Twist and Shout

So..... Long story short, Andrew and I once again found ourselves in his car, talking about things. This time, I was a bit yelling.It was the most loud, clean thinking I've had about him in a while. I really, really, laid it all on the table. I wasn't really yelling at him, the whole time, just kinda .... speaking with vehemence.

It was the most completely honest conversation I'd ever had with him: the time when I said everything. It was the most hopeful conversation I'd ever had. At one point, I had a very clear thought. "Andrew. Obviously we are both trying to be happy. We have tried to take different pathways to happy. We've been friends, which is difficult for me. We've done the whole not talking to each other thing. We both hate that. .. Let's try something else. Let's try... Ask me on a date, Andrew."

At one point, I laughed. "I feel so good. These past two weeks, I've felt ugly very often. but now, in your car, arguing with you, I feel beautiful. I feel amazing. I've hated myself, and here, I am lovely. I AM lovely. I am a sex goddess, a beast, beautiful. Andrew... that is very curious to me. I hate it: I want to feel good when I'm away from you too. But here I am, with wet hair in my jammies, and I love how I feel about myself."

Sometimes, oftimes, he doesn't talk, so I don't really know what he thought about that. I wonder what that made him think.

I think that maybe scared him, but I was full of the most shining confidence. Let's try. I could do anything. I could fly. He seemed wary. Then what, he asked. Well, then I wouldn't be afraid of calling him every day. Then I wouldn't be afraid of talking to him all day. He says his heart isn't his, and he doesn't know how to or if he wants to get it back. He doesn't know!! Well, I smacked him.

We both have parts of each other, can we agree on that, I asked. Well, he agrees.

More discussion. More confidence and highstrung-ed-ness from me. Basically, we agreed to think about it. He promised he would think about it. I told him that maybe he should make a list of signs that maybe this is more than friendship. At one point, he laughed at something I said, and he said, "Wow. I'm laughing. You make me laugh. Our senses of humor work well together." I smacked him and told him that maybe that was one of those signs.

He dropped me off. I said that I believed in his power to take his heart back. He rolled his eyes, and I said that I guess I have that power too. He promised to think about it. I still have that to hold on to like it is the golden rod of my life's plan. This morning, I was praying, and laughed, because I didn't know what to pray for. "I have no idea what I want. I have no idea what to ask for when it comes to this." Thy will, I said. That's all I want. I want to want Thy will.

Absolute thrill. Absolute hope. Gaiety.

Inheritance

Finally.

November 8

Broken Heart

…
"Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;—
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.”

I’ll be the first to admit to reading a poem during the middle of class: I read this poem during the middle of class this week. I don’t think that I know all there is to know about love. I only just recently learned about my capacity for love, and I know that I don’t know the extent of that one. I know that when I love people, I want to serve them all of the time. I have recently learned that I want to give all of me to people that I love.

I am all I have to give as a gift, and I want to give myself to those that I love. Family members already have a claim on me: I am already theirs, sister, daughter, niece, cousin. I learned that I am theirs. I learned that I want to become the belonging of some other people too. These were my previous learnings. This poem taught me more about love, and more about myself.

“I die! I faint! I fail!... My heart beats loud and fast;—Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last.” This line brought to my memory the things we are taught about God, Jesus Christ, and humility. Aren’t we told to come unto Him with a broken heart? Why would we do this? I’ve only just scratched the surface on this principle. I think that when my heart is broken before the Almighty, He is more easily able to send the Spirit into me. I am easier to teach when brokenness and softness are part of my heart, rather than the calluses and scars that some hearts have. When my heart is broken, I cry. I cry unto my Father. I cry to Him for help, for comfort, and for protection through rough times. These lines made me think of these things.

“My heart beats loud and fast.” I am quickened in my desire to be healed. This quickening draws me to Heavenly Father with desperation. I hurry back to Him. Nobody likes heartbreak, but I see the point in it in this circumstance. I see the point in crying, “I die! I faint! I fail.”

“Give me life, Father. Strengthen me, Lord. Make up for my failings, God.” We are going to fail. I will fail. I will be faint at so many things, and I may die a little bit inside with sin and heartbreak. Heavenly Father’s soothing balm is there to keep my heart soft. My heart breaks against His in my sin and repentance. Thanks be to One who know our failings, and still lifts us in our death.

Dr. Cullen- Like the Vampire

I am in Chem105 right now- it is general chemistry. My teacher introduced himself, through email, as Dr. Cullen. He is a tiny man, who looks like a much older, much more spectacled Vizzini from The Princess Bride. When one of the students asked Brother Cullen his name in class, Hermano Cullen said, "Cullen: Like the vampire." Of course, the boy asking the question didn't really get the reference, but my friend Amy and I looked at each other and laughed out loud. Like the vampire.

From left to right- Vizzini, Dr. Cullen (the photo he has posted online. REeeeeeal helpful) and Dr. Cullen- the vampire.

This man is one of the most difficult chemistry teachers here on campus. I recently learned that he used to teach at Cornell University. He came here as a sort of retirement. He is so funny, in an extraordinarily dry way. We sometimes have to laugh at the things he says, even though no one else does. Amy and I think he is the cutest, cutest thing ever.

I really like him because he wants people to think he is mean. Really, though, he is not at all. He is super compassionate and kind. He will often hand the chalk to students so they can do some problems on the board. Proof of his kindness and mercy is that he rarely hands the chalk to me: he knows I would be utterly humiliated and defeated up in front at the board.

He knows my name. There is something really special about someone who knows your name, especially when they are supposed to be tough, uncaring chem teacher who has the goal of failing half the class. "Victoria," he says. I am Victoria. Sometimes, I'll thank him at the end of the class, and he'll say, "Goodbye, Victoria."

He doesn't wear a wedding ring. Amy and I are in this life-long debate about whether or not he is married. I believe he is married because no one that old is that nice unless they are married. He will, once in a VERY blue moon, refer to his son, and apparently, on one of the three days I missed, he mentioned a senior mission. He is really nice to loud, obnoxious, clueless me. I don't think he would be unless he were married. Yet, he never wears a ring. I don't know. My vote is, however, that he is married.

We can tell that he really likes lab days. On Wednesdays, lab days, he is especially enthusiastic about science. He gets a bit excited when he explains the experiment for the day, and he even makes an occasional joke. I think he is the cutest thing ever. I told Amy that I want to be his friend. I want to be in the same ward as him. I may have to wait until the next life, I told her, but it's going to happen. We are going to be friends. He will see that I am no idiot. He will be an amazing friend.

The Indian Serenade
BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me—who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream—
The Champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The Nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart;—
As I must on thine,
Oh, belovèd as thou art!

Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;—
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.

All My Song Shall Be

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee,

There let the way appear steps unto heav'n;
All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv'n;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,

Then with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,

Oh, I wander. Yet, I feel that I am on the very cusp. I am on the edge. Angels do beckon me: I don't know who they are. I'd like to think that it is my grandpa Franklyn who watched over his little namesake. I'd like to think that Ephraim my father watches over little me. I'd like to think that my friends who I am baptized for are sad with me, and are happy for me. And if my woes bring me closer to my God, then send them my way. Nearer my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

With my waking thoughts, I will praise my Lord and Savior. All my songs shall be praises and prayers to Heavenly Father, until I will fly on joyful wing, cleaving the sky, with all things forgotten but how close to Father I fly.

Such a Child

"My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky.
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety."
-William Wordsworth


I am sometimes such a child. Sometimes, I shriek in joy at seeing a squirrel jumping around. Sometimes, sitting in the car and singing is my absolutely favorite pastime. I’m simple. I’ve always been this way. There have always been people who have looked at me with a bit of confusion. “Why is that twenty year old girl cooing over a goat?” They wonder. “What is that woman doing over there in the grass? Is she singing?” This week, I learned why it is ok that I do these sorts of things.

I learned about myself this week, and I want you to know how important this is to me. As of last October, my goal was to learn about myself. I prayed and prayed and searched myself for myself. Who was this girl Victoria? I don’t know it all, but analyzing this poem for this class has taught me about my loving and joyous nature.

“ My heart leaps up when I behold/ A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man.” If William Wordsworth himself can find and express joy in the small things, why can’t I? What a child he was, when he wrote this as a man. My insight came in the form of a few connections.

I have learned recently that I have an enormous capacity for love. I learned this week that my love does not, and should not, necessarily extend to people only. I have love for phenomena like rainbows, piglets, buds on the spring branch, footprints in the soil, and cloudy skies. I learned that I am supremely blessed with this childish trait.

What a child I am. What a child. What a daughter of God Himself. What a gift I have to be able to laugh with the crow as he scolds me away from his nest. I knew I loved these things. I hadn’t known with concrete surety that this was an acceptable, desirable even, gift.

Oh, how blessed I was to make this connection, to receive this insight in this week, in this year, in this lifetime.

How to Succeed in Life Without Really Trying

Last week, I watched "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying" twice. It is one of my all-time favorite movies in the entire world. It is hilarious, in about twenty seven different ways. I love almost all of the songs, and those that I don't love, I like. I deem it worthy for everyone on the planet.

Evidently, Daniel Radcliffe is playing J. Pierpont Finch in the new Broadway version of this play. I think that's all good and well, but no one, really no one, can replace or usurp Robert Morse from his throne of creepy-sweet-quirky-brown noser-slinker-singer-windowasher glory as Ponty. Poor little Daniel. He can keep his reign as Harry Potter- leave Ponty Finch to the big boys- Robert Morse.

I think that this movie has a lot to teach me about life. Schmooze to the big dogs. Sneak your way into their hearts. Act the weak, innocent puppy, and the lovely (for me, handsome) secretary will sweep you up most aggressively. Wear a bow tie and succeed in everything. Pretend to knit. Wash windows, stop washing windows because a book told you to. Basically, listen to the book: it knows the way.

Hmmmmm..... I guess I should listen to the good book more often.

Whispered Gushes

Here's a funny photo. It has nothing to do with my post. It's meant to bolster you before my.... words. Hehe

As we got closer and closer to Rexburg, I felt myself leaning forward, One word repeating over and over in my head, each so close to the next and last it was like they'd sewn their tails and ears together. Each came out of my sub-conscience in whispered gushes. Like I was bleeding that word or something. I was bleeding.
_______
__________
___________

I didn't even summon that word, it just came to me. It's things like that which confuse me. I had a pretty wonderful and horrible weekend. Sunday, I had to get up an leave relief society because I was starting to cry, and Kit kept looking at me like I was a freak. I was a freak, but not one for her viewing pleasure. I'm not in the circus yet.

___________
__________
_____________

I am now twenty. Twenty feels greatly different than nineteen. I feel so different. There is so much that I've learned. At one point, I was praying that I might change. I prayed that I might run past this trial. God is real. I know this to be truetruetrue, because, even after my anger and bitter thoughts, the Spirit whispers truths to me. Why? Why do I get to have blessings even aster yelling and shaking my sorrowful, weak, despairing fist at the sky?

Why, I asked, am I meant to love this much for it to come to naught? "How do you know you love him," they asked. "Because I want to serve him all of the time. I want to give him everything. He only needs to ask."

He really only needs to ask. But he's too friendly for that kind of request.

What will I learn from this? I'll learn that I have an enormous capacity for love. I'll learn that God has a better plan. I'll learn that I can step away from something that I want in order to move towards a better path. I'll learn patience. I'll learn respect for self, this woman who is part God, who is lovely, and full of an entire life of love and learning and experience. I'll learn how to turn my burdens to the Lord. I'll learn how much power love has. I'll learn that I have to pray for the someday when this hurting leaves me. I'll learn that I can absolutely hate an idea but live for that idea to become truth. I'll learn more about life.
None of these things sound as nice as the alternative. But Heavenly Father is so real, He is so there for me. I'm confused by the hope I sometimes feel. Aren't those mixed signals?

I'm growing. I thought I was ready three months ago. Now I'm so much older, so much stronger, so much more experienced. Three months after today may seem a century away, but I will make it there with an entire lifetime under my belt.

Bring it on, life. I'm ready. God's given me a seatbelt. The bleeding will stop. God promised that it would...

Bag o' Doom

Never mind. Never mind that last post. I would delete it, but sometimes, documentation of my own silliness is necessary.

Maddi was sitting on her bean bag, and said that it smelled like Andrew. I jumped away from my chips and salsa to steal it from her, and absorb the smell. She was right.
That was a week ago.

Since then, I've given this bean bag so many different looks. I've given this bag scowls, and pursed lips of anger. I've winced at it. I've yelled at it. I've wanted to throw up on it. I've blinked at it. I've leaned towards it. I sometimes jerk like I want to go to it, but I can't, because I don't care. (?)This bag makes me angry. This bean bag makes me sad. It makes me confused. And sometimes, it drains all feeling out of me. I don't want to get too close, or something might waft to my button nose, and trigger something.

Right now, I'm laying on it. I can't find the spot anymore.