The following will be a list of true confessions. Don't judge.
1. This will not be complete by the end of the post.
2. I laugh at inappropriate times.
3. I laugh when I'm nervous.
4. I laugh when people fall. I'm not proud of that but these are my confessions.
5. Lets be honest... I laugh a lot... mostly because I find lots of things really funny.
6. I used to draw elaborate floor plans for a dream house on the margins of my paper when I was bored in school. Those floor plans usually involved a three story bedroom with a slide from top to bottom, a ginormous closet, and a pool.
7. I hate making my bed every day. I think it's stupid because I just crawl into it again every night. But... I do it anyway because I'm trying to implement order in my life.
8. I have an unhealthy appreciation for diet cola drinks.
9. I think the colors of plants are the richest on a rainy overcast day.
10. I compare my weaknesses to other people's strengths. It is totally unintentional and I don't recommend but it happens. I can't lie.
11. I like lipstick and fun eye shadow colors.
12. Oh, and I like crazy nail polish colors. Dark blue... BYU blue is currently my favorite.
13. I may or may not have a teensy crush on Jimmer. Okay... true confession.. I do.
14. I really really like to watch birds in flight. Especially when there are tons of them migrating. So neat.
15. Reading is the best because I get to be another person for a while on a really fun adventure.
16. I'm a blog stalker.
More to come. Stay tuned.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
lessons from dad.
I keep having all these really cool/funny/interesting ideas for blogs... things I want to say but when it gets time to typing them all out I suddenly get lazy. Don't judge. I'll get around to them I promise... the following is at the top of the list.
So just this Sunday I taught Relief Society on the topic of charity... which honestly was a lesson meant first and foremost for me. Somehow, I am in constant need of a reminder to reach outside of myself and love those around me... particularly those I find hard to love. At any rate, while preparing for my lesson I kept hearing the voice of my Dad in my head.
But before I share that story I feel like I need to back up and explain a character "issue" of mine. I tend to get, umm.. a little bit passionate when I think people are the victims of unjust life circumstances (e.g. racism, sexism, poverty, abuse, etc.) and when people I care about are hurt by another I literally lose rational perspective in defense of the loved one. Literally lose it. Lose it. Lost. Gone. But I digress.
Back to Dad. (Some of you may have heard me tell this story... so feel free to skim or check back later for other fun posts.) I don't remember the exact year but it was shortly before grad school started or not long after... I was sitting in my Dad's office, as I like to do, engaged in a one on one conversation with him. We were talking about the topic of adultery and discussing a particular situation of a family that is now anonymous in my memory but known to me at the time. One of the spouses had cheated on the other and was separated from the family. And I was M-A-D. Bitterly angry. It wasn't pretty. I exploded in a verbal tirade about what a terrible person the adulterer was. About how their family was suffering. About what an idiot... and other choice phrases... they were for all the insanely horrible choices they had made... for the pain and suffering they had caused all those around them. My voice was loud and my tone cutting. I felt angry from head to toe. And then when I went up for air my Dad took the opportunity to quietly and calmly say, "Aimee, where is your compassion?" The words stung me. All I could think was ... what do you mean where's my compassion? I have plenty. Being unable to respond as I was so stunned with my Dad's response that he proceeded to explain that the adulterer was in need of compassion for the choices they had made. For the fact that they would be alone in the process of repentance. Everyone else would be supporting the victim but the cause of all the hurt needed someone to love them. They needed someone to pray for them. They needed someone to take compassion on them.
I'm not gonna lie.. it took a while for the words to sink and for me to process them. "Where is your compassion?" They have haunted me since. Often when I am sitting in counseling sessions, across from others who have made poor hurtful choices, those words come back. When I am tempted to be offended or light up a verbal lashing about an offender I hear Dad's voice questioning me. "Aimee, where is your compassion?" When I was preparing for my lesson I couldn't get his voice and those words out of my head... "Where is your compassion?" As I studied my lesson I came to realization that having compassion is a huge part of charity. It is the act of showing empathy, particularly to those who have offended or done wrong... to my "enemies". It is the pure love of Christ. It is a requirement if I want to live with God again. A requirement. And frankly, I need others... I need Christ... to be compassionate with me. I will be forever grateful to my Dad, who guides his family by the power of the priesthood and listens to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost teaching me to be a better person. His decision to speak with boldness and with the Spirit has made ...and continues to make all the difference. I cherish our chats together. So, to my Dad... I say thank you. And Daddy, I love you.
So just this Sunday I taught Relief Society on the topic of charity... which honestly was a lesson meant first and foremost for me. Somehow, I am in constant need of a reminder to reach outside of myself and love those around me... particularly those I find hard to love. At any rate, while preparing for my lesson I kept hearing the voice of my Dad in my head.
But before I share that story I feel like I need to back up and explain a character "issue" of mine. I tend to get, umm.. a little bit passionate when I think people are the victims of unjust life circumstances (e.g. racism, sexism, poverty, abuse, etc.) and when people I care about are hurt by another I literally lose rational perspective in defense of the loved one. Literally lose it. Lose it. Lost. Gone. But I digress.
Back to Dad. (Some of you may have heard me tell this story... so feel free to skim or check back later for other fun posts.) I don't remember the exact year but it was shortly before grad school started or not long after... I was sitting in my Dad's office, as I like to do, engaged in a one on one conversation with him. We were talking about the topic of adultery and discussing a particular situation of a family that is now anonymous in my memory but known to me at the time. One of the spouses had cheated on the other and was separated from the family. And I was M-A-D. Bitterly angry. It wasn't pretty. I exploded in a verbal tirade about what a terrible person the adulterer was. About how their family was suffering. About what an idiot... and other choice phrases... they were for all the insanely horrible choices they had made... for the pain and suffering they had caused all those around them. My voice was loud and my tone cutting. I felt angry from head to toe. And then when I went up for air my Dad took the opportunity to quietly and calmly say, "Aimee, where is your compassion?" The words stung me. All I could think was ... what do you mean where's my compassion? I have plenty. Being unable to respond as I was so stunned with my Dad's response that he proceeded to explain that the adulterer was in need of compassion for the choices they had made. For the fact that they would be alone in the process of repentance. Everyone else would be supporting the victim but the cause of all the hurt needed someone to love them. They needed someone to pray for them. They needed someone to take compassion on them.
I'm not gonna lie.. it took a while for the words to sink and for me to process them. "Where is your compassion?" They have haunted me since. Often when I am sitting in counseling sessions, across from others who have made poor hurtful choices, those words come back. When I am tempted to be offended or light up a verbal lashing about an offender I hear Dad's voice questioning me. "Aimee, where is your compassion?" When I was preparing for my lesson I couldn't get his voice and those words out of my head... "Where is your compassion?" As I studied my lesson I came to realization that having compassion is a huge part of charity. It is the act of showing empathy, particularly to those who have offended or done wrong... to my "enemies". It is the pure love of Christ. It is a requirement if I want to live with God again. A requirement. And frankly, I need others... I need Christ... to be compassionate with me. I will be forever grateful to my Dad, who guides his family by the power of the priesthood and listens to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost teaching me to be a better person. His decision to speak with boldness and with the Spirit has made ...and continues to make all the difference. I cherish our chats together. So, to my Dad... I say thank you. And Daddy, I love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)