17 Year Old Testimony

I was looking at a picture of Christ today, the one that is in every church building and seminary room.  I remember looking at that picture when I was younger, just examining it.  I wanted to communicate with God.  I wanted to understand my Savior's role in my life.  I wanted to feel peace and less stress, and I wanted to know. 

I was reflecting on how far my testimony has come since I was 17, sitting in seminary wondering if everyone else knew, when I just believed.  I wish I could give myself more grace at the time.  I thought I was so old, and I felt like my testimony had to be so perfect.  Surely, after all of the effort I had put into it, it should be correct?  It should be solid, unchanging and constant?  Instead, I've learned that is Christ's role in my life.   He is a foundation I keep falling to. 

I don't know how I can continue to know my Savior better when I believe He is constant and unchanging.  I think it is more to do with me learning to trust Him, again.  And again.  And again.  He is constant, but I learn how to have better faith. 

I have been rereading journal entries from Africa today.  It seems silly to still be unpacking from a trip I took in April, yet I still find myself mentally shifting through what was left.  I remember how close Heavenly Father felt during those two weeks.  I felt like I was living from tender mercy to tender mercy, and mostly grateful when a prayer was answered in the form of a stick of gum or a flushing toilet. 

Heavenly Father is there for me.  My Savior has been a constant in my life.  I am working on better understanding the Holy Ghost.  Life has been feeling like a treadmill, hard and inevitable.  When I think back to 17 year old Elise, I feel hope.  Things will get better.  I will understand my relationship with God better.  And that helps with all of it. 

Basic Math

In a disorderly world, I pride myself on being able to add some control. The best way I’ve found, one taught to me since I was kindergarten, was to apply a simple math equation. In sixth grade, the public schooling system contributed to my education of controlling the universe by teaching me how to find ‘x’, and from then on it was merely plug and play. 

If five plus x equals two, what is x? Answer: two. 

As I’ve reached adulthood, I’ve added my own spin on it. 

If I’m feeling insecure plus x equals confidence, what is x? The best thing of adulthood math is it is a choose your own adventure (or as I like to say, choose your own vice, ha). X equals too much caffeine, mindless scrolling, long and complainy phone calls to my parents, gossiping about my roommates, or shopping for things I don’t need. 

The equation is solved, my insecurity kept at bay, and I can feel satisfied in my small flexing of power. 

And I’ve always said I’m bad at math. 

To be frank, this math system is pretty inept in solving any problems. I try to exert some control so I don’t feel like I am lost and small, and instead I end up feeling miserly, broke, and bloated because my numbing devices surprisingly didn’t help. 

I was listing my faults today, really running through the whole gambit. I spend too much money. I have sweaty palms, often. I’ve had gray hairs since I was 17. I talk too much, but I am too quiet in meetings. I eat too much candy and don’t know how to do my hair or makeup. 

I expected to balance out all of these negative traits with my usual litany of good things about me. I make good cookies. I dress well. I send thank you cards. I remember people birthdays. I work hard. 

Instead, the only thought that came to mind was, "I am His daughter and I am made with purpose."  For whatever reason, this one positive statement more than made up for the negative variables I had plugged into my equation.  

I am continually looking for the return on investment and for the variables to balance out.  I can cope with my failings through the consolation that my strengths will balance out, and at least grant me an equilibrium.  Yes, I may have really crappy parts of myself, but at least I can even the scorecard.  

But the best thing about God is that all math is erased and all inadequacies are full.  

I am His daughter and I am made with a purpose. 

Mathematics be damned. 

Good Time

I was talking with my parents yesterday, and it was kind of funny because we were in this casual restaurant, where waiters were swirling, pizza was being delivered, and Diet Coke was being sipped, yet throughout it all we were talking.  About deep things about funny things about everything.  I drove home that night feeling alive.  It was a feeling I wish I could bottle up and keep forever.  I felt so in love with every aspect of my life, and mostly in love with my people. 

We talked about how I was in fourth grade and first went to my mom and essentially asked about the whole church thing.  Was it true?  Why was I going to church?  I will forever be grateful for the faith of my parents, and the fact that they didn't shove it down my throat.  They simply reiterated the promise--ask and ye shall receive.  They encouraged me to ask.  They gave me the freedom to fight for my testimony.  I am so very proud of my testimony today.  I am proud of the time I have put into it.  I am proud of who I have become, mostly because I know where it started.  I hope in 20 years, when my daughter comes in and asks about the whole church thing, that I have enough faith to say, "Ask!  God delivers every time.  Not usually in the timing or the way we want, but He answers." 

I realized today that I have always felt guilty for asking God for anything.  There seemed to be a golden ratio about gratitude and asking for things, and I never felt like I knew what it was.  I realized that paradigm is kind of a crappy way to view prayer, and it definitely isn't how I should view communicating with my Father.

I think of it like Heavenly Father is just so giddy to talk with us.  I picture Him just waiting for me to talk to Him, to listen, and just be.  I am sure that listening to us is one of the highlights of being God. I decided that I am done measuring my prayers against an invisible standard I created.  I can ask, ask, ask Heavenly Father for anything and everything.  Being grateful and showing gratitude is so important, but there isn't some invisible scorecard. 

In any case, what a rocking weekend with good food and good spiritual insights.  Cheers to this week!

xo. Elise

Color

In my life-long quest to do it all, I have wanted to transition seamlessly.  There is something so enticing about just slipping in and out of people's lives.  Different apartments?  Different countries?  Different stages of life?  I have a small, unrealized belief that smooth transitions will prevent any jostling of my soul, and I suppose this fits into my constant goal to become more than human.  Or is it less than human?  Whichever role requires less pain, I think, is my preference. 

I used to look forward to the day when I would know everything, just like God.  No, really, I have it written in the margin of scriptures that I couldn't wait for that day.  I thought that when you were God, you wouldn't hurt.  Perfect knowledge must mean no pain.  I am not sure when my life became organized around creating that persona of no pain.  I've always considered myself someone who doesn't shy away from something that hurts, but I suppose self-inflicted challenges (i.e. half marathons, long study sessions, etc.) still give me a semblance of control. 

Maybe it isn't avoiding pain, but avoiding loss of control. I read a book about this once.  The Mysterious Benedict Society is a great children's thriller, and the main villain's fatal flaw was his habit to control everything.  Reading it as a fifth grader, I didn't notice the parallels and the life lessons slipped right over my head. 

I have moved back to the apartment I left almost six months ago, anticipating an easy transition.  After all, isn't this the place I dreamed about when I was driving around in a dusty car, on red roads, with mosquito repellent everywhere?  Unfortunately, my humanness has caught up.  The transition isn't easy.  I'm not more or less human because I am still experiencing pain.  The whole world is spinning, right out of my control.  The only thing that seems to be the same these days are the habits I'm trying to break but keep failing. 

I think about God a little differently right now.  It was a true lightbulb moment for me when I realized that part of the bargain of being human, having a soul, loving people, loving life, is to feel pain.  I wonder if there are some days that Heavenly Father, the all-knowing Being that He is, wishes He didn't feel pain too.  Maybe not, because He probably has a better understanding of this whole life thing?  We hurt Him every day though, and He keeps loving us. 

And even in my very grasping life motto of avoiding pain or loss of control (whatever it really is, therapy would probably help at this point), there is something truly beautiful to me that there is a Heavenly Father who keeps loving me.  My life goal of minimizing and shrinking and white-knuckling seems rather colorless in comparison to His mercy. 

xo. Elise 

Globetrotting

I wondered yesterday why I traveled.  I grew up traveling, it's always been part of me.  I can't imagine having a summer where I don't board a plane.  I have a dream of slowly conquering the world, one country, one world wonder, one perfect sunset at a time.  I've dreamed of visiting different cultures and countries, seeing the pyramids in person and standing at the feet of the statue of Christ in Brazil.  I want to go to Iceland so desperately, and I hope to visit Peru. 

But why?

It's so glamorous to travel the world, and in only 40 days!  It gives me a certain level of satisfaction to understand what authentic Indian food is and understand what it's like to never have the sun set in Finland.  It makes my Instagram seem cool and it makes me feel like I'm going places. 

I sometimes wonder if I am always wanting to travel because surely, that shows I'm trying in this world.  It literally shows I'm moving.  I have a haunting fear of not living up to the expectations of Elise.  I've done a better job of getting past that, but a certain part of me is still scared that I am an imposter in a successful life.  I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for people to figure out that I'm not all that I've claimed or shown in the past.  And maybe this is too shallow of a connection to my summer vacations, but I fear being stuck.  Being the same.  Being a fake. 

I've been frustrated with myself the past couple of days, why do I insist on going everywhere?  Why do I always want to just go?  Isn't it enough to stay?  And why am I so entitled to think I should even travel? 

I am leaving to go to another country in less than a week, to live there for several months.  At the end of the day, traveling has given me the world.  Growing up, I was able to see how other people live and see more diversity than the all-too similar Utah landscape.  It has changed me and shaped me, and I am forever grateful for those experiences that have reminded me that the world is full of people that God loves. 

I guess I mostly want to change what traveling means.  I'm traveling to better understand the world, not to show people that I am not an imposter. 

Happy, Free, Confused Lessons

Before I get nostalgic for 2017 and my 21st year (that's tomorrow, so get excited), I wanted to write 10 more lessons that I learned being a 21 year old.  My first ten lessons were written when I felt like I was finally coming back into myself.  And I am really grateful to feel like this year ended on a high note.  That is actually really special.  So, 10 more lessons I learned being a 21 year old. 

1.  I am big into traditions, and a couple of weeks ago I realized I didn't do half of my 'traditions'.  I didn't get pumpkin waffles at Waffle Love, I didn't make banana bread on the first snowfall.  I didn't eat my pomegranate yogurt on the last day of class.  (Um, all of my traditions have to do with food?).  I didn't hike the Y or have a General Conference breakfast party.  All of these things I used to do, and I just didn't this year.  But I made a lot of new traditions, like going to Cafe Rio or getting Costco hot dogs.  I guess I learned that new definitions of yourself are important.  And it was a good reminder to me to be a little bit more flexible in what could be considered fun.
2.  I learned God is there.  I sometimes feel like my testimony is constantly on this cycle of figuring this out, but this year I hit a new low.  And I am not sure I can convey the state of emergency that I felt I was in.  There are a couple days in particular, that I felt like I was at the edge.  Part of me was screaming, look, I am in so much pain that I don't need to believe in a God who isn't there.  When I write that, it seems dramatic and bizarre.  But I love this story because God is there.  He. Is. There.  I am not always sure why or how or where or any of that, but I do know He is there.  And I am so grateful for that.
3.  I learned that answers to prayers, no, not prayers, that's not right.  I learned that God's plan is really revealed one step at a time and that He can truly change our hearts.  I have seen a change in my life, over this past semester and over this past year.  And I am grateful for it.  Because sometimes you think you are going to be stuck, tired and unsatisfied forever.  But God is a God of change, that's what the Atonement and the Plan of Happiness is all about.
4. I realized that I am a really good friend.  And a good celebrator.  Honestly, this can be a hard thing, a lesson I learned this year.  I have felt abandoned and left by people I had given my deepest trust.  But I am also proud how I continue to celebrate people and continue to invest in those around me.  My mom told me that I take after my Grandma--she was a big celebrator.  And honestly?  I will gladly carry that legacy, even if it is sometimes hurtful.  And it makes me happy to continue to try to be like Christ and be a good friend.  I think it is a worthy cause. 
5. I realized that I am not super great at working in group projects.  I always thought I was good at it?  But I'm really not.  And we are all relieved that I am done with this semester (with 4 group projects!).  It was a good lesson though, and something I need to be aware of heading into my career. 
6.  God gives us what we pray for and sincerely hope for.  He isn't petty, even though I sometimes try to figure out His plan through my petty and insecure head.  It is worth hanging up the boxing gloves when dealing with Heavenly Father because He really knows what He is doing.
7.  I really like learning, and I'm really happy I had such a positive experience at BYU.  This is an important trait for me to learn because I need to be conscious of it going forward.  I realized that even if work is incredibly boring, I can still learn from it.  That is helpful to remember.
8.  I learned it is incredibly rewarding to make decisions based on what is best for Elise.  I am such an outsourcer and a researcher and an opinion-asker.  This is helpful when buying shoes?  But for my life decisions?  I can make my own decisions, and I can do it confidently.  For me, this has meant planning a trip, saying no to a relationship, choosing a study abroad, and accepting a full-time job offer.  All of these decisions have caused a lot of stress and worry, but I am proud of the life I am creating. 
9. I realized I have enough grit to crawl out of some pretty terrible months.  I realized I have it in me to be happy again, and that is pretty cool to me.  Being happy takes so much work, but I am proud of myself for working towards it, purposefully and often.
10.  This world is beautiful and it is full of so much.  New York City, Prince Edward Island, St. George, Palm Springs, Washington D.C., even West Chester.  All of these places are out there full of good food and sunshine and that is just beautiful to me.  It's out there to see, with different sunsets and late nights and weird smells and traffic and I love it. 
10.5  I keep learning this, but good people keep coming, and some really great people, stay for the whole thing.  I feel so in debt to the people who stuck with me, even though I was struggling.  And I am so grateful to the people who let me in, even though I was still a little fragile and wildly unsure.  And I just think that's beautiful too.  Good people. 

xo. Elise

Refrain

I've been trying to do a better job of not being a crappy feminist.  I like to think I am all about women doing good, hard, and powerful things, but when it comes down to it, I undersell myself 90% of the time and passively agree when people do it to me.

I have a deep desire to be a humble person.  I am always so impressed with people who demonstrate such humility and such grace in their lives.  They seem more at peace with themselves and with their life, no doubt because they recognize the sheer power of God's love and how it is woven in every element.

In recent years, I have tried so hard to emulate those people, however, I've found myself becoming a doormat in too many conversations.  And then I think I retaliate in stressful situations or where I feel undermined.  When you feel out of control in one too many situations, you can't help but lash out at the poor guy in your group project that doesn't really deserve your wrath, but is the most convenient target.

In any case, I've been trying to do a better job of embracing my power and being a powerful person.  In this season of self-inspection, I've realized that I have a certain refrain I chant in nearly every conversation.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

And instead of apologizing to people I actually need to, I am apologizing for existing.  When I think I ask one too many questions, I apologize for taking up everyone's time.  When I realize I have taken control of the conversation at a game night, I apologize for using my voice.  When I realize that I have been talking non-stop to a friend for the past five minutes, I apologize for not being silent.  I shift my body as an apologize for taking up space.  I apologize for not being able to accommodate everyone in my schedule.  I apologize for being too busy when people see my schedule.  I apologize for not doing my dishes immediately.  I apologize for being loud, making noise, talking at all, making comments, laughing, saying goodbye, leaving early, arriving late, asking questions, being passionate, showing love, being too invested, being high-maintenance, and at the end of the day, for just living.

I am so very tired of checking myself because I don't think I'm allowed to be myself.  It is all too easy to justify your words and your actions, thinking it will keep you safe from being hurt or being made fun of.

I'm truly tired in a lot of areas of my life, but I am fundamentally exhausted of this refrain.

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

Softer

I was new in Mrs. Morrison's third grade classroom.  I had only been there a few weeks, and I remember hearing the whispers going around...Sam wasn't there because his grandpa died, and he went to the funeral.

I remember when Sam came back.  He was wearing a cream shirt, which seemed to stand out against his darker skin.  His black hair was short.  He was quiet.

And he seemed softer.  Everything about him seemed soft.

I've thought about this moment since third grade, and I had to wonder why.  I'm not friends with Sam, and I never really have been.  I could almost guarantee that no one else in that third grade class remembered the few days Sam missed.

After this week, I finally understand why I remember this moment.  This was my first acquaintance with grief.  This was my first understanding what the concept meant.

And I realized that, for me, grief does make you softer.  I've felt more keenly for the pain of those next to me.  Crying with a girl who lost her brother.  Talking with a boy who misses his mom.  These people who are still commenting in class and making sandwiches and taking out the trash.  During the hard moments, we still breathe.

We breathe in and out and cry and blow our noses.

And our souls become soft.

Planner

I usually bear my testimony every month, but this month I was terrified to get up there.  Terrified because I was going to get up there and vaguely talk about how I didn't really have faith.

Background.

I am a planner.  The plan every single hour kind of person.  The person who likes to know how many intervals she has to run before she starts. I like planning out what I'm doing next summer.  Before I went to college, I wrote down what I wanted to do each semester and each summer.

Since school started, I've been trying to make a plan.  I've been trying to listen to my Father and make decisions that will put me in the best position for my future.  Consulting?  Law school?  Non-profit work?  M.B.A.? M.P.A.?  Never finish school (ok, that's not a real option, but tempting with two midterms coming up this week).

And nothing is working.  I haven't gotten an answer for anything.  And it's frustrating and scary and similar to throwing up.

And I announced over the pulpit that I am kind of doubting Heavenly Father and His ability to come up with a plan that works for me.  Because from my perspective, nothing seems to be working.

But then I finished with the fact that He has proven me in the past.  He has come through for me in ways I can't describe and in moments when I needed Him most.  And I told my friends and my ward members that that was enough.  It's enough for me right now.  And I am so grateful for a God that has provided me with experiences in the past that have made this scary moment a little less scary.

A member of the bishopric came up later and told me that he had been thinking of my testimony all day.  He explained that he wasn't a planner, and he imagined it must be very scary for a planner and stressful (yup, it is). He then said to not stress and not worry, something I can't help but think is very easy for a non-planner to say.  Another girl came up to me and explained that God speaks in stories and things will work out.  Laura told me that she had a similar experience in her life, and that God had a big answer for her.

All of these things reminded me that even if my plan isn't working out so great, I have great people in my life.  Thanks Mom and Dad for all of those reminders that eternal perspective is important and that God is the best storyteller.

Cheers to writing a story, when the only ending you know is that everything is going to be ok.

x.o.  Elise

The Hard Stuff

I am sitting here, writing the essays that I have been dreading for far too long, after a night where everything just hit the fan, and I'm wondering why I was left in the middle of it all.  I am listening to the CD that has gotten me through all of the hard stuff before, but I still feel slightly sick to my stomach.

All of this is to get my fingers moving and my mind spinning.  This moment feels slightly like jumping off a cliff I don't want to approach.  Everyone is telling me to be more specific on what I want to do and who I want to be.  Everyone is asking, trying to figure out the secret.  And I would really just like some time to do my laundry.

I guess what I'm saying is I am being brave, and I am so proud of myself I can hardly stand it.  There are so many things in my life that scare me, but I am going to do them anyway.  And that, my friends, is cool.

When it rains, it floods.

Do you want to know a secret?  I prayed for rain today.  I prayed that it would rain partly because I wanted to wear tights and partly because it was so much fun to run in the rain last year.

I was at mile four, and it was just pouring.  And I started crying because I realized that is exactly how God answers prayers.  I just ask for a little rain, not much, but just enough.

And then Heavenly Father blesses me with a rainstorm with rain just pouring and washing everything clean and beautiful.  He sends enough to flood out all of the negative stuff.  He lets it pour.

I am so grateful that a God like that exists.  I'm grateful for the chance to live with Him in my life.

And yes, this metaphor wasn't so great at mile 9 when I was soaking wet.

xo. Elise

The Good Life

My word for this year is faith.  And my faith has taken an interesting journey this year.  It started out with me living like a clenched fist.  I couldn't let anything go and I grasped everything I could and held it tight.  I feel myself evolving.  I am trying harder to play catch.  I'm trying harder to compact my feelings and just chuck it up to heaven.  Sometimes it feels like things slip through my fingers, or I didn't make my ball tight enough, and things come crashing back down and fall right on my head.  I think I sometimes keep those insecure and scared feelings around because they give me a sense of control.  I feel like I can handle something if I worry about it.  Stressing about it makes me feel productive.  Feeling insecure makes me feel humble.  And I hope that one day I can really work on those feelings, but for now acknowledging that is a big enough deal that it's ok.

And now my faith is evolving to a point where I am trying to have the best of perspectives.  I'm trying to have the view of the long term. The longest of terms.  But I also just want to take a nap.

Camille is visiting for the weekend.  And it's probably stupid, but I just keep wanting to tell her over and over again how excited I am that she's here.  It's been so interesting seeing my worlds collide, but I'm mostly just happy she's here.  Anne came down last night and we went to dinner and shopping.  You know those people that know what your favorite dress-up costume was and which Polly Pocket you always played with?  Sometimes it feels really good to spend some time with those people.

I guess this is all to say that sometimes I get really really scared, but it's ok.  And that fear doesn't have to suffocate me anymore.  And I have enough really good people in my life to help when I'm feeling particularly scared.

This truly is the good life.

Happy Birthday (and a no)

Today is my dad's birthday, and part of me really misses the days when I knew I was going to have a Killer Burger tonight, followed up with some deliciously rich chocolate cake.  We would all sing happy birthday, and I would give my dad a hug, feeling safe like I always do when I hug him.  We would have laughed and snitched a few of his favorite almond M&M's away from him, pretending that they are basically a health food.  I would look at his new piece of fishing equipment and try to figure out what it was used for.

Those were good days, and I miss the Elise that I was and that time in my life.

I also realized this today that there are some things that you just have to let go.  I didn't realize that perfectionism is still a thing for me.  In high school it meant that I was getting a hundred percent and taking first.  In college, it's much larger than that.  I want to be the perfect roommate, friend, student, disciple of Christ, hostess, group member.  I want to be clean, fit, healthy, gentle, kind, thoughtful.   I want to be the girl that is satisfied and that can somehow make it all work.

And I realized today that I'm not that girl.  I have some brilliant flashes, and those are the things I crave.  But it's just not realistic.  And that is ok.  And I want to do a better job of letting go of the guilt that comes with it.  I need to do a better job of acknowledging I can't do it all.  And I need to get used to saying no.  NO.  Revolutionary, isn't it?

So I'm saying no to guilt and to that pesky voice that tells me I can do it all.  Really just the voice that keeps telling me that I should be doing everything, in order to be anything.  Because that is a lie.  And I believe in honesty.

Anyway, thought process complete.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  So blessed to have you in my life!

xo. Elise

I LOVE this picture of my dad and me! 

Mile 7

I ran my third half marathon yesterday, and I am still limping to prove it.  I went into this race fairly calm.  I decided to just think of it as an extra long long run, and it was going to be fine.  Both of my previous half marathons went surprisingly well, I always felt that adrenaline kick, and it was mostly a pleasant experience.

These expectations quickly changed when the first three miles were uphill.  And the next three miles were uphill.  There were some parts on trails.  There were some with little small hills and meandering terrain.  The route went through neighborhoods and backtracked to get the adequate mileage.

And that's when I realized that this was not going to be a normal half marathon for me.  Within the first half mile I crossed the idea of setting a personal record of my list, and I settled for finishing.

During mile 7, I honestly didn't think I could go on.  There was a huge hill.  I have been training on beautifully flat roads for the past 7 months.  I haven't gone up a big hill since April....maybe?  And yes, I cried.  Yep, I walked.  Yes, I turned on my music and turned it up loud.  While I was running, I tried to focus on the strength of who I was running the race for.  I was running for my dad's grandma, the woman I am named after.  I was running for my beautiful sister, who I knew was struggling up the hill somewhere too.  I was running for my inspiring mom who would be waiting for a sweaty hug at the finish line.  I was running for my dad, the person who taught me how to run.

I finally, finally made it past the hard part.  I staggered into the mile 6.7 aid station almost crying and not sure my leaden legs could carry me for 6.4 more miles. I was finally on the downhill when I really started crying.  I looked out on the beautiful golden trees and the beautiful view and I just wanted to quit.  I was exhausted from my week.  I was exhausted from tests and studying.  I was tired of doubting myself.  I was tired of trying so hard and not seeing the results.  I was tired of enduring the middle and feeling exhausted, doubting how much fight I actually had.

And that's when I felt God's presence, right next to me.

And I realized that for life in general, I am at mile 6.7.  I am staggering up the hill, looking for an aid station.  My brain is tired, and I'm not sure how much farther I can go.  I am doubting myself for even trying.  I went into this whole season expecting it to just be an extra long long run.  I hadn't trained for the difficult parts.  I had been coasting.

Let me tell you, mile 6.7 tears you up.  It is making me doubt nearly every move I'm making.  It makes me want to pull the covers over my head and stay there until the middle is resolved and the ending resolute.  It causes every pray I utter to be a plead for peace and a beg for mercy.  And it's easy to feel lost and confused and lonely.

But I'm grateful for the reminder that God will be there, waiting at mile 7 when the mind haze clears enough that I can notice the golden trees.

xo. Elise

Coming Up for Air

Today you get the privilege of seeing a journal entry of mine.  I'm not always this eloquent, sometimes my journal entries consist of "Today was hard.  Enough said."  But I don't think I could write this better than I already have.

This summer could be chalked up to one where I dropped the ball.  I was whirling so fast from my first year at college that I was shocked into silence when the music stopped mid-twirl.  I could (and have) look back on these months with regret for the days I didn't go outside, the tan I didn't get, and the runs I didn't go on.  In April, I told Heavenly Father over the pulpit that I was going to have faith and trust in His plan.*

*As long as that plan fit into not living at home in Utah all summer.

Ok, I tried to have more faith than that, but I feel like I failed.  I angrily shoved everything in my sister's car and left to go a measly 1.5 hours way.  I look back at this summer and see a girl who tried so hard to stay a girl, but lost herself in the juxtaposition of moving home and tackling grown up situations.  I lost contact with myself and contact with God, and sometimes I'm not sure where either one is hiding.

But I refuse to look back on this summer with regret because regretting time seems like a ship that would capsize my confidence.  Instead, I want to remember it as the summer where I had my first job.  I don't want to forget going on a vacation with Anne for the first time.  I don't want to undermine flying to Pennsylvania by myself three separate times and staying in a hotel room alone.  I don't want my first car accident, second concert, and first road trip swept under the rug in embarrassment.  I want each breakdown recorded, and I don't want my act of rebellion by not going to Church activities to be forgotten or repeated.   I don't want the dozen of hikes I went on with my parents to become obsolete.

This summer has been a brave, hard thing for me to live through for all of these reasons and more.  And I am reaching the point where my head breaks the surface, bringing me to my knees and begging for clean air.

xo. Elise

Current Bush

A couple of weeks ago, my sister sent me the link to this video.  She has sent it to me a couple of times, and when I saw the video I thought, been there seen that.  I wasn't going to watch it again, but I decided to anyway.  I thought I knew what it was about, but by the end of it, I was in tears as I saw my current situation being played out in video form.

That was a few weeks ago, and I have watched that video since then.  But I haven't wanted to be a current bush.  I wanted, and to be honest a smidgen of me still wants to, be a shade tree, stretching out across the world in so many different places, growing big and tall in so many different directions. I didn't want to be a small, insignificant current bush with nothing to show of the fruits of my labors.  I didn't want to feel so alone and forgotten and like a failure.

But I suppose when you keep asking God for guidance, keep reading your scriptures, and keep searching, the answer will become a brick wall.  All those days when I read my scriptures, but didn't feel anything, all those days when I would plead for something, I finally felt something.

And I'm coming to terms with being a current bush.  I still don't love it.  I still am not sure how to grow as a current bush, someone who was cut down to produce something beautiful.  I'm still baffled on what the lessons are or what I'm supposed to accomplish.

But I'm feeling hope, which is something I haven't felt for a while.  I'm hopeful for this fall.  I'm hopeful for what I can contribute.  I'm hopeful in God's plan.

There was a moment today when the sun was streaming in and my room was golden.  I was reading a book so well-loved the back cover has disappeared and the front cover is hanging on by a thread.  I was sitting on a bed in a room that has sometimes felt like a prison as I went through this identity crisis.  And I felt absolutely happy.  Just happy.  With no footnote and no fateful 'but' following like an unwanted puppy.

And I'm sorry for speeding through.  I'm sorry for the times I have pushed too hard.  I'm sorry for not saying more, and I'm sorry for closing up instead of blooming.  I apologize to my family, who has dealt with me with extraordinary patience.

And I mostly apologize to God.  I struggle with accepting His plan, especially during this season of my life.  But I'm learning.

xo. Current Bush

Goodbyes

As I was driving home today, I realized I am anxious to get to a spot in my life that is settled.  A slightly preposterous thing to want since I am in a time where nothing in my life is settled.  I have too many transitions to count coming up in the next few years, and right now, that is disheartening.

I really would like to just have a friend stay, instead of leaving.  I would really like to not have to say goodbye to myself every couple of months, as a new Elise parades in with the old insecurities and familiar fears, yet a completely different reaction to everything else.  I would appreciate just being able to go and see the cherry tree in my backyard, without remembering how much everything has changed since last year--probably the biggest change being that we don't have a cherry tree in our backyard anymore.

Sometimes the idea of new new new is enticing and intoxicating.  I have so many relationships in my life that I would love to let just slip and disappear.  Clean slates have always been my favorite, and I love seeing the fresh new start.

But right now I'm mostly just sad that my friend is leaving me, yet again.  And the same old goodbye routine isn't fun or exciting anymore.  And it mostly just makes me grumpy.

xo. Elise

Playing Catch

I'm wearing the five dollar leggings and blue sweatshirt that I have worn too many times to count.  Little did I know, way back in early December that when I bought the blue sweatshirt for two dollars, I would wear it out, because most days it's all I really want to wear.

I am starting finals week.  Tomorrow, technically, even though it doesn't officially start until Friday.  I have a final on Monday, Wednesday, two on Friday, Saturday, and Monday.

That just sounds exhausting, doesn't it?

And part of me is terrified.  These tests, they scare me.  They make me shake and make me want to cry.  The Stats guy from yesterday, when he helpfully, incredulously, asked if I was good enough to get into the Strategy program did not help.  Thanks, it really makes me feel confident in my abilities when you almost accuse me of thinking I'm good enough to get into a program that only accepts 50 students per year.

Deep breath.

This week is fraught with nervousness and annoying aspects.  I am still expected to cook for myself.  I still have to do dishes.  I'm trying to decide when running will happen.  I am trying to savor these next two weeks.  And I'm trying not to panic about the looming future.

And I guess it written somewhere that I'm scared.  And I want it written down that I'm sad, when I think of this year ending.  And I want it known that the future scares me and makes me nervous.

But, like I said in my testimony today, I also want my Heavenly Father to know that I am going to rely on trust.  I am going to put my faith in Him.  Even though, at this point, the very selfish, very tiny, tired part of me feels like yelling up there....um, what's happening?  Do you know what you're doing?  Do you have a plan for all of this uncertainty?  Is everything happening the way it's supposed to?

And please, don't tell me that I have everything planned out.  Internship? Check.  Housing next year? Check.  Future roommate?  Check.  Class schedule?  Check.

I have a lot more figured out than a lot of people I know, and for that I praise God.  But I am throwing the other confusing parts of my life up to the heavens.  Because I don't want to carry it anymore.

Thanks for always playing a good game of catch.

xo. Elise

April 6th

I want to just write a quick word about April 6th.  April sixth for me represents a sacred day.  A day to be reminded of Christ.  A day to remember His Sacrifice.  I finished the Book of Mormon today.  It's funny, that used to be an earth-shattering accomplishment.  I still remember the first time I read it, speed reading at midnight to finish before the new year.  But I was reminded again that it is a testament of Christ.

And I want it down in writing that I believe in Christ.  I believe in His Atonement.  I believe in the Resurrection.  I believe in life after death and comfort during life.  I believe in His perfect empathy and the beautiful ability I have to continue to try, every beautiful day I have the privilege of waking up to.

I found out about Park City plans, which brings peace to my soul as I want to cry in the kitchen.  I am trying to stay ahead of homework before it consumes me.  I am trying to be thoughtful and disciplined.

And throughout this mess of life that I've created, I'm grateful for Him.  Because I need Him more than I ever think I do.

xo. Elise