A Consecrated Life

Recently my amazing brother-in-law (actually, to be quite honest, he is just an older brother now...easier to type), recommended a talk to me: 'Reflections on a Consecrated Life' by Elder Christofferson. One thing that he said in this talk really stuck to me-

“A prophet of God has said: ‘Men are that they might have joy’—a joy that includes a fullness of life, a life dedicated to service, to love and harmony in the home, and the fruits of honest toil—an acceptance of the Gospel of Jesus Christ—of its requirements and commandments.

“Only in these will you find true happiness, the happiness which doesn’t fade with the lights and the music and the crowds.” ¹

This last sentence really brings to mind the student life style. Students are supposedly happy when they are out, dancing to loud music, meeting the opposite sex, sitting in pubs (enjoying the 'atmosphere'). But that sort of happiness fades.

Recently, I've felt sort of dissatisfied. I haven't given priority to the things that really matter, and have paid much more attention to temporal matters. Elder Christofferson says that a consecrated life is a pure life, a life of labour.

I am a student, and have written off sleeping till ten or later every day, or skipping meals in favour of candy, or just being lazy (or out until early morning on school nights), off to the fact that these are my student years, my best years. But it feels empty. I don't feel my best.

I am endeavouring to change all of this. I recently learned from a close friend what a missionary schedule is like. This is something I want to emulate. So, I am going to wake up at 6:30 and do spiritual things for the first 40 minutes of my day. I was meant to start that today, but I'm afraid that didn't work out quite as planned. But I did wake up at 8:30 (albeit, because the plumber called), and I got up and have been pretty productive. I have the teensiest washer imaginable, and almost all of my clothing is dirty. I'm fairly certain I have at least eight loads or something ridiculous to do before my laundry is finished. But I'll take 8:30 as progress, and get up at 6:30 tomorrow.

The recent world events (namely, earthquakes EVERYWHERE), has also got me thinking of my own mortality. That coupled with a lie I discovered someone told me yesterday, has me thinking, that if I were to die today, or tomorrow, there are some things that I have on my conscience that only my own hubris has prevented me from setting right. Discovering the evidence of the lie I was told, something I had taken for truth, really washed away pride that I have for things that are truly so insignificant. So what did I do? I emailed everyone I had been dishonest to about something silly years and years ago. So far the responses have been comical, and just pleasant. As for the person who lied to me, I felt sick about it. But I'm thankful that it inspired me to straighten out even one small area of my life. And, I can't judge this person.

"Hypocrisy is terribly destructive...It is faith destroying, whereas honor is the rich soil in which the seed of faith thrives."

I can empathise, and only hope that they will approach me one day with the truth.

I guess the lesson I've learned here is: don't let the little things stand in the way of the bigger picture. And forgive those who do.

Oh, and I've cancelled Facebook for awhile. Its standing in my way towards time management!

Noms

I'm hungry. Why not just go make yourself something to eat you ask? Well, see, that's the crux of the problem. I'm not really an adequate, make myself something to eat kind of girl. I live off snack foods (as I hardly buy noodles ever). Actually, I think that bit about the noodles is perhaps more sad than admitting that I eat mostly snacky stuff. You see, it shows that I consider ramen noodles a meal. As any nutritionist would tell you, noodles is not entirely healthy for you, and does not represent a properly balanced meal. I was thinking today, that I should really get my act of learning and finding motivation to cook together, because one day I might fall pregnant (AFTER MARRIAGE, AND PROBABLY NOT FOR TEN YEARS. HOPEFULLY.), and my eating habits will affect me and the wee bairn inside me. I guess I am going to have to learn to like raw veg and fruit...

This isn't a very crucial or important blog, it just serves my purpose of procrastination, and I thought it might serve as some food for thought for those who might read it (all two of you, if that). Haha, FOOD for thought, get it?

Time to go back to sleep methinks.

Benvenuto a Edimburgo!

I believe that the past few days deserve a blog. I'm going to write this in sequential order, so as not to get confused:

Monday-6 of September

I wake up in the early morning to go workout with my trainer Kathy, I then rush home and hurriedly pack everything which isn't already packed (basically everything except my clothing). I take an afternoon flight from Portland to Amsterdam, and the man sitting next to me is Russian, and only speaks maybe four words of English. Lucky that he sat next to a girl who for nine months had to pantomime things to be understood in a foreign country. I understood him better than the internationally trained flight attendants (GO ME!). I didn't sleep at all on the flight though, which was a massive bummer.

When I boarded my next flight at Schiphol, I saw the Dutch flight attendant who was greeting people holding entry cards (required of all non-EU citizens to fill out). I asked for one, and he said

"Oh, no, this only is for non-European Union Citizens, Miss."

(At this point, I was so tired, I just sort of looked at him)

"So, you will not need this to enter the United Kingdom," he tried again (looking a little doubtful at this point).

"But, I do need one."

"Oh!" And he handed me the card without further comment.

I thanked him Dutch hoping to further confuse him (haha).

I sat down and watched him greet the rest of the passengers. What I found interesting was that he only offered the entry cards to those who looked like they weren't from Europe. I inspected my own outfit. I guess it could be interpreted as the Euro version of grunge-chic. Dark Calvin Klein jeans (yay Nordstrom Rack!), a brown and black lace cami from a independent shop in Milan with a floral print underneath a draping black top from H&M in Zurich. Finished off with brand new converse-esque shoes from Payless (gotta love that one too). My hair was braided back and the frizzies trapped down by a white beaded headband. Fine, I thought, I'll give him that. I was interrupted from my introspective examination of my outfit by two Dutch people sitting down next to me. I smiled at them, and the lady immediately launched into conversation...Dutch. "I'm sorry," I said, "I don't understand you" (all this said in English). She proceeded to try and speak to me in Dutch for the next couple of minutes. I kept shrugging, and she kept insisting. (At this point I was thinking, wow, I must really look Dutch!). It turns out, she speaks fluent English, and was surprised to find out that I was American.

Gotta love my life, huh?

Tuesday-7 of September

I don't really want to go into detail, because you all should already know the story, but I arrived to my new flat to a giant leak in the ceiling in the hallway. I cried, called my mom, cried some more, and professed my hate for Scotland (which wasn't earnestly meant, I promise). Basically, I had to stalk my neighbor, deal with Edinburgh City Council, and then that evening a plumber from Glasgow came. I spent the night at my friend Christian's flat because he had extra bedding and an empty bed (his flatmate hadn't yet arrived).

Wednesday-8 of September

Got up super early (only four or five hours of sleep at Christian's) to get back to my flat. Plumber came again. Took a long nap in the afternoon from sheer exhaustion, had hardly slept at all in the past 48 hours. Before I went to sleep, I was literally shaking. Couldn't sleep for a long time so watched the episodes of Arrested Development that I have on my iTunes.

Thursday-9 of September

Went out shopping for various household things, and to change some currency. When I got home, my lights went out, but the electrical sockets still worked. I called two different electricity suppliers (because I didn't know who mine was) and then British Gas finally told me that I am supplied by Southern Electric or something. I called them, and they walked me through some things, and then it was finally decided that it probably is a wiring problem. Great. Jamie brought my stuff round later that night, and teased me about seeing a mouse. I had a nightmare about mice in my flat. The rest of my dream was pretty cool though, I spoke in four different languages. Have never done that before :) (in a dream state).

Friday-10 of September

Opened up my boxes from Jamie's house. I HAVE SO MANY CLOTHES. I honestly don't know where I am going to put them (yikes!) Ah well, I'll make do. Tonight I am going to the cinema (I am in dire need of some comic relief). Hope that everyone is well. Love you all!

EXPLANATION: EURO GRUNGE-CHIC IS BASICALLY WHEN A CONTINENTAL EUROPEAN WEARS ITEMS THAT COULD LOOK GRUNGE, IF THEY WERE ACTUALLY GRUNGY, BUT ARE INSTEAD BRAND NEW AND NICE.

Friends, Family, and Fondue

Eff. Its that time of year again. The whole summer I have (quite) happily allowed everything to clutter up the bedroom floor. Now it is time to clean. Seriously though, I'm scared. The bedroom is massive...and, well, daunting. What if there are spiders? INSIDE OF MY STUFF.

Ew, ew, ew, ew.

Last night we went to dinner to celebrate my parent's anniversary. We went to a German restaurant, located in the, get this, HOLLYWOOD DISTRICT o

f Portland. It turned out to be much cleaner than California's Hollywood at any rate.

The food at Rheinlander was good. I think its a fitting place for my family to eat, because that is the region/area my Dad's ancestors are from (if you care to look back that far [c. 1585]). The food, especially the fondue, were delish.

The night before that, or possibly two nights, I got to meet Liz's latest boyfriend. He was nice, and they look cute together. I wish them the best of luck in their couplehood.

Not much else to report. We are sending Ben off to Stanford on the sixth of September. The same day that I leave for Edinburgh. He is so grown up now! And building a life for himself...

...Kind of like how he built these rocks.

Oh, and last week we all said goodbye to Marisa, but not before we had some sexy time in the car.

I love my ladies so much. It is hard to say goodbye! Katie is off to Eugene (aka weed capitol

of Oregon) tomorrow to start her junior year at the University of Oregon. Liz

is the same, but at the end of next week. Marisa is already back at BYU, Leilani is still goofing around in Uganda, where she has been for the last FOREVER, and Jenny is busy with her kick-butt job at St. Vincent's Hospital. Kristin is back at the San Francisco Art Institute and has a new apartment (to herself, lucky girl). For her twentieth I took her to an old tea room in Portland called the Tao of Tea.

Oh, and my last day of work is on Monday. I will be said to say goodbye. I've made so many good friends this summer. Weare actually going to have a little get together at Applebee's tonight (yay!).

There is joyous news among all of this: I AM GOING TO EUGENE WITH ADRIENNE NEXT WEEK!!!!! We go Tuesday till Friday, and I am so excited/happy/EXCITED. I get to see American college life (somewhat). I know this sounds nerdy, because I AM American, but I am really curious about American schools....

Which leads me back to the fact that I have to clean my room, so that I can pack before I go to Eugene. Eff.

Creepy and/or drunk men at work...

Ew. Self-explanatory.

B.

I a b. S, I w I w i E. W, h? T I h t g t t d o :( I i g s, I j k i. I m L a R.

Waka Waka

There comes a time in one’s life, where one must ask themselves: why did I make that odd noise when attempting to say hello to the cute boy on the road? If you are lucky, such instances teach you that maybe it is better to smile and nod. However, there exist unlucky souls (this author included) who do not learn. Instead, a general mortification follows encounters with members of the opposite sex we deem attractive. In my case, this has never happened in Scotland. Yet, my social graces have not much improved since moving here, I just have failed to spot any boy/guy/man (I hate living in the awkward in between stage, where you unsure what you are supposed to call them) who has rendered me speechless (but not noiseless [apparently]).

Why am I writing this blog? Well, over the past week I have developed an odd case of insomnia, and I am awake when I should be sleeping, and therefore thinking of things I usually never think about. The only other souls awake where I live are the party goers who were booted out of Siglo, the club across the road, at three am sharp, aka CLOSING TIME. I am counting my blessings that at least nobody is screaming, though I have heard sirens. Today is going to be murder. After finishing this I will try to sleep for a few hours, because at six I am going to be up and about doing dishes, defrosting the freezer (heaven help me), wiping down every surface I have ever touched in my flat, and composing a long note to Zoe explaining to her that, since I will be gone, it will be up to her to figure out what to do with the mountain of stuff we still possess that is not in storage or going home with us. Do I feel guilty? No. I am the one defrosting the freezer after all. I will count my small blessings though. The world cup starts in the next couple of weeks, and I will no longer be living on the Cowgate for it. I am pretty sure drunken British versions of Waka Waka (This Time for Africa) would have been my new companion if I were to stay. My lease ends the fourth of June, so even if I wanted to, I would have been obliged to leave. My heart is already crying...

Oh yes, and tonight is the YSA dance. I am regretting agreeing to go. The dance coincides with the little sleep that I do get (usually from seven in the evening until eleven at night). Also, I have no idea when the dance ends, if I will get back in time to leave for the aiport, and if I even want to go. I LOATHE goodbyes. Most everyone I will see again in September, with exception for Kent, who is leaving on his mission to London in July. But I already baked him cookies, so I feel like my obligation there is done. Plus, even though I am only leaving until September, goodbyes are awkward, and feel rather final. Maybe its because I feel like I have a tendency to change my mind really quickly, so there is a small part of me that believes I will not be coming to Scotland in September. I already signed my lease though, and I sort of need a degree. I'll be back. In the mean time, I need to sleep. So here I am, insomniac 'noveau' signing off and wishing you goodnight. Even though I already know nobody reads this, so its rather like my own personal journal. With the possibility of being read, but since you risk that possibility of being read anyways, even in a private diary or journal (anyone with siblings know this), it is sort of the same difference....

I digress. Good night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3pFT4-i8os