more than just a body

Soon after Christianity was established in Corinth, the new converts wrote to Paul, concerned about the matter of women covering their hair when in public. Christian men who came from a Jewish background found uncovered hair to be extremely inappropriate, as Jewish customs dictate that a woman is not to leave her hair uncovered while in public. Those from a Gentile background, however, did not share this belief, and Gentile women therefore found nothing wrong with going out and about with their hair showing.

The Church was young and fragile, not yet strengthened by years of unification under the umbrella of Christianity, and Paul was afraid that this matter of debate could tear the Church in Corinth apart. His response to their concern was that it was the woman's duty to cover her hair. In answer to a previous concern of the Corinthians, Paul made mention that when making decisions in "gray areas" (those areas of debate within the Church that don't have a definitive commandment associated with them), members of the Church should consult the Holy Ghost and their own conscience, but also keep in mind the effect their actions would have on others. It can be assumed that his suggestion that women cover their hair fell into this second category—to those of Jewish background, a woman's hair was considered extremely sensual, and by covering her hair, a woman would make men who converted from Judaism more comfortable.


After discussing this section of 1 Corinthians this morning, my New Testament professor related this issue to one that a modern audience could more easily understand: current LDS standards of modesty. He showed examples of questions BYU students have asked regarding exactly what "knee-length" is, threw out the hot topic of yoga pants and leggings, and then then posed a question: If Paul were to come into our class today, would he tell the women that it is their duty to wear modest clothes so that they would protect the thoughts of men?

He waited. This was clearly not a rhetorical question. After a few tense moments of silence and a request for somebody to speak up—nobody seemed to want to be the person to tackle this touchy subject—I raised my hand and shared my thoughts.

The short version of my answer is No. I could theoretically have just said no and been done with it, but I didn't, because this is a subject that I personally feel needs to be addressed more often.

The point of dressing modestly is NOT to protect the thoughts of men. And, in my humble opinion, men and women who believe that are missing the point of modesty. A woman who believes that she should dress modestly solely to encourage clean-mindedness from males can be covered from head to toe in clothes Grandma would approve of and still conduct herself in a very immodest way.

Modesty isn't a list of what types of clothing are appropriate to wear. Modesty also isn't a list of body parts that can show without sending men into a highly-sexualized frenzy. Modesty is an attitude of respect for God, for the body He made for you, and for yourself as a whole. And it's that attitude that should dictate what you find appropriate to wear and what you find inappropriate to wear. It's as simple as that.

Implying—or some cases, outright stating—that the point of modesty is to control the thoughts of men is objectifying, demeaning, and disrespectful.

It sends the message that a woman is no more than her body and that her body is the thing that men will use to determine her worth. It says that if a woman shows a little more skin, men would see her only as a sexual object and BAM! No more respect. No more being treated like a normal human being. No more acknowledgement of my value as an accomplished person with values.

I'm not okay with those messages. A woman's value does not lie in her body and the way she chooses to cover it. And every woman has the agency to choose how she finds it appropriate to treat and cover her body. Everybody might not agree with a woman's personal dress standards, but nobody can dispute that she has the right to choose for herself.


As soon as I finished sharing my thoughts on modesty, several male hands shot up into the air. When called upon, the guy sitting in front of me was quick to rebut. "I disagree," he said forcefully. "Your agency ends where my agency begins." He then began to go on a tirade about how it is in fact a woman's duty to protect the thoughts of men and that they shouldn't wear yoga pants or tight clothes or low cut shirts, because it makes it too hard for men to have clean thoughts. One of his comrades went as far as to say that the main purpose behind modesty is to protect the minds of men and keep their sexuality in check.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I sat there slightly flabbergasted, quite literally biting my tongue and restraining myself from smacking the guy in front of my upside the head. (I never would have done it, but I'll admit that I kind of wanted to.) 

Let's get something straight here: I do not believe that women are responsible for making sure that men keep their thoughts in line. That being said, I do promote dressing modestly, and I'm glad that dressing modestly makes it easier for them. BUT I am no more responsible for their thoughts toward me than they are for choosing my wardrobe. Nobody would think to go up to a man wearing a tight t-shirt that shows off his biceps and abs and say, "Excuse me, but could you please wear a looser fitting shirt? Girls could be viewing you as not but a sexual object." There is clearly a double standard working here, and it can often feel like men like the ones who argued my points want to claim a monopoly on being carnally minded.

Because let's get something else straight here: Women have sexual thoughts, too. Yep, that's right. The fairer sex is capable of thinking about sex. Maybe it's not in the same way as men and it's not as frequent or as strong or as graphic, but it's still possible. Yet nobody goes around telling men to dress in a way that helps women keep their thoughts clean.

As a woman, I obviously don't know how the mind of a man works. I've never experienced thinking like a man, so I don't claim to be an expert (or even well-informed, for that matter) on the subject. But what I can testify to is that I know a lot of amazing, respectful, disciplined men. And I have ever bit of confidence that men can choose to banish inappropriate thoughts if they find that sort of thought cleansing important. I'm not going to say it's easy, because I don't know if it is or isn't. But I have confidence and faith and trust in the capabilities of men. It's true that some choose not to live up to all that they can be, but I'm not about to judge the entire gender based on the follies of those outliers.

It is for this reason that I take great issue to the first refutation that "[a woman's] agency ends where [a man's] begins." A man does not have to like the type of wardrobe that a woman chooses, but that does not give him any right to choose a stopping point for her agency. In addition, that statement and comments this classmate made imply to me that he does not believe a male's ability to keep his thoughts in line or to simply look away (when possible) when presented with a woman who is dressed in a way that might be found to be provocative. By claiming that immodestly dressed women eliminate a man's agency, he did nothing but a disservice to himself and to men in general.

Now, dear reader, I hope that you don't interpret these thoughts as an attack on men or an effort to place blame or find fault. I also hope you don't come away thinking that I don't believe in the principle of modesty in appearance and deed or that I don't think it's important to be a good example to those around us. Because I believe quite strongly in modesty, and I believe that being a modest person endows one with great strength.

What I hope I conveyed is that modesty is about more than just a person's body. It's about attitude and intention. My personal experiences with learning about modesty and discovering how I can best show respect to my Creator and to myself in the way that I dress and act has led me to believe that understanding the principles behind modest dress is nearly as important as the way we choose to practice modesty.

I don't dress the way I do for men. I don't dress the way I do for my friends. I don't dress the way I do for anybody but myself and my Heavenly Father.

I choose modesty because I feel more comfortable with who I am when I wear modest clothes. I choose modesty because I am so grateful to have a body, and treating it with respect is one way I can show my thanks to God.

I choose modesty because I am more than just a body.

my life as described by Disney & Pixar characters

Because sometimes Disney/Pixar can just say it better...

When every tiny detail of every part of my life isn't planned in meticulous detail:

When I have to wear "real clothes" for too long:

When I need to make somebody understand the extreme level of my irritation/disappointment:

When all my friends leave me to get married/go on missions:

Mornings:

When my feelings get hurt:

When I meet somebody who will talk Harry Potter with me:

Eating in front of people:

When I enter a library or bookstore:

When I'm wearing a skirt or dress:

Always:

The Dating Bill of Rights

As a young single adult living in Provo, you'd better believe I hear a lot of talk about dating. And while bishops and stake presidents go on and on about how many dates we should be going on and who we should go out with and what kind of dates we should go on, I don't hear a lot of mention of what a prospective dater has the right to expect from Provo dating culture. And dating—just like all forms of social interaction—sometimes has the tendency to bring about injustices or general discomfort for one or both parties. It is therefore important that everybody should know what their rights are in different stages of relationships. I don't pretend to be an expert on the topic, but here's me taking a stab at what anybody in the dating arena has the right to expect from dating situations:

The Dating Bill of Rights

1. No person shall ever infringe upon another's feelings of safety and security or their right to be respected in all interpersonal environments.

2. All date invitations shall be delivered in a respectful, appropriate manner, and offers that must be rejected should be rejected in the same attitude of respect. Dates should not be rejected without just cause. Plans to watch Netflix on Friday night does not constitute just cause.

3. Both parties have the right to embark on a first date without the pressure or expectation of commitment past the first date; outside parties are expected to respect that right and not hassle, tease, mock, or imply that a relationship is anything more than one of two people going on a first date.

4. Any person has the right to reject any form of physical or emotional intimacy with which he or she is uncomfortable without the fear of negative repercussions from the other party.

5. Dating persons have the right to move at a pace that is comfortable for both people. Outside parties shall not pressure a couple into moving faster or slower than is right for them nor should they judge a couple's decision of when to take relationship steps. Every person has the right to expect the person he or she is dating to also respect their boundaries and the speed at which they are comfortable moving a relationship forward (within reason). This means that the so-called BYU Third Date Rule is hereby abolished and should not ever be a reason for a couple to make commitments to one another.

6. All daters have the right to feel free and comfortable to speak openly as is appropriate to the stage of the relationship. They should be able to confide in their partner without worrying about the other partner's becoming judgmental, apathetic, or irritated. Any one should be able to expect confidentiality from their partner when confiding in him or her. This confidence applies even if the relationship ends; the severance of a courtship does not justify a person to openly share a former partner's personal thoughts, feelings, or experiences.

7. Prior to a formal commitment being made, no party has a say in who the other person goes on dates with. After a committed relationship has been formed, all persons have the right to complete mental, emotional, and physical fidelity from their partner.

8. A person has the right to confirm or deny relationship status and to share relationship milestones for themselves. Friends, family, and acquaintances have no right to gossip about one's relationship status or spread any information about a relationship regardless of whether it is true or false.

9. People have the right to maintain or sever a relationship based on their own desires and feelings. Outside influences should not pressure a person into staying in or getting out of a relationship. This right can be waived in the case of an extremely unhealthy relationship; outside parties should encourage a person in an abusive or otherwise unhealthy relationship to end said relationship. Any desire to end a relationship should be respected; a dumped partner does not have the right to insist that the relationship remain intact.

10. Any person going on any date at any time with anyone has the right to expect human decency and common courtesy from their date regardless of of any internal or external circumstances.

i know why the caged bird sings

I spent my day on Saturday having some quality time with myself. It sounds odd, I'm aware, because there is no point in history (past or present) in which I am not with myself. But always being with myself—whether alone or with others—doesn't ensure that that time is quality or meaningful. 

So yesterday I set out to do just that—I spent time alone doing things that were worthwhile and that made me happy to be who I am. It wasn't a special day of pampering and glitz. In all actuality, it was a pretty normal Saturday. I did approximately nine hundred loads of laundry (give or take eight hundred and fifty-five), folded and put away all that laundry, cleaned, ate a lot of spaghetti, made some quick sewing repairs to some items in my wardrobe that needed a little face lift, colored a picture or two, read a book, watched some Psych, edited various documents, and wrote three letters, choosing my words and stamps very carefully (I got Harry Potter stamps! Thank you United States Postal Service). 

But most importantly, I reserved a large block of my afternoon for studying and pondering the scriptures. I opened my heart to heaven, and did everything I could to block out the rest of the world, so I could focus on learning. And it was powerful. It's not to say that I had profound insights or had visions of how the rest of my life should be, but I felt the Spirit strongly reaffirming truths that had scampered away to the back of my mind to be forgotten. Truths about my Savior and the Holy Ghost and the gospel. But mostly truths about myself. 

I realized that I've spent far too long making myself the enemy. The powers of negative thinking and insecurity led me to believe that who I am isn't good enough and that I'll never measure up. I lost sight of who I am in the eyes of God and who I can become with his help. I am not my own enemy, and thinking that I am only perpetuates unhappiness and stunts growth and healing. 

I am a daughter of a loving God. I have purpose and meaning. I can do hard things. 

About a year ago I read The Freedom Writers Diary (I highly recommend both the book and the movie). A few of the entries in this book mention Maya Angelou's memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. The title of that book took on profound meaning for me. As a white, twenty-one year old female, I'm not caged by the things that Miss Angelou and the Freedom Writers were caged by. Poverty, gang violence, racism, and broken families are all very real, but they've never played a direct role in my life. But that doesn't mean that I've never experienced the feeling of being caged in. 

Some cages are the result of factors out of our control. Some individuals  are caged by circumstance, opportunities or lack thereof, mental and physical illnesses, or oppression. Others are caged because of the bigotry and intolerance of other people. All of those cages seem more real, more concrete. They are more obvious, their bars seem thicker and stronger and inescapable. These cages seem legitimate because they are the result of things you can't control.

But there are other cages. Cages we put around ourselves. Cages I put around myself.

Every time I think I'm not good enough, I put up a cage. 

Every time I say I can't, I put up a cage.
Every time I treat someone unkindly, I put up a cage

Every time I let myself believe that I'm inferior or worthless, I put up a cage.
Every time I forget my worth, I put up a cage.

I've never read Maya Angelou's memoir, so I don't know what her explanation as to why caged birds sing is, but I know mine. Caged birds sing because they know there is something better out there. They know there is hope and beauty and love in this world that's just out of their reach. They sing because sometimes their hearts are sorrowful and burdened, but they believe anyway. 

I know why the caged bird sings, but when you remove the cage, the song will change.

My song has been changing over the past few weeks, and I plan to continue to change it as I learn more fully to be who God intended me to be. To be who I really am. At times it's hard to accept that who I am—broken, weak, ugly parts and all—is enough, but those moments represent life without acknowledging a loving Heavenly Father. When I turn to Him and truly trust in Him, I see glimpses of who I can become. I can see how my weaknesses and flaws and shortcomings are all intended to teach and humble me. 

When I turn to Him, my song sings praise to His name. 

pandora thinks i'm in kentucky and other thoughts

:: I made my Pandora account when I was still in high school. So, based on the ZIP code on my account, it thinks I'm in Kentucky. Which means all the ads are for Kentucky things. And on bad days, it makes me really want to go back home. But those days are few and far between, so I just let Pandora think I'm at home. Because most days it makes me happy to have a little bit of Kentucky with me. (Except when the ads are stupid, gross ones about White Castle. Yuck. If I find out that somebody has actually gotten married at White Castle like the ad claims, I will lost all hope for humanity.)

:: I just flat out lied. I told the lady on the phone that she had the wrong number. I don't think she did, but since she asked for Mr. or Mrs. Greenhell, I figured it wasn't going to be worth my time. And I'm neither a Mr. nor a Mrs., so technically it wasn't really a lie....right?

:: Lately I've felt like I have to defend my decision to not go on a mission to EVERYBODY. Seriously. The guy at the plasma center who pricked my finger and asked me if I have AIDS? Check. The guy who stuck a needle in my arm last week? Other assorted random people who don't even know me? Missionary friends? People I've very recently met and am trying to get to know? Check. Check. Check. Check. My first reaction is to be annoyed. They don't know me. They don't know my life. They don't know what's best for me. They didn't pray about it and stress about it and cry about it. I know me. I know my life. I know what's best for me, because I did pray and stress and cry about it. But then I realize that all of those reasons are why I shouldn't be annoyed about it, because I know I made the right choice for me at this point in my life. The opinions of all those other people don't matter and shouldn't affect how I feel about my life decisions.

:: I always have blogging ideas while I'm at work and am supposed to be focusing on other things. Why, brain, why?? 

:: Clean and organized are my words of the summer. This means making my bed every day (might not seem like a feat to anybody else, but ask my mom and every roommate I've ever had—I'm not the bed making type) and washing every dish immediately after using it. It also means that at the age of 21, I finally accepted that my mom has been right all these years—it is way faster to just put away clothes after wearing them than to pile them on the floor and have to deal with them down the road. Funny how that works. I've taken to tidying the kitchen and my bedroom before bed each night, and it really does make my mornings easier and (slightly) more enjoyable.

men in cars (a rant)

Let me tell you about two experiences I've had recently involving a man (scare quotes may be necessary here) and a car. More accurately, the first story fits that description to a T, but the second one is really a conglomeration of multiple vignettes which all follow the same pattern. Except once it was a moped and not a car. And actually I think a bus was involved at some point. Forgive me. 

I. 

I was driving in an area of Provo I'm not as familiar with and found myself in a right-turn only lane. Except I didn't want to turn right. So, seeing that a stoplight was fast approaching, I flicked on my blinker, hoping that the driver of the car behind me would let me over so that I wouldn't have to take an unnecessary right. In this case, right was wrong. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see if said car was complying, and the driver was not. Not even a little bit. He sped up. We even made eye contact, and I did my best to send him a mental plea to help a sistah out. He still kept going at that awkward speed that was just fast enough so that I didn't have room to move over, but not fast enough that he'd pass me in time for me to get over. 

Alright, mister, I thought. Two can play this game. So I sped up just in time to switch lanes just before the intersection. Yes, I cut him off a teeny tiny bit, alright? But he knew I needed to get over, and he refused to let me. If he'd just let me over when I first turned my blinker on, none of this would have happened. 

Now, in this situation, I would find it completely appropriate and justified for the driver of that stupid Saturn with the bike strapped to the back (sorry, Dad, for insulting a man with a bike) to have been a little miffed with me. It wasn't my finest moment as a driver, I'm well aware, and he had a right to maybe shout "Come on!" or "Pay attention, would ya?" I would have accepted that reaction. What I don't accept was his actual reaction. 

Immediately after we passed through the light, he quickly switched lanes, sped up so that he was alongside me, and then switched back, completely cutting me off. I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him. He also did me the honor of flipping me off out his open window. He then proceeded to drive painfully slowly right in front of me. I was overwhelmed by his mature response. Let me also note that this man was probably in his fifties. It wasn't some hot-headed twenty something with a superiority complex and a quick temper. 

After the snail pace continued for a mile or so, he pulled off to my right. As I passed by him, he flipped me off through the window again and yelled some very profane, very disrespectful things at me. Not cool, bro, not cool. 

II.

Every day, I walk home from work on a road that's fairly well trafficked. And during this half-mile walk, I frequently get honked at, shouted at, whistled at, or otherwise acknowledged by a male (or males—cars full of bros are the worst). Now, please realize I'm not explaining this to bring attention to the attention I get. Because I don't find it flattering, and I don't think it says anything about my attractiveness or level of appeal in any way. Quite frankly, I don't want to be attractive to any man (again, scare quotes implied) who thinks it is appropriate to yell or catcall at a woman walking down the sidewalk minding her own business. I find it disrespectful, ridiculous, and somewhat piggish, especially when those remarks are regarding a woman's body or are profane in any way. 

I know I'm not the only one that this happens to. My roommate also walks that path home from work, and similar things happen to her. I've witnessed other girls get this kind of attention. It's happened on good hair days, bad hair days, and hair days in between. It's happened when I'm wearing a dress or when I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt. All of this data I've collected leads me to one conclusion: when a man calls out at a woman, he is most likely not actually acknowledging his attraction to her. He might not find her attractive at all. He probably can't even see her face. What he is doing is exerting some sort of  warped machismo that leads him to believe that he can treat a woman however he wants whenever he wants. He is not trying to flatter her. He is not trying to get a date with her. He is treating her like an object. And women are not objects. They're people. 

Maybe I'm the only girl who feels this way. Maybe other girls find it flattering to be yelled at through the windows of cars. Maybe other girls don't jump three feet in the air when honked at. (I might actually be the only on that does that—I'm very easily startled.) Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing.

Maybe all those maybes are true. But this is how I feel. And I won't apologize for that. And I'd really like it if men in cars would start being a little more respectful. Deal? 

Deal.  

give yourself a break.

So you spent too much time on Netflix and not enough time writing that essay due in two days. I know. You skipped the gym in favor of a nap. I get it. I understand that your hair is in a ponytail for the fourth day straight and that you're forgetting what you look like in something other than a sweatshirt and jeans. And maybe your grandiose plans of a long, fruitful, spiritually uplifting scripture study somehow turned into a hurried glance over 1 Nephi 2:15 before conking out for the night or you got upset over something insignificant or harped on yourself for doing or saying the wrong thing.

Now if you're anything like me, you're tempted to think that these slip-ups make you a bad person. That you're a failure who can't do anything right. You miss golden opportunities and you'll never measure up to those around you and you'll never be good enough or smart enough or dedicated enough or anything enough.

But, please, I beg you: before you find yourself in this vicious cycle of self-deprecating behavior that is so easy to fall into, just stop. Assess. Take a breath. And give yourself a break.

Your mistakes and short-comings don't define you. Weakness is a part of you, but it's not who you are. Not really. So no, you're not a bad person because you ate a cupcake and seven gummi worms for dinner instead of concocting a balanced, healthy meal that would put Martha Stewart to shame. You're not going to fail at everything you attempt because you overslept and under-prepared. You're not a disappointment because of your mood swings or your anxieties or your fears. You're just not.

But it's easy to think so. Trust me, I know.

So I repeat: Stop. Assess. Take a breath. And give yourself a break.

I'm not excusing inappropriate or irresponsible behaviors. I'm not saying that it's okay to shirk your duties and to laze about every day. I'm not saying that you should never try or work or progress. I'm not saying that at all.

I am saying to remind yourself that you're only human and that because of that, you're going to make mistakes. But rather than have a myopic view of your life in which you can only see the negatives or the things you've done wrong or that didn't go according to plan, take a minute to recognize the things you have done well. What you have accomplished.

Think about that time you did go to the gym even though everything in your heart and body told you not to. Think about the person you served or the cake you baked that was to die for or the day last week when you learned so much through your scripture study. Think about the talents you have, the times you've succeeded, and the relationships that make life worthwhile.

And remember: you can try again tomorrow. And you might mess up again tomorrow, but that's okay. Give yourself a break. Stop defining who you are by what you didn't do perfectly. Stop getting down on yourself because your plan hasn't come to fruition. Stop convincing yourself that you're not worth something because you're not who somebody else thinks you should be.

Stop. Assess. Take a breath. And give yourself a break.

{not} grateful for trials

It's one of those cliche Mormon adages that you hear at testimony meeting and in visiting teaching messages and in talks and casual conversation: "I'm so grateful for my trials."

Now, I mean no disrespect or offense to anybody who has uttered that phrase; I, myself, have said it on numerous occasions, I'm sure. But, I think we all misspeak when we say that we're grateful for trials. Nobody actually means that.

And that's okay.

Why would be be grateful for the tragic passing of a beloved friend or family member? Why would we be grateful to encounter setback after setback as we try to live a good life and be productive members of society? Why would we rejoice when financial difficulties or family challenges or school struggles hinder our ability to achieve goals or progress? Why would be grateful for the times when debilitating disease--mental, emotional, or physical--sets in or when relationships crumble?

We wouldn't. We shouldn't. We aren't. And, again, that's okay.

I don't think we're a bunch of liars. I don't think we're putting on a facade to prove to the rest of the world that we're good Christians who accept God's will. I fully believe that we really are grateful. I just think we're not articulating what it is we're actually grateful for. I think we're actually grateful for the growth and change that come as a result of having to endure hard things, not the trial itself.

Trials and challenges change us in a way that very few other things can. And those changes can be positive or negative changes--which end of the spectrum we gravitate toward depends entirely on our choices and our reaction to hard times. Do we turn to our Heavenly Father in prayer, begging and pleading for strength, wisdom, and understanding, or do we shut him our in anger, hurt, and fear? Do we study the scriptures, desperately seeking a Balm in Gilead, or do we leave them on the shelves gathering dust because we think the words and stories of dead guys aren't applicable or beneficial in our time? Do we seek guidance from trusted leaders, friends, and family, or do we hold everything inside, foolishly believing that we can handle everything by ourselves? I realize that how we react to trials isn't white and black--it's a spectrum. But we choose where to place ourselves on the spectrum.

But choosing where we want to be and how we want to react is HARD. It's not just a choice between A and B or a flippant decision made with little thought. It's heart-wrenching. It's difficult. It's painful. Doing what's right when everything is going wrong isn't some casual Sunday afternoon stroll through the park. It's more closely related to hiking Mount Doom with the ring of power weighing you down, if you ask me. It takes unending faith and strength and perseverance. It takes the kind of grit that you don't always know you have inside of you.

But making those good, hard choices isn't without its reward. When we choose to be faithful through trials, we gain strength and wisdom and humility that can rarely be acquired through other means. We grow in ways we never saw possible. We become a person we didn't know we could be. We draw ever nearer to a Savior who extends a hand of mercy to us at all times. We view ourselves in a different light--stronger, smarter, more complete. And those changes and perspectives are worth the pain and suffering and confusion.

That's what I'm grateful for.

spring slump

It's that time of the semester when I log on Facebook and every other post from my high school friends/acquaintances goes a little something like this:

"Squeeee! Only 4 more days until spring break!! :) :) :) :)""

Or like this:

"IT'S HERE! #noschoolfordays #chillinlikeavillian"

Or like this:

"<inserts exotic/warm/cultural/not Utahish place here> here I come! Spring Break 2014!!! HOLLA!!!"

And I'm all, "it's cool." And I kind of mean it, even though I'm just hanging out in sometimes warmish, sometimes sunny P-town, eating M&Ms like it's my job.

Side story: The other day in class, I ate a few M&Ms to keep myself awake, and all I could imagine was my professor throwing me in the Chokey or tossing me out the window a la Trunchbull. On second thought, both are unlikely seeing as class was in the dungeon basement, and my professor is a tiny little waif of a crotchety old man who I could take down without breaking a sweat.

But in all actuality, all those emoticons and excessive punctuation and chillin' on the beach Instagrams are slowly killing me inside. I'm dying for a break. I'd take one day. Just one when I don't have to go to school or do homework or work. I know what you're thinking: "That's what Saturdays are for!" But no. They're not. Saturdays are for doing those pesky things like laundry and cleaning that just don't fit into the rest of the week. Or for convincing yourself that you have all the time in the world to relax because there are twenty-four hours in the day and obviously you can get homework done after an hour or two (or three or four or...) of Netflix because you deserve a break, goshdarnit. And then you fly into a frenzied panic when you realize you've wasted way too much of your day and have to rush to get everything done before Monday morning due dates.

Rest assured that I'm aware that this is a first-rate first world problem. I know I shouldn't be complaining about wanting a break from my quality education at an affordable university that is also providing me with a job that I love that gives me practical experience for a future career. To a lot of people, this post makes me come across as a bitter, selfish, over-privileged whiner who doesn't know how good she's got it.

But I know. I do. I promise.

But I also know that I'm a human who gets stressed and tired and deals with hard things and who sometimes just needs a breather. Who just wants one day of relaxation. Just one.

Unfortunately, that's just not an option for me. Because despite the many wonderful things this university grants me, spring break just isn't one of them. But when I look at the bigger picture, I realize that I wouldn't trade all of the other blessings of Brigham Young University for a week of relaxation. I wouldn't trade the intelligent professors, the religion classes, the uplifting atmosphere. I wouldn't trade deeply rooted friendships with people who know and understand what I believe and why I believe it or the opportunities I have to serve and grow and learn. Not even for a week-long decompress.

But having a spring break in addition to all that? Yeah, I wouldn't mind that so much.

on being a 20-year-old Mormon girl at the BYU

A few months ago, I was attending the mission call opening of a friend of mine. While we were waiting, a newly engaged acquaintance approached me. I hadn't seen her in quite some time and, after I congratulated her on her engagement, she asked me what I was up to. As a 20-year-old girl in Provo, Utah, that's a pretty loaded question. 

"Well," I responded, "I'm just going to school right now."

"Are you planning on going on a mission?" she asked. This was only a few months after President Monson made the historic missionary age change announcement, and missionary work was a hot topic. 

"It's not in the plan right now," I told her.

"Are you dating anybody?" she asked, her exuberance over relationships shining through those sparkling, engaged eyes of hers. 

"No," I responded. 

Her face fell a little, as though she no longer knew how to communicate with a boyfriendless, nonprospective missionary like myself. "Oh," was all she could come up with. 

I left the crowded apartment later that evening after my friend's mission call had been opened and all the festivities and congratulations had commenced feeling a little down on myself. Though I'm sure this acquaintance of mine never intended to insult, judge, or belittle me, and though she hadn't actually said it out loud, I still heard the words "Well, what are you doing?" ringing in the air between us. 

In the months that have followed, I've had a lot of time to contemplate on this encounter. I honestly feel like a minority in Provo right now due to my single status and lack of a mission call, and sometimes I'm tempted to ask myself the same question that remained unspoken all those months ago: What am I doing? 

What am I doing? I'm furthering my education. I'm preparing for a future career. I'm fulfilling my calling. I'm strengthening my relationships with my friends and family. I'm preparing for the day when I am engaged and ready to get married. I'm growing into the best person I can be. I'm drawing nearer to my Savior. I'm looking for opportunities to serve others. I'm making the most of the place in life I'm in. 

All without a boyfriend/fiance/husband or a mission call.

Now, the purpose of this isn't to rag on people who are in relationships or who are on missions. Those are both amazing, wonderful life experiences that I'd love to have someday. I thought long and hard about serving a mission. I fasted and prayed and pondered and counseled. But, my answer was that now isn't the time for me to serve in that way. Heavenly Father has other things He wants me to do here in Provo. 

And I couldn't be happier to be where I am right now. 

I'm not bitter that I'm not experiencing these exciting steps in life that so many of my friends and peers are experiencing. I trust Heavenly Father's plan for me, and I know He knows far more than I do about what's best for me. My time will come. And until then, I will keep on doing what I'm doing now. I'll keep growing. I'll keep seeking. I'll keep loving. 

And I won't let anybody tell me that I'm worth any less than all of those strong, beautiful, amazing young sister missionaries and all of the happy girlfriends, fiancees, and wives. Being in a different place in my life doesn't put me in a worse place. I'm not less righteous, I'm not less worthy, and I'm not less strong. Just because I'm at an eligible age to serve a mission and because Mormon culture deems me to be at a "marriageable age" (whatever that means) doesn't mean that they are right for me right now.

And that's okay.

I guess if I had to summarize what I wish I could say to every unmarried girl roaming around BYU right now, it'd be to do what you know is best for you. It's okay to not be dating a dreamboat or serving a mission. Don't feel like you're less of a woman or less of a Mormon or less of an anything because you are at a different place in your life right now. The most important thing for you to do isn't what everybody else is doing--it's doing what the Spirit tells you is right for you. It's doing the will of the Lord. 

Because if you do those things, you will find peace and you will be happy. 

a pep talk from me to me

Okay, Maddie. You can do this.

You can sit still for more than thirteen seconds; it's not that hard. You can be a grown up and wrangle the crazy amount of energy built up inside of you and use it for productive things. And Maddie, going to the park and playing on the swings doesn't count as productive. Neither does watching Pocahontas. Sorry.

You can sit and crank out these assignments even though Provo feels like heaven right now. You can stay sequestered inside and write papers instead of frolicking in the sunshine. Yes, Provo may have been temporarily transformed into the Garden of Eden, but that's no reason to lose your head and ignore huge  assignments. It smells like spring, I know, but guess what? It will smell like spring all spring long. You will have several months to stand in the grass and enjoy the crisp cleanness of spring air.

This is going to be a breeze. It won't make you want to claw your eyes out. When you finish these assignments, you will probably cry out in anguish, asking the universe why you couldn't have an infinite amount of such assignments. Doing homework isn't going to destroy the joy you are feeling. It won't ruin your great mood or tarnish this perfect day.

So stop blogging now and get to work!

P.S. Oh, and you're going to get As on all of these assignments. Just a heads up.