April 14, 2012

This Week

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The trees still look lacy in their early bloom. The mountains still loom, as they always have, and they still do not scare me. They have protected me and given me a reason to wake up every morning.

In January 2010, I rebegan. Confident and cynical, I wanted to finish as quickly as I could. I had been in school long enough. I had been out of school long enough.

That first apartment, my bedroom window All that time looking at the mountains.

Classes have been wonderful. I’m grateful to have learned so much, but I wonder if I have turned into more of a cynic. BYU is a unique environment; I’ve come across a special kind of bigot here. Supposed soldiers of righteousness in an armor of hyp0crisy. At least it’s knee-length, I guess

Those who aren’t idiots, the ones who have blessed me with their friendship, we can talk about the others. We wonder why marriage is infused into every church discussion; why certain professors say misogynist things or teach non-doctrine. Why these professors seem to be a part of an old-boys club who aren’t really professors.

Okay, so there’s that story of a teacher at a private, religious school who got fired for getting pregnant out of wedlock, and all I kept thinking about was Brandon Davies.

And negative feedback about the Muslim art exhibit at the Museum of Art.

The conversations take on a different tone, and I’m grateful for the contrasts in perspective.

BYU is a good school. I’ve appreciated my experience here, partly because of the classes, but mostly because of the friends. It’s hard to believe sometimes that I’m cool enough to be around all those young people. And I know that I talk as if I’m a few generations removed, but most of the time, it feels like there’s no age difference at all. Times like this, with graduation only six days away, does my life come into a different perspective.

Maybe I would have turned into one of those bitter people who aren’t really cynical but mostly sad and angry. If I didn’t have people to call and hang out with and go to concerts with and watch movies with and play games with, my experience here would have really sucked.

Maybe if professors hadn’t encouraged me to do things beyond the requirements for class or my major, my life wouldn’t be nearly as rich. Maybe if I decided not to risk my GPA by not going to Africa or minoring in French I would have deprived myself of some incredible memories and even better friends.

Friends! What if I hadn’t decided to move in August 2011? What if the circumstances weren’t perfect for me meeting this Reilly guy? Would I still have met him? I probably would have managed not knowing what I was missing, but it’s so hard to imagine my life taking another direction.

I close my eyes, and I’m in the Marriott Center. I’m in my blue cap and gown. I look for my mom and her husband in the crowd of friends and families, and I wave to, them again. Reilly’s there, too. Maybe others. Hopefully others. I look around at my classmates, and I see quite a few faces that I recognize, and I’m glad to be graduating with them. I look toward the professors, and I remember everyone who has cheered for me during this time in my life, and think I couldn’t have been luckier, more fortunate, more blessed.

The arena is the mountain range. I am in the valley. The faces I see are facades of ridges and crevices and looming cliffs and majestic peaks; familiar terrain, steady, solid. The reason I will keep waking up.

It is time to begin again.

 

July 31, 2011

Not A Big Deal

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dictionary.com:

font

–noun

1. a receptacle, usually of stone, as in a baptistery or church, containing the water used in baptism.
2. a receptacle for holy water; stoup.
3. a productive source: The book is a font of useful tips for travelers.
—–

font1(font)

noun

  • 1 a receptacle in a church for the water used in baptism, typically a freestanding stone structure.
  •  another term for stoup
  • a reservoir for oil in an oil lamp.
  • 2 a fount:they dip down into the font of wisdom

Derivatives

fontal

Pronunciation:/ˈfäntl/

adjective

Origin:

late Old English: from Latin fons, font- ‘spring, fountain’, occurring in the ecclesiastical Latin phrase fons or fontes baptismi ‘baptismal water(s)’

—–

1font

noun \ˈfänt\

Definition:
1a : a receptacle for baptismal water b : a receptacle for holy water c : a receptacle for various liquids
2: source, fountain <a font of information>
— font·al adjective
Origin:
Middle English, from Old English, from Late Latin font-, fons,from Latin, fountain

First Known Use: before 12th century
—–
However, the Mormon Tabernacle Choirs sings “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”

So, I understand what the guy was saying. And the message itself was powerful, because he used the story of the woman at the well and related that Christ told her if she partook of the water then life would spring forth from her, that she, too would be a source of life, because she drank of the living water of Christ. She, too, could become a font. Or fount.

Are they different to you?

It was just a little weird that he approached the talk by focusing on the differences between font and fount, instead of considering that they could actually be variants of the same word. And then implying that those who sing “Come thou font” are singing it wrong.

When I sing it that way, I always think of a fountain, a wellspring, an eternal source.

When I sing it the other way, my thoughts do not change.

*****
I co-taught a lesson today for the Relief Society and Priesthood combined meeting.
I was sort of a sweaty mess.
Hardly anything original came out of my mouth.
But I asked questions.
And people commented. Lots of people. They discussed.
Totally my kind of class.
They were incredible.
And I kept asking questions to guide the discussion and people kept commenting until it was the other teacher’s turn.
And he did a marvelous job. Really, he’s fantastic.
That class strengthened my faith in a lot of things.
And then people came up to me after class were very nice.
And I did what I always do:
“Thanks. And so what are you doing at your benefit concert next week?”
“Thanks. Your comments were really great.”
“Thanks. I was really impressed with the class discussion.”

I often forget that I’m hard-wired for this kind of thing. But then somewhere along the way of each teaching moment you remember that it’s not about you, and it becomes clearer than anything that the class is learning something, and you really feel you can’t take credit for teaching anything at all.

And that’s when the blessings really spring forth.
 

April 25, 2011

Sycophantism 101

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So, I was thinking back to when I got rejected for a Spring/Summer scholarship, way back in February.  The letter I sent to the financial aid office rather firmly asked them to reconsider their decision, that my recent grades should speak more loudly than my grades from prodigal years. They did reply, saying their decision is final, and that they can’t ignore any grades.

It makes sense that they didn’t give me a Spring/Summer scholarship, since those are strictly grades-based. But I also dismissed my chances of receiving a Fall/Winter scholarship; I was ready to apply for federal financial aid and finish off my undergraduate career, business as usual. I’d already resigned to commit to more debt because I was commited to earning a degree. What’s one more year, anyway?

Maybe you can understand my surprise when I received notification about the scholarship. While it’s true that Fall/Winter scholarships are need-based as well as academic, if you fill out the comprehensive application, you also get to submit three essays in some sort of last-ditch effort to prove your eligibility for a happy philanthropist’s money. I guess the financial aid office also considers the FAFSA, but not nearly as heavily as one’s character and intellect.

Those three essays really had to capture my character and intellect. Before I returned to BYU, I applied for a scholarship, and they seemed to regretfully inform me I wasn’t going to receive one. I understood that as well: it had been seven years, and my academic record before the hyperextended hiatus (called New York City)  was pretty shameful. But this time around, while I didn’t quite earn 4.0s, it did look like I was trying to redeem myself. The grades reflected my determination, which spoke for my character; and they also somewhat indicated that I have the smarts.

I couldn’t count on grades being enough, because BYU doesn’t look solely at grades with semester scholarships. Near the beginning of this year, I remembered the application deadline coming quickly, and I didn’t know how I could write three dazzling essays. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath, told myself they were only three three-hundred word essays, and that I had nothing to lose. I typed away.

The three essays are the same topics each time: 1. Tell us about yourself; 2. What do you want to accomplish at BYU; 3. What have you accomplished in the last five years. While I agree to advise people to be honest and sell themselves while writing these essays, I must also have to say it’s sort of a balancing act with saying a few things the scholarship committee wants to hear. It’s part of the business and art of writing in world: of course you have your craft, but if your work doesn’t affect someone, somewhere, then why bother?

The essays follow, behind the cut. I tried treating them as one long essay split into three parts with a few overlapping ideas. Truth be told, they’re not my best work, but I believe they made a difference in the committee’s decision. I’m glad someone decided to share a bit of their fortune with me. That someone reading what I had to say turned something relatively low-risk into a great blessing.

(more…)

 

March 22, 2011

I Have Secret Good News

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And, of course I’m not going to tell you.

Good fortune.

Tender mercy.

Blessing in disguise.

Call it what you want.

I’m grateful, all the same.

***

Oh, in other news, my reading for the BYU English Symposium is on Friday. Not to be overshadowed by Senator Orrin Hatch and a certain Mark Zuckerberg speaking the following hour. If the billionaire will go out with me one time, I will forgive him for stealing my thunder.

 

January 17, 2011

I Could See All Around Me

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I’m off to bed soon. But first, a short tribute.

After Dr./Ms./Madame Secretary Rice’s speech on Thursday and thinking about what today’s holiday means, I can only go back to Patty Griffin. She’s interviewed that she pulled lines from Dr. King’s “I’ve Been up to the Mountaintop” speech to come up with this song.

Thanks to those who have enough courage to wake up and do something about their dreams.

(In case the player doesn’t work.)

“Up To The Mountain“

I went up to the mountain
Because you asked me to
Up over the clouds
To where the sky was blue
I could see all around me
Everywhere
I could see all around me
Everywhere

Sometimes I feel like
I’ve never been nothing but tired
And I’ll be walking
Till the day I expire
Sometimes I lay down
No more can I do
But then I go on again
Because you ask me to

Some days I look down
Afraid I will fall
And though the sun shines
I see nothing at all
Then I hear your sweet voice
Come and then go, come and then go
Telling me softly
You love me so

The peaceful valley
Just over the mountain
The peaceful valley
Few come to know
I may never get there
Ever in this lifetime
But sooner or later
It’s there I will go
Sooner or later
It’s there I will go

 

December 10, 2009

Interestingly

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It’s really interesting, finding yourself in a place that’s a lot healthier emotionally than two and a half years ago, having guarded yourself from further hurt, only to let time bring down those walls, so that when old friends approach you, it’s more of a pleasant surprise and a relief instead of a source of anxiety, and so that when new friends approach you, it’s easier and faster letting them in.

Some of the hardest, most painful experiences of my life have also been the biggest, most beautiful blessings of my life.

Such is … life.

 

December 14, 2008

Cultured, Phenomenal Kids, and I Guide Their Spiritual Journeys?

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Yesterday, I went to a violin recital. My primary objective was to be able to say hi to a friend who now lives in California. It turned out that another of my seminary students performed. Played the violin. Did very well. It was a holiday recital, and all the students performed a Christmas or Hanukkah song. It was quite festive. I congratulated my student, and I said hi to my friend. Mission accomplished, and then some. I left feeling quite impressed.

Last night, I went to a production of The Nutcracker that yet another student was performing in. I got to my seat and looked at the program. I skimmed for my student’s name, and I didn’t find it until Act II. She was the freaking Sugar Plum Fairy. The star of the show. Two asterisks marked her name, so I searched the rest of the program for what that could mean. Turned out she won some sort of prestigious award in 2008. The exact excerpt: “Grand Prix winner at International Ballet Competition 2008-Varna.” The show began, and the story played out, and most of the dancing was pretty impressive. The music never gets old to me. Intermission. Then Act II began, and my student … she carried the show. She stole it. She wrapped it in a neat little package, and handed it to us, the audience. She’s gifted. She gifted us. I was expecting her to be good, but I HAD NO IDEA. Perfect extension, grace, strength, beauty, and everything else the Sugar Plum Fairy should be.

I snapped a few photos. Not a single bad one. Well, maybe a few, but that’s only because I wasn’t quick enough with the camera to catch a lift or a spin or whatever perfect pose that she held for just the right amount of time. Also, the girl who played Clara, her part was to watch the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Land of the Sweets. However it wasn’t Clara the character watching. It was just a girl, completely captivated, taken by my student’s beautiful character and amazing presence. She was an amazing little dancer herself, and the look on her face was nothing but pure awe and wanting to be just like the Sugar Plum Fairy.

I can’t get over it.

I didn’t stick around after the performance, but I did make sure she saw me clapping and smiling bigger than the world at curtain call. She smiled back.

I am so proud. So fortunate. So, so blessed.

 

November 27, 2008

Thanksgiving Morning Observations

Posted by mayiwrite under friends, my life, new york city | Tags: , , , |
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I wake up at 6:15 this morning. I set my alarm for 7:30, but I can’t go back to sleep. I listen to the quiet rumble, the muffled echoes of occasionally passing vehicles bouncing off the buildings that form a labyrinthine cavern. I am in that cavern, and the sounds are like a blanket.

Dusk. I look out of the window, and barricades line 6th Avenue, and people have started gathering along Broadway. I hear more cars. I see more people. It’s not too cold outside; it’s actually a perfect day for a parade to celebrate gratitude. History. The sky fades into morning, and the clouds are translucent, like a twilight mist, except they decorate the sky.

My roommate is spending Thanksgiving in London. Interesting situation. Thank you, Britain, for letting us get fed up with your restrictions on worship and commerce and teas. We needed more variety of teas. We got fed up, crossed the pond, established a country I love with all my heart.

The rising sun rouses the east facades of this concrete canyon, New York City. The natural and manmade fuse, and the glow from the buildings isn’t artificial, quite. It’s other-dimensionly, and it’s magnificent.

Police cars are testing their sirens. I’m switching between VH1 and GAC while waiting for the parade to begin. I see cameras flash from neighboring buildings. The crowds are growing.

My head still hurts. The bump is virtually gone, but it’s still somewhat tender, and the pain radiates toward my left temple. I’m grateful that it didn’t get any worse. It’s nothing a little time and good company and food in abundance won’t cure.

family
friends
food
shelter
gospel

However many hundreds of subcategories apply to this list, I’m grateful for them all. Everything. My gratitude reaches through the internets and across the country and around the world and hugs you. I am thankful for you, for all you do, for all you are. I hope you feel that, and I hope today isn’t the only time you do.

It’s almost time to put on another layer or two, camp out on my balcony, watch some floats and giant balloons pass by (hi, Snoopy!), listen to music, feel grateful evermore.

Happy Thanksgiving.

 

September 14, 2008

Early Morning Blessings

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During Wednesday’s lesson on humility, I had the students write down word associations for pride and humility. We went over some of the students’ answers for humility. One of them mentioned someone we all know. She moved away during the summer. That person had been on my mind the rest of the day and I made a mental note to send this person an email to let her know the students and I were thinking about her.

That’s what I did. I sent her a message and let her know that I missed her. I found a response from her the next day. She told me she was glad I get to teach the Upper West Side class. She said they lucked out. She said that I am perfect for those kids. She was really sweet, and I took her words to heart. 

On Friday, our class had a really good discussion on the Christmas story. The kids had some excellent comments, and they sustained the conversation. On their own, they contributed insights on symbolisms about the sheep and shepherds, the differences between shepherds and sheep herders, and foreshadowing regarding the inn where there was no room, and how we’re supposed to accept Christ into our hearts, not like the innkeepers. I mean, these kids were blowing me away. 

I started the lesson by tying in our birthdays. I asked them if they’ve ever pondered their existence, their importance in this world. We had a metaphysical discussion for a while. They were deep, they were thoughtful, they were intelligent. No cookie-cutter answers from them. I asked them about their singular significance among the billions of people who have lived and ever will live. 

The class went over time. I wrapped it up by saying we’d discussed what our birthdays mean to us, we’d thought about what Christmas means to us, so what do we mean to Christ? Then they sat silently for a few seconds, and one of them commented this was a journal moment. This is when they’d write down their thoughts about the question. I closed with a scripture, Moses 1:39: “For behold, this is my work and my glory - to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” What do they mean to Christ? Their immortality, their eternal life. That is their singular significance. And that was my testimony. 

The interaction was ideal. I sat and listened to all those comments, and I’d throw in a guiding question or mediate between students here and there. I responded to the comments, and I gave facts regarding how far Joseph and Mary traveled to register for the census, or the differing accounts of the Christmas story in the Gospels. There was serious discussion. There was laughter, even lots of it. The more timid kids got to speak up, and I got to encourage them.

It was a deeply humbling experience, watching those kids shine. I couldn’t believe how well everyone was getting along. I couldn’t believe I was interacting with some of the best of America. Right there. In that room. At 6:30 in the morning. The email my friend sent on Thursday revisited my mind, and it occurred to me that class challenges me. They make me want to be a better teacher, and they’re also very accepting of who I am. I’m the one who lucked out. Those kids are perfect for me. I can’t ever forget that.

 

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