Eight

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the love of my Heavenly Father. I've spent much of my life praying for guidance and direction and as I've been working on entries for this I've realized how literally everything goes back to him. More importantly, He blesses me with what he knows is best for me and it's nine times out of ten not on my time schedule. Sometimes, I receive answers when I'm not even expecting them or I don't recognize they're answers till I do something like this and look back on my life.

Recently, I've been thinking about my plans for the next year. There's a lot to be done and a lot to figure out and it's STRESSFUL - no way around that.

A few weeks ago I realized that after April 26, I'd be homeless, jobless, and more or less broke. Oh, and can't forget, I'm a college student on top of all that so naturally I have money owed there, too. Mind you, I'd been thinking about it for a while and knew that it'd come around eventually, but eventually was always later rather than sooner. I thought that since I got my academic plan figured out for the next two years, I'd just have everything else work out normally. Right? Ha. No. This is Real Life: Provo Edition.

So naturally I just put it off longer.

I prayed about it every night to hopefully get some guidance. In all honesty, the nightmare that is housing is what ultimately drove me to be an RA {more on that on a later date}. I knew that I had a few friends that might want to live with me but then you have to find all these contracts together that fit everyone's budgets and schedules and do you want to sign a year contract or month-to-month or maybe just the semester? What amenities do you want? How close do you want to be to campus? Like it really is the pits.

Growing up is rough. 

THEN, I needed to find a job. Like, I'd decided not to work anymore for reslife. So then I need to leave my apartment and find a new job all in one fell swoop. I'm a 19-year-old college student with barely enough credentials to get a job and now I'm going to be paying bills and rent and car insurance and working AND going to school. {Trust me, I know I'm not the only one. People do it all the time and I honestly would kiss the ground they walk on if I could point them out of a crowd. Shout to the parents for always covering that for me growing up.}

When Aj was here we tried to take the easy way out and just ask Mom if she'd buy us a condo we could rent from her. That definitely didn't fly. So then we started sending links to each other and figuring out what we needed and wanted and how much we wanted to pay and all that jazz. And even that is rough! There's no single website for BYU-contracted housing that I'm required to live in so you just have to search it out and knock doors and whatever else to make it happen.

-After some time, a lot of praying, and some talking to people-

It finally all came together! I have a place to live with someone near and dear to my heart. With literally everything that I wanted. And also openings for the people who had talked about living with me. What! It's amazing. And I didn't realize that this wasn't just some miracle or some happenstance that stumbled across my path. It was my answer. My miracle. And after talking to a few people and brainstorming I might even have a job that will work with the insanity that is my life with school and Camp Kesem and the minimal social life that I have.

The moment when the pieces actually come together remind me to thank those that have helped me but also the recognize the hand of the Lord in all things. I know that life is substantially harder without relying on Him for help. And I'm so grateful to know that I have such a wonderful support group behind me.

Seven

Sometimes I wonder how I'm not permanently broken. It's to the point that when I tell anyone I got hurt {again} they straight up just laugh at me because it's so expected.

It all started way, way back when I was a little girl. My dad lifted me up while the ceiling fan was on an it split my head open and I had to get stitches. Like 10 or something. I don't really remember it, I just know the story from it being passed down through the years. Also I have a scar on my forehead right next to my hairline.

Through elementary school - this part I do remember - I was always in the office getting fixed up because I had tripped outside during recess on the asphalt and now my knees or my hands were all bloody.

One of the first times we went up to Lakeport, my stepsiblings were like, "Hey, let's go ride the scooters down the hill by the police station where the speed thing is so we can see how fast we are going!" It all seemed like so much fun and I was never one to shy away from adventure {I've tried to wise up a little since then.} The twist to the story is that I was wearing my FIRST pair of flip flops. My mom never though it was a good idea to let me wear them before then because I'm so klutzy. She was right. As I was taking my turn going down the hill, I wiped out. Bad. I grabbed my shoes and ran out of the road because a car was coming and someone else had to run out into the road to grab the scooter I'd left there. That one took a while to clean up my foot I just sat there wondering why I ever thought flip flops were a good idea. I still have a scar on my foot from that one as well and I also wear flip flops all the time. Lesson learned?

Next, I decided to play hooky from school one day in the 5th grade. My stepsiblings were in a different district as me at the time so they had the day off and mom let me stay home. We were out all day doing kid stuff - riding bikes and the like. Our house is right by a golf course and it's located in between two hills with more hills all around it. So we're riding around and it's all fun and whatnot. Then we find this HUGE hill on the golf course that we took the effort to walk up so that we could go down. I'm sure I thought at some point it wouldn't turn out well but of course I went anyway. The first time I went down there were no problems and it was way fun. We went back later in the day and decided to go again. This time I was on a different bike. One that probably wasn't the best for this hill. But I go down with confidence because I did it earlier that day. I start going and lose control and flip over the handlebars {I think} and try to brace myself. Then I just screamed because it hurt so badly. A had known I was going down and started running right away. I sat there and all I could think was that my mom was gonna kill me and she was gonna be so mad. We walked back to the house and my wrist and my face kinda hurt. I get home and everyone's freaking out. Mom gives me some drugs and has me set down my hands on the table because I said my wrist hurt. The right was looked off so we went to the ER - yep, it was broken. Claaaaaaasic Brittani. I was miserable the next day. My wrist was broken, I had grass stains in my eyebrows and hair and road rash on my cheeks, I couldn't shower normally and to top it all off we went to the park and everyone got to go on the swings but I couldn't because I was broken. This injury paid off pretty nicely though - people got to take my tests for me because I couldn't write with either hand. Also, I was scared to ditch school for a LONG time after that.

I held up pretty well until my sophomore year. One morning I was walking out of the house to go to seminary and I missed a step on the porch. Rolled my ankle pretty badly but just got up because I couldn't be late and we were going to San Francisco that day to see Wicked. Apparently, my body went into shock on the way to town because I was shaky and stuff. This one I didn't feel as badly about because mom did it a few years later. There's now a sensor light installed outside.

Junior year I did it again. Somehow when I was walking out of the band room I tripped on the mound of backpacks against the back wall and my foot got stuck in a strap of one of the backpacks and down I went! My ankle popped and started swelling right away. I did the walk of shame to Milo's office for ice and to ask what he thought I should do. I kept my shoe on all day and iced probably too much. I was fine until I went to get ready for cheer practice that day. That's when I really started freaking out because it was the week of our first game (aka my first game back in 2 seasons) I took of my shoes to put on my school shoes and there was no way it was happening. Like, I couldn't fit my shoe on because my foot had gotten so fat. Much to my dismay, my coach made me sit out. When my mom finally got there she took me to the doctor and I went everyday leading up to the game. I was able to perform but I had some tape on my ankle and hobbled through a lot of it. It slowly got better until, of course, a few weeks later I came down wrong from a jump and there was no give in my ankle so the pain shot up to my knee. That one hurt. I held back the tears and finished the routine and lost it as soon as it was over. The combination of those two led to an interesting season following. Lots of braces, that's for sure.

One time I wore heels walking around Salt Lake City and that messed up my foot pretty badly. It was swollen for a couple weeks and I had to carefully plan outfits because I could only wear certain shoes.

This past December, I tried jumping over the couch and something {I really don't know what} happened and I sprained my ankle really badly. I couldn't make it to my bedroom to sleep that night and just stayed on the couch. Walking was a struggle. I ended up borrowing some crutches and pretended like I was okay but A made me go to the doctor. I was SO embarrassed as I told every staff member what happened - the lady at the front desk, the attractive male nurse to check me in, the x-ray tech, the doctor, and the nurse that gave me my brace. Oh yeah, I had x-rays because they thought I broke my ankle. From jumping over the couch. I had to wear a brace for a while and Disneyland wasn't too pleasant on my ankle either. I always get a little weary when it snows because I'm so afraid I'll hurt it again and then next one will break. {Every ankle injury was to the same foot.}

So the moral of this story is I'm a klutz, right? Partially, yes. But also, I've realized lately how wonderful our bodies are. Our Heavenly Father blessed us with these AMAZING things that let us make mistakes and learn from them and work toward eternal salvation. More importantly, each and every bruise we've ever had, every broken bone, every scratch HEALS. That's important. We are able to heal physically of course, but we are also able to heal spiritually. Our soul can heal. The bruises, breaks, and scratches go away. We will always remember the struggles but no one else can see them and that's why we need to take advantage of the Atonement and apply it in our lives so that we can forgive ourselves. No matter how much we mess up, we have the ability to make up for it.

And that's pretty miraculous. 

Six

I met them in 2005, back in the sixth grade. It was rouuuuuuugh. Middle school was definitely the bane of my existence. Luckily, life has been uphill from that time but it was a struggle. Like I've mentioned before, that was my third school in three years. I was probably the most awkward twelve-year-old you'll ever meet. I was me and didn't care what other people said (at least in front of them) I jumped friend groups and tried to find who I was. I had to deal with these new hormones and the fact that boys were cute now and that people were 'dating' now and all that chaos. (Side note: people of opposite genders weren't allowed to hug on campus. I've always found that comical for whatever reason). I saw the world through new eyes and sometimes felt I was years above everyone else.

Add to that the fact that I was the "new girl" literally disrupting the natural flow of friends that had been in place since 1999. These kids had known each other since kindergarten, some even from birth. Like I'm not making this up. The people that were friends in kindergarten kept being friends through the time I showed up until graduation. No one wanted to make friends because they already had them. And I mean, I don't know that I would've been very welcoming to me either. I consider myself pretty outgoing and I forced my way in to be friends with these people. I mean, I couldn't be alone forever and I had at least 7 years left in this place.

That was when I met them. We had English/Language Arts together with Mr. A, who had become a teacher as a retirement job. Mr. A loved what he did and that made us love it too. It was the only class in the sixth grade that was divided up by testing - meaning we had to take a generalized test and the people who scored the highest were in Mr. A's class so that it could be more challenging and focused. I never thought of it that way though. I saw it as the time when I could see more than the thirty kids that I saw every other period of the day. And it was most definitely more fun.

There's things from that year I STILL remember learning. That "a lot" is two words. That you can misspell spider "sipider" and butterfly "butteryfly". That there is a time to talk and laugh and a time to take things seriously. And that even teachers hated the fact that they had so much paperwork to do so they found loopholes for everything.

Among the people in that class, I met some people that would change my life. There was a group of boys who everyone knew. I mean everyone. They were talked about and people always knew they'd be together. They didn't really talk to anyone else and to be honest they were a little nerdy. (They still are pretty nerdy but I've learned to love it).

Our relationship started out really weird. I really don't know how it happened - they definitely used to make fun of me and I'm pretty sure we were just weird to each other (I mean it was middle school) and since we were in that English/Language Arts class together, we continued to have classes together through middle school and high school. We all did band. A lot of them played football and I cheered. There definitely was a lot of exposure to each other.

I can remember the exact moment I got my name as "Momma Goose" though. We were getting ready to play at a concert in high school. I had to go around fixing everyone's collars because I'm ocd like that  and it had become kind of expected. And then K said. "Thanks Momma Goose. Always making sure we look nice."

Through the years, things changed and these boys became my family. I looked out for them and they were protective of me. I heard things I sometimes wish I hadn't but always felt special that they included me. It melted my heart when Mrs. I called them my boys - everyone understood the dynamic of our relationship and I loved that. They're the ones that I still talk to, the ones I want to share important things with, and the ones I want IN my wedding. It's weird but it works.

They taught me so much through the years that I will always appreciate and hold dear to my heart and there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of them and worry about them like I always have. They're my pride and joy and I brag about them and people probably get annoyed but I don't care because I know that my boys will take care of the haters.

And though we might not see each other everyday or even talk to each other everyday anymore, they will always be there in everything that I do because I don't want to have to hear the critiques if I mess up.

Five

Summer 2011, I met one of the most inspirational people in my life.

But I wouldn't know it until almost a year and a half later.

K and I ended up in the same EFY group (and neighbors) by chance. That's how these things work. We took the cheesy pictures together. We had some late night memories. We gossiped and laughed together that week. And the end of the week came and we exchanged numbers and became facebook friends and parted ways. We'd chat occasionally - Senior year was busy of course. And we both went about the craziness that is life.

Being the procrastinators we are  Because we both were undecided about where we'd be attending school, we waited to put in our housing requests. We both didn't want to be at BYU and we both thought we had better offers. So once we went through the whole process of enrolling and choosing housing (which is a whole other story), we contacted each other to see if we were actually both going to be at BYU and where we'd be living.

We were in the same building.

On the same floor.

I was excited to see her that fall and I was glad I'd know at least one person before I got this school and become a number in the 32,000 student population. We chatted here and there before we got to campus. But I think once we saw each other again on move-in day, we were inseparable after that.

She became my rock those first few months - we'd sit and cry on the floor in my bedroom together. We'd change the lyrics to songs to make them applicable to us. We spent so many random, wild nights together. SO many memories.

She's been my example in more ways than one. She is selfless and brave and caring. She'd spend the night in jail for me - I just know it.