College Week One: Everything's Cooler in [Chinese] Characters

My first night in Provo I couldn't sleep. I was so excited to be back, but I was also apprehensive. This year is filled with so many unknowns and so many firsts. Most of my friends from last year are gone on missions or living far enough away that I won't see them often. I didn't know my roommates before moving in, and I couldn't really predict what my schedule would be like. When I'd tell people I was going to take Mandarin, they'd say something like, "Wow, Mandarin's hard." As if that didn't add to my apprehension . . .
My roommates were very kind but I quickly learned that they were seldom home. I was glad to be left to myself to unpack, but that night, when my roommates didn't return until long after I'd gone to bed, I was a little sad. And the following morning, since I was still on Eastern Time, despite a restless night, I was up by 4:45.
Not wanting to wake the apartment, I laced up my running shoes and went for a jog. The stars were breath-taking. I could see all the constellations I'd learned about in my senior-year astronomy class--Andromeda, Orion, the Big Dipper--they were all there, and absolutely beautiful. You don't see stars like that in Georgia.
I wandered up to campus and felt as though I was joined to it. The rosy-tan humanities building with its large front window and beautiful courtyard looked exquisite, and it felt like home.
But later that day wen the stars were shunned by the bright noon-sun and campus was buzzing with freshman walking their schedules, and everyone else walking along with their groups of friends, I suddenly felt like everyone was part of something I wasn't. A crowd isn't company; the more crowded campus got, the more alone I felt.
I came home to an empty apartment, had a bowl of cold cereal and watched the clock. Again, I couldn't sleep. Again, my roommate came in late, and again, I left before she awoke.
I was thinking things couldn't get much worse, and, for once, I was right.
They got better. Much better.
I still don't see my roommates all that much so I feel like I still don't really know them, but my first impression was that they would be quite easy to get along with and, fortunately, that impression has failed to change upon closer acquaintance. They are seriously the kindest people.
And though they're hardly home, now that school has started, neither am I.
The other day, I left at 7:00 A.M. and came home at 10:30 P.M. After classes, I'd met up at the library with a girl from my Chinese class, Rachel, to practice a new dialogue and review the characters for our homework. Now let me back up just a little to tell you about Rachel. On the second night of school I prayed that I would find a friend. The next day in Chinese class, I sit next to Rachel, with dark brown hair died dark red and slate-blue eyes, jeans and a red Ninja-turtles t-shirt. She's taken Chinese in high school so she's good with the characters and pretty good with pronunciation, both of which I could use some help on. I, on the other hand, am told I am quite good at the tones--something Rachel struggles with. We were given a dialogue to practice and Rachel and I finished quickly and began adding on with the little Chinese we had learned.
By the end of it, Rachel turns to me and says, "I think we're going to be good friends."
Now fast forward to last night. We ended up studying for over three hours and honestly, it was a blast!
Rachel taught me to text in Mandarin, which is honestly quite hilarious, because, given our limited vocabulary, our text messages translate to something like this:

"Hi. How are you?"
"I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm good."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."

And somehow we get a kick out of this. Everything's cooler in Chinese characters.

Then we decide to go split a footlong sub because by now we haven't eaten in over five hours. The lady making our sandwiches asks, "Are you guys together?"
Rachel replies that we are.
"I meant the sandwich," the lady adds quickly. Uh-huh. Nice save.
We couldn't stop laughing.

Classes are going great. Honestly, I'm a little nervous about my class editing for the Prelaw Review Journal, but, all in all, things have gone better than I could have imagined.

Candidly,
Cookie

Change

A little butterfly

Once in a cocoon

Knew not then I

That beauty comes so soon

Back at the beginning of summer, I roamed the yard looking for the perfect spot to plant a small tray of freshly sprouted Marigolds. I cleared away the mulch from a small flower bed in the back, dug nine holes, filled them with fertilizer and placed nine marigolds in the cool, damp soil. And there, all summer, in the bright evening sun, they flourished. They are a reminder to me of the beauty in change. 

I often find myself wishing things would never change. But if they didn't, I'd still be a lifeguard this summer, my bed would never be made, I would never have been able to revisit a high school teacher and find a friend, my marigolds would still be tiny sprouts, and that little butterfly would still be a caterpillar. 

I would be the same person I was one year ago, before I ever boarded a plane for Utah to begin my year at BYU. I would never be able to say those sweet words that Shakespeare so masterfully penned "Twas I, but tis not I."
I would still be an English major who wanted to minor in ballroom dance and creative writing. I would know nothing of the joys of editing, language, and linguistics. I would never have met my good friend and running buddy. I would never have laughed with the girls down the hall or joined them as we sat outside in the freezing cold late one night eating grilled PB and Js. I would never have sung duets with my coworkers in the dish room as we washed dishes with the gay-heartedness of the seven dwarfs singing on their way to the mines. I would never have met the wonderful group of people that work with me at the Dentist's office, nor the sweet, sweet children that I have the privilege to play with at the YMCA play center.
I heard a story once of how a man who was planning to go home and commit suicide, but, after attending a concert, changed his mind when he heard the beautiful music. I'm sure the artist had a beautiful voice, and I do not doubt the power of music, but after a summer working with young children, I am convicned that any toddler could produce the same change.

If nothing ever changed, I would take everything for granted, like a roommate, friends, a home, grades, and marigolds. With friends all across the globe - at home, or on missions - I've made keeping contact a priority, because I've realized that change is inevitable, and so you have to fight hard to keep anything constant, and friends are just that: not constants, per say, but two people constantly changing to, in change, be two that are constant.
And so, while I have my anxieties towards the upcoming year, I've resolved to welcome change, for without it, I could never recognize the constants.

My sheets are tucked tight. My bed, for once, is made. My suitcase and duffel are lying open in the corner, almost packed. My closet is full of empty hangers, a couple shoes and a bag of yarn. My bookshelf is crammed tight with all the books I wish I could bring with me but know better than to believe I'd have the time to read. There's a journal sitting beside my laptop that is finally absorbing ink after a summer's drought, as I try desperately to record the last few days of summer. There's a stack of notes, concert tickets, and memorabilia from college, that minus some pictures, is finally being scrap-booked. I did a terrible job of keeping up with friends from home, but my desk is littered with letters headed out to Mexico, California, and Russia, where my college friends are serving missions. Somewhere in some corner of my room is a little dust bunny crying because he is all alone after I went through and exterminated all his friends. Scattering the floor are a couple shoes, the gym shorts I'm supposed to be changing into to mow the lawn right now, my running shorts, which for once are clean, awaiting my half marathon tomorrow, a couple cords and chargers belonging to who knows what, the scrubs that I wore to the dentists office all summer and will have to be returning shortly, and a small stack of books I'm hoping will find room to squeeze into my carry-on.

But outside this mess is a small plant box, where, four months and forever ago, a young girl planted nine orange Marigolds.
And, there, all summer long, in the bright evening sun, they've flourished . . .

Candidly,
Cookie

***See A Summer's Portrait

To College Rookies Part Two: The Secret to Grades

You want to know the big secret about grades?
Keep 'em secret.
And here's why: Unless you are absolutely certain you have the worst grades in the group and are wishing to make everyone feel better about themselves at your own expense, no one wants to hear it. Or it may also happen that you talk to someone about your perfect scores because you assumed they were as smart or smarter than you, and then realize they aren't . . . Awkward . . .
So far, you're either so smart everyone hates you and is secretly (or openly) jealous, or you come across as stupid.
But wait, there's a third option. You could find out that you land right about the middle of the crowd. Well, here's the problem with that: people resist change, and this includes yourself. The problem with finding yourself to be in the average crowd is you and the crowd both begin to believe that that is where you belong, and subsequently, where you will stay. And if you don't stay, and your crowd finds out, you'd think they might be happy for you, but that's not always the case.
There's a special secret that any crab fisher knows, and it is this: it is alright if you're bucket is not big enough to hold the crabs, as long as there are two in the bucket, because as soon as one crab tries to escape, the other will pull it back in.
There are crowds that will do that to you when you try to break free, and perhaps even worse is when we do it to ourselves. When we categorize ourself or label ourself according to our ability, we get this absurd notion that our level of intelligence is as much a part of who we are as an arm or a leg and it will never change. When we do this, we are effectively putting a cap on what we might otherwise achieve.

I'll let you in on one more piece of wisdom: no one likes a proud winner, but few people mind a humble one. The thing is, if you really are trying hard, making good comments in class, taking diligent notes, and studying often, people notice, and already, in their minds, their categorizing you in the smart crowd. Either you aren't as smart as they think, in which case, you can just go on saying nothing and they'll think you are very humble, which they will like you for. Or, you ARE as smart as they think, and in saying nothing, they think you are not only smart but humble. Like I said, no one likes the smart and proud, but few people mind the humble genius, and those who do mind, don't matter.


And that is why, it's best not to share your grades. It' alright every now and then to get excited when you did really well. I'm not saying you can't every now and then tell a few good friends.
But for the most part, it's best to keep 'em secret.

Candidly,
Cookie

Why I Owe the World Eleven Dollars and Ninety-Seven Cents

All over FaceBook and the news one can find stories of abandoned infants, drug curtails, divorce, and violence. Every once in a while you run into a small article, perhaps tucked in a corner in the middle of the newspaper, that seems to say, "Some people are still good. Don't give up on us yet." But there never seems to be enough of it, which is why, when I was collecting stories of service for a short sermon in church some weeks ago, I could not get enough of them. It was like sitting by a warm, crackling fire after playing out in the snow all morning, and, asking forgiveness rather than permission of those whose stories were told, I wish to share some of that warmth.

For my talk, I'd asked a number of people two questions. The first was, "What is the most meaningful service you've given?" The responses were as follows:

"I've had some really special ladies who I visit taught. I became good friends with them. It was interesting because I didn't have a lot in common with them. But during the experiences I had serving and teaching and chatting and praying and fasting with them, I all of a sudden created a really tight bond with them and cared for them really, really, deeply. I was surprised that when someone was really different than me, when I served, loved, and took care of them, I all of a sudden loved them with all my heart."

"The most meaningful service I've given has been to my children and husband, just trying to think about what they need and how to help them with their schedule and their demands."

"The most meaningful service I've given has been to my children. It's the times when i'm the most tired and they ask me to play a game or watch them do a new trick . . . It's the simple things they want. It's when you're really tired but you have this feeling, 'this is important. They're not always going to want you to do this.' They want your attention. They want your time."

"The thing that popped into my mind first was the time when I was able to give extended service to a woman who had had recent surgery. I was able to provide a few meals and convinced her it was okay for me to come provide regular cleaning service, as well. The best part about it was I was able to involve my children and it gave them wonderful opportunity to learn about service first hand. And one of the nicest benefits was getting to know this woman more deeply as we spent time visiting each time we came to clean. This wonderful opportunity blessed many lives, brought people together, and was a marvelous blessing to my family."

"I had the opportunity to go to my brother's house twice when he was in the hospital and care for him and his kids. That was great because I could see the impact I was making and enabled his wife to be with him to serve him. I was able to hang with his kids so that she could serve him."

"A woman who used to be in our ward [church congregation], who had married and had three boys, had a divorce and left state pretty quickly. Quite frankly, I don't even remember how I found out about it, but when I found out, I went over to her house and helped her pack so she could get out of town. I packed for two straight days with her. Any time you follow the spirit and do what you're asked to, I think that's the most meaningful service you can give."

The second question I asked was. "What is the most meaningful service you've been given?"

"When my daughter was born, our ward just showed a lot of love and care and kindness. They really watched over us and helped us and it really made a difference to how we felt at the time. We were just really scared because we didn't know what down syndrome would mean or if she would have heart problems. She was being tested at the time. They brought dinner and clothes, played with the kids, came over to visit, and showed us a great amount of love."

"The closest family members give the biggest service to me because of the selflessness the have; my parents especially. They've done so much -- not just one big huge even but all the little things they've done over and over and over again."

"People have cleaned my home when I couldn't. They've been so nice when my son broke his leg or when I was totally sick with a baby. People have brought dinner or brought my kids to church when I hurt my ankle."

"One of the most meaningful services I've received is people just listening when I've had struggles or challenges or when I'm confused -- just to talk to someone about it is so meaningful and for them to listen and share their thoughts and experiences helps me tons."

" . . . My sister opening her home up to us. We lived there a year and a half."

"When we lost our child and people took the time to talk to me for a few minutes when they dropped off the meals. Because my husband was traveling and I was by myself, it meant a lot that they took the time to talk to me and be a listening ear and give me consoling words. Their talking to me meant more than the meals they brought."

"As I've become a parent, to think about how much my parents served me growing up . . . It's been illuminating and inspirational . . . to see the service they gave in their callings growing up and the commitment they had to their covenants."

"We had some help from our neighbors when my son was born. He was born in the middle of the night and my wife had to go to the hospital at a moment's notice and we had neighbors that came over in the middle of the night. It was meaningful because we couldn't have foreseen and planned on it and it was not convenient to them at all."

To this collection of heart-warming stories, I wish to add my own little experience. It occurred just last night at the local supermarket. I was on my way home from work and my mom had asked me to pick up one of the ingredients for our dinner that night on my way home. I bolted through the heavy rain, still in my grey work scrubs, found what I was looking for, and went to check out. It was only then, standing in line as they rang up my one item, that I realized I had no cash. But I had my debit card on me, and though I had just run it near dry purchasing text books, I figured I had a good twenty dollars left.
Have you ever experienced that embarrassingly awkward moment when you are standing in line with people waiting behind you and you realize you don't have enough to pay for what you bought?
The cashier must have seen the look on my face when I swiped my card and the small screen read "insufficient funds."
The item had rung up to twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents. I had no idea what was left on my card, but however much it was, it was not enough.
"Do you want me to hold your item for you?" the cashier asked me.
"Umm . . . yeah. I'll be back."
I then, since it was still pouring outside, stood inside by the exit where you return your cart, and called my mom, explaining to her my situation. She offered to come meet me at the store.
As I was about to hang up, a kind woman, who I recognized as the women who had been waiting behind me in line, presented eleven dollars and ninety-seven cents. With the two quarters I'd found in my purse, it would be enough.
"Are you sure?" I asked her. "My mom can come meet me."
She just smiled and handed me the money with a simple message, "Pay it forward."

Which would be why I now owe the world eleven dollars and ninety-seven cents, a debt I hope to pay time and time again, and owe for the rest of my life.

Candidly,
Cookie

A Beautiful Analogy

Today in church I heard an analogy that spoke to me. It was a simple, sweet way to capture an important principle.

The story was of a little boy who was going to the airport with his dad. As they neared the airport, he watched the planes fly overheard and noted how very small they looked.

He was astonished, when they arrived at the airport, to find how big the planes actually were. He was further amazed when his father explained to him that they were the same plane. Earlier he had been seeing it from far away, but now, up close, it looked so big.

Like the planes, the nearer we are to God, the bigger He is in our lives.

How big is He to you?

Candidly,
Cookie