Last post

I wish I could be back in my tenth grade English class. For a assignment we had to bring in a song that we felt had a deep meaning and read it as a poem to the class and explain it. I chose "Blowin in the wind" and my explanation couldn't do it justice. I was too preoccupied with the thought of a Jamba Juice and my boyfriends lips once this was over. 

I wish I could stand there with a Cat Stevens song by my side and speak passionately. But I guess that's what growing up is about. 

I wonder a lot what the husband is doing right. now. Serving a mission? Preparing like me? Home now, and awkwardly trying to adjust to the realities of life? Has he met me? Does he think I'm strange? Does he know that we are going to be sealed for eternity and make one another very very happy? 

Wherever he is, whoever he is, I hope he knows that I love him. That I pray for him that his testimony may grow so we can lift one another up. That his faith will never faulter so we can be prepared when trials come in our path. That at the end of this mission I can be the woman he has always dreamed of. 

I think I switch my emotions too often during the day. In one moment I can be worried about an exam or an assignment, then the minute someone asks about my mission I can be excitedly jabbering about Spanish and the Guatemala MTC. I hope once I'm in the field I can stay this excited. I wish I could bottle up this emotion I feel: pure happiness. And love. And on days when I feel lonely I can always just feel this way again. 

Sometimes the only reason I put milk in my tea is to see the beautiful pictures it paints. I love seeing it swirl around in a combination of hot and cold.

This is my last post for 18 months and possibly forever. Thank you for following me and encouraging me to write. If you want to follow my next adventure you can go to: http://hermanasnelson.blogspot.com/

LOVE YOU ALL! 

Thoughts from Devotional

"I have yet to find a verse written that says, 'Thou shalt be mediocre.'"

This was said at a devotional last week. Everyone laughed as the speaker continued with his talk, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. 

There is so much truth spoken in this simple sentence. How often do we sell ourselves short. And more importantly, why?

I was thinking about this the other day. Thinking of how, essentially, we are all programmed the same. Yes, we all have our unique consciousness, but we all have two arms, two legs, and we all have a brain composed of different loves and synapses.

Some are shy, but the potential to be out going is there. They can be outgoing, but it just isn't a dominate trait, and they choose not to exercise it or act that way.

I hate people who say, "Oh, I could never wear that." "Oh I can't do that." It's ridiculous! Each of us can do, can be whatever we want. It's just a matter of want. It's a matter of wanting to do that thing.

Exercise those things you want to grow and they will grow more than you ever thought.

"Have you lived your vision?"

My vision is me being a missionary. Working as a nurse. Married happily to someone who loves this gospel as much as he loves me. I want to be sealed in the temple. I wan to travel the world. I want to act and dance and sing. I want to be in a musical. I want to be a writer. I want to be an EFY counselor. I want to offer myself for humanitarian work. I want to save someone's life. I want to have those days where when you lay in your bed you feel every single ounce of tiredness on your body. But still feeling success in all the tasks that you were able to accomplish that day.

I want to smile.

Why I can't stop smiling

I wouldn't necessarily call it depression.


Rather, it was the absence of happyness. 


I feel like there are so many who had their turning point in high school. The point when they truly are converted to the gospel of Christ.


I am one of them.




My Sophomore year was a great year and a horrible year for me. 
There was the period where after I got my braces off that I actually felt like something.


Someone.


Having a boyfriend only raised my self esteem and made me feel older, mature, and important.


That of course came crashing down when we broke up.


"Oh, the poor dear! A boy broke her heart!"


No folks, it was completely the other way around. 


I broke up with him.


I feel petty, writing about breaking up with a boy but it honestly was one of the hardest things I've done.


At the time, I had no idea why it had to be done. All I knew was that it hurt. It hurt a lot. And I sat on my tramp in my back yard, curled up in the fetal position crying. 

But this post isn't about some silly break up.

It's about what happened after.

You see, during the break up, something had happened. 

Because of all of my time had been dedicated to him, there had been no time for Him.

Not just Him, but my friends as well.

I felt like an awkward outsider who didn't belong.

I still had friends, people still talked to me. I still laughed and smiled and interacted with others. But there was just this feeling of lonliness. As soon as I was home, I just felt like no one cared. No one would care if I didn't go to school. Sure, they were nice when I was there, but would it really make a difference to them if I wasn't there?

I was there, on my bed every evening crying. Wondering why Heavenly Father would do this to me. I thought a lot. I asked Heavenly Father and learned to be fully reliant on him.

I never had a moment where one person reached out to me and said, "Aubs, I care." Rather, it was the opposite. It was me sitting there in my room and saying,

"Aubrey, right now you can go in two separate directions. You can sit here on your bed crying and feeling bad for yourself. Or, you can change.

You can grow! You can take this experience, look it over, and never go back. You can make the choice each day to stay depressed and upset. Or, you can decide each and everyday to be happy. You can walk these halls feeling like crap, but still being happy because we never want to feel this way again."

So it happened.

I changed.

And the funniest ting happened. 

Thanks to Him, I have never gone back.

"He loves you too"

There were a few quiet moments last night after I said my prayers last night.
I was exhausted and found myself sitting on the floor after I had finished, not quite ready to close my eyes and say good-bye to the day.

There, during that small moment, I heard a voice, barely a whisper.

"He loves you too"

It was so profoundly simple. I hadn't asked for anything that night, rather quite the opposite.

I get into this mode of thinking very often. When I think about how I am so blessed, I often wonder why. Why do I have such wonderful friends and family? Why do I have so many earthly possessions? I think to myself, when I talk to Him and wonder to myself.

Perhaps I could not have quite so many people love me? I mean, I'd still keep some, but not ALL of them, so that way those people in the world who don't feel loved, can?

I think about the kids in Africa, or India, or any other third world country for that matter. How so many are abused, starved, and dying. Why are these poor children so underprivileged, when I have so much?

Then my sweet father will always remind me, "Aubs, you should only worry about those things you can control."

I used to get very frustrated with this. For me, it used to translate as, "Aubrey, there is nothing you can do,  so you should just stop."

Ah, but how silly my young immature mind was. It took a couple years, but I finally realized what this meant.

Heavenly Father blesses me, with so many wonderful people and things. Well, what can I control? How I respond?
Am I selfish and rude to my friends? Or can I be nice, and supportive?

Through this new mindset, I've opened my heart so very much. I feel such an overwhelming power of love wherever I am: at home, at school, at work. Because I put it there. Because I can control it.

I feel like these are rambling thoughts but hey, it's your own fault for deciding to read this in the first place. :)

Give me a number, instead of a name

The seed was planted on Sunday.
The seed of my thoughts that I am about to share with you.


During Young Women's, it appeared there. Immediately I took out my notebook and wrote this down:

"Names.

They are the number one identifier of a person.

Could you imagine what a world would be like without names?

"Hey..... you."

How many would react, thinking you meant them?

There is already such conformity in the world.

So without a name, how would we be identified?

How would we want to be identified?"

And that seed has been germinating all week.
Until today, at the temple.


Have you ever had a guest speaker in a class, or something like that, and they identified you by your clothes? I feel like this happens all the time.

"Yes.... uh, Red Shirt? Yes Red Shirt, can we get you to come up here?"

So in this hypothetical world my brain created, would we simply be identified by our appearance?

"Yes, Brown Hair with the color melt and Denim Shirt?"

Ha. Right.




I think that names easily go unnoticed. At least, that's how I was in my sheltered elementary school.
Like, those instances that I might mention a friend and based on their name, my parents would automatically make assumptions.
Like, Henry Lee. I still remember that day my dad asked if he was Asian.
"What? No!" 
I was appalled, whatever gave him THAT idea?
Because in my white dominate school, "Lee" was just another name that didn't appeal to a certain race. 




Appearance is too broad, so is it based on all the things you participate in?
"You know, she's the one that dances. And sings. And writes. And acts. And..."


Or, is by our personalities?
"Haven't you seen her? The really loud one in the hallway. She's always yelling."


Again, I pose this question:
How would you want to be identified?

"Surely you've noticed. That beautiful daughter of God? She is always smiling."

Counting them one by one

This morning I woke up, half-asleep, and knelt to pray to Heavenly Father.

"Heavenly Father, please help me today that I will be safe. I really, really don't want to die."

And then I went to get ready for the day.

My drive started out as normal. I shoveled the driveway. Pushed play on my iPod. Backed out of the driveway and turned right at Will's.

As I drove up the Canyon I tapped on my steering wheel excited at the prospect of a wonderful ski day.

And then something happened.

No matter how much you plan your life, no matter how many expectations you have, they will ALWAYS change.

My car swerved into the right lane. (miracle number one) No car was there and I was safe.

I slammed the brakes then turned the steering wheel to the left.

My car flipped a full 180 and slid to a stop in the middle of the two lanes. (miracle number two) Two cars, who were behind me, must've seen me swerve because they were going slower and managed to go around me. They both slowed down and pulled over to see if I was okay.

My car had stopped right where there was a break in the wall. I was able to simple turn into the break instead of having to do a 7-point turn in the middle of the road. (miracle number three)

I began driving. The car that pulled over drove by me to make sure I was okay. I waved and smiled to show that I was. God always sends me angels. (miracle number four)

It was then that I burst into tears. I felt an overwhelming amount of emotions and the appropriate way to express how I felt seemed to be simply to cry.

"What if..." crossed my mind plenty of times. But I was able to quickly push all these thoughts out.

Because then I thought of Him.

Yes, hundreds of what if's could have happened today. I could have been paralyzed, died, or crashed into oncoming traffic.

The point is, none of this happened.

Because He listens to me. My prayer was simple and honestly, not very well thought of this morning.

But He still cared. He cared enough to keep me safe.

As I drove I tried to think of ways to thank him. Again an overwhelming amount of emotions flowed inside of me.

This time, however, love.

Love for my family and friends who care and love me so much. Love for my Savior. Who gave his life for me, and helps my life each and everyday.

Eventually, after some deep breathes, I was able to spit out the only thing that came to my mind.

"Heavenly Father, thank-you"

Did you know?

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

The Bread song. :) I love my name

2. FAVORITE MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE?

Boyfriend.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

I'm perfectly satisfied with my handwriting. It looks like a five year old boy wrote it with this broken arm, but at least I can read it, eh?

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

Heavens. If you would have asked me 3 years ago, I would have said turkey. But after Gandy's.... I've been scarred.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

I do in fact have a goat. Little nuggets? No grazi :)

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

Depends, would I also enjoy moustaches and sporadic dancing?

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

Me? A sarcastic sassafrass? Tell me, where did you get THAT idea?

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

Indeed. Although, a few false alarms with their removal.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

HOWL YES. It's easily in the top twenty life ambitions. Right after choreographer for the Newsies sequel, writer for Veggie Tales, and marriage.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

The following are in order of the favs: Resses. Lucky Charms. Cookie Crisp. Captain Crunch. Unless frozen yogurt is involved. Then Captain Crunch is automatically number one.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

When wearing shoes with laces? But the only ones I lace up are the Chucks.... so yes?

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

Though my biceps have significantly increased in size thanks to carrying bread dough, I am indeed a weakling.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

Fetch this is the worst question. If it's like between chocolate or vanilla, it's vanilla each time. BUT if we're saying ANY flavor, probably mint cookies and cream. It's real, I've had it only twice and dream for the day I may have more.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Face. Are they smiling? Are they looking up? Did they just wink at me? ya know, the usual.

15. RED OR PINK?

Red. Hands Down.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

Left Pinky Nail.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

A plethora. Jason? Miss Bee and her child? Santiy?

18. WHAT IS THE PAUL MCKENNA TECHNIQUE THAT YOU NEED TO WORK ON THE MOST?

who???

19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

Bare foot. And proud :)

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Fondue :) and a big ol' bowl of marshmallows

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

"Stand By Me" -Ben E. King

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Rainbow? :)

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?

Old Spice, Rain, Fresh baked cookies on Friday :)

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

Let's go find the phone and check, shall we?

Future President of the United States. NBD.

25. MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY OR BEACH HOUSE?

Since I live in the mountains.... Probably a Beach House

26. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH?

Diving? Nerdy, but seriously, takes skills. That kill.

27. HAIR COLOR?

Brown, with blonde on the ends :) thanks red dye

28. EYE COLOR?

Brown. Shall we use artsy things that people refer to them as?

"Brown like cinnamon in the fall" "Like deep pools of chocolate I get lost in."

Real life, peeps

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

No, only Snelson who doesn't need corrective eye wear or surgery. And proud, son!

30. FAVORITE FOOD?

This question mostly stinks.... one? can't pick

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

I LOVE scary movies :)

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

....Finding Neverland?

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

A purple sweater. Made of clouds and happyness, I swear

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Both? I love them both :)

35. HUGS OR KISSES?

Hugs. MMMM I LOVE hugs :)

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?

Crepes :) with Nutella, whipped cream, and strawberries.

37. STRENGTH TRAINING OR CARDIO?

Cardiio. My heart is mostly a beast now

38. COMPUTER OR TELEVISION?

The television is on the computer... sewwww computadora

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

Great Gatsby. I need a "junk food" book. And fast.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

Dr. McKee

42. FAVORITE SOUND?

Rain, delicious tenor and basses. MMMM

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Is that even a question?

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

Europia, probs

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

My grilled cheese abilities. Show up on my porch and I'll grill you up a mean cheese toasty

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

UVRMC :)

47. WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?

Provo, UT. 18 years and counting

48. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR HOUSE?

Brick? Haha :)

49. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR CAR?

White

50. DO YOU LIKE ANSWERING 50 QUESTIONS?

Sure....?

Why I don't wear make-up

In truth, I remember my excitement at opening my first tube of mascara. After watching Chanelle and Brooke for years, I was sure I could do it perfect. I'm sure, now with my much more experienced hand, it looks a bajillion times better, but that's besides the point.

I felt magical walking into my sixth grade class. I could see the girls noticing and I felt important. I felt special. There were a select few of us allowed to wear make-up and it felt like we were a band of important outsiders. Who huddled together in the hall discussing what mascara's we used.

Ah, then Centennial. Naturally when a young girl is trying to gain the attention of the male population I felt it necessary to add eye shadow to the mix. As far as I was concerned, the plan worked splendidly. I mean, I had people talking to me. In fact, I had boys HUGGING me. I hung out with them on the weekends. I was practically the coolest thing since sliced bread.

Then came the freshman year when I started Drill Team. I had practices early in the morning and forgot to bring my mascara to school. I felt naked, walking through the hallway on those days. I felt different.

I was startled, however, to find that people weren't shunning me down the hallway. Rather, the opposite. My friends still greeted me before classes and hugged me in the hallways. I wasn't immediately shunned for my lack of eye wear.

Thus came the realization - my make up doesn't make ME. I'm still Aubrey. I'm still loud, I still love to smile and love to hug. I'm still crazy and sporadically break out in song.

Each morning before I go to school, I look myself in the mirror.

I smile.

That to me is beautiful.

Happyness. Confidence. Laughter.

And the knowledge that I am a child of God.

Because that's what makes me up, not a bunch of powders in little containers.

I am beautiful. No matter what anyone says.

How do you know?

"Hey, Aubrey?"

"Yeah?"

"You've read this, right?" He stabs his Book of Mormon with his finger

"Yeah."

"Well.... ummm.... Did you like it?"

I giggled quietly to myself "Yeah, I liked it a lot" as I tried to contain the huge smile spreading across my face

"Is it true?"

"What?"

"Umm... is it true?"

"I can't speak for everyone else. But I certainly do know it's true."

"How?"

"Because this little book has brought me more joy in my life than I could possibly imagine. Through it, I feel Christ's love constantly radiating in my life. Because the prophet's in it have the exact same struggles that I do, and through their example I can overcome all things. I can't imagine what my life would be like without it. Because of it, my dad became converted. He went on his mission, and he came to BYU where he met my mom. It has blessed my life in so many ways, that there is no way I possibly could, or ever would deny it."

~~~~~~~

"....So, do you think I should read it."

"Yes," I said with a smile. "I absolutely think you should."

The Living Christ

In July or so, we got a new Young Women's presidency. Our president was young and wanted to tackle anything.

"Guys, Young Women's in excellence isn't until December, but I want each of us to do something different this time. Instead of just standing up and saying something we did for personal progress, I want each of us to pick something that will help us grow closer to Christ."

A week later.

"Oh, and we're memorizing The Living Christ."

If any of you know my Papa Smurf, you might know his knack for memorizing. In his mind are a plethora of inspiring poems, conference quotes, and scriptures. When we travel, all he brings is his phone and a conference transcript. In his phone, he has saved a list of quotes he wants to memorize, and one by one, by that end of the plane ride, he usually has knocked out ten or so.

So as my mother and I embarked on the daunting task to memorize such a large and sacred document, I hoped that maybe my dad's "sponge memory" would shine through.

It didn't.

It was more difficult than I hoped. We were supposed to memorize a paragraph every two weeks, and each Sunday I'd go to church feeling inadequate and unprepared.

As we go halfway through, a leader saw our struggle and invited us to go to her house each Sunday after church to practice together. We went over the parts we stumbled on, and made up silly signs for the things we couldn't remember.

For a few months, each morning when I got up, I recited The Living Christ along with a man reciting it in a podcast. Those early moments in my bathroom were, and are still precious to me. Simply because of the love of the Savior that I felt in there, his sweet spirit saying, "Aubrey, I am here. I am the Living Christ. I will always be here when you need me."

Last Wednesday the youth went to Temple Square. As we squished on couches surrounding The Christus, sweet Abbie leaned over and said, "Sister Clark? Could we recite The Living Christ in front of the Christus?"

After a thumbs up from the missionaries, we all stood up there, and began.

"As we commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ two millennia ago, we offer our testimony of the reality of His matchless life and the infinite virtue of His great atoning sacrifice."

Tears began welling up in my eyes as I stared around the room. I looked at the moon and the stars, the world beyond measure. I stood next to my Savior, as the realization filled my soul that of all the immeasurable people in this world, He knows me. He loves me. He will never forget me.

The words that I had uttered almost robotically for months now had a divine purpose, to bear testimony that He lives. That He is our Lord and Savior and that, after this holiday season, we can never be so foolish as to forget that.

"...Jesus is the Living Christ, the immortal Son of God. He is the great King Immanuel, who stands today on the right hand of His Father. He is the light, the life, and the hope of the world. His way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.

God be thanked for the matchless gift of His divine Son."

Clean Blood

Imagine this ...

You're driving home from work next Monday after a long day. You tune in your radio. You hear a blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four people are dead, and it's kind of interesting, and they are sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don't think much about it, but coming home from church on Sunday you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb: people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. It's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere, and they have now coined it as "the mystery flu." The President has made some comment that he and his family are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?"

That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. And that's why that night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated into English from a French news program. There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris, dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe.

Panic strikes. As best they can tell, after contracting the disease, you have it for a week before you even know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. And then you die. Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: "Due to a national-security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."

Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are People are wondering, "What if it comes to this country?" And preachers on Tuesday are saying it's the scourge of God. It's Wednesday night, and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and yells, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio!" And while everyone in church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made. Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital, dying from the mystery flu. Within hours it seems, this disease envelops the country.

People are working around the clock, trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.

And then all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood analyzed. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals.

Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your spouse and your kids are out there, and they take your blood and say, "Wait here in the parking lot, and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home." You stand around, scared, with your neighbors, wondering what on earth is going on, and if this is the end of the world.

Suddenly, a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold on!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has the right blood type."

Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses are crying and hugging one another - some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."

As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need... we need you to sign a consent form."

You begin to sign and then you see that the box for the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades, and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!" "But... but... I don't understand. He's my only son!" "We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We... we... need to hurry!"

"But can't you give him a transfusion?" "If we had clean blood we would. Please, will you please sign?"

In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"

Could you walk back? Could you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Could you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't just have to be! Do you understand that?" And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying," could you leave? Could you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Dad? Why... why have you abandoned me?"

And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even bother to come because they have better things to do, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care, would you want to jump up and say, "EXCUSE ME! MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON'T YOU CARE? DOES IT MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?"

I wonder, is that what God wants to say? "MY SON DIED FOR YOU. DOES IT MEAN NOTHING? DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"

I have thoughts. They just change frequently.

At least once a week someone walks up to me and says, "Aubrey, did you know I had a dream about you last night?"

It seems like it mostly began this school year.

Have I recently begun inhabiting people's dreams?

Or are people finally getting the courage to tell me?

"You know Aubs, I used to be really intimidated."

"You? By what?"

"You."

"Pardon?"

"No, it's not bad. It's just like, there's so much Aubrey to handle when someone meets you for the first time. They don't know what to do with it all. It's really overwhelming. So you're kinda scared of it, and so I was intimated by you.

But it's cool. Because we're friends now."

When I was three I watched "The Wizard of Oz" for the first time.

I've made a promise to myself. My children will not be allowed to watch it until they are.... 8.

Maybe 10.

I saw the tornado, and that did it. In my young adolescence, I was immediately scarred.

I'm sure if my mother would have known the numerous traumatizing experiences that movie caused, I would have had to wait until I was ten too.

Folks, I was scared of the wind. Not a boogie monster, not some creepy thing under my bed. If a slightest breeze blew, I was clinging to the nearest stable thing. Whether that be a light pole, my father's leg, or in the best occasion - my primary teacher's waist.

Olivia technically isn't my first car.

You know, the white one with the red peace sign and cute seat covers.

For two blissful weeks, I owned a red car.

I love the color red.

She was a stick shift. I had never driven a stick shift before, but my dad in all his adorable love and patience, agreed to teach me.

That first time I drove it around the neighborhood I stalled what felt like every 20 seconds. By the end of it my poor father had whiplash.

Two days later, he got up and told me, "Why don't you drive yourself to school?"

I was absolutely terrified. "Daddy, what if I stall?"

"Then you'll just start it again."

At the time, it seemed so simple. But that was still so reassuring. If I failed to do something right, I could start over, I could try again.

I was coming home from work that fateful evening. I somehow stalled on the extremely steep 25 degree incline of my driveway. I slowly inched forward and somehow was veering off to the right. After stalling three times, frustrated, and tired from mopping and making sandwiches, I gunned it.

Straight into the side of my garage.

I pulled on the brake and swung open the door - car still running - to a large mass of smoke.

Before someone could say "Cue tears" I was running inside hysterical.

"Are you okay? Are you okay?"

My mom and Jason came running up to me.

I nodded and merely pointed outside to where the damage waited.

I sat on the stairs, my head in my hands as I stared at the tan carpet slowly grow dark from the tears running down my cheeks.

I heard the door open several times as Jason and my mom ran outside and in grabbing garbage cans, brooms and rags to clean up the glass and oil sprayed in my garage.

I couldn't think clearly. All I can remember is my tears. Perhaps it was the combination of hormones and teenage boys. I was absolutely hysterical, and I couldn't seem to fathom why.

My mom walked inside, put her arm around me and said, "Maybe you should go to bed."

I went upstairs, and immediately sat on my floor and informed my friends of my recent car crash.

The two minutes in-between their responses was too long and I simply laid my head down on the ground. I laid there for a half hour or so, as my chest bobbed up and down and my heart beat way too fast. I couldn't sleep.

My mom suggested I get a blessing.

I felt silly, and I walked down the stairs.

You get blessings for illnesses, for sickness.

I realized, as I sat in my parents dark bedroom, on the edge of their bed that that didn't matter.

All I needed was peace. All I needed was that sweet reassurance that "this too shall pass" and it would all be okay.

And my dad was able to give me just that, simply by being worthy and prepared when I woke him up late at night.

The one, the only, The Miss Kim.

"Hey Mom.... What voice is that?"

"My icky romantic one."

"Go get the synonym dictionary."

"Mom, you mean the thesaurus?"

"Yeah, whatever they call it these days."

"Don't worry Mom, you'll like him."

"Good. I hope I like all my son's in law."

"Yeah, he'll even laugh at your jokes."

"Well I hope he makes me laugh."

"He better!"

"Yeah, sense of humor was #3 on my list."

"Under worthy priesthood holder and desirous to go to the temple?"

"No, good kisser."

Hey, at least she's honest.

Child-like Eating Habitat's

This morning I walked into my kitchen in the search of something delicious for breakfast, that would require little preperation. This criteria, naturally, let me to the cereal cupboard. I scanned the boxes, past the Cherrios and Rasin Bran, when two boxes caught my eye. Captain Crunch, or Cocoa Puff's? It was rather maddening, standing there, hungry and yet feeling particularly indecisive having recently woken up.

I chose the natural alternative: both.

When I was little, combining cereals was rather normal for me. It started one day when I picked up a box and poured it in only to see that there was only half a bowl full of cereal. This is the second worst thing that can happen to a cereal connisoure. The first being when you desperately hope that there is more cereal for you, but instead you are greeted with cereal dust.

I hate cereal dust.

Combining cereals was a game for me so when Daddy walked into the kitchen, and inquire after my breakfast I would chirpily respond, "Lucky Trix!"

Cereal, however, was not the extent of my ridiculous eating. I also enjoyed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with pickles on them. And I regularly (even in my mature adulthood) eat cereal with yogurt.

I suppose what I'm saying is, I'm rather glad that since the age of three, I was expected to get my breakfast and make my lunch myself. It made life a whole lot more interesting.

What quirky things did YOU eat when you were a lil' nugget?

Dear BYU, I couldn't say all of this.

The Best Way To Spend My Summer

When I first walked into the floor, I was nervous and wasn’t sure what to expect. I felt like maybe I was in the way and didn’t belong there. But soon nurses, PCT’s, and therapists reached out to me and helped me feel included in several ways.

On my first day, I just stood there, scared to ask anyone what I should do, but one outgoing nurse, Fenise, soon had me getting meal trays, handing them to patients, and even sitting down and visiting with them. I soon discovered that all the patients had one thing in common: they loved to talk. Everyday at breakfast, I was invited to sit and tell about how I was “wasting my summer away in a hospital.” All of the patients had diverse and different pasts and I found myself drawn into the stories of their lives. Each week there was a new patient to meet, a new story to be heard, and a new friend to be made.

One important thing that my internship did was help me learn that I can relate to a variety of people. No matter how different from a person you may think you are, there is always something you can find in common. I found out during therapy that one of the patients loved to sing, something I am passionate about. He told me about all the places that he had traveled to and all the people he was able to work with as he sang in choirs and directed them.

I also became more empathetic. One of the patient, who was just a year older than me, crashed on his scooter, something I drive daily. I remember his first day in therapy, when the occupational therapist asked him a series of questions. They ranged from “How many days are in a week?” to “What happened in the Civil War?” As I watched him struggle to answer questions that would seem easy to most people, I found myself relating. His situation could have easily been mine if I hadn’t been wearing a helmet when I crashed on my scooter.

There was another patient who recently had his leg amputated due to diabetes. For over 70 years he had a perfectly functioning leg and suddenly because of one wrong slip with a nail clipper, he contracted an infection and he learned that he was going to lose his leg. And yet, he was incredibly upbeat and enthusiastic. Each morning, when I greeted him, my greeting would be returned with a resounding, “I slept horribly, but I’m alive!” Or in therapy, the therapist would ask, “Do you think you can do this?” and he would quickly respond, “Well, I can most certainly try!” In moments when I might feel frustrated with what I’m going through, I can always look back and remember his extremely optimist attitude during a very difficult time in his life.

I remember one patient who had a severe brain hemorrhage and lost most of her mobility. She was about the age of my mom each day I watched her struggle with the effects of this sudden impairment. One particularly hard morning, I was trying to encourage her to feed herself. We tried eating one thing at a time, first the grapes, then the eggs but she kept getting distracted. At one point, she started to cry because she hadn’t had her pain medication yet, and she was clenching the fork too hard. I gently rubbed her back, and massaged her hands to help her relax before the nurses could come. During the rest of breakfast she got frustrated and confused. At one point, I asked her what she wanted and she said, “Just to eat my breakfast in peace!” At moments like this, you could get frustrated and want to just leave. But this internship taught me that as the medical professional you have to patient and recognize that in this case, the patient is literally “not in their right mind” due to brain damage. You have to be very patient and understanding of what they are going through.

Overall, this internship gave me a whole new confidence within a hospital setting. I know how to behave properly around a doctor to show that I’m interested, but not get in the way. I learned how to interact with a variety of people, both patients and staff, and how to be a team player. Doing this internship was probably one of the best ways to spend my summer and I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to do this. Now I can’t wait to start my own medical career.