My Memories of My Father's Journey Through Cancer and His Ultimate Death

My dad's cowboy hats were a staple in his wardrobe.

My dad was first diagnosed with brain cancer when I was only three years old. I was so little at the time, I hardly remember anything. I remember that he was often plagued with headaches, and that I would sit at the head of the couch rubbing his head to try to help him feel more comfortable. I remember the night of his surgery. I was not pleased with so many people in my house (nice people who had brought meals or family members who had flown thousands of miles to help take care of the kids) and so I was acting out. I ran in circles around the table, passing my baby brother's high chair over and over again until I stubbed my toe and had a minor meltdown. I remember seeing my dad for the first time after surgery and being scared. He was bald and bloody and had staples in his head. I thought he was Frankenstein. I cried until he knelt down and called my name. I recognized his voice and was happy to run into his arms. I remember playing with his radiation mask and not understanding why my dad was too tired to wrestle with us like he used to. 

I don't remember what my dad looked like without the scar on his head from the surgery or the scar on his nose from a too-tight surgery mask. I have seen pictures, but I don't remember. These scars were a part of my father. I can't remember how many times I traced the scar on his scalp, an everlasting reminder that he was so close to death and managed to defeat it.

My mom and dad's engagement photo. 

I remember thinking my dad was a superhero. He had defeated cancer. Cancer - an enigmatic force of nature that claimed people randomly and always won. But not against my dad. He was the strongest, the fiercest, the bravest. Sometimes his left leg would get stiff and tingly, a natural side effect of a goose egg sized tumor being removed from the right temporal lobe, and we would tickle his feet to stimulate his nerves and help him be more comfortable. This was a common occurrence in our house. He would read us Tin-Tin, and if we wanted to hear another chapter, we had to tickle his feet. We would be watching TV and we would tickle his feet. We would be in the middle of Family Home Evening tickling his feet.

When I was a senior in high school, he started having seizures again. Worried, he went in for a brain scan. At first, we weren't sure whether or not it was a tumor again, or if he was suffering from radiation necrosis. I remember praying that it was a tumor. A tumor was familiar - he had beaten a tumor before and he could certainly do it again! I wonder what would have happened if the diagnosis had been radiation necrosis. What would be different about our lives?

My dad was a goofball and he passed it onto his children

The tumor was small, especially in comparison to the last one. I remember asking my dad how big it was. He grabbed my hand and pointed to the top section of my pinky finger. 'No big deal,' I thought. 'We can get rid of that.' Then we got the news that the tumor was inoperable. It was too small and too integrated with his actual brain. Surgery would be too risky. Radiation was out of the question because he had done so much of it earlier, and any more would be dangerous. We turned to chemotherapy next. In some lab in Virginia, the still had my dad's old tumor. I imagine it in a jar filled with bright green chemicals, floating passively. They tested it to see whether or not chemo would diminish it. It didn't. We were offered the choice to do chemo anyway, even though it likely wouldn't do anything, or try to take care of it in other ways. He chose the other ways. We started eating clean. This was especially hard for my dad, who was a lover of grease, fry, and sugar. He started going to oxygen therapy (or something like that) where he would sit in a tent of sorts and breathe in pure oxygen. His arms and feet were severely scarred from getting poked with needles so much.. In the midst of this, my dad took me to the opera. It is one of the sweetest memories I have of him. We got dressed up, went to a fancy dinner, and got to experience the joy of Verdi's music together.

We had a lot of hope in the summer after I graduated high school. He seemed to be doing fine, and the tumor wasn't growing. He still had to walk with a cane,but he felt alright. We drove up to Logan that August and moved me into my first apartment. He couldn't carry very much, but he was there and he helped where he could. It was during that first semester that he had his first stroke.

One of my favorite pictures of the two of us, when I graduated high school.

I didn't really see the stroke for what it was until much later. The tumor had started to grow, I guess and put too much pressure on his brain. Almost a year after his diagnosis, he started to deteriorate. Every weekend that I would come home, it seemed like he was worse. I would call my mom daily for a report. I texted him often with stories from college, questions about my general education homework, or any thoughts I had about life. He would always end our conversations with "You da bomb" or just a simple "Love you!"

This continued for months. He would get a little better, and then a lot worse. At the end of my second semester at school, right before moving home, I was talking to my mom on the phone, who told me that I needed to start preparing myself for his death. I refused. The tumor was so small, and my superhero dad would defeat it. He always won. My neighbor saw me crying and brought me cookies.

What a goof.

I moved home for the summer, excited to start my new job as an Oakcrest Counselor. My dad had lost most of his ability to walk or use his left side at all. My mom would help him up from his beloved brown comfy chair - he named her Jenny because Jenny with the light brown chair - walk with him wherever he needed to go and help him back. My room held a hospital bed that we somehow got a hold of, so my parents and I switched rooms. I would sleep in their room, unless my sister and brother-in-law were there and then I would sleep in the basement. I couldn't stand seeing my father so sick. I felt like he wasn't even trying to get better. I was angry a lot. One time, I stole my mom's car and drove the local lake to cry and pray. The situation was frustrating and sad and I couldn't bear it. How my angel mother must have felt, when the brunt of the caretaking was on her shoulders. When she had to watch the love of her life dying. I still feel guilty for how selfish I was during the two months that I was home.

Eventually, the situation got bad enough that we had to move him to a care center. At the care center, he could have 24 hour surveillance and help from professionals. It was a heartbreaking day. One of the hospice workers spoke to my mom and myself, telling us to prepare for the worst. I still didn't believe that cancer could defeat my dad. He was going to win, even though the situation looked bad.

One of my dad's greatest joys was barbecue. This picture was taken exactly two years before his death at his favorite BBQ restaurant.

I was happy to escape to Oakcrest. The place was beautiful and full of wonderful people. I didn't have to think about the sadness at home. I called my mom every night to ask her how things were going, how my dad was doing, and whether or not she was okay. On the weekends I would come home and spend most of my time at the care center, sleeping, or helping my siblings to keep the house under control.

In the fourth week that I was at Oakcrest, I had really difficult girls. A couple of them insisted on wearing makeup that took hours to apply, and they would get mad at me when I locked the cabin and they had to carry their pajamas with them to breakfast. Most of the girls didn't want to cooperate or do any of the activities and just stood aside with cocked hips and sneers. After one of the activities, I was letting the girls use the bathroom and fill up their water bottles. I was thinking about how I was going to survive the week with such tough girls when one of the counselors came bounding out of the staff headquarters. She yelled to me that my mom was on the phone and needed to hurry. I told her to stay with my girls. I remember that I was wearing blue converse. I looked down at them crunching against the tan gravel as I ran to the phone.

On a trip to Moab, one of our favorite places to go. Of course, being a goof.

My mom told me that my precious father was near the end and I needed to come home immediately. In a rush of words and goodbyes, I was in a car with a member of the women's committee, making the hour and a half drive to my dad. We were in the midst of rush hour traffic, and I felt so much urgency to see my daddy alive for the last time. We were silent in the car for the most part. My heart pounding, and my breath catching, and I wanted to jump out of the car and run the rest of the way because I needed to be there. I needed to make it.

We were ten minutes away when my mom called me with the news. I don't remember anything else about the conversation or the rest of the drive. I was just crying. We got to the center and my sister was waiting for me. We hugged and cried and hugged. I saw my two brothers and we hugged and cried and hugged. I called Oakcrest to let them know that I would be taking the rest of the week and the next off. They were very understanding, giving my nightmare girls to a "floater," a counselor with no assignment. I saw my mom, who embraced me, and in her selfless way whispered "Who are you going to dance with at your wedding?" I am still amazed by this. Her true love, her sweetheart lay dead in the next room, and she was thinking about me.

In Moab, right before we got the diagnosis of brain tumor.

 I didn't want to go inside. I didn't want to see my dad's body. My family forced me inside the room where we discussed funeral plans and who knows what else. My dad lay in his bed, eyes half open, mouth slightly ajar. His skin was yellow and his body frail. That wasn't my dad. He was really gone.

I've already written a little about my grief and the funeral, and at this point I am crying too hard to write any more. Death is a part of life, I realize that. I know that it was my dad's time to go. My belief in God and His personal relationship and knowledge of each human on earth has given me comfort. My knowledge of the Atonement of Jesus Christ has given me comfort. For some reason, my dad needed to die. I miss him everyday. I pray for him often.

His last words were "I'm just curious," a fitting way to end a life full of joy, laughter, learning, and curiosity. 

"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? ... But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Corinthians 15: 55,57

Signing out,

Mandie

In Response to "A YSA Bishop Talks to the Sisters About Intimacy"

I was hoping that I would never, ever have to read the article titled "A YSA Bishop Talks to the Sisters About Intimacy" again after it first surfaced in 2013. Unfortunately, my Facebook feed brought it back to me. I decided to read it again, after an almost three year rest. My reaction was one of sadness, sickness, and fear for the beautiful men and women who are exposed to these teachings. I had to write a response. Link here: http://ldsmag.com/article-1-13519/#.VlOQthiCGac.facebook

Before I begin, let me tell you that I read the companion piece for the brethren as well, and I felt the need to respond even more after reading it.

Ladies, let me be clear. You are not a beautiful object to be gaped at or possessed. You are a thousand things more than beautiful. Being perceived as pretty is nice! Believe me, I know. If I didn't think it was nice to be called pretty I wouldn't be typing this in nice pants with some lipstick smeared on my mouth. If I didn't care about looking good, I would be in leggings, a t-shirt, and showering would be an urban myth for me. So yes, being beautiful and feeling good about yourself is so great. BUT it is not the only thing about you. This YSA bishop mentions how our figures have been painted, sculpted, and described by poets for centuries. For men, they are described in history books for their "power, strength, war, dominance, intellect, or virility." Can we stop and think about how wrong this is? Haven't there been powerful, smart, and awesome women in history? 

The point I'm trying to make is that you, ladies, are so much more that beautiful. You can do and be anything that you want to be. You are not just objects to be possessed and caressed.

The next section is titled "On Being a Woman." There is nothing wrong with this section as it just quotes The Family: A Proclamation to the World.

The section after is the one that makes my skin crawl. It is titled "How Men See You." He begins this section with the age-old phrase "men and women are simply different." Absolutely, men and women are physically different. But stating that men and women absolutely process and think about things in an exact way is insulting. I do not like it when other people assume that because I am a woman, I love all things pink and frilly. Likewise, not all men like monster-trucks and G.I. Joe. All humans process things differently and that process can be affected by hormones, sleep habits, and whether the milk you had with that bowl of cereal this morning was just over the expiration date.

Therefore, it is extremely offensive to men when this article says "what men see they want to possess," and "the brethren ... cannot help but look." I think that men are much more than sex creatures who can't control themselves when they see a nice figure. They have brains, right? Brains that can control their bodies, right? They can understand that a bare shoulder or knee is not "an invitation to touch, to enjoy," right?

I want to be very clear with this. A person should be modest because they have made a personal commitment, and a commitment with God, to be so. The motivation should not be because they are afraid that someone else might be tempted by them. Let's face it. Temptation exists. For example, if I see a guy walking past in some nice church slacks and I am like "dang, look at that booty," by the logic of this article, the guy in the nice slacks was not being modest because I noticed a nice bum. So shame on him, right? And because I found his bum attractive, I can just go up and give him a nice goose, right? NO. Obviously, no. 

Now, in the article for the males, this bishop does tell them "We are not responsible generally for what passes by our eyes unless we’re in a place where we shouldn’t be. But, we are responsible for what we linger on, lust upon, and then act upon." Yes. This is right. Learn to filter. Women have to do it too. Later, though, he tells them that the excuse "how she was dressed was a come-on" is not valid. Which is awesome, but he follows it with "whether that is true or not." This, and the article for the sister's, undermines every kind of principle of consent. It encourages victim blaming. It is just harmful altogether. 

Before I wrap up, I want to speak to the human race in general. If you are sexually assaulted, harassed, or abused in any way, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. It is not because of what you were wearing, what you were drinking, or where you were. It is the fault of the terrible, terrible person who decided to do an awful thing. Again, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. If you didn't consent, they are the guilty party. 

One other thing I want to mention: There is a part in the article where he mentions Sandra Bullock and how her husband cheated on her. This story is under the title "Honor His Priesthood," and he later tells the sisters the "God is counting on you to marry well," as if a cheating husband is somehow the woman's fault. If your spouse cheats on you, he is forsaking his own salvation, and you are guiltless. Just so you know.

I don't have any huge issues with the rest of the article. I think it is good that he pointed out that sex is a natural, and actually a good part of our nature. Sex is a sacred thing that is meant to not only create life, but bring two people close together. He talks about keeping the law of chastity. Ok. Fine. Just please, YSA Bishop. Stop the cycle of victim-blaming. Encourage both sexes to be modest in dress, thought, and action. 

I think his intentions were pure, but many of the ideas he shared are harmful. Remember that modesty is a commitment between you and God. Men are not sex monsters, women are not trophies. We are all children of God. Let's treat each other like it.

Signing out,

Mandie

About Grief and Love

It's finally time for me to write about my dad.

He died a little over two years ago, and it is crazy to believe. I didn't write about him then because the hurt was too recent and the summer too hectic. Funeral plans, Oakcrest, applying for jobs, and eventually going back to school with a full work load. That first year was rough.  It was easier because I was a hundred miles away from my childhood home and I was swamped with school. During the summer, I allowed myself to be distracted from my grief by putting everything I had into being a counselor. During the school year, I allowed myself to be distracted by friends, homework, practicing, and Netflix. Then I would come home for a weekend and my dad's absence would be staring me right in the face. Looking back, I was coping in my own way. I wish that I had confronted my grief earlier. I wish that I had told myself that it was okay to feel sad and alone and angry.

Anger is what I remember most from the first few months. I was angry at my dad for leaving, my friends for not learning from his loss like I did, and my family for grieving differently than I did. Mostly, I was angry at God for letting it all happen. Luckily, that last bit didn't last for long, but the rest of the anger did. I was especially upset when people would say things to me to try to make me feel better. Some people were really good at it. Others were not. They would say things like "Only the good die young," (so my dad would have lived longer if he had just sinned a little more?) "Time heals all wounds," (so in twenty years I won't care about my dad's death at all?) "At least you have the gospel. It's so much harder for those who do not." (I can't fit all my thoughts about this phrase in one parenthetical statement.) At that time, I didn't want to hear that it would be okay and that everything happens for a reason. I wanted to scream and cry and have a temper tantrum and say it wasn't fair. I wasn't interested in logic. I just wanted my dad.

Two years later, I realize that comments like that are made from concern, and because people don't know what to say to a grieving person. I recently saw that the mom of a friend I had last semester had passed from cancer. I wanted to private message my friend and tell her so many things, but in fear of offending her or saying the wrong thing, I stayed silent. Even I, someone who lives with grief daily, didn't know what to say to a newly grieving person.

I remember my dad's funeral. I did not want to see my dad. I wanted to close the casket as soon as possible. Because this body laying there was not my dad. My dad was in the books at home, and in the suit-coats that still hung quietly in his closet. He was in his poetry, and in his music. He was in all of his hats and in the canes that he used to poke kids with in church. He was in every loving word given to us while we meandered through that church and that chapel. He was in the countless hugs we received that day*. And my dad is not in a grave in the Salt Lake Cemetery. He is here when our special song starts playing. He is here when we are all cooking together or when we are celebrating birthdays and holidays. That doesn't mean that I still don't miss him terribly. I want him to be there when I go through the temple, when I get married, when I have my first baby (and any that come after), at all my children's baby blessings and baptisms and other milestones. I have accepted now that he will not be there physically and it still breaks my heart that I won't get to do a daddy-daughter dance at my wedding reception or call him on the phone or tell him that I love him and hear it back.

I miss my dad so much. No person or thing could ever fill the gap that is in my heart for him. But everyday I get stronger and I am more able to carry this burden of grief.

(As long as one and one is two, there will never be a daughter loves her father more than I love you.)

Thanks for reading.

Signing out,

Mandie

*In a funeral setting, the person who was closest to the deceased gets to determine how long the hug will be. If you cannot tell who was closest, rock-paper-scissors will suffice for a decision.

Dissenting Votes at LDSGenConf2015

It has been a while. I have been working on a few posts, but life has gotten so busy that I haven't had time to post them! Also, now I only feel compelled to write when there is a controversial issue. I have very strong opinions and sometimes I get scared about how my fellow-men will react to them. This topic is something that I feel very strongly about. These are my opinions. Feel free to disagree. 

During the Saturday Afternoon session of #LDSGC2015, sustaining votes were cast. This is my favorite part of conference. Even though I am sitting in my room in Logan, UT with a towel in my hair, I love that I can raise my right hand and show my support for God's modern day prophets. As many of you witnessed, some people present in the conference center cast opposing votes.

I do not have a lot of experience with opposing votes. Today's display is the first example I have ever seen of someone opposing the sustaining of our general authorities. So I did a little research about today's events, and opposing votes in general.

First, the actual group whose members attended the meeting is called "Any Opposed?" From what I can tell, all the members are LDS. In my understanding, they feel like the general authorities have no real way of knowing if someone disapproves of their teachings and actions except at general conference. More information about them can be found here: http://anyopposed.org/about/. 

Now, as for actual dissenting votes and their place in the church, I have a little information. The best scripture I have seen on this issue is D&C 26:2. "And all things shall be done by common consent in the church, by much prayer and faith, for all things you shall receive by faith. Amen. " Also see D&C 28:13. It is the right of each member of this church to express themselves. One of the things about this church and gospel that I love is our encouragement to ask questions. We are never (supposed to be) told to "just accept" something because a general authority has said it. I understand that this has happened, and that makes me sad. My parents taught me to use my brain, to think about principles, and to find out for myself, just as Joseph Smith did as a 14 year old boy (JSH 1:20). Our entire religion is on the earth today because someone asked a question, and wasn't quiet about his answer! 

I know many people are upset by those who cast their dissenting vote at today's general conference. They do not know why they would even attend. To them I pose these questions: Is not the gospel for everyone? Should we not try to love others despite their different opinions? I think the church handled the situation perfectly today. The dissenting votes were "noted," and those who cast them were encouraged to follow church policy. The people who chose to express their opinions were not asked to leave or threatened. They remained in their seats, and most likely stayed for the rest of the meeting. 

Now, I agree that the shouting was unnecessary and pretty disrespectful. The church has a system in place so that they can see and listen to members' opinions. By shouting "opposed!" I feel like they lost a lot of credibility. Even so, I still support the agency of those who live on this earth. These people used their agency to express themselves. Their methods were unorthodox, but again I say that they have a right to express how they feel. This does not necessarily mean that anything will change. God's commands do not change to the shouts of men (and women).

I sustain our prophet and all of his counselors. I believe that they receive direct inspiration from God. I believe that they are good men who are doing their best to follow God's laws. I believe that God reveals things to us line upon line, and precept upon precept. There are some things that I don't understand, but I believe that I will someday. This is revelation that I have found for myself, through asking questions and having a sincere desire to find the answers. I encourage you to go out and find that truth. Go out and figure out what is truth; I don't know if your truth will be the same as mine. Even so, I will still love you. 

Remember that we are all children of God and He knows us individually. He knows me, He knows you, and He knows those people who cast their votes - for or against - today at the conference center. God loves all of His children equally, and He gives us the opportunity to choose and use their agency. 

In the words of that one movie that just came out, "Have courage, and be kind." Anger does not serve us well. Remember who is in charge. Everyday I am working on becoming the person that the Lord wants me to be. I will never be perfect on this earth, but that's okay! Nobody else will be either.

Signing out,

Mandie

A Little Update, A Lot Feminism

Hello! It's been a while! You know, taking 18 credits and working 20 hours a week makes it so blogging doesn't happen as often as it should.

Life is good. School is good. Work is good. Family is good. My cat died, which is no good. But it's Thanksgiving! I was thinking to myself, and wondering what I was grateful for this year. And then I realized:

I'm grateful for FEMINISM.

*gasp* What a scary word!

I am here to declare it to the world. I AM A FEMINIST! I believe in gender equality. I know, I'm probably making most of the conservative "I read Matt Walsh more than I read the Bible" people I know have an aneurysm. But I don't care. I am a feminist. I need feminism. You need feminism. Let me explain.

One of the most common misconceptions is that feminism is man-hating. NO! Emma Watson recently addressed this issue in her speech to the UN. Feminism, in it's true form, is not about hating or resenting men. Granted, I think there are some women out there who do feel this way, but they are not the majority. Of all the feminists I know, not one of them hates or resents the male species. In fact, they all love and respect both sexes for who they are.

So what is feminism? Well first, it's not some organization that you sign up for and three weeks later you get a badge and a framed certificate with bold letters stating "WELCOME TO FEMINISM. NOW GO BURN YOUR BRA." It is a state of mind. If you believe that men and women are equal (notice my wording here, I said equal, not identical) then you are a feminist. If you think the still widespread attitudes about rape and rape victims are despicable, then you are a feminist. If you think that using sex as a way to sell products is disgusting, then you are a feminist.

I want to talk about the word "equal" quickly. The biggest argument I hear against gender equality is this: "But men and women aren't equal. They are different for a reason." Wait. I think what you meant to say was that men and women aren't identical. I agree. But should/do those differences in sexual organs and hormones affect the way men and women are treated in the workplace? In social settings? In the home? Because I am not identical to my male colleagues and friends, I have to deal with cat-calling? I have to accept that the largest provider of scholarships for women in the United States is essentially a swimsuit competition? Because the sexes are not identical, men are discouraged from showing any "girly" emotion, and the men who have been sexually assaulted are not comforted and treated in the correct way because any sexual encounter should be considered a "triumph?" And both sexes have to deal with impossible body standards? Sounds a little ridiculous to me.

Now, another thing I hear from many people is that because I am a feminist, I am pro-abortion. Let me correct you. I believe that a person has the right to do what they will with their body. But, as soon as those actions affect another person, without their consent, that right stops. That's why I am against things like rape, murder, physical and emotional abuse, and yes, abortion. I have a strong belief that a baby is a human being from conception. Therefore, abortion is an action affecting that of another person without their consent. Thus, anti-abortion for me.

Here is another phrase I often hear uttered by my anti-feminist associates: "I want to be a stay-at-home mom. If I am feminist, I can't do that." FALSE. FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE! I want to be a stay-at-home mom! I would love to stay home with my kids, and watch them grow and learn. And I have that choice. I can go to work, I can stay at home. I can travel around the world in 80 days. My options are open, because of feminism. Men need those choices too. If a man wants to be a stay-at-home dad, let him. If he wants to be a super successful career man, let him. If he wants to travel around the world in 80 days, let him. Are you getting my point? Feminism is about choices. About letting human beings choose what they want their life to be. If you want to sit around on the beach wearing nothing but a bikini, go for it. That is your choice. If you want to dress modestly, go for it. If you want to have reckless sex (with both parties consenting, and hopefully understanding the possible consequences), have at it. People who choose abstinence? Yeah, you too. Please.

*side note. Every time I typed the word "choices" I accidentally typed "choir." Can you tell what my passion is?

Here's the thing. We all need feminism. Because the backdrop for feminism is respect. If we all treat each other with respect, we wouldn't have all the gender issues that we do. That's why I'm grateful for this movement. Why wouldn't I be grateful for something that perpetuates equality and respect. Isn't that what we are all looking for?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Signing out,

Mandie

An Update on How Content I Am

Hey! It's been a while. A whole summer passed by and I completely forgot to update the internet on my life! So here we go!

This last summer was long, strenuous, and hot. But, I got my science classes out of the way, which means I officially was able to apply and be admitted into S.T.E.P. Which is awesome! I'm just that much closer to being a teacher! (Which still scares me a little, but also makes me want to jump around and hug trees.)

So here I am now. I moved! The apartment I was in was nice enough, but with my crazy schedule, I just needed a private room where I could go and unwind without any interruptions. I LOVE my new place. Not only do I have my own room, my roommates are great, the kitchen is big, I don't have to worry about utilities, AND there is a piano and an organ in my living room! This place pretty much has everything going for it.

And how am I paying for this great place, you ask? Oh, you know. A scholarship. Out of the WHOLE College of the Arts here at USU, I was chosen for this scholarship! I think maybe one other person got it too. I'm not sure.

So, now I start a new semester. Yeah, taking 18 credits, and working 15-20 hours a week, and preparing for a recital. My brain is going to explode. But, so far, all my classes seem pretty relaxed. I mean, there is Music History, which is always time consuming, but that is going to be my hardest class so far! Followed closely by Music Theory IV. The rest of my classes are going to be so much fun! I have great professors, great people, and a renewed pile of energy that I am just yearning to use on school work. Not only that, but I found a really expensive textbook online, and bought it for $5. That's right. $5. I am the queen of bargain hunting.

Now here is the kicker. The thing that inspired me to write this post. There was an unfortunate situation with my coworker, and it turns out that he will not be working with me this semester. That is not the happy part. That part is pretty sad, and we are all upset that he won't be with us. But, out of the ashes, a phoenix is born! I got a promotion AND a pay raise. I am now senior peer advisor, and will be in charge of training all our new advisors that we hire! I am so excited to get some new responsibilities!

Also, The Lord blesses me! Today, I was running late, and didn't have time to make myself lunch. I should do it the night before, but I forgot. Anyway, I was so hungry, when one of the staff assistants walks by with an extra taco, which she handed right to me! What a blessing that was, considering I still have to be on campus for another century today. 

Life is great. Plus I'm so busy now that I have a legitimate excuse for why I'm not going on dates.

God bless!

Signing out,

Mandie 

So Stop Asking

No. I am not getting married. I am not even close to getting married. I am not even close to finding someone who I could possibly marry. And, no, there is nothing wrong with me.

No. I am not going on a mission. I have prayed, and I have been told no. Just because I am not sacrificing a year and a half of my life does not mean that I am somehow unrighteous and that I am any less deserving of joy.

So stop asking.

Honestly, if there is one thing that bothers me about the culture that I live in, it is that young women seem to only have two options: marriage or mission. The two "M's." But those aren't the only two paths a person can take. Sure, I do want to get married, someday, and I may serve a mission at some point, maybe with my husband or something. But as of right now, I am getting an education. I am working, and learning, and sometimes dying a little bit. And that doesn't make me a bad person.

So stop asking.

I am 20 years old. Barely. I have a lot of life to live. Now, this isn't to say that marriage or a mission ends your freedom and your life. But it is to say that these are BIG steps in life, and I cannot be expected to make them when I barely have 20 years under my belt.

So stop asking.

I am not a crazy feminist lady because I want to have a career. I want to be a choir teacher. Is that so bad? No. It's ok.

So stop asking.

The bottom line is that The Lord has an individual plan for me. It is different than your's, or your sister's (unless I am your sister), or your neighbor's, or anyone else on this earth. Part of MY plan is to live in Logan, study music, and (hopefully) graduate. I know my path, at least for right now, because things change. I am happy with my life, who I am, and where I am going. My fate is between me and The Lord.

So stop asking.

Signing out,
Mandie