Roommate Takeover

I open the door to the apartment and collapse inside. What a day it has been. And all I want to do now is relax in my apartment. A few steps in and I throw myself on the coach. Laying there for a few seconds, I enjoy the silence. Then noticing the click-click of my roommate playing his computer games, I put a pillow over my face. It only muffled the noise, but it was one step closer to the silence I so desperately craved.

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My stomach gurgles and I realize how hungry I actually am. Sitting up, I make myself leave the comforts of the couch. With heavy footsteps I walk into the kitchen— YUCK. WHAT did I just step in?? I flip on the light and look down at the floor. It was covered in bits of food. 

Lifted up my foot and peered at the bottom. My foot could have been a sandwich. Little bread crumbs and a piece of lettuce clung to the bottom of my foot. I look up around the kitchen in disgust; the cupboards were all open and the tables, and counters, and floor were all covered in a thin layer of crumbs and other bits of dropped food. Only one thought came to my head: my new roommate. 

Ted was a nice guy but boy was he messy. His total disregard for cleaning up after himself left me wanting to gag every time I walked around the apartment. Trying to shake off my peeved attitude, I walked into his room to try and connect with him on a more personal level. He was furiously clicking away. Wrappers and bits of food shrouded him like a demented throne. It was silent and awkward for a moment. I spoke up, “Are you winning? What game is this?”
But my attempt was thwarted with a quick answer, “Close game. No talking.”
And that was the end of it.

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Gum...Gum...Gum

"I do not want to see any more gum in any of your mouths! Do you all hear me or am I talking to the wind?!" yelled Sister Peo. She was about 50, but looked like she was 1000 years old in my little 10 year old eyes. She always smelled of moth balls and at times I wondered if she was actually a moth and she came to church just to suck all of our blood and energy out of us. In fewer words, she was the type of person that everything had a right way to do it and a wrong way to do it. Her way was right and everyone else's way was wrong. Her poor husband.

I looked to my cousin who was on my right, David. David was the funniest kid I ever met. He was kinda chunky, always wore his shirts too tight, the shirt tail always stuck out in the back, and he never ever stopped laughing. "Hey Dave, I brought some extra gum with me today. Do you want a piece?" I said with a sly, little smile and a bit of chuckle in my voice.

"Aw thanks Cuz, I'll actually take two!" He put the pieces of gum in his mouth and started chewing intensely. I put three pieces in my mouth and could hardly chomp down on the gum.

"Are you ready?" I questioned. We had been planning this for weeks and the time was finally here. The day that Sister Peo got what she deserved that little, life ruining moth!

"Oh yeah, I am as ready as I'll ever be!" We both took the gum out of ours mouths. The gum was bright pink and was oozing with our spit. It was trying to escape my hand but I put a firm grip on that piece of gum!

"On the count of three. One, two, THREE!" I exclaimed. The gum soared through the air like a kite on a windy day at the beach. It was going to make it to her hair! "Perfect!" I thought. Splat! Right in the middle of her hair. I gave David a crooked grin.

The next week in primary was not a good week. We knew we were going to get in trouble but we weren't sure how much trouble we would get into.
Sister Peo had her hair cut in a weird long bob and was glaring at David and me as we walked into the room. "Oh no. We're going to get it." Sister Peo swiftly came to our area, put her fingers in her mouth, and pulled out two chunks of gum. I looked up just in time to see the horror. The gum was definitely in my hair and David's hair. That was the day I learned to respect my elders.

The Gossip

"I know we're not really supposed to say this... but Elder Tills is quite a climber," Elder Ordoñez begins, easing in slowly to the favorite pastime of the division of God’s Army stationed in Southern California.  "They say President really likes him, maybe enough to be next assistant."  Though startled at his seeming disregard to inspiration, I am glued to every word as he pauses masterfully to adjust his glasses before resuming the stream of scandalously new information.  We all lean forward in the Corolla to hear as he lowers his voice, “Elder Prince isn’t the angel President thinks he is either” he whispers reliably, the words dripping like golden honey from the tight corners of his mouth. "A complete bucket. And the letter he sent to Sister Shaw- I bet President doesn't know about their make-out sessions in the MTC...”  The hour drive to Santa Monica is reduced to an instant as we step out with our recommends in hand along with a new opinion of nearly every one of the 250 missionaries in the LA area.  The morning sure is beautiful I think to myself, wondering how I could have missed seeing it on the drive up here.  "Fetch I almost forgot about Elder Meyers- I'll tell you in the Celestial room,” adds Elder Ordoñez, looking back at me as he passes the inscribed "Holiness to the Lord" before entering the temple.  I follow him, already edified.

Perfectly Pious

Every time Sister H gets up to the pulpit everyone holds their breath.  There is an audible breath drawn in almost collectively.  Mothers blush as their children make noise or argue and fathers holding smart phones pretending to "look up bios of the prophets" squirm in their seats.  The message is always the same: money is evil, people in the ward have money, therefore, the ward is evil.  She gets up humbly flaunting her very modest choices in clothing: always the same style earth-toned pioneer skirt and a peasant top or button-up shirt in some sort of a neutral print.  She never wears a heel or jewelry, because that goes beyond the Law of Consecration.  That breaks the mold of the perfectly pious.

She'll start with some sort of scripture like Matthew's "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God" and segway into how most of the people in our ward have "stuff" (said in a condescending tone of course) like boats and trailers and ATVs that will do nothing for our salvation.  Instead, her children wear second-hand clothing and cultivate necessary talents like becoming a scriptorian.  A talent I actually do want to cultivate... on my own. They don't seek worldly talents like sports or dance like the vain do.  It's not all condescending, she will encourage us to live the Mormon Mold, seek to live the Law of Consecration and devote our lives to God through service.

Which is not to be marred by the recent arrival of Brother F, an endodontist who spent the last 6 weeks in South America on a medical mission giving complimentary dental work to people about to lose their teeth. When asked about his trip he would modestly and humbly disclose that he provided his own supplies and fare for the trip.  Nor is it to be marred by Sister K and Sister J who provide a weekend's worth of  meals to over 100 kids in Mesa each weekend whose teachers know they only eat at school.

Maybe definitions of pride, wealth and service are different for each person, but Sister H has helped me on the way to scriptorianhood.  Maybe she encouraged members of the ward to let go of worldly things or maybe she encouraged them to serve instead.

Little Rays of Sunshine

            Delson is your typical African child, overly friendly and curious to know the unknown. As a missionary, I loved being with, playing with, and messing with the little African or more specifically Angolan children.  These kids roam the streets day in and day out, using their imaginations to carry them day-to-day. Some wearing practically nothing to other kids wearing old Bananas in Pajamas t-shirts, they always carried a smile with them. But all of them would call us Chinese, without fail. Some kids would love us as we walked in their neighborhoods, while others would get really nervous and run away, some crying, thinking we were the walkers from the “Walking Dead”. 

              Once they aren’t afraid of you and start talking with you, they just love the attention. And once you pull out a camera, you start a feeding frenzy, where you would be talking to like 5 kids and then once the camera is pulled out, there would be like 20 kids out of nowhere. For example, one time in the street we were talking with some kids and they wanted us to film them as they did some tricks off this tire.  What they would do is get a running start and then jump off this old tire like it was a trampoline and do tricks off it. Well these 4 kids quickly turned into 30 kids doing tricks for us, and it was so funny. One kid did a front flip and biffed it bad and landed flat on his back with a huge thud like a kid belly flopping into a pool. 

       

They are some of the most interesting and funniest kids you will ever meet, and the way they are growing up isn’t affecting that. They have as much fun as any kid in the whole world.

Called to Serve

Narrating an Inner Struggle
This decision could change the course of my entire life more than any other decision.  I thought college would do that or my major, but I don't think it matters too much what I decide to do career-wise.  Maybe even marriage would do that, but this decision would probably determine who I would marry and what type of life I would live.  No, this is the most important decision.  No pressure!  Do I go on a mission?  My twin sister has already received her call.  That was a HUGE surprise.  Would I be going because she is and twins do everything together?  What about the temple?  Am I considering this because everyone else in my family is endowed and I want to be too?  Or is this for me?  What about my boyfriend?  He just came home and I thought I was going to marry him, but I am not feeling that so much now.  Is it just doubts?  Or is it wrong? But I thought it was so right and he doesn't seem like the waiting type.  Do I just let go and give him up?

I don't think my bishop would like me going on a mission, I am dating someone and he is definitely the pro-marriage type.  Do I talk to him about it any way? But wait!  He just came up to me and invited me into his office, "lets open your papers" he said.  Wow!  That was unexpected.  I didn't even hesitate to say "okay"- even more expected.  So maybe this is right.  Maybe I want to serve the Lord.  Maybe I would be willing to go any where.  I think I am willing to have doors slammed in my face and people reject what means so much to me.  I think I am willing to give up a full scholarship, a well-paying job, and approximately $8,000.  I think I can leave my family for 18 months.  Is it worth all the sacrifice?  Yes because my life will be changed forever.  I want to give people hope, knowledge and faith.  I want them to see miracles and know there is a God who loves them and knows them personally.  I want them to enjoy the blessings of the temple.  I am going, so here goes everything.

Scripture, Personal and Powerful/ Wilderness Quest- one experience combined

I walked silently through the dark, hearing only my footsteps crunching on the pine needles and the rhythm of my breaths.  Crunch.   Breathe in. Crunch.  Breathe out.  I wonder if I will have an experience like his- a First Vision type of experience.  I set up my camping chair at the base of a tree, perched my flashlight on a branch aimed at my lap so I could read the letter and my scriptures without fiddling with a flashlight.  After an inner battle at what order would heighten my spiritual success, I decided to read the letter from my mom first, pray second, and read the scriptures third.  I opened the manila envelope with a tree pasted to the front to retrieve a small letter written on tree paper from my mother.  "Dear Hailey.......". I read the entire letter, but fixated on one phrase.  I focused all of my attention on a few words my mother had said.  I wish I could be that person.  Never have I wanted a quality more in my life, a quality I didn't think I possessed, but for some reason leached myself onto.  I felt pulled to it.  I want that to be true.  Never has my heart wanted something so badly in my life.

I was suddenly aware of all of my surroundings:  the beetle climbing the tree, moths dancing around the flashlight, casting shadows on my letter.  I heard an elk call in the distance, maybe a mile away but in my personal space, all was still and quiet.  Just me, my thoughts and my rhythmic breathing.  How peaceful.  I knelt down on the ground, my knees protesting to the pinecones, needles and rocks underneath, but I didn't care.  I clasped my hands in a firm grip and began to pour out my heart to heaven.  Every muscle in my body tensed in concentration. I plead, I begged, I promised, I wished with all of my heart to have what my mother said about me to be true.  I prayed for one phrase.  What seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes of devoted supplication, ended and I felt peace.  The cool night air turned instantly warm and I felt like I had been wrapped in a fond embrace. Maybe it would come true.   I sat back underneath my lighthouse, my wooded sanctuary and opened the scriptures.  Any random place would do.  I flipped open to a page and a sappy pine needle fell onto my perfectly crisp page.  I brushed it away and gasped.  Right where the pine needle marked the page was my phrase!  That beautiful phrase.  That phrase I had been yearning for the last few minutes.  It was promised to me in scripture and by my mother.  I sat there for a while, praising God, looking at the stars and His marvelous creations. The stars peeked through the spidery limbs of the trees, like fingers reaching toward heaven.  If only my fingers could reach so high. With the same detail that He created the Milky Way Galaxy, Orion's belt, the Dippers and the North Star that I could see so perfectly and clearly in this wooded night sky, He planned my life.  Yet how much more important are we? I picked up my chair, hesitantly brushed off sticky pine needles from my clothes- I had grown fond of that sap- gathered my scriptures, retrieved my flashlight from its perch and more silently than before walked back to the gathering place.  This time the needles didn't crunch.  Nothing so harsh.  This time they crinkled.  This time my breaths were even, not really noticeable.  I must be consumed in my thoughts and wonder at creation and how the world and everyone's experiences fit together.  Was that scripture written for me?  Or was my mother inspired to write that exact phrase?  Or was it both?

Testimony Meeting Support Group

“I don’t know if any of you know this, but I struggle with depression and ADHD…” she prefaced her comment for the umpteenth time. I struggle to keep from rolling my eyes and the rest of the class sinks farther into the couches—lulled to sleep by the familiar declaration and the sure knowledge that any attempt at participation is futile. Many times my seminary teacher does not even have the chance to finish her question before Anna is off, taking us all on a rambling, bumpy journey through an experience relating only vaguely to the subject matter or cataloguing a litany of self-diagnosed psychological illnesses. It requires either prophetic knowledge of the next question or nigh-on divine intervention for anyone else to respond. My mind drifts off during this latest contribution to envision myself diving across the room, covering her mouth as I rapidly covey the spiritual experience I had last week that relates exactly to the verse we are discussing. I tune back into a passionate account of how hard it was for her to try public schools for a few weeks after being home schooled her whole life. Because everyone else in the room attends public school, I am not sure how much sympathy this arouses. There is nothing like waking up at five in the morning and driving in the dark and cold over roads covered in black ice to put you in an uncharitable mood. It doesn’t help that her bastion of bravery in psychological illness has encouraged many others in the youth group to share their own strivings against depression, ADHD or bipolar disorder at every opportunity. Youth testimony meetings have started to feel more like treatment support groups; the percentage of self-reputedly depressed youth in our ward is double the national average (not an exaggeration, I looked it up). But maybe Anna’s over-eagerness to share psychological weaknesses, has given me a chance to work on improving my own spiritual weaknesses: the patience and charity for others.