Prayers?

It's funny how things work in life. I've been living in GA for about two months now, and I life hasn't really gotten a lot better. I'm coming more in touch with my wishes...but doing things is still an incredibly difficult thing for me. It's just too hard to try these days.

Anyone who meets me in person will probably not realize how hard it is for me to act, in person I am generally a very outgoing person who likes to do things with others. I hope they don't see the almost paralyzing lack of fear that I suffer from. Yeah, lack of fear. I think a little bit of fear is a good thing, fear of being alone, fear of dying, fear of being made to look a fool, fear of being caught. I don't experience those fears and so I calmly let life pass me by without even trying to ride the rapids. Last semester I had a movie night at my apartment every week. It was the hardest thing I did that semester. It required planning, it required work, and it usually involved disappointment.

I had to pick out the movie, I sent out invites, I created a facebook event, I had to find the movie, I had to make sure all the AV stuff was ready for the movie, I cleaned the apartment, I went and personally invited people. I don't think I realized just how hard it was for me to do it until just now. The hardest part was sitting there, waiting for people to show up. I tried not to care, but sitting outside on the porch until 30 minutes after it was supposed to start waiting for someone to show up...

Anyway, one of the successes of those events was that some people did in fact show up. One was a girl who we will call Ohio. I talked to Ohio and enjoyed the company but that was about it, Cowboy roomie #2 said he liked her and there was no way I was going to be able to compete, so I put it out of my mind. Still, we were friends. When I came out to Georgia we began a facebook correspondence which isn't unusual. But today as I was responding to one of her messages something struck me.

She said she had been praying for me. Now, for I'm not sure if we will ever find out just how much merit our prayers have, but I imagine sometime when I get to heaven I'll find out that x prayed for me and because of that y happened. My mother when I was a teenager and struggled with some of the hardest decisions and realizations of my life, things that brought me back to church and away from the pains that I otherwise felt. Things that healed me body and soul. And now, Ohio praying for me, may very well be connected to the events of last Tuesday.

I haven't been sleeping well, which isn't an usual thing for someone who is running from life and has no obligations, but this particular morning I went to sleep around 7 and got out of bed at about 7:30 unable to sleep. I got on my computer, and for some strange reason I filled out an application to work for a company online. I answered all their silly questions and figured they'd give me a call in a few days...

They called me later that afternoon and asked me to come in for an interview. I got the job, I start tomorrow.

Thank you Ohio, thank you everyone else. Perhaps with your prayers I'm not as lost as I thought I was.

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My favorite room

In my parents big new house we have a lot of these new fangled rooms that we didn't have in our old big house. For example, we have a bonus room. This room is really just a craft room but you can only enter it by going through either the bathroom or the library. The Library is another one of these new rooms we didn't have in my old house. I think this is mostly because we had so many bed rooms in my old house.

But... the library is my favorite room. It's actually two rooms with a large arched entry between the two. It has books in it. Lots of books. My mom is a librarian and between her, my dad and the rest of the family they have managed to acquire 10 bookshelves worth of books for themselves. Sorry 11. The room also contained a huge new desk that is absolutely amazing and beautiful. This is set up in the middle of the main room of the library. Behind it is another desk where my dad's ancient (four years old) pc sits. My laptop sits on the big desk and another older desk sists to the side and contained the router, cable modem and printers.

The Thomas Kincaid painting that my parents picked up in Hawaii sits on the floor leaning against one of the bookshelves just waiting to be hung. The phone outlet hangs out of the wall it's wires exposed to the prying public. The mid-sized closet is full of my Dad's old jackets in horrible fleece and even his old worn out leather one. With a few garment bags holding what must be some dresses of my mothers. I had no idea she had dresses that needed garment bags.

Only two of the bookshelves are in this, the outer room, of the library. They contain the children's fiction and romance novel sections of our library, I told you my mom was a librarian right? Next we move over to the reading area of the library.

A large black bean bag sits in the middle of the floor where I have placed it so as to be within easy reach of everything. A comfortable recline-able black leather chair and footrest/food rest sit in the other corner. The beanbag is nearest my guilty pleasure section. (Do not read the book: The Secret Journal of Brett Coulton by Kay Lynn Mangum by the way... such a horribly good read) LDS novels. Then it hits the church section. Travel books and reference media. Two lamps one the stain glassed touch kind that seem to be in every den known to man kind and another the large standing-room kind that was invented because apartments stopped putting in central lighting.

And on the desk, or on the floor near the bean bag. Somewhere near where I am, the vanilla cinnamon candle and a small box of matches.

What's your favorite room?

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Candles and Cinnamon Bears

In this big house where my parents live I sometimes have a hard time finding things. One day while glancing around and through cupboards I chanced upon a treasure trove of old memories. In the form of candles.

When I was younger, I'd spend a lot of my time in my room reading. Well, being as I was a prepubescent boy my hygiene wasn't exactly... exemplary. As such, the room began to smell, a little, of course since I was sitting in the room reading I didn't smell anything. But every time I, or my mother, opened the door the smell leaked out. And soon that little smell became a big smell. My mother asked me to keep the door and window open in an effort to allow fresh air in. That didn't work. So she gave me a candle.

It was a cinnamon vanilla candle from the Salt City Candle Company. I love the smell of that candle. But I'm a boy, so I didn't actually light the candle, just kept it in my room with the top off. My mother would come in occasionally and light the candle when the smell became... overpowering. The candle lasted years.

I think it no great surprise that I liked it so much. That smell became instantly associated with some of the happiest times of my youth. Sitting quietly in my room my mind safely whisked away to worlds where magic and dragons were real and love was how every story ended.

Looking back on those times I wonder if I have in my some innate love for the cinnamon smell it contained or if perhaps it's scent combined with those memories created in me a love for the scent. Either way, I am in love with all things cinnamon--except the actual taste of cinnamon which doesn't at all remind me of the smell and I don't really find very pleasing. There is only one universal exception to that rule... cinnamon bears. I love cinnamon bears. Let me restate that just in case you didn't understand it before. I love cinnamon bears. Emphasis on the love, accent it, bolded, etc., etc., ect.

In high school I would often go down to Macey's and purchase myself a pound or two of the sticky red substance. Only to devour it within hours. Now, cinnamon bears are one of the few things I've never been selfish of and would always offer to share my bears in the hopes that all could enjoy their tantalizing nature. Most of the time it served me well. But once, just once it led to one of the greatest violations of my young life.

There I was sitting in the movie theatre with a girl. Sharing my bears like always, they had been snuck in of course anyone who purchases candy at the movie theatres is silly. They sat calmly on my lap and anyone could reach and grab a few to be enjoyed in their seats. I passed them around as is wont to be done in such cases and then made sure that they returned, very promptly to me. You may think harshly of me for this, but I assure you I was only looking out for the thing which I loved.

Well, a girl (who... I guess you could call my date) was sitting next to me... she reached over and took the bag. I was flabbergasted. I had already passed the bag around in my perfunctory duty and here she was stealing my cinnamon bears. She had not asked for the bag, it was easily within reach of her hands but no that wasn't good enough she stole my cinnamon bears. I was flabbergasted. I was appalled. I would have none of that. I rallied my troops and went to rescue my hostage. But, and I can only assume that in her devious womanly nature she had planned this well in advance, somehow in the ensuing battle. There was a causality, my hand. This ruthless girl had traded my hand for the bag of cinnamon bears. Now at first I thought it a fair trade, but then... I realized what I was doing!

I was no spring chicken, I was a freshman at BYU! I knew what happened when girls held your hand, it's not pretty. I'll spare the details for those of you who happen to have maintained your innocence but I assure you... it's enough to make the hair on your chest curl. But still... I was willing to sacrifice for my cinnamon bears.

As should you. Do not allow them to take your precious sweets from you! NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER SURRENDER!

** The previous became a rant on the evils of womenkind because the author was again under the influence of the sweet, intoxicating aroma of cinnamon vanilla. He is not to be held accountable for his actions. And please... send him cinnamon bears, Georgia doesn't have bin candy! **

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