Quick Thought

~~~Moroni: 10: 4: "And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost."

The other day, I was taking a highly-anticipated, extremely nerve-wracking pathophysiology exam. I haven't been that scared to take a test in a really long time. I said a prayer before and many times during the test. I just felt so overwhelmed, and there were times I fretted I would forget what I had studied. 

I carefully read over every single question and asked in my head, What do you think, Heavenly Father? It was a genuine question I asked. My mind and heart were both open to any answer, whatever it was. I was willing and accepting. And then, it hit me. 

I should be asking that question every day, about the bigger, more important things in life. Forget the test. I am such a stubborn person. Often times, when trying to make a decision, I rely on logic instead of God's counsel. I need to start asking His opinion more, but not just that - I need to start relying on His opinion more. In truth, it's not even an opinion. The word 'opinion' suggests it could be right or wrong, but God's opinion is purely, 100%, eternally correct. 

And you know what? I trust Him. 

The 'F' Word & What Not to Say

Let's talk about something that makes people extra uncomfortable, shall we? The 'F' word. Yes, I said it. The 'F' word. Fat.

I think, for a lot of people, being fat is the worst thing that could ever happen to a person. I mean, in today's society, fat means unattractive. It means lazy. It means ignorant. Who wants to be something that symbolizes all of that?

No one.

I used to hate being this way. Fat, I mean. (And in a lot of ways, I still do of course. It's not exactly fun.) I thought I was unattractive and lazy and ignorant because of that number on the scale. I didn't look like my itty-bitty friends. I didn't look as good in the outfits the models in the pictures wore. Aren't teenage girls supposed to blossom? Aren't we supposed to look like our beautiful mothers did when they were our age?

It took a long time before I started to feel comfortable in my own skin, before I started to feel remotely beautiful. I like who I am now. I like my eyes. I like my beefy calves. I like my hair. I like my high cheekbones (thanks, Grandma). I am at a place where I feel comfortable enough to post about this, something I wouldn't have dreamed of a year ago. This is an unbelievably sensitive topic for me, but I would like to piece together a list of what not to say to a fat person.

WHAT NOT TO SAY TO A FAT PERSON

• "You're not fat!" *Insert eye roll here.* Good grief, I understand your need to be kind or to avoid whatever awkwardness the 'F' word brings you, but come on. Of course I am! I mean, you can sugarcoat it with whatever phrase you want--chubby, curvy, plus-size--but it still means the same thing. And it's a fact, not something I take offense at. It is what it is. You're the only one who's awkward about it.
• "Well, why don't you just buck up, hit the gym, and lose the weight?" Never, ever ask someone this. Ever. It's Basic Humanity 101. You never know what someone is going through. You wouldn't go up to someone with a cast on their arm and chastise them about not drinking enough milk to strengthen their bones, would you? Of course not! Some of us, like myself, actually have syndromes that make losing weight a million times harder than the average person. Beyond that, though, what a lot of people who are naturally skinny don't realize is, being fat is every bit as much of an emotional battle as it is a physical one. Some of us have had a lot of emotional trauma and pain that only food can ease. Food really is like a friend, as odd as that may sound. For some people, it's cigarettes. For others, it's alcohol. But for us, it's food. 
• "You would be so pretty if you lost weight!" Excuse me? Am I not pretty now? How terrible is it that, in order to be considered truly pretty, you have to have a thin body? When did that become a thing?
• "You're so brave to wear that outfit." Oh, you mean this sleeveless turtle neck I got from Cato's? Oh. I didn't think twice about wearing it actually. I just threw it on. But you definitely thought twice about it. Fat people can't show their arms? What? Another time, I was regarded as brave for not wearing a shirt over my swimsuit. What in the world?!
• "Boys won't date you if you're fat." There is a sliver of truth to this, I will admit. I don't get nearly as much attention as my itty-bitty friends do, which can be discouraging at times, but that doesn't mean no one would ever date me! Good grief. I've dated people as a fat person, thank you very much.
• "I just really hate fat people." Grr, this one really gets under my skin. Once I was at work, and one of my coworkers (who happens to be a body-builder) decided to go on an anti-fat people tangent. It was just him and me. He was saying this. To me. He was going on and on about how disgusting and lazy they (we) are. Can I just say how much I hate blanket statements?! It is literally impossible to judge an entire group based off a small portion of them. You don't hear me saying how much I hate skinny people because of how effortless it is for them to maintain the weight I would kill for. Some people work hard to be that weight, and like I said, you never know what people are going through.
• "Have you heard of this new diet? I heard it works wonders!" I understand you mean well, which is why I wouldn't be rude to you, but can I just say: ughhhhhh. I'm pretty sure you're not an MD, but even if you just so happen to be one--I didn't ask you! You don't see me walking up to my underweight friends and coercing them to start a high-protein diet, do you?
• "You aren't healthy if you're fat." This is so, so not true. I mean, I'm not speaking for the people who honestly do sit on a couch all day and pig out on McDonald's. I'm speaking for the majority of us who try diet after diet, who do work out and live a relatively active lifestyle, who try so hard to be skinny like you. My best friend is a bigger girl just like me, and she can do the splits. Can you? She is also vegetarian. Are you?
• "Ugh, I feel so fat." If you're wonderfully slim and you say this to me, I just might hurt you. Love. Your. Body. Be grateful for the body I would kill for! 
• "Forget JC Penney. You should check out Lane Bryant!" Lane Bryant is an awesome plus-size store, but that doesn't mean I should only shop at places of the like! Good grief. I'm not waddling around at 400 lbs., you know. I can still shop at regular places.

Okay, I've said what I needed to say. Remember, fat people are people, too, and you never know what somebody is going through. Everyone is beautiful in their own way. Skinny, fat, or somewhere in between. Show kindness before you judge.

Distance

Distance.

A year ago, I didn’t want anything more than I wanted distance. Distance from childhood, distance from familiar things. I thought distance meant freedom and independence. I thought it meant a beginning, not an end. And of course, I was right. All of those things are true in a sense. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. After moving away from home and being on my own for these past few months, I finally know what distance tastes like. And while I definitely enjoy it, I miss life without the distance.

Thanksgiving was last week, as you all know. Normally on Thanksgiving Day, I would be in the kitchen with Mom for a good portion of the day helping her prepare the dishes, or bustling around the house trying to get everything clean. Normally Dad would be cooking the turkey, boasting on and on about how it will be the best turkey we’ve ever had. Normally boatloads of family are in town, aunts and uncles and cousins and my grandmother to name a few. Normally everyone is together and all is well.

Distance has a way of rewriting what “normally” means. Things change. Plans differ. New faces emerge. Old faces disappear.

This Thanksgiving I was able to be with my aunt’s family in Vegas. I don’t know if we’ve ever spent Thanksgiving together, but if we have, I don’t remember it. But this time around was wonderful. The break from school was much needed, and my aunt’s family gave me a dose of family time that I desperately craved. There’s just something about being with your own flesh and blood that breathes new life into you. I had no idea when moving away from my family how precious spending time with relatives can be.

That being said, over the holiday, I had a lot of time to reflect on the true meaning of Thanksgiving and all the beautiful things in my life. I am so grateful for my parents. I miss them so, so much.

I miss Mom’s pancakes. I miss Mom’s hugs before driving myself to work. I miss getting hooked to TV shows and watching four in a row with her.

I miss Dad’s omelets. I miss Dad’s crazy sounds. I miss how chatty he can be. Really, he can stretch a two-minute conversation into an hour-long conversation. Ask anyone.

I miss my sisters, especially my babies Bailey and Bethany. I miss sharing a room with Bailey like we did in those last few months. I miss scolding her and bossing her around. I miss jamming out to music in my car. I miss my Betty-o. I miss our late night talks. I miss waking her up early in the morning and talking for long periods of time. I miss spontaneously surprising her with a trip to Sonic for breakfast.

I miss my big sisters, Ali and Katie, as well. I miss Ali’s stories and advice. I miss Katie’s silly inside jokes.

Distance is overrated. Growing up is overrated. Family is all that matters in this life, and I have since come to find that family is always the goal. I am constantly looking forward to seeing them again. Everything I do, even now while trying to get my nursing degree at BYUI, is in hopes of returning to my family when I am done. Family is always the goal.

Upon returning to Rexburg after my vacation with my aunt and her family, I couldn’t help but remember the song “Temporary Home” by Carrie Underwood. That’s all this place is for me. It’s an adventure being here, with all the friends I’ve made and the things I’ve been able to do. But it isn’t home. Home is where the heart is, and the heart is with family. And family is always the goal. 

Adventure of a Lifetime

Adventures—every day holds a new one. I am constantly discovering more about myself, like a new person is coming to life. Who even was that person I used to be? And even more importantly, who am I becoming? There is so much mystery in this time of my life, I have realized. But the good kind, like wondering what presents are under the Christmas tree or if the wishes you used on your birthday candles will come true.

There was an impressive amount of anxiety building inside me leading up to the big move. I was so nervous that even thinking about it would give me the jitters. My family probably thinks I was quite stoic and void of emotions leading up to the end, as I have mastered the art of hiding my emotions.

But of course, the moment I said the final goodbye and watched my parents and aunt drive away, leaving me here, in Idaho so far away from home . . . I finally broke down. Every tear I had suppressed, every cry I had held back . . . it all came out. I remember I felt so alone. So. Alone. Those words swam in my head over and over. So alone so alone so alone so alone so alone so alone. I thought to myself, what am I doing here? Is this where I’m supposed to be? Is this place worth leaving my home?

I bawled my eyes out for a long time after that. The grief felt like someone had died. And in a way, someone did. The child inside me that needed to be looked after, the child who needed a hand to hold—she was gone.

But then, just as suddenly as the grief swept over me and took me with it, it was gone. I had used it all up. And so I wiped off my smeared make-up and moved on. In an instant, I was someone new. I was ready.

These past few weeks have been wonderful, and they have also been very humbling. I am enjoying the excitement of living in a foreign place and adjusting to the new time zone and weather patterns that come with it. This might sound funny, but I’m convinced that the sky is different in Texas. Elaborate pinks and oranges and reds bleed together at both sunrise and sunset back home, whereas here the sky is rather simple, with standard shades of blue and wispy little clouds all the time.

I also miss the trees. I miss the heat. I miss my beautiful sun that always seemed so close. Just to be clear: everything I see here is seen through the eyes of a homesick Texan. And a proud one, at that. And trust me, I have made sure that my roommates are all informed on Whataburger, Blue Bell, how Fort Worth is most certainly better than Dallas, and the like. I think I even have them a little homesick for Texas.

I miss my family. I miss family outings and I miss living in my house with everyone I love within a five minute radius. 

But the air is fresh here. There are tiny mountains that swell in the distance. The grass is so green that it’s almost obnoxious (almost). Everywhere I go, I see familiar friends from the past. I see my little sister Bailey in the girl who walks past me, wearing that same purple and white shirt my sister loved so much. I see my coworkers in the faces of random passersby. I catch familiar smells on the way to places, the kind that you can’t pinpoint but for some reason it reminds you of home.

Rexburg feels more and more like home every day. One thing that coming here has taught me is this: it doesn’t matter where you are or how far from home you are, as long as you remember that the Savior is your home. Wherever you go. Everywhere. I see His House, the temple, every single day. This is an incredible privilege. To all the people who have said, “Idaho? Why Idaho?” It has nothing to do with Idaho. I despise the cold and, quite frankly, I wish I was in a tropical place right about now (*cough cough* BYU-Hawaii, when are you going to start up a nursing program so I can transfer?!). I chose to come here so I can become a nurse surrounded by like-minded people who love the Lord.

And He is with me. He is here. He knows what lies ahead of me, and even though I don’t, that’s okay. I trust Him. After all, this is the adventure of a lifetime.

Q&A with a Cancer Patient

Let's be real for a moment. 

It is almost the end of September, which is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. This blog post has been on my mind for several months. What to say? What could I possibly say to bring about awareness in such a way that draws more compassion than uncomfortability? What could I possibly say that will have a real effect? 

But maybe it isn't my words that need to be heard today. 

The person you are going to hear from is Hailey Buis, a dear friend of mine. There are so many things that make Hailey, Hailey. Her favorite color is mint green. Her favorite musician is Lindsey Sterling. She can usually always be found smiling or laughing at something (even if she doesn't have a reason to!!!). Also, she has cancer. 

[Before you continue reading, I would like you to take just a glance at this pie chart to get a better idea of what we're going to be talking about. (Particularly the tiniest green sliver on the right side.)]

Q&A with a Cancer Patient 

Tell me about your cancer experience.

I was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia in December of 2014. Luckily I don’t have to go through chemotherapy, but I do have to take pills that have chemo-like [effects]. Some of the symptoms I’ve had from taking this pill are [as follows]: a rash that covers my whole body, some hair loss, higher risk of getting sick, etc. It’s hard. This is a trial for me.

But sometimes, I feel like I don’t have cancer because I’m not in the hospital 24/7 like most cancer patients. I’m lucky.

How were you diagnosed?

How we found out I had leukemia . . . was because of my vision. I wear glasses [normally], but I wasn’t able to read anything even with them on. I was really confused and I texted my mom after one of my classes at school and told her what was happening. She told me that she would make an eye doctor appointment that same week.

When I went to the eye doctor, they took pictures of the inside of my eyes. They told me that there was blood and fluid pooling behind my eyes, which caused the blurry vision. The next thing they told me really freaked me out: ‘you need to be taken to the ER immediately.’

What was going through your mind? Was cancer ever on your radar?

I thought I was going to need something like eye surgery. I never thought that I would be diagnosed with cancer. That word was never in my mind.

But when I was in the emergency room, they immediately took me to a room and started an IV in my left hand. They then did an MRI and a CT scan and I remember my doctor coming into the room . . . Sitting on my bed . . . Telling me there was good news and bad news. The good news: I didn’t have any tumors. The bad news: my white blood count was extremely high. I learned that a normal teenager has about 4,000-10,000 WBC’s (white blood cells), but my levels were at 610,000. My doctor explained that 2 chromosomes decided to get together when they weren’t supposed to, which caused my WBC count to increase, which means I have leukemia.

Since your diagnosis, has your perspective on life changed at all?

Yes. A lot. I’m more aware now of how life can be flipped upside down. But I try to look at the positive more than the negative, and I’ve realized the importance of simply being alive. I have leukemia for a reason, and maybe it’s to raise awareness for childhood cancer.

I’ve met so many people that understand what I’m going through, especially at Camp. The friends that I have made there have been able to share their experiences with me, and because of that I have been able to develop empathy for them.

///// This is when I showed Hailey the pie chart and informed her that childhood cancer research receives 4% of all funding. /////

I’m shocked that childhood cancer only gets 4%.

Were you aware of that?

No. I had no idea. This is so wrong.

What do you think? Especially because to you, this isn’t just some number. This affects YOUR life personally.

I’m not saying that people shouldn’t donate to [adult cancers], but people should try to be considerate of all the other cancers that deserve the same awareness and attention. I am still trying to get over the shock.

How do you feel in the respect that this affects you personally?

It made me go, “WHAT?” Like, I just didn’t expect to . . . There are no words to describe how shocked I am. I can’t believe how clueless I’ve been. It would be awesome if there was a cure, not just for me, but for all those other kids that are going through the same journey.

Did you know that 1 in 5 kids with cancer won’t survive?

No, I didn’t know that. One of my friends that I met in the hospital went through chemotherapy and passed away. I believe it’s because of the lack of development in treatment. Again with the stats I saw on [adult cancers], they are getting all these donations but I feel like childhood cancers should get just as much as they do. That way less children will die. It’s not that I’m against people donating to adult cancers, I just believe I should be receiving more than 4%. As well as the other kids.

Okay, great. I have a few more questions, we’re almost done. Tell me what your dream is as far as Childhood Cancer Research goes.

I would like there to be more awareness and more cures for all the kids who have to go through this kind of trial. Because, trust me, it’s not easy.

Do you think that there could be a cure one day?

If we get more funding, and people start realizing that this is important just like any other cancer, then yes. There could be. 

_______________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading. It is my hope that this post simply didn't fill your head with terrifying numbers, but maybe moved you to want to make a change. 4% is not enough. 

To directly donate to Hailey's specific Leukemia & Lymphoma Society:

https://donate.lls.org/lls/donate

Other organizations for all childhood cancers:

http://www.acco.org/donate/

https://shop.stjude.org/GiftCatalog/donation.do?gclid=CjwKEAjwgo6_BRC32q6_5s2R-R8SJAB7hTG-TQ828IrjqBJ5NIp_-Moyp3X9x5zQLXbxqNstPa6bzhoCgPLw_wcB&cID=14262&pID=24671&sc_cid=kwp12886&s_kwcid=AL!4519!3!92051055082!b!!g!!childhood%20cancer%20facts&ef_id=V@QTGAAAAZNZJthx:20160922172447:s

EDIT: this blog post has been viewed by so many people! Thank you to everyone who has shared. Please keep up the good work and keep sharing! Also, please donate! Even if you only donated $5, it would still make a difference. If everyone who read this blog so far donated $5, we would have over $2,000 raised for childhood cancer research! That is a lot! Please, KEEP SHARING. It could save lives. 

Reflection

A lot of doors in my life are closing, I've realized. There is so much to bid adieu, so much to turn my back on and walk away from. (Blah, blah, blah. I’m a tad nostalgic, if you haven’t already noticed. Bit repetitive, too. Sorry.)  My childhood is technically over now, which is weird. My friends are either going on missions or leaving for college. I am a certifiable adult. I could get married. I could get my endowments out at the temple (a special rite of passage in my religion). I am about to live on my own. I could just do so much more.

I am no longer a student at Tarrant County College, which was essentially the closest thing I'll ever have to a real high school as I studied there from 16-18 years old. Saying goodbye to TCC was as bitter as it was sweet. I'm going to miss the many conversations I've had with fellow classmates over warmed Subway sandwiches. I'm going to miss those familiar hallways I've come to memorize like the back of my hand. I'm even going to miss some of my professors, the ones who were fair and befriended us.

My sister Bailey, freshly sixteen, has now been accepted into TCC and it's like the clock is turning back. I'm helping her get situated and prepare to start the journey I only just ended, which boggles my mind. I still remember when I started at TCC and first registered for all of my classes, wide-eyed and naïve. It was going to last forever. I was never going to turn 18 and move on to brighter horizons. I was to be forever sixteen, forever at home studying at the community college. Time seemed to still.

It’s funny now. I thought time had been stilled. But I was so caught up in thinking that time would freeze, that it actually sped in little circles around me and now I’ve gone so far into the future I think I’m a bit jet-lagged. What happened? Is this what the rest of my life will feel like? Will time just slip away and I will be left wondering where it all went?

Strangely enough, I think that’s exactly how it will feel.

This Saturday—May 28^th, 2016—would have been the day I graduated from high school. Had I not been homeschooled past middle school and graduated early, this Saturday would have been a very busy, very exciting day for me. I imagine busloads of family would come pouring in. I imagine my parents would be bustling around trying to get the house clean for the throngs of houseguests. I imagine I would be frantically picking out a cute outfit to wear beneath my robes. Oh—robes. A graduation cap. A graduation tassel. I would walk across the stage and hear everyone I love shout for me . . . and, as babyish as it sounds, I am still to this day a little bothered that I’ll never have that.

 

Truth be told I am a college sophomore. I am comfortable in a college setting and I appreciate the elevated maturity that is found in that kind of atmosphere. I feel quite removed from high school and all that comes with it . . . yet part of me misses the Sarah that never was. The Sarah who does things normally, like graduate from high school at 18, like everyone else. It's always been cool to say that I graduated at sixteen, but I've always felt a little separated from my friends because of it. I don't want people looking at me like I'm different, or somehow other. When I meet someone around my age, I try as hard as I can to not mention where I go to school in fear that I might sound pious or better than them. And then when I met someone at the college older than me, I tried not to mention my age to them in fear that they would look down on me, as if I were a baby.

 

It's happened so many times I've lost count. I was once humiliated in front of an entire lecture hall. My professor had known my age and mentioned it in front of the class like some sort of joke, and so many people laughed and scoffed as if it changed everything about me. Another time, a girl who had known and liked me all semester long, found out about my age and from then on talked down to me like she was my babysitter. (There haven't always been negative reactions, however. Many people are very understanding.)

 

There is a certain relief I feel, now that I am eighteen. When I go to BYU-I in the fall, I will be surrounded with people my age and we will finally be on the same playing field. I feel like, now that Other Sarah from the parallel universe is graduating high school, I kind of am too. I am relieved to be conventional now. That probably doesn't sound exciting, as society is always pressuring us to be original and think out of the box . . . but I suppose I'm weird because I just want to be normal. But what is normal, anyways? Normal is whatever you want it to be.

 

Your normal may have been graduating like everyone else, with a stage and people and camera lights, whereas I simply printed out a diploma and called it a day. Which is okay. Because I finally did have a graduation after all (sort of) just this past Sunday. Our lovely young women leaders set up a beautiful surprise party for the graduating laurels. There were no robes or tassels, but all the love and recognition was definitely there. And you know what? That was enough. More than enough, actually. I reflected on my time as a young woman in the youth program and just how much I'm going to miss everyone, and I got a glimpse into how loved I am and that I will be missed. And I think that's kind of the whole point of a so-called graduation.

 

Normal is what you make it.

 

photo cred: Tara Torres

Jumble of Feelings

I met Marthe Winward six or seven years ago, give or take. She was quiet, yet so very thoughtful, while I was loud and boisterous and the epitome of immature—and somehow, the stars aligned and she became my very best friend. A sister to me, really.

She left for the MTC today.

There is this odd jumble of feelings wriggling inside of me. I am so, so proud of her. After all these years of dreaming about this day, and it’s finally here. I am hopeful for her. I am excited for her. I’m worried for her and for her safety. I am mournful and I am heartbroken and I am simply very sad. I feel like dancing and punching a wall all at the same time. I am probably going to feel like this for a while, I imagine.

I, as well as my sister Bailey and friend Corynne, got up at around 3:50 this morning to catch her before her flight. She was pleasantly surprised (which was our goal), and we got to hug it out one last time before sending her off for eighteen months.

I have watched many beloved friends and family members leave for missions, and I am certainly used to the motions by now, but I’m not going to lie—this one hurts the most so far. And it’s only been three hours. I even heard a Linkin Park song on the way home from seminary and started to tear up a little because Marthe and I love listening to LP together.

I am going to miss our inside jokes. I am going to miss her wild curls. I am going to miss our secret language and how I always know just what to do to make her burst out laughing and how she remembers everything I’ve ever told her and the fact that she is a vegetarian and the fact that we share shoes and clothes and how she has loved and nurtured my little sisters like her own.

Hummina shummina. Is it a full moon tonight? Spare drawer with a toothbrush. If you don’t understand those words, then you are not Marthe or me. And you don’t understand. And that is okay. It’s just hard not having someone who knows what that means.

We have been so blessed, though. Really. We have used our time together rather wisely. We have done so much together and have made so many memories that sparkle and shine inside me, and I wouldn’t change a thing. This past week, actually, Marthe, Corynne, and I were able to do something we have wanted to do for years: we had a professional best friend photoshoot.

It was kind of a miracle actually. It was so last-second, and I wasn’t sure if we could find a photographer who could squeeze us in with such short notice—but sure enough, a lovely woman in our ward, Sister Winzenz, was more than happy to help us out. And when I say she helped us out, I mean she took our highest hopes and magnified them by a million. Not only did the pictures turn out great, but the shoot itself was insanely amazing. We laughed the entire time and I was behind the camera telling corny jokes to make Marthe show her “derpy smile.” (Her words, not mine.) I think her “derpy smile” is beautiful. It's wide and genuine and captures what she's really like.



I am so grateful that I have hundreds of pictures and memories to look back on when times get hard. Heavenly Father truly does know how to comfort us and I am convinced that He is holding my hand during this rough patch. It comforts me to know that my best friend has dedicated this time in her life to bringing people to the gospel, that she has such a clear view of what is important. She is so courageous. She is such a strong, amazing woman.

I am lucky that she is my best friend. Farewell and good luck, Sister Winward.