Sam's Club Secret-Agent-Dress-Shoppers

I went shopping for my homecoming dress today. Easier said than done--just ask my mother. You see, I live the by the principal of modesty. Sound like a joke in this world? Probably. But there is a method to this madness.

We, being the Latter-Day Saints, have a pamphlet titled For the Strength of Youth that spells out His standards for us teenagers, "Your body is God's sacred creation. Respect it as a gift from God, and do not defile it in any way. Through your dress and appearance, you can shoe the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ." It later says, "Ask yourself, 'would I feel comfortable with my appearance if I were in the Lord's presence?"

Not in them 'dresses', no! I had to really look at the tag to make sure they weren't shirts. And then if you were lucky enough to find one that went past your thighs, it was cut too low at the top. And don't even get me started on sleeves.

So finally we settled for a really cute red shirt and a grey skirt that reached my knees--and it looked cuter than all the dresses put together!

But, you must understand, this is more than a boring rule. Here, let me use another metaphore; street signs. You can think them as too limiting and disobey them for the sake of pleasure and get yourself in a wreck, or you can see them as a pointer towards safety and have a nice, comfortable ride.

When trying on a few dresses to see if they were really that bad--only to see that they were--I didn't like the feeling. Sure maybe they were cute but...ugh, I just didn't like it. I didn't feel like the daughter of that God I am and had this sick, twisted sense of worldly satisfaction creeping in--blagh!

When I wore the more modest outfit, however, I felt...pretty. Beautiful even. Not really vain, just deserving. Like I was clean and sure of myself and like I didn't need the world's sleazy styles to feel accepted--because I don't. And trust me, that was the feeling I was aiming for. That's what's going to make that dance enjoyable and fun is feeling sure of myself and feeling my Heavenly Father's approval.



Oh, and I guess I should mention my other motivation: I'm lucky enough to have a date who wouldn't have it any other way. He would've felt very uncomfortable if I had chosen the other options. It was the same with my dates to Prom and Sadie's. We have some amazing young men in our town!!



Haha, then there was the other part of the trip. I was assighned to watch my baby brother in the huge block of isles called Sam's Club. But this takes more than sight. It takes hearing, patience, sense of humor, optomism, imagination, fair physical health, good running shoes, loud hollering voice, list of excuses to tell those who question, and just about all you've got.



He wanted to play spies. So, deciding it was better than just yelling at him to slow down, I gradually got over myself and ducked practically into the freezer of frozen meat when 'someone was coming'--that someone being an employee. We then ducked behind each isle until the 'coast was clear' and then sprinted to the next one--even right in front of people--trumpeting the James Bond theme song the entire way until we found my mom.

It was great! I'm thankful for two little brothers who keep my life in perspective--one who keeps me in check and another who yanks me out of my comfort zone--and for parents who put up with all of it.

Dance Par-tay!!

I think every teenage girl who ever gets that pleading phone call to come and babysit has a different definition of the word. For some its simply, "great..." For others, its "Alright, ten bucks here I come!" And then there's those whose definition is in the word: babysitting. They click on the T.V. and make sure the kids are at least alive when their parents come home, yelling at them from behind their cellphones. As for me, it's an invintation to a party just waiting to happen.

I had to watch my baby brother the other day, for example, and we held yet another one of our many dance sessions. And, of course, what's a dance session without costumes?

(Those are the gym shorts I borrow from my other little brother by the way. I wasn't lying.)

I have a plethera of hats hanging on my wall and, I have to admit, this kid looks better in all of them than I do! He's lucky I love him so much.

This brings me to another subject: What I want to be when I grow up. When I was younger I, for whatever reason, ambitiously dreamed of being a zookeeper. That, however, has now been replaced by the thoughts of perhaps becoming an author or, if that bellyflops, an elementry teacher.

There is one dream, however, that hasn't changed. My preschool teacher had a whole pile of coloring pages of different occupations (e.g. fireman, ballerina, police officer, vet) but she didn't have mine. She tried to convince me to be something else--at least for the class time--but I was so determined of this that she eventually surrendered and went all the way back to her house to print out the picture I requested. (I know, kind of jerkish of me.)

What is that dream, you ask? Well, though the movie's a tad corny, I think the song illustrates it well...

Woo Hoo!! Thanks for your AWESOME example Mom!!!!!! Your the inspiration for this dream.

Pastries, Poles, and Parrelles

After this week I truly believe that everyday is an adventure just waiting to unfold. Why? Well, let's start with Monday...

I was still reeling from piano lessons where I had performed a song I had sort of remixed myself--while singing it--when I went back to pick up my little brother for school. Upon backing out of the driveway, looking right for cars, there was a sickening crunch!! from the left. Not even six days after getting my licence, ladies and gentlemen, and already my sidevew mirror now dangles off the side of my door like a banner warning all drivers of poles and their uncanny ability to leap out at people. And my little brother, always the optomist of the family, turned over to me stone-faced and said, "I can't believe your laughing. That probably cost like 500 bucks." Yes, I can always count on that kid to yank me back to reality. That's probably why he was sent to this family after me because someone decided I could use a daily dose of humble pie.
And then, still reeling from that, I opened my locker door at school to find a suspicious looking box of pasteries. Taking it out, I find a clever note asking me to the upcoming dance. Chortling to myself, I turned to see the young man in question, his Dad (who's a teacher) and his friend all right there.
Then I went to Seminary, where I tragically discovered I had forgotten my scriptures.

Later that week, we went to the fair where I fell into peer pressure and went on the zipper for the first time... I screamed my lungs out while he laughed his head off and by the time we got off I couldn't move my hands they were tingling so bad. But boy was it fun!!!!

Even later, I washed my poor car with my little brothers and learned the hard way never to give a four year old the hose. (I told my cousin--who's younger than me by three years--and she nonchalantly told me that should be a given. Make that two doses.)

So I was sitting in the car yesturday, staring out the window, and thinking of what to write this week when I began to see parrellels in some of these stories. And, as you can probably tell, I just love parrallels!

The car story, I've decided, can sort of represent us. Let's face it, life has poles...and curbs, and trees, and signs, and, in some cases, garage doors that just seem to jump out at us when we least expect it. We get scratched, scraped, bumped, dented, and broke and there comes the option of going to a mechanic to fix us up. But how many of us actually do it? How many of us are do-it-yourselfers and simply refuse to get professional help? Or do we simply throw 'this worthless peice of junk' in the garage to rot?
This may work in our financial life, but spiritually...not so much. How many of us, wrecked maybe even to what may seem beyond repair, try to shift into drive anyways or simply throw ourselves out? I know I've done it. But oh the joy and ease and comfort that comes from going to the mechanic--the ultimate quicker-fixer-upper for our lives no matter how dented or twisted up they may be. And if you've only knocked off your little rearview mirror than great! The fixing--or healing--process will be a lot less long and painful. If you've downright accordianed yourself, caught on fire, and wore-out your airbags, then all the more reason to go! Trust me, coming unto Him will be worth the trip!

And there's no problem, malfunction, or scratch He can't fix. And there's no garage, in His eyes, worthy to captivate anyone of His unique models.

Scriptural Thought

I learned this skill of sharing and bearing in Seminary; let's see how well I can pull it off.

One of my favorite scriptures is 1 Kings 19: 11-12, "...And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire," (here comes my favorite part), "a still small voice."

It is my personal belief that, contrary to the general claim, the Lord is not neccesarily in the Hurricane Katrinas, Chile's earthquakes, or even the Rodeo-Chediski fires. Rather, He's in the volunteers that come to help afterwards. He's in each hygiene-kit, handmade quilt, and can of peaches. Every hug and miracle of survival as well. He is the still small voice of comfort that whispers of hope and the first flower that sprouts from the ashes to illustrate it.

Let us remember our loving creator and count the blessings he gives us rather than complaining about them.

Hoppin in the Shower

I love showers. You step in all gritty and grimy and half-asleep like a mummy out of it's wrappings of blankets and step out like a high-quality freshly-steamed vegetable, all impurities left behind and ready to face the world!

There are also various activities that accompany this setting--all of which I reccomend. 'Serronating the showerhead' as my dear friend (and fellow writing nerd) put it, is always fun. And if you have a bad case of stage fright, I assure you that most showerheads are lousy critics. It doesn't matter if you hit that high A or not, they'll just kindly keep doing their job. So go for it, rock that Journey, belt that Josh Groban, spur that country (y'all), or, if your still a kid at heart, yell that Backyardigan's theme song. And if anyone happens to walk past the bathroom door...well, there's your chance at a singing contract so you'd best make it stick.

And then there's pondering. I don't know about you, but I've had a ton of inspirations seep

through those floral curtains. I've had story ideas, solutions to problems, prompts for new posts ;), and the list goes on. It wouldn't surprise me if the Gettysburg Adress came about by President Abraham Lincoln taking his morning wash-down. It's amazing! (And it's probably the shampoo.)

There's also gargling. Of course, this might go under the singing catagory depending on your style, but if you get good enough at it, I'm sure it can be considered it's own art.

And just standing there. It always baffled me that my little brother, who has to do nothing but run some soap through his hair, took fifteen whole minutes longer than me-and I have a whole process of cleaning I go through. I finally asked him what in the world he did and he told me he just stands there. Enjoys the warm water running down his back. Loves being a raisin. And if that's your mug of hot chocolate then cool! This world's not complete without a couple of raisins--as long as I don't have to pay your water bill.

Oh yeah, and there's getting clean. You know the drill: shampoo, conditioner, face scrubs, body washers, shaving cream--the works. It's a good thing to be clean. And even if you don't agree, I'm sure you're classmate or co-worker does.

And don't even get me started on bath towels.