God's Sense of Humor

The only thing constant in life is change.

Our third day in Columbus, Jon received a call from Dean Hernandez, the dean of admissions at BYU Law.

I knew instantly what the call meant, what else could it mean? And we were completely stunned. It was so unexpected that Jon would be moved from the waiting list and accepted to BYU, especially the weekend before orientation. And how strange it was to us both, when we felt so at peace and settled about this move to Ohio. This move that literally took months of planning and stress and packing and researching and cleaning and paying and praying and fasting and the list goes on...

And standing there in complete surprise while Jon spoke with the dean, all I could do was laugh at God's sense of humor. What else can you do in a moment like that?

While the decision on our part had to be made fast and was somewhat intense (what an influential fork in the road to our future!) it was, in the end, a no brainer. BYU Law's tuition is like a scholarship in comparison to any other law school in the nation. Besides, it was Jon's dream all along. It took a little bit of a paradigm shift in our minds. And it was just plain weird at times, knowing I was coming back to Utah Valley.

We got in the car Friday night and drove to St. Louis. By Saturday night we were with Uncle Ditto in Cheyenne. And Sunday around 6:00 pm, we approached those welcoming mountains I love so much and arrived to Centerville with the in-laws. Family that I had just said goodbye to ten days before. CRAZY crazy CRAZY. I thought I could never step into my car again.

Before we left, Jon needed to sell his books back. It was soon decided that we needed to have some fun with the situation: these would have been the hoodies we would have bought for the football games.

Decision made last spring: Ohio State or bust!

 We felt good about this at one point, right? 

 Wait, what did we feel good about again?

Utter confusion. I don't know anything anymore. Guess I'm just here for the ride.

Back to the home front we go.

It's a miracle how this all played out. Really, it is. One of Dean Hernandez's first questions to Jon was if we had signed any contracts yet. No, in fact we were not contractually bound to anything yet. The day before the call, a contract was set before us so that we could sign on an apartment that neither of us felt good about. We never signed and were still in the process of finding a place to live. No jobs had come remotely close to working out for me. We were as free as birds. And I do believe that to be a miracle. We packed up and drove west that very night.

So why the major detour? What's up with the practical joking? Well, there already seem to be numerous reasons for it. Jon and I find ourselves in a new position, me with no previous commitments to my former life in Provo, and both of us with renewed and grateful attitudes. Back to the BYU then! Jon pretty much feels like Rudy now.

Selling some OSU books back he'll now never use, and telling Mama Ditto the news.

P.S. Speaking of Mama's, you have to hear my mom's screaming reaction: "Praise the Lord!! Hallelujah! It's a miracle!!!!!!" Never a dull moment with that spirited woman.

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Nauvoo

I have been aching to get back to this sacred place ever since I performed there with the BYU International Dance Ensemble in 2006. Exactly 5 years later, my dream came true and I made it back to Nauvoo with Jonathan.

First, our visit to the Winter Quarters temple in Omaha, Nebraska. As soon as we arrived, we could feel the power and sacrifice of the saints who died here so long ago, sacrificing everything to find Zion in the west.

Although I would never compare my faith or strength to that of the early pioneers, Jon and I felt like we were pioneering our own story in reverse, heading east rather than west, and facing our own unknowns.

Finally seeing this temple with my own eyes again, I was overcome. It takes my breath away every time I look up into its majesty, structure, and spirit. Something speaks so deeply to my soul when I behold this temple, and I daresay it is those who lived during this time period. Those who gave everything to their Savior and the restoration of the gospel. Those who speak to me every time I walk upon their consecrated soil. Those whose mission may be to reside in Nauvoo, to touch the hearts of all who are willing to listen. Those who have beckoned me back for the past five years, so that I can feel their strength again.

Heber C. Kimball's home might be my favorite.

Walking on ground where Joseph once walked, and feeling so close to him while the sun set along the Mississippi.

Mingling with some senior missionaries.

We were so grateful to spend a little extra time in the shoe shop with this man. He shared some personal and very special Nauvoo experiences with us, and I wanted to remember his face. 

Our pioneer shoesies.

I'm thinking they wouldn't fit me too well.

And back to the breathtaking temple again. I had to keep returning; staring up at it all day could never be enough.

And of course some more adventurous moments...the cabin we stayed in was $9 per night. I guess you get what you pay for. This place certainly made me feel like a pioneer (minus the air conditioning). Seriously awful. Spider-infested and smelly, and managed to be worse than we both expected. But we had to buck up and stay here for at least one night, just to prove to ourselves we could. Well, we survived. And we shared this teeny tiny bunk because it seemed to have the least amount of spiders and surrounding cobwebs. Hilarious! Go figure, I actually slept quite well in that little space next to my man. Call me a cuddle bug.

Whenever I complain about living situations, I imagine the pioneers laughing hysterically at me. I am just proud of myself for staying there one night.

Remembering Joseph and Emma's story. Feeling the strength of the women remembered in this garden. Am I really made from the same stuff those remarkable women were made out of? I tend to underestimate myself and need to remember more often: I can do hard things.

Getting to know the Young Performing Missionaries. The elder without the red scarf is a good friend of Sam Ditto's. His face just lit up when he realized that Jon is his brother!

Afterall, there is something so special about being close to a brother.

Carthage jail.

The original door.

Feeling the sacred power in this room.

This trip to Nauvoo together will always be remembered. It was certainly a needful time to go, as we made our trek east and felt very close to those saints of the exodus. A few days after we arrived to Columbus, Ohio we learned just how in charge God really is. Not only that, but He is involved in the details and guiding us exactly where we need to be. Sometimes you have to take a major detour to get to that place, and the unexpected certainly seems to be thrown upon us. But what of faith if life doesn't play out in such a way? More on that subject later...