I like weekends.

Last weekend was perfectly planned. So many activities, scheduled into their tiny boxes. And it was a good weekend. A very good weekend. As I walked home from work on Friday, I had no clue what this weekend would hold. It was perfectly un-planned, and I thought just maybe I might get bored with a 3-day-no-plan weekend. False. Provo never fails me.

Friday was full of skating adventures and ice cream with some wardies.

Fun facts:

1. We tried to get some professional skaters (...really. They had sponsors and everything.) to teach us some tricks. I'm not very tricky, but I did master a spinning circle.
2. Skating backwards is a spectacular thigh work out. I was wonderfully sore the next day.
3. One time I busted my tailbone at this skating rink. That did not happen this time. Success!

Saturday, I went on a spontaneous, free, VIP rafting trip down the Provo river. It was pretty legit. And by legit I mean the biggest rapids where about the intensity of pool jets and I didn't even have to paddle. It was pretty great. 

Sundays are always blissfully busy. Church, nap (score!), Sunday dinner with the roommates' backup husband, ward prayer, broken stool, and brownies straight from the pan with the roommates and the Josh's. 

And the fun kept rolling today with a bomb.com trip to the zoo and hilarious FHE skits. 

This was the weekend of the T-Swift concert that once stood between me and coming to Provo. Although Livia is still raving about what an amazing concert Taylor put on, I can't help but think another perfect weekend was further confirmation that this was the right choice.

Life is Good

Last night (let's be real it was 1 a.m,) This morning, I laid in bed and wrote the perfect blog post expressing all my thoughts and feelings perfectly. Unfortunately, I only wrote it in my head. I considered getting out of bed and actually writing it down. It's not like I was sleeping (I was on a life-is-too-good-to-sleep high) so I gave it true consideration. But then the so-called "logical" part of me decided it was ridiculous to blog at 1 a.m. on a Thursday. No body should be awake at 1 a.m. on a Thursday. I decided I would just commit the whole post to memory. I'm sure you can guess just how well that worked now that it is 7:30 p.m. Thursday.

So instead of the eloquently drafted 1 a.m. version, you get this.
I love my life and here are a few reasons why:

1. Lauren is going on a mission. HOW THE HECK DO I EXPRESS MY FEELINGS ON THIS? It just makes me want to explode with happiness because I can tell that she is about to explode with happiness. Lauren has made a big impact on my life. A big impact on my testimony. She's on my list of heroes. Do you think if I beg her enough she'll do a guest post on my blog? *fingers crossed*
2. Heavenly Father reminded me how small and simple things can bring about great things. A friend from Eugene reached out and wants to get involved with the ward there. It's the best feeling. I love nothing more than when He let's me catch a glimpse of His love for someone.
3. My roommates are the greatest.
4. I accidentally got assigned two sets of home teachers. I'm pretty sure it's karma for being a brat about home teaching pre-mish.  (...it's a long story).
5. FaceTime with the nephews is quite possibly my favorite thing. They even let me play hide 'n seek with them. Technology. Love it.
6. My ward. I like them. Sometimes they like to play the "Will-Lisa-fit-in-this?" game. I'm good at fitting in smallish suitcases, in case you wondered. 
7. I eat chocolate chip pancakes at least once a day. How can you not love your life when you eat chocolate chip pancakes daily? Just don't tell my boss. She's trying to turn me vegan.
8. TedTalks. I'm obsessed. 
9. The BYU Library...I love that place. I have to pass it twice a day, and I stop in often. There are SO MANY books to read.
10. Sweatpants. Because every good life needs a little comfy.

Update: The Plate Guy

Remember The Plate Guy from Institute? I think we could safely re-name him The Stalker.

Lucy, Elizabeth and I slipped into church just before the meeting started. Only seconds later, The Plate Guy/Stalker appeared (note: he is not in my ward). "Hi Lisa! It's me; the guy with the plate from institute. I just had to run some errands this morning, like making the programs for my ward and stuff so I was here early and thought I'd come say hi! It was so great meeting you the other night!" Luckily, the meeting started so he slipped out of the room leaving me to think:

1. No one shows up to church THREE HOURS early to print programs.
2. It was kind of creepy that he hunted me down at church.

Oh but wait, it gets better. After church Lucy, Elizabeth and I sat outside the bishop's office waiting to get set-apart for our new callings, and guess who showed up? The Stalker. I tried desperately to keep my current conversation going when I caught a glimpse of him approaching out of the corner of my eye. But eventually, he weaseled his way into the conversation. Despite the fact that he showed up to church 3 hours early, he was late to sacrament meeting. I know because he was out in the hall trying to make conversation until halfway through the meeting. "See ya at institute?" Maybe. I just might explore the zillions of other institute classes in Provo.

It's flattering, right? I mean...I'm really glad he thinks I'm worth tracking down. But his methods are a little creepy.

In the off chance that you, Plate/Stalker Guy, are reading this, please know I think you are probably a very nice person. However, due to your extreme stalking skills, I am thoroughly creeped out. Perhaps in the future try something more subtle? Like waiting until the next institute class to say hi. Just an idea. Best of luck in your future endeavors finding the woman of your dreams. She's not me.

Reunion: They Were All in PANTS.

I walked into the gym, not sure what to expect. It had rained all day (fitting for the day of an Oregon mission reunion, don't you think?) so they moved the reunion inside. I was happy about that, because the outside plan was sports. Now all I'd have to do is stand around and make conversation and eat snacks. I could do that. Still, when we pulled into the parking lot I said a little prayer that I could be brave. Sometimes I turn shy, but that's not how I had been on the mission and it's not how I wanted to be now, here with all my favorite returned missionaries. As I entered the room, I heard someone running full force...at me. Sister Adair pulled back last minute (deciding tackling me to the ground may be a bit extreme) and wrapped me in a hug. And there it was: the answer to my prayer. I could be brave now. When you feel loved and safe, you can do anything.

I love these people. Even when they wear pants, although I do miss the skirts and tags.

Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the pick-me-up-and-spin-me-around hugs. Thank you for the love. Thank you for the high compliment, P Young. Thank you.

Fine China

I was called to repentance during institute tonight. It was all about using social media for good and letting your light shine. And I've been neglecting my little bloggy-poo. Apologies. I'll do better.

I think the #1 thing that stops me from blogging about the random happenings in my life is the fear that someone might read it. Which is silly, because that's sort of the point. I was reminded again of my favorite TedTalk: The Power of Vulnerability. That speech always gives me the courage to be courageous. I watch it when I need a dose of bravery - which is often.

Moving back to Provo has been the best thing for me, but it was also a little *cough*lot*cough* terrifying. I'm living on a different side of campus than I'm used to. I'm living with absolute strangers (don't worry, they are very nice strangers). I'm doing a job that I, quite frankly, do not have the technical skills for (but I like it!). And suddenly boys expect me to know how to interact with them again in a not-missionary way. I am SO not adjusting well in that department. I came home from a date, journaled about it....and then accidentally signed it "Sister Hamilton" *face palm*.  I am definitely a work in progress. And that's what this blog is for. It's all about BEcoming. So, obviously, I should probably blog about the process. Duh.

The first time I decided to wear pants in public post-mission, I needed moral support and encouragement. I changed from pants to a skirt and back to pants for a solid 30 minutes before a friend said, "You just have to do it and it will stop being weird!" She was right. I like pants now.

I can now sleep past 6:30am. Still not sure if I should be proud of that one or not.

Listening to my favorite jams was a pretty easy transition. Probs because I've always liked my little happy tunes.

Oh, back to the awkwardness of my interactions with men. I'm hoping it's kind of like the pants thing. You throw yourself in and then it eventually gets normal. Living in Provo is definitely throwing yourself in. In to the deep end. Or, maybe more like the ocean. Tonight, a boy wrote my number on a paper plate at the institute dinner and then refused to throw it away, carrying it around like a piece of fine china. By blogging about this, I'm probably going to have to refuse his Facebook friend request. Oh well. Anyway, as I was floundering in this conversation I kept hoping Lucy (one of the very nice, stranger roommates) would turn around and save me from my awkward self. She didn't. Which is probably good, because then I didn't have floaties and I was forced to swim or drown.

Life is an adventure. I should probably re-name this blog "BEcoming not-awkward Lisa" :)

Also, you should probably go here and watch this great video of an address by Elder Ballard at this year's BYU Women's Conference. Skip ahead about 19 minutes into the video where he starts to speak. It's worth it. And then we should talk about it, because it's one of my latest obsessions.

Hello Utah.

I forgot how much I love this place. Despite the constant need to apply lotion and chapstick (it's so dry!), Utah has captured my heart. Probably because it's the place where I first really found me. It's a good place. Totally worth the craziness it took to get here. Long story short, I missed my 6am flight and couldn't get on another one until 5:30pm, and then they closed the airport, but then they reopened it and let us fly, and eventually we rolled into SLC around midnight. I was tired. So tired, in fact, that I accidentally fell asleep on the shoulder of the kind man sitting next to me on the plane. Awkward. He was asleep when I woke up, so I decided to pretend it didn't happen. I really think they should put more space between those seats to avoid that embarrassing situation! Thankfully, my pal Kate (a rockstar missionary from the OEM) let me crash with her in Salt Lake so I wouldn't have to travel to Provo so late.

I finally made it to Provo Sunday night and had a sleepover with Megan and Katie. So many laughs. It was a joyous reunion and we almost had Megan convinced to stay an extra day, but unfortunately we had to say our goodbyes just as quickly as we had said our hellos. I'm excited for her though. Big California adventures await :)

Greta and I spent all day catching up, running errands, moving me into my apartment and (the highlight of the day) going to the Payson temple open house. Hmm...I keep trying to think of an adequate adjective to describe the temple. No words seem good enough. Language can be so restricting. 

Also, look who I found whilst unpacking... ;)

Willy James and Alfonso! pahahaha, my friends are funny.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream

Once upon a mission, I was addicted to ice cream. It's all I ate for at least a week straight. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Instead of trying to help me break my addiction, everyone just fed it. Not that I'm compaining. I didn't mind being taken out for ice cream almost daily. And I didn't mind when we were smuggled a pint or two during the week. Eventually I broke that addiction and moved on to a brief tofu addiction (Eugene...it gets to you). But sometimes, that craving comes back.

Today is one such day. All day long, I longed for ice cream. When I could stand it no longer, I made a quick run to the store. This is what I found. 

In case you can't tell, those are EMPTY  ice cream shelves. 

All of the quality ice cream RECALLED. I settled for a tub of subpar ice cream.  Now I just have to decide: am I more upset that I couldn't get the ice cream I truly wanted OR am I upset because I ate a ton of Blue Bell ice cream last week that may or may not have been contaminated by listeria?

...I miss Oregon's scrumptious and uncontaminated Umpqua ice cream.

Change of Plans

18 months of no blogging resulted in 6 journals. A girl's gotta write, right? These lil babies are the bees knees. Treasure chests full of memories. Sometimes the stories on their pages make me laugh; sometimes they make me cry. I love them.

On Day 1 post-mission, I was fine. Day 2? Okay. But by Day 6, I was dying on the inside. I was fighting back tears all day and I just felt, well, dammed. No progression. Oh, what an awful terrible feeling! I was reminded of a time I felt like that on the mission. So I flipped open Journal #5 and found this little gem:

When you're feeling dammed you have a couple of options. Swim around your little pool or break down the dam. I've found breaking down the dam usually leads to more happiness. Happiness and progression--the two are inseparably connected. So I broke the dam. I came up with a game plan. Apartments. Jobs. Plane tickets. And then I prayed. After receiving the heavenly stamp of approval, it was final: I'm moving back to Utah next month. 

...and the dam broke, and she swam happily ever after.

PS, Sorry T*Swift. I couldn't let you rule the timetable of my life. The pool was way to shallow to keep swimming here. I'm sure Mom will enjoy your concert for me.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Loved to Do

How exactly are you supposed to start your first blog post after the best 18 months? I've been excited for and dreading this post all week. It's overwhelming. There is so much I want to share with all of you. I want to tell you every detail of every story. I want you to fall in love with everyone I've fallen in love with in Oregon. But I have an inkling deep within my heart that that just might not be entirely possible. At least not in one post.

Oregon. That place is full of holy ground. Ordinary, everyday places became sacred, holy places as God touched my heart and changed me. It was in Oregon where I really learned to love.

 I learned to love God. I learned to love His children. I learned to love the scriptures. I learned to love His work. I learned to love the sacrament. I learned to love Sunday. I learned to love the temple. I learned to love obedience. I learned to love prayer. I learned to love covenant making. I learned to love covenant keeping. I learned to love the hymns. I learned to love leading music. I learned to love studying. I learned to love mornings. I learned to love vegetables. I learned to love (or at least not dread) exercise. I learned to love reading texts out loud (I seriously miss that one. I very strongly -considered screen-shotting and emailing all my texts from this week to Sister West, but then I figured she probably would just be mad that I took up all of her email time with a zillions "You're home! What now?" texts). I learned to LOVE being called "Sister" (Want to be my best friend? Just call me Sister. Seriously. I will love you forever.). I learned to love old people, young people, smelly people, scary people, nice people, stranger people, hippy people, sad people, happy people, rich people, poor people, clean people, dirty people, tall people, short people, fat people, skinny people...you get the picture. 

WHO KNEW THERE WERE SO MANY PEOPLE/EXPERIENCES/PLACES/THINGS TO LOVE IN THIS WORLD???

...And then they made me come home. It is way more okay than I thought it would be. I still get intensely sad sometimes. Usually it's when I lay in bed at night and realize I don't get to be a full-time, name-badge wearing missionary the next day. Or when I'm getting dressed. Oh, getting dressed is the worst. If I'm going to wear pants that day (which is necessary when you go to a 2 and 4 year-old's birthday party at a bounce house place) it takes me a good 30 minutes just to convince myself wearing pants in public is okay. Plus nothing, nothing looks good when you're missing your very best accessory: the badge. But the sadness is okay. Nephi said "it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things." And the sadness is worth every ounce of happiness.

It was the best 18 months of my life. But this is going to be the best 18 months of my life, too. I figure as long as you are exactly where the Lord wants you to be, every 18 months can be the best. So here's to the next 18 months and whatever they might bring.

Homegirl LOVES mail

Letters/packages will be well-loved.

UNTIL 9/25/13:
Sister Lisa Hamilton
SEP25 OR-EUGE
2007 N 900 E Unit 72
Provo UT 84602

AFTER 9/25/13:
Sister Lisa Hamilton
Oregon Eugene Mission
55 W 29th Ave Ste A
Eugene, OR 97405

EMAIL:
lisa.hamilton@myldsmail.net

Till We Meet Again

Wow. I don't even know where to begin. Today was *spectacular*

I woke up early this morning s t r e s s e d . I was supposed to speak in church, and I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say. I had written a talk (multiple, actually). Nothing seemed right. My heart was heavy. 10 minutes before walking out the front door for church, I knew I couldn't use anything I had written. I prayed. I prayed hard. And, just as He did when He asked me to serve a mission, Heavenly Father asked me to take a deep breath, step to the pulpit, and trust him.

As church began, my heart raced. And then a member of the stake presidency walked in *gulp*  Talk about nerves. Here I was, minutes from giving my farewell, and I had no idea what I was going to say. And then...

THE LIGHTS WENT OUT

"Okay, okay, I get it," I thought. "I won't give the talk I prepared. You didn't have to cut the lights to keep me from reading it." Then again, maybe He did. I can be pretty stubborn; He knows that best of all.

After singing a hymn in the dark, the lights turned back on and the congregation all gasped in delight. How great it is to bask in His light in a well-lit chapel.

After all the excitement of the lights going out and a wonderful talk by Sister Bonnette, a convert, a returned missionary, and a mother of 4? 5?, I made my way to the pulpit. Although I didn't have the words I should speak written down, the words flowed freely from my mouth. Heavenly Father never ceases to amaze me. "Let go of control, Lisa" He implores. "Let me speak through you. Let me give you the words you should speak." And when I do that, when I relinquish control, He takes over. I bore testimony of the things I know, and as I did, my testimony grew. Instead of a heavy, stressed heart, I had a warm, full heart - enlarged with testimony.

Throughout the entire day, my ward family enveloped me in arms of love and prayers of support and encouragement. From notes of well-wishing to beaded bobby socks (my childhood fave), they showered me with love. I have an entire journal full of written testimonies, words of advice, and encouragement and lots and lots of love. 

Following church, we had a potluck linger-longer. Several returned missionaries from the ward shared mission stories and gave me advice. The primary children (and, might I add, we have a vivacious group) sang "I hope they call me on a mission!" with vigor and vim, and then overran me with the most ginormous group hug I have ever taken part in <3

My last surprise of the day was a video. A hilarious parody put together by the youth and their leaders about "Lisa's first day in the field". It was the best!

My heart is full. My cup runneth over. I am so blessed to be part of a wonderful ward family. But even more than that, I am blessed to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And, even more than that, I am blessed to be a daughter of the King.