The Spirit of Halloween

I love Halloween. There’s enough theater running through my veins to appreciate dressing up, doing something unusual with my hair, and an excuse to wear false eyelashes and blue eye shadow.

I also love Halloween because it brings with it many happy memories of childhood. We rarely had candy around the house, so eating all of the sugar was so novel and magical. I have distinct memories of my friends at school talking about their strategic trick or treating, how they knew where all of the “good houses” that gave out full sized candy bars were, and how they made sure to hit the right streets in order to maximize the candy-to-distance-covered ratio. I remember thinking how cool it would be to trick or treat like that, but knowing for certain that it was not going to be a possibility. Because trick or treating at the Sawaya house was strategic too.

I remember trick or treating at the trailer park, where old, lonely ladies would give us candy that may or may not pass the inspection of what was “recent enough” to eat. I remember walking quickly to specific houses in the neighborhood because someone had mentioned they looked forward to seeing us, or because dad was their home teacher. I remember driving an hour to trick or treat at grandma’s house. And I remember standing impatiently for what seemed like hours while mom and dad took the time to talk to everyone we visited.

I miss mom. She was such an amazing person, and she was such an incredible example of how to live a selfless life. She lived for others every single day of her life, in addition to being very grounded and intelligent. She personified the sentiment that “…there is power in self-sacrifice.”

To be honest, I miss her every day. I think I miss her more as I get older, because there are so many things I wish I could ask her. I wanted to talk to her about the decision to go to grad school. I wanted to talk to her about why heartbreak seems to get harder each time it happens. Living in Arizona now, a place that I always associated with her, I think about how she loved the sun. I want to talk to her about those few and far between, but very real, moments when I walk past baby clothes in Target and an overwhelming sense of longing that almost feels like bitterness creeps into my chest.

Aside from a certain knowledge of her love, the thing I remember most about mom was her testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It’s ironic that the thing she taught me most is the thing that prepared me to deal with her death – a peace in knowing that this life is not the end. It gives me the strength to face the things that are less than ideal. “As we make Christ the center of our lives, our fears will be replaced by the courage of our convictions.”

Watch The Unfolding

My niece recently learned to drive working towards her driver’s license. After going for a ride with her at the wheel, my dad described the experience as, “She drives the way Amy lives her life: in sudden starts and stops.”

Truly, it’s just how I am – it’s how I choose to be. I want to get there quickly. Progress is movement, everything is an action verb, words are empty without actions behind them. I’m an extremely rational person completely driven by emotion, and once I’ve reached a conclusion or decided on a destination, my goal is to get there as quickly and efficiently as possible. (Surprisingly, no one who knows me has ever asked why I find supply chain – a discipline focused on doing things better, faster, cheaper and more efficiently – intriguing.)

This gets me into trouble with situations that can’t be solved with a checklist, or by working harder at them. I become frustrated with myself when I can’t solve it all immediately or the first time I attempt it. Surely any failure on my part is a result of not working at it hard enough and long enough.

There is a well-known experiment with children and marshmallows where the children are told that if they can refrain from eating a marshmallow for 15 minutes, they will get another one. Only about 30% were able to wait, but the interesting part of the experiment came from the fact that the children who were able to wait actually had more success in life. They struggled less to interact and socialize with others. “What started as a simple experiment with children and marshmallows became a landmark study suggesting that the ability to wait—to be patient—was a key character trait that might predict later success in life.

Grad school is a really lovely opportunity for me to feel completely inadequate and overwhelmed on a regular basis. A heavy work load, combined with some health issues that I haven’t been able to resolve, led to an emotional breakdown this weekend where I called a good friend and fell apart. I expressed that I didn’t feel like I had the capacity to deal with my current load because I don’t know how to solve or answer my health problems, I have too much to do, and I can’t quickly solve my problems. He responded with something that has changed my perspective completely: the Lord isn’t preoccupied with efficiency. In fact, the lack of efficiency is part of the plan. Maybe the most important part of the plan.  The Lord could accomplish His work quickly through the most capable people the earth has to offer; if He wanted to, He could just show himself and everyone would believe. Instead, he sends out 18 year old kids to preach His word. He has men with 7 children and full time jobs watch over the congregation. He has young adults with no education teach Sunday School classes. He’s much less concerned with the end result we come up with and more concerned about the process we take to get there. “…in your patience you win mastery of your souls.”

The most dangerous ship in a hurricane is an empty one. The cargo of experience is what weighs it down and keeps it steady. It doesn’t mean that the storms won’t come, but rather that we will be prepared and capable to face them, to face storms much greater than what we thought we could. The process of arriving will not be easy or pleasant. The story of the stripling warriors teaches us that in following the Lord, we may suffer injuries and fatigue and uncertainty, but we will not perish. “…[W]ithout patience, we cannot please God; we cannot become perfect. Indeed, patience is a purifying process that refines understanding, deepens happiness, focuses action, and offers hope for peace.” 

Perhaps the very things that are causing me pain and feelings of inadequacy are the things that are anchoring me in my life, preparing me for the future, and transforming me into something of greater substance. And the trials in my life are not things I am meant to solve immediately. My friend pointed out that God is probably not overly concerned with what decisions I make during this time, as there is no right answer to the mountains I am facing. But He cares what process I use to approach them. Just maybe, He sees more in me than I see in myself.

Gorgeous At The End

Learning a new language is hard. Trying to express the deepest, most sacred thoughts in one’s heart is hard. Trying to express the deepest, most sacred thoughts in one’s heart in a new language is … hard. Which essentially describes my LDS mission. Hard.

I had been in Uruguay for 6 weeks when I had a change of companion and I was suddenly facing someone that didn’t speak English, and who was dependent on me to explain who everyone was. My buffer was gone; it was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I sat on the roof of our small apartment clutching my scriptures and crying. Yes, it was as pathetic as you imagine.

In this particular city, there was a man in the leadership of the church who wasn’t overly happy about having female missionaries. We had several run ins with him that escalated to the point where the bishop had to intervene. He was the first counselor in the bishopric, so it made things pretty awkward. My first Sunday after my English-speaking companion left, they made a change in the bishopric. What I understood was that the man who had been complaining about having sister missionaries had just been made the bishop. I was scared to death of him from our previous encounters, but I wanted to start things off on a good foot and see if I could repair the damage, so I walked straight up to him after the meeting and said, “Congratulations, brother!”

It wasn’t until several weeks later that I realized what had ACTUALLY happened was that he was released from his calling in the bishopric because of his altercations with the missionaries. Yeah, big oops. This story still fills me with complete chagrin and embarrassment. I really wish I could explain to him, apologize profusely, and then potentially sink into a hole in the ground at his feet. I recounted this story to a friend the other day, and through her laughter, she replied, “You were part of his refining process!”

It was a casual comment, but it stopped me in my tracks. At first, I was horrified – I know those “refining” moments and they are terribly painful and hard. I never wanted to be part of someone’s refining process! I was sincerely trying to do what I thought was right – that’s not fair to him that he had to deal with my incompetency in Spanish.

Another story.

You’ve seen Frozen, right? When Anna’s in trouble, she turns to the man she trusts for an act of true love. He tells her that he never loved her and locks her in a room for her heart to freeze over. (I find an unsettlingly large number of parallels from my life to hers, but we won’t delve too deeply into that.) She finds the act of love herself by looking OUTSIDE of herself to the needs of others. Love will thaw.

In Anna’s case, Hans was part of her refining process. She walked away a little older, a little wiser, perhaps a little more cautious in her choices, and most likely with some pain she’d never experienced before.

In the end, we are all a part of each other’s refining processes. Intentional or not, we will all cause pain in someone else’s life. We’re beautifully imperfect people, trying to find happiness and meaning in what we do, and along the way, we say things and do things that hurt, injure, insult and demean each other. Rather than allow this to create rifts between us, it should make us more understanding and patient with the imperfections we each have. Bryant McGill said, “As your consciousness, refinement and pureness of heart expands you will become less judgmental, less corrective, less reactive, less black-and-white, less critical, less apt to blame and less tormented by others and their faults and views.”

To refine means to, “remove impurities or unwanted elements.” In an industrial setting, this refining process almost always means being put through heat and pressure – it’s incredibly uncomfortable. It is also completely necessary to become more than ourselves. To become the best we can be. “I have come to believe that our innate purpose is nothing more than to be the greatest version of ourselves. It is a process of refinement, improvement, and enhancement. When you are aligned with this process and living your purpose, you have the potential of creating something amazing.” (Steve Maraboli)

BRCA1: Knowledge is Power

Remember when Angelina Jolie had a bilateral mastectomy because she tested positive for a genetic mutation that brings a propensity for breast and ovarian cancer? Turns out . . . I’ve got it too.

From the cancer.gov website, “BRCA1 and BRCA2 are human genes that produce tumor suppressor proteins. These proteins help repair damaged DNA and, therefore, play a role in ensuring the stability of the cell’s genetic material. When either of these genes is mutated, or altered, such that its protein product either is not made or does not function correctly, DNA damage may not be repaired properly. As a result, cells are more likely to develop additional genetic alterations that can lead to cancer.” Essentially, it means that by the age of 70, I have an 87% chance of getting breast cancer and a 44% chance of getting ovarian cancer. (https://www.brightpink.org/ is a great resource for information)

My mom passed away from ovarian cancer, her sister had breast cancer, and one of my sisters tested positive for BRCA1, so I always knew there was the possibility that I had it as well. I wasn’t ready to know, until my step sister’s breast cancer came back a few months ago. Finally the weight of not knowing was more than the potential weight of knowing. The phone call came while I was racing go karts with my co-workers in Tooele last Monday and I drove my team back to Salt Lake with tears falling behind my sunglasses while I joked about my slow-poke pace around the track.

My sweet friends know me well.

What does this mean in my life? I hope that one day I will get to have children, so no surgeries for now. Advanced screenings, close observations with my doctors and an overall awareness of what to look for. My family’s reactions included things like, “This is not a diagnosis of anything,” “Don’t let this feel bigger than it is” and “Knowledge is power – that is all.” They are the absolute best at dealing with less-than-ideal circumstances. My rational mind will get me to that outlook eventually, but in the mean time I have many emotions about this, and writing things down is very therapeutic for me, so please bear with me as I attempt to identify all that I feel.

I am afraid. Afraid of dying the same way I saw mom die. Afraid of the ravaging effects of chemotherapy and radiation. Afraid of the pain that can come from surgery. Afraid because every year I get older without having children, my odds of getting cancer increase. Afraid that cancer will show up before I meet the right man and I won’t be able to have kids. Afraid that no man will want to take on a ticking time bomb.

Overall, this feels like a very complicated game of chicken.

I am grateful. Grateful to live in an age when I can know my risks ahead of time, and we have ways of monitoring my body. Grateful for an awesome doctor who was prepared with a plan. Grateful for amazing friends and family who have made me laugh and smile and helped me feel loved and supported.

“How much of life do we miss by waiting to see the rainbow before thanking God that there is rain?”

I am hopeful. Hopeful because if mom had known what I know, she would probably still be alive. Hopeful that we will catch any signs of cancer before they become deadly. Hopeful that life still has some wonderful surprises left for me. Hopeful because I KNOW it’s all in God’s hands, and that one way or another, I will be given the strength to endure whatever lies ahead.

“Faith in Father’s plan gives us endurance even amid the wreckage of such proximate hopes. Hope keeps us anxiously engaged in good causes even when those appear to be losing causes.”

Plus, like my sister said, there are worse things in life than a medically necessary boob job.

Live Forwards

I was driving through Provo last week on a road marked 45 mph. As the road crossed over the freeway, there was a sign indicating that the speed limit was dropping to 35 mph, and underneath there was a sign that said, “Hill Blocks View.” Instantly my thought was, “Wouldn’t that be nice if I could get those signs of explanation for everything in life??”

I love understanding. It took months of having daily headaches but I loved finally getting to the place where I could say whatever I wanted and understand what everyone was saying in Spanish. I recently talked several friend's ears off as we were watching Lord of the Rings because I wanted them to know how each part of the movie was made (it enhances my enjoyment so OBVIOUSLY it would enhance theirs). Going for hikes with me is dangerous because I will inevitably try to tell you how a rock formation came to be. I love listening to people’s stories because the more I know about them, the more I can understand why they are the way that they are. Understanding is safe. Predictable. Clean. Bright.

Unfortunately for me, very few things in life come with an explanation. People certainly don’t come with personal histories attached – we are at the mercy of what they choose to divulge. Natural disasters are impossible to predict. Even things in the work place rarely come with a perfect explanation and set of expectations.

Faith, by its very nature, does not come with perfect understanding. We must have the room to doubt within faith, otherwise it’s not actually faith. As I’ve pondered that sign and my life over the past week, I’ve decided that maybe the lack of explanation makes life . . . better.

If people came with guidebooks, I’d never know the joy of earning someone’s trust. If I understood every task perfectly, I’d never know the satisfaction of working hard to figure something out on my own. Without uncertainty, I would never feel brave.

And most importantly, if God divulged every detail of my life, the reason behind every commandment, the result for every choice, I would have no room to grow. I would never learn to trust and leap. I would not be able to become who I am meant to be. “There are times when we have to step into the darkness in faith, confident that God will place solid ground beneath our feet once we do. And so I accepted gladly, knowing that God would provide.”

Forgiveness Is The Attribute Of The Strong

There was an article that was widely read and shared online this last week about a man in his 30’s who had an old bully from his past reach out to him on Facebook and apologize for the unkind behavior from years before. I think it hit home with a lot of us because there are past wrongs that we would like to apologize for, or because we wish someone would apologize to us.

 I ran into an ex-boyfriend this week. I knew I was going to see him – it was a wedding reception for a mutual friend. I spent extra time getting ready, asked a friend to go with me so I didn’t have to stand alone in the line, and made sure to go up and say hello before I left (because heaven forbid he should know that’s it’s difficult for me to interact with him). I put a lot of thought and care into everything, and spent the rest of the night thinking about us and everything that had happened. On the other hand, I’m sure the interaction and my presence were wholly insignificant to him.

Why is that? Perhaps because I feel wronged by the way he treated me, and I haven’t quite forgiven him.

Forgiveness is such an interesting concept. Frequently, forgiveness has no outward manifestations. There’s no physical act to perform, no set of instructions to follow. Except in very extreme circumstances, you can’t tell from looking at a person if they are carrying a grudge. “The folly of rehashing long-past hurts does not bring happiness.” (James E. Faust) However, it has such an intense impact on our emotional and spiritual health that it can hold us back in every positive pursuit, or set us free.

 Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch Christian who hid Jews during World War II. She spent years in a concentration camp, saw unspeakable evil, lost her sister and her father to the cruelty of the Nazi’s, and endured all of it because a neighbor suspected her family and turned them over to the police. If there was anyone who had the “right” to feel slighted and wronged, it was her. And yet she dedicated her life to talking about forgiveness and love. Her preaching was brought to a true test when, after a speech, she was approached by one of the very guards who had terrorized her in Ravensbruck.

In her own words:

““Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: ‘A fine message, Fräulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!’

“And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course—how could he remember one prisoner among those thousands of women?

“But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. I was face-to-face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.

“‘You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk,’ he was saying, ‘I was a guard there.’ No, he did not remember me.

“‘But since that time,’ he went on, ‘I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fräulein,’ again the hand came out—’will you forgive me?’

“And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place—could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking?

“It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

“For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. ‘If you do not forgive men their trespasses,’ Jesus says, ‘neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.’

“I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.

“And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. ‘… Help!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’

“And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

“‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart!’

“For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.”

Why is forgiveness so important? Dr. Sidney Simon said, “Forgiveness is freeing up and putting to better use the energy once consumed by holding grudges, harboring resentments, and nursing unhealed wounds. It is rediscovering the strengths we always had and relocating our limitless capacity to understand and accept other people and ourselves.” We have limited strength, energy, intellect and time. Such finite resources as these are precious, and we choose every day how we will use them. We can either utilize them to complain, feel sorry for ourselves, and let bitter feelings poison every moment, or we use them to uplift, serve and find beauty.

The bottom line is, it’s my choice. If I can’t forgive, it’s not actually hurting anyone but myself. In fact, no one else would even know. It’s difficult, it takes time, it takes effort, but it can free me from spinning my wheels. It can even free me from insecurity, pain and anxiety. “I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.” (Khaled Hosseini)

Tragedy of the Commons

In the movie “A Man For All Seasons,” Thomas Moore is counseling an ambitious young man to be a teacher rather than go into politics, where he might be tempted to fold on his values to bribery. He says, “Why not be a teacher? You'd be a fine teacher; perhaps a great one.” The young man asks in indignation, “If I was, who would know it?” Moore responds, “You; your pupils; your friends; God. Not a bad public, that.”

I had a high school science teacher named Eugene Clark. He was a retired geophysicist who had worked all over the world and his lectures consisted of the pictures he had personally taken of geological features, rather than the ones provided in the textbook. His love and knowledge of the material was contagious, and he was something of a celebrity in our high school because of the impact he made on all of us. I took every class he taught.

I remember very distinctly one class period in AP Environmental Science. He was explaining the phenomenon of the tragedy of the commons – “. . . an economic theory by Garrett Hardin, which states that individuals acting independently and rationally according to each's self-interest behave contrary to the best interests of the whole group.” Essentially, the way I’ve come to think of it, we recognize our own insignificance in relation to the entire population of the planet, and consider our contribution irrelevant. The simplest example in my mind is littering – one person doesn’t think about dropping a used cup on the side of the road because . . . it’s just one cup. The next person walking along doesn’t think about picking it up, because there are so many cups – picking just one up couldn’t possibly make a difference.

That lesson changed my life in many ways. For one thing, I’m neurotic about picking up trash. I went for a walk this morning and came back with two hand fulls of garbage. For someone who hates germs, it’s actually terrible. Some days, I wish that I could just walk past the dirty napkin outside my office and not worry about it. But I can’t – I just HAVE to pick it up, because if I don’t, it means I have bought into the mentality that I can’t make a difference.

 

This principle applies to the way we treat each other as well. I was having a difficult day yesterday – just feeling weary, frustrated and alone. I turned my phone off during a baptism I attended, and when I turned it back on, I had a voice message from my oldest sister. She was just calling to catch up and see how I was, and then she told me over the voicemail how grateful she was for me, and how proud she was of the kind of person I am. It was probably a simple thing for her – she just had the thought to give me a call. But it was exactly what I needed to hear and was so encouraging to me.

Mother Teresa is attributed with saying, “We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.” There is so much pain and suffering, even just discouragement and exhaustion going around. It often feels like whatever we do or don’t do couldn’t possibly change anything. But that’s a lie. We just need to touch one person at a time, and it will make all the difference in the world.

The thing is, those kinds of things mostly go unnoticed. You don't get paid or promoted for cleaning up the break room when it's a mess. More than likely, no one will write a book about the time you stopped to help someone change a tire. Most of us will never win the Noble Peace Prize for being patient with others' mistakes. But I think that was Thomas Moore's point - be good, even if it doesn't bring you glory. Be kind, even when you don't think it will matter. Have integrity, even when no one is watching and you can see no personal gain in it.

And now you too can feel guilty every time you walk past a piece of trash on the sidewalk. You’re welcome.