And a little child shall lead them

During those dark years when my younger siblings were no longer cute and I had no nieces and nephews, I thought of myself as "not a kid person." I wanted kids of my own some day, sure, but I certainly didn't want a career that involved kids, and I never felt the need to hold every baby I saw.

Seven years and six nieces and nephews later, I still don't consider myself a kid person, and I still have no desire to spend all day with other people's kids. But the minute the first nephews entered the scene, it was easy to find my kid mode again, and watching my little brood grow and discover new things is one of the best things about my life right now.

I adore my kids, but other people's kids? I don't care about them. (That sounds less harsh if you say it in Jim Carrey's Count Olaf voice.)

Except, even that is changing. Early in my "try family ward" experiment, I was given the calling of primary pianist, my dream calling and one of only a handful of family ward callings that didn't terrify me. So before I could jump ship and set sail for mid-singles Mormon land (would it be creepy? pathetic? not so bad? Only one way to find out!), I snatched up my chance for an easy, fun calling, and the ice around my heart began to thaw a little. I started loving those kids very quickly. You try listening to kids sing every week without turning gooey inside.

Having gone so long without kids as a part of my day-to-day life, I had forgotten a few things. Like how much they have to teach you. How they give love away freely, are unashamed of what they love, are far more forgiving than adults are.

And since it's been even longer since I was a kid, I've forgotten some of what it was like to have childlike traits myself. For example, the memory of being a shy kid is painfully clear. But surely I never made an unprompted, public display of affection about something I loved unashamedly, like kids do every week in primary. Surely I've never been capable of letting loose like that, in any form of my personhood.

But perhaps I'm wrong on that, too. Yesterday during my drive home, the song "The Power of Love" came on. This was my absolute favorite song when I was about 8. I wish I could say I was talking about the cooler and more socially acceptable song by Huey Lewis and the News, but no, my little heart wanted Celine Dion.

I loved this song so much I kept the karaoke tape in my Walkman (when my mom didn't need it for singing gigs). It had one track with Celine singing, one without. I would listen to Celine sing first, and then I would step onto my imaginary stage and belt out the words on my own. One night I was singing so loudly my dad had to come in and tell me to be quiet so he could hear Sports Center.

It boggles my mind that there was ever a version of me who didn't care who heard me singing a solo. I've always liked singing, but I hate singing in front of people. I thought it was always that way, but then this memory popped up to contradict me, reminding me that there was a time I was comfortable enough, unashamed enough, to sing the song I loved before checking to make sure the house was deserted. I am in awe of that little girl; I wish I had her lack of restraint.

A lot of the time, kids aren't angels. They're loud, disobedient, messy, mean, exhausting—you know the list, whether you've procreated or not. The admonition to "become as little children" shouldn't be taken literally in every sense. But there's a reason we spend a short span of our lives being told to "act more like a grown-up" and the rest to "become as a little child." Kids are generally untainted by the complexities of adulthood. If they're taught good principles, being their best selves just comes more naturally.

Kids these days.

Score one for the thirties

Today was a Friday like any other. I felt like I was on day 8 of the workweek instead of day 5, and my mental reserves were unjustly low. I only wanted to get through the day so I could go home, slip into my pajamas, and watch TV for four hours before going to bed early.

I envisioned these happy thoughts as the typical "what are your weekend plans?" chit-chat was going on around me. There was talk of get-togethers with friends, date nights with significant others, drowning of sorrows in ice cream because of a lack of significant other, and typical parent duties. I didn't join in because I didn't want to make anyone feel bad for having less awesome plans than I did.

I've listened in on these types of conversations since I was a teenager. My typical weekend plans haven't changed much—aside from no longer needing to work dinner rushes at Domino's—and neither has the general expectation that one must have weekend plans. But my reaction to this brand of small talk has changed.

As a teenager, I felt like a loser for rarely going to parties and football games and dances. My goal in life was to get a life, which was a difficult feat considering how few friends I had and how shy I was. Secretly I was relieved I had to work most Friday nights so I wouldn't have to admit to anyone I simply didn't have anywhere to go, or, even worse, that I would much rather stay home with my family than endure a "fun" outing, which were typically spent dodging whatever weird guy I didn't want to have a crush on me at the time.

I figured I would rectify all this when I was in my twenties. And to an extent I did—that was my most social decade—but the feelings of inadequacy were replaced with thoughts like "I worked my whole life so I could have a boring, unglamorous adulthood?" Eventually I stopped lying to myself and accepted that having an interesting life was just not fun—or healthy—for me, but I felt guilty for filling so much free time with books and hobbies and TV shows and alone time. Wasn't this the time I was supposed to be out trying new things, dating lots of people, seeing the world? Constantly? Without pausing for breath?

And then I entered my thirties. Still encountering the same questions about my weekend plans. But no longer bothered by the unremarkable life I was living. Without the constant identity and existential crises young people face and the uncaring attitude I had developed about others' expectations, I was free to unashamedly enjoy the lifestyle that made me happy. One that involved comfy clothes, hours of me time, entire days, even, where I could do nothing but read if I wanted to. With the occasional adventure thrown in to add some variety.

That's the great thing I'm discovering about my thirties. I've figured out who I am, done most of the grunt work required to set me on a good path, and worked through a lot of the emotional trauma of realizing that life doesn't care about the plan you've outlined. All so I can live my version of a balanced, happy life, while cheering on others doing the same.

What are my weekend plans? Honestly, I'm too tired to answer with anything other than "sleep." And oh, how I'm looking forward to that sleep.

2018 books: A story of my year

I've been thinking a lot this year about how the books you read leave a trail of insights on your life. What are you trying to improve? What are you learning about? How have your reading tastes changed over the years? Why are you reading so much escapist fiction? Why is this the exact book you needed at this time in your life? 

In the introduction of 1,000 Books to Read Before You Die by James Mustich, we read:

A good book is the opposite of a selfie; the right book at the right time can expand our lives in the way we love does, making us more thoughtful, more generous, more brave, more alert to the world's wonders and more pained by its inequities, more wise, more kind. (pg. xi)

We've all heard the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words," but words still have the power to tell our stories in ways pictures can't. A picture posted on social media is a quick, easy look into someone's life, but the words you say and the words you surround yourself with tell a different kind of story. Maybe even one you didn't realize you were revealing.

And with that, I give you my 2018 story, told through books.

Goal: 70 books

Books read: 81

Pages read: 29,650 (366 pages/book)

Ratings:

• 5 stars: 22
• 4 stars: 33
• 3 stars: 21
• 2 stars: 5
• 1 star: 0

First reads: 75

Rereads: 6

Fiction: 63

Nonfiction: 18

Books by female authors: 49

Books by male authors: 29

*Plus 3 books by multiple authors.

Longest book: 11/22/63, by Stephen King. 1080 pages.

Shortest book: The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke. 61 pages.

Favorite book, fiction: A Man Called Ove, by Fredrik Backman. For a while I had this post subtitled "The year I read about lots of cranky old guys." My grandpa is one of those lovable, cranky, stubborn old guys, so can you blame me for melting all over for these types of stories? This book in particular completely stole my heart: I laughed, I cried, I pondered. It's a perfect, written-just-for-me type of book. I wouldn't change a thing about it.

Favorite book, nonfiction: I agonized for weeks trying to decide which of my two favorite nonfiction reads deserved the top spot. But you know what? This is my blog; I can pick two books if I want to.

First up is My Life in France, by Julia Child. She lived such an interesting life, and her delightful personality shines through on every page. I read this while I was on vacation in New York/Canada, but she made me feel like I was right there with her in France.

Next up is a book I bought while in New York, which I started reading during all the evacuation chaos: Bill Bryson's At Home: A Short History of Private Life. He goes through every room in his house and gets into the history of every aspect of home life. Sounds boring, right? Wrong. This book is fascinating, and at times funny, and I learned tons of cool stuff.

Favorite reread: This was a light reread year for me—only 6 books! How far I've come from the girl who had limited access to libraries and reread her favorite books every summer. I read Shannon Hale's Books of Bayern series, starting with the lovely The Goose Girl, early this summer. I moved into a new house, new neighborhood, new ward in June, and while this was a much needed and welcome change, starting anything new is stressful. Something familiar, particularly a fun, well-written YA fantasy series, was the comfort food I needed as I unwound at the end of each day.

It was a very different reading experience this time. I didn't relate to the characters on the same level I did in my early 20s because I've, thankfully, conquered most of my adolescent fears. But the best books always have more to give. Which is why I'm certain this won't be the last time I read these books.

Book I want to reread: I totally made up this category at the last minute so I could talk about this book: Spinning Silver, by Naomi Novik. Everyone is talking about this one, and for good reason: it's practically perfect in every way. It's loosely based on the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale and everything about it is, well, close to perfection—the world building, the characters, the writing. If you read Uprooted and were underwhelmed like I was, this one should do it for you.

Best new author: I found some great new authors this year, most of whom I've found a way to talk about in this blog. But one of the best was Laini Taylor, author of Strange the Dreamer and Muse of Nightmares. If you're not big on romance or beautiful prose you might not care for these, but both of these books kept me entranced. Time ceased to exist whenever I got lost in this unique, beautifully crafted world. I definitely lost sleep over these, in the best possible way.

Best cover: My reading year was bookended by two books in Katherine Arden's Winternight trilogy, The Bear and the Nightingale and The Girl in the Tower. (I can't believe I read them in the same year. It feels like I read The Bear and the Nightingale in another age.) I love a good winter setting, and when I saw the cover for The Bear and the Nightingale I bought the book, no questions asked. Even better, the books are great, so I don't have to be mad about being deceived. (This didn't work out so well for the other book I bought for the cover, The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker.)

I suppose, just this once, I'll include the cover images so you can ogle over them too.

Best title: The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson. With a title like that, how could you not open up this book? This 100-year-old man lived quite the life, but I was never sure what to make of it. Was I amused? Disturbed? Bored? Inspired? Somebody else go read this book and then come talk to me.

Book I can't stop recommending: 11/22/63. This was almost by pick for favorite fiction. If you're a Stephen King fan but haven't read this yet, READ IT NOW. If you're not a fan of horror but are wondering why Stephen King is such a big deal, READ IT NOW. If you simply need a good book to read, READ IT NOW. If you're intimidated by the length—well, you should know what to do by now. This guy can write, and he's got the brain of a storyteller. I haven't been this blown away by a novel in quite some time.

*I should probably mention that this book has a lot of profanity and a few graphic scenes. I tend to avoid both if I can, but this is one of those cases where it was totally worth it to step outside my comfort zone.

Most relevant today: Beartown, by Frederik Backman. If you think Frederik Backman is all about charming stories about grumpy old guys, then you'll be in for a shock with Beartown. Totally different tone, but excellent for entirely different reasons. It's about a town that's obsessed with hockey, but it's not a sports book. I read this while all the Brett Kavanaugh stuff was going on and the parallels are eerie. It's a great way to study the #MeToo movement from multiple angles and I cannot recommend it highly enough. It should be required reading.

Best escape: Convention week is the time I need escaping from my life more than any other, so I started the week prepared with some books I've been meaning to read for a while: The Selection series by Keira Cass (book 3, The One, was my favorite). Will these books change the world? No. Are they complete and total fluff? Yes. But these types of books are still a crucial part of my reading regimen. Sometimes you just need effortless entertainment, something shallow to look forward to when real life has become a test of endurance. People who create these kinds of escapes are doing a noble work.

Funniest book: Calypso, by David Sedaris. This collection is a little more somber and reflective than Sedaris' usual fare, but there's still plenty of laughs to go around. One of my favorite essays is "Stepping Out," which chronicles his Fitbit obsession in hilarious and highly relatable fashion. After that the Fitbit shows up in a few essays as a fun little in joke, including the one where he's dying of gastronomical distress. Gotta get those steps in, man.

Book that made me feel emotions: Educated, by Tara Westover. This book doesn't really qualify as "saddest book," so I had to amend the category name a bit. At times it is sad, but mostly it's disturbing and frustrating. And mind-boggling and inspiring. This is a wonderfully written book about some sensitive topics, one that actually lived up to the hype for me.

Most intriguing premise: The Dinner List, by Rebecca Serle. We've all been asked this question: If you could have dinner with one person, living or dead, who would it be? This book is a novelization of that question. And one of the dinner guests is Audrey Hepburn! I wasn't so sure about the premise at first, but I ended up really loving this book.

Book that enhanced my world view: An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones. This is the story of how a wrongful prison sentence affected a marriage. It's not a sensational prison story, but one that focuses on what journalists don't cover. How prison changes relationships and puts a stain on your day-to-day life. How it changes all the little things, as well as the big ones. I didn't find much to relate to in this novel, but I sure learned a lot from it.

Pleasant surprise: Far Far Away, by Tom McNeal. I picked this up because of Anne Bogel's hearty recommendation on her wonderful podcast, What Should I Read Next. I would not have bothered with it otherwise because it sounds like a really weird book, but the risk paid off in a big way. All I'll say about it is that it's YAish and fairy-tale-ish. If either of those categories are up your alley at all, don't read any of the book summaries. Just dive right in and enjoy.

Biggest disappointment: Bridge of Clay, by Markus Zusak. My most disappointing reads tend to be by authors I love. The Book Thief is one of my top 5 favorite books of all time (counting the Harry Potter series as one book, of course), and I loved I Am the Messenger, too, though it's quite different. Bridge of Clay isn't a bad book—I gave it 4 stars—but the way it was constructed made it a far more frustrating reading experience than it needed to be. Some parts were absolutely beautiful and affected me in trademark Markus Zusak fashion (emotions that hit so suddenly and deeply you feel like you'll never recover), but it was just a hard book to read, functionally. That's what made this book so disappointing—that the structure overshadowed the greatness. I wouldn't dissuade anyone from reading anything by Zusak—I'd read his grocery list, given the chance—but even two weeks after finishing this one, I'm relieved it's not the book waiting for me on my nightstand.

Bookish treasure: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. This book is told through letters, putting the British wit and humor I love so much on full display. It takes place right after World War II, which gives it a darker tone, but every page is utterly delightful. This was the book I was reading on my birthday, which seems appropriate.

Also, I have yet to say that title correctly on my first try. Makes it kind of hard to recommend to people, but the wonky title is part of its charm, so...

Book I'd like to see as a movie: The Christmas Sisters, by Sarah Morgan. Full disclosure: I watched a lot of Christmas romance movies this year, some of which I loved, some of which were deeply unsatisfying and I will never admit to wasting time on. But this story has a lot more to offer than just Hallmark cliches. It's got the snow (in Scotland, no less!), the inn, and the hunky boyfriends to get you started. But with the added dynamic of complicated sister relationships and more fleshed-out characters, this movie could have some depth so you don't feel like you just overdosed on b-level sugar cookies.

Book I'd love to live in: The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I'll house-sit Bag-End while Bilbo's off adventuring. #DreamVacation

Book I don't want to live in: The Shining, by Stephen King. Reading this book didn't scare the bejeezus out of me like it seems to do most people, but I'm in no hurry to visit the Overlook Hotel in person. I'm still scarred by that time a mirror fell on me mere minutes after watching The Haunting—no way would I recover from a crazy person pounding on my bathroom door with a roque mallet.

Favorite character: Claire from Love Walked In, by Marisa de los Santos. I loved this book (and the next one) for a lot of reasons, Claire being one of the main ones. She's the kind of friend I want to have, and the kind of friend I want to be. She's smart, funny, doesn't take any crap from anyone, and is completely comfortable being her own unique self. It was refreshing to read a literary chick lit book about a single 30something who isn't bitter about life—stories like that are in short supply.

All the 2018 books (bolded titles are more standouts I didn't get to talk about):

1. Illegal, John Dennehy
2. The Bear and the Nightingale, Katherine Arden
3. The Chicken Who Saved Us: The Remarkable Story of Andrew and Frightful, Kristin Jarvis Adams
4. Furies of Calderon, Jim Butcher
5. Kiss Me Again, Paris, Renate Stendhal
6. Ape Mind, Old Mind, New Mind: Emotional Fossils and the Evolution of the Human Spirit, John Wylie
7. And These Are the Good Times: A Chicago Gal Riffs on Death, Sex, Life, Dancing, Writing Wonder, Loneliness, Place, Family, Faith, Coffee, and the FBI, Patricia Ann McNair
8. Academ's Fury, Jim Butcher
9. The Forgetting Tree: A Rememory, Rae Paris
10. Pointing Is Rude: One Father's Story of Autism, Adoption, and Acceptance, Digger O'Brien
11. Get to Be Happy: Stories and Secrets to Loving the Sh*t Out of Life, Ted Larkins
12. Cursor's Fury, Jim Butcher
13. Captain's Fury, Jim Butcher
14. Princeps' Fury, Jim Butcher
15. First Lord's Fury, Jim Butcher
16. By the Book, Julia Sonneborn
17. The Great Alone, Kristin Hannah
18. Revelations in Context, various
19. A Man Called Ove, Fredrik Backman
20. Joy in the Morning, Betty Smith
21. All the Little Live Things, Wallace Stegner
22. The Forgetting Time, Sharon Guskin
23. Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America, Steve Almond
24. The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out a Window and Disappeared, Jonas Jonasson
25. Every Heart a Doorway, Seanan McGuire
26. Strange the Dreamer, Laini Taylor
27. 11/22/63, Stephen King
28. Beauty and the Beast: Lost in a Book, Jenifer Donnelly
29. Where'd You Go, Bernadette, Maria Semple
30. Magic Hour, Kristin Hannah
31. Rain: A Natural and Cultural History, Cynthia Barnett
32. This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage, Ann Patchett
33. My Name is Lucy Barton, Elizabeth Strout
34. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
35. Recapitulation, Wallace Stegner
36. An American Marriage, Tayari Jones
37. The Goose Girl, Shannon Hale
38. Enna Burning, Shannon Hale
39. River Secrets, Shannon Hale
40. Forest Born, Shannon Hale
41. My Life in France, Julia Child
42. The Last Anniversary, Liane Moriarty
43. Outline, Rachel Cusk
44. Love Walked In, Marisa de los Santos
45. Spinning Silver, Naomi Novik
46. Alone Time: Four Seasons, Four Cities, and the Pleasures of Solitude, Stephanie Rosenbloom
47. Far Far Away, Tom McNeal
48. The Selection, Kiera Cass
49. The Elite, Kiera Cass
50. The One, Kiera Cass
51. The Heir, Kiera Cass
52. The Crown, Kiera Cass
53. Happily Ever After, Kiera Cass
54. The Dinner List, Rebecca Serle
55. Aesop's Illustrated Fables, Aesop
56. The Golem and the Jinni, Helene Wecker
57. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
58. Uncommon Type: Some Stories, Tom Hanks
59. At Home: A Short History of Private Life, Bill Bryson
60. Beartown, Fredrik Backman
61. Educated, Tara Westover
62. To All the Boys I've Loved Before, Jenny Han
63. The Mountain Between Us, Charles Martin
64. The Shining, Stephen King
65. Muse of Nightmares, Laini Taylor
66. P.S. I Still Love You, Jenny Han
67. Always and Forever, Lara Jean, Jenny Han 
68. Belong to Me, Marisa de los Santos
69. Clock Dance, Anne Tyler
70. The Memory Keeper's Daughter, Kim Edwards
71. Skyward, Brandon Sanderson
72. The Mansion, Henry Van Dyke
73. The Christmas Sisters, Sarah Morgan
74. Bridge of Clay, Markus Zusak
75. Calypso, David Sedaris
76. The Girl in the Tower, Katherine Arden
77. The Deal of a Lifetime, Fredrik Backman
78. The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien
79. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
80. Very Good Lives: The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination, J.K. Rowling
81. Tam Lin, Pamela Dean

Previous years:
2017

2016
2015
2014
2013
2012

Christmas ambiance

Back in September or October, I had this dream a couple of times: it was December 15 and I hadn't listened to any Christmas music yet. This is the dark stuff of Christmas nightmares, stemming from my irrational fear that I won't have enough time to enjoy the build-up to Christmas.

I've always loved Christmas, but as I've gotten older I've come to love the weeks leading up to Christmas more than the actual Christmas Day. My family didn't have a lot of Christmas traditions growing up—aside from the eight or so family parties we hit every year—but we went all out with the Christmas ambiance: the lights and decorations, the foods and smells, the movies and music, the family togetherness and shared excitement. Living in the higher elevations, we even got more snow than most places did.

Ten years of apartment living has taken a lot of that Christmas ambiance away. Turns out you can still do a lot to create a happy, cozy place to live, but my little basement apartment lacked many of the necessities for a good Christmas season. An exterior to decorate with lights. The absence of city lights so the holiday lights can really shine. A front porch, deck, or even just a window with an unobstructed view of the winter wonderland you're living in. Space for stuff that serves no practical purpose, like 7.5-foot Christmas trees and giant pots for making spiced cider.

I got all that in bursts of Christmas cheer whenever I went home for the holidays. But this year, I finally get to duplicate some of that magic at my new house and enjoy the Christmas mood for longer. There's still nothing quite like going home for Christmas, but finally having the ambiance—at my own home—I've lacked for the last 10 years has felt like living out a Christmas fantasy.

The downside? My hibernation mode kicks into high gear every fall and only increases through January; with all the extra homeyness I've enjoyed this year, I resent anything that drags me away from the coziness of my Christmas lights and fuzzy socks and hot chocolate. During this season of get-togethers and concerts and service, alongside the ever-moving train of work, I've become a Grinch who only wants to stay home, where time slows down and relaxation is only a change of clothes away.

It's the best of times, the worst of times. But mostly the best.

4 things I learned in October

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." So says Anne of Green Gables, so says me. October does everything best. But here are some less obvious observations I've had this October.

Social media fast—I did Pres. Nelson's social media fast challenge. Mostly. I only did it seven days instead of 10, but I figured that was enough. And rather than make me realize something profound about how social media was ruining my life, seven days without it made me more grateful for it. I am connected to far more people than I would be without social media—going without it made me feel more isolated, if anything—not to mention it's a handy tool for keeping tabs on people I don't see very much and keeping me up to date on what's going on in the world. It's such a universal way of communicating now that sometimes it's the only way I can get updates about family events, ward happenings, etc. And I missed being able to scroll through Twitter when I needed to numb my brain—that's been a super handy trick when I need a quick break from editing or when my thoughts are racing at night when I should be sleeping.

I enjoyed the break from all the negativity—especially on Twitter—and I'm going to be more mindful about staying off social media when I should be focusing on what's going on around me. But overall, going cold turkey for that long was an unnecessary nuisance.

2018 spooky read—For the last few years, I've read a spooky book in October. I need challenges like this to get me outside my reading comfort zone occasionally. I don't enjoy horror, but I loved 11/22/63 so much that I had to read some more Stephen King. So I chose one of the classics of the horror genre: The Shining. I was prepared to be jumping at shadows all the time and to have nightmares every night—but the book really didn't scare me that much. 

I mean, yes, it's a freaky and disturbing book and it deserves its spot as one of the premier horror novels of all time, but I couldn't suspend my disbelief enough to buy that a haunted hotel could make you go crazy or that hedges could come to life and attack you. I can put myself in any fantasy story, memoir, contemporary novel—basically any other genre—but in horror, apparently I can't do that enough to relate in any meaningful way. And since I don't find horror tropes entertaining or educational—the top two reasons I read—this book didn't have much to offer me.

I still don't think I could handle the movie, though, unless I went into it with the intention of mocking the absurdity. It's a lot harder to get disturbing images out of your brain if you actually have to see them. And the music! Horror is vastly more effective with a suspenseful soundtrack.

Working from home—I've started working from home one day a week because I moved into the part of Utah that gets the worst traffic in the entire state. (In my totally unbiased, rational opinion. Redwood Road is of the devil.) The older I get the more I feel like the 9-to-5 office life is slowly sucking the life out of me, so getting one weekday away from that makes me feel like I have a little more control over the way I live. I'll probably be stuck in office culture for another 35 years or so, so I'm grateful to have wrangled a little bit of flexibility out of it.

Ask and you may receive—I'm not the inquisitive type. Not if it means physically asking someone a question. Nor am I the type to seek out help from others. I'd rather suffer in silence until I explode. But recent experiences have made me realize that if you ask for something, you just might get it. Opening up, even just a little, doesn't necessarily mean you'll be rejected or ignored or seen as weak. Mind blown.

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.

A summer of new experiences

August is just about over, and you know what that means: alternating panic and self-flagellation for wasting another summer.

Except, I'm not getting that feeling. Because I did things this summer. I was too busy living new experiences to be bothered too much by the things I love to gripe about during the summer (the heat, the sleep trouble, the having to go to work—you know the list).

Apartment renter to homeowner

This is the big one, guys—the biggest change I've made since I started working after college. And in almost all ways, it's been a positive one.

But moving from a one-bedroom apartment to a four-bedroom house brings some challenges. Like, finding the energy to vacuum all. that. carpet. And having three levels instead of one—I feel like I'm trekking up and down stairs constantly. And now that I have about 47 closets, it takes me much longer to find lost items (weeks longer, in some cases, because I routinely forget about certain closets). And I have three bathrooms to clean now, because one person definitely needs three bathrooms. Seriously, between the miles and miles of carpet and the infinite number of closets and doors, sometimes I miss that grungy little apartment for its sheer simplicity.

(There's also the commute. Before school started it was long but bearable, but now it adds an extra hour of hell to every work day and I can't talk about it without getting ENRAGED so let's move on.)

But everything else? Awesome. I love how soft and fluffy the carpet is, even if I resent its abundance. I LOVE having a kitchen that's big enough to move around in. No more balancing cookie sheets over the sink or having to move eight things every time I need to cut up some vegetables. I love having a few extra rooms so I don't have to keep all my stuff in my bedroom if I don't want to. I LOVE having a garage to park my car in; it's my favorite adulting thing ever. I love that everything is brand new so I don't have to worry about stuff breaking on me just yet. I love putting any investment into this new space of mine, whether it be cleaning/decorating or putting in a water softener. It's mine to do with what I wish, and there's a certain pride and joy that comes with that.

Another thing I love? I have a library. As if I needed another happy place in this house.

Never been outside the U.S. to world traveler

I finally did it—I traveled outside the U.S., to the exotic land of Canada. Still no stamp on my passport because apparently you have to travel in by plane to do that, but we took many pictures to mark the occasion.

I didn't expect Canada to feel any different from the U.S., but right away I noticed some things that made it feel "foreign." Like their use of the metric system—I'm a dumb American, so I couldn't tell you how much gas costs there in Americanese. You see French almost as much as you do English, and Canadians are super nice. And not in that fake way you get here all the time where we just act nice because we're supposed to, or smile sweetly while plotting ways to murder someone. It's a real, genuine, not-at-all annoying niceness, and I think we should all be like Canadians.

Also, Niagara Falls is incredible. The boat tour was my favorite part of the entire trip.

Singles ward to family ward

This was by far the hardest transition I made this summer, but it had to be done. I may still end up back in a singles ward once I officially hit "mid-singles" age, but for now it's been a nice break from the YSA wards I've outgrown, and it's been a great way to help me get to know my neighbors and actually become a part of the community I live in. Plus, I have family in the ward again, and I was given one of the few family ward callings that doesn't terrify me—primary pianist.

Still, my heart goes out to any LDS single (sorry, Latter-day Saint single) making this transition, because it's rough. I hated feeling like I couldn't blend in anymore, and I really missed quiet sacrament meetings. (Still do.) But it got easier, and eventually I started believing what I kept telling myself—that everyone else is too wrapped up in their own lives to notice how different mine is, and that I share more similarities with these strange married people than I realize.

But, there is one thing I'm not sure I'll ever get used to: calling people Brother/Sister So-and-So. One of the many great things about singles wards is that everyone addresses each other my their first name—like you would in literally every other adult situation—so going back to the Brother/Sister thing feels archaic. It's not quite as strange when the primary people call me Sister Carter, but I'm still holding out hope that this weird cultural thing will die out.

4-time Convention survivor to 5-time Convention survivor

Nothing new about this year's USANA Convention experience, other than it was an easy one for me. ("Easy" being an extremely relative term here.) And that I broke my single-day steps record (22,000). And that I somehow still had the energy to smile on Saturday morning.

Pardon the bags under the eyes. They're part of the Convention uniform.

Cheers to an abundant summer. Even if your summer wasn't abundant, take heart in knowing that the best season has only just begun.