Yay for Track Meets!

And here is the sequal to last weeks post!

We had a track meet. In Pheonix. We left at 4:30 a.m. and didn't get back until 11:00 p.m. On the bright side, I finally mastered sleeping on the bus, got to read a deliciously huge chunk of Work and the Glory, and even finished writing a scene in one of my many stories I've been stuck on for a week now. That, and I got a tan.

I also managed to graciously become my friend's comedy center.

First off, I got that sudden shrinkage feeling that I always get when I go to places that have about as many teenagers present as my entire Jr./Sr. high school buildling can hold. The backs of my grubby shoes had been chewed by one of our dogs, my hair was in a simple ponytail with a few stubborn whisps falling out, my nose bragged quite the collection of freckles, and my teammates were chucking pebbles at pidgeons.

Heheh. 1A all the way.

Second off, I managed to drop one of those grubby shoes down in the bleachers. So, for reasons I can't recall, I put on my one shoe and tromped down to find its mate.

My step slowed as I realized there was a huddle of about seven dudes in my path, hanging out in the shade.

"Uhh," I muttered, suddenly remembering how undiligent I had been at shaving my legs, "Could you hand me my shoe please?"

They looked down at my footwear skeptically before assembly-lining it to me.
"Thanks," I grinned, stumbling to slip my foot back in.

"Well," I muttered to my friend, "Now that Cinderella has retrieved her slipper..."
"Yeah," she chuckled, "From seven Prince Charmings."

Thirdly, I dropped it again. I was just considering how much of a neccessity it really was, when one of them handed it up to me again.
"Your shoe," he growled.
"Aheheh, thanks. Sorry."

Fourthly, I missed my race. 800 meters in da trash. I had been stretching and warming up and talking to a few other girls during the first heat (there were 4. I was in the 2nd) when all of a sudden I heard a second gun shot.

Ah great, I thought. So, just to confirm my doubts, I tromped (I think tromping makes me feel more confident or something) over to the sunburnt guy who looked in charge.
"Was that the second heat?" I asked innocently.
"Yep."
I sighed, "Crap."
He only chuckled.

And so, without further ado, I tromped back to the bleachers, giggling at me and my "Annelieness" as my dear friends put it. (Translation: The fantastic skill of being consistently unaware, clumsy, and just plain silly.) But there was still someone to answer to...

"Um, Coach?"
"Yes?"
"I...er...I...missed my race. They are running right now."
I watched as his face suddenly broke into a huge smile and he let his forehead fall to his clipboard in laughter.
I smiled and began to laugh with him, immensly relieved. (Though I can garentee its going to haunt me for the rest of the season :)

Thank goodness for laughter! Thank goodness for gentlemen! Thank goodness for alert bus-drivers! and thank goodness for people-putter-uppers! I think I'd be an annoying headache on legs if it weren't for them.

(P.S. For all you who care, I did get third in the mile @ 6:55. I'm not a complete athletic failure :)

Practice Makes Perfect, right?

I believe I previously mentioned preparing for track in one of my posts. It's a good thing you folks only read my blog and allow me to do all the esplaining because, well...allow me to esplain some more.

could go on and on about how running three miles or doing sprints everyday for a couple weeks previous to practice payed off. I could blabber about how I'm even better than the last year I joined and how my scrawny Hansen calves (and no, I'm not reffering to cows for this one) have found their fight and propel me right on by those other runners.

But that would be lying. And lying is bad.

Actually, I've gone from keeping up with the senior guys my freshman year, to the last-person-to-trundle-in pitty clap this year.

Humbling? A tad.

But that's only the beginning. For one of the warm ups we were slowly lifting our legs over the hurdles as we walked by them. Not hurdling over them. Not jumping over them. Not even kicking over them. Just lifting.

And I biffed it. Yep. Hurdle clattered to the ground. I hopped around one leg for awhile. And my poor coach just shook his head.

Next warm up we had to cross the width of the football field by standing in place and jumping. I made it and was tempted to puff out my chest to myself a little--I hadn't lost balance.

"How many leaps did it take you?" my coach boomed to one of my teammates.
"17."
"Good. You?"
"17"
"18," the next groaned.
"16!"

And on down the staggered line. Thank goodness for staggardness because I think that's how he skipped me. It wasn't until he turned his back that I meekly turned to my friend and whispered, "24."

We weren't done yet. My athletic abilities still had another refining furnace to pass through: jumping back and forth over a cone.

I was so focused on not crumpling the wimply little thing that, to make up for it, my ankle caught and I crumpled myself. I giggled to, as I'd been doing the entire time, and got back up to take another stab at it. I tripped again, only bringing it with me.
Time was finally up.
"Alright, you spazzes who knocked them over, pick them up and let your partner try."

"Yeah," I tell people when they ask if I'm one the crazy people in track, "I'm there for the excercise.

Little Reminders

I love little kids! Perhaps its because I refuse to grow up myself. To some of you, this is no surprise. I've recently found the excuse of entertaining Seth to play Barbies and G-I Joes and the excuse of babysitting to watch an hour or two of veggietales. I still remember my favorite toy in preschool and still catch myself inspecting the display of prizes that come in McDonalds Happy Meals. I still miss recess and tend to not see the age-limit signs on playsets. My friends say that even my handwriting hasn't improved since the 3rd grade.

But there's another reason too: their simple outlook on life. It's the coolest thing ever! It's no wonder we were told to pattern our lives after them! Afterall, it's what answered some of my deeper, never-uttered prayers lately.

I've probably already wrote about this, but it seems at my stage in life you'll be up on your feet one moment and then flat on your face the next. Up and down. Welcome to the highschool theme park: they don't call our main ride the "Emotional Rollercoaster" for nuthin'.

I once heard a quote: "The Lord knows teenagers." Well, I'm certainly glad someone does because I certainly don't. It's just good to know that someone understands you and your problems even more than you do because, at this certain stage, I'm still trying to figure that out for myself.

Like this weekend. My baby brother wasn't feeling to great and my mom was busy fixing up our guest house for the new renters. He started crying so I went into his room to try and offer the little comfort I could. It wasn't much, so I turned to something else: "Would you like to say a prayer to help you feel better?"

Between sobs, he nodded, "Yes."

So he curled his little self up in his covers and, his voice thick with crying, said, "Heavenly Father, thank you that you can make me feel better."

He wasn't the only one in tears at that point. What faith! He already knew Heavenly Father would help him. His love is conditionless.

Though I didn't quite realize it, I had forgotten that.

The next day I had a birthday interview with my bishop. I was still wrestling with some other petty self-doubts while I sat and waited for him to finish interviewing another one of my peers, when I overheard a primary teacher from the other ward a few doors away.

"Okay guys, what are some things that make Heavenly Father happy?"

I could hear the small voice of a little girl, "going to school!"

Hey, I smiled, I go to school.

More volunteered, "Reading scriptures!"

"Making Mom and Dad happy." "Taking a nap!"

By this point my smile had grown to a grin.

"Very good. So do you guys know about the plan of salvation?"

A slightly-off chorus of "Yes!"s

"And what happens when we follow the plan of salvation? How do we feel?"

"HAPPY!!"

I chuckled aloud, but at the same time looked down at my hands. It's one of my tendancies to worry--a lot. Too much. It seemed lately I had been so worried about actually doing what I was supposed to do that I forgot the blessings that came from it. Like winning a race but then running right past the trophy table. I might have been doing what was right, but I was under the false impression that it required perfection. I had forgotten the simple truth that it 'made Heavenly Father happy' that I was even trying.

The bishop interview only reiterated these truths. I clumsily tried to thank him and I wanted to thank the primary teacher too but I wasn't about to interrupt her class and didn't have the half an hour needed for them to get out, so I simply thanked my Heavenly Father.

And I'll bet she didn't know there was some troubled adolescent outside of her classroom. She was just teaching that sunday's lesson to a rambunctious group of kids. I guess you never know how far your influence may go.

What was supposed to be waltzing...

Dancing is what I'd like to call a hobby of mine. I'm not official or anything. All I really do is crank up 'We Like to Party', throw on a goofy hat, and jump around my bedroom with my baby brother.
Does that count?
Either way, I love it! There's just something about it... I can't put my finger on it but what comes to mind is a quote from Elf, "Smiling is my favorite. You make me smile, that makes you my favorite."
There we go, dancing makes me smile. That's why it's one of my favorites. And that's why I decided to jump in on the church dance festival thingy.

I once joined a school dance team. Judging by practice last night, you wouldn't think so...

The dance partners were determined by where you happened to scramble into line after they said, "from the beginning!"

The partner I ended up with sent me ducking my pigtailed, little head in...silliness?...no, I don't know a good word for it. Just let me explain.

Okay so throw this guy in any card game, paintball war, sunday school lesson, or math tournament--he'll win. I went to prom with him and it didn't matter what game we played, he was the highest winner and I was the lowest loser.

I think my brain is deliberately right-sided (the creative side). Anything with rules, lines, strategies, or theroms just throws a wrench in the works. My brain just doesn't...get it. Math and science are most certainly not my fortes, just ask my lovely teachers. It's like if any stubborn block of dense information is taken before my brain and either it surrenders and takes up the creative banner, or its deliberately thrown on the 'when will I ever use this?' dungeon.
Like the other day in Human Anatomy we were learning about antibodies. It went something like this:

"Antibodies attack pathogens in many different ways. They can attack them directly,"

I suddenly had a mental picture of policemen with a big, red A on their hats tackling a villian with a big, purple P.

"Or they disembark their toxin parts."

The scene changed to the policeman handcuffing the villian and taking away his guns.

See? So in this dance thing we were learning a waltz. I hardly know my left from right and the difference between outside and inside turns and when to do them and what foot goes where and counting and...well, the whole package.

Luckily my partner did. I giggled awkwardly as I accidently spun the wrong directions until finally he grabbed me and spun me the right way. I tried to keep up with the footwork while walking backwards in a diagonal line (would you like me to also stand on my head?) and smiled apologetically when he had to push me back into place so the people behind us wouldn't plow us over. I sighed when I realized I was then going to fast and the shook my head when I learned not one, but three wrong ways to do a dip. I mean, it's one thing for a guy to do a dip wrong, but how does the girl?

That and the instructor pointed us two out very specifically on one of those darn turns! Afterwards, we got that down, but did everything else wrong.
My key phrases of the night? "Right..." "Sorry!" "Got it...I think." "Do what?" "Sorry." "Eheh, just kidding!" "Ugh, sorry!" "Ah, garsh." "...sorry..."

Oh I had so much fun! I kept laughing at his jokes and feebly trying a crack a few of my own. And I think I did finally get the jist of it all. He muttered a sorry for 'pushing me around' because we had to stay in the beat but I told him it was perfectly fine. I probably could use a little more of that anyways.

But what really made me laugh was when one of the instructors said, "Okay guys, don't be afraid to step on the girls' toes. You want to know why? Girls are smart and they'll figure out the footwork. They're graceful and very coordinated."

I felt for my poor dance partner at that moment. Graceful and coordinated my toothbrush!

So here's to being silly, here's to being a bit of an airhead, here's to being a clutz, here's to getting my toes stepped on every once in awhile, and here's to enjoying and dancing my way through it all!

Another Discovery That If I Don't Share on Here, I'm Going to Blab it to My Poor Seminary Partner

Dude, I love the scriptures! (heheh, those are two strange words to have in a sentence: Dude and Scriptures. Reminds me of a Seminary classmate who is now on a mission. I remember vividly he said, "General Conference kicked butt." Anyways....)

As I was saying, before I so rudely interupted myself (that reminds me of my spanish teacher--gah! And people wonder why I'm so oblivious to things.)

As I was saying, I love the scriptures because you can read them and read them and read them and still discover new things. Like the other day for example. I was reading in the Book of Mormon the story of Alma the younger when he grows up and goes around trying to teach people and bring them to their Savior.

I found several awesome examples of faith that I had never really noticed that much before. The first was the Prophet Alma. It says he was praying and fasting like crazy that these people would feel the spirit and listen to his words. It says he 'labored much in the spirit'. (chapter 8, vs. 10)

What ends up happening is quite on the contrary. They 'spit upon him' and 'reviled him', basically calling him a babbling bafoon and drop-kicking him out of their city. And in the same sentence it says he 'took his journy towards the city which was called Aron.' (vs. 13)

This impressed me. I don't know about you but if I had prayed and fasted my heart and stomach out with not only no results, but negative results, I might be tempted to sit there, outside of the city gates, fold my arms stubbornely and say something along the lines of, "What the heck?!"

I would then wander about, wondering what I did wrong. I do this a lot. If something doesn't go the way I think it should, I begin wondering what my problem is. I might even begin to question if the Lord even heard my prayers.
But Alma was different. He was confident that he had done all he could. He'd left the rest to the Lord and figured if that was His will than fine. He wasn't daunted by a sore rump. He just kept on truckin to the next city on the map.

I think that is so cool! To have the faith to continue after such a let down and still be willing to teach people that the Lord does, in fact, hear and answer their prayers. Though deeply, deeply saddened that they refused to feel the joy and peace of the gospel, he was probably a little relieved to start somewhere new. Maybe the people in Aron would be so kind as to keep their saliva to themselves.

But just wait until you hear what happens next...

In verse 15-17 an angel appears to him and gives him a well-earned, "Blessed art thou, Alma," and, after telling him to lift up his head and rejoice, tells him he needs to go back. There were people who were trying to tear down the liberty of the people and that was contrary to God's will.

My response would've been something like, "Wait, hold-up! You wan't me to do what? I was just there, if you didn't notice, and they threw me out like leftover fruitcake! What makes you think they are suddenly just going to roll out the welcome wagon?"

(side note: this is probably why I wasn't called to be a prophet.)

Nevertheless, in verse 18, he 'returned speedily' and, with Nephi-like faith, took the back door of the city knowing that when the Lord commands, He provides a way.

This is where another guy comes in. His name is Amulek. Background info: this is chapter 8 of Alma. In chapter 10, verses 5-6, he admits that he '(had) seen much of his (the Lord's) mysteries and his marvelous power...Nevertheless, I did harden my heart, for I was called many times and I would not hear; therefore I knew concerning thesethigns, yet I would not know; therefore I went on rebelling against God..."

But, on this particular day, he decided to listen. He was on his way to a near relative's house when and angel appeared to him in a vision, telling him he would receive a holy prophet of God who had been recently fasting and was in need of food. Amulek found the prophet Alma and brought him to his home.

(back to chapter 8) They feed him and he blesses their home. But the time comes for Alma to go back out there and face the crowds. In verse 29, he is told by the Lord to bring Amulek along to help him preach, sort of like a missionary companion. Can you imagine that conversation?

"Hey, Amulek."
"Good morning, President Alma."
"The Lord has called you to come and preach with me."
Remeber, Amulek didn't seem like the most stalwart of saints before this. I'm sure this whole week with the prophet in his home was one of deep repentance. Yet, he trusted in the prophet and, ultimately, the Lord. If He had called him to such a task, so be it.
There was probably an uneasy scratch behind the ear, a nervous shuffle of feet, then a humble, "Alright."

Now imagine the conversation between him and his wife. This detail isn't recorded in the scriptures, but think about it! It says that the state of the people had become even worse since Alma had last preached. These two men were even given power 'insomuch that they could not be confined in dungeons; neither was it possible that any man could slay them'--a good illustration of what they were up against. And yet, by the looks of it, she had enough faith in the Lord that he would protect her husband--and her family--while he was away.

And then, (I promise, I'm almost done) there was something really cool when they were finally out preaching. Alma had just preached enough for 30 verses of scripture, but the people only became angrier with him.

"What? This guy again?"
"Maybe we should teach him a better lesson!"
"Yeah!"
"Get him!"

And, in the midst of all this, Amulek courageously steps forward. What I thought was cool was that Amulek wasn't just some dude you might see at the marketplace every once in a while. He was actually pretty popular. (Chapter 10, verse 4) He explains, 'I am also a man of no small reputation among all those who know me; yea, and behold, I have many kindreds and friends, and I have also acquired much riches by the hand of my industry.'

He probably saw a few business partners and childhood friends in that crowd and I can't imagine how much guts it took to do that. I'll bet he knew he would lose a little of his business success and sever a few strong cords of friendships. He knew his reputation would plummet and he would be called a babbling baffoon as well. But, more importantly, he knew what was right. And he knew that, in the end, what he would gain would be far more lasting.

There's a quote in Harry Potter I really like by Dumbledore, "It takes a great deal of of bravery to stand up against your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up against your friends."

Anyways, thank you for participating in Dolly's scripture study. I feel bad because I had to super-summarize about three whole chapters to get my point across, but I only want to encourage you to study them on your own and find your own little 'hidden treasures.' Because, trust me, with a week of tests, getting sick (and still going on a date. Don't do that, it really throws off your bowling score), disappointments, being busy, training for track (distance running, mind you), and ect., they prove to be a breath of fresh air.

What I found under the bed

I cleaned my room today.

There was a lesson on it in church today so I figured something had to be up. There was a story shared of how a woman was honored to have an apostle stay at her house. The question then came, "What if you parents told you, 'Hey, one of the bretheren (or Them, as my Seminary teacher puts it) is staying at our house for the night. He's going to sleep in your room.' What would do you think he would think of you?"

Slob. First word that came into my head. Images of clutter, that dumb band jacket I haven't returned since Homecoming, and more clutter came into my head along with a little horror-movie music.

Heheh, okay so it's not that bad. I have what you might call an orgainzed mess. I know what goes in what pile on my floor and why. But the question still stuck. What would he think of me? Needless to say,

I cleaned my room today.

My mind kinda chewed on this food for thought the entire time and I kept asking myself it. I came across really nice notes from really nice people, handouts that I immeadiatly stuck on my wall and wondered why I'd just crammed them in my scripture case, and even pictures from dances. I kept looking back at the spots I had cleaned and smiling at how nice they looked. And I even went as far as doing a few extra things like wiping down my desk and stuff.

I realized now that I would be honored to have an apostle stay in my room. He would probably smile at all my handouts haphazardly pasted and pinned to my walls and bulletin boards, chuckle at my dance pictures, and wonder why a 10-days-till-17-year-old has so many stinkin' toys jam-packed into her closet. And I'm not sure if he'd really go for the brightly painted flowers on my wall, but the point is I wouldn't be ashamed.

My thoughts branched out. He could look through my iPod and I wouldn't be ashamed. He could check my internet-surfing tides and I wouldn't be ashamed. He could search my backpack for the books I'm reading and I wouldn't be ashamed. (About the books, that is. My backpack has a ways to go.)

I guess it's just the same as the question, "If Christ came to your home would you do anything differently?" But it really hit me today. I tried to imagine the first impression my room would make and it kind of made me feel a little bit better about myself.

Now my goal is to keep it that way. It shouldn't be too hard. I mean, I don't have any kids who like to mess it up yet. I guess my only problem is that I'm a kid who likes to mess it up. Babysteps...

Spring Cleaning for my Brain.

This week's post is going to be a little like my journal entries; random blurbs about random stuff in random order. I think like a 16 year old so bear with me.



Turns out the dashing young lad I asked to Sadies got knocked out cold, or, as his friend--who's elbow it was--so nonchalantly put it, "Went night-night" in basketball practice. Luckily I saw him at church today and, despite the black eye, he was laughing and joking as usual so I think he'll be alright. Good thing the dance isn't until the 26th.

Hey...I'll be thinking like a 17 year old by then! ....scary.



Fund raisers for EFY (Especially For Youth: a gospel-centered summer-camp type program with dances and all kinds of fun stuff) are going well. We are only about 1/9 of the way there but I'm sure we'll make it. Why? I don't know. I have come to realize I absolutely despise sad endings to anything and refuse to have them, so we'll make it. Look out Provo, Utah, here we come!!

And thank you all for being such beef-jerky lovers!!



And to Elder Clifford who let us use his superhuman recepie!



(Oh, and by the way, we refers to me and my two friends I have quite literally had since nursery, before I was even five. I know, I'm terribly spoiled.)



A guy held the door open for me yesterday. That was really nice of him.



Lunch was del-i-cious!! I can't even spell what it was called, but it was down right yummy!



My mom is making money selling her hand-made jewlery :D Her excitement is extremely contagious! Thanks Aunt Kristi!



Oh yeah...there was something I've been meaning to post since...a looong time!



Okay, so there will yet be a point to this post.



It was one windy sunday afternoon when I noticed this. I was sitting in church, way up at the front where me and my family usually are to give my baby brother some wiggle-room, and it was during the sacrament so no one was up there speaking. My attention was drawn to the tall, curtained window that sits right in front of our seat because the wind was really whippin it up that day.

To natives of our town, this isn't anything significant. In fact, our highschool track team has t-shirts that say things like, "We don't run like the wind, we run against the wind."



But back to my story. It was really windy and I remember hugging my jacket to myself, grateful that I could be sitting inside a warm building at the moment.

And then I realized just how fortunate I really was. This wasn't just any buildling. It was church building. Whenever the winds began to whip up in my life, I had shelter to go to. I had sustaining truths, enlightening principles, even a resevoir of love.



Some didn't. Several came to mind in fact.



Being raised in the church I had always wondered how in the world people coped without the gospel. What did they do when they had had a rough day and couldn't just fall to their knees and cry out to someone who they knew was always listening? How did you even do highschool? All the shifting trends and values and perspectives and personalities, and appearances! What did you do with all the emotions that come when you really screw up? And even past that I have questions.



I'm sure there are ways, but it's always been something that has made me want to be a missionary. I want to bring people out of the earthly winds of confusion and into the welcoming shelter of the gospel.



After everything I've been blessed with, I feel I owe it to Him.