Report Draft: E

The foundation for personal sharing came from the sharing plan that people created. Mary and Lizzy both said that creating this plan made them sit back and think about who would be able to connect with their message. Justin said “It made me choose carefully who I would open my personal life up to.” Another important preparation for sharing the final form was sharing our drafts with people inside and outside of class. Some people (like Andrew) received critical feedback, while others (like Mandy) received encouragement to go a specific direction. Regardless of the feedback, people felt that sharing their rough drafts helped them strengthen relationships.

Because people had thought about who they wanted to share with in advance, many people sought out the most appropriate content to their circumstances. This meant that often they were sharing other people’s content. For example, Tori and Clark both shared Keegan’s content about his experiences in Africa on his mission. Since people knew who they intended to share with, they made efforts to reach out to and rekindle those connections prior to sharing. Finally, because we produced many versions and formats for our essays we were given the option to share according to our audience. For example, Keegan shared a PDF version and his YouTube video with his grandma because she is not very tech savy with the internet and blogs. Through these forms we shared our essays to different individuals for different reasons. The reactions of our audiences were different, but most found success because of their sharing plans.


Group 4: Keegan Brown, Clark Nielson, Katie Roper

A Seed to be Planted

We are taught that "through small and simple things do great things come to pass" and that the seed of faith will grow if we plant it in good soil. As I was sharing my essay I was hoping that my testimony of these things would be true. My essay is about my friends and so it only seemed fitting to me for me to share it with them.

I texted Austin a few weeks ago and asked him what he would think if I wrote an essay about our group of friends. We hadn't really talked in a while and so his response was simply, "If you want to". So it was only fitting for me to text him last week and tell him to check his facebook. He followed the link I had sent to him and after reading my essay he responded telling me it was great but not really saying much more about it. I thought that was the end of it because I didn't want to force it onto him (he doesn't take that kind of stuff well) but a few hours later he messaged me again with a picture and we started talking and catching up a bit. It was really nice to get to talk to my friend again and it shows that friendship will always be there if we continue to reach out in whatever form.

My best friend Erynn read my essay in some of it's earliest drafts. She is always so positive and complimentary that it felt safe to share it with throughout the process. She hadn't read the finished project when I shared it on her wall. Along with the link I thanked her for her help along the way.We talk about the essay every once in a while in passing. I'm not sure if it was because of my sharing that on her wall or simply because she is such a close friend but everyday since the day I shared that we've been texting each other motivational pictures to get us through finals week. It is always a relief to look at my phone and see one of those little messages from her. I am so grateful I got to share it with her and she says she really enjoyed reading it.

My friend Lance struggles with depression and has had more than one girlfriend who has used him and it wasn't necessarily the best position for him to be in. He recently decided to change his life, which for him and his stubbornness is an extremely difficult thing to do. We've shared our writings with each other since high school and we're very supportive of each other. Now that we're both off at college we don't talk as much but try to catch up at least once a week. He never understood why I was always so invested in the gospel, though he is also a member his testimony has struggled like any young adults would. I shared not just my essay but the entire website with him and asked him to read a couple of the essays, especially Mandy's in hopes that he would realize that deciding to change his life and pulling away from those people who were doing him harm would help him move forward with his life and really change. I'm not sure how he took it but he liked the post on his wall so I think it was a good idea.

Though I shared my essay and the entire website with a few more people these responses where typical of what I saw happen. It was a bit discouraging. I went into this feeling optimistic and excited to share the gospel in this new form but after a bit of sharing I began to get disappointed. I then remembered about faith, and that simply planting a seed can do so much. So this project has helped my testimony grow that perhaps through my sharing of simply things more and more people will be exposed to the gospel and it is  my hope is that as a result of that more people's hearts will be open to that.

"It's a Good Day to be Good"

“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.” 

Doctor Who

 "It's a good day to be good"

We sat two rows away from each other for 4 ½ months and had no idea how close we would actually become. A year later we were in the same choir class. We started talking through a mutual friend and slowly started talking every day. Soon the school year was coming to a close and the final dance of the year was just around the corner. Big, green posters littering the walls of every portion of the school telling girls to ask to the dance, “Morp is coming” signs around every corner and everyone was talking about who they were going to ask and how. I decided on this boy I’d been texting for weeks, Alex, a tall lanky boy with sandy blonde hair and could blow most anyone away on the guitar. He wouldn’t be 16 until three days after the dance but that didn’t stop me from hanging a pink teddy bear from his front porch, holding a sign that said “Don’t leave me hanging.” And it certainly wouldn’t stop his response of a bucket of ice on my doorstep, filled with slips of paper with different messages written across each of them. An hour and a half was spent sifting through those papers and I progressively got more and more upset. Anger and frustration bubbling up inside me, causing me to stop texting him after about 20 minutes. After going through every one of those 200 plus papers with no avail I refused to talk to him until I got my answer. The next day I opened my locker to find a giant poster with the words “Whoops, forgot one” and a small slip of paper taped to the bottom with a “YES!” written across it. Little did I know that would be one of the best dates I ever went on and our cleverly obnoxious creativity would be a defining moment for our friendship for years to come.

The door opened and I couldn't quite see what all the hubbub was about. The walls were brown, the amphitheater style seating was a bit steeper than I had anticipated. Gold pipes with shiny noses poking out above more brown, the framing of the organ, it seemed like a normal choir room. The students shuffling in, each with their different shape and size. I sat in the back with the rest of my class ready for this excursion to show its true colors. My high school self was sitting there trying to grasp the idea that this would be me one day soon. I had just got dumped 2 weeks prior and the wound was still fresh. I sat, quiet, in the back of that auditorium next to Alex. A boy sat on my other side. Alex introduced him to me. His mess of brown curls bounced as he sat down his deep dark freckles and a voice higher than any bass I had ever met. This was Garian. The three of us talked, laughed and caused entirely too much ruckus in the short 50 minutes we were there listening to the choir. At the end of what I’m sure was beautiful choir music walked out of that auditorium better friends than ever and I walked out that day having laughed harder than I had in weeks.

“Hey”

 A message I got more than once via Facebook that started a friendship that I would always be so grateful for.

“Wanna play the question game?”

 This was an experience Matthew and I laughed about regularly.  We never really hung out until about halfway through our senior year when fate or circumstance brought us together for a date. Having promised Garian that I would be his first date. I recruited Matthew to help me out. We had to plan a makeshift date in less than 12 hours in order for me to keep my promise. We sat at the granite countertop in his kitchen throwing ideas at the wall in hopes that one would stick. I was ignoring my stomach’s aching, not wanting to be rude and ask for something to eat. My ache in my stomach begin to claw its way to my vocal cords to voice its displeasure with my lack of nutrients. It was in this moment that I caved to what I thought was rude and simply asked if he had anything I could eat.

“Thank goodness”

 He said as he pulled out a toaster and some bread “I was afraid to eat anything in front of you”. He looked at me with a big bright grin like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. His teddy bear like cheeks showing his dimples and his whole body jiggled as he started to laugh. His laugh was contagious and I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped my lips as we proceeded to eat the entire loaf as toast. Delicious, delicious toast. Before we knew it the majority of his kitchen was covered in all kinds of breakfast food, from purple jams to orange juice his kitchen had never been so colorful. Between bites of toast and sips of orange juice we laughed and planned this makeshift date in record time, my stomach moaning from laughter and having been fed. From that moment on we were near inseparable. 

 It was always the four of us. Sitting in Matt’s basement. Its white walls covered in pictures of temples and Christ, courtesy of Matt’s mother. Every night was a collection of faces. Each night different but almost always those 3, consistent smiles shining through the darkness of the basement brighter than the blue glow of the TV screen. As time passed more faces were added to that brightness. Each smile a reminder of the love around me. Mckay, Austin, Rylie, Tyler, Tiffany, Alyx, Madelyn; Brought together in that mansion of a house. Every day Matt’s car would be outside each of our houses. It’s low rumble a comfort in winter. It’s blasting music a party anthem in the heat. Celebrating the good. Coming together to fix the hardships. Sharing scriptures and testimonies. Crying together, laughing together. 

We were bandits, we were adventurers, we were missionaries and we were friends. It was one of those friendships that just happened and until you look back you had no idea it would change your life. We were slowly approaching the day Matt would go off to college and none of us knew what was going to happen. The night before he left, we all sat in his basement. So many people were there but as the night progressed people kept leaving. The night dragged on and it was starting to get late. I looked around me and realized it was just the four of us now, Matt, Alex, Garian and me, sitting in that basement just like we used to. We decided to go for a drive so we piled into Matt’s car and began to drive. The music was its classic party anthem, the gray leather seats of his van squeaking as each of made even the slightest move. We were laughing and smiling. We found ourselves at the Y parking lot. The music began to mellow down and conversation got deeper. Matt started to talk about how he was afraid to leave. And we all listened. Then one by one we each gave our best advice, sharing a story from the Book of Mormon or our own personal experiences in life. One of us shared the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendigo, their strength of heart, another one of us compared it to the Stripling warriors, their courage to leave their homes and families. Garian said “it was a good day to be good” a saying that quickly became our slogan. These boys are my stripling warriors and in the following months this slogan kept me going. I don’t remember all the stories that were told that night, but I do remember I have never been so grateful in my entire life. 

My Action for Reactions- A plan for sharing my essay

1. I have a tumblr with a lot of followers. Though I don't know any of them personally I can share my essay with them and get feedback or support. I can do this within the next couple days and hope to get feedback by the end of the week. I also think sharing Mandy's story of an abusive relationship would be good for him. He has depression and just got out of a really bad friendship with his ex that was damaging him a lot. I think Mandy's story would be helpful to him.
2. I have a really good friend that moved to a different state halfway through high school. We don't talk much but call to catch up about 1 time a month. I can mention to him my essay and share it to his wall of facebook this week.
3. My boyfriend is always very helpful with all of my essays, he proof reads them and does the final grammatical check on the majority of them. I can give him a copy of my essay to read and see how he takes it.
4. My friend Madelyn is involved in my essay and is very active on most social medias. I could shoot her a text and send her a link to my essay and see what she thinks of it. We don't usually ever share things to do with school so this might be an interesting change to see.
5. My little brother is really into chess and I think sharing Darren's essay where he talks about chess and his English teacher's reactions. I think he would really enjoy it and it might open my brother up to reading more.
6. My best friend loves stories and she knows everyone in my essay. Her and I have lunch every week and I think sharing my essay with her at our lunch would be very beneficial to her and remind her of her friends that have left on missions.

Moral of the Story

Growing up being read bedtime stories is a fairly normal occurrence. These stories were mainly fairy tales, mother goose stories and the simplest explanation of them is, well, fiction. As children these stories made our minds wander and our imagination grow. And yet, somehow we were taught something. Each story had a moral, expressing or conveying truths or counsel as to right conduct. These morals were often the early teachings of how to interact that we now probably don't even notice. The story of Cinderella shows that being kind and working hard pay off, that good things will happen to you. The story of the Tortise and the Hare shows that persistance is key to success. These and many other stories have taught us from a young age these simple truths and remain teaching children generation after generation. This, is what fiction can do. Through Mormon fiction stories are able to be told that teach us something, without harming anyone. They have the superficial story, something that is simple and, if you choose, doesn't mean anything. But if you look closer, you can find a moral, you can find the teachings that are meant to be in these stories. This is something that fiction does that non-fiction cannot, it makes you think and apply the story to your life, without harming anyone in the process. This is something that is especially important when it comes to religious literature. This is why Mormon fiction is so important. 

It's been a long day: A Video Review

I chose to do my review on Ryan's essay "Its been a long day". I chose to not include the Book of Mormon in this video mainly because that wasn't the focus in his essay and I didn't want the video to seem fake. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vi09-4FEAAc&feature=youtu.be

Logic-ing It Out

I've always had a hard time sharing what I write. From poems to simple essays my writings were mine and mine alone. As I got older I would slowly share what I wrote with select people, mainly my essays. Sooner rather than later I got over people reading my school assignments, but I still had my poems and my own little stories I wrote to myself. These were mine. I kept them safe in a notebook locked away from the world, for my eyes only. Again as I got older I chose to share these poems with a select few, and only a select few. This still hasn't changed. I had mamma bear instincts when it came to my writings and I protect them at any cost. For some reason I gained this same sort of instincts when it comes to my personal essay. It felt strange and scary to share it with anyone who meant something to me (No offense guys). So when I asked my boyfriend to look over my paper I was more than scared, I was terrified. He looked over my draft in it's simplest form as I reminded him that it was rough and I still had a lot of work to do. When he finished reading he started picking it apart and I couldn't help but feel defensive of my work. This was my story, why should anyone else tell me how to write it. But I tried to stay calm. I asked him to try and elaborate on what he meant, maybe I was misunderstanding.He poked at the grammical errors and the sentence fragments. I saw what he was talking about but  I still didn't seem to be getting where he was coming from, that was not the idea of the poem I had in my head. So he decided to show me. He took one paragraph and made it his own. Asking me questions about my own life and what about that event made it special. 5 minutes later he had recreated what I had written and I was startled to realize he had taken the majority of the emotion out of it. He had taken my emotion and made it logical and it made me so upset. I went home that night with the full intention of ignoring all the feedback he had given me, it was just a draft after all. Once I got home I read what he wrote once again, more out of obligation than anything. As upsetting as it was that he tried to logic out my paper I began to see his point. And as much as I didn't like what he had done, there was value in it. It was worth a second look.

Pears. Pears. Pears.

Every year growing up my mom would make us can pears. Hundreds and hundreds of pears scattered across the kitchen, blanketing every surface in a green layer of fruit. First we peal, then we core and then we cook. I hated every minute of it. I'd walk away from every batch with sore hands and sticky fingers. My mom always promised me it would be worth it come January, and it always was. The sticky sweet taste of pears became a comfort from January through April reminding me that summer would return.
My sister just had a baby. 7 lbs 20 inches of pure perfection bundled up in a dinosaur blanket. His full head of black hair poking out above the dinosaurs and footprints of the fabric. Every day I smell his head in with the hope that he still has that new baby smell, and every day I'm not disappointed. When my sister first found out she was pregnant she kept track of how big the baby was on her phone. I'd ask her weekly how big it was and she beamed with excitement as the little creature inside of her grew to different sizes of fruits. One day she told me he was the size of a grape. I looked her straight in the eye and said
"someday that grape inside of you is gonna get married and have little grapes of its own." She just looked at me and said.
"You're weird"
Now as he's growing and learning this poem in Fire In the Pasture makes me think of him. This new father is telling his son of all the wonderful things he's going to experience. Just as he thinks of his son, I think of my nephew. That someday he will smell pears and probably can them, and hopefully he doesn't hate it like I do. This poem's form makes me think of it more to myself, Because it doesn't have a classical poem type structure it makes me think of it in more of a thought structure.

"It's a good day to be good"

 The door opened and I couldn't quite see what all the hubbub was about. The walls were brown, the amphitheater style seating was a bit steeper than I had anticipated. Gold pipes with shiny noses poking out above more brown, the framing of the organ, it seemed like a normal choir room. The students shuffling in, each with their different shape and size. I sat in the back with the rest of my class ready for this excursion to show its true colors. My high school self was sitting there trying to grasp the idea that this would be me one day soon. I had just got dumped 2 weeks prior and the wound was still fresh. I sat, quiet, in the back of that auditorium next to Alex, one of my closest friends. A boy sat on my other side. Alex introduced him to me. His mess of brown curls bounced as he sat down his deep dark freckles and a voice higher than any bass I had ever met. This was Garian. The three of us talked, laughed and caused entirely too much ruckus in the short 50 minutes we were there listening intently to the choir. At the end of what I’m sure was beautiful choir music walked out of that auditorium better friends than eer and I walked out that day having laughed harder than I had in weeks.

Big, green posters littering the walls of every portion of the school telling boys that they better ask to the dance, that “Homecoming is the Bee’s Knees” with a cute little picture of a bee in a suit and everyone was talking about whether or not they were going to go, or who had asked them. The gossip was spreading through the school like a bacteria, infecting each girl who hadn’t been asked yet as they watched their friends pick out their dress and answer in cute clever ways. I had resigned myself that I wasn’t going to go and so had my best friend Rylie but like any teenage girls the hope was still burning within us. We scoped out prospective dates sitting at our locker every day. Pointing and giggling as each cute guy passed by. Trying to brainwash them telepathically into asking us out. Little did we know we would both be asked that night in ridiculously clever ways. I had returned home that night to a giant poster plastered to my wall. It’s black lettering shouting out to be against its white backdrop. This message from a boy asking me to go with him. I bounced into school the next day excited to tell my story and plan what we would do in retaliation. I soon discovered Rylie had been asked that same night, and by a guy she barely knew. This was war. We spent every break between classes brainstorming and trying to plan the best possible response. We settled on one. That night we  gathered our supplies and shoved the massive amounts of rainbow balloons into the back of my friend’s car. We began driving around in search of the house. Finally after 20 minutes of wandering we found it. Knocking on the door we were greeted by the smile of his mother. She let us in and led us to his room. His brown walls were bare and the only furniture in the room was a bed and a blue drumset, set off in the corner. We dumped bag after bag of balloons on the floor, the colors of each bag illuminating the room a little more. We set the poster with a giant “Yes” on the windowsill and left the room, closing the door. Then we took rolls of toilet paper and covered his entire doorframe with a gauzy, white packaging. This is how we left that night, with no idea of his reaction.

Matthew is one of the best people I have ever met. We never really hung out until about halfway through our senior year when fate or circumstance brought us together for a date. Having promised Garian that I would be his first date. I recruited Matthew to help me out. We  had to plan a makeshift date in less than 12 hours in order for me to keep my promise. We sat at the granite countertop in his kitchen throwing ideas at the wall in hopes that one would stick. I was ignoring my stomach’s aching, not wanting to be rude and ask for something to eat. My ache in my stomach begin to claw its way to my vocal cords to voice its displeasure with my lack of nutrients. It was in this moment that I caved to what I thought was rude and simply asked if he had anything I could eat.

“Thank goodness” he said as he pulled out a toaster and some bread “I was afraid to eat anything in front of you”. He looked at me with a big bright grin like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. His teddy bear like cheeks showing his dimples and his whole body giggled as he started to laugh. His laugh was contagious and I couldn't

help the chuckle that escaped my lips as we proceeded to eat the entire loaf as toast. Delicious, delicious toast. Before we knew it the majority of his kitchen was covered in all kinds of breakfast food, from purple jams to orange juice his kitchen had never been so colorful. Between bites of toast and sips of orange juice we laughed and planned this makeshift date in record time, my stomach moaning from laughter and having been fed. From that moment on we were near inseparable.

It was always the four of us. Sitting in Matt’s basement. It’s white walls covered in pictures of temples and Christ, courtesy of Matt’s mother. Every night was a collection of faces. Each night different but almost always those 3, consistent smiles shining through the darkness of the basement brighter than the blue glow of the TV screen. As time passed more faces were added to that brightness. Each smile a reminder of the love around me. Mckay, Austin, Alex, Tiffany, Madelyn, Tyler. Brought together in that mansion of a house. Every day Matt’s car would be outside each of our houses. It’s low rumble a comfort in winter. It’s blasting music a party anthem in the heat. Celebrating the good. Coming together to fix the hardships. Sharing scriptures and testimonies. Crying together, laughing together. 

We were bandits, we were adventurers, we were missionaries and we were friends. It was one of those friendships that just happened and until you look back you had no idea it would change your life. We were slowly approaching the day Matt would go off to college and none of us knew what was going to happen. The night before he left we all sat in his basement. So many people were there but as the night progressed people kept leaving. The night dragged on and it was starting to get late. I looked around me and realized it was just the four of us now, Matt, Rylie, Garian and me, sitting in that basement just like we used to. We decided to go for a drive so we piled into Matt’s car and began to drive. The music was its classic party anthem, the gray leather seats of his van squeaking as each of made even the slightest move. We were laughing and smiling. We found ourselves at the Y parking lot. The music began to mellow down and conversation got deeper. Matt started to talk about how he was afraid to leave. And we all listened. Then one by one we each gave our best advice, sharing a story from the Book of Mormon or our own personal experiences in life. I can only remember one story that was told. Garian said “it was a good day to be good” a saying that quickly became our slogan. In the following months this slogan kept me going. I don’t remember what stories were told that night, but I do remember I have never been so grateful in my entire life. 

It's a good day to be good

 This is not complete. I was having a serious case of writers block and have no idea where to go with this soooo any input would be wonderful! 

Friendship is like a fart. If you have to force it it’s probably crap. It was one of those friendships that just happened and even looking back you have no idea where it started. It starts out as an idea and slowly you’re better friends than you ever thought possible.

This instant connection brought out the best in both of us. “We’re just friends” we would insist when people asked us if we were dating. And we were. It was simple, it was fun. It was friendship in its truest form. I had just graduated and he was only a Junior but despite the age difference we spent every spare moment together, driving to the beach, taking random pictures and having some of the greatest adventures I’ll ever remember.

He would always tell me “it’s a good day to be good” and slowly that became my slogan. Through every bad day and every frustration I was reminded of those words. Then the day came that we decided that our friendship wasn't helping either of us. That maybe we were headed on different paths. That slogan was never so hard to remember.

 “I just feel like you don’t care” I had exclaimed in a fit of emotion in the car one day before bursting into tears. His eyes, confused, like a deer in the headlights as I continued to cry.

“I think it’ll just take time” he replied after what seemed like an eternity. I nodded, not knowing what I had expected. The tears stopped and the loneliness started to sink its way into my heart. I knelt next to my bed that night and began crying even harder than I had earlier that day. I felt a peace that night. I knew it was going to work out.

But life continued.

Me being graduated and his still being in high school made our lives slowly grew apart. Our friendship started falling through the cracks and we either didn't mind or forgot how to care. I slowly felt the loneliness sink back in. I was immobilized. Unable to socialize in any basic form. I felt crippled by the disease of graduation and stuck in a middle ground between high school and college. I was losing my best friend. What was supposed to be a semester break turned out to be a personal torment that filled every inch of my body. Waking up every morning and feeling cold down to my bones. An aching amplified by what felt like the loss of my friend.

I turned to the Lord, searching the scriptures and praying, in hope of an answer, anything to cure the ache of loneliness that I felt every night in bed. Slowly he became my best friend, a comfort in the chaos that was my mind. Every scripture, a  text message from prophets of old to guide. Every prayer, a personal voicemail to my Heavenly Father. They brought comfort. I was filled with a desire to serve, a desire to share what love I was feeling from my wonderful best friend in heaven, my Heavenly Father. 

Cinderella is a Pumpkin

I was kind of annoying. That's just a fact. But she had this ability to get on my every last nerve. She was THAT girl. A teacher had a question and her hand shot up almost immediately. Her answer was always "the best" and about 2 weeks in I knew we were gonna be the best of friends....NOT. But it didn't just stop there. OOOOH NO. She felt it was her place to tell me and my friends how we needed to live our lives. Almost shoving her beliefs down our throats. Everything she did drove me crazy. We would play night games, and I found it immensely obnoxious that she had to be home by 9, not by her parents choice but by hers. This experience made my family joke that she turned into a pumpkin after 10 o'clock. Since that day every time she wears orange to church or anywhere my mom would begin to laugh nudge me in the side and point as discretely as possible to the middle pew. Every time I laughed I knew I should feel bad but I never did. The older I got the more tolerable she became but the more she tried to shove her believes onto me. Criticizing my appearance when I was WAY more stylish than she was and it became sort of a game to the rest of us. Sharing horror stories of things she had done or said. These experiences helped us grow closer together, a bonding agent to each of us. Then one day, it seemed to click to her. She gradually became less and less abrasive and almost, dare I say it? Cool. We all grew up and grew apart. Sometimes I run into her and we talk for a few minutes. Sometimes she says something, and it's just a little off and it makes me remember our younger days and I miss those days. Those simple frustrations that seemed  as such a big deal in the moment now seen through the tinted eyes of nostalgia.

Loneliness and Gratitude

1. Inner Struggles
  I pulled my jacket tighter, the chill of the earth sinking through my shoes as I walked and the January cold that had leaked through into February was soaking through me. Chilling me to my bones. I had woken up that morning ready to turn back over and sleep "just five more minutes". Every ounce of  motivation I had to get up had already drained from my waking body. But I had dragged myself to get ready, barely managing to make my hair and makeup look the least bit presentable. Lost motivation that I still hadn't found two hours into my day. This was the kind of cold I hated. Every part of my body was aching; my hands, my ears, my heart. When I finally made it out of the cold and into my class I sat in the back. Barely managing to keep my eyes open through the 50 minutes of lecture. An engagement, a mission call; these things reminded me of how small I really felt. That somehow these big events in others lives made me look smaller, less important, sending chills down my spine. These big events of others all seemed to be adding weight to the already heavy anvil pushing on my chest. I walked out of class not saying a word to anyone. Back into the cold I nearly sprinted to the library to hide, at least there I didn't look like a loser for having no one to talk to. I sat, absorbing the warmth. Dreading the moment I would have to leave my safe haven. A phone buzzed across from me, a gentle reminder that someone was thinking of her. I pang of jealousy rushed through me. I, unexpectedly, reached for my phone and unlocked it. The screen blank. No friendly red dots to say hello, to remind me of my worth. I opened my computer and began searching through the blues for some kind of human contact. Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr. Slowly corrupting my safe haven into another reminder of my need to be "independent", my need to pretend I'm the "strong silent type". The anvil on my chest grew heavier. Forcing more pressure into my already tightened rib cage. I snapped my computer shut and sat there, wondering how to escape my corrupted safety. So much of me wanting to scream but within the crowded walls of books I stayed silent.
"I'm sorry" I thought.
10 in the morning and I was already apologizing for the way I felt.

2&3 Scripture, Personal and Powerful & A Wilderness Quest
 Growing up in Provo I was born into the LDS faith. For as long as I remember I was taught about Joseph Smith and his trip into the Grove. So when I hit the age of 12 and transferred to Young Women's this didn't change. I was given lesson after lesson about Joseph Smith, we sang about his first vision and other such things. When I went to girls camp my leaders had the wonderful idea of having a scheduled "grove time" where we went as a ward up into the woods and just read our scriptures, prayed, and pondered about life. This was some of the most amazing experiences I ever had. I was in my last year of Girls Camp when I really learned the worth of this activity. It had been a hard year and a lot tougher summer and I was struggling with some major decisions in my life. I was overwhelmed with life and began to doubt myself, my abilities and the timing of Lord. We had "grove time" a lot more than the majority of us would have liked and we were starting to burn out on it. I had decided to restart the book of Mormon in hopes that I could finish it in a timely manner. I sat there next to an aspen tree, burnt out on the "love of nature" everyone claims they have until they are actually confronted with nature. Aimlessly I read, letting my mind wander and letting 3 chapters pass without really knowing what I was reading. All the stresses of my life began to overwhelm me. I stared at those ivory pages and slammed the book shut. I ran my fingers through my smokey, greasy hair and thought of how desperately I wanted a shower. A yawn came to my lips and I tried to hold it back, but the tired overcame me  and I displayed the lack of sleep that I had wanted to hide. I put my head in my hands and let the stresses of life overcome me. I opened my scriptures once more and let the wind decide where I would read. It fell open to Mormon 9. I mindlessly read the chapter when I hit verse 16.
"Behold, are not the things that God hath wrought marvelous in our eyes? Yea, and who can comprehend the marvelous works of God?"
I looked up and realized the beauty that was all around me. Remembering the wonderful blessings that I had and feeling a sense of gratitude. I folded my arms and thanked the Lord.
The rest of girls camp was one of the best ones I'd ever had.

Space, The Final Frontier

If you ask any woman above the age of 50 who their favorite speaker at General Conference is they will no doubt say Elder Dieter F Uchtdorf is in their top 3. When you ask them why, they will simply reply with "he's such a hunk". But there's more to Elder Uchtdorf than just his looks. This General Conference his talk was definitely one of my favorites.
He's known for his stories on aviation and this conference he didn't disappoint. Right off the bat he recalls some experiences from his flying days. He uses amazing imagery through this to help us picture what he was seeing. Allusion is a tool he uses throughout his talk. Continuing with the space and flight theme he talks about our understanding of the universe. Showing us how really small we are and how throughout history we've grown to understand the universe more and more. He then compares this to the gospel. It is almost chiasmus in it's form. This analogy is one that stays present throughout his entire talk. He breaks down the gospel to its simplest form and though he uses figurative language and amazing imagery he doesn't over complicate it with bells and whistles. He tells it like it is, and this is something that is true of all the speakers.
My favorite part of his talk, and the part that I felt was the most powerful is his use of imagery. He describes light, in both the stars and just the light of the truth of the gospel, and this continued and repetitive theme hit me harder and harder every time he came back to it. He compares the gospel to light. And one of my favorite quotes from his talk is "The process of gaining spiritual light is a process of a lifetime". This shows to us the importance of the gospel always being a present "light" in our lives.
Though he is telling it how it is, he isn't beating us down. It is agreed among many that the most memorable quote of his entire talk is " There is no sign on the door that says 'your testimony must be this tall to enter'" This is also an amazing example of him creating ethos, humor, to calm his audience and relate to them on a deeper level.

"Oh good"

If I was asked to give one word describing Elder Holland it would easily be, blunt. No sugar frosting, no cherry on top, not the slightest been of gooey, cheesy, fluff that we so often want to hear in talks. He says it plain and simple. Because of that he is easily one of the most popular speakers in the Mormon world.

Marion G Romney said “I always know when I am speaking under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost because I always learn something from what I've said" This is something I believe Elder Holland would agree with. He starts out simply, asking the audience to be respectful, something not often said across the pulpit. By doing this he is setting a serious tone and establishing his Ethos for the whole rest of the meeting, not just his talk. He then continues to a topic that we all know to be a serious one, reinforcing the tone he previously set.

Elder Holland mainly uses Logos throughout this entire talk, speaking of doctrine, telling stories and research studies all about the seriousness of human intimacy. But he doesn't only use logos. At one specific point he really hit me hard, pulling out the Pathos in his argument. He is talking about the seriousness of purity and how it is the worst sin other than murder. He then compares sexual transgression to the taking of a life and how in control we all are when it comes to taking care of other people's lives. We don't walk up to someone and put a gun to their head and pull the trigger hoping the gun won't go off and think;
"Oh good, I didn't go all the way"
To me, this is the point where his Ethos is the strongest. This, I believe, would be one of those "inspired one liners" that Neal A. Maxwell was talking about.

Through his use of Ethos, Pathos, and Logos Elder Holland is one of the most straight forward and powerful speakers out there, and that is definitely an example of that.

Rough Around the Edges

Mission farewells are possibly my favorite. The summer after my Senior year of High School, boy, there was a lot of 'em. It was the summer after the age changed from 19 to 18 for guys to leave and there were weeks I was at 2-3 farewells instead of my own ward. These were all the guys I grew up with, some I barely knew and some who were my very best friends.

It was a typical Sunday. Trying to bounce from one Sacrament meeting to the next and make it on time to hear all my boys speak. This meeting started out pretty average; a hymn, opening prayer and the sacrament service, then a speaker and it was time for the missionary. FINALLY what I had come to hear.

 He was a football player, one I'd heard more about than I actually knew. I'd become better friends with him throughout my senior year but I'm not sure how justified I was in being there. He was tough. Maybe a little rough around the edges. In no way was I prepared for what he was about to say. I have no idea what the majority of his talk was about, probably Christ, his path to his mission, something along those lines (that's what they're all about right?). All I remember is the story he told. 

The story was called "The Room" By Joshua Harris. I had never heard the story before that day. But I remember listening to that boy who was a little rough around the edges tell this story. This AMAZING story of the Atonement made my eyes start to swell. Tears started rolling down my cheeks and it hit me harder than any hit that boy had taken in any game, and trust me, he was a line backer. Never had I known that literature, a story, a simple silly story, could make me feel what I was feeling. After that meeting I barely made time to say goodbye to him. I gave him a quick hug and rushed home, afraid the tears would come back.

 About a week later I looked that story up and read it again, and again, and again. Each time the story elicited the same response as it did that Sunday prior. To this day it is a story I hold close to my heart. 

Simple.

I've always known the simplicity of the gospel. I never really understood how simple it could be. The reliable truths always seemed to be just beyond my fingertips, but at the age of 13 the words he spoke aloud seemed to shake me to the very core, a permanent reminder.

It was a simple talk of the pre-mission variety. The brother of a friend testifying of his knowledge of the gospel. His reasons to go.

He spoke of Joseph Smith, reciting the story I'd heard dozens of times. He then spoke of science. The sun rising and setting and all the physics behind it. Something I was only beginning to understand. He then said something that I still remember almost word for word.

"If I told you that we were on a giant rock orbiting and exploding star at exactly the right distance not to burn up or freeze to death and while all this is going on the giant rock is also spinning at exactly the right speed as to not throw us all off you would look at me a little weird. And yet we all believe the sun will come up tomorrow and it will set tonight. How is it that it is easier to believe all of that then it is to believe that a 14 year old boy was telling the truth about seeing God?"

It was simple. From my pew my 13 year old gears were turning. All of sudden everything clicked. A snowball affect of realization all in my young mind. Years of over complication calmed by this premi's words.  This was something I had never experienced. Never had anyone spoken such simple terms and testified of Joseph Smith. Those words I have never forgotten.