Table of Contents

1. Change of Heart

2. The Honest Truth

3. POW in Wake Island

4. Families are Forever

5. Personal Responsibility

6. Brainstorming

7. Life is Beautiful

8. Prisoner of War: A Glimpse into an Unseen World

9. Back on Top of Things

10. Mind your own Bees Wax

11. First Time’s a Charm!

12. Secret Identity

13. President Eyring at the Vatican

14. Growing Up

15. The Scare

16. Pretzel Jell-O Salad? Is that for real?

17. The Turkey Bowl

18. Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town

19. Learning how to Learn

20. Ice Cream for Dinner?

21. Weihnachtsmarkt

22. Who I am: Conclusion for my Writing Class

Who I am: Conclusion for my Writing Class (22)

For those of you who are just starting to read my blog now, you should probably go to my two beginning posts, just so you can understand how "excited" I was for this assignment. Blogs were for people who had nothing better to do with their lives other than to write and post it for the world to see. It seemed like a "follow the crowd" sort of work and I don't really care about following the crowd as far as blogging is concerned. I have realized that a change of heart takes time, but it does come as your desire to do different and be different increases. I have written many blog posts about this already, but I love that I have been able to find myself throughout the past year and a half or so. The neat thing about this blog is that it has helped me come full circle. I have learned/am still learning how to be and express myself in my writing. My personal narrative that I wrote was the neatest. I had met this guy a few weeks ago and I had mentioned to him that I was writing this personal narrative and that it was so enjoyable to write. He mentioned he would like to read it and edit it if I would like. Honestly, I was a little hesitant because in the past, I have been self conscious of my writing. But I sent it over to him. A few hours later, he sent me back an edited version of my paper. By the end of my paper, he said he really enjoyed getting to know me and my family better just through my five page paper. I think it is neat that we get to know the people around us better without them explicitly telling who they are. Instead, the description and the way that we write really SHOWS who we are. I never thought I would live to hear myself say I will continue blogging. I have to keep blogging. It's part of who I now am. 

Weihnachtsmarkt (21)

Last year at this time, I was roaming the streets of Germany, well I guess I was stalking the streets of Germany to be more specific. (Anyone that has served a mission knows exactly what I'm talking about.) But back to Germany, the city at this time of year is absolutely breath taking. Almost everyone takes public transportation in the main cities. There is a big town square where all of the buses and trains congregate. The big shopping centers surround the center and it is always full of busy, frenzy activity and noise. When the end of November rolls around, small little wooden shops are built and old german signs are hung. It is time for the German Christmas Markets! The smell of gluwein and bratwurst fill the air. Burnt almonds being toasted and freshly dipped are set out and displayed in the little shops. German cookies and chocolates hang from the lowly dipped roofs of the shops and can easily be purchased. Christmas isn't just an event in Germany, it is a feeling. Just walking down the isles of the different displays at the Christmas market was thrilling. 
Well tonight, I got to relive that in a small way. One of my mission companions, Sister Chard, she and her family put on a Christmas Market every year in Salt Lake City. Now, it is nothing of course compared to Christmas Markets in Germany, but just the recreated feeling still made it an enjoyable night. When we first arrived, there was a marked off section that led to the stage at the front of the area. Soon after, a man came riding on his horse, he being called St. Martin. Following behind him were several groups of children carrying lanterns and singing a song hailing St. Martin through carrying their lanterns. St. Martin was known to have helped the poor without anyone knowing. After years of this secret service, a friend of his finally told the people who had been helping and serving them. As a symbol of gratitude, the people lit lanterns for the Saint, who had become their savior. After watching the parade, we visited the small collection of German markets and the observed the goods they were selling. So, once again, it wasn't necessarily the goods that were being sold that made it worth the trip, rather it was the feeling of Christmas and joy that I felt by just being there. 

Ice Cream for Dinner? (20)

Almost every year, my dad takes my mom on a special trip. We don't really care where they go. It could be California, Roadkill Inn in St. George, the beaches in Florida- really doesn't matter. What I really mean is that when they go on trips, we know that we get to make our special dinner when they are gone. Now don't get me wrong, all of us kids love our parents, but man, it is fun for both sides of the party to have a break from each other. As soon as our parents leave the house, we start making our plan. The first thing we make sure to schedule in is our ice cream for dinner. This dinner has a very specific way in which it is constructed. You first have to have your main dish, which is a large cut of perfectly baked chewy brownie. On top of that, you have a choice of 6 different types and flavors of BYU creamery ice cream. It is required that you take at least two different kinds. Next comes the fresh cookie dough that is scooped over top of the creamy goodness. Whipped cream is now actually an option because there is already so much cream already existing with the ice cream. Drizzled on top of that is chocolate and carmel syrup, with colored sprinkles for effect if so desired. That just about sums up our "calorie in a bowl" dinner. It is guaranteed to give you an increase in energy for at least thirty minutes. Now, before any of you have a heart attack just thinking about all of that sugar and fat and goodness, just remember, this happens maybe once a year. Every time we do it, we swear we will never eat ice cream again. But all is forgotten and forgiven within a 2 hour period. Oh I forgot to mention what we have for dessert......

Learning how to Learn (19)

I was still on my mission in Germany when I needed to sign up for classes. I honestly didn't want to even mess with setting up a schedule, so I called on my Sister-in-law, Annie, and asked her to help me put together a good schedule for my first semester back at college. *Notice, I didn't ask my brothers because I have a feeling they would have just filled my schedule with sports and math classes. Annie created a good mix of hard classes, required ones, and fun classes. I felt really good about my schedule, especially because I knew it would be a new environment for me and I needed to learn how to balance school with work and just life in general. Like every year, I received a Father's blessing a few days before school was to start. I remember in the blessing he emphasized that I would learn a lot of skills this semester that I would remember and continue to use for the rest of my college career. I remember I felt like the classes I would be taking would be primarily to prepare me and arm me with the tools and skills I would need.
That happened in August. Fast forward now to December. I can't even count how many essays I have written. I have written at least 2 essays per week in my classes. In about October as all of this was going on, I was getting so frustrated with my teachers for all assigning these lame essays. Well, now a few months later, (I have to be careful how I say this) I am grateful for all of the SKILLS I have used while writing essays. I guess the only way to make me grateful for that was to have me write a billion essays. Fine, I am grateful for the essays, kind of against my will. My German 330 class coupled with this Writing 150 class has helped my writing to really sky rocket. In German, I am required to write a two page paper every week with 5 sources and an annotated bibliography, as well as 1 in class essay per week. I have learned how to research and find sources quickly. I have also learned how to organize my essays well. In Writing, we have had a few big papers and then writing on the blog (which honestly isn't that terrible). With the different papers, I have learned how to use my voice in different ways. For example, I have been able to use details and sarcasm more effectively as I wrote my personal narrative. In the Research Paper, I was able to use my professional, educated voice and learned how to be clear in communicating my research.
These skills that I have learned, plus others I have not mentioned, I am excited to take and continue using in other aspects of my life and my college career.

Santa Claus is comin to Town (18)

Christmas Eve has got to be the best night of the year. Now, we are not your typical American family that just assumes that Santa brings gifts in. We don't just wait until our parents say its ok to come upstairs. Oh no! We have the real deal! We know for sure that Santa exists. In fact, we see him every year. We hide from him as he brings in the gifts. I better keep this on the "down low" so that it doesn't get out of control and every family will be trying to be like ours. Christmas Eve, after we get back from the cabin and doing the Nativity scene and Christmas games with the Hull side of the family, the first thing we check is the mailbox. One of Santa's elves hand deliver a letter to our house on Christmas Eve. It usually takes 3 or 4 times to check the mailbox before it appears. This is the one time our mom allows us to run outside without any shoes on and no coats. Usually there is snow and ice on the ground, but we could care less as we are just filled with excitement. We are not allowed to open the mailbox until we are all there. When the letter finally appears, we run triumphantly inside with the letter held high! 
The letter is ripped opened, and as always, there is chocolate smeared on the sides because Santa always spills a little hot chocolate on his letters. He usually writes and thanks us for the letters we have sent him and he tells us he has our gifts already for us, and then he tells us what time he thinks he will be at our house. Normally, he comes between 6 and 6:30 a.m. With the time in mind, we quickly start shifting things around in the family room to make our hiding spots. 

Two of us can fit under the Christmas tree, with all the presents stacked strategically around it, two kids can each hide behind a giant speaker. 4 or more of us can fit behind the couch, and then one of us is in the coat closet- prime hiding spot if I do say so myself. My dad then turns off the lights and walks in pretending to be Santa and just checks to make sure he can't see any of us. If everything looks good, then we come out of our spots and do our Christmas dance, finish our special Christmas story, and then all the kids are sent downstairs to the basement to try and sleep and keep the excitement under control. We are so wired on candy and excitement that we don't fall asleep until 2 or 3 in the morning. 5 minutes before the time that Santa says he will arrive, we can hear the clomping of my dad's feet as he runs down the stairs to wake us up. We all run, half asleep up the stairs, the adrenaline taking us. We wait in utter silence, when suddenly, the door is opened and we can hear Santa's jingle bells and hear the clomping of the boots. He runs in and immediately starts talking to himself as he brings our gifts in. "Sydney was such a good girl this year. And I've heard how she has worked so hard at soccer. She will love this new nike soccer ball." We all wait patiently as each of our names are stated and our gifts are brought in. As soon as Santa is finished, he runs out whispering," Merry Christmas to the Hull family!" and we wait a few seconds to make sure he is really gone. We then creep out of our hiding places to see the spoils. It is so fun to receive the long awaited gifts, but more fun than that is the excitement and joy we have in the hours preceding the actual event.

The Turkey Bowl (17)

I spent my whole life growing up trying to be tough. In elementary school, I wanted to be faster than everyone else. In Junior High, I wanted to work out and beat one of the football players in an arm wrestle. In High school, I was known as a beast on the soccer field. I used my strength and athleticism to define myself, to prove myself. Every thanksgiving, our neighborhood hosts a turkey bowl and I make sure to be there. The first year I played, I was about 12 and was the only girl there. From then on, a few girls joined on occasion, but regardless, I always played. I had a few good years where I made some great plays and was there able to prove myself to my brothers and the other boys in the neighborhood. I had a reputation to uphold. Well, this past year, to keep in line with tradition, I went to the turkey bowl. As I was playing, I was enjoying it, but not in the same way that I used to. I used to be super aggressive and would talk myself up. This year, I didn't really make any great plays, but that didn't bother me. I didn't realize until after the game what the difference was. The real difference was that I didn't feel like I had to prove myself to anyone. I felt confident with who I was, regardless whether I was the fastest on the field or the strongest. Now, don't get me wrong, I still love to be aggressive and I do like to smack talk- I still like to do my usual things, but now, I don't feel like my self esteem is connected to it. It was just such a freeing feeling to know I could play in the football game and not have to prove anything specific. I already know who I am and my football skills do not define me.

Pretzel Jell-O Salad? Is that for real? (16)

Apparently I am an outcast for having never heard of or eaten Pretzel Jell-O Salad. Who knew? I'm convinced that it is just an Idaho thing. I was sitting in my Writing 150 class right before Thanksgiving Break and Sister Steadman began raving about her favorite Thanksgiving Dish. She described a perfect pretzel crust- a crust that couldn't be over cooked and crunchy, otherwise it would crumble when cut. Not only that though, it couldn't be too moist, otherwise it would be a soggy mess and who wants to eat moist pretzels with cream cheese and whipped cream? The Jell-O of course has to be raspberry and in order for it to be pass the test, 1can of Kroger brand crushed pineapple must be mixed in as well. The description seemed so odd to me, I was convinced Sister Steadman was joking. Her facial expression suggested otherwise, as she looked longingly into the distance imagining what it would look and taste like the next day. My suspicions were confirmed when the most honest girl in the class, Cassidy, jumped on the band wagon, immediately concurring with Sister Steadman, only adding a few more juicy details.  I sat there in confusion as other students, one by one, all owned up to have having eaten the strange sounding dessert. I started to feel like the odd man out, the outcast, only adding to the predetermined feeling that I am no freshman. The conversation started to turn into a "let's convince Courtney that we are normal and that this dessert is something great"

Thanksgiving Dinner with my sisters and cousins
(my pretzel Jell-O slab is hiding behind the water pitcher)

I felt like 1 against a hundred, already having surrendured the fight before it started. I was only told how great it tasted and there was nothing like it and one day I would have to try it. In my mind, I thought, "Ya, we'll see about that." Fast forward to the next night, the night before Thanksgiving. My mom was talking to my sister-in-law Annie and she said," Do you want me to start blending the pretzels for the crust for the dessert?" I stopped dead in my tracks, made a 180 and headed back into the kitchen. I watched as my mom and Annie started pulling out Jell-O packets, cream cheese, pretzels, pineapple.... I knew before they could tell me. I felt a sort of weird excitement to try the new dessert, but also a feeling of defeat, as I realized this pretzel Jell-O dessert wasn't just for the people up north who didn't use cookbooks. I watched as the ingredients were transformed into a nice normal looking final product. I grabbed myself a bowl and slowly tested my taste buds against the new unfamiliar taste and texture. I was very much impressed with the mix of sweet and salty that I experienced and would not be opposed to having it again. 

The Scare (15)

Kyndal and I in our natural habitat

My sister and I shared a room ever since I can remember. Ask either of us a year ago how it was living together and we both would have said it was the worst idea my parents ever had. Ask us now and we will tell you that we are the best of friends. We have now created a deep friendship and seemed to have forgotten our misunderstandings. There is one little experience that I haven't forgotten, one that rocked our relationship. I remember going down to our room one evening and having a great idea. My sister and I loved to pull pranks on each other. Who knew tonight's would be the best one yet? I contrived a plan in which I shimmied myself into her small closet space. When she opened the closet to get her pajamas, I would jump out and scare her. 
Kyndal came down soon after I was nestled in my corner. I could hear her as she brushed her teeth and prepared for bed. The only thing she didn't do was open the closet door and put on her pajamas. I silently creeped out from my corner to look through the crack in the door to track her progress. I was surprised when I saw that she already had her pajamas on and seemed to be ready for bed. Within an instant, the lights were out and we were suddenly both encompassed in total darkness. In my mind, I was trying to decide how to best get out of the situation. I could just wait until she fell asleep... but that could take an hour or more. And I didn't have the time to just sit there. I could still find a way to scare her....no, that would just be rude at this point. So my plan, was so slowly open the closet door, hoping she wouldn't hear it. If I heard her stir, then I would reveal myself before she had the chance to react negatively. 
I waited five more minutes for safety, then I slowly slipped the door open. The door rubbed across the carpet and creaked as I moved it in the opposite direction. 
Immediately, I started whispering," Kyndal! Kyndal!" 
I slowly made my way over to her and could feel the tension in the air. I finally made it to the lamp by the edge of her bed and turned it on. I found Kyndal with the sheets tightly pulled over her small face and small figure. 
I quickly pulled them off and said," Kyndal, it's just me."
"Courtney!!!" she said in a disgusted tone of voice. 
She let out a huge sigh of relief and I could feel her fear slowly slip away into a smile and finally a forced laugh. As we both reenacted what had happened, we both realized how creepy the whole thing seemed. In my attempt to be quiet and sly, I instead had made her more nervous. How creepy to have some unknown figure walk out of your closet, calling your name, and walking toward you. We can laugh about it now, but for days and weeks after the episode, she never got into bed without checking the closet.

Growing Up (14)

Anyone that has been on a mission knows how it is coming home and getting resituated with everything. To be honest, my adjustment has been really good and healthy I think. While I was on my mission, I knew that was where I was supposed to be. Being here at BYU now and living on campus, I know I am exactly where I need to be. I have been back from my mission almost 4 months now (?!?@^^%%!!@#????) That's kind of how I feel about it. Time just keeps going faster and faster. As I've thought about my mission and the things I learned there, I have realized that I learned just as many indirect lessons as I did direct ones. What I mean by that is that there were direct lessons I learned, like being more effective in teaching investigators, how to ask inspired questions, talking to people, etc. We had trainings and lessons to teach us skills. Well, little did I know that all of that practice would literally shape me into who I am today. I needed that year and a half of struggling, loving, serving, and everything else I did to get me started on the right path. 
I remember before my mission I basically knew who I was and all, but I struggled being alone or going to places where I didn't know anyone. I was still insecure. Now, being home, and not due to any specific event on my mission, I am confident in who I am. Ya, that can be bad and become a fault because then I'm TOO confident in myself, so I'm still balancing, but I just feel so comfortable being myself all the time. I love that everyone that knows me knows who I am all the time, that I don't put up a façade. It's not worth it to me anymore. I love that I now know how to deal with the stresses of school, work, dating, roommates with patience and a more optimistic attitude. My whole mission had a lot of stress, but I learned how to deal with it, and I am applying that now to my daily life. I remember having questions in the gospel and not really knowing how to find all the answers to questions. Now, I know how to study the scriptures and find answers to my questions and prayers. I always knew the church was true, but now I know I will stand by and even defend the knowledge I have for the rest of my life.

President Eyring at the Vatican (13)

President Erying with Pope Francis

President Eyring and many other religious leaders met on Nov. 17, 2014 at the Vatican. The topic of discussion among the various leaders was marriage. President Eyring has such good stage presence. I love how he comes across as looking like a really down to earth sort of guy. This was the first sort of big religious event that leaders from our church have been invited to. I think it was huge knowing that the religious leaders that put the whole conference together thought it important enough to invite someone from the "frowned open, mocked, and ridiculed Mormon church." They've got to know that we have something, something that sets us apart. My favorite thing about the whole speech that President Eyring gave was that NOTHING he said surprised me. He wasn't teaching this "crazy off the wall doctrine" that I haven't heard before. In fact, he just focused on the basics of how husband and wife should be married and how they can raise strong families in an ever declining world. I thought the use of the Proclamation to the World was very effective. He was able to quote pertinent parts that really clearly conveyed his point. It was neat how he caught the audience's attention by sharing his personal experience. His story wasn't an abnormal sort of story, in fact, it seemed pretty typical, even humorous in some parts and very relatable. He brought it around full circle and described what he has learned as he has been married and what principles their marriage is founded on. He taught such simple truths and focused on the doctrine. I haven't seen the other speeches yet, but I am interested to see how his stands in contrast to the others.


To see President Eyring's speech, along with other that spoke, visit: http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/vatican2014

Secret Identity (12)

So I'm not the type of person that likes to do weird crazy things. I love to do adventurous, normal things, like for example, I have never been skiing, so that I would enjoy doing that. I don't like going up to random people asking them for scavenger hunt items though. Well anyway, one of my friends took me classic skating at the sketchy place in Orem. It "just so happened to be 80's disco night" (like I believe that it was coincidence for a minute!)
So my friend, Preston, is like, "Ok, we totally have to dress up. So do you have 80's clothes?" 
In my head I'm thinking,"NOOOOO!! I hate dressing up and I will purposely make sure I can't find 80's clothes." 
Ha, little did I know that he already knew I would respond that way. 
He shows up to my apartment about an hour later dressed normally like me, and then he says," Don't worry, I have a costume for you." 
Even worse. I have to admit, the whole drive over, I was thinking of ways that I could make an excuse to not get dressed up in whatever he had. I could say I was allergic to the fabric or I'm a germaphobe and will not wear something that someone else has worn. I was coming up with all sorts of lies to say. We pull up and he reaches in the back seat and pulls out a little package. On the outside was a picture of a power ranger, a blue power ranger. Then it hit me. The costume was a full body power ranger spandex suit. I immediately began protesting because there was NO way I would ever get in something like that. After a few minutes of coaxing, Preston handed my the suit, told me to go try it on in the bathroom and to text him a "y" if I was going to wear it or an "n" if I wasn't going to. He was going to wear it regardless though. I consent to do just that much. I start putting on the slick spandex and realize that the spandex goes over your head and covers everything completely. It was then I realized that no one would know who I was for the next two hours. I could do whatever I wanted. I considered it for a moment and before I knew it, I sent a "y" in a text to Preston. 
We both walked out of the restrooms in these bright full on body power ranger suits. We were immediately swarmed by fans and little kids that wanted their picture taken with us. I felt like a celebrity! We started skating and I could continually hear people talking about the "two blue power rangers." I could look as goofy as I wanted to and dance any way I wanted to! In fact at one point, I was going too fast and I was coming up on a couple that was holding hands. Well, I came full speed between them and said," Good evening friends." I could hear them as I skated away say," Whoa! We got to talk to the blue power ranger!" Now normally, if I would have run into someone, they would have been annoyed, but because the blue power ranger did it, it was cool. I felt so free the whole night, even though I had tons of people watching me. The coolest feeling was changing in the bathroom and walking out in my normal clothes, my suit in my bag. I had a secret identity the whole night and no one knew who I was and never will.

First Time's a Charm! (11)

From left to right: Courtney, Sydney, Quinton,
and Blake

I remember watching longly as he would get all geared up and drive away with his friends. I had always loved my older brother and wanted to be just like him. In fact, I remember in the sixth grade, I noticed my brother walked with a manly strut. Well, in order to be like him, I had to do the same thing. I would practice my strut as I walked to the lunch room with my other classmates. I'm sure my teacher wondered what was wrong with me, like if I had pulled a muscle or something. I was no different just a few years later. I now longed to join him on the slopes. I already knew there was no chance for that, especially because it was so expensive to rent gear and buy a pass. I spent days trying to think of how I could get gear and start learning. Blake was a cool kid and I knew he wouldn't waste a night snowboarding with a beginner. Well, to no avail, I was beginning to give up on the dream of snowboarding. 
It wasn't until one day Blake came home to visit and he brought me over to the computer. He brought up the website for Sundance Ski Resort and pointed down to the right hand corner, where an exclusive offer was posted. For $40, two people could get night passes and go skiing or snowboarding for 4 hours with a discount on rentals. 
He looked over at me and asked," So do you want to go with me?" 
I was beyond myself with excitement! I counted down the days and weeks til our planned snowboarding trip. I told everyone I knew that I was going to learn to snowboard. The day finally arrived and I could hardly sit through class, let alone concentrate because of how excited I was. Blake and I drove up there- me and my college age brother- doubley cool. We get up to the slope and the air was cool and crisp. The temperature was in the low teens, but despite the cold, I knew I was going to love every moment of my ride. We sit down on the ski lift and it whips us to the top of the mountain. 
We finally approach the top, and I know someone I am suppossed to gracefully exit this lift. I set my board down and immediately start leaning back, flailing my arms, trying to keep my balance to no avail. I toppled backwards, hitting into my brother, who mannouvers his board out of my way and manages to stay up. I twist and roll and finally come to a halt. I don't dare to look at the disappointed and annoyed look of my brother. An explosion of laughter fills the air, and I realize instead of feeling embarassed, he is enjoying this episode. I gain composure of myself and attempt to stand, unused to the feeling of having both of my feet firmly strapped to a slick board. 
We start down the mountain and I am constantly falling, rolling, stopping, getting back up. By the end of the first run, I am soaked to the bone, embracing the cold and loving it. I didn't know how to control my board and kept running towards the edges that led to steeper and more intense runs. My brother watched and laughed as I continued to struggle, which made me feel good because then I knew he was having a fun time as well. He taught me the basics of carving and controlling myself and the board. By the end of the night, I could go down the hill with minimal injury, a collection of soaked through clothing, and one grinning exhausted face. Blake never knew what an impact that made on me. To be treated like I was someone important and special to him made all the difference in the world.

Mind Your Own Bees Wax (10)

It's a good thing it is a requirement for me to post this, otherwise, only me and my family would be the ones reading it. I'm usually pretty private with my work and don't let hardly anyone see what I have written. So you can consider yourself lucky or unlucky to be reading this today. I admit, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this experience and remembering the emotions of this day. I hope you enjoy reading about this unfortunate event.
Mind your own Beeswax

Even before the grogginess of sleep had left my eyes, I could feel something in the air, something that conjured up a feeling of uneasiness.

“Drrrring, drrrring!” went the intercom.

“Courtney, time to get up,” came the cheerful voice of my father from upstairs.

I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the guilty feeling I had as I stayed in my warm, soft covers instead of shivering through the crisp cool morning. I eventually flopped one leg over the other and forced myself away from the static of the blankets that tried to hold me back. I slowly and mechanically pulled on my baggy basketball shorts and wormed my way into an old soccer shirt. I squinted as the door squeaked open and revealed yet another fresh new day. My breath appeared in little puffs of smoke in front of my face. The morning dew stuck to the slivers of grass and the few rays of sunlight bounced off of the extended, moist mass of green. It was still quite chilly, especially for the morning, but that didn’t stop the early risers, my dad being one of them. The air was sprinkled with tweets and chirps and a welcome silence and then…. the sound I dreaded. They were up earlier than usual today. A light buzz filled the air and once again, my worst enemy was set free with the rising of the sun.

“Great!” I thought to myself. “As long as they mind their own bees wax, I’ll mind mine.”

A voice interrupted my slow thoughts with a jubilant, “Gooood morning Court! Hey, how about you go grab a shovel and help me in the back here.”

He said it so nonchalant, so smooth, so easily. He didn’t seem to notice my eyes bulging out of their sockets and my frozen stare of terror.

“Dad,” I gasped desperately. “I can’t go back there.”

“What’s wrong Court? It’s really not going to take that long to take out the weeds in the back.”

“No, no Dad, you don’t quite understand!” I exclaimed. “Dad, the bees. There’s no way you’re making me go back there. I’m not about to voluntarily put myself in front of their beehive and get stung!”

“Court, you are seriously overreacting here,” my dad said in an impatient sort of voice. Listen, if you don’t bother the bees, they won’t bother you. We are going to be behind them the whole time.”

“Well Dad, remember how yesterday you went and checked the bees? Remember how the bees don’t react well to your visits? They are going to be on edge at least for the next four days. And I don’t want to have anything to do with them,” I argued.

“Court. Go grab a shovel. I will see you in five minutes behind the beehives,” he answered shortly.

He turned and walked in the direction of the furthest west corner of our yard. Defeat was written all over my face and I reluctantly turned on my heel and trudged over to the garage. I grabbed my favorite red handled shovel and mentally began preparing myself for the worst. I felt as if I had signed my life away and I was walking towards my death. The two white stacks of painted boxes loomed in the near distance. There sat the home to hundreds and thousands of little tormentors. I could see them flying jubilantly around, ecstatic about the easy target that was approaching. I could sense them plotting against me, the whole lot of them. The distance between me and the flying creatures was drastically decreasing.
I slowly made my way over, purposely making an extra loop around the orchard to extend my route. The sound of the buzzing became apparent and I avoided eye contact with the horrors. I slowly bent down and began plucking the large pesky weeds that had seized control over the small patch of ground. I was minding my own bees wax when suddenly, I heard the dreaded sound approaching. Closer and closer and still closer it came until it was circling around me, just like a lion before it pounces on its prey. I froze in the squatting position waiting and praying for the little dime size tyrant to have mercy on me. Ignoring my pleadings, it came closer. I then broke all rules and began swatting at the bee. The yellow and black stripes beamed with irritation and I could see the bee looking for the most obvious piece of skin to penetrate. I was becoming frantic, even a little hysteric. I hadn’t been stung by a bee for years and I sure wasn’t willing to change that statistic! 
I started walking away from the leaning hives and began swatting, missing the target every time by inches. If nothing else, I made a quick enemy. I continued walking away from the area and still, the bee persisted. By this time, I encouraged and coaxed my legs into a light jog. Still it came. I used the sprinting skills I had inherited from my dad to propel me down the street. This just encouraged the little pest and it increased its speed and intensity. It was going for the kill! 
Against my will, I let out a high-pitched shrilling scream that bounced off the encompassing mountains and resonated in the valley. The buzzing only intensified, a continual reminder of my predicament. I dared to glance left to see the author of the horrid noise and to my own horror, realized the bee was to be my constant companion. The strands of my let down hair created a trap that ensnared the bee, infuriating not only the bee, but me as well.  
My legs continued to progress forward, my scream increased in pitch, and to add to the horrid combination, I desperately started thrashing and jerking my head violently up and down, back and forth. I turned from a victim to a laughing stock within just seconds. My dad followed the trail of screams and caught up to me. I parted the strands of hair in the front and gave a little sigh of relief to see someone come to my rescue. I was puzzled as I saw my dad’s shoulders slump and him bend over, not even trying to suppress his laughing.

“Dad!!” I pleaded. “Dad, I need help!!”

He made his way over, and with a huge grin, he started parting my strands of hair, making grabbing motions at the bee, trying to release it from the claws of my ratty locks. I sunk lower and lower to the ground, succumbing to the flying tormentor, only hearing the buzz of its angry wings grow. And then it was gone. The noise, the fear, my dad’s rough hands on my head. I peeked one eye open and dared to see my fate.

            “Court!” gasped my father in between breaths. “Man, I have never seen something like that happen before!”

His words were cut off as a surge of uncontrollable laughing seized his entire body. Tears streamed down his face as red hot heat filled mine. My eyes burned with tears and frustration.

            “Dad!” I yelled. “This is all your fault! I told you I didn’t want to work by the bees and look what happened! I am never going over there again!”

And with that, I raged off into the house, taking my anger out on my battered bedroom door.

I marinated in my anger for days and stewed over the situation. Even though my dad had apologized for his irrationality, I was not ready to just let the scarring go. I hated the bees and would never like them. My dad appeared in my room a week after the fiasco. He slipped in and sat gently on the edge of my bed, where I was sprawled.

            “Court,” he said. “I need your help. One of our hives just swarmed and I need to go and capture the bees. I need someone to go with me.”

My heart rate doubled in seconds and my pupils must have communicated my emotion because my dad rushed on to say, “Now, I know you aren’t very keen on the bees right now, but we are both going get dressed in our bee suits and I am going to teach you about the bees. You don’t have to just be afraid of them. I will explain to you what the bees do and how they work the way they do. So what do you say?”

            “Dad, I’m too scared to go. Do I really have to?”

            “I just wanted to bring my favorite helper along. I think it will be good for you Court. I don’t want you to be contained by fear. I want to help you overcome your fears,” replied my dad in a sincere, loving tone.

My face muscles began to relax as I considered the offer set before me. I knew I didn’t want to hide behind my fear of bees forever. This was my chance. My eyes slowly met his.

            “Ok, I’ll go.” I timidly replied.

            “Sounds good,” he grinned as he stood to leave. “I will meet you in the garage in a few minutes.” I reached for my long pants and slipped them on, ready to protect myself at all costs, but now feeling prepared to ace my worst enemy. I stepped through my bedroom door, and in an oddly excited and confident manner, shut the door on one of my fears.

Back on Top of Things (9)

This is my first semester back at BYU since my mission. I did one semester before, so yes, I am still one of those freshman that shouldn't be a freshman. It was so weird coming home from my mission and my little 18 year old sister and I were signed up for similar types of classes. But that's ok. My experience this time around has been leaps and bounds above my first semester. I remember my first semester here, I felt insecure about myself. I stressed about grades and tests and how much harder college was than high school. I worried about how I looked to everyone else. I got annoyed with how many returned missionaries I met that would just sit in class and not talk to anyone, especially after they had literally been talking to EVERYONE for two years straight. (And quite frankly, people are still like that, which I think is lame because aren't we all supossed to be helping each other out and being friendly to those around us?) But anyway, it's been neat since being back. 
I feel this odd sense of peace and confidence about who I am and what I do. I don't try to scout out the cutest looking guys and corner them and try to get their number. I don't worry about dating like I did before. Shoot, if he wants to ask me out again, great. If not, I have tons of other things to do. I don't worry so much about what others think of me. I just am who I am and I like it. I try to be honest with people and not fake. If I'm fake and act fake, I just attract the same thing. But I want to meet people who are real and down to earth. I think I have more stress now than I did before my mission, and I am doing fine. 
I don't have emotional break downs, like I used to. I remember calling my dad about once a week just telling him how stressed I was and how I couldn't handle it. I still talk to my parents all the time now, but I feel peace at where I am at and know that everything will work out. I love feeling this content feeling about who I am and what I am doing. 

Prisoner of War: A Glimpse into an Unseen World (8)

Before starting my next paper I was to do, the Issue Paper, I thought about what sort of topic I wanted to write on. I died just a little when Sister Steadman said that this paper had to be between 8-10 pages of research and analysis. Wow, that sounded like a whole barrel of fun. I have been back from my mission for about 3 months now, and I'm not gonna lie, my vocabulary seems to have declined, as well as my ability to write in correct form. 
Anyway, needless to say, I was a little bit worried about this paper. When Sister Steadman said we could write about our ancestor, immediately, the name Forrest LeRoy Packard popped into my head. Forrest is my great-grandfather on my mom's side. All I knew of this man is that he had 18 children altogether and that he was a prisoner of war on Wake Island who survived to tell the tale. This is all I knew. But I knew there was a lot more to the story, so I dove in. It all started actually at the library here on campus at BYU. This lady was teaching us how to research and find valid sources to use in our writing. 
As I was searching the internet, I found articles about my great-grandfather written in the Ensign, periodicals, records, pictures, all sorts of information I didn't even know existed. I went on to familysearch.org and found that someone in the Packard line had uploaded journal entries, letters, and poems that Forrest had written. All of this had been uploaded in the last 4 months. There were pictures and descriptions. I called my grandfather, Floyd Packard, who was the son of Forrest, and had an interview with him. I learned how hard it was for my great-grandmother to raise 11 of the 17 children alone for 4 years. In fact, when Wake Island was attacked, it took over a year for my great-grandmother to find out that her husband was still alive. I just learned so much about my own family that I didn't know.

As far as writing this paper is concerned, the most amazing thing happened. Page length was not an issue at all. In fact, I didn't even look at how many pages I had written until I was done with my final draft. (Most times, I am just adding any little bit of information just to get the page requirements) I totally enjoyed being able to share my story and the things I was learning with my reader. It was actually enjoyable to analyze because I got to put myself in the head of Forrest and try to think as he would.

Great Grandpa Packard sitting the chair surrounded by his sons

I think most important to me, I learned about what kind of heritage I come from. My great-grandfather and grandmother were faithful members of the church with burning testimonies. They set the stage for generations. All 17 kids were married in the temple, and I guess you can imagine how big our family line is and what an impact faithful examples have made. I loved coming to know my family on a very personal level. I feel some sort of deeper connection and understanding, most specifically to my great-grandfather, Forrest Packard. I imagine that God often allows our ancestors to be our angels and helpers. I know Forrest knows all about my life, and how neat that I now know more about his and we now have a better understanding of each other.

Life is Beautiful (7)

I think God allows situations to happen in which we realize how short life is. It helps us to redirect our thoughts and actions. Things that seemed to be important don't seem to matter as much as memories, time with family, spiritual experiences. I had one of those "wake-up calls" just the other day. I was on my way to meet my friend for dinner. I had called him to assure him that I was coming, but that I would be a little bit late. 
Before I hung up, he said,"Hey... be careful when you're driving." 
Of course, I came back with a smart-alic remark," What?! You don't like my driving? What are you implying with that sort of comment?!"
He replied in all seriousness that I should just be careful and aware while driving over. Instead of being offended, I decided to just take his advice and only go over 5 over the speed limit as opposed to 10 or 15.
I was to meet him in Salt Lake, so I had quite a drive there as I started in Provo. It was starting to get dark and I had had a long day, so I turned on the radio looking for something good to listen to. I went through all the dials twice, not finding anything to listen to. 
Eventually, I just thought," Well, if there's nothing good on, I'll just turn it off." 
So I drove in silence except for the occasional nasally voice of my GPS system telling me where to turn. It was completely dark and I was 5 minutes away from my destination. I was driving behind a truck and he was going slow, so I looked to pull over into the left lane. A car was passing me on my left and I saw a truck to HIS left not check his blind spot and almost run into him. 
In my mind I was thinking," I need to avoid that truck because he looks like a hazardous driver."
I switch into the left lane, intending to pass both of the trucks- the one in front of me and the one that was a sketchy driver. Well the truck that had almost run into the other car pulled right in front of me into the lane I had just switched over to. As I looked at the bed of the truck, I saw tons of work equipment piled into the truck, but the thing that was most prevalent was the height of the ladder that was weakly strapped down with a few bungie cords. 
In my mind I thought," Seriously?! If that ladder came off, that would kill someone. This man is a huge hazard!"
I do have to say I had the thought that I should switch lanes, but there were cars on either side of me and I dismissed the thought, but not for long.
As I continued behind this truck, I saw one end of the ladder catch air and stood straight up. I knew it was going to fly up out of the truck any second. Sure enough, the air caught it just right and the whole ladder came flying out of the ladder and landed right in front of me sending up sparks and making a horrid high pitched sound. I didn't know what to do. I had no where to go. I had cars on both sides of me and a motorcyclist in back of me. I slammed on my brakes, waiting to either hear the sound of breaking glass as the ladder hit my wind shield or to feel the jerk of the motorcycle crashing into the back of my car. I don't know how it happened. As I slammed on my brakes, the cars next to me sped on, the motorcyclist switched lanes, and I moved into the left lane, without checking my mirrors or blind spot and the ladder went skidding across the freeway. While this was all happening, I don't think I realized how dangerous and fatal it all could have been. When I think back and realize how close I was to the truck and think about how that ladder bounced and was coming straight towards me and then somehow swerved and missed me and my car altogether, I just know that there is someone watching out for me. I shouldn't have come out of that with clean hands. But I did. I showed up to the restaurant a few minutes later and relayed my tale. I was able to shake it off pretty well, but the whole experience has left me thinking. My life really is not my own I realized. I can have it one day and the next it can be gone. I know that I have someone that really is looking out for me. It's time like these that I really can see how beautiful a life is.

Brainstorming (6)

THESIS: Although he wouldn't have hand-picked the trial of going through a prison camp to learn the lessons he did, his experience with hard manual labor, loving his enemy, and spiritual experience before and after his imprisonment lead him to leave Wake Island as a more devout and steadfast disciple of Christ.

Personal Responsibility (5)

In President D. Todd Christofferson's talk titled "Free Forever to Act for Themselves", he presents the point that we have responsibility for our own lives and we choose to act and follow God and his commandments and laws or we choose not to and determine our own captivity. I thought it was interesting that instead of just talking straight up about agency, he emphasized agency by helping the audience realize and understand the role that God plays in each of our lives. One of my favorite lines that he uses is," Misunderstanding God's justice and mercy is one thing; denying God's existence or supremacy is another, but either will result in our achieving less-sometimes far less-than our full, divine potential." He explains the choice that we have to make and the consequence for that choice. We really are free to choose.
Throughout his talk, President Christoffersen uses a form of repitition to make a point. He does this in the middle of his talk when he says," But as a consequence of being perfectly just, there are some things God cannot do. He cannot be arbitrary in saving some and banishing others. He “cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance.”He cannot allow mercy to rob justice." He emphasizes what God cannot do in order to be a just God. This helps the audience understand the personal responsibility we have in achieving eternal life with God. 
In addition to repitition, Christofferson makes several references to different stories or analagies in order to make his point, as well as proving his credibility. He starts his talk with a line from Shakespeare. Later in his talk he uses a scienctific law of gravity to prove his point about believing without seeing. Lastly, he uses the example of a man who doesn't want to work at all for himself, even when help is laying at his doorstep. These examples helps the audience to see that Pre. Christofferson is well rounded and is knowledgeable in many different aspects. It also increases our trust in him and helps us to make connections as he is speaking to us. 

Families are Forever (4)

I read this article about families called "The Stories that Bind Us." Ok, I may be a sucker for articles, especially short technical articles, so this one was enjoyable to read and actually interesting. The article talked about what keeps families together, like what is the secret reciepe for strong families? In the article, Bruce Feiler said,"After a while, a surprising theme emerged. The single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative." Isn't that so interesting?! Just knowing stories from your grandparents or how your parents meet can create strong family ties and bonds? I knew that this was true though. 

While I was on my mission in Germany, my mission President made a HUGE push to do family history. Yes, I was one of those typical teenagers that passed the "family history burden" to my grandparents. Well, as soon as my mission president made a push for family history, I started emailing my grandparents and parents for stories. It was ridiculous how much fun it was to read about my great great grandfather and how he was a professional wrestler that converted people during matches or how my great- grandmother possibly raised 17 children by herself while her husband was a POW in WW II. I gathered many of these stories on my mission. While I was traveling from place to place on the bus or the train, I would talk to people about their family and my family and the stories we knew. I couldn't believe how the people reacted. When I started with a Book of Mormon approach, the people were pretty stand offish, but when I started my initial contact with family history, the people opened right up. People want to share stories and be part of something larger than just them. 

But seriously, I was thinking back to my 3rd and 4th grade years. Seriously, most of the conversations I had with my friends were about how cool my mom and dad were going on a trip to Hawaii or how I have relatives that literally traveled the world for a year. I always tried to find something, even if it wasn't directly about me, that would make me stand out or unique. 

Today in class, we discussed our family and what types of themes or traditions we have. Sister Steadman told us about a theme that she had in her family growing up. It was a scripture in Joshua- how their house would serve the Lord. As she was talking, I thought to myself,

"Well shoot, does my family have a theme?"

Me and my crazy family (from left to right: Quinton, Kyndal, Blake, Annie, Courtney, Jace, Sydney, Melody, Carl, and Brynn)

The first image that popped into my head was me and my family sitting around the dinner table and my mom walking over with a HUGE round blue bowl with a green salad in it. All of the kids would groan in unison and my mom would say," We are a salad eating family." This happened almost every night at dinner for at least the past 10 years. I remember weeding the garden in the morning in the summer and me and my brothers purposely trying to kill the lettuce plants, but man, those things are unstoppable! So, there you have it, we are a " Salad Eating Family". That phrase is now used as a big joke in our family, but it is something that connected us. Our theme is that we do things together. We all eat salad, we all work hard in the yard, we all go to church together, etc. Our family is connected and united on many different levels and whatever we do, we do it together.

To read the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/17/fashion/the-family-stories-that-bind-us-this-life.html?_r=0

POW in Wake Island (3)

For loving my family so much, I should know more about my family story, especially now when I still have parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents who I can ask questions to and get some information. Recently, I have become really interested in my Great Great Grandpa Packard. I know that he is the father of 18 children, that he was a hard working man that stood up for his values, and was a prisoner of war during WWII on Wake Island. That's about the extent of my knowledge on him. But I want to know his character, who he was, what he thought. What was the POW camp like? How did he end up there? How did he keep his standards high in a place where his beliefs were not respected? How did he get out of the camp and eventually return home? How long was he there? How did my great grandmother even manage raising 16 of the 18 children on her own? I know that my Great Grandfather, Forrest Packard, died early because of conditions he accumulated through his stay in the camp. But I want to know about him and my Great Grandmother. I feel like as I come to know them, I will come to understand my Grandfather and my mother on a more personal and deep level.

How did my Great Grandfather, Forrest Packard, come through a 2 year prison camp with a stronger belief in God, while others came out bitter, hard, and athiest?

Forrest Packard had been working on Wake Island for the 8 months on a building project. He was scheduled to return home the beginning of January 19**. This was before he knew his stay on Wake Island would be almost 2 and a half years longer than expected. Japaneese war planes and ships attacked Pearl Harbor December 7, 19**. After taking over Pearl Harbor, they moved to the surrounding islands, one of them being Wake Island. The Japaneese were in control for the next two years and ran the prison camp my great great grandfather lived through. Prison camps were dreaded places. Disease ran rampant, food was scarce, work was heavy, abuse was prevalent. Forrest Packard was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and had been his whole life. After his imprisonment, he was more dedicated in his discipleship and more committed to living a Christ centered life. THESIS: Although he wouldn't have hand-picked the trial of going through a prison camp to learn the lessons he did, his experience with hard manual labor, loving his enemy, and spiritual experience before and after his imprisonment lead him to leave Wake Island as a more devout and steadfast disciple of Christ.

How do you know all of this about him? Is your family big into Family History or do you have journals passed down? Is this on your father or mother's side?

I think this is a great topic that is really personal and important to you. I would also look at other people's experiences to see how your great great grandpa's experience compared. 

I think you've got a really good idea to go off of.  You have a lot of questions that if they're answered, you'll have a really strong paper.  Just remember to tie it into your life and family as they've been affected by your great great grandpa today.