4 AM

Sometimes the lights go out. Just for a while. Maybe longer than we’d like.

I never thought I’d be the type to get short on words when it comes to writing but when my nephew passed away this past February the words stopped coming. The lights went out.

Thankfully it was a busy time of the work year so I was able to dive right into preparation for what would surely be another long playoff run.

My heart did ache knowing that not everybody who knew and loved my nephew Zachary had the luxury of delving into busy distractions. The quiet of evening swallowed me whole on more than one occasion. I could only imagine what it was like for my loved ones whose days and nights blended together without interruptions of requests and phone calls and ‘important’ things to be done.

They say everybody goes through the grieving process. It might look different from one person to the next but apparently involves shock and denial, pain and guilt, anger and bargaining, depression/reflection/loneliness, the ‘upward turn’ (sunshine and lollipops, right?), reconstruction and working through, and then acceptance and hope.

 I don’t know if I’ve gone through any of those let alone all of them. Certainly I was very angry very early. I can tell you that much. Good thing there weren’t any sports or board games to be played at that time because my fuse was short. Dodged that one.

Initially, I didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened. Maybe that was my way of denying it had. In my mind I was worried if I opened my mouth to say those words, the dam I had so carefully constructed emotionally would break and the tears and who knows what...would come. If there’s one thing my dad taught me, it’s nobody likes a cry baby--and that Fruit & Nut chocolate bars are the best breakfast for early morning hunting trips (don’t worry, I never hit anything but coins and markings on a wood stump).

Then one night something clicked. I think it was a light switch, somewhere. I grabbed my guitar. My therapy so many times before. And started playing a song that began with lines I’d been living for weeks:

“I’m okay on the outside but it’s all caving in. I can pretend that I’m alright but I’m close to the edge.”

I know I’m not the only one that was feeling that way. That has felt that way.

I thought about calling this entry “Don’t say your $%*@ don’t stink” but thought my LDS friends would think I’d gone apostate.

But really, we’ve all got stinky parts to us. Some people wear the stinky parts on their sleeves (ew…bad visual). Some people quietly carry the stinky stuff, trapped under its weight. However it appears or doesn’t appear, it’s there.

Only time can teach you certain lessons but golly do I wish I’d learned a lot earlier not to judge other people. You can’t ever know what’s in their heart. What’s in their lives. In hindsight I remember kids in elementary school that came from very broken homes. My best friend up until I was five was living with his grandparents because (as I later found out) he’d suffered at the hands of a pedophile. I never knew! I never knew.

We might never know.

But we can love. We can embrace. We can show compassion. We can show understanding…sometimes, many times, without understanding.

Recently my cousin posed the question on facebook about the Coldplay line “every tear is a waterfall”. What does that mean?

To me, it means we’re all connected. Pain can beget pain. Likewise, joy can beget joy. We can’t control everything. But we can control some things.

Be love. Be embrace. Be compassion. Be understanding. Be there.

Taking Notice

Maybe it’s something to do with being raised as one of five kids but I’ve always wanted to be noticed

Astrology says it’s because I’m a Leo. We crave the spotlight. My Sunday School teacher when I was 12 said I shouldn’t believe horoscopes. I’m still working on it.

Whatever the cause, I know it’s there. My need for affirmation, attention, adulation even. I was the kid that turned the fireplace mantle into a stage. My tennis racquet into a guitar. My hair brush: a microphone. Once I learned sports could get me attention, I focused pretty much all my energy into becoming good at whatever I did.

At the end of the day, I wanted to stand out.

Somehow I don’t think I’m alone.

I’m starting to think sometimes it’s over-rated—standing out.

In the last year, a place I frequent changed their cleaning system. Or cleaners. Or something. All I know is now I notice things. Not good things. The foul smell in their bathroom. Spot marks on the doors and walls. Things that went unnoticed for however long I’d been to this place now are noticeable. They stand out. But not for the right reasons.

I wish I could tell those old cleaners how great of a job they did. I didn’t even notice.

It’s like that with a lot of things. The stay at home defenceman who never scores aka never gets talked about but also never gets scored on. I’ve blogged about them before but I can’t say enough about the real heroes of this world—mothers, fathers, caretakers, guardians, teachers, nurses, doctors, bus drivers (the kind that let you on the bus when it’s pouring ice pellets), garbage men—I could go on. There are so many good people and good things that go unnoticed. And are far too under appreciated.

The 10^th day in a row of blue sky in the middle of summer. Blooming flowers on the 21^st day of Spring. A toilet that flushes. Water you can drink, wash your face with and brush your teeth with and not worry it’ll cripple your gut with disease and whatever else is in it. A spouse who isn’t perfect but is there for you. The sound of your loved one’s voice on the other end of a telephone line.

So many things that are so great. And I don’t notice them. Maybe it was the smell of urine in that bathroom or just the reflection and introspection that comes with the dawning of a New Year but I want to change that. It shouldn’t have to take fireworks and a big bang to notice something wonderful. Wonderful is everywhere. We just have to look for it. I just have to look for it.

Switching it up

Recently a colleague of mine tweeted a link to a newspaper article supposedly printed in 1911. The article featured a number of experts projecting what they thought 2011 would bring.

Some of their assertions were pretty bang on. Some—like the notion that mosquitoes would no longer exist—not so much. Too bad.

It got me thinking. About the future. I know it’s 2012 and the Mayans say I should live in the here and now but I did spend a moment thinking about what the future will bring.

I didn’t want to kill too many brain cells so I stopped at this one: no off buttons for electronics.

I personally have a mini panic attack when I think for a moment I’ve left my cell phone/iPod/insert electronic gadget here at home. I’m pretty good (touch wood) at keeping track of my belongings so it’s quickly followed by a great sense of relief when I remember I just put it in a different pocket than usual.

I rarely turn my cell phone off. That moment of peace and serenity is reserved for traveling when I don’t want to incur roaming charges. Typically switching that off button is quickly followed by an itching to get to the nearest computer to check my email. Scour Facebook. Update my fantasy hockey team’s roster. You know, all that really important stuff.

I think we won’t even have to wait 100 years to see the disappearance of the off switch. Rather than an off switch there will be standby. At the ready. Seems so much more fitting. Energy conservation will be greatly improved and we’ll never have to feel that anxiety of being fully ‘out of touch’.

Heretics like my dad, who insist on not being cell phone laden, will be a distant memory captured in 300 pixel images. Off and on will be reserved for things like faucets and washing machines. And even then it won’t be like now. Touching a faucet handle will be viewed as loathsome as licking a toilet seat. All those germs? So 2012. A wave of the hand. A voice command. Whatever it is, the off/on switch as we know it will be completely different. Or at least that’s what I think.

Maybe I’m wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.

Electronics won’t have off switches but we still will. At least I hope so. Sure we’re all about maximizing every minute of the day—fitting more and more tasks into an impossibly crammed day. Day after day. But the need to rejuvenate won’t be replaced by gadgets or gizmos.

In bygone eras when people had to actually labor for food, shelter and other basic needs, there was still a time for down time. There was still a time to turn the work mode off.

I imagine days were pretty routine. Wake with the sun. Work through the day. Eat at the same time each day. Retire at dusk. Rinse and repeat.

Now things aren’t necessarily so routine. The challenge is knowing when to turn off. And when to turn back on. I’ll be the first to admit, some days I don’t feel like I’ve hit my on switch. Whether it’s emotional, mental, physical or spiritual—sometimes I feel a little off. It’s a work in progress. I fool myself into believing some people are always on. But I don’t think that’s the case. We all turn off sometimes. We just have to make sure we turn back on.

The Circle of Life

Sometimes they just hit you. Life lessons. When you least expect them, they sneak up and snap you out of whatever good or bad routine you’ve got going.

This morning we had some excitement at work. Michael Buble joined the team for the morning. He also brought some family members—including a half-year-old babe.

It was an interesting way to start the day. There was this little guy so dependent on his dad for care. His dad dutifully and happily catered to his every need. Without a thanks or any real compensation except maybe the baby’s fussing stopping.

Just hours removed from that exchange I got to see the other end of the spectrum. I was able to join a number of young girls from my church at a care home as we caroled Christmas songs.

I was really taken aback at how dependent these elderly people were. How their independence had been stripped with age. As powerful, wise, able-bodied and sociable they’d been the majority of their lives, those days were over. Time had erased those qualities. The markings of age left many of them incoherent, crippled, powerless and strangely alone in a crowd.

As harsh as it seems, the care home was full of them. These hollow remains of once productive and fully functioning men and women. I thought of myself now. Before the years have caught up to me. I can have a two-way conversation. I can pick myself out of a chair and walk, run, bend—and not break.

When these dear, elderly people spoke tonight it was unadulterated speech. Pure, innocent and honest words. Not all of them made sense but I knew they were genuine and grateful. The simplest utterances I could understand: Merry Christmas.

The years, age, disease and illness hadn’t stripped away their Christmas spirit. I saw a trend of innocence in the two ends of life’s spectrum. The two times when one’s reigning traits are naïve, trusting, dependent and pure.

Whether straight from Heaven or knocking on Heaven’s door there are commonalities. We must rely on love to survive. Parents, caretakers, family and friends all help us through those most humble stages of life.

I am in awe of every mother and father, guardian and grandparent who ceaselessly cares for babies through infancy and into childhood. Each baby’s arrival in school years is a great miracle of love, charity and endurance. I can’t imagine where I would be without loving and charitable parents who tended to my needs. Night after thankless night.

For those with little ones, I commend you. You are building the future. You are making a difference.

I am also greatly inspired by those who care for strangers and loved ones in the final stages of life. Whether due to illness or age, the care it takes in those final stages is taxing and often unheralded.

For you angels on earth who tend to the needs of the age-stricken and those at end of life, thank you. You are true heroes.

What's my line?

Don't tell my boss but today at work I had a non-work related conversation. We were talking about America's Next Top Model--one of my (many) guilty pleasures. My colleague had stocked up a few episodes worth of this All-Star cycle on her PVR and hadn't had a chance to watch them yet. She said she'd found out who got the boot so didn't really feel as inclined to watch the episodes anymore.

I totally get that. It's like the time I taped a Canucks playoff game in 2004. It was a Sunday and I'd decided earlier that year that I would no longer break my understanding of the Sabbath law to watch sports or TV on Sunday. I sat in my room and read scriptures (distractedly) while my roommates watched the game that I was taping (on VHS no less). By their yells and cheers throughout the game, I could tell we were scoring and by their reaction at the end of the game, I could tell we had won. I never watched that taped game. I already knew the ending.

I can't count the number of times I wished I knew the beginning, middle and ending of my life's 'tape'. It seemed like whenever a big decision came along I'd long the most for a run-through of my life's script. Where to go to school? What to study? Who to date? Who to marry? Who not to marry? Where to work? And the list goes on. I didn't want to make the wrong decision so I wanted to see where my decisions would take me before making them. I didn't want to say the wrong thing so I wanted someone to feed me a line.

I still do feel that way sometimes. I wish there was a script or tape of the way my life should unfold. When to have kids? Where to raise them? How to raise them? Stay at home or put them in childcare?

Then there will be when to retire? Where to retire? Serve a couple's mission? How many missions?

All life's questions could be answered with that one tape!

But where's the fun in that? As much as I hate the screw ups, I sure have learned a lot from them. I'm definitely not a fan of the down times, but the things I've gained I wouldn't give up for anything.

I get what my co-worker was saying. Once you know the ending, the appeal of putting in the time and slogging through the whole 'episode' just loses its appeal. Sure, I still want to see that tape but by then I hope it's more of a home video--something I can watch nostalgically with recollection after recollection. Not now, long before it's played itself out in real time. I wouldn't want to ruin the ending.

A perfect view...

Recently I learned that an acquaintance of mine is terminally ill with cancer. At first, second and third glance I never would have guessed it. I’ve seen the swollen pallor of a face stricken with cancer and its ‘treatments’. This was not the face of a typical victim of cancer.

It’s not the only time my eye and perception have deceived me. The charismatic young man brimming with life, who carried a burden of mental illness. The beautiful young woman with so much to offer, who feigned self-confidence every day while internally self-loathing. That darned, ridiculously hot pepper in the Vegas restaurant that looked so much like a green bean that I ate it, while sitting between the Vigneault and Kesler families.

Yeah, that keen eye of mine has betrayed me on more than a few occasions. And I know I haven’t seen the end of it.

How many times do I think I see something a certain way when really it’s not that way at all? Yep, I have definitely had my view obscured by those ruddy beams that skew many a person’s vision and judgments.

I guess that’s another reason we shouldn’t judge others. And why we shouldn’t be too harsh when we do. As much as I think I have all the pieces, I don’t and won’t. Probably ever.

When my mom got remarried I didn’t give my blessing. The first day she met Bob (my step dad), she came home and had one of my sisters get my grandma’s old engagement ring and bring it to her so she could convince me she’d gotten engaged on her first date. I forgot that her first date happened to fall on April Fool’s day and was livid.

Though I knew my parents were never right for reconciliation, I also knew my parents weren’t right for anybody else but each other. I was 15 and knew everything.

When my mom really did get engaged early that July, she came to my church’s Girls Camp to tell me. I could never forgive her for ruining the best week of my summer—my getaway—with that awful news.

When they announced their wedding date for that February I reminded my mom over and over again of a conversation we’d had that April 1^st. In an attempt to curb my rage for her ‘engaged prank’ my mom had promised that I had nothing to worry about because there was no way she would even consider marriage until she’d had a year to get to know a potential husband and more importantly for me—step dad.

I think I kept reminding my mom of that conversation for the next two years I lived at home and many times after leaving home. It wasn’t until I’d found love, lost it, and found it again that I began to be able to see just a glimpse of what my mom had been experiencing. Even then, I could never know what it was like to live single for six years, working full-time and raising five kids. I couldn’t know what it was like to finally find someone who seemed the perfect fit. I wouldn’t want to wait either. I didn’t when I found Sterling.

So I got a dose of perception there. And many more since. I hope they keep coming. I hope one day I have eyes that can see much more than their current narrow view. In a perfect world, they’ll accentuate the good and overlook the bad.

I know there are so many things I haven’t seen and worse, haven’t acknowledged. So many things my husband, parents, family, friends, work colleagues, roommates, teachers—and so many others—have done for me. If you’re reading this and you’ve been awesome to me or anyone, thank you. If you’re working on being awesomer, that makes two of us. Good luck to us both.

What if...?

When I was a Scroll editor at BYU-Idaho part of my job was coming up with headlines. I hated that part. I still do. If you can't tell, I've never been very good at expressing myself in few words. How can you take a full story and break it down to one sentence? Maybe two if you're lucky.

Oftentimes I would listen to music while editing, writing, or just shooting the breeze in the Scroll office. Those songs would be my title inspiration nine times out of 10.

A few years removed from those days and still, songs often prove to be my inspiration. This weekend, my cousins reminded me of Joan Osborne's song "One of Us". What if God was one of us....got me thinking 'what if'?

In 2007.08 I was so blessed to land the internship of my dreams. I spent the year learning from some great minds and gaining some great experiences with my all-time favourite team, the Vancouver Canucks. Just a couple of weeks out from playoffs, we were poised for first in our division and it looked like my return to University would be put off yet another semester as I worked through the playoffs to finish my internship. I never wanted it to end so a long run into spring was more than okay with me. What if they went all the way...?

With that hope, the Canucks did the seemingly impossible. They tanked the last two weeks of the season, losing seven of eight to fall out of playoff contention.

Just like that, I was packing my car and driving to Rexburg. I wanted to be anywhere but that podunk college town. Well, that's not true. I wanted to be in the playoffs with the Canucks.

Alas, I got back to school and had one of the best semesters ever. I met some incredible friends--Freeze, Kimbo, Sammi, Home Skillet and Hurricane. I also went through the interview process and was offered a part-time position with the Canucks to start the 2008.09 season.

I was one semester away from graduation but decided I'd defer graduation at least a semester and aim to graduate in the summer of 2009. That season, the guys played their way into the playoffs. After sweeping the St. Louis Blues and winning Game 1 of the second round, I started thinking..what if THIS was the year? Ironically, I actually really, really wanted to go back to Rexburg this time. Not only to finish my degree but also to live with some of my favourite people in the world. I had the opportunity to handpick my living situation for the first time in my university experience and had five roommates waiting for the hockey season to wrap up. What if the team went so far into the playoffs, I couldn't go back to Rexburg? I wrestled with the pros and cons. For the time being, I had an awesome prof who allowed me to do my work online until the hockey season ended. I think I took the other classes online and was planning on picking up a full course load by adding second block classes (thank you BYU-I).

But what if my best laid plans fell flat again?

It was a road game. The Canucks lost, badly, in Chicago and I turned to my aunt and uncle and said, guess I better start packing. That was on a Monday and I had my first mid-term on Friday. I settled things up with the Canucks and left for Rexburg Thursday after work. I drove all night, stopping for a quick nap in Spokane at my friend Aaron's parents' place and rolled into Rexburg just in time for class. Thankfully my prof gave me a pass and said I could do my exam early the following week.

I never got a key to Albion House. Funny, my dream house (so far) and I never even had a key to it. I didn't need one. First of all, it was Rexburg. Second of all, I knew I'd always either be home or with my roommates so could just use theirs. As planned, it turned out to be the best semester ever.

I was so glad to be living with that group of girls. Wendizzle was going through a rough time but she'd been there for me so many times, I was glad to be able to at least be in proximity if she needed someone to talk to. Kyla and Coxy, two of my former basketball teammates, were awesome roommates. Incredible teammates on the court and wicked roommates off it. Kimbo was the best engaged roommate I could have asked for (JNet was pretty stellar too back in the day) and always good for laughs. Then there was Home Skillet. Always game for adventure. We had so many good times. I know that's not all university's about but knowing I was moving fully into the work place shortly after, that's what I wanted that semester to be about (my poor GPA...).

The semester went along and before I knew it, I was a month out from graduating. It would be hard to say goodbye to BYU-I but boy had that school been good to me. My only regret was not winning a basketball championship. I'd come to terms with the fact that I'd be leaving with my B.A. and not my M.R.S.

So basketball season wrapped up and my roomies talked me into something they'd been doing all semester--playing basketball with our Family Home Evening brothers. I'd said no all season because I had 'real ball' to play. So what if I said yes? It'd be fun.

I'd met him my first weekend in Rexburg that May but never really took notice until that Monday night basketball scrimmage. The FHE brother whose name I struggled to remember--Sterling. He had game on and off the court and I was quickly caught up in it.

I knew that time was against us but figured I'd have fun with it. I got that impression from him--he guaranteed fun. So what if things don't work out? At least I'd had fun.

But they did work out. They've been working out ever since. Sterling has become so much more to me than I ever thought anybody could be. My life mate, best friend, confidante and lover.

We're coming up on our two year anniversary and while it feels like just yesterday I was intentionally fouling him just to be close on the basketball court...it also feels like I've known him forever. Like eternity stretches forward and backwards with us.

And to think...what if the Canucks had ended their Stanley Cup drought that summer? What if I hadn't been so set on living with those girls in that house? What if Sterling hadn't transferred from Colorado State to BYU-I while still taking CSU classes? What if he hadn't moved into the apartment that was in my ward's boundaries? What if I never said yes to playing basketball that night? What if...?