The Good Days

I guess I am a bit weird, but I've always known that. So I miss early-morning Seminary today. Like reeaaaally bad. I never had a problem going to Seminary during High School. I loved it. The only mornings that I can really remember my Mom coming into my room to wake me up were the times my alarm didn't go off at all. Other than that, the last two years of going to Seminary at least, I remember getting up just fine. It feels so long ago, hearing the alarm go off at 5:00am, dropping to the knees and mumbling an incoherent prayer, zombie-ing it to the bathroom to turn on the bathroom fan/faded-light combo (which was always perfect for the mornings when you weren't ready to be blinded by normal light bulbs). Turning on the shower and putting the eye-balls in while letting the water warm-up and then jumping into the shower to be awoken. Some people claim showers put them to bed, but for me--that's when I pop awake and become alert. My mind is so clear in the mornings (only when I've hit 7 hours of sleep) and I'm just able to think. It was those quiet mornings, in the kitchen making some oatmeal or eating some Special K by myself that I became such a contemplative person. Then usually, stopping into my parent's room to wake them up to say family prayer before climbing into the van (by 5:55am). There was something so comforting and relaxing to me driving on the dark highways before the sun woke up, seeing another car every few minutes--maybe. Listening to my latest favorite Churchy song really REALLY loud on the radio, the way I like it. Then I would head down Housers Mill Road, pick up Titus and listen to him chat non-stop til we picked up Alex. Two of the most chattiest-Seminary kids in the class. Alex lived in Sis. Holbrook's huge sub-division; the poor girl use to scooter her way through quite a few others' backyards, driveways, with the her flute case and lunch box flailing in her arms while her wet hair would freeze into hard-ness. That's when I decided to start picking her up, haha--just the thought of it puts a smile on my face. For some reason I love the people that most people don't like to be around--Titus and Alex were definitely not the most popular kids in Seminary. Oh, the memories. But I knew how much it meant to them to feel needed and to participate. I loved walking into Sis. Holbrook's living room. It always reminded me of the temple--weird, I know. But the big picture of the Savior on one wall. Oh, and that owl photo; it was something else, truly. And the white/off-white match of colors between the walls, carpet, couches and base boards all gave it that "temple feel". Winter days were the best when I would grab my favorite rag-patch quilt of Sis. Holbrook's and wrap up inside of it and sit myself down by the fireplace that was on. I loved Sis. Holbrook's lessons. Loved is probably an understatement. She was so good! One of the best teachers that I've ever had, still. She had a way of teaching with the Spirit and love that inspired us. The class wasn't picture perfect, but we knew that what she taught she believed and lived. We warmed our hands by the fire of her faith. The Spirit she taught with lit a flame in me and always taught me to become. After her lessons I was so excited and happy for life. I tried to never leave Sis. Holbrook's house without a hug from her. [I just can't live without giving hugs and receiving them--or I begin to ache inside--all over and my 'tude from the attitude is definitely dependently related to the length of time I had last received a hug]. I remember driving Peter and Titus (the pookies) away from Seminary, watching the red sun rise on the flat horizon, listening to the same favorite Country songs that came on the radio at the same time every day, dancing to some T. Swizzle, and realizing just how blessed I was and how happy I was to just live.

Happy Centennial Birthday Seminary. I miss you.

Thriller! Oh, How This Does My Heart Some Good.

Why yes, that's Katherine and I.
Why yes, that is my Stats Practice Final.
Why yes, it is projected behind us for me to study...
The Varsity Theatre.
Finals Week Fall 2011.

Christmas Delight #4

Messiah Sing-A-Long.

I had never heard of such a thing. Until Katherine threatened me several weeks ago that we ABSOLUTELY HAD TO GO--NO MATTER HOW BUSY WE WERE WITH FINALS. She said that her family has been going for years and that she even owns her own copy of Handel's Messiah. So Monday night, we skipped FHE once again (such delinquents we are) and loaded up in Danger my Ranger with multiple old-copies of the Messiah "borrowed" from the BYU Music Library (we even picked up the copies after hours--Katherine has connections)and drove to the Orem Library. Where we stood and watched 4 Opera singers walk out in front of a half-orchestra and sing their solos-which were amazing-and then when we got to the Chorus parts, everybody sang and sang and sang and sang. It was simply glorious. A wonderful night indeed. I finished it off by driving home the 'scenic route' even though I didn't quite know where I was; I knew that we could see more Christmas lights on houses if we took back roads rather than State Street back to Provo. It was a fun adventure and so. much. fun.

Christmas Delight #3

The week before Thanksgiving our Monticello Ward had Service Week. My calling right now is Service Co-Chair, so I had spent a lot of time preparing with my assistant Co-chair, Aaron. The week was amazing. Man Monday. Turtle Tuesday (roommates). Woman Wednesday. Thankful Thursday (bishopric). Friend Friday. Stranger Saturday. Serviceman Sunday. I made this awesome banner that we hung between the balconies of the boys and girls apartment building in the fishbowl. And we had sticker charts for each apartment for people to fill out. We decided that if the entire apartment did service everyday and filled out their chart, our committee would serve them before the end of the semester. I was so excited for our Service Week and made it a point to serve everyday. It was such a joy for me to see service going on everywhere throughout the week. I know a lot of apartments didn't finish their sticker chart, but it was powerful to see through the fishbowl, different visiting teachers, friends, FHE friends, home teachers all getting served by each other. The fishbowl is quite transparent, between our super small sidewalk barely separating our buildings, and the massive windows/sliding glass doors to the balconies, you can basically see what your neighbors across the way are up too, especially when people were serving each other. I love this Ward. By Stranger Saturday, I still didn't have set plans for Thanksgiving. That's when John surprised me with a ticket home to see the beloved parents. Which meant that I would miss our Social Sunday where we planned to write letters to the Serviceman. I felt really lame leaving Aaron by himself to hit off a Sunday evening Ward Social. But today, in our Committe meeting, he stopped by and gave me all the letters my Ward had wrote to the serviceman at this activity. Jim's planning on giving me an address to send to a unit in Afghanistan. I wasn't quite feeling a Sunday nap earlier today, so when the roomies were dozing, I sat myself down and began reading these letters. It didn't take very long for me to get teary-eyed and feeling my heart just begin to swell and swell.

On one side I have this really amazing and special student Ward who I love and on the other side I have a love for these random serviceman who are going to get these letters. I love America. My family has always been patriotic, probably because of the military's influence in my Dad and brother's careers, and the fact that my parents have always shown a respect to what our America's history, values, and general spirit has been. Add some country music to my childhood where I adored any patriotic songs that came from my favorite country singers and I began to also find a love for this country of mine. When John was 18 he enlisted in the National Guard and went to Boot Camp. I remember him telling me that the people you would expect [I would expect as a teenager] to be a part of the Army would be different than whom he came into contact with--the many orphaned, high-school drop outs, messed-up-pasts type of folk. Then Jim was deployed and when he got back, I've heard little bits of snid-bits of information of what it was like for him and his soldiers to be away from their homeland. Comparably similar in circumstances to LDS missions, but also extremely different in numerous ways. So I day-dreamed it up with this a semi-supposed idea of what it might possibly be like to get random letters from a random group of Molly Mormons and Peter Priesthoods, if the most of my life had been screwed over. Which might under some circumstances be a little weird to read. But reading so much gratitude, hope, and love that came from individuals in my Ward who I know and already love was so inspiring. The Spirit basically popped out of these letters that I was reading in my little apartment in Provo, Utah and touched me because I knew, they were going to touch others who needed it. They spoke of truth. Sometimes very blatant truth about the Savior or scripture or America. Ha, especially the little premie who left a Chuck Norris joke: Super herose have Chuck Norris on their PJs, but Chuck Norris has solders on his PJs.

I think the people who are veterans of war become heroic because (hopefully) the gratitude and appreciation they receive from people who have no need to necessarily give it touches them to realize that what they're doing is something important and of value for the one. It's all about giving charity to the one. Whether it's through one letter written from one person, or one soldier who puts his life out on the line for a battle buddy or another human being from a different culture, or the charity of doing the temple work for 'the one'. And of course, receiving the blessing of being the one who receives the blessings of the Atonement. I am one of the many 'ones' that the Savior was born for, lived for, then Atoned for, and died for. ALL because he understood the love for the one.

My Old Chump Carrots.

For being raised with boys and with her top 5 movies being decently action-packed ones:

THE FAVORITE

(movie--that horrifyingly--my mother didn't introduce me too until I was 15!)

Would have to be about the dramatic, simple, and hilarious life,

of a red-headed girl,

and her (make-shift) family

in a beautiful location.

Anne with an "e"

Some Favorite Quotes:

-"My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. That's a sentence I read once and I say it over to comfort myself in these times that try the soul."

-"This is the most tragical thing that has ever happened to me."

-"Can't you even imagine you're in the depths of despair?"

-"I thought nothing could be as bad as red hair. Green is ten times worse."

-"Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it."

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088727/quotes

She Was Able To Nurture Because She Was There.

My darling visiting teachers came over this evening. It was quite delightful. I LOVE having visiting teachers. Even if I'm not close friends with them or they come on the 2nd to last day of the month--I don't care; I'm just so happy they come! I know most of the time I don't know what to say when the question comes around, "What can we do for you?". And most of the time, your mind goes blank and you tell them "Nothing that I can think of." But there is such a quiet power that's present that they came. That they leave with a pray--praying for me. That they're there to just hear me talk (just saying--sometimes my closest family/friends tune me out when I'm rambling about my day or thoughts I'm having) that it's just so nice to have two girls wanting to hear me talk. Selfish, right? Yeah, I know.

But they asked me a question that got me ready for the spirit of November. They asked me to talk about my Mom. And I sure did talk about her! They were too kind and said that hopefully the words I said about my mother were recorded in heaven and she would be able to hear them some day. But I decided, why wait for her to die and then hear them? She might as well know now how I feel about her. :) After all, Stake Conference today we talked about Motherhood. And she has toiled over me for the last 20 1/2 years starting off in the womb, all the diapers, food, screaming from getting the hair combed, whining, crying, throw up, etc. Motherhood can be quite gross--let's face it.

But oh how I love this sweet woman! I love LOVE love her wrinkles. And her hands. Her skin is so soft. She is so beautiful. Mom got married late, 28 to be exact. I'm so amazed at who she is and has become. I'm 20 and wish I was married! I can't imagine 8 more years waiting, watching everyone else get married, wishing, dreaming, hoping. That would be torture for me. The loneliness itself would probably emotionally kill me. So she lived a pre-married life by doing what I think--are amazing things. Especially knowing how shy and reserved she had been as a young adult (or so she tells me--I'm occasionally skeptical). She served a mission, went back to Europe, graduated with her undergraduate degree, went to LAW SCHOOL, GRADUATED with her doctorate in law , moved away from Provo with no promise of employment or marriage, and started a lonely road of passing the bar after failing it the first time. Then she met Dad. :)

And through out all of that she kept true to her divine heritage to be a Mother. My Mother. And was she a Mother!? She lived in the world, but never of it. I think of so many woman who after the years of education and money would have easily justified that they were too qualified to stay at home and be a homemaker. That they would want to work 40 hours a week and "change the world" and be a mom. But can I say (without offending anyone whose a working mother--I won't judge your personal circumstances) that I am so so so grateful that she never worked. Especially when I was the last child at home for 4 years and was gone from 5:55am-5:00pm because of Seminary, School, and practice? Then with evening activities. I can't express the love and need that I craved as all children do to come home every day and know Mom was around. It was like I needed to know where she was everyday when I got home. It's the countless afternoons, walking through the side door and yelling her name. Or hearing a, "Is that a Beckyboo I hear?". Or seeing what she's busy making in the kitchen. Or heading straight to her room to see what book she's reading and then to promptly tell her EVERY detail about my day (including every talking encounter with certain boys). It's the countless times I forgot my lunch or homework and she would drive the 20 miles to the school and back to get it to me IMMEDIATELY. Or the times I got in an accident that I could call her and she came IMMEDIATELY. She knew her role as a mother. She was able to nurture because she was there. I know I've talked so many times about how much I wish I could have had a sister. But my mom was my best friend (sorry Dad--I know you think parents shouldn't be friends). And even though I didn't always treat her like a friend should, I've never discounted who she was to me. I love her spontaneity. Even if I had homework, she was ALWAYS down to go upstairs and watch a chick-flick. And the fact that she was always considerate to let me get by with a serious lack of chores was fabulous.

Most importantly, I knew she loved God. I can't really explain how many times I have walked into her room to tell her one more thing while Dad snores away on the other side of the bed and I would stumble into her on her knees. Or see her reading her scriptures. It never was a question to whether or not she read her scriptures and said her prayers on her knees everyday. Never. She never pressed me to do those things either.

I hope to be a good mother one day. I know how too, because of my mom. I love you Mom! Always and forever. To infinity and beyond. ;)

AND, any time I complain, she's super pronto at getting things done. I mentioned she never commented on my blog and voila! There's a comment on each post. I told her I wanted a rice bag and she sends it with sweet sticky notes of how to sew it up and a sweet love note. :)

And I LOVE giving her hugs.

I hope to be just like her.

A Nurturer Whose There.

And Her Nose Shall Tell Her...

That 'ze bathroom is clean.

Background: I had an AMAZING weekend minus one slight issue--I failed my cleaning check. I need to explain how it felt...like I had sat on a tack. Because my weekend was suppose to be refreshing after Rocky Mountain. Which it totally was until I got the little F,F,F,F on my portion of the cleaning check. See? My weekend was perfect:

Thursday Night: Fell asleep on Katherine''s bed. She awoke me once the Psych episode finished to go to my own bed across the room. And here's the best part, ya ready?! I got 10 1/2 hours of sleep! Yayawhoowhooyayawhowhoo! I felt like myself after that. Like dreaming of boys again, singing in my room to music as I got ready, happy, talkative, [typical becky-ness], etc.

Friday Night: After studying for hours and taking a test. I went to the Band Social Variety Show and nacho bar; which was hilarious. The Piccolos got together and did an interpretive dance. We got a standing ovation. :) Then I slaved over the bathroom for cleaning checks. I cleaned it super good. Or so I had thought. Dun. Dun. Dun!

Saturday: We woke up early at 6am and went into the Canyon (Rock Canyon Park...) and made a dutch oven breakfast. There was about 17 of us guys and girls. It was so much fun to watch the sunrise, cook, talk, and play! We found some ice blocks and some of us went ice blocking. Then we had a UP party to watch the football game at the Watts. I told Katherine she could come as long as she knew 3 things: the name of our city, University Place; the name of a ward, Sunset Ward [she biffed it and called it Sunshine Ward :)], and the high school, Curtis. Of course my Spirits were high when we won 38-28 against Oregon State--who we played two years ago for our Bowl Game. After messing around we decided to watch The Music Man.

Sunday: Church was great. I love my Ward. And my sweet Bishop who taught Relief Society and went 15 minutes over. :) But when we got home, we had left over breakfast from Saturday morning and then did the Sunday usual: visit with familia, nap, meetings, vt, etc. THEN. We went up to the mountains to see the fall colors. They were beautiful! I'll post pictures if I get the time.

Great weekend! And I spent another couple of hours today cleaning up like crazy the bathroom for cleaning check re-check for us failures. I decided I would use so much smelly goodness that as soon as crazy lady opens the door, her nose shall tell her how clean it is!

And guess what? It worked.

Lover of Righteousness

I'm not sure if this in the scriptures. But i think it is. Somewhere in the New Testament where we were studying in Sunday School. Someone made the comment that they wanted to be strive to love righteousness. Even though it was a few weeks ago, the simple idea has struck a spot in my mind and stuck.

I want to love righteousness. I think I"ve already began long ago. As I get older and have more experiences I grow more attached to purity, modesty, reading your scriptures and getting something out of them everyday. I just want to be better and love all goodness. Good music, good movies. It's not about what you can't do or see or watch and you're left with just the good. No, the good has depth. The farther you go, the closer I go to living your standards the more joy and happiness I feel. It's a simplicity and talent. The good has so much depth with even more amazing things than before.

In one of my classes, we were talking about how as parents you hope and pray that as you teach them about the gospel you look to see if they're internalizing any of it. And when they do, how happy you are they got it. That they're applying it into there life. I know my parents have always known when I've lived with them that I was internalizing. But I hope my parents know that right now--as I live away from them--I, Becky-Sue-Marie-Rhoden-Future-Mrs.Right, love righteousness. That I am so grateful that they kept their covenants and were worthy enough to be sealed in the temple. That they taught me about Jesus Christ. I love him. My heart grows fonder the more I learn and study Christ's life. When I spent all summer working with youth, hoping that they would see how everything fits together, I testified that Jesus Christ lives everyday. I heard their testimonies and I grew such a deep respect. I know that I am a daughter of God. I love this Church and the principles of the Gospel. That the Gospel can be explained and understood so simply yet studied for a lifetime. The Gospel is my life. It means everything to me. I don't ever want to let it go.

Our Greatest Fear

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,

talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other

people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of

God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

Our presence automatically liberates others.

I LOVE THESE TWO sooooooooooooo MUCH!

You may have had the wonderful opportunity (or lack of) to sit in the pew in front of my dad during Church. If you have, I feel for your ear drums. Luckily, my dad's lack of musical talent did not get passed down to his children. We all know how to sing on key and keep a note. Seriously though, one time when my Dad was in the Bishopric and sitting on the stand someone later told me they could pick out his voice in the mothers lounge when the Bishop had left the mike on during the closing prayer. I was mortified. The worst part is that he really thinks he's a GREAT singer. He'll be the first person to tell you that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir invites him to sing with them twice a year....during General Conference. What a joke!? He might not be the best vocally, but he does hold a hidden talent. One that not many people may know of. In fact, I bet my brothers aren't very familiar with it--fortunately, I am. When I at a tender young age would awake in the middle of the night, my father would rush into my room (maybe rush is too strong of a word, i still remember crying and crying just WAITING for someone to come). And he would tell me to turn over and lay on my tummy (which i would) and then he would open his mouth and sing songs to me, about me. In elementary school I later recognized that he stole the tunes from the Army and Air Force songs and was seriously offended that it was a "borrowed" tune. I found this video of him singing to Macey. Apparently, he will always sing to his "baby's". Enjoy my father's hidden talent :)

P.S. Locked my keys out of the truck for the 2nd time in my life....yea, i know

I Sell My Body For Money, Its Called Plasma Donations

Welcome to the life of a poor college girl! Today was my 4th time selling my plasma. It's quite convenient only taking a few hours of your week and the Donation Center is so near to my apartment. Then you walk out with about $65 dollars every week. Anyways, the first time I went I had a trainee get me all set up and then this cute guy came and needled me up. Today the girl did it all by herself. I wasn't nervous, she's been working for a couple of weeks, right? And she had someone observing her. Well, she missed my vein but got it the 2nd time. Didn't hurt a bit....until later!

For all of those who don't know what plasma is or what plasma donation is, let me explain: plasma is the proteins that accompany your RBC's in your blood. When taken, your body immediately regenerates what was lost within 24-48 hours (which is why you can donate plasma twice a week. So they take your blood (similar to giving blood) but then centrifuge it out in a machine that's right next to you--separating the plasma from the blood (RBCs). After the centrifuge the plasma enters this little bottle and the rest of your blood re-enters your arm through the needle. So while the blood was re-entering my arm, I noticed a little bit of pain. Just a bit. I thought about it and typically I always try to be invincible and do the "tough it out" thing. But I know a lot about how the body tries to communicate to you. I looked down at my arm AND SAW THIS HUGE BUBBLE RIGHT WHERE THE NEEDLE WAS ENTERING! Freaked me out just for a second.

I asked if one of the workers if that was normal and she rushed over to me, pushed some buttons and just began idly talking to me. I could tell she was trying to be calm, to make me calm, by talking but I saw through it. I did the best I could to act like everything was normal but my body didn't. I quickly began breathing really hard and having a serious hot flash. With a few ice packs and my feet even more elevated, they unstuck me and re-needled me in my right arm so I could get my blood back.

Basically, the needle and vein weren't together. So when my blood returned it just entered my tissue and made this huge awesome bubble. Now I'll have a wicked bruise for awhile. My arm hurts a bit and I don't like the lady who initially needled me up but, heck it was worth the $$.

It Is Hard To Fail But It Is Worse Never To Have Tried To Succeed.

There are many times in my life when I've experienced failure. This week was just another experience. And even though I know that whoever made the decision was inspired--my heart still ached, just hurt. My heart. It's interesting that your spirit can make your body feel that extra pain right there.

Now I'm confused. And feel lost at what exactly to do. I like making plans, but it's hard to have them end up not to what you expected or wanted. I guess its partially what you get when you always allow the "let they will be done" in every prayer.

Funny then that where "failure" would be in the Bible Dictionary "faith" is found instead.

(props to john for the picture. he took it in dc and sent it to me when he found out about my denied opportunity)

The Key To The Big Is The Small

It's the second day of January and I am so excited for this new year. It just feels like its going to be a great year! This post is really for my mom, she requested I do a new years post. I'm trying to decide if it's because she wants to know what my resolutions are or if she's missing me already? (i left home 2 days ago).

I love setting goals. I'm not sure why, but I'm just a very motivated person to always have a new plan or idea and how I will accomplish it. So this year, 2011, I decided that I want to work backwards with my goal setting. Usually I go for the big and try and work out the small. But this time, I'm working on 5 things (one for each finger on my hand) that I will do every day. You know, the key to the big is the small? That's kind of the idea I'm going for. I have ideas about the outcomes, but I don't want to limit the possibilities of the fruits of my big 5. Happy New Year! I time to "Look Not Behind Thee" and move forward, a time of becoming.

Soft Cries and Hard Cries

One day, I'll get married and have a family and be able to have a normal blog like all those family blogs that I love to stalk. But for now, this is me and my very personal-all-about-me-posts....

Its true. Of all girls, I promise it's healthy when appropriate. I began having regular soft cries when I turned 18 and entered Relief Society (so stereotypical i know). They come and go on good Sundays, which happens more regularly then not. Hard cries don't occur nearly as much. N.E.A.R.L.Y. I'm pretty sure the last hard, hard cry I had was Christmas 2009. Anyways, recently I blogged about some things that I learned and then kinda forgot about it (typical human being) and now I think I know why I learned what I did because other experiences came and then the epiphany which really hit me hard, right in the square of the eyes:

Seven days ago, I did the unthinkable (in my book). I let my anger flow out. Not trickle. Flow like a river, a dam, THE NIAGRA FALLS! Over a silly issue that at the time meant a lot to me. I was so furious at myself and furious at being furious (especially at the start of the week of THANKSgving) that I thought a lot of bad thoughts about myself, said a few, and even emailed them to my mom...haha...so pitiful, i know.) I finally shed some tears. Went to bed. Woke up late past my alarm sick, missed a very important-hated-class, looked out the window and seeing the snow shed more tears.

Somehow I ended up in the office of my therapist Evan (he's actually my boss.....AND a wonderful therapist). He takes good care of his employee's and knowing my lack of/hard-cry-phobia, he sat me down and does what he always does: question.after.question.after.question???????? which is why he is such an effective teacher.

By the end of the conversation and a trip to get some chocolate (which i had/got to share with everyone) I was feeling so great! Evan somehow helps us [my fellow co-workers/evan's other employees] get into a position where the Spirit is so welcome to teach you when you're in your most raw, most broken state possible. At the very end of our conversation he always asks,

"So Beckles?? What Did You Learn?"

1. I'm what you call an avoider. I avoid questions when I want too. And I'm pretty decent at it. I do have problems, but I mask them and push them out of my mind. But when life sucks and I have a hard cry, I unmask everything and pull every little thing possible out of the drawer and hash it out on myself=very.unhealthy.hard.hard.cry=becky.loses.the.spirit.=becky.wants.to.die.bc.she.then.feels.so.lonely.

2. You make things what you want them to be. E.g. It doesn't matter if I broke the shovel and keep blaming, blaming, blaming myself....you still have a broken shovel. (This lesson learned probably doesn't make that much sense to the normal person, i'm not normal...but i completely understand what i'm trying to say).

3. There's conflict between my thoughts and my heart. I know my parents love is unconditional, but for some awful reason i let my heart believe that its only performist-based depending on how i look, act. True story, although; I still do good things for other right reasons (this particular reason is just screwed).

4. Sometimes I believe that I'll only be judged by my works alone. I forget that I'll be judged by my "intents of my heart and works" and then I may be sufficient enough for God's grace.

5. Bottom line-I have always used the Atonement for big things, but not the small. Which is what everything leads down too. I have some emnity going on, separating me from God. I wanted to take care of the small things, I feel like I need too, and I always fail at the small things. And then I push them out (see #1). And then the cycle officially has started (see #1-#5). but no more...

you cannot be moved within and stand still without

Isn't this crazy? Who knew I could learn all this from seven days ago. Seven days ago when I realized that I would get my first C ever in a class.

His Hands And Feet

DISCLAIMER: This picture is above my bed. And above our piano in our living room in my apartment. I decided around Augest that my fall semester theme was going to include Jesus Christ somehow, someway. I went through several experiences that led me to want to know Christ better. A whole lot better. So I began to pray specifically for this occasionally, read the New Testament, think more....and BAM!!!!

Sometimes I am amazed by what I learn. Not necessarily taught by someone, but things that the Spirit just ends up making me feel and that get those mind juices flowing and I guess what I'm suppose to learn at a specific time. I'm going to share one of these mind processes that happen as I daydream, think, question and find answers... (I'm trying to be better at writing this stuff down...hope you don't mind reading).

I began thinking earlier about what will happen when I die. I know that when that time comes, I'll eventually go to meet the Savior Jesus the Christ, The Redeemer of the World and of Mankind, The Light of the World, The Anointed One and all the other countless titles He is referred too. Reverently and with the deepest respect tinged with awe--I hope to be able to walk humbly, but with confidence towards Him.

You know, what will I do then? Will I get a chance to hold His hands in mine?? To watch my tears splash His hands as I realize who He is? I wondered today what I will do when I see the holes in his hands and feet. Those scars. Those small stripes of the purest of white skin that make up a scar; will I realize that I am a part of Him? That I, Rebecca Rhoden am literally engraved into His image like Isaiah says? Physically and Spiritually! Because of the Atonement He knows me. He knows what I have felt when I have sorrowed, sinned, or been sick. Isaiah says that "with his stripes we are healed." He knows how to teach me, comfort me, and love me. I think I'm barely beginning to understand. I am a part of who He is!! On an extremely minute level, and with his stripes, there's proof that I can be healed because He knows me. What a thought!?

It will always be me who separates myself away from Him for He cannot nor ever will be able to separate Himself from me! He's bound by spiritual Law for He knows me through and through. He can never leave me. He will never forsake me. He suffered everything there is to go through both the good and the bad and has 4 visible reminders on His hands and feet. He has taken my image upon Himself and somehow already refined and added it into His perfect being.

He needs to be in my image and countenance just as much as I will always be a small part of His. When this happens will I know that I used the Atonement effectively to its fullest potential? Will I then be able to say that I have never forsaken my Savior? That I took His countenance and name upon myself? Will I be able to gradually look into His eyes and have my confidence wax strong as I remember who I am??

I Just Failed My First Midterm And Feel Like Death Warmed Over.

failedforthefirsttime.e.v.e.r.

Now I'm in one of those moods that come once every blue moon. I really don't feel like talking about my midterm, just typing about how bad I really do feel.

Who knew life could feel like this?

I mean, I try to keep reminding myself that, heck, I'm just going to be a mom for the majority of my life so who cares? My kids sure won't.

Is it because I know how disappointed my immediate family would be? Probably not. I'm probably just extremely irritable because of 1)lack of sleep 2)i just left 20 fill-in-the-answers blank with many other answers filled-in with funny vocabulary words i tried to think of off the top of my head and 3)i know i could have done better, should have, and that IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN EASY

A

IF I WOULD HAVE STUDIED A TEENY-BIT-MORE.

Now I get to deal with me for the rest of the day. The self-absorbed, self-despised, no make-up, hair in a bun, pudgy around the edges, sweat shirt wearing 19 year old that I am. Not sure of what she wants. Extremely disappointed in herself.

Listening to Josh Groban's "You Are Loved--Don't Give Up" for the 100th time as it repeats, repeats,

repeats

repeats.