Monday, November 30, 2009

Ranting

Today I am blogging to tell everyone that I am doing my chemistry homework an d so people will get off my back about blogging Aka Angela and Laura. The end

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Thanksgiving.. not yet

Now, I'd really like to write a blog about all the people that are special to me, and I will this week, and i would start tonight if I didn't have something funny in mind for tonight. We had a ward talent show tonight, and although I had originally planned on performing, it didn't get planed well enough so I was going to do anything. But a girl in my ward said she had a really funny poem that she wanted read and that I had the perfect voice to do it. So here it is.

The Bird



The Sun was shining brightly
And I could hardly wait
To ponder out my window
And gaze at my estate.

The wind was blowing briskly
It made the flowers sway
The garden was enchanting
on this inspiring day.

I chanced upon a birdie
with a beautiful yellow bill-
I beckoned him to come to me
and lite upon my sill.

I lured him to the window
and fed him crusts of bread.
And then I quickly shut it
and smashed his little head.


Anyways, I thought that was pretty funny. Stay tuned for my next awesome posts.

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Church, here and there

I found this talk during my Book of Mormon class this week from Elder Ballard and I really liked it.
He reads a letter from a sister missionary in Argentina as she compares the church there to the church in the states.

Small and Simple Things

To illustrate, let me read from a letter written by one of our faithful sister missionaries, serving in South America, to her brother who had just received his mission call. She wrote:

“It’s really interesting with the people from the country—they are so quiet, timid, shy, and embarrassed. You are never sure exactly how much they understand. They will live and die in this small town. They are so poor and so simple and so childlike. They may never see a General Authority, never attend general conference, never go to BYU. They’ll never be Boy Scouts, never play basketball in a huge Church gym, never drive a car to stake conference, regional basketball finals, or anywhere. Many of the things we think about when we think of the Church—and take for granted—they may never see. [Now, the point.] But they have faith, they repent, they are baptized, they receive the Holy Ghost, and they renew their baptismal covenants each week when they partake of the sacrament. They pray and read the scriptures daily. They know God lives and that Christ is our Savior. And, I believe, they are going to the celestial kingdom. I do all the things they never will, but I’m not so sure about my own salvation.

“At first glance, the Church here looks absolutely nothing like the Church in downtown Orem, Utah. I have to keep reminding myself it is the same church and we all follow the same prophet. We have a sacrament meeting in the country each week because the members there really can’t afford to come into town. And as I sit there outside on a wooden chair on the plain ground, with the sun setting and the six people in attendance, as we sing hymns, pray, and partake of the sacrament, I wonder if that isn’t closer to Christ’s church than at home. But I guess it is really the same. The things that matter, the true elements of the gospel as Christ taught in 3 Nephi 11, are the same here as they are in Orem, Utah.” [3 Ne. 11]

The Lord has graciously provided the means for conversion even in the most simple and humble of circumstances. Unfortunately, some of us look beyond the mark and depend too much on buildings, budgets, programs, and activities for conversion rather than on the small and simple things that are central to the gospel. We need not look beyond our own hearts to experience the sweet spiritual feelings promised to those who obey God. That is why a new member in the most humble conditions can experience the gospel as deeply as a lifetime member who was raised in the shadow of Church headquarters.



I experienced what that Sister was saying firsthand, it was something I thought alot about. But I really just liked what she said about finding conversion and faith the way it should be done, through small and simple means. Reflecting on this helps me to see that all of the church programs are a mean to the same end, meaning that they all try to point us heavenward and develop greater faith to God.
I love the church and I'm thankful for the influence the church has had on me, not just throughout my whole life, but especially while I was in Argentina and became wholly converted to the gospel.

Monday, November 9, 2009

The Race

My roomate shared this poem with my FHE family last week and I really liked it. I'd like to share it.

The Race

by D. H. Groberg

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”

But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”

He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”

So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.

Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.

But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.

And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.

For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”


I really liked this. Life gets hard sometimes, and if we just keep getting back up, We'll finish the race.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Thoughts


November is upon us all. Time is flying by and all I can do is chase the plane.
Anyways, Life is good i think. Another deluge of midterms are over, but I'm only in the calm before another storm. I've had alot on my mind lately. School, work, relationships, among other things. I'm getting through it all, but I do feel overwhelmed sometimes. I'm really thankful for my parents. They are not only the best people in the world, but they are so loving and helpful. Without them, I'd be so lost. I'm also really thankful for my sisters, they mean alot to me.

Megann posted something really special on her blog that I think is applicable to everyone. I love my brother Ben very much. This entry is really all about him. It goes like this:

Welcome to Holland
by Emily Perl Kingsley



I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go.
Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland.""Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.



Now I know I don't have children, although someday I will, this story really touched me. I'm so thankful for what I do have, and I thank God for the experiences I have which shape who I am. My only hope as I struggle through school, relationships, fears and difficulties, My LIFE, is that I can enjoy the journey and find joy in Holland. Because I can be happy there.