Faith is action

I have this recurring dream. It's the first day of school, and I don't know what my classes are, where they are, or when they start. I don't know if I have homework or reading to do or who my teachers are. All I know is that I can't go to any of my classes until I know where I'm supposed to be, so I spend most of the dream frantically racing against the clock as I try to track down my schedule.

If I'm in high school, I'm looking for it in the junk mail stack at home, because in the early 2000s you had to wait to get your schedule in the mail and then call your friends to see if any of your classes matched up. When that doesn't work, I have to execute my worst-case scenario plan: go to the front office and ask them to print out a copy for me.

If I'm in college, I'm trying to remember my BYU login and how to navigate millions of drop-down menus to find the precious page that will be my blueprint for the semester.

I haven't quite figured the lucid dreaming thing out, but I've had this dream often enough that I can sense the importance of preserving the information I seek so I won't be caught unprepared the next time. If I manage to get my hands on my schedule, I'll store it in a secret compartment in my backpack or the pocket of my jeans so that when the next first-day-of-school dream comes, I'll be ready. 

Except my plans never quite work out. Sure, the schedule I saved carries over to my next dream, but the writing is smudged or my jeans have gone through the wash so the paper is mush or the wind snatches that scrap of paper out of my hand. No matter what I do, the one thing I can count on is that I will be stuck, unable to move forward until I know where I'm going, while everyone around me is walking from class to class with purpose and confidence.

It wasn't hard to figure out why my brain keeps replaying this dream. I want to have a destination before I start moving. I don't want to waste time or risk failure or rejection by charging recklessly ahead. So in life, as in my dreams, I often find myself treading water, making no progress because I don't know which direction to go. I focus on the answers I seek, when what I probably should be doing is taking a leaf out of Fred Weasley's book: making up the plan as I go along (his favorite kind of plan, as he tells us in book 7). In other words, take a leap of faith.

In his October 2024 General Conference talk, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught:  

"We should not expect to understand everything before we act. That is not faith. As Alma taught, 'Faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things.' If we wait to act until all our questions are answered, we severely limit the good we can accomplish, and we limit the power of our faith."

Our society celebrates those who take action. Who visualize exactly what they want and then make it happen. I'm all about taking matters into your own hands and not waiting to be acted upon, but I'm finding that I'm often able to go further and accomplish more when I let myself be guided for a while. No vision board, no goals, no end game in mind—just the surety that none of my logical, thought-out plans have worked out and a hope that God will first untangle the knot I've gotten myself into and then send me the help I need to get going again. All I have to do is take the next step. In the dark. Possibly off a cliff.

It goes against my nature to relinquish control, but usually the first thing that happens when I surrender to God is that the awful feeling of stuckness goes away. I may still not know where I'm going, but I finally feel like I'm moving somewhere, toward something that matters, even though I don't have the steps mapped out for me. Somehow, the answers come as I go along, but only if I keep walking with faith.

I still get caught unprepared on the first day of school in my dreams from time to time, just like I freeze in real life when I don't know what my next step is. But walking into darkness is less panic inducing than it used to be. Yes, I still think things through and plan ahead as much as possible, but I'm learning that moving forward without answers doesn't have to be my last resort. It can in fact be the only way forward, and often leads to better outcomes.

The Lord lays out the promise of faith in action in Alma 32:43: 

"Then, my brethren, ye shall reap the rewards of your faith, and your diligence, and patience, and long-suffering, waiting for the tree to bring forth fruit unto you."

Faith isn't the easy part of the process, but in the end it's what makes it all work.

5 things I learned at BYU Education Week

I attended BYU Education Week for the first time last year and loved it so much I decided to attend every year for the rest of my life, provided I had the availability, ability, and vacation time to do so. People seem to think it's weird that I take a whole week off work to go to school, but it makes perfect sense to me. If I could pay the bills by being a professional student, I would do it. It would be a far more fulfilling career path than any I've stumbled into so far, that's for sure.

This shirt spoke to me.

My enthusiasm for Education Week stems partly from my love for BYU campus. It's one of my favorite places to be and always feels like home, even if it's been years since my last visit. On a deeper level, Education Week also (somewhat) quenches my insatiable desire to learn. This week feels like drinking from a fire hose of spirituality and intellectualism, and it's exhilarating, exhausting, and invigorating—and worth every one of those vacation days. 

I'm wearing the same backpack I used through all four years of college. It's carried a LOT of weight over the years and is still in one piece!

My journal entries of Education Week are always bursting with rambling insights, but I wanted to capture the main themes here in a more "official" format.

Truth can be found just about anywhere

One of the best lectures I attended was the "holy envy" series. Holy envy essentially means finding the good in other faiths and beliefs. This is one of the main reasons I love to read and learn so much—I love finding gospel truths in secular places. During this class we looked at the writings and teachings of non-LDS writers, leaders, saints, and more and compared them to Latter-day Saint scripture and teachings. We have more in common across cultural and political and religious divides than we think. Sure, we don't agree on everything, but truth is out there for anyone to find, no matter their background. 

The ultimate goal of covenants is to bring you closer to Christ

Covenants have been in the spotlight a lot recently, which carried over into Education Week. My understanding of and appreciation for temple covenants has deepened quite a bit this year, and some of the classes I took this week added more to what I've been learning. Temple covenants are more than a list of standards required to maintain a temple recommend. The main purpose of temple covenants is to draw us closer to Christ, and that is one of the most important relationships any of us can have. Keeping covenants requires sacrifice, just like any other relationship worth keeping, but those sacrifices set us up for continual joy and progression, which is what keeps us close to Christ, too.

When you're wandering in a wilderness, the worst thing you can do is give up

We see a lot of wandering communities in the scriptures. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Lehi's family left a life of comfort to wander through many wildernesses. The early Saints moved from place to years for decades before settling in Utah. While I've never had to leave my home and way of life to live in a tent for months or years, I do know what it feels like to wander aimlessly through life, wondering what the point of it all is. When you're stuck and feel like you're getting nowhere, it's tempting to just throw your hands up in the air and stop trying. The scriptures show us again and again that God is able to lead his people to more fertile places—eventually. But if you're set on camping out in your troubles forever because you're tired of trying, he can't lead you to something better. The only way through a trial is through it, and nobody knows better than God how to get you through it.

Creativity can change your life

Creating things is part of our nature as human beings, but it's hard to be creative in a world that demands conformity and where bills must be paid. But taking the time to create—even if you're not the best at sewing or painting or writing or baking—not only has the power to make your life better, it can also change your perspective on things and bring more joy into your life. I've struggled to prioritize creative pursuits when the realities of life must be answered to first (the dearth of posts on this blog is just one of many examples), but I'm feeling some hope now that there are actually solutions to be found that will allow me to live a more meaningful and useful life AND pay the bills. Cool things happen when you let yourself think outside the box and try new things.

Christopher Columbus wasn't the villain we make him out to be

It's very "in" these days to villainize Christopher Columbus and the American founders. In the case of Christopher Columbus, he's taken all the blame for the atrocities that happened in the Americas, both during his lifetime and for hundreds of years afterward. But primary sources—writings by Columbus himself and by those who knew him—tell a different story. I'm not saying that atrocities like slavery and sex trafficking didn't happen, just that there's no real evidence that Columbus was the perpetrator of them; oftentimes he wasn't even present when they happened. Obviously Columbus wasn't perfect, and his actions did have unintended consequences. But it's unreasonable and unfair to judge those from the past based on what we know now. I hate to think what people will be saying about us in a few hundred years.

Bonus thing: BYU Creamery ice cream is delicious

I missed out on a lot of quintessential BYU things while I was a student: hiking the Y, going to games and concerts, partaking of various culinary delights, dating. I like to blame it on being a poor, working student who had no free time or money—and that was certainly a huge part of it—but my shyness held me back from living the full college experience, too. I've made up for it somewhat in the years since graduation, though. This week I went to the Creamery on 9th twice, an iconic spot I've only been to a few times in my life, and was kind of astonished how good the ice cream was. I usually prefer my desserts to be in cake or cookie form, but if BYU Creamery ice cream was an option I might pass up my old favorites and spring for the ice cream. (The BYU brownies—WITHOUT mint—will always win the day, though.) For a church that's known for its "health code," aka, the Word of Wisdom, we sure know how to put the unhealthy in the foods we love.

A temple for Saratoga Springs

Eight years ago, I watched from a distance as my secondary hometown, Payson, Utah, got a new temple. I attended the ground-breaking, open house, and dedication, so I suppose I was a more active participant than "watching from a distance" lets on, but I knew this wouldn't be a temple I visited regularly. When you live in Utah, an hour is more than most of us are willing to drive to get to a Latter-day Saint temple.

A few years later, another temple was announced for Utah County: Saratoga Springs. I lived in Midvale at the time and was happy to hear that new temples were getting a little closer to Salt Lake County (my temple, Jordan River, was always insanely busy), but didn't know at the time that this would one day be my hometown temple.

Construction started making real progress in 2020, after I'd lived in Eagle Mountain for two years and had made the field that separated the temple from my neighborhood one of my walking routes. 

I've been dreading the extra traffic on Redwood this temple will bring, but it's easy to see why they picked this spot for the temple. The view of the lake and mountains is spectacular.

While we were stuck in COVID limbo, construction on the Saratoga Springs Temple was one of the only things in my life that was progressing at all. Once those walls started to go up, I took a temple selfie every time I was out in that field to mark its progress. Having grown up in a semi-remote town that required a car to get anywhere, living within walking distance of something so majestic made me feel, well, cool. That's when it really started to feel like my temple. 

October 2020. Yes, I was ridiculously late to the wireless headphones party.

After some supply-chain delays, the open house finally started earlier this year, and lasted for 12 weeks, the longest open house in the history of the church. This gave me plenty of opportunities to volunteer. I provided background music in the chapel next door three or four times and served once as a counting usher. Of course I was happy to help with the music, but I was also excited to put one of my other natural gifts to good use as a counting usher: sitting silently in the corner. 

About halfway through the open house, my giant singles ward was split into three. I ended up in one of the new wards, helmed by none other than the guy who was in charge of the ushering committee at the open house, a role that was basically a full-time job and involved working with thousands of volunteers—not to mention visitors—every day. He and his wife got the call right there in the temple.

My entire bishopric, in fact—and their wives—was heavily involved with the open house ushering committee. Amidst the chaos of building a brand new ward from scratch, the bishopric arranged to give our ward a private tour of the temple, which would include walking through rooms that weren't part of the regular tour.

Despite the early start time—7:30 a.m. on a Saturday, before the regular tours started at 9—many of us jumped at the chance. I was especially looking forward to seeing the bride's room and the children's waiting area. (Mom, you would have LOVED the adorable, exquisite table and chairs in the children's waiting room.)

But I soon realized that the bishopric had more in mind than a special VIP tour. This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Many wards do ward temple days, but most have never had the opportunity to book the entire temple for just their ward. To not only look around, but to be instructed and inspired by their leaders, like the early saints had done during Joseph Smith's time. 

We did. 

Seeing the stained glass windows and beautiful artwork (so much artwork!) and intricate architectural details is a sacred experience on its own. But it was the times we gathered together in the larger rooms that I'll remember most years from now. As we sat in a couple of the chapels, a sealing room, and an endowment room, each member of the bishopric and their wives took some time to bear their testimonies and share some of the miracles they had witnessed during the open house. Our brand-new Elder's Quorum and Relief Society presidents shared some thoughts as well. And when we were in the Celestial Room, we sat in silence for about 10 minutes, pondering and soaking in the sweet spirit that surrounded all of us.

It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. One of those times where you don't just feel the Holy Ghost on the inside—you feel it outside of you too, in the very air around you. It was a feeling so all-encompassing it took days to wear off completely—I had an unusually good week after that, which are hard to come by in the summer.

If you need help finding me, I'm the one who's having the most trouble keeping my eyes open with the sun blasting us in the face. 

Latter-day Saint temples are more than beautiful edifices. They're not meant to be a status symbol, or a reminder of the church's wealth. They are literal houses of God, where we can feel peace and do work that has eternal significance. Even seeing the Saratoga Springs Temple when I'm driving around or out on my walks gives me hope. Temples dotting the earth are a blessing for everyone, and I'm excited to continue to be a part of the newest one in Saratoga Springs.

Temple lights + supermoon = pure awesomeness

A gift that never expires

A few years ago, my sister invited me over to her house for dinner. When I arrived, my nephew answered the door. He looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, "You were gone too long."

It had been eight days. A blink-and-you'll-miss-it amount of time for me, but a long wait for a three-year-old.

I've thought about this moment a lot since then. And not just because it's one of the sweetest things a niece or nephew has ever said to me. It reminds me of the kind of love our Father in Heaven has for us. 

My relationship with God is, in many ways, a relationship like any other. I update him on my life. Ask for favors. Tell him I need my space. Get frustrated about our communication issues. 

It's also unlike any other relationship I've had. God asks far more of me than anyone else does. He's always trying to teach me a lesson and is often slow to answer prayers, which leads to a lot of resentment and anger on my end. Sometimes it feels like the only healthy thing to do is break up with him and strike out on my own. Find new friends who don't make me work so hard.

I always end up coming back, though. I agree with what Pres. Russell M. Nelson said at the October 2022 General Conference: "The truth is that it is much more exhausting to seek happiness where you can never find it! However, when you yoke yourself to Jesus Christ and do the spiritual work required to overcome the world, He, and He alone, does have the power to lift you above the pull of this world."

The coolest part of having a relationship with God is that he doesn't care how many times we've cast him off. He's not keeping track of how many chances we have left. He doesn't get annoyed that the lessons he's trying to teach us don't seem to stick for long.

And he notices how long we've been gone, even if we don't. And for him, it's always too long, even though he understands why we're keeping our distance.

So like my nephew did that day, he waits at the door for our knock. And when that knock finally comes, he opens the door right away. Not with a rebuke and an "I told you so," but with a hug and an invitation to sit by him at the dinner table.

We're not perfect, but God's love for us is. There aren't a lot of things we can count on in this world, but God's love is a gift that never expires.

Birthdays, fires, and miracles

Unlucky birthdays

I've always liked the number 13. Being born on the 13th of the month has endeared me to this unluckiest of numbers—it makes me feel like I'm living a little bit on the dark side.

But recent events have forced me to think over my lack of belief in unlucky 13s. Because bad things do tend to happen around my birthday.

For example:

• Sept. 11, 2001—No explanation needed
• Sept. 12, 2009—My Grandma Jackson died
• Sept. 13, 2013—A bunch of my coworkers were laid off (this was a Friday the 13th birthday, which was an otherwise awesome day)
• Sept. 13, 2018—9 of my 14 family members were evacuated due to a fire that threatened to send my childhood up in flames

Notice any similarities here? All of these happened to people around me, rather than directly to me. Each has felt profoundly personal, sure, but I feel morally bound to warn everyone that my next birthday falls on a Friday.

This is what the fire looked like from Eagle Mountain (about 40 miles from the fire) around the time Elk Ridge and Woodland Hills were ordered to evacuate. Hint: those are not clouds.

Terrible fires

If you live near a mountain in Utah, you know the fire risks. We've had fires within seeing distance of my childhood home before, but this fire (two fires actually, which have now combined—the Bald Mountain Fire and the Pole Creek Fire)—this fire is different. Aided by the worst drought in recent memory, higher-than-average temperatures, and wind, this fire was set to destroy just about everything I hold dear. My hometown. The home I grew up in, my sister's home, the homes of the many people who helped raise me. The lives of the 5,000 people who live in this beautiful sanctuary, a tucked-away gem that we prefer remain hidden.

The fire spread at an astounding rate, and to date has burned around 90,000 acres—and it's still growing. It quickly became the No. 1 fire priority in the nation, giving us access to whatever resources we need to fight this blaze.

Welcome to Mordor.

I spent a couple of sleepless nights imagining every worst-case scenario. Fear does crazy things to your imagination, and for a couple of days, that fear was warranted. With several other fires sprouting up throughout Utah on Saturday—not to mention BYU winning an impossible-to-win game on the road—it truly felt like the apocalypse was here.

Undeniable miracles

Many times throughout that horrible weekend, when all we could do was watch helplessly from the sidelines and pray, I wondered if God's plan was to let this disaster run its own course. I kept thinking about that scripture in 1 Kings 19:11–12. Elijah is hiding in a cave, afraid for his life, hopeless for the children of Israel because they have forsaken their covenants.

And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake;

And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire. 

From my limited perspective, where all I could see was that fire growing and growing, I could not see the Lord's hand in any of it. Only destruction, aided by unfavorable weather conditions.

But once the worst of the danger had passed, the stories started pouring in, and the miracles became more clear. A line of fire that was headed straight for homes in Elk Ridge simply fizzed out on its own. Firefighters said there was no way they would get through Friday and Saturday without losing some homes because of the crazy winds, but somehow the fire threatening so many homes just didn't respond to the wind the way nature required it to. The fire acted unnaturally, illogically, many times, which kept this narrative—no structures have been lost—going. No firefighters have been seriously injured either, despite the weather factors working against them.

The Lord is in that fire.

Steve Jobs said, "You can't connect the dots going forward. You can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future."

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf expounded on this in a devotional to young single adults last January:

What did he mean by that? Perhaps an illustration will help. In the late 19th century, artists such as Georges Seurat and Paul Signac began painting in a new style that would become known as neo-impressionism. Their technique consisted of dotting canvases with small specks of color. Close up, these dots appear unconnected and random. But when you take in the entire painting, you can see how the dots blend into colors and how the colors eventually form shapes that reveal a beautiful pattern. What once seemed arbitrary and even confusing begins to make sense. Sometimes our lives are like neo-impressionistic art. The dots of color that make up the moments and events of our days can appear unconnected and chaotic at times. We can’t see any order to them. We can’t imagine that they have a purpose at all.

However, when we step back and take an eternal perspective, when we look at our lives in the frame of the gospel of Jesus Christ, we can begin to see how the various dots in our lives interconnect. We may not be able to see the entire picture just yet, but we’ll see enough to trust that there is a beautiful, grand design. And as we strive to trust God and follow His Son, Jesus Christ, one day we will see the finished product, and we will know that the very hand of God was directing and guiding our steps.

In the heart of this fire, it felt like a senseless, unlucky string of events. But looking back over the last few days, it's stunningly obvious that we haven't been left alone in this. Connecting the dots even further back, I am extremely grateful I bought a house months ago that was bigger than I needed. It's allowed me to open up my home to four of my family members and give them some sense of home and comfort as this mandatory evacuation stretches on.

And the community response has been incredible. The Red Cross has had to ask people to stop donating and beg evacuees to come pick up donated supplies. The firefighters are well taken care of. No one has had to spend the night in a shelter because there's a long waiting list of people who are ready to open their homes to evacuees. People stepped in to provide wedding decorations and supplies when one couple's wedding in Woodland Hills had to be replanned at the last minute because of the fire and evacuations. And let's not underestimate how well prepared many Elk Ridge and Woodland Hills residents were for something like this to happen. This is a special, tight-knit community; these stories don't surprise me one bit.

That being said, this crisis is far from over. The Bald Mountain fire is still 0% contained, and simply getting through each day during a long-term evacuation is a huge burden for evacuees. The smoke, at least in Eagle Mountain, was worse this morning than it's been all summer. I'm dreading seeing how many childhood haunts are gone when this is all over, and how this will affect the beautiful views and wildlife for years to come. As Gov. Herbert has said, "This is a marathon, not a sprint."

Let's go back to that verse from 1 Kings 19:12. It finishes off with:

and after the fire a still small voice. 

Torrential rains would be a more obvious miracle—and it's the one much of Utah continues to pray for—but it's often the quiet miracles we're granted. And sometimes we literally have to live through fire before we can see the miracle and find peace. But the help is there. It's always there.

The blessings of discipleship

I've been to a lot of YSA events—both spiritual and not, but I'm talking about the spiritual ones at the moment—and you can almost always count on the M word coming up at some point. For a church that focuses so much on marriage and family, there sure are a lot of us who can't figure out how to get one of our own.

The advice from bishops, stake presidents, and other church leaders is always the same: live a righteous life, and the blessings will come. Be the kind of person you want to marry.

For most of my single years, I've used that promise as motivation to incorporate the Sunday school answers into my life (you know what they are—scripture study, church/temple attendance, etc.). Aside from being social, being a "good Mormon" was the only way I knew of to boost my chances of getting married.

At the face-to-face event for Young Single Adults Jeffrey R. Holland spoke at a few weeks ago, we all waited with bated breath to hear his answer to the question all YSAs struggle with at some point: Why am I not married yet? What am I doing wrong? I'm doing all the things I've been taught to do—why haven't you fulfilled your end of the bargain, God?

I know I wasn't the only one who half expected Elder Holland to give new revelation on the subject. Surely he knows some trick the rest of us haven't figured out yet. But his answer, along with that of Elder Hallstrom's and Sister Stephens', was the same one we've always gotten, one that seems too simple to be of use all the time.

Just be a disciple of Christ, and stop worrying.

Maybe it's because of Elder Holland's eloquence as a speaker and powerful testimony of the gospel, but I started to think about that counsel a little differently. Being a disciple of Christ isn't like buying groceries. You can't just pick the blessings you want and ring them up at the cash register. You can't hand over your credit card, knowing exactly what you'll get out of the transaction. Discipleship requires a lot of faith, and the "exchange" doesn't always feel like it goes in your favor.

Which can really be a bummer, to put it lightly.

Until you remember one thing: being a disciple of Christ is in and of itself a blessing, one that is almost always immediate. If I didn't put forth the effort to study the scriptures, I wouldn't get my daily dose of peace. If I hadn't made an effort to be a regular temple goer, I never would have come to understand the atonement the way I do now. If I didn't pray, I wouldn't be able to feel God's love and assurance. If I didn't walk this path of discipleship, I don't think I would have progressed in any way that's meaningful.

Growth, peace, and happiness—that's all any of us wants, right? Maybe they're not the specific things we asked for, but God finds a way to sneak in extra blessings, even when we're focused on something else.

What Mary knew

I'm feeling the need to set something straight. Every Christmas, this sort of thing starts floating around Facebook, collecting tons of likes and emphatic agreements:

I'm referring, of course, to the song "Mary, Did You Know?" It's a beautiful song (the a capella arrangements, at least), one that is dear to my heart. It's one of the first songs I learned as a Trouvere, and also one of the first I sang with my mom and sisters.

So I admit, I get a little defensive when people roll their eyes and say, "Of course Mary knew."

Because when you stop and think about it, how much did Mary really know?

Luke 1:28–33 reads:

And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.

And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be.

And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.

And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus.

He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:

And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.

It's all right there in the text—yes, Mary knew she would be the mother of the son of God. She knew he would be great. She knew he would save the world. While every other mother can only hope their child will do great things, Mary had that assurance before her child was even conceived.

But just like with every prophecy, whether it be rooted in scriptures, legend, or epic fantasy, it's impossible to fully understand it when it is first given. Mary continually pondered things in her heart, but her understanding of her divine son came slowly. James E. Talmage puts it this way:

Mary appears never to have fully understood her Son; at every new evidence of His uniqueness she marveled and pondered anew. He was hers, and yet in a very real sense not wholly hers. There was about their relation to each other a mystery, awful yet sublime, a holy secret which that chosen and blessed mother hesitated even to tell over to herself. (Jesus the Christ, pg. 116)

This isn't to rip on Mary in any way. Most people expected the Messiah to be a king and conqueror—how could she have known that her son would have the authority to challenge their religious traditions, walk on water, heal the blind and deaf, save more than just the people he interacted with during his mortal ministry? It basically defies human logic to expect any of these things to happen.

Yes, Mary knew who her child was. But it took some time to fully understand what that meant. "Mary, Did You Know?" is not like that question Harry asked Dumbledore regarding whether he knew Tom Riddle would grow up to be the darkest wizard of all time. The question merely reflects the constant wonder Mary must have felt as she watched her child grow. It's a phenomenon we're still marveling over today, even after 2,000 years.

That question isn't just for Mary. It's for us, too.

Finally, something to get out of bed for

It's no secret that mornings and I don't get along. I've always felt that the best way to get through mornings is to sleep through them, but I haven't managed to sustain a lifestyle that allows that kind of schedule.

Which is why my mornings are strategically planned; only the most essential of tasks are completed before leaving for work—things like making lunches and working out can be put off until the evening. (I would shower in the evenings too, but they are an essential part of the waking-up process.) Breakfast cannot be skipped, but it can be rushed.

It's a system that's been working for me my entire life. But I've always wished I had the "It's Christmas morning!" or "We're leaving for vacation today!" attitude that makes de-sandwiching myself from my sleep chamber an enjoyable experience. I've heard people talk about how excited they are to start each day anew, meet new people, and make a difference in the world. 

For me though, when that blasted alarm clock goes off, my first thoughts are usually along the lines of "Why is the world so cruel?" and which story I should tell my manager so I can call in sick and get a few more hours of sleep. 

I know I have a lot to live for. But I'd sooner punch someone in the face than acknowledge that before 8:00 a.m. 

Now, I'm going to shift gears a bit and talk about an oft repeated and failed new years resolution of mine: diligent scripture study. I've been pretty good about reading most days, but I often fly through a chapter because I either want to go to bed or move on to my "real" book. Even if I read something scripture related every day for a week, my total time with spiritual study is probably less than what someone else could accomplish in a day.

However, the last few months I've had a bit of a breakthrough with scripture study. I resolved to make the study part stick this time, and now I can actually say I study the scriptures rather than speed-read them.

This presented another problem, though. After 15–20 minutes of good study, I wouldn't have time to ponder on what I'd read because I would move right along to the book I was reading at the time. It's a little jarring to emerge from deep study on something personal only to jump right into a different world. But bedtime reading is an essential part of my day, something I'm not willing to give up. 

Somehow, I had to find a way to separate these two tasks. Both were important to me, but they didn't play well together.

Eventually it occurred to me that I could move scripture time to the morning. Perhaps it took me longer to reach this conclusion than it should have, but it's unsurprising considering my background. My family was always a read-scriptures-before-bed type of family, and that was the way all of us preferred it. Getting up for family prayer in the morning was hard enough. Mom would be ready for work, of course, so she got to laugh at us as we staggered into the family room in various states of consciousness: the three older girls in the middle of curling their hair or shoveling down cereal, and Dad and the two youngest sleep-walking to the circle of sleepy Carters, collapsing to the ground and shielding their eyes from the light.

Some families swear by morning scripture time, but I always pitied my friends who were deprived of their precious sleep so they could pretend to stay awake through a chapter of the Book of Mormon. 

So I shoved that thought away. At least, I tried to. Then I proofread a book that touted the benefits of morning scripture study and read an article in the Ensign that went on and on about the blessings of getting up early. I finally decided that I was ready to give it a try.

My plan was to get up at 6:30, 20–30 minutes earlier than my usual wakeup time. Now, I know what most of you are thinking: you get up way earlier than that every day, that 6:30 isn't early, blah blah blah. But it was a huge deal for me; it felt like a life-altering decision.

I went to bed early on Sunday night and actually succeeded in falling asleep in under an hour (unheard of on a Sunday, but I was still tired from not being able to catch up on sleep over conference weekend due to the fact that I don't sleep as well in my bed at home), and woke up unusually refreshed.

I've thought about this, and I think it was the best morning of my life. Seriously. Better than those mornings in Elk Ridge when I woke up to over a foot of snow. Better than those Saturdays I wake up thinking that my alarm will go off soon, and then realizing that it's Saturday and I can stay in bed for as long as I want.

Having enough hot water to stretch my shower to 10 minutes and having a good hair day is usually a good start to my day, but then I had a full half hour to relax, study, and ponder. It was so weird not feeling rushed, and I was amazed at how grateful I was to be spending the worst part of my day doing something so fulfilling.

Life went on as normal after that, though the memory of that special morning lingered. And the past two days getting out of bed wasn't a battle with the snooze button; I actually wanted to get up to make sure I wasn't robbed of any scripture time. I don't know how long this new routine will last, but it's already done something that a job I enjoy, adult responsibilities, and a good night's sleep haven't been able to maintain: give me something I want to wake up for.

Boldly defend temple standards

Religion is a major piece of our world's history. During most of the time humans have inhabited the earth, they were believers. Beliefs changed and evolved, but people for the most part shared the same moral code.

That's not the world we live in today. In a very short amount of time, we went from being people who believed first to those who doubted first. The moral code that worked for centuries is now considered archaic and restraining.

This is a topic general authorities have addressed for years, especially lately with the Ordain Women movement and the ongoing fight for the legalization of gay marriage. As other organizations and religious groups have one by one lowered their standards to give the world what it demanded, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has boldly stuck to the standards the Lord has set.

Because that's the way we have to live our religion now: boldly. There are a legion of factors waiting to turn our beliefs into an unrecognizable mess—we can't afford to live our religion timidly or casually. To stand firm in a world that cares more about political correctness than the God who is in charge of it requires courage. In a world that elevates relativity in the place of absolute truths, we must be willing to go against the grain.

As Lynn C. Robbins said this morning, we must "boldly defend temple standards." The Church doesn't need to be defended—it will prosper without us—but we need to defend the Church. Everything that's worth having must be protected, even our testimonies.

Click here for more on bold living.

My top 10 playlist (2014)

I'm pretty serious about my Top 10 Playlist. For some reason it's important to me to always know what my 10 most favorite songs are. And because I manage this playlist so protectively, it's a huge deal whenever a song is awesome enough to bump off one of my top ten beloveds. A big enough deal that I want to, say, blog about it.

This playlist has changed many times since I got my first iPod in 2007. (Back then it was mostly sappy love songs.) It's fascinating how personal preferences change over the years—in music, books, hobbies, friends, etc.—and I've always kind of wanted to document my ever-changing Top 10 Playlist in some way.

So here it is: Angie's Top 10 Playlist for summer 2014.

1. "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You," by Bryan Adams
This was my no. 1 song back in 2007, and it hasn't budged since; it's the only song on this playlist to hold its original spot. I love everything about this song, from the opening chord to Bryan Adams' raspy voice to its true-love message. Plus, the music video at the end of Robin Hood romanticized the concept of playing a grand piano in the woods for me long before the Piano Guys got together. In fact, I think I'll add that to my bucket list.

2. "Brave," by Sara Bareilles
My theme for 2014 is "Be Bold," so this song is pretty much my song of the year. Especially since it talks about being brave by doing something I've always been afraid to do: speak up. I listen to this song sometimes before social outings, and it always gives me a little extra oomph to do more than just show up and wait for someone to talk to me.

3. "When You Come Back to Me Again," by Garth Brooks
This is the song that reminds me God loves me. I discovered the Vocal Point version of this song during fall semester 2008, which was one of my hardest semesters. On a particularly rough day, I got in my car, drove to the Provo Temple parking lot, and listened to this song at least 15 times. I felt like I was drowning in a dark ocean of responsibilities and confusion, so the ship-lost-at--sea metaphor was especially powerful to me. The simple reminder that there was a lighthouse watching the lost ship struggle, lighting its way back to safety, was one of the most poignant answers to a prayer I have ever had. It's one of the few songs I devote my full attention to every time I hear it, because God always feels so much closer.

4. "Danny Boy," by Vocal Point
I've always liked this song, but this arrangement is really something else. There's so much to enjoy about it—the harmonies, the emotion, the message, the haunting melody. Listening to it just once is never enough, which is why this is the most-played song on my iPod.

5. "Go the Distance," by Michael Bolton
First off, Michael Bolton has a beautiful voice, even if he is hard to understand sometimes. And, this song inspires me. I also played this song for the Clavinova Festival when I was about 14, so it's got that added nostalgic element to it.

6. "Savior, Redeemer of My Soul," by Vocal Point
Pretty much everything I said about "Danny Boy" applies to this song. Any song that Keith helps arrange and is the lead singer for I'm guaranteed to love. I hope this song is in the next LDS hymnbook.

7. "The Time of My Life," by David Cook
If I ever decide to run a marathon, this song would definitely be on my playlist. I get a burst of energy every time I hear it. I first heard it about the time I graduated from college, and it perfectly described the excitement I felt about my exciting adventures ahead. It still excites me, because it always makes me feel like I'm living the best time of my life right now.

8. "Cowboy Take Me Away," by the Dixie Chicks
Several of the lines from this song came straight from my brain, I swear. When I find that special guy, he is going to listen to this song.

9. "Somewhere in the Middle," by Casting Crowns
A part of me hates this song. It's so frustrating to give up what you want for what God wants for you, sometimes, and this song really whacks you upside the head with that message. But when I'm done rolling my eyes, I love this song because it so perfectly captures a battle I've experienced many, many times.

10. "All for Love," by Bryan Adams
This song doesn't have any profound impact on my life, but I love it anyway.

Chocolate and the Atonement

Easter is kind of a strange holiday for me. Probably because I rely on the calendar to tell me when it's supposed to happen. When the date hops around every year, it's a little harder to find that holiday mode.

But Easter is starting to rise in the ranks of my "favorite holidays" list. I like that it sneaks up on me every year, because that means I don't put as much pressure on Easter to fulfill all of my holiday wishes. It comes, and it's a day slightly more special than normal.

There are other reasons to be a fan of Easter, of course.

1. Easter candy. Easter candy is the best of all holiday candies. Especially since it comes right after Valentine's Day, which mass-produces medicine-flavored hearts and tries to pass them off as candy, not to mention it also puts things in chocolate that have no business being there.

2. Spring. I've never had a gloomy Easter, at least not that I can remember. I think it's one of the laws of nature that the sun must be shining on Easter. And this year, spring seemed to blossom overnight, just in time for brand-new, pastel-colored Sunday clothes.

3. Time to reflect on the greatest gift we've ever been given without the commercialization that surrounds Christmas. Don't get me wrong—I love Christmas—but the religious significance of Easter is easier to appreciate.

Easter celebrates the resurrection of Christ, but this year my focus shifted slightly to the Atonement.

1995, the year I turned eight years old, was my baptism year. Most of my Primary lessons that year factored in baptism at some point, and I remember a couple baptism-themed family home evenings as well. But this was what stuck with me above all else: at seven years old, I wasn't accountable for my sins, but at eight years old I would be. In other words, I could commit murder if I wanted and still go to heaven, as long as I did it before my eighth birthday.

With my eighth birthday just a few weeks away, I hatched a plan. I was going to get all the sinning out of my system while I still could. Then, once I turned eight, I would be a perfect little angel. My teachers had explained the concept of the Atonement to me, but repentance sure sounded like a bother. It seemed much more reasonable to just skip that step altogether. Sure, the world hadn't seen a truly perfect person since Jesus, but I was convinced I would be the second.

That is, after I was baptized. No reason to be perfect until I absolutely had to be.

So I set to work. I didn't do the dishes when Mom told me to do them. I hit my little sister. I refused to go to bed on time. I didn't share my toys.

To my mom's relief, I'm sure, the morning of my baptism finally came. I said good-bye to my sinful past and put on my halo.

My moment of truth came a few days later. Mom was taking a nap, and I wanted a snack. I opened the fridge, thinking I'd maybe have a bowl of applesauce or something. But out of the corner of my eye, calling to me seductively, was the chocolate syrup. Mom had said over and over again that chocolate syrup was only for ice cream, but sometimes I secretly poured some into a baby bowl, heated it in the microwave, and ate it plain.

The timing was perfect. No one was around, and Mom's door was shut so she wouldn't even hear the microwave or smell its delightful contents. As long as I disposed of the evidence, no one would ever know that I had disobeyed.

I should have known that chocolate would be my downfall.

Halfway through my bowl of chocolate, I realized with a jolt that Jesus probably wouldn't sneak chocolate from the fridge while his mom was sleeping. And he probably only ate a respectable amount of chocolate syrup on his ice cream, not the entire river of chocolate I liked to dump on mine.

That sealed the deal—I was no longer perfect.

Rather than feel ashamed of myself, though, I actually felt a little relieved. The pressure was off. I could make mistakes just like a regular person now.

I quickly learned how silly it was to demand perfection of myself in everything, but it took me a lot longer to grasp the concept that I actually needed the Atonement in my life. I thought it was only for the major stuff, like breaking the law of chastity or overcoming addiction.

On top of that, I have this independent streak that makes it difficult to accept help. And suffering in silence for an eternity is usually a more inviting prospect than asking for help.

But even though I'm from the "you can do anything!" generation, the fact is, there are some things I simply cannot do. And I'm not talking about things I physically can't do like roll my r's or sit on the orange slide my nephews like to play on (and, as of yesterday, jump over). I'm talking about the trials I can't overcome on my own. The times when my best still isn't good enough. When the burdens of life are so heavy I have no choice but to pass them on to someone else.

Of all of God's creations, human beings are the most glorious. But we're still, well, human. We can do a lot, but we can't do it all.

That's why the Atonement is more than just a wonderful, selfless gift. It's an essential tool we all need, whether we want to acknowledge it or not. And it's already been paid for by love.

A tender mercy

It's been about a month and a half since I wrote a "real" blog post, but this one is going to be very similar to my November posts.

I can't count the number of times in my life when the weather man promised a blanket of snow for the next day. The next morning I would bounce out of bed and shoot for the window. But my excitement was crushed more often than not when the view before me was brown and dead rather than white and sparkling.

I've learned to not put too much faith in the weather man. Including this week, when everyone was talking about the storm that was supposed to hit Utah late Monday night.

My 2013 can be summed up in two words: BE PATIENT. It's almost second nature now to not expect immediate answers to my prayers, semi-immediate results from my efforts, because my life just doesn't work out that way, especially not this year. I didn't expect Mother Nature to be any different.

But I couldn't quite squash this somewhat pathetic plea: "If you really loved me, you would just this once give me the thing I want when I want it." A winter wonderland when I woke up the next day.

This morning I was afraid to get out of bed. I was debating whether I should sleep another nine minutes when I heard one of my favorite sounds: a snow plow. Like the olden days, I bounced out of bed and shot to the window. In front of me wasn't dead brownness or even a measly dusting of snow: there were several inches of snow clinging to tree branches and resting on top of cars. And the snow was still falling. And it hasn't stopped all day.

My co-workers sigh in sadness or exasperation when they glance out their windows, but every time I see that swirling snow it's almost as if someone is gently reminding me, "You see? Some prayers I will answer quickly."

Surrendering for peace

I don't know a lot about war, but I've read enough history (and fantasy novels) to know that surrenders usually occur to prevent further fighting and bloodshed. To put it in oversimplified terms, all you have to do is surrender to the guy with more power and the turmoil will end.

Surrendering isn't synonymous with giving up, however. Merriam-Webster's defines surrender as "to yield to the power, control, or possession of another upon compulsion or demand." Surrender involves more than just letting go; it involves an actual transfer of control.

There are risks that come with surrendering, of course. If you're surrendering to someone/something corrupt, it'll save you from one bad situation only to put you in a different bad situation. If you surrender too often, you can't be counted on to stand for anything.

Sometimes, though (usually when you're least prepared for it), surrendering is not just the only sane course of action, it's the only course of action. You've made a plan, executed that plan, made adjustments along the way, and still you feel like you're walking through a battlefield of doubts, conflicting fantasies, and unfulfilled personal miracles. Finally, you throw your hands in the air and say, "All right, God, you win! I'll keep blindly driving the car as long as you don't let me fall off a cliff."

I expected darkness and confusion when I hit this point last week. To my surprise, I got peace instead, a peace more complete than I've felt in a very long time.

For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace.

—1 Corinthians 14:33

Surrendering to the one who is holding all the cards all the time, who knows where you're going and who you're supposed to be, is never a risk. I expect this to be one of those lessons I'll have to learn over and over again, but that's really okay—learning that the miracles God has in store for me are so much better than the ones I can dream up is kind of a pleasant cycle to go through, especially when the end of the cycle is peace.

God's love

Last week I began to sympathize with atheists and non-believers. Almost since man was created, there have been those who have argued that if a God existed, he would not allow unimaginable horrors to happen to good people. These things happen every day to people who don't deserve it, and that is evidence enough for those trying to prove there is no Supreme Being watching over us, listening to our prayers, and performing miracles on our behalf.

It is easy to get caught in the never-ending circle of whys and lost in the hopelessness of grief, whether you are suffering or watching those you care about suffer. It may seem safer to dwell in misery than to try to experience happiness again.

Yes, I've heard the logic of non-believers. Yes, I see their point. But I don't believe it for a second.

Why? Because God's love is more powerful than all of the suffering in the world. It is powerful enough to overtake even our most bitter trials. Grief, anger, and hopelessness have the power to destroy, but God's love and the Atonement can rebuild, complete, and bring peace. That power is everlasting and sustaining, as real as the rising sun each new day.

That still may not answer the question we all have at times as to why God allows bad things to happen to good people. The best answer to this question I've heard comes from the movie Love Comes Softly. The truth of God's love, says a man who lost his wife years before and whose barn had just burned down, is not that God allows bad things to happen, but that he will be there beside us when they do.

And he is there, always. The pain may be staggering, but nothing can outshine the power of God's love.

Beautiful people

One of my favorite things about traveling is observing the people. It is fascinating to watch the locals go about their daily business, walking along the streets like it's no big deal that people like me take time off work to go see. I love observing those who came from foreign countries to visit ours. I even enjoy watching my fellow (American) tourists, allowing my mind to imagine the many ways our fates aligned so we would eat lunch at the same restaurant at the same time.

My latest traveling adventure took me to the winding streets of San Francisco, the majestic trees of the Redwood Forest, and the thrilling roller coasters of Six Flags. My path crossed with that of thousands of other people, all walking along their own paths full of hills, weeds, thorns, sunshine, and flowers. The people I saw throughout the week were but a glimpse of the living that takes place every day in every corner of the world.

It seems impossible that one world could hold so many different, complex stories, but it does. It seems impossible that one person could care about each individual who has ever lived (or will live), but He does. Despite our vast differences and circumstances, the people of this world have much in common. We all have the same amount of hours in a day; we all experience joy, despair, confusion, anger, satisfaction, and a host of other emotions; and we're all a part of the same big, human family, led by the Being who created us all.

This world is bigger than me; it's bigger than all of us. It's big enough to house billions of beautiful people and the stories they live.

Why me?

I am a big fan of the 5th Sunday. My ward's combined RS/Priesthood meetings always leave quite an impression on me. In the past we have set out on impromptu missionary visits and heard from ex-NFL football players who overcame paralysis.

Last Sunday, we heard from a girl in our ward, Bergen, and her mother.

Bergen is blind and almost completely deaf. She doesn't know what her mom looks like, and she relies on her cochlear implant to make sense of the sounds that surround her.

Aside from that, Bergen is a normal 20-year-old girl. She does her own makeup and picks out her own clothes, she studies hard every day so she can stay on top of her class, and she enjoys skiing, writing, and listening to the Beatles.

During that short, 3rd-block hour, Bergen and her mom gave us, their eerily quiet audience, a glimpse into what life is like when you are robbed of one and a half of your senses. Bergen's mom spoke of the anguish she felt when she learned that her three-month-old baby would live in darkness all of her life, and of the way Bergen's strength and adventurousness teaches and inspires people every day.

After that inspiring introduction, Bergen got up with her Braille-written talk and spoke to us in optimistic, matter-of-fact tones with no hint of speech impediment. She said so many things that I wanted to jot down, frame, and mass-distribute to the world. (One of which was "People tend to count their blessings on their fingers and their trials on their calculators.")

It was her answer to one small question that touched me the most, though. I think it's a requirement as humans that we direct these two words toward the heavens multiple times throughout our lives: "Why me?" I thought to myself, if anyone has a right to ask that question, it would be her.

Her answer, paraphrased, was something like this:

When trials overcome us, people tend to ask, "Why me?" I ask myself this question every day. Why do I have two arms, two legs, and ten fingers that produce magic for me every day? Why do I have a family that loves me? Why do I have the light of the gospel in my life?

That was not the answer I was expecting, to say the least.

Rather than sending us all into a "Man, your trials are way worse then mine and now I feel bad for complaining about my trials" pity party, Bergen lifted all of us with her sweet, simple, nonjudgmental words.

I'm looking forward to the next 5th Sunday. I'm not sure that this one can be topped, however.

Glimpses of eternity

It's been a special/insane/exhausting/awesome December, one full of both stress-related sleep loss and excitement-related sleep loss.

The headaches, constant pounding in the basement, frantic planning, and frustrations of the past few months have already dimmed though, being brightly overshadowed by the tender mercies given to us over the past few weeks. Despite living in an imperfect world, God does grant us small glimpses into eternity throughout our lives; this month I saw three of those glimpses.

First was when I held Jaxson for the first time. Even though he was so small (about 4 1/2 pounds), I couldn't help but marvel at how perfect he was. I held in my arms a precious gift sent straight from heaven, a little miracle who just hours before was in the presence of God.

The second glimpse came when we accompanied Kimberly when she went through the temple for the first time. The line between this life and the next is thinner in the temple, and I felt that difference more poignantly as one more member of our family received the blessings of the endowment.

The third, and perhaps most powerful, glimpse came when I watched Kimberly be sealed to her eternal companion for time and all eternity. It was hard not to feel a bit of that "fullness of joy" that we are told we'll have all the time in exaltation. It was probably the most perfect half hour I have ever experienced.

These three experiences serve as a great reminder to me that God didn't just dump us here on Earth and leave us to figure out our own way to get back to him; we have been given so many opportunities to feel his presence on a more-than-Telestial level, whether it be in celebrating new life or in performing sacred ordinances. Even if these glimpses are fleeting, they're powerful enough to sustain us as we strive to live worthy of exaltation.

Riding on the wings of testimony

There are few things in this life that are absolutely necessary. Most of the things we spend most of our time agonizing over really don't matter: that darn chemistry class; hair that won't fall flawlessly into place every day; inconsistent BYU quarterbacks; keeping up with laundry, dishes, and garbage; annoying people who don't realize that they're annoying; and finding creative ways to make ends meet.

The things we absolutely do need in this life can be summed up in one word: testimony.

I realized this a few weeks ago as I was driving home from work. I was trying to figure out why I was having such a good day; work was uneventful, I had nothing going on that night at home, and nothing exciting had happened to me for a while. A few months prior, I would have spent my time thinking about how boring my life was, how life was passing me by because I didn't have someone to share it with, and how everything was just going to be exactly the same tomorrow.

Why the change of perspective? Again, it can be summed up in one word: testimony.

Several months ago, I was living the gospel as I always had; I attended all my church meetings, read my scriptures almost every day, accepted church callings, and followed church standards. My testimony was firm, partly because I don't give in to peer pressure very easily, partly because it is something I have always had, and partly because I had given it just enough nourishment to keep it alive. I never thought I would need to "raise the bar" of my spiritual progression because I was already doing everything I was supposed to be doing.

However, the time came when I realized I did need to raise the bar, simply to ensure my own happiness and sanity. It finally became necessary to go the extra mile and do a bit more, if only because I had all this extra time that needed to be filled with good things.

So, how did I fill that time? I started out by going to the temple every week. (Thank goodness I have so many temples to choose from so I can switch temples whenever I get bored.) Later on, I decided I needed more social interaction in my life and committed to going to institute at least once a week, since it is pretty much impossible to force myself to go to FHE alone. This goal in turn drove me to actually study--not just speed-read--my scriptures.

These three small but significant changes bring me back to my drive home from work a few weeks ago. Why was I so happy? It was because my testimony, given extra nourishment over a longish period of time, was able to make up for everything that I lacked. I realized that I didn't need anything--not even family, school, or grand accomplishments--as long as I had my testimony to bring real and lasting peace and happiness.

I thought it was interesting that a lot of speakers touched on this during conference. Usually, I will find inspiration through words that I needed to hear but hadn't yet thought of, but this time I found inspiration in speakers saying exactly what I had already discovered. That was pretty cool.

But it's the words of Gordon B. Hinckley that I'd like to conclude with:

If you will live the gospel, nearly everything else will eventually take care of itself.

There's no room for fear or doubt when this is your motto.

The center of the universe

How many teenagers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Just one--and it revolves around them.

Sometimes, I'll admit, I get caught up in my own universe. It's one of the benefits/downsides of being single--everything about my life is centered on what I want and what I'm doing. At least, I like to blame my self-centeredness on being single.

But sometimes, things start to fall in place enough to make me think the world really does revolve around me. For example, a few days before I made the move to the Salt Lake area, I read in the news that the Church was redoing all of the YSA wards in the state, combining singles regardless of their situation in life. This happened right as I was moving not just out of my parents' house but out of the county, and as I was a little bit worried about being too old for a typical student ward but not really wanting to be a part of an odds-and-ends singles ward--the YSAs who are living at home, the YSAs who are well past marriageable age (you know, like 31 or something), or the YSAs who are fresh out of high school and excited at the prospect of going to church with the big kids.

How convenient that that dilemma was solved for me.

Going back a little bit, on the day I got that enormous Christmas present (a.k.a., no more job hunting), I had no idea that I would actually love my job, that I would have a boss that leads exactly the way I want to follow (very laid back about life in general, snarky, and believes in delegating and then leaving you alone), that I would like everyone I interacted with even though many of them had U logos on their clothing, and that I would have unique opportunities for personal growth every day. All I wanted was something to pay the bills and give me something to do--I didn't think I would get the entire package.

How convenient that things worked out so well for me.

It isn't just recently that I've felt this way, however. Even as a child, I was aware of my center-of-the-worldness.

When I was little, I was convinced that I was my Grandpa Jackson's favorite granddaughter. He would sneak me gummy bears when my parents wouldn't fall for my crying tantrums, he took me to the farm and then retold the experience every chance he got (I talked more during that precious hour than I have the rest of my life combined), and his face always seemed to light up whenever I came over to visit.

I felt the same way about my Grandma Rushton, too. After all, she did give me a sweatshirt that said, "I'm Grandma's Favorite Angie."

As I grew older, I was disappointed to discover that my cousins felt the same way about their grandparents. Grandma Rushton was a champion at buying (and making) perfectly individualized gifts, Grandma Jackson was always loaded with gummy bears and fun crafts, while Grandpa Jackson and his hard chest gave bone-crushing hugs to all who crossed his path. My grandparents saw the individuality of each grandchild, and loved each of us for who we were. Thus, we all felt like we were a little more important than everyone else. And who doesn't like to be more important than somebody else?

So forgive me for thinking that the world revolves around me; all evidence seems to point toward that fact.

However, just as I wasn't the only "favorite" grandchild, the world can revolve around more than just me. In fact, it can and does revolve around each individual. There's no way that I would feel so sure about the path I'm on if someone hadn't help me pave the road, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way.

No matter what happens, I'll always be the center of someone's universe, someone who has the power to make things right in my life. And this person doesn't just care about me--he has a universe to base around all of us. And oddly enough, knowing that I am the center of someone's universe makes it a lot easier to make someone else's universe better.

There's a wise and loving Creator out there, that's for sure.

The master multitasker

I have always been a fan of killing two birds with one stone. In fact, in my efforts to avoid work, I have often found myself doing more work the roundabout way rather than the straight and recommended way. Which happens to all slackers periodically.

I often use my slacker tendencies to kill two good birds with one stone, meaning I will use a service project or something similar to fulfill a homework assignment or something. You know you've done that too. . . .

But if you want to see a master (metaphorical) bird-killer at work with just one small stone, watch general conference. I guarantee that someone out there is touching the hearts of every individual who watches even one talk, assuring them that they are doing okay and inspiring them to do better.

I'll never have that kind of power, but I'm grateful that I get to partake of it. Along with millions of other people across the globe, I felt like I received individually catered answers to my carefully constructed questions.

That's the kind of multitasker I want on my side all of the time.