"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart." ~Blaise Pascal

You recall that friend who just got married? The one who made me ponder change and its bitter-sweet experience. Yes, him. I've known him since I was thirteen and he was sixteen. We attended Seminary together, discussed our goals (both of us wished to serve missions, etc) and then, we grew up. And we changed.

He returned from a mission February of 2007, but seemed reluctant to discuss his mission. I wondered why. I felt a little concerned. I found out today that he has become agnostic, and very-anti-Mormon. He's written several essays in his blog pertaining to polygamy, and accusing the Church of "hiding the truth from us" all this time. The points he brought up were parts of history he never knew--these same "disturbing" facts which I already knew about. It hasn't shaken my faith.

I don't resent this young man's change of heart. I'm sadden, as it has made him a very bitter person, but he has the right to believe as he will. Still, I am sickened that he won't leave the Church alone, as many others never can after they have "left" it. He has to tear it down and try to destroy others' testimonies, since his own is gone. Again, he can believe what he likes, but he should allow others that self-same right. As the 11th Article of Faith declares, "We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God, and allow all men the same privilege; let they worship how, where and what they may." That I firmly believe. If this young man believes that the Church is wrong, and its Prophet is false, he may. But he must allow others to believe as they will, also. Just because he doesn't know something anymore, doesn't mean it isn't still the truth.

I don't believe the Church is true. I know the Church is true. The Gospel has been restored. Joseph Smith saw a Vision of God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ, and he translated the Book of Mormon; another testament of Jesus Christ. I know the Atonement of Jesus Christ is for us, that we may be redeemed if we repent. Thomas S. Monson is the Prophet today--he wears the mantle of Prophet, Seer and Revelator. He hears God's Word and shares it with us, His people. I know that God the Father lives and loves me. That his Son is my brother, and died that I might be saved, if I will repent and strive to be perfected in Him. The Holy Ghost guides, directs and comforts if I heed his Voice.

This is my testimony, undiminished by the "disturbing" facts in Church History. My testimony is not the testimony of my mother or my father; it is not the testimony of someone I heard last Fast Sunday. It is mine; firm, unmoving, true. I did not receive this testimony by some miraculous event, the seeing of angels or hearing a booming voices. I knew it in my heart; have always know it in my heart. That is enough for me.

A Tribute To Shasta

Yesterday wasn't what I'd consider the best day of my life. In fact, I ended up crying so hard my head nearly exploded. I had a severe headache up until I finally took painkiller this evening.

We received a phone call from a neighbor who explained that he shot our dog. Apparently the jerk assumed it was another neighbor's dog--one who had been dragging garbage around their yard--and he grabbed his shotgun and killed my poor Shasta without making sure it was the same dog. He didn't even offer to compensate...wasn't even truly sorry...just said, "Gee, sorry, but he shouldn't have been in my yard." Not that money or anything would have helped--another dog won't replace Shasta easily...but he didn't even care. Shasta had followed my younger brother up when he went to visit the jerk's son. Shasta never meant any harm...

When I received the news, I just burst into tears. I don't cry too often--but that news hurt. I love dogs. LOVE them. I've had four--each has died; but I keep replacing them, hoping this one will be different...Heh. Maybe I should stop. Except I can't. I LOVE dogs. But replacing Shasta...that will be difficult. I'm going to have trouble dealing with our neighbor for a while, I'm sad to say...

Shasta was half German Shepherd, half Samoyed. A huge, blond dog, he liked to run ahead of my car whenever I came home, pretending he was leading a sled. He barked whenever an intruder came, greeted everyone cheerily (except the rare people he just didn't like) and had the prettiest brown-puppy-dog eyes ever.

I will miss him so terribly.

It's strange how painful, how hollow it can feel when a beloved pet has died. And this...feels like murder. I'm coping okay-- after all, he's not in pain now. He's had a good burial. But...I will miss him.

I love you, Shasta.
See you on the Other Side.

...Sunrise, Sunset, Sunrise, Sunset...

I received an email from an old friend I've known since I was thirteen years old. His news was, unsurprisingly, "I'm married." This is to be expected. After all, he's a twenty-two-year-old returned missionary, back for just over a year. Still, it was almost unnerving. This is the fourth friend around my own age who has recently tied that particular eternal knot. And why not? We're all adults now, right?

But, yesterday...we weren't.

Growing is painful. Not like those scrapes we got falling off our bikes when Daddy let go of the seat behind us. Not like the water up your nose when you learned how to dive. This sort of pain is...deeper. It's the sort of pain you experience as you close the casket, or when you have a terrible argument and you're sure your relationship will never be the same again; and it isn't.

Not that marriage in itself is painful. On the contrary, I consider it the most sacred, important event of one's life. But...I guess the prospect of change frightens me. Who isn't frightened by it, at least a little?

I guess I just remember too well the joy of yesterday. Those days of tangled, half-done braids, no makeup, holey pants, stained shirts--totally indifferent to my appearance. The running through hundred-acre corn fields, climbing trees, scampering over rooftops, drawing without caring how badly it turns out. What changed?

Swiftly flow the years...

We grew up. Opinions started to matter; paths diverged. Change.

I'm not bitter. In fact, I am grateful to be where I am now. I wouldn't want to go back to all the troubles youth entails, but, still...I always remember my childhood in the sunlight. I guess that's how memories are--honey sprinkled with a grain or two of salt. Today is never as good.

I wonder if that can't be changed, though. Why does yesterday always have to seem better? Why do we have to let those opinions start to matter? Certainly we don't want to run around with tangled braids and holey pants, but...we don't have to like that movie just 'because it's popular' or bleach our hair because it's 'in style'. We don't have to change who we are. What we like.

I guess that is what I fear. Unnecessary change. Things like marriage, graduation, moving away; they don't have to change the ways things are. Friendships can still be whole. I believe what strains a relationship is when people aren't themselves, and then one day they wake up and realize that, and decide to change.

If we start out as ourselves, we have little to fear. It won't fix everything. It's not always, or even often, the answer. But, still. It may make today better than all our yesterdays were.

Heaven On Earth

I live in a visually stunning place now, completely opposite from the large city I left back in November. Here, there are mountains, curving roads, tiny towns spotting here and there, scattered ten miles from one another, countless pines and icy cold rivers joining and churning as they head for the pacific ocean. Wild live is prominent; turkeys, deer, coyotes, wolves, elk, fish, eagles. The weather fluctuates constantly; one minute raining, the next 80+ degrees, the next it's snowing. The spring has brought brilliant pink and white blossoms, bees, meadowlarks and sunburns.

In this place my family and I thrive. The people are kind (if slightly eccentric), the religious fervor is a pleasant (if startling) change from the apathy of my former home, and the drive is always adventurous--even when one is driving down to the local store to buy a loaf of bread. And you can always count on something going on, somewhere. There's hardly a moment to breath, yet I've never felt so relaxed in my life. How is that for a change? In my city-life I was going nowhere, and getting there too fast to know what hit me.

My 13-year-old sister, sick since January '07 is making a rapid, miraculous recovery from her illness. Though she still suffers from arthritis, she insists on making her own meals, walking around, and she laughs on a constant basis. It's a big change from Christmas time, when she couldn't get out of her wheelchair without help, and hoarded her food like it was always her last meal. We were sometimes afraid it might be. However, with faith, prayer and many, many priesthood blessings, Jennilyn is gaining her strength and energy faster than we ever imagined. It's been a tough road, but with all the family working together, and the support of people we know, and even some we don't, my sister will recovery wholly.

I've also taken a new job since moving. Formerly I worked at a service deli (as you may recall), but now I am a care provider, assisting an autistic, blind woman around my own age. Together we perform service in the communities, and we cook and clean. I've learned valuable lessons in patience and love since meeting her in February. Her simple faith, in both life and her Savior, has made a profound impact on my own spiritual feelings. How can a blind woman see more clearly than I the plan of this life, and hereafter? Yet she can; it's humbling. She has no doubt in her Savior's love for her, no doubt that one day she will see through her eyes; see all the colors that she always asks me so eagerly about.

Life is different here. It's...spiritual. Like God touched this spot on the Earth and said, "Let the trials here bring more strength, more love, more compassion. Let these people learn of my hand in all things." This is a tough place to live. People struggle; they live in humbler circumstances than many people can fathom existing in the United States. Jobs are scarce, but everyone comes together to help put up homes for those without, everyone gives of the storage when a family is hungry. It's...beautiful. Amazing.

I love this place. Despite having moved twenty-one times in my 20 years of life, this is home.

Relaxation suits me fine...

Believe it or not, I'm back. It's amazing, returning to the Internet after such a long hiatus. But, you wouldn't ever believe how hard it is to get Internet in the woods where I now call home. But, obviously, I prevailed against the po-dunk-i-ness, as I am back. (Though, seriously, I love my new home. It's wonderful.)

I should probably explain where I've been the past seven months. What has transpired. But...I'm not really up for it right now. I'd rather kick back, listen to Michael McClean's Garden CD, and enjoying the flashing light on my desktop which assures me, "Yes, the Internet truly IS back."

Tomorrow. I'll explain it all tomorrow.