Musings on being a working mom, fitting into boxes, etc.

As I pray, I feel the urge to write. I feel the nudge to write.

I came here to write, and ended up reading my last published post about a dream in which I was accepted and loved, felt like myself and was torn between journalism and American Studies. That was in October 2015. Now, it's April 2017 and I have a 10-month old daughter. Things are very different now, but they are also eerily the same. I feel like I could've had that dream last night and it would be just as relevant. Reading that dream was just what I needed to realize I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

I have been such a misfit lately. I'm thinking of going to see a therapist, and I was daydreaming today about what I would say. And I realized the thing I would say is, I just don't feel like I fit into a box, and I wish I did.

I love being a mom. A stay-at-home-mom even. I love the slow life. I love sewing and baking. I want to live on a farm and sheer my own goats to weave my own cloth. I want to spend hours outdoors with my children in a magical fairy forest. But I've never felt like that was all I wanted to do. So it's hard for me to relate to stay-at-home-moms who insist that the best thing they can do for the world is to raise their kids. And I still haven't found a group of moms who aren't actually just spending time getting plastic surgery, arranging playdates and gossiping. That's simplifying things too much but this is a box I don't feel I fit in.

I've also always been ambitious. I've always wanted more than motherhood in my list of life accomplishments. I want to make big change or be recognized for something big. And it's not just the recognition. I like being out in the world. I want to work. I like studying and making money and having my hand in people's life that I am not related to or don't live next to. But I don't feel like I fit in that world, either. I'm too Mormon, too soft and sensitive, too much like a baby seal, as my last therapist told me.

I don't know why I want to fit in one of those boxes, but I do. And not only for others. I want to be in a box for myself, too.

In the Fall I'm going to law school at the S.J. Quinney School of Law at the University of Utah. I'm excited beyond measure! I know it's going to be tough but I can't imagine myself NOT enjoying reading case law and learning how these systems work. At the same time, I am already remorseful over future moments I will miss with Hazel. I'm not worried about missing too many "firsts" or milestones. It's more like this: In the time I have spent as a SAHM, maybe once or twice a day, Hazel and I share moments. When I get a laugh out of her by completing some ridiculous and difficult feat of silliness, like crawling around like a maniac or running around the sides of the bed to bend over and then pop up to say "Peek-A-Boo!" Or when I understand something she is trying to communicate to me without any words, and I'm able to accomplish it for her. Or even just a moment of eye contact when I know she can see me for who I truly am. She sees me more than anyone in this world. It's those minutes that I know will be lost, because the sheer cut-down of time spent together statistically reduces their occurrence.

There are a few moms I follow on Instagram and who I know in person who say raising kids is the happiest and loveliest time that they wouldn't trade for anything in the world. These types of comments bother me because I wonder if I should feel that way. Of course, I have those moments like I described above when I do feel that way. But I am going to law school. And after that I'm going to work to pay off my loans. And after that I'm going to try to do something meaningful in the community, outside my home. And I'm going to try to make a lot of money doing it. It's something I've felt moved to do. And reading that dream I had in October 2015--it's all the more obvious that this has been something a long time coming. And I believe it comes from God. But I made him promise me that if I go to law school, he will provide a way for me to still have those moments with my little Hazel bird.

I had a dream I was super cool and everybody loved me

The other night I dreamt that I was really cool. I was in this college town — a great place to be cool. I was new to to the town. It wasn't Provo or BYU or anywhere I'd been. It was a small community, almost like a Disneyland-type feel where people mostly walked in the streets instead of drove. I remember how cool I looked. I was wearing a striped shirt and maybe something tied around my waist. I may have even had a backwards cap on (Monkey Trouble style), but in a much more 'effortlessly cool'/Madewell-type way. At one point I think I gave someone a high five. (Yeah!)

There was a pool at the college and I had a little baby that I was swimming with. But I was legit swimming. So much so that I discovered I could breathe underwater. I went to my friend who was a big bald guy and told him I could breathe underwater with this baby, and he tried it and he could too. He was swimming laps with a little baby carrier on his back and both were breathing just fine. That was the end of that. (I wasn't that cool in this part, besides the fact that I could breathe underwater like a mermaid.)

I went to college and I was working as a teaching assistant. I was TAing for The Daily Universe (BYU's student newspaper) AND for American Heritage. One class was at 4 p.m. and another was at 5 p.m. I remember thinking, "Oh, perfect. I'll get to TA for both." Next thing I know, someone from Amer Her comes in and says, "Oh you actually got assigned to the wrong time, and you're teaching at 4 p.m." So then I had to decide.

I never did decide but I remember thinking I needed to decide. I went to my new American Heritage class and walked in, not totally knowing what I was doing, but everybody there was so nice. I knew a lot of people there: some were former students from American Heritage, some were people from college and others form high school, like Emily Mortenson. My former roommate Lucy Brimhall was there. And even one of my very favorite professors of all time, Dr. de Schweinitz was there. So I go in and I start teaching and since it's the first day, we are doing introductions. And people are LOVING me. Everything I said they thought was so funny or adorable or smart. It seems like when they looked at me, their faces would light up, as if they were thinking, "What an amazing, intelligent, adorable creature." We went through the class and I started introducing people to the whole class, as if it were my own, private dinner party held in a giant auditorium and everyone there were my closest friends (except Emily Mortenson told me she goes by 'Emmy' now).

At one point Dr. de Schweinitz handed me a paper, all proud looking, and it had an offer to go on a London study abroad with her, and she would pay for my ticket! I was like, "Wow! I am so awesome!" We got through the introductions, and at the end, I noticed that everybody had different kinds of little trinkets below their desks at their feet. They were all fabulous. (If you have listened to me talk about my dreams for any extended period of time, you know trinkets make a VERY REGULAR appearance.) So, the two trinkets I saw were both animal figurines. One was a solid brass puppy dog (a golden dog?!). So cute. Someone else had this awesome set of teeny tiny glass tigers. The glass was like...blow glass and had a rainbow of specks in it. They were so beautiful. (I don't know why people had these. As awesome as my day was going, the trinkets were not for me.)

As I was finishing up, the eery thought of my old AH boss coming in kept lurking. I had no idea what I was supposed to teach that day. I didn't even have my beloved, trusty American Heritage binder!

I think that's when I woke up.

Oh! I almost forgot. There was a point in my dream when somebody came in carrying a JELLYFISH BALLOON. It was so amazing it was like a big half circle mylar balloon on the top, and the bottom was flat and had all these purple/magenta ribbons hanging off it. People sang me happy birthday and it was from Lucy! It was so nice and it wasn't even my birthday!

Now, here's where I talk about what I think my dreams mean. Some people don't think you should interpret dreams because they mean nothing. Some people also say you shouldn't believe in God. Some people say you shouldn't get vaccines. I don't go around policing them, so if you don't think dreams mean anything, then go tell your Facebook friends. Some day soon I will write about why I think almost all dreams are from God, and why I pay attention to them.

I have three basic ways to analyze my dreams, and I utilize all of them when I try hard enough.

1. First, I check Dream Moods. It is hands down my favorite app on my phone and I will NEVER delete it. It's basically a dream dictionary. I don't rely on it heavily, but I do believe in the symbols. I didn't get a degree in psychology, so I turn to this to better understand what things tend to mean in the Western psyche/subconscious. 
2. Next, I try to think beyond what Dream Moods can tell me. What's been going on in my life? What have I been thinking about? Feeling? Doing? Has anything recently happened to me recently that might contribute to the content of this dream? Has anything recently happened to me recently that might contribute to the meaning of this dream? Could those be related at all?
3. I consult my dream-wise sister, Melissa. Frequently, I ask my mom as well.

P.S. If I don't write a dream down, none of this happens. Writing it down is basically the only way dreams mean anything for me. I will forget them within a few minutes if I don't write it down after I wake up. Sometimes this is not possible, and I write it down at work or on my phone. If I am in good practice at this, I remember dreams better and can go a little longer before writing it down. But even then, I know I forget some of the feelings and details of the dream.

So, what do I think this particular dream means?

Here's what Dream Moods has to offer.

To dream that you are breathing underwater represents a retreat back into the womb. You want to return to a state where you were dependent and free from responsibilities. Perhaps you are feeling helpless, unable to fulfill your own needs and caring for yourself.  Alternatively, you may be submerged in your own emotions.

To dream that you are popular signifies your desires to be liked and recognized. You want others to look up to you. Alternatively, the dream represents your insecurities. You are looking for some reaffirmation, encouragement and approval from others.

They have a definition on trinkets but since that's a reoccurring theme in my dreams, I'm not going to include it here. I need more time to think about it.

The popularity thing makes TOTAL sense to me. I have really hit a rough patch in my associations with other people recently. Part of it is my work: I just don't jive with people at work and feel I have no real friends (except the interns). I do not thrive in this environment. I think I felt like college was my Girls Camp in a way. (Girls Camp is where I came to find out some of my biggest personality characteristics, and I really thrived there.) At BYU, I felt liked, I felt unique, I felt like I was flourishing because I was constantly meeting new friends, new ideas and new circumstances. I really ate it up in college — especially when I was well-liked. It makes sense why this dream took place in a college town. Right now in my job, this is not happening. I also feel a little awkward in my ward and other social situations since being married for the past four months. I'm not quite sure how I relate to people, and if I'm as valuable to people (men and women, but in different ways) married as I was single. It's been a rough go. I think it really puts a strain on me that I don't feel like I'm my best self right now. That obviously came out in my dream.

The breathing underwater thing makes a little sense, but I think it's a little more subconscious-y than it is helpful. That's the thing with Dream Moods/dream dictionaries. If it's not helpful, I don't pay too much attention to it.  The other thing people will probably pick up on is that a lot of dream dictionaries are like horoscopes or fortune cookies — I mean, who doesn't have a desire to be liked or recognized? Who doesn't want to be free from responsibilities? You have to use a little common sense, but not too much here.

Obviously, I've always been sort of split between my love for journalism and my love for American Studies. I double majored in both in college, and really wanted to just be able to mesh the two forever. Recently, I've been doing only journalism and no American Studies. Maybe my spirit/subconscious believes I will somehow be happier in a field more related to American Studies? I don't think it's telling me to go get a PhD or something.

But what makes me think this dream is significant, aside from the definite significance-meter going off after the dream, is that I haven't really been thinking about American Studies at all. I haven't really thought about going back to school or anything. In my waking life, it doesn't really appeal to me to do so. So I'm not sure how that one came out of left field. It's possible my brain is just hearkening back to a time when I was more successful, and definitely happier in my secular pursuits.

One of the most vivid parts about the dream was I really, really felt like myself. I felt liked and loved, accepted for who I am in a really good way — a feeling I haven't felt in my waking life for some time now (excepting in my marriage). I do think it may have been an urge to explore other career options.

Come to the Lord often

I've been feeling really, really awful lately. It's hard for me to get out of bed, get to work on time, and stay at work the whole day. I just haven't been myself. Even though I don't feel like I'm at my spiritual strongest right now, I have been leaning — as I always have — on praying.

But it's not the act of praying alone. It's the reality that someone is there and cares that forces me to believe in God that I lean on. For whatever reason, it totally helps.

That's why today, these verse were especially wonderful to me from Zenos.

When I did turn to my house thou didst hear me in my prayer. 
And when I did turn unto my coset, O Lord, and prayed unto thee, thou didst hear me. 
Yea, thou art merciful unto thy children when they cry unto thee, to be heard of thee and not of men, and thou wilt hear them.
Yeah, O God, thou has been merciful unto me...
And thou didst hear me because of mine afflictions and my sincerity; and it is because of they Son that thou hast been thus merciful unto me, therefore I will cry unto thee in all mine afflictions, for in thee is my joy.
(Alma 33: 6-11). 

Last night, Blake gave me a blessing in which he said that I should "Come to the Lord often." And I have. Even just today. At work when I was sick countless times. When I wanted to cry because someone else hurt me. When I thought my boss was being too hard on me. Each time, I came to the Lord, — just a thought in my mind — and each time I felt a little sustaining from him. 

Blogging is not dead.

Tonight I was at a Relief Society luau. I helped out with the activity even though it's not my calling, yet. (Diane, who was in charge, instructed me that the drinks I was responsible for were to be cold, but "we don't do ice in this ward.") It was the perfect combination of a Mormon meal and Hawaiian kitsch.

They invited a group of young Polynesian girls to dance--hula, Tahitian, Samoan. I thought it was so neat how those girls get to grow up strong in their culture. I'm too self conscious to say anything more about it because of my journalistic ways. (I don't want to paint with a broad brush, say anything racist or potentially damaging to minority cultures, something stupid or inaccurate. These are the kinds of things you have to deal with when you're a writer—not to mention the obligation to write actual facts.)

But for whatever reason, the beautiful long hair and soft movements of the Polynesian girls dancing on the cultural hall stage, which has surely been done at some point in all North American Mormon cultural halls, it made me want to write.

I am as familiar with the urge to write as I am the nag to cut my toe nails or polish the wood floors. But no, it's more than that. And it's less than that. More because it's something I don't just have to do, it's something I want to do. Desperately. Less than that because I never actually do it. To count the times I felt a strong pull to the keyboard and didn't sickens me. What a waste.

So many times since I returned from my mission in 2012 (2012!) I have thought, "I should write that," or "I used to be a good writer," or "Take to writing," or simply, "Write."

Since then I have been consumed with dating, finishing a college degree, securing full-time employment and the casual event of getting married to Blake. I've also watched a lot of Netflix, scrolled through Instagram countless times a day, and read countless articles (news or otherwise) via Facebook. I don't really want to talk about why I don't write anymore (although the only other thing I will say is that I do this for a living, sort of), I just don't.

It seems like very few people do anymore. Why?

One thing is that it seems like everything these days is about body image or

 gender or race or how poorly people are treated: women, the poor, the working class, all racial minorities. And the thing is I AM ALL ABOUT THAT. But it definitely takes away my wonder and amazement at the world. Emphasize on wonder.

I used to be so filled with it. I still feel wonder at the occasional cool summer night's breeze, or catching a glimpse of how the beard of my sweet Blake contrasts the white of his shirt. But I used to just see it every day. I'm thinking of this post in particular.

Maybe I stopped seeing new things, or I started driving more. Maybe I grew up. And that's the depressing part! (Admittedly, adulthood has its perks: I have a crock pot and can make homemade Cafe Rio every night if I want; we have a nice couch that we cost more than everything else in our apartment combined; I can have sex and so on.)

The great thing about writing is it's just you and your thoughts. Nothing else. I have been toying with playing some background Joni Mitchell while I write, but it's just not the same.

It's like--I grew up. But I also didn't. Like, if I'm so grown up, why am I on Facebook and Instagram all the time? Why am I not exercising instead of finishing Gilmore Girls for the second time? These are questions I don't have answers to. I just figured I would barf it all out here. 

what's a blog.

this was a good day. 

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story. 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

the annunciation.

henry ossawa tanner: the annunciation (Tanner was one of the first African American artists to gain recognition for his work.)

mikhail nesterov: the annunciation 

a really cool girl that i don't know that well but met once at her art exhibit open house gave the lesson in a relief society yesterday and shared these beautiful pieces of art. i love that they portray Mary as very prepared to receive the news.

in addition to reading the Biblical account of Christ's birth, i love to think about how others learned of his birth. 

And it came to pass that I saw the heavens open; and an angel came down and stood before me; and he said unto me; Nephi, what beholdest thou?

And I said unto him: A virgin, most beautiful and fiar above all other virgins.

And he said unto me:  Knowest thou the condescension of God?

And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

And he said unto me: Behold the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh. 

And it came to pass that I beheld that she was carried away in the Spirit; and after she had been carried away in the Spirit for the space of a time the angel spake unto me, saying: Look!

And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms. 

And the angel said unto me: Behold, the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!

Yea...it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of men; wherefore it is the most desirable above all things. 

1 Nephi 11

6 months...

i have about 6 posts that i've started and never finished in the last six months--all lovely in my mind (personal essays about being a lone reed, etc.) but never made it to this virtual press. these six months have been hard. and the critical voice inside my head debates whether to spell out numbers or use the numerical symbols but i have to remind myself that it doesn't matter. what matters is that to be who i am, i have to write.

earlier today at Thanksgiving dinner, the conversation was getting a little dry until someone had the idea for everyone to go around and say something they were thankful for in the past year. genius, right? but i really liked the idea, however unoriginal it was. i thought about the past year and how grateful i am that i finished my mission, that i served a mission in the first place, that the Lord prompted me to and called me to serve one. i am grateful for my last area and for my beautiful and humble companions and grateful for the crowd waiting for me when I came home. grateful that after two family-less Thanksgivings, i was finally with every single person in my family (not to mention 3 miracle babies!).  i also felt, though, that i am not living up to my full potential. i am not being who i am--and who i am can in some ways be measured by all these wonderful things i have to be grateful for. so i should live up to them.

in Miss Candy's dance class as a little girl, Miss Candy would tell us to dance with our "magic eye." it means to lead with your heart. dance less by going through the choreographed patterns and motions and more with purpose and meaning and expression. i feel like that is how life should be lived--by feeling. so thinking about the last six months (since coming home from 18 months with beautiful Filipinos, wearing a name tag that gave me the gumption to talk to everyone and the mantle to be worthy to do so), i have found myself identifying with two people i'd rather not--two people who were "past feeling" (see 1 Nephi 17:45).  it is easy to just be accustomed to living by going through the choreographed motions, being numb to the still, small voice of the Spirit. but i know there is a happier way--that which Paul described: "That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every on of us: For in him we live, and move, and have our being" (Acts 17:27-28). that is sort of like dancing with your magic eye...right?

so i am going to try it. it is my Thanksgiving resolution to live up to the things that I am grateful for and be who i am by writing more, dancing, and seeking the Lord.

Adiranne's toffee cookies

a few weeks ago, one of my old friends Adrianne and I caught up and she has the wonderful baking blog. she is talented at everything--especially editing and baking. 

I made these toffee bars a few weeks ago and took them to work. they were super easy to make and they gone in like 5 minutes. can't wait to try these cookie-dough brownies, and this cilantro bisque. 

these rare photos look almost staged in the 21st century. women working in the 1940s. 

philippines.

in the late 1960s, my dad was called to serve an lds mission to South Asia, including Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the Philippines. while there, then Elder Gordon B. Hinckley--the prophet of my youth--came to the Philippines and made the country its own mission.

when I was 8, just around the time I was getting baptized, my oldest sister Melissa was called to serve in the Philippines Cabanatuan mission.

and 2 months ago, I opened a letter from the prophet now, President Thomas S. Monson, calling me to serve for 18 months for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Philippines Iloilo mission. I am to leave in 1 month today!

on monday...

some rad photos of my dad in the Philippines.

acrobat.

photo by Rick Egan| S alt Lake Tribune

wouldn't it be fun to go to Barnum and Bailey's circus this weekend? i've recently been wanting to be an acrobat.

thanks family.

thanks kate, mom + dad. not pictured: parker, jon + jenn, phoebe + megan, laura, lori. melissa, and emily. st. george lds temple.

"is mcdonald there?"

small beauty of living with mom and dad this fall:

about once a week i am sitting in my mother's kitchen when i hear a loud knocking on the front door--the kind of knocking that you expect the UPS man or the police to do. but it is no such company. it is, in fact, small neighborhood children. i open the door and find these depressingly beautiful children. they have big grins on their faces, but also look at me in fear because to them i am a stranger.

"we're here to see mcdonald," they say. now, mcdonald is my last name and i know that these cute kids are here to see my mom because she feeds them popsicles and lets them do whatever they want as long as they promise not to tell their moms, but why are they calling her mcdonald? not sister mcdonald or mrs. mcdonald--but literally: "is mcdonald here?"

"who's mcdonald?" i reply. to which they start giggling as if i was their grandfather just trying to get their goat. "you mean, carolyn?"

they are so adorable and tiptoe into our house as if it was a magical land that they can only muster up the courage to come into about once every two weeks. and my mom talks in a magical little whisper and takes them down to the garage where they smash all our diet coke cans (magical, right?).

and of course, 2 hershey kisses right before dinner...but don't tell your mommies.

nalgene and loss.

dad's old nalgene from our great hike today.

the transition phase we call puberty that tweens and teens go through is understood, even expected, and sympathized by society at large. the changes young adolescents experience are not just physical--and the world stands by as a caterpillar turns into a butterfly, never expecting a 13-year-old to be polished or poised, confident or caring.

of course i experienced all these changes at the appropriate age and compliment my audiences on their patience and perseverance in seeing my potential. recently, however, i feel i am undergoing a similar transition of not a physical nature but personally and socially. i feel the same kind of added awareness of my own actions i felt when i was 13, but for completely different reasons. and people keep telling me, "you seem different." or "you've changed." well, what should a person say to that? why, yes. i have changed since i was 17 and have attended three years of college. and the spectators of my life don't wait patiently for me to fully acclimate because my awkward pause of transition is only taking place inside.

looking back on my years of consciousness, i feel my present mind is a bit stifled, and perhaps swallowed. the archives of this cyber journal are the perfect display of my loss of thoughtfulness, reflection, and writing habits over time.

case in point:

i wrote this at the beginning of july and never finished.

i can hardly believe it's july. i feel comfortable with the idea, although it seems impossible that i've lived in washington, d.c. for over 2 months. as far as cities go, i love it here. i think in my mind i have this idea that i've lived in cities all over the country

and i wrote this at the beginning of august. and never finished.
goodbye d.c., hello august. i feel a loss of openness in my life over the past three years. when i started this blog, almost three years ago exactly, i felt i had nothing to hide and nothing to prove. when i began experiencing things--moving away from home, going to college, making new friends, parting with old ones--floods of words would come to my mind and expressing myself via keyboard felt easy, gratifying. those moments of true expression when i had put into words my abstract emotions and impressions

ending my third year of college didn't even phase me. not one heartfelt goodbye, not a single blog entry about the passing of time or the way my life is always changing, like a baby gap.

i remember my journalism professor told me once that we generally want to do what people tell us we're good at. i think for me, this was definitely the case. when people ask me why i went into journalism, i tell them i went into it because i wanted to write. that was it for me--whatever it was, travel writing, blogging, the atlantic, whatever--that was it.

i don't really know what my point is. but i know that my brain isn't empty. it just doesn't think the way it used to--in constant blogging narrative. i wish it did.

deep beauty.

my mind and heart are so full these days, that i can hardly think of anything at all.

i have been thinking about deep beauty, however, thanks to sister Dalton. she told this story:

When I was attending Brigham Young University, I learned what it truly means to be a queen. I was given a unique opportunity, along with a small group of other students, to meet the prophet, President David O. McKay. I was told to wear my best dress and to be ready to travel early the next morning to Huntsville, Utah, to the home of the prophet. I will never forget the experience I had. As soon as we entered the home, I felt the spirit which filled that home. We were seated in the prophet’s living room, surrounding him. President McKay had on a white suit, and seated next to him was his wife. He asked for each of us to come forward and tell him about ourselves. As I went forward, he held out his hand and held mine, and as I told him about my life and my family, he looked deeply into my eyes.

After we had finished, he leaned back in his chair and reached for his wife’s hand and said, “Now, young women, I would like you to meet my queen.” There seated next to him was his wife, Emma Ray McKay. Although she did not wear a crown of sparkling diamonds, nor was she seated on a throne, I knew she was a true queen. Her white hair was her crown, and her pure eyes sparkled like jewels. As President and Sister McKay spoke of their family and their life together, their intertwined hands spoke volumes about their love. Joy radiated from their faces. Hers was a beauty that cannot be purchased. It came from years of seeking the best gifts, becoming well educated, seeking knowledge by study and also by faith. It came from years of hard work, of faithfully enduring trials with optimism, trust, strength, and courage. It came from her unwavering devotion and fidelity to her husband, her family, and the Lord.

On that fall day in Huntsville, Utah, I was reminded of my divine identity, and I learned about what I now call “deep beauty”—the kind of beauty that shines from the inside out. It is the kind of beauty that cannot be painted on, surgically created, or purchased. It is the kind of beauty that doesn’t wash off. It is spiritual attractiveness. Deep beauty springs from virtue. It is the beauty of being chaste and morally clean. It is the kind of beauty that you see in the eyes of virtuous women like your mother and grandmother. It is a beauty that is earned through faith, repentance, and honoring covenants.

Elaine S. Dalton, "Remember Who You Are!", April 2010 General Young Women Meeting

backyard gathering.

megan threw me the cutest little gathering as a homecoming/farewell/birthday party. she is the best friend i could ask for. thanks so much to megan. for all the times i wished she was with me at byu/india/d.c., i'm so grateful she's here now. i couldn't survive the next 2 months without her.

many of these boys i hadn't seen for 2 years! i was so glad to see them, hug them, and talk to them like adults. i was so impressed with them.

this bag was the token souvenir from Obamatown. i knew no one would love it like meg did.

faithfully a hidden life.

"for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life."

- George Eliot, Middlemarch, pg. 799

good morning.

I really like this small drawing series I saw on ny times Abstract City blog this morning. reminds me of my flight to Bangalore. wish I could draw.