Missionaries

The past week was REALLY busy. I don't really want to blog about the whole thing because it wouldn't be very interesting to read even though it was busy. I will just write about it in my journal and let my posterity mull that one over in the future.

I did get a few offers of marriage from this past week though. So all in all it wasn't completely boring. Although, the offers were not from the men themselves, but from their mothers and/or sisters. So I don't know if they even count. One of them was actually a very exciting idea. Mainly because the man in question happened to have one of the best voices I have ever heard in my life. Who could say no to a man who sounded like a cross between Jack Johnson and John Mayer? Astounding. He was also very cute and a worthy priesthood holder. Who could say no to that? Unfortunately--or fortunately--I don't happen to be the flirty, outgoing type who can get anyone to like her just by batting her eyes and giggling quietly. No, I tend to be extremely shy around people I don't know. To the point of absolute awkwardness. And to top it off, I do not have a delicate laugh. Whatsoever.

So to all of that I say, what do I need boyfriends for? I have three missionaries! You didn't know that did you? Well I do. Here's the scoop:

Missionary #1: Elder Jacob Ian Duthie

Baton Rouge, Louisiana Mission

April 2009-April 2011

Jake has been my best friend since seventh grade. We're really close. He actually did ask me to wait for him. (Well he asked another girl too, but no one needs to know that.) Nevertheless, he did ask, and we will still be good friends no matter what. He played football in high school, he wrestled for the first few years too. He was also on the AcaDec team, and in drama. He loves to argue, even if he knows he's wrong. He just likes to push one's buttons.

Missionary #2: Elder William Jordon Udall

Guatemala City South Mission

August 2009-2011

I met Jordon here at EA. We were in the same ward and he lived just upstairs from me for my first year. He usually had Guns N' Roses playing and I could hear it when I did laundry. We got to be really good friends in our college algebra class. Jordon played the trumpet in the marching band and was also in the A Capella Choir. Despite being from Eager--something we argue about constantly--he is a good guy.

Missionary #3: Elder Jason Michael Shelton

Guayaquil Ecuador Mission

August 2009-August 2011

I know he looks kind of weird in this picture, but it's the only one I had. Just to clarify for those of you who know Jason. He actually is not one I would ever like more than a friend. We got to be really good friends during the school year and this summer. We were just pals, more like siblings than anything else. He gave me permission to use him as an excuse to get out of dates with creepy guys and such. Jason is a lot of fun. He's like a seven-year-old. He's literally bouncing off the walls all the time and is really gung-ho about being a missionary. Jason is just a really good friend to have.

Missionary #4: Sister Lynnette Badger

Edmonton Canada Mission

August 2008-February 2010

And this is my most important missionary of them all! My sister! She is really the best friend I have ever had. I can talk to her about anything and I love her to pieces! I'm so excited for her to get home soon even though I'm absolutely thrilled that she is on her mission. I just can't get married until she does, or until she gives me permission.

So there you have it. The complete list of Kelly's missionaries and all the reasons I can't have a boyfriend. My missionary letter writing schedule is just much too pressing.

Life Stories

Does anyone ever have times when they just need to write? Does anyone else crave that outlet to just be able to express themselves and be completely honest about everything no matter who saw it? I wish I could do that sometimes. Most times.

I've been thinking lately about stories. Not fairy tale stories or funny stories or any other made up kind of thing, but real stories. Life stories. It struck me as so interesting that no matter how much research one puts into a particular person, one will never know their story. One will never completely understand their feelings, frustrations, reasons for particular decisions. Even if that person explained their life to you as best they could it will never be the whole story. Some days I wish I could. I wish I could see into people's minds and explore what is there. What has happened to them in their past, what they hope for, what they dream of, what troubles them. Wouldn't that be interesting?

Then I thought to myself, "Who will know my story?" Even in part will anyone know? What will I be remembered for? If I were to die tomorrow--I'm not trying to be all mopey, I'm just thinking--what would people say about me? I don't want any "Poor Jud is Dead" type of thing where people just blab on and on about my fingernails never being so clean. I would want them to be able to tell the truth. What little of it they knew. I would want people to say that Kelly was impatient, often too blunt and rash, had very little tact, laughed too loud, was too self-conscious, day dreamed too much, organized excessively, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. They could maybe say some good things too. Perhaps that I really did want to be a good person despite all my many flaws, and I did my best, although I often fell short.

I guess the reason I've been thinking about this so much is because of the past year and the future that is ahead of me. I had a fantastic, beautiful, painful year, and I would never trade it for the world (very cliche I know). It has come to make all the difference. I'm often scared that I won't be able to do those things which I dream of everyday: get my degree, go to London, write a book, become a wife and mother. But I don't really know what to do about that. Live day by day, do my best, and find joy in everyday. And perhaps someday, someone will ask me about my story, and it will be the most fantastic thing they have every heard.

Special Day

I absolutely love Sundays! As a child and as a teenager, I often dreaded them. I didn't want to take a bath on Saturday, or put on a dress or tights, or sit through endless meetings. The chairs were hard. But now I am much older and wiser. ;) I don't necessarily like shaving my legs or putting on a dress or uncomfortable shoes, but I do love going to church. Today was really special. I suppose it was just one of those Sundays that for some unknown reason are so special.

Today in Relief Society, one of the girls I had help choosing for a teacher gave her first lesson. She did an absolutely amazing job. I'm so grateful for her and her willingness to really work at her calling. Or maybe fantastic lessons just come naturally to her. If that is the case, I am very jealous. Our lesson today was about friendship and being true friends. I guess I just needed to be reminded that I have some very wonderful true friends in my life.

These are some of my true friends.

In Sunday School, one my friends gave the lesson on the handcart companies. I cried the whole time. In the Church, I guess it's a compliment if someone tells you they cried through your whole lesson. He had one of his friends share some experiences from his life. Okongo is from Sudan and had to escape to Kenya with his family. They lived in the refugee camp for a while and went through years of applications and interviews to be able to come to the United States, and now he is going to college here at EAC. I felt so selfish. I often complain about going to school, and here is Okongo who had to escape his home to be able to come here so he could have a chance at getting an education. Then I think about my ancestors who gave up their homes to come out West just so we could practice our religion. I will forever be grateful to them and their sacrifice.

Sister Elaine S. Dalton gave the CES Fireside tonight. Her talk was titled, "A Return to Virtue." She talked about how we need to choose to be more virtuous and not be ashamed of who we are. I can't give her talk justice enough. I can't even summarize it well. I think you just need to see it, listen to it, or read it for yourself. It was absolutely incredible. All I can say is that I am so grateful for this Gospel and all the blessings that I enjoy because of it. I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ who suffered for me and my family that we might be together again forever.

Families are Forever

Eight Years

Eight years ago today, is a day that I am sure I will never forget. I was eleven years old, and I had just arrived at early morning choir, one of the first ones there. Mr. DuBoise, our choir teacher, hurried in and turned on the TV. What I was seeing I hoped was just a movie or TV show. I didn't understand. We just sat there, not knowing what was going to happen. We watched in terror as the first plane hit the first building and the second as it followed. We did nothing in school that day. We watched the news all day and all we saw were the planes hitting again and again, the towers crumbling over and over, and the screams of terrified citizens running from the site. I had to grow up a lot that day. Nothing like this had happened in my life time. I was certain we were going to war, that perhaps that this was where the end would begin. I was frightened. But I will always remember how hard I prayed for our country, for President Bush, for the families of those who had died. I remember that the Church held a broadcast and we all listened as President Hinckley prayed for the same things that we had all been praying for. After that day, our country was united. Everywhere you went, people had put out their flags, and everyone felt the same. Gratitude. We knew that our country was attacked because we stood for freedom. We were grateful to be a part of that, and know that we would remain free, or die fighting for it.

"Today, Our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature, and we responded with the very best of America...America was targeted for attack because we are the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world, and no one will keep that light from shining."
-George W. Bush

Today we remember those who died, those who suffer, those who have lost, those who sacrifice, those who fight, and those who live.

Freaky Friday

There has been something about this Friday that has made me feel like an absolute idiot. I wonder if anyone else goes through days like these. I seem to experience them frequently. Perhaps today's particular awkwardness is due to the fact that I stayed up late with Lora and Marisa watching the movie Chocolat, which so happens to be one of those movies you absolutely cannot watch without eating chocolate. Coincidence? I think not. So I am running on a considerable lack of sleep and a tiny chocolate overdose. The whole day has been a little bit odd, not unlucky per say, but just a very different kind of day. Perhaps the day is normal, but unfortunately, I am not.

This anecdote was probably the most awkward of all the things that have happened today. Good thing it is the end of the working day. I ran an errand to the Student Services building--also known as "The Big House"--and saw a familiar face at the fishbowl (the directory desk). The boy was Abram Yarbro, he just so happened to be wearing a gray stick-on moustache at the time. Abram is in my ward and in my institute class, but I haven't gotten a chance to talk to him yet, so I jumped at the opportunity to re-introduce myself to a friend from my childhood. I laughed as his stick-on moustache fell from his upper lip and said, "You're a Yarbro right?" He confirmed what I already knew, and he asked if I knew his older brother, Micah or sister, Destiny. I said that I did and that I knew him as well. He looked surprised and I tried to explain myself, "Well you grew up in St. Johns, and I just remember your family from when you were there." I wish that I had said that as eloquently as I have typed it. It probably came out more like, "Um...well...I'm from St. Johns...and I um...you used to live there...um I knew you." Very eloquent. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for someone to save him from this crazy woman standing at his desk. He replied nervously, "Oh really? I was only about 18 months old." That was the part that struck me as weird. I am sure my eyes started searching for someone to come save me from myself. I am only a year older than Abram. How could I remember him so well from when I was only two years old?! I then mumbled an apology for coming across as so crazy and ran off to finish my errand. Needless to say, I felt like slapping myself in the face, but I really didn't want to seem any more insane than was apparent to Abram.

Thank goodness it's Friday!