I was late for Seminary this morning. After sitting down at my desk and waiting for opening excercises to be over, I noticed three symbols on the board. One was the symbol for pi next to some other symbol that I guess was supposed to be some sort of rebus, but a little further from that, on the bottom right corner of the board was the symbol for the Deathly Hallows drawn in a brown marker. I turned to my friend, Emma, and asked if she drew it or if she knew who did. She looked at me with that look that we get when something Harry Potter-relevant happens. She said she had no idea where/who it had come from. 'Twas excellent.
Morning Magnificence
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tomorrow I am going to the happiest place on Earth. I am so grateful.
I know with absolute assurety that my Redeemer lives and that He loves me and knows me with an exactness.
“Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world. …
“And when they had all gone forth and had witnessed for themselves, they did cry out with one accord, saying:
“Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the Most High God! And they did fall down at the feet of Jesus, and did worship him.” - 3 Nephi 11:7-11, 14, 16-17
"...God our Father has ears with which to hear our prayers. He has eyes with which to see our actions. He has a mouth with which to speak to us. He has a heart with which to feel compassion and love. He is real. He is living. We are his children, made in his image. We look like him, and he looks like us." - President Thomas S. Monson
My lullaby for tonight, reader.
I know with absolute assurety that my Redeemer lives and that He loves me and knows me with an exactness.
“Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world. …
“And when they had all gone forth and had witnessed for themselves, they did cry out with one accord, saying:
“Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the Most High God! And they did fall down at the feet of Jesus, and did worship him.” - 3 Nephi 11:7-11, 14, 16-17
"...God our Father has ears with which to hear our prayers. He has eyes with which to see our actions. He has a mouth with which to speak to us. He has a heart with which to feel compassion and love. He is real. He is living. We are his children, made in his image. We look like him, and he looks like us." - President Thomas S. Monson
My lullaby for tonight, reader.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Hello, reader. This is going to be a slightly less entertaining and much more vague post.
Throughout the entirety of my sixteen years, nine months, and thirteen days of life I have dealt with and seen more of the world (figuratively and literally) than people twice my age. This is not something I brag about or something that I consider worth bragging about. It is merely a fact.
I can think of eight states and two countries that I have been to other than my own, and I've probably been to even more than that. I can give you vivid descriptions of the effects drugs can have on a person and that person's family. I can tell you signs of conditions and diseases that you probably have never heard of, but that I grew up with. These, again, are not things I care to talk about. They are not things that will bring sunshine and pretty babies into others lives or my own. These are things that will bring me back to that time. To those moments that I didn't know if they were going to be back to normal tomorrow; to the fear I felt as a child not wanting to be taken just yet; to the heartbreak when he didn't show.
So, how do we humans, as fragile and timid as our beings are, go on? How do we press forward? How do we endure? For some, it is the love and mercy of religion. For others, it is the hope of a better tomorrow, but how is that ever enough for us? How are we, as a species that seems to be so difficult to bring together at times, so united under the perseverance of life? And how about those who struggle or fail to persevere? Why couldn't they find that motivation within to play along for a sad day with the understanding that tomorrow would always come?
My heart aches today for the past and future.
I miss him. He is gone forever. He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to learn my favorite songs and sing them to me throughout the rest of eternity. I don't know how to bring him back. I don't know how to bring him home.
That adorable angel was supposed to be hers forever. She was supposed to be blessed to keep him. She was supposed to be rewarded for her faith and her endurance to her breaking point. They were not supposed to have him back. They were supposed to understand that they weren't ready, and that they would probably never be ready.
Why do we kid ourselves with these notions? It is the Lord's will, I know. Others don't. I wish they did. It gives me such happiness and peace to always have had that thought ringing true in my heart. Sometimes, I just wish my view was as clear as His.
Today was tragic, reader. The happiness of the morning soon evaporated along with the dew.
Throughout the entirety of my sixteen years, nine months, and thirteen days of life I have dealt with and seen more of the world (figuratively and literally) than people twice my age. This is not something I brag about or something that I consider worth bragging about. It is merely a fact.
I can think of eight states and two countries that I have been to other than my own, and I've probably been to even more than that. I can give you vivid descriptions of the effects drugs can have on a person and that person's family. I can tell you signs of conditions and diseases that you probably have never heard of, but that I grew up with. These, again, are not things I care to talk about. They are not things that will bring sunshine and pretty babies into others lives or my own. These are things that will bring me back to that time. To those moments that I didn't know if they were going to be back to normal tomorrow; to the fear I felt as a child not wanting to be taken just yet; to the heartbreak when he didn't show.
So, how do we humans, as fragile and timid as our beings are, go on? How do we press forward? How do we endure? For some, it is the love and mercy of religion. For others, it is the hope of a better tomorrow, but how is that ever enough for us? How are we, as a species that seems to be so difficult to bring together at times, so united under the perseverance of life? And how about those who struggle or fail to persevere? Why couldn't they find that motivation within to play along for a sad day with the understanding that tomorrow would always come?
My heart aches today for the past and future.
I miss him. He is gone forever. He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to learn my favorite songs and sing them to me throughout the rest of eternity. I don't know how to bring him back. I don't know how to bring him home.
That adorable angel was supposed to be hers forever. She was supposed to be blessed to keep him. She was supposed to be rewarded for her faith and her endurance to her breaking point. They were not supposed to have him back. They were supposed to understand that they weren't ready, and that they would probably never be ready.
Why do we kid ourselves with these notions? It is the Lord's will, I know. Others don't. I wish they did. It gives me such happiness and peace to always have had that thought ringing true in my heart. Sometimes, I just wish my view was as clear as His.
Today was tragic, reader. The happiness of the morning soon evaporated along with the dew.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
I am sad, reader.
My mom and grandma are watching The King's Speech.
We have all wanted to see it ever since we first heard about it, but never did because it was rated R. Despite a bazillion people telling us there was no real reason for it to be rated R and it was perfectly appropriate, we stuck to our guns.
Well, just before it came out the other day, they decided to change the rating to PG-13. We immediately got it from a nearby Red Box.
Something you should know is that my mother, grandmother, and I share a love for English-historical movies, most especially English-historical movies starring Colin Firth.
I told my grandma I had too much homework to watch it tonight, and she said, "Okay, there's always tomorrow." Then, I hear the TV turn on. Next, my mother asks me if the woman who plays Colin's wife is Bellatrix.
...I am sad, reader.
My mom and grandma are watching The King's Speech.
We have all wanted to see it ever since we first heard about it, but never did because it was rated R. Despite a bazillion people telling us there was no real reason for it to be rated R and it was perfectly appropriate, we stuck to our guns.
Well, just before it came out the other day, they decided to change the rating to PG-13. We immediately got it from a nearby Red Box.
Something you should know is that my mother, grandmother, and I share a love for English-historical movies, most especially English-historical movies starring Colin Firth.
I told my grandma I had too much homework to watch it tonight, and she said, "Okay, there's always tomorrow." Then, I hear the TV turn on. Next, my mother asks me if the woman who plays Colin's wife is Bellatrix.
...I am sad, reader.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Tonight was the Easter program for the youth in my stake. It was so beautiful. Tears were on the verge about every other second for me. I realized tonight that all of my favorite hymns center around the Savior's example and being gracious for His love and willingness to sacrifice Himself for my and your eternal happiness. I love Him so much. I love Sundays like these.
A poor, wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief
That I could never answer nay.
I had not pow’r to ask his name,
Whereto he went, or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love; I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered; not a word he spake,
Just perishing for want of bread.
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again.
Mine was an angel’s portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone.
The heedless water mocked his thirst;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran and raised the suff’rer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipped and returned it running o’er;
I drank and never thirsted more.
’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
I heard his voice abroad and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest
And laid him on my couch to rest,
Then made the earth my bed and seemed
In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.
Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side.
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment—he was healed.
I had myself a wound concealed,
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In pris’n I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor’s doom at morn.
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him ’mid shame and scorn.
My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,
But my free spirit cried, “I will!”
Then in a moment to my view
The stranger started from disguise.
The tokens in his hands I knew;
The Savior stood before mine eyes.
He spake, and my poor name he named,
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed.
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me
A poor, wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief
That I could never answer nay.
I had not pow’r to ask his name,
Whereto he went, or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love; I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered; not a word he spake,
Just perishing for want of bread.
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again.
Mine was an angel’s portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone.
The heedless water mocked his thirst;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran and raised the suff’rer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipped and returned it running o’er;
I drank and never thirsted more.
’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
I heard his voice abroad and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest
And laid him on my couch to rest,
Then made the earth my bed and seemed
In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.
Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side.
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment—he was healed.
I had myself a wound concealed,
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In pris’n I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor’s doom at morn.
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him ’mid shame and scorn.
My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,
But my free spirit cried, “I will!”
Then in a moment to my view
The stranger started from disguise.
The tokens in his hands I knew;
The Savior stood before mine eyes.
He spake, and my poor name he named,
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed.
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Too many things. Too many life/time-consuming things.
So, welcome to BAEDA (Blog ALMOST Every Day in April). I'm your host, Procrastination Pants.
I'm doing too many things at once right now. I'm writing a script for my Etymology video project. I have Doctor Who waiting for me in one of my internet's tabs. I just finished annotating my video FOR THE SECOND TIME.
The first time included me annotating for about fourty-five minutes before realizing that I was annotating the version of the video that was edited wrong. If you are not familiar with Youtube jargon, just know that annotating a video can be very tedious work at times, especially if your entire video contains annotations for specific parts of the screen throughout the entire video.
NOTMAKINGSENSE. NOTMAKINGSENSE.
Also! Also! Also, my cousin is staying with us again this week, because he goes to the community college here, but he doesn't live in this town. He plays the same song on the piano everytime he comes, and this time has been no exception. It makes me want to scream, "KILL THE SPARE!" But then, I remember he's my cousin and I love him. I don't like using conjunctions at the beginning of sentences.
Tomorrow is Emma Lucy's birthday. She's my friend, and she lives too far away. I want to send her things of love and happiness, but I'm afraid it will get stolen/broken/demolished/sent to Hades half way there.
My brain has died, reader. That is all.
So, welcome to BAEDA (Blog ALMOST Every Day in April). I'm your host, Procrastination Pants.
I'm doing too many things at once right now. I'm writing a script for my Etymology video project. I have Doctor Who waiting for me in one of my internet's tabs. I just finished annotating my video FOR THE SECOND TIME.
The first time included me annotating for about fourty-five minutes before realizing that I was annotating the version of the video that was edited wrong. If you are not familiar with Youtube jargon, just know that annotating a video can be very tedious work at times, especially if your entire video contains annotations for specific parts of the screen throughout the entire video.
NOTMAKINGSENSE. NOTMAKINGSENSE.
Also! Also! Also, my cousin is staying with us again this week, because he goes to the community college here, but he doesn't live in this town. He plays the same song on the piano everytime he comes, and this time has been no exception. It makes me want to scream, "KILL THE SPARE!" But then, I remember he's my cousin and I love him. I don't like using conjunctions at the beginning of sentences.
Tomorrow is Emma Lucy's birthday. She's my friend, and she lives too far away. I want to send her things of love and happiness, but I'm afraid it will get stolen/broken/demolished/sent to Hades half way there.
My brain has died, reader. That is all.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
So, let's talk nicknames.
On my mom's side, I'm known as Jazer. My mom's mom (my grandma) calls me Jazy.
On my dad's side, on my old softball team, a lot of my close friends, and a few teachers know me as Jaz.
My dad used to and still sometimes called me Baby Sweetheart.
My best friend, Gabby, has called me Cookie, Jason, Jason Jasonson, Jaz, Boojie, Boojie Williams, and many other names over the years.
My other best friend, Casey, has christened me with Mouflon (granted, I call her that more than she calls me that...that was weird), Curly Buttcheeks, Grandma Kong, and many others that don't particularly make sense, unless you live inside the mind that is Casey's or are around it long enough to vaguely understand.
What are some of your nicknames, reader?
On my mom's side, I'm known as Jazer. My mom's mom (my grandma) calls me Jazy.
On my dad's side, on my old softball team, a lot of my close friends, and a few teachers know me as Jaz.
My dad used to and still sometimes called me Baby Sweetheart.
My best friend, Gabby, has called me Cookie, Jason, Jason Jasonson, Jaz, Boojie, Boojie Williams, and many other names over the years.
My other best friend, Casey, has christened me with Mouflon (granted, I call her that more than she calls me that...that was weird), Curly Buttcheeks, Grandma Kong, and many others that don't particularly make sense, unless you live inside the mind that is Casey's or are around it long enough to vaguely understand.
What are some of your nicknames, reader?
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