Afforded Awkward Opportunities

People who have been married for many decades seem to think they have the cure for my disease. The problem is that they have been cured for so long, they don't remember how strangely awkward it is like being in the diseased shoes.I know they mean well, but nothing good can come from a mass blind date. That's right. Hundreds of socially awkward inept twenty-somethings trapped in a cultural hall subject to mass produced supper.
Imagine this: you get "asked out" through text message (and I use the term "asked out" loosely because I put my name on a list and was assigned to man who did the same. Furthermore, the text did not actually contain a question, negating the notion that he actually asked me out. But I will give him some credit. He sent a text, right?). Winner. Now go to a church meeting house and throw in some incredibly loud 80s music to the mix. Oh, but it gets better. Add a dash of over-talkative, non-listening companionship and you have the answer to all my woes.
This will not be an experience repeated.
My favorite part of the entire ordeal: the bribery of free ice cream to any couple who agreed to go on a second date. The priesthood leadership literally walked around afterwards and asked couples if they needed the coupons for the free ice cream (indicating that they would, in fact, be going on a second date). Afforded awkward situations. I love being a twenty-something spinster.

Hyped up on Hypocrisy

The following is a soapbox post about my sometimes considered extremely liberal ideals.

Seriously, don't keep reading if you think it might upset you.

You were warned.

Today was the national "spread the word to end the word" campaign. As I donned my t-shirt of support, I was struck with thoughts of intolerance, ignorance, and disrespect (oh, not my own. Actions I have witnessed). I understand being an advocate for activities you support and morals you stand behind. But there is a difference between being an advocate for conservative ideals and being cruel and, quite frankly, unChristlike.

Allow me to explain a situation that occurred today, which was not unlike an average day in the life of a middle school teacher. A young man was being interviewed about his love for dancing and a video was shown demonstrating his clear aptitude for the skill. As a student was was watching the interview, I overheard a suggestion in a derogatory tone that, of course, he must have a certain sexual orientation because of the things he loves. My response? His sexual orientation does not matter. He is doing what he loves, and he is incredible.

Furthermore, on any given day I can walk through the halls between classes and hear various students call each other retarded and gay in a teasing manner like it's no big deal.

I am in shock and awe. I don't understand. Why can't we raise our children to have respect and love for people if for no other reason than they are human beings just like us. Why is this kind of behavior tolerated? I don't understand how people can call themselves the followers of Christ and do and say things that blatantly hurt their brothers and sisters. (I know, I know. Aren't I being a hypocrite because I am judging others? I will not justify my actions other than to say that if my judgement leads to at least one person thinking twice about the derogatory terms that slip past their lips, and he/she determines to make a change, then I consider my sin a success in that I making the world a better place and bringing one soul closer to Christ). I feel that if we truly understand our relationship with our Heavenly Father-who we are as his children-we would never want to do anything to cause harm to any of His other children. Whether they choose to believe it or not, He loves all of us equally.

I would never suggest that people should be out advocating for things they do not believe in. But I am bold enough to suggest that if these people are true Christians, they would not let such hurtful and slanderous words escape their lips.

That homo you made fun of is someones child, best friend, or Auntie Jane.

When you poke fun at that retard, you insult a beloved child of God.

Don't get me wrong. It's not just sexual orientation or intellectual disabilities that I am an advocate of respect towards. I think all disrespect and intolerance for human life is deplorable. But for reasons beyond my understanding, these kind of disgusting remarks are tolerated in my culture. I hate it.

It is my sincerest plea that people contemplate the things they choose to say, and put themselves in the shoes of the people they choose to be negative about and towards. Respect should be universal.

Tomorrow's post is a trip back to the inspiration for this blog...assigned mass dating.

"You're almost 20, Alice. That face isn't going to last forever"

A title of a blog I never published. It made me chuckle on this holy day. Happy Single Awareness Day.

dedicated to the folks who birthed and raised me

Tonight I want to talk about the flip side of the coin. Although, as I have mentioned, this time of year is a tough one, at the same time, this time of the year in the life of this spinster is a joyous time of reflection. You see, my dear reader, my parents celebrate their anniversary on the eve of my least favorite holiday. This year they are supposed to exchange a pearl or a timepiece, which means, if you didn't click on the link, that they are celebrating their 31st year of marital bliss.

Tonight I got the opportunity to go home for Sunday dinner. As we all crowded around the "distressed" dinner table in the "cozy" dining room, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. I have grown accustom to my very quiet and peaceful lifestyle in my spinsterhood. Without huge crowds and small children, my Sundays are usually quite calm. This meal was quite the opposite. There were times that there were at least three different conversations all intertwined. Children were laughing, crying, and mumbling on all four sides. At one point I couldn't help but study my father amid all the chaos. Since his is the quite type in social situations, it is often difficult to know what he is thinking and feeling as he is perched in the corner. Tonight, I saw signs of serene contentment. I could tell that through all the noise, tipped over glasses, and mounds of dirty dishes, he was delighted to be in the company of the legacy that he and my mother started together three decades ago.

My parents' relationship gives me hope and faith that the wonderful young man who will love me for who I am is really out there somewhere. They have loved each other through thick and thin (literally and metaphorically :D). They have been committed be they rich or poor. Through every trial they have triumphed together.

I do not doubt that there have been some bumps in the road, be they major or minor. But the childlike part of me idolizes their relationship. Allow me to explain why.

• In my one week shy of 26 years of existence, I cannot recall a time when my parents fought in front of me. I am so thankful for the example they have shown in this respect. In addition, I am fairly confident that my father rarely, if ever, raises his voice at my mother. This act has given me the courage to demand that quality in my future spouse. I want a man like my father who will not yell at me.

• As much as it grosses me out, and I say that with love, my parents still show each other affection. They still hold hands and cuddle when they watch movies (even as I am typing this I am gagging a little). I have seen them hug and kiss more times than I care to count.

• They have silly nick names for each other.

• My mother has shown me that patience is key in a healthy relationship (seriously people, she is the absolute most patient human being I have ever known). My father has shown me that restraint and a willingness to compromise is also essential.

• They have shown me that differences can be strengths. And if both are committed to the relationship, all hurdles can be jumped over together.
• Family vacations have always gone awry. And yet, they always find a way to laugh about them. A fabulous sense of humor improves all situations.
• They lack jealousy. They saw very awkward things at the dinner table like, "I can look on the menu as long as I eat at home." In reference to being able to find others attractive. (No joke, this line came up tonight. And unfortunately, it wasn't the first time I have heard it.)
  

I am so thankful that they have kept their vows to each other. They have shown me that despite the odds, two people can fall in love, love each other through the most difficult of circumstances, and create an incredible family and legacy.

Thanks Mom and Dad for all that you have done to show me how to love.
Happy anniversary! Here's to another fantastic, be they rocky or carefree, 31 years.

The Vow

Warning: This post will not uplift as the last two did. Think of it as a journey down memory lane to the inception of this blog.

This time of the year is often a difficult time in the journey of a spinster. She is often left to reflect on how she got to where she is without someone by her side. Some may feel inclined to offer sage advice for the things that she does wrong. Certainly, the flaws that she must fix in order to snag the perfect mate. While others resign to admit defeat and encourage her to embrace the life given.

Regardless of the reaction of others, a movie, inspired by what most would call true love, divine love, unrequited love, has sparked today's thoughts.

I have often been told that fear and faith may not reside in the same body. Inevitably, one will over power the other. But which one? I try to convince myself that I am a creature of faith. But lately, I have been overcome with evident feelings of fear and doubt. And not just about love and my likelihood of ever finding it, but also my mind has been filled with a smattering of unrelenting questioning.

While I know some of you wonder what those questions are, since the season is one focused on love, those are the thoughts I wish to delve into and publish publicly for any and all to read.

My fear: I will never have someone who loves me for who I am (See the movie. Inspiring). Maybe that's because I haven't felt true to myself. I want to write. Desperately. I want to have the ability to share with others the written word that provokes thought. I hope to inspire. I want to see a witty title and below it read that it was written by me. I want to explore and travel. The idea of jumping out of a plane is desirable. I want to live in a city that makes me feel insignificant and struggle to survive. I want to struggle to discover who I am and what I truly believe. And I want to eat a lot of take out.

The truth: I am a coward. For reasons I haven't yet managed to pinpoint, I can't show people who I truly am. As I contemplate why, I wonder if I am afraid to take that risk. Why? Student loans have something to do with it. But also, rejection. What if's. But mostly? Fear. Fear of being alone. An island because no man in his right mind would want to embark on that journey with me and struggle with me. What self-respecting, faithful son of God would commit himself to a woman who is wracked with insecurity, fear and undeniable questions? So I live the life others seem to want me to live. Alone. Some day I hope to find the courage to do those things I want to do. But until then...

Dear reader, learn from my mistakes. Live the dream. Love the person who has committed to spend eternity with you. Appreciate him or her for who he or she really is. Think outside the box and live. Don't let fear trap you into a life you're not confident you want to live.

Life is a Highway

Bill Cosby has a phenomenal bit where he talks about "his boy." He raised his boy to play football, and on the sidelines he is a proud dad. When his boy scores the winning touchdown and is interviewed by the news anchor, Dad is beaming with pride. The first words uttered from the football star's mouth... "Hi, Mom!"

While I sing my mother's praises often, well deserved mind you, I don't sing my father's praises enough. So, to sacrifice myself on the alter of dignity on this last day of November, I want to share with the proverbial you how grateful I am for my dad.

Like my mom, my dad has always encouraged me to be me. He has never pressured me to believe a certain way other than to love everyone. My father is one of the least judgmental people I have ever had the blessed opportunity to know. He, like that heroic figure, taught me that I: "can't really understand a person until [I] see things from his perspective...until [I] climb inside his skin and walk around in it." I truly feel blessed that my father taught me this by word and example.

My father has also taught me the importance and example of unconditional love. To illustrate this value, I wish to share with you an event that changed my perspective of him forever.
Although I was older when I moved away for college, the first semester was a bumpy road. I am not a terribly sociable person, as many of you know, so moving, to what to me felt like the absolute middle of nowhere, was a bit lonely.

One weekend during that honestly unforgettable semester, I went with my father on a haul. That's right, my daddy is a truck driver, and I wanted to know what it was like (I may have been motivated by an assignment for my Creative Writing class, but...details).

We did a fair amount of driving, talking, and eating less-than-nutritious-food on that trip, but it wasn't while we were on the road that I discovered just how much my father loved me and my family.

Once we returned, I was forced to face the dread that I would have to soon venture back to my cached solitude (I am, however, extremely grateful for the family who took me in at this time). As I was preparing to leave a tear or two may or may not have (I don't cry) found their way down my cheek. I expressed my displeasure about making the return to my Pops. What he said in reply is what has stuck with me the past five years. He said, "You really want to know what it is like to be a truck driver?...It's that feeling right there."

The drive home that afternoon was a blur. Literally. But for the first time in my adult life I realized how much I meant to the Old Man. He was and is willing to sacrifice seeing my little brothers become men. He misses making my mother laugh so hard her shoulders bounce and a little pee escapes, sorry Mom. He misses sleeping in on Saturdays and making breakfast on weekdays (I have so many memories of my father singing "Oh, what a beautiful morning" with the wrong lyrics while he fried eggs and ticked me off for being so gosh, darn chipper in the morning). He has given up so much so that his family can have what we want and need.
So thank you, Old Man, for showing me that unconditional love is putting others before yourself, and leaving the ones you love to give them what they need.
I miss you, Pops. Drive safely, and I will see you on Christmas.

My Mother hasn't had a hot meal for herself in over 15 years...

Although for my mother, it has probably been longer.

I was gently reprimanded by the host of my Thanksgiving dinner for not blogging for an eternity (Happy Birthday, btw, Auntie), so I have spent the last few days puzzling until my puzzler was sore trying to come up with something somewhat interesting--at least to me--to blog about.
Then it hit me. I should write about gratitude--'tis the season--, or at the very least, what for the which I am grateful. Thanks to recent events, and a fantastic conversation with her, I am ridiculously--indebted for the eternities--grateful for my mother.

The aforementioned conversation was as follows: I was feeling some woe about a topic not wished to be shared, and I turned to the all-knowing being, Mom, to help me resolve it. (Or at least vent about it because I don't have the courage to stand strong). After laying it on the line she shared with me a deeply personal story that I hope she doesn't kill me for sharing with you now:

(Necessary backstory)There was a time in my life when my actions were less than admirable and I was accustomed to making decisions that were far from wise. At this time I told my mother I was going to move out. I was moving to the big city (downtown) and there was nothing she could do about it. (On a side note, the apartment I was going to move in to was the most disgusting old building you can imagine in a clean place like Salt Lake City. While the Sup was showing us the place, I saw an overturned dead cockroach the size of a premature baby on the floor in the kitchen, but that wasn't going to stop me from my rebellion.)

My mother and I exchanged words about this decision, which only made me want to move out more, but eventually she came around and said if I wanted to do it I could do it (Thankfully the young lady I was going to move in with was a flake and things fell through--act of God? Perhaps--but I digress).

(Conversation)For the first time in over six years, my mother finally shared with me why she had a major change of heart. She said that during that time period she was reading her scriptures, looking for an answer to her prayers on the matter, and she was struck with the thought of what it was like for our Heavenly Mother in the premortal existence. As we as spirits prepared to enter this mortal realm, she probably thought(she being my mother in the shoes of our Heavenly Mother), "Can't I keep this one with me? She's such a sweet spirit, can't I keep her all to myself?" To the which she had to conclude, "No. As much as it hurts, I have to let her go. I have to let her make her own decisions, and I have to let her go to earth to learn. That's what this plan is all about."

My mother realized that although she was quite certain that I was making a huge mistake and was likely to end up hurt, she had to let me go. As much as it pained her(she said that at times the decisions we children make actually cause her to feel as though her heart is literally breaking), she had to allow me to make my own decisions.

All this leads me to my point, I swear. On this day, as I am on most days, I am thankful for a mother who was willing to let me go. I am thankful for a mother who taught me all she knew, and then gave me the opportunity to make my own mistakes, no matter the cost of her own well-being. I am thankful for a mother who is a shining example of a disciple of Christ, who is selfless and all around incredible.

I am who I am today, albeit with countless bumps, bruises and stupid mistakes along the way, because my mother let me.

This post is dedicated to you, Mom. Love you!