Today I am going to be a hipster. After seeing a few people spitefully spew hatred for this assignment, I will say this, first and foremost: I don't hate blogging.
Rather I just didn't like the assignment.
But, that is my fault. I have been saying all year that the best way to write better is to keep writing, not to told how, but just to keep writing, with feedback on conventions. It's like riding a bike or shooting baskets, you get told the rules and techniques and then just practice, as much as possible. Yet, I, in my lack of foresight, didn't take this opportunity, for whatever reason(s).
I'm not saying that blogging will improve your writing but writing is, whether we think so or not, usually about stylistic things and opinions, which really become developed by writing them down and pondering them. Even though very few will likely read anything we post, odds are the very act of doing so will make us think, which is one of the most important things of all. Okay, maybe I take that back, maybe blogging will indirectly improve writing. Heck, maybe the best approach is to pretend you have an audience...or maybe not, because blogging is inherently personal, I don't know. I guess just at first glance it would seem as though people like Chris Guillebeau (of The Art of Nonconformity, a blog that gets millions of views daily) blog rather differently than one of my uncles/aunts, whose audience is solely family and friends.
Overall, I think I will keep this blog, whether it gets read or not. It's kind of like in The Princess Bride, "Alright Wesley, I've never had a valet, you can try if you'd like. I'll most likely kill you in the morning," except for me it's like "Alright Blog, I've never had a journal, you can try if you'd like. I'll most likely delete you in the morning." I want to be a good writer as much as (if not considerably more than) anyone else, so here goes nothing.
When I express thoughts, I normally prefer the deliberate act of writing them down on a piece of paper, which also might be because then no one else sees them. So as I keep growing, trying to be a more personable person, maybe I'll post more.
But...(laugh) now I'm rambling again, so I'll leave it at that. Awesome assignment for anyone who puts in the effort; don't get discouraged and definitely don't stay up til three hoping for inspiration, get rest first. And, to all, keep writing.
-Victor Favero
Monday, April 9, 2012
An Interesting Artist
One of my top three music artists is Owl City, whose real name is Adam Young. He was introduced to me about a year ago by an old friend and has been a favorite ever since. There are a lot of genuine reasons that I like his music: it's appeal to introverts (which sometimes I still consider myself), the fact that he never "sells out," but rather keeps experimenting and trying new things, often unsure whether the formula will work (he posted on his blog that his new album coming out in August will be quite unlike his first one, Of June), the different songs rhythms and lyrics, and also Young's incredibly noticeable Christian faith, particularly in such songs as "Meteor Shower," "Angels," and, naturally, his cover of "In Christ Alone." The songs are typically upbeat and, thanks to "Hello Seattle" remind me of the considerably more artistic person that I was once of the verge of becoming and could still yet. Yet unlike songs from the musical "RENT," which also produced this idyllic longing, these aren't...edgy. I don't have to say the disclaimer "Yeah, I like RENT," before proceeding to tell people that I saw it while at BYU, rented it from the HBLL (not that I am against RENT, it's just, while one of the most beautiful musicals ever, not entirely wholesome).
The quote from Colossians that I posted a few blog posts ago, to begin my Conference blogpost, was actually found on his blog and I really liked it. So, with that in mind, let us all remember that, because we are eternal, spiritual beings, to seek for eternal, spiritual things and not let ourselves get distracted by problems of this world. Let us remember, as the prophet has counseled, to Look Up.
The quote from Colossians that I posted a few blog posts ago, to begin my Conference blogpost, was actually found on his blog and I really liked it. So, with that in mind, let us all remember that, because we are eternal, spiritual beings, to seek for eternal, spiritual things and not let ourselves get distracted by problems of this world. Let us remember, as the prophet has counseled, to Look Up.
I Hope they Call Me on a Mission, when I have grown an inch or two!
One of the coolest things, as I mentioned earlier, about being here a year early is seeing all my friends get their mission calls. I have had friends going to South Africa (Durban), Germany (Frankfurt), Hong Kong, and Disneyland (Anaheim). I've even seen a guy in my ward get called to good 'ole Las Vegas West (my mission). It's been interesting seeing the ways they prepare too, such as practicing mission hours, taking on extra assignments to teach, volunteering to be investigators at the MTC, and doing role-plays with RMs. Once they even all dressed up in missionary attire on a Friday, went to each other's classes (which conveniently were at different times), invited people to watch General Conference the upcoming weekend, and went to a dinner appointment (technically it was just at the FHE sisters apartment but close enough), where I was invited as well to act as a member missionary (since missionaries can't go into an all female building without another non-missionary male present). (laugh) The joke between us was that I could hug all the sister as we were leaving, while my roommate Ben (who is the most huggy and loving person I have ever met) politely shook hands and called them "Sister (last name)."
I can't wait. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I CAN'T WAIT TO GO ON A MISSION! I can't wait to start filling out my papers in December, I can't wait for the call (likely in February-ish of next year), and I sure as heck can't wait to serve the Lord, wherever he calls me to go.
Maybe it's a bit odd but every time I read my scriptures, I, consciously or unconsciously, look for the scripture that will go up on that plaque. If I find one I really like, I put it in the margins at the top of the page, so that when next year comes, I can find my favorites easily.
I just can't wait to fully dedicate myself to serving others, to putting all my thoughts and energies into helping people receive the gospel. (laugh) I can't wait to have girls mostly out of mind for two years.
People tell me that you change on your mission and for a while that frightened me. Yet, during the past months, I learned significant things. Odds are that my desire to travel won't change because it kind of is an important part of who I am; if anything I will learn how to make that travel more meaningful. And with anything else of importance, I know that God will only shape me in the right way, for it is a refiner's fire that we each go through, not a destructive, forest-engulfing one.
A foot or two might be a bit much, but an inch or two is reasonable...which means the time is coming ever closer. I am going to miss my roommates that I've gotten to know so well these past eight months, for three years is a long time, yet all of us will be venturing forth into the best work possible, and, when we all return, I idealistically imagine it will be like the that great reunion between Alma the Younger and the son of Mosiah, whom after fourteen years of work, were still best friends, only now they were friends that had changed the Lamanite peoples for better. This gospel is the most amazing thing out there, and, to sum it up, I CAN'T WAIT to share it. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
I can't wait. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I CAN'T WAIT TO GO ON A MISSION! I can't wait to start filling out my papers in December, I can't wait for the call (likely in February-ish of next year), and I sure as heck can't wait to serve the Lord, wherever he calls me to go.
Maybe it's a bit odd but every time I read my scriptures, I, consciously or unconsciously, look for the scripture that will go up on that plaque. If I find one I really like, I put it in the margins at the top of the page, so that when next year comes, I can find my favorites easily.
I just can't wait to fully dedicate myself to serving others, to putting all my thoughts and energies into helping people receive the gospel. (laugh) I can't wait to have girls mostly out of mind for two years.
People tell me that you change on your mission and for a while that frightened me. Yet, during the past months, I learned significant things. Odds are that my desire to travel won't change because it kind of is an important part of who I am; if anything I will learn how to make that travel more meaningful. And with anything else of importance, I know that God will only shape me in the right way, for it is a refiner's fire that we each go through, not a destructive, forest-engulfing one.
A foot or two might be a bit much, but an inch or two is reasonable...which means the time is coming ever closer. I am going to miss my roommates that I've gotten to know so well these past eight months, for three years is a long time, yet all of us will be venturing forth into the best work possible, and, when we all return, I idealistically imagine it will be like the that great reunion between Alma the Younger and the son of Mosiah, whom after fourteen years of work, were still best friends, only now they were friends that had changed the Lamanite peoples for better. This gospel is the most amazing thing out there, and, to sum it up, I CAN'T WAIT to share it. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Hypoglycemia
Last night, I stayed up til three, hoping to get inspired yet primarily just sitting in front of my laptop trying to stay awake. As I scoured the over 1,300 photos on my phone, I've found one that might make for an interesting story. My good friend Skyler has hypoglycemia, which for all of us, as his friends, typically means that he has to eat a piece of wheat bread after consuming large amount of sugar (otherwise, he quickly falls asleep, which at times can be quite comical).
Anyways, months ago, he and I were sitting next to each other at computers in the Hub. It was busy, as usual, talkative, and full of people either diligently checking their homework or diligently checking their Facebook. After a few minutes of talking, Skyler, who has taken off his sandals to work and left them under the desk, decides to curl up underneath the desk and take a catnap. I was then given the task of explaining to the girl sitting next to him his....interesting behavior. Trying, and failing, to not laugh too hard, I try to explain that this was likely the result of his hypoglycemia, as well as Skyler's inherent quirkiness. As we talked, I discovered that she was actually best friends with the sister of one of my friend's roommate and that she, like them, had lived in Fairfield, where coincidentally I had been to many times to go to the Jelly Belly Factory when I was a young child living outside Sacramento.
At some point shortly afterwards, Skyler laughingly told me that he had been listening the whole time, and joked that I had done a fine job explaining the "situation."
The funny, and slightly scary, thing is that I'll be rooming with Skyler for spring term. (sigh and laugh) I just...sorta hope that this won't be a recurring theme. But, oh, well, if so, it makes for an interesting story...
Anyways, months ago, he and I were sitting next to each other at computers in the Hub. It was busy, as usual, talkative, and full of people either diligently checking their homework or diligently checking their Facebook. After a few minutes of talking, Skyler, who has taken off his sandals to work and left them under the desk, decides to curl up underneath the desk and take a catnap. I was then given the task of explaining to the girl sitting next to him his....interesting behavior. Trying, and failing, to not laugh too hard, I try to explain that this was likely the result of his hypoglycemia, as well as Skyler's inherent quirkiness. As we talked, I discovered that she was actually best friends with the sister of one of my friend's roommate and that she, like them, had lived in Fairfield, where coincidentally I had been to many times to go to the Jelly Belly Factory when I was a young child living outside Sacramento.
At some point shortly afterwards, Skyler laughingly told me that he had been listening the whole time, and joked that I had done a fine job explaining the "situation."
The funny, and slightly scary, thing is that I'll be rooming with Skyler for spring term. (sigh and laugh) I just...sorta hope that this won't be a recurring theme. But, oh, well, if so, it makes for an interesting story...
Facebook vs. Blogging
If based on words alone, I have probably posted more on this blog over one weekend then I have on Facebook in my entire time there (nearly 2.5 years). However, they say a picture is worth a thousand words and, based on both my photos as well as those I am "tagged" in, these photos can show a significant story.
It's somewhat odd though. I feel that on here I have almost complete liberty to post anything I want, as much as I want because, in reality, very few people will actually read it. However, at the same time, this makes my posts extremely mundane, especially given the fact that I have about two hours to do five (four more after this) and that this counts for a grade. Essentially, I have been given the license, and, one could say, requirement, to ramble on and on, which unfortunately I do very well.
Maybe it is because Facebook is a shared scrapbook, whereas a blog is a journal of stories and opinions. However, I also know many bloggers who use this medium in an interesting way, who make it funny and a pleasure to read, whereas here I am, talking about my random thoughts, just typing words yet not really saying anything.
It's somewhat odd though. I feel that on here I have almost complete liberty to post anything I want, as much as I want because, in reality, very few people will actually read it. However, at the same time, this makes my posts extremely mundane, especially given the fact that I have about two hours to do five (four more after this) and that this counts for a grade. Essentially, I have been given the license, and, one could say, requirement, to ramble on and on, which unfortunately I do very well.
Maybe it is because Facebook is a shared scrapbook, whereas a blog is a journal of stories and opinions. However, I also know many bloggers who use this medium in an interesting way, who make it funny and a pleasure to read, whereas here I am, talking about my random thoughts, just typing words yet not really saying anything.
V is for Viajar
If there is one really defining characteristic about my goals for life, it would be that I am possessed of what I term an insatiable wanderlust (I remember that when I first learned the word "wanderlust" in sophomore English, my initial thought was "That's totally me!"). For the longest time, all I remember ever wanting is to travel, to see everything, to skydive, hang-glide, to live life to the fullest. People ask me where I want to go most and I answer "Everywhere." This guy who biked around the world came into my sophomore photo class to talk about his experiences and, when he asked the class why anyone would bike around the whole world, I was the kid who answered "Why not?"
I don't really know how it started. When I was a really young child, my siblings and I had these huge DK books full of pictures and one of my favorites was the atlas. Also, I have always loved nature. I joined Scouts as a kid simply because camping was my favorite thing in the universe.
As I grew older, my family started taking trips together. My favorite place in the U.S. (Big Sur, CA) is just that because we camped there when I was ten and I loved it because it mixed my two favorite landscapes: forest and beach. (laugh) I like to think the movie The Best Two Years also contributed a little, because for the longest time I wanted to go to Amsterdam.
Because I was so shy, I read a lot and had a very active imagination, which had me thinking of new places in my head, new landscapes that I wanted to know if they existed.
As I have continued aging and now have begun the process of choosing a career path, I have kept these things in mind. I view life as one great adventure, an adventure that I've been preparing for these past 18 years and will only just begin soon. So, without further ado, I say let it begin!
I don't really know how it started. When I was a really young child, my siblings and I had these huge DK books full of pictures and one of my favorites was the atlas. Also, I have always loved nature. I joined Scouts as a kid simply because camping was my favorite thing in the universe.
As I grew older, my family started taking trips together. My favorite place in the U.S. (Big Sur, CA) is just that because we camped there when I was ten and I loved it because it mixed my two favorite landscapes: forest and beach. (laugh) I like to think the movie The Best Two Years also contributed a little, because for the longest time I wanted to go to Amsterdam.
Because I was so shy, I read a lot and had a very active imagination, which had me thinking of new places in my head, new landscapes that I wanted to know if they existed.
As I have continued aging and now have begun the process of choosing a career path, I have kept these things in mind. I view life as one great adventure, an adventure that I've been preparing for these past 18 years and will only just begin soon. So, without further ado, I say let it begin!
Sunday, April 8, 2012
When an Old Dog Learn a New Trick, it shouldn't mean that He Forgets the Old Ones
In the past couple days I have rediscovered two things that I really love but just...hadn't given myself time to participate in while here at BYU.
I sang in Concert Choir for two years in high school. My dad and younger sisters are AMAZING singers and, though I've always loved singing, I never really got the chance to until sophomore year. The first year was probably the best. I learned a lot and made many friends, among them one of best friends, Jesse. The whole class went to Seattle together for a competition (Seattle is probably one of my favorite cities in the U.S.) and it was one of the most fun trips I've been on. We also sang many beautiful songs, such as "Season of Love" (Larsen), "This Marriage" (Whitacre), and "Autumn" (Shank), the first of which, in particular, is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs ever written. But anyways, yes, the past couple days the two ward choirs I have been in have sung a few times and I was just suddenly really taken aback. Simply, I need to start singing again, like in a choir (or some more formal setting than the shower).
A few hours ago, some friends and I went on an Easter egg hunt at Kiwanis park. As I dove into the base of a spruce tree to search for eggs, I was remember of how similar this is to geocaching. I discovered geocaching in an ad in the newspaper for an activity up in Tahoe and have been more-or-less avid ever since. Yet, I haven't gone in nearly a year, certainly not while I've been at BYU. At home, I used to take to the streets by bike and, just to relax and take my mind off things, go look for a cache. I've very much missed it and hope I get the chance to soon, after finals maybe.
They say you can't go home again, yet maybe that's not true. And, even if it is, there are things, pieces of home, that we once knew that we can go back to.
I sang in Concert Choir for two years in high school. My dad and younger sisters are AMAZING singers and, though I've always loved singing, I never really got the chance to until sophomore year. The first year was probably the best. I learned a lot and made many friends, among them one of best friends, Jesse. The whole class went to Seattle together for a competition (Seattle is probably one of my favorite cities in the U.S.) and it was one of the most fun trips I've been on. We also sang many beautiful songs, such as "Season of Love" (Larsen), "This Marriage" (Whitacre), and "Autumn" (Shank), the first of which, in particular, is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs ever written. But anyways, yes, the past couple days the two ward choirs I have been in have sung a few times and I was just suddenly really taken aback. Simply, I need to start singing again, like in a choir (or some more formal setting than the shower).
A few hours ago, some friends and I went on an Easter egg hunt at Kiwanis park. As I dove into the base of a spruce tree to search for eggs, I was remember of how similar this is to geocaching. I discovered geocaching in an ad in the newspaper for an activity up in Tahoe and have been more-or-less avid ever since. Yet, I haven't gone in nearly a year, certainly not while I've been at BYU. At home, I used to take to the streets by bike and, just to relax and take my mind off things, go look for a cache. I've very much missed it and hope I get the chance to soon, after finals maybe.
They say you can't go home again, yet maybe that's not true. And, even if it is, there are things, pieces of home, that we once knew that we can go back to.
A Considerably Shorter Blog Post
Yesterday, April 7th, I turned 18.
And thus, his childhood ended.
I turned 18 in a very cool way: ice skating (pun intended; if being eighteen means anything, it will mean that I'll become more like my dad, and that is just the sort of silly thing he would think of.)
My roommates and I joked about the lack of significance of this age to the Mormon audience. The typical new eighteen-year-old capabilities (gambling, porn, and cigarettes) were obviously no-goes, though I am quite excited that I can now buy fireworks...which unfortunately are illegal in Carson City.
It was a great day: started it ice skating with friends, which turned into a walk to the Rape Hill Duck Pond, which fortunately led to all of us being very tired and going home to sleep at around two-ish. After seven hours of sleep (yes, I am fully aware that that little sleep on a Saturday is ridiculous), I started off the day right with four waffles drenched in deliciously succulent Strawberry syrup. I then played a rousingly rambunctious game of soccer for an hour before heading off to the BYU baseball game (an hour late, which is fine for me because I find baseball rather boring). Then our dearly beloved FHE sisters came over which was awesome because my (whisper) secretly favorite sister and best friend Casey had made cupcakes, which were gulped down with beautiful bottles of Henry Weinhard's Root Beer (pretty much the meal can be compared to ambrosia and nectar, the foods of the Greek gods). I then went to choir practice, which was great because I really miss singing in a choir. Then was the event all had been anxiously waiting for, the one, the only, Provo YSA 46th Ward Closing Social. I had a blast, with amazing friends, while we learned the haka, watched "home videos" submitted by the FHE groups, and had a performance by the Un-Sunday choir (which sings gospel music as a companion to the Ward Choir), in which I got to sing like a black person (always a fun experience). Me and two friends then took the remaining leis and ran throw a girls hall, knocking on random doors and giving leis to all in the apartment, essentially our little way of brining utter happiness and joy. I then practiced, as previously mentioned, for my solo in Church the next day before having a completely, undeniably cool Nerf war in another Heritage building.
To quote the great country music artist Darius Rucker, "As I lay down that night, I thanked the Lord above, for giving me everything I ever could dream of!"
My 18th birthday was amazing and 19 should be even better because you know what that means...MISSION!
And thus, his childhood ended.
I turned 18 in a very cool way: ice skating (pun intended; if being eighteen means anything, it will mean that I'll become more like my dad, and that is just the sort of silly thing he would think of.)
My roommates and I joked about the lack of significance of this age to the Mormon audience. The typical new eighteen-year-old capabilities (gambling, porn, and cigarettes) were obviously no-goes, though I am quite excited that I can now buy fireworks...which unfortunately are illegal in Carson City.
It was a great day: started it ice skating with friends, which turned into a walk to the Rape Hill Duck Pond, which fortunately led to all of us being very tired and going home to sleep at around two-ish. After seven hours of sleep (yes, I am fully aware that that little sleep on a Saturday is ridiculous), I started off the day right with four waffles drenched in deliciously succulent Strawberry syrup. I then played a rousingly rambunctious game of soccer for an hour before heading off to the BYU baseball game (an hour late, which is fine for me because I find baseball rather boring). Then our dearly beloved FHE sisters came over which was awesome because my (whisper) secretly favorite sister and best friend Casey had made cupcakes, which were gulped down with beautiful bottles of Henry Weinhard's Root Beer (pretty much the meal can be compared to ambrosia and nectar, the foods of the Greek gods). I then went to choir practice, which was great because I really miss singing in a choir. Then was the event all had been anxiously waiting for, the one, the only, Provo YSA 46th Ward Closing Social. I had a blast, with amazing friends, while we learned the haka, watched "home videos" submitted by the FHE groups, and had a performance by the Un-Sunday choir (which sings gospel music as a companion to the Ward Choir), in which I got to sing like a black person (always a fun experience). Me and two friends then took the remaining leis and ran throw a girls hall, knocking on random doors and giving leis to all in the apartment, essentially our little way of brining utter happiness and joy. I then practiced, as previously mentioned, for my solo in Church the next day before having a completely, undeniably cool Nerf war in another Heritage building.
To quote the great country music artist Darius Rucker, "As I lay down that night, I thanked the Lord above, for giving me everything I ever could dream of!"
My 18th birthday was amazing and 19 should be even better because you know what that means...MISSION!
Something a Wee Bit Crazy
I wrote my personal narrative about overcoming fears and now I suddenly have a more recent example to prove it by. I had been asked to sing for my singles ward Easter program a week ago, possibly a duet with my friend Jose. The conversation, simply, went like this.
"Hey Victor, would you be willing to sing something for our ward Easter program?" Inquired Chantelle, the ward music committee chair.
"Uh, sure." I responded.
Over the next few days, I regret to say that I kinda ignored her calls due to my embarrassment for not having given a single thought as to what song I might sing. About late Tuesday, I finally answered and she told me that she was going to email me a song and I should check to see if I liked it. It was good yet it was a children's choir piece, which I could have sung maybe five years ago but now I definitely couldn't and was unsure how good the piece would be in a significantly lower octave. (Background: I sung choir for two years in high school and, for the most part, know how to read music). A couple days later I took real responsibility (being but days from year 18) and found a song which was actually rather good, as well as appropriate for the Church setting.
Saturday came and I still hadn't practiced the song once, until 10:30 that night (that day was my birthday and I was rather busy throughout the day - more on that later, perhaps). Chantelle was very gracious and helped me get a hang on it (luckily it wasn't too difficult a song) for the next half hour.
But, here is what happened today. I got to Church around 8:20, thirty minutes late for choir, which would also be singing in the program. Fortunately, I am one of the better singers there, and one of the only basses, so that wasn't too difficult. It wasn't until around 8:45, fifteen minutes before Church would begin that I realized "Holy crap, I am singing in Church soon. I am singing a complete solo for the first time in my life in front of over a hundred people." I was nervous for a couple distinct reasons: 1) I tend to be very self-conscious and worried about how good the song would sound after so little practice and 2) I wanted to sound good for Him. People were here to feel His spirit, especially today; this wasn't like a high school choir concert where one could get away with singing poorly. I felt that I had to do my very best because to do any less would, well, not bode well, to say it simply.
As any reader is now aware, I was once dreadfully afraid of roller coasters. Yet that fear, the one I experienced in the minutes leading up to my first ride back in 2010, was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt around 9:20. What is worse is that I sing best when I am perfectly calm and at ease which I definitely wasn't at this moment. So, here goes nothing, I rise up to the podium, and I swear I am shaking like a house in the middle of an earthquake, then I start singing. First verse is alright, particularly after stepping away from the podium, though still gripping it tightly with one hand for support.
The room is dead quiet when I finish and walk back to my seat. The next thirty minutes are agonizing simply because I don't know how I did. I think He liked it, I hope He did, but I still can't tell if that warm feeling is the Spirit or the fear (looking back on it, it was probably a bit of both). No one looks at me for the rest of the meeting and I'm freaking out. Yet then the meeting ends and I find my roommates before quickly getting embraced by a number of ward members, complimenting me on how well I did. I am overwhelmed that they liked it and simultaneously extremely happy. The wife of our ward clerk comes up to me and tells me that she loved it and bawled through the whole thing. To put it simply, my ward is the best!
One of my mottos, accumulated through a few years experience, is that the breaking out of one's shell can be difficult yet once one is out, some of the truly great things in life manifest themselves. Such is what happened today, on an Easter that I will never forget.
"Hey Victor, would you be willing to sing something for our ward Easter program?" Inquired Chantelle, the ward music committee chair.
"Uh, sure." I responded.
Over the next few days, I regret to say that I kinda ignored her calls due to my embarrassment for not having given a single thought as to what song I might sing. About late Tuesday, I finally answered and she told me that she was going to email me a song and I should check to see if I liked it. It was good yet it was a children's choir piece, which I could have sung maybe five years ago but now I definitely couldn't and was unsure how good the piece would be in a significantly lower octave. (Background: I sung choir for two years in high school and, for the most part, know how to read music). A couple days later I took real responsibility (being but days from year 18) and found a song which was actually rather good, as well as appropriate for the Church setting.
Saturday came and I still hadn't practiced the song once, until 10:30 that night (that day was my birthday and I was rather busy throughout the day - more on that later, perhaps). Chantelle was very gracious and helped me get a hang on it (luckily it wasn't too difficult a song) for the next half hour.
But, here is what happened today. I got to Church around 8:20, thirty minutes late for choir, which would also be singing in the program. Fortunately, I am one of the better singers there, and one of the only basses, so that wasn't too difficult. It wasn't until around 8:45, fifteen minutes before Church would begin that I realized "Holy crap, I am singing in Church soon. I am singing a complete solo for the first time in my life in front of over a hundred people." I was nervous for a couple distinct reasons: 1) I tend to be very self-conscious and worried about how good the song would sound after so little practice and 2) I wanted to sound good for Him. People were here to feel His spirit, especially today; this wasn't like a high school choir concert where one could get away with singing poorly. I felt that I had to do my very best because to do any less would, well, not bode well, to say it simply.
As any reader is now aware, I was once dreadfully afraid of roller coasters. Yet that fear, the one I experienced in the minutes leading up to my first ride back in 2010, was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt around 9:20. What is worse is that I sing best when I am perfectly calm and at ease which I definitely wasn't at this moment. So, here goes nothing, I rise up to the podium, and I swear I am shaking like a house in the middle of an earthquake, then I start singing. First verse is alright, particularly after stepping away from the podium, though still gripping it tightly with one hand for support.
The room is dead quiet when I finish and walk back to my seat. The next thirty minutes are agonizing simply because I don't know how I did. I think He liked it, I hope He did, but I still can't tell if that warm feeling is the Spirit or the fear (looking back on it, it was probably a bit of both). No one looks at me for the rest of the meeting and I'm freaking out. Yet then the meeting ends and I find my roommates before quickly getting embraced by a number of ward members, complimenting me on how well I did. I am overwhelmed that they liked it and simultaneously extremely happy. The wife of our ward clerk comes up to me and tells me that she loved it and bawled through the whole thing. To put it simply, my ward is the best!
One of my mottos, accumulated through a few years experience, is that the breaking out of one's shell can be difficult yet once one is out, some of the truly great things in life manifest themselves. Such is what happened today, on an Easter that I will never forget.
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Young(er) and the Restless
One experience which I am pretty sure no one in the class has gone through is graduating a year early and coming to BYU. Today is in fact my last day as a 17-year-old BYU student. Needless to say, it has been very interesting.
Most of my friends in high school were a year younger and I didn't know too many people in the class of 2011 outside those in my classes, Cross Country, Drama, or Choir. I was worried that it would be totally obvious right away and that it would be very weird hanging with a bunch of older people. Also, it was not necessarily easy leaving high school early. I had just found my niche (the drama program), I was poised to finally make Varsity for Cross Country, and there was a lot of opportunities ripe for the taking. However, I knew that going to BYU was the right thing so, rather nervous, I went.
And it has been great, quirky at times, but great. No one really notices that I am younger (I blame my height advantage) and those whom I've told seem shocked. My friends don't really care; the only difference is that they are getting their mission calls and I'm not (which just makes me wish even more that I was). Three of my roommates are a year and a half older than I am and one is four years older (an RM), but we are all best friends, who go to Pizza Hut together on Friday nights. My 21-year-old roommate serves as my unofficial "legal guardian" because I'm still not old enough to sign off for safety waivers and stuff like that (otherwise I would just lie because, again, no one notices.)
I am pretty positive that next semester will be strange: all my male friends will be gone, the freshmen who are actually my age will be living on-campus while I live off, I'll have to speak Spanish whenever I'm at home (I'll be living in the Foreign Language housing), and some of my female friends might get engaged. Yet, at the same time, I've learned this semester that I don't have to worry. Things will work out because...well, I don't really know how to say it. Because BYU is just awesome? Because the Lord is looking out for me? Yeah, I think both those responses work well. So....goodbye year 17 and hello adulthood!
Most of my friends in high school were a year younger and I didn't know too many people in the class of 2011 outside those in my classes, Cross Country, Drama, or Choir. I was worried that it would be totally obvious right away and that it would be very weird hanging with a bunch of older people. Also, it was not necessarily easy leaving high school early. I had just found my niche (the drama program), I was poised to finally make Varsity for Cross Country, and there was a lot of opportunities ripe for the taking. However, I knew that going to BYU was the right thing so, rather nervous, I went.
And it has been great, quirky at times, but great. No one really notices that I am younger (I blame my height advantage) and those whom I've told seem shocked. My friends don't really care; the only difference is that they are getting their mission calls and I'm not (which just makes me wish even more that I was). Three of my roommates are a year and a half older than I am and one is four years older (an RM), but we are all best friends, who go to Pizza Hut together on Friday nights. My 21-year-old roommate serves as my unofficial "legal guardian" because I'm still not old enough to sign off for safety waivers and stuff like that (otherwise I would just lie because, again, no one notices.)
I am pretty positive that next semester will be strange: all my male friends will be gone, the freshmen who are actually my age will be living on-campus while I live off, I'll have to speak Spanish whenever I'm at home (I'll be living in the Foreign Language housing), and some of my female friends might get engaged. Yet, at the same time, I've learned this semester that I don't have to worry. Things will work out because...well, I don't really know how to say it. Because BYU is just awesome? Because the Lord is looking out for me? Yeah, I think both those responses work well. So....goodbye year 17 and hello adulthood!
Children of God
In March, the first one who didn't stay came, a beautiful little girl of Central American ancestry named Faith. The call for Faith came from a hospital; her dad was an abusive drunk and her mom...wasn't around. She had been dropped and was undergoing medical care to make sure that she was alright. She was a little survivor. Faith was adorable, simply put. She would crawl around and there was nothing more happy than to sit and play with her. Faith left to go live with her aunt in Florida during July, right in the middle of summer term. There was a chance that she was going to come back in August...except she didn't. I haven't seen her since the day my family left after dropping me off at BYU. I still think about her often and was very happy to hear last month from my dad that she was doing really well. That, I think, is one of the best things about foster care; it really increases your capacity to love. I don't know if I will ever see Faith in this life, but I have faith (pun intended) that I will get to see her again someday.
The next boy was Matthias, who came...well, actually I don't remember, I just know that I met him over Thanksgiving break last semester. Matthias, simply, was cool. It's really interesting comparing him to Colin because, whereas Colin is five and barely speaks sentences, Matthias, at age two, was giving me high-fives and answering question. I mean, Matthias, whose mom is studying to be a kindergarten teacher, didn't have it near as bad as Colin did, but the fact that they seem equal in intelligence is admittedly intriguing. Over Christmas break, Matthias and I became fast friends (of my siblings, I am definitely his favorite) during our family vacation to California and I miss him. (laugh) Apparently, though, my mom is getting a bit tired of him, because Colin has had a bad influence on him and now they are both super hyper. Odds are, he will be gone before I get back in June, and I will miss him, yet it was fun and, again, I know I'll see him again...someday.
The most recent child I actually haven't met yet. His name is Nathan, my parents got him when he was five days old and he is now two months old. My dad likes to send me pictures of Nathan often and I can't wait to meet him. I've heard that he is very small for his age, only about five pounds and because of this, my mom jokes that he looks like an alien. Well, I haven't met too many aliens, but Nathan is definitely my favorite.
In Conference a few days ago, I really realized that I too want to do foster care. I've loved it and I know my family has as well. It reminds me of Dallin's Moody's devotional given a few weeks ago; when we care for others, when we invite them into our home, it sanctifies us, it gives us an added measure of love and the Spirit.
So, to anyone who years down the road might be thinking of doing foster care and/or adopting a child. Do it! Your life will be blessed, that I promise you.
The next boy was Matthias, who came...well, actually I don't remember, I just know that I met him over Thanksgiving break last semester. Matthias, simply, was cool. It's really interesting comparing him to Colin because, whereas Colin is five and barely speaks sentences, Matthias, at age two, was giving me high-fives and answering question. I mean, Matthias, whose mom is studying to be a kindergarten teacher, didn't have it near as bad as Colin did, but the fact that they seem equal in intelligence is admittedly intriguing. Over Christmas break, Matthias and I became fast friends (of my siblings, I am definitely his favorite) during our family vacation to California and I miss him. (laugh) Apparently, though, my mom is getting a bit tired of him, because Colin has had a bad influence on him and now they are both super hyper. Odds are, he will be gone before I get back in June, and I will miss him, yet it was fun and, again, I know I'll see him again...someday.
The most recent child I actually haven't met yet. His name is Nathan, my parents got him when he was five days old and he is now two months old. My dad likes to send me pictures of Nathan often and I can't wait to meet him. I've heard that he is very small for his age, only about five pounds and because of this, my mom jokes that he looks like an alien. Well, I haven't met too many aliens, but Nathan is definitely my favorite.
In Conference a few days ago, I really realized that I too want to do foster care. I've loved it and I know my family has as well. It reminds me of Dallin's Moody's devotional given a few weeks ago; when we care for others, when we invite them into our home, it sanctifies us, it gives us an added measure of love and the Spirit.
So, to anyone who years down the road might be thinking of doing foster care and/or adopting a child. Do it! Your life will be blessed, that I promise you.
Three Years Later
Three years passed during I went through that terribly trying time called middle school. Yet it wasn't all bad. I finished eighth grade with straight As and a steady spot as one of the premier runners on our eighth-grade boys cross country team. I was finally starting to break out of my shy shell, if only bit by bit. That summer I was in my first show and discovered that I like acting a lot! I was excited, albeit slightly nervous, to be entering Carson High School and all the new opportunities and challenges that would accompany it. Yet, there was one thing I didn't expect.
After having adopted J three years earlier, my parents were now sure that they were done. Five kids was plenty, yet, because the experience had been good and we were decently well off, my family decided to try foster care instead, with the stipulation that the foster children be aged three or younger. Based on the experience with J, we knew now that we had something to give to children, a way to help. For years though this had proven fruitless and no children had come into our home for more than an afternoon. Yet, kind of like with Jeremiah, one day my parents got a call and, the day after they had gotten back from a vacation/work conference in Florida, two redheaded little children, named Colin and Keira Askins (they were a brother and sister, aged 2 and 1) came to our house on my dads 39th birthday. They were born of a teenage mom in Carson City who had no desire to take care of them. In fact, the first day I met Colin, he had on a leather Harley jacket, a shirt that said "Well it seemed like a good idea at the time," and a mohawk. Yes, a two year old redhead with a mohawk. The NDHHS (Nevada Department of Health and Human Services) people said that they would only be at our house for a few months.
Colin was (and is) very interesting. He has FAS (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome) and was fed soda instead of milk. When we first got him, he had to have his front three teeth removed because they had rotted away. He still has some developmental issues and has been going to therapy the whole time we've had him. Lately, my parents have tried equine therapy, which I've heard is working. He is incredibly hyperactive unless given his medication and sometimes it is hard to understand him. He doesn't think things out much and, at age five, will still dart into the path of a moving car unless carefully watched. Keira on the other hand can talk rather well and is, for the most part, well behaved (outside usual child misbehavior).
Anyways, after three years of this experience that we were told would last for months, in 2011 we all decided that Colin and Keira were sufficiently part of our family and that it would possibly delay Colin even further if he had to go somewhere else after three years here. I mean, heck, they're my siblings and I love them, simple as that. It is just...something that you get used to. Sometimes I even forget that J was adopted in the first place. Last March, we went to the court in Carson City (the judge was actually a former member of our stake presidency whom we know rather well) and, just like Jeremiah, Colin and Keira became my siblings; after finishing summer term here at BYU, we were sealed to them in the Manti Utah temple in August. Keira is adorable and Colin...is fantastic and getting better. Jeremiah and Colin (only two years apart) fight sometimes but a few months ago Jeremiah, a happy, docile child, laughingly told me that Colin and him were simultaneously making each other more and more crazy, in a good, brotherly way.
(laugh) Not every child we have since fostered have become siblings however, though all are, in some way, a part of the family.
After having adopted J three years earlier, my parents were now sure that they were done. Five kids was plenty, yet, because the experience had been good and we were decently well off, my family decided to try foster care instead, with the stipulation that the foster children be aged three or younger. Based on the experience with J, we knew now that we had something to give to children, a way to help. For years though this had proven fruitless and no children had come into our home for more than an afternoon. Yet, kind of like with Jeremiah, one day my parents got a call and, the day after they had gotten back from a vacation/work conference in Florida, two redheaded little children, named Colin and Keira Askins (they were a brother and sister, aged 2 and 1) came to our house on my dads 39th birthday. They were born of a teenage mom in Carson City who had no desire to take care of them. In fact, the first day I met Colin, he had on a leather Harley jacket, a shirt that said "Well it seemed like a good idea at the time," and a mohawk. Yes, a two year old redhead with a mohawk. The NDHHS (Nevada Department of Health and Human Services) people said that they would only be at our house for a few months.
Colin was (and is) very interesting. He has FAS (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome) and was fed soda instead of milk. When we first got him, he had to have his front three teeth removed because they had rotted away. He still has some developmental issues and has been going to therapy the whole time we've had him. Lately, my parents have tried equine therapy, which I've heard is working. He is incredibly hyperactive unless given his medication and sometimes it is hard to understand him. He doesn't think things out much and, at age five, will still dart into the path of a moving car unless carefully watched. Keira on the other hand can talk rather well and is, for the most part, well behaved (outside usual child misbehavior).
Anyways, after three years of this experience that we were told would last for months, in 2011 we all decided that Colin and Keira were sufficiently part of our family and that it would possibly delay Colin even further if he had to go somewhere else after three years here. I mean, heck, they're my siblings and I love them, simple as that. It is just...something that you get used to. Sometimes I even forget that J was adopted in the first place. Last March, we went to the court in Carson City (the judge was actually a former member of our stake presidency whom we know rather well) and, just like Jeremiah, Colin and Keira became my siblings; after finishing summer term here at BYU, we were sealed to them in the Manti Utah temple in August. Keira is adorable and Colin...is fantastic and getting better. Jeremiah and Colin (only two years apart) fight sometimes but a few months ago Jeremiah, a happy, docile child, laughingly told me that Colin and him were simultaneously making each other more and more crazy, in a good, brotherly way.
(laugh) Not every child we have since fostered have become siblings however, though all are, in some way, a part of the family.
My Favorite Person
A couple weeks ago, when we were discussing the personal narrative assignment in class, I read an assignment sheet upon which was the line "You have had experiences that no other human being has ever had." Then yesterday it kinda hit me. If I just keep writing blog posts as I had been, it would really be more than nonsensical rambling meant to try and fill a quota that is due next week, without putting too much thought into it. Let's be honest, no one wants to read that. Essentially, I hadn't considered my audience.
But with that line, I realized that I have gone through things that no one else in this Writing 150 class has before, and that, whether I use this blog after this class is finished or not, I could write something important, something people might find legitimately interesting. What I'm saying is that I'm thinking of looking at this blog requirement more as an opportunity than as a...well, a requirement. So, with this focus in mind, I'll begin with the most important thing that I don't think many have experienced before, something rather personal.
I wanted a brother. I was nine years old and my favorite movie was "Angels in the Outfield," a story of two young boys in foster care, brothers in a sense, who soften the heart of a baseball coach, hardened by many a losing season, to find family. I could care less whether he was older or younger, all I knew was that I wanted a brother. I had three wonderful sisters at the time, yet by age nine, one really wants something to do boy things with, like play sports (even though I didn't really like sports) and go on adventures. I was very shy and I wanted a friend to play with at all hours of the day, not just when their mom brought them over.
So, in a childlike, naive way, I told my parents that I wanted a brother. They then quickly informed me that they did not plan on having any more children. Yet of course life never goes as planned and, equipped with my "Angels in the Outfield" knowledge, I replied "Well then, just adopt one!"
And, wouldn't you know it, they decided that seemed like a good idea. My mom would later say that she saw my little brother in a dream, calling her "mommy." Yet, next thing I knew, we were going to classes once a week in Auburn, CA (we lived in Roseville at the time) where my parents became certified whilst my siblings and I played in the back room with other children, me spouting my "Harry Potter" knowledge and boasting how I had read the fourth one in only a week.
I remember once, while in an adjacent room waiting for these classes to start, there was a young boy, probably about two years old, with olive skin. Due to my aforementioned shyness, I wasn't very good at talking to children my age or older and that, coupled with my younger siblings, led me to a certain love of children. I had a way of making them smile. So, for a few minutes, this little boy and I laughingly played with a roll of toilet paper (to this day, I don't know how or why that got there, but it was what we had so we played with it). Silently afterwards, I wished that my brother would be like this boy.
In May 2004, my family and I went to New York City, Palmyra, Boston, DC, and Niagara to sightsee. On the 25th, a cold Boston day, unbeknownst to me, my little brother was born in Marysville, CA.
A few months later, we got a call and drove up to visit little Jeremiah Glenn Barnett who was staying with a foster family in Gridley, about an hour and a half away. He was adorable, only a few months old, with bright blue eyes. Over the next few months, we would visit Jeremiah (or "Germy" as I affectionately called him) often until February when he got to stay with us on weekends.
Then the company my dad worked for got bought out and we were going to be moving. To keep Jeremiah, we had to stay in California or close to the border...so my dad got a great job offer in Carson City, NV, where we live to this day.
In August of 2005, we ventured to the huge, immaculately built Auburn courthouse where the judge signed the papers and Jeremiah Nicholas Favero became my little brother. Within the month, we went to the Reno Nevada Temple and Jeremiah ("J" now) became my brother forever. Jeremiah and I are ten years apart, but he is my favorite person ever. I love telling people "Yeah, I said I wanted a brother and my parents got me one, simple as that," and I can't wait to see and spend time with my brother this summer, our last summer to hang together before my mission. When one of the apostles at General Conference mentioned adoptive and foster families, I called my parents later and happily told them that they had received a shout-out in conference, that I was like "Yeah, that my parents!" when I had heard it.
Except...in the end, I didn't end up getting just one brother...(to be continued)
But with that line, I realized that I have gone through things that no one else in this Writing 150 class has before, and that, whether I use this blog after this class is finished or not, I could write something important, something people might find legitimately interesting. What I'm saying is that I'm thinking of looking at this blog requirement more as an opportunity than as a...well, a requirement. So, with this focus in mind, I'll begin with the most important thing that I don't think many have experienced before, something rather personal.
I wanted a brother. I was nine years old and my favorite movie was "Angels in the Outfield," a story of two young boys in foster care, brothers in a sense, who soften the heart of a baseball coach, hardened by many a losing season, to find family. I could care less whether he was older or younger, all I knew was that I wanted a brother. I had three wonderful sisters at the time, yet by age nine, one really wants something to do boy things with, like play sports (even though I didn't really like sports) and go on adventures. I was very shy and I wanted a friend to play with at all hours of the day, not just when their mom brought them over.
So, in a childlike, naive way, I told my parents that I wanted a brother. They then quickly informed me that they did not plan on having any more children. Yet of course life never goes as planned and, equipped with my "Angels in the Outfield" knowledge, I replied "Well then, just adopt one!"
And, wouldn't you know it, they decided that seemed like a good idea. My mom would later say that she saw my little brother in a dream, calling her "mommy." Yet, next thing I knew, we were going to classes once a week in Auburn, CA (we lived in Roseville at the time) where my parents became certified whilst my siblings and I played in the back room with other children, me spouting my "Harry Potter" knowledge and boasting how I had read the fourth one in only a week.
I remember once, while in an adjacent room waiting for these classes to start, there was a young boy, probably about two years old, with olive skin. Due to my aforementioned shyness, I wasn't very good at talking to children my age or older and that, coupled with my younger siblings, led me to a certain love of children. I had a way of making them smile. So, for a few minutes, this little boy and I laughingly played with a roll of toilet paper (to this day, I don't know how or why that got there, but it was what we had so we played with it). Silently afterwards, I wished that my brother would be like this boy.
In May 2004, my family and I went to New York City, Palmyra, Boston, DC, and Niagara to sightsee. On the 25th, a cold Boston day, unbeknownst to me, my little brother was born in Marysville, CA.
A few months later, we got a call and drove up to visit little Jeremiah Glenn Barnett who was staying with a foster family in Gridley, about an hour and a half away. He was adorable, only a few months old, with bright blue eyes. Over the next few months, we would visit Jeremiah (or "Germy" as I affectionately called him) often until February when he got to stay with us on weekends.
Then the company my dad worked for got bought out and we were going to be moving. To keep Jeremiah, we had to stay in California or close to the border...so my dad got a great job offer in Carson City, NV, where we live to this day.
In August of 2005, we ventured to the huge, immaculately built Auburn courthouse where the judge signed the papers and Jeremiah Nicholas Favero became my little brother. Within the month, we went to the Reno Nevada Temple and Jeremiah ("J" now) became my brother forever. Jeremiah and I are ten years apart, but he is my favorite person ever. I love telling people "Yeah, I said I wanted a brother and my parents got me one, simple as that," and I can't wait to see and spend time with my brother this summer, our last summer to hang together before my mission. When one of the apostles at General Conference mentioned adoptive and foster families, I called my parents later and happily told them that they had received a shout-out in conference, that I was like "Yeah, that my parents!" when I had heard it.
Except...in the end, I didn't end up getting just one brother...(to be continued)
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
What is a Blog?
So, in need of blog posts, I Googled "perfect blog post" to try and learn how. I had just written something about music but didn't post it because in class we discussed that blog posts should be short and not rambling. I quickly realized that I was making a public thought-journal which, as far as I know, is not the purpose of the blogging assignment. After checking the syllabus and finding not much relating to the subject, I then Googled "difference between blog and facebook" and, to my shock, discovered that blog is short for Web Log, which the answerers on WikiAnswers said is essentially on online journal.
So...online journal....well, to be honest, I've never had a journal so here goes nothing. A couple weeks ago I went to the Festival of Colors at the Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork with my summer roommate Brandon and my friends Dallin, Haley, and Kaytee. The traffic was backed up for miles and we laughingly considered how odd it must be for the normally-quiet little city. When we at last got there, I saw people coming back and thought that this must be the Utah equivalent of Woodstock. Within a couple hours I was completely drenched with thrown color and, gosh, it was SO AWESOME! For a guy who had never been allowed to dye his hair (my parents always worried that it wouldn't come out) I am most happy to report that my golden locks had turned a wonderful shade of purple. Overall, a completely fantastic time and I cannot wait to go next year.
So...online journal....well, to be honest, I've never had a journal so here goes nothing. A couple weeks ago I went to the Festival of Colors at the Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork with my summer roommate Brandon and my friends Dallin, Haley, and Kaytee. The traffic was backed up for miles and we laughingly considered how odd it must be for the normally-quiet little city. When we at last got there, I saw people coming back and thought that this must be the Utah equivalent of Woodstock. Within a couple hours I was completely drenched with thrown color and, gosh, it was SO AWESOME! For a guy who had never been allowed to dye his hair (my parents always worried that it wouldn't come out) I am most happy to report that my golden locks had turned a wonderful shade of purple. Overall, a completely fantastic time and I cannot wait to go next year.
"You are More than what You have Become"
"If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth." -Colossians 3:1-2.
A few months ago, during my first visit to the Provo Temple while studying at BYU, I was led to read Elder Carl B. Cook's October 2011 conference message about remembering to look up. The central theme of this talk is that looking heavenward makes us happier. We spend so much time looking sideways at what others think of us that we rarely take the time to look up and see what God thinks of us which, in reality, is what really matters. This point really impressed me and has been on my mind ever since.
This past weekend was another FANTASTIC general conference. Many good talks were given by such great orators as Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Jeffrey R. Holland, and, of course, our beloved prophet President Thomas S. Monson. Yet two that also particularly piqued my attention were those by Neil L. Andersen and O. Vincent Haleck. Both seem to revolve around a shared message similar to Elder Cook's six months earlier. Elder Andersen asked: What thinks Christ of me? Haleck questioned what Christ, the Savior, saw within those three poor fishermen whom would become prophets of God and what He might likewise see in each of us.
I have always loved the truth that God has a vision for each of us, the idea that we each have a marvelous destiny that, so long as we do as He would have us do, we can become even more than any of us could possibly imagine. Haleck states that "When we emulate him, we can see a vision of whom we can become." Just think of it, to become like Christ! How amazing that would be!
Sometimes, however, we don't think of ourselves in such a way. Sometimes, we lose sight of this in the midst of all that life continually throws at us. Haleck warns that we must not let this happen, for "Where there is no vision, people perish." We truly need not fear because, as Anderson reassures "Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right."
Andersen then pleads and admonishes us to ask ourselves, "Does my life reflect the Love and Devotion that I feel for the Savior? Remember that all things are possible to him (or her) that believeth. We each have the sufficient capacity to do what He would have us do and be our best self. We each can try our hardest and that will be enough to Him. We must, as Haleck proclaims, "have the faith to do."
The apostles, when asked by our Savior if they too would leave him, answered simply, "To whom shalt we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life." There is a divine destiny for each of us, an inspired path by which we can each return to Him with those we love. He sees in us potential. He sees in us someone worth saving, someone who can make a difference. He sees us as friends, as he says in the New Testament. He wants us to return. He loves us, and no matter what the world thinks of us, if the very powers of hell assault us with "their shafts in the whirlwinds," he will be there and that, more than anything else, is what really matters.
Remember, look up. Smile. Show love as he would.
A few months ago, during my first visit to the Provo Temple while studying at BYU, I was led to read Elder Carl B. Cook's October 2011 conference message about remembering to look up. The central theme of this talk is that looking heavenward makes us happier. We spend so much time looking sideways at what others think of us that we rarely take the time to look up and see what God thinks of us which, in reality, is what really matters. This point really impressed me and has been on my mind ever since.
This past weekend was another FANTASTIC general conference. Many good talks were given by such great orators as Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Jeffrey R. Holland, and, of course, our beloved prophet President Thomas S. Monson. Yet two that also particularly piqued my attention were those by Neil L. Andersen and O. Vincent Haleck. Both seem to revolve around a shared message similar to Elder Cook's six months earlier. Elder Andersen asked: What thinks Christ of me? Haleck questioned what Christ, the Savior, saw within those three poor fishermen whom would become prophets of God and what He might likewise see in each of us.
I have always loved the truth that God has a vision for each of us, the idea that we each have a marvelous destiny that, so long as we do as He would have us do, we can become even more than any of us could possibly imagine. Haleck states that "When we emulate him, we can see a vision of whom we can become." Just think of it, to become like Christ! How amazing that would be!
Sometimes, however, we don't think of ourselves in such a way. Sometimes, we lose sight of this in the midst of all that life continually throws at us. Haleck warns that we must not let this happen, for "Where there is no vision, people perish." We truly need not fear because, as Anderson reassures "Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right."
Andersen then pleads and admonishes us to ask ourselves, "Does my life reflect the Love and Devotion that I feel for the Savior? Remember that all things are possible to him (or her) that believeth. We each have the sufficient capacity to do what He would have us do and be our best self. We each can try our hardest and that will be enough to Him. We must, as Haleck proclaims, "have the faith to do."
The apostles, when asked by our Savior if they too would leave him, answered simply, "To whom shalt we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life." There is a divine destiny for each of us, an inspired path by which we can each return to Him with those we love. He sees in us potential. He sees in us someone worth saving, someone who can make a difference. He sees us as friends, as he says in the New Testament. He wants us to return. He loves us, and no matter what the world thinks of us, if the very powers of hell assault us with "their shafts in the whirlwinds," he will be there and that, more than anything else, is what really matters.
Remember, look up. Smile. Show love as he would.
Taming the Dragon: A Fight with Fear (Writing 150 Personal Narrative)
It was a beautiful Florida day: sunny, not overly humid, perfect. The shimmering sun shone on the mighty metal frames and bright beams of the amusement park rides on that joyous day in early June. My family and I walked down the wide entryway towards the gate at Universal Studios Orlando. I was filled with sheer anxiety at the sight of those tall roller coasters, those sleek, serpentine steel monsters that had for nearly ten years been the subject of many a nightmare. Yet intertwined with that fear was utmost excitement; I was here! In mere moments I would be at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the theme park based on that magical book series that had so captivated me as a child and taught me to love reading. At that moment, I felt like a young eagle, scared of the scorching sun but excited to finally be flying.
“Tickets please,” the cashier said as we at long last arrived. My mom took the tickets out of her purse. My second-youngest sister, Juliet, wasn’t feeling well.
“Do we need to buy any more?” my dad inquired.
“No, that’s okay, Juliet and I are going to go shopping!” my mom said, trying her best to make poor Juliet feel a bit better about not getting to go.
We entered the gate, found the nearest person that looked official, and asked how long the Wizarding World would be opened for. Considering that this section of the park had not officially opened yet, this was a major concern.
“They are thinking of closing it at eleven,” the man softly replied.
It was 10:15. Within seconds, I was off like a rocket at nearby Cape Canaveral, as fast as my sixteen-year-old legs, made fast by years of running on my high school cross-country team, would carry me, the stupendousness and sheen of Hogwarts Castle acting as a guide as I ran. I reached a bridge across which and around the bend I was sure the place of my dream lay hidden…that is until I was stopped by a park worker.
“Slow down!” He reprimanded. I then explained my situation, how I had to get to the Wizarding World before it closed. “Oh, they’re thinking of keeping it open until 12:30 today,” he straightforwardly stated. Relieved at my luck, I slowed down and, with the tension of a pulled rubber band, waited for my dad and two younger sisters.
When we were at last there, it was so superbly surreal! I was in Hogsmeade! We went inside Honeydukes, surrounded by screaming, excited fellow fans, to look for souvenirs, whilst hearing an announcer proclaim loudly with each “adopted” pintsized pink Pygmy Puff. Completely in awe, we bought Butterbeers and a Chocolate Frog. It was wonderful, all I could have asked for, except one thing lingered; the Wizarding World of Harry Potter had a roller coaster, a big one called Dueling Dragons, that went upside-down and in loop-de-loops. We then went on Homing Hippogriffs, a thrill ride but not scary enough to deter me. Then it was decision time: to wait for minutes that felt like hours as I had many times before while my sisters and dad went on the behemoth or do something crazy and join them. The deciding seconds were agonizing.
“Vic, you gonna join us?” My dad, knowing full well of my fear, patiently asked.
Filled with nervousness and feeling almost like I might faint, I stammered something along the lines of “Well, I guess, considering the circumstances, it would be a waste if I didn’t.” We put our souvenirs in a locker and got in line. Within five minutes, I was about to do it. I was about to get on a roller coaster, vaguely reassured by the fact that, if I hated it, I would never have to ride one again. The ride started, zooming, up the huge first hill, and was off! The adrenaline was almost a safety net, drowning my inhibitions in a sea of heart-pumping excitement. For a brief second, I saw my legs dangle above the street over a hundred feet below before going face-to-face with the other “dragon” of the coaster, which placed the passengers of the two corresponding coasters within feet of each other.
And then it was done. And it wasn’t too bad. For the next few hours we continued going on rides, including one with an 85 foot vertical drop. However, then came the other roller coaster at the park, a roller coaster both taller and considerably faster than Dueling Dragons. My confidence lured me in line but, seeing other coaster riders, my old fear quickly reappeared. As we boarded, I muttered to my sister, “Yeah, I’ll go on it but I probably won’t like it.”
Needless to say, I did. Very much.
Nearly two years later, we arrived at that first park I had ever been to, the first park where I remember seeing a roller coaster, the park where I nearly ran out when I was seven because I was so scared of ROAR!, the park’s beastly wooden death-trap, or that was what I had once considered it. This time, when the anxiety returned, it was quickly vanquished; as I got of that roller coaster, I felt completely, totally alive, having shed these old fears. In fact, I went on it again. Twice.
One, including me, might think that this would only apply to adrenaline-seeking activities such as fast rides or cliff jumping. Except I guess this was proven wrong because two months after I triumphantly got off that wooden ride, I found myself on Valentine’s Day at 11 PM , palms sweaty and nervously trembling, knocking on the door of an apartment in Heritage Halls, where inside lived a girl whom for months I had considered to be breathtakingly beautiful. I was absolutely scared to death. The difference? Well, the difference was that that fear no longer mattered.
“Tickets please,” the cashier said as we at long last arrived. My mom took the tickets out of her purse. My second-youngest sister, Juliet, wasn’t feeling well.
“Do we need to buy any more?” my dad inquired.
“No, that’s okay, Juliet and I are going to go shopping!” my mom said, trying her best to make poor Juliet feel a bit better about not getting to go.
We entered the gate, found the nearest person that looked official, and asked how long the Wizarding World would be opened for. Considering that this section of the park had not officially opened yet, this was a major concern.
“They are thinking of closing it at eleven,” the man softly replied.
It was 10:15. Within seconds, I was off like a rocket at nearby Cape Canaveral, as fast as my sixteen-year-old legs, made fast by years of running on my high school cross-country team, would carry me, the stupendousness and sheen of Hogwarts Castle acting as a guide as I ran. I reached a bridge across which and around the bend I was sure the place of my dream lay hidden…that is until I was stopped by a park worker.
“Slow down!” He reprimanded. I then explained my situation, how I had to get to the Wizarding World before it closed. “Oh, they’re thinking of keeping it open until 12:30 today,” he straightforwardly stated. Relieved at my luck, I slowed down and, with the tension of a pulled rubber band, waited for my dad and two younger sisters.
When we were at last there, it was so superbly surreal! I was in Hogsmeade! We went inside Honeydukes, surrounded by screaming, excited fellow fans, to look for souvenirs, whilst hearing an announcer proclaim loudly with each “adopted” pintsized pink Pygmy Puff. Completely in awe, we bought Butterbeers and a Chocolate Frog. It was wonderful, all I could have asked for, except one thing lingered; the Wizarding World of Harry Potter had a roller coaster, a big one called Dueling Dragons, that went upside-down and in loop-de-loops. We then went on Homing Hippogriffs, a thrill ride but not scary enough to deter me. Then it was decision time: to wait for minutes that felt like hours as I had many times before while my sisters and dad went on the behemoth or do something crazy and join them. The deciding seconds were agonizing.
“Vic, you gonna join us?” My dad, knowing full well of my fear, patiently asked.
Filled with nervousness and feeling almost like I might faint, I stammered something along the lines of “Well, I guess, considering the circumstances, it would be a waste if I didn’t.” We put our souvenirs in a locker and got in line. Within five minutes, I was about to do it. I was about to get on a roller coaster, vaguely reassured by the fact that, if I hated it, I would never have to ride one again. The ride started, zooming, up the huge first hill, and was off! The adrenaline was almost a safety net, drowning my inhibitions in a sea of heart-pumping excitement. For a brief second, I saw my legs dangle above the street over a hundred feet below before going face-to-face with the other “dragon” of the coaster, which placed the passengers of the two corresponding coasters within feet of each other.
And then it was done. And it wasn’t too bad. For the next few hours we continued going on rides, including one with an 85 foot vertical drop. However, then came the other roller coaster at the park, a roller coaster both taller and considerably faster than Dueling Dragons. My confidence lured me in line but, seeing other coaster riders, my old fear quickly reappeared. As we boarded, I muttered to my sister, “Yeah, I’ll go on it but I probably won’t like it.”
Needless to say, I did. Very much.
Nearly two years later, we arrived at that first park I had ever been to, the first park where I remember seeing a roller coaster, the park where I nearly ran out when I was seven because I was so scared of ROAR!, the park’s beastly wooden death-trap, or that was what I had once considered it. This time, when the anxiety returned, it was quickly vanquished; as I got of that roller coaster, I felt completely, totally alive, having shed these old fears. In fact, I went on it again. Twice.
One, including me, might think that this would only apply to adrenaline-seeking activities such as fast rides or cliff jumping. Except I guess this was proven wrong because two months after I triumphantly got off that wooden ride, I found myself on Valentine’s Day at 11 PM , palms sweaty and nervously trembling, knocking on the door of an apartment in Heritage Halls, where inside lived a girl whom for months I had considered to be breathtakingly beautiful. I was absolutely scared to death. The difference? Well, the difference was that that fear no longer mattered.
In Latin, as well as English, the word “victor” means conqueror or vanquisher. In this case, what was conquered was fear. Victor had become the victor.
Monday, April 2, 2012
"Firsts": A Classroom Exercise
Last week in class, we wrote simple, five-minute personal narratives and, due to the fact that people seemed to like mine and that I am in desperate need of blog posts, I figured to finish this story and then post it here. However, though they are rather similar, this is not my official personal narrative draft. If any would like to read that, it is the previous post and is entitled "A Healthy Dose of Fear-Be-Gone."
This was cool. This was exhilaration. I mean, I was flying! At forty miles per hour on the jetski owned by my new roommate's uncle, I sat in awe as me and my new-friend-I-had-just-met-that-morning Emily zoomed across the brilliant blue water of Bear Lake. My knuckles were white as I held on to the passenger seat handles for dear life. My mind was filled with both sheer terror and utter amazement.
"Would you like to drive?" Emily asked.
"Heck yeah!" said I.
For minutes that felt like forever I sterred this incredibly fast water-motorcycle in circles and loops, making waves only to quickly soar over them. Emily zoomed far south as she drove, before we turned around and flew north, scouring the surface of the water for any little thing that looked remotely intriguing. Within the hour, we had largely lost track of where the dock was, not really worrying because the jetski provided an easy way to get back, at least we thought.
Except, then it stopped. We tried in vain for a few minutes to restart the jetski, yet this yielded no success, forcing the assumption that the jetski, which had only just been refueled a little while ago, might already be out of gas. Needless to say, the prospect of swimming back, with or without the jetski, was rather unappealing.
Then I had this idea and, after slightly chuckling at the cliche, New Era-esque thought, I sincerely asked:
"Should we pray?"
"It's worth a shot." Emily responded.
So, as I had the Aaronic Priesthood, I said a prayer, something simple about getting back safe and continuing to have a fun rest of the day. We then proceeded to turn the key...and...it didn't start. I tried again and this time the engine roared like a lion back to life. Empowered by both the roaring engine and the wonderful hope that comes with further realization of God's love through answered prayers, we eventually made our way back to shore and did, in fact, have a fantastic rest of the day.
And lastly, to say it simply, I can't wait to go jetskiing again.
P.S. The symbol thing I put in the corner was not KHOM, put rather KRUM (like Viktor Krum from Harry Potter) with a 47 through the middle. Just...thought I'd let you know...
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