"Laffoon, I'm afraid I've been thinking." "A dangerous past time." "I know" (what movie?)

I have an amazing grandma who's basically a health expert and chiropractor without a license. She's the go-to person whenever anyone in my family has a crick in the neck, a pounding head, or even a stomach ache. It's pretty nice. Something I'll probably miss when I go to college.

 But lately whenever I go to her nothing works. She once worked on me for about an hour and fourty-five minutes and as soon as I walked out of her door I felt everything just go back to how it was. It was pretty frustrating for both of us and the last time I went she finally exclaimed,

"You're like a puzzle! I can't seem to figure out what the problem is!" Which is saying something. I've never known her to not know some strange massage or health pill that won't do the trick. She usually even knows the cause of these aches so I asked her what she thought. Her reply, "High levels of concentration. It's messing up your whole system."

In other words, I think to much. That, of course, got me thinking some more. I went through my whole day and discovered she was right.

I woke up and mentally ran through what I needed to do that day. Then I went running and had a knack for making up my own music videos in my head to the songs on my iPod (I know, weird). After that I took a shower and then read my scriptures. I usually spend a good fifteen minutes on this because at EFY I learned how every verse has a cool lesson if you'll look for it.  Then I eat breakfast and usually write. This includes planning my storylines, deciding on how certain characters would react, finding clever ways to use words, deciding what parts I needed and what parts I didn't, and the like. Sometime in the day I usually practiced piano which involves thinking as well.

Basically, my mind is running full speed all day. I think its one of the reasons I talk to myself when I'm alone because those thoughts have to go somewhere. It's also why sometimes I can't go to sleep right away.

Sadly, though, it doesn't just go into hobbies. It also tends to flood into how I can improve myself. This, by itself, isn't a bad thing at all. But when you think as much as I do, things can get a little complicated. When I mess up, I think about it and think about it and think about it until I've turned a small splotch into a huge puddle. That, of course, leads to me being too harsh on myself. So then part of me tries to make me feel better and its just turns into a huge confusing battle that makes my head hurt. And only then do I start thinking about thinking too much.

It wasn't until my grandma said something that I realized how bad it was really getting. It wasn't just hurting my head, it was giving me stomach aches and knocking my spine out of whack. I was also reminded of my anxiety attacks in track that came from all of this with the physical excertion of track practice on top.

My Mom told me I needed to do more things that would let my poor brain unwind. The thing that came to mind was videogames. That, of course, found me at a store handing over thirty bucks for a new Nintendo DS game snickering to myself, "It's for my health."

But, obviously, video games don't solve much. Frightening enough, I was reminded of how closely knit the body and spirit are. It was afraid it was even beginning to do a number on my testimony.

And then my friend finished her personal progress. Funny how things that hardly relate totally relate. Our plan was to wait until we were all finished and then get our recognition medallions together. So I decided to go through my pamphlet just to doublecheck that I had done everything like I remembered. I had to look through my journal to do this.

Inside were sloppily, yet excitedly, written entries that seemed to advance with each page. The first few, written when I was twelve, were a little skeptic and general. And then they got a little deeper as my testimony began to grow. And then they got excited and full of smiley faces, flowers, and about fifty underlines underneath the phrase, "I know my Savior lives." They were simple, hopeful, and the thoughts I had thought when I wrote them somehow  found their way to my mind again. I began to feel the love my Heavenly Father had and the joy he felt as I wrote those things down as a goofy, scrawny, yet cheerful little fourteen-year-old.

But the point that came across to me the most was that they were simple. I knew, I tried my very best, and the Lord would do the rest. It seemed to be a common theme of faith throughout the whole thing.

After that, and a silent prayer of thanks, I decided to go on a walk. A walk to, stubbornly, think. I came to the realization that the way my brain worked was a gift. Good to an extent. Its what helped me make relations to weird stuff and then post it on this blog. It was what helped me make my English teacher snicker at my more-entertaining-than-educational essays. It allowed me to come up with relating quotes and scriptures I'd read before whenever I was in Seminary, making the lesson a little deeper.

But then I also realized that, though it was a gift, too much of a good thing can be bad. Summer was coming to and end soon and He knew I'd be getting caught up in college and scholarships and homework. Perhaps, before all this, there was one more lesson he wanted to squeeze in this summer.

To have a little more faith in Him and His redeeming power and not...think so much.

Dancing Queen...or something.

This week, at the expense of myself, I'm going to illustrate something I've learned this week. (Can you tell I write these on Sundays? :)

I guess I'll start with a comment a couple of my friends made awhile back about the whole being someone's hero and someone else's idiot. And so the discussion started. Which was I really? What side did I lean more towards? The final conclusion was that I was a heroic idiot.

The next discussion I wanted to start was whether that was a compliment or not. Either way, for some reason this kept running through my head as I mingled with my peers at a dance this weekend. I'm kind of a dancing-aholic. A dancing nerd, if you will. I don't think I've missed a church dance since I first turned fourteen, though they play a lot of the same songs. And, if you read the lawn mowing post, that kind of got a little...redundant. So, of course, I had to mix it up.

Good Intention #1: Jumping Into Random Circle of People I Don't Know.

I've come to realize I think I'm immune to cliques. That's probably because I really don't see myself fitting into either of them so I just kind of consider myself in all of them. Anyways, Good Intention #1 started out really clumsy. I got a couple people's names and then got closed out of the circle. So I kind of hovered outside for awhile and then got in only to be closed out again. But finally someone else came to stand around and, after I decided to get his name, eventually got a swing-dance session out of it. Though I did most of it wrong and ended up getting dropped on the ground,  it was a blast!

Good Intention #2: Finding a Wallplant to Dance With

I know it's technically the guys' job to ask, but with the way my brain works, I usually can't stand in the same place for very long and wait for them. Don't get me wrong, I love when it happens. Its just a matter of...well, I just need to learn relax a bit I guess. As my mom said today, "Turn the Annelie volume down" (and if your reading this blog, I'm afraid its blaring.)

Anyways, so I made my way all the way to the otherside of the dance floor and found a guy leaning up against a wall more in the shadows. So, of course, I asked him to dance. He seemd a little uneasy at first, but it worked. It was really fun to see his bored face turn into a smile and to just meet a new person. And later I saw him several times in the middle of the dance and was able to say hi to him. I'd made a new friend!

Good Intention #3: Telling the DJ to Change a Bad Song

It's a church dance. I always feel like a hypocrite when I say I'm going to a church dance and then some ugly, stomach-clenching line comes blasting through the entire church building. In this case it was a parking lot, but still.

I've been meaning to do this for a long time, I've just never got up the courage. For some reason though, this time I was determined. I even told my more media-rounded friend that he was supposed to tell me when one of those songs came on so I could. That look he gave me still makes me wish I hadn't said anything, but at lenght, one came on and I finally found myself stumbling over to the DJ. I immediatly began mumbling.

"What?" he turned to me and asked over the music.

"I...you...could you change the song?"

"Why?" he asked, looking out at the dancing masses.

"Um...it's not...it's not good. Morally good, that is."

He gave me a doubting look, "What does it say?"

My shoulders slumped, couldn't he just trust me? So I described the meaning of the song and his eyes widened, "Oh! Ok, I will. Thanks, I appreciate that."

So is it alright to feel that warm fuzzy feeling and that 'you are such a goody-two-shoes Molly Mormon, let loose for once' feeling at the same time?

Good Intention #4: Interupt Guy Socializing With No One but His Cell Phone and Ask Him to Dance

This one really wasn't that amazing. He seemed a little bored with me through the whole thing, but I just kind of laughed and was just glad to know that I had the courage to do it.

Good Intention #5: Recommend the Hokey Pokey

"Hey, you should do the Hokey Pokey."

"The what?" he took off his headphones.

"The Hokey Pokey."

He gave me a strange look, "The what?"

"The Hokey Pokey!"

"One more time."
"The! Hokey! Pokey!" This was hard enough as it was!

"The Hokey Pokey."

"Yes."

"...I'll...think about it."

That was considerate DJ talk for "No. That's a dumb song. Now quit wasting my time kid."

Good Intention #6: Ask Lonely Younger Kid to Dance.

"Hey, you wanna dance?"

"No."

I guess my point is that not everything is going to be as flawless as we may intend. I get really hyper at dances so these weren't the only half-awkward moments I created. But a lot of times I get stuck on those little things. The little flaws in what was supposed to be something selfless or noble. Something bold or just cool. I can get so focused on them, that I don't see the rest of the results and I have a tendancy to think because of that one little slip-up, the entire thing was messed up.

But this weekend I was beginning to realize sometimes its just the fact that I attempted. The Lord knew very well the weakness of my hands, but he also knew the intentions of my heart. Its those intentions, and a pinch of faith, that allow him to make us more than we are, to strenghten our hands. So though we may feel a little awkward at times,or clumsy, or loud, or whatever else, if we give that heart full of intentions all to Him, we have no reason to fear. He can help. Or, in aweomse scripture terms...

Ether 12: 27 -- And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

So even if your like me, the 'heroic idiot' who comes racing to the rescue only to trip themselves in the process, don't worry. If you're willing to listen, the Lord will remind you that you just need to tie your shoelaces.

The Healer

So today all I really have is a poem. It's really not anything deeply artistic, just a bunch of rhyming lines. But it was inspired by a testimony meeting where my cousin (Hi Alicia!) bore her testimony on how, no matter how small our problems are, the Lord is more than willing to help us solve them.

So here goes...

There once was a man who dwelt on a hill

Who could mend all the infirmities at his will.

This gift he offered to those below

If they would come, their wounds show.

There fast from his door grew a long line

Of those weary with problems of every kind.

Said the first at the door,

"My head is 'come sore.

For I have puzzled for hours on end

Over a complex and tedious business amend."

So the healer calmed his troubled mind

And gave him some advice to daily unwind.

Second was a villian of many sorts

Who'd made friends with the wrong kind of sports.

"Heal my scars, marks of my evil deeds."

And so He gave him exercises to fulfill these needs.

After him, up stepped a lonely mother.

"Please heal my heart. It's all a'smother.

I've lost my two children and, in life, my place."

He told her to visit often, with tears down his face.

And so it continued, each wound deeper than the one before.

And a boy in the middle began to find his own wound a bore.

"Who am I to bother this man and come?

For I have only a cut on my thumb.

It bothers me so, but I think I can live.

These people's problems are much more plaintive."

So the boy started his downhill climb

Convinced his tiny problem was a waste of time.

But the healer saw him step out of line

And beckoned, "Come, little friend of mine."

Startled, the boy turned back and

Trusting the voice, came back to stand.

The healer gently the cut brushed

And, at its insignificance, the boy blushed.

"I'm glad you came to me," the healer said,

"For even a small cut can become infected.

The longer you leave it, the worse it may get

A wound is a wound, and don't forget

In the end all need healing, and you'll see

That healing a small cut is simply more easy."

Girl's Camp, according to Annelie

As a lot of you know, last week was Girl's Camp. My last year of Girl's Camp. And I'd feel like I was neglecting it if I didn't reminisce a little--especially for how eventful it was!

This year, due to forest fires, we didn't get our 'camping' luxuries of cabins, showers, bathrooms, a huge eating lodge, and a speaker system. We actually had to camp this time. Tents, port-a-potties and all!

I really didn't mind. The place had a zipline! And swings! I rushed through the decorating (as us girls always do, no matter where we are) and made for the zipline. I had a few followers who came along to tell me as soon as I gripped the rope chair that I was going to die. I was the first one there to try the thing. But I was too excited to really worry about that. So I plopped myself down and pushed off.

I laughed out loud as my speed picked up. And it just kept picking up. Eventually I realized this thing had to come to an end. And still I went faster. Finally I spotted a pair of trees directly ahead of me where the cable ended, and I still was a few feet from touching the ground. I smiled nervously. Surely the people who'd made this thing had had people's physical health in mind. Maybe those people watching me up there had a point. Maybe they should speak at my funeral.

Then suddenly something jerked me back. The entire chair went flying into the air towards the cable and I screamed. It then swung back, bouncing backwards until I could touch the ground.
Needless to say, that wasn't the last time I went on it.

Next stop was the swings. It was a huge pole that all eight or so swings swung around. I soon got tired of plain sitting and switched to my belly, super-maning it around in circles until I lost my shoe twice and felt my lunch joining it.

But what happened next seems to be what everyone remembers. First it began sprinkling. Then raining. Then pouring. Then hailing.

And that, my friends, is where girl's camp's version of 'toughing it out' ended. We dug trenches around tents in the middle of the hailstorm to keep them from flooding but some unlucky groups pitched theirs at the bottom of the hill. I think one even caved in, which doesn't surprise me. My friend Sara has welts on her arms from it. Ask her, she'll gladly show you :)

So after all of that excitement, we all gathered into the tiny lodge where we would have our last devotional before packing. At first the leader teaching us went along the lines of our couldn't-be-more-fitting theme "Enjoy to the End." Then she shared the story of Christ walking on the water and Peter trying to do the same to meet him. He succeeded at first, but as soon as he turned his eyes away from the Savior and to the crashing waves, he doubted and began sinking. She pointed out how the Savior caught him and how He can do the same for us when we feel lost and overwhelmed by the trials in our lives, if we only take his hand.
It was a really, really good lesson that I wish I could record better. But what I most remember is when I tried to apply it to myself. I really didn't have many external trials in my life at this point. The only trials I really had were due to my dumb choices and the doubt or confusion that came with them.

So, as I usually do, I got thinking. Peter was awesome! He actually walked on the water for a few minutes before falling. What if it was someone like me? Someone who foolishly leapt off the boat and into the waves because they, for whatever reason, thought they could do it on their own? In other words, what if I brought my trials upon myself? Would the Lord still be as willing to save me?

The lesson went on and as it did, this image formed. There I was, half-drowning in the middle of the sea and wondering what ever possesed me to leave the boat in the first place. I was frightened, confused, lost. How could I have been so stupid?
 And then those familiar sandals came into view. I felt relieved and horrible at the same time. The Savior was walking atop the water towards me. He reached out a hand towards me and I humbly took it, immediatly making a million apologies for whatever I had done. But He cut me off by pulling me into a tight embrace, tears beginning to run down his face.
"Don't ever do that again," He muttered, "No matter how you fall into the water, I don't want you drowning."

***

The rest of camp was at the stake center. We ate more food than should be allowed in one day and did all kinds of fun activities including duct-tape purses, a lip-sync, and splashing each other with water. But, of course, we ended with another devotional and a testimony meeting. It was then that I realized I was one of the big kids. I watched as girl's I'd known since they were twelve come up and testify of truths that showed they were growing up.

And that was only confirmed by 'the box'. If you attened Girl's Camp for the whole six summers in a row, you get 'the box'. Its a pretty, wooden oval thing that no one really knows what to fill with, but its just one of those must-haves. I'm almost afraid to know if anyone snapped pictures while they handed me mine because I'm sure I had a weird look on my face.

Remember the girl on the zipline and losing her shoes on the swings? Yeah, 'the box' was something only the big girls got. I wasn't a big girl! I was short! I still enjoyed a good game of Barbies! I loved dressing up and ham & cheese sandwiches in the summer! I loved kazoos, bubblewrap, and dancing while folding the laundry. I didn't have a job, I knew as more VeggieTale lines than I did celebrities' names, and a lot of those shady jokes that were said in class still flew right over my head. For heaven's sake, I could hardly even drive! This isn't at all how I remembered the tall, pretty girls who I watched get 'the box' when I was little.

But then I guess maybe growing up can come in many ways. I did know a ton more than I did before. I was generally more mature. My testimony had grown and was more solid than I thought was possible for me at this point. I'd gone through experiences both succesfully and unsuccesfully. I'd developed my talents. I'd made new friends. And, thanks to a mother who followed a prompting to send her daughter to EFY, I'd been able to be a part of changing someone's life.

And by the Young Women's symbol engraved on the lid, I could tell that it was those things that made you old enough for some of the things in life, including 'the box.'

He Healed the Blind

Lately I've been noticing something. Everytime an opportunity for me to serve comes, its usually towards someone I have judged wrongly or been a little irked by. It serves me right too. But whether its rumors, the general attitude of others around that person, their appearance--whatever petty thing I foolishly blind myself with--the opportunity to serve them comes along. And believe me, its never a coincidence.

I'll usually be in the middle of whatever I'm doing, just sort of doing it passively and deciding what to do when I get home, when someone takes me by the hand and causes me to look up.

"Follow me," my Savior smiles down at me, "I want to show you something."

And so I follow Him. He gently leads me, or at least my gaze, towards that person, "Look," he says, bending to my level and gesturing towards them. It will usually be something small. They'll smile or laugh. They'll give a hearty thanks or I'll notice something beautiful about them I hadn't before. A lot of times it will be something I remember them doing or saying a while back.

"You see that?" He asks excitedly, "I love that smile. I created that smile; one of my best works."
It was a beautiful smile! Why hadn't I seen it before?

"And look over there," he directs me towards another soul I was blind to, "Remember how she holds the door for everyone?" his eyes sparkle with soft humor, "That's one of my favorite things about her."
I sighed, seeing only a glimpse of her true beauty.

"And him," he gently grabs my shoulders and turns me around, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion, "You have no idea about him. Not many people do. Please don't let those thoughts and gossip get in the way; You would be missing out on one amazing person."

I hang my head in guilt, but then someone else comes skipping along. He grins through his tears and turns back around. I follow,  "You can sense that happy spirit a mile away. You live close by, have you ever noticed it?"
Not as much as I could've...
"And him," He smiles with satisfaction, "You saw only a slice of his great nobleness last week. So what if he seems a little," he frowns,"'different'?"

By the end of it, I'm always wishing to be like the very people I was skeptic of. I carry on my service, knowing I could've gotten a whole lot more out of it if I had come with a better perspective.

Then after going home, I usually still feel really lousy. How could I be such a jerk? How could I be so blind? How in the world would I ever match up to them? They went through so much more than I did.

But then, after some repentence, that same hand grabs mine again.

"Follow me," He pulls me to my feet, "I want to show you some of my favorite things about you."