i took off my worried shoes.

my fatal flaw is worry.

i'm always trying to look too far ahead--

further than needed, though need is relative.

worrying about knowing what will be

or how it will be, for me and for others.

always trying to create a perfectly-considered plan.
i mean, i even have a playlist that i aptly labeled for this purpose:
when i need to worry.
(i know. i really do have a problem.)

worry and concern.

taking control to keep myself from ever being trapped.

trying to see too much, though i already see so much.

therein lies my fatal flaw.

a sinner like me, caitlin connolly.

i once made a miniature study of worry. did you know that if you look up worry in the scriptures, you'll be directed instead to fear? "worry, see fearful." and that pretty much says it all, doesn't it? to be worried is to be filled with fear, not faith. with worry, faith is left hanging out to dry in the bitter winds of winter.

i wish i could say that experience taught me once and for all--that i have mastered any worries or attempts to know or see or plan too much. i wish i had gained mastery over this concept that to have worry is an antithesis of faith. that if fear and faith cannot coexist, then neither can worry and faith. that now i always choose faith. but. honestly speaking, i'm still learning.

the last few months, i feel like i've been lacking in the soul-enlarging cosmic insights that used to be a part of me in greater abundance. a lack at first unnoticed that grew to concerning. mostly because my soul hasn't had much time for processing, or even pauses for thinking and writing together. and because--sometimes the words just won't come, you know? sometimes they just won't come and we are simply left in a rut.

last year, i had a roommate write a beautiful collection of thoughts about a decision she made for lent: for forty days, asking nothing in prayer. that last semester of our undergraduate studies was particularly rough on all of us, and for her, she decided something must be done to regroup her soul, so to speak. as i read about it, i remember admiring her, but thinking little more of it after that moment. that is, until now.

january and february of this year initiated some lessons in faith and trust--in letting go. january, especially, was nearing on the point of excruciating. and by mid-february as things calmed again, i knew i needed something. i knew i needed to re-center my soul. to regroup. to figure out how to really let go and calm my soul down from what was nearing on frenzied. during that time, i couldn't stop thinking about greer's experience from last year. not always consciously, but always present. just this little thing in the background. thirty-eight days ago i decided i should probably try it, which was, at the time, an uncommitted idea that i hadn't yet planned. in a clear confirmation of what i needed to do, though, thirty-seven days ago i unintentionally stumbled into a particularly poignant study about gratitude and the lilies. about not asking, but thanking in all things. that to truly come unto christ and thereby be filled with love, grace, and power--to really grow like the lilies--first and foremost i must give thanks.

and so i did. until easter i concluded that i wouldn't request or demand anything of God.
for just under six weeks. thirty-eight days, to be exact. that's how long i went.

looking for light, caitlin connolly.

here i must insert an important proviso, of sorts: i'm not ignoring the importance of asking. i'm not discrediting the ever-present charge to seek, and ye shall find. there's most certainly a place for asking. in fact, we're asked to do so over and over again. but for this short time. for me. i needed to not. i needed to approach my relationship with heavenly father in a different way.

when we ask, we are first to study it out. we ought to ask consciously with intent to discover and act accordingly. whatever our questions, it's about so much more than just asking. how many times do we let out a short, please bless so-and-so, before swiftly moving on and hardly giving it a thought again before we pray again, letting out that same short phrase? for me--i needed this time to step back from just asking. from living life in rote, learned phrases like an echolalic child. i forced myself to think consciously about the words i uttered in prayer--about what i was really asking for when making a request for heavenly father to bless someone i love.

now i must also insert my caveats. first, i included several exceptions: placing the names of others on the temple prayer roll, requests made in repentance as a maintenance part of life, and asking for the Spirit to be with me. oh, and also praying for the sisters we visit when visiting teaching in their homes. i allowed that, too. but. everything else was statements only.

i don't want this to sound self-righteous. it's anything but. and though sometimes i wondered for a moment if anyone would even notice when i offered prayers in group settings, over meals and the like. would anyone notice that i never said, please bless this food to nourish and strengthen our bodies? i'll tell you what--they didn't. well, if they did, no one ever verbally acknowledged it.

and if we're being honest, while there was much i learned in this time, it wasn't all berries and cream, either. sometimes it was frustrating, and i felt left in the dark so desperate for light and insight that i felt i had no place to request during this time. sometimes, i must admit, i was less inclined to pray at all. because it took so much effort and thought when my soul was already drained. sometimes i felt it wasn't worth it and God became even more silent during this time (i'll return to this concept). because if my options were limited to expressions of gratitude, there were some days i felt i had little--if anything--to say. (i know, i'm a terribly ungrateful and feisty child sometimes.) but i pressed on, and i am glad.

the most important thing you can do is to learn to talk to God. (harold b. lee)

i know there are places in which we should ask. i know there are blessings contingent upon our asking for them. that asking questions and seeking insight into the mysteries of the universe and the smallest of our daily inquiries are all important things. that's why i chose to do this for a limited time frame. but you know what happened as i gave up the asking? prayers became conversations in greater frequency than ever before. it was about a discussion, not just providing a list of helpless requests to accompany a handful of thanks.

as if right on cue, a few short days after i made this decision, i kept being made aware of circumstances that requested the need for prayers on behalf of others. real, earnest requests for incredibly serious difficulties and uncertainties. if ever there were a time to pray--this would be it. i won't go into specifics, because specifics don't matter. that was just it--there was more than one person on more than one occasion with more than one circumstance. all at this same time. and this burst showed me even more reason why i ought to press on anyway with my decision not to ask. and so i didn't. and this--this was the most profound lesson i learned.

i prayed. because sometimes you just need to pray. but. i couldn't say please bless so-and-so. instead i was left pondering what i'd even be asking for on their behalf. i was left pondering what i could do to be the means by which that person received the blessing i would have requested on their behalf. i made no requests, but instead discussed the situation or person with heavenly father. instead of saying, i'm grateful for so-and-so, i told heavenly father all the specific reasons why i was grateful for that person.

she became herself with tears, caitlin connolly.

i took my lucky break and i broke it in two, put on my worried shoes.

took me so many miles, and they never wore out--my worried shoes.

i march further and further away in my worried shoes.

my shoes took me down a crooked path, away from all welcome mats.

i looked all around and saw the sun shining down,

took off my worried shoes.

(worried shoes, daniel johnston--though i prefer karen o's cover.)

in a true extinction burst, there were moments that i worried even more than before. remember that fatal flaw? when we pray for others, so often it's because we're unsure of what else we even could do. it's an act that makes us feel like there's some semblance of control amidst complete helplessness. after my burst of worries, though, in the next moment, upon realizing there was nothing i could do to change what would or wouldn't be--i let go. i considered the lilies who grew and thrived without a thought for the morrow or toiling over worries.

me. emily janette. emilyj. em. krem. i let go.
i took off my worried shoes--and that has made all the difference.

if there was something i could do to help myself or others, i did it. and otherwise? i let it go. i couldn't do anything about it anyway. you can't change the circumstances of others. you can't take away the agency of others. my worry and concern wasn't actually going to change what would or wouldn't happen. and so i left to God to order and provide. and you know what? He did. He always does. just like those lilies of the field, He will provide. and in some circumstances, it was as soon as i let go of what i was trying so hard to clasp onto, that real growth was able to take place. in gratitude, i am filled with His love and grace. in gratitude, i can obtain new insight. in gratitude, i can speak with Him. the most honest of conversations.

however. you know what else? sometimes He was silent. a purposeful, though admittedly frustrating, silence. but then i realized--in worry, anger, or fretting, would it really help if we were granted exactly what we're requesting? maybe. but i know that for me, it's often not about what i would or wouldn't ask for. often i don't know what i want--i'm just frustrated. often, i just need to let it out. to sit inside that emotion and let it take its course. and heavenly father--He can take it. my most profound conversations with Him often come after i've been in a tizzy and worked through it. after He simply listens to my frustrations. He's there, of course, just as He is now. He is here, but sometimes chooses to be silent. because He can see better than we, that, after all, perhaps silence is the best response.

she awoke from a bad dream and realized a sudden feeling of hope, caitlin connolly.

i wanted to lift the tiredness up out of mama with my thinking.

i wanted powers like that.

if i could walk through the world and just touch people,

and lift their pains right out of their bodies,

i'd never stop walking.

(feathers, jacqueline woodson)

it's hard to let go, did you know? i wish so badly that i could take control of every situation i've ever been involved in and make it right. that i could ease the burdens of those who surround me daily. it was so hard for me in ukraine, and still is to this day, when confronted with so many sorrows that people live with and being without power to do much more than love. unfortunately, i can't solve everything. but i can love. i can serve. i can throw words of affirmation all around and validate people in their earnest efforts. but. if i want to do so. my worried shoes won't take me there. to really, truly love and serve, i must put on my sunshine shoes instead.

i'm all for planning and taking control, where possible. there's hardly a member of the hales family who doesn't--unconsciously at the very least--have a tentative five-year plan. but sometimes, i think it is better to bask in a tolstoyan ideal of perfect presentness. consider the lilies. the sustenance and light that our photosynthesis necessitates will always be delivered. there is no need to toil upon tomorrow when there's nothing to be done about it, anyway. where love is, there God is also. and with gratitude, we find love. with love, we find God. we become more like Him. and with everything else, we do what we may and leave the rest to God to order and provide. and God? well, He takes care--much care--over the rest.

i don't know that i've ever been so conscious of the sanctity and reality of God's presence and light--that presence and light has been adopting new meaning these days. the privilege and gravity of temples. a hopeful heavenly father and a loving elder brother. as was quoted at the provo city center temple dedication last week, some people believe in jesus, some people don't believe in jesus. i believe in jesus.

because of that reality, i can look ahead and see light. i can hold a vision and perspective without needing to know the details. there are still worries. (oh, how the worries still exist.) i still have my moments of getting frenzied and trying to look too far ahead into the future to figure everything out (three+ years before i need to do so). but i really am trying to be better. and at the end of the day, it's all about where you look, you know? i am (striving to) always look up. to look into the light, soak in a deep breath and say, hi, jesus.

it's real. it's true. all of it.
what more can i say?

happy easter. христос воскрес.



ps. aren't caitlin connolly's paintings stunning? i am completely obsessed these days with her work.

#emily'sgoingtogradschool

a career in speech-language pathology challenges you

to use your intellect (the talents of your mind)

in combination with your humanity (the gifts of your heart)

to do meaningful work that feeds your soul.

-megan hodge.

if you were to ask me five years ago when i first entered the major why i switched and was choosing communication disorders, i couldn't have given you a clear answer. it seemed like a good career path. it seemed interesting to me. it seemed like a good idea. but i didn't know why. it just seemed right. it seemed like it was an excellent fit for my aptitudes. and i've spent these five years learning why--not only why i'm here in this field, but also why i'm staying.

four years ago i was recently-returned home from romania. that beautiful, blissful summer of mine in a little corner of eastern europe. that place where there never was a happier time. because i love people. i need people. not in the kind of way that i want them always around to interact with and learn their stories, though that's also true. but because of what comes from truly meaningful experiences when working with others--experiences that leave one or more of the individuals involved forever changed. because of what comes from facilitating growth in others and enabling them to become more fully who they have the potential to be--whatever that means in whatever the capacity.

because this work is all about people. individuals. it's about a study of communication in all its varieties and the repair thereof when something goes amiss in those dances of interaction. and so we marvel at that early dance of interaction. don't you love that? the early dance of interaction. because communication is completely and entirely socially driven. it gains validity and utility in interaction, whether that interaction be with oneself, others, or some piece of the surrounding environment. because when else do we communicate? it's always driven by some interaction, as earliest evidenced by that dance of interaction from infancy between caretakers and little babes.

i think the ability to effectively communicate can change the world--both the world at large and each individual among the millions of orbits of humans living lives of their own around the globe. because to be able to communicate is to be empowered to act for oneself. to be human. furthermore, to facilitate that process when some missteps are encountered in that process? well, to do so is to enable and empower someone else. and so we study disorders of communication. this is why the field of speech-language pathology exists, in its multi-faceted spread of opportunities.

and, you guys! it's just so. dang. fascinating. every little piece. in all the courses i've taken as an undergraduate studying communication disorders, or in volunteer experiences, or even in my study of other languages. over and over again i see what it means to be able to speak. to have a voice and let it be heard. and in learning a language foreign to my own mother-tongue, i have experienced multiple times small glimpses of what it means to have one's voice muted for a time. to be frustrated and trapped inside oneself when there is an inability to communicate or express what's inside you and is itching to be let out. because a voice takes many shapes and lengths and breadths. a voice in speaking, yes. but also in writing, in art, in music. because those are all just as much communicative tools as words themselves, aren't they?

i could go on and on about why i'm shocked more people don't become a part of this rewarding, meaningful, challenging, and beautiful line of work. (to say nothing of the incredible job security.) literacy, voices, articulation, neurological disorders--these are just the tip of the iceberg of areas of the field that exist. in addition to the fact that i so earnestly need to be part of meaningful things in my life, lest i go completely insane from being mired in selfish or insignificant daily acts. but i'll stick with the gratification of knowing that i'm lucky enough to be a part of it. with knowing that the education i receive is empowering not only myself, but those whom i will be able to serve in the future, allowing me to be a force for good. all my experiences up to this point have worked together to lead me to being always among people. with individuals. with being enabled by my own experiences and skills to help others and truly change the course of their life. to empower. and grad school. well, grad school is just another step. perhaps the most important step. to truly enable me to facilitate real growth in both myself and others. and that? well that never stops being invigorating.

last october there was an information meeting at the university of utah regarding their master's program in speech-language pathology. october eighth, to be exact. and that was the day i knew. that was the day i became conscious of a desire deep within me more earnest than almost any other desire ever experienced. that's the day i realized how badly i really really want this. with all of my beating, significance-craving heart. i wanted to be a part of this field. a part of their program. a part of their clinic. a part of all of it. because i love the way they give a broad education that allows you to glimpse into every part of the field. because i love their clinic. because i love the professors. because i love salt lake city.

when i was in that meeting, i was overcome with the way being there made progress and growth and getting where i'm going feel possible. everything felt possible. and despite this program (no matter where you apply) being incredibly competitive, it was a profound recognition to realize that not everyone in the meeting would necessarily be my competition. more than that, i just fell in love with that place. and my soul was screaming that it needed to be there someday soon.

i'm a fairly easy-going person, driven almost entirely by pragmatics and perhaps sometimes flirting with the line of being too practical. more than that, i'm a minimalist. i like simplicity. and i'm far from materialistic. i don't want often. not in a real way, anyway. i want a drink on a hot summer's day just like anyone else, but i'll oblige to depriving myself of most things if necessary. because most things really aren't necessary. most of this modern world would be shocked if they ever truly discovered how little it takes to live. to keep surviving. but this. i wanted it so badly it nearly started gnawing its way through my skin. because it seemed like this program was screaming at me. because it seemed like i belonged there. in ways i myself could hardly explain, i knew i had to go there. and i wanted it so badly, despite only a certain portion of getting there being in my control.



i worked my tail off. i volunteered in specific areas of the field more interesting to me. i studied. i researched schools over and over again. i did things like an internship in romania not because it looked good on a resume. (though i can't lie that i'm grateful it does.) i did it for the experience. because it just seemed right. because it seemed so important to my life and who i am, who i'm becoming. in addition to being, on a simpler level, incredibly appealing to me. suffice it to say. i worked because i wanted to. because i cared about these things. because these are things that were worth being exhausted for and getting out of bed to embrace each morning. because i really, truly love it. because it starts a fire in my blood that courses out of my heart and burns through my veins.

and after all that wishing, and dreaming, and hoping, and praying (plus incredible amounts of hard work, late nights, and that horribly tedious application process), i got my letter to my own kind of hogwarts. back in march. march sixteenth. (i know it's august now. lifebebehindlikethatsometimes.) and while i pretended to consider my options, i was granted what i'd always wanted all along. my choice was simple, and i always knew. now. i get to study as part of an incredible program in a city that i love. last week i was in the clinic observing, and before i left i met a professor with whom i had a great little discussion about the field, autism, being in school, and how great it all is. it was thrilling. and he said in all his years in the field, he's never been bored. and let me just tell you. there's nothing so invigorating about that either. i'm so excited i could burst.

because.

hashtag. emily'sgoingtogradschool.

(now trending.)

(and yes. these photos are real life. i don't even know what came over me. #shameless.)

to nourish and grieve.

i still remember the first time i studied the parable of the olive tree in russian. really studied it, i mean. because of course i'd read it and gone through parts. (and already studied it in english, obviously.) but then came a time when i went deeper.

it was in the autumn and i was in a threesome--my penultimate companionship. (when wasn't i, really? that's how it seems sometimes.) and in the process i kept having more and more of those moments to add to the already hundreds of times that i'd concluded, the gospel is truer in russian. maybe it's not, but it sure feels that way. i don't even know quite how to express the same thing in english.

что ещё мог[ла] я сделать для виноградника своего? i find myself asking this a lot--what could i have done more for my vineyard? he asks twice. first in verse forty-one, then in forty-nine. what more could i have done? is there more? i don't just ask it in regards to my mission, though i think everyone does that too. in life. is there more i should have done or should be doing? it's a frequent perpetual wonder. especially when in limbo. or when applying to graduate school. or. anytime, really.

the lord of the vineyard, though. he doesn't just ask. he works and works and works again. because life ultimately comes down to nourishment. what do we choose to nourish? how do we choose to nourish? where do we nourish? who do we nourish?

i think the beautiful thing about jacob 5 is the manner in which the lord of the vineyard nourishes. he always is carrying hope, all the day long.
11. чтобы я, быть может, мог сохранить его корни.
[that perhaps i might preserve the roots thereof.]
20. я так долго удобрял её, и она принесла много плода.
[this long time have i nourished it, and it hath brought forth much fruit.]

over and over again he says these things. that perhaps i might. this long time he nourishes. with a maybe and a might. and you know what else he keeps saying? горько мне потерять это дерево.

eight times, he says, it grieveth me.

7. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree. 
11. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree. 
13. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree and the fruit thereof.
32. it grieveth me that i should lose this tree.
46. it grieveth me that i should lose them.
47. it grieveth me that i should hew down all the trees of my vineyard, and cast them into the fire that they should be burned.
51. it grieveth me that i should lose the trees of my vineyard.
66. it grieveth me that i should lose the trees of my vineyard.

i don't know about you, but i'd say that's a lot of grief. in russian, though, it's phrased like this. горько мне (gorko mne). here are just a few of the potential translations: to me it is bitter. it pains and distresses me. it makes me sick at heart. i am grieved. because горе (gore) carries more than a one-word translation of grief. it can describe grief. woe. sorrow. misfortune. distress. trouble. broken heart.  and that carries so much more richness of meaning than just grief, don't you think? because to lose anyone at all is distressing.

and you know what else? he doesn't clear the bad until the very last possible moment. at the seventh declaration of grief, he says i will spare it a little longer, for it grieveth me. because he wants us all to grow. he wants so that we were all preserved. over and over he nourishes some more, never casting off until the very last possible moment when he absolutely has to do so. and even then, it is only because he must clear away the bad for the good to be able to grow.

furthermore, from jacob five на русском i also learned this. there are those who will not bring forth fruit, despite the labor given to their nourishment. be not weary of good works. agency means that some fruits never blossom--by their own choice. that doesn't mean the nourishment, labor, and love was for nothing. sometimes that just happens. despite the effort. regardless of the effort. notwithstanding all our labor (32), notwithstanding all the care (46). and these statements of loss, are followed directly with the grief to be losing. the labor is not rendered futile in the lack of fruition. it's just that sometimes--notwithstanding--that's all you can do. чтобы в последний раз все были снова удобрены (63). and in english, this is translated as, that all may be nourished once again for the last time. but when i read it in russian, it sounds more like, so that in the end, all were nourished again.

and yet. he keeps trying. keeps nourishing. keeps planting and moving the branches.
even when he knows the notwithstanding is coming.
he keeps trying, that perhaps he might.

and this? this is love and mercy in its purest form.

this lesson that began in saltovka, and never really ends.
the nourishing and the grieving any loss of that which we cherish.
notwithstanding--justice, love, and mercy keep on meeting.
as they should, wouldn't you say?

choosing.

the thing about a mission is that you choose. anyone should be sure that it's a choice of their own, but especially as a sister. there's no obligation whatsoever to serve full-time. in fact, when i made my choice, there were plenty choosing not to go.

the thing about a mission, though, is that also at some point--usually at the beginning--that choice made as a statement turns into a question. i chose this? because when you make the choice, you don't know. no one can see into the future. you make a choice based on a visualization that you create in your head that was made according to that which you attempted to predict. which, of course, is normal and good and right. i'm a firm believer in the power of visualization as a means to guide your desires and direct your choices. but then you get in there, and as you ought to expect, you encounter the unexpected and unimagined possibilities that are now reality and you say with a hint of betrayal, disbelief, and possibly disappointment all rolled into one: i chose this?

missions are an odd sort of alternate universe that highlight and force simplicity and minimalism in every aspect of who you are and what you do, because you're called out of the world with a singular purpose. and the effective fulfillment of that purpose requires picking everything apart and simplifying to the core basics of what you believe and the doctrinal foundations that guide your life. and in such an experience--choosing a mission and entering the field--the discrepancy between expected and reality is quite pronounced.

i'm not here to talk about missions, though. (feel free to lament that it took me three paragraphs to get here.) because while all of this is true, and i myself experienced it and lived to tell the tale (and, by choice, to not tell many a tale), i've been surprised at how much i now see the same experience hidden in far more places than anticipated. it was always there, of course. but not until now does it have a name and face like this each and every time.

the discrepancy between the visualized expectation and reality. everyone is guilty at some point or another of creating a prospective image of the future with details that are more than fuzzy--even when you know you shouldn't. perhaps especially when you know you shouldn't. because that's what it means to try to imagine the life you have ahead of you. because if only you could just see ahead--to imagine the first day of a new school semester or year as a whole, to imagine a career role in twenty years, to imagine an internship or job placement, to imagine a future spouse or family. there's power in that dreaming and visualization. because i believe in that searching for an image we create, we find which strokes of the paintbrush we couldn't manage without in addition to those that aren't so necessary as we once thought. and because in the formation of these choices, we allow ourselves to believe that brighter things really are ahead and it will all result in something glorious. those creations give something to believe in.

but what about that discrepancy from the image we've so painstakingly drawn? even when the picture is made with allowances for life's realities, it's still just a picture we've made. but. that picture. inside that picture are strokes of the heart of our desires. after you make a choice, and perhaps as part of making that choice, you design the idea--an image of what you want it to look like.

what do you want? the heart wants what the heart wants. what do you want?

Desires dictate our priorities, priorities shape our choices, and choices determine our actions.

The desires we act on determine our changing, our achieving, and our becoming.

Dallin H. Oaks, Desire.

and this is why we dream. our dreams are desires. our desires guide our choices. but. there's a difference between capital d Desires and lowercase d desires. what we want most (capital d) in comparison with something we think we want (lowercase d)--when in fact there's something ahead far better suited to our own personal interests, needs, and capabilities.



one of my jobs this summer is in a niche of this field that i always thought i wanted to specialize in and study in depth. in fact, i'd nearly planned on it, and nearly applied to a few other graduate schools because of an available specialty. if not that, then i'd find opportunity to work to further study and specialize in it once out working. because i'm good with puzzles and finding answers for what makes people tick. and. well. it's a passion of mine, really. and most of my experience revolves around this. (when i was in israel, there was a woman who was given a free pass by me for anything because even in israel, while it was still april she wore an autism speaks pin on her shirt every day. i'm not even a little bit exaggerating: free pass in my book.) and i love it. autism is fascinating to me, maybe because it is such a mystery and each individual is a different puzzle piece. there's so much we don't know, but also so much that we do. anyway. i'll save my autism obsession and observations for another lump of words. the point is, i love it. i love the individuals i've worked with who have autism, i love the individuals i've worked with in working with those who have autism. it's a beautiful, often indescribable, rewarding experience.

however. there are moments when in my head i say, with a hint of chagrined disbelief: i chose this? 

despite my love for it. despite my interest. despite my passion. despite my previous experience. despite all these stars that have aligned to bring me here. despite all that--this summer is showing me what i don't want to do with the rest of my life, not what i do. it's showing me what i love about speech-language pathology specifically rather than behavioral therapy.

and there's a place for that. there's something laudable in that. there's value in having this experience, and in the hilarious, darling, as well as draining moments that fill a day. (sometimes all within the same 10 second period.) and yet. there's something vexing about it too. i chose this?

because it's not what i expected it would be, even if i did choose this and it chose me. rather, it's not so much that it's not what i expected, because i have enough experience to know the face this work wears. what i didn't expect is how i feel about it now. what about that discrepancy of finding that it's not what i necessarily want to, or should, specialize in forever?

the answer to it all is that it all comes back to capital d Desires compared to lowercase d desires. and i have capital d Desires that matter most. and those lower case d's--well, those are only given placement when they allow for attainment of a capital d. and the capital d will always supersede lowercase d, even when we don't know why a lowercase d has to go--we just know that it does.

and this. this is the educating of desires. in choosing and living the image you've created, including the unexpected and unanticipated. because that's what it means to educate your desires--to come to know them and the faces they wear in every kind of light, in both the portrait you paint and the portrait that results. because in the education thereof, some lowercase d's are ultimately sent into extinction, and others rewarded a tenured position next to a capital d.

The Spirit of Christ teaches us that we must pray, that we must ask for the things that we seek. (...) But before we can do this with focus, we have to become aware of a multitude of defined or undefined, conscious or subconscious desires. We have to learn to bring them to our awareness, to analyze them, to categorize them, and to bring them in to order according to priorities. When we do not do this, we will be condemned to remain, in our prayers, on a superficial level, or even on the level of formality, where there are no answers or there are only imagined answers. But there are always hundreds of different desires fighting for supremacy within us. The act of categorizing them is a very painful, but needful act to become, in the eyes of God, a mature person and to be taken seriously. (...) When the Light of Christ is able to penetrate our hearts, prompted by the enlightened testimony of truth by a focused teacher, it will cause in us a state of awakening, an awakening of the real me, the child of God, so that we can learn to channel our desires to focus on our true needs.

F. Enzio Busche, Unleashing the Dormant Spirit.

paint that picture in colors or words. write them down. by all means, write them down. because the process of giving a color and shape to desires is in itself illuminating. it gives something to believe in. because before we start the education, we surely need to know what we're educating.

this is where desires fit inside our agency--in that choice of the desires we educate. because that is the true gift of agency: to use those desires and priorities as tools in making choices. because choices are personal and meaningful and important and it is the choices we make that our lives are created. and desire? well, desire is at the heart of absolutely everything. no wonder they always say, the desires of our hearts. the heart wants what the heart wants.

and when what you want turns out to not be what you thought you wanted? don't be dismayed. there's always another lowercase d waiting on standby. always.

what do you truly want?

вот это--желание наших сердец.

there never was a happier time.

i consider the summer i turned twenty to be the happiest time of my life so far.

and i dare say that summer will always remain near the top of that list.

there never was a happier time.

i've been thinking a lot lately about that summer.

when this place was my place, these people were my people.

that time when my entire existence consisted of a life of sweat, labor, and love.

my summer in romania. 

i've never been so satisfied, so fulfilled. a life of the purest simplicity and the purest of souls surrounding me. and there never was a happier time. never before have i been somewhere that i never wanted to leave, somewhere that--by the end especially--had become not only a home, but a lifestyle that i could have easily and happily lived forever.

because it's there i fell in love with that musty scent of old paint and incense and books so unique to the inside of old churches. the thrill of a language not native to you becoming your own. the odd, but wonderful thrill of sweat and hills to climb. the delight in walking everywhere and being in the city. (this is where the change began in me--when i began to be a citylovinggirl.) and much, much more.



most of all. that eastern european heart and soul, different even in some ways from those purely russian, and especially from western europe. because there's something different about these people in those places that no one else knows. everyone's heard of moscow, or at least the country of russia. everyone's heard of paris, london, and berlin. but what about românia, let alone iași? what about ukraine, let alone donetsk or kharkov?

what is it, you ask? what's different about them? that's just it. it can't be pinpointed to any one thing. but there's something in them that i came to understand. something in their history that lingers in every part of who they are, because it is a history that isn't so distant. a history of events barely older than me. a history that wasn't history, but a story lived. and in these people that most the world doesn't know or even care to know, there is the most profound beauty i've ever known.

i wish everyone could walk those streets and look into their eyes. see past their faces and into their hearts. not only those on the streets, but also become acquainted with those who were mine in section 2 and at the hospital. i wish you could see each of their faces, see them as i do. watch them as i say, hai la mine. я жду. i wait until the day i can call to them again. longing. for hills and endless stairs to climb, skin that's never been tanner, stuffy, sweaty rooms, eyes that have never been brighter, and perspective that's never been clearer. because all these things to me came as i threw myself into that which was my call--to the work in each day, which could be better described as full commitment to the souls that came my way each day. a predictable set in section 2, as well as the unpredictable passing ships in the hospital. those children i gave names to call them by, because they hadn't been given one. and so i chose one that seemed fitting, and this is who i know them as, even if they didn't stay long. there was an esmerelda and a felicity, an eliza and a robby. i wish that you could see them too. the babies, and those who are mine. i wish you could glimpse into even just a day with them--a glimpse into a day from the way things were that summer.

today marks three years since i opened my mission call to ukraine. three. ( i have a thing for the number three, you see. ) it probably seems odd that on a day such as this, i'm thinking and talking more about romania than ukraine--much, much more. there's a reason, though. these nations. these cities. these people. they are irreversibly connected in my mind, permanently connected in my life.



the thing about my call to ukraine, is this: my very first thought while reading that letter--after moving the envelope that was blocking that line down and seeing the capital U and then reading ukraine--my first thought? i'm going back to eastern europe! regardless of what else ever happens in my life, march seventh will forever be a day that i can look to in order to remember the tender mercies of god. a day that is direct evidence of the way god directs and guides a life--the way we are led and carried, directed exactly to where we need to be.

march seventh is the day that shows me god knows me. it shows me that this thing, this thing that started out as a feeling, and then grew into a hope. which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word. (thanks, regina.) this hope of returning to eastern europe--perhaps romania, perhaps not. this love of a place because of the understanding i came to have of the depth of these souls. march seventh is the day that answered that prayer and yearning. march seventh is the day that shows me not only is god aware of us, but answers the desires of our hearts--those known and unknown. march seventh is the day that serves to say: 'oh hey, em. i've got your back, remember? there's a plan. just you wait and see. and this is the day i show you. this is the day you glimpse into the glory.'
[have we talked about this? when speaking to me, tatăl ceresc (heavenlyfather/romanian) most frequently addresses me as em. in a phrasing and intonation that is particularly tender and distinctive. weird? sorrynotsorry.]

because you don't just end up in romania or ukraine. they're not everyday places. and in those years especially, everything felt particularly guided. did you know that i made my way and ended up in romania because of not getting a job that i was about to get? a very good job that all indicators pointed to me being given. it was because of not getting that job that my entire schedule and plan was able to be adjusted. and suddenly i was going summer. and suddenly i had it all planned out to be going to romania a year later. which all started from not getting a job.

i found romania while looking at france. but france was geared more towards students in their first and second year of french courses, much less being offered for the level i was at. and i stumbled into romania and that's when my life truly changed. guided. because if it wasn't for not getting that job, i wouldn't have gone to romania. if i hadn't gone to romania, i'm almost certain i possibly wouldn't have gone on a mission. and had i not chosen to serve a mission, i wouldn't have ever gone to ukraine. and without these pieces, i'd be missing so much of who i am. because i was always meant to go to romania and ukraine. it was always a part of me, even when i didn't consciously realize it. it was still there. still waiting to be found. not that it wasn't there before, but that i couldn't quite see.



i don't mean to undermine ukraine and my experience there in any way. if anything, i hope this magnifies it. because they shared many similarities. at the core of which is what i learned of real, genuine love and faith. that said, there were differences too. in fact, that's something that was hard for me to grasp while in ukraine--the differences from the beauty of what romania had been. not necessarily in the people, but in the experience. because love and fulfillment came so easy in romania. the people were already there awaiting me. those babes of mine. but in ukraine, it was fewer and farther between. it took more faith and more trials of that love. and that. that's why i'll always love românia. because god is so good to me.



i consider myself by the end of my time in romania to be among the prettiest i've ever felt. because of that which was awakened in my soul. because of the color to my skin that came from europe and came from labor. because of the grime in my hair and the perfect ringlets that formed at the nape of my neck, particularly on extra sweaty days. because of the way my eyes were opened, and there i learned to truly see that which is most essential--which is to say, that which is invisible to the eyes. because there never was a happier time.



as mumford says so well, now my heart stumbles on things i don't know. to say life at this stage is marked by radical uncertainty is the greatest of all understatements. if you're wondering what the twilight of uncertainty looks like, this is it. i really don't know what the future will bring. i really don't know what's in store for my life or how it will come to be. but because of march seventh, i know it will be. i know it will be something grand and glorious, something specific to who i am and who i'm becoming.

because of march seventh, i can take another step.

one step enough for me.

it's time to begin, isn't it?

one: i shall not live in vain.

if i can stop one heart from breaking,

i shall not live in vain;

if i can ease one life the aching,

or cool one pain,

or help one fainting robin

unto his nest again, 

i shall not live in vain.

emily dickinson

universal university.

the thing i love about university life and education, as well as this phase of life in general, is the way everything is questioned. the way new ideas are brought into your world. new ideas, new perspectives, new lives. the way you begin thinking about something you'd never even considered before. new questions. new pieces of mysteries of the universe to resolve. like walking into a freshman biology class and actually considering evolution and what that means for the first time. discussions and dialogues about the world we live in as it was, is, and will someday be.

found here.

that's what i love about university.

yesterday i had my last first day of traditional education. the first day of my last year as an undergraduate college student. let's take a little moment to examine this little journey, shall we? i can't believe that it's been five years. five years since i first moved to this provo land.

it always starts with so many general education courses. but if i'm honest. i think that's the beautiful part of university. the way you study and come to be familiar with so many microcosms within the university itself. that freshman biology and political science, or anthropology and music civilization. plus so many more.

when i started i was a psychology major, but didn't really have any clue what i wanted to do. then i fiercely considered anthropology before concluding i'd never be able to get a job in that. before ultimately somehow landing in communication disorders and finding it to be just right. so maybe it requires a master's degree. did you know, i was in sixth grade when i decided that i wanted to get a master's degree? sixth grade.

there once was a time when i was minoring in french. aha. then i went to romania and learned romanian instead. then when i came back to french it was a real struggle. and then i went on a mission russian-speaking and all hope was lost regarding french academics, despite the fact that i only had two courses left in the minor. and that's the story of how i began double majoring in russian.

i went to school summer term after my freshman year because i couldn't find a job. turns out i couldn't find a job so that i could go to romania. because the next summer, that's exactly what i did. perhaps one of the best decisions i've ever made in my entire life. then another academic year passed by, in the midst of which in put in my papers and received a mission call. that call to ukraine. the call.

i never truly anticipated serving a mission and deferring school in the middle of it, let alone deferring at a point when i had only one semester left. but, as we all know: life rarely, if ever, goes exactly as anticipated. but that's exactly what i did. and that year and a half in ukraine in addition to what i already had learned in romania taught me a thing or two or two thousand about the big picture and this great big world, as well as the place we each hold within it. so then when i came back, suddenly the world seemed bigger than just this small square of academics. because the world became my campus.

(in the midst there's been what seems like numberless amounts of roommates, what actually is numberless expanses of new experience, and numberless lessons learned that are shaping and molding me into who i am and who i'm becoming.)

so now here i am, beginning my final year. not counting romania, that's seven full semesters, three terms so far. with two more full semesters to go. i'm doubling in russian now, and that's what god has given me to fill my life with purpose in the interim between that last semester that i left and in all those months before graduate school. because isn't that the point all along and what we ought to be learning? to fill our lives with purpose, to fill them with the things that matter most. because all this universal knowledge is what gives us understanding. all this knowledge is what lends to empathy. to greater understanding of the human condition. and that is what it's all about.

and as they say grandpa hales always said,

life is measured by new experiences.

here's to one last oldish kind of new experience before the new begins again.
here's to learning in order that we may go forth serving.

(and you'll never hear me admit it, but i've found sometimes i really do love this byu place.)

huit. opt. восемь. 8.

and the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love.

great clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above.

but if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before?

song of the day: pompeii, bastille.

sister pharis and me, just a couple days before leaving ukraine.
you can only a little bit see our nametags if you look closely.

eight.

today makes eight months since i returned home from ukraine.

i sort of kind of lost track of months after awhile after getting past four,

and i wouldn't want to be that obnoxious human that always seems to be counting something.

but recently i realized that in the past year, i've been in america longer than i've been in ukraine.

and something about that realization scares me a little bit.

eight is my favorite number, did you know?

well, it is.

when i'd been on a mission for eight months, i wrote a manifesto of sorts.

all the reasons i loved my mission, because i was a leeetle disenchanted at the time.

well. i'm not going to write a whole list of things to love about life in the past eight months.

but rather, i share that which is most important at this moment.

because in this month eight is when i'm now realizing.

anyone remember this?

(at the beginning of the year, when i'd just barely arrived from ukraine?)

i didn't know what to make of anything.

but resolved to make a place a home.

i knew a whole new year was before me, and i hadn't a clue what it may hold.

well. at the very least, this week i finally saw and realized:

i've made myself a home.

right here in this place and this life.

surrounded by some people i love, some people i like, some people i don't.

but all of everything carries with it a sense of calm and familiarity.

familiarity even with that which isn't routine.

i've found my skin, found my place in my little circle of the world.

and. i've built a home.

so here's to those eight months of construction.

here's to being home.

(and if you're wondering about the status of the ukrainian land at the moment.

well. that. i just can't even talk about. there's nothing good to be said.

so i'll say nothing at all.)

two. // два.

two.
today makes two years since the official beginning of my ukrainian adventure.
two years since i became sister nevers/сестра нэвэрс.
two years since i began meeting people and having experiences i never would have otherwise known.
two years since a new life began.
two years since i discovered how truly incomplete my life could have been.

there's a lot i could say about this past two years of my life, but this is dedicated solely to those three months spent in the mtc--there where it all began. dedicated to the people i shared it with. dedicated it to the moments that prepared us, though maybe not the way we expected. dedicated to that time so different from anything else. here's to them.

elder ostler&elder bingham // мы со всем округом // elder harrison&elder gelwix
sister holmes&sister pace // elder ogden&elder egbert // sister coulson&sister nevers

here's the thing about the mtc. once you've been there long enough, you kind of start to feel like the mtc is your mission. like you're never actually going anywhere else. (three months in confinement is reallllyyyy looong.) and for me, it was such a special little time, because so many of the people around me never even went to ukraine, for they were called to russia. a testimony of the divinity of mission calls, but also of the timing of god. therefore, we were reserved to be a part of one another's mission stories only during mtc time. which. the mtc just really isn't the mission. and yet, it's fulfilling a mission in different ways than you ever could in-field.
i'm certain i was in the mtc when i was so that i could have sister coulson as a companion. and be with my district. because. my companion didn't get to come to donetsk with me. which, that would have been really really great. and i wished she was there with me sometimes when i was in ukraine, and wondered what that would be like to be able to see your mtc companion throughout your mission--or maybe even serve with them again in-field. but at the same time. there's something that made things extra special about having connections spread far and wide. not only sister coulson, but the other sisters and elders from our district.
because. i was in the mtc at that exact time for these darling dweebles that i'm sharing a few million photos of.

i have a confession to make. when first setting out on a mission, one of my greatest concerns was this: elders. (okay, maybe not greatest. but. it was a concern.) i was scared they would drive me insane. that they'd be absolutely and completely ridiculous and that i'd want to wring their necks a few thousand times. while that did end up true, turns out those snot-nosed dweebly elders aren't dweebles at all, but instead some of the most heartfelt, sincere, kind, hilarious, and loving people you'll ever know. innocent and pure caring and kindness. never any frills or faces. boys are much simpler than girls, really.
and turns out. i came to adore every last one of them in all their nineteen-year-old glory. because at the start of my misson, turns out i was a sap. because i am a sap, though it's dramatically diminished over the course of the past two years.

and now, for my sisters. the beginning we spent together, though all three of them served in rostov while i was on my own as the only sister headed to donetsk. but oh, how glad i am that i was put with them. these are three incredible women, you know. it would have been a delight to serve with them. because they care. because they give their whole soul. and they know in every moment why they were there and whom they are ultimately serving. our companionships were divinely inspired, though i adored our sisters too. it was all just right. just as it needed to be. and. from all that time we spent together and the mountains we climbed. there's no one like them. and rostov, russia must be counting its lucky stars that it was blessed with the presence of these sisters of mine instead of them coming to ukraine with me. here's to the flashcards, the staying with sister holmes after her surgery. the long talks, and the lessons-taught and received. to say nothing of all the laughs and the sharing of pieces of our lives.

elder gelwix//elder harrison//sister nevers//elder holowka//elder johnson

these are my donetskers. the few, the proud. we look ridiculous (which is then again true of every photo in the mtc. i looked like a real bleener while there.), but i also can't say the photo we took in ukraine when all together for the first time since the mtc in october of 2013 looked much better. (mission office lighting after mlc is rough on everyone.) i guess in some ways, though. this photo is telling. a description of each of us that can be read in our faces several days before arriving in ukraine. unfortunately for me, in the mtc i wasn't around elders johnson or holowka much. i only really got to know elder gelwix and harrison because they were in my district. and even then. elder johnson and i shared the beginning of our ukrainian time (mastersatreadingpeopleclub), and elder holowka i encountered for a short time in the middleish, but that was it. and elders gelwix and harrison? hardly saw them one bit while in ukraine. but. i heard of their goodness from afar and of all the good they did. (and members loooove them. with good reason.) here's to our donetsk, the place we called home that no longer exists as a mission. that now-war-torn land that we love.

there were a lot of moments that tapped on my heart and soul, telling me that sister coulson and i were mfeo (made for each other). but i think we can all agree the most telling is the fact that we had matching mission shoes. welcome to the mtc. 'hi, i'm em--sister? nevers. we're wearing the same shoes.' or maybe the time that we became such friends with one another and with our district. the elders we loved slash loved to be annoyed by. the talks we had, the laughs we shared, and the way we threw around phrases like 'theory of mind' with neither of us blinking. and i think the most important, is our bench by the tree of life, as we called it. the evenings we spent there before going in for the night. the talks we had, the lessons we learned, the problems we solved, and the people we loved and cared for and shared our bench with. do you need a thinking place? we highly recommend the bench right off of the big tree of life in the midst of everything. i'll never forget the last sunday before she flew out monday morning. we sat on this bench for our final opportunity to really talk and process and analyze, just with each other. i'll never forget that early monday morning as the russians all rushed away in the dark of the morning, and as i stood there in the hall alone after they walked away - and throughout the day after they had gone - wanting to cry. i'm not a crying person. i don't cry. but there i stood alone in that hall around four in the morning and almost did. #sistercoulsonwithdrawals. because there just aren't words to fully express how much i adore her fiery soul and how much i learned from her while we were together. god is a master of logistics, an expert at timing. and even if it is a computer that puts together companionships, there's no doubt that we were meant to be together. there's no doubt that we were supposed to be the companionship being sent to different missions. our feistiness has to be spread around.

i forget sometimes. i forget that the mtc really happened. i forget all those moments that gathered up and the way my pile of good things grew. i forget how much i loved these souls so deeply and came to know them so well--the benefits of being blessed with people-reading.

so here's to these people i love. to the moments we shared alldayeverydaythreemonthsinonesmallroom. because spending that long with people means that you become family. it means you laugh, you cry. you get annoyed, and you rejoice as you watch them learn and grow right along with you. because they're not going anywhere and neither are you, so you might as well figure it out or get over it.

which also includes letting go of the fact that you're never going to get a photo with everyone smiling. (most common offenders that i restrained sister coulson from strangling: elder gelwix, elder ogden, or elder bingham--see below. good thing we chose to loooove all of you.)

the mtc can't be discussed without also mentioning that i had my violin with me and played during mealtimes, pdays, in church, and at our roleplaymockbaptism. my sanity was saved within that confined space, and another mfeo moment with sister coulson was made the last few weeks when she suggested that we wake up early so that i could play even more before breakfast before having to take quite the hiatus whilst in ukraine. (i played a couple times in ukraine on ghetto violins, but not really.) i played, sister pace sang. elder harrison plays the piano like a wizard. good on all our souls.

so, yeah. there were antics--how else can you survive? and we all lost our minds a few hundred (or thousand) times. we learned russian and how to be missionaries, only so far as to realize how much we didn't know russian or how to be missionaries. we lived in a very confined space for a whole lot of endless days and questioned our sanity a time or two. but despite all that, and all the trials we climbed through, i wouldn't trade it for the world. the mtc, or my mission. why? because. because of the people. because of the experiences. because of the growth. because of the becoming that came from it. because. missions are miracles. missions are transformative. and. if you let them, they'll change your life forever.
even if you don't want to let them, they probably still will. that's the magic of missions. because by the end of my time as сестра нэвэрс, that person created in the name of sister nevers was pretty great, i must say. because in the process, i became more me than ever. in the process, i left all fear behind. because fear can never hold me back. because. after ukraine. i can do anything.

and. in the end. after all that time and all those attempts,

the closest we ever came to getting a photo with everyone synchronized

was in our soviet serious family photo.

because getting everyone on board with taking a good photo, turns out. is. impossible.

(or maybe that was just our experience as hooligans?)

there's something in that, i think.

that discovering of the soviet family awaiting us and within us--here is where it all began.

in the family we made as one.

all the love, first mission family. to you.

(and to the elders both already home and soon-to-be: welcome hoommmeeee!)

 с любовью,

сестра нэвэрс.