Sundays

There's a certain serenity to Sundays. You know when a day is so calm and clear and you just feel holy and you think, "It feels like Sunday"? I love that Sunday comes before Monday, that you get two days of "weekend play" and then there's a day of consecration before putting your hand to the plow again on Monday.

I made a commitment a long time ago to not do certain things on Sundays (like watch TV, do homework, etc.) that for me are personal decisions; how I choose to keep the Sabbath day.

No, God will not smite me for watching a non-church movie on Sunday, nor will I fail classes if I chose to do homework, nor should I be the judge for anyone else about what they should or should not do on Sunday. I just know that as I continue through my journey of mortal life, I get heavy. And having a day of rest--true rest--is paramount. For me.

An illustration:

My freshman year at BYU I made it into Concert Choir. This was a special year for Concert Choir: it was the first and last time (to date) that they were invited to go on tour. We didn't get to go to South Africa or Ireland (like the smaller group, University Singers, did). No, we got a 3 night, 4 day all expenses paid bus trip to the Pacific Northwest (e.g. Portland, OR, and Vancouver, Washington).

There were some wonderful moments during this trip, including singing at the Portland temple groups and watching a blind middle schooler sing his heart out while our choir shed silent tears. There were great acoustics, bright lights, and funny moments. But what I remember most happened the Sunday we drove back to Provo. The whole trip we stayed with host families who graciously provided us with meals and a place to sleep. My host family the last night happened to be LDS, and since they knew the next day was the Sabbath, they made sure to pack a large sack lunch for my travel.

The buses left after breakfast. I spent the day chatting with fellow choir members, singing hymns, trying to make a dent in Lectures on Faith. Around 5 p.m. (about 4 hours from our destination), the buses stopped and Sister Hall announced that we would be eating at Golden Corral for dinner. I was confused--wasn't it Sunday? Didn't we all have food from our host families? Everyone unloaded and gathered for a prayer. My unease remained. As we walked inside the restaurant, I can still see the plates stacked and the feeling I got when I reached out for one: this did not feel like Sunday. I put the plate down and went back to the bus.

As I boarded I noticed several other people quietly seating, reading scriptures or trying to sleep. These peers were not making bold declarations of "holier than thou how dare you break the Sabbath"; they just sat in the peace that I felt stronger and stronger as I made my way to my seat. Thickness caught in my throat and my eyes filled with unexpected tears. The Lord's outpouring of love surprised me. He had seen my little sacrifice (after all, I still had food--I'm sure many others on the trip did not, and regardless, Sundays on the road can be seen as ox-in-the-mire moments for sure) and He wanted me to know it.

Only later as a missionary did I come across this scripture in Isaiah about the Sabbath day:

13 ¶ If thou turn away thy foot from the sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day; and call the sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words:

14 Then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

That is exactly what I experienced on the bus in 2002: being fed with the "heritage of Jacob", which to me was so much more filling than any buffet, even Golden Corral, could hope to be.

The Path to Him

Hi all,

We got Tyler's rejection letter from the only medical school he applied to yesterday. We had been waiting since October for the news--this was the school here in Portland that he was on the alternate list for last year. :(

Yes, it is sad, heartbreaking, and FRUSTRATING. But the Lord has been so good to us. We've felt comforted and feel led to a couple of options for the current time. However, Tyler is no quitter. He'll reapply when the time is right. When people ask about how Tyler has approached his applying to schools, the general conversation goes like this:

"Tyler did well on the MCAT (32Q) and had a high science and general GPA (3.9). This was year three of applications. The first two years he applied to over 10 schools, each time getting 4-5 interviews and 2-3 wait-listed positions to different schools. This year he ONLY applied to OHSU (here in Portland) because I am in school and my program won't be done until April 2011."

I'm telling you all this so you don't have to ask all the details. I mean, of course you can ask questions if you want, but you know how it goes: "So, has Tyler heard from medical school?" and "Oh, no. What are you guys going to do?" It just kind of rubs the rejection in again :). Yes, he has heard. No, we do not have definite plans for the future. No, he is currently not considering PA school, chiropractic school, nurse practitioner school, Caribbean school , etc. He IS considering a Master's of Healthcare Administration here in Portland, but that's not for sure, either. Life is up in the air, and asking about it doesn't make it any more clear.

Does this post sound angry? I'm not angry, well, at least right now I'm not. I just know how well-meaning people ask lots of the same questions, and repeating answers wears on my already weary soul :)

Like I said, the Lord has comforted us. It doesn't make sense. But this is, of course, because we only get to see the current puzzle piece. When life is over and we see the work of art God made of our lives, I know we'll be grateful. One of my favorite quotes I found on my mission says that "our detours and disappointments are the straight and narrow path to Him." (Pres. Hunter said it, and I believe it with all my heart).

The Beach

The youth from church got to go on an overnight beach trip, and that meant Tyler and I got to go as well. Did I ever mention that my family (of origin) has never been a camping family. Tyler comes from one, but I think I have rubbed off on him. We didn't even have sleeping bags until the day of the camping trip when I went to pick them up at Freddies.

We crammed 3 15-16 year old boys into our Corolla and ended up at Camp Meriweather in the pitch black RAIN. Duh, Sundy, camping requires more than a sleeping bag. I did not have rain gear (which really is a must for Oregon, anyway), a flashlight, extra socks, etc. It made for a pretty cold and miserable night. After a jog on the beach (I actually found an unbroken sand dollar for the first time in my life, including 6 years of living on the Chesapeake Bay), the rain had cleared enough for us to go on a 5 1/2 mile hike to Cape Look Out. "Look out" is right, particularly after a night full of rain. The mud was thick, and of course it started raining as we made our way through the "temperate" rain forest :). Yes, this picture is me, not a friendly troll, all decked out in three sweatshirts, a blanket, and the emergency poncho I found in our roadside emergency kit in the trunk.

Of course, all of that gear eventually got pulled off and traped back in my arms with my no-longer-white socks when the sun came out. I was so muddy, tired, and cranky, Tyler and I skipped the lunch of hotdogs back at camp and traveled to an oh-so-heavenly beach house at Rockaway Beach (I won lodging at this beach house in a service auction at church, which is a story in itself, but I digress).

What a night and day experience: warmth, light, comfort, & peace filled my soul and body at this sanctuary of civilization, all after "roughin' it" with the youth in the rain.
This is my dazed and happy look of disbelief that I could be so lucky to be at the beach with my honey. . .

Yes, it was a wonderfully romantic trip, and I had to show a picture to make you jealous :)

We were tagged (together)

My cousin Crystal "tagged" us together. I had to get clarification on what this meant, but now that I know, here you go:

Four Shows We Watch:
1. American Idol (both)
2. White Collar (Tyler)
3. Medium (Sundy)
4. Pushing Daisies (Both--yes, it's off the air, but we watch reruns)

Four Things We're Passionate About:
1. The church youth program
2. Good cheeses & whole foods
3. Good music (We each have our own standards for this one)
4. Moderate politics (no extremes, people, right or left)

Four Phrases We Say A Lot:
1. "Babe." (Sundy to T)
2. "Honey." (T to Sundy)
3. "Sad about it." (Both)
4. "Oh" (with an upward swing on the h)

Four Things We've Learned from the Past:
1. Patience (still learning).
2. Forgiveness is the mightiest sword (Sundy).
3. Work hard (T).
4. You've never met an ordinary person.

Four Places We Would Like to Go:
1. Southern Africa (multiple countries :)
2. Chile
3. Washington DC

4. European tour (must include Mozart's birthplace, Salzburg)

Four Things We Did Yesterday:
1. Visited Herbert Hoover's childhood home
2. Weeded the garden.
3. Watched Evita.
4. Went to McDonald's (ice cream cones) for the first and hopefully last time in Oregon.

Four Things We're Looking Forward to:
1. May 15th
2. April 2011
3. Chelsey's wedding
4. Tomorrow's jog

Four Things We Love about Spring:
1. Longer days
2. Tulips
3. In season veggies & fruits
4. Frolicking mules

Four Things on Our Wish List:
1. Children
2. Medical school/Internship
3. New bedroom furniture/decor
4. A hand blender

Four People we tag:
Jeff and Robin

Sarah Hall

Marcie Molnar

Lacey Jean

My Spring Break

I'll show you the end from the finish line. . .

Treatment plans, DSM IV-TR diagnoses, Genograms, etc.

97 pages on what makes a healthy couple and how to do effective couples' therapy ad nauseum:

This paper (for one class) is over twice as long as my master's thesis will be:

Yes sir, I had it professionally bound and have looked through it over and over again, admiring all the toil and brain power. Turning it in tomorrow.

This is the look of relief after spending over 50 hours on this fantastic little project:

I'm too pooped to go into further detail. I am glad Spring Break is over so I can go back to school. . .

On second thought. . .

Tyler: [Working in the garden] Sun. . .

Sundy: [Working on homework outside by the garden] Yeah?

Tyler: Are you sure that you're more scared of ants than snakes?

Sundy: Wahhhhhhhhh!!!!

ANTS!

I hope this leaves you squirming as much as it does me. I. . .HATE ANTS. This is a time that calls for all caps.

I haven't always hated ants, and maybe I really don't . . . No, I do. It started in Texas when as a little girl I realized that my baby sister was sitting on a castle: an anthill home to bazillions of angry, red, fire ants. She was splotchy for days.

Then there was that intoxicating cream cheese frosting with chocolate sprinkles carrot cake that a recent convert made my trainer for her birthday. . .except that before we left our flat that morning, the cake didn't have sprinkles on it. Our mights, minds, and strengths were stronger than usual that day because we knew what was waiting at home.

Me: Hey, I don't remember the cake having sprinkles on it [from the door].

Sis. Hiatt: [moving closer] Yeah, and they're moving around, too. . .

You already know the end of this story, but can I just ruminate on the horror of discovering a colony of black African ants throughout our entire flat? They marched in straight-lined legions from under the beds, across the walls, over the floors, up the table legs and chairs, 3 inches deep into the honey jar, and yes, to their final destination: our treasured remains of carrot cake.

That's the thing about ants: they're smart (they sure do know how to feign dead0; they have good taste (only the sugary sweet stuff tempts them); they look so innocent.

But not in this house. We have been cleaning out our cupboards, disinfecting our counter-tops, emptying our trash, and setting out poison traps for MONTHS and to no avail. I get my Raid ant-killer out often and squeal with terror as I get 'em. I squash them with my hands (I'm an ant mass-murderer). I don't take delight in this. I cannot handle opening a drawer and seeing 15 little black dots pretending to be dead until I draw near and they scramble.

I can do spiders and snakes, high-crime neighborhoods, and graduate school, but get me around some little black ants and I'll be wringing my hands, chills down my spin, letting out horrified squeals of consternation and panic.

Maybe this would qualify for a specific phobia; it is causing marked impairment (in my desire to be in the kitchen) and significant distress .