I can't believe I am posting again.
It seems I beg myself to post even once a month.
My heart is filled though. I can feel it beating through my chest.
Oh, how wonderful it is to feel.
I have always had such a hard time believing that everything happens for a reason.
I mean, I believe that most everything happens for a reason, but everything?
A seminary teacher of mine once spoke of the star. You know, the star. The one that shone the brightest the night of Christ's birth. The one that led the wise men, and fulfilled the prophesies. He spoke of how million and trillions and billions of years ago God placed this star in perfecting time so on the night of our Savior Jesus Christ's birth, the light of this star would reach the earth just in time.
I don't know what that means to you. It may mean something entirely different, which is fine. But to me?
Everything happens for a reason. God is the ultimate orchestrator of our lives. Isn't that beautiful?
He is all knowing. He knew millions and millions and millions of years ago that I would go to his temple, that I would choose to use my agency to bow my head and pray to him, to communicate with him as any daughter would confide in a father whom she trusts. He knew, knows, will always know how inadequate I feel in the midst of high school, how much happiness I felt tonight as I talked, and ate, and laughed with real people who, as Joshua would say, "know what's up." :) He knows how afraid I am for college, for the decision I am going to have to make about whether I will stay to be with him, or leave for the adventure I have always dreamed of.
In sunday school we are taught that our Father want's us to communicate with him through prayer, the little things, the big things, the terrible things we can't bear to speak, and the beautiful things that we cannot find words for: all of it.
But I testify, that this is true.
When I am all alone, driving in my car, whispering words to the steering wheel, to the trees, to anyone and everyone that may be listening.
When I am beside my bed I have knelt next to for eighteen years, closing my eyes tightly to stop the burning tears and simply feeling the words to my Father that I cannot find.
When I park all alone in my canyon and quiet my mind.
I can feel him listening. I can feel someone beside me. I can feel that. I cannot deny it.
He knows me.
I am sure of that.
I know my prayers will be answered. They already were, millions of years ago. (In a sense)
If something is wrong: pray.
We always seem to forget the simple, most important truths.
He listens. I swear it like I swear on Ghardelli Dark Chocolate filled with caramel, the importance of finding "your place" in the canyon, and the Big Bang Theory Season Two.
I can't find my journal anywhere.