Die Hard. With a Testimony.

I've always known the church.

I started to write that sentence and had to go to the bathroom so I stopped at church. Then when I came back to finish that sentence I sat back down in my chair and looked at the sentence and realized it was complete. 

I've always known the church. 

I remember walking to church when I was four, maybe three, from my house in Orem just down the street. Once I was racing around the living room at a 45 degree angle because a three year old can go fast enough and gain enough momentum (especially when you have the kind of house where you can go from the living room to the kitchen and back again in a circle) to lean into the angle while you're running and suddenly I was marveling at what a freaking awesome four or three year old I was when I heard a deafening clatter which broke my concentration and turned my 45 degree angle into an entirely horizontal one. I was small so that saved me. Carpet burn hurts. 

Like this. Only two feet shorter. Less hairy. More female. 

And not leaning over a cliff like an idiot. 

 

Anyway, the clatter was-I promise this is true-the entire front window detaching from the frame and blowing into the front living room from the violent winds happening outside. I can imagine, now that I am an adult who gets to deal with three new messes every time she cleans up one, how fun this event must have been for my parents. But for my baby sister who was 1 or 2 at the time and I, this was the absolute best, most exciting, SCREAM YOUR HEAD OFF worthy moment EVER! (This was during the time when E and I would toss a blanket onto the floor, climb aboard the brand new ship and find ourselves amidst raging waves in an endless ocean. Remember how fun that was? Almost as fun as sliding down stairs in a sleeping bag. Let's be honest here, NOTHING IN THE WORLD will EVER be as fun as sliding down stairs in a sleeping bag. I may be 29 for two more months but I will indeed be doing that again one day. Most likely when I'm 95 and depressed that I may not get to see that incredible looking movie being featured in a preview on the Teevee. At first I'll be sad, but then I'll shrug, toss aside my crochet hook and 1 millionth afghan and go find my sleeping bag. Girls gotta have fun while she can.)

Where was I?

So after we left my dad behind to fix the window, we walked to church. And I got to do my 3 or 4 year old superpower thing again by leaning at a 45 degree angle, only this time it was forward walking into the wind. I was too young to notice all the modesty violations being committed by skirts being lifted above all heads. We miss so many moments of awesomeness by being too young or distracted to appreciate them. 

I was THE ONLY LIVE BABY JESUS EVER USED in the Hill Cumorah Pageant! Ever! Every other year it was a doll! If you ask my mom about it she'll tell you about the covert hand off that occurred behind the plaster mountains and how blissful I was laying in Mary's arms while being sprayed with water. Apparently The Hill Cumorah Pageant uses water misters. If you ask my dad the story he'll recount with glee how I was a 6 month old cutie wrapped in a trashbag. 

If you ask me, I will tell you that that is my favorite fact about me of all time. No joke. I really would love to have THE ONLY LIVE BABY JESUS EVER USED IN THE HILL CUMORAH PAGEANT inscribed on my headstone, and I am going to list that last wish in my final will and testament, but we'll see. 

I went to school when I was 7 with a Samoan girl who wore almost every day a black leather halter top dotted with metal spikes and frosted with a tough leather jacket. She had huge black hair, a very fierce face, and a foot and a half of height on all the other kids in my grade. I, along with everyone else, was terrified of her. Did she have teeth? Who knew. She glared a lot. 

Then one day at church when our two wards somehow got mixed up between meetings we spotted each other. This girl was kin. Religious kin. I stood frozen when she spotted me and to my utter and total astonishment I discovered she had gorgeous teeth when a gigantic grin bloomed across her face. And, I am for reals FOR REALS telling the truth, she was my friend after that and became the third grade Samoan biker Mormon girl that smiled. The fact that I looked exactly like Punky Brewster as a kid must have won her over. I wish I knew where she was, she was very very sweet as it happens.

I remember moving from Los Angeles to San Bernardino and staying in the big empty new house with my grandma and being sad that all we were going to have for dinner was a tiny hamburger patty each because everyone else had gone back down to LA to get the other stuff and we had no car. And then, the doorbell rang. So we went downstairs and opened it and I literally thought I'd been lied to my whole life and magic actually did exist on Earth in bounteous multitude because there on my porch stood a beautiful woman holding a dinner and two pies. I literally gaped at this woman. How in the heck did she know we needed food? This had to be an angel from God. Normally dressed of course, but hey, who said angels always wear white when they descend? 

(Older and wiser I of course am so grateful for the blessings of relief societies everywhere but in that moment I just thought this was a miracle. In case you hadn't guessed yet I was a little gullible and a lot stupid as a little 'un.)

I remember our first Sunday there when we got lost on the way to church. Pulled over on the side of the road peering at a map someone rolled down their window and beeped at us and beaming, invited us fellow Latter Day Saints to follow them to church. Again, my jaw dropped open. This was truly a magical town where I would be sure to find fairies and wizards and a vortex to an alternate universe soon. Then it was sweetly suggested to me that our entire families churchy attire might have tipped them off. That was an apt guess, but to this day I do not think it was the attire. No, I think these kind Samaritans knew of our plight that they could help with as soon as they glimpsed five little girls all with early 90s GINORMOUS ribbon bow clips rising like peacock feathers above their heads. 

I remember going to church in my dad's ward down in Anaheim when it was our weekend to visit and turning a brilliant shade of red when my dad inexplicably decided to get up during testimony meeting dressed in street clothes and ramble on about everything that was not anything to do with testimony meeting. And not understanding why my 14 year old sister cried all through it. 

I remember always, always, always knowing the church was and is true. For a while I thought I was not right for the church, which was a strange thing to think if I knew the church itself was true but just because pink is the prettiest color ever does not then mean I look good wearing it. (I don't. I look like I have scarlet fever.)

Fortunately, I wised up quick. 

I love my church. I've always known it, almost always loved it, and always believed it. It has brought me more joy and peace and blessings than anything else ever has, could, or would on this planet. Anything. I hope I can help as many people as possible come to know this joy and peace. If it's through laughing, fine, I got some of that. If it's through being inspired by my testimony, I'll try to have a lot of that. If it's through crying at my beautifully rendered words well, um...let me direct you to another blog that does that. 

The Nie Nie Dialogues 

There ya go, laugh here and cry there. She'll do it to you, Stephanie Nielson  will. She'll yank buckets of saline out of your eyes. 

But I hope I can express my love of the gospel here. This is the most beautiful truth of all truths, what I am endeavoring to learn and follow. It is the most priceless gift that Heavenly Father would give us here. I am so, so, so grateful to have it. 

Here's to my 17th (or so) new blog!

This one though, this one is sticking around. This one holds my heart. 

Ciao for now!

The Die Hard Mormon

(Oh yeah, I forget to say. Die Hard Mormon because it was a cool name and not taken and I very much think accurate to how I feel.)

"Noooooo, you can't take thaaaat awaaaaaaaay FROOOOOOOM MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!"

I type sing much more beautifully then I actually sing. You're welcome.)