The Bad Thing About Jesus, Or The Plastic Pearl Parable

Hey kids,

Please be advised: I am about to wax Mormon. Meaning, this post assumes a Mormon worldview, which is what I have, but it probably works from a more general Christian one as well. I haven't sermanized on this blog before, so here goes.

In church this Sunday, a guy giving a talk said something I've been chewing on for days: "the bad thing about relying on Jesus is that we will always succeed." He repeated this idea twice, so I will, too: relying on the Savior sucks because in so doing we cannot fail.

Huh?

That's probably what most of congregation was thinking. But I think I've picked up what he was puttin' down: You rely on the Savior and grow close to Him by learning about Him and obeying Him. And the closer you feel to Him, the more happiness and strength and peace you feel—and the more obedient and Christlike you become.

That doesn't sound so bad, right?

The problem is that in this process, you have to give up all your sins—which are, by definition, everything and anything that separates you from God. And some of the things that separate us from God's presence in this life and the next are pretty awesome. And fun. And powerfully alluring. Learning to rely on the Savior entails putting off the "natural man,"—and that means we will have to let go of some things that we love and love to do. That hurts, and not just a little bit. We aren't always ready or willing to let go. Especially when we don't understand exactly why something is bad, or when it seems so much a part of who we are.

The question is whether or not what we get in return is worth it. The scriptures say that the reward of the faithful is peace in this world and eternal life in the world to come. Yes, please: that sounds pretty good to me—I'll take it.

But peace is subtle, and eternal life is so far away. We've all been in places, or have seen peeps we love in places, where these are not very strong motivations—indeed, sometimes they seem little more than meaningless, dismissible abstractions—especially when face-to-face with the temptiest and tastiest of pleasures (. . . which is why I can't go on a diet, heh).

So I ask again . . . is the sacrifice worth it? Is what we get in return for giving up our "sins," pleasures, and pieces of our natures worth the price? The scriptures and the prophets assure us that it is, but you are the only one who can answer that question for yourself.

A little story I heard at girl's camp helped me start to answer it for myself. I will summarize it for you (if you desire to read the long version, it can be found here). I call this story the Parable of the Plastic Pearls:

So a little girl has this beautiful necklace made of plastic pearls. And she loves—she wears it everywhere and with everything. It is her greatest treasure. One day her dad asks her if he can have the pearls. She's super confused . . . what in the world would he do with them? Why, out of all her toys, would he ask her to give him the pearls she loves so much?

Instead the girl tries to give him her doll. And her pony—anything but the necklace. But he insists that he wants her pearls. After awhile she decides that although she doesn't know her dad's motives, she trusts him, and, lip trembling, hands over her treasured necklace. Immediately he gives her a blue velvet box containing another necklace—one made from real, genuine pearls.

You're smart peeps; I'm sure you can gather the intended meaning of this story. The original telling offers this moral: "God will never take away something without giving us something better."

I totes agree. But I would like to add that sacrificing something dear to us in an attempt to obey or follow God or to be worthy of temple blessings takes a heck of a lot of faith and trust. Like the little girl in the story, we don't know exactly what God will give us in return for our plastic pearls. And we sure as anything don't know, can't really understand exactly how what God will give could be better.

This sweet-yet-admittedly-somewhat-frumpy parable applies to a number of situations—giving up specific institutionalized sins from coffee to porn; stopping personal habits that separate us from God, like certain songs or TV shows or even destructive friendships; and life course corrections, such as choosing a different college or major or spouse or career or job or place to live than we originally wanted (as in Hugh B. Brown's currant bush story).

These kinds of decisions—sacrifices, often—take a ton of faith. It isn't always easy to trust that God has something better in store for us. This is most definitely something I struggle with. But I choose (and fight almost daily to re-choose) to believe that God always ultimately has something better waiting for me than I can imagine for myself.

Elder Holland once said that "salvation is not a cheap experience." True story. Life is hard, and it can be even harder if you want to be a faithful temple-recommend-wielding Mormon. 

Here's two scriptures that give me the confidence to trust God and His promises:

Isaiah 55:8–9: "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Mosiah 4:9: "Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend."

Basically, God knows more than we do. He sees the whole picture. We have our own agency, the right to make our own choices. We can choose how to live; we have the right to choose to hang onto our sins. But we also have the right to use our agency to trust God and walk in obedience and according to the inspiration we have received to guide our lives. And in doing so, we can be happy—like really happy; happier than we had imagined we could be.

Phew. Sermonizing wasn't too painful for me; I hope you endured it as well :-) 

In sum: Make good choices. Let go of bad things. And trust that better things, no matter how far away, will be yours. That is all.

Cheers!

Adventures in Red-Rock Land

Hey kids,

Last month I went on a red-rock camping adventure with my "college roommates." Yes, I am still in college, but these ladies are my besties from when I was actually college-aged (as opposed to super old, as I am now). Natalie, Melissa, and I met our freshman year, and Rebecca joined our awesomeness shortly after. We've since gone our separate ways—me to grad school, Nat and Meliss to the the working world, and Becca to the working world then back to school—but we're still bffs.

To foster our tender love for one another, we take gurl vay-cays. Last year we went to Missoula, Montana (aka hippie town and Nat's ancestral lands); and a few years ago we went to St. George and SoCal (aka God's green gift to the USA and my ancestral lands):

Rebecca, Me, and Meliss in Missoula, May 2012

Me and Nat at the beach, July 2010 (I think we were a little late in applying sunscreen ... )

This time we ventured to Bryce Canyon Nat. Park and to Lake Powell in Page, Arizona. As we weren't traveling to any of our ancestral lands, there were no comfy guest beds nor loving mummies to provide home-cooked meals.

Nope. We went camping, and despite the worries of Mel's and Nat's doubting boyfriends, we four ladies were able to survive in the wilderness sleeping in tents and cooking over fire and coals. (OK fine, we went to a restaurant on the last night—but it was inside an old riverboat and staffed by real Navajos. Seriously, who can pass that up?) The point is, we survived. We got the last campsite in Bryce Canyon, and our tents survived a windstorm at Lake Powell. We. Are. Awesome.

Here are some photos to help you catch a glimpse of our adventures. Be advised that I don't have a real camera; these were taken on my iPod and so do not accurately represent the slender that is southern Utah. 

Out on the Open Road 

Nat and Mel stuffing the car full of food.
So we wouldn't die in the wilderness.

Nat driving and Becca navigating

On the way down to Bryce Canyon, we passed by Big Rock Candy Mountain whilst listening to the folk song of the same name. It was so perfect—and became even more perfect when Becca announced, "we're on a bridge, Charlie!" We stopped to take pics of the famed mountain (it was yellow, fyi). The song says that the boxcars at Candy Mountain are all empty—we found a bunch of box cars right off the freeway, and, don't worry, Nat and I crossed the street and walked inside the box cars to make sure that they actually were empty.

The colorful boxcars

More boxcars. 

I was really excited to see them. And I felt like a rebel for running

across a mountain freeway.

This is what it looked like inside the boxcars. They really were empty.

After that, it was on to Bryce Canyon! We camped there for a day then camped at Lake Powell for two.

What Are Men to Rocks and Mountains?
When we got to Bryce Canyon on Thursday afternoon, we set up camp then headed out to what the park guide called the "World's Best 3-Mile Hike." No way we were going to miss out on that. It goes down into the canyon and weaves among the "hoodoos"—the tall rock formations for which the canyon is famous.

I got my first glimpse of the hoodoos at the trail head. As we walked up to the rim from the parking lot, there was no hint of the orange loveliness that awaited us. Looking over the edge into the canyon for the first time was beautiful. The red rocks of southern Utah are not just red—they are also orange and yellow and white and blue and purple.

View from rim. iPod doesn't do it justice.

Whilst hiking, I wanted to feel connected to the canyon so I kept touching all the rocks I could reach. Touching is one of the primary ways I connect with the world— every time I go to the temple I have to touch the carpet and the walls to feel there, to feel present. As I touched, hugged, and, yes, even kissed the rocks, Meliss commented that I am a tactile person. It's true, I suppose.

At least I wasn't as extreme as Natalie, who felt she needed to taste the dirt to feel connected to the canyon. True story. So gross (says the girl who kissed a rock ... ). Anyway, the hike was loverly—the weather was perfect, there weren't too many people, the distance was ideal. aahhhaha I wish I were there RIGHT NOW.

I heart the canyon!

The trail down into the canyon. Who loves switchbacks?

My buddies: Becca, Nat, and Meliss

A bridge!

You shall not pass!

Melissa is SO COOL.

See what I mean?

We had to check out all the scenic lookouts after hiking the world's best 3-mile hike.

Cool cave things. Natalie spent almost 20 minutes taking pics of these. She said that there are so many details in the rocks that there is no way she'd ever be able to remember, so she tried to capture as many as possible. Interesting philosophy—but it got kinda annoying after awhile as we had to keep stopping to take pics. Love yah, Nat

I want to go to there.

After Bryce, we went to Lake Powell and Page, Arizona. I didn't take as many pics there, but here's what I got:

Horseshoe Bend in Lake Powell. Again, pic does not really capture its gloriousness. We wanted to kayak around this island, but the boat rental peeps said it would take more than a day to do so. We would've had to camp on a beach. Totes cray!

I am so fierce. Especially after contemplating nature and the meaning of life.

We took a tour through Antelope Canyon, a slot canyon. A nice Navajo man drove us out to and guided us through this super skinny and super beautiful canyon. I tried to take nice pics with my iPod.

This pic is kind of nice

I am such an exploradora!

That's the remainder of my scenic pics. Sorry I didn't take any of the lake! It was beautiful, but the windy weather made it hard to enjoy to its fullest. Ah well.

Diversity
If you want to practice your French or German language skills, southern Utah/northern Arizona is your place, peeps. There were tons of Europeans. Also, lots of really happy Asians. I think they were mostly Japanese. Why are Asians always so happy when they are on vacation? Dunno. Anyway, as testament to the commonness of French and German, I found signs everywhere in these languages:

On the picnic table at our first campsite. I kept reading the German one loudly then shouting in German, until we realized that our neighbors were German. Ooopsies; don't want to abuse their language haha

The laundry room at our second campsite. The only time I've ever seen a German translation come before a Spanish one. 

Another language I heard was Navajo. Page is right next to the Navajo nation, and the slot canyon we toured is on Navajo land. After our tour of the canyon, we wanted to get ourselves some real Navajo tacos, so we asked our tour guide for tips. He said there were no restaurants or food trucks or anything that sold Navajo tacos—a serious hole in the market; they could make a killing off we tourists.

But he did tell us about a flea market up in one of the Navajo villages that sold food. We went to check it out—and we were the only white people there, haha (there was a black guy, though). I bought some jewelry (below) from a cute old Navajo lady. (The old people were SO CUTE. So were the babies. Which is true of any nationality, I think.)

An earring and bracelet I got at the Navajo flea market. The bracelet is made with cedar seeds, called "ghost beads," to scare away the evil spirits. Thank goodness.

 And we found ourselves some real, authentic Navajo tacos. Which weren't fried dough piled with Mexican food and cheese, btw's. The tacos had fresh mutton (I tried not to think about how fresh), corn still on the cob, a potato wedge, and red onions, all rolled up in fried bread. So yummy! While we were waiting for our foods, Mel and I met a guy with a baseball hat that said "chief" on it. I wonder if he really was the chief .... anyway, he told us that we needed to stand in the shade or we will get all red like everyone else :-) haha. The people we met at the market were very sweet and funny and interesting; we felt totes legit for finding the place where the locals go. Yay for travel and culture.

Our Dam Adventure 
After our tour of the slot canyon, we decided to do a spot of shopping. We are gurlz, after all. And, besides, we found this place:

Named after the Glen Canyon Dam, of course. The dam that makes Lake Powell. I didn't buy anything at the dam store, but I think Melissa bought her dad a shirt there.

Have you lost the maturity contest yet? If not, allow me to continue.

The dam bridge

The weather at Lake Powell was windy and rainy, so we couldn't kayak or swim as planned. So we went on a drive, right over the dam bridge. The dam bridge crosses over the Glen Canyon Dam. As we drove over the dam bridge, I spotted the dam visitors' center and realized that I'd never gone on a dam tour before. In fact, I had no dam knowledge whatsoever and suddenly desired a dam education. So Natalie pulled over just in time for Meliss and I to get the last spots on the next dam tour, on which we were led by an attractive, blue-eyed, Spanish-speaking RM dam tour guide. We stood on the dam top and got a great view of the river and the dam bridge. We saw the dam generators where the dam water passes through to make the electricity. (Had enough yet?) When we were done, Becca pointed us to a quiz game in the dam visitors' center called "Test Your Dam IQ."

View of the river from the dam top.

It was a lot of dam fun.

Te he he he he.

Anywho, that's all I have to say about that gurlz vay-cay. It was soooo gooood! I wish I could be on vacation all the time ever. Alas. We will have to do it again soon, ladies :-)

Cheers!

A Little Bit of Luck

I had never won anything—not Scrabble, not even elementary-school Bingo—until 11 days ago.

That's when I got this email:

To be honest, I didn't remember entering any such contest, but I dug around online and confirmed that it was legit. And I confirmed that I won.

Booh. Freaking. Yah.

I won.

I won a Garmin GPS running watch worth $200. Joy of joys!!! I am a winner, a real winner at last!

. . . and then I totally forgot about it. Until a package came for me in the mail. I was so confused as to why I would get a package—I didn't order anything, it wasn't my birthday, it wasn't addressed in my mom's or my grandma's handwriting. Still totes perplexed, I pulled open the box. And found this:

Yes. My running watch had arrived. As I totes forgot it was coming, discovering it inside the mysterious box made me feel like I had won all over again.

Now, mind you, this watch is Fancy. Yes, with a capital F. Here's another look:

So Fancy, in fact, that it came with three owner's manuals:

 Seriously. Who knew watches could be so complicated? I didn't even know watches could have a GPS. And this watch is so Fancy that it needs to be plugged into the wall to charge. Like a freaking cell phone. Here's the charger, which also adapts to plug into the computer to track and save all my runs:

Here it is coming out of the packaging. The long black thingy is, yes, a heart-rate monitor. So I can monitor my heart. This thing is seriously like the Fanciest, most expensive non-essential object I own.

Today I took it on a real run. As I hit the pavement, it told me how far I had run, how long it was taking, and what my pace was (which is embarrassingly slow, but at least I run, right?). Totes legit! Here is a pic of the watch after my run. The top number is the distance (in miles); the big number in the middle is the time, and at the bottom is my pace. and the tan, luscious thing it is sitting on is my arm. (Feast your eyes!)

 Yep, I am so cool. I am a winner. I have a new running buddy; I will totes be prepared for my halfie in July. This is me looking oh so fierce (and sweaty) after my watch's inaugural run.

You wish you were this cool.

Peace out.

Life Lessons from a Blonde Lawyeress

Hey kids,

Time to disclose a guilty pleasure: silly, colorful, outrageous chick flicks with ridiculous blonde heroines. Clueless is one favorite—Cher is so inspirational: it most definitely does not say RSVP on the statue of liberty. I also love Sharpay from High School Musical. She's so fabulous!

But my favorite blonde movie is, naturally, Legally Blonde. Elle Woods is everything a classy girl should be: smart, friendly, strong, sassy, skilled, compassionate, and oh so stylish. I mean, she once talked Cameron Diaz out of buying a hideous orange sweater! (Whoever said orange is the new pink was seriously disturbed.)

Tonight I found myself in need of quick upliftment (yes, that word just happened; deal with it)—so the roommies and I popped in Legally Blonde. Not only is Elle's story the perfect lesson in how to get over a man and how to overcome your background to make something of yourself, it's also sparkling with nuggets of pure wisdom. Here is a sampling:

1. Great truths are discovered in a beauty salon.
When sore trials come upon Elle and her ladies, they think to manicure. And pedicure. I mean, no girl can win her man back with unpolished cuticles, right? In the salon, serious enlightenment is born: Elle decides to go to law school, Paulette learns the bend and snap (OMG, works every time!), and a female law professor convinces Elle not to drop out ("If you're going to let one stupid p**** ruin your life... you're not the girl I thought you were").

2. Regular exercise is the key to marital harmony.
Elle explains this one so succinctly in her defense of exercise-video diva Brooke Windom: "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands." Truer words have rarely ever been uttered. To make sure you play nice with others, get in some exercisin'.
 
3. Find out what you want. Then do it.
When Elle tells her guidance counselor of her Harvard dreams, the counselor  asks for backup schools. "I don't need backups; I'm going to Harvard," quoth Elle. Go, girl! She knew what she wanted and would accept no substitutes. Also, goals change: sometimes when you are on the road to what you think you want, you find the path to what you actually do want. Elle set out to reclaim her man, and instead found her passion for helping others. And a new man, which is also nice :-)

4. Some guys just aren't worth ruining your shoes for.
Warner, Elle's ex-man, is a real tool. He breaks up with her because he needs a "Jackie," not a "Marilyn," and he tells Elle she's stupid—even though she got into Harvard Law (we find out later that he was wait-listed). Eventually she learns what a d-bag he is and gives up trying to reclaim her lost lurve, focusing instead on becoming a real lawyeress. When he breaks up with her at the beginning of the movie, Elle tries to walk home, but Warner convinces her to get back in the car so she doesn't ruin her shoes. My gurlz (mostly for my benefit) began shouting about how men are stupid and telling Elle not to get back in the car. Then our resident ginger added this comment: "Some guys just aren't worth ruining your shoes for." Ladies, we should follow Elle's example and learn to tell the difference.

5. Sometimes you can trust stereotypes. Sometimes you can't.
Case in point for the latter: Elle is not a "dumb blonde with daddy's plastic," even though she has a feather on her pen and carries a chihuahua in her purse. But you can trust some stereotypes: Elle saves the day during her court case by figuring out that Enrique, the pool boy claiming an affair with the defendant, is gay. He tells her, "Don't estomp your little last season Prada shoes at me, honey." (In the musical version, the bend and snap doesn't work on Enrique.) And Elle's 'dar went "bing!" As a wise man once told me, stereotypes are there for a reason :-)

See what you can learn from a powerful, enlightened blonde? On a semi-related note, I'm pretty sure that my life's ambition is to see Legally Blonde: The Musical. 

Cheers!