Good Things to Come. Someday I want to name my son Jonah. And oh Look, I'm blogging again.

Summer: That diminutive moment between the state of falling and flying as I allow my bare feet to leave the security of the red rock. Every limb pulling apart into one thousand and sixty pieces as I soar through the air to the stretch of water below in a state of thrilling and complete panic. Where my mind seems to be schizophrenic in the sense that it cannot decide whether I am about to die or whether I  have simply begun to live. 

 These pictures represent everything a summer is almost required to give to a seventeen year old teenage girl (such as myself.) A summer romance, finding yourself in a far off place, trying something new, feeling freed from the cares of the world.

Naturally, this is what I expected my summer to be. This is exactly what it has always been in the past growing up, why wouldn't the summer before my senior year be the same? 

Because God had another plan for you Rachael, that's why.

Summer:  July 4th, 2011 " Dear Journal, In the scriptures it talks about Christ's disciples wanting to be near him, to be close to him, wanting to learn from him. I think I am finally beginning to understand this love that these disciples has for him through a very unusual experience. He is home. My example, my best friend, my big brother. Halfway through his mission and he is home. Surgery this upcoming Saturday. I have been with him almost every moment of the day, for the first couple of nights I dragged my mattress right next to the couch that he laid on all day and night. The spirit he has with him is uplifting, I can't help but want to be near him. He has the light of Christ with him. As an Elder he is a representative of the man that I pray to every night. He has changed, the way he prays now is indescribable. It is respectful, personal, and saturated with purpose, faith, and meaning.

July 28, 2011 "Dear Journal, My family has cracked. We are falling apart. My little brother is away from us right now. My parents come home every night from Salt Lake entirely exhausted, but worst of all, defeated."

Through everything, I am grateful. I have never in my life felt as stretched as I have this summer. Emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually. I feel prepared for whatever lies ahead. Josh wrote in a letter once the following quote: 

"Rachael, imagine that the ground beneath you is splitting. It completely cracks right beneath your feet. On one side is your education and work, the other: your friends, family, and social life. You will set each foot on a side the rock and feel yourself being stretched. It will be scary, and at any moment you feel as though you are going to fall into the dark pit beneath you. As it gets farther apart you put both your hands on one side and both feet on the other, desperately trying to keep your balance and hang on. Just when you feel like it is too much to handle, You Will Grow. and very slowly, you will get both feet on the ground, stand up, and Enjoy the View."

I can't give you a list of the boys I have kissed this summer, I can't tell you who is doing what and where and why and how, 

but I can tell you about the endless  conversations I have had with my mother on my front porch in the early mornings and late nights, the feeling of laughter erupting from inside me as I came back from the bathroom into the theater only to see my Dad on our daddy-daughter night, slightly embarrassed, waiting for me to come sit by him  as he sat in his suit and tie holding a big bag of hot, buttery popcorn while the rest of the room was filled with Moms and daughters waiting to see Monte Carlo. I can explain to you how to carefully hand scrub a kitchen floor, how to properly attend a hoedown in the Teton mountains of Idaho, the feeling of sitting around a campfire for the last time watching each girl I have grown up with, looking beautiful without make up, stand one at a time and share their testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I can tell you what the inside of the Phyciatric Ward in Salt Lake City looks like, and I can explain to you how grateful I am for my little curly haired angel I have in my life, that teaches me every day to be a better person.

And i can testify that God lives. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

It is knowing that someday Christ will put his hands on my little brothers head and heal him. It is a warm meal brought to my house on a Friday night from a neighbor. It is the small, gentle, and quiet promptings from the spirit the week before it all happened telling me to go home and help my mother.It is feeling so entirely alone and misunderstood, kneeling down, and knowing that somebody, somewhere knows exactly how you are feeling. It is the wind blowing through the aspen trees and the peace of the mountains. It is a letter from a dear friend. It is knowing that we weren't promised everything to be perfect, we were only promised it would be worth it.

I believe that,

that someday it will be worth it.

"In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead.” Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven. But for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come." -Elder Holland

This post is dedicated to Mr. Hanks ... and awkward silence.

Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes, i hate dating. I find it to be painful. I just want all  of my love and attention to go to the right person. The one I get to picnic with, wake up to, eat off of their spoon, and share popcorn with during late night movies on our couch. That would be preferable. So, wherever you are in the world, I hope you are doing well. I hope life is taking care of you. I hope you aren't kissing too many girls, or on the other hand, I hope you are kissing them all so you can know I am the right one when our lives intertwine. Come soon.        But not too soon. 

Oh. By the way. Summer is here. (In case you missed it or something.)

Kyle is teaching me how to make a homemade long board this summer.

I'm kinda stocked.

I'm perming my hair the second summer begins. Because of this movie. If you think it will look ugly say it now or forever hold your peace.  I'm perming it regardless. But I would sincerely love to hear your opinion.

Spit milk through the darling little gap in your teeth.

And finish your homework. 

Or just do mine ...
 

-Rachael Cherish

1dream noun, often attributive \ˈdrēm\

a : a visionary creation of the imagination: daydream

b : a state of mind marked by abstraction or release from reality : reverie

: something notable for its beauty, excellence, or enjoyable quality

Thursday night I went with my D.L. friends (" The nerd herd", "the loud ones in the library", "the uvu kids") to go see Pirates of the Caribbean four at midnight. Do not go see it. Waste of money.
The following day I raced home after school to catch up on some sleep before I proceeded to my night shift at Orange Leaf. Orange Leaf, on the other hand, I would highly recommend.


While sleeping on my bed in the late afternoon, I had a dream.
I rarely dream, and if I do, it is some sort of hazy, slipping, dim, and confusing memory that dances in front of my eyelids for only a few seconds before I wake up.

This dream was different.

I can close my eyes and remember every raw detail. The vivid green of the grass, the black of the trampoline beneath us, the patterns in his eyes, the blue of the sky, and the laziness of the clouds drifting overhead.
It was all so real.
We laid there on my tramp and listened to the beautiful silence that had never once caused me discomfort, but pure peace. We quietly talked and felt the sunshine warm our faces, he told me of what had been going on in his life, I told him of mine. 
He leaned over and he kissed me. I was only dreaming, but I felt it. You know? It was him. He was right there.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and began whimpering into his ear begging him to never leave again, begging him to stay, to be my friend, to listen to the rest of my day, to tell me more about how his family is doing. 
He laughed his laugh, pried me off of him and set me into his lap.
He told me I was being silly, that it was all a bad dream, that he promised he would always be my best friend, that he wasn't going anywhere at all, that he loved me.
I buried my head into his chest, wonderfully relieved, and let all my fears drift away with the white clouds above us.

And then I woke up.

You know, after a dream like that, it would have been perfectly normal for me to wake up with tears streaming down my cheeks.

I didn't wake up with tears in my eyes though, in fact I didn't cry at all.

I smiled the rest of the night.

It didn't make me love him again, or want him back.

I feel as though it was my subconscious brain's way of allowing me to be with him one last time.

It was a goodbye, a happy goodbye we never got.

b : something that fully satisfies a wish : ideal.

c : an object seen in a dreamlike state

At our student council party this weekend Mister Gregory Rellaford passed on the spirit horn to me.

The spirit horn has been around since the golden days, the days when my older brother was an SBO. I am honored. 

Summer is around the corner, I can almost taste it. 

There is so much to look forward to, and so many memories to smile back on.

I can't believe my junior year is coming to an end, it has truly been an unforgettable year.

I wouldn't go back and change one thing.

Good luck to the seniors. Change the world. Be yourself. Represent well. ;)

oh,

Read Hannah's blog post. I look up to her very much, and this post is absolutely beautiful. It was just what I needed to hear. Thank you.

Only two more weeks of school left. Make them good.

Don't be afraid.

Don't stress.

Stress is fear.

Just believe, have faith.

It will all work out in the end.

It's getting better.

I am beginning to feel again.

What perfect timing, for I feel as though I am changing right along with the weather. The ice has melted away, leaving behind the sunshine, and the the occasional blanket of dark clouds and rainy days. Spring rain is perfect, is it not? I didn't mind the cold and the rain so much today, for I knew in a matter of hours, or a few short days, that the sun would come out again to open my mom's tulips in the front yard, to warm my sunburnt cheeks another day as I pedal my way to school in the mornings.

I had decided I would feel absolutely nothing.

And it worked, for about a month. I was not happy, nor sad, or angry, hurt, or excited, I was just ...  existing. My days emptily slipped by, smiling because I had to, finishing my homework because it was due, studying for my finals because it was scheduled into my planner, waking up because my alarm clock filtered into my ears.

I filled my life with distractions, carefully picking through my thoughts, avoiding any song, any place, any memory that might bring me back to the shadowed place I would never allow my mind to wander to. Every little thing I did was a distraction from one thing. It was truly a genius and to be quite honest, relieving plan.

Only one problem.

Somewhere along the way, my so called "distractions" began to hold weight in my heart. 

I laid on the tramp as the sun was setting one particular warm friday night, and watched the two boys mess around with the basketball, occasionally throwing it my way. And my heart suddenley ached as the realization hit me and fear washed over me. I love those boys.  I love the way that they play chess in the library for hours,  the way they kick the doors of the school open, the way that they do not consider the scored of minituare golf to be a joke: for it is a very serious matter. I love how I am treated the same whether I am wearing a pair of ratty sweats and a t-shirt, or a classy black dress and heels: it doesn't matter to them, I am Rachael.

 I had begun to feel again.  I cried last night. It's been a while. Happy tears though, knowing tears, growing up tears,  wise tears, the "I know change has come and it is time to accept it" kind of cry. 

I find myself smiling, not because I have to, but because I want to; laughing even. I can feel the pressure of somebody's backpack sliding across my arm in the hall, the cold wind whipping my hair across my cheeks, a still small voice somewhere inside me as Brother Casper teaches the gospel telling me "it is true rachael, I am here.", I can feel the rhythmic impact through my tennis shoes as I run on the pavement, the weight of my Aunt's seven month old baby in my arms as I held him and watched his contagious smile light up the room. 

I don't know. I don't know anymore. I don't know what I want, what is going to happen, where I am going. I don't have any plans at the moment.

But that is okay.

Someday, the walls will come down. I know they will. I refuse to rush anything, it may take me days, months, years, seconds, whatever. to heal, but that's fine, I have all the time in the world.

Afterall, I am only seventeen and a half years old. (I missed my half birthday again, can you believe it!?) That is a requirement for my man someday, he must remember my half birthday, because I never do...

I will fall in love someday. The real kind. The run and jump into your welcoming arms, kiss right in the middle of a crowd, through thick and thin, forever kind.   
And this time, it's gonna last.

For heaven's sakes, If I have learned anything, allow yourself to feel. Life hurts. It really does. We were never promised everything would be perfect, only that it would all be worth it in the end. Go somewhere very quiet and very abandoned, or heck, somewhere very public and very crowded and scream. yell. sing. something. Get it out. You will feel better, I promise.

Live your life. There is only one. And it is all yours.

Through the Plastic Pink Sunglasses of the little girl at the pool.

There once was a very real girl named Cambria.

Her blog is quite entertaining, and gives a hilarious and honest view on being a teenage girl.

I followed her blog for some time before I actually started my own.

Click here to look at her most recent blog post.

She makes a good point. When we blog we are all culprits of painting our lives to be the best they possibly could. Too often they are a mere reflection of only the beautiful, the wonderful, the "lovely." It is true that we happily skip over the bleak, the bitter taste of disappointment, and the hurt.

I met a little girl once.
I was in Mesa, Arizona. 

It was one of those suffocating heat, soft blue blanket sky, palm trees waving overhead days that only Arizona enjoys year round.
I floated back and forth in the pool that day sulking.
Silly, I know.
Sitting in a beautiful place, surrounded by family and friends, and I specifically remember having my own pity party. I can't even remember what it was about. Probably some boy, knowing myself.

This little girl came up next to me and laid her barbie towel not two inches from mine.(I had never met her before in my life.)
Her dad looked over from his newspaper, considered giving her the "personal space" lesson he had obviously given one too many times, looked at me, and after a moment considered me harmless and avoided the situation all together, returning to his paper.
This is how my dad dealt with me growing up too, (I would know.)

She didn't even talk to me for about five minutes. She was much too busy.
She dragged a beach bag over and began unloading her goggles, her sunscreen, her flip flops, her squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich, her cup of milk.

Finally, when I thought her bag had literally turned into the Mary Poppins bag,

she pulled out her pink rimmed sunglasses,  put them on, and laid down crossing her legs.

I jumped in the pool

She followed suit.

Followed me back and forth, back and forth,

I floated on my back 

She was on hers

Finally, I looked at her, and yawned. She yawned too.

I smiled, she smiled. 

"Hailey." she said.

H-A-I-L-E-Y. 

from New York.

She held up three fingers, "I'm four."

She is here in Arizona to see her Dad.

She likes him, she whispered: "I think he is lonely, I make him happy."

She smiled, pleased with herself for taking care of her dad. 

I looked over at him, He does look lonely. I thought to myself. 

She loves her dad, even though he only bought her one toy for Christmas.

She loves her mom, and misses her. 

I went back to my towel, and she returned to hers.

She put on her pink sunglasses again over her bright blue eyes

and told me I was her new best friend. 

I decided, from that day forth, I would always look at life through plastic pink sunglasses.

Okay, lets be honest, have I always?

yeah, no.

But I'm trying.

Hailey was far away from home, everything she knew to be familiar, living with her dad Larry. 

And still very happy.
Everybody says happiness is a choice.
Everybody is right.
It is.
My life isn't perfect, and I do not claim it to be.

I could tell you about a boy I really thought I loved, who truly became my best friend, who knew everything about me,who I slowly fell for, and honestly believed that he was the one.

And then he changed. And now he is gone. And I am left two years of memories to either deal with or erase.

I could tell you about my little brother with Autism. 

Who knows, maybe someday I will.
Maybe I will share with the blogging world probably more than it needs to know,
and that will be okay.

But for now, I prefer to look through plastic pink sunglasses, and i will just share the beautiful, the wonderful, and the lovely until I really feel like I should share something very personal.

We will see.