I think that’s the title of a really bad movie about Reno that I have never seen because I heard it was really, terribly awful...

Anyway.

I woke up in Reno on August 22, 2011. And since then, well: I’ve scrubbed down my apartment (I’m talking really deep cleaning, you guys); unpacked; finished all my laundry; washed, vacuumed, and ArmorAll-ed my car; successfully registered for classes last minute—again; stocked my fridge; spent a lot of time with Jen; celebrated Cambria’s birthday; gone to several church activities; met a new best-friend-to-be (JoyceAnn); and successfully made an address change with the missionary so that I have received “letters on letters” this week.

Mostly though, I have been thinking a lot. Because I’m pretty much completely different from how I was when left Reno. So coming back is tricky. I’ve learned in one short week that you can’t let go & still hold on. Even a little. I’ve learned that you can’t walk the edge for very long unless you really wanna fall. And I’ve learned that sometimes the past is only the past if you leave it there.

Only sometimes it isn’t your choice. And sometimes your past comes back and bites you. Sometimes it stops you from taking a course in your life that you really wanted to take—like maybe going on a mission. And the answer is, “no.” That’s when your past is fresh in your mind. And your guilt is hammered into your heart once again. And the tears fall freely down your cheeks. And you remember again how truly sorry you are. And how bad you wish you could take it all back, but you can’t. And you wish you could call that missionary, but you can’t. And you wish you could just start over, but you can’t. 


The only thing you can do is stand up, wipe your eyes, turn around, and walk. And keep walking. And maybe even run. You can leave that past far, far, far away from your present. You can keep growing. You can keep moving forward. You can pray. You can read that amazing book. You can be a missionary here. But really, the only thing you can do is just try to be better than your past.

Friday night I held a girl in my arms as her body shook with violent sobs. This girl has seen the worst of the world. Her life has been harder than I could ever imagine, but still she is fighting. Still she has hope. And although it is frail, and sometimes falters--it never dies.

I feel so blessed to continually be able to experience the best of the world. To have so many things in my life which build my hope and make living wonderful.

Tuesday I got to go on a sister date with Nychea where we had the best sandwiches in town at Economy Drug coupled with my favorite drink of all time--chocolate coke from the old fashioned fountain. We shared pistachio ice cream, secrets, memories... And we laughed. A lot.

Thursday I got to go to Hot Creek with my family and other cute families that are such good friends. I got to swim into the "black hole" that turns a dinky natural hot spring pond into something amazing. The way it looks from above, the swirling black and blue shadows, the shapes you find in the rocks as you hold your breath and swim down trying to go as far as you can before your breath runs out and your ears hurt so bad you can't take it, and still you can't see the bottom. All of God's wonderful creations around me for me to enjoy. Bliss.

Saturday morning I woke up to the smell of desert rain outside of my window. I got to brush my little sister's hair and give her a kiss on her sweet face before she hurried out the door with my brother and grandparents. I got to drive through the falling raindrops as they came down lightly from above, and see the fog lift as the sun raised. I got to play an early-morning game of beach volleyball and feel the sand between my toes. I got to laugh with my friends. I got to drive across rural Nevada on my way to work and experience the wonder of the wide-open spaces around me all day.

And Sunday, well Sunday, I got to go to church. And I got to take the sacrament for the first time in a long time. And I got to feel Christ's loving arms wrap around me and comfort me as I reflected on my journey to get to that point. I got to hear The Spirit whisper into my heart that I was on the right track. I got to listen to my little brother play "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." And as the words silently resounded in my mind, I got to feel the squeeze of my little sister's hand as tears of gratitude and joy fell off my cheeks. 

Sunday night I got to go on an outing for work to a cave. It wasn’t one of those fancy-pants caves with lights and handrails. No, it was rough, and rugged, and dangerous. And I loved it. We took seven girls with us and as the cave went on and on and onnnnn, we got more and more muddy. Pretty soon we were covered from head to toe (literally since 4 of the girls lost their shoes and their socks in a mud filled trench inside). The cave stole shoes, a pair of glasses, and all of our dignity. There wasn’t one of us who didn’t fall flat on our face at some point. And I cut my leg on a rock. Yep. Did I say there was mud? Because there was MUD.

I love my life. And I am thankful for every part of it & for 

h o p e.

"Faith is like a little seed, if planted it will grow."

At every still moment, I almost always find myself reflecting on my decision to come back to church and how much it has blessed my life.  I am so thankful to my Heavenly Father for orchestrating a way for this change to happen.  Some days I look back on all that has transpired and silently say a prayer of thanks to be in the place I am.

I have a great testimony of the strength that Christ provides you with if you but make the tiniest effort to try and do what is right.  Looking back at the beginning of my journey, I remember how impossible it seemed. I remember feeling completely hopeless about the task in front of me.  I had to change my entire life. I had to change how I thought about everything. I had to give up a lot. The very idea seemed unachievable.

I frequently ponder the prayers that I said during that time in my life, and how my sacrifices were met with blessings.  So many amazing people have come into my life since that very first day, and I know that because they had perviously chosen to follow Jesus Christ, they were in a position to be instruments in His hands to help me walk back to the path. I am so thankful that there are stronger people than me out there,that they are so willing to serve others, and that they think of themselves last, but surely not least. I know that without them, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't.

Neal A. Maxwell said in a talk given at a BYU Women's Conference a few years ago that, during the course of conversion we are well watched over. He says, "Mercifully, the whisperings of the Spirit nudge us along the path in an almost private process. Through it all we will need to be strong enough for ourselves but also strong enough to help others, because there will be immigrants arriving from Babylon—there will even be some defectors from the “great and spacious building” (1 Ne. 8:26)—and they need to encounter people like you."

This road hasn't always been easy, but it will always be worth it.  I strive to become like the people that helped me on my way, and I do all I can to try and help other's to come unto Christ. To feel of His love and to recognize all the tools that He has given us on this Earth to grow. I know that My Redeemer lives, and that He loves us. This knowledge has given me more peace & hope than I could have ever imagined, and nothing in this world is worth losing that.

I pray everyday that I may better serve Him. That in some small, totally insignificant way I may feebly attempt to pay back the debt that I owe--or don't owe for that matter (thanks to Him). That He may be proud that I am a disciple of His. I am far, far, far from perfect; but I am trying.