite because they have such a great light weight fabric that is both strong (in case I have to slide) and comfortable (for running, bending, stretching for the ball… you get the drift).

So, I’m playing away, minding my business and I keep feeling this draft in the zipper area of my pants. I checked it probably five or six times, but it was always zipped up, so I chalk it up to the breezy light-weight fabric and kept going. Then, about the second or third inning a grounder came my way, I went to scoop it up and run for the base and that’s when I heard it:

Rrrrrrrip

HUH?!? For real? I reach down and feel near my zipper, but it’s still up. That’s when I feel it, right NEXT to the zipper… the now 3 inch hole where the stitching either didn’t catch or has now come apart and all of my running, bending and stretching for the ball is only helping to make the seam unravel more quickly.

I pull my EXTRA LONG SHIRT down and keep on playing.

Internal dialog: I'm glad I have this shirt on.

3 outs… I head for the dugout. I go off to a corner, lift up my shirt and discover that 3 inches has now become 4 and I have no pins or any way to stop it from unraveling more. I quickly pull my shirt back down, let out a panicked giggle and pray for quick innings.

Internal dialog: I'm SO glad I have this shirt on.

Fourth inning. Several plays to first later, I hear it again:

Rrrrrrrip

More nervous laughter.

3 outs… back to the dugout. 6 inches. (yes, I’m serious… no, I’m not exaggerating). Now not only has it pulled completely away from the zipper, but is now TEARING down my right leg. I can’t keep it to myself any longer and flash the hole to a couple of girls on the team…

“Check this out! Can you believe this?!?”

Loud laughter from all who see.

"It's a good thing you have that long shirt on underneath."

More innings. More at bats. More of the sound that has become worse than fingernails on a chalkboard:

Rrrrrrip

Internal dialog: I am SO SO glad I have this shirt on.

I finally make it home and check out the damage in the mirror… the tear in my pants has extended an additional 5-6 inches from the bottom of my zipper, down my right leg and is a good 2 inches LOWER than the crotch of my pants.

There’s just something about wearing an extra long shirt.

finding out who Santa REALLY is...

The oldest of my nieces and nephews is my nine year-old niece, Saige. She cornered me on Christmas Eve at my Mom's house.

"Ang, is there really a Santa Clause?"
"Well, what do you think?"
"No."
"Why do you think that?"
"My Mom said so."

I admit I wasn't totally surprised as she'd tried to ask the same question the week before. So, I'd been trying desperately to think of how to answer her. On the drive up to my parents I thought of several different ways I could answer her. I knew she desperately wanted to believe that there was a fat old man who lived at the North Pole with his magic elves and reindeer who could deliver presents to all the children in the entire world. I wanted her to keep believing as well. I wanted her to maintain her innocence for as long as possible, to believe in the magic of Santa and all that he represents.

I remembered a story in a book I read once, about a child asking his Aunt the same question, if she believed in Santa. She, being much wiser than I, saw a flag blowing in the distance and asked him what it meant to him, what he thought of when he saw the flag. And went on to explain to him how Santa is like the flag of Christmas, how it represents an ideal.

I tried to use the same explanation for Saige, but I could see in her eyes that it was simply not working. I decided I had to get real with Saige, and I told her something personal, something real, something from ME.

I told her how just a few nights earlier I'd come home from a dinner party with some friends, and how on my door step was a bag with some presents inside. All the tags on the presents said the same thing, "To: Ang, From: Santa". I told her how inside were two wrapped gifts and a gift bag, and that inside the gift bag were several gift cards for gas and groceries and a few other fun things. I explained that not having a job right now was really scary for me and I wasn't sure how I was going to get money to pay all my bills.

I told her that somewhere there was a someone who knew I was going through a hard time and who cared about me and wanted to help me. Not only did they want to help, but they didn't want me to know who was helping me. I told her THAT is what Santa represented. How just as she believed that the flag stood for freedom, that Santa represented love and giving and all that is good inside of people.

Then I explained that maybe Santa wasn't a fat man who lived with elves at the North Pole, but that Santa was real. Santa might be her Mom or Dad, Grandma or Grandpa, or it might even be her. That as long as there was people in the world who were loving and kind and thoughtful that Santa would exist.

I have no idea who my Santa was this Christmas, but I know that I'm grateful. How I pray that He who is the Giver of ALL things will bless them for their sacrifice, for their kindness, for their love. So, Santa, whoever you are, thank you, from both me and from Saige.

There's just something about finding out who Santa REALLY is.

being forced to make a change...

I am currently being forced to make a change. Several actually. Anyone who knows me knows there are a few things I simple to NOT like:
1- Being told/forced to do something.
2-Change.
3-Uncertainty.

About a month ago I was laid off from a job I loved that I had been doing for just over seven years. (Now, when I say "loved" I mean that I enjoyed the people I worked with and felt as though I was making a difference in the world and that I helped promote a cause I believe in.)
Now, for the first time since I was eight years old (yes, eight) I find myself unemployed. No job. No direction. No set schedule.

Forced change.

Uncertainty.


I have learned so much during the past month, about myself, about things I need to change.

1-I have found the whole series of events both freeing and stressful. Freeing because I can do whatever I want with my days, no schedule, no accountability to anyone. Stressful because I have no schedule, no accountability to anyone.

2-I've been telling myself for years that I'm a people person, that I get energy from being around others. Honestly, I thought it was a line I was telling myself because of the necessity to be around people. I'd often come home so tired at the end of the day that I really thought that people drained me.. you know, actually being NICE to people. So, the lesson I learned: I really am a people person and really do get energy and motivation from being around other people. When my roommate is home studying, I get more done. It's almost magical how much better I can concentrate. When I'm around people, I can hardly stop talking, just blabbing on and on. PLUS, I'm funnier. I know, it's hard to believe, but I think because I spend a limited time with actual people that my best material just flows out effortlessly.

3- I prefer going to the temple in the middle of the day in the middle of the week.

4- I am a ridiculous procrastinator.

5- I am afraid of more things than I ever knew.

6- I am strongly motivated by fear.

7- I am stronger than I realized.

I plan on taking that last lesson and putting it to the test. I’m not a fan of change, but now that I’m faced with it, I’ll be it’s fiercest ally. I’ll find whatever it is that God has in store for me, I’ll accept the challenge and even if it scares the crap out of me, I’ll conquer it. THAT is my new resolution, my new challenge.

There’s just something about being forced to make a change.

...making a commitment.

I have commitment issues.

I know, shocker.

How is it possible a fabulous 33 year old girl (cause I can't quite get myself to type "woman." It's like when someone calls you "Ma'am" or "Lady" as in "That lady helped me" it made me feel old when I was 18, it makes me feel worse now.)

How is it possible that I could be single and 33 and not have commitment issues?

Case in point, this blog. Notice the last time I posted? August. August 26. Officially 2 1/2 months ago. People meet and get married in shorter time. (Clearly, not people with commitment issues.)

So, as I was looking over the blogs of my fabulous friends, I realized that this is a commitment I should keep. I started it, I should finish it.

My dad has a saying: "If not me, who? If not now, when?"

I've decided I need to reinstate that mantra BACK into my life. Mostly because if I can't keep commitments I make to myself, (going to bed, going to the gym, reading my scriptures, staying within my budget) how do I expect to be able to keep commitments to anyone else? Or have I just been putting myself at the bottom of my priority list? Have I been keeping commitments to everyone else before keeping commitments to myself?

So here's the great experiment. I commit to blog again by Sunday. I suppose if I can't commit to blogging for myself, perhaps I can commit to blogging because I'm committing to all of you, my friends. (Wow, just typing this, putting it out there, scary, I've nearly deleted five times... cause if I say this, I really have to do it.)

It's just one step.

One step in a direction I need to go in. Making commitments…because I want to be able to post one day about KEEPING commitments. Scary.

There's just something about making a commitment.

...watching the sunset somewhere you've never been before.

About ten days ago, I decided I'd had it with my life and I needed a break. I just needed to "get outta town." Generally, that means I head to my parents house and chill, but somehow, even the four hour drive didn't feel far enough. So, as I pondered about where I should go and what I needed to do for my escape I decided I'd take advantage of an offer from my friend's, the Wright's, and head to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. Woodstock to be exact.

WOW! I LOVE THAT PLACE!

Seriously, if I weren't so attached to my family, and such a cry baby about needing to go to Idaho every few weeks (...and well, not so attached to my job, let's face it.) I'd move there in a HEART BEAT!

The first night I was there, Kodi and I were driving back from somewhere.. (funny I can't think of where right now)...and the sunset was simply breath taking. Colors splashed across the sky in a way that no picture or painting could ever capture. Then the moon rose, big and full and bright orange. There was this quiet stillness all over the valley that even with four kids in the back seat you could just FEEL. All I could say to Kodi was, "Just look at that sunset."

The next night, we were driving back to the house after my tour of some of the most beautiful homes EVER (.. I heart the River'd Inn..).. and there it was again, this amazing sunset, the enormous moon, the calming, peaceful feeling. I was again, taken back and nearly speechless and once more, my only words were, "Just look at that sunset."

I do actually notice sunsets all the time, and often take a moment or two just to enjoy them, but there was just something about the sunset there, in Woodstock, a place I'd only read about, that made me pause, REALLY pause and feel the peace that comes at sunset. A sunset that actually stopped me from talking not just out loud, but caused my brain to just stop, slow down, and take in it's calm.

I think that's the thing I really wanted to escape from, the noise in my head. It took a sunset somewhere I'd never been before-- to get the quiet, the peace, my soul had been longing for.

There's just something about watching the sunset somewhere you've never been before.