Growing Pains

"It is so hard when sincere prayer about something we desire very much is not answered the way we want. It is especially difficult when the Lord answers no to that which is WORTHY and would give us great JOY and HAPPINESS...it seems reasonable and so consistent with our happiness to have a favorable answer. It is hard to understand why our exercise of deep and sincere faith from an obedient life does not bring the desired result...

If all matters were immediately resolved at your first petition, you could not grow. Your Father in Heaven and His beloved Son love you PERFECTLY. They would not require you to experience a moment  more of difficulty than is absolutely needed for your personal benefit or for that of those you love." -Elder Richard G. Scott

https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1995/10/trust-in-the-lord?lang=eng#watch=video

I guess this is what we call growing pains.

<3 Christine Marie

Words of Advice From My Midget

I have a baby sister who is two years younger and three inches taller, though she will forever be my "midge". We have grown increasingly closer through the years and though we live together, we rarely see each other. Often, the only times in which we are home at the same time, one of us in the shower. So after a few cups of ice water have been thrown over the top of the shower curtain, the bearing of souls begins.

I was explaining some feelings that I have been having and how I wish things could be different. Then, my cute little midget who is not-so-little-anymore hit me with the most profound statement.

"The part that hurts the most is that they change the love they felt for you into something hateful and angry,"

This is fascinating, frustrating and futile for my brain. I am able to forgive quickly and, perhaps, this trait has also become a burden when balancing relationships. As mentioned before, I don’t get over people and I like to keep people; not in a creepy I-drive-past-your-house-to-see-if-you-have-a-special-guest sort of way but more like I-always-want-to-remember-eating-Wheaties-and-laughing-at-your-bedhead type of way. My journal is a littering of pictures, texts, inside jokes and memories that have become a part of who I am. I can't seem to erase these people from my life. It kills to think I have been erased from theirs. 

I understand that people move on, we must all heal and do so in our ways but I cannot help but miss the friendship shared. When I think back to any relationship I want to remember the good, smile at the moments, and thank the heavens that we found each other. 

looking back, 

Christine Marie 

Truth

Thank you.

with all my heart,
     Christine Marie

To Love Another Person

Let's set a scene. Perhaps it is late one Friday night and you are with your closest gal pals. Treats of every size and variety are haphazardly scattered across the coffee table. Tears are no stranger and judgement doesn't exist. No? Perhaps you are sitting on your mother's bed, knees tucked up under your chin, your head is resting dejectedly upon your mother's shoulder. Not quite you? Perhaps, instead, you are trying to drown out the noise of your thoughts by the constant pounding of your feet against the cement as you determine yourself strong enough and capable enough to outrun your vulnerability. It may be as simple as driving in the car when the traitor of a radio intrudes with a song that reminds you of what you are trying so desperately to forget. Whatever the scene may be, no matter how long it has been, heartbreak is present.

The well meaning friend, the dutiful mother, even your own mind screams at you to just get over it. But what does "it" mean. Usually "it" takes the form a person, someone you loved. It is well meant advice but this is me confessing - I struggle with this phrase, I don't understand it, and I just don't like it. 

Here is why.

We are told, we allow ourselves to be told, and we often even convince ourselves that by "getting over" someone we will be better, our hearts magically healed. What a tragic idea! I have often said I have trouble letting people go. Recently I have discovered this to be an inaccurate description of my personal healing. I have trouble getting over someone. 

To me there is an ocean of difference between letting someone go and getting over someone. Every relationship is different, each interaction an entirely unique and shared experience between two individuals trying to converge into harmony. Some relationships have been great, some not so great, and some just silly mistakes but each person has stretched me, challenged me, influenced me, or made me reexamine myself to some degree. And if we allow it, each relationship, each person we give ourselves to can help create improved versions of ourselves, that is to say if we allow it to work that way within us. 

I let people go. I understand that it isn't right, or maybe it is right and the timing isn't right, or maybe we just can't seem to make it right together for whatever reason. I honestly want the best for them, and as result of that I still think of them, pray for them, and occasionally "check up" on them (thank you social media) but in no way do I "get over" them. In some circumstances and with some people they may rarely make an appearance in my thoughts beyond the flicker of a memory or emotion and that is okay too. But I ask why do we so earnestly try to forget or erase that part of ourselves? Why do we believe that to heal we must no longer feel? I may have let you go but I will never get over you, for if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be the me I am today. 

I don't need to get over you, replace you, or forget you. The heart's capacity to forgive and to love is infinite and I want to live in such a way that I never limit this capacity to feel, to care, to remember, to move on, or to heal.

As Victor Hugo brilliantly declared in his novel Les Misérables, "To love another person is to see the face of God." 

And that is something you can never get over.

Love always, 

   Christine Marie 

Mi manca la mia Italia.

I do not know why but lately I have missed Italy, more so than usual. Miss does not begin to describe my feelings. I ache for Italy. Although I am 100% American and I bleed red, white, and blue Italy will always have my heart. Friday night I headed to the Salt Lake Airport to welcome my last child and companion home from Italy. Watching her interact with her family her mannerisms screamed ITALIAN, she felt like home to me. On the drive home I put on my Italian playlist and the tears began to fall. The following are just a few of the reasons I love Italy.

1. old men in fishing vests 2. Amerena and pistachio gelato (don't say pistachio with a "sh" sound, you filthy tourist, it's a "k" sound 2. the basket on my bike 3. Grandparents are constantly with their grandkids 4, the green parks and shady benches 5. Latin engraved on buildings. 6. You can literally drink water from public fountains 7. "centro" - the city square 8. the incredible street performers 9. humidity > lotion 10.the 1/2 hour and hourly ringing of the cathedral bells 11. open air cafes 12. the red postal boxes lining the streets 13. Pizza. Punto. Basta. 14. Always being on the lookout for gypsies 15. ancient looking apartment keys 16. Chalk artists. 17. street markets 18. the mailman's yellow vespa 19. getting lost 20. Citofoni 21. Focaccia 22. Castles 23. the smell of fresh basil 24. avoiding eating pesce del mare 25. museums 26. the sunflowers of Toscana 27. the anticipation of what an italian stamp might look like 28. inability to understand those from Napoli 29. the architecture 30. Risotto 31. Validating your train ticket or avoiding capi treno 32. Mediaval games and traditions are still practiced 33. Mozzarella 34. Scarves 35. everyone wears sweats all day errrry day 36. Umbrellas are a fashion statement. The bigger the better. 37. Line drying laundry 38. That one apartment with a tub. 38. IKEA furniture 39. Bidets, and trying to use them correctly without looking like you went for a swim 40. Vodaphone ringback tones. 41. Answering machines don't exist 42. Soccer or die. 43. Lidl 44. Plastic baptismal fonts 45. MasterCrumble 46. Running for trains and buses. 47. the sound of Dibb's voice at 10:25pm 48. Nougat pillows 49. 00 Farina 50. Being one of two people in the city wearing a helmet. Your companion is the other 51. Frizzante water. 52. Produce gloves 53. boxed milk 54. the process of promesso di sogornio 55. Nightmare = SCIOPERO. 56. the phrase, "By God's grace" 57. Sloooowwwwly walking past cafe's playing American music 58. Travelers circle 59. Accidentily eating alcohol filled chocolates or gelato 60. soooo mannnny cats 61. conversing with your hands 62. No, they aren't screaming at your, they're italian. 63. The way the members sing hymns 64. I still don't understand why there are so many Lizards? 65. Panna 66. The yogurt is drinkable. 67. Cobblestone streets 68. Sirens are constant. 69. Prosciutto 70. Baci. 71. Tesoro, ciccione, principessa, all Italian nicknames 72. Orzo hot or even frozen 73. Round abouts! 74. scary death elevators or 17 flights of stairs? 75. homemade pasta

Unless you are Italian or you served there, this list will mean very little to you. But for me, these are just a few of the reasons I grew to love the people and the culture.

A small island dedicated entirely to the purpose of fishing and exile off Porto Venere. 

 My absolute favorite view of Verona. This city was full of magic and miracles. 

 Yes Venezia (Venice for you Americani), you are sacred. Mafia, can't you read?

 The coliseum of Verona. 

 Apostasy in Rimini

 My favorite view of Cinque Terre,

 I will return here and live out my last days, 

My apartment was 30 seconds from the Tower. We did morning exercise at this Piazza dei Miracoli.

 I remember this moment vividly. It was my last Italian sunset before flying home and it was almost as if I could feel my love for Italy radiating from my body. It was a moment I will never forget. 

:Ti amo, Italia mia. 

Christine Marie 

It has been a minute since I have written, hasn’t it? I can hardly believe that it has been eight months since my release as a missionary and my return home. Although my heart was shattered into a million shards leaving my beloved Italy, I was ready to return home. I was tired, emotionally and spiritually exhausted, though eighteen months of insomnia and sleepless nights did not begin to compare to the fatigue I felt inwardly. Loving people as deeply and completely that you do as a missionary is not an elementary task. Needless to say at the end of my service I was ready to come home and watch the windows of heaven open to open and pour me out the blessings so that there would not be room enough to receive them (Malachi 3:10).

This is how I figured it must be. I had just devoted 18 months of my young and precious life to the service of the Lord. All of the sacrifices made, all of the trial, tribulation and torment suffered would be equalized with post-mission blessings, right? It only made sense that this is how it would be.

And then I came home. For about a month it seemed like all of the blessings that I anticipated were coming to fruition (shout out to Matt for getting me hooked on this word). The less six months of my mission I had received very specific, personal instruction on the things that I needed to make priority upon my return. Suddenly and very quickly, these things began to materialize in my life and I was head over heels with the course of events.

Just as quickly they all vanished. It seemed as if the Lord had removed his ever-present hand and turned his face from my life. Every single person close to me was experiencing heartbreak in extreme forms and I felt as if I were treading water, attempting to keep all of my loved ones dry and above the darkest of waters while my own heart was broken in a way I had never previously experienced.

In many ways I have healed and have become stronger. In other ways I am still fighting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. In some ways I am learning to let go, and in other ways I still hold onto what could have been. Regardless of the many moments of digression, progression and agitation felt in the last 8 months there is one thing I am sure –

Life goes on.

So, here’s to life. Here’s to going with it and cheers to choosing to find joy in the journey.

Christine Marie

Questions to never ask...

Many people have asked me to continue to write my thoughts, so for those few who enjoy reading the mixed up, random, scattered thoughts of my brain this is for you. Now don't torture yourself by following or even reading if you don't want to, I promise I won't be offended. But for all of those who want to climb in and sit beside me on this roller coaster of your life - it's my pleasure. 

Now everyone is familiar with that awkward silence that follows the first initial welcome home hug to any returned missionary. There is no shame, we feel the awkwardness of it as well. Yes, we can feel the overwhelming excitement that transmitted through your hug but once we have both pulled away...then what? If you are waiting for us to start the conversation you had better be prepared to answer with what you read in your daily personal study or if you have kept all your commitments. So instead, we wait. We wait for you to start the conversation. Somehow it naturally always seems to start with a few questions. Let's chat about these questions...

1) "Are you excited to be home?" 

     So, so tough to answer. Yes, usually we are excited to hug our beloved families, run our toes through carpet, and stroll through Walmart once again but truthfully, no we are not. Please do not take this personally, it is not against you. Many of you have spent the recent amount of time anxiously awaiting our return whereas we were painfully aware of the day in which we would remove the tag that has become who we are and end the beloved dimension that has become our reality. 

2) "How was your mission?" 

      Really? Do you really expect us to put our entire mission into a quick, short reply. The only way to adequately respond to this is "It was a mission." If you served a mission than only you will truly be able to understand the moments of devastating heartbreak, overwhelming joy, and personal growth. If you did not serve a mission than we will try to suffice your curiosity with "it was amazing." 

3) "So are you normal again?" 

      What is normal? We felt normal in the life we just so maybe you are the one that is not normal! No okay, it is a fair question. We left home and we were "normal" to you at that time. That is who we had been for the past 18, 19, 20, or 21 years. Then we served missions and we improved ourselves. We smooth our edges. The put our lives into the hands of the Lord and He shaped us to the creations that we were designed to be. So are we normal? No, and we never will be again. How can we be "normal" again after we are improved and bettered? Normal is digression. This is the new normal! 

Of course, each of us returned missionaries served completely different missions and will therefore respond to each question differently. I respond just for myself! 

Happy reading! 

Christine Marie