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Did you ever find yourself back at your home ward after almost a month of all kinds of things happening? Today that was me. Today was Fast Sunday. At church as Mormons we have one Sunday a month where we fast and where anyone who wants to can stand up at the pulpit and talk about God and why they think he's real, or nice, or sometimes they thank people in the congregation for being so nice. Usually, they do both. It's very nice and can be comical when people say weird stuff.

It sure goes by a heck of a lot faster than your standard sacrament meeting.



My last Fast Sunday was the last time I was at my ward and I had a very bad sacrament meeting. I wanted to bear my testimony but I felt stupid about it and didn't want to end up squeaking something indistinguishable and truly frightening out of my frightened and puckered mouth into the microphone in front of 200+ people. People might smirk. People get up there and say distinguished things. People also get up there and say unbelievably stupid things, but I don't want to be one of the latter. It's scary! I wore the same shoes last time I was there at church that I did today there at church. They're my favorite shoes. I believe that favorite shoes should be lucky, and these haven't proved themselves outstandingly lucky yet, but I'm still giving them a chance occasionally because when I bought them their navy blue-ness and lavender polka dotted-ness had that favorite potential. Target does that to a pair of shoes.

That Sunday in July I went outside and talked on the phone during the meeting and mushed sticks into the sidewalk cracks while sitting out there and I felt much, much better about myself and my testimony and how awesome it is for me. It was hot. It's hot today too. Since that Sunday a month ago when I stood out under that shade of one of the good-smelling trees on the side of the wardhouse I've been attending and climbing up on top of with boys and playing volleyball in for twenty years, everything has changed dramatically. Again. As it always does. When I say "everything has changed dramatically", I don't mean everything. I still have the same favorite foods and a general dislike for parched grass and Physical Science and stale water. An extra arm hasn't sprouted out of my forehead or anything.

I mean the perspective, my perspective, has changed again. My perspective of the past. The future. What's going on right now. My opinions. My opinion of myself. My opinion of life and relationships and how much your life should interfere with your relationships. I guess it's all part of growing up, your perspective changing. It's a Big Thing. It's hard but I like it. I like feeling different. I don't know if it's part of growing up, the fact that everything changes so dramatically.

I don't know why each blog I write (at least the good ones) is about some big dramatic thing that happened to me, and the blog talks about it forever without actually defining the dramatic thing. I know that I'm dramatic, and sometimes I think that is why change often seems dramatic. Is change dramatic for other people? For the people who don't comment in class or shout loudly in grocery stores? Nothing seems to stay the same. Does it stay the same for you? Does it stop when you're old? It seems to me that everything changes dramatically so often that I am just beginning to grow and learn from the last dramatic change when a new dramatic change comes along, and that each time, they get more dramatic and more changey. I hope I'm remembering enough from each of them.

So I went to my home ward today and my mean little sister didn't let me sit next to my mom, but I got over it after feeling dramatic about it. She flicked her hair in my face about 1000 times and I refrained from smacking her. You could call that mature. I borrowed my dad's hankie (because he carries them) during the sacrament and dabbed at my face because two big fatty tears tumbled down onto my lavender polyester dress. I couldn't figure out where they came from. I smiled at my bishop when he glanced quizzically at me from the stand. Smiling is always better. I bore my testimony. You could call that dramatic. It felt good though. My legs always shake like crazy and I feel awkward because I figure my butt must be vibrating uglily directly in front of the bishopric as a result.

Go figure, I could get up at age eighteen in a ridiculous costume with my boobs hanging half out and sing a song meant for Linda Eder that was half in French to 400+ people without shaking or sweating one drop, but at a pulpit talking about saying my prayers at night, my facial muscles turn to jelly and I kind of gloooooooobssshhhhh all over the podium. It's fun.

I bore my testimony and said all the things I wanted to say (besides refraining from a shout-out to the Zs back in the first row of the cultural hall) and stomped back to my family's bench and felt terrific. Beaming.
Beaming on the inside for not puckering or indistinguishing. Maybe it was indistinguishing to some people in the room, but I felt pretty good about it. As we sang the closing hymn (God Be With You Til We Meet Again--kills me every time. It would kill you every time too. Listen to it.) I heard my piano teacher of thirteen years/good friend Sandra Thorne sitting behind me and was pleased to hear her alto line singing along sweetly belong my soprano. And I figure, there are always those people there. Singing underneath me. And that makes me happy.

Famous blog people write questions at the end of their blogs and ask for responses, and I think, "How fun it must be for them to read all those responses and laugh and murmur and ponder deeply with a mug of tea while watching the sunset all the things people say to them"

So could you tell me one thing that has made you really spectacularly happy over the last few days/weeks/your life?

Just one thing. Even if it's like Twizzlers or something. I see that lots of people read this blog and don't leave comments--I want to know you! Not in a creepy way. So tell me one thing that you like to be happy about. If you want.