And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.

This weekend, I really feel like I've been dragged through hell. There's really no other way to put it. Friday evening I got word that a girl I grew up with and her family had been victims to a sickening act of violence. I don't think I've ever been so sad in my entire life as I have been these past three days; I don't think my heart has ever hurt so deeply. Having known and loved these people, and being one that feels far too deeply for her own good, I have just felt so heavy. But even with this sickness of sadness, I'm not sure I've ever been so aware of how much Heavenly Father knows about me either.

I've always known that he's been there for me and cares about and loves what I care about and love, but He has placed so many specific things in my little life in this big world to help me recognize that He knows my broken heart.

I went to the temple on Saturday and, knowing my love for Scotland, my Heavenly Father placed me near a missionary from Scotland that was there with his companion helping a couple that they had led to the church go to the temple for the first time to do baptisms.

And in that same place in the temple, He prompted me to talk to my friend next to me because He knew my heart was drifting into sadness as I was praying and reading the scriptures quietly.

Later that day, as I was playing my usual pickup game of ultimate frisbee, there were so many dogs and children at the park--two of my very favorite things, and two things that Heavenly Father knows are my favorite.

He prompted me to call two of my friends that I had grown up with alongside our friend who had been the surviving victim of this tragedy, and on Sunday prompted me to call my wonderful grandmother.

I have never been one for crying in public, or in front of people at all for that matter (besides my mom), but I kind of lost it during the sacrament hymn on Sunday. And while I usually try to sing sacrament hymns in my head and pray during the sacrament, Heavenly Father instead placed a song that isn't a hymn in my head because He knows the hope and peace it gives me when I've had a bad day. And while it is not a particularly spiritual song, I felt the love of God through the Spirit with immense intensity as I recited that song in my head instead of a hymn. And then after the meeting, when I broke down again, I felt His love in the hug of my bishop's fantastic wife.

He gave me peace as I had to sing twice in a musical fireside my ward held last night (Sunday), because He knows I'm trying to not be shy in sharing my talents and because He knows how much I love to sing and how much it scares me to sing in front of others.

He helped me when I went over to a friend's apartment to receive a priesthood blessing and his roommates (also friends of mine) offered me ice cream when I came over, even though they didn't know that I had come over to receive a blessing. (I love ice cream.)

I woke up this morning from a good dream, and then my thoughts caught up with me and I felt myself slipping into sadness again. After trying to cope with some spiritual enlightenment, I went downstairs, looked out the window, and saw that it was snowing. The gentle fall of frozen water may be the bane of some people's existence, but to me, it is a gentle, quiet reminder of the Christmas season and the Savior that's at the center of its celebration.

He loves me so much, and even though I'm still sad, and my heart is still aching, and I want to cry even as I write all of this, He has helped me know He is here. He has held me close and safe in the midst of this ugly, horrific storm. He keeps urging me to not let go of my faith and to mourn with those that mourn. And if that's all He asks in exchange for this immense love that I have felt from Him, then that's what I'm going to do. And somehow, someway, this will all be for [my] good.

____________________________

The song in my head during Sacrament:

Letters to August - 5 (August 20, 2015)

Dear August,

So, this year's letters haven't been as frequent as last year's. I'm sorry for that.

My laptop is currently being poked, prodded, and (hopefully) fixed in some warehouse somewhere (I like to think the North Pole, but that's just because I'm still five years old). So, it should be back to me once the end of these letters roll around. That means more substance to these letters than I can manage in just the hour I get for my lunch break when I sneak up to the Media Center in the library to use the computers there.

My life is kind of funny, August. There are so many random/odd/crazy/flabbergasting things that tend to happen to me. Like, gravity's constant need to be my enemy or Europe's need to prevent me from using all of my electronics. And there are so many other maybe not so funny things that have been a part of my life, but that's life, right?

At the beginning of my life, the Lord tried me with trials of faith having to do with my health (I was a sickly child), then my family (my parents' divorce), and once I got through all of those things, he's continued to try me with things that may not seem like much after those early trials to some, but to me, they are everything and they run deep. I won't get into too many details because trials are sacred things that should only be shared if we feel prompted to do so (not the case right now), but it's so interesting how much we grow.

That's so obvious, Jazmin. (What you were thinking.)

But it's not as obvious as when you consciously look back and see how life has shaped you.

When I was little, I would tell my dad that I wasn't moving away from him until I was 21 (or was it 25?). Well, I'm 21 now and I've lived on the other side of the country from him and my childhood home for three years (going on four now). I wanted to be a singer as a profession back then and now I want to be as far away from the spotlight as possible at a little desk editing books (maybe magazines). I spent my afternoons belting out Christina Aguilera/Beyonce/Kelly Clarkson songs into my karaoke machine's microphone until I blew said microphone (the most devastating day of my life). And while I still enjoy sappy love ballads, I've moved on to more folky ones and dance tunes (when I need a break from the banjo and broken hearts). And I rarely sing in front of others. If ever.

Those things are just minuscule parts of growing up, I know. But they are an important part of who I've become. Life has shaped me and I'd like to think it's for the better. The Lord has seen me through everyday and has tried to help when I've allowed him to. And it's always better when I do.

When I think about some of the funny/crazy things that have happened to me and happen to me on a regular basis, I like to think all of those things are placed in my life by the Lord to see me through when those not so funny/crazy things happen. He wants me to know He gave me this world to find happiness, not sorrow. He wants to see me smile, and He wants me to choose to smile, even when ridiculous things might happen. He tries me a lot, and I'm actually pretty grateful for that. I'm also grateful for the choice to laugh at the crazy, rather than dwell on any anger or frustration that might come with it.

"I just really enjoy watching your life. You handle it so well." - a study abroad friend after I managed to hit and then miraculously catch my glass at a restaurant before it did too much damage.

At least my reflexes are getting better with each thing I tend to knock over (figuratively and literally).

But I'm still not confident enough to wear too much white without worry about spilling something.

Until another day,

Jazmin

Letters to August - 4 (August 14, 2015)

Dear August,

I know I told you yesterday about my little obsession with nostalgia, but I think I might be just as enthralled by the future (which I think was kind of subtlely apparent in yesterday's letter). The present is great as well.

I know, I'm a walking paradox. I'm also a woman. So.

Today (and every day as of late) I'm thinking about what I'm supposed to do with my life.

But while I'm doing that, I'm going to go enjoy today's blue sky with wonderful friends while continuing to think about how much I miss the Motherland that I've only been away from for a week.

Those double-x chromosomes are so blatant sometimes.

Love,
Jazmin

Letters to August - 3 (August 13, 2015)

Dear August,

I kind of thrive on nostalgia.

That's why I do things like these letters; that's why I tried taking pictures of every view I had from all the hostels/hotels I stayed at in Europe (and why my camera's memory card never seems to have enough room); that's why my journal bulges with useless knick knacks like train tickets, pictures by friends drawn on menus, and a rock I found on some adventure.

View from our hostel in Ambleside

View from our hostel in Dublin (featuring the coolest window ever)

View from our hotel room in Shannon

Maybe that's why I love reading so much. Maybe I love reveling in other people's nostalgia (real or not) just as much as I do my own. I think of their moments even when I'm not reading about them for days on end, and I do the same with my own moments I've been given.

The good thing about this little quirk of mine is the fact that I can remember moments so readily and can pull them out of my mind with complete vividness years after they happened (I can't say the same thing about basic algebra, unfortunately). The bad thing about this is the fact that I sometimes forget to have the moment because I spend all of my time trying to make sure its captured in one way or another (pictures, thinking up a journal entry or blog post). It's something I've been working on for the past little while, especially because actual adulthood is approaching fast and I'm finding it hard not to waste my time capturing those moments as much as possible.

I applied for graduation the other day and it's all too surreal. I feel like I've been carrying this fake ID around for the past three years that says I'm an adult, when in reality, I've just been faking it. The next year to come is calling me out on it and asking for an actual adult ID that says what I'm going to do with my life and how I'm going to make it happen. I'm still working on those details (sorry, mom), and I'm feeling the weight of what those details mean.

I'd like to say/think I still have plenty of time to figure it all out, but the almost four years I've had to figure all that out is quickly turning into months that I don't know what to do with.

Pray for me, August. I'm gonna need it.

Sincerely,
Jazmin

Letters to August - 2 (August 12, 2015)

Dear August,

What to say, what to say.

I've never been one that has a thousand quips of eloquence at her disposal when it actually matters. I can be sassy and sarcastic all the livelong day, but rarely can I adequately express the things that mean the most to me.

It's kind of always been that way. I've always been a little obsessive-compulsive about saying things exactly right or not saying them at all or waiting until I've had a few minutes to collect my thoughts and awkwardly trying to bring it back to what we were talking about before so my now-eloquent thought can be relevant again. It's a chore. And it's a little rude to not give someone your full attention. I'm working on it.

With that in mind, I didn't plan exactly what I wanted to tell you today. Maybe that was a little on purpose. Maybe I'm just saying that to make myself feel better. Either way, here it is--my letter to you on the only August 12, 2015 that we will ever have.

Maybe that's a better way to look at life rather than the live everyday as if it were your last mantra (which I've always found to be a little morbid). Live everyday as if that was the last time you would have that day. Because it is. So, make sure it counts.

I still haven't quite settled back into my old normal, August. I still wake up like I did at every hotel and hostel, confused about where I am. I'm also having a lot of weird/freaky dreams, so that's always grand (there's that sass/sarcasm I was telling you about). But at least it wasn't too bad adjusting to this time zone. That's a blessed relief.

While I'm not quite settled into the old normal, I'm already itching to go somewhere again. I thought I was tired of it after six and a half weeks, but apparently not. I'm not looking for another trip across the pond anytime soon, but maybe just another state? My bank account is saying no, though, and he's the boss. So, I guess I'll have to wait a bit.

I'm sorry I have nothing terribly insightful today to keep you awake at night, but at least you'll get a good night's rest, right?

Until tomorrow,
Jazmin

Letters to August - 1 (August 11, 2015)

Dear August,

Sorry it's been so long. I mean, I expected a year between us, but I didn't expect an added eleven days. But can you ever really expect gypsies to steal your phone in Paris (or can you?), or your computer to decide to die completely just after you've enjoyed the peaceful surroundings of the Lake District?

But that's my life, I guess.

A lot has happened in this year we've been apart. I've been reflecting on that year in preparation to write to you, and I wish I could tell you it's been the best year of my life thus far, but that wouldn't exactly be true.

I've always tried to make the conscious effort not to dwell on the sad things life throws my way. But, for some reason, sadness itself was the thing that was thrown my way around the time I wrote to and stopped writing to you last year. I had this constant heaviness about me that I just couldn't seem to shake, even into the winter months. It irked me a lot, because I've always prided myself on being a relatively positive individual. I actually kind of hated that I couldn't get back to that state, to be honest, especially being such a control freak.

I'm happy to say those dark days are over, but that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with my Savior, Jesus Christ. He has lifted that burden and refined me in the process. I'm still not perfect by any means, but that's what mortality is for--learning to become as He is, trial by trial.

Once I was out of that tunnel, so many things continued to show me the Lord's hand in my life. The most recent being the opportunity I had to travel a part of the world that I thought I would never be able to. This summer found me in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales (and Paris for 36 hours, but that's another story). I still have a bit of sand from Inch Beach in my shoes and a lot of wonderful memories in my heart from those gorgeous countries.

I'm not sure how to explain it to you, but it just felt so right going on this study abroad.

I felt this strong impression during Winter semester that I needed to look for a study abroad, no matter the cost (literal and figurative). My usual sense of stress when it comes to things like this was basically nonexistent and I just felt so at peace getting ready for that adventure. And what an adventure it was.

I not only was able to see incredibly beautiful parts of the world, but I was able to meet some incredibly beautiful people along the way--both those from the countries we visited as well as the those I was traveling with. I also really grew to believe in myself more.

I mean, I'm a pretty confident person, but I'm not sure that anyone is ever one-hundred percent confident in all that they do. It's something I've been really trying to work on for awhile now, and this trip was such a huge remedy for that. Instead of thinking, Oh, you shouldn't/couldn't do that because (insert stupid reason here), I thought, Just do it. (Thanks, Nike.)

It was the perfect adventure for me and I am so grateful for it.

I am so incredibly blessed to have a Father in Heaven who knows me perfectly and loves me completely. He always knows exactly what I need, whether that be wonderful friends or crazy adventures on the other side of the world--or a little bit of both.

The top of St. Paul's Cathedral

Cliffs of Moher

Carrick-a-Rede

Hadrian's Wall

Arthur's Seat

In front of the Writer's Museum in Edinburgh

Until tomorrow,
Jazmin

The Land of Marion Cotillard

So, Paris.

It still kind of hurts me to think about the tale, but here it goes.

I need to backtrack a little bit to how this whole Paris trip came to be.

On this study abroad of mine, we were told before we left that we would have a “travel weekend” in which we could go anywhere in Europe if we wanted for a few days. We would just have to have it all approved by my university’s study abroad office at least a week before we left for this travel weekend.

About a week or two before we left, one of the gals in my program emailed everyone saying she was thinking about going to Paris for a day or two during the travel weekend and she wanted to know if anyone was interested in joining her. The idea sounded great, but I had a bad feeling about it, so I asked her a few questions and decided against it.

Then, came that fateful night when she and a few of the other girls (that I had now gotten to know and had become friends with) were discussing their final plans for Paris to send off to the study abroad office for approval. And they convinced me to go with them.

We woke up at the buttcrack of dawn (4:00 AM) to catch our first bus (thank you, Tube Strike) to the station where we got the Chunnel train. After a lot of waiting and being lost in translation, we finally made it to the Metro.

As we got down into the dirtiness that is the Metro, our little group got a bit split up in a large group of people. During which, I felt my backpack tug a bit. And then it happened again. I turned around to see a girl that must have been about fourteen staring at my backpack and her hands were on it. I must have been in shock that it was actually happening because I just kind of said “What?” and tugged away from her grabby hands. I picked up the pace once the crowd cleared and checked my backpack to see if anything was missing. The outside pockets were all opened (which they weren’t before). I then realized that my eyeglasses case was missing. The girl and her friend (that I then noticed) were at the end of the platform that I had just walked away from where I felt her tugging at my backpack.

Still in shock, I told one of my friends what happened while the other two from our group were still figuring out where we needed to be and how to get there. Meanwhile, the girl and her friend were following us. When we moved, they moved. When we stopped, they stopped. Then a really weird thing happened. The girl who was looking in my backpack tried catching my attention to hand my eyeglasses case back to me. I knew something wasn’t right about it, so I just took them from her and didn’t say anything. After that, they continued to follow us for a little while longer and then they just walked away. I thought that they had just given up, but something told me that that definitely wasn’t the case. I checked my jacket pocket where my phone had been. And my phone wasn’t there.

So, that was probably the worst way to start any trip. I tried to not let it get to me as we bounced from monument to monument in those thirty-six hours. But it was really hard for the first eight of those hours to not think about the fact that that just actually happened.

Most of Paris was terrible, but there were a few things that I did enjoy.

We had a delicious three course meal for just 12 Euros at a little cafe, which included a delicious soup full of cheese and baguettes, and there was chocolate mousse for dessert.

The street performers were the classiest I’ve ever seen. There was one cellist outside the Louvre who played with such beautiful passion. It didn’t even bother me that we had just gotten there at closing because otherwise we would not have been able to hear him play. I probably would have been content sitting there all evening.

I happen to have a bucket list of all these bookstores I want to go to in my life. Most of them are in Europe. One of them is in Paris. It’s called Shakespeare and Company. And we went. And I nearly cried. And it was the only place I felt safe in Paris (probably because it’s actually an English bookstore).

Other than that, it wasn’t the greatest experience of my life. And I didn’t “find myself in Paris” like Sabrina Fairchild promised me I could.

Everyone was quite rude and the city was filthy and there was a deep sense of hostility everywhere we went. So, while Paris is cool and all, it only made me love and miss London with every second I wasn’t there taking in the nice people and comfortable vibe of London.

Also, after coming back from Paris and telling everyone about this haunting trip that I had, everyone and their mom has now told me of the awful time they or someone they know has had in Paris. I don’t understand why they couldn’t just tell me before and saved me the drama of gypsies stealing my phone and terribly rude people.

So, the moral of the story is, with all of its awesome monuments and history, Paris is kind of a dump and everyone there will hate you. 

So, I wouldn’t bother.

The Land of Keira Knightley

I used to hate having a summer birthday as a kid.

Sure, pool parties were an option and school didn’t get in the way of celebrating, but as a kid you don’t talk to any of your school friends during summer unless they live in your neighborhood. At least, that’s how it was for me. But that was also during the ancient times of no cell phone and not a lot of time on the phone (I don’t think I’ve ever really liked talking on the phone).

But as I’ve gotten older, and into college, my July birthday has kind of been a wonderful thing. With a lot of my friends staying in my school’s town for the summer months, or with new friends so close for my birthdays (like last year at Disney and this year during my Study Abroad), the possibilities have always been wonderful.

This birthday might have been the cream of the crop, though. That’s a lot coming from a girl who has been planning her birthday parties since she was four and never repeating an activity/theme.

London has been kind to me in the weeks leading up to my birthday, but the study part of my study abroad had been getting kind of heavy, which was kind of stressing me out. So, birthday celebrations came just in time.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a ton of pictures to show you just how wonderful it was because most of them are on my phone. And my phone was stolen. In Paris. But that’s the day after my happy birthday day. So, I’ll save that for another post.

My day began with a tour of Westminster Abbey with one of my wonderful friends in my program. It was a beautiful building with so much history in its walls. But I did walk in with this prejudice of nothing being able to beat the experience I had at Canterbury (it was incredible). So, that might have been a bit of a damper on what could have been an incredible experience. 

But then the tour ended at Poets’ Corner. 

I kind of flipped.

These were novelists and poets that I’ve been reading for so much of my life and studying academically for almost four years now. These were people who have inspired how I want my voice to be etched into history (through writing). They’ve sculpted my mind and my heart to see and feel things from perspectives that I wouldn’t have without them. I just wanted to sit there and take in and pour out all the gratitude I felt for these word artists that gave their all to their craft and did it so beautifully.

After that powerful experience, I made my way to the London Eye where another one of my lovely friends in my program met with me so we could see London from the Eye’s view. It was kind of awesome. I would definitely recommend it. I mean, I knew London was kind of massive just traveling around the Tube so much, but my mind highly underestimated just how big it actually is.

After the Eye, we had to rush back to our flat for two reasons. 1) The Tube Strike was set to start at 6:30 (it was nearly 6:00 when we were done with the Eye) and 2) I had to be back to get ready for Phantom of the Opera.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I saw freaking Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theatre on my 21st birthday. And it was beautiful. And I nearly cried. And I have none of my own pictures from it. But I do have wonderful friends who went with me and took pictures that I just happened to be in. So, that’s pretty great.

It was a fantastic birthday and I’m so grateful that I got to be in such a beautiful part of the world for it doing beautiful things with beautiful people that I have grown to love and care for in such a strangely short amount of time.

This birthday was one for the books.

The Land of Gerard Butler

I thought the worst was over after getting my phone stolen in Paris (another story for another day). But then my laptop turned on me.

After enjoying the beautiful Lakes District, we made our way to Edinburgh. Since I’ve been without my phone, I’ve been using my laptop on the long bus rides to listen to music while I admire the beautiful scenery the British countryside has to offer or to block out the noise around me while I read.

As I was getting a little bored and wanted to read, I took out my laptop and opened it up. It had shut itself down somehow, so I tried logging in. But the keyboard was being wonky. Then it suddenly shut down and wouldn’t turn back on. In a fit of frustration, I pressed a bunch of keys and managed to get it on somehow, but the keyboard still wasn’t working right. My lovely roommate found out there is an Apple Store nearby where we were staying in Edinburgh. So, we made our way there on Saturday. After a long wait, I was told my keyboard has given up on me and the entire top of my laptop needs to be replaced. So, that’s nice.

After sitting there for an hour to be told this news, one of the technicians actually came over and asked if I had been helped yet. After answering in the negative, he said he would “go get one of his guys.” He brought out an American technician that had not been out on the floor the entire time we were there. So, that was kind of hilarious. He also told me to hold out until I get back to the States because apparently pricing is ridiculous, even without the exchange rate. He also told me that if I still need my laptop in the meantime (I do), then I should get an external keyboard somewhere else (cheaper). So, that was nice of him.

So, that’s how I bring you this blog post today. Sorry for the chronological interruption, but I’ll get back to the order that everything happened after this diddy.

I asked my friend what exactly it is I’m supposed to learn from getting my phone stolen and now having a completely useless (at the time it was) laptop. Her response was to maybe not rely on technology so much. I’d like to think I learned my lesson, but here I am blogging about it on a ridiculous wireless keyboard that I got out of desperation.

The Land of Victoria

I wish I could apologize for my lack of blogging during my time here in London, but I'm not sure it would be as sincere as it should be. Sure, I feel bad about telling so many people that I would take them on my adventure via this blog, but I've kind of enjoyed having this adventure as my little lovely secret.

But as my time in London is drawing to an end (ONLY FOUR MORE DAYS LEFT, WHAT?), the guilt of leaving everyone out of the fun has crept up into my conscience.

After my beautiful Sunday experience in Wales, we made the long drive to London and have been staying at an awesome flat for the past three weeks.

I've spent three or four days every week in class for four hours learning about the history and variety of the English language. After class, we usually have a "site visit" where we go out into the various parts of the city and explore some incredible place with an incredible history that has something to do with how the incredible language of English came to be.

While the tours have been such an incredible blessing, the museums and cathedrals have all (unfortunately) started to look the same to me. That sounds so spoiled and ignorant, but there it is. My favorite part of our days is when we are able to explore the cities however we wish. Whether that be exploring Hyde Park or traveling half an hour to go to that pub we discovered that one time to see if Dan (a bartender that works there) is working today.

I've always considered myself one to shy away from the city life, but I think I could get used to London. Maybe I'd live just outside it in the countryside, but living in the heart of it hasn't been so bad these past few weeks. If the future brought me back here, I think that would be quite alright by me. It just has an awesome energy about it; not in the usual frenzied sense of the word, but something different altogether. The people are so nice everywhere I go; the culture is so rich; the communities are so vastly diverse; the food is actual incredibly delicious. I'm not sure there's much that I don't like about this little island.

I studied "Dream of the Rood" my sophomore year at BYU, so it was
 pretty neat to see this thing in the flesh (a cast of the rood that the poem is about).

British Museum

Makes the top 3 favorites of this trip for this history nerd. 

Obligatory trip to Buckingham after the War Rooms tour since it was so close.

Battle Abbey

Canterbury; another favorite.

Inside Canterbury; I was so in awe of how beautiful it was and the hallowed feeling of it.

Kensington Palace; just down the road from where we're staying.

Tower of London is apparently several towers.

Westminster Abbey; I freaked out as we ended the tour in Poets' Corner. 

View from the London Eye

We saw "As You Like It" at the Globe Theatre, nbd.

Hampton Court Palace Gardens

Inside Hampton Court Palace

We took a tour through Benjamin Franklin's only surviving home.

While the States are great and all, I think I'm okay staying here a little while longer. We'll see how these next four days go.

The Land of John Benbow

The next day was probably one of my absolute favorites. We had the privilege of going to a small ward in Cardiff for Sacrament. 

It was such a beautiful experience. 

It was in a little building on this little strip of shops, squished between two businesses, but that only added to the incredible spirit of humility I felt as I walked through the doors. 

We went up the stairs to their little room designated for Sacrament meeting. We had the blessing of witnessing one of the recently baptized members getting confirmed as a member of the church and receiving the Holy Ghost. After that powerful experience, one of the counselors in the Bishopric's wife spoke and the Stake Patriarch spoke. Both talks were so moving to me and they were just exactly what I needed to here. It was such a sacred experience for me that I don't really know how to explain it.

It reminded me a lot of my cousins' home ward in Callahan, Florida (out in the boonies) that I used to visit a lot growing up. It was small in size and the rooms were probably not big enough to fit over 100 people. They had to have a lot of their meetings in little trailers just outside the main building where Sacrament was held. But the Spirit of the ward could have fit into a thousand regular-sized chapels (and then some).

In Cardiff, as we were getting settled in for the meeting and singing the first hymn, the man in front of me accidentally knocked the hymn book off of his chair without even noticing. I had such a strong impression to pick it up and hand it to his wife sitting next to him. So, I did.

She immediately thanked me and asked in a fabulous Welsh accent, "Who is this beautiful lady sitting behind me?" It took me a moment to realize she was talking about me (How are these Brits so witty and polite, so naturally? And why am I always two steps behind them?) I introduced myself after a beat and we talked for a minute or so. It was in the middle of the hymn that we were having this conversation that she so much wanted to engage in with me, but I think that little interaction made me feel the Spirit more than the hymn could have in that moment.  She wanted to talk to me afterward, but got caught up in helping others in her ward.

As I was taking notes during the Sacrament talks, I kept going back to that minute, powerful interaction we had had when, all of a sudden, the words "Kindness is the Kingdom of God" came into my mind and heart. They struck my spirit so deeply that it actually brought me to tears. That was the epitome of that little ward. Christ's love was embedded in every single person; you could just feel it.

I wish I would have gone up to her afterward and continued taking in her beautiful spirit. Christ was so much in her countenance it almost moves me to tears thinking about it now and regretting not talking to her more. She is what a disciple of Christ looks like.

After that incredible experience, we made our way to the Gadfield Elm Chapel where the church started it's work in the United Kingdom. That too was an unforgettable experience. The senior missionary couple that was serving there was just so completely kind and so warm. 

After our visit to the Chapel, we made our way to the farm where Wilford Woodruff baptized so many of the first Saints to be baptized in the UK. He actually had to do most of these baptisms at night in a little pond in the cold because of all the mobs that would come and persecute the Saints when the baptisms were performed in the daytime.

Our professors trying to figure out where the pond was.

You can see the pond in the near-distance of this picture.

The farm was gorgeous and the fact that it had a bajillion sheep running around made it an even happier place for me.

My fluffy friends and me.

While Wilford Woodruff did a lot of the converting in the UK, it would not have been possible without the influence and deep conversion of John Benbow. His story and the story of the United Brethren he was a part of struck a chord with the part of my testimony that knows Heavenly Father prepares the hearts of each of us in specific, individual, loving ways to take in the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was a testament to how deeply He loves me and how much He needs me to love those around me. That was really the theme of the day for me--loving others as Christ loves me. I'm so grateful to know that love and I'm going to try a little better to show that gratitude by loving others just the same.

Because I have been given much, I too must give. 

The Lands of Peter Gabriel and Roald Dahl

We started our next day at the Roman Baths. It kind of hit me at this point that England is pretty old. I knew that, but I don't think it had struck me just how old it is until this day when we ventured into this place that came into being around Christ's time.

As you can probably tell from that nice green tint, the water is kind of dangerous to drink or even touch. However, there was a part at the end where we could drink (extremely) filtered water from the Baths. I did. It was warm. And it tasted like blood. So, if that's the Roman life, count me out.

It's just casually by the beautiful Bath Abbey.

After perusing Bath a bit like the tourists that we are (we were shopping for souvenirs), we made our way onto the coach and headed to Cardiff (Wales).

An awesome street performer in Bath.

One of the many beautiful views on our way to Cardiff.

It was quite the transition going from the Romantic Bath, to the Viking-esque Cardiff. Sleeping basically the entire way there probably didn't help the starkness of this contrast either. I went from daydreamer to intimidated-er (just go with it).

My evening included a bit of shopping around Cardiff and then watching a performance of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night in the middle of Cardiff Castle. Probably one of the coolest experiences of my life.

I've read quite a few of Shakespeare's plays, but I've never actually been to a live performance. So, this just happened to be my first time with that experience. It's kind of ironic that I've never actually read/studied Twelfth Night, but it was pretty freaking awesome.

I think I might have judged Cardiff a little too harshly. I was a bit caught up in how romantic Bath was and judged the harshness of Cardiff as something inferior to the Romanized Bath. But, truth be told, Cardiff was pretty great. While the extreme hen (bachelorette) and stag (bachelor) parties we encountered on our walk home through downtown (thank you, Saturday night) were hilarious/kind of scary (I actually saw a drunk lady doing sign language, so that was an experience), my favorite part was when we were inside Cardiff Castle and I realized (yet again) just how old the UK is. Those buildings were so Viking-esque no one could deny how rich this incredible place is with culture and stories to be told, and not just Shakespeare's. 

I jokingly sent this picture to my roommate:

The story of King Arthur did originate from Wales. And just seeing that building made me believe (maybe just for a second) that maybe the story of Arthur and Merlin just might be true. I might go back one of these days and just knock on the door to see if that wonderful wizard is home to tell me the true stories of Camelot.

The Lands of King Arthur, Jane Austen, the Druids, and Anne Elliot

This day was so completely jam-packed.

Our "English Breakfast" was at 7, which entailed eggs (not for me), toast, beans (apparently it's a thing), bacon, sausage, fruit, yogurt, and everything other thing one's heart might desire. After scarfing down as much as we could handle, we made our way to Winchester Cathedral and my oh my was it beautiful. The Flower Festival also happened to be going on inside and outside the cathedral, so it was quite the sight, seeing modern art flower pieces with second century architecture.

More than anything, though, I was pumped to see Jane Austen's tomb. I was looking for it the entire time and couldn't find it. I went back in and asked where it was, and of course it was in the little corner I skipped over in the beginning.

Life complete.

I probably could have sat in the cathedral for hours and still would not have been able to take it all in. There was so much faith and devotion (whether to religion or to the art the architects were creating) in every part of that building.

The next (quick) stop was the Great Hall, which is actually not so great (in size). However, it does have King Arthur's Round Table. So, that's pretty cool.

It's not actually King Arthur's Round Table, but an English scholar wrote this famous work on King Arthur way back in the day. His sole proof of the reality of King Arthur was the fact that this table existed and the fact that it existed in Winchester must have meant that Winchester must have been Camelot (also, the descriptions of Camelot are quite similar to the scenery of Winchester). While it was proven later to have been made quite a bit later than the supposed existence of Arthur, I still thought it was pretty dang cool.

If you thought the nerd portion of my day was over then, think otherwise. The next stop was Jane Austen's House Museum. And I almost cried. Maybe not really, but I definitely wanted to because it was just so beautiful and I was so freaking happy.

JANE AUSTEN'S ACTUAL DESK. I'M FINE.

I was actually the last one of our group on the bus because I just wanted to stay there and soak it all in for as long as possible.

The next stop was Stonehenge. I'm sure that's probably a touristy spot that everyone knows about. However, I didn't know that people had theorized that the Druids (a priest-tribe of about 1200 B.C.) and it just so happens they play a role in the wonderfully cheesy show that I may dabble a bit in, Merlin. So, the nerd fest continued.

It was quite a bit of a downpour when we were pulling into this mystical place, but that made it all the more mystical. And since I didn't feel like digging for my raincoat that was in my suitcase under our coach (bus), I decided to sport one of the ponchos the G sent me before I left.

Post-poncho when the rain had finally ceased.

After that we made our way to Bath. The only thing I really knew about Bath before getting there was that Jane Austen hated it, but she also used it for the setting of her novel Persuasion.

It probably had something to do with the fact that she left her long-time home involuntarily that she hated Bath so much, but oh my golly, I was in love with it. It was so, so beautiful. It was so rich with Roman architecture mixed with so many of the other layers of English history, I couldn't handle it (in the best way).

When we got there, a few of us from our group headed out to find dinner. We ended up at a pub that had the most delicious burger of my life and then we perused this gorgeous town. We ended the night with delicious gelato.

Yes, I'm the tourist that takes a picture of her scrumptious burger.

Ladies and gentlemen, freaking Bath.

As I was crawling into bed, I was greeted by the serenade of a drunk German guy singing the one line of Ave Maria that he knew, over and over again. It was absolutely perfect.