The Wonders of Wandering

I call them the 'magic hours'. They are patches of time, often in the early hours of the morning or late at night, where the world is quiet and feels as if it belongs solely to me. For me, quiet reflection is therapeutic - even necessary.

I crave occasional stillness, where my heart and mind can be thoughtful and I can communicate with God.

I remember a number of such quiet hours with striking clarity...

When I was seventeen years old, I packed my bags the day after high school graduation to move across the country to Washington D.C. I would be spending my summer working on capitol hill as a Congressional intern.The experience was incredible, challenging, empowering, and sometimes a little lonely. I felt somewhat shaken by the many new arenas I was now forced to navigate.

One evening, after a particularly hectic and frustrating day on the hill, I slipped on my Asics running shoes and hopped on a metro train headed to the Smithsonian stop. I wanted to think, to clear my mind and find a moment of stillness to process some inner restlessness I couldn't seem to shake. I emerged from the metro as sunset fell, beginning to run on the crunchy gravel towards the Washington Mall's reflection pool.

When I reached the pool, sticky from the warm humidity, the sky had fallen dark and the national monuments were bathed in washes of white light. Jumping on the cement lip at the water's edge, I peered down at my shadowy reflection and searched my own eyes, probing my features with countless questions and concerns. Everything was quiet but the gentle murmur of a handful of passing tourists. I waited, listening to my heartbeat as it began to slow.

And then... a small spark caught my eye. It was only a flicker, a tiny ignition that was striking against the darkness that enveloped the Mall. I stared at it, fascinated. Over the course of the next few minutes, the number of sparks grew until I found myself surrounded by the warm glow of fireflies. A deep smile worked its way across my features as I soaked in the beauty of such a remarkable scene. Looking before me, I took in the sight of the illuminated capitol building, a symbol of a government of, by, and for the people of the United States.

It felt as if the uncertain fog clouding my mind suddenly dispelled into a peaceful and sharp clarity. As the fireflies danced around the clear pool, a personal spark within me was not only ignited; it roared. I became overwhelmed with the truth that it is a privilege and responsibility to  have been born upon American soil, a nation free and under God. Our nation is far from perfect, but it is based upon principles that are eternal truths. Surrounded by shining monuments honoring figures such as Jefferson, Washington, and Lincoln, I felt as if I was keeping extraordinary company. I was a simple intern doing little more than giving tours, completing research, and attending capitol briefings. However, I was participating in the process of policy making and learning within the halls of government what it means to be an American. I knew the various learning curves and all the challenges I had faced that summer had been, and would be, more than worth it.

This experience of wandering the Washington Mall was pure magic for me. It gave me a night full of peace, renewed purpose, and the gift of so much beauty.

Another particularly memorable magic hour occurred when I was fourteen years old. I was in the Peruvian Andes, completing a 50 mile trek over the Inca trail with my dad. One night, curled up in my sleeping bag, I seemed unable to quiet my mind. I kept seeing the incredible magnitude of the mountains we had wound through, the kind, coffee-colored, and wrinkled faces of the Peruvian peoples, and the brilliant color of the golden long grasses in the warm sunlight. It seemed too much for my young mind to absorb.

Finally giving up on the idea of immediate sleep, I felt around till I located my heavy jacket and wind breaker beanie. I then tied up my clunky hiking boots and quietly unzipped the tent flap. I remember letting out an audible gasp at the sight that awaited me. Above the vast and desolate valley where we camped was a brilliant sky teeming with the most exquisite stars I had ever seen.

I had seen stars up in the mountains of Utah. I have seen stars in the countryside of Virginia. I have NEVER seen the exquisite symphony of the heavens so beautifully orchestrated in my entire life. In sum... it blew my mind.

Creeping out of the entryway, I put my hands in my pockets and walked around the circle of red tents, my neck straining as I traced the swirls and clusters of the cosmos.

...what is man that thou art mindful of him?

The landscape was so dark and so unbelievably open that I felt absolutely alone with the night, with no one to see me but God. I replayed memories of previous days in my head, focusing on particular events that had left a striking impact on my world perception. I remembered showing a group of young boys my ipod and the brilliance of their liquid chocolate eyes when they heard sounds coming through the bud in their ear. I remembered watching a girl younger than me carrying her baby sister in a swaddle of brilliant colors and marveling at her responsibility.



These people taught me so much.

When my eyes finally grew tired, I headed back to my tent. Pausing at the opening, I looked once more at the stars with a giddy smile tracing my lips. I felt as if I had shared a  secret with the night. I felt as if the Peruvian Andes had been kind enough to peel back its curtains and show me one of its most precious wonders.

Never forget to wander. Never forget to venture. I know I never can nor will.

Forever is a long time- thank goodness!

I am entirely convinced that on Friday, March 16, 2012 at 10:30 AM there was no better place for me to be than the exact spot where my heel-bound feet were planted. No event could have been more important, more beautiful, or more fulfilling.

Here, at the Mount Timpanogos Temple, passed from hug to hug and blinking before camera lights, two families gathered to witness the sealing of Kate Lovell to Drew Livingstone.

To seal: to weld two hearts, two spirits for now and through the eternities. What an awe-inspiring concept. What a marvel! It has been my privilege to watch and learn from these two extraordinary people. I have seen them overcome difficulty. I have seen them humbly submit to God's will and God's time despite the pain it caused them. I have seen them love those around them with generous and honest hearts. It is so tender to wander memory's halls and examine events, peoples, and relationships that have led to such a Celestial moment. Many of these encounters have been in progress for years and even decades.

These two are known to God and I feel deeply blessed to be known by them.

During the course of this beautiful day, I had the chance to watch and reflect. A wedding is such a unique and tender event. It represents SO much and the experience is a different one for every individual connected to the bride and groom.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that exquisite joy and peace accompany a marriage that is worthy of, and sanctioned by, God the Eternal Father. A couple that is innately good, that is filled with the promise of a valiant and beautiful life is adored by heaven and by all those around them. They become builders of God's kingdom and their new life together, ever increasing in light and truth.

I LOVE the Livingstones! I feel so blessed for all the love and support they have given me. I am anxious to see what two people with such enormous capacities for compassion and goodness will accomplish together.

After such a special weekend with my marvelous and wonderful family, I cannot help but think...forever is a very long time- thank goodness.

The Master Healer

Over 2,000 years ago, on a bright, warm Middle Eastern afternoon, the Savior of the world walked beside the clear water of a public pool, the pool of Bethesda. With gentle, steady hands, he softly rubbed sticky clay against the eyes of a humble beggar, a child of God who had been stumbling through the world in darkness.

Perhaps steadied by the loving arm of Christ, the blind beggar crept to the edge of the pool and washed the sticky clay from his face. Slowly, anxiously, he must have blinked against the emerging lights, colors, and finally distinct shapes that sharpened in his view. I imagine him frozen in awe at the spectacle of the pool he thought he had known so well, his perspective perfect and fraught with joy. Turning where he was, gaze eagerly searching for the responsible individual, the eyes of this dear, humble beggar would have been caught by the warm, understanding face of our beloved Savior, the master healer.

One of the most tender attributes of Christ is His ability to heal.

Healing; what an extraordinary word. To make right again, to repair, to restore. I am in complete awe of how fully and completely God exercises this ability in our lives.

I remember an experience I had joint-teaching with the LDS missionaries with striking clarity. When I was 15 years old, the missionaries asked if my dad and I would accompany them to visit a young girl in inner-city Minneapolis. She was about my age. When we got out of the car in the Minneapolis ghetto, I felt nervous as we approached a battered, white home in complete disarray. We waited out on the porch by a couple of broken cement stairs, the sounds of shouting and blasting television emanating from the windows. It was quite obviously a crack house. Before long, a withdrawn, dis-shelved girl with brown, shoulder-length hair and battered clothing came out to meet us. Life had clearly been rough to her. Her features were tired, hollow, and riddled with suffering. I recall feeling this overwhelming surge of love and compassion for her as we taught her about how the Savior knows and deeply loves her. We taught her that He is 'her' Savior and that He understands every pain she may have experienced in her life. As I bore my personal testimony to her, I felt this deep sense of connection to this beautiful girl not much older than myself. My testimony came with additional power and conviction because I could feel how completely the truths I knew with my whole being could lift, bless, and heal her tender soul. I wanted, with all my heart, to show her how completely and fully God could heal her. I don't remember her name anymore, nor what became of her interactions with the missionaries. But, I DO remember what I felt as sunset fell on the chipped, white paint of the crack house and I sat on those broken cement steps and connected with another wounded soul.

I have had the opportunity to overcome a number of trials in my short life. Such experiences have sometimes left me feeling discouraged and alone. But God is the conductor of the great symphony of events, peoples, nations, and even human hearts. When He calls for the deepest reaches of the base note, He always beckons for the pure ring of the violas. I have been nothing less than absolutely stunned at what changes God has worked in and through me. As I cling to Him, I feel the steadiness, the direction, the quiet smile that seems to tell me, "Just wait, hold on... just wait to see what I have in store for you".

This year some of my challenges have been new, more subtle. I crave the healing of my beloved Savior. After two remarkable but intense semesters, I ache for the loving arms that hold perfect love and perfect peace. I also understand that complete healing comes in God's time and through God's means.

Jerusalem is becoming ever more real to me. Jerusalem is more than one of the most religious and culturally rich cities in the world. Jerusalem, to me, represents a sacred space, a holy corner of the world where God can teach me, open my eyes of understanding, and heal some of the more tender regions of my human heart. I am eager to become acquainted with this land that has emerged from pain, destruction, and bloodshed and known the open face and gentle words of the Son of God. Jerusalem, just like me, will be healed someday. We will be perfect....and glorious.

I feel overwhelmed by the love of an elder brother who can spiritually, emotionally, and physically heal me. A brother who sees my full potential and will patiently show me that potential 'line upon line' despite all my fears and doubts. We must never forget how adored we are by heaven.

I know someday, like the humble beggar, I too will see clearly the life I thought I knew so well. The purposes, the faces, the light and darkness in every corner of my life will be shown to me in a new way. I will "see things as they really are" when my spiritual eyes are altered under the gentle hands of the master healer.

Here's to finding joy in the journey!