Who You Are

As a child, I played the viola and cello for two years each. I hated both, went through four or five teachers, and quit. I never practiced and was dreadfully untalented.


Before that though, I started playing the piano, at age six, and it changed me. My teacher gave me challenges, she taught me to enjoy practicing and learning new songs and techniques. Piano stuck with me forever, it was always a friend I could turn to, and later became my avenue for learning to write my own music to express myself even better... but this isn't really a story about my love for the piano.


A few weeks before starting 9th grade, I had a recurring thought. I wondered if I could still play the viola at all. My younger sister still played it and it piqued my curiosity to the point where I actually pulled it out and began to play.



It was woeful.



The worst playing I've ever heard.


I was actually quite embarrassed. I didn't remember ANYTHING. Not from 4 years of string playing.

I set out to re-learn. I pulled out the beginning method books and started from scratch. I practiced feverishly for hours and hours, developing skills quickly as I played along to my old Disney Viola CDs and emulated the sounds as best as I could.

I decided with my mom's help to join the school orchestra that year. I elected to (with the conductor's permission) jump to intermediate orchestra. 

The first day was terrifying. 

I was such a poser. Every student in the room seemed to be at least a year younger than me and had at least a whole year more playing experience than I had. They were confident with their music and I was quite apprehensive. My normally cheerful, outspoken personality turned quiet, shy, and nervous. I had been playing for only a few weeks.



I remember having to force myself to not collapse in, to sit straight, to not shrink into a tiny ball--huddled in the corner. I forced myself to stand with composure, to sit confidently, to look like I wasn't afraid. I forced myself not to grimace and shrivel when the conductor pulled out new music for us that I hadn't had any chance to practice and perfect yet in the safety of my home.



When the first playing test was announced, I think my pulse quickened to the point where I almost couldn't function and I almost fell out of my chair in shock and fear. I set my jaw toward success and during the next two weeks, leading up to the test, I practiced during every spare moment. I practiced beyond being able to get it all right, I practiced until I knew that I couldn't possibly get it wrong.

In class, my hands froze and my whole body shook when the teacher called my name to perform the part. I steeled my nerves, confidently shoved my viola under my chin, picked up my head and pronounced that I was ready. I played the piece, completely absorbed in it, eyes closed to all that was around me. I played it to perfection.

The director, knowing my background, and actually having been my cello teacher who told me to quit because I was so untalented in years past, was stunned. The whole class applauded and I felt strange as I seemed to return to humanity. The relief I felt in that moment is as of yet still unparalleled in my life.



A week later, the conductor made the seating assignments. I was made first chair violist.


I CANNOT TELL YOU THE FEAR AND THE CONFIDENCE that simultaneously coursed through my veins at that moment. There was also dread though, I didn't know what I was doing, I had some skills, but I had virtually no experience. I knew that I could continue to work hard and prepare songs in advance, but I stressed over the new songs that would be handed out in class, that I couldn't prepare before our first practices. Additionally, my little sister was in the class as a violist herself. She was a year younger than the majority, and had shown excellence enough to push her ahead thus far, but now she was out-shined by the sister who had just started. The sister who practiced originally on her viola, the sister who she was excited to teach.



I felt like a fake for so long after that. I felt like a phony every time I took my place at the head of the section. I was so unqualified, but I did my best, and I tried to show confidence enough in myself to be able to lead my section. By the end of the first semester, I was feeling good with my position, but then I was moved to the advanced orchestra. I was dropped right in with my peers who were my same age, had been playing for at least two and a half years, but many of them much longer, and they were playing songs that they had worked on for months already where I was very much behind. Once again I had to employ my tactics of faking ( but still really working) 'til I made it.



These days, I don't have the opportunity of an orchestra to play in and I don't practice my skills and drum techniques like I should and like I did then, I've got other focuses in my life, but I'm trying to apply the life skills that I learned through my sudden birth into the music world to build on the rest of my life.

We have to decide who we are; it's not a passive thing. We have to declare to ourselves, to choose who we really are, and then we have to set our actions and our work to reflect that. We have to be that in all that we are capable and work as hard as we can at truly attaining, owning, and becoming what we have decided we are and then once we achieve that, we have to reach beyond and become more.


But I really believe that our actions, thoughts, words, and opinions of ourselves are crucially important. We have to believe in who we are and that we are truly capable of it. It shapes our lives entirely as it fundamentally changes who we are. When we believe in ourselves, limits fall away.

Amy Cuddy, Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are, TED talks

The Spirit of Adventure

When I was a little girl, I loved everything. 

The entire world was amazing to me. I think I may have been a better person then, albeit a person with less experience. 

I loved to explore. 

A couple weeks ago, I went caving with some friends on a date. We drove a couple hours down to this little city in the middle of nowhere, then past it--to its outskirts--and parked by a little hill. We got out, put on all of our gear, and started walking up the hill. It was steep. I looked at Abby, the other girl, and she looked at me, and we had a mutual understanding: this was going to be very exhausting and we were both totally out of shape. 

When we reached the top of the hill, there was a small, sunken in pile of rocks. In the middle was a hole, about two feet by two feet, maybe a little smaller, sideways. Kyle, my date, said "Alright! Here it is! Let's get in there!" as her date climbed into the earth, Abby looked at me and whispered, "I'm a little bit claustrophobic..." and I guess I was relieved. I had some reservations about crawling into the ground myself and it felt good to know that I wasn't the only one, although I worried about how she and I would fare underground. 

As sunlight was exchanged for headlamp light and shadows filled my range of vision, I watched the ground closely--all around me--and noticed very quickly how the shape of the passage would require us to crawl, maybe for a very long time. I also noticed the small passage just to my left that dropped away in slippery rock to a large and shadowy hole. This was the kind of adventure on which it was actually quite possible to die. 

Small passages lead to larger ones, then to crawlspaces, then to eight or ten foot tall rooms. The rock formations were amazing, though they were somewhat few and far between, with many chisel marks and broken rocks pealing their sad story of how miners had robbed the cave of its natural beauty years before.  

Timidly crawling gave way to diagonally walking, slowly transitioning to brazenly squirming, then to empowered leaping from stone to stone in the larger rooms. The cave became more familiar. The thought "I am inside the ground. I am underneath the Earth. This is all so wrong." was forced out by thoughts of "Look at this!" "Imagine how this came to be!" "Where does that passage lead?" 

When, after an hour and a half of crawling in hidden wonders, we once again returned to the surface, where the sun was shining, and light was easily taken for granted, I felt stronger, smarter, empowered. 

At about three years old, I was notorious for my adventurous nature. I ran out every day, multiple times a day, and crossed the parking lot of our townhouse complex, and played in the 'woods' across from our home. I searched for bugs and plants and ran my fingers along the tree bark and the moss, exploring everything and trying to get everything I possibly could out of this amazing piece of nature. I caught daddy long legs, held them in the palm of my hand, watching them walk around and spoke to them in whispers, imagining what they would say if they could talk back. Then of course, the neighbors would call my mother, threatening to call social services if they saw me out in the woods or walking through their section of the community lawn on my own again and my mother would find me, try to explain that I had to tell her when I wanted to go to these places and not sneak out, and take me back to our little house. 

I'm not as adventurous as I used to be, although I'm not sure that three year-old me would have liked the dark of that cave much at all... 

But then I think only of the words of one of my favorite childhood movies, Pocahontas, "To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing." 

I suppose the reason why I'm less adventurous is that I'm more responsible, have more knowledge of what the consequences may be, but every once in a while, it's important to take a risk, a true adventure, like when I climbed into that hole in the ground, in the top of a hill in central Utah nowhereness, looked at that terrifying drop away passage, and decided to keep going, though treading carefully. When we never let loose of the brain factor of life's adventures, they can never truly penetrate. our brain is preoccupied with thoughts of rationale and leaves little space for thoughts of wonder. 

Remember your inner child, who you once were, let them come exploring with you and allow yourself the experience of wondering about the beauty and vastness of nature rather than how you are going to get down from here. 

Motherhood: the power of love

  Mothers' Day is a time to celebrate not only our mothers, but all the women who have brought us to where we are now through  the mothering quality of nurturing.

Mother Teresa (from deadline.com)

There are many vibrant examples of strong and faithful women of faith inside and outside of any particular church. My grandmother was particularly fond of mother Teresa.   Mother Teresa was a Catholic woman, driven to aid those in need by her love of Christ. She truly lived her faith and acted on what she knew on a minute to minute basis. She sought out the poor, the lost, and the needy and she brought to them a resting place and a knowledge of the very real love of God.  

One of my favorite examples of a woman of faith is Ruth. When everything possible went wrong and her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law died, she chose to stay with Naomi, her old and now destitue mother-in-law. Ruth accepted Naomi's faith and stayed with her, relying completely on the counsel she recieved through revelation from Naomi. Sariah, Lehi's wife in the book of Mormon, was similarly faithful; as was Esther. All of these faithful women let everything go to follow the revelations sent from the Lord. They not only left their homes, but went forward into  a completely unpredictable future, seemingly foolish to the eyes of men.  

But a woman does not have to search out the slums of India or gather wheat to support her mother-in-law, or cross the ocean to find a new continent, or speak out in the threat of annihilation in order be considered strong and faithful. She must only follow what she knows to be true and to be tender and caring.  

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson shared her mother's story in the general women's broadcast of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; she grew up in an inactive member family, but week after week, she would walk herself to her primary meetings and attend church alone because of the nurturing care of her leaders. She knew that they loved her and as Elder Richard G. Scott said in LDS General Conference, the most powerful base from which one can influence another is love.

They have to know and feel that you love them... And that's what the errand of angels is all about.  

We've all heard the song.  

"the errand of angels is given to women; and this is a gift that as sisters, we claim: to do whatsoever is gentle and human, to cheer and to bless in humanity's name."  

In the Family Proclamation to the World,  we find a similar statement regarding the role of women as nurturers. So if love is the most powerful base of influence, a faithful mother truly has more influence than that of any office,  and she has love. She is a nurturer.  

When I ponder upon the meaning of the term 'nurturer', my thoughts go back to my great, great aunt, Ila. Anyone who ever met Ila will tell you that they were definitely her favorite relative, and that she was the sweetest woman you'll ever find. I remember visiting her apartment with my mother. She always had some apple treat baking in the oven, and you were always welcomed in he door with a spirit of love. She cared about you. She wanted to hear all about you and your life. She was a nurturer and a true disciple of Christ.  

There are so many generations of people before us and they brought us to where we are now.  

In certain family lines, there

is a rich heritage of Latter-day Saint faith in my family. Micah Martine Katrine Margrethe Pedersen,  or Martina-as she was more commonly known-is my 5th great grandmother. She was quite the woman. She and her husband were converted to the LDS church in Denmark and had a little girl, but when it came time to leave for America, to follow the saints, his faith ran out and he left her. She crossed the plains, was abandoned by her next husband and her third husband decided she should send her children away, so she went out on her own and raised many wonderful children-from which I descend. She brought that branch of my family into the gospel light and kept them strong in their knowledge through loving faith and prayer. I owe quite a lot to her and to her strength.

As we look into the past, into our heritage, whatever it may be, we can only be strengthened by knowing more about those who came before us. We can learn from their stories and their examples. I've always known and been taught by my own mother that years and generatons don't matter, your innumerable grandmothers (and grandfathers) love you and care about you very much. They have passed from this life, but that only can make them feel closer to you, because now they know you and can watch over you.  

'Lois'

I've had a wonderful privilege recently of meeting a new friend.

She was unlike any I'd ever had before.

We'll call her Lois, just because I can and because she means so much to me.


Lois was a very sweet older lady who lived in my neighborhood.  I was invited to start serving her a few months ago and she has forever changed me for it.

The first time I went to visit her, I was quite  terrified. I like to do things very subtly--breaking it in slowly. Pretty much with anything: get a new favorite shirt? try to wear it not very often and gradually ease into wearing it all the time. New favorite song? at first play it just occasionally until everyone else gets used to it, then start blasting it non-stop. Make a new friend? start off by talking to them when you see them and eventually you can just text them at any time of day...

Going to see Lois was not subtle.

She'd lived nearby for a long while and I'd never spoken to her... she pretty much just kept to herself and it wasn't like she was around my age or I saw her anywhere but in church...

So going to her house all of the sudden-- and knowing that I would be doing this same thing every week was a bit of a scare. This was going to be a very conspicuous change.


I knocked on the door with a plate of cookies in hand and my mind whizzing with all my doubts pertaining to what I was doing there and was unexpected, but welcomed inside the very first time. I didn't even end up talking to her at all that day, just her daughter. And it wasn't a short conversation either.

When I came back the next week they were even more surprised to see me, but I kept coming back, and every time I did, I seemed to love it more.

I made her all sorts of things and brought them over to her. I started talking with her more and more, now that I could better understand her.

And then one day I came to her house to discover that her life would soon be drawing to a close. I had come with my viola to play for her and I was so glad that I did. Playing hymns by request wasn't my best performance ever, but it was one of the sweetest. She would smile as I played and tell me how it reminded her of her family growing up, or after she was married with her dad always playing his violin, or her husband who also played.


Music has a way of bonding people, of healing people, of communicating with souls.

That night was very special to me, and when I left, I felt so wonderful from it that I went to play for a couple of my other neighbors as well.


but her favorite song was stuck in my head the whole time...

So when I got home and had some time alone, I sat at the table with her on my mind and this song filling every moment. I decided that I needed to write her the song that she given me.

It took me hours and hours and I'm still nowhere near being done with it, but I polished up a version and went to play it for her. She could no longer speak to me or smile, but I knew she was listening, and I felt her sweetness throughout the room.


This woman was a very unlikely friend of mine.

We would have appeared to have had nothing in common at all, but I have somehow become her friend and she taught me so much.

With her, it was easy to see how faith tied into every day life. She trusted God more than anyone I think I've ever met.



I've always believed that friendship goes a long way and that we learn some of the most important things from the people we meet, but Lois was a special friend. She taught me how to love people I didn't really know, just by being herself.

Proverbs 27:17
 17 Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.