Sharing and Responding

I sent an email to the people in my family, explaining to them a bit why I was asking them to view/read this. I also spoke with my sister and mother on the phone to tell them more about it. With my roommates, I approached them in person and asked if they would be willing to read it and share their thoughts. My friend from high school and work I was a little more careful about approaching because we hadn’t spoken in quite a while. I texted one of them and Facebook messaged the other and we chatted about life and caught up before I mentioned anything about the essay. I also tried to bring the topic up in conversation so it didn’t seem like I was using them. I actually had my mom share my essay with my former seminary teacher, simply because he is super technologically challenged and wouldn’t read in unless it was in his hand.

I’ve talked to almost everyone I personally shared it with and will hopefully speak with my seminary teacher over the break, looking for opinions and reflections on what they read. I talked a lot more in depth with my roommates about the subject matter and we all had a big heart to heart where we talked about hard things we had gone through and things we missed and such. It was actually a really beneficial thing for us to do because it helped us form a deeper connection and get out of our own bubble and understand everyone else’s bubble for once.

My sister was an interesting one to share it with (she’s the one mentioned first in the essay) because it’s a topic we’ve spoken about quite frequently over the years. She was actually really surprised by some of the things I wrote because she’d never thought about it in that way. We went through almost the same experience and we were there together at both funerals, but there’s a fourteen year age gap between us that distinguished the experience. It was kind of a bonding experience and just a learning experience in general.

Sharing Katie’s essay with my friend from high school was such an incredible experience, because she was actually baptized while we were sophomores. She mentioned a time where we had gone to the park for lunch and ended up just talking about life and she told me that that was the first time she had ever thought she might want something more in life. I vaguely remember the conversation, but it made an impact on her as I shared my stories and thoughts, similarly to how Katie and her friends sat in the car and shared stories. It was a very uplifting and completely unexpected experience.

Report Draft: G - Initial Responses

In getting initial responses, it seems like not many people posted their personal essays publicly on social media. Because of this, we don't have many examples of casual responses (likes on Facebook, etc.). We did have a few people get likes on Instagram and Facebook though.

However, we did get a lot of personal interaction responses. Jeremy and Andrew both had similar experiences sharing with their friends. After good responses from their friends, both Jeremy and Andrew plan to talk to their friends further about their personal essays over Christmas break.

Tori, however, didn't have such luck. Tori tried to contact a friend through Facebook, but her friend was unresponsive. Without other contact information, Tori is still awaiting a reply. This is an example of how social media may have not been the most effective sharing method.

Scott sent a personal message to a friend who he had not spoken with for over four years. In the conversation he had with this friend, they reconnected and talked about getting lunch sometime with their childhood crew. Scott was glad that he shared his essay, since this gave him a reason to contact him.

Ryan Parker was able to connect with an old mission companion about a tough experience they both shared. They were able to understand each other better, and this helped them to relate more. However, Ryan's old mission companion asked him to not share the essay publicly on social media since it was so personal. Some essays may not be suitable for public exposure online.

Elijah had a good experience talking on the phone with a friend about his personal essay. Elijah noted that it was natural and personal to reconnect over the phone. These personal essays can be a good way to start conversations and renew old friendships.

Ryan W shared an essay by Viridiana with a member from Argentina who said he would share the essay with at least 5 people he knows well. This shows the great missionary opportunity that can come from such personal, natural essays that share our beliefs.

Nine Days Difference

An essay by Ally Jensen

Two funerals, nine days, and a lifetime of changes.

Till We Meet Again

The sun shined down on our youthful faces as we played in the open field.

“Red rover, red rover!” We called, making the request for the next friend to run across the open distance and fling themselves upon our clasped hands in the hopes of breaking through the connection. Shrieks of joy and cries of encouragement filled the open air. Thistles coated my socks by the time my sister came to collect me.

“It’s time to start,” she told me softly. Sensing her somber tone, I followed her into the funeral home to say our final farewells to my grandmother. It was dark and uncomfortable in the old musty building. It smelled like death (a scent I related to moth balls) and the floral arrangements did little to mask the scent.

My feet scraped lightly on the ground as I swung my legs back and forth carelessly. My family all sat on the same pew, me sandwiched in between my older sister and my father. A hand settled on my knee, a silent reminder to be patient until the very end. Obediently, I stopped swinging my legs and instead focused on looking at the people around me.

Most of them I had never met before and I found them interesting to look at. There was a lady in the back wearing the most absurd hat and a man in the row opposite of us wearing one of those silly ties they wear in the western shows my dad watched sometimes. Returning my attention back to the front, I curiously looked at the coffin where my grandmother lay. She looked just like always, old, wrinkly, and grumpy.

The goodbye to my grandmother was simple. By the time I was old enough to remember her she had already lost her mind. The few times we spent together consisted of repeating the same conversation over and over for hours. I did not feel a great loss at her departure from this earth and the moment the service was over I joined the flock of children playing in the field once again.

Fast forward to nine days later.

Again we gathered as a family, but this time to say goodbye to my dad. His death was unexpected and startling to all who knew him; a heart attack that came out of nowhere.

 It had only been two weeks since my grandmother’s funeral, but somewhere in that time I had matured from my childish ten-year-old self into a young adult who was lost in a sea of grief. Thrust into this world that was cruel and terrifying, I refused to be left alone.

The children called to me, their voices which seemed so tempting two weeks before, held no appeal for me now. I would not leave the comfort of those closest to me.

Although I felt completely lost, we were not alone. I can hear the voices of the congregation singing, the stake center chapel and cultural hall both filled to the brim with people coming to mourn with those who mourn.

The melody flowed over me, consuming every facet of my mind.

God be with you till we meet again

The words were too difficult for me to get out. Emotions overwhelmed me and I wept for the loss of the man who was my best friend.

Words came from those who gathered, many with tears streaming down their faces as they hugged me and whispered in my ear: “Everything will be okay.”

I didn’t believe them.

Their words of comfort held the opposite effect on me. Instead of feeling relief I felt distress. How on earth was this person able to understand what I was feeling and then on top of that believe that it was going to be okay? They lost a friend but I had lost much more than that.

They didn’t understand.

My best friend came over a couple days before the funeral. She brought a little game that I was extremely fond of playing when I went to her house and told me “you can borrow it until you feel better.”

I was angry.

How could she pretend that a dumb game would help me feel better? It’s the thought that counts, but it often doesn’t help.

I cried. A lot.

It was overcast but warm as we gathered at the gravesite after the funeral service and again the familiar tune was played.

God be with you till we meet again

Never before had I understood the sorrow that Moroni must have felt when his people and his family were destroyed. Loneliness consumed my entire being and I didn’t understand why good people must die before their time.

Till we meet, till we meet,

Till we meet at Jesus’ feet,

Till we meet, till we meet,

God be with you till we meet again.

These words that we were singing as a final farewell to my father were not meant to come from us but to comfort us.

I heard them as from the voice of my dad, comforting me once more even though he was already gone.

God be with you till we meet again

When life’s perils thick confound you

Put his arms unfailing round you

God be with you till we meet again

A Language of Her Own

The first time I saw Sydney I thought she was a homeless person. 

I was unable to decide if she was male or female. She sat at the kitchen table speaking with my mother as if they were old friends. I did the awkward hello that usually happens when strangers invade your house. She said something back and then pretended as if she knew me. She was shocked at how much I had grown and I was shocked at the fact that she wasn't some homeless person that my mom was giving dinner to.

She had an interesting tone to her voice, one that comes from being unable to hear what you are saying. Her voice faded in and out and it was hard to discern what she was saying. As she spoke with her guttural voice, she also spoke with her hands, mixing gestures with sign language into a unique language of her own.

The moment she stepped out the door, I turned to my mother and inquired about their relationship. Turns out she was a friend of my dad’s, from years ago. They formed a bond over their deafness. A sort of bond like that cannot be faked, because unless someone has gone through it themselves, they have no chance of understanding. I can still remember Sydney’s face as she said how sad she was that he was gone and that she hadn't even known until nearly eight years after the funeral.

As I learned more about her, my feelings and regard for this strange woman shifted from wariness and fear, to warmth and understanding. She was a survivor, a woman made rough by the trials of life, but with a heart that still beats warm under the thick skin she grew.

A lesson well learned, an outward appearance does not always portray the true depth of a person. 

Homeless but Hopeful

Physical Experience

The sound of the hose running reminds me of the intricate cities I used to make in my oversized sandbox at home. We would set the hose up and the water would begin on a mountain on one side and wind its way through the entire canal-like system we built. Many moments of my childhood were centered on this sandbox that my father had made for me when I was very young. It was the only thing that connected me to home when we moved across the country from Colorado to Florida. I had to leave my sandbox behind, along with everything else that was familiar to me.

The only redeemable thing I found about Florida was the fact that my sandbox had just gotten bigger. I hated the weather, I hated the people, I hated everything about the move, but when we were at the beach it felt like the world was my sandbox. The grains of sand running through my fingers, swishing between my toes. The smell of wet sand as I molded it into cities, each more grand than the last.

Scenes

We’re sitting in a circle on the floor of the church gym. Close, but not touching. It’s loud outside as people collect their children while mothers chat and fathers joke. Inside the gym it’s quiet, almost eerily so, other sounds fading completely into the background. We’re young, ranging in age from seven to nine, and there’s at most six of us. We wait in anticipation as someone stands in the corner and shuts off the lights. Everyone is tense, waiting for the slightest shift in the air, no one daring to breathe. Then suddenly a squeal erupts from one of the younger girls and sets of a cacophony of screams. The lights flicker back on and we look at each other with wide eyes.

“I felt it.” A timid voice says.

Agreement is heard from several others. Panicked that there really were evil spirits lingering around we stood and raced out into the safely of the hallway, away from all thoughts of devilish hauntings. Safe and sound until we dared each other to do it again the next week.

Speech

I hear the sound of my father’s voice as we prepare to sit down to dinner with the elders. It’s deeper than average, and wavers a bit in tone as he tells a story. His animated voice carries into the kitchen, making all pause to listen. His animated nature draws people to him, without even being aware of it.

I hear his voice as he sings softly during church, avoiding drawing attention to himself but wanting so badly to be a part of the music. His voice does not match perfectly with the rest of the congregation, but it does not stand out.

There are words he does not pronounce right. Certain sounds that make him sound like a child learning to read. Silent letters and weird shifts in tone mean nothing to him. His deafness completely changes his entire communication process.

Emotion in the Moment

I remember being happy. It was a normal day, it was even a bit brighter than most.

I remember the excitement I felt at going out to dinner. The ancicipation that had been building all 

week.

I remember being impatient, wanting it to be time to eat already.

I remember the excitement as I rushed up the stairs at the sound of my mother’s scream.

I remember the fear I felt. The confusion. The distress.

I remember calling my sister, trying to explain the situation as best I could. My phrases were broken up and my heart was lodged firmly in my stomach.

I remember the fear I felt when I had to explain to her that they were taking dad to the hospital. The panicked feeling when I couldn’t get the words out to explain.

I remember the anger I felt when she didn’t understand.

I remember feeling like I was all alone. I felt more afraid then I’ve ever felt before in my life.

I remember feeling empty. Knowing before they said anything that he was already gone.

I remember the haunting feeling of sleeping in my house with someone missing from the picture.

People of Consequence

In my life I have met several select individuals that stand out in my memory. I have a bad habit of running around downtown when I get overwhelmed with emotions. Doesn’t matter the time or the place, it’s my only way to find relief.

On one particular occasion I had been running for almost an hour when I tripped and fell. I just sat there on the sidewalk for several minutes, unable to pull myself up and keep moving.

Suddenly I heard a voice. I didn’t believe they were talking to me so I ignored it. Again I heard them. 

They didn’t say they anything important, just asked how I was.

At first I was annoyed because obviously I was not doing well, but then I looked up and saw this man who was obviously not doing well in life.

He was dressed poorly, with rags and he appeared to not have showered recently. He was someone that I often would go out of my way to avoid when I saw them on the street, and yet he didn’t hesitate to come up to me. In fact, he was the only one who stopped.

He said a few words to me and we had a brief but inspiring conversation. His final words to me were, “keep your head up hun, the world is a piece of [crap] but you can find the beauty of it when you look.”

This man who I met by chance and have never seen since, he had more of an impact on my life than almost anyone else I’ve ever met. 

Elder Dallin H. Oaks: Words of the Wise

While I enjoyed all the general conference talks I was able to hear, this past conference (October 2014) I really connected with Dallin H. Oaks’ talk in the Saturday afternoon session, entitiled "Loving Others and Living With Differences". He spoke about the importance of loving everyone, not just those we are familiar with. In the October 2012 general conference Elder Oaks spoke about the importance of protecting the children. (See "Protect the Children").

Both of these topics require a certain finesse to pull off without becoming “preachy”. Elder Oaks quite frequently uses quotes to improve his ethos and to have real life connections. When discussing the importance of loving others Elder Oaks quotes over ten scriptures in just the first section of his sermon. He really is appealing to the fact that Christ has told us that we must love other people. Emphasizing the scriptural content puts credibility behind the topic instead of him simply telling us that all people are worth loving.

On the contrary, however, is his talk entitled “Protect the Children”. In this talk his ethos is based more on statistics and quotes from news sources. They still prove his credibility, but in a completely different way and in a way that allows the audience to be broadened.

He discusses laws of the land in both of the talks I analyzed. He references the importance of “being in the world, but not of the world” on several occasions. This helps him to address the struggle that Latter-day Saints go through as they try to understand the evil that is in the world.

While not known to be a powerhouse speaker (such as Elder Holland), Elder Oaks still has a way of getting the point lodged into our minds. 

Questions & Conversations

“And Zeezrom said unto him, ‘Thou sayest there is a true and living God?’

And Amulek said, ‘Yea, there is a true and living God.’

Now Zeezrom said: Is there more than one God?

And he answered, ‘No.’

Now Zeezrom said ‘unto him again: How knowest thou these things?’

And he said: ‘An angel hath made them known unto me.’

And Zeezrom said again: ‘Who is he that shall come? Is it the Son of God?’

And he said unto him, ‘Yea.’

And Zeezrom said again: ‘Shall he save his people in their sins?’

And Amulek answered and said unto him: ‘I say unto you he shall not, for it is impossible for him to deny his word.’

Now Zeezrom said unto the people: ‘See that ye remember these things; for he said there is but one God; yet he saith that the Son of God shall come, but he shall not save his people—as though he had authority to command God.’”

At this point Zeezrom is questioning Amulek regarding the gospel. Amulek responds simply and to the point, nothing glamorous about his answers. I particularly find this part effective because he is very direct. A lot of times when people ask questions they are given vague answers. “Pray about it” converts are often told, but at the same time it is important to have the background so you know what to pray about in the first place.

It is a very effective rhetorical approach to have the conversation written out as dialogue, because it allows the reader to understand and have their own questions answered.

Also, it is notable that the language is not particularly fancy. Often times these great sermons are preached with such eloquent language that the basic point can be lost in translation.

The Perfect Balance

Elder Holland is one of the most popular speakers, for a variety of reasons. As a speaker he has the ability to completely tear down all the false pretenses we have and speak directly to our souls. The majority of the reason he is able to do this is because of his powerful words and the rhetoric he uses to address his audience.

Approaching the topic of his talk Elder Holland addresses his goal.

“I wish to speak,” he says, “to the best of my ability, on why we should be clean, on why moral discipline is such a significant matter in God's eyes. I know that may sound presumptuous, but a philosopher once said, tell me sufficiently why a thing should be done, and I will move heaven and earth to do it. Hoping you will feel the same way as he and fully recognizing my limitations, I wish to try to give at least a partial answer to ‘Why be morally clean?’”

Beginning this way, he combines both pathos and logos to appeal to the audience. The pathos comes as he quotes a philosopher and tells a story. The logos appears more as he explains and helps us understand the reasoning behind why we do (or do not) participate in certain activities.

He is, in a way, able to walk the line that so many others struggle to find. His talks are so perfectly balanced—and real—that people have to pause what they are doing to listen.

That is ultimately the reason why Elder Holland is such a powerful speaker. He approaches with enough love to make us want to listen, but then his argument is so incredibly forceful and accurate that we can’t stop listening. 

The Power of Dialogue

   1.       Form Analyzed

I decided to look at language, particularly the use of dialogue in my section and how it affects the overall message of the passage.  

    2.      Passage Analyzed

I analyzed the section from Alma 8 to Alma 15:2, particularly the section where Zeezrom questions Amulek.

    3.      Annotated Text

             

   

   4.      Breakdown / Listing of things found:

As seen by the underlined portion of my annotations, almost the entire section is back and forth between Zeezrom and Amulek. It is set up as a traditional conversation with the dialogue.

   5.      Interpretation:

The layout and the quotation marks in particular make the book read like a novel. It puts into place a new perspective on the Book of Mormon and it is easier to understand the back and forth nature of conversations. It allows the reader to connect more with the characters and they become real people instead of just words on a page.

    6.      Connections / Questions:

Conversation is one of the main forms of communication. By putting spoken conversation into the form of dialogue on the page it changes the perspective of the reader. Is this a common occurrence throughout the entire book, or is it limited to different sections? 

Do Your Best, God Will Do The Rest

I’ve always been impressed by someone who can step up to the podium at a sacrament meeting and successfully walk the line between reading straight off their prepared talk and rambling about random tangents that are in no way related to the subject.

I am one of those people who is constantly correcting people’s grammar in my mind. There are days when I realized that I spent the entire fifteen minutes someone was talking, simply editing their work and not reaping any benefits from what they were saying. It is for this reason in particular that I value form and organization in public speaking.

When someone has a really well phrased speech, and then they have stories to keep me interested, and then they bring things to my attention that I had never really thought of, that is when I get the most out of a talk.

My last bishop in my home singles ward was the perfect example. He spoke recently about a variety of struggles that he has observed during his time of being the bishop of a YSA ward. His points were solid, but there wasn’t much that I hadn’t already heard time and time again.

Why then was I still riveted? What made his delivery of the topic so relieving compared to others?

Style. Tone. Form.

First off, he was confident in what he was saying. There was no “umm”-ing or hesitancy.

Secondly, he didn’t lecture us, but he wasn’t giving us a feel good talk either. He was being real.

Third, his form was impeccable. He gave stories and metaphors that we could relate to on a personal level. He had order in his talk, but it was not rigid structure. 

That is the fine line that I believe we must follow. We must do our best and bring what we have prepared and then we must be willing to let the Holy Ghost direct us and influence those in attendance.

It Is The Bosom That Burns

My favorite line from Orson Whitney’s Home Literature speech is as follows: 

“The intellect may shine, but it is the bosom that burns, and warms into life 

every movement that is born to bless humanity.” 

When addressing matters of the spirit, it is important to remember that whatever is being said is framed in a way that is factually correct and in a way that can inspire people. 

Photo Cred: www.lovethispic.com

How often have we spent an hour in Sunday school listening to the teacher with half a mind and no desire to connect with the lesson? Contrary to that, how many times have we learned and taken away significantly more, simply because we found our connection and it opened up our heart, which in turn opened up our mind?

In the preface to Nephi Anderson’s Added Upon, he mentions that “It is suggestive only; but it is hoped that the mind of the reader, illumined by the Spirit of the Lord, will be able to fill in all the details that the heart may desire.”As an author, especially in the Mormon Literature Genre, he understands that two different people will take away two completely different opinions of the book. While that is one of the amazing things about human nature, it also proves to be a difficult challenge to approach. 

Anderson relies on the Spirit to fill in the missing parts of his novel. He provides the basis and the story, but for many there will be no takeaway, unless they open their hearts as they are using their minds. After all, even God said that he will tell us both in our mind and in our heart (D&C 8:2).

My Lifelong Sing-A-Long

In elementary school I would sit on the swings and sing songs with my friends. As my life shifted and I went through a lot of painful experiences, I went from skipping and singing random songs I would make up on my way home from school, to sobbing my heart out as musicians expressed feelings that I had, but couldn't put into words.

After the death of my grandmother and my dad, we moved across the country. As a shy girl in a new place with people missing from my life, I became overwhelmed with no outlet for my emotions. I would scream at the top of my lungs internally and yet on the outside I just went about my own business. It was unacceptable to show the negative feelings I had within me, so I buried them deep. And true to what is said, once I kept too much inside, I exploded.

Interestingly enough, the first thing that came out were my words. Words poured out from the very depths of my soul. I wrote almost constantly, putting all the pain I had been feeling, but was unable to express, onto paper. From the moment I started, I couldn't stop. Notebooks were filled with lyrics of all kinds. If I couldn't find paper, my arm worked just as well and many pairs of jeans were ruined with the ink of my emotions that I could not hold in. 

It’s been almost ten years since I filled that first notebook and still the lyrics are in me. It’s my way of keeping an emotional journal, and it is amazing to read through the utterly raw emotions and feelings that can be expressed in such a beautiful, simple way.