Listening-ish

Today, three little Sunbeam girls took turns listening and not listening to me as I talked about the Holy Ghost. Sudden whispers, stories, and songs would catch their attention, but soon they'd be off again, laying on the floor or asking for fruit snacks or running around singing, "La, la, la."

Nevertheless, I believe in the power of the innocence of little children. Their sensitivity to spiritual things is simply coupled with the hilarity of young life--for example, a story from stake conference a couple weeks ago:

Five-year-old girl talking to her mom after a friend's birthday party: "The party was fine. There was cake, but no ice cream."

The mother expresses her condolences.

"It's okay," the little girl goes on. "I prayed, and Heavenly Father sent the Spirit. But I didn't want the Spirit, I wanted ice cream!"

Sometimes we are Sunbeams, sometimes we are little kids wanting ice cream. Still, I know that just as the Spirit can guide these youngsters, He guides us as we listen and pray. There is comfort to be had, a friend to be had, when we seek for the Holy Ghost's presence. We just have to stop running around and stop fixating on ice cream! Then we will hear whispers--and then we will know that those whispers came from Him.

Mild-ish

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's new Mormon Message has made me think.

It's made me think about how on February 22nd, 2010, I almost died. But I didn't. And, miraculously, my body has had scarce a problem since.

My mind, however, did not come away unscarred.

I think of December of that year, during Christmas break. One day, it was just there: a lethargy that came over me; a lowered spirit; a tendency to sadness or apathy. I didn't know what it was, or why I felt that way. One day it was just there.

Things got worse. At night, after I'd gone to school, seen my friends, and talked to my family, it would leap and then press upon me with a force I could not stand with only my fifteen-year-old self as a shield. Thoughts ran ruts deep into my brain; they would play on repeat without the slightest goading. You should have died. No one would have cared if you had died. No one needs you. You should have died.

I was blessed that I never got to the point where I made an attempt on my own life. But no matter what I accomplished or what I did right, I could not stop feeling shame, regret, and hopelessness. It was consuming. It was a constant shadow. It was hard. It was hard for me.

Anxiety and "mild depression," a psychologist called it.

~   ~   ~

I've been thinking about "mild."

Those of us who are "mild" feel no less broken than those who are "severe." And there is, like Elder Holland said, hope for all of us.

I never gave up on prayer. I prayed to God every day, even through the years when I didn't feel worthy to, and I didn't feel like it worked. And finally, when I got medical treatment--finally, I could see how I had been blessed. I could see that the medical treatment was a blessing. I could see that God was there all along.

And even when it's still hard, I know, I know, there is hope.

Sheep-ish

There's something about the metaphor of Christ being the Good Shepherd that just gets me. I love imagining me, a little lamb, peeking out of His side satchel; His hands patting my head, His arms holding me close.

Today I taught a lesson in church. The title of the lesson was "Feed My Sheep." The counsel came from President Ezra Taft Benson, the prophet of the Church a while back. He challenged us to shepherd those around us--to guide them to Christ's fold, love them, care for them, and feed them spiritually (and physically, if need be). I thought then of this story from another Church leader, John R. Lasater, about his experience with a shepherd in Morocco:

That's why this metaphor is so cool: because its mortal counterpart is so exact! Real shepherds do love their sheep. Real shepherds do know their sheep by name. Real shepherds never give up on their sheep, no matter how old or injured or broken they may be. For the good shepherds, each lamb is precious and priceless.

And He would die for us. He did. So He asks the same dedication and charity from us, His under-shepherds. He asks three times over, and many times more: Feed my sheep. We must be willing to answer.

Clean-ish

It was Halloween, and even though I'm twenty, I wasn't going to miss out on a chance to dress up.

My roommates and I disguised ourselves as the three girl emotions from the movie Inside Out: I was Joy and they were Sadness and Disgust. We had a great time spray-painting our hair and spreading colored eyeshadow all over our faces, making sure to gob some sparklies into our hair for effect. We had a grand old time at our ward dance party (even though the people who had never seen the movie were confused about what we were). We got home late, but reveled in the knowledge that Daylight Savings would give us another hour of sleep before 8:30 church this morning.

With that thought in our heads, we set to work de-costumizing ourselves. I took some makeup remover to my face and smiled to see my regular skin color underneath that shimmery yellow. Next was the hair, though, and my bright blonde had gone to bright blue. It was a two-person, roughly four-wash job, with me curled over the bathtub as my roommate scrubbed the back locks and I scrubbed the front ones. At the end of the whole process, I felt fresh, happy, and clean.

Because my brain thinks in comparisons and symbols (I guess I've spent too much time in English classes), I thought this was perfect:

The bad choices we make? Well, that's the paint. It covers us up and decks us out; it might seem fun at first, but then we realize it's just a mess that needs to be cleaned up. We need help to do it, too. The Lord Jesus Christ is the One who comes to scrub sin from our lives. With Him at our side, it is easier. But it still might require multiple tries, it still might take a lot of work, it still might be discouraging and frustrating and hard and disappointing when you look in the mirror and there's still blue lingering in your cowlick...

But when you're all clean? Mmm...that feeling is worth four washes and more.

Lacking-ish

There is a marvelous thing that happens twice every year called General Conference. The leaders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints all meet together and give discourses about what the members of the Church should do to improve themselves, their lives, and the lives of those around them.

On October third, one of the apostles challenged us to include in our prayers that night this question, posed by the rich young ruler  to the Savior in the New Testament: "What lack I yet?" The Lord, he testified, would tell us what we need to do to better ourselves. Maybe even more powerful, though, was what he added: We might need to first ask, he said, what we are doing right.

What a curious thought. But how important it can be! If we don't know what we're doing right, how will we gain the motivation to keep working on ourselves? It may be equally as challenging to try to accept our strengths and avoid pride as it is to accept our weaknesses and work on them; both challenges, however, create an opportunity for self-measurement against the Savior and thus self-growth.

What's cool about asking the Lord is that He always tells the truth. It might take more concentration, more listening, more looking and more being honest with ourselves than usual--but He will tell us what He loves about us, and what we can become. We just have to ask.

Hungry-ish

Participating in a fast is something that I really like to do. It makes me feel good, physically and emotionally, to deprive myself of things that I love and want for a higher purpose. But sometimes it's not even that hard, and sometimes I forget the point of the whole practice. That's why I decided to try something new--some awesome counsel that I received months ago, but never took until TODAY!

It's called a 24-hour fast. Some of you are thinking, Well, that's what I do every time. You guys are good. I'm not as good. So I decided to try it, 2:30 PM to 2:30 PM, all afternoon, all night, all morning.

It was hard.

Instead of being able to leave the tummy rumbles on the backest backburner of my mind, I was consistently and constantly reminded that my body was empty--and thus, the reason for its emptiness. I was consistently reminded that this was to show the Lord my sacrifice. I was constantly reminded of who I wanted to help and serve. I couldn't escape it. My throat was dry, my stomach void. I thought about the Savior because...because He was the only thing that came to mind after the thoughts of hunger or thirst.

I guess what that really does is expose my need to humble myself and think about the Savior more, but it was also a beautiful thing. It was beautiful to try to show the Lord that my spiritual well-being meant more to me than my physical well-being; to rely on Him for the ability to stand and sing and breathe and keep going when my body longed for a slice of my roommate's homemade bread and a cool drink from my holographic BYU cup.

Sacrifice brings blessings--and fasting brings blessings of the ability to go forward in life, regardless of the challenges that face us.

Proud-ish

For the past couple weeks, I have been studying a lesson that I had to give today at church. The lesson is entitled "Beware of Pride," so you can kinda guess the topic.

The good ishes that happened during these weeks were all opportunities for me to see the pride within myself and fix it. So sometimes they were more like embarrassing ishes, or oops ishes, or forcing-myself-to-ask-for-help ishes. But they all taught me something more about pride, and something more about humility--which, in turn, taught me something more about Jesus Christ, who is the greatest example of humility to ever live.

Take this ish for example: I had to teach a mini-vocabulary lesson this week in one of my classes, pretending to address a beginning French class. I was super nervous but it ended up being fine. I did my PowerPoint, I felt all teacher-y. I sat down. Then the student instructor who was evaluating us let me know: the whole time I'd taught the class the wrong article for one of the vocabulary words.

Yeah. Oops-ish.

But I was glad, because at least I learned in front of my peers and not while teaching 101 to a bunch of wide-eyed French newbies.

It was a learning experience just like most every experience in life is; in the context of the lesson, though, it became a building experience. I wasn't just learning about humility--I learned that I could be humble if I tried to be teachable. I learned that I could recognize the not-so-great things in myself and change them to pretty-great things, as long as I caught myself in the act.

And that's what good ishes do. Even if they are embarrassing oopses that force you to confront your own weakness...they teach you to be good-er.

Missionary-ish

It was my last full day in France and I still had my French Book of Mormon, but I had a plan! I'd made a list. I'd prayed. I'd fasted. I'd done it all. I knew the name. I knew my friend. And now I had to act.

When the time came, though, things weren't as cool as you would think. Nothing that came out of my mouth was profound; in fact, I hardly said anything at all. I just handed it to her and...that was about it. Nevertheless, the feeling that came afterward as I was contemplating the event that, That wasn't even me. None of it was me. I had nothing to do with it! It was the Lord. He's the one who worked in me to 1) give me a desire to follow a challenge to give a Book of Mormon to someone, 2) go to France for this internship in the first place, 3) ask my internship partner for advice about giving it out, 4) make the list, pray, and fast, AND 5) do it. It was all Him. He just gave me the chance to be a part of His work. What a loving Man.

So the cool part wasn't me. But part of the cool part was definitely her--my friend. Arguably the only real French friend we'd made outside of the Church during our time in France. And when I told her I had a book to give her, she didn't hesitate. She took it. She said immediately that she'd read it. She acted excited, even. She let the pages fall through her fingers and noted that I'd written "quelques petits mots" at the front. She thanked me, hugged us, and wished us well. Then she left. Then we left.

But none of us, I'd wager, will ever be the same. I'm no fancy shmancy gospel preacher, but giving a Book of Mormon to someone could be one of the best decisions you (I, we, everyone) ever make.

Because it's the truth. And I know it.

Late-ish

I awoke to my doorbell ringing and looked at the time on my phone. It was terrifyingly 8:49: our train for Marseille left at 9:24. I opened the door to see my internship partner standing expectantly in the hallway. I must've been a sight in my pink-patterned pajamas, undone hair, and puffy sleep-eyes. I clearly wasn't ready for the day, and I spoke in English to top it all off.

"I just woke up."

As if she couldn't tell.

In a miracle of all miracles, we made it to the station at about 9:22. We took our seats on the train in relief and then watched as a family trooped in and sat down near us. Three little boys--10, 6, and 4 I would later hear--confidently took their seats and their mother followed after.

I tried to be covert as I watched and listened to the scene that played out as the train sped along. 6-year-old boy (after having chosen a seat behind his family next to a random guy) decided to take a different row all to himself, and played a game of pretend. The 10-year-old sat patiently in his seat across from his mom, quiet and polite. Little 4-year-old in the window seat sat quietly, too, moving only occasionally to put his head against his mother's ample shoulder. Despite my attempted subtlety, my gaze crossed hers twice or thrice, and we shared a grin each time. Her teeth were bright against her skin and her eyes were pleasant and content.

What a beautiful family. What a beautiful family. I felt blessed to watch their interactions during the one-hour ride: they were all full of love. Mom had to correct the boys every once in a while, sure. But how they smiled! How they enjoyed each other! That's what a family should do; that's how a family should be.

I'm glad we weren't late for the train. We would've missed them.

Broken-ish

It was just another regular normal typical internship day...cleaning tile.

Another volunteer, an older-ish guy from the Czech Republic, had put in some new tile at a vacation house that Les Petits Frères owns near the beach. He didn't want anyone helping him--except for us, the American girls, who he decided to trust to help him swab up the extra chalky grout on each carré. We'd already done another room, in fact, with much success.

This room, on the other hand, was more difficult despite its relative smallness. The white paste refused to give under our water-and-vinegar-soaked towels. We were using the metal spatula a lot more to scrape chunks of grout from the corners, passing it back and forth across the room. So it wasn't surprising when my internship partner asked for it and I slid it a couple feet across the floor to her. What was surprising--and slightly horrifying--and completely stupid in hindsight--was when the metal spatula caught on a raised tile and chipped the side.

Are you kidding me? I whispered, breaking out of French in frustration and fear. I knew how hard Czech Man had worked on this (all by himself, no less) and I was supposed to be being careful with his project. So, wondering what he would do, I called out to him. "I ruined your tile," I told him in French when he stepped into the doorway.

To my great relief, he didn't even look surprised. "Don't you worry one more minute about it," he said in his halting French. "It's not your problem, it's a problem with the tile. But next time, could you crack one on the edge over there?"

We laughed, and to add to my comfort, I found other chipped tiles as I continued cleaning. I wasn't the only one making mistakes around here. But I was the grateful recipient of the forgiveness we all seek, for the little things and the big things, from our friends and from our Father in Heaven.

Junior-ish

This week I have been praying to know who to give a Book of Mormon to.

Actually, I've been praying to know that for a long time.

Once upon a time, before winter semester ended, a guy in our ward challenged us to give a Book of Mormon to somebody. No timeline, no check-up date. Just a challenge for life. I started praying, got lazy, then started again. I wanted to do it. I've never done it before. And when I knew I was going to do this internship in France, the thought came that why not give someone a Book of Mormon (or, rather, un Livre de Mormon) here?

But this week, as I prayed, I kept feeling like I needed to ask my internship partner about it. So I finally did, and when I did, I understood why the feeling had come.

She spoke plainly about the gospel and about how it worked giving out copies of the Book of Mormon when she was a missionary. She suggested that I make a list of people and then pray about who from that list. She then read me D&C 84:85 and 88, testifying that the verses were true, and that it had happened to her on her mission--that words came like *that* when she needed them, and that they weren't even hers. She added that I could fast about it, too.

Good advice, clear and Spirit-filled. Just like a senior companion is supposed to give.

Prayer-ish

This week, a good ish that I'd already noticed came into full focus.

When me and my friend/partner/companion have meals together, we take turns praying over them in French. It's nice to have one little moment where 1) I don't really have to feel embarrassed about my French--even if sometimes I still do--and 2) we get to talk to the Lord plainly in the way we know how, since no one we interact with on a day-to-day basis shares our religion.

What I'd noticed and greatly admired was that my friend/partner/companion says detailed and sincere prayers. Every time.

On Monday we'd gone to a little morning meeting about day trips coming up. The trips include taking some of our old people to a little villa and doing some activities with them like bingo and karaoke. And during the meeting the other volunteers brought up watching the movie Les Intouchables. My friend wrote in the margins on the schedule packet in front of her, "It's rated R, I think." I nodded. I'd heard that it was an awesome movie to see--edited. After the meeting, she looked it up, and indeed, there's a whopping twenty-something of the worst swears, not even counting the other words they'd thrown in in between.

So my friend took charge. She asked one of the other volunteers if the movie would be edited, explained our feelings, and voilà. He said it probably wouldn't be, that we could go to the beach instead while they watched it.

But the best part was, in the afternoon over our food, she thanked the Lord for it. She thanked Him that the volunteer understood, that we could go to the beach instead of watching the movie. For me it was all a relief and a happy circumstance indeed, but I hadn't even thought to pray about it.

I have more than a few things to learn while here in France.

Work-ish

Marie is an old French woman who we joined for lunch on Friday. She's eighty-something, I think, but as spunky and independent as ever. She worried me with the way she waved the knives around for cutting her rotisserie chicken and watermelon. But though she's more active than most if not all the other old people we visit, she still does what the rest of them do--that is, she tells us all of her pains and suffering.

For Marie, the big stuff is behind her, but boy is it some big stuff: her husband abused her, she lost a daughter, she lost a grandson, and now she lives with some bitterness toward God for those difficulties. She asked us exasperatedly, If He's there, why doesn't He show Himself?

My friend answered with exactly what was in my head: He doesn't show Himself because He wants us to have faith. Marie responded that she knew, but that it was tough. My friend testified again: But He's still there.

I'm glad we could be there as witnesses to the Lord's love and power. Marie needs what we all need--hope--and if we can help give some to her, we'll not only be doing what our internship requires. We'll be doing the work of the Lord. And that is most important.

Hot-ish

Today was my first time attending church (in its fullness) in France.

The hot topic nowadays is the temperature outside (Haha. Get it? Hot?) because hoo wee, it gets a little steamy in our non-AC-equipped apartments. So naturally, several of the members posed a question like, "Il fait pas trop chaud?" ("It's not too hot for you, is it?") to which we would respond, "Si!" ("Yes it is!"). Then, after meetings were over, we watched as they set to work asking around for a fan that someone could spare for us to borrow. One man insisted that his family could give us one of theirs, and set up the whole thing: his daughter would pick it up from their house and drive it and us back to our apartments.

The small ward that encompasses the entire city of Toulon seem to be a tight-knit bunch. A member of the bishopric introduced us and welcomed us to the ward family in sacrament meeting, and we're not even missionaries or permanent members or anything. So I guess it was just natural for them to take care of us. Needless to say, we uttered several "Merci"'s and "C'est gentil"'s throughout the day. And my apartment? It's full of cool air and warm feelings.

Home-ish

Anybody who's ever been to a foreign country knows that it's kinda hard.

You have to deal with different customs, different tastes, different language, different food, different streets, different people, and different differences, and sometimes it just seems altogether too...different.

That's what I was feeling yesterday at the end of my first week in France. I yearned for comfort, for familiarity, for someone who spoke English and someone who loved my country like I did and knew it was Independence Day like I did.

So what a blessing it was when my attention was drawn to my window around 10:45 last night. Fireworks. Someone was setting off fireworks, somewhere a ways away on the beach. I ran to tell my internship partner next door. Then I went back to my spot by the window and watched. I watched, and heard my friend singing softly "America the Beautiful," until they finished and the sky was black again once more.

I was still in a foreign country, but suddenly home was much closer than it had been before.

Awake-ish

The little boy in the airport was dead OUT. Asleep, asleep, in the deepest deepest sleep. His mother cuddled him for a while, then lay him beside her with his head in her lap. His back curved over her leg and his arm hung, totally limp, off the bench.

I was so tired. The sun told me it was the morning, but my body moaned, "Oh my gosh, I didn't get more than a wee four and a half hours of sleep last night, and now I have to do daytime all over again..."

The boy woke up with the happiest smile on his face. Wherever he had come from, however far he had to go, he was beaming and ready to go.

The lesson for the girl working in France for the next two months: Wake up with a smile.

Ten-ish

Another ten-hour trip means another chance to find the good ishes in the world!

Like that nice man who politely steps to the side as you walk into the gas station store, smiling under his sunglasses and nodding as you pass.

Like that view from the mountains near Jacob Lake (misty green carpet nestled under red-rock plateaus) reminding you of that scene in Cars where Lightning and Sally overlook lovely and empty Route 66.

Like having just enough cash--within cents--to fund your lunch so you don't have to use your card.

Like the pretty periwinkles and the sunflowers that dust the roadside.

Like being relieved when the signs proclaim "Phoenix 36" much sooner than you expected them to.

Like two funny little brothers and one awesome dad who spent ten hours driving to Utah a few days ago, just to turn around and drive you back.

I should spend more ten-hourses noticing the good things.

Faith-ish

I have a daily quote book that I flip through, and it was one day this week that this one came up: "You need never be discouraged or afraid. The way through difficulties has always been prepared for you, and you will find it if you exercise faith." (Henry B. Eyring) The next day when I went to flip to the next quote, I didn't. I needed this one. So I kept it up for several days.

The best part was when it came true on Thursday. I had volunteered to speak French for this foreign language-judge training conference at BYU, and I was so excited. To get it over with. These things are definitely classified for me as "difficulties" in terms of President Eyring's quote.

I waited in the hallway until the French door opened, and who would it be but my old French professor herself! Things seemed a little worse (because she's intimidating) but they were so much better (because she likes me and she's nice). Then the man practicing to be a oral proficiency-judge-guy sat across from me and began to ask me questions.

I felt calm. I felt a smile on my face. I felt embarrassed a few times when I forgot how to say certain things...but I felt okay. My heart wasn't even pumping fast. It was amazing. It sounds silly, but I cannot explain to you how much of a miracle it was. There were at least seven other people sitting around us--to watch him, granted, not me--but I could speak. The way had been prepared, and I could SPEAK!

Afterward Madame took me outside to tell me what I could've done better and to declare me undoubtedly an Advanced-Mid language speaker (that's like, high!). She told me I was ready to go to France.

Maybe I am.

This-ish

It's like this: everyone knows Heavenly Father loves them, but have you ever wondered what your real purpose is in life? Have you ever thought, Hey, I've heard that if I don't do my thing on earth, someone will take my place. And there are people who could. So what am I even here for? 

So it happened like this: I had searched "individual worth" on lds.org and clicked on and read through several of the results. The ninth one down was a Young Women lesson. So I read it thinking about how glad I was that "Come, Follow Me" is the new thing.

Then I found a quote I'd heard before, embedded in its context, and it all goes like this: "My dear friends, you are a royal generation. You were preserved to come to the earth in this time for a special purpose. Not just a few of you, but all of you. There are things for each of you to do that no one else can do as well as you. If you do not prepare to do them, they will not be done. Your mission is unique and distinctive for you. Please don't make another have to take your place. He or she can't do it as well as you can. If you will let Him, I testify that our Father in Heaven will walk with you through the journey of life and inspire you to know your special purpose here." (Comes from a New Era magazine article entitled "Your Life Has a Purpose" by Bishop H. Burke Peterson.)

I was astonished, like this:

And the lesson was like this: When your heart is sad, and you need help, ask for it. The Lord will answer, and miraculously lead you to a 1979 New Era article from a Young Women lesson.

Or something like that.

Antonio-ish

Tuesday I headed out of class to head to the Joseph Smith Building, where the weekly devotional would play in its huge auditorium. I was tired and not looking forward to writing a rough draft research paper and creating a PowerPoint presentation for Thursday. I was tired. I was...tired. The auditorium (how many seats does that thing have? At least 500) was almost completely empty.

Good ish #1: I opened my email to find a video of my niece from my sister. I plugged my earphones in and eagerly listened. Repeating after my sister, the little toddler told me "hi" and that she loved me. I watched it over and over and over and over and over.

Good ish #2: The devotional started, and I kept my earphones in to block out the way-too-loud volume they had goin' on. The speaker quoted the most amazing quote from George Eliot, referring to the famous violin-maker: "[God] could not make / Antonio Stradivari's violins / Without Antonio." (Listen to the whole talk here. It's worth your time.)

Why, that's blasphemous! I thought at first. Then I was like. Wow. Wait. That's. Actually true. I was amazed, because we all know that Antonio couldn't make Stradivarius violins without God--but do we ever consider the reverse? That He needs to use us to make wonderful things? Not because He is weak or incapable, but because He wants to do great things with us.

He wants us to do great things.