Miracle at Philadelphia

When I was in high school, I read a book for A.P. gov called Miracle at Philadelphia.  The whole premise was about the creation of the Constitution and the miraculous journey that occurred with the birth of a new nation.

I think what's interesting about miracles is they often don't come in the miraculous way we expect.  We so desperately want to be given sight and see the miracle play out.  We want to get right up and start walking, even though it has taken far too long to even be able to see.

God fixes us and sends us where we need to go when we're broken, even when we don't know we're broken.

Three years ago I wrote a ten page report on the Miracle at Philadelphia.  And this summer I lived a miracle at Philadelphia (+/- 50 miles).  At the beginning of the summer in the haze of moving and confusion on what on earth I was doing here, I had people tell me I came here for a reason.  In our earthly view, that would mean a miracle--right?  An obvious, delivered straight from heaven miracle.  For me, that would probably be meeting my future spouse, loving my internship for a full-time job, or receiving all of the answers in one fell swoop.  <-- Miracles!  That would be miraculous.  Instead, I got a lot of forgiveness, some closure, a lot of adventures, and some time to think.  <-- Miracles? Still yes.

I will gratefully look back on this time as the season of life that was a miracle at Philadelphia.   Small miracles on the daily.

xo. Elise

Thanks, Dad

I've been thinking about my dad a lot this summer.  I came back from my trip to New York, riding the high of a great vacation, and feeling absolutely uninspired about work.  I realized that every time we came back from a family vacation in the past, my dad had to go straight back to work, a place that is just not as great as vacation.  This past week, I worked ten and eleven hour days, showing up to work at 7:30 am.  My dad usually shows up to work earlier than that, and works late as well.  I called him earlier this summer, and I was having a really hard day.  That day my parents met up with my sister to get dinner and gelato.  My dad told me he got a medium and he needed a size that big to share with me, but since I was in PA, he would take care of it.  I immediately started crying.  Not my usual tears that seem to happen so often on the phone, but genuinely distressed and homesick tears.  And he just handled it in the best way possible, of course, making me miss him even more.  I didn't get to be with him on Father's Day this year, and that was harder than I expected.

I always knew my dad worked hard, but as each day and hour seems to drag this summer, I've realized just how much he sacrificed so I could have vacations, volleyball camp, and every other luxury I take for granted daily.

So thank you, Dad.  I'm sure so much of you just seems like second nature to you or not something you even notice.  And for a long time, I haven't really noticed your sacrifice either.  But thank you, really truly.  You're a great dad, and I'm not sure you know how much that means to me.

xo. Elise

Three Strikes

I've had three different beginnings to this post, and each one seems inadequate for the apologies, metaphors, and epiphanies in my head.  I want to get it exactly right.  I want to write an essay that is both overwhelmingly wise and merciful, while still skewering those I'm mad at.  I've realized that type of writing is impossible because those two emotions can't exist at the same time.  And I'm a little scared to put this out there because it shows so many parts of me I'm not proud of.

I have long acknowledged that mercy is a weakness of mine.  I have a hard time forgiving people, partly because I have such high standards and partly because I'm sensitive.  I feel easily, both good and bad, even though I've been giving into the bad more easily these days.

And partly because you feel powerful when you withhold mercy.  It feels good to have a list, full of people you haven't forgiven yet.

I've realized in the game of life, I've recruited everyone to my baseball league.  Whether people knew it or not, they were all on home plate.  I've made a comeback to my old position of pitcher, and instead of my previous slow pitch, I keep winding it up and slicing it perfectly across the plate.

Some people get out quickly, three strikes no problem.  One rude remark, one inadequate group assignment, and one late appearance, and hey batter, batter swing.  You're out.

I haven't thought much about those people Not exactly forgive and forget, more like roll my eyes and forget.  If I'm ever CEO of an aggressive, ruthless company, this skill may serve me well.  But to be frank, I don't ever want to be in that position because the rest of me so desperately wants to recognize the humanness of people.

The real problem comes with people who don't get out so easily and their mistakes are unforgettable.  It comes with people I hold in my heart.  The people I thought I would do anything for.  The people I pray for, fast for, cry for.  The people I laugh with and go to, with the good and the bad news of life.  They are my friends and my family and my confidantes.  They consist of God and my Savior and myself.

And if I'm going to be brutally honest, everyone keeps striking out.  I'm standing, frustrated and sobbing on the pitcher mound, wondering why the home plate is empty.  I'm wondering where my home team is.  I'm wondering why I almost have a panic attack in the parking lot, with no one asking me if I'm ok.  I'm wondering why I'm walking across the HFAC patio, with no one to turn to for advice.  I wonder why I'm running by myself, with no one to keep pace, and in more ways than one, I'm running away from everyone.  I'm wondering why I don't have cookies on my porch, text messages on my phone, and cards in my mailbox.  I'm wondering why I'm walking to church by myself, again.  I'm wondering why there is so much hurt, with no one around to give me a bandaid.

Because no one seems to win in Elise's baseball league.  People keep striking out, again and again.  Even when I feel like I've given more than easy pitches or more than just three outs.  I lob a text message over the plate, send multiple prayers their way, and seem to always write the first thank you note.

Today I was yelling to God, why did everyone leave me?  Why do I feel so much like collateral damage?  Why is it that I thought people who would be in the foxhole with me are happily trotting to safety, leaving me behind?

And part of me is disgusted I'm even articulating this, but the other part of me is still hurt, and a smaller part of me is still asking in a hurt voice, why?

I don't know why.  I don't know why forgiving is so hard.  I don't know why I still hurt.  I don't know why I have happily been adding to my 'People I need to Forgive' list, when in reality it becomes a 'Look how many people have hurt Elise' list.

And in all of the irony, I'm asking for forgiveness.  I'm sorry for everyone on my home team, when I didn't notice the prayers.  I'm sorry when I ignored your cries for help.  I'm sorry when my homework became more important than your soul.  I'm sorry for the times I lied when I said I was happy for you, I wish I could take it back and be genuine.  I'm sorry for not being on the phone, when you truly, really needed me.  I'm sorry for bringing you my heap of hurt, and glaring at you, wondering why you aren't taking it away.  I'm sorry for having my own life so close to my face, that I literally couldn't see anything else other than cancelled time and another reason for me to cry alone in my car.

I'm not any better at forgiving or letting everyone retire from this gladiator-like baseball game I've created.

But I really want to be. I really, truly, honestly want to be.  My hand aches from keeping score and gripping too hard on past plays that should have fixed it.

And this is me saying I'm sorry for blaming everyone else for my pain, when it was really me who should have been apologizing for not looking past it.  Thanks for still sticking with me, to all of those people on my home team.  Even when I've been an absolute beast of a pitcher on the mound.

I'm trying to change the rules of the game.  And that's all I got.

xo. Elise

Half-Baked

A little starved for conversation over here, thank you very much, thus a stream of consciousness is coming your way.

I got back from a weekend in New York, and I decided I was ready to go home.  Not because I wanted to retreat back to my parents house (hello, what I've been wanting to do all summer), but because I was ready to live real life again.  This past weekend I was with people doing similar things, believed similar things, there were guys I could date.  It made me miss BYU fiercely, something that I haven't necessarily done in a while.  It made me miss being in college, while at the same time freaking me out about the future.  I'm scared that next semester will be hard in a way last semester was.  I'm scared about post-grad.  If BYU is so much fun and working full-time is so not as fun, then what?  Fears regardless, I was thinking, yep, very ready to go home.  I've been here for 5 weeks (and please, no one say, wow 5 weeks already that's gone so fast!  Every day has been felt, people).  And that's halfway and I'm thinking COOL.  This adventure has been good.  I've forgiven people, gotten some distance from last semester, I'm ready to go back.

In the wise part of my heart, I know that I would be going home only halfway done.  I wouldn't be done with this summer.  I feel a little silly typing this because so many other people have internships, and there is no way that a summer job means this much, right?  But, I can't help but feel like this summer is so very purposeful.  And not just 5 weeks purposeful but the whole freaking 10 weeks purposeful.  I came back from this weekend where I actually had friends and wondered why I was here...where I have some casual lunch buddies.

And I couldn't help but feel that I need this time to be by myself.  I'm not sure why, but that feeling is there.  I need to be here to give myself some space.  I need to give my brain and my heart some time to think about where I was going and what I want.  There have been so many surprising thoughts since moving out here.  There have been a lot of ideas that I didn't consider possible.  There have been feelings and emotions and shifts that I know need to happen.

And even though an internship may be happening to a lot of other people, only one internship is happening in PA to a girl from UT.  And God is the most purposeful Being I know of.  And if I feel like this is an important and critical place in my life, that it most certainly is.

So, I'm not going to buy a plane ticket home.  I'm not going to runaway to New York or Iceland or Utah.  I'll stay here for 26 more working days and 37 normal days (psh I mean who is even counting 🙋🏻)

Xo. Elise

Letting it Go.

Last summer, my friends and I went around and answered the question of what we would do if we weren't scared.

Most of the boys said they would ask more girls on dates (eye roll).  I said that I would say no more often and cut my hair.

I've had long hair since I was in sixth grade?  It just grew and grew and grew.  It was part of who I was.  Long brown hair....it's progressively gotten shorter over the years, an inch here and there.

I've realized that when I go back in the fall, I don't want to want to be the same person who left.  There were so many parts of me that weren't working anymore.  There were so many parts of me that no longer were who I wanted to be.  And I have a lot of work until to do before I go back in the fall.

But, I cut my hair.  I cut it because I needed something to change.  I needed to let go of that fear.  I needed to let go of everyone's expectations.  And I know it's drastic to say that all of people's expectations were tied up in my hair, but it mostly felt like it.

I am having a slight identity crisis because for whatever reason, my hair has been a part of me for a while.  But I think feeling a little panicky about who I am and what I want to be is good.

So here's to shorter hair and lighter expectations.  Here's to trying again.  Here's to reading scriptures on forgiveness, and trying to figure out how to forgive everyone back home and figuring out how to forgive myself.  Here's to letting go of previous definitions of myself.

Bargain

I'm at the stage where you're mildly convinced that the perfect dress will actually set your life back in order.  And that when it comes in the mail, you will be at that stage of everything you wanted.

This is not a good stage to be in because the dress comes in the mail and you wear it for one Sunday, and then you're confused that your life problems aren't magically solved and you still are lost and are unsure of what to do with your life.   You thought that instead of just exchanging money and time for a cute new dress, that you were actually exchanging your insecurities, hopelessness, and trepidation for the future a piece of clothing that would come in three to five business days.

And you look at another dress in your closet, still with tags on it, and wonder why it didn't make you feel better.  And now you are going to look into the times of the post office so you can return said dress with the tags still on it and buy this other dress, the dress you're certain will make you feel better.  And think about how festive this new dress would be for Fourth of July!

I'm not sure if everyone else has this cycle.  Or if I'm just the lucky one, hence why my dress consumption has increased in the recent months.  But here we are, with several new dresses in the closet and my insecurities still loud and clear.

And I'm not saying I'm not going to return that other dress and buy this new dress.  But I am saying that sometimes you bargain for things, hoping that it will make you feel better.  Because you haven't felt better in a while.  And it kind of makes you want to cry, but you also have been having a better last 24 hours, so you're going to hold onto that.

xo. Elise

Every day.

There would be many times I would be packing my laptop in my backpack, changing back into jeans, and throwing on a jacket, getting ready to leave the house.  I would look at my roommate and say one thing every day that scares me.  She would always reply that she was proud of me and we would kind of nod in solidarity for that one thing every day.

Do one thing every day that scares you.  -Eleanor Roosevelt

I don't know if I am braver than the average person or if I have a lot more fears than the average person, but I seem to reach this quota a lot more than I want to.

But I'm still scared a lot.  Yet I somehow keep making it through all of the scary things.  And I'm going to be honest, I'm really proud of that.

In the past week I've....
- Started studying for the LSAT
- Went strawberry picking (by myself)
- Went to a new ward by myself
- Sent an inquiry about publishing in a magazine
- Talked with a recruiter for a full-time position
- Bought a ticket to go to NYC
- Reached out to someone for a favor

These all seem like small things that don't require courage, but looking at the list I'm really proud of myself.  I'm feeling a little more trepidation these days, in a lot of areas of life.  But I'm really doing it.  I'm creating a life and working towards a better life, wherever that leads me.  And that's something worth doing every day.

xo. Elise

Alone, but not Abandoned

The past few months have been difficult for reasons that have been hard for me to articulate.  I have tried to explain it to a lot of different people in a lot of different ways, but it's been hard to get a grasp on it and explain why.  Which, therein lies one of the issues.

The past few months, I have felt alone.  Really alone.  The type of being alone that makes my heart hurt.  For one reason or another, it's been just me.  Walking into a function, by myself.  Ordering food to-go, by myself.  Trying to make plans for the next year, by myself.   And it's hard to explain why something hurts when no one knows exactly what is hurting.

And it wasn't just the big things that I felt alone, but it was the day to day things.  I was expecting to see a whole group of people supporting me when I stumbled.  And instead, I found myself tripping by myself.  Again and again until it was freaking Groundhog day.

I was worried that I would lose God when I came out to Pennsylvania.  I was worried about losing myself.

And I think that's where I need to articulate the difference between being alone and being abandoned.  Because I was, and am, very much alone.  But I am not abandoned.

And I've been trying to find a way to convey exactly how I feel about this subject, but frankly it's too hard.  It's too full of justification for people that don't get it or who will try to make it better, even when they aren't members of the audience and will never see this.  On some level, it's too sacred for me to share why.

But there is a big difference between being alone and being abandoned and that distinction is important.

Currently

Making: plans for the 59 days left.
Cooking: anything that doesn't require cooking, lols. 
Drinking: Diet Coke, best part of my afternoon. 
Reading: Bittersweet, again.  And it's really, really good.  
Wanting: to sleep in  
Looking: for a new good book to read.
Playing: Sixteen, Chelsea Cutler. 
Wasting: time on Netflix.  
Wishing: there were more mountains.  
Enjoying: my new air freshener. 
Waiting: my coconut syrup to come.  
Liking: my new Nike pullover.    
Wondering: when everyone will reply to my emails. 
Loving: the fact that I don't have to take my internship class anymore.  BLESSINGS.  
Hoping: I stop counting.  
Marveling: at the fact that there is more good than bad.
Needing: to not eat as many M&Ms.   
Smelling: my shampoo and conditioner. 
Wearing: gray athleisure, per usual. 
Following: some of my goals.  
Noticing: how small the sky is here.  
Knowing: GOOD THINGS ARE COMING.  
Thinking: sometimes what is good for your soul and spirit is not as fun for the rest of you.  
Bookmarking: new websites at work. 
Opening: my new prep book  
Giggling: at the very ugly towels Alesha got as a wedding gift.   
Feeling: hopeful, dang it. 

The Right Thing

And as I come to an end of my college career, I wonder, is this how I wanted it to end?  These four years?  Are they what I’ve wanted for myself?  The opportunity cost of accepting the scholarship meant that I didn’t give myself an option to change my mind.  I couldn’t change my major.  I couldn’t choose my summer plans.  I couldn’t give an option of what I wanted to do for these four years. In exchange, I’ve been able to go to the grocery store without thinking. I can buy the shirt or the ice cream.  I can rest easy during recruiting time.  I don’t have to apply or interview with the highest of expectations.  I haven’t even had to think about my summer plans because they are already decided for me.  As I go forward to graduate school, I don’t have to worry as much about money because it’s already there.  And when doing the cost benefit analysis, I would do it again.  I 100% would apply for this scholarship again.  I would stress about the strategy program all over again.  I would have that summer in West Chester x2.  I would work at Lucid.  I would do the interviews and move out to Pennsylvania where I don’t know a soul except for guy I went on several dates with.  I would do the past 3 years, 100% the same.  And that gives me a lot of hope.  A lot of hope that things don’t happen accidentally and even if a lot of decisions were sub-conscious, I would make those decisions consciously again. 

And I remember reading the scholarship email, that email that seems to have changed my life in so many ways I didn’t expect.  I remember reading it at my desk in my dorm room; initially thinking it was a scam.  I thought it was one of those emails you get all of the time promising a lot of money.  I talked to my mom about it, and she seemed to think it was a good idea.  I did the phone interview and was late for my philosophy class.  I remember deciding what to wear for the interview and getting my purse strap trapped underneath the chair.  I remember walking in Target, getting the email that they were going to wait to tell me until Sunday.  I remember getting the phone call, finally, Sunday night.  I remember taking a deep breath and saying hello.  From the way he was talking, I didn’t think that I had gotten it.  And then he said congratulations.  And he asked what my netid was so he could deposit the funds.  I said thank you, hung up the phone, and immediately got on knees, giving a prayer of thanks. I knocked the chair over.  And that was a day that changed my life.  Literally and dramatically.  Not because I was changed but because of what happened next. 

So yes, I would choose it again.  I would choose this summer again.  Not because every moment is good (or even most moments), but because it’s right.  And that delineation is important because it separates the good and the perfect from the right thing to do.  And there are many things that would be better than sitting in a dorm room with rap music blaring through the walls.  But very few things would be as right as sitting in a dorm room with rap music blaring through the walls

Upside Down

I was walking to my car after work, actually feeling pretty good.  The day had gone fairly quickly, blisters and Excel training notwithstanding.

I unlocked my car, and then wow, it hit me.  This huge wave of homesickness.  I was getting into a silver Toyota, and I really want to drive my blue Jeep.  I miss the mountains and the natural orientation.  I miss my family fiercely.  I miss my hair and how I used to know how to style it.  I miss the penetrating sun and its ability to instantly warm.  I miss knowing my way home without having to go by the GPS.

And the wave came and crashed all over me.  And a really big part of me is really grateful that there are only 65 more days of rinsing my cherry tomatoes in the bathroom sink.

I'm grateful for all of the cool things about this summer that have me definitively saying that there is more good than bad.

But I'm also grateful that I only have to be this type of brave for 65 more days, you know?  My life seems to be balancing being afraid that nothing will ever change and being terrified that everything will change.  And this summer is a nice experiment to turn both sides of the equation upside down.

Meant to Be

I dislike labels and limiting myself, but I have to admit that I am quite an introvert.  I am totally fine with cruising around Valley Forge by myself and finding the ice cream shop everyone recommended (which wasn't actually that good).  

After church and after the activity today, I had to sit in my car for a half an hour afterwards to give myself some time to breathe. Just some time to recover from telling my story over and over again, by myself.  

As I was leaving, I said goodbye and thank you to the bishop's wife.  I had had a nice chat with her and wanted to let her know I was leaving.  

She exclaimed it was so nice to meet me, and "I was meant to be here," she could just feel it.  

And I left the party (to sit in the Target parking lot and then buying shoes to help my poor bleeding foot), wondering what she meant by that.  There are so many hard aspects to this stage, and I am confused when people say it was meant to be.  What does that mean?  What does it mean something is meant to be?  Does that mean goods things are coming?  If so, when?  And how does it work?  Is it, oh I will feel comfortable with stuff?   Will the purpose behind this internship make sense to me in the present or is it a long-term investment?  

Or maybe it was just something she said to me in passing, as I left to go buy bandaids with the new shoes.  

In any case, I felt a small tendril of hope as I drove around the green hills of Valley Forge, essentially refusing to go to any of the historic stops, but just enjoying the drive.  And the used bookstore where they threw in Little Men for free with my $1 of Little Women because they couldn't bear to see them separated.  

xo. Elise 

Purgatory

I joked with my parents that sometimes Pennsylvania feels like my very own personal purgatory.  Looking back, it's a little weird how many times I've been here for various reasons.  Family vacation, a high school scholarship contest, my first internship.  The commitment continues to get longer, and now I'm here for 10 weeks (just recounted on the calendar and it is only 10 weeks!!!!!!).

The first definition that pops up when you look up purgatory is "a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven."

Chuckled over that one, going to be honest.

The second definition is "having the quality of cleansing or purifying."

Ok, that's better.  

I was driving back from church today and was reflecting on what I learned.  I'm trying to do a better job of being conscious about what I'm learning, whether it's in church or in scripture study.  I don't really remember much about the talks.  Or the lessons.  Or really anything other than the fact that I was fully aware I had a deer in the headlights look on my face, with the humidity curling my hair, and my dress that I wondered if it looked 'too Utah', you know?

And I realized I didn't necessarily learn anything, but going to church today was a huge, "hey Heavenly Father I don't know why I seem to be stuck in purgatory (see def 2), but I'm here, and to be honest, that's all I got."

I guess I do remember one thing someone said today, and that was in order to grow faith, we need to exercise faith.

I have always wanted to be someone who just *has* faith.  Someone who wakes up in the morning and has the strength and vitality of someone who believes in the good.  I don't know if I am ruled by fear or by certainty, but faith has always seemed to be a hill I keep climbing.

And now, sitting in my dorm room that smells like wet dog from the rain and the mini-fridge that doesn't hold enough strawberries, this whole 10 week commitment seems like too much.  This is usually where I would supply a qualifier about how I have the perspective that things are going to get better, and I can't judge a summer based off of three days.  But those things are usually said to justify my complaining and acknowledge that life isn't actually as bad as it sometimes feels when you're perched in a dorm room that still smells like wet dog.

But qualifier regardless, this is a hard time.  And it's been a hard season for a while.  And it's difficult to be in a place where going home is hard and staying here is hard.

And regardless of how the next 68 day turn out, I am starting from a place where this is really just an offering of faith to my Heavenly Father.  I have so many good hopes and dreams that I want for my future, and let me tell you, when you're in a hard place, it's difficult to have faith that any of those will come into fruition.

In a lot of ways, I kind of like the first definition and that PA is the place to be right before heaven in my life.   But even if heaven isn't coming my way, I'm still looking up.  And I'm still expecting good things to come.

xo. Elise