Inn Keeper for the Lord

Over Christmas Break I went on a road trip with my family. We traveled through St. George, to Queen Creek, Arizona, to Flagstaff, and back to St. George again on our way home. We saw a lot of my extended family, but the main purpose of the trip was to visit my Grandma Atkin in Flagstaff, Arizona. I haven't been to her house in years, and it was good to visit her, but one thing that she talked about stuck with me enough to share with all of you.
My grandma is one of the most generous people I know. She never has been much for housekeeping, but it is because she puts people first and always has. We always say that she has rubber walls and infinite beds. The number of lives she has personally blessed is countless. Her house is always open for people who need a place to stay for the night, and her wallet has probably lent and given more money than she has ever spent on herself. The people she helps are often strangers and sometimes they don't even speak the same language. There are many Japanese, Hawaiian, and Navajo people that know and love her.  Her garage is full of other people's things that needed a place to put things just for a little while (which turns into years). She goes out with the sister missionaries weekly, and is working on the guy at the Verizon Store (she had him over for dinner and everything). My dad still remembers how mortified he felt when she shared the gospel with a motorcycle gang at McDonald's when he was young. She truly has the right perspective on life.
You might think what she does might not be safe, and surely she has had a few people use her and take things valuable from her, but she doesn't let it stop her from continuing to give. They are just things after all, and things aren't really what matter in life, she tells me.
I was talking to her while we were visiting, and she shared how one day while she was riding a train home from somewhere, an analogy for her role in life occurred to her (by the spirit, I think). She is quite the writer, so she wrote a short essay about it. I don't have her essay or her eloquence, but I do want to share the idea of it. When Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem and couldn't find a place to stay, a thoughtful inn keeper who realized that a bustling inn full of people and animals wasn't the place to have a baby let them use his stable for more privacy. That innkeeper provided a place for the birth of the Lord.
When the Lord shared the parable of the Good Samaritan, he wasn't able to take care of all of the hurt man's needs. He picked him off of the road, bound his wounds, and took him to an inn where he left him the care of the inn keeper to be cared for. He didn't do all of the healing himself, he just paid for it.
Similarly, Christ needs inn keepers on earth. He pays for the healing his people need, but he needs inn keepers to help him with his healing work. My grandmother views her role in life as an inn keeper for the Lord. And she is. That inn keeper on the road back home is there to help heal. That road is a dangerous place, but the inn keeper won't suffer too severe of damages because everyone recognizes the need for a good inn keeper on that road. They are protected.
I'm not sure that my role in life will be to be as literal of an inn keeper as my grandmother, but in some small way I hope to help with the healing of the Lord's people and in that way serve as an Inn Keeper of the Lord.

The Blue House with a Picket Fence

I am currently in a Multicultural Education class, and for that class I had the assignment of finding three items in my apartment that represented me ethnically, socially, and culturally. At first it was difficult, but I think these three items sum up my ethnic, social, and cultural background fairly well.

First of all, and perhaps best of all, is my apron.

This apron represents so many aspects of my current life and my upbringing. I love to cook very much. I gained that love from my mother (who gained it from her mother, who gained it from her mother, who gained it from her mother...), who was a stay at home mom my entire childhood. My dad has a nine to five job, and my mother always made sure there was a home cooked meal when he got home. We ate dinner as a family every night. In that way, the apron represents my white, conservative, middle class upbringing. It emphasizes the importance of gender roles in my background, and the value of good food to bring family together. Fittingly, I made the apron with my mother this summer. In a way I think it is symbolic of me preparing to fill a similar role.
Currently, cooking and baking are an important way for me to socialize. I frequently--several times a week at least--make food for my roommates and friends to show my love for them, and to create a social experiences.

The next item I chose to represent me is my calculator.

I didn't think of it at first, especially because I think this calculator is older than me, but this calculator also is symbolic of the culture I grew up in. My dad is a Civil Engineer, and has always taught me and my siblings the importance of a good education. He told us we could be whatever we wanted to be and to go for it educationally. Not going to college wasn't even an option in my home. It was expected for everyone to get higher education.  One of my dad's favorite phrases is that he is a proud "academic supporter." He and my mother always provided the support and encouragement I needed to succeed in school.
I am going to be a High School Physics Teacher, so I followed in his science and math footsteps. Fittingly, this calculator was my dad's. In giving it to me, he was also handing down the value of education and the sciences. I am so glad to have been raised in a culture where it is okay for women to get an education and where women can be interested and succeed in subjects that are traditionally male--like Physics.

The last item I chose is my paperback copy of the Book of Mormon.

It would be wrong of me to try to represent my background without including a reference to my religion as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It impacts every day of my life and how I view everything. I read the Book of Mormon every day. Currently I am using a paperback copy to highlight everything that I should do or be, either as the Lord specifically commands or as I see in the good examples of the people discussed.
However, the Book of Mormon represents so much more than just the time I spend studying it every day. It represents how my faith impacts my relationships, my goals, and my daily activities. There are many traditions that I don't even think about that shape my daily life. The way I dress, what I eat, where I am going to school currently, how I spend my time, all are impacted by this perspective. I grew up near Logan, Utah where the overwhelming majority of people were members of the same church as me. We shared a common vocabulary and expectations for our futures. Our shared background values families, education, and self sufficiency. Because of the teachings of the Book of Mormon and the church, those are the things that I and other members of the church focus on for our futures.

I chose to title this blog post The Blue House with a Picket Fence, because the phrase itself is symbolic of the ideas that I have attached to my three items. I really did grow up in a blue house with a picket fence. I grew up conservative, middle class, white, in the country, with incredible stability. I had never moved before I came to college. I was very much a part of the majority culture of my community in every way. It is amazing how easy it is to take my background for granted because no part of it was ever challenged or questioned while I was growing up. I didn't know there was any other way to live. I suppose many people must feel that way...

A Day In Court

Today I went to court.

I am in a multicultural education class here at BYU, and one of our assignments was to have an experience in the community that was different from our normal social experiences. One of the options was to attend a court session, and when my first choice option fell through, I decided that would be the best thing for me. Also, I was really curious about what goes on in court.

We showed up when the court house opened, but it turned out to be thirty minutes before the court session actually started. I was a little nervous because I didn't know all of the rules of where to go or how to act, but it turned out that they make it easy for people like me to know where to go. I waited in the hallway for a while to be let in, and watched the other people that were going to court that day. I was curious about their crimes and fate. There was a large variety of people from an old conservative looking couple, to young girls in tight dresses, to men with tattoos who smelled like smoke, to middle aged ladies in mormon-mom dresses. Then they let us in the court room.

At the front of the court room, off to the side in what looked to be what I would call the jury box, was a group of inmates in their jumpsuits. They had chains around their feet, hands, and waists. They clinked loudly when they moved or walked.

At first, it was really boring because a lot of attorneys were doing the technical part of the court procedure, delaying court days, getting the right paperwork, etc. They were representing people who looked cold and hard to me, galaxies away from my lifestyle. People went up when they were ready, including people from the benches near us, mixed in between the inmates. 

But then a man who looked to be in his late twenties stood up to take his turn from the back of the room. I had noticed him before in the hallway when we were waiting to be let in. He was wearing a badly fitting suit with a t-shirt underneath, and his hair was slicked back. He was thin with dark, curly hair, and looked very somber and reflective. He even looked nice. I noticed he gave his mom his wallet and car keys before they went in the court room and talked about someone picking up his car for him.

As he stood with his attorney, who was a small, older looking man, the judge mentioned that he was being charged with eight counts of sexual exploitation of a minor. It surprised me that this harmless looking man was here for such a horrific crime. It was clear that today was the day that they would sentence this man. His attorney began explaining his story. The attorney explained that this man had been involved in child pornography. But the story began a long time before that. 

This man’s father had never been a part of his life, so he was raised just by his mother. His struggle with pornography could be traced back clear to when he was a child and people near to him sexually abused him and exposed him to pornography through the years. He had struggled with other addictions including alcohol. His use of pornography was a real addiction that he would struggle with all of his life. When the police came to arrest him as part of a sting, he hadn't resisted or denied it. He accepted his fate. He had been very cooperative in the whole process.

The judge asked if the man had anything he wanted to say. In tears, he explained how he had never thought that what he was doing was right. It was an addiction, and he had needed help, but was ashamed and didn't know where to go, so he hid it and tried to run away from it. It always found its way back into his life. Since his arrest, he had been working to make things right. He began therapy, and was medicated for OCD, which had previously led to compulsive use of pornography. He was in college and had a fiance and a good job. His counselor had helped him recognize that there were victims of his addiction, even though it was easy to just view them as images. He helped him feel empathy for the children by connecting their feelings to how he felt as a child. As he explained how horrible he felt for the children, he wept.

His attorney and councilor plead for a minimum sentence because of the remorse this man had and the improvement he was showing. The prosecution agreed that he was doing well, but still emphasized the seriousness of the crime. The judge took time to give advice and most of all to emphasize that there is a victim to his crime, and that he was buying into a market that had a horrible cost. In the end he was given jail time, but only a few years, and no prison time. He will be on the sex offenders’ registry for the rest of his life. He can’t be alone with females younger than 18. He will be on parole for three years after he gets out of jail.

The attorney asked for a few days for him to say goodbye to his family. The judge said he had had long enough, and that he would be taken into custody now. He was allowed to say goodbye to his mother before he left. It was clear that they were very close. He came and hugged her right in front of me. As he cried and apologized to her for putting her through all of this, I started to cry. It really touched me. I felt sympathy for a user of child pornography, which is an emotion I thought I would never feel.

What an interesting experience. I stayed a little longer, but none of the other cases were that long or detailed. I left, feeling so sad for that man and what the next few years held for him. I feel myself cheering for him. It is amazing how much harder it is to dislike someone you don't know from close up. What an interesting, life-changing experience.

Halloween

I'm sorry that I haven't posted for a while. I guess there just wasn't anything I wanted to post about. My life has been great. The semester is really picking up for me, but I am happy busy, not stressed busy.
So Halloween was last week. What an interesting holiday.
About a month ago I was talking to my roommates, and as conversation has strange twists and turns, we came up with an amazing costume idea. With the help of the DI and misused makeup, here was the result at our ward party:

We were a boy band. The Synk, to be particular. I joked about being JT all night. It was legit.
Here is a closer view of my man face:

We decided that what really made us look masculine (not that I pulled it off that well) was our eyebrows which we thickened with eyeliner. Also in this picture you can kind of see my sideburns, which were pretty sweet. I tried to look scruffy with brown eye shadow smeared on my face. I pinned my long hair over the front to give me more manly hair. I still look like a total baby face. Oh, well.
What I had never realized was that it would be really hard to be a man. We tried to talk like guys, hug like guys, walk like guys, and especially dance like a boy band. I wasn't that great at it. I guess I'm pretty feminine. We had to try really hard to not smile, because that made our appearance of being manly fail even worse. But it was totally fun.
We had a couple of guys in our ward be totally weirded out. I guess we radiated mixed messages of masculinity and femininity and it was weird. We had a couple of guys tell us that they thought we won the scariest costume award for that reason. It was fun anyway. :) Walking around as a group and making entrances was really fun.
Best part? I found some awesome  man pants that I love. They fit and are soooo comfortable. I found my new camping/gardening pants. They aren't flattering, but the pockets are awesome!!
Willie also had a great Halloween so I am going to share it with your for him. :)
For his first party, this was his look:

Isn't that sweet? The mustache and the pants tucked in his socks just kill me. What a funny guy.
His second costume was Ron Weasley. I don't have a picture, but it was pretty great. He had a pet rat and a broken wand and everything.
But more impressive than his creative costumes is what a good guy he is. I have a story I want to share for him.
Halloween night Willie and I both didn't have plans. We discovered that a lot of people actually didn't have plans. It turns out that everyone thinks everyone else has something planned, so no one plans anything for that night. I ended up hanging out with Mindy and her boys, which was awesome.
But here is what Willie thought of.
He dressed up as Ron and got his friends together. They bought a large bag of candy and took his bedroom door off of its hinges (don't tell his management because he probably would get in trouble for that). Then they went through his ward and complex, knocking doors. First they would knock on the door, and then quickly they would cover the person's door up with Willie's door. When the person opened their door, they would be surprised, but given a minute and maybe some encouragement they would knock on Willie's door. Willie and co. would swing open the door like it was on hinges and hold out the bowl of candy. I like to call it reverse trick or treating--they took the treat to them.
Willie said they were surprised how many people were home and alone. They clearly made some people's day. Some people had nothing to do, so they joined the ranks and spread the joy. By the end of it, they had an empty bowl and happy faces all around.
I think a new tradition was born this Halloween.

Fall

It is that time of year again!
School has started along with homework, classes, new faces, and new experiences.
Sometimes I feel a nip in the air that gets me excited for cooler weather.
So for all those who have been following my blog, I have indeed found a place to live. Last weekend we packed all of my things into the back of my dad's truck and headed down to Provo with faith that we would find a place to unload all of my things by the end of the day. We looked at more places than I can remember. The one place I really wanted to live was full. They had one flakey girl that had two hours to show up and pay her deposit or her contract was void. We got our hopes up that I could take her spot only to have them crushed--she showed up 15 minutes before the deadline. I didn't get in.
So our plan failed. I stayed the night at my aunt's house with all of my things stacked around me. The next day the hunt continued. I had been on craigslist nearly every day for the last month. Finally I swallowed my pride and texted a girl selling her spot at Monticello--a lovely place that I had lived before and planned on never moving back to.
I went and looked at her apartment, and I felt okay about it. Rent is dirt cheap, it is across the street from campus, and my room roommate is an RM (which helped me feel better). So without the strong spiritual impression I was looking for, I signed the contract. I had finally come to the conclusion that it didn't really matter where I lived. God was allowing me to make the decision. Not only that, but He probably wanted me to learn how to make a decision. Hopefully I learned my lesson well enough to not have to learn it again. Considering how awful that sounds at the moment, I probably didn't.
I am loving my roommates. They are so fun and kind. I love my ward (even if some of the people are a bit crazy. They're nice and social). I got over not having my own room and not having a washer and dryer.
My classes are SO fun. I love my major!! Sometimes I wish this wasn't my last semester really on campus. But I really do feel good about graduating next April, so we'll go with that.
Also, I just have to say, I love BYU. I LOVE BYU. I am just so happy here. I guess I had forgotten in the last two years how wonderful it feels to be a part of such a beautiful, accomplished, friendly school. I belong here (in no way am I bashing other schools. By all means, love your school as much as I love mine!). Also, the Texas game on Saturday was awesome. Especially after we got absolutely drenched beforehand. Yay football. :)
So there is my boring update on my life. You can now stop worrying about me living in a cardboard  box on the side of the road. :)

Aspectabund

Aspectabund: (adjective) Having an expressive face.
(Insert picture of me here)

Irony in a House

In an unexpected turn of events, my post about housing shopping as a metaphor for dating turns out to be true also for housing shopping. Who knew?
I am moving out of my house tomorrow, and I have no place lined up to live in the Fall. It isn't that there aren't places to live, it is that there are too many options (sound familiar?). I just want to feel good about one of them!! I just have no way to actually weigh all of the options thoroughly. I CAN'T DECIDE!
Decision making happens to be one of my biggest weaknesses. When I decide, I go for it 100%, but getting to that point is difficult. Maybe I am too picky, or not confident enough in what I want.
Here is what I think I want in housing, in descending order of importance (mostly. I'm not confident in the order either):

1. Nice roommates (hard to know considering I'm moving by myself. If I could pin this down, moving would be no problem)
2. Less than $300 a month
3. South or Southwest-ish of campus (near Willie so we can share a car)
4. A Private Room (so I don't go crazy when I start Student Teaching come January)
5. A not totally ghetto place
6. A Washer and a Dryer in my apartment/house
7. a complex so there is a social life when I want one.

Is that too much to ask? Maybe. The problem is that with my criteria I can't find anything, and without any one of those things, I am so overwhelmed by options that it might be next April when I finally do decide.
But seriously.

P.S. I am learning to hate the Branbury for littering every rental search site with hundreds of postings. I will never live there.