Involve Me and I Learn

My family might laugh to hear me say it, but I was painfully shy and socially awkward for years. I had a few close friends from church, and I was always brave at raising my hand to give my opinion or answer a question in classroom settings, but when it came to making friends, I just wasn't good at it. I have a very distinct memory of asking a few kids if I could play unicorns with them at recess, and having them say no...probably the social low point of my life.

I certainly don't blame the kids around me - I was a chubby, precocious teacher's pet. I reveled in being right and being smart and I took life way too seriously (a trait that has stuck with me into adulthood). For years, I was happiest grabbing a book and sitting outside my teachers' doors until they would let me back into the sanctuary of the classroom.

Then came my 6th grade play. I hadn't even auditioned for my 5th grade play - auditioning for something would require putting myself out there and taking a non academic risk, which just seemed ridiculous. But watching that play from the sidelines had dazzled me. I loved the music, the lights, the staging, the glamour. I loved it enough to take a risk and audition for the 6th grade production of Oliver. During my audition, I remember my teachers looking at each other and smiling, and when I finished, one of them said, "Well, I guess it runs in the family." (My older sister had been a lead in the 6th grade production the year before.) And they gave me the lead female role of Nancy.

I'm a decent singer, but I'm not amazing. I can sort of act, but it's best to keep me in the sidelines. I'm a passable dancer, but you'd never put me on the front row. I could tell you about the years of auditioning for every school play, community theater and choir opportunity I could find. I could tell you how there is no place I feel happier than when I'm on stage - I come alive. I glow. I love every second of it. But that's really not the point.

The point is that I had a group of teachers who believed in me. They saw potential in a socially awkward girl who felt like she didn't fit in anywhere and gave her a chance. And in doing that, they unlocked an understanding that taking risks can lead to great things. I trace my love of public speaking, singing, laughing loudly and my tendency to talk too much back to that moment in my childhood.

I haven't made 90% of the shows that I've auditioned for, but I keep auditioning. I've gone through periods where I've had to apply for hundreds of jobs just to get an interview, but I keep applying. I had my heart broken more times that I can keep track of, but I knew that it was worth it to keep putting it out there. In short, I didn't make it on Broadway, but I found my voice.

"Tell me, and I forget.
Teach me, and I remember.
Involve me, and I learn."

A shout out to all the teachers out there trying to make a difference in the lives of your students. You really do.

Fill Your Soul With Hope

I’ll never forget the day my parents told us that my mom had cancer. I remember where I was sitting, my father’s face, and the advice he gave us about how we all needed to just continue living – that mom’s cancer was just a part of our lives, but that it didn’t mean we should stop living all the other parts as well.

Even more, I remember the day they told us they were stopping treatments. In the age before cell phones, I would use the office phone at lunchtime on days when mom had doctor’s appointments to ask how it had gone, how her numbers looked, did we think the most recent round of chemo was working, etc. When I called that day, dad said, “Well sweetheart, let’s just talk when you get home from school.” A friend found me in the hallway right outside the office and held me as I cried. After she passed away, Emily and I would rush out to the car at lunch time, drive the 10 minutes home, eat for 10 minutes, and drive the 10 minutes back to school just to spend a few minutes. Catherine and dad would alternate getting food ready for us. It probably wasn’t every day, but I remember it like it was a ritual.

You never really get over the loss of a close loved one. My husband has commented several times that I mark time in my life as “BC” and “AC” – “before cancer” and “after cancer”. “I must have been young, because it was before mom got sick.” “Mom had lost her hair, but she was still feeling good, so I must have been about 14.” “I know it was at least a year after mom’s funeral, but before I started college.” Mom is never far from my mind. My late teens was a hard, but also happy time for me – my dad, my sister Emily and I did our best to deal with the dark heaviness that comes with a great loss, and to this day I probably feel a more-than-is-strictly-normal connection with both of them from that time.

Cancer has touched so many in my family, either through a full-out battle with a diagnosis, or increased odds through genetics. Eventually my dad remarried an amazing woman whose husband had died of cancer. (Their daughter was going through cancer at the same time.) Only a few short months after their wedding, another of my stepsisters was diagnosed with cancer. She battled fiercely for 4.5 years and, in a similar fashion to my mom, I will never forget when she went off her chemo treatments. I miss her dearly, and one of the great injustices in this world is that I think my husband would have gotten along with her famously. I won’t name names, as their lives are personal and their own, but suffice it to say, cancer runs in the family through many people.

I think my father’s remarriage is an incredible story. Over 40 years ago, my parents moved into a house in Orem, UT. Within a very short amount of time, my mom and Sandra (the woman who would eventually become my stepmother) were put into a presidency for our church together and became fast friends. Their husbands met and also became the best of friends – for years, they would do double dates and combined family functions. My eventual stepmother was the first person besides my parents to hold me in the hospital. Sandra’s husband got cancer a year or two into my mom’s cancer fight. It’s truly one of the greatest manifestations of God’s love in my life. I don’t think God gave Larry and mom cancer, but I think He knew and helped prepare the way for joy to follow sorrow. Sandra has enhanced my life in so many ways. She brought joy and life back to my father. She has loved my nieces and nephews. She fell in love with my husband after our first date, and was one of his biggest champions while I navigated my fear of loving again. She is bright and joyful and funny and kind. I understand so well why she was one of my mother’s dearest friends.

And I will never forget as my parents sat across from me a few weeks back to let us know that my stepmom is now facing the same cancer that took my first mother. It feels like a very unfair form of déjà vu. Life is full of moments that feel like everything pivots, and this is one of those moments. I won’t attempt to describe my feelings – they are lengthy, unknown to even myself, and ultimately not relevant to why I sat down to write this. I feel such a gut punch right now, but I also just needed to express to the universe that there can be joy and peace amid turmoil and pain. “It's funny how, when things seem the darkest, moments of beauty present themselves in the most unexpected places.” Spencer and I had planned a trip to Disneyland this last weekend (months ago, to escape some other hard things that we have been carrying – hilarious) and were considering cancelling it in view of everything going on. Sandra and dad told us in no uncertain terms to go. That we had to create moments of joy and laughter and lightness – to keep living.

“Choose to focus on those things that fill your soul with hope.” Dieter Uchtdorf.

Spoons

“Spoons” is an analogy that has been adopted by the vast community of people dealing with chronic illness. The story goes that a woman was trying to explain to her friend what it was like to be constantly sick. She grabbed all of the spoons on their table and the tables around her, handed them to her friend, and told her that the spoon represented her capacity to do something. Each decision she made throughout the day had the potential to take away a spoon. Cooking, cleaning, working, etc…each thing took a “spoon” away from her, and when she ran out of spoons, she was simply out of spoons. Some days she started with more, some days she started with less. And each day she had to decide how to use the spoons she had.

There are some things I like about this analogy and some things I don’t. A close friend went to a support group when she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and decided that her life was not going to be dictated by her disease. My dad used to tell us that we felt sick because we were acting sick, and that if we acted like we felt better, we would. I believe in the power of thinking positively and how, even when we don’t feel good, things still need to get done and life must go on no matter what. I also know that my own personal struggle with pain is nothing compared to the struggles other experience. In spite of all of that, I wanted to share some of my thoughts.

Since a few months before grad school started, I have been experiencing pain in my TMJ muscle (aka jaw). This is generally accepted to be the result of stress, grinding your teeth, bad posture, etc. A large number of people struggle with it and mine comes and goes. Sometimes it’s just a minor irritation that only shows its face when I’ve over exerted myself; sometimes it’s omnipresent and impacting every second of my day. This is one of those times.

TMJ pain starts in my shoulder blades and ends with my headaches. It makes every muscle in the upper half of my body tight and sore. The muscles that connect my shoulders with my head literally radiate pain when I’m having a flair up. With TMJ, it hurts to smile. And laugh. And sing. And talk. And eat. And look interested in what someone else is saying. And to sit. Or stand. Or lay down. You can find at least a hundred home remedies for TMJ problems through online blogs, books and professional help. I have about 20 exercises I do daily, a huge foam roller I use for my back, a mouth guard for sleeping, a back brace I wear about an hour a day for my posture, I ask Spencer to rub my neck as hard as he can (sometimes multiple times a night), and I get acupuncture. I don’t chew gum, bite into apples, eat bagels or gummy candy, or rest my chin on anything. I don’t remember how my tongue used to rest in my mouth, because I’m constantly readjusting it to make sure I’m not pushing it against my teeth. Trying to alleviate the pain, or at least not aggravate it, takes over my life a few times a year and is a constant presence in my day to day.

I recently tried a new kind of acupuncture – instead of just sticking in the needles, they stick in the needles and then send electric shocks through the needles into your muscles. It was painful, and I wasn’t sure that my tensing muscles at the pulsing electricity weren’t doing more damage than the needles were doing good. Before we got started, the doctor said, “I’m pretty sure I know, but I’m required to ask; what’s your goal for this treatment?” Somewhat jokingly, I said, “That my jaw will stop driving me crazy by clicking constantly in my ear every time I move it.” And then, more seriously, “And that I won’t sit on the edge of my bed and cry at the thought of leaving the house and having to use my face to communicate with people.” I get so tired of not being able to enjoy things, of being in constant pain, of praying for conversations to end so I can relax my face, of not singing along to the radio…anyway, I could go on.

I wish I had more spoons. But I guess, don’t we all? We all have our struggles and our things that take up more of our capacity than we’d like. Whether it’s physical pain, emotional pain, mental incapacitation, demands on our time (including positive, happy demands), taxing jobs or callings, relationship struggles, loneliness, pregnancy, and on and on. The demands of mortality often take more spoons than we have. I look back on some of the incredibly dark, painful times and I wonder how on earth I survived it without completely losing my mind, but I did. Somehow, strength beyond my own kicked in and I made it. I think I don’t often realize how much extra help I’m getting – I feel as though I have reached the end of my rope and it’s only by sheer will power that I carry on. But how much of that is me actually being carried and I don’t even know how much of the weight is being shouldered for me? I once told my dad that I didn’t like wearing my mouth guard because I didn’t notice a difference. He said that I couldn’t know that, because I wouldn’t know how much worse it would be if I wasn’t wearing it. I’m so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who gives me more strength than I have the ability to recognize. Who listens to my repeated pleas for relief, knowing that he has already begun to grant it to me, but who doesn’t reprimand me for continuing to ask. And who shows me the way to find joy in the journey, even when resolution is far in the future. 

      He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
      He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
      To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,
      To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

      When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
      When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
      When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
      Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

      Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
      Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
      Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
      The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

      His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
      His power no boundary known unto men;
      For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
      He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

All The Wisdom Experience Can Instill

I love taking pictures. I love capturing people, feelings, moments, thoughts and memories. I feel like pictures take me back to where I was, remind me of things that I’ve forgotten, and tell stories that would be impossible to communicate otherwise. Obviously there are pictures that are more significant than others – I take a picture of my pedometer every day...those pictures probably aren’t significant in the grand scheme of things. As I’ve been reflecting back on 2017 though, I wanted to tell a story with the pictures that mean something to me.

I took this photo on New Years. I was heartbroken, terrified about the future, uncertain of what I was doing, and freezing to death. Celebrating with friends at Top Golf as 2016 counted down, I ran into the bathroom to hide. As I looked into the mirror, I distinctly remember thinking to myself in a quiet voice, "...I look pretty." It was such a simple thing, but it was the boost I needed to keep going. I decided to take a "bathroom selfie" to remind myself that feeling my lowest doesn't diminish my worth. And that 2017 was going to be better. It was going to bring flowers. Because I had spent 2016 planting flowers.

I spent a good portion of the new year praying that I could feel confident in what I was capable of - praying that I would have the guts to do what I knew would be necessary over the coming months. As per usual, God came through in spectacular fashion. I was asked to speak at an event based on the TED talks about how hard things end up shaping us more than any easy part of life possibly could. A good friend flew out to watch, and I was reminded of how amazing my life has been.

On the way to my nephew's graduation, I grabbed a fortune cookie. Turned out to be prophetic, as I was offered my amazing job at Larry H Miller Sports and Entertainment shortly after I took this picture! My job is a huge blessing in my life - I love what I do, who I work for and the people around me. 

I decided to go back to grad school because I felt stagnant in my life - I felt like I wasn't really progressing, and grad school sounded hard. Well . . . turns out that it was! Hard in ways I anticipated, and in so many ways I didn't. I felt like I had every weak part of me laid open for the world to see. Graduation was such a happy, beautiful way to commemorate everything I went through and learned. Mom and dad flew out, and I took this selfie as we were headed to the ceremony. It ended up being very significant in my life, because it's the picture I chose to load into the Mutual dating app . . . 

5 years ago, I was serving as Relief Society president in my ward and desperately lonely. In exactly the child-like way you're envisioning, I asked God if he would please send me some friends. The ladies in this picture were literally an answer to that prayer. One of them met me, and the thought immediately came into her mind, "The Relief Society president needs a friend." As per my previous posts, my 31 birthday was filled with trepidation and sadness, but these ladies threw me the perfect birthday party, full of my favorite things. It was the perfect way to calm me down and get me focused back on how lovely life can be.

Because mountains. And hiking. And pretty.

This man. Geez. I don't even know how to describe how perfect he is for me. We went to the Lantern Festival together. On his, he wrote, "I've never been happier. I love Amy." I was so terrified to tell him that I loved him, even though I knew I did. As the music played and the lanterns were rising into the air, he pulled me into his arms and told me he loved me. It was the most perfect moment I've ever experienced. I kissed him, and as I started to pull away to tell him that I loved him too . . . a lit lantern came crashing into his head. From a few feet away, someone yelled, "Sorry!" amd we dissolved into laughter. It only took me another 2 weeks to work my courage back up to tell him what I felt. :)

The contrast between the end of 2016 and the end of 2017 is so stark, it almost feels fake to me. From Arizona to Utah, from heartbroken to engaged, from student to career, from anxiety to peace. I have no delusions that any of the amazing things that happened this year were brought about by me: sometimes life hands you something lovely, and I just happened to get caught in the cosmic cross hairs of goodness. But I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I was in the right place at the right time. A huge thank you to my cheering squad, my amazing family and friends, who incredibly never seem to lose faith in the future. "Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us." May your days be merry and bright, dear ones.

One Plus One Equals Both

“Hi Amy! You have a really nice smile. :)”

I received that message from a guy with gorgeous blue eyes late in the evening on July 5^th. He asked for my number on July 9^th, took me on a date July 10^th, on a second date July 11^th, and the rest, as it turns out, is history.

Three weeks before that, I wrote a blog post about turning 31, how hard it was, how difficult it was to hold onto hope, and that it was exhausting to continue watching the people around me land their “25 inch trout” while my constant reeling wasn’t yielding results.

Spencer Hunter is the youngest of 2, with a married sister. We share a deep love of books, movies and music – he has a voice that makes me weak at the knees. He’s very intelligent, a hard worker, and ambitious. He brings out my silly side, but we have equally as many intellectual conversations as ridiculous. He’s patient and isn’t afraid of facing hard things in life. He has a spectacular family, who have accepted me without question. More than anything, he’s the kindest human being I’ve ever known. He makes me happy, calms me down, and lifts me up.

Our initial messaging conversation was full of movie quotes, debates about our favorite books, excitement over upcoming movies, and a healthy dose of hope. The weeks after we started dating felt happy and overwhelming to me.  My long, painful dating history made me wary and nervous about any guy who showed enthusiasm for me, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, while at the same time enjoying every second of getting to know this incredible man. The night he told me he loved me for the first time, I simply responded with, “I know.” He has been so patient, so loving, so encouraging as he waited for my insecurities to fall away. Our relationship has been shockingly easy, but real. We are different in ways that compliment each other and similar in ways that make it simple. 

 

Two weeks ago, he told me that if I “wanted to dress nice on Wednesday, that would fun.” As in so many things, he knew me well enough to know that I’d want a heads up that something special was going down. When he picked me up, he handed me a flower and told me that the theme of the evening was “Just go with me.” On my seat in the car was another flower, a jewelry box, and a card.  Spencer is incredibly gifted with his words, and he had written me a beautiful poem – at the end of each stanza was a question. The first question he asked me was, “Beloved, will you go with me?” and inside the jewelry box was a luggage lock.

We drove to downtown Salt Lake and walked around temple square. As we got to the reflecting pool, there was another card, another jewelry box, and more flowers. The second stanza ended with the question, “Beloved, will you build with me?” Inside the box was a house key. (Apparently his dad was standing guard nearby, but I was a little distracted and didn’t notice.)

From there we went to the Roof Restaurant, where the last stanza of the poem, jewelry box and roses were waiting. The final question he wrote was, “Beloved, will you create with me?” and inside the box was a pacifier. (And yes, I was sobbing by this point.) Dinner was spectacular – we sampled every single dessert they had. When it was over, he grabbed my hand, said again, “Just go with me.” And we walked back to the car.

He told me to put on some music, as we had a bit of a drive ahead of us. I threw on the playlist of my favorite love songs, and we listened, sang and mostly just grinned at each other. As we were pulling off the freeway, our love song came on (totally not planned). It’s a country song that I first heard a few weeks after we started dating, and the first time I heard it, I started crying because it so perfectly captured what I was feeling, fearing, and hoping.

You say what if I hurt you, what if I leave you?

What if I find somebody else and I don't need you?

What if this goes south, what if I mess you up?

You say what if I break your heart in two then what.

Well I hear you girl, I feel you girl but not so fast,

Before you make your mind up I gotta ask:

What if I was made for you and you were made for me?

What if this is it, what if it's meant to be?

What if I ain't one of them fools just playin' some game?

What if I just pulled you close, what if I leaned in,

And the stars line up and it's our last first kiss?

What if one of these days baby I'd go and change your name?

What if I loved all these what ifs away?

After the song finished, he switched the music over to his phone to play me a song. He’s mentioned several times that he had a favorite love song, but has never told me what it is, nor let me listen to it. Don McLean came over the radio, singing, “And I love you so / The people ask me how / How I’ve lived till now / I say that I don’t know.” Just as the Timpanogos temple pulled into sight, the strains of “Peace Like a River” flowed through the car, and we both started crying. He walked me to the front of the temple, asked if I would go with him, if I would build with him, if I would create with him, if I would marry him.

Yes. Every day, yes. 

My 25 Inch Trout

I've driven from Phoenix to Pleasant Grove twice recently. 10 days ago in a moving truck with all of my worldly possessions, and yesterday in my 215,000 mileage car. In preparation for the second trip, I took my car to my mechanic and told him to fix anything he thought might break on it. $1300 later, he and I both felt good about making the journey. After the events of last summer, I have been extremely paranoid about getting stranded with my car broken down, especially since there are stretches during the drive when I don't have cell service. So when my check engine light came on during one of those stretches, I took a few minutes to rail at God. Because that's always productive. Frequently, in spite of doing all that I am capable of, life doesn't go like I plan.

Today I was in a lesson at church led by my parent's stake president. He started by telling a story from his past week - he had just returned from his dream vacation of fly fishing in Alaska. He has been fly fishing for years, and his one dream from this trip was to catch a 25 inch trout. The day arrived that they were going to the location where he was mostly likely to catch one of these huge fish - the Gibraltar River. All day the people around him caught fish after fish, and eventually each member of their group had one of the coveted 25+ inch trout, including an 11 year old boy who had never been fishing before. Everyone it is, except him. He, the most experienced fisher in the group, barely caught anything at all, and certainly nothing near the size he had hoped for. He was frustrated and disappointed and decided he would rather have not gone on that trip. He too expressed that life frequently doesn't go like he plans, and that it can be hard to deal with the consequences that arise. He then asked if anyone had any Gibraltar River experiences. I raised my hand.

I turn 31 in a week. Kind of an unremarkable birthday to most of the world, but in my world it means that I'm too old to attend the Young Single Adult congregation at church. The YSA program has been the source of most of my social life for the past 12 years, providing friends, entertainment, opportunity, spiritual growth and protection. Oh yeah - and pretty much every boyfriend I've ever had. It won't be a surprise to anyone reading this but just for the record: I want to be married. And not just married for the sake of it, but married to someone where there is mutual respect, someone who is kind and intelligent, someone who is willing to face uncertainty and work everyday to make a happy life together. I'm not overly dramatic about it - I know that I'm young and have so much life ahead of me. But I also do analytics for a living. And I know that the older I get, the worse my odds get. So while there is a whole new life awaiting me on the other side of 31, this birthday has felt like the end of hope in some respects.
So I raised my hand, said that I was unmarried and turning 31 on Saturday. That people were landing "fish" all around me and had been for years. That in spite of my having, what I consider, fantastic technique and great experience, the fish keep swimming past my bait. (Ok, you can definitely push this analogy to an uncomfortable level.) And that yesterday while I was crying and yelling at my windshield, the words that came into my head were, "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead."

President Osguthorpe came in the middle of the class, sat next to me, pulled out his phone, and showed me a picture of himself holding a 27 inch trout. He caught it the next day. "Everything will be all right in the end. If it's not all right, then it is not yet the end." And I believe that.

He Lives

I attended an Easter fireside this morning. One of the speakers spoke of losing his daughter several years ago. They were on a walk with his other children, and she darted in front of a car. He talked about doing CPR on her tiny 4 year old body, and praying with all his might that she would be saved. Later that day, his wife gave birth to their fourth child. In his own words, "I have never been closer to both heaven and hell."

He also spoke of Christ, more specifically, Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem. A huge number of people gathered to see him through the streets. They laid their clothes in front of his path, they sang Hosannas, they waved palm fronds. However, many in the crowd were not cheering him on because they thought he was the Savior of the world. They thought he was the one who would save them from Roman rule. The expectation was that he would go through the streets straight to the seat of government and overthrow it. Instead, he turned left and went to the temple. Among this congregation, those who joyously sang his praises, would days later demand his death.

Many times, we face unmet expectations. We see clearly the path that we want the Lord to take on our behalf, but he instead turns left. We stand there, hearts broken, disappointed and unsure, begging the Lord to please explain what just happened. Why did you turn left?? I have been standing here, waving my palm frond for a long time, waiting for you to come. Turning right would have saved me from my pain, from my discomfort, from my uncertainty. Turning right would have given me what I want most. At that point, we have the choice. Will we continue to sing his praise, or will we walk away?

This Easter season, I simply want to say that I believe. I believe in him. I believe in his ways. I believe in his power in our lives through the Atonement. I believe that his way is higher than mine, and that eventually, as we allow him into our lives, all of the "lefts" will be made right.

Happy Easter, dear ones.