Discipleship - Our Calling

Maxwell, Neal A. The Promise of Discipleship. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 2001. 145 pg. (content, acknowledgments, preamble, 10 chapters, notes, sources, and index.)

The Promise of Discipleship is an informative and inspiring religious novel about our quest and role as a disciple of Christ. Throughout this book, Elder Maxwell goes through the steps of becoming a true disciple and the blessings that we can receive. Also, he gives us wise and sound counsel on how to become a better disciple. Focusing on the trials that will strengthen us, the need for divine determination, the mercy and justice of God, willingness to accept the Lord’s timing, and the gift of the Holy Ghost we are taught about our importance and need to be disciples. Elder Maxwell brilliantly synthesizes scripture and quotes from authorities throughout his writing, and each chapter leads into the next topic in a very smooth and understandable way bringing consistency and coherence to the book.

My grandfather gave me this book this past summer, and my husband and I were hoping for an opportunity to read it. The knowledge that we are disciples of Christ really attracted me to this book, but I’ve always wanted to know more about the role that I play, as a disciple, in the Lord’s grand plan. Well, Elder Maxwell’s wise words truly helped me understand more about my calling to help the Lord. As a disciple I have a calling and duty to share the gospel with others, but he stresses the need of meekness. We are always “on stage” as disciples; “moving along the straight and narrow path is scarcely a solitary or unobserved thing.” He advises that we use meekness to endure the public calling of discipleship. This meekness that he stresses does not come all at once, he stated, “the process of discipleship is carried out in the process of time.” The way we use our time is one of the greatest lessons that I took away from this book. Elder Maxwell understands that some of our time must be devoted to the betterment of society, he stated:

Nevertheless, such cares and chores can come to dominate life. We can easily find ourselves anxiously engaged in doing these lesser things, so that too little of ourselves and of our time are left over for the things of God. Our management of time tells us so much about the management of ourselves.

As I have been focusing on my personal quest this semester, I realized that I want to grow in knowledge, faith, truth, and I want to improve my relationship with Christ. After reading this book, I recognized that Elder Maxwell has enabled me to progress in all of these areas of my quest. My knowledge and understanding of the gospel has increased, and my faith in and relationship with Christ have greatly improved. I have been personally inspired to be a better disciple of Christ. I learned that even though I go to Brigham Young University, I can still share the gospel with others. As I always stand as a witness of Christ, I hope that my every action and word can shine as an example to others. Also, I’m so grateful for the experiences that the Lord has blessed me with because I know they have helped shape me into the person I am. Honestly, I received a greater respect and understanding of my calling, and I have an increased desire to do all I can to move the work of the Lord forward.

Elder Maxwell’s diction is masterful. The way he phrases points, uses alliteration, a very large vocabulary, and a deep and cumulative knowledge of the gospel makes this book a colorful, entertaining, and touching account of a gospel subject. One of the tools that Elder Maxwell uses successfully is comparing our lives to the lives of past scriptural figures or prophets. In a very personal way, he talks about his love and admiration of Joseph Smith and the amazing things he accomplished while enduring trials like Job. We, like Joseph, have been given trials and experiences that will be for our good. Elder Maxwell said, “Since we do not remember ordering them from life’s menu, so many defining moments are actually compliments of the chef!”

“Obviously, a determining and defining moment lies ahead for all mortals. Yet that defining moment turns on our choices today.” Every mature member of the church should choose to read this book today. If you prayerfully search its content for revelation and inspiration from the Holy Ghost, you will be blessed with a new understanding of discipleship. Study the pages carefully, truly seeking for guidance and specific phrases that touch you personally. That’s one of the many amazing aspects of the gospel: every individual will take away a different personal message if they are spiritually prepared. I am so grateful for the experiences that I had with this quest book. It has truly inspired me to be a better disciple of Christ.

The Giver by Lois Lowry

Lowry, Lois. The Giver. New York, New York: Houghston Mifflin Company, 1993. 180 pp. (Front pages, title page, dedication, Books by Lois Lowry, 23 chapters, end pages.)

The Giver is a story about young Jonas, a twelve year old boy who lives in a futuristic, seemingly utopian, community that has chosen “Sameness” – the absence of choices, color, and differences. After Jonas is selected to have the honor of taking upon him the memories of the society before Sameness, he begins to question the forced state of contentment that the community has chosen for its citizens.

Each year, fifty Newchildren are born, and they progressively move up through the age groups, Twos, Threes, Fours, etc. as each year passes. The children are taught precision of language, manners, punctuality, and skills carefully regulated by the leaders of the community. They are not to call attention to any differences they may possess or notice in others. Once they become Twelves, they are given Assignments – careers chosen carefully by a group of Elders – and become adults and official members of the community. They remain in their Assignments until they are no longer able to contribute to the community, and, if they wish, they may petition to the Elders to have a spouse and two children assigned to them. Later in life, they enter the House of the Old, where they are taken care of until their time of Release. Release is almost a taboo subject – it is an honor for the Old, a time of sadness for the Newchildren, and a punishment and source of shame for citizens who cannot abide by the Rules of the community. All that the people are told of Release is that the people are sent Elsewhere.

Once Jonas is selected to become the Receiver of Memory, he begins his training in this job of great importance and honor. The previous Receiver, who tells Jonas to call him the Giver, transmits the memories of the world before Sameness to Jonas. He is given memories of joy, hunger, pain, love, war, fear – all of which the current community has never experienced. He is also enlightened on the subject of Release, which turns out to be a form of euthanasia. As this young boy is given the rare opportunity to gain knowledge, he is able to see clearly that the lives of his family and peers are void of fulfillment and true emotion. He quickly comes to the realization that the act of choosing is important and that, without differences, true emotion cannot be felt.

What begins as the story of a young man trying to fit into his closely regulated community becomes the story of the young man learning and fighting for the importance of agency. Although the people surrounding him are content in their ignorance, Jonas begins to realize how much more there can be to life, and that the chosen Sameness is actually a limitation on happiness rather than an assurance of it. Because the members of his community are content with their ignorance, Jonas is forced to make his quest with only the help of the Giver, and he must learn to make his own decisions about what is right and wrong. Based on the memories he receives, he is forced to delve into the knowledge he has access to and choose for himself the sory of life he wants to lead. He must not only make these decisions, but he must decide with enough certainty to act upon them.

The book is written in a simple, easy to understand, and straightforward manner. Jonas is logical and seemingly accurate, and the environment is easy to accept and understand although it is not technically a situation that is easily comprehended or believable. The character development pulls you in, and it is easy to feel the same attachments and frustrations felt by Jonas. Lowry takes a strong theme (agency) and places it in a simple story, one that children could read and enjoy. Although told in a simple manner, The Giver is a book that makes you think. The not-completely-resolved ending leaves you with questions, yet with a positive feeling overall. The unique use of vocabulary (Sameness, Sixes, Newchild, Old, Release, Childless Adults, etc.) adds to the feel of the book taking place in its own isolated little world. Yet it is a world that is able to be comprehended in just under 200 pages.

Occasionally, discontinuities would arise (such as the ability to remove the majority of people’s ability to see color, while the Giver and Jonas were still able to see it), but it didn’t interfere with the plot or the overall message. Because the book is written so simply, people may write it off as a children’s story (located in the Juvenile Literature section of the library). The message, however, shines through and is appropriate for people of all ages.

I highly recommend this book to people of any gender or time of life. It’s perfect for people with a busy schedule – it is an easy read that could be completed in an afternoon. The book causes reflection and makes you think, but it doesn’t leave you feeling unsettled. It invoked in me a deep feeling of gratitude for my own agency and ability to experience a full range of emotions and sensations.

Lakota Woman- Quest Book Review (revised)

Crow Dog, M., & Erdos, R. Lakota Woman. New York: Harper Perennial, 1990. 263 pp. $11.00. (front pages, 16 chapters, epilogue)

Lakota Woman is biography of Mary Crow Dog, a Native American, Sioux woman from the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. The book follows Mary’s life, as she moves from a free spirited, bitter child to the strong, warrior-type woman who plays a unique role in the American Indian Movement (AIM). Her life is a series of struggles, heartache, and conflict. However, despite her trial Mary Crow Dog changes her life around after embracing her Native American spirituality. She joins the AIM organization and it opens her eyes to a new world. It is through the AIM that Mary finds herself, by the helping of others, and commits the rest of life to doing so. Mary writes Lakota Woman in a style that is very honest and straight to the point. She tells her story as it is and, in no way tries to glamorize it or conceal any truth.

Lakota Woman had been sitting amongst my father’s great collection of Native American literature. It had always attracted my eye, yet I never picked it up. At a time in my life where I am solidifying my identity, I found this book to be most appropriate for reestablishing who I am as Native American woman. What I like most about this book is observing how Mary Crow Dog’s trails turned her to the woman she is today. Mary had a difficult life that includes harsh experiences at boarding school, injustice on the reservation, a dark period of drugs and alcohol, bloodshed of beloved friends and family, the giving of birth to her son, Pedro, amongst the siege at Wounded Knee and lastly, the imprisonment of her husband, Leonard Crow Dog, a well respected medicine man and AIM activist.

In her book she writes, “At age ten I could drink and hold a pint of whiskey. At age twelve the nuns beat me for ‘being too free with my body.’ All I had been doing was holding hands with a boy. At age fifteen I was raped (p.4).” Somehow, despite these hardships, Mary was able to move on and let go of the hardships by the assisting of others. What I learned from Mary Crow Dog is this: trails, hardships, pain, and suffering come into our lives. They sometimes seem difficult to bear and overcome, but “life goes on” (p. 263) and just as she said, “I will live” (p.260), we too will live.

One of Mary’s strengths in Lakota Woman, as I mentioned before, is her honesty. She did not try to pretty up or keep clean the events of her life. She had a story to tell and she wrote it in a way that is both loud and clear. Mary also writes in a way that is very passionate and descriptive. At times in her life when she experiences anger, sorrow, or happiness, the reader can feel and sense that emotion as if you were Mary herself. The only limitation I found was that perhaps Mary Crow Dog hasn’t allowed enough time to pass before she decided to write Lakota Woman. In some of the stories she tells, the reader can still sense the pain or anger she feels. Sometimes she sounds as if she is prejudice against white people in general and not just the ones who wronged her. Lakota Woman was written not too long after the AIM movement took place and perhaps Mary needed more time to sort out a few issues. From a reader’s point of view, Mary did a great job of keeping the reader interested in the book. I could not seem to put this book down. Taking a break and disruptions seemed painful. However, a delimitation that I came across is that sometimes Mary would go off in another direction that would make things confusing. For example, while Mary tells about an interaction with her friend Annie Mae Aquash, she brings in something that irrelevant to the story. This sparks another idea and then another, until the reader sometimes becomes lost. This makes it harder to follow along her wonderful story.

In the end, I really enjoyed this book. It has certainly helped me along my quest of solidifying my identity. I recommend this book to all who want to know a little bit about the truth of what Native Americans experience today, for sometimes history books conceal certain truths. Life is not nearly the same as what Mary experienced, but some of the trails that she experience still persist for Native Americans today. I also recommend this book to other Native Americans. The people of the AIM did something remarkable and paved a way for other Native Americans today. Just by reading it myself, I have gained a great appreciation for what people like Mary Crow Dog did in order for me to have greater opportunities today.

On a final note, I warn that for those Native Americans who do read it, it is very easy, especially while reading all the unjust and inhumane things that the Native Americans experience, to become very angry and bitter toward other people and want to seek some sense of revenge. However, one thing that is important to understand is what the AIM organization was all about. Their main purpose was to educate Native Americans of the rights that were being ignored because they lack this particular knowledge. Thus, I believe that what the AIM people and Mary Crow Dog would want for people is to educate themselves so that experiences like theirs do not resonate in within their own lives.

Utopia Book Review (Revised)

More, Thomas, Sir, Saint. Utopia. London: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc, 1975. (130 pages, 2 books, index)

In More's Utopia, the author lays out, in some detail, the society of a island dwelling people called the Utopians. The book takes a slightly unique approach as it is not a story about characters that live in Utopia, rather, it is an overview made and communicated to us by a person who merely visited there and familiarized himself with the place and its people. The book itself is somewhat of a commentary on ideals and societal perfections as it takes the account of the Utopians and naturally compares it to the modern societies of the time. Though the book and time period from which it comes is older, the implications and insights still give modern day readers material for reflection and discussion.

The work, as a whole, is actually divided into two distinct parts called books. The societal and cultural overview of the Utopians, however, makes up the writing in the second book, which book will be the focus of my review. This second book is rather short in length as it does not exceed 100 pages but does contain a wealth of sociological, geographical, and political information about the Utopians.

As a writer, i find the book impressive because it takes the idea of actual societal perfection and creates it in the form of a fictional people and then dissects it as though it were actually being visited by an outsider. Creating a whole world is one thing, but creating a world with laws, balance, geography, social class, religion, and all the other details that make up actual society, is particularly impressive. The level of excellence the book achieves is perhaps better realized when we try to use it as a model and create our own Utopia. Just making it a generally "fair" place, while still maintaining the idea that man is flawed and independent is a chore in and of itself.

As a reader, i find the book fascinating both in its content and style. I enjoyed the intricate and full detail that the author puts into this Utopian society such that it is easy to forget it is a place of fiction. I cannot help but think this society, though perhaps ultimately unattainable, is as close to ideal as possible.One of the strengths of this book that i find particularly far reaching is the impact that it still has on modern readers. People debate the possibility of such a place, even in theory, to this very day. Its societal commentary shows us the differences between what we really have and what we perhaps ought to have. Many of the common problems in society and entirely lacking in Utopia. One example is poverty. In Utopia, there is no such thing as poverty because all who are able are required to work in order to stay within the society. All things are shared in common and people work together. Skills are learned by all and taught to others with people switching jobs and learning a new skill or trade every ten years. Because the societies members are all skilled laborers, much of the work done there is achieved with great speed and efficiency and all are rewarded for their work with adequate food, shelter, clothing, and all other necessities. The leaders of Utopia are not rewarded more than is reasonable and are also required to work for their own support. They are under the same laws as the people. These are just some of the technical mechanics of the society that allow it to be so successful. When we consider that this work was written several hundred years ago, we see quite clearly that many of these seemingly simple ideas were ahead of their time. Having the ability to create these ideas and implement them into a fictional society, is impressive to say the least.

As far as potential limitations are concerned, the one that i find is the lack of individualism in the work, both in the writer and the Utopians themselves. I would have enjoyed a more personal interaction between the author and the people not unlike Gulliver's travels. Messages are often clearly understood if seen through the lens of ground level interaction. This would be the only real limitation in my opinion.

In terms of this book in relation to my quest, i chose it because of the idea that perfection is something for which a person can continually strive. This book looks, in detail, at an actual implementation of societal perfection. The thing that is of personal interest and significance to me is the idea that societal perfection is impossible without each and every individual doing the very best they can for the good of society. This requires traits like humility, self-sacrifice, and social cognizance, all of which are worth striving for. While the society in this book is not real, the idea of striving for perfection and continued personal improvement is very real to me. Taking a book, whether based on fact or fiction, and using it as a model, is something that is personally helpful to me and this is why i chose this book as my quest book.

I find that this book is best read form an almost critical point of view. I would invite the potential reader to take a shrewd view of the ideas put forth in this book and try to find holes in the methodology. When one does this, it reveals the depth and thoughtfulness of the work in that there are far fewer structural weaknesses than one might originally assume. I recommend this book to anyone who has an analytical mind and has an interest in hearing thoughts on societal perfection. In my own life quest, i find the book powerful as i examine the type of person which is requisite in making an ideal society work. Perhaps the things that speak to me are not the same things that speak to others.

Quest Book Report 2, Night, Cindy Hurst REVISED

Wiesel, Elie. Night Canada: Douglas & McIntyre Ltd., 2006.


In Night, the narrative character Eliezer, based on Elie Wiesel himself, shares his experience in a memoir of being a Jew forced into the concentration camp Auschwitz. He explains how his community of Jews in Hungary had lived in optimism until it was too late, how even when they were warned of the horror that was to become their lives, they did not believe that such brutality could exist in the modern world. When Eliezer is forced into this state of living himself, he begins to question his belief in God, thinking that in no way would God ever allow something so cruel to happen to people. However, Eliezer emerges from the camp with a small hint of faith still lingering in him, driving him to survive. People who didn’t have faith, would loose hope and died, but Eliezer never gave up completely, perhaps not quite giving up that originally naïve optimism that led his friends and family to the concentration camp in the first place.

My good friend recommended this book to me as a "quest text" with the idea that the main character is able to find his faith. The strength of religion in this book, however, is more manifested in the fact that Eliezer was able to maintain enough faith, even with all the suffering he witnessed and experienced, to be able to survive the holocaust. He was on a quest to survive brutalities that no human being should ever be forced to survive through by striving to maintain even the smallest amount of hope. His hope was found in his father and in the small amount of faith that lingered in the depths of his soul. I, like Eliezer, have found myself questioning God in the past during times of difficulty. However, I realize that God is merciful and doesn't abandon his children even in their unbelief.

Elie Wiesel wrote this book with the intent for society to never forget the travesty that happened during the holocaust. He achieved this well by writing his experience in a nice and short, easy-to-read, first person account of the holocaust. Because it is written in first person the reader is able to connect more easily with the spiritual effects that occurred to Eliezer. You can understand how hard it would be to maintain faith in God, when right before you, you witness a truckload of babies being dumped into a fire pit. And yet he finds himself in prayer when times become the most difficult to conquer. It is sad to learn that he chooses to leave the infirmary to be with his father when his camp is evacuated, however, it left me impressed that even he who had an injured foot was able to survive the long march to Gleiwitz in the freezing snow when so many others died. It just makes you realize how bad off everyone must have been. This becomes even more manifested as Eliezer witnessed sons and fathers abandoning each other, and finds that even himself found himself in extreme temptation to have the burden of his father gone from him as well. And yet, something within him, does not yet give his father up until he finds his hospital bed replaced by another sick person. But that is when he ceases to have meaning in his life as a prisoner in a concentration camp.

Readers of all ages will be able to read and connect to its message, though it shares some gruesome details that would be more appropriate for a high school setting and older. However, if not this book, I feel that all civilization should be required to know of the devastating effect that the holocaust had on both the physical, mental, and spiritual aspects of the lives of the persecuted.

Quest Book Review - A Christmas Carol (Revised)

Charles Dickens. A Christmas Carol. London, England. Chapman and Hall. December 17, 1843.


Charles Dickens’, “A Christmas Carol”, is a classic literary tale well known by many people. It details the life of one Ebenezer Scrooge, a crotchety old miser who experiences one of the greatest transformations over the course of one night that pen can scribe. Upon reading the opening scene, it is evident that Scrooge has lost any sense of kindness, compassion, or charity that he may have had sometime throughout his life, and it has all been replaced by greed and selfishness. On Christmas Eve night however, he is visited by his long since dead business partner Jacob Marley. The ghost of Marley relates to Scrooge all of his woes and regrets after living a life very similar to Scrooge’s own, and declares to Scrooge that he has come to issue a warning that Scrooge must change his ways, or face an eternity as sorrowful as his own. Three ghosts then visit Scrooge over the course of the night. One chauffeurs Scrooge through his past, through happy times in his childhood and apprenticeship where Scrooge experiences a deep and sincere joy he had not known for ages. This joy came not from money, which has since conquered his heart, but from the purity of his family and friends for whom he cared deeply. The second ushers him through life, as he now knows it. He shows Scrooge the hollowness of his life now with his riches compared to the simple pleasure of his nephew and clerk’s lives shared with their families. The last wordlessly guides him through the future which would be if Scrooge continues down the path he is on. Scrooge witnesses his own funeral, the death of tiny Tim, and the lack of grief by all those who knew him. In these experiences, Scrooge comes to realize the true nature of happiness, and what really matters in life. He awakes on Christmas morning as a new man, his selfishness and bitterness gone forever, replaced by a love for life and generosity.


I absolutely love, “A Christmas Carol”. Many statements made in this book are extremely profound. In fact, this is one of President Monson’s all time favorite sources to quote from. The parallels between Dickens’ writing and the teachings of the gospel are striking. As Marley’s ghost describes the details of his fate and the cause thereof, I cannot help but turn introspective.

"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?"

Every time I hear or read these lines, I reflect on my life. Am I making the same mistake as Marley did? Am I putting things of lesser value like money, fame, or career above the things that truly matter? Am I forging my own chain? Each time I finish this story, I can’t help but ponder on what really matters most in life, and sometimes I am forced to re-organize my priorities.

Dickens' literary style manifests itself in many different forms. I greatly enjoy the irony he uses against Scrooge's former self. Everything Scrooge says and does, as well as everyone he meets in the first stave of the book has an impact on what happens later on. One of my favorite, stinging ironies Dickens uses is when a man comes by to collect donations, and Scrooge states that if the poor would rather die than go to the prisons and union workhouses, than they had better get to it and decrease the surplus population. Later on in the third stave, Scrooge is witnessing the physical ailment Tiny Tim suffers from and asks the spirit in earnest if Tiny Tim will live. The spirit replies,

"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race," returned the Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."

Such a piercing bit of irony truly cannot be ignored by the reader. Dickens takes a crotchety old geezer like Mr. Scrooge and over the course of three ghostly visits, breaks down the entirety of his life and character, and allows the reader to see just how he became as he is in the first stave. And just as the reader gets a view of the innermost workings of Scrooge's heart, it begins to change, and the reader witnesses a complete and absolute transformation. I marvel at Dickens' use of dialog in revealing the true fiber of his characters. The combination of intense imagery and dialog allows the reader to contrast the Scrooge of the first stave and the Scrooge of the fifth stave as two completely opposing individuals. It allows us to see the results of the quest that Scrooge has experienced.

I feel that Ebenezer Scrooge truly does undergo a quest for moral enlightenment. True he does not set out of this quest of his own free will and choice, but that does not diminish its lasting effects on his life. He begins morally decrepit. He is spiritually void. All sense of charity and kindness have long since abandoned his heart. But through the help of Jacob Marley and the three ghosts his heart is changed. He achieves moral kindness and compassion. His spirit is filled with charity and generosity and he achieves the enlightenment that he lacked. Being true to his new outlook on life and changing his dismal future are sure signs that he completed his quest.

This book appeals to any audience that can read, or at least understand what is read to them. For children it is a fun-filled story about Christmas. For adults it is a comprehensive volume of what is important and what is not. I think everyone, especially in Western society, is prone to being caught up in greed and selfishness. So many of us are ready and willing to stab our neighbor in the back to put ourselves ahead. We can constantly see as children grow up they tend to lose the kindness and loving innocence and replace it with skepticism and disdain. “A Christmas Carol” allows us to see how silly those things truly are through the eyes of those who may have less money, but at the same time are mansions richer than Ebenezer Scrooge. It shows us that anyone, no matter how stubborn and rude, have the ability to change. All in all, this is a timeless tale that I believe will never lose its truth and appeal.

The Alchemist (revised)

Coelho, Paulo. The Alchemist. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1993. 197 pp. $13.95. (Front Pages, Introduction, Prologue, Part One, Part Two, Epilogue, A Reader's Guide, Map of Santiago's Journey, An Interview with Paulo Coelho, From Chapter One of The Witch of Portobello, About the Author.)

Upon realizing his own book's fame throughout the world, Paul Coelho, the author of The Alchemist, answered a universal question that often plagues many of us. He writes, "What is a personal calling? It is God's blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on Earth. Whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following our legend. However, we don't all have the courage to confront our own dream." In The Alchemist, Coelho relates the story of a young shepherd boy who is trying to follow his personal legend and find the treasure that awaits him. On his long journey to his treasure, he comes across valuable waymarks that compose the trail. He learns more about the voice of the universe and how all things will work for your good when you are in pursuit of your own personal legend. He also realizes what is truly valuable in life and how to prioritize events so that one can reach goals. Coelho writes Santiago's journey with vivid language that keeps you turning the pages until the very end!

Santiago, the main character, can personify anyone on the search for their personal legend. Coelho puts Santiago in a variety of different situations and struggles that the average person can identify with. There are many mentors along the path that also help Santiago continue with his quest to find his treasure, exemplifying the idea that with help, even the most lowly figures in society can make something grand of their lives. the book also taught that "the journey" is worth taking. Along the way, Santiago is robbed, disgraced, and even beaten before he finds his treasure. This rang true in my life as I often feel like the trials are too hard to overcome and the roadblocks are too many to surpass on my quest of becoming like Christ. However, Coelho teaches that without the adversity we would could never realize our potential. Sometimes the treasure we seek can even be right in front of us, but we still have to undergo temptation and sacrifice before we ourselves are ready to receive it.

Coelho used the elements of mystery and suspense to convey a sense of urgency as well as endurance. His writing pushed the reader onward to see if Santiago would truly create a lasting personal legend. However, Coelo added a depth to the writing by adding meaningful characters that had failed in their quests. Writing about the successes and failures of individuals that I could see in myself caused me to pause and reflect on how I was doing in my own personal quest of being like Christ. The theme of a journey toward a personal goal was easily transmitted because Santiago was on a journey toward a treasure himself. The theme was also apparent in Coelho's writing because he used so many instances in the story where Santiago either got held up or pushed on by a force that could only be described to our audience as the Holy Ghost. These constant reminders of movement, or the lack thereof, really made me feel like I was either making progress or being stagnant myself.

I would recommend The Alchemist to anyone who needs a reminder of what life is all about. Self discovery and personal resolution sit at the heart of this story of a boy who really represents each of us. It is a good read for someone who has run into hard times as well as for anyone who has no idea what their personal quest should even be. I think that the best way to read The Alchemist is with pencil in hand and no fear to stop and just think on things for a while before continuing. The Alchemist speaks to the heart and then teaches you to understand what is being said back.

Not just another self-alchemy book (revised)

Coelho, Paulo. The Alchemist. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1993. 197 pp. $13.95. (Front Pages, Introduction, Prologue, Part One, Part Two, Epilogue.)

The Alchemist tells the story of a young shepherd boy who is heeding his calling in life; Coelho poses and answers the most pressing questions in life - our purpose, love, and God (among others) - in the story's due time and profound simplicity. Organized chronologically, the 197-page novel reaches great heights in meaning unexpectedly; the shepherd, Santiago, learns from and teaches those he meets on his quest in humility and childlike persistence until he reaches his goal. In this story often likened to a fable, we follow Santiago through his own personal discovery and purification process and glimpse the secret of alchemy at the climax of the story.

My sister gave me this book years ago and I read it then; I decided it would be the perfect quest book for me to revisit at this point in my life. I read The Alchemist the same way I did the first time: all in one sitting. Completely enveloped in the story, I found many questions and some answers I had forgotten were at the root of my current confusion; one of these was why so many people fail to follow their dreams. We face, generally speaking, four obstacles in realizing our dreams: we are told from childhood onward that everything we want is impossible, and then if we allow ourselves our dreams we are prevented by a fear of hurting those we love, then by fear of failure, and then by impatience and doubts. Succinctly put, the largest take-away message from this book is that "the secret of life... is to fall seven times and to get up eight times." Personally, I feel motivated to follow a combination of my dreams when I was younger - going into international development and accepting the path that will follow rather than taking the cautious route. After a discussion of the four main things that prevent us from reaching our goals, Coelho writes:

So, why is it so important to live our personal calling if we are only going to suffer more than other people?
Because, once we have overcome the defeats - and we always do - we are filled by a greater sense of euphoria and confidence. In the silence of our hearts, we know that we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. Intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until, one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives.

The italicized part of the quote struck me as did many parts of the text - The Alchemist invites you to make an honest assessment of the path you are choosing in life, especially as many college students have to weigh the options of a more lucrative or more fulfilling career. Again, Coelho's humble, folksy writing voice draws attention to the purpose of the story rather than itself. His choice of overt parable as a means for bringing the reader through an alchemy of the soul works well. His characters are believable, lending further credibility to the story and enabling the reader to put themselves mentally in their own quest as they follow in Santiago's steps.

I'll never understand quite why Paulo Coelho's Alchemist lands itself in the occult section of the bookstore. Certainly the title itself is not reason enough to stock it next to tales of the living dead, texts on Wicken, and how-to Harry Potter books. Alchemy is a natural thing for humans, especially any that understand the gospel. The idea that lead could be turned from lowly plubonium to gold isn't so far-fetched to a people that believe that the natural man, our mortal selves, can go through a process of refinement so thorough that it would render us into a state parallel with that of God. If it was possible to make a book required reading and even re-reading for everyone, The Alchemist would be on my list of recommendations shortly after the standard works and the communist manifesto. More specifically, anybody looking for encouragement and even direction on finding the most satisfying route in life should pick up The Alchemist; the writing is simple enough to be understood at a fifth grade level.

Quest book review- Cindy Hurst- The Little Prince- REVISED

Exupery, Antoine De Saint. The Little Prince New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1971.


An aviator makes a crash landing in the Sahara Desert where he encounters the little prince. At first glance, he is but a child. But upon further inspection, the aviator as the narrator learns a great deal about the little prince and the journey that brought him to earth. He learns about how the prince left his planet after becoming mistrusting of his one and only rose on his tiny little planet. He also learns of the various “strange” grown-ups that the prince met during his travels. Each of them had an attribute that men acquire as they get older: Desire for power, desire to be admired, desire to forget what they are ashamed of rather than fixing the problem, the desire for wealth, the desire to do one’s job well, the desire to discover something new, but overall the desire to be important. While on earth he finds a garden of roses that look and smell exactly like his own and is upset that he had once thought his rose was so important for being so unique. However, he then meets a fox that teaches him “Anything essential is invisible to the eyes. It’s the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important.” The time comes for the little prince to return to his planet. He explains to the aviator that it is ok that he is leaving because when they look at the stars, they will think of each other.

I chose “The Little Prince” as my quest book because it speaks of truths that today’s society has forgotten; that I myself have become victim to forget. It shares the little prince's quest for understanding. I resonate with the truth that he finds. In my own life, I have become very much amazed by the things that are overlooked from being taught in our public school system, that have taken me 20 years to figure out. “Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.” It speaks of friendship, of loyalty, and of the importance of spending time on that which is most important-- with those you care about. I like how it presents this theme in its simplicity; in a child’s book. And yet, its wisdom is best learned from adults who read it. It is easy to get carried away becoming occupied with what society has pushed us towards caring about. The author did a good job of presenting these mundane things that adults tend to care too much about, by giving each characteristic its own character that the little prince visits.

I first read The Little Prince this summer as a counselor at camp to a group of 14-year-old girls each night. Perhaps they were too young to understand how us adults loose track of what is really important because I’m pretty sure I enjoyed reading it to them far more than they enjoyed listening to it. However, I think a younger audience would also be suitable as it is written as a child’s book. It would probably benefit anyone starting to enter the adult world the most however, such as high schoolers that are preparing for college or the work force. It would never be too late to read however. I recommend it to everyone.

The Alchemist (Quest Book Review)

[Coelho, Paulo; The Alchemist, Harpersanfrancisco, San Francisco, CA, U.S.A., 1993 (foreword, no chapter devisions, 196 pages)]

The Alchemist

The Alchemist is absolutely inspiring, it's motivating; it gives one a renewed sense of hope to believe in your dreams, find your quest, and then follow it.

This novel is an easy read, just under 200 pages, but the message it carries to the heart of the reader is delightfully powerful, enchanting, even transforming. The story, simple yet profound, is about an Andalusian shepherd boy named Santiago who has a dream of finding treasure buried near the pyramids in Egypt. Santiago, so compelled by this beckoning vision in the night, decides to leave his homeland and cross a vast Egyptian desert in search of his treasure. Along his journey, he meets several interesting people encouraging him to pursue his dream, most prominently are an gypsy woman who can see into the future, a mysterious old man claiming to be a king, and an alchemist who can supposedly turn lead into gold.

"To realize one's destiny is a person's only obligation" (from The Alchemist). What begins as a quest to find worldly treasure becomes a quest to discover the treasure within one's self. Santiago's journey, metaphorically resembling each of our own meanderings through life, is marked with omens which remind him that he must continue onward in spite of the never-ending trials and temptations to turn back. At one point, Santiago faces immense hardship when all of his possessions are stolen and he has to work for a whole year just to save enough money to be able to return home. Thankfully, by this point it seems as though the whole universe has conspired to help him achieve his dream, and he is once again compelled to continue on towards Egypt. When Santiago meets his beautiful Fatima, he presumes he has found his treasure, but even the reader is thrown for a loop here because this is not the happy ending, and there is more to the treasure than finding true love. What awaits Santiago in the distance at the pyramids? What if the price to reach his goal is to high?

A friend recommended The Alchemist to me several months ago, and I promised to read it although I had no idea when I'd find the time. Many books have been recommended to me in the past, but this one in particular stood out as my friend has always seemed to be very succesful in everything he does, and he implied to me that this, being his favorite book, had somehow changed his perspective and aided him in his own personal quest. When I'm busy in school I rarely have time to read anything other than my scholastic texts, so I was very delighted to find that The Alchemist was also a perfect fit for my required quest book. In my personal quest I have been struggling to find what I would refer to as the "right" path to be on, but reading The Alchemist has helped me to realize that I already am on the "right" path, the one God has given me. My quest, like Santiago's in the story, is to press forward, never giving up, and endure to the end with faith that the treasure lies in wait.

As a reader, I found this book to be not only an entertaining adventure-filled escape from my own world, but a valuable and truly rich text from which I could harvest seeds of hope, motivation, and love, to plant as waymarks along my own personal quest to fulfil my destiny. As a reader, I felt as though this book had been written specifically for me, like my timing in finding it was impecable to my personal growth, and the contents were just what I needed to digest. Simultaniously, as a reader I also realized that the lessons taught in The Alchemist are universal, and while I could easily see myself strapped in Santiago's well-worn Andelusian sandals, I also could visualize his character encompassing the lives of my little brother, my mother, and my best friend.

As a writer, I love the way Paulo Coelho uses the most simple words and phrases to convey such remarkably deep and thought provoking concepts. He has clearly been given a gift from The Divine as his writing style speaks directly to the heart of man. Coelho's writing reflects that of the writing in the parables; every reader can reap and glean different meanings from the messages foretold, according to the place and time of each reader's own individual maturity in their quest through life. It's no wonder that Coelho is noted as one of the bestselling and most influential writers in the world, and that his work has been translated into over 50 languages. Through observing Coelho's style, I have learned that sometimes less is more. Also, I have had a tendency to prefer to write for myself and not give too much thought as to what other people think, but in reading The Alchemist I have been enlightened to know that the most powerful messages are the ones your audience can relate to, and if you have a gift you should strive to find that median through which you can share your talent to bless the lives of others.

I think the entire human race can relate to the story told in The Alchemist. It is a metaphorical tale of each one of God's children and our own trials, omens, and discoveries on this journey through life. I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to rekindle the essential sustaining humane attributes of faith, hope, love. Pick up a copy and begin reading today. Read it with someone who needs to be uplifted; read it with someone you love.

The Journey of a Life Time - - Revised Memory

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.

* * * * *

The blaring alarm proclaimed 7:00 a.m.; it was time to start another day in my surreal, princess-like, “Jr. Miss” life. At the foot of my bed, little Olivia’s excited eyes anxiously waited for me to get out of bed so we could go eat together. Olivia and I became like sisters as soon as we met. She and I raced down the stairs into the welcoming comfort and smells of my new family’s home. Discussing the news, people, boys, and the gospel, I felt right at home with the Ashurst family. They always treated me like their daughter, and showed me the charity and love that I needed to carry me through the competition.

After I gathered all of the supplies that I needed for the long day ahead, we traveled to the community church where we rehearsed eight hours a day, six days a week, for two weeks. “Girls, you have all worked so hard, and tomorrow night, you finally get to perform. I’m so proud of you, and I’m honored that I had the opportunity to work with you,” our choreographer expressed. He was right. All of the contestants and I had spent hundreds of hours in that gym learning dance routines, fitness steps, poise positions, and all the blocking we’d need for the next three nights of competition.

Excitedly, I flew down the stairs, and was suddenly blinded by the brilliant lights on the stage. All fifty of us stood, shaking from nerves and excitement, waiting for the curtain to be drawn. Exhilaration flooded my body as I heard the announcer welcome the huge audience to the National Jr. Miss competition. The time had finally come; I was going to be rewarded for all of my personal preparation. Standing back stage, I took a deep breath trying to ease my nerves. “Let’s welcome Utah’s Jr. Miss, Ashley Boulter,” the announcer exclaimed. The blaring lights seemed to blind me as I confidently glided on the stage. I was ready. I had perfected my violin solo through countless hours of practicing. My bow seemed to dance across the strings perfectly, and my fingers moved effortlessly to create an amazing performance. With a final flourish of my bow, I heard the audience go wild. I had just given the performance of my life.

Feeling relieved and excited I raced up the steep steps to get ready for the poise portion of the competition. Throwing on my hot pink gown, all the girls looked at me questioningly. “You’re wearing a dress with sleeves?” one of the girls scoffed in disbelief. “Do you honestly think that the judges would ever pick you in that dress?” another one questioned. Feeling a little sheepish and out of place, I was able to stand my ground, proclaiming that modesty is a standard that I cherish deeply and I would never lower my standards to meet the stereotype of what the judges wanted. With more confidence I soared across the stage, my dress elegantly swishing side to side as I gracefully completed the poise competition.

Olivia ran up to me after the performance that night and gave me a huge hug. Miss Suzanne’s eyes shone with pride as she lovingly congratulated me. Later, the Ashursts and I shared a wonderful night of joy, excitement, and anticipation. When it was time for bed, Olivia asked me to read her a story and tuck her in. I was touched, I finally felt like I had the sister I always wanted. Feeling as if I was back at home with my real family, I had truly grown to love the Ashurst family.

* * * * *

Tossing and turning, I felt as if the sun would never show its face the next morning. Finally, Miss Suzanne gently woke me up on the final day of the competition. The whole house was filled with excitement as we all awaited the results of the final night. Leaving the house that Saturday morning, I realized how much I appreciated all the support and love I felt from the Ashurst family.

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; and then 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.

Spring Will Come - - Revised Reflection

What makes a flower beautiful? The strength of the stem? The decorative leaves? No. Beauty comes from the colorful petals that grow after the bleak winter. What power enables the petals to grow? Flowers are never taught how to create the nutrients they need, the survival knowledge is innately born within them. We, like the flower, rely on a higher power to enable our growth, and help us face times of bleak weakness and renewed beauty.

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

We live life to the fullest during the Summer times of our life, 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 transform our weakness into our greatest strength.

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

Culture Shock--Revised

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 prove 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 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, “Pih Kline, Pee Pow.”

Startled, the Koreans nod with uncertainty. They continue to stand in place.

I nudge my husband. “They don’t understand her.” He smiles, bearing marks of sympathy, having arrived in the US only a few years prior with minimal English on tongue.

“Pick a line, people,” he whispers, imitating the worker’s deep Southern accent.

When she notices the Koreans have not moved, the member of staff 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.

I also find myself wondering if immigration is what I need. Marrying a man whose face and family belong to China gives me pause to consider the language and culture I want for our children someday. We have more options than most. These Southern workers did not choose their manners and accent, while the Koreans now attempt to alter theirs—but all three are currently a product of their country of origin, worlds away from each other.

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, 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 my stuttering. He is staring at the booth next to us, and my eyes follow his line of vision.

“Yes, that’s him.” 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 finish prattling to the agent at my booth, but he ignores me while he scrutinizes my husband’s green card. When finally allowed to 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, not seeing the Korean couple in that line—but trusting their absence means they have moved ahead in their journey. I realize with some measure of surprise that culture shock at entering my own country feels more intense than the feelings produced by my time spent in Asia. Again I reflect, wondering what I want for our future children, but I feel at least one certainty; they will have more options than most.

Campus (revised observation)

I was tired and it was late, well at least too late to just be getting done with what seemed like a very long day of school. My steps were slow and not decided. The pavement at my feet my only marker of where I was headed. A tiny breeze blew and there was hardly a cloud in the sky as the sun made the evening color dance across it. The backpack rubbing against my spine was a constant reminder of the many papers and books that seemed to chain me to a non-social existence.

I was so involved with my cares that I barely noticed the music starting to play. It sounded distant, but the song was easily recognizable. My pace slowed as I came upon some other lingering students. They were motionless. All of them statues, facing north towards something that I could not see. They reverently had their hands placed on their hearts. I followed their lead, still quite confused as to what we were staring at. As I stood there I watched the students’ faces that were around me. A lot of them looked like they were in a state of deep pondering.

As soon as the sweet melody died down I decide that I must find out what we were all staring at. I rounded the corner of the closet building to find the flag, gently playing with the breeze. It hit me right then and there. The students showed so much respect for our flag and anthem. They stopped and listened. It was almost as if someone at pressed to pause button, But even more so, it impressed me that the students, paused and showed absolute respect.

I was so used to the hustle that happened everyday, that this moment was a welcome break from the norm. We run around on auto-pilot so often that we forget to live. As students it is like we only have two settings; sleep and study. We are alive, yet to we live. We take everyday of this existence for granted. I realized this as I stared at the flag and suddenly thought back on my life living in this beautiful country with its freedoms and opportunities like the that of an education. I made a mental goal right then to try to LIVE everyday.

Memory (revised for real)

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.

Why?

What goes through the minds of these killers? Why would intensionally hurt someone? My heart aches for the families that lost loved ones. The values that we hold so dear seem to not translate to others. A clear vision shows us the corruption of our world. Will we ever gain it back. How do we find ourselves again under the filth of our race? Somewhere deep inside of us is a light, though buried it is there. Yet how long will it take to surface? Will it ever surface?

Yes!

Someday. Someday the light will burst through. Yet sadly as the saying goes, it only gets darkest before the dawn. I fear that we have not yet seen exactly how dark it can became. How much longer?

How much longer?

How much darker?

How much?

Of Holistic Medicine and Museum Zen (revised)

In composing my observation of the Education in Zion exhibit, I kept coming back to the aesthetics of the experience. The principles of art and elements of design that were employed in the creation and curating of that exhibit resulted in a feeling of general awe and humility. I was alone in the exhibit, and my footsteps echoed as I made my way through the years of struggle, history, and quiet perseverance that led to my university experience. My eyes were drawn to powerful paintings with strong compositions evoking emotions of quiet strength and measured energy. The texture drew my attention away from the content - brick, wood with a finish that left the grain visible, and metal framing moved my eyes from story to story and photograph to photograph. I was reminded of holistic medicine's belief that late summer is a time when the yin and yang are balanced in nature; the elements of metal and wood correspond. My observations that day came as did my experience - an abstract, reflective crescendo:

wood, metal, footsteps
awe and inspiration come
in rev'rent balance

Revision stemming from a comment on "Concerning the Gradual Process of Change"--New Title: Mortality, My Old Foe

While lacking experience with mountaineering, I can boast a childhood filled with bare-foot running along sage-lined paths in the foothills of Boise, Idaho. In the fringes of that city les bois, while traversing the molehills of elementary school, I earned a reputation for being a “runner” among my peers. Several successful races in the junior Olympics at primary school left me with a quiet suspicion I might be a champion someday. I progressed in those thoughts until puberty brought unwelcome magnitude to my thighs. Each pounding step on the track with my newly increased bone mass seemed to push my dream of being a runner increasingly underground. Subsequent efforts at running through grades 7, 8, and 9 culminated in me receiving the award of “best smile” by the cross-country coach. While my genetically twiggy running mates received medals and ribbons for city, region, and state races, I cheered for them from the sidelines, eating the pity prize my coach had given me—a cookie frosted in smiley-face fashion.

Finishing my last season of junior high school track, my awkward footing stumbled enough in the running world to convince me I should focus on developing alternative talents instead. For the next two years I persisted, focused, made goals and progressed, in music, academics, and friendships. Then came an autumn day of my senior year when I enlisted in the Army National Guard, a delayed entry program—and the issue of becoming a runner once again got scrawled on my to-do-list. With a mere nine months to prepare for Army basic training, I approached the high school track coach and agreed to follow his directions with abandon.

My personal journal of this time period changed in voice from musing teen to passionate athlete. I ate, breathed, and slept running. Notations each night before retiring to bed no longer centered on the usual diary entries of a seventeen-year-old girl. I wrote little of romance, family, or school, but instead documented fartlekking—interval training—mile times, workout patterns, and carefully tracked shin splint pain levels, as well as my alternate pool running experiences to keep fit during times of injury.

During races the following spring, my eyes learned to lock on the runner in front—no glances to the side, back, or anywhere but the foe ahead. I appreciated her for the times she might have worn a braid swinging rhythmically. I would match my pace to the swishing of her hair until eventually the hair grew near, even equal to me, and then my breathing body could pass her, eyes moving on to focus toward a new runner in front. The path in front always held runners faster than me, by the way, as my childhood vision of championship failed to materialize even in my most athletic of times.

Roger Bannister, first man to break the four-minute mile, used a similar method of pacing to the one I used, with two other runners racing on the track at varying intervals during his historic race. Any competitor, athlete or other, can attest to the power of a well-placed opponent. Having opposition brings focus, determination, and added joy in victory.

While my running schedule has changed since high school, and the nature of my physical form will continue to vary throughout my life, my race with Mortality shows consistency. This foe called Mortality brings an everpresent challenge to my journey, be it through illness, disappointment, or sin, and through its rigorous pacing provides a motive to keep moving forward. I understand the need for this opposition, because having a foe to beat pushes my aching limbs to stay rhythmic for one more step forward at a time, and then another. This race I run currently will proceed like all the others of my running career as I try to keep from looking side to side or back behind me and instead look ahead, always seeing one more opponent to pass—until one day the race will end. I will find in that moment, if I have endured the distance well, the opponents will all have fallen behind me for the first time. My childhood prediction of championship will seem to have come true--but then I will find myself wondering how it might feel to run with no foe ahead on which to lock my gaze. Then I will realize my pacing can emerge through the one who runs by my side, as God intends all who emerge victorious from the mortal race to have a companion for the duration of their journey through godhood.

Crossroads (revised)

" 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 answered 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. My neighbor 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. For a lot of people, that would spell disaster - for me it brings balance. I've often wondered why we try to find people to date who are as similar to us as possible, instead of people who aren't our carbon copies but balance us in ways we didn't realize we needed to be balanced. Not that we shouldn't be balanced by ourselves. You know what I mean.

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.

Voices (revised)

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 and the fall shades of orange, red and yellow surround me. In the background I hear the continuous running of the water and the splattering, too, as it reaches 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. It reminds me of the pillar of light that Joseph saw, so many years ago.

I long to have Joseph Smith’s unwavering faith and strong devotion to the gospel. Inner thoughts prompt me to “get with the program”. They plead me to live the gospel, that I love so dearly 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 brings sorrow to 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, many years ago, that I would never go back and I haven’t, but I’ve yet to move forward.

“What’s holding you back? Why do you linger? 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 long to be in order to move forward with life? How else are you to posses that faith and devotion like Joseph Smith?”

The voices continue, some from within, others from somewhere else. Nevertheless, both speak to me and I know what I must do.

Little Jace Zachary (revised)

Driving home to visit my little nephew, for the first time, seemed like a moment that would never happen. The longer my friends and I drove, the farther my destination seemed. The road stretched longer and longer and I become more and more anxious. The six hour trip had turned into a seven and a half hour trip. If only we hadn’t made so many unnecessary stops. After the six hour mark, I became a little frustrated, but was careful not to reveal it. Finally, my friends and I arrived at my house in New Mexico, The Land of Enchantment.

It was dark and a little chilly outside. The night sky was covered with clouds, but the stars were still shining brightly. I raced up the stairs mumbling, “I’ll be right back,” as left my friends behind sitting in the car. The pathway up the stairs to the house wasn’t lit and I could not see, but I was careful not to fall. I eagerly rang the door bell several times, consecutively. Ring, ring, ring. It must have been annoying to those inside. Peeking through the door window, I saw my parents, with big smiles on their faces. They opened the door and without hesitation, I asked “Where is he?”

“He’s sleeping,” my mother responded. Soon after, from out of the dark hallway came my sister holding someone very small and precious. She gently handed him to me and in the second I made contact with him, all sorts of emotions ran through me, including joy, love, gratitude. Everyone standing around me, my sister, my parents, and my friends (who, by then, had found their way into the house) all became a blur and soon after disappeared.

His tiny body was bundled in a soft blanket that had little yellow ducks on it. His warm body fit perfectly in my arms as he lay there. I leaned in to kiss him and inhaled his yummy baby scent. The sweet smell brought a smile to my face. I gently pressed my lips to his soft check. He moved his head a little, but quickly returned to his peaceful slumber. Then I brought his little head, full of satin soft, light brown hair to mine and swayed him back and forth in my arms whispering, “I love you.”

How is it possible for a person love someone so deeply after being just introduced? It is hard to understand, but it happens quite often. All was peaceful in those few minutes and life had more of a perspective and greater meaning that particular day. It was an unforgettable moment, the time that I met my dear, little Jace.

How Small (revised reflection)

I gaze up at the grandeur and realize how small I am. The leaves connected to one branch, that brance to a tree and that tree to an entire forest. All connected as one being.

All of it bigger then I.

More magnificent.

Sitting at the base of raging waters, I am but one small thing compared to the many that surround me. The mist rolls of the mountains as the heavens play their part in the scheme of life.

The life of our world.

The feeling of being only a small part of this world hits suddenly. The majesty of the creation is all around. Wonder fills my mind. It is incomprehensible, at times I feel so on top of the world, so in control. Yet when I remove myself from the world I can really feel my part in the creation, instead of just ignoring it like I do so often.

It takes my breath away.

I am loved so much to be given the earth’s beauty to look at and receive inspiration from. An open sanctuary for all; for anyone and everyone to share.
The sun hits the mountain just right, reflecting the colors brilliantly. My eyes can’t take it in all at once. I just want to see everything at the same time. I want to be able to breathe it all in, in one breath. The wind in the trees, the sound of all God’s creations communicating with one another. The detail and the love that went into every little rock or stick.
I like to imagine at times that the creation was a group effort. 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 brook sings softly in the lazy afternoon. I can see my jaw drop as the color is painted into the world with the passing seasons.

I see all this.

I realize how lucky I really am.

How small I am

In a world full of grand buildings and cities, with structures of pure genius. It is obvious that these creations are inspired. God made these wonders that we can not replicate. Our buildings and cities and highways are our way of trying to create something majestic. Yet we come up short, we are too small to match the magnificent things of this world. Even with the grandeur of these man-made wonders, nothing makes you feel as small, or as loved as the majesty of the earth

I am but one small thing in this world.
And yet as small as I am my role can not be missed. I believe every leave that dances in the wind and every brook that sings is my doing. They sing and dance for my, to remind me of part in this grand creations.

How small I am

How big my part is.

Iceland (revised)

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, natural warmth tickles the nose and invites
Curiosity. Wonder. Simplicity in childlike awe:
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, and in the divots of the rocks.
Warmth in the middle, and from above.
The sun warms my face as I feel.
I feel, after all of my searching, to have found myself -

Grounded.

Heterogenous. Redefined after layer upon layer of revision. Complete.
A calculated van Eyck masterpiece, finished by a one hair brush.
Detailed, textured, vibrantly depicted in earth's palette.
Healed and no longer apologetic when married to you –

Bloo Lonió.