everyone certainly would believe in nothing but love.

“i love you much (most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i

like you better than everything in the sky

—sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere

with such a silence and such a darkness

noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life) the true time of year—

and if what calls itself a world should have

the luck to hear such singing (or glimpse such

sunlight as will leap higher than high

through gayer than gayest someone’s heart at your each

nearness) everyone certainly would (my

most beautiful darling) believe in nothing but love”

-- e.e. cummings

in lieu of everything i wish i had time/energy to write about:

some words from e.e. cummings about the very best thing in my life right now will have to do.

(and because hearteyes, right?)

silently if, out of not knowable

night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess

(only which is this world) more of my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if (spiraling as luminous

they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself;i find

selves unimaginably mine;beyond

sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:

yours is the darkness of my soul’s return

–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars

--e.e cummings

don't you worry, there are stars up above.

put your dreams away for now,

i won't see you for sometime.

i am lost in my mind.

i get lost in my mind.

momma once told me,

you're already home where you feel loved,

i am lost in my mind.

i get lost in my mind.

don't you worry.

don't you worry about me.

cause there are stars up above.

(lost in my mind, the head and the heart.)

there's this article i read for my counseling class earlier this summer. there was a chart that went through different feelings that are experienced as a part of the reaction to having a child with a communication disorder. (or grief in general.) shock, anxiety, depression, anger, among others. and guilt. it defined the symptom of the feeling, a definition, the risk associated, and the potential value of the feeling itself. almost all of the feelings resulted in at least some kind of value. some kind of relief, release, comfort. all except for one: guilt.

Friehe, Bloedow, & Hesse (2003)*

i have a complicated relationship with guilt. starting with the fact that i hardly had experienced it prior to the age of 21. then whatever little boy had his finger in the dike to hold the sea of guilt back got distracted for a time, and thus ensued the deluge.

in some parts of ukraine, it nearly consumed me. nothing feeling enough. the weight of the world on our shoulders. the impossibility of it all. and who else could there be to blame than our own efforts? there wasn't a contingency plan for all the things that are entirely outside of anyone's control. what if we weren't doing enough? what if our best was still yet to be attained? how do you even define your best?

i've greatly improved over the past almost-four (ahhhh!) years. often i even forget altogether, really. but every once in awhile. it comes back. the immensity of imperfection within strivings. the immensity of the weight of trying to do the best possible thing in every circumstance.

quite frankly, it's been quite awhile since i've wrestled with this guilt in my bones. but earlier this week someone asked me to substitute for their sunday school class. i was asked on a thursday, which is always a rough day during summer. i'm always worn down and feeling like everything is impossible by that point in the week, but still having more to do before the week is complete. taking accidental naps like it's my day job, and buried in reading and planning and writing.

i know it's a seemingly little thing, but that one request triggered a string of guilt. you're supposed to say yes to opportunities to serve, right? it's supposed to be a wonderful opportunity to learn and grow, right? don't they always tell stories about the person who went the extra mile when they were already stretched too thin and now that's the moment that changed their life? like knocking on one more door as a missionary.

i'm not discrediting this principle. i'm really not. i saw the value time and time again, as a missionary choosing to talk to one more person or knock one more door, as well as in quotidian aspects of being alive, like choosing to do one more thing before hanging up your hat even though you're already exhausted. but you know what? sometimes that one more contact was someone who said things like, go home, yankee. sometimes that idea of one more article, part of a chart note, or whatever it may be, is enough to make you want to vomit. sometimes, you have to know your own limits and set your own boundaries.

and that's okay.
it's okay to say no.

it took me quite a reckoning (and a six hour delay in responding) to figure out how to say no when i didn't have a reason aside from: this-is-one-more-thing-that-will-break-my-back-if-i-try-to-say-yes. to reckon with the demons i crafted, though any of these ideas were never explicitly taught, in the culture in which i was raised that encouraged the virtue of compliance and helpfulness. but, i did it: i said no.

in the new testament there's a story of a woman with jesus in the midst of a crowd. this woman with an issue of blood sees jesus in a crowd and is filled with the hope and belief that if only she could touch even the smallest corner of his clothing, she could be healed. he was in the midst of a throng of people, on his way to heal the daughter of jairus, when this woman came through seeking healing and wholeness. it was jesus who noticed that she had touched his clothing. they were in the midst of a throng, and when jesus stopped and asked who touched him, peter gives a slightly dumbfounded response to comment on the crowd around them. but as recorded in the gospel of luke, Jesus said, Somebody hath touched me: for I perceive that virtue is gone out of me. (the account can be read in luke or in mark.) while there is much that can be gathered from the story of this woman and her faith, i love this story for a different reason: because of how jesus becomes aware. to perceive that virtue has gone out of him, doesn't that imply his own sense of self-awareness? to know oneself in order to recognize the fluctuations of energy and virtue going in and out? 

Healing a bleeding woman, the Catacombs of Rome

i think there's a valuable lesson in that. in the importance of knowing oneself. the importance of seeking to care for those around you, but also recognizing that everyone needs time and place to refresh and rejuvinate. even jesus had his moments in which he went up to a mountain to be alone, such as after feeding the five-thousand (see here or here).

and as we go through the process of all that being alive entails, there is solace in knowing, there's a place for taking time. there's a place for figuring out experiences by digging inside and walking around for awhile in them. and while going through life, there's great solace in knowing: there's little, if any, value in guilt.

"With the gift of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the strength of heaven to help us, we can improve, and the great thing about the gospel is we get credit for trying, even if we don’t always succeed. (...) We take some solace in the fact that if God were to reward only the perfectly faithful, He wouldn’t have much of a distribution list. Please remember tomorrow, and all the days after that, that the Lord blesses those who want to improve, who accept the need for commandments and try to keep them, who cherish Christlike virtues and strive to the best of their ability to acquire them. If you stumble in that pursuit, so does everyone; the Savior is there to help you keep going. If you fall, summon His strength."
--jeffrey r. holland, tomorrow the lord will do wonders among you.

rome never was built in a day, now was it? to each their own threshold of what can be handled at any given moment. and. you know what else? there's nothing wrong with saying no and giving no excuse whatsoever. because there's something to be said for knowing oneself. for being aware of where you are and what you can or want to do. and what i can do today may be different from what i can do tomorrow. because that's just life, you know?

all in the name of each having their own path,
and each knowing that path for themselves.
recognizing one's own abilities.
setting your own boundaries.
and knowing when to say no.

oh, and. it's okay. i won't judge if you say no to some social engagements simply because the 'being around people' quota for a day has been reached. me, too. (totally a real thing, amiright?)

give yourself a minute to get lost in your mind.
the stars of all your dreams will still be waiting for you.




* Friehe, M., Bloedow, A., & Hesse, S. (2003). Counseling Families of Children with Communication Disorders. Communication Disorders Quarterly, 24(4), 211-220. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/15257401030240040701

because e.e. cummings is always a good idea, you know?

let it go – the

e.e. cummings


let it go – the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise – let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go – the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers – you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go
dear

so comes love

head up, eyes open. (because we are members of the human race.)

after awhile you learn 

the subtle difference 

between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't mean security.

and you begin to learn

that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises,

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open

with the grace of a woman, 

not the grief of a child.

and you learn

to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is

too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way

of falling down in mid-flight.

after awhile you learn

that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

so you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul,

instead of waiting

for someone to bring you flowers.

and you learn

that you really can endure.

that you really are strong.

and you really do have worth.

and you learn and learn.

with every goodbye you learn.

jorge luis borges.

- - -

this poem has been stuck in my head the last few days. for a myriad of reasons.

(literally. the other night i woke up at 3:30 in the morning

with a few lines from it running through my head. #whatislyfe)

megs discovered it and shared with me while i was still in ukraine, after she no longer was.

ever since reading it that very first time from a jank little internet club in ukraine--i've loved it.

and so we plant our own garden and build all our roads on today, 

decorating our own souls and learning those subtle differences that give the grace of a woman.

because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain--why wait for someone else to bring you flowers?

my slc. | october's gold.

when i am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

i would almost say that they save me, and daily.

i am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which i have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, "stay awhile."

the light flows from their branches.

and they call again, "it's simple," they say,

"and you too have come

into this world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine."

when i am among the trees, mary oliver.

sunday evenings, you know?

He RELISHES your potential.

that future comes alive when you do more than just exist.

divine nature ignites--discover the depth.

rosemary m. wixom.

sense the sacred.

these trials are the very things that qualify us.

keep the vision of our Father's promised rewards in front of us.

linda s. reeves.

see in one another the beauty of the soul.

in partnership with the Almighty.

in the work of salvation, there's no room for comparison.

shine with the beauty of holiness.

God delights.

carol f. mcconkie.

dearest, God is near.

embrace truths. not only with mind, but also with heart.

the sound of her laughter filled the house.

eva herself was happier, whenever [great aunt rose] was around.

moving forward and upward, focus on the wonders and miracles of life.

God didn't design us to be sad. He created us to have joy.

eventually there was something that turned my whole life around:

FAITH. and faith led to HOPE. and faith and hope gave me confidence.

now is part of eternity.

faith gave me the hope i needed to live joyfully now, filling my life with meaningful things.

dieter f. uchtdorf.

(women's conference + sunday glows from the front porch.)

only a few are essential.

Discernment is so much more than recognizing right from wrong.

It helps us distinguish the relevant from the irrelevant,

the important from the from unimportant,

and the necessary from that which is merely nice.

david a. bednar, quick to observe.

empty.

my life tends to be filled with more fear than faith these days.
(i'm working on it. i really, truly am. even if ye can no more than desire to believe.
the list of things i'm working on and imperfect at gets longer every day.)
in the closing prayer of the ces devotional last night,
the girl asked that we might be able to have faith in our futures.
(because, as it turns out, we're all scared.)

i'm more prone to wander than i think i am,
but i'm also less prone to wander than i think i am.

if you're a wanderer,
first i want to say, 'i love you.'

in ukraine, i developed a fear--
be it irrational or rational.
a fear of emptiness.
that holes in time and space will not be filled,
but left wandering empty streets.
because sometimes--sometimes it was empty.
there was a period of time in which i felt i'd been completely hollowed out.
as if one of those digging machines used in construction,
that probably has a more sophisticated name,
had been brought in to dig into every corner of my soul,
and emptied it out completely.

it was then that i became obsessed with gardens.
with real growth, living water, and also--sunlight.

maybe the plant wasn't dead.
maybe all it needed was some water and some light to bring life back.
(m. russell ballard.)

i need and crave meaningful, significant relationships.
i was never meant for shallow ways.
i feast on only the most genuine and sincere of connections.

i'm terrified of my life being empty.
of it never filling with all those things i'm striving for and desire.
because sometimes it's hard to have faith in our futures.
what will the future look like?
what if in all that striving, meaning, purpose, and fulfillment never truly comes?

what if everything slowly scatters and fades away?
others replacing and filling their lives,
and mine never to be replaced.
and i am left
behind.


empty.


that lack, that emptiness--
or even just the fear thereof,
it gives me heavy boots.

- - -

if we continue to plant and nurture in faith,
then gradually, over time,
the garden of our soul grows in beauty.
(l. whitney clayton.) 

it comes back to faith.
it always comes back to faith.
and faith means marching on.
hoping and trusting,
desiring to believe in all the light we cannot see.

come to my garden.
somewhere there's a single streak of green.

- - -

just some real talk.
carry on.

the why.

if you do not breathe through writing,

if you do not cry out in writing,

or sing in writing,

then don't write,

because our culture has no use for it.

anaïs nin

why am i compelled to write?
is that what makes you a writer--that compulsion?
compulsion sounds so hard. forced.
but that's what it is, isn't it?
that need to write, regardless of who reads or doesn't.
it's not about the writing.
it's about the writing.
this force that pushes itself against your skin,
mercilessly pushing, though temperamental in coming.
we write for the process itself.
the words. the punctuation.

the spacing.

the way everything is brought together in a combination previously unknown.
the way it comes when it comes and can't be forced.
not really.
not when it's real.

one could make a grand living on writing for others.
tolstoy himself brought forth the moral dilemma of writing for profit,
though it be at times against your morals.
he said he could make a fortune were he willing to do so.

but that's not why we write, is it?
certainly, there's place for writing as entertainment.
but it's not about entertainment.
it's about what it exudes.
what it extrapolates.
what it makes you to feel and be and do.
to be appreciated. as is.
for beauty or emotional power.
this is when writing is art.
are we not all artists?

i read this article from time magazine a while back about writing.
about dealing with anxiety, tragedy, or heartache.
writing.
expressive writing.
writing to find meaning.
writing to re-evaluate what has occurred.
writing in order to see.
writing to let go.

because.
once living has been put into words,
it's somewhere else.
resting in the absorbent void
     purposeful letters, spacings, and punctuation.
and once it's there --
it's there.
and you.
you can perhaps

to some degree


let go.

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.

time, time is a fickle thing.

To lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, 

listening to the murmur of the water, 

or watching the clouds float across the sky,

is by no means a waste of time.

John Lubbock

[the mountains and lakes with those whom one loves are also a good idea.
all in the name of sunshine--and tiedyedpeacesignhippielove, apparently.
you'd think i planned to revisit the 60s all in one. i really didn't.
stay forever, june. though maybe cool down a touch?]

in the sea.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)

it's always ourselves we find in the sea 

ee cummings.

i saw the sea of galilee for the first time one month ago today.
in the evening after dinner we took a walk down the road along the shoreline.
i was most contented there and in jerusalem's city.
for whatever i may have lost--like a you or a me.
on this sea i was found.
- - - - - - -

on the first sabbath in israel, we ditched our group to do our own thing.  

and the first order of business, was going to the branch. 

shabbat shalom.

the galilean branch--that building that looks out over the sea of galilee. 

the branch. that alone.
there were around 20 people in sacrament meeting.

5 of whom were us. 

- - - - - - -
on the way there, i walked with mike and mindee. 

we might have gotten lostish. 

because the road wound up and up and up. 

the name kept changing, but not into the one we were looking for. 

as the road curved over and back towards the sea after going up for so long, 
we curved over.

mike knew the branch looked out onto galilee,

so we turned down a road that turned back towards the direction of galilee. 

- - - - - - -
across the street on this little road, going the way opposite was a couple. 
in their 60s or 70s. 

a couple with that lilt in their speech,

the lilt in the way they walked,
the way their hands moved as they talked. 

and i just knew. 

my finely honed sense was right. 

миша and his wife. 

a ded and baba from ukraine. 

odessa, to be exact. 

ukraine. 
i just knew.

- - - - - - -
missions never truly end. 

i said the road name and as they tried to respond something in hebrew,

he said something to her in russian.

and at first i wasn't conscious. 

i just knew i understood what he was saying to her.

and we found the common language of us all.
this is their seventeenth year here. 

these two beautiful humans from ukraine. 

leading us along.

these people. 

russian. 

speaking russian as i walked down the street with them. 
as if i was still walking down the streets of ukraine.

they thought i was from ukraine. 

(the women from moscow the day before told me i looked it.)

- - - - - - -
we never would have found the branch without meeting this couple. 

maybe we would. 

but they were there for me. 

so that i may take the streets and be among the people. 

my russian.  

without that, i wouldn't be able to know them. 

what a privilege.  

and this. well, this is why missions never truly end. 

because of this ability to connect. 

because of the enlarged world i have been endowed with. 

missions perpetuate themselves. 
they teach us who we are.

- - - - - - -

whenever i am lost,
with russian 
(and russians by the sea of galilee)
i am always found.
- - - - - - -
count your many blessings, we sang in the branch that day. 

сочти благословения. 

сочту.

их много. 

because. 

jesus is everywhere. 

he is on the streets inside these people. 

inside of them, inside of me, inside of the connection we made. 

God is awake. 

late: of grief and loss.

(this is one of those things that i started writing two months ago. literally.
it was the sixth of march when i first began trying to put my words together.

one of those things that has been in process for even longer than that.

and it hasn't been time yet. it hasn't created a circle yet. until now.)

it was a sunday evening in january.
late into sunday evening.
late into january.

my phone started to ring, and up came a photo of my mother.
earlier that evening it had struck me that i hadn't talked to her in quite some time.
maybe i should probably call her?
but i didn't.
i was exhausted. swamped.
january, you see. especially this january. this late january.
mothers always know, though.
therefore. here we are: phone ringing.
i made my way outside--six roommates plus a small apartment, you know?
and it was cold. really cold, albeit an unseasonably warm january overall.
a snowless winter evening late in january.
i paced outside our door, in the midst of the four apartments that share our third floor.
eventually i sat on the top of the chilled steps.

and in this place i stayed for the next 90 minutes.

- - -

i've been on a grief kick this semester.
probably because of my senior seminar in which we're reading various plays by chekhov.
i'm not sure who's more to blame--my professor or chekhov.
probably both.
suffice it to say, i've been on a grief kick this semester.

near the beginning of the semester, meg sent me an article she found in the nytimes about getting grief right. i adored it, and sent it to my professor who very much liked it too because it described quite well some themes we'd already discussed in chekhov's plays. i referenced the idea a little bit here, but it comes down to the fact that there is no real script for grief. every grief wears a different face, though there are similar patterns to be seen. similar classifications that can be made, yes. but even then. it's a spectrum. furthermore, there are some things that you may never get over, because it's just that significant. we as people so easily get impatient with those who are mourning, not knowing how to react, and after a certain allotted time, expect them to just get over it. as if with a flip of a switch, it ends. but. it's never so simple. though you move forward, that grief is always present. even if it is replaced by something later, there's still always a space where that mourning once was. mentally, you can go back to that place, either voluntarily or involuntarily. that's the thing about the human experience: these pieces of our stories are always a part of us. because it isn't just about loss. even an absence can be a presence. and that's what chekhov explores: loss and grief. more specifically, how people are defined by or define themselves by the losses they experience. not only losses, but also lacks--those things they feel they're being denied. because of the absence being an overwhelming presence.

- - -

Nature’s first green is gold, 

Her hardest hue to hold. 

Her early leaf’s a flower; 

But only so an hour. 

Then leaf subsides to leaf. 

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost

- - -

january is always a hard month for me, though i'm fully aware that most of it is mental. but this january turned to be especially rough. however. not because of anything definable. that was the problem. there was just this certain kind of emptiness. a space--but nothing was filling it. and yet, i had no time or place for anything to fit. no wiggle room whatsoever. nevertheless, there was an emptiness in my soul, like a space had been carved out and left there. a space without space for space. it's just as illogical as it sounds.

i knew there were absences present in my life. january was an enormously lonely month for me. despite enormously busy schedules for everyone, there were a few main people that had played a part in my life and in keeping me sane during fall semester. even if that meant a short excursion on an evening walk, going together to neighboring cubicles in the library and returning home late together, or a five minute debriefing before collapsing at the end of the night. in january, though, all those things ceased to be a part of my routine. they were gone. and because these past two semesters were defined by constant drowning, there was no wiggle room for anything else or other people. i had no room for seeking out anything outside of that which was already taking place. there were those i crossed paths with in my daily routines, and there was very little time for things outside of that, especially in the month of january. but in january, those people that had at least crossed through more frequently, were gone. and i was left alone. everything stripped down to only that which was most essential.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. that was the hardest part. that was the fate i mourned to my mother on that late sunday evening. this semester wasn't supposed to be like this. it was supposed to be easier. i was supposed to be able to breathe in my last semester as i neared the finish, especially once grad apps were in. it wasn't supposed to be like this. i wasn't supposed to get even less sleep this semester than last--which is in itself an impressive feat. i wake up almost every day before everyone else in my apartment, and often am gone still before any arise. i stay at the library or am up reading until midnight, and go home to more reading. where i used to at least have time for little things at work when i first started and it was slow, i've had none whatsoever in these months. it wasn't supposed to be like this. because it wasn't. i legitimately thought my last semester would be simpler than the one preceding it. last fall was awful. it was chaos and long hours every single week that never really calmed down until the semester ended completely. drowning. and i expected the next semester--my last semester--to be simpler. more concise. not so insane and scattered. being able to breathe. to sleep. to be. but late in january is when this discrepancy between expected and actual caught up with me. disappointment.

- - -

colm toibin wrote an article on the literature of grief--a recommendation my professor made on one of the first days of class. a description of what we don't always fully realize--none of us really know how to respond to those mourning. not really. because there is no one correct answer. and there is no one correct response. and sometimes. a lack of feeling is in itself feeling. as toibin says about his own loss, What is strange is that I have no memory of feeling anything; there was no drama, no obvious grief, just a blankness. and so it goes.

furthermore. when authors write of grief--when anyone writes of grief--it always comes from real experience. yes, novels may have fabricated details. but the sensation itself--streams from the original sea of grief.

- - -

while i suppose you could say january--and by extension, this last semester as a whole--was more concise and not so scattered in subject matter, there most certainly was no breathing, sleeping, or being. not much of it, anyway. just. blankness. surviving. some days, only by a hair, but surviving nonetheless. and learning how to drown without drowning. after january, learning how to get by and find mini pieces of sanity-keeping along the way. 

do you think you're grieving? i think maybe you're grieving. that was my mother's suggestion. a well-intentioned attempt at getting to the roots of my frustrations. but what could i possibly be grieving? my people were not gone, they just no longer played the direct role for a time that they once did. a change. temporary shifts. i hadn't suffered any losses. what could i possibly be grieving?

i never became fully rested again after my mission. when i came home from ukraine, i was completely exhausted. deflated. and the transition time was minimal, which meant going straight into extra-busyness. (what i naively thought would be the busiest semester aside from maybe fall '14. joke's on me.) the summer helped, i relaxed. but never enough. never really truly resting. gre and classes and work only allow for so much wiggle room. and then january came in all her fury, and i was pummeled. a weariness that sank into my bones.

i think maybe you're mourning the loss of the time you thought you'd have.
lost, without ever even having it.
the loss of expectation--what you expected to be.
and there it is. weird as it sounds, in the past four months, i've gone through cycles of a grieving process. because. it wasn't supposed to be like this. and my heartsoul grieved that, even when i myself didn't fully see all that i had accumulated in the way of what i legitimately thought i saw my story would be. not even foolishly unreasonable thoughts. just. these pieces that come in the course of living. and most of all. because. this isn't a thing like i thought the story of my life was going to be. where does life get off, not following the perfectlymadeplans i had?

not only that, but time specifically. silly as it may sound, having time to sit in the sunshine and just be is an important part of my revitalization process when life is crushing me, even if its only for a short time. that is my sanity-keeper. being able to sit in a sunbeam for a minute. sitting to the side of a cafe or any place just people watching. and all through january, i didn't do one bit of that. i couldn't let myself enjoy anything, because how do you enjoy anything else when you're drowning? but to survive. i had to come up for air. soak in the world by choice, rather than drowning with lack of those things that make me human. at the very least, give myself a minute for admiring the rays of light bending through the water that was swallowing me. (also. yes. i have a probablyunhealthy reliance upon all things light-related. take that for what you will. if you come to the bottom of that, you'll come to the depths of my psyche as a whole.)

- - -

i'm reading the year of magical thinking, by joan didion right now. (yet another recommendation thrown out in class by this same professor.) and aside from the fact that i think the writing style is refreshing in its incredible honesty, it is overall a beautiful chronicle of her grieving process. and the way. it just seemed so logical, her entire thought process. that year of magical thinking. and she makes a solid argument for the fact that so many are hesitant to admit: there are some people or things in life so significant, that maybe we never truly get over them. it's not just a night of grieving that ends and never returns. why is that so hard to admit, when i would venture that it's something that resonates powerfully with a majority of people?

the most important aspect of these experiences most significant that are lacking or lost? that's okay. it's okay if you're still sometimes affected when thinking of those you've loved and lost. it's okay if you're still sometimes affected by lacks of experience or opportunity. it's okay if you're still sometimes affected by what you never had. it's okay if you're still sometimes affected by a lack that has since been filled. regardless of when that originally took place. maybe it was last week, maybe it was fifteen years ago. does it really matter? when it's something truly significant--something that has left its mark on your soul, some days it's going to feel like it was just yesterday, whether it actually was yesterday, or instead there's an indeterminate number of yesterdays that rest between you and the event itself-or lack thereof.

- - -

because of what i've seen in chekhov's works, i've been so much more aware of my own impatience with those who are grieving--an impatience ingrained in me. because there is this assumption in society, especially in western culture, that after a certain point in time, you should move on, regardless of the grief. just get over it. but it's never so simple as that. in turn, that awareness has given me increased patience and empathy. an enlarged understanding of what it really means to grieve. and therefore, finding that sometimes the answer is whatever gets you through the day. day after day, letting yourself spend fifteen minutes when the sun is out in february and shouldn't be before returning to everything else. letting yourself take part of a day for being with people and soaking them in. because somehow, someway. it all always works out and it all gets done. if it doesn't? well, you're still breathing aren't you? the sun still comes up. let it go. let yourself be exactly as you are--let yourself feel exactly as you feel, whatever that may look like.

maybe one of the most important things i've learned about grief, loss, and mourning, is that it's never too late to learn. there have been very few deaths of close relatives in my family during my lifetimes, and therefore i'm not well acquainted with the topic of grief and loss. but these months have showed me that grief isn't reserved for physical death of loved ones. it also includes that which you never had: something that will never be yours or something that may be in the future, but isn't yet. that's still a loss to be mourned. grief includes experience as well as people. it includes roles played in your life, regardless of the specific figures who play those roles. the presence leading to loss or complete absence thereof. these all dip their hand in the basin of grief, to say nothing of mourning that which could have been, but will never be--be they experiences, relationships, or the attainment of goals. i'm not saying all hope is lost and if you didn't accomplish something once you're doomed to never do so, but disappointment dips its hand in too.

- - -

most of all: grief is everywhere and is evaded by no man. no one ever escapes mourning, loss, or tragedy of some sort. no one. there isn't a monopoly on grief--reserved only for the most profound and most visible suffering, tragedy, or loss. the seemingly smallest of grief follows a similar pattern as the largest, for they are of the same blood. objectively speaking, i always knew this. we all have our trials, hardships, tribulations. however you want to phrase it, no one passes through mortal life unscathed. but i'd never attributed grief to anything but death.

until now.

israel fully deserves its claim on the title of the holy land, but the most incredibly interesting part of my experience there wasn't the places themselves, but the people within them. in being pulled out of my world, i saw people from every sort of place brought together. a random sampling, if you will. people who all had a mark of grief somewhere on their souls. all of them. i didn't always know what it was, especially not at first. but even from those in our touring group alone, if i gave it enough time and truly listened and gathered pieces of their souls, there was always something.

- - -

what i'm saying is. though i'm late to come to fuller understanding of this. maybe there is no late. because. from an eternal perspective, nothing is ever lost. so maybe loss and grief aren't so much about what we've lost and are mourning, but instead what the loss or absence creates inside out souls by nature of its presence. the change that comes in our hearts and souls because of what we experience and the way our souls are carved out and made more whole. the experiences that teach us a little bit (or a lot) more about what it truly means to be human. 

e.e. cummings always knows.

you are tired,
(i think)
of the always puzzle of living and doing;
and so am i.

come with me, then,
and we'll leave it far and far away--
(only you and i, understand!)

you have played, 
(i think)
and broke the toys you were fondest of,
and are a little tired now;
tired of things that break, and--
just tired.
so am i.

but i come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
and i knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart--
open to me!
for i will show you the places Nobody knows,
and, if you like,
the perfect places of sleep.

ah, come with me!
i'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
that floats forever and a day;
i'll sing you the jacinth song
of the probable stars;
i will attempt the unstartled steppes of a dream,
until i find the Only Flower,
which shall keep (i think) your little heart
while the moon comes out to the sea.

--e.e. cummings

courtesy of megan beth,

the one who always seems to find

the words that say it best.

это она.

ps. the twinkle light photos probably aren't getting old anytime soon. #sorrynotsorry

if i type окружающая среда one more time. so help me.

just a few things as of late.

bean copied this down. and gave it to me. and. i think these words are beautiful.

(we're on a kick of wanting to be native american thanks to her native american lit class.)

from the foot of the four saved mountains our contentment

flows; from their bodies, our strength, and from their peaks,

our prayers. in this journey of life we experience many emotions,

some good, some bad. pain and illness occur when we

choose to detach ourselves from this connection.

shonto begay, the view from the mesa.

sarah staggley had a birthday.

welcome to the crowd of old people.

(that's us.)

on saturday in the morning i played for awhile with my ma accompanying. and then in the afternoon georgie and i spent several hours playing duets. it was the best thing that's ever happened to me. (rosa on the right.)

just for funsies.

new obsession with this. it's even more beautiful in real life resonance.

fun fact about me #22497. i do this thing where i paint just my thumb.
though the other day i painted my other finger too.
i know, i know.
there are some questions we just don't bother with.
^such as the purpose or origin of this habit.

and. sometimes i buy a dozen yellow roses from the clearance flowers at smith's.

because.

why not, you know?

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.)