each life that touches ours

When I moved to Hawaii, EVERYONE told me it would be to find my husband.

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Well, joke’s on you ALL because I was literally just featured in the school magazine’s “Eligible Bachelor and Bachelorette” article. (Laugh-cry emoji, I know–I feel the same way.)

But there is a love story I need to tell, especially because it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

To understand this love story, you need to understand that my volunteer mission a couple of years ago–though one of the happiest times of my life–was very hard, and I learned a lot about myself and the world and just, you know, life.  One thing I learned is that I have anxiety.  I don’t think I thought anxiety was a real thing before my mission.  I thought people were just lazy, and that when I felt stressed it was because I was just being lazy or scared or I had procrastinated.  I didn’t think anxiety was real, to be honest.  Then I realized that I had it, and that those times in my life–nervous breakdowns in class over really little things, a convulsing meltdown the week of AP exams junior year, anxious overeating my freshman year of college–were not normal levels of stress.

A few rounds of counseling and other treatment later, things are better.  Generally, I do pretty well and I know what triggers my anxiety and I know how to keep myself in optimal conditions to minimize it.  But some days are still hard, and some days I don’t even realize what is wrong until I’m out of the funk and then it clicks.

Sunday was one of those days.  Nothing was wrong.  I mean, yeah, I was a little congested, and I was running late to church so I hadn’t showered, but nothing was wrong.  I had had a blast the night before with amazing friends.  I felt great about myself.  But something was wrong on Sunday.  I went to the first hour of church (sacrament meeting) and ran into a friend and said, “I think I’m about to split.”  I didn’t say what was really on my mind–“Sunday school is ALWAYS a struggle for me, especially if the teachers do A, B, or C, and it’s linger longer today and that’s just too many strangers for me to deal with, especially of the male variety.”  Instead I said I had a slight cough and I went home.

When I got home two of my roommates were also home (church is really, really close to our house).  They were grabbing cupcakes for the third hour of church, Relief Society.  Keep in mind that these roommates are the leaders of that organization, and there I was, laying on the couch, telling them that no, I wasn’t going back to church today.  They didn’t ask questions.  They just told me they loved me and they hoped I felt better.

I ran to the store for something I’d been out of for a week (not normal Sunday behavior, and I’m not condoning breaking the Sabbath, but this was NOT a normal Sunday) and took a shower.  When I got out of the shower, my roommates were home and had saved me a piece of cake from the class I’d skipped.

I sent a Snap to friends because, hi, their love–spoken and unspoken–meant the world to me.  Like, I ugly-cried on the couch.

Paul told the Corinthians that we’re nothing without charity.  That we can be talented and eloquent and a million other things, but without charity we are nothing.  Marvin J. Ashton asserted,

Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet.

Now, I’m not perfect at that, but I’m trying to be better.  I think if we look for what we love about people and how to help them, we’re able to see past the motes and beams.

Happy Valentine’s Day.  Let’s love each other better.

 

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