I Am Worthy

I've been experiencing that awful thing they call writer's block. And I think there is a very definite and precise reason for my writer's block. There are certain things I've needed to write down . . . but haven't wanted to write down. It felt easier to bury the words deep inside and let them fester. For weeks now, I've wondered if this is something I should share in a public place or just save in the depths of my journal. But I had this sudden epiphany that maybe I'm not as alone in my loneliness as I believe I am. The majority may not relate to or understand this entry, but if just one person can relate and feel less alone, then I think my job here is done. In the words of Ernest Hemingway, I'm ready to write hard and clear about what hurts.

This past Sunday, we celebrated International Women's Day. To be completely vulnerable, I've struggled lately in feeling worthy as a woman. These feelings of worthlessness have left me more discouraged than I think I'm willing to let on.

I'm realizing a pattern in the life of being a woman. At each stage of womanhood, the world somehow tricks us into believing that our worthiness hangs on one single thing. As teenagers, we begin to base our worth on the amount of attention we get from boys. We grow a bit older and find ourselves measuring our worth by the body we see in the mirror. Then at a certain age (here in Utah it's our early twenties), we are only worthy if we have a diamond on our finger. The next stage of worth seems to be how well our reproductive organs perform.

I am entering that stage of life where I'm going to a lot of baby showers. And that's so exciting! I love watching my friends become mothers. However, just because many of my friends are becoming mothers doesn't mean I'm anywhere ready to become one. I live in an area of the world where the majority of women set aside a career to become a mother, usually at a young age. Let me first say: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. I know for so many girls, they grow up dreaming of becoming moms. But to be honest, I never grew up really having that be my sole dream. Growing up in a society that often taught women we were to be wives and moms has more than once left me wondering if there is something wrong with me.

In the sixth grade, we had to do a pretty extensive career report. For years, I'd been obsessed with detective work. My mom regularly bought me mystery kits and I would spend hours in my room "solving crimes". I immediately knew what career I wanted to study for my report: a Crime Scene Investigator. When the day came for us to give our reports, I was one of two girls in my grade that didn't give the presentation of being a hair stylist/stay-at-home mom (not knocking either of those jobs. I love the hair stylists and moms in my life). My friend who was the one other girl to not give the same report quickly added at the end of her report that she would probably be a mom too. I was so proud to talk to my class about being a CSI. I even brought my fingerprint kit and took everyone's fingerprints. It was a hit. I remember for a split second at the end of my report, wondering if I should add something about being a mom, but I couldn't do it because I didn't want to lie. I was 12 and had no clue if I wanted to have children or not. I've never been one to give into pressure.

Check it out! I actually dug up a photo from my 6th grade career report. Enjoy 12-year-old tomboy Kelsey in all her awkward glory. 

Through my teenage years, I remember many a church lesson about motherhood and how as women we are natural nurturers. I know the point of these lessons was never to offend but to help us feel valued, but I never felt valued afterward. I felt worried. I didn't feel nurturing. The idea of homemaking made me want to gag. Did that mean I was broken? Would God not love me?

I can honestly say that I'm growing more fond of the idea of becoming a mother. It still freaks me out . . . but I do know it's something I want to do eventually. But I need to do it for myself and my family. I can't just become a mother because it's expected of me or because it would help me to fit in. I'm not on society's time frame. I'm on mine and God's time frame. I'm also aware that when I do have children, I won't magically turn into a wondrous homemaker as well. I know my strengths. Homemaking is not one of them. Sure, it's something I can work to improve at . . . but I still probably won't enjoy it. But you know what? I'm not going to become a mother so I can make bread and drive kids to soccer practice. I want to someday be a mother so I can teach someone of the profound beauty and value there is to life. I want to someday raise people who might have good influence in the world. That's what attracts me to motherhood. And I want to be an example to my own kids. I want them to see their own mother working at being an influence.

I know people don't always understand me. That's okay. The only person who needs to know the intentions of my heart is God. I know I am worthy in God's eyes. And that's all I need to know. So I'll try to not get frustrated when I call in sick and the whole office spreads rumors that I'm pregnant. I'll try to not get discouraged at church when people act like they pity me because I'm childless. I'll try to not grow annoyed when I'm asked for the millionth time when we are going to start having kids.

My complete worth as a person and as a woman is not based on being a mother. I'm much more complex than that. ;)

So girls, ladies, females: With whatever stage of life you are currently in, I hope you know you're worthy.

Your worth is not based on a relationship.
Your worth is not based on a prom dress.
Your worth is not based on a pant size.
Your worth is not based on a diamond ring or a white dress.
Your worth is not based on children.
Your worth is not based on how many homecooked meals you make per week.
Your worth is not based on how clean your house is.
Your worth is not based on the clothes you wear.
Your worth is not based on your education.
Your worth is not based on your paycheck.
Your worth is not based on your beauty.
Your worth is not based on your sexuality.
Your worth is not based on how old you are.
Or how young you are.

You are worthy. You are a wonderful, complex, passionate human being. Don't let anyone make you feel like you're not. You are worth more than you can imagine.      

Sunday Best: February Floral

top: Kohl's, cardigan: Smith's Marketplace, jeans: Old Navy, boots: TJ Maxx 

Please tell me there's not some rule about having too much floral in your wardrobe. If that's the case, I'm pretty sure I'm breaking a rule. Floral is one of my favorite prints. And I feel like a floral print is kind of like a snowflake. No two floral prints are exactly the same, ya hear me? 

I especially like wearing floral in the winter because if I can't have flowers in my planter boxes, then gosh dang it, I'll wear them on my body.  

This coming week, I'm going to buy myself some real flowers. My Valentine flowers are kind of looking more like zombie flowers, but I just can't bring myself to toss them in the trash. So yes, I'll replace them. I'll replace them with some of the cheap, overlooked flowers at the grocery store. I've made it a habit to do this, to buy the pathetic bouquets that no one else wants. I do this because they are hella cheap, and also because there's this part of me that wants to make something ugly and broken into something beautiful. It's a small life achievement each time I bring these bouquets home, nurse them, trim them, love on them, and arrange them tenderly in a vase.

I feel like the unwanted flowers at the grocery store are a lot like trials. No one looks at a trial and thinks, "Dang, I want to take that trial home and display it on my dining room table for everyone to see." However, I'm learning that as ugly and hopeless as some trials may feel, with some nursing, some hope, some love, and some work . . . these trials can become truly beautiful feats in our lives. 

If you're fighting a trial in your own life, no matter how big or small, I want you to go out and buy yourself a sad bouquet of flowers this week. Do it.   

Lost Blossoms

Last week, our apple tree was clad in blossoms of pink and white. In just a matter of days, the petals tore free from the branches and were whisked away in the wind. Where dainty blossoms hung, there are now fresh leaves, green with life.

I've loved this first year of owning a home. With every change of the season, it feels like we've just moved in again. Everything feels, smells and looks new. 

I am a creature of change. At the end of each season, I find myself craving the next one. I change my hair every few months. I don't like being in the same place for too long. 

But the last few weeks, I've resented my friend, Change. I've just wanted to ask Change if he can slow down for me. Just for a minute.

My five year high school reunion is coming up. As I was fitting it into my calendar last night, I started thinking about all the people I love who I've lost touch with, and that's in only five years. I hate change for that reason. I hate that change sometimes forces people apart . . . tears them in different directions. 

I hate seeing my little sisters grow up. 

I hate seeing my parents get older. 

I hate seeing my grandparents get older. 

I hate seeing my friends move away. 

I hate that I can't eat a whole sleeve of Oreos anymore and still feel fine with myself after. 

That is a lot of hate flowing around, but I know it's just a moment of mourning and then it will flee. Even though change can be hard, there is a certain beauty in seeing time pass. There is a certain beauty in seeing people move on, in seeing people age and mature . . . but on certain days it's just more difficult to accept that beauty. 

I like this stage of life that I am in, and I'm just fearful that Change will play a joke on me and make it all disappear. 

A few nights ago, I finished the book "The Fault In Our Stars" while laying in bed, and I guess everything I'd been feeling just came crashing down on my shoulders. I quickly turned out the light before Brian could see I was crying. Then I clung my arms around his torso, because I just needed to feel his presence there beside me. He turned and asked me if I was crying. I whimpered a quiet yes. 

"Why are you crying?" 

"My book was just so sad." 

A moment of silence passed. 

"I don't want people to die."

"Who is going to die," Brian asked. 

"Everyone. We are all going to die."

And even though that was a very morbid ending to our night, I do know there is also a certain beauty in death. It's part of the journey. But just because it's beautiful and essential doesn't mean that I'm still not afraid of it. 

Now I'll end this slightly pathetic post with a quote from "The Fault In Our Stars".

"What a slut time is. She screws everybody." 

 

People are People

Several months ago, the Superbowl happened and there was more controversial talk about the commercials afterward than about the game itself.

When I first saw the Coca-Cola commercial, I was almost in tears. How beautiful, I thought, to bring the many cultures and diversity of our country together in a song. A song about beauty and freedom . . . things that mean something to all people regardless of religious beliefs or what language you speak.

Later when I got on Facebook, I was again almost in tears, but not the good kind. I was in shock over how many hateful comments I read pertaining to Coca-Cola's advertisement. There were comments about how unpatriotic it was that the song wasn't in just English (English isn't our national language, just fyi). There were comments about how people needed to learn English or get out. There were comments (and this brought out my inner-wolf) about how awful it was that the "terrorists' language" was used in the commercial.

I don't know exactly what spell I fell under at that moment, but man oh man, I got defensive. I turned into one of those super opinionated people who start silly arguments on social media. I'm willing to bet I even lost some Facebook friends that night . . . and I won't hold it against them for blocking me or deleting me, because I got intense.

I understand why people get upset about illegal immigrants.

But the thing is, I feel like people very seldom try to understand the risks that come along with being an illegal immigrant, and why they feel those risks are worth it.

If I lived in a country where the government was corrupt and I feared for my life every day, I would want to get out too. If I were treated like a piece of property and denied my basic human rights because I'm a woman, I would not be okay with that.

I can't say I understand immigrants, legal or illegal, but I'd like to try to understand. I was born an American, and I'm proud of that, but that doesn't make me better or smarter than someone who comes from different circumstances. I learned that very humbling lesson at a young age.

In grade school, I was very advanced in reading. I started reading Greek Mythology and Shakespeare when I was in first and second grade (how did I have any friends?). When I was in third grade, my teacher asked me if I would like to be her helper during part of reading time. I proudly said yes.

I grew up in a very small town in Southeastern Idaho, a location abundant in farmland. It was a common thing for Mexican immigrants to come and work on the farms. These families typically did not stay in one place for too long. In third grade, there was the sweetest little Mexican girl in my class. I can still imagine her large brown eyes and mischievous giggle clear as day, but I can't remember her name. I've never been good with names. We will call her Daisy for the sake of the story.

Daisy didn't speak much English and she was behind on her reading. My teacher wanted me to go out in the hall with Daisy for a certain amount of minutes during reading time so I could read with her one-on-one. This quickly became routine for me and Daisy. We would sit with our backs against the wall near our classroom door and make our way through Daisy's basic workbooks. I watched her progress from attempting to sound out one syllable words, to being able to read and comprehend full sentences. It was exhilarating. I was teaching her.

However, I didn't realize how much Daisy would end up teaching me.

We could have built a friendship and understood one another, but there was one problem . . . I was too prideful.

 I made the mistake of thinking I was better than Daisy.

Daisy set me straight.

Fridays were library days. On Fridays, Daisy and I would pick a book to read together for fun. Usually, she ended up just asking me to choose the book. On one of our library days, I told Daisy she could choose any book in the whole library to have me read to her . . . and I wasn't going to help pick it. That's when she led me to a section of the library I'd never been to before. She pulled a picture book from the shelf marked "Espanol".

What did that mean? I was about to find out.

We claimed a spot in the library pit and I opened the book to the first page. I recognized all the letters on the page, but they were thrown together in an order I did not understand. But I couldn't not understand in front of Daisy, so I started sounding out the words and struggled through a paragraph of sentences that held no meaning to me.

And what did Daisy do?

She laughed. She was laughing at me. I quickly felt my face heat up with anger and embarrassment. My palms, damp with sweat, stuck to the pages of this book filled with utter nonsense. How could she be laughing at me? I was smarter than her. I was a better reader than her. That's when she started correcting me as I read words incorrectly, as I had so commonly done for her. I made my way through the book, speaking terrible broken Spanish, with the help of Daisy by my side.

I finally understood how Daisy must have felt every single day she came to school. She showed me that I was not better or smarter, we just had a different understanding. I'm so grateful Daisy taught me such a valuable lesson that afternoon in the library pit of our grade school. It's an experience I will never allow myself to forget. I wish I knew where she went and what she's doing right now . . .

After I simmered down from my Facebook rage and realized that no matter what I think, Coca-Cola will continue to make gobs of money with or without my support of their commercials, I sat back and asked myself why I was so passionate about the subject. Then I asked myself how I was making a difference by merely voicing my opinion on the subject. It's easy to have opinions. It's harder to act on those opinions. So I figured it was my responsibility to act. I recently started volunteering at the English Language Center in my community and thus far it has been so rewarding.

I really do not care what your political views are. Gosh, I can't even make up my mind on my own political views. I'm glad you have opinions even if they are different than mine. However, I don't have much tolerance for hate and arrogance.

It comes down to one basic point: people are people.

People are people . . . with beating hearts in their chests which keep them living and breathing. People are people . . . with hopes, and fears, and insecurities, and passions. We are all people. We're really not that different from one another.

Before you openly call someone a sinner or terrorist, before you label someone as uneducated or poor, remember that person has feelings. Same as you.

Reflecting on 2013

I love looking ahead to a new year. A fresh start. But it's also fun to look back on the last year and smile at the fun memories, remember the hardships and just realize how much of an impact 12 months can have. Here's a quick look at my 2013. 

In January, we started what would be our last semester EVER of school. I spent as many days as I could snowboarding with my little brother at Beaver Mountain and we even took our friend from Ethiopia for his first time on the slopes.

February was spent doing lots of homework . . . including homework for my billiards class. I became a little obsessed and drug Brian to the pool hall on more than one occasion. It payed off though because I ended up winning our eight ball tournament in my billiards class. On top of school work, I also started my job as a morning deejay on Utah's VFX. In other words, my social life quickly died in the month of February since I had to go in to the studio every morning at 5:30 and then straight to classes after. My bedtime ended up being at 9:30 pm. It was all worth it though since I LOVE my job. Brian also got called into the bishopric during this month. Needless to say, we saw a lot less of each other.

With March came Spring Break. Conveniently enough, Brian had Allstate meetings in Las Vegas that very same week. I took time off from work and we made a trip out of it. While BWell went to meetings all morning, I spent time by the pool reading. We also went to the Beatles Love Show, something that's been high on my bucket list for a very long time. We also ate lots of good food, visited the dolphins at The Mirage, went shopping, and did a bit of gambling. In the month of March, I also had a neat experience where I got to do a few stories for Channel 4 News. We're talking shooting, writing and editing. It was high stress but great fun.

In April, I surprised Brian for his birthday with a weekend getaway to St. George. His birthday also happened to be the weekend before finals week. So we didn't study hardly at all for our last finals. Instead, we went swimming and spent time hiking in Zion National Park. Worth it. I also jumped on the ombre hair bandwagon. Oh, and I dyed a streak of my hair Aggie Blue too.

May was an exciting month! We both earned our degrees from Utah State University. Brian was nice enough to walk with me so we didn't have to suffer through two separate ceremonies. During this month, my mom, my aunt, Brian, and I ran the Ogden Half Marathon. It poured rain during the entire race. In May, I also started writing for Cache Valley Daily and my brother received his mission call to California. 

The month of June brought a few fun trips. We spent a weekend in Park City at Sundance Resort. We stayed in a cozy small cabin and watched some Robert Redford films. We also hiked to Stewart Falls and did some shopping at the outlets. We went to Lake Powell for a few days with Brian's family in the month of June as well. BWell also opened up his second insurance office and it was all celebrating over here. I also started serving as an Activity Days Leader in my church ward. Brian and I also decided to start looking into purchasing a house but we kept it on the down low.

July was a month filled with family time. Brian's siblings came to Utah for Independence Day. We hung out with them and watched fireworks that night on the boat. We also spent as much time as possible with Jace before he left on his mission at the end of the month. We went fluming, swimming and mountain exploring with my family. I also served as Assistant Camp Director for girls' camp and July was the month of camping. We had an amazing time and ate like queens. Toward the end of July, we had our annual party with my mom's family at Bear Lake. Only a couple days after Bear Lake, my dashing brother packed his bags and we dropped him off at the MTC, saying goodbye for two years. 

In August, we celebrated our second anniversary. It seems like we spent every weekend hiking. I also went to my very first Bees' game and we went with our friends Jace and Shay. August was also fair time. It also felt very satisfying when everyone went back to school but we didn't have to.  

September. Ah, September. This was the month we bought our bungalow. As soon as we were handed the keys, we ran over to Home Depot and bought paint. We had a lot of work ahead of us. From there on out, we spent all of September prepping our home. We repainted nearly every room in the house. Boy, it was a lot of work. But it was worth it. From all the painting, packing and other manual labor, my arm muscles grew and Brian and I grew closer together too. 

October is always a favorite month and this year's didn't fail me. We moved into our new old house and continued working to make it our home. The first week of October, I went to Brave Girls' Camp with my mom. We created art in a little barn in Idaho, surrounded by women from all over the world. We entered the barn as strangers and left as sisters. BWell and I went a little overboard on Halloween. We dressed like zombies and donated canned food for our town's Zombie Walk (an annual event for our local food pantry). We were glued to our television watching scary movies. We wrapped up the month and the Halloween holiday with a friend Halloween party. 

Basically the whole month of November, I was battling a bad cold but that didn't stop me from fitting in some fun. I went to a Selena Gomez concert with my mom and sisters. We also took my sister, Chloe, to her first USU football game. We hosted Thanksgiving at our bungalow and that was quite an adventure. Thankfully, Brian's family is awesome in the kitchen . . . so they brought the food to us. After getting so sick of my longer hair that I wanted to pull it out, I chopped it all off instead. In November, I also wrote a blog post that went viral. That was a strange experience.  

December was filled with everything Christmas. We were able to spend a lot of time with our families. We finally got to meet our sweet little baby niece and we Skyped with my brother on Christmas Day. We also hosted way too many parties. By the end of the month, I think we just wanted to lock our doors and hide inside for a while. We bought ourselves an early Christmas present . . . a treadmill! Hello to working out at home. In between Christmas and New Year's, I celebrated my 23rd birthday. 

******

To be honest, 2013 wasn't my best year. On the surface, it looks great. I earned my degree and bought my first house. I still have good health and all the necessities of life, so I can't really complain. However, 2013 was a hard year for me personally. I experienced lots of doubt and faced my insecurities head on. I battled through some dark patches where I felt completely alone and the hardest part was that during the dark patches, I had to go on with life acting like there was nothing wrong at all. Looking back, I don't really know how I made it through a couple of the past months, through a handful of the last 365 days. But I did it. I kept taking steps forward, praying I'd see some light again. And now there is light all around and light all ahead for the year of 2014. I know this paragraph is very ambiguous. Perhaps one day many days from now, I'll be more comfortable with the trials I faced to talk about them. Or perhaps they'll always stay as they are now, between me and God. Either way, I just wanted to share that I had those days--months--where I just wanted to throw in the towel. We all have them even if we never talk about them. Looking back on 2013, I definitely wouldn't want to relive it . . . but I'm grateful I lived through it once. Hardships bring growth, and I've seen that in myself. When I look in the mirror now, I don't just see a person. I see a soul. And I see souls of others now when I look around me. I'm grateful that 2013 taught me to see the world with different eyes.

Happy 2014! May we all celebrate the good days and be grateful for the hard days.    

Truth Cards

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, my mom, sisters and I hosted a Truth Card Party. I first learned about truth cards through Brave Girls' Club.

Truth cards are super easy to make and the supplies are simple. You take face cards or flash cards and then make them beautiful with paint, paper, ribbon, and mod podge. The most important part is to add a "truth" to the card. We get told a lot of nasty lies all the time. Whether those lies come from others or ourselves, they can be hurtful and make us feel like we don't measure up. Truth cards are a way to remind us of what is true and what is good.

My mom came up with the idea of making as many truth cards as possible before Christmas and sending them out to women who are in need encouragement this holiday season. We planned on distributing them to the women's shelter, food pantry and Angel Trees in our community (because even though the Angel Trees are about getting gifts for children in need, their mommies have needs too). It's funny how something as simple as making truth cards puts my mind in the right place for Christmas. I find myself putting a lot of thought and care into each card, and I always hope with all my heart that the right message will get to the right person.

Our Truth Card Party was a success. It was neat to see females of all ages, from little girls to their own mothers, gathered around the table making their cards. We also had sandwiches and soup for lunch which was just perfect.

I encourage you to try making your own truth cards. Even though the holidays will be over soon, you can really make these cards and distribute them for any and every occasion. I also know how difficult it can be to want so badly to be generous at Christmastime and buy presents for everyone in need, but realize that your own bank account won't allow that. This is a way to help out without sacrificing your whole paycheck. And I really feel like the messages these cards carry have much more importance than anything you can purchase at a store.

What is Beauty?

When I was a little girl, I believed that long hair was a sign of beauty. Every Disney princess I knew of had long hair. I would read my picture book about the story of Rapunzel. Her long hair won her a guy. I never read stories or watched movies where the heroine had short hair. It was always long, shiny, healthy, and flowing.

I grew my hair out and for a while, it was long, shiny, healthy, and flowing like the hair of the Disney princesses I watched on-screen.

Then it was the summer before I would go to middle school. I was no longer the little girl who wore scrunchies in my hair and jelly shoes on my feet. I now had a mind of my own. At an age when so many are self-conscious . . . .I was strangely confident. I was prepared to enter the world of lockers and gym class with a bold new look. I was ready to get rid of my hair.

I clipped a picture of Halle Berry out of a magazine and told my mom to schedule a haircut appointment.

I remember how light my head felt after cutting off my thick chestnut brown hair. I ran my fingers through the short and spiky tresses and I felt so beautiful. It was my own kind of beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful society had tried forcing me to believe in.

As women, we live in a world where we are constantly told we must meet some certain standard to be beautiful. Skinny is beautiful. Long hair is beautiful. Bronzed skin is beautiful. Straight teeth are beautiful. Dark eyelashes are beautiful. We spend so much time applying makeup over blemishes, eating less and working out more. We all too often look in the mirror and see all the things we wish to change about ourselves in order to fit this definition of beauty.

Well, we are being lied to.

Beauty isn't about looking a certain way or fitting a specific mold.

Beauty is being comfortable in our own skin. Beauty is in speaking kindly. Beauty is living our lives in a way that makes us happy. Beauty is in the way we act and the way we carry ourselves.

I recently cut my hair off again and I keep having moments of doubt. I become conquered by my insecurities. Is my nose too big? Do I look like a boy? Did I make a mistake?

Then I try to remind myself of that preteen who so boldly cut her hair because she wanted to. She deserves some self-love. She is worthy of confidence. She has the right to feel beautiful.

I hope tomorrow you'll look in the mirror and notice all the things you like about yourself. I hope you'll feel beautiful and be slow to judge yourself too harshly. I hope you will speak kindly to yourself. Beauty can be found in all things. You are a beautiful soul.

I have short hair, a flat chest and stretch marks on my legs, and I'm beautiful.   

#myhusbandisbetterthanyours

It's the hashtag that makes me cringe above all hashtags (and there are many cringe-worthy hashtags out there). I've seen it time after time and it's always bothered me, but then I just shrug it off. It's not a big deal.

Or is it a big deal?

Marriage is not a competition. It shouldn't be. But the first year of our marriage, I quickly found that for many people that is exactly what it is. I think it even became that for me. I started to feel this icky pressure to prove to the world that Brian and I had a worthy love story. I needed to show all outsiders that our life was good, our home was clean, that I was a desirable wife, and most importantly, that Brian was a flawless husband. I posted pictures to Instagram when he brought me breakfast in bed. I wrote out a mushy Facebook status when he brought flowers home from work. Looking back on that first year, I just roll my eyes at a lot of the things I did and shared, all just to prove to others that our marriage was happy and we were lovesick for one another. What a cheap act for me to pull, really. It wasn't right for me to put Brian's acts of love on display for the world to see. It was degrading, really.

Not only was it degrading to my own relationship, but I can see clearly now how it could have been degrading to other couples. Putting everything out there, perfectly rehearsed, can be hurtful to the couple who may have just had a fight, are struggling financially or are in any other kind of a rut. When you're saying your husband is the best, someone might actually believe it, and that might bruise their heart.

I hope that each woman truly believes that her husband is the best. That's how it should be. I know Brian is the best for me. However, that gives me no right to say he's better than all other husbands. That's simply not true. Every love story is special and sacred.

I've learned my lesson. Marriage isn't a competition to be the most in love. It's not something to be put up on display for others to judge and compare themselves to. Marriage is a sacred thing between you and your companion. Sure, I love seeing the occasional mushy Facebook status from other couples and it makes me happy to hear about how your husband brought you home a really great surprise. I'm not saying to never share. I am only suggesting that maybe we all need to ask ourselves every now and again, "Am I over sharing?" Also, when we share pieces of our marriage, we can do it in a manner that enlightens and lifts others up in their own marriages and relationships. We are a community of women; from here on out I want to strive to strengthen my sisters in their own relationships. I'm so over the comparison game and I want to kick the "let me paint this picture that my life is perfect" thing in the gutter.

My husband is not perfect. He does things that drive me bonkers.

And I still love him.

#ourhusbandsrock

Reaching the Top

I am an Activity Days Leader for my church. Twice a month, we do activities with the girls ages 8-11 in our community. It's one of my favorite callings I've ever had because I feel like I get the opportunity to remind these little girls how important and capable they are. 

Last week, we took them on a hike to the Wind Caves. It can be a pretty tough hike for little legs to climb and not only that, but we left at 4:30 in the afternoon. It was smoldering hot. The girls begged for a break every 30 seconds and for a while, I wasn't sure we would make it to the top.

However, those little fireballs proved me wrong. 

We made it to the cave and enjoyed the wonderful view around us. They were all so proud of themselves. They had climbed a mountain! One of the girls even outstretched her arms and said, "This is proof that God loves us." I think it made my heart melt.  

On the way back down, we passed a group of high school boys and one said, "Look, those little girls did it so we can too."

The girls all replied proudly, "Yeah! We did it! Girl power!" 

It put a smile on my face the whole way down as I overheard the little ladies saying things like,

"I can't wait to tell my parents." 

"Look how high we climbed." 

"That was hard but it was soooo worth it." 

Also, it was encouraging to know that all the girls drank enough water since every single one of them had to pee on the way down. 

That night as I took a bubble bath and scrubbed all the mountain dirt off my feet, I just couldn't stop thinking about what those girls taught me that night. 

I've been thinking a lot about trials lately. Sometimes good people have to go through bad things and there is no logical reason as to why. When I was 17 years old and went to Ethiopia, I had my eyes first opened to this. We paid a visit to a hospital (it was more like a giant barn). I saw things I'd never witnessed in little old Idaho. I met with deformed children, blind people, malnourished people, and after we visited the wing of females infected with AIDS, I lost it. I walked out into the hallway and broke down crying. How could God do this to these innocent people? Why did I have it so good? I wasn't any more deserving. 

There aren't answers to everything, at least not answers I always understand, but I do know that trials can make us better people. Trials are a part of our story and how we respond to those trials will make us or break us. Sometimes when trudging through the dirt and heat, we just want to sit down on a rock and say, "I quit." Or maybe we want to turn around altogether and go back where we came from. 

But sometimes, we push through it even though it's hard and it hurts. We press forward until we've overcome the challenge and reached the top. And the top is a beautiful place that not everyone always gets to see. 

I hope these girls always want to reach the top.

  

August

I never really planned my wedding up until I was engaged. I didn't clip pictures of brides out of magazines. I didn't fantasize about my diamond ring. I didn't know wedding colors were a thing until I was 19 years old. So, of course, I never really thought about what time of the year would be a good time to get married. I guess there is really no wrong time. As long as it's with the right person.

Two and a half years ago, we decided on the date of August 5th.

August has always been a meaningful month to me. It's a month that symbolizes the end of something and the start of something new. Often times, that ending was summer vacation which meant the start of a new school year.

When I got married it was the end of being single and selfish. Two years ago, August was the start of something very new for me: marriage.

The past two years have been filled with happy moments but they've also had their fill of ugly moments. I just focus on and broadcast those happy ones more often. Marriage is hard. Sometimes it hurts. But I also believe it can be the most rewarding and strengthening thing in this entire world. It's a lot of learning and stumbling, and that's good.

So hello, August. Let's celebrate new beginnings, whatever those may be.

Old and New

It's kind of silly how suddenly certain things in life can change while other things seem to hold still in time, never changing and forever the same. The past week has been a bit of a blur and I am watching my life transform into something new and good right before my eyes.

I have always appreciated change, even embraced it. Never in my life though, have I found myself rushing through a stage of life, wishing for it to just be over so I could move on to the next thing. As a little girl, I would listen to my peers around me excitedly say, "I can't wait to grow up and be a teacher," or, "I want to be a mommy," or, "I'm going to be the President of the United States." When someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always shrugged my little shoulders and simply stated, "I don't know. I just like being a kid."

And I've found myself saying a similar thing through each stage of my life. As I grew a few feet taller and found myself in high school, buying bras, dating boys, and toilet papering houses, I listened to my peers as they would complain about high school and how college would be so much better. But I never felt in a rush to graduate from high school. I liked high school and I was content while I was there. Then came college where I quickly adjusted and learned to love it. Sure, I missed high school at times, just as I missed being a child at times, but I knew the change of college was good. But yet again, I was in no kind of rush to get to the next step. I tried not to think too much about a career after my college education. And I never found myself yearning for a husband. I listened to other girls say, "I really just want to get married and have babies," as they snipped out magazine clippings of wedding gowns and cake designs all the while. And I just thought, not me. I don't need anyone right now. I just like being on my own.

Then as of last week, I was a married human holding a college diploma in my hands not knowing quite what to do next. I told myself maybe this was the end of my journey. Perhaps no one would hire me. Or perhaps I would only find jobs far away, causing Brian to have to change his career at the moment. I really didn't know. For one half of a second I even thought, "Crap. Is this the part where I have to start having kids?" I immediately started missing being a student. So much to the point that I began turning possible ideas of Master's Degrees over in my mind. Any excuse to go back to school, because as far as I knew I wasn't ready for the next stage of life yet. I didn't want change.

But a week ago, things miraculously fell into place. I was offered another job with Cache Valley Media Group on top of my deejay job on 94.5 VFX. They wanted me to be a reporter for KVNU and Cache Valley Daily. I excitedly accepted. Now I'm a full-time working girl and I can't even believe how right this moment in life feels. This is exactly where I need to be. I started reporting on Monday and immediately fell in love. My first week at work has felt in many ways similar to my first week of elementary school. Everything around me is new and exciting and I just want to bounce up and down and run home and tell someone. Just like after my first day of first grade when I exclaimed to my mom how exciting PE was, and how beautiful the lunch trays at the cafeteria were, and how we got three recesses! THREE! Yeah, that's a lot how this career thing feels.

Another big change happened last week when my little brother received his mission call. We all drove to Malad, Idaho to bombard my dad at work in the middle of the day so Jace could open that wonderful envelope. And it was kind of weird to sit in my dad's office that hasn't changed much over the years (more recent photos have been added to the walls with all the old ones) and listen as Jace read he'd been called to serve in the Rancho Cucamonga, California mission. I'm afraid I will miss him terribly. I can't imagine him being away for two whole years.

As we walked out of my dad's tire shop, a tinge of sadness hit me as I took in deep breaths of rubber. Most people probably don't enjoy the smell of tires but it's one of my favorites. I think because it's nostalgic for me. I instantly think of being little and visiting Dad at work, Jace and I would weave in and out of the stacks of tires like it was a maze made just for us. Or I think of Dad pulling into the house at the end of the day. I would run to greet him, he would hug me, and I would bury my face in his shoulder that smelled of oil, gasoline, and rubber all mixed together. That smell made me happy.

After the opening of the mission call, we headed over to The Dude Ranch. It's this delicious restaurant where the owner cooks all the food. I grew up eating there and it hasn't changed a bit in all these years.

This post is really just rambling. But I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for change. I am so glad I can progress in this life. And I am realizing that one of the greatest feelings is to learn how to be happy with yourself and where you're at in life. Sure, there is always room for improvement. However, I am realizing more and more how very essential it is to savor the present. It'll be gone in a flash. I'll never forget something my high school English teacher told us when we asked him what his favorite stage of life had been so far (he was in his late fifties/early sixties at the time). He thought about it a moment and then replied, "Right now. I think every time I reach a new stage in life it becomes my favorite." How beautiful is that? Sure, it's okay to reach back to the past sometimes and remember what was. And it's okay to look ahead to the future and plan for what is to come. But I think my favorite part, and the part I want to always focus on most is the now. I want to always be able to say, "Right now is my favorite."      

Look For the Helpers

On Monday afternoon, I arrived home from class and started in on some homework when my phone went off. It was Brian. I answered and his voice sounded distressed. I instantly panicked. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Turn on the news," he answered. He continued to tell me how two bombs had gone off at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. "I just thought you'd want to know," he said, "since you are my little news girl." 

I immediately read every article I could find, listened on television and on the radio. Then after I walked away from all the articles and noise of the stories, I thought to myself of the times I've crossed the finish line in a race. Granted, I am not awesome and run marathons (let alone the Boston Marathon), but I've ran countless 5ks and quite a few half marathons. The last one hundred yards to the finish line is such a natural high. In every half I have ran, I start feeling like I might die, but as soon as I begin seeing more spectators and hear them tell delirious me, "You have less than a mile! Good job," I find some crazy spurt of energy inside myself. I push through any pain or tiredness and the adrenaline takes over. When the finish line is in sight, I suddenly forget about my hurting joints and my gasping breaths because my spirit feels well, and it carries me. After the finish is crossed and the time is announced, I usually feel invincible. That is, until I realize I need a bathroom immediately or I might poop my pants (I have a bad stomach). Then I imagined what it would feel like. How would it be to cross the finish line and suddenly have a bomb blow off my limbs? Would I even realize what was happening? Would the adrenaline still be there?

And then I just sat down on my living room floor and sobbed for a second, because such gross things happen in this world. What kind of evil person would want to kill a bunch of strangers (don't get me wrong, killing acquaintances is wrong too)?

When terrible things like this happen, people often blame the media for showing it. Maybe some of you wonder why I want to be a journalist, who reports on awful tragedies like this. Well, there are many reasons. But the main reason has to do with the above quote from Mister Rogers. In the midst of the most tragic events, some of the most beautiful moments also occur.

Think about it. Cinderella would be the dumbest story ever if it weren't for evil stepsisters and a lost shoe. Every story must have conflict because conflict creates heroes. Bad must exist to have good, and I truly believe that the good will always outweigh the bad. The day after this terrible tragedy, I was no longer crying out of fear and disgust, I was crying because of so many stories I read about helpers. 

I was moved by the story of Carlos Arredondo, the man in the cowboy hat. He was at the marathon handing out American flags at the finish. He was doing this to heal after losing one son to war in the Middle East, and losing another to suicide. When the bombs went off, he rushed to a man who lost both his legs and saved him. Later, the man he saved was able to give a description of one of the bombers.   

I was inspired by all the stories of runners who continued running to the nearest location to donate blood.

In a world with so much bad, it continually reminds me that the good still triumphs. I am a journalist because out of the darkness, the light deserves to be celebrated.

This past week, I had the amazing opportunity to hear Elizabeth Smart speak at my university. She was kidnapped from her home in Salt Lake City at the age of fourteen and held captive for nine months. Her kidnapper "married" her to him and then raped her continually over the nine month span. After Elizabeth told her shocking story, she concluded by telling us although she would never want to relive what happened to her, she is thankful for it. Her trial evolved into a blessing. She is now an activist and speaks out against child abuse and abduction.

I believe that people are good (most people). I believe that trials can make us better people. God bless everyone who has experienced pain this week: in Boston, in Texas, overseas, and anywhere else. Don't ever stop believing in the good.

Remembering Eleanor

When it came time to register for classes for spring semester, I didn't know what I was doing. I only needed to take two more classes. However, people apparently think I need to be a full time student to keep my scholarship and financial aid, thus I began searching the school website for random classes that would make my total credit hours sum up to a total of twelve. My two thoughts while searching for these random classes were 1) sign up for fun and interesting classes, and 2) sign up for classes that will be an easy A. 

So I signed up for billiards because I had always wanted to take it. Then I signed up for intro to religious studies because I heard it was easy and engaging. Then I signed up for social deviance because I am apparently obsessed with criminal behavior and the professor teaching it is one of my favorites. Then I signed up for some English class because English comes to me easier than most subjects. 

But weeks later, flurries of emails made it to my inbox alerting me that I couldn't take that English class because it was only for English majors. They demanded I drop it or they would drop me instead, and while I was made out to be the criminal, I was just wondering why the heck they gave me the go to register for it in the first place. Not my fault. When I pushed that register button, why in the world didn't red lights flash and words come across my screen saying, BOO, SUCKER! YOU AREN'T AN ENGLISH MAJOR! DO NOT PASS GO! DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS! 

So I obeyed the English masters and dropped the class. Then I worriedly and anxiously searched for another class that could give me my full time student status. All the somewhat easy classes were full and had long waiting lists. I started to panic. Then I cursed the law makers of University rules because all I really wanted was to take another journalism class, but apparently my JCOM classes are maxed out. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Limit me from learning more about my trade. Ugh.

Then I found a women & leadership class that was only once a week. And I thought to myself, "Hmm, once a week. It can't be too hard. What the heck. Let's light things on fire, twirl our panties around, and bash on men." So I signed up for it.

Now it turns out, I think I was meant to take this class all along. It is nothing like I thought it would be. I am not just sliding by, wanting a grade. It's something I've discovered I am passionate about. And we don't sit in class on Wednesday evenings and act like we are picked on because we are females. We discuss things that are empowering. We talk about problems and how to overcome them. We learn leadership skills and how to use the fact that we are women to our advantage. We talk about how we can better support and embrace the women around us. Turns out, I love this stuff. It's made me take a step back and look into my soul, and then made me take a step forward and look into the souls of my fellow-women.

In class, we recently took a silencing the self test and it turns out, I silence myself a lot more than I thought I did. Sure, I have strong opinions on subjects. And sure, I probably blog about things that make people roll their eyes and shake their heads. But the thing is, I have a bad habit of closing off my innermost feelings. And when I want to express how I feel, I stop myself out of the fear of hurting someone's feelings. I do like this about myself; that I am sentimental toward others. However, I do an unhealthy amount of it. I always worry about others' feelings at the expense of my own. So I am working on it. I am trying to say and do what I feel is best, even if it means I might be judged for it. And on the other hand, I am trying to do a better job of not doing the judging myself. It's quite interesting because the men actually don't hold women back as much as we may think. We as women do the holding back. We hold ourselves back and if we aren't holding ourselves back, we justify belittling and holding back other women.

Because of this class, wheels are turning in my head and ideas are forming. I want to help women come together to celebrate this beautiful thing we have in common, this thing we call womanhood. I don't know how I want to do that, but I know I already have strengthened a part of myself because of this class. I am learning more and more every day how special it is to be a woman and that God loves me and knows I am capable. 

Around the same time we took the silencing the self test, we also watched a PBS documentary on Eleanor Roosevelt. Watch it if you get the chance. No matter your political opinions, you can't deny the fact that Eleanor Roosevelt was an incredible lady. Her life was actually quite dark and depressing. She was shy. But she learned how to speak and instill hope and happiness into others, and I think that's just grand. So if Eleanor did it, then I can too. And so can you, and you, and you! 

Like a Lady

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. More commonly known as LDS or Mormon. My religion means everything to me. I sometimes wonder how I would make it a day without the precious knowledge I have of who I am, where I came from, and where I'm going.

 On December 16th, just last Sunday, some LDS women chose to wear pants to church. The event was created by All Enlist, a group dedicated to gender equality within the LDS church.

If you were to ask those who are close to me if I, Kelsey Keller Weller, am a feminist, I think many who know me would say yes. I am not a "man hater" by any means. I'm married to a man who I love very much. However, I believe that women are just as capable as men at many things.

I've been a feminist ever since I was a little girl. In grade school, I was big into Nancy Drew mystery books. Every time I had my nose in one, some adult would mention to me, "Oh, you like Nancy Drew? You should read the Hardy Boys then. You would love them." Then, nine year old me would try my hardest not to rudely glare at said adult. I was a Nancy Drew girl through and through. I would never betray her for the Hardy Boys.

I was also ready to challenge any boy who ever picked on me to a foot race. I could outrun every boy in my class, so they usually respected me. When I approached their game of football, they would let me join even though I was a girl. Eventually though, we all hit puberty. Then the boys in my class became men and some of them grew to be faster than me.

With puberty came high school, and with high school came dating. I rarely let my dates open the car door for me. I never would be kissed on the first date. I constantly thought strategically when it came to the dating game. I hated the word "boyfriend". As boys I dated turned 19 and left on LDS missions, they would ask endearingly, "write to me?" And I always gave a half-hearted, "sure". I was such a brat. Let's be real though, you know they all asked about twenty other girls to write them as well :).

Now I am married. It can be quite a juggling act to add another person's desires and dreams to your own. It can get messy. But it can also be very rewarding. And fun! Even though we haven't been married that long, I feel like Brian and I haven't fallen into the gender roles of husband and wife. We both work hard outside of the home. While at home, we work hard too. We often do dishes together, take turns making dinner, and I'll be honest and say that I think Brian does more laundry than me. We are a team. I really truly feel that I am Brian's equal. At the same time though, I also value my womanhood. I like being a lady. I like the feeling of curling my hair, twirling around in a dress, and putting on my favorite shade of lipstick. I like the feeling of looking hot for my husband. And I don't think there is anything degrading about that at all. It's actually quite empowering. The older I get, the more I realize how empowering womanhood is, and I feel that I gather that understanding through the gospel and from an all-knowing Heavenly Father.

So on Sunday morning, I put on a glittery dress that made me feel like a lady. I don't need pants to prove how bold, or capable, or strong I am. My dress was purple though. Purple is historically associated with the suffrage movement. I didn't do this on purpose. What it really comes down to is that I try to dress nicely on Sundays to show respect to my Savior. And if I have a nice pair of dress pants, fine. I can wear those to worship in. But I wouldn't want to wear them to church just to make a statement. The three hours I spend at church on Sundays are hours I come to focus on worship and focus on my relationship with God. For those three hours, I can stand to set aside my opinions and wants.

I asked a family member if anyone wore pants to their ward on Sunday. She replied, "Yes, one lady did. . .but she always wears pants. It's all she has." In my religion, we are merely encouraged to dress our best for our Sunday services. Best can be a dress, skirt, or pants.

I do feel bad for women who are members of my faith who have experienced inequality. It does happen. However, I don't think the problem stems from the church. I think it starts in the home. I was blessed enough to grow in a home where my parents viewed one another as equals. My mom was a stay-at-home mom, but only because she chose to be. My dad cooked dinner when he was not at work. They both had a say in finances and where money would be spent. Also, my parents never ever made me feel like I had to do "girl" things and could not do "boy" things. When I was eight and told my mom I wanted to quit gymnastics to play basketball, she was fine with that. When I continued playing basketball into high school, guess who loved coming to my games and always gave me pointers at half-time? That would be my dad. I think he loved that his daughter was into sports. Heck, I even played in the alumni basketball tournament a couple years ago. I think I was the first girl to ever do so. It's always just been men, but the boys my age were short on players, jokingly asked me if I would play so they wouldn't have to forfeit, and I seriously answered yes. Before the first game of the tournament, I remember feeling stupid and almost not playing. Guess who told me I better not let all those men make me chicken out? My mom.

 My siblings and I don't fit any kind of gender mold either. Some argue that women of the LDS faith are too encouraged to be submissive, kind, and mild. Well, out of my siblings my one and only brother is definitely the most submissive, kind, and mild one out of all us crazy sisters. My two sisters and I, we are the aggressive, bossy, risk-taking ones (considered to be more male traits). My parents are fine with that. They have always encouraged us to be ourselves. To be different.

I am not saying the way I was raised was the ideal way, I just feel like the way my parents allowed me to shape myself was a very healthy thing. A healthy thing for myself, and for my relationship with my parents. I feel no resentment toward them, only love and respect.

I do know of many families within my faith who were not raised this way. I have seen parents enforce rigid gender roles, and it can be scarring in the long run. Do I think these parents learned these gender roles at church? No. I think it's more likely they learned them from their own parents.

I recently was on the bus with a girl I knew. She was asking me about my classes. When I asked her how her classes were going, she quickly replied she wasn't going to school anymore. She had dropped out to work after she married her husband. That's very noble of her. I just hope it's really what she wanted. She then said something like, "I don't need to go to school anyway. I need to work to put my husband through school. Then he can work and I need to stay home."

 The thing that scared me is the way she said this. It's almost like she'd heard it said to her and it was something she felt she needed to believe.

I am grateful for a husband who puts up with my stubbornness. I am grateful we can both finish school together. And I am grateful for a husband who will support my dreams as well as his own. I know he will support me whether I start a career or choose to be a stay-at-home mom. I believe there is nothing wrong with either. We are a team now and I hope we remain a team as children one day come into the picture. If anyone is still reading this very long post, congrats, you must have a lot of endurance. And if any of you ladies out there who may be LDS are experiencing gender inequality, I pray that you can find peace and know how very special you are. Now I'll end this with a quote I sort of love. . .

Source: sparkrebel.com via Marimel on Pinterest