Changing Colors (Revised w/ comments, Reflection)

On the grandeur of these mountains, leaves of green, yellow, orange, and red defeat steep cliffs, boulders, and switchbacks, rising as a beauty of persistence and representing the diversity of life’s challenges. They cannot climb alone.

Scattered among rocks big and small, by God’s Omnipotent Hand, the seeds of these leaves are unseen. They lay beneath the eye, humbly hidden by the brilliance of something grandeous, picturesque and magnificent. The sun reflects these colors without effort in a Light of Perfection, changing them constantly but carefully over time.

Roots extend, branches unfold, and leaves grow, facilitated by Living Water. Leaves of smoothly rounded edges, leaves of prickles and thorns, tattered leaves, healthy leaves, and leaves of scent are all present. No one leaf is like the others, given careful consideration by the Creator.

Some leaves change faster leaving others behind, but each leaf changes as carefully planned, nourished by surrounding elements of Love. Some leaves turn brighter than others, but the Source of Light from which various colors emerge, looks not to compare, but sees beauty in them all. Some leaves are bigger and some remain smaller, but light penetrates all leaves regardless of size, providing The Way for true growth and progression.

Leaves that fall are used to fertilize the soil beneath their old habitat, making way for new leaves to grow. The grandeur of these mountains with leaves of green, yellow, orange, and red defeat steep cliffs, boulders, and switchbacks, with the help of leaves past, and relying on the Hope of God's Ever-giving Hand.

Spring Will Come

What makes a flower beautiful? The strength of the stem? The decorative leaves? No. The colorful petals that grow after the bleak winter are the source of the flower’s beauty. What power enables the petals to grow? Flowers are never taught how to create the needed nutrients they need, it is innately born within them. We, like the flower, rely on a stronger power to enable our growth, and face times of bleak weakness and renewed beauty.

We, like the flower, go through cycles in our life. The Summers of our lives are filled with joy and love, the Falls we face some challenges, the Winters we might feel alone, but the Springs bring hope and growth.

During the Summer times of our life we live life to the fullest, casting away all cares and strife. While soaking up the sun and flaunting our natural beauty, we enjoy the love of family and friends. In our times of ignorance and bliss, we become complacent and don’t notice the dangerous weeds that are starting to entangle and ensnare us.

Then, one day, a storm hits us and shakes us to our roots. Without heeding to any warnings, we become confused and unable to face the challenge that Fall brings. In our pride, we think we can simply overcome and defeat this trial alone. Slowly, our colors fade, our strength wilts, and we become weak and helpless. Our beauty falls away and we enter the bleak stark Winter.

Feeling absolutely alone, with no one to turn to, we feel like giving up. Degraded to our very roots, we have nothing left to give. Over time, we become humbled and realize who truly gives life to our roots and helps us become beautiful – Christ. Christ is always there for us even when we are the weakest. He gives us the strength we need to hope for the Spring. Christ knows how to help, lead, guide, and support us through our trials because he has overcome every December. It is only through Christ that we can even hope for Spring. With meekness, and fully devoting our very roots to Christ, we are reborn as we humbly enter the Spring.

As our new life is budding, we still rely on Christ to sustain us through our instability. Blessings of the Holy Ghost and personal revelation pour down upon us from Heaven giving nourishment to our young roots. Over time as we work and turn our life and efforts to Christ, we bloom into a gorgeous flower. It is in our weakest times that we turn to Christ, and he enables us to make our weakness our greatest strength.

So, when you feel like you’re in the December of your life, always remember that Spring will come.

Fall - to be finished later

Reflections Workshop

Don't need money. Don't take fame (Revised)

I didn't know why i only wanted to go to one semester of college my freshman year. It would have made much more sense to stay. All my friends and roommates were staying, after all. I was enjoying my classes, my ward, and otherwise having an all around good time. I don't even remember praying specifically about whether or not i should put in my mission papers early, i just knew that it was the right thing to do. I can honestly say that i did not think my decision to put my papers in at that time would hold any grand significance for my life, or be a huge decision. I was wrong.

I don't know what would have happened if i had decided to go on my mission when everyone else did. But i do know what would not have happened; the best thing that has ever happened to me. Had i not gone on my mission when i did, i would never have met my sweetheart.

Who would have know that i was going to meet my future wife in the very last place i expected. She was just another Sister Missionary to me, at first. But as i got to know her and her reputation, i soon found that she was an honest, hardworking, genuine person that had a great deal of energy and a thirst for life. In a word, Sister Morgan was spunky. Even on the mission, though, i never realized that she would be my eternal companion and friend; the melody of my future.

My life has unfolded into what it will be for the rest of my days, just because of a decision that i made for no apparent reason at all. In all the days since the day i made my decision, i have never regretted that it. Not once. I have never and will never regret it because i know that no matter what else i could have done, or where else i could have gone, or who else i could have known, none of that, with all its great promise and potential could have been worth one moment of being with my Jacque.

And the best part of it is i think she likes me, too.

The crossroads

" The man who is unwilling to accept the axiom that he who chooses one path is denied the others must try to persuade himself, I suppose, that the logical thing to do is to remain at the crossroads."

-dag hammarskjold

My biggest downfall in life has always been remaining at the crossroads. We do it in dating. I do it in dating, anyway. You probably do it as well, I'd bet. If I bet. Which I don't. But if I did I would have $75 to collect from my high school english teachers since I didn't get married after my freshman year at BYU. I thought they knew me better than that. I thought a lot of things.

Perhaps that is what keeps me at the crossroads. I think. I was telling Cindy today about a question that a group of my friends asked and aswered the other night. It was, "if you could go back in time and give anything to your 8-year-old self, what would it be?" Think, I thought. What would it be? The jury was out. The circle went the other direction. Lia said something profound, which reminded me why I love her so much as a friend while it made me wish I didn't go directly after her. Sort of like in sunday school when we were talking about trials and someone raised their hand and said they were grateful for health as they'd struggled with cancer this summer. Next? Beuhller?

Anyway, my gift to my 8-year-old self was a sense of reckless abandon. That may sound odd to a lot of people, but I was in dire need of one. I still am.

I practiced today by running down the mountain.

(I still stopped on the corners.)

I am afraid to make decisions I can't un-make. Like death. And marriage. But they still need to be made.

My Stony Seat (revised)

Sitting upon my stony perch I reflect upon my seat. How long has his rock stood here on this spot like a dutiful guardian protecting the busy stream as it rushes by? The chips and scars upon its gray-brown face hint that it has endured things harder and deeper than any passerby might suspect. The frozen months of life are never kind, as they break and mold you. The grandiose time of youth is whittled down through the years, under sun and rain, until even we cannot recognize our own end product. Did anyone stand as sentinel during your carving other than the silent groves? The trees come and go, as old friends give way to new, they they are unable to offer physical help as they can only give strength through the steady examples of their own legacies. Becoming organic compasses that offer direction through the storms as their slender bodies show the way to heaven.

Nicks and cuts do not always disfigure – No. Often times what most see as scarring is a misinterpretation for polish. If collected while performing our duty they offer us a noble countenance. Would anyone care Rock, if you were to give in to the current, to be picked and cracked a scattered into the ocean of the unknown? Probably not. Yet here you are. Your effort is often unnoticed by casual onlookers, but not to the Creator. Every action is seen by Him who owns this world. He gives us the ability to be strong so that we can support the burdens we have to bear. You have nothing to prove to anybody else but yourself. Not the droplets of water that bounce off your back, or the plants that grow beneath your shady overhang. What you do is for you, since it is you that will have to confront your final destiny and look back on the decisions you faced. Deep down if you know you can do it, why give in to mediocrity and apathy, instead of embracing your divine potential? And so the rock stands. Quiet, but honorable, it Stands.

Sunset Smiles (Revised w/ comments & more consistent past tense)

"Now!...Go!...Hurry!" Words within my mind pushed me forward. "No...not here...higher...I must climb higher still...quick before its too late!" Dry, cracking soil crumbled beneath my feet, the sky was beginning to fade, and local villagers snickered at my hastened pace at the evening hour I journeyed. "Owe!" I silently murmured. "I don't have time to stop and take another thorn from my bare toes....I should have changed into shoes like mother had advised - but there was no time!" I justified. Besides, I was only 11. "My toes will heal fast."

The women of Mwanaminga were watching their husbands and children eat, hoping for a few leftovers to come their way. The children who had finished eating (or who had nothing to eat) were close to home but could be heard playing. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter. I heard the sound of little bare feet close behind me. The patters came closer, followed by giggling, then a few words hard to make out: "What your name?" Giggle...pitter, patter, pitter, patter. I replied with a smile, still trying to move quickly as the small voices behind me attempt to repeat my name and try to keep up. "Where you go?" I looked behind to answer the small voices that called after me to see a whole trail of little brown eyes attached to skinny, brown naked legs moving as quickly as possible. Calloused, bare feet, blazed thorns and prickly weeds as if they were nonexistent. I replied with the point of my finger towards the top of the hill. More snickers. I can't help but laugh with them as the race for daylight continues. They were probably my same age, but they looked so much younger, so much smaller, and they laughed so easily!

I arrived at the top and looked down upon the forming shadows of acatia trees and the deserted Rift Valley. "Oh no, I missed it!" Disappointed, I forgot for a moment the giggles surrounding me still. The flash of my camera caught the last of the setting sun. The push of a button confused my little audience for a short period of silence that was cut off by reaching hands and raised voices: "Me! Photo! Yes...yes! Photo!" Little hands and arms and loving embraces smothered my petty trouble then returned home, leaving me alone once more.

I listened: a bouncing, plastic, water-filled jerry-can obtained after a day's journey to the lake and back; the master's whip to his weary ass trotting away, babies cries quieted in the distance by the sound of the earth settling for a good night's rest. Peace, serenity, solitude, love. I didn't get the picture I wanted that evening but I was given a better picture of something more important, at a very early age.

For a moment (Revised)

Nothing makes you reflect like an 800 lb. elk walking into your lane of traffic. Traveling 60 mph, you cover a distance of 60 yards in 2.045 seconds. 2.054 seconds is a lot longer time interval than you think. Most sentences take less time than that. You could even have a conversation in that amount of time. Especially if you’re talking to yourself. In your brain.

I don’t think I’ve ever had my life flash before my eyes. Not before, and not this time, either. Flying down the highway with such a large animal so near, I never considered I would die. I never thought to myself, I only wish I had spoken to X or seen Y or done Z. In that short amount of time when I started braking, realized that we couldn’t stop, and hit the accelerator again to pass by the elk, I had only lucid, practical thoughts that amounted to two things: ‘there’s an elk in the road don’t hit it’ and ‘protect Cortney.’ No one wants a busted up car, especially when it’s caused by a living, breathing, and—after it’s been hit—bleeding thing, but someone was watching out for Cortney.

The morning before this drive back up the canyon to Aspen Grove, Cortney, some other friends and I had the wonderful opportunity to explore Stewart Falls hike. Walking a trail among beautiful fall colors and enjoying the spray of a waterfall, it’s hard to imagine that anyone would reject the idea of a higher power, a designer with such great creativity and love to give us the inspiring surrounding world. But even on a dark and lonely road, there is God. For all the tragedy in the world, blessings of safety like my experience on the highway still inspire and strengthen. In our time of need, Cortney and I were supported, and we will remember that we are loved.

The Path (revised- reflection)

I see the path in front of me
The dirt that's on the trail
Two legs in front, two legs behind
Escorts that will not fail

I do not need a compass here
Staying on the path's a breeze
With one in front and one behind
I carry on with ease

And yet my life is not like this
A simple path with guides
I do not see the destinations-
Have trail-mates on each side

Instead of being on a trail
I'm on the open sea
No simple path that goes one way
No waymarks I can see

Endless choices for the ship
How am I to find North?
For God, He does not mark the waves
And I can't see the shore

How do the gulls know where to fly?
The stars know when to shine?
How does the salt know it's the sea's?
Oh what course will be mine?

There are no crossroads for the choice
Yet I cannot stand still
For life, like sea is constant movement
There's drift in place of will

My shaking hands are tired
How do I make this choice?
Looking weary at vast expanse
I hear the Master's voice

For He is sure where I have question
His strong hands will not fail
They hold the marks that saved my ship
The hands that shape the trail

Trust the Lord with all thy heart
Lean not unto thine own
Give God the helm and trust the wind
And He will lead you home

The Eternal Cycle of Water (Revised Reflection)

Here at one of the Utah Mountains, in the middle of world, of this immense world we call Earth; I am amazed just to think a bit about the cycles of nature.

This cascade before my eyes, this unstoppable water falling down without rest, the energy unfolded, steady and perpetual. The water finds its own way, forming a creek that goes down the way to meet a river, which in turn will meet another river that will find naturally its way to the ocean and the ocean cannot be filled. In the same way, our lives are like this cascade water and we are about to find our way in this mortal life. Through rocks, woods and shrubs this water finds its own way in nature to fulfill the purpose of its creation, in the same way through adversities, trials and joy we must find our way in life.

I look at the sky and see the clouds in their slow motion and these are also part of the eternal cycle of water. They are the water coming back from the ocean to close the cycle that started who knows when, who knows where. I witness with awe the majesty of the Ruler who set up this cycle of nature, the natural laws that govern it and the benefit that brings us.

The elements are there working harmoniously, playing properly the rules of their own creation, while lost in my own thoughts, flashbacks from the past that brought me to this point in my life, an internal soliloquy that unnoticedly I hold, they come back and forth. Those are moments when time does not matter at all. And I feel very satisfied and thankful to life, even though those past years were not easy ones, I have no regrets about the decisions I took since my heart told me they were the right ones to take and suddenly in a fraction of a second it came the realization that if I had to live again the same experiences I had to live in the past, I would ended up taking the same decisions, because they were the right ones to take.

An immense feeling of joy flooded my heart when I realized that like the water of this cascade I am finding my way to my right destination.

THE WORTH OF SOULS (reflection blogg revised)

Perhaps it's not the perfect rhyme

That makes the poets worth.

Perhaps it's not the perfect song

That lets the cantor live.

Perhaps it's not the perfect swim

That makes the swimmer's strains

Worth all the toil and heartache--

Worth all the practiced days.

Perhaps it's something more than these

That makes our souls of worth.

Perhaps it's something that we've had,

Each of us, since birth.

Divinity the greatest gift,

Imparted unto all,

Leaves us with purpose

And reason, so stand tall.

Love and Let Go (Revised) Blog #3

Pure love,
Has no sticky fingers.

The sorrow of giving up
Surpassed by proxy joy
And yet, I can feel it
Becoming real.

This wooden soul
Has roots after all.
Growth was impossible
Without love-fertilizer.

And what the gardener saw,
But I could not,
Was that these leafless branches,
Were only the product of a season in my life.

I will continue making age rings.
Some thinner,
Such were my desert times.

But Trust,
That the earth continues spinning.
And spring will come.
The flowers know it,
And lilies don’t lie.

Consider these lilies
Here in this valley.
And trust that the Lord
Will not forget his tree-nymph.

How Small

I look up at the grandure and realize how small I am. The leaves connected to one branch, that branch to a tree and that tree to a forest. All connected as one. All bigger and more magnificent then I. Sitting at the base of the raging waters, I am but one small thing compared to the many that surround me. The mist rolls off the mountains as the heavens play their part in the scheme of life.

The feeling of being only a small part of this world hits suddenly. The majesty of the creation all around. The wonder that fills my mind. It is incomprehensible, at times I feel so on top of the world, yet out here I can really feel my part in the creation, instead of just ignoring it like i do so often. It takes my breath away. How I am loved so much to be given all this to look at and get inspiration from. An open sanctuary for all. For anyone and everyone to share.

The sun hits the mountains just right reflection the colors brilliantly. My eyes can't take it in all at once. I just want to see it all. All if it at one time. I want to be able to breath it all in, in one breath. The wind in the trees, the sound of God's creations, communication with each other. The detail and the love that went into every little thing.

I like to imagine sometimes the creation as almost a group thing. Each of us giving part of ourselves to this earth before we came. I can see myself laughing and applauding at the way the leaves dance on the wind, or how the brooks sing softly in a lazy afternoon. I can see my jaw drop as the color is painted onto the world in the different seasons. I see all this and realize just how lucky I really am. I also see how small I really am.

In a world full of grand buildings and cities. With structures of pure genius, nothing makes you feel as small, or as loved as the majesty of the earth.

I am but one small thing in this world.

I love it.

*I am including some of my favorite scenic pictures from the hike. More to come

Revised: Determined

Defeat's shackles constrain us from the start
We break them
Freedom to move

Walls block our way
We go around, over, under, through
They can't stop us

Desire is strength
Will can't be kept still

The path's end is in plain sight

The Constant Journey (Revised) Cindy Hurst Reflection

Where does one find spiritual well-being?

I thought it was found in beauty of the mountains. God’s image is easily remembered when you are surrounded by only what his hands have made. But I suppose I mustn’t forget that I owe much of my peace I felt in the mountains this summer to my week in lifeguard training only the week before where I found myself in structured solitude. I had the vigor and desire to become so much more than I was. Each day I spent my time off studying my scriptures and reading How to Win Friends and Influence People. I wanted so badly to become like the people that I had found myself surrounded by, only the week before that, at Paul’s Cabin. They emulated Christ so closely, and they had welcomed me. And I wanted to be there—forever.

Even before then however, I was lucky to have cousins that so easily adopted me into a little group of friends that not only had decided to go to Paul’s cabin that weekend, but had been such good friends and good examples to me in the months that preceded that trip. And I suppose many months before then God had chosen to let me stay at BYU, after he had taken me by the hand and led me here himself. He gave me the best roommates, and let me be easily nurtured in a little nursery to heal. Later, he sent me to the mountains, so that I may find love for him on my own.

I am indebted to him forever for this. I did so little to receive His invite to come here initially. My first semester of college was incredibly difficult. Upon my return from Christmas break he heard me cry for help, and offered me His hand. Choosing to take it was the easiest choice I’ve ever made—I hardly knew it had happened. I had tried too hard to choose my own course for too long, and had failed so miserably. Saying Yes for me was choosing to deny logic.

BYU chose me. And I am grateful.

When I was younger, much younger, I didn’t want to hike mountains. I only wanted immediate gratification for what I worked hard for. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that it isn’t only the end result that makes the hike so beautiful, but the journey itself as you become the explorer, and appreciating everything that the journey has to offer. So I suppose one does not find and end to spiritual well being. It is found in many journeys, in constant movement forward.

The worth of souls (Revised)

Tyler called me from Reno at 4:44 AM this morning. The next two hours were devoted to him and the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Poor Tyler, his depression has been the cause of so many personal trials. He has had a lot of council, but only he can climb out of the depression hole. Tyler thinks that he is a failure at everything he does. He feels that he isn’t worth anything. We spoke about prayer and the need to pray when we don’t feel like we can or even want to. Our conversation had a constant theme and recurring message. The eternal truth that guided our discussion is this: The worth of souls is great and we have a Heavenly Father who loves us.
I feel so grateful for the Savior and the Atonement that allows people like Tyler and I to know that someone has suffered for us, for Tyler, and even me. He knows exactly what Tyler is going through. I try to identify with Tyler, but only He truly can. I love God and His Son. What’s more is that I know they love me, and like unto the prodigal son, they absolutely and unquestionably love Tyler. God indeed gave his only begotten Son, so that we His children can embrace our Lord, and by our faith return to their presence. The worth of souls is great. The condescension of God, testifies to me that Christ would have died for Tyler alone, or me, or you…even if we were the only soul on earth. He loves us so much, in our errors and triumphs; He loves us.
As I sit here in this, God’s mountain temple, I see his hand and His love all around me. The trees, autumn leaves, and waterfall all testify of a loving father. I’m so sad when I see litter on the forest ground. It doesn’t belong there; it is out of place and element. Sin is such an eyesore in the panoramic of our lives. Tyler’s depression is often triggered by his succumbing to temptation. Our lives also are more prone to feelings of sadness or even depression, as we loose the spirit due to our sins. We must expel sin and be free of its damning influences. We do this through Christ and covenants. The forgiveness of God comes as we through his Son, repent and walk as He walked. The Atonement shows how much God and His Christ love us. All things denote there is a God, and that God loves us. He wants nothing more then for us to be happy. Even, you, me, and Tyler. Tyler is going to be just all right.

Concerning the Gradual Process of Change

Here on a trail of aspen leaves, I notice Light personified, a stippling gold effect who flits across my hiking feet. As I stoop to move a creeping caterpillar to safety along the path, I feel a shared understanding with all creatures great and small. In this moment, I feel immune to offense. I wish wellbeing to all.

I have experienced illumination at other times as well; periods when I felt free of the natural man. In these moments, my eyes gaze clear of any fear, and my spiritual muscles feel poised like the runner on his mark. Come, Mortality, my old foe, I think. Sound the gun. Today I’ll race any trial, any heat—I dare you to compete.

But then mid-race, growing pains start to tug at my well-fitting limbs, and stumbling, I no longer feel comfortable in my own skin. They say a preying mantis sheds completely seven times before his mortal sojourn ends. How many times have I left old skins by the trail, and then continued jogging on my journey? Seventy times seven? The latest instance came this past summer. A new move, new congregation, new friends, new classes, new job, pumped my heart and mind full of growth hormone, until one day I awakened to sense--with some measure of alarm--my exoskeleton had grown tight. In despair at the mounting tension in my life, I forgot the readiness of former days, and slipped into the depths of an anxiety disorder, another familiar old foe. The ever present fears of mental illness fettered me. Even when I started to remember from previous experience that relief of my pain was possible, the effort of getting there seemed too monumental to try.

Therapy, prayer, support of loved ones, and all personal efforts led only to an exhausted desperation, like that felt by C.S. Lewis’ character, Eustace, from the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. When as a lad he found himself stuck in dragon form, Eustace learned he could not escape the scaly skin by his own merits. Aslan alone could pierce the dragon hide with his terrible claws, and undress it from the sorrowing boy; the saving action pained Eustace. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Paul points out in Hebrews 10:31. Eustace would likely agree with me: Healing hurts.

The Lord knows my struggle, feels my shuddering gasp as He wrenches old skin from me. He has seen the new me emerge, with glowing face and triumphant stride, countless times before. He knows each struggle can bring me yet again to that point of victory. But He does not hurry the process, and rather seems instead to linger until I show courage to the point of breaking. I used to wonder why He sometimes delays deliverance.

But as I sit in these aspens, peering at ants, bumble bees, and greens, I recall learning once how a butterfly emerges victorious from her chrysalis. The torturous effort of hatching forces fluid to the tips of her wings, and gives them crisp, eager flapping, a motion necessary to propel her body skyward. Perhaps the Lord lets me struggle for the same reasons He does not relieve the butterfly of her chrysalis. He wants me to work hard, to struggle, so my efforts may send righteousness shooting to the extremities of my limbs, until one day I arise and become the noble daughter of God I am meant to be.

Self-Reliance (Revised)

For some, having a mentor or person who believes in you can give you that extra push in the right direction. For others, the opposite is true – it is only when you feel completely abandoned that you turn to the Lord and are able to regroup and recuperate. At times, we must turn inward rather than outward for inspiration. Although many of us are blessed with amazing support systems full of people eager to help, there are times where we cannot let our burdens be shouldered by others. We must find inner strength and allow ourselves to rely on the Lord. It is by facing our problems or fears head-on, in a one-on-one battle, that we are able to address them, and therefore overcome them fully. Shielding given by others is only a temporary fix. Once we learn to recognize the strength we possess and when we rely on our Father in Heaven, we will continue to be able to draw upon that strength – even when all other support is removed.

I learned my lesson in the eighth grade. I had my group of best friends, and we did everything together. We ate lunch together, we talked on the phone to each other, we passed notes between classes… we were inseparable. Over time, however, it became more and more apparent to me that I didn’t really fit into this cookie cutter group. The value I placed on education, open-mindedness, and the Gospel really set me apart from my friends. Being eighth grade girls, they took every opportunity possible to see how far they could push me. I was invited to participate in the ridicule of others, to watch inappropriate movies, to attend sketchy parties… to become involved in various activities that I wasn’t comfortable with. They would become frustrated with me for going against the standards they had set, and one day they decided that “the Mormon girl” simply didn’t fit in.

A note. That was all I got from them. A simple phrase. "I don't think we can be friends anymore. Sorry." Decorated with flowers, elaborately folded... the verdict was in and my sentence was to be exiled.

I was left completely alone, or so I thought at the time. At first, I thought my eighth grade world would end. I just knew that I would never make new friends, that everyone was judging me, and that life couldn’t possibly go on. I bemoaned my situation to my mom, and I avoided everyone at school.

After a while, however, I came to the realization that a group of girls couldn’t make or break me. I came to more fully understand that I was a daughter of God and that I was tough. I told myself that I could go out, start over, and meet new people who would be accepting of a “Mormon girl.” If nothing else, I could rely on myself and the knowledge that what I was standing up for was right, and I would survive my junior high years. Once I gained confidence and an optimistic outlook, I immediately found a new group of kids who were open-minded towards my religion and happy to let me keep my standards.

On a more enduring level than eighth grade friends, however, I learned independence from other people and dependence on the Lord and my own ability to cope and survive. When life places obstacles in my path, I no longer look to someone else to help me over. I have confidence in myself and I know that I can handle anything that life throws my way.

Voices

I sit here, all alone, in my own peaceful, sacred grove and I cannot help but think of Joseph Smith. The words come to my head, “Oh, how lovely was the morning? Radiant beamed the sun above.” This morning, too, is very beautiful. The air smells of the earth, the fall shades of orange, red and yellow are all around. In the background I hear the continual running of the water splattering to the bottom of the river.
The sun shines on me and I feel its warmth. I look up and I am blinded by its rays. I am reminded of the pillar of light that Joseph saw. I long to have his unwavering faith and his strong devotion to the gospel.

My mind tells me to get with the program. It pleads me to live the gospel that I love and know is true. Then as if someone where speaking directly to me, I hear, “Why do you stay in idleness, motionless in this life? Your father in Heaven longs to be with you. He longs to hear your prayers. He longs to comfort you and help you at this special time of your life. It sorrows him when you push yourself away from Him.” It sorrows me too.

I speak to myself saying, “Brittney, you’ve been there or have you forgotten? Don’t you remember the darkness, the loneliness and the sorrow? It was unbearable. It was as if all happiness cease to exist”. I promised myself I would never go back and I haven’t, but I’ve yet to move forward also.

“What’s holding you back? Why do you linger, stuck in limbo? You know that now is the time to move on. Life is moving forward without you. If you don’t act fast now, it will pass by, with you standing on the sidelines.” “Let go of the pain, the anger and the guilt,” I cry. “How else are you to be the person that you will be for the rest of your life? How else are you to posses that faith and devotion of Joseph Smith?”

The Worth of a Soul (Revised Reflection)

A soul. One soul. The union of a physical body and an eternal spirit. That is the definition of a soul. The spirit is eternal. The body is not. Is the spirit worth eternally more than the body? Possibly. Although without the body, the spirit is damned. Without the body, the spirit can become only a fraction of what the soul can become. What can the soul become? What can it achieve? What is the worth of a soul? One Pine tree? It’s great limbs stretch towards the heavens with a deep green hue that is undimmed by the passing of the seasons. Without outside influences, it will stand decades longer than any human body will. Yet God describes a human soul of more worth than a pine tree. What of an entire forest? Hundreds, thousands of massive, aged trees cover the face of a mountainside. A river flows through their midst as they stand resolute. Creatures of all kinds take shelter in their shade, and food from their limbs. There are few spectacles more glorious than taking in the setting of the sun across a vast stretch of brilliant oaken pillars. Is one human soul worth more than all of that? Yes, it is. What of an infant’s soul? Or an aged man’s? A homeless beggar’s? Or a vile, greedy conspirator? What is the worth of these souls? Christ is the creator of all things. He pulled up the mountains. He planted the trees. He drew the river’s water. He painted the colors of the sun. He animated the creatures that take comfort therein. He did all of this, and could easily do it again and again. For these he worked, and gave of His time, His thought, and His energy. And in the end he saw them all and said they were good. What did He do, or what did He give for the human soul? He died for it. He sacrificed himself for it. He gave everything He had for it, and the immensity of that sacrifice caused Him to bleed at every pore and pray to His Father that He might not do it if there were any other way. The infinite and eternal sacrifice of the only Begotten Son of the Eternal God, that is the worth of a soul. Every soul. Our soul. How can we live as we are worth? How can we live worthy?

Journey to the Falls (Revised Reflection)

Steady, alert and ready to climb. Our minds are set to our destination. We are ready.

The trail we follow meanders around the mountainside. Gentle are the contours. Every step we take brings us further away from ground level, yet closer to our goal. We are progressing.

You must not overwhelm yourself to reach the end. Your drive must not consume you. Take the time to look at your surroundings and you will be amazed at what light and beauty shines through your eyes.

Capture the moment; let it sink deep into your pores. Do not rush it; appreciate it.

What a perfect time to come. Never before have autumn leaves looked so stunning, but any description of such a display would not serve it justice, no matter how beautiful the lyrics. You have to see it in order to believe its splendor.

‘Seeing is believing’. Is this the foundation of truth? What then is the formula of faith? Must we too have to see in order to believe?

Scientists are keen on evidence. They seek to know the truth, and to discount fallible theories. However, can it be that worldly truths and divine truths are incomparable?

We are moving onwards again, now, with the sprinkling of raindrops. It smells so good. Are we nearly there yet?

We arrive at the foot of the falls. This really was worth the wait. We had achieved what we set out to achieve. It is a metaphor for life. We spend the majority of our time on the path, seeking our end, our final destination. What will we have accomplished by the end of our journey of life?

“The way chose you –
And you must be thankful.”

These words by Hammarskjold are comforting. There is only so much we can do for others and ourselves; Heavenly Father takes care of the rest.

Little Cottonwood Canyon (revised reflection)

Another Sunday afternoon.
My mad love-affair with these mountains.

The canyon, the stony crags, the pines.
What is it about nature that compels us to God?

A communion, the solitude, a sacrament.
Is it any wonder ancient prophets revered such summits as temples?

The turning of the seasons.
The pines, with needles pointing heavenward, in flagrant worship of their God.

The cool September sky.
Hardly a cloud in the heavens; a secret cavern full of records.

A waterfall, the mountain's tears through a crevice.
Some trees dying, others giving life new birth.

Shards of granite.
Quarry to the monumental edifice of God.

The colors, crimson, orange, yellow.
The transformation begins.

What makes these turn red while encumbered by a world of green?
How do they know the end to which they were created?

Perfect obedience of the elements.
Even nauseousness of the altitude could not hope to steal the splendor.

Such beauty, such wonder;
And He created this all for me?

The wind sings of peace to my heart.
"Be still, and know that I am God."

A Mackeral of a Memory (Revised)

Bzzzz! The humming of the straps holding the canoe battles the sound of the tires over mountain road and wins out. My roommate and I top the last rise and begin descending into the valley holding the lucid water of Fish Lake, anticipating a peaceful weekend with water, fish, and canoe. The aspens cover the west side of the valley, possibly the most massive organism I have ever seen, sharing a huge root network supporting thousands of trees. I keep watching them, looking at their quaking leaves like millions of green coins suspended on bony fingers. I climbed the same skeletal trees in the front yard of my childhood home. They are much smaller now that I have grown. A bump brings me back from my reverie and we soon stop to find a camping spot. The fish are biting, we're told by the campsite manager, so we grab the canoe off the car and head down to the lake. So heavy on our shoulders down the path to the shore, the canoe skims lightly over the darkening surface of the water as we shove off. Strong strokes bring us across the deepening waters to the other side of the lake, where hide the Mackinaw, they say, and a few fishermen still troll that shore in their boats. Some carry the huge lake trout on chains caught and left dangling in the water beside the boats. Excited, we begin to fish. We bait our hooks, cast, and wait. I reel in, cast, and wait. The sunset disappears. I reel in, cast, and wait again. Stars prick the shadowed globe above us, and we return our poles, untried, to the canoe and set paddles again to the water. The moon remains hidden and everything but the lights on the bank is black. Tonight the fish will rest, but tomorrow…

Iceland

Cold, bleak, dreary.
Your once wooded valleys are bare.
Your earth is naked barring clumps of brown moss.
Here and there, stones are piled one on another-
A remnant, a memorial of some event or person no longer extant.
Your geysers reek sulfur, the falls are no Niagara, but –
Blue lagoon.
Mud mask, faint smell and natural warmth tickles the nose and invites curiosity.
Blue and clouds – your water is sky mixed together.
Mineral deposits smooth the bottom of your white-encrusted floor.
Mascara circles and the perfect spot –
Secluded.
Cold on the bottom, in the divots of the rocks.
Warmth in the middle, and from above.
The sun warms my face as I feel.
I feel I am the quintessential woman.
I feel whole.
The nudity of Europe heals the soul when married to you –
Bloo Lonió.

This Was Just a Piano (Revised, Memory)

I was seated alone in that immense room, there were several tables and chairs around me, the night was quite and I was there in one of the corners of that big room. I looked around me just to see walls tables and chairs, then I turned back to see what was behind me in such corner and I saw it, it was there, quiet, resting on that very same corner, I wonder how I did not see it since I entered into that room.

This was just a piano, an upright piano, very well-kept, as soon as I saw it, a long chain of memories came back to my mind. That piano looked like exactly like the one I had in my church ward when I was about to go on my mission. Actually the color and the quality reminds me that piano of those days. I remember I wanted to have a piano like that at home. I remember when I went to my mission I used to play the piano for those church meetings when no other pianist was available.

I remember my time in the CTM (Centro Treinamento Misionario) in Sao Paulo, Brazil. None of the other missionaries in my group knew how to play the piano, except me, well, we were only 30 missionaries in my group all of them had their missions in different countries of South America. I remember those days clearly. The CTM was located at the Sao Paulo Temple Square and from my bedroom window I could see the back of the Temple. It was the first time I was visiting a temple. It was such a marvelous experience.

I remember we turned off the lights at 10:30 pm but the chatting kept going until midnight in the dorm that I shared with three other missionaries. Nobody was tired enough at 10:30 pm to sleep, even at midnight we had to stop the chatting because we knew next morning we had a busy schedule of training and temple ordinances.

After the CTM experience I flew back to Peru to start my mission and I was assigned to the most remote areas that only God knows where they are located. It was a great time full of spiritual experiences that even if I could, I would never be willing to trade it in exchange for another time or experiences.

I still play the piano and music becomes alive when I am at the keyboard, but from time to time, memories will also come alive and in between a serie of uncountable hours in the solitude of my piano practices the development of a talent quietly and steadily teaches me not only about music, but that life must go on and that I have the responsability to look for new opportunities to serve others, in my way to perfect the "music of my life", and every passing day I play a new song of service and devotion to the human race, to the children of God.

The Ruin of the Bruin (revised)

Were you at the Byu game on Saturday the 13th of September 2008 when the cougars completely dominated the Ucla Bruins in every aspect of the game? I was. I was a part of history; I am a witness of the fifty-nine point shellacking that Brigham Young imposed on their power-less Pac-10 opponent. It is their worst defeat in seventy-nine years. I was there. The game was remarkable, I remember thinking to myself that I was indeed a part of history. Being their and breathing in the dry mountain air in that stadium on that warm Saturday afternoon was so empowering. I showed up just a hair late. The stadium roof above me shook as the crowd began to stomp their feet and expel their deepest of voices in a furious cheer as the ball was seconds from being kicked off. I quickly ran to the portal opening and saw just as I turned, I saw the ball sailing through the air. I made it. I sat down. Game time.
My brother showed up a few minuets later. He immediately said, “Do you want to hear something funny?” Of course I replied in the affirmative. I listened to his story as I watched a blue tide rip apart a white and gold foe. He told me that he was cutting his hair on Friday, and….FUMBLE!! Fumble recovered by Byu! Sorry, Orrin. To excited to listen. Ok, I’m back. We’ll he had switched from a 3 to a 1, and then he tried to correct a missed spot. Buzz. Well, that’s my scalp. He buzzed a fat chunk right off the top of his head. Before he could even finish his story I induced the outcome and ripped his hat off. Laughter. Lots of laughter!! My red head brother in an attempt to correct his self imposed baldness had shaved an N into the top of his head to represent his high school. Ha ha ha. Oh man. Ahh! FUMBLE AGAIN! Byu recovers again! My voice is gone and my stomach muscles are cramped from laughter.
Ucla is now threatening to score. It’s a field goal attempt by Kai Forbath. The same guy who had his game winning kick blocked last year vs. Byu. They lost that game too. As the ball was about to be snapped, I felt something special. I got the chills from head to foot. I knew that we were going to block that kick. The crowd knowing the same erupts into a passionate chant….”block that kick, block that kick.” The snap. The set. The kick….its blocked! The defense held! The crowds cheer is overwhelming. Deafening. I knew we were going to block that kick and we did. This blocked kick, coupled with the Ucla fumbles left my body sapped of strength. So much cheering. The crowd surged with energy, but it all came from its willing members. As half time came and the teams left the field, I jumped up onto the bleacher seat and joined in the cheer…BYU…BYU…BYU…. I was so happy, and so exhausted. After one more half I was ready to go. Even though we all left depleted of our energy, and strength, we left with something we didn’t have when we entered LaVell Edwards stadium. A piece of history. An unforgettable memory. A glimpse of perfection. I am part of history, and the Quest. Are you?

Sway (Stand revised) Blog #2

“You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off, then you stand.”
-Rascal Flatts

Strength comes eventually. Not our own, but it’s strength nonetheless.
A moment I stood:
It was midnight. I had come to swing my thoughts away, rhythmically, on the swing-set. Something about the flying motion soothed the pain, a feeling akin to the sound of ocean waves. Tonight, however my mind would not rest, and my worrysome thoughts tired me. So I stood. I wandered around the small park, a dark green the the moonlight. The pale concrete of the basketball court caught my eye and I moved toward it. Then suddenly, Backstreet Boys blaring into my ears only, I began to dance.

My steps were choppy, at first, awkward steps. I tripped over my tentative feet and looked around furtively; only the stars had seen me and I imagine stars are forgiving. I suppose the basketball hoop saw me as well, but it can’t dance either.

I scanned my world again, searching for the scornful eyes I had become accustomed to. Again, I stared at the stars, glared at them. I was challenging the heavens. They must have chuckled a bit, for it had taken me so long to realize: The stars would not judge me, and man could not. His opinion was inconsequential.

It was then that I stopped trying to move my clumsy feet; I let them move me instead. The stars led me in a beautiful growth dance. My hips began to sway, not excessive, but confident. My beat was the rhythm of the universe. I was free. I was fluid movement, I knew then, that for a moment I was strong, alive, and, like a goose taking off from the lake, a strange and beautiful sight, completely unexpected.

Culture Shock

Korean flight attendants hold employment of prestige in their culture. With glossy black hair, flawless crimson lipstick smiles, and sharp turquoise suits, they give off the brisk aura of a CEO--or perhaps some type of royalty. In their sovereignty, with gracious voices and meek requests, they attest the greatest among all shall be a servant. But we left behind the Korean attendants fourteen hours ago.

As my husband and I exit the doors of our plane, the heat waves of Georgia, USA, seethe outside the windows of our terminal. My ears only recently started perceiving sounds again after the pressure pop from descending, and they find the clamor hailing us to this country unsettling. A throng of weary travelers mob the lone uniformed worker in sight, asking, pulling, and competing for her assistance. The worker lifts her hands. “I can’t help y’all.” Her answer rebuffs half the crowd, but some others and I persist with a measure of desperation—we have a transferring flight to catch. Obtaining vague directions, my husband and I eventually discover the line appearing to lead to customs. Another uniformed worker, equally as brash as the first, waves people from our line into various other lines. Only one couple, a Korean man and woman, now stand between us and the next level of lines. One tier to go. My momentary thought of progression gets paused as the Korean travelers in front of us, politely and in broken English, deliver a query to the worker. She glances at their paperwork. Without reading the papers, she lifts her eyes back to the Koreans and sighs.
“Pick a line, people.”
Startled, the Koreans nod uncertainly. They continue to stand in place.
I nudge my husband. “They don’t understand her.” He smiles.
“Pick a line, people,” he whispers, imitating her deep Southern accent with good-natured humor.
When she notices the Koreans have not moved, the worker repeats her original demand. This time she raises her voice, but otherwise the words fly from her mouth in the same unintelligible manner as before. Hesitating, the Korean man takes a few steps away from the yelling, toward a new set of diverging lines. Seeing his walking go unchecked, his partner joins him and the two of them hurry to a line marked “immigration.” I helplessly wonder if it is the line they need.
My husband becomes separated from me when another worker directs us to diverging customs booths. Shrugging as we part, I continue forward and hand my declaration form to the agent on duty. He narrows his eyes at me.
“How long was your trip?" Was it ten days or fourteen?
"Why did you travel there? How long have you been married? Where is your husband from? Why isn’t he with you now?” I flush, stammering over my answers, and in my nervousness give abundantly more information than is necessary: “Our anniversary, because we were married a year ago, and visiting family, plus also vacationing, because school starts tomorrow for us—we go to BYU, in Utah, and that is where we are going now…and my husband is with me…” I trail off as I notice the agent’s attention no longer needs me. He is staring at the booth next to us, and my eyes follow his line of vision.

“My husband is over there.” I see my husband backing away from his customs booth as the agent there gestures toward me. Apparently my husband and I should declare as one unit. Of course, the paperwork states it right here. I keep prattling to the agent but he ignores me as he scrutinizes my husband’s green card. When the agent finally lets us pass, my husband and I laugh together, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and shaking heads: nope, no Korean attendants here. We find our luggage and join another queue.

Two Towers (memory blogg revised)

Those two towers that on that day collapsed

Left many a valiant soul depressed;

Stamped out by storm of day brought thunder

To send many valiant souls asunder.

How will their memories we carry through

So trialous a time of heart thronging years.

Their illustrious lives stamped out by death

must live on in our hears, and minds, and souls.

At a time when courage tried is hardest,

One must stand with valiance all the brighter.

For mourning is not just passing of years,

But time for hope and courage through the tears.

For from the sod of tragic place of loss,

Grows new hope and courage from the dross

One Giant Leap (Revised Memory)

I take one deep breath, close my eyes tightly and silently count one, two…three. Then it happens. There’s no turning back.

The time had come for me to pack my life away into two, overly stuffed suitcases. It took a miracle, but I managed. I used the little time I had left to take one last, longing look at my room. Suddenly, flashbacks raced through my mind, but stayed long enough to fully appreciate them.

As a little girl I remember playing ‘teacher’ in my room. Giving endless spelling tests to my dolls was what I enjoyed most. What an awful teacher I would make! As I grew older, my room became a stage and I was the star. I would sing and wildly dance to the Spice Girls’ first album in front of my mirror. Frequently, my mother would come up and tell me to calm down because the ceiling would literally be shaking.

My room has seen it all, the good and the bad. It has been the host of many girlie sleepovers, has had pink nail polish spill on the cream colored carpet and has been littered with clothes in an attempt for me to find the perfect outfit for my crush’s party.

“Sof it’s time to go, the taxi is here,” the sound of my dad’s voice brings me back to the present. Why has it taken this long to realize and appreciate that my room has always been there for me? It has grown up with me, allowed me to dream and has offered a pillow or two to cry into after a bad day, but now I am turning my back on it.

Eleven airplane hours go by.

‘Ding’, the seatbelt sign flicks on. So soon had the time come to land; I did not feel ready. I felt as if I was falling down into the unknown; everything soon to come was beyond my control, but I was not alone. My parents and sister were still there beside me and that comforted me.

Life's next hurdle had finally arrived: college. I had dreamed for this day to come, but then it suddenly hit me, my last day of high school was like my last day of childhood. I must finally face the reality of adulthood.

Maturity: to leave that nest where everything feels familiar, and to walk out alone beyond our comfort zone.

At the turn of a bent dorm room key, my destiny awaited. This perfectly shaped square with four whitewashed walls and bad lighting was my new home sweet home. I did not yet know that sleepless nights, endless homework and the annoyance of my roommate’s alarm clock were to be associated with my new room. Nor did I anticipate the frequent visits from newly made friends, late movie nights and silly pranks.

Fighting to hold back those stubborn tears as I said goodbye to my mother was certainly a difficult challenge, one that I failed miserably. I did not want to reveal how weak and vulnerable I felt inside. I had to show her that I could take this one giant leap.

The first night in my alien dorm room was lonely and long. I never realized how much I would miss the people and places that were apart of my home and heart, until I had to say goodbye.

My new room will never compare to the former, and even though my surroundings are strangely unfamiliar I am safe. Now, it is up to me to find my way.

Beautiful Mary (Revised)

I sat in my uncomfortable seat, watching as she made her laborious trek over to the piano. I was sitting in the very front row, thanks to the cute boy next to me, and I sat up a little straighter as she eased herself down onto the creaky piano bench. “Here we go,” I thought during the silence that stretched out before she began. Then, slowly, beautifully, her fingers caressed the keys, blending the familiar tunes of “Come Thou Fount” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” As the medley continued, I surrendered to the peace and comfort that were washing over me. As I felt the spirit fill me, I developed a deep love for Mary, this autistic musician.

On the way home from church, Jason turned to me and asked if I’d like to help him make a treat for Mary (as a token of appreciation). Delighted at the prospect, we gathered ingredients (borrowing some from neighbors, as one must do on the Sabbath) and cheerfully baked a Texas Sheet Cake. We decorated the top with a smile of oreos, and set off to deliver our prize.

We entered Mary’s living room, presenting her with the cake and a shower of compliments. As soon as she started talking, however, I could tell that something was wrong. I asked her if she was doing ok. She told us, through her running nose and tears, that she had been feeling terribly sick, but that she’d just had a blessing. She thanked us for the cake and assured us that there was nothing we could do for her. We told again how beautiful her piano piece had been and that it truly helped us to feel the spirit.

At that point, Beautiful Mary proceeded to tell us that she loved those two pieces of music and that they always moved her deeply. She continued and bore her testimony to us in a beautifully simple manner, pleading with us to try and understand the magnitude of our Heavenly Father’s love for us. “God loves you so much. More than the whole world. People know that, but they don’t know. More than the whole world…” We assured her that her song had conveyed that message, and thanked her once again for sharing with us. We hugged her goodbye and made her promise to let us know if there was anything we could do to help.

As we walked down the stairs, Jason and I were silent. After a moment, Jason’s gentle voice expressed the awe and love we both felt for her… love for a girl with faith so unwavering and so pure that it inspires all who are blessed with her presence.

Memory

Hands clinging to the chain link fence. I survey the damage of my world gone astray. The scene is so bleak. I almost trick my eyes into believing there is no color in this place, only the black and the white the constant battle between good and bad. A single cross stands erect; a representative of the once proud being that stood tall. Now only ashes. I am taken back to that horrible day. I watched in horror as my view of the world came tumbling down with that second tower. I was young and didn't understand the meaning. Why would someone do this. All the memories of that fateful day poured into as a stared at its remains. The mist drifted around the city creating a solemn mood.

The Journey of a Lifetime

I stood there, paralyzed with anticipation; my heart pounded as if it was going to explode from within me. The emcee was teasingly taking what felt like hours to announce the winners. “The first runner-up is……Stephanie Gaufin,” he proclaimed. Standing in awe, I realized that I had a chance to be Utah’s Jr. Miss, but I suspected that another contestant may have had more points than me. After the longest thirty seconds of my life, the audience went silent, and I could hear the hammering of my own heart. Very authoritatively, he announced, “And now, our 2005 Utah’s Jr. Miss is……. # 26, Ashley Boulter!” For a brief second, I didn’t hear what he said, and then I was being swarmed by my fellow contestants. The audience, jumped to their feet, and applauded my victory. Not only was that night a wonderful memory which I will never forget, it was the beginning to the most amazing journey of my life.

* * * * *

The intense heat and humidity hit me like a brick wall. Growing up in the parched deserts of Utah, I was shocked when I stepped outside into what felt like a moist sauna. Feeling very insecure, I hesitantly staggered into a room with forty-nine of the most amazing, talented, beautiful, smart, and fit girls that I have ever met. “Hi, I’m Elena Bird, Alaska.” “Howdy, my name is Megan Murray, Wyoming.” I continued to be herded through the crowds of girls, bombarded by bright colors and brilliant smiles gleaming at me from every direction; I was overwhelmed by all that was happening to me.

“Hello girls, and welcome to Mobile, Alabama; the home of America’s Jr. Miss.” That’s when it hit me. I was actually competing in a national pageant; the heels, make-up, hair, and cameras. After an intimidating opening ceremony, which passed through my head like a surreal dream, I was introduced to the family whom I would live with for the following two weeks, the length of the competition. I was going to share some of the most amazing experiences of my life with Miss Suzanne, her husband, and little Olivia Ashurst.

* * * * *

Finally, Miss Suzanne gently woke me up on the final day of the competition. The day seemed to drag on, until all fifty contestants were even too anxious to eat. “Girls, ten minutes until we start,” the producer yelled from the dressing room. Suddenly, girls were screaming and experiencing shortness of breath. Overwhelming excitement was emitted from the frantic contestants. With final hair and make-up touch-ups complete, I ran down the steps to the stage. Tonight is going to be a night I will never forget.

“Alright ladies and gentleman, it is time to announce the top fifteen contestants. Keep in mind that they will be read in no particular order…… Oregon’s Jr. Miss, Kara Girod. North Carolina’s Jr. Miss, Hope Lu.” He continued to read names, until my heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest. Then he said it: “Utah’s Jr. Miss, Ashley Boulter.” I couldn’t believe it; I was in shock. Standing at the front of the stage, I didn’t hear any of the other names which were called, as I tried to soak in the feelings of exhilaration and excitement which I was experiencing.

After the fifteen remaining contestants competed in the Fitness competition, the announcer named the top ten finalists. He started calling out their names, one by one, and I continued to wait in horrible anticipation. I waited and waited. Nothing. My dreams were shattered. I didn’t even make the top ten. Intense disappointment and degradation tore through my whole body. I had worked so hard for all of my life preparing for a competition like this, and I was walking away with nothing.

I lumbered out of the theater after the final night of the performance. I felt like I had wasted two full weeks of my life coming to Mobile, Alabama. Just then, my spirits were lifted up by the voices of my wonderful host family. With tears in their eyes, they consoled and comforted me. Then, I heard little Olivia say something to her cousin that would change my outlook forever. She declared, “Do you want to go and meet the girl my parents and the Lord want me to be like?” She then brought her cousin to meet me. I was humbled and touched when I heard that Olivia, a ten-year-old whom I had grown to love, wanted to emulate ME!

Walking away from America’s Jr. Miss Pageant, I didn’t have any additional scholarship money. I didn’t win any awards, or receive any worldly acclaim. However, I had something that was far more valuable to me than any worldly reward; I had made a difference in the lives of one family. Finally, I realized why I was chosen to make the journey to Mobile, Alabama.

Reflections from 9-11(revised)

It began as most other school days did. My mind was still shaking off the effects of a 5am family scripture study as I calmly waited for my neighborhood friends to pull in the driveway to take me to school. I sat down on the couch and turned on the news, as I always did when I had 5 minutes to kill. The television screen burst to life with the scene of two towers. The commentators’ voices and words were lost as my brain labored to understand the pictures I was seeing. One stood resolute while the other was victimized by an enormous amount of smoke billowing out the side, suffocating the upper half of the building. I looked down to the white-on-red text at the bottom of the screen. “AIRLINE CRASHES INTO WORLD TRADE CENTER.” What’s the World Trade Center? I ask. “And who’s stupid enough to crash into it?” The uneasy feeling in my stomach led me to believe that this was something more than an accident…HONK! Out of the corner of my eye I see the sea-green 95 Honda Accord pull into my driveway. I jumped up from my couch, turned off the TV and rushed outside to tell my friends the news.

As I opened the rear door I’m buffeted by the loud sub-woofered lyrics of “Never made it as a wise man…!” They were familiar, probably because I’d heard them every single day for the past month, as our driver Matt declared it our ‘Drive-to-school song.’ Nicole, my friend from across the street greets me as I sit down next to her. “Hey guys did you hear about the plane crashing into the World Trade Center?” I questioned. Matt shakes his head negatively while Nicole answers with a “No. What happened?” “I’m not exactly sure.” The answer seemed to completely kill any further curiosity from my friends as we made our routine ride to my high school.

As I made my way to my first class I stop to ask different friends if they’d heard anything about the crash. No one had. So I made my way to class and sat down, instantly turning to my classmates to ask, “Did you guys hear…” Most of the time, however, their wide smiles and laugher were a giveaway that they hadn’t. More often than not I was answered with, “What is the World Trade Center?” I was completely dumbfounded! The public school system has failed us! How could everyone be so happy when such a tragedy like that is going on as we speak? People are dying! I stopped and thought about that for a second. I guess it is hard to have sad feelings for something that ten seconds before you did not even know existed, much less mourn. I looked around my classroom in suburban Layton, Utah and realized that no one probably even knows anyone in New York City, and only a few had even seen the Twin Towers outside of postcards or the internet. I had to admit that I felt very little self-guilt for enjoying my day when I know that there are little children dying of AIDS in Africa. Ignorance, or at least unfamiliarity, is bliss.

Unfamiliarity was soon to going to be changed with an all too comfortable intimacy, as our second period class was interrupted with a loud beep beep beep of the intercom. “Dear students and faculty,” my principal began. “We regretfully announce that some extremely unfortunate events have occurred this morning in New York City and Pennsylvania…” I don’t remember the rest. We spent the rest of the day watching TV’s in our classrooms. The only break from the news coverage was taken in my history class, where Mr. Seiter, my Episcopalian… “and be sure and remember that!” teacher, had us all take out a piece of paper to record the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of that day. Mine was filled with questions of my happenings that morning and the questions of an uncertain future. Did this mean war? Will there be a draft? Our world will be forever changed.

And so it was, not so much as from good to bad, but I came to see it more as the world maturing. Our nation maturing. Just as a teenager in their first year of college is swiftly awakened to the reality of a bigger world, so were we as Americans. There are problems in the world, and those who see themselves as leaders cannot turn a blind eye to them. We must be part of a solution. Not just for our well-being but everyone who calls this world home.

One Winter's Night... (Revised Memory)

Midnight approached as the movie came to an end. I arose from the couch and moved towards the door expecting a cheerful hug goodnight and then I’d be on my way. But that’s not what was to be. As I reached for the door, she called my attention back. The promise. I had forgotten the promise. Or at least I had hoped she had forgotten the promise, but girls never do, do they? Neither had she. So with a hardly convincing, “Of course I didn’t forget,” a disarming smile, and a blanket in my arms, we left the apartment and greeted the starry night sky.
It was February; snow was still on the ground. The moment we left the warm, cozy front room, our soft breath turned to mist and willowed silently into the night. We walked soundlessly to the old, worn couch. Ruby was the affectionate title it was given. The once regal sofa had grown soft and tattered with years of use and it welcomed us brightly as we eased onto it. Conversation began and flowed easily as we bundled up in the blanket for warmth. The words that were spoken are unimportant, only that they were said. And as we spoke, her and I, snow began to fall slowly and lightly as the hours drew on towards morning. Luckily, Ruby was safely tucked under the cover of a slight overhang and thus protected from the falling snow. What was the promise you might ask? I had promised to share with her that night three things personal to me that I could not see my future without; three of my most treasured wishes. The nervous tension in my heart was released with pleasure as some of my most cherished hopes and dreams were given over and entrusted to another. They flowed so easily and then, willingly. It was as if I was talking to someone I had known my entire life, not someone I had met only a few months ago.
We talked for hours, her and I, and they passed so comfortably with Ruby to keep us company. The sharing of our hearts that night tipped the scales in her favor, and I will never forget that wonderful night under the stars and in the falling snow. And what of my dreams? Well as fate would have it, she herself became the one they were of. To this day I have seen two of my three dreams come to life through her, and who knows when the third one will be...

CATHEDRAL PEAK, 1973

BEN BEATTIE: Challenge/Discovery 1973

Because I was the least successful at kayaking, normally I would be absolutely downhearted and feeling inferior. No one here looks down on me. Nothing is said. It’s no big deal. I had difficulty – difficulties are overcome. It is due probably to our instructors:

John: He’s English. He’s the master. True compassion. He explains, inspires. He always assumes the positive. We don’t hear the bad because we won’t fail a teacher.
Allan Derbyshire: English. He’s more cautious, but the same good attitude. He looks a little worried. I am missing something, some basic knack, and even though I smile and have the carry-on spirit, he knows as well as I that it is not good to push forward foolishly just for the sake of pushing forward.
Ben Beattie: He is Scottish. He has the same style. It is the feeling we were supposed to get in Yoga from our teachers but just never came about.
Rick: He’s young still but quite an expert. He is handsome and carries his head proudly. The others are handsome also but have more inner strength and maturity, therefore their physical appearance does not call attention to itself.

For the most part, I am happy, and I get along, but something separates me at times. It’s like I have to prove something, or get rid of something first before I really fit in. I don’t know if I feel this because of my new religion. What is fellowship?

************************

Our leaders decided that we would leave our packs and everything except our ice axes and climb Taylor Peak. Before we started climbing, Allan read an inspirational quotation to us: "When the morning’s freshness has been replaced by the weariness of midday, when the leg muscles quiver under the strain, the climb seems endless, and, suddenly, nothing will go quite as you wish – it is there that you must not hesitate" (from Markings by Dag Hammarskjöld).

Guess what Allan said? “Cindy, you can be the leader to the top of our very first peak! I want you to get busy, and I don’t want anyone to get up there before you do!” I was happy. He was half-joking, and it was no honor that he was bestowing on me, but it meant something to be the first one on the first peak. Allan explained the duties of a leader:

1) Look about and choose a course, preferably the best way in relation to speed-difficulty-safety.
2) Set a pace that is comfortable to slow and fast climbers so that no one falls behind.
3) Keep the group together.

Climbing Taylor Peak, we had to learn how to go up a steep snowbank. I kept slipping backwards and sliding all the way back to the bottom. I finally did it. I was the last one, and I’m supposed to be the leader. It wasn’t easy to do those things, but we all got up there, and it was worth it to see the way those mountains look all around you. Allan and Ben were impressed and said there was nothing like it where they come from in England and Scotland.

*************************

For the early morning ascent of Cathedral Peak, the leaders divided us into two groups. Ben went ahead to break a trail through the snow. Allan led the first team up, and then our team went in this order: Rick, Forrest, Me, Virginia, and Dave. Dave, being the last ready, was almost forgotten, but we tied him in and took off. The route we had decided was a gully of snow to the left of the peak. We trudged along, step by step, following Ben’s tracked switchbacks across the snow. This makes climbing easier, the zigzagging instead of trying straight shots upward, but even so it was by no means easy. I was sick. It was altitude sickness working on an empty stomach and a sleepless night. I did not enjoy the climb. It was a beautiful morning though. It was comforting and cheerful to see the snow change slowly and stealthily from icy white to a gorgeous gold.

Our team caught up with the first group, and soon we all caught up with Ben. Then we reached the top of the gully and climbed over the ridge to the top of Cathedral Peak. I was the last one. I sat by myself while the others talked and laughed. I wasn’t exactly exalted by the view from 14,000 feet, but I must admit it was grand. Ben sang a haunting traditional ballad for us, something like "The Isle of Inisfree" or the “The Isle of Home.” We signed the book attached to the summit’s flag, which all the conquerors of the mount are privileged to sign. Time to climb down.

For the descent, Allan headed his team down the same gully that we used for the ascent, while Ben led our team down the opposite side in another gully. This proved to be tricky. The snow was already soft, and our footsteps slipped often, and I found out later that we were in danger. An avalanche could have occurred at any time. Ben was very worried, though he did not let us catch on. We slowly and cautiously inched along, until about halfway down David’s helmet strap broke, and the helmet rolled down the gully. Rick tied off to go down and retrieve the helmet, and Forrest was now in front. He became the new leader with Ben giving directions from the back. Ben was tense, and his instructions were terse. We belayed each other one-by-one, front and back, and finally we made it over the danger zone. Then we got to slide down on our feet and on our ice axes.

Tonight around the fire we talked about learning and school and education, and I told how I want to study many areas, not just one. I talked about the Medieval era, English folk songs, the musical group Pentangle, and chivalry. And guess what Ben told me? He knows the man who taught Burt Jansch how to play guitar. Said that he is unbelievable. I asked Ben to sing the traditional that he was singing on top of the mountain today, about leaving an island of home, but he inclined his head and declined to sing.

I’ve just put my last pieces of wood, so I will have to quit writing soon. But I will try to finish tomorrow. I just want to say that I never want to leave these beautiful things I am learning and seeing. I love it here. But I am still so sad, not really in my place, but only at times, perhaps when I am tired. Perhaps it’s my own fault, and I should contribute more of me to others in the group work, and then I wouldn’t worry about myself so much. But tomorrow is a New Day.

**************************************

I am sorry to tell you now that Ben Beattie (1945-1978) died in the Himalayas several years ago in a climbing accident. I found out when I sent a Christmas card to his address in Scotland, on the tenth anniversary of my time in Colorado. A woman named C. M. Davidson kindly sent a note dated 12 September 1983, with a clipping of the obituary:

“FORMER CLIMBING INSTRUCTOR DIES. A former Edinburgh instructor has been killed in a climbing accident in the Himalayas. Mr. William “Ben” Beattie (33), who was a ski-ing and mountaineering instructor at Glenmore Lodge outdoor training centre, was a member of a combined British and Canadian expedition attempting a traverse on Nanda Devi.

“Mr. Beattie was the outdoor activity instructor at Ainslie Park School and leader of the tragic school expedition to the Cairngorms in November 1971 when five pupils died after being caught in a storm.

“The incident in which he was killed happened on Friday, September 15 [1978]. His body was recovered and buried on the mountain.”



Bill Campbell, a pilot for the Scottish Saltire Branch of the United Kingdom Armed Forces, gives background for the disaster. A group of pupils from the mountaineering club of the Ainslie Park School had planned a weekend in the Cairngorms from November 19-21, 1971

On November 21, 1971, Ben and his girlfriend Cathy Davidson led a group of teenagers on an expedition in the Cairngorms. They divided the young people into two groups.


My own father passed away on September 15, 1974, a year after my Colorado experience, so the news of Ben’s death on the same calendar day is particularly poignant. I now understand why Ben may have been so worried about keeping us safe in our descent from Cathedral Peak, just eighteen months after the disaster that took the lives of five teenagers and a young instructor on the Cairngorm Plateau in Scotland. That may explain his stirring song at the summit and his melancholy mood at the fireside later that evening.We never know what burdens people around us may be carrying. "In the quiet heart is hidden, sorrow that the eye can't see" (LDS Hymnbook #221). Ben was haunted by the weight of failure. Did that weight pull him down to death on Nanda Devi. Ah, Ben, you taught us, you made us laugh. Your love made a difference in my life. Such successes overrule any downfall.