On Loneliness...

This past week, I had a bout with loneliness.  The worst I've had in a long time.

It seems silly to me now, but the whole thing was triggered by a statement that was part of a survey I had to complete for class.  It was a very good survey and an awesome assignment, but while I was taking it, I started thinking very deeply.  And not in a positive way.  The statement looked like this this:

I am the most important person in someone else's life

Very Like Me           Like Me          Neutral         Unlike Me          Very Unlike Me

As with most questions on the survey, I gave a decent amount of thought to it before I checked the radio button next to it.  "Unlike me" is the one I checked.  I didn't put that there because I was being pitiful.  I think it was--and still is--the right answer.  My friends love their families more than me.  Each of my family members has someone they love more than me--a spouse, children, parents, etc.  Even my parents--as they should--love each other more than they love me.

After I answered that question, I moved on and continued to finish my survey.  The next day, however, I couldn't stop thinking about that statement.  It didn't help that I felt completely separated from all friends and family.  I just didn't have the time to really interact with anyone.  It was a rough, busy, home-work filled day, and the next day was even worse.

I felt so tired, so sick, and so alone.  There's nothing like a single, college lifestyle to magnify any sad or lonely feelings you have.  I woke up to get ready for work, and decided that, more than anything, I needed to go to the temple.  I donned a skirt and blouse and headed off to work unsmiling.  When I got there, I had four hours to myself to work.  Usually, during that time, I listen to music as a work, but I didn't want any of that.

I went to lds.org and in the search bar at the top, I typed in "loneliness holland."  Elder Holland is my favorite apostle, and I wanted to listen to every talk he had ever given to, for, or about people who were lonely.  It was a good thing to do.  I felt very comforted.  I still wasn't happy, but I wasn't on the verge of tears anymore.

After work, I went to my only class of the day--Women's Chorus.  Usually, the girls who aren't feeling well sit on the stage in front of the choir instead of singing.  I decided I wasn't feeling well enough, so that's where I went.  When Sister A. came in to start class, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and asked how I was doing.

I have always been amazed at how in-tune Sister A. is to the needs of her choir.  There are almost 200 of us, and I have always felt like each of us meant more to her than simply just a girl in the choir.

Class started, and I began fighting with myself whether I should stay for all of Women's Chorus or whether I should leave early.  Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have permission to leave at 3:30 to get to another class--one that was cancelled that day.  3:35 hit, and I decided that if I hadn't left already, I wasn't going to.  Our grad student started to lead a run-through of Loch Lomond, and Sister A.--though she had been helping lead up to that point--stepped back to let the grad student lead the piece.  She then came up to me, and quietly rested her hand on my shoulder.

That one gesture meant so much to me.  I had been looking down at the music in my lap, and tears came to my eyes as I listened to Women's Chorus sing Loch Lomond.  That little gesture of care and concern helped me even more.

Then I went to the temple.  There are many times when I am grateful the Provo Temple is so busy.  In other temples, you don't always get to sit in the temple for such a long time while waiting to do baptisms.  I waited and thought and read and prayed, and I felt less and less sad as more bits of knowledge were recalled in my mind.

I remembered that everyone on this earth should love someone more than I.  Everyone should love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ more than they love me, and I don't want that to change in anyone--even a spouse.  The two hours I spent in the temple helped me to remember that even if no one is with me, I am never alone.  I have the constant companionship of the Spirit.  I have a Father in Heaven who loves me, and who watches over me in every hour.  No matter how sad, lonely, or miserable I get, I have a Savior who has suffered more so that He can give me comfort.

https://www.lds.org/media-library/images/prayer?lang=eng&start=71&end=80

When I Remembered the True Meaning of Christmas

The week of November 25th-December 1st was a very rough week.

I don't mean that in an I-had-two-tests-and-it-was-kinda-hard way.  It was more of an I-was-so-busy-and-stressed-that-I-only-had-time-to-eat-three-real-meals-and-the-rest-of-my-sustenance-consisted-of-carefully-rationed-Andes-mints-and-ginger-cookies way.  True story.  I did not eat enough that week.

The week of death was scheduled to end with a dress rehearsal Thursday night and three performances Friday through Saturday of "Celebration of Christmas"--the annual Christmas concert of the four auditioned choirs at BYU (BYU Singers, Concert Choir, Men's Chorus, and Women's Chorus).

On top of the stress, the shortage of time, and the lack of any real kind of nourishment, it was a very rough week emotionally.  I had been deeply hurt that week--not intentionally.  No one had deliberately done anything that could or should have hurt me, but I was hurting, and I was struggling.  ...More than I would ever like to admit.  It was one of the few times in my life that I have seriously doubted my self confidence and my knowledge that I am a daughter of a Heavenly Father who would always love me.

I worked very hard to finish my schoolwork early in order to spend what energy I had left on the rehearsals and performances.  Even so, I was struggling to pay attention, and I had not yet found any meaning in the music to convey the audience.  (Sister Applonie encourages us each to make it our priority to uplift and convey messages of the Spirit to those in the audience.)  I just couldn't do it.  I wasn't feeling the Spirit to begin with, and the words I was singing had no meaning for me.  The feelings I had were not feelings of love, comfort, and joy--they were feelings of tiredness, loneliness, and an overwhelming sadness.  Those certainly weren't things I was supposed to share with the audience.

I didn't find the answer to my problem until the very last performance on Saturday night.

That day had been particularly hard.  I don't think I cracked a smile the whole day, and I was having a difficult time finding the strength to do what I was supposed to.  When I got to the HFAC  for the final performance, I--still unsmiling--went through the motions of warming up, and last-minute polishing of our pieces.

Right before we went on, Sister Applonie gave each of us an assignment.  She said:

"If you haven't yet found a meaning for this music or performance, let me suggest this:

What you need, give."

It struck a chord within me.

Women's Chorus was ushered onstage.  I stood, looking out at the audience, still unsure what to think or do or ask for.  We finished "Ding Dong Merrily on High" without a hitch, and I was waiting to start the second piece when a flood of thoughts hit me like a tsunami:

What I need is forgiveness.

I also need to find it within my heart to forgive.

I need to feel loved.

I also need to love those around me--even those that hurt me.

I need to know that I am not alone.

I also need to help others see that they are never alone.

As I sang and sang, tears streamed down my face.  I finally found what I needed to share with the audience and what I needed for myself.  I finally sang with an open heart.  As we sang the last verse, a feeling of deep love and reverence came over me.

What can I give Him?

Poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.

If I were a wise man, I would do my part.

Yet, what I can I give Him;

Give my heart.

I thought of the baby whose birth we celebrate at Christmas time, and as I did I thought of something I hadn't before.  Yes, it is wonderful that He came to the earth, just as it is with every child who does.  However, the greatest miracle is in why He came.  He came to teach us, to lift us up, and most of all He came to redeem us.  He is the Savior, my Savior--the Prince of Peace.

Because of Him, I can find the strength and comfort to cope with every trial.  When I was trying very hard, but still couldn't find it within myself to completely forgive, He filled my deficit.  I can be, do, and become so much more because of Him.

At that moment, a great weight was lifted from me.  I was so grateful I could almost feel the comfort hugging me.  I was not only reminded of the Savior, Jesus Christ, and who he is, I was reminded who I was--a daughter of God.

The rest of the concert was swell except for the final song.  It was glorious.  As we all sang "The First Noel," I imagined what it would have been like to be in the chorus of angels that sang the real first noel.  What would it have been like to participate in that heavenly choir and see the glorious event of the Savior's birth?  In my little, mortal mind, I can't even begin to imagine, but I'm sure it was wondrous.

So, in the true spirit of the season, I would like to wish you all a very, very merry Christmas.  May we always remember the true reason for our celebration, and may we keep it in our hearts and minds all year--especially during times of hardship, trial, and doubt--for He is the source of the comfort and strength to get through such times.

For those of you who would like to watch the performance, here is a streaming of it:
(Women's Chorus starts at 16:00-ish, and the First Noel is 1:21:00-ish.  Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus (45:00) is also wonderful.)

When It's Nice Out

On Saturday, it was nice out.  I don't just mean it was sunny, so I wouldn't have to wear my boots--it was really nice out.  This was following two weeks of cold-ish/wet-ish/pretty-but-I-should-have-worn-a-coat-today weather.  It even hailed last week.

SO it's understandable that I was stir-crazy on Saturday.  I was sitting inside thinking about all I was supposed to do, but I couldn't stop fidgeting.  And then I did what any cabin-fevered, remotely athletic, self-respecting person would do.

I told my siblings I was going to play tennis, and they should come along.

Sam, bless his dear heart, was the only one who agreed, so we went and played.  And it was oh so wonderful.

BUT.

Sam had to be home approximately an hour after we started playing.

And that amount of physical exertion didn't quite satiate the need I was feeling.  So I did what any other human being would do when I got home.  I went on a bike ride.

And after biking, I still wasn't done.  So I asked Hannah if she wanted to go play soccer for a while.

And when we were done with that, I still wasn't done.  So we played catch with my frisbee for a while.

And when we came in from that, I looked at the contents of my duffle bag that were strewn all over my bed and I realized that I had used every bit of sporting equipment I had ever brought to college.  All in one day...

Cleats and soccerball?  -Check!
Frisbee?  -Check!
Bike, jersey, heart-rate monitor, helmet, Camelback, gloves, etc?  -Check!
Tennis racket and basketball shoes?  -Check!

And then I saw it.  There, in the bottom of my duffle bag was my baseball mitt.

I was on a roll!  I couldn't just let it be the only thing I neglected!  However, to my horror, I found I had not a baseball to catch with it.  There was only one thing to be done.

Hannah and I ran around our apartment complex in desperation trying to find someone--anyone--who had a baseball or softball to be caught.  We must have knocked on 5 doors until we finally found our man!  We took his baseball, tossed it a few times, and then went home happy.

Abi could finally say that she brought all that stuff to college for a reason.

The Computer: And other sad stories

Actually, I'm only going to bore your mind with one sad story in this post, BUT rest assured.  After the explanation of my neglecting you all for so long, I shall indeed post many a tale.  I promise.  BUT first things first...

Once upon a time there was a little girl.  For the sake of this story, we shall call her A. Christensen-- no--Abigail C.  This bright, radiant, and delightful girl possesses the misfortune of making mistakes.  So many mistakes.  So many expensive mistakes.  The kind of mistakes that you think may happen, but don't really believe will happen to you.  Those kind of mistakes.

This particular mistake happened to her computer.  And water.  And we all know that electronics and water Do. Not. Mix.  Right? Right.

'Twas one jolly night when said girl needed to clean herself up after a mountain bike ride.  One obstacle stood in her way between sweaty and aimless wandering and squeaky-clean sleep.

The light in the bathroom had gone out.

Oh well! she thought, I'll just play music on my computer, and that will be enough light.  But what if something bad happens to your computer?  You only got it last Christmas! . . .  Oh posh!  That won't happen to me!


I should have knocked on wood.

I showered.  I brushed my teeth.  I combed my hair and went to bed. And when I woke up the next morning, my computer screen would not turn on.  And through a succession of reparative action, 'twas decided that it was not worth it to fix the computer.

So, here I sit with a Macbook Pro hooked up to a monitor that my very kind, caring, and understanding father was generous enough to lend me.  'Tis a grand solution, and I'm glad I didn't lose all my stuff.  I'll just have to pay for it later.  Again.

Ugh.  Sometimes, I'm sooooo.... unsmart.

An Ode My Father

Today, I have spent a good deal of time thinking about Daddy.

He is a wonderful man.  He taught me how to hike, camp, raft, backpack, learn, and love life.  He is definitely one of the biggest blessings in my life.  I would like to tell you a little story about him.

Last summer, I was employed by my dad.  He runs a cabinet/carpentry business and a granite business. I was employed full time to work in the granite shop.  Start to finish, I cut the stone, rodded it, glued it, edged it, polished it, installed it, the works.  I can make a granite countertop, my friends.  I can.

Dad taught me how.  He taught me everything I know.  As I worked, there came a time when I had made enough counter tops and understood the work well enough that we developed a really nice system.  He would draw the plans, explain to me what needed to happen, and then I would get to work and come ask questions as needed.

One day, we went through this process, and I went back into the shop to start cutting out the stone.  About 1/3 of the way through my cuts, I looked again at the plans and realized that what I was doing was not in line with the way it was supposed to turn out.  I had cut out the stone completely wrong.

Now, had I not gone to college or understood just how much a slab of that particular granite cost, I probably would have reacted differently.  As I had gone to college, the worth of a dollar had taken on an entirely new meaning for me.  I stepped back, looked at my handiwork, and realized that in approximately ten minutes, I had completely ruined something that was a monetary equivalent to a semester's worth of tuition at BYU.  I was beyond mortified.  I had a complete meltdown.  I stared at my work mentally beating myself up.  How could I have made a mistake that bad???

It took me about ten minutes to work up the courage to go tell Dad what I had done.  I was afraid.  I was afraid we would have to scrap it, and he would have to eat the cost of my mistake.  I was afraid we weren't going to make our deadline.  Most of all, I was afraid he would be disappointed in me.

I walked to his office a complete basket-case.  I told him, and he came back with me to the table. ...and he reacted.

There was no anger, frustration, or disappointment to be found.  He didn't send me home so I wouldn't ruin anything else.  He asked me a few questions so he could figure out where the misunderstanding had been.  He measured a few things, and then told me exactly what to do to get the rest of the countertop to fit.  He told me how to fix it, and he made sure that I could see that everything was still alright.  He put his arm around me and told me that I didn't have to cry over it.  Then, he went to his office and left me-- trusting that I could do what he had asked.

I learned a tremendous lesson in that moment.  I learned how I should react in such situations.  I learned a great deal about my father's patience, and I saw just how much he loved me.  That day was one of the worst and best days of the summer.  It was a day when I realized, once again, how wonderful Dad is.

I don't know what I did to be blessed with the wonderful parents I have, but I am very grateful for them.  They are such a blessing in my life.  Together, they have shown me what is most important, and they have shown me how to love.

I love my parents, and especially my dad.  He's a wonderful man.  And I love him.

Update on the morning in the HFAC

This is an update to this post.

This morning I was reading some talks online at lds.org when I thought I should see if Mary Ellen Edmunds had given any talks.  She had, and I read a few.  My favorite article was this one.  She has so many stories to tell about her mission experiences.  It was a wonderful article!

If you want to read anything else she wrote, go here.  There are lots of little treasures there. :)

This one is also pretty great. :)

"As an instrument in the Lord's hands, I could comfort others when they are faint, I could take time to hear their soul's complaint, wipe away their tears, calm their troubled hearts, and love them to the end, just as the hymn tells us that the Savior does these things for us.  But he needs my participation, he needs my willingness to serve, to be an instrument in his hands.  He wants me to stop and help others.  He wants all of us to stop and help those in need; to be good Samaritans."

A Great Discovery!

Friends!  Romans!  Countrymen!  Lend me your ears.... so I can tell you about a wonderful thing I've re-discovered.  I've been reading it over today, and I've been laughing.  Hard.  Out loud.  And I've read most of them before.  Here it is:

This blog.

The author has been my neighbor for the past 8 months.

Read it.  It's sooooo fabulous.

:D