If I Hadn't Been...

The coolest thing happened to me on Friday.

Astronomy ended and I started walking to the Wilk for soup.

…because who doesn't need soup, silly.

As I was moseying through the Bookstore trying my hardest not to run into people, I made eye-contact with a gentleman coming the other direction.  I thought I recognized him, and there was a hint of recognition on his face too.  We passed each other, and three steps later, I had an epiphany.

I whirled around to see him stopped and looking at me.

"Are you… Uncle Sid?" I asked.

"I am," he replied.

"Well Hi!  I'm Kim's daughter!" I said as I walked over to shake his hand.

We visited for a while and had a jolly good time.  Now.  Let me tell you why this was so cool.

Sidney is my great uncle—my mother's uncle.  There have only been two times in my life that I know I could have met him.  One was at a family reunion in 1998 and the other was 10 years ago when my grandpa (and his brother) passed away.  I was 7 and 12 at those respective family events—so I don't remember really meeting him or visiting with him or seeing him in real life.

How did I know who he was?  I'm just naturally awesome.  That's how.

…Not really.  I've just been working on a little family history project.  I've been scanning the autobiographies of my Great Grandma Lela and Great Grandpa Harry (Uncle Sid's parents).  As I was scanning, I was studying the pictures:

This one a little bit…

But mostly this one:

 I was studying the faces of my relatives, trying to pick out resemblances.  And if I hadn't been in the middle of this project, I could not have recognized Uncle Sid when I saw him.

It was the coolest thing.

You know you've been in college too long when...

Last weekend, I went home to visit my family.  It was a very good and much-needed visit, and I love them very much.

On Sunday, we went to my family ward, and I sat on the pew with my parents listening to the announcements in Sacrament Meeting.  A banquet for the scouts was announced for Tuesday night, and I looked at my parents who had a conversation that went something like this:

D:  Oh yeah.  I need to go to that.
M:  When is it?  Tuesday?
D:  Yeah.  Tuesday evening.
M:  Oh.  I can't go.  I have (insert whatever it was she had to do here).
D:  Oh.  Okay,  I can go by myself.
M:  >cuddles in< Sorry I can't go with you.  Bring some food home for me.

Except she didn't say "bring some food home for me."  She said "have fun" or something like that.  And I looked at her incredulously wondering why she hadn't asked Dad to bring her some food.

And then I remembered that while it is expected—and sometimes encouraged—to take food home for your roommates in college, that kind of behavior is not normal in the rest of the world.  My parents pay for their own dang food.

And it took me by surprise.

Because I'm poor, and I live in a world where free food is an incentive to do almost anything.

And it works pretty dang well.


Someday I'll grow up and not be bribed with sustenance to do things.

Oh Self Analysis...

Every once in a while, my apartment becomes a big therapy circle...

You thought I was kidding didn't you.  I wasn't.  We've been here for a good couple of hours.

We sit and chat about how we feel we are perceived, how we perceive ourselves, what things we can improve on, the works.  It's a very interesting conversation—always different, and always eye-opening.

Tonight we've all been taking surveys—most specifically the VIA Character Strengths Survey, and the 5 love languages survey.  They're great and give a lot of insight into who someone is.

My love languages survey goes like this:

Quality Time = 11 points
Physical Touch = 9 points
Acts of service = 6 points
Receiving Gifts = 2 points
Words of Affirmation = 2 points

And it's interesting.  First of all because college life is soooooo conducive to self-centeredness (for me as well), and I can never find people who want to spend quality time; and second because I feel that Words of Affirmation is the most commonly used and pointless language of love.

(That's just for me, though.  If they help you, kudos.)

I feel that Words of Affirmation is the "Sweet Hour of Prayer*" (pardon the metaphor) of the love languages.  It's the default.  It's used too much, and it's usually superficial.  ...to the point where it gets annoying.

For me specifically, the flaw with Words of Affirmation is that I believe I have a very accurate idea of who I am and nothing anyone says is going to change that.  It's nice to get compliments, but I know exactly how I look/act/am, and I already love myself.  I don't need you to tell me in order for me to appreciate who I am.

(Note: Compliments are still welcome.  Especially if it's a super-specific something because that tells me you spent some quality time (see section below) thinking about it.  A "Hey! Good job." does pretty much nothing.)

I feel much more loved when people show me they love me.  When they take the time to sit down and talk—to show me that I matter and that my ideas matter—that's what gets me.  When they want to build a relationship like I do. One that finally gets past the small talk and the superficiality, that's when I truly get to know and appreciate who they are.  I finally get to know them, and they finally distinguish themselves from the masses of seemingly similar people surrounding them.

That's when they become important to me and when I become important to them.

Okay, self-analysis done.
______________________________________________________
*For those who don't know, "Sweet Hour of Prayer" is the easiest hymn to play in the LDS hymnbook.  Because of this, it is over-sung.

Speaking of Dreams II: The Concert I Screwed Up

Last week I sang in BYU's Homecoming Spectacular with the rest of Women's Chorus.  This dream visited me the Saturday night afterward.

Now to preface this, I want you all to know that Sister Applonie is a wonderful, talented, merciful, and understanding woman, and this dream version of her is nothing (and I mean nothing) like to the real woman.

Here we go.

. . .

I'm singing in the Homecoming Spectacular with the rest of Women's Chorus.  The decorations are exactly the same, and everything is splendid.  ...Except for the fact that we seem to be singing to a poster board audience.  Seriously, I can't tell if they're alive.  They're giving us no reaction.  It's the middle of Ain't No Grave, and I'm getting super bored.  Like reeeaaaaally bored.  And hungry.  I'm pretty sure I haven't eaten anything all day.  So...

Naturally, I pull a burrito out of nowhere and start eating it in the middle of the song.

...and mid-moutful I see it.

Sister Applonie's face.

She's giving me the you're-dead-to-me look from How I Met Your Mother.

And I suddenly realize that I'm in the middle of a freakin' concert!  Why am I eating?!  And where the crap did that burrito come from?!?

I stash it quickly hoping the damage wasn't too bad, we finish the song, and we exit the stage.

But this isn't the end.  For some reason, all night I kept getting thrown together with a really-angry-at-you-because-you-ate-a-burrito-in-the-middle-of-a-concert-what-were-you-even-thinking version of Sister Applonie.  Every time she saw me, she'd give me that same look and she'd interrupt conversations with super sarcastic comment's like, "Well why don't you just go eat a burrito?"

I spend the rest of the night pleading forgiveness and trying to convince her that I had no idea why it even happened (or what I was thinking, for that matter), but it wasn't until the limo ride home (for some reason dream Abi wants to ride in a limo) that she frankly forgave me for eating a burrito in the middle of the concert.

. . .

Dang burrito!

Apparently, I've got some not-so-latent guilt about something to do with Women's Chorus...  Or maybe I just really wanted a burrito.  My mom has told me a few times about some of her dreams where she wakes up super mad at someone for something they did within the dream.  I've never had that experience (yet), but ever since this dream I have been a little wary of Sister A.  Every time she looks at me during rehearsal, I'm intimidated.  I get a little scared that I'm gonna see the you're-dead-to-me face--a face that I've never seen in real life.  I don't even think she has one!

My brain's really good at making these things up.

And it scares the livin' daylights out of me.

Speaking of Dreams I: The New Dresscode

I've decided I'm going to write about my most interesting dreams from time to time.

Buckle up.

While I was home this summer the bishopric and the boundaries of my ward changed.  I came back to an entirely different system from the one I had left, and apparently I was a little anxious about it because I had the following dream:

I am at church my first Sunday back.  I am dressed very nicely and pretty conservative.  I'm wearing a white skirt, a lovely light, pink blouse, my hair is long and curly, and I'm not wearing high heels.  Instead of walking right into the chapel, I go to the Relief Society room to check on something.  On my way back, the second councilor in the bishopric stops me to visit:

"Hello, you're new, aren't you?"

"Well, not new necessarily, but to you I am," I reply.

"It's nice to meet you.  I'm just going to warn you really quick that we have a new dress code in this ward.  You're not in compliance, but it's alright.  You didn't know.  Just for future reference, you'll have to abide by it in the future.  I'll see you later!" And he leaves me to find my seat.

Confused, I walk into the chapel for Sacrament Meeting.  As I sit, I keep hearing whispers from people, and they all seem directed toward me.  Even more confused, I try to direct my attention to the speakers.

When Sacrament Meeting finishes the bishop's wife grabs a folding chair, sets it up in front of the first pew, climbs up on it, and proclaims in a loud, nasally voice for all to hear, "Ladies!  (gesturing toward me) Once again, there is a new dress code in this ward.  It's not church-wide, but it is still very important that you abide by it when you come to church.  You all should know by now that the rule is this: your skirts must be six inches longer than your legs."

I look around me to see all the women of the ward tripping over their ridiculously long skirts, and I think heck no!  That's the stupidest rule I've ever heard!  They don't make skirts long enough to cover my knees!  Where would I find a skirt that long!  And I am not making them.  I don't have the time, the fabric, or the money.  They can shove it!  I'm wearing pencil skirts for the rest of the year!

And It Was {Spectacular}

Soooo... this weekend Women's Chorus had the opportunity to participate in the Brigham Young University Homecoming Spectacular.

And it was spectacular.  Let me break it down for you.

Nathan Pacheco.  He's fantastic.  He has a fabulous voice.  He was very, very kind to everyone.  He's handsome to boot, and just about every girl in Women's Chorus had a completely unrealistic crush on him.  You know the kind—the "he's super fantastic, famous, and on a pedestal--the movie star-style" crush. True story.  If you don't believe me, just watch this.  You'll see why.

Yeah.  He sang that song.  And I was in the back-up choir for it.  Woo!

The Cougarettes.  Seriously, if I hadn't already thought they were amazing (which I did), I do now.  They are super sweet.  They're amazingly talented.  Their dances were so fabulous.  Women's Chorus has never had so many compliments, and as if that weren't enough, they brought all 150-ish Women's Chorus members cookies before tonight's performance.  Yeah.  They're amazing.

We also got to perform with the Young Ambassadors, the BYU Philharmonic, Rebecca Pedersen, Living Legends, and a tap group.  It was just suuuuper fantastic, and inspirational.  I loved it!

The best part of the story is this.  Before the concert Sister A. told us to think of someone who brought the sun into our day today as we sang "Here Comes the Sun."

This is the story of the person who brought that sunshine.

We were backstage waiting to go on the first time.  Young Ambassadors was jamming it up on stage, and I was dancing like a hooligan backstage.  I just really like to make the lovely ladies next to me crack up.  After I'd been dancing goofily for a good while, I broke down into some serious Michael Jackson moves.  I danced the signature move for "Smooth Criminal" and the chorus segment for "Beat It."  My fellow Alto II's were cracking up, and I took a little time to break down for them just exactly how the body roll in "Beat It" is done.

I was dancing all out.  No holding back.  No toning it down.  Flailing my arms, doing body rolls and spins--for the people who don't know this already, I prolly looked like a hooliganism.  What can I say?  I am one.

About two seconds after I stopped dancing, Nathan Pacheco walks straight up to me and says, "Keep it up! You look great!" as he made his way toward the stage.

Now, I usually try to play it cool when people compliment me.  I try to pretend they didn't seriously just make my day... at least until they're out of earshot.

This was not the case tonight.

. . .

Before he was out of earshot—heck!—before he'd even completely walked past me, I wheeled around to my fellow Alto II's--my jaw on the floor, my face bright red in total stunned disbelief, while gesturing toward his back and saying in utter shock and awe, "DID you just HEAR that?!?"

How long had he been watching me dance like a hooligan?  I don't know.  All I know is I don't think I've ever smiled so much in a performance ever.  And I'm pretty sure I have talked about it most of the evening.

And that, my dear reader, was the source of my sunshine today.  Holey cheese, it was fantastic!

And I loved it.

The Flaw of Comaprison

I was going to apologize for posting so many serious posts recently, but then I looked over them and decided there is a good mix, so... no apology for you!

Here I would like to address comparison.

In the words of Elder Uchtdorf, "Stop it."

I hate the constant urge in the world to lift oneself up by shoving other people down.  I'm aware that in order to be a well-informed voter, I should have watched the presidential debates.  I couldn't stand them.  So little time was spent showing how qualified each candidate was, and far too much time was spent throwing dirt at the other person.  By the time it was over, I really didn't like anyone at all.

The thing is this: it is possible to lift yourself up while lifting others too, and if we could all learn to do that we'd probably be able to climb higher together and be happier too.

I have three examples of these comparison annoyances from college life.

Exhibit A:  I've heard a lot of people recently who have to remind themselves frequently that "everyone poops."  And they didn't tell me this in jest.  First of all, what kind of crazy weird pep talk is that?  Second, do you really feel that threatened by the people walking by you?  Third, why?  You don't even know them.  They didn't do anything to you.  Leave them alone.

Exhibit B:  "Jealous." I'm not kidding, if someone wants to instantly make me the most annoyed person in the world, I triple dog dare you to use that word.  I've heard so many girls say, "I'm so jealous of her."  "I bet she's jealous of me." "People are probably jealous of my hair." etc...  Really? Really??  Who the flip even cares?!  Why do you try to fabricate what other people are feeling?  Why does that even matter in your head?  Stop it.  Just... stop.

Exhibit C:  I was in Women's Chorus one day two years ago.  As we were waiting for class to start, one of the first sopranos walked into class wearing the sauciest bright pink top I have ever seen.  It was very, very flattering, and she was rocking it.  I go shopping in Women's Chorus.  I look around and think, I love her shoes. Oh! and her necklace.  Wow! Those earrings are awesome!  So, when she walked into the room, I leaned over to my folder partner and said, "Wow!  Do you see her shirt? She looks super cute."  My folder partner replied with a grimace, "Yeah. I hate her for looking that cute."

I kid you not.  That happened.

Do any of these situations and examples make the world a better, brighter, happier place?  No.  No they do not.  Why do they even happen?  And why do people say things like that around me?  It's not like I'm gonna look at them and say, "Wow.  Congratulations for saying the snootiest thing I've heard today! I just loved that!"

I was recently chatting about this with one of my Women's Chorus friends, and she brought up the following scripture:

Matthew 22

36. Master, which is the great commandment in the law?

 37. Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy 

God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

 38. This is the first and great commandment.

 39. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

 40. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
(emphasis added)

Does anyone think God has any room in his life for A, B, or C listed above?  I can assure you, he does not, and I'm sure he doesn't want you to waste your life, feelings, and words like that.  That's not following his plan at all.

Also, the scripture says "Love thy neighbor as thyself."  Not more than thyself, not less than thyself, but as thyself.  We shouldn't have to put everyone on a relative level above or below us.  We should be able to see their value, their talents, and their good attributes while still being able to see our own.  Someone else being amazing at something does not lessen our value in any way.  We are all blessed with different gifts.  Love and appreciate others for what they are blessed to bring to the table.

How boring and awful would the world be if we were all equally and ridiculously fantastic (or horrible) at everything?  What makes us amazing is that each of us is a child of God, and He blesses everyone with gifts and abilities.  Please, don't wish others were uglier, or less talented, or anything less than they are.  Let them grow and be all that they can be.

And as you do that, commit to grow and develop alongside them.