Something on my mind

My belief in my religion is not proof based. Therefore, I'm getting a tad impatient with people's attempt to disprove my religion (my own grandmother included in those "people"). You can't disprove something that isn't proven. I don't believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ as taught in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true because it's been proven true by man. I believe it to be true because the Spirit has born witness to my heart that it's true. You can't disprove that.

With that said, I'd also like to state that I don't believe in my religion because man tells me to believe it. I believe it because I've talked to God about it.

My brother-in-law, Matt, recently had a priesthood meeting with Elder Nelson, a member of the quorum of the 12 apostles. In this meeting, Elder Nelson was confronted about the issue of black members of the church unable to hold the priesthood until the '70s. Elder Nelson said that, while the doctrine of the church is always true and perfect, the policies are not always true and perfect. Elder Nelson said that in the case of withholding the priesthood from black men, the policy was incorrect.

Allow me to be so bold as to say, in other words...the brethren were incorrect in withholding the priesthood from black men, according to what Elder Nelson recently said in this meeting (a meeting in which I was not in attendance. So, yes...we must take that into account. I'm hearing his words through my brother-in-law, who was there in person.)

This isn't really news to me, however. But it's news to some, I'm sure. See, we as Latter-day Saints like to bury any negative things affiliated with our church deep deep in the ground as to not taint the church's image or taint our testimonies. My feeling is, however, nothing can change my testimony. Because my testimony, you see, is not founded on man...it is founded on Christ. Christ is the head of this church, but men...flesh...humans...run it under his watch. And, sometimes...men make mistakes. Do the mistakes of men disprove the reality of the Gospel of Jesus Christ? Nope. They don't.

The blacks/priesthood issue is not the only confusing thing in our church's history. If you were to take some time to research, you'd find all sorts of surprising things. ALL SORTS. You don't have an apostate grandma and serve a mission in the South without discovering some of these "surprising" things. But again, I've never claimed to have perfect human beings running the church to which I belong. I've claimed to be a part of Christ's church, but until Christ is here himself, running it in person, mistakes will be made...on multiple levels, I'm sure. The gospel and the doctrine, however, will remain perfect.

I've experienced some things in the last 10 years of my life...some things that the majority of my friends and acquaintances are unaware of...that could have pushed me away from the church, had I let them. Those experiences still linger with me to this day. And, as Amy Grant says, "I'd be lying if I said I had not tried to leave a time or two...but every road that leads me, leads me back to you." "You" being God...and God always leads me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have contemplated what it would be like to leave. I've toyed with the idea. And sometimes, it seems very appealing. If that makes you think less of me, well...I apologize for that and commend you for your unwavering faith. Honestly, I do. It's a gift of the Spirit to be unwavering in your faith, and I'm grateful for people with such a gift.

Although, I wouldn't say my faith was wavering...but maybe my patience...which is a Christ-like attribute, one that I continually need to work on, because my flesh is weak and gets in the way of my spirit.

But the fact remains, no matter how much my patience is tried, I have a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that does not seem to go away. I believe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is Jesus Christ's church established in the latter days, and I do believe that good, righteous men of God hold God's power, and guide His church with that power. No amount of "mistakes" or "discoveries" will disprove my testimony.

I love...

I LOVE making people laugh!!!

Oh my gosh, like seriously. It's one of my favorite things ever. And I love to laugh. So it's great when I can make someone laugh, and then the fact that they're laughing makes me laugh. And then we're both just busting a gut. Best. Feeling. Ever.

I also love the fact that after tonight, I'll be FREE from tests, projects, presentations and assignments....for a whole month and a half! Until I start up my film-production program.

I'm going to do the BIGGEST happy dance when today is over!

Okay, back to studying. Buh bye now.

Guitar Friend

I miss my guitar. This is the only picture I could find of me with it. I'm listening to Ingrid Michaelson right now...she's just strumming away at her guitar. And all I can think is, 'I want my guitar.' Like, it's making me ache.

So, it's probably a good thing I'll be reunited with it soon. I didn't bring it to D.C. with me because of money...or lack thereof. But it will definitely be accompanying me to Seattle.

It's a piece of me...like an arm or a leg. I'm missing a ligament. :)

Anyway. I'm going to New York next weekend. It will be the greatest trip known to man. And then, I'll say goodbye to D.C. on the 15th. Bitter/sweet, but definitely more sweet than bitter.

I just realized...I've never named my guitar. Do you think I should? Is it like a boat? Does it need a name? Does that mean I don't love it that much?

Maybe I'll call it Guitar Friend. :)

Life News

Hey friends.

Me again. The author of this blog.

I've decided to make an announcement. I have yet to announce it on Facebook. The blog will be my first place of self-disclosure...for this particular piece of life news...on the Internet.

I bought a plane ticket, I'm packin' up my bags...and I'm saying goodbye to D.C.

I really don't feel like going into a long explanation about this...so I'll try to keep this brief.

So...moral of the story is, I don't like it here. I don't really like the Georgetown program. I never have liked investigative reporting...and I was taking a major wild shot in the dark thinking this program would be different from all other journalism programs in the world.

I don't like living in D.C. And I don't like how expensive it is. I don't like the competitive atmosphere and I don't like the corporate world.

Let's be honest. I don't want to be a journalist. I never did. Not the hard-core investigative type, anyway. I've felt uneasy ever since moving here...anxious...unsettled. I know I was supposed to come out here...but I wasn't supposed to stay out here. I believe I pursued this path in order help me figure out what I really wanted and to confirm things in my heart and mind.

So...do I have a plan? Yes.

I applied to a film/video production certificate program at University of Washington in Seattle. I was accepted. It's a 9-month program, and it starts in October.

I'd love to have my own business one day...creating history documentaries of people's deceased loved ones. I think people would pay for that service. Maybe I'm kidding myself. BUT, I don't think so. Plus, video production skills are highly beneficial in any communication job, and it would up my chances of getting a job with any company...any news company, any big name corporation like Microsoft or Disney...I want this skill.

I may pursue a Master's at UW in a year too...not sure about that yet. But it would be in digital communications...which would also be highly beneficial. And it's $20,000 cheaper than Georgetown.

And...I love the Northwest. I'll be within a half hour of my sister, and three hours from my parents and step-sibs. I love the lifestyle and weather and scenery.

So, I'm throwing in the towel on D.C. and Georgetown...and I couldn't. Be. Happier.

It feels different

This whole "grandpa dying" thing feels different from how I ever thought it would.

I didn't get to see my grandpa very often tin his last few years of life. I wish I had visited him more while I lived in Portland for the year that I did...he only lived 45 minutes away. But life gets busy and you make excuses not to have to fight the traffic after work every day.

When a grandparent dies, the first thing that comes out of people's mouths is, "Oh, I'm sorry...were you close?"

I find this to be an interesting question. I know why it's asked. I've probably asked that of people in the past. But it kind of minimizes the depth of pain a person may be feeling. Like, "Oh...wait, I'm gonna hold off on my sympathy because it's just a grandparent...unless, of course, you tell me you were close."

For me, I can confidently answer that question with a "yes, we were close." No, we didn't have long chats on the phone....I didn't call him up every week to see how he was doing. But when I did call, we would chat. And when I did visit, we had sweet, tender times.

As a child, I spent a LOT of time with him. When my dad was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, we moved from Germany to Oregon really quickly, and we lived with my grandma and grandpa Perry for a little while while we looked for our own place to live. We spent a lot of time with them, even after we moved into our own apartment...because we lived so close, and my mom and dad needed a lot of help with us.

I have many sweet memories with my grandpa. Picking cherries off of the tree in their back yard, picking tomatoes out of his garden (he was a master gardener), making Micky Mouse pancakes with him...using chocolate chips for the eyes, mouth and nose. Watching him as he'd carve out my next craft project from a fresh batch of wood. Bouncing on his knee as he sang, "This is the way the gentleman rides, clipidy-clop, clipidy-clop......." Building wooden steps down to the little cabin he and his sons built in the woods. Sitting by the fire, coloring in the cabin. The cabin was made out of cedar wood...so everything smelled of cedar. :) Going camping and crabbing with him. Attending jazz festivals at the coast with him. He loved jazz music.

My grandparents showed up to every major event in my life. Every birthday. Every band concert (or most of them.) Graduation...mission farewell...mission homecoming. They weren't members of my church. They used to be, long ago, but they haven't been for as long as I can remember. But still, they came to all my functions at the church. My grandpa stepped in during "daddy-daughter" dances before Chuck came into my life. He's ALWAYS been there.

And this fact...the fact that he's always been there...is a big deal for me. Because my own dad wasn't there. But my dad's dad was always there. He was the extension of my dad. I knew, because my grandpa loved me so much, that my dad must love me that much as well.

So were we close? Yes. Was he old? Yes. Does that lessen the pain? No. Do I miss him? Yes. Am I extremely sad? Yes.

BUT, it sooths my heart to know he's having a little reunion with my dad, my uncle (who also passed away the same year my dad died...yeah...our family is cursed or something) and his parents. In fact, my grandpa's mom died when he was only 7, so he's waited a loooong time to get to see her again. I would have LOVED to have witnessed that reunion.

God lives. He sent his son. The Savior suffered, died, and then rose again. Because of that miracle, we'll all live again. This, I know to be true.

Goodbye

My grandpa died today.

I put this video together for him...kind of as a grieving thing for me. It soothed my heart a bit.

I love and miss him.

Silver Lining

It's funny; some of my strongest friendships have developed over the toughest of times.


Two examples for you.


ONE

When my family lived in Germany, my family became friends with another family, the Andersons. My dad taught the Anderson boys in Sunday school, he worked just down the street from the Andersons' house, and often, we'd stop by the Andersons' house on our way home after picking my dad up from work. Living in Germany forces people to create family, because the closest family is half way across the world. The Andersons slowly became our family.

One of my first little buddies was Johnny Anderson. He was 2 1/2 years older than I was. Maybe just 2...I can't remember exactly. We'd play hide-and-seek together...build legos...he was a boy and would treat me like little boys often treat little girls.

 On July 4, 1991, Johnny Anderson died in an awful bike/car accident. He was 8 years old, and he and his brother were riding bikes. The bike Johnny was riding that day happened to have faulty breaks...and was too big for him, I believe. I can't remember all the details. But the ending of this story is, he passed away that day. I soon-after attended my first funeral...my first experience with death was my good friend, Johnny.

 I still remember the day he died. Kayleen and I were playing in a bucket of water on our front steps. After getting tired of playing in our make-shift swimming pool, we went inside, and I saw my dad on the phone, crying. I'd never seen my dad cry before.

Just a little over a month later, my brother was born...August 8, 1991. And a couple weeks after that, my dad had a grand mal seizure in the middle of the night. We were too far out in the German territory for the military hospital to send an ambulance. So you know who came instead? The Andersons. Only one month after losing their son/brother...and the Andersons wrapped their arms around us while we discovered my dad had a malignant brain tumor and he would only have two more years to live.

The fact that such traumatic events took place in their family and my family, in the same year...in the same summer...just a month and a half separating the two, MAJOR bonding. I love that family. Beth, Wayne, Chad, Jeremy, Emiko, Matt, Sarah, Christian and Johnny. They're like a second set of parents and seven more siblings. I'm blessed to have them in my life.


TWO

A couple years after my mom married Chuck, a family in our ward experienced a similar trial to ours. Brother Rex Bliss was diagnosed with cancer...and it was a fast-spreading cancer. We invited him and his family over for Sunday dinner one of the Sundays after his diagnosis...and recognized the pain the family was experiencing...and the pain they were about to face.

After Rex's passing, the Bliss clan quickly became part of our family. We started inviting them over for Sunday dinner every week, and it soon became a weekly ritual. We did everything together...camping, vacations, beach trips...everything. We eventually became known as the "Perry-Bliss-Hanchetts" combining my last name, their last name and Chuck's last name. Once again, we created a family during an extremely difficult time.

The combining of our families lasted for a full year, until Lendie Bliss met and married her second husband and then moved her family to California. Even then, we still kept in touch...me going to EFY in California with Eliot Bliss, and the younger Bliss girls coming to Oregon for Girl's Camp.

Because of the strong bond we made during that first year after Rex's death, the friendships made then are still strong today.

Recently the power went out in my apartment complex, due to a huge unexpected storm in the D.C./Virginia area last Friday. Our power was out for 4 days. Holly Bliss (one of the Bliss girls, who was probably 10 around the time her dad died) and her husband just moved to Virginia a couple weeks ago. On Monday, Holly texted me, telling me she and her husband were taking a day trip to D.C. and wanted to take me out to dinner. When they discovered I was still without power, they insisted on taking me back to their home to spend the night, bought me dinner, let me do a load of laundry and then drove me back to D.C. for work the next morning (an hour and a half away from where they live.)

This experience really REALLY touched me. I realized, that had it not been for Rex's death...and the understanding instilled in my family through the experiences of my dad's death and Chuck's first wife's death, Holly and I probably wouldn't be as close as we are. She's a few years younger than I am, and during childhood years, kids usually don't mingle with kids much younger than their own age. But because our families became inseparable for a year, we became close and are still close today. And oh how thankful I was for that beautiful friendship on Monday night.

Trials suck. They just do. Death is hard and seems horribly unfair at the time it happens...and even several years later it can still seem unfair. And you know what? It is unfair. It's hard, it's rough, it hurts...it's excruciatingly painful.

But, I've discovered that there's usually some sort of beautiful silver lining. It takes years and time to discover the silver lining, but it is there. And I'm so grateful for the chance I've had to recognize it.