Receiving the Gift of Christmas

Christmas isn't about presents;

It's about GIFTS. 

I know Christmas isn't about Santa or the packages under the tree, but the importance of gifts should not be overlooked at Christmas-time. Sometimes we try to incriminate the commercialized gifts of Christmas in order to heighten the spiritual importance of the season. But, the center of this holiday is in fact a gift. 

Christmas is a celebration of the gift of Christ, but what kind of Christ do we receive? I know this may seem like a strange question, but it is something I've been ruminating on recently. At Easter we tend to focus on the majesty and power of Christ and his ministry; we celebrate the gifts of his miracles, his atonement, his sacrifice, resurrection, and power to save. This is a man of majesty and glory extending to us the gifts of immortality and salvation. But, what kind of Christ are we given at Christmas? 

A sweet and tender babe. 

Yes, this baby is the Messiah, the Lord of lords, the King of Kings, the Prince of peace, and he will perform the greatest gift of love known to all mankind, but for this one moment, he is the baby asleep in the hay. To his bedside come shepherds bringing admiration, wise men bringing frankincense, gold, and myrrh, a father bringing support and protection, and a mother giving not only of her physical body, but surely a soothing kiss and loving words. Being so small and new, what could this little baby possibly give? 

The gift of HOPE and A PROMISE FULFILLED

Prophets had foretold of his coming for thousands of years and these prophecies were recorded in the Old Testament and also the Book of Mormon. Believers held onto the promise of a deliverer who would come and redeem them. He was a gift long expected. What must it have been like to believe in Christ when he had not yet come? 

The Book of Mormon provides a testament of the people living in the Americas at the time just before Christ's birth. Some of these people began to believe that "the time was past for the words to be fulfilled...therefore [the] joy and [the] faith concerning this thing hath been in vain" (3 Nephi:1:5-6). But, others continued to "watch steadfastly for that day and that night and that day which should be as one day as if there were no night, that they might know that their faith had not been in vain" (3 Nephi 1:8). 

I imagine little doubts crept into the minds of those who believed, but harassment quickly turned to a life or death situation as "a day was set apart by the unbelievers, that all those who believed in those traditions should be put to death except the sign should come to pass" (3 Nephi 1:9). 

The joy is that he came and the promise was fulfilled. 

Not only to those in America, but to those from the House of Israel awaiting their deliverance in the West, this baby brought the gift of hope and the assurance that their faith had not been in vain. 

So maybe Christmas isn't about Santa and toys, but it most certainly is about a baby and his gift to each of us. Here is hope. Here is the hope to fuel our faith in God's promises made to each of us. Here is the hope of Christ's promise to save our souls and heal our sorrows. 

In the midst of our holiday giving, let us remember and receive this precious gift. 

Merry Christmas!  

Defined by Numbers

I decided last night that I don't want to be defined by numbers. 

I am not the size etched in the waistline of my jeans. 

I am not an age

I am not a percentage 

I am not a test score

I am not a number. 

When I think to the times my heart sinks the most, it is often in the realization of man's inhumanity to man. During the Holocaust, one way the victims were dehumanized was through losing their names and identities. Each person was assigned and branded a number to replace their name. Similarly, slaves and prisoners were also branded with numbers. I think to one of my favorite musicals, "Les Miserables," where Jean Valjean is referred to as 24601 in the very opening song:

JAVERT: "Five years for what you did

The rest because you tried to run

Yes, 24601"

JEAN VALJEAN: "My name is Jean Valjean"

JAVERT: "And I am Javert

Do not forget my name!

Do not forget me, 24601"

Thankfully, I am not branded with a number in this manner. However, I see people define themselves with statistics and numbers all the time. I do not want numbers to define who I am. I am not a number; I cannot be a number because a number has no way of grasping my entirety. A number doesn't show you how funny my hair looks in the morning, or the way I crinkle my nose when I laugh. Yes, numbers can do amazing things in computers, machines, codes, etc. But, they cannot define who I am; that power is all mine. 

I'd Like to Clarify One or Two Things

 I have received various responses to my continuous effort to keep marriage near the top of my priority list. I realize that the majority of these comments are meant to comfort me in my singleness, but sometimes they just crawl underneath my skin. "Jenny, how old are you?" (answer) "Oh please, you are so young. Stop worrying so much." OR "When I was your age, I had no intention of getting married. Focus on just enjoying your life. Travel. Start your path to a career. If marriage happens, great! You don't need a man to be successful." AND "Think of all the amazing women who were not married until their thirties -(Insert endless amount of names here). Look at all the wonderful things they accomplished and the great husbands they found!" I'm not saying that I disagree with any of this. I know it was all given to help me feel better and be better, and I appreciate that, but here's the thing...

 I was on a date with a friend a while back. He inquired whether one of our mutual friends was married, so I said "No, she is not." To which he returned, "Jenny, are you really that depressed you are not married yet?!" -- I sat stunned at the thought that my unemotional answer would elicit such an emotional response. Is this what everyone thinks? To those of you with his same question, i'd like to clarify one or two things. 

#1. It has nothing to do with how old I am: My parents were married at the age of 25 and my siblings followed suit. I never grew up with the notion that I needed to be married at a young age. In fact, the earliest age I wanted to be married was 23. (Funny how we think we know how an age feels long before we get there) I don't advocate rushing into marriage, or putting it off. I believe people simply want to feel ready when that big day comes, and we are all ready at different times. As I stated, I am just barely in my designated age bracket for marriage. I don't feel like an old spinster, or that all my friends are married. This is not about age, it is about timing. I had a dear friend once express how nice it would be if God simply sent me a letter one day saying, "Dear Jenny, you're going to get married in a couple years. You don't need to worry so much. Please just work on enjoying the opportunities i'm providing you to be ready." I'm not frustrated that I'm 23 and unmarried. I'm simply trying to plan my life around an unknown. 

#2. I want to stop worrying about this. Another close friend of mine once suggested that if we all stopped worrying so much about dating, maybe it would just happen naturally. He's getting married now, so maybe he's right. No one should try to force marriage; we want that natural progression from friend to boyfriend, boyfriend to love of my life, love of my life to husband, etc. But despite how natural this process should be, the constant preaching about effort adds a lot of pressure. The worries creep in that I am responsible for my situation, I am not putting myself out there enough, i'm not stepping out of my comfort zone enough, i'm not vulnerable enough, I'm not attractive enough, I'm too picky, i'm not picky enough, i'm not going on enough dates, i'm not accessible, i'm waiting for a guy who doesn't exist, i'm not good at this, and I should just be done. So you tell me, how do I not worry about this? 

#3. Depressed is not the word, and Marriage isn't actually the issue. I'm not upset that I am not married, or even overly sad. I'm still so young as you've all mentioned previously. You see, I am not actually worried about getting married right now at all.Yes, marriage would fit fine into my life right now if I were in love with someone I wanted to marry, and yes I still want to make marriage the priority. But to be honest, i'm not anxious about marriage, i'm anxious about falling in love again. 

There's the rub. I'm not envious that all my friends are getting married; i'm envious they have someone to pour their heart into. I've tried to just embrace the whole "I am single woman, hear me roar!" mentality and it doesn't stick. I don't like the "dating around" stage because I'm just no good at it. But, it's impossible to simply skip to the good part, so here I am. I guess i'm learning patience, but what I really want to learn is that my heart is capable of falling in love again. Even if it breaks, at least i'd know it still works. For a while, I feared the beating of my heart was slowing to that monotone sound of a dead-straight line. I looked at it helplessly, crying out for someone to please save it. With a transfusion of love from my friends and family, I began pumping large doses of hope back into my little heart. It resuscitated temporarily, but continues deflating. I've decided there must be a hole; something must be missing. I'm not sure how to fix it, except to find a receptacle for the love that is bleeding out uncontrollably.

So here's the clarification: I am not depressed that I am not married yet, and I don't feel pressured to get married soon. I'm depressed that i'm so bad at being single, and I feel pressured to fall in love again before my heart empties completely. 

My Medicine Cabinet

It's that time again. Flu and Cold season! When we don't feel well, we head for the medicine cabinet. I'm sure we each have our personal remedies that "honestly work the best" up front on the shelves. But, what do we reach for when we aren't feeling well on the inside? Is there a medicine cabinet for that, and what in the world would we put in it? 

It's just a thought, but a thought that has been ruminating for a while now. I think I want to build a medicine cabinet containing the following:

1. A book of poetry
2. An ipod full of my favorite music - specifically replaying the Weepies, Ingrid Michelson, and Joni Mitchell  
3. A movie that's going to make me cry and then leave me smiling
4. High-quality Chocolate (best band aids I hear)
5. Scriptures / My patriarchal blessing 
6. A coloring book with a big box of crayons 
7. A cook book with ingredients all ready to go
8. A pre-paid plane ticket to the beach 
9. Some of my old writings and letters
10. A box of exercise clothes with a Zumba membership
11. A cell phone with all my friends and family on speed-dial 
12. Fresh flowers
13. A ticket to a live play
14. Fall leaves
15. A cuddly pillow and blanket 
16. Cleaning supplies (sometimes feeling productive is my best medicine)
17. Jeans that fit perfectly 
18. Tchaikovsky's "None but the Lonely Heart" piano music. 
19. All episodes of Boy Meets World 
20. A list of friends who need a friend

So, what's in your cabinet? 

A Psalm

I took a class on the Bible as Literature a year or so ago, and had the opportunity to write my own psalm. I've always thought the psalms were beautiful songs of longing and praise, so now I add mine. It was inspired by Isaiah 40:31, D&C 121, the story of Abraham and Isaac, and of course my own raw feelings.

Forget not my heart oh Lord

and forget not the secret desires which

reside in its depths.

For I have waited upon thee in hopes of promised wings

and foretold blessings.

Oh turn not away, oh Lord, these broken knees;

Nor scorn my shaking fingers

clasped in prayer.

For I seek thee and cannot find thy face.

Where, oh where art thou Lord that I may again feel

the embrace of peace in this

my darkness?

Hasten to my side and deliver my soul.

For anguish hath overtaken my heart

in the light of another’s dark suffering.

Oh Lord, what is my path

And where is the escape from sorrow and sin?

Do not, Oh Lord, conceal

your glory from me;

Open my eyes to the purpose of thy plan

and save me from my troubled doubts.

For in this, I the child,

carry wood to her pyre,

Willingly, sacrifice for the molding

of another.

I honor thy trust,

Yet see thou my blemish.

I fear the burning fire

and doubt

the unseen promise of deliverance.

Nevertheless, like Isaac of old,

Save me by the blood of a promised lamb.

Even in my weakness and travail,

 bind up the wounds of my aching soul.

You are my guidance and my comfort,

I shall not doubt, nor fear.

For thou hast renewed my faith

to sing praise and wait upon thy answers.

Forget not my heart oh Lord

and forget not the secret desires which

reside in its depths.

For I will wait upon thee in hopes of promised wings

                                                                 and foretold blessings.

Old men, Young men

I'm trying to be a runner. 

There are running "purists," who don't need the distraction of music to keep them going. 

I am not one of those.

There are those that hit a "runner's high" and feel as if they could keep running forever.

I am not one of those.

Honestly, I tend to prefer dancing, Zumba to be precise,

but right now I am trying to be something resembling a runner. 

In my efforts, I have started to run regularly around a well-known park in my hometown. It's mostly shady and flat, plus there is a wood chip path for runners, a natural stream water fountain, and a constant flow of interesting people. Today's interesting people were the old men and the young men. 

On the wood chip path, I noticed two young men, shirtless and toned...(hard not to notice) 

They were running side by side with one of these men being completely bare foot. 

"How in the world is he running bare foot on the wood chips?" was the question that sparked my curiosity in the first place. But, what really got me thinking was their specific positioning with the runners in front of them.

Ahead of them, also running side by side, were two other men.

These grey-haired men not only kept their shirts and shoes on, but they also wore hats to keep the sun off their faces. 

I couldn't help but smile at this brief snapshot of life.

Two young men with their vibrant, confident, and fearless spirits bolting toward their future.

Two old men, content, cautious, and wise, allowing the past to chase them.

All running. 

In memory of Sheila

Sometimes it is hard to say goodbye.

I've only ever loved one car. She was my first--the first car I ever drove. I remember feeling upset by the fact that I wasn't supposed to use both feet to press the pedals. We passed my driving test with flying colors together, but she still doesn't trust me to parallel park much. On our first drive alone, I rocked out to Beyonce feeling liberated and alive. 

She was the setting for my first kiss, cheering me on with music and soft revving noises. 

She got me in trouble once for speeding down a hill, which we both thought was ridiculous. She witnessed tickle fights, crazy car dancing, and my learning to change a flat tire.

We moved away to college together, and then drove endlessly back and forth between Salt Lake and Provo. She even accidentally received a "wedding trashing" at my best friend's wedding. 

Over the years, Sheila has seen me at some of my most desperate and glorious moments. She's felt me pound the steering wheel and heard me wail a prayer into the night. She's been my silent companion as I drove my thoughts around town. She helped me be brave and pushed me to laugh, dance, and sing. She saw the cheesy and romantic deliciousness that settled into the constant comfort of being.

She is truly amazing, but now I feel like the rotten husband trading his wife in for a newer model.
Sure, she and I celebrated her 100,000 mile birthday about 10,000 miles ago.
Yes, my sister criticizes her air conditioning.
True, the windshield wipers make annoying sounds
She's been battered and bruised by no fault of mine or her own, but she has never ever let me down.


I'm going to miss her, but I am learning to love again. Perhaps this new car will be the car that takes me to graduate school, the one I drive away in from my wedding, the car that drives me to my first home, and the one my first child leaves the hospital in.

Either way, dear Sheila, it's been a good ride.