Come Quickly

It was late November, and winter had come early. I had spent the first part of the day on the ski-slopes with my brothers, because it was the first day of the ski season, and also our first day of Thanksgiving break. We had gone to visit my grandparents, and I was weary and sore. I strained to listen to my grandma’s feeble voice as my cousins raucously played in the basement. I struggled to remain alert as her speech was hardly audible, and I was drowsy. She had been in a wheelchair for years, and was always shaking with Parkinson’s. Her mind was still there, but it took an eternity for her to express anything. Between sentences she would occasionally pause to gently slurp Ensure-her primary form of sustenance-through a straw. The liquid was dried in yellowish beads on her cracked lips and I couldn’t keep my mind on what she was muttering. So I excused myself quickly, assuming she would be in better shape the next time I saw her, and I could talk to her then.

The day after Thanksgiving my Grandma had a stroke. At 11, I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it sounded bad. I tried to brush off the thoughts that started coming to my mind. I hadn’t ever known anyone that had died, so that was just a morbid thought to have, right? The next day we got a phone call, and my Mom answered the phone. When I saw the look on her face I knew something was wrong. I rushed to the caller ID and discovered that it was my Grandpa Nielson. When my Mom hung up she turned and started speaking. As the words spilled from her mouth I felt empty inside. The words blurred in my ears, and try as I might to unhear them I knew their meaning instantly. But it wasn’t until I reflected on the last time I had spent with my Grandma that the full wave of emotion hit me. I was filled to the brim with regret. I surely should have shared more than a few cursory seconds with her a few days previously, but how could I have known? The only solace I found was in my belief that I could meet her again after this life, and over the years, I let it go.

Recently (now that more than a decade has passed) my wife and I were driving with my Grandpa to visit my parents. My niece, Julia, had just been born, and was named after my Grandmother. Consequently, we began to talk about her. My Grandpa stammered off intermittently while we talked to him, his once sharp mind clouded with cobwebs. Yet he recalled with precision the last days of his beloved wife’s life, though it has now been many years. His eyes looked wistfully through mine, into a seemingly not-so distant past, and I could feel that his life had passed away as if it were a dream.

He spoke of the last night they had spent together. It was uneventful, and they were watching the news. She told him she wanted to go to bed, but he wanted to stay up to see the score from a basketball game. So he carried her to the bedroom and went back to watching the news. That was the last time he heard her voice. The next morning she was lethargic and comatose, and my Grandpa called the ambulance.

They had a family dinner planned the next day with my aunt, and my Grandpa was back and forth between the hospital and helping set up for my aunt’s dinner. Then around four in the afternoon my Grandpa got a call from my uncle who was at the hospital, and he merely said “come quickly.” Before my Grandpa could arrive she had already slipped beyond his reach. As my Grandpa reflected on it, he groaned, feeling that he should have known to cancel the dinner so he could have been there in his wife’s passing moments.

My Grandpa started his next sentence, “Julia always…” and then stuttered off. I had barely noticed, but he hadn’t struggled for words at all as he reflected on his beloved companion. We drove on, and soon the topic had passed, but his difficulty expressing himself brought back the memories of my Grandmother so many years earlier. The importance of each moment was deeply impressed on me, and I resolved to make the moments that I had with my family count. But as I pondered further, I realized that even my Grandfather, one of my greatest role models, had been unable to give a final farewell as he wished. Although it is our accumulation of many moments with family and friends that matter, for some reason the final moments-no matter how trivial- always weigh the heaviest on our minds.

Perhaps that reason is that we remain uncertain of our ability to resolve the meaninglessness of those parting moments. As much as my Grandfather believes (and I believe) the words of the Book of Mormon prophet Alma that ‘there is a time appointed that all shall come forth from the dead’ and Paul’s that ‘as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive’, these words provide only hope and not complete assurance. In this life we still walk by faith, not by sight, as faith has never been a perfect knowledge. And so, part of our human experience is being separated from those we love, looking forward with hope to our reunification, with an incomplete yet resolute faith.

Touching Lives

Monday through Friday, during the 2009-2010 and 2010-2011 school years I would walk into a classroom filled with other high schoolers of all ages each morning. Our teacher would sit in the middle of the long line of tables, with her large print scriptures, each verse highlited in a different color that I’m sure meant something to her. The room was always filled with shining happy faces. We were the lucky 7:30 class, which starkly contrasts with the emotion filling my 5:45 class the two following school years. Of course there were some faces with the clear distain for their parents forcing them to come that morning, but the smiles from the other students of the class typically drowned out the dreariness emanating from those few rebellious bodies.

One smile in particular always shined brightly, even though you wouldn’t expect it. His name was Jared. He was a year older than me, had shaggy brown hair, spoke American Sign Language, and always had a friendly demeanor.

I remember in particular the days that we would play competitive games in class, scripture chases were the most common element in these games. Jared would get so involved in these that you just had to smile at his enthusiasm and team support. He turned out to be a great friend of mine.

My sophomore year things changed. I was at a leadership workshop when I received a text, “Did Jared’s Mom really die?” I wasn’t at school, so I was filled with shock and didn’t know if this was true or just a rumor going around that day. When I arrived back at school that afternoon I found out that it had not been a rumor and that she was gone. It was at this time that I saw a change in Jared. He obviously was overtaken by sadness and remorse for the immediate period after her death, but as he came out of those emotions, he was more compassionate, he had more love in his eyes for those around him. His cheery disposition returned and we spent the rest of the year laughing through our 7:30 class.

I was filled with sadness when it was announced that the 7:30 class would be canceled and I would have to go to a class with a different group of people for my last two years of high school. I would still see the members of my prier class in school though, so I would be alright. However, I came to find out that Jared and his family would be moving to Arizona, so I would no longer see him at school. I was sad as he walked out of my life and the joyous spirit he always brought left our school community.

Life went on though. I had other friends who brought true joy and happiness to my life. I did miss Jared, but I saw he was doing well in Arizona; I was happy for him.

But one day it all changed.

Facebook posts started surfacing on his wall, “I can’t believe you’re gone.” I read through them and froze in complete and utter fear. Was he really gone? He was a senior in high school, preparing to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I was in denial. I’m sure this was how King Limhi’s wife felt when she was told her husband was dead. She stood in complete denial of the situation at hand. She could not bring herself to believe or admit that he was gone. It was the same way with my own feelings.

It was a time of complete confusion. I didn’t know what was true and if he was really gone. But, there was no way Jared could be gone just like that. I couldn’t come to accept it until his brother posted that it was true. He really was gone.

I cried. I felt empty. I didn’t know how someone so full of life could be gone in an instant. He hadn’t even graduated high school yet.

At his funeral, I sat holding the hand of one my best friends, weeping for the life that was lost. I listened to the people who spoke of him and looked around at the hundreds of people that filled the room to support his family and to celebrate his life. People from school, church, karate, the ASL community, and more filled the chapel of the church that day. I don’t think anyone made it through the funeral with a dry eye.

This funeral is one of the most impactful moments in my life; I realized that in his short life Jared had effected so many people, he had accomplished so much, he had made such a difference. We don’t know the span of our life or the lives of those around us, but that doesn't mean we should live in fear of it being cut short. We should live as Jared did, with a smile on our face and with all the gusto we can muster. 

The Bumpy Tan Walls of 1343

It changed so much, but it still remains the same. When my parents first moved in, each room had a different color of carpet. It was the 70’s then, so the previous owners weren’t shy on their color choices either—red, orange, blue, green…all bright, shaggy, and blinding. But things eventually changed there. Tan carpet replaced the rainbow floor, and burgundy carpet was laid carefully in the master bedroom. It was a simple improvement to make the house a home.

This home over the years welcomed and housed eight children and two hard working parents. It was always busy—everyone doing his or her own thing, rushing here and there. But somehow amidst the hustle and bustle, life was simpler there, and almost always peaceful. However, a battle would surmount every mealtime, as we all would try to squeeze through the small doorframe from the living room to the kitchen to try to sit by mom for dinner.

We sat at a beautiful oval mahogany table. There were a few dents and scratches, but not enough to detract my mom’s ever-pleasing stare at her beautiful table. A leaf was constantly placed in this table, as our family was just too big to not have the extra space. Metal folding chairs with lightly padded cushions surrounded the table, as beautiful wood chairs would never fit us all. The kitchen cabinets were dark, old, and stained with spilled milk, water, juice, and even crumbs that wouldn’t seem to go away. A cold, red linoleum countertop covered the counters and spread up the walls to serve as a backsplash. It was rather ugly, but this was home, and this was our childhood.

My dad worked six days a week, and put all of his energy into his job. It seemed to suck the life out of him; but he wanted to provide for our family, as well as keep the family business alive. He was more dedicated than he was awake sometimes. He came home every day, exhausted, only to have more work to do at home. He laid on his bed and turned on his shows (confiscating the remote from whoever had it before). He would watch his shows, sift through bids, and munch on a few chocolate covered malt balls before dinner. After barely making ends meet each year—year after year, my parents finally had enough money to remodel the house. My dad’s hard work was paying off, and my mom could finally dream of a newer and prettier home to house her family.

The tiny kitchen doorframe was covered, and a big opening was made in the kitchen to allow for an easy flow of traffic. Beautiful cherry wood, with just a simple clear coat of glaze was laid on the floor. The ever so light olive green paint was replaced by a neutral tan color—but the bumps all over the walls remained. After hours and hours my mother’s new, and one of a kind textured ceiling was complete, patterned after her own design. Crown molding was hung, baseboards laid. Fresh new tan carpet was laid—even in the master bedroom. New cabinets were installed—almost a caramel honey color, and smooth to the touch, with little silver knobs. The check that I had let slip behind the red linoleum backsplash years ago was discovered; still in its envelope just waiting to be found. Beautiful countertops were placed atop the new cabinets—a marble effect to linoleum. It was beautiful, it became home once again.

A large rug was purchased to help protect my mom’s cherry floor, and to protect our knees as we knelt each morning for family prayer. The same couches that we had had forever, surrounded this new rug, with my dad’s new leather recliner at the head. The couches…had this smell…a smell of home. It was a combination of my family’s scents engrained into the fabric. The wood floor beneath us was much more smooth than our old rough carpet that had been in the living room previously. Our scripture cases slid under the couch with such ease each morning as we finished our family study. Some mornings, if we weren’t careful, we could push too hard and the scriptures would slide all the way under the couch and come out the other side. This was home.

My family’s home changed over the years, but so did the people in it. We grew, we loved, and we played in that house. We gained our testimonies, we shared our sorrows, and we shared our joys. The bumpy tan walls protected us from the outside world. The bumpy tan walls were a place of refuge for our family. The bumpy tan walls heard us learn to read at five years old, as we stumbled over words like Zarahemla and Ishmaelites, and zoom over phrases like “and it came to pass”—which is a common phrase in the Book of Mormon. The bumpy tan walls welcomed our daily morning scripture study. The bumpy tan walls heard us talk to God, plead for each other’s protection, and give our grateful hearts to the Lord. The bumpy tan walls encompassed us and made a home much more than just a place to live.

But in 2006 the bumpy tan walls became smooth tan walls as my dad built my mom her dream house just one mile north. The new home has encompassed our family, and housed many memories, sorrows, and triumphs of our lives now. It is also home. But the bumpy tan walls are where my dreams are. When in deep sleep, I am taken back to my childhood house—my first home. It is where my life began and where my heart remains.

-Lizzy S.

Assignment: Complete first draft, personal essay

In doing prewriting for their personal essays, my students have taken four quite varied approaches: 1) Generating the raw data of lived experience; 2) Likening another's life to the Book of Mormon; 3) Composing Devotional Writing; and 4) trying to add character and humor to one's personal writing. Now comes the selection and narrowing part. It's time to write a complete draft.

While drawing on any of the material written so far (and certainly not trying to include all such material), they must compose an essay that follows these criteria:

• the essay must be short (about 800-1200 words, comparable in length to this personal essay) 
• the essay must be personal (in terms of both experiences related and in terms of tone)
• the essay must be literary (specifically, making use of scene-setting, characterization, and vivid imagery to draw readers in)
• the essay must include the Book of Mormon (in a personal and non-preachy, non-moralizing way)

The danger of "churchspeak":

This is real, this is me

Inner Struggle

After two years at BYU I was done. I had no direction and was floundering in all my classes. Maybe I needed a change? I talked with my mother and I decided to leave BYU and try cosmetology school for a while. That was the plan. After the general conference in which the prophet changed the age that missionaries could leave, I was unchanged. I had a plan and I never had the plan to be a missionary. The next day my mom called me excited and asked me to think it over and pray about it. I angrily told her I would. I gave my desires to God that night in prayer and cried when I received the answer to go on a mission. It was a good thing and so many of my friends were so excited. What was wrong with me? Was I a bad person? I started my mission papers and received my call. I kept having this struggle in my mind. It was what I was supposed to do, there was no doubt, but I had yet to really want to do it myself. Those 5 months before I left were the hardest in my life.

Scripture

During my mission I struggled everyday to lose myself in the work as I was sick and sad often. One particularly hard day I was sitting in sacrament meeting and I was not only sick physically but my heart broke. I watched people that did not take this meeting seriously. The people left and got up after the sacrament. Children screamed and ran around. Everyone was disrespecting the speaker and no one was listening. The task was so impossible. How could we change anything? There was just two of us. I wanted to leave too eventually because I wanted to go cry. I opened up my Book of Mormon and read Nephi’s psalm. I read “ I know in whom I have trusted. My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness.” At no other time has this scripture brought my so much comfort. I read over and over the words. He would be my support and I knew in whom I trusted.

Wilderness Quest

 Just the other day I walked home from taking a test at the testing center. I was worn out from studying and just wanted to forget the whole thing. I was also wearing new shoes so my feet hurt from blisters. I needed a break, if only to rest   It was not really a religious time but more of a moment of peace. Peace that all would be resolved.  Without the distraction of roommates, homework, tv or laundry I was able to reflect on nature.  I have loved squirrels for a while and they are my favorite animal. It was almost like God was giving me a gift. In that moment, He knew that I needed a sign that He was there. 

my feet. Usually I just walk straight home but that day I took some time to stop. Over by the duck pond there are benches so I sat down and took a moment. I watched a squirrel and spied on the family taking family photos below me. They seemed happy but ready to be done for sure. I took my shoes off and glanced around me. Life seemed so much simpler here.

The Book of Mormon and Life

Paying attention to character

1 Nephi 17- Nephi is commanded to build a ship and receives a lot of bad attitude from his brothers. He is saddened by their inability to accept him and his goal but does not give up.

Paying attention to figurative language

1 Nephi 20- Isaiah is quoted and he uses words and phrases that are very different than the diction of Nephi or the other authors. Words like “sinew” and phrases like “furnace of affliction” marks a change in the authors’ education and ability to speak/write. 

Paying attention to setting

1 Nephi 16- Nephi and his family move around and name the areas that they inhabit. I assume that Nephi did not write much during this time because of the lack of important events and the need to keep up his strength while traveling.

Paying attention to character

Although Jeremy did not mention it in his posts I assume as some point of reading scriptures with his daughter she will be in a bad mood or too tired.  Jeremy might be saddened by the fact that his daughter is not doing well but he will persevere because he knows it is important for his family.

Paying attention to setting

Keegan went on a mission to Angola and a lot changed in his world. The change in setting affecting the way he thought and how he communicated with his family. When you are on a mission there are some weeks that are more filled with experiences than others.

Paying attention to figurative language

This is a bit of a stretch but when Amanda served in Nauvoo in the pageant I am sure that there was a difference in the language they used. The everyday diction and how they expressed themselves changed because of their desire to share the gospel through song and the word.

Family is the greatest and the worst!

Physical Experience

-japanese fan

-the smell of vinegar

-hunger in my belly

-pain in my arm from fanning

-excitement for yummy food

Scenes

-white angel on top of a food storage bucket

-singing songs in harmony

-comfy chairs with lots of snuggling

-christmas as a time with family

-comfort and a security of being with family

-family all around me

-focus on the season

-warmth of the heater

Speech

-anger of my dad

-fear at what would happen

-emotional

-crazy escalated

-“What did I just say?”

Emotion in the moment

-Embarrassment at being caught

-Anger at my neighbor

-Betrayal of someone I thought was a friend

-Homework that needed to be done

-Seminary is not something that I loved

-Unified parents which was a strange thing

-Mistrust in me

People of Consequence- My sister Katrina

-Smart like a whip

-Absentminded sometimes, she get forgets unimportant things

-Adventurous and willing to try

-Books are her life

-Silly girl

-Dancing and playing Just dance together

-Musical and tries her hardest

-Skinny like a bean

-Witty in her humor