Katie Hamstead's Blog, page 2

Chapter – ??: Heritage

 About six months after I returned from my student exchange, I moved in with my maternal grandparents in Newcastle. Barely months before, my grandad was diagnosed with mesothelioma, which is a form of lung cancer caused by asbestos poisoning. His time on this earth had become a ticking clock, and I was in a position to move up there to help them.My maternal grandparents I had always had a close relationship. They lived in the Blue Mountains for a time while I was a child, but mostly they lived in Newcastle. My paternal grandparents, however, I did not have the opportunity to get to know in this life.My paternal grandfather was born in Yorkshire. A Yorkshire man through and through, my aunt and father describe him as hardworking, honest, and a sober man. It is his family line that goes back several generations in the church. His father’s mother was stalwart, steadfast, and, from family stories, she desired her children to be strong members of the church as well. There are several branches still active in the church today that trace back to her and her sons, and one of my great uncles was even mentioned in General Conference. That was a funny moment when I, as a young teen, suddenly found people around us staring at us like, “Hamstead? You’re Hamsteads!” And yes, my dad assured us we were related!Anyway, somewhere in there my particular line of the family became inactive. I’m not sure on the specifics, but my great grandparents and my grandfather must have had their names on church records, even if they didn’t practice or attend church because, after moving to Australia, home teacher came by and brought my dad and his sister into the church and activity.My grandfather, as I mentioned, was a hardworking man. Unfortunately, his hard work proved to be the death of him. He died of cancer, most likely mesothelioma due to exposure to asbestos in the munitions factory where he worked. My dad was just seventeen. I have no doubt though, that he was the love of my grandmother’s life. Although she lived for several decades after he passed, she never remarried even though she had the opportunity.Born to an Irish farming family in Queensland, Australia, my paternal grandmother was stunning and elegant. Photos of her show a tall, slender woman with a lovely face and a sweet smile. When I see pictures of her I can see my sister and myself in her, but while my sister is quite pretty, and I apparently resemble her quite a bit, I don’t feel like her beauty was passed down to me particularly. I’m definitely not tall and slender!I never felt like I had much of an opportunity to know her either. By the time I was old enough to really begin building a relationship, she had begun to decline mentally to dementia. During my sixth-grade year, my sister and I went to visit her in Queensland while on one of our school breaks. I remember it was the first time I read Looking For Alibrandi. Not sure why that sticks with me. But I also recall her telling me stories of her life repeatedly. I didn’t understand why she didn’t remember that she told me that story already.During my mid-teens, her mental state had declined to a point where my dad had to bring her down to Sydney and place her in a care home. Those visits were hard for me. I think as a teenager being faced with the reality of mortality and life on the decline is a hard pill to swallow. I found it upsetting to see her so frail, and she always seemed so surprised to see that we weren’t little children anymore. It was worse when she was surprised that her own son was a man in his forties.My grandmother died the beginning of my eleventh grade year. The people who knew her were heartbroken and spoke of a warm, tender, and classy woman. A woman I never had the opportunity to know. However, over the years I have learned about the woman she was before her illness took her mind away.A few years ago, my dad with the assistance of his sister compiled a biography for my grandmother. I keep it on my bookshelf and have read it and think about her life often, especially lately.My grandmother’s father was an Irishman, and her mother English. Together, they carved out a farm from virgin bushland in Queensland, and were among the pioneers of my homeland. My grandmother’s early life I believe molded her and gave her the quiet strength she held throughout her life. When she was in her twenties, she joined the women’s force to support troops in WWII. It was during this time she met and married her first husband.I remember once at the end of her life she mentioned seeing her first husband and being frightened. My dad had to explain to her that he hand long since passed, but this was the first time I had heard that she had married before my grandfather. Upon receiving her biography from my dad, I learned why this first husband was never talked about. At first, things were as they should be between a husband and wife, but slowly, he declined. He took to drinking and staying out late. When confronted, he became violent. My grandmother in her journal said that, “He began knocking me about, and that went from bad to worse, because if he hit me, I hit back.” She described having bruises, black eyes, and enduring threats. He would beg her forgiveness, and she would give it. She explained that, “my problem was I had no one to go to, no one to talk to…” Her experience and feeling of isolation is something I can completely relate to. There have been times while I have been in the temple that I have felt her near me, telling me that she knows exactly how I feel and lending me her strength.Eventually, she discovered his affair and impregnation of another woman. That was enough for her. He had pushed too far. She left him.Through my own experiences, I feel like I have grown closer to my grandmother since her death. Like her, I suffered from abuse. Not of the physical kind, but the emotional kind. I have no doubt she watched me, aching to intervene and help me escape. The problem was, I had no bruises or black eyes, so no one else could see it. Looking back, I believe she was at my side often, trying to help me remain strong and get through.She was with me at the temple right before I discovered my husband’s affairs. She was one of several members of my family there promising to lend me their strength in the trial the Lord told me I was about to face. She knew what I would uncover, and she knew how painful it would feel. She has been one of the angels walking at my side throughout all of the wretched business I have had to endure.My grandmother is a strong woman, and I wish I had known her better in life.By the time I had hit my late teens, my surviving grandparents were my maternal ones. I had built a close relationship with them and felt a particular closeness to my maternal grandfather; my grandad. He had a beautiful English lilt to his voice, a tone I can still hear ringing in my memory to this day. My maternal grandparents were a little younger than my paternal grandparents, so while my grandmother had served in WWII, my grandad was a child in East London. He was never evacuated during the time of the blitz. I believe he lived just outside of the evacuation zone. There is a story though of one night his mother insisted they all sleep downstairs together. That night, the streets were bombed, shaking the house. In the morning they found a fallen heavy beam resting upon my grandad’s bed. Without his mother’s keen intuition, he would have died.As a young man post WWII, he join the British Navy. He had some great ghost stories from his time in the service, but I don’t remember them in enough detail to share here. During his time in the Navy, he was posted in Goole, Yorkshire. It was there he met a pretty young lass whom he literally picked up on the street! That young woman would become my grandmother.After he married and they had a child, they migrated to Australia. There, he worked the docks in Newcastle for quite some time before becoming an ambulance driver, a profession my brother has now taken up.When my mother was in her early teens, missionaries knocked on their door. The story goes that he was almost immediately converted. All my life I remember him having a strong testimony, one that never faltered. He was a beacon of faith for me.When I was a teen, he was called to the Sydney temple presidency. Prior to being called, doctors had found some shadowing on his lungs. In hindsight, we know that was the first symptoms of mesothelioma, but upon getting the call, the shadowing vanished. Mesothelioma does not just vanish! However, the Lord blessed him with good health and strength as he served for several years in the temple presidency. During this time, I developed a deep love for the temple, and I believe it is directly because of his and my nana’s diligent service.After his release, the shadowing returned and he was diagnosed. Mesothelioma is a fast acting illness, so he was given a year to live. My mother was quite distressed and worried for her parents. She and Dad talked often about what they could do. After going to a YSA convention over new years and becoming friends with people from their ward and stake, I had the distinct impression that I needed to move in with my grandparents and help them over the final months of my grandad’s life. I was nineteen.
Upon moving in, I arranged to go to TAFE and study travel and tourism nearby. At first, things seemed pretty normal. My grandad was his usual, warm, loving self. We talked about things while Nana fussed about in the kitchen or cleaning. Nana seemed to always be cleaning something! Grandad liked to do things with me, maybe a little more than usual. I signed up for a netball team and he enjoyed coming to watch me. He enjoyed talking with me, and I showed him how to use Google Earth to look at where he grew up and see how it looked nowadays. He would show me things like his sealing ledger and tried to show Nana about the budget and bills. She would always bury her head in the sand and walk away. She and I were both in denial about how serious his health problems were.I settled in and made some amazing friends with the Young Single Adults in the ward and stake. I truly feel I was blessed with some of the most amazing people and wonderful friends at that moment because of what was to come. To this day, even though I don’t see her often, one of the girls in particular I call one of my best friends. When we see each other, it’s like we’ve never been apart. The families in the ward also welcomed me with arms wide open. I slotted in easily, and for a while I was so happy.During this time, my friend from my time as an exchange student got engaged. So, I arranged to go to her wedding back in the U.S. and my mum wanted to come with me.Unfortunately, Grandad’s health declined. I came home one day from TAFE to find an ambulance in the driveway. I had never been more frightened. They took my grandad to the hospital, leaving me with my irate nana. I had to do something, but since I was still quite young and distressed myself, I struggled to pull myself together, but I did manage to send Nana off to the hospital after him.He came home with an oxygen tank. I hated that thing. The noise it made set my nerves on edge. I would lie awake listening to it to make sure Grandad was still breathing.The whole ordeal seemed to drive my nana to the edge as well. They had been married for more than fifty years by this point. They had celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary in 2002 when I was in year ten. My journal entry for the 14thof April says that we had spent the weekend at their place and had a party at their favorite restaurant “with heaps of old people Nana and Grandad have known for ages.” They also had me sing, How Do I Live? By LeAnn Rimes. Now I can’t hear that song and not think about them. This was about four years after that anniversary, so my grandparents had been together for most of their lives. I can’t imagine how hard it was for her to watch him slipping away. I don’t blame her for it causing her distress.Unfortunately, since I was the one in the house, I was served a heavy helping of misplaced frustration and anger. Nana would yell at me for everything and anything. I couldn’t do laundry right, but I needed to do my own laundry, except, I kept getting in the way so she would take over and do it for me anyway. My room was never clean enough. I never got home at the right time. I spent too much time with my friends. I wasn’t dating enough. I ate too little, but I ate too much and I was getting fat. I didn’t know which way was up or what exactly I needed to do, so we would end up fighting. It was upsetting for Grandad, and it broke my heart, but it got so bad I packed everything and left. I had nowhere to go, so with everything I owned crammed into my hatchback, I floated between two of my friends’ houses for the week. Finally, with the intervention of my parents, Grandad convinced me to come home.Unfortunately, he was only getting worse. So while Nana struggled to help him, I struggled to watch him slowly dying. At nineteen, I was still basically a child in so many ways. It’s important to note that I had a close relationship with my grandad. I adored him. I always expected him to do my temple sealing when the time came, but here I was, watching him slip away and I had no marriage prospects. The worst part was, he really wanted to do my sealing too, but he knew he wasn’t going to have the chance. He had a book full of names of people he had done live sealings for, and he wanted to add my name to that list, but it would never happen. A lost dream is a shattering feeling.Soon, he ended up needing to stay in the hospital. I found it hard to visit him there because, like with Grandma, facing mortality was a hard pill to swallow, and I definitely didn’t want to face his mortality. I didn’t want to even consider him being gone.Being just me and Nana at home got rough. Her emotions were everywhere, worse than mine, and I could hardly deal with my own. We would fight and fight, then I’d feel guilty when she would hide in her room and cry. So, I would pray and write in my journal to help me find answers for what to do. The answer was always, “Keep going.”The time came for Mum and I to head to the U.S. We talked to Grandad about leaving, and he wanted us to go. He knew it would make me happy. So I prayed and begged that he would stay alive for the few weeks we were gone.On Friday, 18th August 2006, I wrote: “Grandad died on Sunday here, Saturday in Arizona. It was the strangest feeling… we would have to leave for Australia asap. I was absolutely devastated. A huge jumble of feelings and thoughts overwhelmed me and I didn’t want to deal with Mum asking me what I wanted to do… All I could think of was that maybe I hadn’t had enough faith in my prayers or it was a slight setback…“I… sat with Mum. We talked about the possibilities (for going back) When Dad called and told Mum Grandad had gone. My heart seemed to just shatter… I knew my grandad was gone and I wasn’t ready to leave that happy place for the harsh reality of everything that was soon to come.”Grandad died while I was overseas. It made me question my faith and the strength of my prayers, but the reality is, when the Lord says it’s time, nothing can change that. I believe I was exactly where I needed to be when he passed. My host family brought me comfort and happiness, and the distance I needed from the reality of his death the be able to cope.We flew home right away, and so the journal entries came once we had arrived back in Australia and I had returned to my grandparents’ home, this time, with the rest of my family too.On Saturday the 19th, I went to his viewing. My journal entry says, “It took me about ten minutes to even stand in the doorway, then another ten minutes to get close to him. I think it didn’t look like him at all. I cried a lot which was pretty embarrassing. That’s all I really want to say on the day except that I’m glad I got to see him one last time in this lifetime.”Monday the 21st was his funeral. Of the funeral, I said, “the whole thing was nice, but sad.” I had been asked to sing, because Grandad loved to hear me sing, but I couldn’t pull myself together enough to do it. I had sung at Grandma’s funeral and I had cried on and off through the whole song, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a single note out since I had been so much closer to Grandad.Something that helped me get through was my friends. I said, “I was so glad (three of my friends) came. When (one friend) showed up, I burst into tears which was embarrassing.” Yes, I hate crying and I find it embarrassing even know if people see me do it.It took time for Nana and I to settle, in a sense. On Sunday, 17thSeptember 2006 I wrote: “After church I had a meeting with Bishop at 1:30. We talked about how Nana is driving me nuts and I hated feeling the constant resentment toward her because she’s always putting me down. We also talked about how she isn’t coping and how she just paces up and down the house and cleans constantly and ceases to function like a normal human being anymore, and how every now and then she says she just wants to die because there’s nothing left for her, and the time she was pacing the house and startled calling out, “Where are you, Grandad?” and how that was really distressing.”My bishop was perfect for me during that time. He listened and saw how hard it was for me, a teenager, to deal with my grief and my grandmother’s all at once. He gave me a blessing that reminded me to love my nana and serve her, even though it was hard to do with her grieving and taking out on me. It’s interesting because, upon reading what I wrote was said in the blessing, I felt that the blessings given then are repeated and are relevant to me now. They were:·       I was blessed to feel relief from loneliness·       The Lord is aware of the desires of my heart and wants me to be happy and have those desires. ·       Although Nana may not appreciate what I’m doing now, she will eventually, either in this life or the next.The first two are things I have felt in the temple a great deal lately, so to find them in my journal entry from thirteen years ago was rather timely. The last one, well, Nana is still kicking and I love her so much. Although that time was hard for both of us and we struggled to be in the same space, I appreciate that time we had together. Our abrasive relationship rubbed the edges off and helped us love each other deeply. I don’t know if she appreciates all I did, but I know Grandad does, I have felt him tell me so from the other side of the vail. I was little more than a kid, barely an adult, and I had to deal with some very hard issues. I didn’t handle them perfectly, not even close, but I made it through with the help of wonderful friends, family, and a bishop who was put in at the right place and time. I can see that nothing and no one placed in my life at that time was a coincidence.I still miss my grandad, but I feel him with me often, especially when I go to the temple. He loved the temple, so I have no doubt he enjoys visiting there with me. In fact, I heard his voice when I visited before I discovered my husband’s infidelity. When the Lord told me I had the strength to get through what was to come, I said I didn’t know if I did. And so He said, “Then let them share their strength.” Right away I felt four people around me. Three women, and then my grandad’s voice, clear as day with that English lilt said, “Katie, I’m here.” Yet again, I embarrassed myself by crying my eyes out. The way he spoke my name was exactly how I remembered it. I believe he was the one who spoke because I could recognize his voice anywhere. One of the others present was my grandmother, but I am still not sure who the other two women were. I think one was possibly my great-great grandmother Mary Ellen Monks was one. I have felt bonded to her for a while now. One day I will know, and that day I will hold them close and thank them for being with me through such heartbreaking times.My time living with my grandparents came to a close at the end of 2006. I had finished my TAFE diploma and found a job back in Sydney. I would be moving back south and turning a new chapter. Although the grief for my grandad would linger well into the following year, I knew he was happy.
I have come from so many strong and faithful people. I am proud of my ancestry, the Yorkshiremen, the Irish, the Londoners, the stoic, the pioneers, the migrants, the soldiers, and most importantly, the faithful. All have come to a place in me. I have a great lineage, and a heritage of steadfast faith to live up to. In those who have come before me I find a beacon of light to move forward. They are with me always, even if I cannot see them. They lend me their strength when I feel like I can’t fight another battle and lift me up when I feel like hope is lost. For some reason they are standing with me always and helping me push onward. In me, they find hope, and in them I find the courage to keep pressing on.

Chapter Four ��� The Exchange: Friends

Sunday, 9th January, 2005: ���Yesterday��� I went out to a wrestling tournament. (Host sister) was there as the team manager��� and (my friend) had gone too. (My friend) and I sat and watched the wrestling while (host sister) was down managing the team. At first, the sport seemed kinda nasty, but once I got used to the rules and things I got pretty into it. I couldn���t believe that even the skinniest guys had these enormous, muscular arms.���My friend loves the story of this day to today. My accent was thick and everyone was curious about me. While we watched, we talked about how we played different sports in Australia which was why the wrestling came as so foreign to me.

She asked, ���So, what sports do you play?���

I replied, ���My favorite sport is netball.���

She stared at me for a moment, looking confused and said, ���What was that?���

���Netball?��� I replied, thinking she���d probably never heard of it. ���It���s like basketball without a backboard and you don���t dribble the ball.���

���What���s it called again?��� she asked.

So, I said netball again.

One of the wrestlers turned around and she asked him what he heard. I said again, ���I play netball.���

He looked just as confused, but then lifted his shirt and said, ���Like this?��� and played with his nipple.

My friend burst out laughing and I realized; my accent made me sound to them like I was saying nipple! I was embarrassed, but laughed and repeated netballwith an imitation American accent. They both laughed and now we have a great story to retell all these years later.

My friends during my time as an exchange student have to be the highlight of my time. Coming into a foreign country on my own after years of bullying and exclusion had me nervous, even frightened, to see how people would treat me, just me, without any preconceived notions of who I was. The only preconceived notion anyone held was that I was Australian. I soon found out that gave me serious cool points. However, it was me that drew my incredible friends to me.

I had prayed and prayed for a true best friend, and she was given to me. It���s only recently I learned how the Lord intervened to bring us together. This friend usually did her required P.E. class at the end of the day so she could go home to shower, but this semester she couldn���t swing a last period class and was stuck with the first hour. I was assigned P.E. first hour too. It was that class that created our friendship. Going through my journals, she is easily the most mentioned person. I talk about her just about every day. Not only did we have first hour together, but we sat together during lunch and often spent time together after school and on weekends. Even when she got her boyfriend, she dragged me along with them and although I was a third wheel, she never made me feel like a third wheel. Near the end of my time as an exchange student, we did a Tenth Kingdom marathon. I had never seen the Tenth Kingdombefore, and I loved it! We saw lots of movies together as her sister worked at the local Harkins Theaters. She always had way too many free passes, so my friend and I used them. We even doubled for the school���s Sadie Hawkins dance. We did so much together, and even now we can talk for hours and not notice the time passing. She was and is the greatest answer to my young prayer for a true friend.

I had several other awesome friends from school too. Members and non-members of the church. My junior friend from my first and second periods was also fun. She was sassy and sarcastic and I loved it! Several of the sopranos from became my close friends too, and as I mentioned before, they didn���t let the fact I was a member of the church change their view of me. I loved that my non-member friends accepted me as I was.

During lunch, I sat with a huge group of kids ranging from sophomores to seniors. (The school didn���t have freshmen until a few years later.) We usually dragged several tables together just so we could play games and chat. However, I had several other friends who didn���t join this mass horde. They were quieter people, and my time with them was more often than not one-on-one.

One friend who was from my ward usually sat with a group of three or four. I met her while attending sports with my host sister. This friend also introduced me to her sister-in-law���s sister who was about a year older than me. I ended up having a great friendship with this girl. She lived in a townhouse in West Mesa and took me a couple of times to the YSA ward. That was weird. I enjoyed the time with her, but the looks I got in the ward made me uneasy. Serious meat market.

I also had a good friend whom I talked to mostly during seminary. She came from the other stake, so whenever I managed to get myself invited to their stake activities, I more often than not hung out with her. We had the most unusual debates about eighties music, and she taught me how to blow bubble gum bubbles. Yes, I was eighteen and never blown a bubble with bubble gum. She���s quieter too, but lighthearted and kind.

Another girl from seminary also befriended me. She was a bit more of a drama magnet. Her friendship with me came as hot and cold. One minute she would be all over me and spilling her guts about her life, the next she would practically ignore me as she focused in on, well, boys. She made my boy crazy look like a mild interest. For a large chunk of my time she had a boyfriend. He was about to leave on a mission and, according to her, she was madly in love with him. Unfortunately, her parents made it known they didn���t approve, and so, after a weekend with him, my day would be filled with her highs from being with him, then her lows because her parents told her to ditch him. I endured these times because when she was just herself, she was a wonderful person whom I enjoyed her company very much.

I had plenty of other friends too; a group of boys from choir who formed a band, people I didn���t share classes with but hung out with during lunch, kids from my stake who were also at the school, and kids who lived in my neighborhood and I hung out with after school and on the weekends. One of the boys from my neighborhood became a really good friend and I asked to be my date for the Sadie Hawkins. I���ve always liked him. He had this innocence about him that was adorable. I always respected his desire to keep himself on that course, and even after serving a mission in the deep south among Baptists who literally hate us, he remains to this day untainted in his optimistic innocence.

The kids in the neighborhood were also in my ward. Most of them were boys. I can only recall two teenage girls aside from my host sister and I that lived on the street. In fact, the ward���s youth was dominated by young men. In my age group of the eighteen-year-olds there was one other girl and six or seven boys. Coming from being the only one as the one boy from my ward left on his mission about the same time I left on exchange, having so many peers was exhilarating. I made friends with the younger boys who lived on the street too. Several were in lower grades, and even a few freshmen. They played games like football, basketball, and so forth, and they let me teach them some basics of cricket. Although, when they used their Beebe guns I avoided the street.

At church, I befriended a few girls too. There was the girl I mentioned earlier whom I met through my host sister at sports events. My other main female friend in the ward was a young convert. She and I both sang and she was studying to become a choir director. Which she would eventually succeed in and take over our high school���s choir. She was also engaged during this time. She and her fianc�� were hilarious as she was all over him. I loved catching them kissing before going to classes. I was disappointed when I discovered their wedding day would be the day after I flew back to Australia.

My other major friends from church came through the avenue of Girls Camp. I was signed up as a Junior Staff with a large group of YSA girls, most of whom were eighteen like me. Four girls in particular I made close friendships with. One stayed in the bed beside me and talked in her sleep which was hilarious, but I enjoyed conversations with her while she was awake more. The other three were already a close trio. They lived in the eastern wards, so a bit separated from us and it also meant they went to a different high school. I think they had already graduated too. But, I enjoyed their company immensely. One night we had an overnight at our cabin mom���s house. We laid on a trampoline and stared up at the stars talking about what we hoped for and dreamed of for the future, including future husbands. Mostly, I remember feeling at peace with them. They showed me a natural, easy friendship which I had craved for many years.

As life goes on, I have lost contact with many of the friends I made as an exchange student. I went back to Australia, they went on missions, moved away, married, and continued on their lives. However, I will never forget the impact they had on my life. The friendships I made gave me strength and rebuilt my confidence. They helped me see who I am and know that who I am is enough. I don���t think any of them know how much they affected me and touched my heart.

However, I am incredibly grateful for the friends that have remained. My closest friend has stayed close to me, her friendship unyielding. One of the girls from Girls Camp has remained a steadfast friend all these years later, and she and I consolidated together during times of infertility. I���ve remained in touch with several others and enjoy seeing how they continue to progress through life. I was blessed with amazing friends, and I hope they know even just a little how much I have appreciated them for all these years.

Chapter Four – The Exchange: Friends

Sunday, 9th January, 2005: “Yesterday… I went out to a wrestling tournament. (Host sister) was there as the team manager… and (my friend) had gone too. (My friend) and I sat and watched the wrestling while (host sister) was down managing the team. At first, the sport seemed kinda nasty, but once I got used to the rules and things I got pretty into it. I couldn’t believe that even the skinniest guys had these enormous, muscular arms.”My friend loves the story of this day to today. My accent was thick and everyone was curious about me. While we watched, we talked about how we played different sports in Australia which was why the wrestling came as so foreign to me.She asked, “So, what sports do you play?”I replied, “My favorite sport is netball.”She stared at me for a moment, looking confused and said, “What was that?”“Netball?” I replied, thinking she’d probably never heard of it. “It’s like basketball without a backboard and you don’t dribble the ball.”“What’s it called again?” she asked.So, I said netball again.One of the wrestlers turned around and she asked him what he heard. I said again, “I play netball.”He looked just as confused, but then lifted his shirt and said, “Like this?” and played with his nipple.My friend burst out laughing and I realized; my accent made me sound to them like I was saying nipple! I was embarrassed, but laughed and repeated netballwith an imitation American accent. They both laughed and now we have a great story to retell all these years later.My friends during my time as an exchange student have to be the highlight of my time. Coming into a foreign country on my own after years of bullying and exclusion had me nervous, even frightened, to see how people would treat me, just me, without any preconceived notions of who I was. The only preconceived notion anyone held was that I was Australian. I soon found out that gave me serious cool points. However, it was me that drew my incredible friends to me.I had prayed and prayed for a true best friend, and she was given to me. It’s only recently I learned how the Lord intervened to bring us together. This friend usually did her required P.E. class at the end of the day so she could go home to shower, but this semester she couldn’t swing a last period class and was stuck with the first hour. I was assigned P.E. first hour too. It was that class that created our friendship. Going through my journals, she is easily the most mentioned person. I talk about her just about every day. Not only did we have first hour together, but we sat together during lunch and often spent time together after school and on weekends. Even when she got her boyfriend, she dragged me along with them and although I was a third wheel, she never made me feel like a third wheel. Near the end of my time as an exchange student, we did a Tenth Kingdom marathon. I had never seen the Tenth Kingdombefore, and I loved it! We saw lots of movies together as her sister worked at the local Harkins Theaters. She always had way too many free passes, so my friend and I used them. We even doubled for the school’s Sadie Hawkins dance. We did so much together, and even now we can talk for hours and not notice the time passing. She was and is the greatest answer to my young prayer for a true friend.I had several other awesome friends from school too. Members and non-members of the church. My junior friend from my first and second periods was also fun. She was sassy and sarcastic and I loved it! Several of the sopranos from became my close friends too, and as I mentioned before, they didn’t let the fact I was a member of the church change their view of me. I loved that my non-member friends accepted me as I was.During lunch, I sat with a huge group of kids ranging from sophomores to seniors. (The school didn’t have freshmen until a few years later.) We usually dragged several tables together just so we could play games and chat. However, I had several other friends who didn’t join this mass horde. They were quieter people, and my time with them was more often than not one-on-one.One friend who was from my ward usually sat with a group of three or four. I met her while attending sports with my host sister. This friend also introduced me to her sister-in-law’s sister who was about a year older than me. I ended up having a great friendship with this girl. She lived in a townhouse in West Mesa and took me a couple of times to the YSA ward. That was weird. I enjoyed the time with her, but the looks I got in the ward made me uneasy. Serious meat market.I also had a good friend whom I talked to mostly during seminary. She came from the other stake, so whenever I managed to get myself invited to their stake activities, I more often than not hung out with her. We had the most unusual debates about eighties music, and she taught me how to blow bubble gum bubbles. Yes, I was eighteen and never blown a bubble with bubble gum. She’s quieter too, but lighthearted and kind.Another girl from seminary also befriended me. She was a bit more of a drama magnet. Her friendship with me came as hot and cold. One minute she would be all over me and spilling her guts about her life, the next she would practically ignore me as she focused in on, well, boys. She made my boy crazy look like a mild interest. For a large chunk of my time she had a boyfriend. He was about to leave on a mission and, according to her, she was madly in love with him. Unfortunately, her parents made it known they didn’t approve, and so, after a weekend with him, my day would be filled with her highs from being with him, then her lows because her parents told her to ditch him. I endured these times because when she was just herself, she was a wonderful person whom I enjoyed her company very much.I had plenty of other friends too; a group of boys from choir who formed a band, people I didn’t share classes with but hung out with during lunch, kids from my stake who were also at the school, and kids who lived in my neighborhood and I hung out with after school and on the weekends. One of the boys from my neighborhood became a really good friend and I asked to be my date for the Sadie Hawkins. I’ve always liked him. He had this innocence about him that was adorable. I always respected his desire to keep himself on that course, and even after serving a mission in the deep south among Baptists who literally hate us, he remains to this day untainted in his optimistic innocence.The kids in the neighborhood were also in my ward. Most of them were boys. I can only recall two teenage girls aside from my host sister and I that lived on the street. In fact, the ward’s youth was dominated by young men. In my age group of the eighteen-year-olds there was one other girl and six or seven boys. Coming from being the only one as the one boy from my ward left on his mission about the same time I left on exchange, having so many peers was exhilarating. I made friends with the younger boys who lived on the street too. Several were in lower grades, and even a few freshmen. They played games like football, basketball, and so forth, and they let me teach them some basics of cricket. Although, when they used their Beebe guns I avoided the street.At church, I befriended a few girls too. There was the girl I mentioned earlier whom I met through my host sister at sports events. My other main female friend in the ward was a young convert. She and I both sang and she was studying to become a choir director. Which she would eventually succeed in and take over our high school’s choir. She was also engaged during this time. She and her fiancé were hilarious as she was all over him. I loved catching them kissing before going to classes. I was disappointed when I discovered their wedding day would be the day after I flew back to Australia.My other major friends from church came through the avenue of Girls Camp. I was signed up as a Junior Staff with a large group of YSA girls, most of whom were eighteen like me. Four girls in particular I made close friendships with. One stayed in the bed beside me and talked in her sleep which was hilarious, but I enjoyed conversations with her while she was awake more. The other three were already a close trio. They lived in the eastern wards, so a bit separated from us and it also meant they went to a different high school. I think they had already graduated too. But, I enjoyed their company immensely. One night we had an overnight at our cabin mom’s house. We laid on a trampoline and stared up at the stars talking about what we hoped for and dreamed of for the future, including future husbands. Mostly, I remember feeling at peace with them. They showed me a natural, easy friendship which I had craved for many years.As life goes on, I have lost contact with many of the friends I made as an exchange student. I went back to Australia, they went on missions, moved away, married, and continued on their lives. However, I will never forget the impact they had on my life. The friendships I made gave me strength and rebuilt my confidence. They helped me see who I am and know that who I am is enough. I don’t think any of them know how much they affected me and touched my heart.However, I am incredibly grateful for the friends that have remained. My closest friend has stayed close to me, her friendship unyielding. One of the girls from Girls Camp has remained a steadfast friend all these years later, and she and I consolidated together during times of infertility. I’ve remained in touch with several others and enjoy seeing how they continue to progress through life. I was blessed with amazing friends, and I hope they know even just a little how much I have appreciated them for all these years.

Chapter Three - The Exchange: School Part 2

Second period I started out doing drama, but it ended up not being that great. Instead, I dropped the class to do the make up Seminary work. That, as I mentioned earlier, turned out to be an excellent choice. I would go to the cafeteria where I pulled out the Seminary manual and my notebook and I worked my way through the first half of the New Testament. I often would get through a couple of lessons at a time, and would bring the work to my Seminary teacher later that day.Third period I had American History. I had my junior friend from P.E. in this class with me. I’ve always enjoyed history, and American History wasn’t something I had ever been terribly exposed to, so it came fresh and intriguing. I learned about the presidents from the early 1900s and I was fascinated by how the managed things like the post WWI period, prohibition, the depression, and going into WWII. Learning about WWII from an American perspective was interesting as well. They seem to think the war only started after the Pearl Harbor attack. I was perplexed by this because I remember clearly Hitler starting a thing before that in Europe, and the Pearl Harbor attack was a ripple affect that extended the war and brought it into the Pacific. But, you know, I could be wrong… Anyway, I do recall making a board game with my friend in this class. I was a real stinker and made super hard questions like, “Who was the Australian Prime Minister during WWII?” and “What were the major battle which the ANZAC forces were involved?” and “How many British soldiers were evacuated from Dunkirk?” All things that didn’t involve American troops, so they had people completely stumped! I can be a real brat sometimes.I really enjoyed this class, though. My teacher was fun and made it interesting and, considering she had a German and an Australian foreign exchange student in the room, she handled avoiding bias fairly well. In the end, I found myself in the top ten students in the classroom with an almost perfect grade. I thought that was ironic since it was American history and I wasn’t American, plus, I’d basically been told I was stupid back in my Australian high school so often that I had begun to believe it. My grades in my American school helped me turn that belief around.Fourth period I had American Literature. This class I had mixed feelings for. I had to read Grapes of Wrath and To Kill A Mockingbird during this class. Grapes of Wrath didn’t appeal to me, but I loved To Kill A Mockingbird. I have a copy now in my personal collection as well as the sequel… which I haven’t read yet. I love to read, and we followed up with assignments and we even watched old movies of the books. I did enjoy those elements, as well as the short stories and poetry we read during class time. However, my teacher was, for want of a better word, a douchebag. I would be sitting there, wearing an Aussie flag across my chest, reading in an Australian accent, and he’d go on an America is supreme rant. He’d go on and on about how no other country had the freedoms of the U.S. and no one was as advanced or as liberated and how England sucked and so forth, and I was like… ahh, I have English family and Australia is still a sovereign nation, and yes, Australia is also free and advanced so, you suck. I always came out of those classes when he’d go on a rant kind of irritated and flustered because, to be honest, I lack the guts to be confrontational, especially to authority figures. So I would leave thinking, “You suck” but I would never say it to him or anyone.Thankfully, I had lunch after this class. Lunch! Oh, so much fun! We played games like Spoons or Uno if someone brought cards. I sometimes flittered around to different groups, but usually I stayed with my friend from P.E. who was always so fun and hilarious. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with her, and lunch was one of those times. Occasionally, near the end of the semester, I would head to the choir room. I had quite a few friends who would spend their lunch hour in the room before choir started. I also had a friend who would hide out in the library, so every now and then I would go to see what she was up to.After lunch was choir. As I mentioned earlier, I loved choir! I am a soprano, so reaching the heavens on pitch was always a fun challenge. However, I had a pretty high range as a teen, so most songs didn’t push my limit very often.Choir took me to Disneyland for the first time. I was so insanely excited. We had to sell cookie dough to raise money, and boy, did I sell cookie dough! I made more than enough to cover myself, so I donated the extra to a friend who came up short. Those cookies were amazing by the way.We rode on a bus to Disneyland. Being choir kids, there was much singing almost the entire way. When we arrived at the hotel, we rushed to our rooms and prepared ourselves for the fun ahead of us.We had passes to move between Disneyland and California Adventure. Since it was during the school year, hardly anyone was within both parks, so the lines were relatively quick, especially in California Adventure. One ride we could get off and jump right back on again!I spent my time in California Adventure with one of the other sopranos and two of the boys. As we moved around the park and were chatting, it came out that I am A member of the church. The girl literally stopped me in my tracks and said, “Wait, you’re Mormon? But you’re so normal!” The guys agreed and, after establishing that being Aussie and Mormon was weird, they explained that I didn’t come across as high and mighty, or overly peppy and obnoxiously happy like the other LDS kids they knew. I liked that they didn’t judge me for being a member of the church. They were surprised, but it didn’t change how they saw me or treated me. I was still just me, their friendly neighborhood Australian exchange student. That meant more to me than I think they will ever know. After all I had been through back in my previous high school, to have my non-member friends not let my faith change the way they saw me and treated me helped my confidence enormously. I wasn’t a freak anymore, and I wasn’t ostracized by non-members for being a member of the church. Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, my religion wasn’t a deciding factor on who could be my friends.

Chapter Three – The Exchange: School Part 1

December 31st 2004 through June 30th 2005 were the best six months of my life. They changed my life forever. During this time, I kept daily journals with more detail than I had ever kept journals before. While I had always kept a journal, at times it came sporadically, where I would do daily entries for a few weeks, then nothing for a several months. But my journals during my six months of student exchange have preserved my time impeccably. There are things I wrote about that, try as I may, I cannot recall now. These are mostly small day-to-day things, so they are not particularly important anyway. I do remember the important things, however.(***Note: Each chapter I will go back and add excerpts from my journals later. This is a draft and so I’m just getting my thoughts down for now.***)The flight from Sydney to Los Angeles I could not for the life of me sleep. I wriggled, got up and moved around, watched movies, played games, but sleep never came. This was the only time I haven’t been able to get even a little sleep while doing this long flight over the Pacific Ocean, and I have flown this route plenty of times since.When I arrived at L.A., I was exhausted and utterly alone. L.A. airport is not a hospitable place, and on New Year’s Eve, to an eighteen year old who had never left her home country, LAX felt like a nightmare come to life. People were rude, loud, pushy, and there were so many of them! While I waited in line for customs, a man just in front of me started yelling about something and being rude unlike anything I had ever witnessed before, and I thought, “What have I gotten myself into? Is what everyone believes about Americans true; that they’re loud and obnoxious?” This man and many more people in the airport seemed to support that notion, and, being as tired as I was as well, I began to freak out. LAX is, in my opinion, the worst airport in the world!Eventually, I climbed onto my plane for the short stint from LAX to Phoenix. After the fourteen hours from Sydney to L.A., the hour flight felt like I went straight up, and came right back down again.When I left Sydney, summer was in full swing, but as I gazed out the window, I caught glimpses of snow on mountains. Snow was never something I had much exposure to, so I found it, and the reversed seasons, fascinating.When I arrived in Phoenix, I was incredibly nervous. I had one way to go, forward, but my nerves made my body tremble. With my stuffed bear tucked under my arm, I headed out to meet my host family for the first time in person.They were super nice from that first moment. I’ve never been much of a hugger, or a touchy person, (I like my personal space) but my host mother greeted me with a hug. Since I hadn’t showered in twenty-four hours, I hoped I didn’t smell too bad. And I was so tired! My memories of my arrival are vague, and my journal entries didn’t give much detail either, so the whole moment in time has gone hazy in my mind.On the drive to their house, I watched the strange and foreign scenery go by. No trees, which was so weird to me, but open, brown spaces with giant Saguaro Cacti. Tempe Town Lake seemed odd to me with the buildings around a random slip of water and wrapped between little mountains.When we arrived at their home, the Christmas decorations were still hung, except the tree had gone. None of it mattered, because all I wanted was my bed. I crashed hard. I was out for hours. During my time asleep, I literally slept through a S.W.A.T. raid of the house behind them. The family told me later that they were stunned I’d slept through the yelling and pops from the smoke guns and so forth. I was disappointed I missed the action!That night, my host brother and sister took me to a New Year’s party. Age wise, I am closer in age to my host brother. He is born at the beginning of the same year as me, and me at the end, but my host sister would be going to school and sharing a room with me. My host brother would leave for his mission only a few weeks later, and I was more interested in building a friendship with my host sister anyway.The exchange foundation encouraged us to make friends different to that of our host siblings to help prevent feelings of rivalry. I didn’t want my host sister to feel bitterly toward me, so although I was willing to get to know her friends, I wanted her to have her friends for herself, while I could make my own. Although, at the party, it didn’t take me long to be separated from her.For the first time in an extremely long time, I was center of attention. I didn’t know what to do about it. It felt awkward, and people kept asking me weird questions and telling me to say something, which I never knew what to say even though it didn’t matter because the words I spoke were unimportant to them, but rather, my accent was what had them grinning like five year olds. I’d never thought about the way I spoke before, and I’d never considered having an accent either. I sounded normal to me, just like everyone else I’d ever known. Admittedly, I have always had a “softer” accent, not like the heavy “yobbo” accent many people I knew had. I think that had to do with my exposure to my English grandparents, and my mother’s more British upbringing and mannerisms in speech. Strangely enough, however, my sister has always had a heavier sound to me, so I think it’s because I spent a lot of time building a strong relationship with my grandparents.Anyway, since my body clock was still on Sydney time, I was wide awake for the party. I played games, sat on the roof to chat with new people, and had a ton of fun, even if everyone was obsessed with some Aussie guy I’d never heard of named Keith Urban, and were horrified that I didn’t like root beer. They all kept quoting this movie I didn’t know called Napoleon Dynamite, so while they laughed their heads off, I sat rather confused.That night, I fell asleep late, which was fine for the party, but I slept late the next morning. It took me quite some time to adjust to the jetlag, and most of that first week I woke up after midnight starving even though I’d eaten, because my body clock said it was dinner time. My host family may have thought they’d inherited a ghost as I crept out to snack on bananas and such at three in the morning.Not long after I stumbled out of bed, a band of boys around my age burst into the house. With blood on their arms and shirts, it took me only a moment of listening to their excited story about cutting off chicken heads and watching them run around headless for me to turn and head back to my room. Again, I wondered what I had gotten myself into! Despite this, I joined them to play tag football. Since American football is quite different to rugby and Aussie Rules, I had a ton of fun, plus I quite liked the scenery. In my journal I made note that the guys were, “very different from back in Aus…. Every time they ran into me by accident or pulled at my tag badly, they’d apologize, unlike the guys back at (Aus school) who give a sarcastic, “Oi, I’m running here!’” I also said, comically, “All the guys here are built, unlike in Aus where they are all tall and skinny. It’s so sweet to see guys with real bodies.” Yup, I was always boy crazy.Monday, January 3rd 2005 was my first day in an American high school. Coyotes. Fear the howl. I described my first day as being, “one of the most intimidating days I have ever experienced.” I was thrown into my third hour class mid period and was immediately asked if I’d ever held a koala. The stereotypes had begun!I almost fell asleep during lunch because I still wasn’t sleeping well. The lack of sleep likely didn’t help at all with the hazy intimidated feeling.Seminary was the highlight of my day. I sat in the back while everyone made a fuss about me being Australian and Steve Irwin and trying to copy the way I spoke. But I remember a girl walking in. She was bubbly and bright and I thought, Wow, I want her to be my friend!The next morning, I attended my first hour for the first time, which was P.E. As many people probably know, I always loved P.E. and sports, so taking a P.E. class wasn’t a hard choice for me. When I walked into the changeroom, the girl I’d seen the day before in Seminary greeted me. She introduced herself and we sort of attached to one another during class. Then, during lunch, I sat with her again. Each day, this pattern repeated itself until suddenly, I realized this girl was quickly becoming one of the best friends I had ever had. As my time as an exchange student passed, we did many things together. We would talk constantly and even doubled for the Sadie Hawkins dance. She was fun and exciting and so trustworthy, and she was and is the answer to my prayer to find a true best friend. To this day she remains close to me and a support. We can still talk for hours and candidly. I flew over for her wedding, and she came to mine. She visited me in the hospital after both my girls, and I made it to the hospital for most of hers. (I was still in Australia when she had her first) She has kept me grounded and pushing forward more times than she probably knows, and I hope I have helped her in some ways over the years as well. To find a true friend in her has always made me so happy and I will never stop being grateful she was put in my path.Within the first week of my exchange, I wrote in my journal a list of random thoughts. They’re kind of funny, so I will share some here:I can be a good rambler when I get onto the right topic. (Hasn’t changed…)All footballers are hot, no questions asked, even if they aren’t.I am very lost in this world…Vending Machines and lockers are weird.Grades here are not separated.Americans really don’t like Vegemite.When everyone tries to imitate me, they sound British.Within that first week, I was bumped up into the show choir. Choir quickly became my favorite class. The choir director was awesome, and a newbie to the school like me! To this day I respect his work as a choir director and I still hold him as being one of the best choir directors I have ever had. And I had been in my fair share of choirs! I did school choirs, church choirs, School Spectacular choirs, and I even got into the Sydney Public School singers, which is basically like a state choir. My choir director sat on par with my choir director from the Sydney Singers. The choir director from the Sydney singers had a wide reaching reputation as excelling in his work with choirs. After I had graduated school, he was contracted by a television network to be a judge on a choir show they aired. I learned so much from him, and he seemed to like my voice. He was disappointed when I had to quit going into my eleventh and twelfth grades because rehearsals switched to Sundays. He was the choir director at the music camps as well which was where I got to know him and his incredible work ethic and talent for choir directing better than ever. My choir director as an exchange student had the same drive and talent.I looked forward to going to choir after lunch. In fact, with seminary right afterward, my afternoons rocked. I quickly became friends with the choir kids and would hover between them and my other friends during lunch. It helped that the choir kids meshed in with the other friends I had anyway. Also, many kids from choir had Seminary their last hour with me, so we would head over together. The choir kids became my people and I was happy.Seminary continued to be a major highlight of my day, just like back in Australia. The teacher was hilarious. He was goofy and clearly loved doing his job. We always had fun, and we also had many spiritual and powerful moments. Mostly, I am grateful to him for all he did to help me. He discovered I hadn’t finished Seminary, due to my issues in ninth grade with my health and such. He went out of his way to find what I needed to do to catch up and graduate with the rest of the seniors at the end of the school year. He then gave me assignments and I worked through them. I managed to get release time second hour which I used as a second period for Seminary. With his help, I pulled it off. I graduated Seminary and walked with my peers. I even earned Stake President’s Honors. I credit that achievement to him and his dedication. He made it possible because he cared about his students individually and made sure I could do it.My classes were all my choice. Since I had already graduated in Australia due to the school years running differently, I didn’t need specific classes for anything. My exchange company recommended American History and American Literature, so I signed up for them. The rest of my classes were all on me.My day consisted of starting in P.E. Having my friend in there made it the perfect start to the day. I had another friend in there too who was a junior. It was so strange to me to have students from other grades sharing a class with me. Since our classes back in Australia were always by grade level, the American way of doing it by credits needed baffled me. My school was tenth through twelfth grades at the time, so I often found myself in a classroom with Sophomores as well as Seniors and Juniors. Even now I have been in the U.S.A. for more than a decade, I still find this practice a bit odd.Back on topic, P.E. was always fun. Most of the girls in the class hated being there, but my friends and I always seemed to have fun. One time, we were doing aerobics with elastics. I had some trouble getting it on my foot right and it slipped off and smacked me in the face. My friend laughed at me, because, well, why not? It was pretty funny. Especially because I did it twice.It was after P.E. one time I started an epidemic. I needed a drink of water after getting changed, so when I saw the drinking fountain, I said, “Ohh! A bubbler!” and rushed over to it. Now, all Aussies know what a bubbler is. Apparently, Americans don’t. My friend followed me and asked me to repeat what I said. I was confused, but said, “A bubbler?” and motioned to the drinking fountain. She repeated, “A bubblah?” And I grinned. “Yeah, a bubbler.” She said, “You mean a drinking fountain?” I realized I had found an item I needed to translate into American. I also soon realized my Australianisms caused a stir among my friends. She had me repeating what I called a drinking fountain to everyone, so by the time I made it to Seminary last period, everyone was telling each other they needed a drink from the bubbler.

Chapter Three – The Exchange - School ***Incomplete***

December 31st 2004 through June 30th 2005 were the best six months of my life. They changed my life forever. During this time, I kept daily journals with more detail than I had ever kept journals before. While I had always kept a journal, at times it came sporadically, where I would do daily entries for a few weeks, then nothing for a several months. But my journals during my six months of student exchange have preserved my time impeccably. There are things I wrote about that, try as I may, I cannot recall now. These are mostly small day-to-day things, so they are not particularly important anyway. I do remember the important things, however.(***Note: Each chapter I will go back and add excerpts from my journals later. This is a draft and so I’m just getting my thoughts down for now.***)The flight from Sydney to Los Angeles I could not for the life of me sleep. I wriggled, got up and moved around, watched movies, played games, but sleep never came. This was the only time I haven’t been able to get even a little sleep while doing this long flight over the Pacific Ocean, and I have flown this route plenty of times since.When I arrived at L.A., I was exhausted and utterly alone. L.A. airport is not a hospitable place, and on New Year’s Eve, to an eighteen year old who had never left her home country, LAX felt like a nightmare come to life. People were rude, loud, pushy, and there were so many of them! While I waited in line for customs, a man just in front of me started yelling about something and being rude unlike anything I had ever witnessed before, and I thought, “What have I gotten myself into? Is what everyone believes about Americans true; that they’re loud and obnoxious?” This man and many more people in the airport seemed to support that notion, and, being as tired as I was as well, I began to freak out. LAX is, in my opinion, the worst airport in the world!Eventually, I climbed onto my plane for the short stint from LAX to Phoenix. After the fourteen hours from Sydney to L.A., the hour flight felt like I went straight up, and came right back down again.When I left Sydney, summer was in full swing, but as I gazed out the window, I caught glimpses of snow on mountains. Snow was never something I had much exposure to, so I found it, and the reversed seasons, fascinating.When I arrived in Phoenix, I was incredibly nervous. I had one way to go, forward, but my nerves made my body tremble. With my stuffed bear tucked under my arm, I headed out to meet my host family for the first time in person.They were super nice from that first moment. I’ve never been much of a hugger, or a touchy person, (I like my personal space) but my host mother greeted me with a hug. Since I hadn’t showered in twenty-four hours, I hoped I didn’t smell too bad. And I was so tired! My memories of my arrival are vague, and my journal entries didn’t give much detail either, so the whole moment in time has gone hazy in my mind.On the drive to their house, I watched the strange and foreign scenery go by. No trees, which was so weird to me, but open, brown spaces with giant Saguaro Cacti. Tempe Town Lake seemed odd to me with the buildings around a random slip of water and wrapped between little mountains.When we arrived at their home, the Christmas decorations were still hung, except the tree had gone. None of it mattered, because all I wanted was my bed. I crashed hard. I was out for hours. During my time asleep, I literally slept through a S.W.A.T. raid of the house behind them. The family told me later that they were stunned I’d slept through the yelling and pops from the smoke guns and so forth. I was disappointed I missed the action!That night, my host brother and sister took me to a New Year’s party. Age wise, I am closer in age to my host brother. He is born at the beginning of the same year as me, and me at the end, but my host sister would be going to school and sharing a room with me. My host brother would leave for his mission only a few weeks later, and I was more interested in building a friendship with my host sister anyway.The exchange foundation encouraged us to make friends different to that of our host siblings to help prevent feelings of rivalry. I didn’t want my host sister to feel bitterly toward me, so although I was willing to get to know her friends, I wanted her to have her friends for herself, while I could make my own. Although, at the party, it didn’t take me long to be separated from her.For the first time in an extremely long time, I was center of attention. I didn’t know what to do about it. It felt awkward, and people kept asking me weird questions and telling me to say something, which I never knew what to say even though it didn’t matter because the words I spoke were unimportant to them, but rather, my accent was what had them grinning like five year olds. I’d never thought about the way I spoke before, and I’d never considered having an accent either. I sounded normal to me, just like everyone else I’d ever known. Admittedly, I have always had a “softer” accent, not like the heavy “yobbo” accent many people I knew had. I think that had to do with my exposure to my English grandparents, and my mother’s more British upbringing and mannerisms in speech. Strangely enough, however, my sister has always had a heavier sound to me, so I think it’s because I spent a lot of time building a strong relationship with my grandparents.Anyway, since my body clock was still on Sydney time, I was wide awake for the party. I played games, sat on the roof to chat with new people, and had a ton of fun, even if everyone was obsessed with some Aussie guy I’d never heard of named Keith Urban, and were horrified that I didn’t like root beer. They all kept quoting this movie I didn’t know called Napoleon Dynamite, so while they laughed their heads off, I sat rather confused.That night, I fell asleep late, which was fine for the party, but I slept late the next morning. It took me quite some time to adjust to the jetlag, and most of that first week I woke up after midnight starving even though I’d eaten, because my body clock said it was dinner time. My host family may have thought they’d inherited a ghost as I crept out to snack on bananas and such at three in the morning.Not long after I stumbled out of bed, a band of boys around my age burst into the house. With blood on their arms and shirts, it took me only a moment of listening to their excited story about cutting off chicken heads and watching them run around headless for me to turn and head back to my room. Again, I wondered what I had gotten myself into! Despite this, I joined them to play tag football. Since American football is quite different to rugby and Aussie Rules, I had a ton of fun, plus I quite liked the scenery. In my journal I made note that the guys were, “very different from back in Aus…. Every time they ran into me by accident or pulled at my tag badly, they’d apologize, unlike the guys back at (Aus school) who give a sarcastic, “Oi, I’m running here!’” I also said, comically, “All the guys here are built, unlike in Aus where they are all tall and skinny. It’s so sweet to see guys with real bodies.” Yup, I was always boy crazy.Monday, January 3rd 2005 was my first day in an American high school. Coyotes. Fear the howl. I described my first day as being, “one of the most intimidating days I have ever experienced.” I was thrown into my third hour class mid period and was immediately asked if I’d ever held a koala. The stereotypes had begun!I almost fell asleep during lunch because I still wasn’t sleeping well. The lack of sleep likely didn’t help at all with the hazy intimidated feeling.Seminary was the highlight of my day. I sat in the back while everyone made a fuss about me being Australian and Steve Irwin and trying to copy the way I spoke. But I remember a girl walking in. She was bubbly and bright and I thought, Wow, I want her to be my friend!The next morning, I attended my first hour for the first time, which was P.E. As many people probably know, I always loved P.E. and sports, so taking a P.E. class wasn’t a hard choice for me. When I walked into the changeroom, the girl I’d seen the day before in Seminary greeted me. She introduced herself and we sort of attached to one another during class. Then, during lunch, I sat with her again. Each day, this pattern repeated itself until suddenly, I realized this girl was quickly becoming one of the best friends I had ever had. As my time as an exchange student passed, we did many things together. We would talk constantly and even doubled for the Sadie Hawkins dance. She was fun and exciting and so trustworthy, and she was and is the answer to my prayer to find a true best friend. To this day she remains close to me and a support. We can still talk for hours and candidly. I flew over for her wedding, and she came to mine. She visited me in the hospital after both my girls, and I made it to the hospital for most of hers. (I was still in Australia when she had her first) She has kept me grounded and pushing forward more times than she probably knows, and I hope I have helped her in some ways over the years as well. To find a true friend in her has always made me so happy and I will never stop being grateful she was put in my path.Within the first week of my exchange, I wrote in my journal a list of random thoughts. They’re kind of funny, so I will share some here:I can be a good rambler when I get onto the right topic. (Hasn’t changed…)All footballers are hot, no questions asked, even if they aren’t.I am very lost in this world…Vending Machines and lockers are weird.Grades here are not separated.Americans really don’t like Vegemite.When everyone tries to imitate me, they sound British.Within that first week, I was bumped up into the show choir. Choir quickly became my favorite class. The choir director was awesome, and a newbie to the school like me! To this day I respect his work as a choir director and I still hold him as being one of the best choir directors I have ever had. And I had been in my fair share of choirs! I did school choirs, church choirs, School Spectacular choirs, and I even got into the Sydney Public School singers, which is basically like a state choir. My choir director sat on par with my choir director from the Sydney Singers. The choir director from the Sydney singers had a wide reaching reputation as excelling in his work with choirs. After I had graduated school, he was contracted by a television network to be a judge on a choir show they aired. I learned so much from him, and he seemed to like my voice. He was disappointed when I had to quit going into my eleventh and twelfth grades because rehearsals switched to Sundays. He was the choir director at the music camps as well which was where I got to know him and his incredible work ethic and talent for choir directing better than ever. My choir director as an exchange student had the same drive and talent.I looked forward to going to choir after lunch. In fact, with seminary right afterward, my afternoons rocked. I quickly became friends with the choir kids and would hover between them and my other friends during lunch. It helped that the choir kids meshed in with the other friends I had anyway. Also, many kids from choir had Seminary their last hour with me, so we would head over together. The choir kids became my people and I was happy.Seminary continued to be a major highlight of my day, just like back in Australia. The teacher was hilarious. He was goofy and clearly loved doing his job. We always had fun, and we also had many spiritual and powerful moments. Mostly, I am grateful to him for all he did to help me. He discovered I hadn’t finished Seminary, due to my issues in ninth grade with my health and such. He went out of his way to find what I needed to do to catch up and graduate with the rest of the seniors at the end of the school year. He then gave me assignments and I worked through them. I managed to get release time second hour which I used as a second period for Seminary. With his help, I pulled it off. I graduated Seminary and walked with my peers. I even earned Stake President’s Honors. I credit that achievement to him and his dedication. He made it possible because he cared about his students individually and made sure I could do it.My classes were all my choice. Since I had already graduated in Australia due to the school years running differently, I didn’t need specific classes for anything. My exchange company recommended American History and American Literature, so I signed up for them. The rest of my classes were all on me.My day consisted of starting in P.E. Having my friend in there made it the perfect start to the day. I had another friend in there too who was a junior. It was so strange to me to have students from other grades sharing a class with me. Since our classes back in Australia were always by grade level, the American way of doing it by credits needed baffled me. My school was tenth through twelfth grades at the time, so I often found myself in a classroom with Sophomores as well as Seniors and Juniors. Even now I have been in the U.S.A. for more than a decade, I still find this practice a bit odd.Back on topic, P.E. was always fun. Most of the girls in the class hated being there, but my friends and I always seemed to have fun. One time, we were doing aerobics with elastics. I had some trouble getting it on my foot right and it slipped off and smacked me in the face. My friend laughed at me, because, well, why not? It was pretty funny. Especially because I did it twice.It was after P.E. one time I started an epidemic. I needed a drink of water after getting changed, so when I saw the drinking fountain, I said, “Ohh! A bubbler!” and rushed over to it. Now, all Aussies know what a bubbler is. Apparently, Americans don’t. My friend followed me and asked me to repeat what I said. I was confused, but said, “A bubbler?” and motioned to the drinking fountain. She repeated, “A bubblah?” And I grinned. “Yeah, a bubbler.” She said, “You mean a drinking fountain?” I realized I had found an item I needed to translate into American. I also soon realized my Australianisms caused a stir among my friends. She had me repeating what I called a drinking fountain to everyone, so by the time I made it to Seminary last period, everyone was telling each other they needed a drink from the bubbler.

Chapter Two – Sunny Days

After high school, I jetted off from Sydney, Australia to Arizona, U.S.A. as a foreign exchange student. Being an exchange student was some I dreamed about for years. The first time it became something I considered was at a careers fair held for tenth and twelfth graders every year at the Kingswood campus of the University of Western Sydney (now name Western Sydney University.) As a tenth grader, I ran around collecting every single thing the different colleges and universities present had to hand out. Among the booths were several exchange student foundations. I paused to collect their hand outs and thought the concept was interesting, but it wasn’t until I got home and went through all my junk that I really paused to consider the prospect.I looked through all the pamphlets, seeing the places students would live, countries available, testimonials, and I fell in love with the idea. I kept it as a dream for a while, but during my eleventh grade, I made the decision to make it happen after I had graduated. I tossed around a few countries as options, but since I’d never been any good at learning languages, I narrowed my choice down to the United States. The whole idea of going to a school like what I saw in movies was thrilling, and the U.S. was like this alternate world to me as a little Aussie girl.Sydney, to this day, is my favorite place on earth. Although I was born in the Australian capital of Canberra, I was raised out in the western suburbs of Sydney and the Blue Mountains. I couldn’t have had a more ideal setting to be raised. The suburb of Blaxland nestled on the ridges that weave a route across the ranges was my world. I loved it. I close my eyes and I can still hear the trains passing through, their wheels screeching as they brake, and echoing across the gully. I can still feel the biting cold of a midwinter’s day in July and smell the distant aroma of a bushfire carried on the humid heat of Christmas day. The kookaburras and cockatoos woke me with their laughter and screeches. I remember walking to the station to ride the train to school during March, and an autumn fog often lingered. I had sunburn for my sixteenth in November as the spring had gone into full swing. In many ways, I took the beauty of my world for granted. Now I live in the Sonoran Desert, I miss the trees, and the shifting seasons that move opposite to the northern hemisphere. I miss the unusual birds and wildlife, and I miss the feel of the air. I never thought I would lose it. I always thought I would live there.However, I dreamed of traveling the world. I dreamed of exploring new places, immersing myself in new cultures, learning about different people. So, I signed up to be an exchange student.My parents told me I needed to work for it. I needed to pay my way the best I could. I found a small job that worked into my busy Higher School Certificate schedule, and saved every cent I earned, and handed it over to my dad on a regular basis.I was assigned a family almost straight away. I think it took a month, and I was admitted in February 2004. I wouldn’t leave until January 2005 after I had graduated. I began emailing with my host family, and grew excited, and nervous, to meet them. They are a solid family in the church, and at the time my dad was bishop, and so was my soon-to-be host father. The parallels were uncanny at times.At the end of the year, the principal announced at our graduation ceremony that two other students were going on exchange, but not me. It hurt my feelings, especially because I had been so open about it for months. However, the principal made it clear that going to the U.S. made me controversial and the issue was better off ignored. Like most of the last few years of my school career, I was better off swept under a rug. The school never dealt with my bullying, they tried to pretend it wasn’t there. So, me going to the U.S. could easily be brushed into the same category.But I was so happy to be free of that place! To be done with the high school and the torture! Oh, I would be able to be me, just me, and with so many members of the church in Arizona, I wouldn’t be persecuted for my religion anymore. I would be able to find real friends. In fact, I prayed hard for real friends every day, so I could know what it felt like to have them. It’s pretty sad to think that at eighteen, I wasn’t sure what a real best friend felt like.Don’t get me wrong. I had friends. There were several people at school I enjoyed. A few of the boys remained my friends, and I have a few girls whom I still touch bases with today. Mostly, my close friends were from church. I had a solid group my age around me in the stake, but I loved the youth in my ward! I was Laurel’s president, and I took that role very seriously. I worked to make sure every girl was included and felt part of our Young Women’s group. I wasn’t perfect at it, and sometimes I lacked patience, but in general, we had solid unity, even with the Young Men.Our leaders were incredible at that time too. They fit so perfectly, and I knew my young women’s leaders, especially the president, loved us. She had so much patience with my goofy, outrageous moments! And for some reason, she regularly asked me to babysit her kids. Oddly enough she trusted me, even though she watched me do the craziest things.One of the crazy things I remember was during a ward skit night. Each auxiliary was required to perform a skit. My ward was a blast during these events. We did them regularly growing up, and I loved ever second of them. My final year in young women’s we did a Josie and the Pussy Cats lip-sync. We dressed up, did crazy hair, and hand made our guitars, paint jobs and all. Because I was a bit of a showoff on stage—and still can be—I was front and center leading the girls. We had so much fun performing, and at the end, I literally jumped from the stage for a smasher ending. The primary kids up front scattered and everyone had a good laugh. Afterward, all the girls and I huddled together buzzing on a high.There were so many occasions like this where we just had fun. My closest friend in the ward was a year younger than me. By that point, I was one of two people my age left in the ward, and he went up at the beginning of the year, while my birthday is at the end. I had a solid ten months as the oldest youth, and most of that time there were no priests either, just teachers and deacons. So, this friend became very close to me, and I her. We talked about all sorts of things and hung out outside of youth and church too.My sister and I were also very close. When she first came up to high school, everyone thought it was so strange that we got along so well. But I would choose to spend time with her, catch the train with her, and so forth, even though she was three grades below me. To this day as we live on opposite sides of the globe, I miss those times when we could be so close. We bug each other for sure, but I often wish I could just sit and goof off like we used to, like the night it was just us home and we watched the second Harry Potter and we kept our feet up on the couch because we convinced ourselves a giant snake was in our walls.The problem was, most of the time I still felt a bit like I was outside looking in. I was so happy, but everyone seemed to have that one person they were close to. My friend and my sister gravitated to each other, and so the rest of the girls, and even the boys, had that one person. But I was always just… me.In the stake I also had a large group of friends. Although small in number, my age group had some amazing and strong youth. Stake dances we would talk and play, and dance and sing. There was always laughter. We invited one another to our birthday parties and egged each other on in our antics at stake activities. Where I lacked at school, my friends at church made up for there. I remember sitting at a baptism and thinking precisely that; that at church I was really happy.But I still didn’t have that one friend. I had plenty of people who leaned on me and relied on me to be their rock. I had people who knew I would always be there for them as a sounding board. But I also sensed people looked to me like… I can’t quite explain it. Like maybe I had my act too well together and they felt like I cast too much of a light on their shortcomings. That was never my intention because believe me, I was horribly flawed, but I could see it in some of their eyes. I might have been this happy, crazy, fun, and loving person, but inside, I was still in pain from what happened at school and my own self-doubts ran deep. Like many teens I had body image issues, and I struggled with my weight, an ailment that would persist for many years and for reasons I did not yet know. And of course, I always had this fear of what people were actually saying about me behind my back. At school I had learned that people could be nice to my face, but then happily stab me in the back.My final year of school I lived a double life. My school life, and my church life. One which I hated and longed for it to end, the other which brought me so much happiness and I never wanted it to end.But they both ended when I turned eighteen. Less than two months after that, I would jet off to another country on my own for the first time. I would have the chance to be just me in ways I couldn’t comprehend. But I was terrified. I had built wonderful relationships with my family and the youth around me. Yet, I craved for something else. I wanted that one true friend.Little did I know how quickly that prayer would be answered.

Chapter One – Burning of the Bush

As I write this, I am thirty-three years old. So far, m life has taken me on a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. This divorce has been ugly, and one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through.During the months of waiting to get through the divorce, I sat in a Relief Society lesson. While this sweet sister spoke, she recounted a story about her daughter. She explained that growing up, this daughter seemed to encounter more trials than any of her sisters. This woman had wondered at it for years. Her daughter grew up and married and soon after faced a massive trial of her faith. Her husband was in a terrible accident and she had to step up and be his caregiver, while also working and raising their children. This sister said that now she can see why her daughter was tested so much growing up; because it made her strong enough for what was to come.This struck me, as I had been tried heavily while I was in my youth as well. At the time, and for years I believed it was simply a consequence for the poor choices I had made leading up to my personal conversion. Now, I believe the purpose was to prepare me for what I would face as an adult.So, let’s travel back in time to Western Sydney, Australia in the early 2000s. I had been raised in the church and knew all the directions, doctrines, and teachings I was meant to know. My parents had always been diligent and faithful with service in the ward and stake, and regular temple attendance. Like Nephi, I had been blessed with “goodly parents.” To this day they are a wonderful example to me of faith and dedication, and their trust and love for me has carried me through the hardest of times.As a youth, I went to Young Women’s, recited the theme by heart, attended mutual and checked off all the boxes. I was doing what I needed to do, technically, but in my heart, I hadn’t been converted. I believed in the church, but it was a vague second thought to popularity and my social life.My ninth-grade year, I struggled with anemia. This meant going to early morning seminary was a huge challenge, and I simply gave up going. I also suffered from strange anxiety tremors that made my whole body shake and which I believe was linked to the anemia.That year I also continued my string of boyfriends. I loved boys. I loved crushing on them, flirting with them, teasing them, I loved everything about them. My parents weren’t fans of me having boyfriends, but they preferred I was honest about the boys than hiding the truth from them.As you would guess, I ended up getting myself into trouble and pushed my boundaries a little too far with one of the boys. Since we were so young things didn’t go “all the way” but I soon realized the mistake I’d made. Before this point, I hadn’t thought much on my faith. I lived in the motions of going to church and checking off the boxes, but when my conscience was pricked for this mistake, suddenly my personal faith was brought to question.Confused and unsure, I tried talking to this boy about my church. He feigned interest for a while until he realized I wasn’t giving anything of physical interest to him anymore. That’s when things got ugly.We went from hours on the phone chatting, to hours arguing. We went from close friends, to hiding things from each other.Then, he cheated.His excuse? I wasn’t giving him what he wanted anymore.I broke up with him. Hurt, confused, feeling betrayed, I went into our summer and Christmas break discouraged and heartbroken. I didn’t know what to do or how to recover.What I did have was a copy of the November 2001 New Era. Within it, one article stuck out to me. A girl told her story about a boyfriend who wasn’t a member of the church and how she made the difficult decision to break up with him. In the end, it proved to be for the best.After reading this article, I devoured the rest of the issue, then went in search of more issues. Over the six weeks of our summer break, I read New Era after New Era. Something in my heart changed. Something deep down came to life and whispered, “Yes, this is what I’ve been looking for!”I had never “hungered” for the gospel before. As a kid, I imagined literally eating my scriptures to stop my spirit becoming nothing more than a skeleton. But suddenly I knew what was the right and only path I needed to take. I set goals to attend seminary no matter what. I made the decision to stop dating until I was sixteen. I made up my mind and I would refuse to waver from it. I was converted.However, that kind of change doesn’t come easily.When I returned to school, my friends seemed unsettled by my changes. I didn’t know why; I was happier, so shouldn’t they be happy for me?The shockwaves didn’t hit immediately. My ex-boyfriend was among the first to begin spreading the resentment. Followed closely by my best friend. Slowly and surely, people began to spread rumors. One of the catalyst moments came when my best friend was dumped by her boyfriend. In an attempt to console her, I wrote her an email expressing my faith and sharing that I knew she would be able to get through this just like I had.The next thing I knew, she had printed it out and was sharing it with everyone to show how I had “preached” to her to try to “brainwash” her into converting. The betrayal came as a severe shock and hurt more than I knew was possible. Suddenly, everyone seemed to be after me. I was the “preacher” who had been brainwashed by her cult and now wanted to brainwash everyone else. Several girls even used my Book of Mormon I carried in my school bag from Seminary as evidence that I wanted to convert everyone to my “cult.” The label spread faster than I could get a grasp on and, before I knew it, I had been ostracized.I didn’t know what to do. I thought I had made the right choice. I had repented and was trying to live my life right. So why was this happening? Why had the people I trusted turned on me? Why did my entire grade think I was brainwashed? Why was I suddenly the freaky Mormon girl?Things escalated during our tenth-grade camp. Thursday, August 15th, 2002 changed the course of my life. I can recall that night with clarity. The bitter winter cold, the rustling of the eucalypts in the wind, the noises of my peers preparing for the night activity as I headed up to my cabin with one of my few remaining friends. Several girls emerged from the cabin and blocked my entry, their faces twisted with concern. They sat me down and explained the mean prank my former two best friends and ex-boyfriend had planned for me. A simple prank, but one that had malicious intent. They would stretch a condom, fill it with conditioner, and leave it on my pillow. Even now the sickness swells in my stomach at the memory of realizing how bad things had become. I asked to be left alone, and the girls obliged.Hiding behind the cabin, I cried like I had never cried before. How had this happened? I had turned to the Lord. I’d worked my hardest to cling to the straight and narrow path. Why did I have to suffer? Was it because I hadn’t repented sufficiently? Was this a consequence of my bad choices? I begged for a sign that I wasn’t suffering for nothing. The trees howled as I gazed around, my fifteen-year-old naivety desperate for an angel or something to appear.The wind hushed around me. As I cried, lost and alone, I felt warmth. Although I saw nothing, in the bitter cold of winter I felt my Savior with me. He ached at my heartbreak, but it took me years of remembering to realize the depth of what I experienced. My trembling body stilled, and I heard Him whisper to my heart, “I am here.” I am here.The events that followed tried and tested me. I spent months struggling to keep my head above water as I was persecuted for my conviction at every opportunity. However, that night I felt something I couldn’t deny, something that changed the fire of faith in my heart into an inferno. In my journal at the end of high school, I wrote how sad I was that my peers never accepted my faith, but I said, “True happiness comes through Christ. I can never deny that, ever.”From that moment onward, I have never shaken in my faith. The struggle left me battered and bruised, but Christ used those bruises for my good. He gave me that moment to teach me and solidify my testimony.Although the next few years of school were hard and people never seemed to want to forget that I needed to be avoided, I made it through. Some days came as more of a struggle than others, but I came out the other end.Looking back, I see many things that strengthened me. During my tenth grade, I kept my commitment to attend seminary diligently. That year we studied The Book of Mormon. That year, I read it for the first time. I more than read it, I devoured it. I plowed ahead of our weekly reading, craving more and more the deeper I went. I’d always been familiar with the stories, but suddenly they became clearer, crisper. The prophets who wrote became alive as they seemed to whisper through time to me.Reading The Book of Mormon and attending seminary fortified me throughout the year. Although I hit a deep low after camp where I literally stopped talking for days and freaked out my mother, I know that the timing for the seminary cycle came perfectly and well planned for my needs. Without the two, my tenth-grade year would have been far worse and chances are I would have buckled under the pressure.I have always kept journals, sometime diligently, others times sporadically. Having dug out my journal from this time, I found these lyrics I wrote dated February 10th, 2002.I only wish for you to see,What truly lies inside of me.I have hoped and I have prayed,For you to understand what I’m about to say…My heart soars like an eagle,With the wind surging on.Why don’t you seem to understand?Please, now come and take my handAnd we will fly… you will fly…
You gaze down at the valleys and mountains of my life,The scared cliff faces of my crimesI can’t forget.Deep within the valleys you see the tears I have shed.Then you looked to the mountain,And see the sun blazing over its head.
I receive no trials I cannot overcome,Nor does anyone else.You see my newest valley of sorrow,Scorched by the blazing fire.A fire of jealousy,All furious with might.Furious is its might.
As I soar over this valley,I can still feel it burn.Though the damage is repairing,I cannot face the one wearing… it’s flame.
And like the one you saw due south,I doubt this valley will ever come back, the same.
It’s not great as poems or lyrics go, but it’s a pretty good example of my head space during the early part of my tenth-grade year. I carried regrets from the foolish choices I made, and I wanted the people I cared about to see that I was hurt, but I was changing for the better. In Australia, especially in the Blue Mountains where I grew up, bushfires happened almost annually. The analogy of the mountains and valleys burning and recovering was something anyone from that area can relate to and understand. The bush is incredibly resilient and always came back greener and stronger after a burn. In fact, a bushfire helps many plants drop seeds and grow stronger as the flames remove dead leaves and plants and give the bush a chance to start fresh.I saw myself like the bush. I wanted to clear out the dead and overgrown and try again to grow stronger. I just didn’t realize my fire was still burning as the year declined and my heart broke.Looking back now, however, I can see how that blaze with its slow burn and the pain brought me back to life and made me stronger. Although it took me a while to find my feet again, when I did, I came back with more faith and more conviction than ever before. I had been dragged through agony, betrayal, heartbreak, loneliness, sorrow, and I came out of it with a conviction that would be unshakable. The Lord gave me that. My trial was a gift, an outstretched hand to guide me back onto the straight and narrow path. It gave me the fortitude to never waver and to never let what others say deter me from the path Christ has placed before me.He knew I would need that for what was to come.

Refiner's Fire - An Autobiography by Me.

I am divorced. Not three words I ever expected to use to describe myself. But, here I am. Divorced.Growing up, I knew of people who were married in the temple and divorced, and it always made me heartbroken. Eternity was the promise, but for some reason, eternity would never be. These were good people too, people whom I admired and respected. People I had known my whole life. As much as I admired and loved them, I never expected to join their ranks.There are others whom I saw why they ended up divorced, and it made me heartbroken in a different way. They had lost their way and let go of the iron rod. They gave up on their faith, their marriage, and themselves.For a long while I thought I may had slipped into this second category. Had I fled from my marriage and lost a great deal of faith in myself? I doubted my judgment, whether I had done enough, whether I was even good enough. But my faith was the one thing that never faltered. My faith always remained, and that faith was enough to allow Christ to carry me through.I am divorced, and I know it is the Lord’s will for me to be so.

The Rough Drafts Of My Autobiography

I'm compiling an autobiography. It's going to be very honest and raw, so I'm kind of afraid to share it, but since I haven't used my blog in a while, it should be safe! Plus, who reads blogs anymore?