Happiness is Five Different Crayons

Happiness is climbing a tree

Or in other words, "I can do hard things"

Do you remember that? Julie Beck talked about it in conference a few years back. She talked about a group of youth who had taken this on as their motto, and the thing is, that group of youth was from a ward in Minnesota, and it included my little sister. Who just put her mission papers in. And during that process she asked "People just tell me a mission is hard, but its worth it. ...So what is it you people aren't telling me about a mission?? I don't know what to expect!! Its driving me crazy"

Well little sis, none of us really want to send you out there unprepared, and we want even less for you to go crazy (especially know the genetic predisposition for crazy that runs in the human family) So here's a bit of what we aren't telling you.

Remember when we were trying to climb that tree in my front yard? You know, the one that looks perfect for climbing right up until you stand next to it and try to put your arms around one of those first branches, and suddenly you realize its just a little bit too high and the branch is just a little too big to get a good grip on and we never really had the upper body strength to pull ourselves up anyways? Plus who knows if you'll get splinters or fall down and break an arm. except we kept trying to climb it anyways, because there is nothing quite like the feeling of sitting in the branches of a tree. Yeah. Remember that.

Remember what its like to have a dear friend, someone that you can talk to about the most important things in your life and that you have sacrificed for and prayed for and really just loved. Now remember what its like when that friend suddenly abandons you and the things that you love, and not only do you wonder if you'll ever get to have that same connection again, you wonder if you'll even see them again and you worry about the part of you they took away with them, what they will do with it. And remember what its like when that friend chooses not to abandon you, and they stay close and make wonderful decisions, and the only reason you ever grow apart is because you have both grown and made good choices and taken good paths, and while you might not ever be close again, you know that they are taking good care of the part of you that you gave them.

Once or twice or millions of "upon a times" there was an MTC district that was super close. Normal people don't spend 10 weeks in a 14x14 room with 12 people and end up hating them all. You may clash with one or two of them, but by the second week you will suddenly find yourself with all new best friends. In my district there was an Elder that put up with me particularly well. You see, I have a tendency to make what he called "smart ass" comments during classes and discussions. If you've ever sat with me during Relief Society you'll know exactly what he means. But we sat next to each other for 10 weeks, 14 hours a day, meals and meetings and phone center times included. My companion was on my left and Elder Corey on my right and he not only endured the running commentary, he enjoyed it. And he commented back. We tried very hard to not be disruptive. We even made the comments in French when we could. But those of you who have spent time in the MTC know about disruption and reverence. By the end of those 10 weeks we had a pretty solid friendship. And then we went to different areas of the mission and we never served together again. We ran into each other in a train station once, and he told me that his left ear felt empty with out a constant stream of sarcasm, scriptures, and generally apocryphal stories. And we laughed over it and shared a great moment and went back to being missionaries. And we never really saw each other again. Until a couple weeks ago. 12 years later. When I missed my ward because of choir and so I attended the ward that meets right after mine, and while hiding in the back of the chapel, this bald guy with a beard approached me in a sort of formal manner and addressed me as "Sister Pratt". I seriously thought I was in trouble. I mean, he came from the direction of the bishops office and he carried himself like a ward clerk of some sort. Imagine my shock when, after I replied "Yes" he said "I was sure you would have some sort of a comeback for me". And he identified himself as Elder Corey (and he pointed out that he had changed his hair) and I just couldn't even contain myself and I jumped up and hugged him (how often do I do that?) and then we talked for a few minutes on the highlights of the last ten years. I showed him my MoTab nametag and he showed me his wife and daughter and pointed out that they were expecting again sometime in the next week and we discovered that he literally lives two blocks from me. And then that was it. The only real distance was the 12 years. Our circumstances had changed and with them we had a bit as well. But the really important parts of us, the parts that we knew best and loved and respected best, those are still there, and there wasn't anything else to say. I sat behind him at stake conference and made faces at his daughter, but I have gotten better at keeping the commentary to myself. I met his wife and chatted with her for a moment. I'm not sure that she would really get it if I told her how much I love her husband, so I was tactful and told her that he was awesome. The world that we live in tries to pervert the whole friendship thing into something inappropriate, and so you have to be oh so careful. I hate that we aren't really allowed to be friends with people on a deep and spiritual level without someone questioning what else is there. Look at what they have done to David and Jonathan. They are a scriptural standard for friendship and yet activist groups have attempted to place sexual overtones into their story in order to justify certain behaviors. It kind of makes me sick. So rather than standing there expounding on my love for the kid I sat next to for 10 weeks, I stepped back, expressed a socially appropriate level of admiration, and wished her all the best. And I really felt that whole Dr Seuss quote, where you don't cry because its over, you smile because it happened. And I'm pretty sure that Elder Corey felt that too, because he just smiled and walked away at the same time as I did.

The thing is, as a missionary, you are blessed with an ability to love people pretty unconditionally. That closeness comes from sharing the gospel, whether or not you share anything else at all. But its not socially acceptable to only ever talk about the gospel, and so it seems like distance grows when the important things have never changed. Like my love for a wrestler and a filmmaker, two elders that I have absolutely nothing in common with except for a few months and a French family and one chemically altered blueberry pie. And you feel that love for people that reject you and your message outright as well. There was a woman that we were teaching for weeks and months on end who, due to cultural and familial circumstances one day about a week before her baptism stopped me in the hall at church and tore me and the message to pieces. She accused me of lying to her, of attempting to draw her into a satanic cult, and of only wanting money and control. Her face and name are burned into my mind, and I still tear up a little when I think of all that she gave up because she didn't trust that love. I don't hate her for the things she said to me and about me. I ache for her and I hope that at her final judgement I will have the opportunity to be a witness and defense and even an advocate for all that she must have gone through. I don't want to roast her, I want her to have another chance. Hatred would be an easier thing to feel than sorrow for friendship lost.

There are a whole lot of people that I love like that now. CS Lewis talks about friendship (in his book "The Four Loves") and he points out that friendship is perhaps the love which distinguishes us most from and above animals and plants. It is natural to love your maker, and instinctive to feel a sexual love, and familial love is born of survival and commandment. But friendship does not have to be commanded or inspired by hormone and evolution. True friendship is the frosting on the cake. It is born out of sharing something, a common interest or frustration, and it becomes a kind of acceptance that is effortlesss because there is an understanding. And we still have choices to make when offenses are perceived, but in a great friendship there is understanding which reaches beyond those offenses. Sometimes distances crop up, but in friendship those distances don't diminish the love that is felt. Truman Madsen described them once as fires, that burn brightly and keep us warm for a time, and yet we continue moving forward, and sometimes the fires stay with us a while, and sometimes they are just distant lights on the horizon, but they each serve a function. They show us where we have been and where we are going and they serve as light and warmth and comfort as they go. The love that is there does not change as we travel. It may grow brighter or more dim, but its very nature is good and eternal. And each light is an offering and each friend chooses whether to make an offering and whether to accept yours. As a regular person it is easy to choose to stop offering once your has been rejected. But as a missionary you don't make that choice. As a missionary you continue to offer love and light despite the rejection. So you either connect on a powerful and spiritual level, or you feel that pain of rejection, and the spirit that you feel as a missionary won't allow you to hate someone that you have come to love and value, so rather than replacing the friendship with resentment, you feel a measure of the emptiness and sorrow that Father in Heaven feels when the children that He loves reject Him. But, when that light and love is accepted, you feel a measure of the love and joy that Heavenly Father feels when one of His children comes home.

So be prepared to do hard things. Climb a tree. Love people whether or not they love you back. Enjoy the blessings that come from true friendship and treasure the tears that are spilled over your ability to love unbound by whether or not the love is returned. After all, that is the definition of true charity. It is not conditioned on anything that this world values, not on loyalty or sex or security. There is no return policy. And there is no expiration date.

Oh yeah, and just because we didn't manage to climb the tree in my front yard doesn't mean you won't manage this one. After all, this one is more important, and so you get extra help. Besides, maybe by the time you get back, I'll have nailed a couple of boards to the trunk to help us out.

I'm Back

School's out, I have returned to full time work, and I successfully completed the 4 months of MoTab training school. All this means that I have returned to a less frantic existence. There was about a month in there when it seemed like I was booked solid every day from 6 am through 11 pm. Between writing papers for school and doing homework for choir school and trying to be nice to people at work in between and desperately attempting to make healthy food rather than resorting to burger kings dollar menu every day, I not only haven't had time to write, I haven't had any desire to. Now that I have been recovering for a month I have things to write about again and intend to return to this. I make no promises though, because it seems like its taking me a while even to get this short update posted. Ah well, time will tell. In the meanwhile, please enjoy this poem by John Donne that has become my favorite thing lately.

A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST
GOING INTO GERMANY.

IN what torn ship so ever I embark,
That ship shall be my emblem of Thy ark ;
What sea soever swallow me, that flood
Shall be to me an emblem of Thy blood ;
Though Thou with clouds of anger do disguise
Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes,
Which, though they turn away sometimes,
They never will despise.

I sacrifice this island unto Thee,
And all whom I love there, and who loved me ;
When I have put our seas 'twixt them and me,
Put thou Thy seas betwixt my sins and Thee.
As the tree's sap doth seek the root below
In winter, in my winter now I go,
Where none but Thee, the eternal root
Of true love, I may know.

Nor Thou nor Thy religion dost control
The amorousness of an harmonious soul ;
But Thou wouldst have that love Thyself ; as Thou
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now ;
Thou lovest not, till from loving more Thou free
My soul ; Who ever gives, takes liberty ;
Oh, if Thou carest not whom I love,
Alas ! Thou lovest not me.

Seal then this bill of my divorce to all,
On whom those fainter beams of love did fall ;
Marry those loves, which in youth scatter'd be
On fame, wit, hopes—false mistresses—to Thee.
Churches are best for prayer, that have least light ;
To see God only, I go out of sight ;
And to escape stormy days, I choose
An everlasting night.

On Roommates

(A mostly boring post, but skip to the end for some fun if it gets to be too blah blah blah...)

I have mentioned it before, about the insane number of roommates I have had. My current count is 83. Seriously, thats more than worth an honorary PhD in living with people. In fact, I challenge you to find anyone that's lived with more people. That's right, I put it out there, now start counting.

But I'm not complaining. Don't think for a second that I have regrets or grievances about my roommate experiences. And just because there are a few experiences I wouldn't choose to relive doesn't mean they didn't have just as much value as those experiences I would relive. In fact, I think my top ten worst roommate experiences taught me and shaped me more as a person than the entire sum of my good roommate experiences. And now is not the time and place for me to list those things, even if many of them have been running through my head for the past couple of days. I'm not worried about any type of character defamation, since those roomies that might be offended by such a list would have no way of finding my little blog. In fact, everyone who could find this page fits into my "positive roommate experience" category. Even if I don't for them.

And that's where things get interesting. I know there are a few roommates out there that would qualify me as a "worst experience", and I apologize to them and thank them for having put up with me as I was learning and growing. I know there are roommates out there who might even put me in the "best experience" list, and I thank them for the patience they had with me and the benefit of the doubt that they gave me. And maybe I'm just a clueless person when I say that 95% are the roommates I have had are people that I would be willing to live with again, since I know that 95% of them don't feel the same way about me. But this is all becoming very statistc-y sounding, and we know how I feel about statistics. So let me say this in another way.

I have learned so much from my repertoire of people. And when I meet new people, I can easily recognize similarities to former roommates that make it easy for me to talk to them or relate to them. I know that no two people are alike, but I know there are personality traits that are common.

I wish on a strange sort of level that I could get all those roomies together and let them meet each other. And some of them would recognize "that one" or "the other one" that they have heard about. And I could say "You have to meet this one, because she taught me this, and if she hadn't, we might not have been friends". Now I know this would be truly boring for most of them. But then some of them might really like each other. And others might really hate each other. And that would make it very exciting indeed.

And all of this is coming up because as I was sitting in rehearsal tonight I was thinking about two different roommates who came at close to the same time in my life. Both of them are musicians, sopranos, that I really enjoyed connecting with. We bonded over arias and art songs and hymns and music theory troubles. But we didn't really get much of a chance to sing together. Which is probably better, knowing the diva-like tendencies of sopranos. Maybe that's why we were able to be roommates and friends. One of them is in choir with me now. I am so grateful that she is there, even if we sing in different sections and hardly see each other, there is comfort in knowing that a familiar and friendly face will wave and smile when I need it. She has my back, she'll be my friend, and she'll make fun of me only in the most loving way when I screw up. The other is gone now. We won't get to sing together and have each other's backs or wave like maniacs from across the room (even though she would have been the first one to do so, in any situation). But at the same time, I sort of get the feeling we are singing together anyways. Because if the angels sing along with any earthly choir, its the one I'm in now.

Aaand there's where I get a little too emotional. So we'll end this entry with a little fun, because making jokes is how I cope.

83 roommates also means that there aren't many roommate stunts that I haven't pulled. Think about it, the fun times in college you had, doing ridiculous things with your roommates. I don't know why more grown ups don't have fun like that. Sometimes I hear my sister talk about late night roommate experiences and I really want to say "I did that too!", but I don't want to spoil her moment to be the goofy fun college student with crazy roommate stories.

Too bad tonight, though, because I need it. I need to relive a few of the best stunts and roommate moments of my career. So here goes:

*There was the year that "Santa" brought us all leopard print bras for Christmas. I don't know how Santa managed to find all our bra sizes without going through our underwear drawers, but he did. And so we put them on (over a t-shirt, under a sweatshirt, modesty first, we were at BYU after all) and ran to all the other girls apartments and flashed them.

*Late nights at the grocery store, because of one very strange boy who had no concept of how to strike up a conversation, we spent a whole year going to food for less and buying one banana plus a bag of bulk candy, and trying to make it total $1.47. The game ended when one of us succeeded, but it was all sorts of fun while it lasted.

*Breaking into 212 in order to steal back our TV. Oh, and all of their spoons, just for retribution. Spoons, you ask? It was well reasoned. What is a college boy's main dietary staple? Cereal. Try eating captain crunch with a fork.

*Speaking of Spoons, Spoons. And people that are the best at spoons. Or spooning. And sentence to picture. and coming home to general conference reruns on a movie sized screen at 2am.

*J, the narcoleptic friend, who fell asleep on the stairs, mid-race to the kitchen for ice cream. I kid you not. And the story is even funnier if I could tell it to you in person, because it involves the words "Thunk thunk thunk"

*Spiders that drop from the ceiling. Not fun initially, but the retelling involves all sorts of jumping and screaming. It never gets old.

* Mattress sliding.

* Only the greatest Roomie "Road Trip" of all time, ten days in Paris.

* The Bern-mobile, and wondering if a geo metro could make it up some of those hills in Provo. Good thing it was a stick shift.

* Remember when he said "I'm reading a book that night"? Yeah, that's still burnt into my memory. What would I have done without roomies...

* Making bread. Too much of it. And cinnamon rolls. And cookie dough. And all the late night talks that can happen with a good batch of cookie dough.

* Getting a hotel room for a weekend, even if its just in a neighboring city, for the escape.

*Facials, hair dye, boy bands, Michael Jackson's Thriller, and hairbrushes for microphones. Some things are timeless classics.

*I can think of more than a few practical jokes, involving everything from BYU catering services, Mary Kay ladies, and onions to name just a few.

* Four wheelers, farms, farm boys, and boxing gloves. Combine them for an evening.

* The time we found out I sleep walk. 'Nuff said.

* Too many bridal showers to count.

* Movie escape days. Two or three movies at the dollar theatre, some olive garden in between, and maybe some shopko candy to keep you company

* And speaking of olive garden, ordering specialty drinks like virgin strawberry daquiris when you are out with roommates.

* Or staying home and ordering in. Pizza, soda, and the 6 hour long Pride and Predjudice with Colin Firth. There is no better way to spend a reading day.

*Discovering how many hiccups it takes before a case is considered chronic. THen counting them.

*That night that "The Birds II" was on at 2:00 in the morning. And due to an inexplicable case of insomnia, we all watched it.

* Stealing particularly amusing advertisements off the walls of local community colleges.

* There was this one semester that none of the 6 of us slept in our own beds once. It was always out to the living room or camping out in one of the bedrooms. The one night someone did try to sleep in her own bed, everyone else just piled in there with her. I believe this is where the line "I'm Twisted, Sister!" originated.

*The pink mumu. And the album of pictures we filled with every member of the BYU 188th ward wearing it. As a graduation present, of course, because what makes a better memory than having picture of that one boy, the one you never got up enough nerve to ask out, wearing your Pajamas. She complained that her pajamas had been missing for the whole semester, but I'm convinced it was worth it.

* Finally, last but not least, too many inside jokes to count. Whether they are related to TV shows or posters we had on the wall or dumb things people said, or smart things they said, taken out of context. I could spend the rest of my life laughing simply from the words I hear around me that remind me of one of those moments.

And I should spend the rest of my life laughing. Because like I said, who else in the whole wide world has been lucky enough to have 83 roommates? 83 insane, smart, clever, funny, admirable, strong, beautiful, cocky, catty, trying, terrifying, sassy, amazing, admirable, wonderful witnesses to my failures and successes.

I'm pretty sure it's just me.

The Voices in my Head, Part Two: Confessions- in which I allow a few of the less prominent voices speak their mind

(It's spring break. I have a couple of midterms and a paper to get through, but while I am enjoying a week out of classes and working full time instead, I thought it would be a good time to let the writing take over. All sorts of my own thought come into my head when I'm working full time instead of listening to professors thoughts all day long)

... I was texting to a friend today about getting through the afternoon, and I mentioned the power that a little Dr Pepper and Neil Diamond can have on the 3:00 drearies. He didn't text back for a while, and I got nervous. I realized that in the 15 or so years that I have known this fellow musician, I have never admitted my love for Neil Diamond, and I got worried. Ashamed. Why have I hidden it all these years? Is it really such a terrible thing, to enjoy a little "Forever in Blue Jeans"?

(Train of thought derailment: my roommate has decided to come in and chat at me while I type this, very difficult to focus. I want to be kind. I really do like her, but sometimes she just babbles on and on.)

Anyways, the text conversation went basically like this:

Me:I can only do this job when there is an end in sight. Also, Dr Pepper and Neil Diamond help the afternoon fly by.

Friend:Neil Diamond???

Me: Sadly, Yes. A childhood staple. Cracklin' Rosie and Song Sung Blue.

.... One hour passes with no response...

Me: Can you still be my friend knowing that? You can always blame my character flaws on my parents. I know I do. :)

Friend: FOFLOL! Actually I love Neil...

(Train of thought derailment part two. Roomie has decided to fill out the Census. At 11:00 at night. She is asking me questions.)

The Neil conversation continued from there. About certain songs and albums. But my initial reaction to the whole situation (that of shame or hesitation) had me wondering. What other quirks do I have that the Committee Chairperson in my head squashes with a sense of guilt or pride or shame? Committee Chairperson (as mentioned in my previous post about voices in my head) is ruled by hymns and poetry. Committee Chairperson is sensible and would probably drive a sedan. Committee Chairperson wants nothing to do with Neil Diamond. Or Celine Dion. Now that the voice who directly opposes the chairperson has spoken out (and perhaps we should call him "Neil"), will others be so brave?

Anyone? Beuller?

Ah. There we go. A hand in the back of the room.
Oh look at that. It's Suzy Homemaker. We heard about her a little before. Suzy? What have you got to share?

I like pink. It can be done tastefully you know. Particularly as an accent color. And I don't care what psychologists say about gender stereotypes, little baby girls should wear little baby girl colors and little baby boys should wear little baby boy colors. Its not just about giving a child a clean slate, its also about teaching them social expectations and giving them a template to draw from. They can make their own choices, but they need to know what they are choosing when they do.

Alright, Thank you Suzy. Every fiber of my academic being and every fiber of my women's libber disagrees with you. But I suppose you are a part of this team too.

And speaking of women's libber, it looks like "Libby" has taken the opportunity to control the floor. She may wear a lot of camo, but she certainly does have a way of standing out when she is allowed to.

"I hate the fact that women get paid less than men for doing the same jobs in our society. More than that I hate the fact that so called "pink collar" jobs are as undervalued as they are. And mocked. Seriously, I would love to see some jerk of a CEO try and handle 8 babies for an afternoon. Don't whine at me about balancing millions of dollars or making sure you sell more wheaties than the next guy. Change 8 diapers, make 8 bottles, feed the children 2-3 at a time and get them all down for naps, then start over again all without ever sitting down or having a grown up conversation. That's right, Jerk, you wouldn't last 10 minutes in a "pink collar" job."

OK, well, Libby does tend to get angry. But you can see why that might be coming out this week. Lets see if we can change the tone a bit.

(Train of thought back on track- Roomie finished the census and went to bed. Thank goodness it wasn't the long form.)

Perhaps we should limit the voices to a few words, rather than letting them spew bitter diatribes. Let's move this along. Neil, did you want to jump in for a moment?

"I want to buy a Red car. Not sensible red. Cherry red. And fast. And fun. Like a Mustang."

Thank you Neil.

"Also, I happen to like Celine Dion. And sometimes I sing along with her. Especially that one album, you know, from our Junior year of college. With "Because you Loved Me" on it."

Alright Neil, maybe you have overshared. Insecure girl, did you have something to say, I couldn't tell if you were raising your hand or checking your hair... and what's your actually name? We always just call you "insecure girl".

"Um, yes, my name is Heidi and, um, well, speaking of Celine Dion, there was that guy from our junior year that used to serenade us with that song. I'm still wondering if he was interested in us and we were just clueless. Because how colossally stupid were we to let that one go..."

Which guy? Oh yes, the 6'4" pre-med Puerto Riccan with the luxurious locks of curly hair... Yeah, we all still wonder about him. I believe we have made him the responsibility of "Suppression Sarah"

"Luis"

Thank you, Suppression Sarah. Now please go tend to that... Oh wait, you have a few things to add? Well I suppose, make it quick.

"I like conforming."

Huh?

"It makes my job easier, when we conform there is more to suppress immediately, but less to suppress in the long run. Conformity is relaxing. It's vacation."

OK then, Sarah, that is something for us to consider. Although clearly allowing this conversation at all is a less than conformist approach.

"Well, that's why I brought it up."

Hmmm, it's true. We can't let this go on for too long. Perhaps we have time for just one more confession before we head to bed. Let's see who has something to say...

Ah yes, Marsha, Mistress of Chaos, you rarely get a voice. One final thought for the night?

"I feel pretty balanced right now. You know how usually the car is a mess if the bedroom is clean and the bedroom is a mess if the car is clean? Yeah. Its about equilibrium. The kitchen is spotless, the living room is ordered, the car is carrying everything I need for the crazy days I have and the bedroom, well, its time to focus on some laundry. Its balanced though. So I'm not complaining. Chaos often begets creativity. You need that too. But once the inspiration is there, we have a clean and quiet place to work. And while we were frustrated at having to work full time through spring break, it feels good to turn the brain off of papers and tests and focus on silly things for a bit. Especially knowing that next week we can return to school and listen to other peoples thoughts for a few more weeks. It's balanced."

Thank you Marsha. I'm glad we got to end on a positive note.

Good night everybody!

(Insert Walton's "good night john boy" conversation here, using committee members names and titles.)

Excuse me for a moment while I indulge in intellectual snobbery...

I see dumb people. I hear dumb people. I talk to dumb people. I'm so tired of dumb people.

I'm sorry dumb people. I'm sure you are nice. I'm sure you have sweet spirits. I'm sure you have pretty faces. I'm just not sure I have the energy to be your friend right now. It's not me, it's you.


It's an Alton Brown night.

(sorry guys, I thought this posted then it didn't also, this is definitely not directed at anyone I know on here, it's directed at people that I see every single day. They don't have access to this)

More FYI tidbits

Here's some general communication. As of right now, the plan for sunday morning is that you should watch for me as the amazon woman smack dab in the middle of the very back row. It's a lonely place, with no voices behind me, a different voice part to my right, and a sweet but very quiet lady on my left. But it seems to be where I have always and forever stood in a choir. I had hopes of being shorter than at least someone this time, but alas, it's just not meant to be. Maybe on the 21st... Or else during the sat am session of conference. Then again, it could even change again on Sunday morning.