An Adolescent Conversation on Religion: Are Mormons Christian?

Below is a conversation on religion dated Monday, November 22, 1999 between two adolescent girls, me and a close friend, whom I’ll call “A.” I was 13 and she was 14 or so when we had this chat.

In 6^th grade, A was my best friend for one year. We met at the 6^th grade new-to-middle-school orientation. She was brilliant and made me want to be a scholar—we were 10 and 11, and she was already writing things like a 20-page short story about a woman with cancer. Far ahead of the game, I’d say. She would eventually be the valedictorian at her school, while I managed to graduate in the top 10 (I don’t have much to show for that now, especially if you look at my BYU transcript).

We only spent one year in school together as she moved and went on to attend a Christian private school while I stayed on at Timberview Middle School and Liberty High. But we remained diligent pen pals, writing e-mails and letters to each other through my senior year. We never saw each other or hung out, even though we didn’t live that far from each other, so between 7^th and 12^th grade, I didn’t see her at all. We finally met up my senior year and didn’t have much to say to each other in person, but we had a lot to say to each other in writing. I’ve since lost touch with her.

This particular online conversation is one that I printed off and put in my journal. Shortly after having this conversation with her, I did decide to read the Book of Mormon and would eventually join the Mormon Church. I did have many Christian friends in high school who were very wary of my interest in and studies of the LDS church, but after reading the Book of Mormon in full, I felt very strongly that it was true and wanted to be baptized after my 14^th birthday. I would eventually be baptized at 18.

I feel blessed to be Latter-day Saint. I’m still very active in the Church and believe fully in the truth of the Book of Mormon, and I also consider myself very much to be a Christian. Religion for me is an underlying strength in my life, not so much a matter of outward identity or intellectual understanding; rather, of spiritual manifestations of truth. It fills me with a longing of what is good, right, and what will bring me joy, despite my natural urges to do otherwise.

This conversation revolves mostly around this question: Are Mormons Christians? I would say now that yes, we definitely are. I’m fascinated by this conversation and the differences we had, even with our adolescent understanding of religion.

So here’s to youth and curiosity:

Me: just this year I found out that half my friends are Mormon

A: too bad. You can witness to them! What kind of dance was it?

Me: it was kind of a shock, not in a bad way

A: well, sort of in a bad way….mormons are really lost usually

Me: what do you mean?

A: they have their own Bible! If you don’t believe in our Bible, something’s got to be wrong

[. . .]

Me: they do believe in our Bible. they just have an extra book

A: “an extra book.” Why would you need an extra book? The Bible has everything we could possibly need

[. . .]

A: Do you know ___ from your church?

Me: no

A: do you go to youth group?

Me: I don’t really know anyone at my church.

Me: no

A: Oh, I thought you did. You know what??

A: My parents are really unhappy with my church and want to go to Pulpit Rock

Me: see, the Book of Mormon is a more recent book, like the New Testament, but it takes place in America with the first people here

Me: really? Well, Pulpit Rock is a good place.

A: You didn’t really answer my previous question though: why do they need another book?

Me: why? Well, they discovered it, and I haven’t exactly read it so I can’t say

Me: It’s just got new saints and prophets and stuff, I’m not really sure what it’s all about

A: Mormons still believe many many things Christians don’t…not that I’m putting myself above anyone else, it’s just a fact

Me: The funny thing is I was really comfortable in a pile of Mormons. They’re all so nice and polite and respectful.

Me: Well, what do they believe that we don’t?

Me: I just know that they’re very strict when it comes to rules in the regular Bible.

A: That’s true. But their Jesus isn’t the same as ours

Me: yes it is

Me: as far as I know that is

A: Are you considering becoming a Mormon?

Me: well, I don’t know

Me: there are things I like about what they do but I don’t know like anything about their religion so I can’t say

Me: that’s just a really weird concept,

A: You don’t like the religion but you like the people that call themselves mormons? Is that what you’re saying?

Me: no, I didn’t say I don’t like their religion, I just don’t know a lot about it

Me: the people that call themselves Mormon, so they aren’t actually Mormon?

A: No, I didn’t mean it that way. But think about it. Christians do fantastic things all the time, plus they are without a doubt going to heaven

Me: some of them

A: fact of the matter is, mormons are not Christians, and are not going to heaven

Me: Some people claim to be Christian but have no idea what they’re doing

A: I agree with that. But that’s true of every religion. Someone’s got to tarnish the name when there are so many throughout the world

Me: how can you say that? Isn’t it that a good person who believes in God goes to heaven?

A: No, actually, that’s not a true Christian. Would you like me to explain what a true Christian is?

Me: Mormons do fantastic things too

Me: sure, go ahead

A: It’s very simple, but give me a minute to type it

Me: ok

A: All you have to do is believe Jesus Christ is God’s son, and that He died for your sins. Admit to God that you’re a sinner, and ask His forgiveness for your sins. Then ask the Father to come into your heart and be your Savior, to rule over your life.

A: That’s what a true Christian is. It’s not simply a good person, it’s someone with Christ living in their hearts

Me: how do you know that’s not the same for Mormons? My friend said that Mormon is another branch of Christianity. The people I’ve talked to believe in the same things I do, I don’t even find a difference between Mormon and what I am.

Me: what about us people who are pretty confused about Jesus?

Me: I mean people use God and Christ in the same sentence as the same person, I don’t understand that

A: Mormons do not have God as their personal Savior. He doesn’t live in their hearts and lives. If you’re confused about Jesus I’d be happy to explain whatever question you have to the best of my ability

Me: how do you know that?

Me: I’ll just have to read the entire New testament. In fact, I’d better read the whole Bible…

A: Yeah, you can do that. But you could also talk to someone, such as a youth pastor or something

A: Even my Bible teacher would be more than happy to have some kind of email correspondence if you’d like me to set that up

Me: well, I don’t really know the people at my church. I don’t know who the youth pastor is and that would be pretty weird with my family

Me: Well, I don’t know what I’m finding so confusing, that’s the problem

A: it’s less intimidating than sitting one-on-one with a guy you’ve never met, if you want to email my Bible teacher

A: You find the Trinity confusing, don’t you?

Me: the Trinity? Well, yes

Me: sometimes the whole religion thing confuses me.

A: Nobody can fully grasp the idea of One God but three persons within that God. But I strongly encourage you to research it and find out some truth for yourself

Me: Well, I can try. I think the Bible is the plainest source I can go to

Me: it’s pretty much laid out for me, I just have to read it sometime

A: you’re already on the right path. :o)

Me: well, gee, that’s encouraging.

A: was that sarcastic?

Me: I just want to find out what’s so different with Mormons

Me: half and half

A: I don’t know all that much about Mormons either. I can try to find out for you, if you’d like?

Me: Every Mormon I have ever met is respectful and smart and nice, so what makes them half as bad as people think?

Me: well, I’ve got friends I can talk to I guess

Me: One already can’t explain it to me

A: They are wonderful people, I’ll agree. I’m not saying at all that they’re bad people

Me: okay, so what makes them so different?

Me: nevermind, I guess I can find that out

A: There is only ONE way to heaven, Jesus Christ. That’s what makes them different

A: I’ll find out more for you if I can

Me: But they do believe in Jesus Christ. And what about God?

A: what about God?

Me: yes, what about God?

A: I don’t see what your question is about God

Me: well, what if you’re a firm believer in God. Is that your ticket to heaven?

A: No. That’s part of it, but you also have to actually ask Him into your life, give your life to Him. You know what I mean when I say ask Him into your heart?

Me: I’ve done that.

Me: I know what you mean.

Me: My life has been handed over for quite some time.

A: I’m so glad to hear it. So why would you want to switch religions??

Me: It’s not a switch, and I don’t want to. It’s just what I believe isn’t really one firm religion. I’m not sure.

Me: I guess you’d call it Christian

A: How often do you pray?

Me: And Mormons say they are Christian, sort of

Me: almost 24/7. Lol, I don’t know, a lot

A: Do you enjoy praying?

Me: absolutely. It’s 24-hour guidance without making a 1-800 call

A: I agree. It’s so great to unload all your problems to a non-judgemental “Friend”

Me: uh huh. So what are you getting at?

A: Do you ever read the Bible?

Me: um, not as often as I should. I barely ever do

A: I’m just saying to grow as a Christian, to really enjoy your faith and not waver around, you need to pray all the time and spend time reading His word and listening. That’s going to get you firm roots in Christianity

A: As well as surrounding yourself with Christian friends

Me: so I can’t have Mormon friends?

Me: I don’t think that’s possible.

A: I’m not saying that at all! Please do have friends of every religion!

A: It gives you a tremendous opportunity to witness to them, to give them the light of Jesus in their lives!

Me: There aren’t as many Christian people at Liberty, not as many as you’d think there would be

A: wouldn’t your life be dark and completely meaningless without God?

Me: what if they already have that light

Me: yeah

A: wouldn’t you want a solid Christian person to befriend you?

Me: well, I don’t think I’ll ever find that perfect solid person. You’re about as close as it gets

A: No other religion has that personal Savior, the personal contact and friend. And I guess I’ll take that last comment as a compliment.

A: :o)

Me: I think they do have that same personal contact.

Me: yes, that was a compliment I suppose

A: No, they don’t. They don’t have the guarantee of eternal life.

Me: They had a closing prayer at the dance, and they said exactly what I would have, so it sure sems like they have the same contact.

Me: that’s what I don’t understand.

A: it may appear that way. But in reality, they haven’t asked God to be their personal God and Savior.

Me: I don’t know about that.

A: anyone can pray, but other religions are not true Christians

Me: why would anyone bother praying if they weren’t praying to someone? I think a lot of religions have the same idea

A: The same idea, yes, but not the reassurance of promised eternal life. A lot of religions do believe in God, but they’re not saved, or born again.

Me: if they believe in God, and they’ve given their lives to him, aren’t they saved?

A: If they’ve asked to be forgiven for their sins and He has entered their hearts, yes. But you can’t tell if someone has actually done that. It’s between them and God.

Me: so can’t a Mormon or whatever do that?

Me: and what about Jews? Wait, I’m not about to get into another religion.

A: I’m sure they could become real Christians, but if they were they’d realize they only need the Bible, and they’d also realize their other beliefs aren’t true.

Me: Well, do you believe your history books?

A: Jews get more complicated. What do you mean by that?

Me: and what people tell you about the past? How do you know it’s not just another book like any other book you’ve read

Me: well, I started off with Mormons, and this is a very long intricate conversation. It would get even more confusing if I threw in another subject.

Me: You know what, I don’t know what the Book of Mormon says, so I don’t know

A: no kidding. I’m not an expert on the Mormon religion, but I’ll find out for you

M: I can find out, but thanks. This is sort of my own confusing problem

[. . . we go on talking about my mother leaving/doing missionary work for a while]

Me: my dad just walked in, he’s hounding me to do chores all day. Sigh…

A: Sorry to end the conversation. I’ve enjoyed it. Hope we can do it again sometime.

M: Well, yes, same to you

A: Talk to you later, then?

Me: yeah, I’ll see ya later!

A: Bye, Liz! :o)

25 Reasons Why Working from Home is Awesome

1. My bathroom doesn't have stalls.
2. The refrigerator is within 10 yards of my reach.
3. The sun shines through windows in the living room.
4. The sun shines through windows in the bedroom.
5. The sun shines through windows in the kitchen.
6. I can call my friends and family whenever I'd like.
7. I can choose how much work I do and when.
8. I can Gchat at leisure.
9. I can watch High School Musical while I work.
10. I can take breaks whenever I want.
11. I can go out whenever I want.
12. I can go to the monthly Relief Society Ladies' Luncheon.
13. I can participate in local art shows, lectures, readings, recitals, and other mid-day activities.
14. I can babysit and work at the same time.
15. I can do more freelancing, like designing Jed's business card and Jack-the-Ripper-musical-type demos.
16. I can teach more music lessons--guitar, bass, clarinet, whatev!
17. I don't have to rush out the door in the morning with wet hair and the bed unmade.
18. I can work on my own projects.
19. I can read books during the day without a fifteen minute time limit.
20. I can be my own boss.
21. I can go to the gym during the day.
22. I have time to make dinner.
23. I can go on midday walks to the park.
24. I can blog whenever I want.
25. I can be myself all day long.

My Last Day

The desk is clean.
There were sweets at my going away party.
The exit interview was a sheet of paper.
I signed it.
I clocked out.

And I am gone.

Newsflash! Sam Lands a Job!

It's official. After two rounds of interviews and a flyout, Sam received and accepted a job offer in [drumroll, please] . . .

. . . Portland, Oregon!

We shall report for duty on August 31st!

The Details
Sam will be working for a company called Stockamp, which was recently bought out by Huron Consulting. Stockamp consults with hospitals to improve their revenue cyle (helps them make more money). There are around 400 consultants throughout the United States working on-site at the hospital locations. There are also a little over 100 "Product Analysts" (what Sam will be doing) who support the consultants and hospitals in making the software tools used in their analysis work for them.

The company is in a city just south of Portland called Lake Oswego, also the home of the Portland LDS temple.

Many congratulations to Sam, the No. 1 Husband Ever!

I'm honored and excited to go along for the ride. I hear there's a good music scene in the Northwest, and I've wanted to move in that direction for a long time, so this is really exciting.

And it is _____ [insert very positive adj.] to have a future. Together, especially.

Why the Gnome

Growing up, I took bass lessons from Joe, the principle bassist and librarian for the Colorado Springs Philharmonic. Joe is like 6'7” and is old. His Scottish wife is very short, and her Dundee accent is so thick it took me a while to understand what she was saying. Joe and Moira lived and still live in downtown Colorado Springs with Cakes, the now-deceased cat with cataracts, and several garden gnomes named after Utah Jazz players.

I still swing by Joe and Moira's house every time I'm in Colorado, and I can tell they're still there even if no one's home because their gnome, my gnome's brother, is on the porch swing. Even when I don't visit any other friends from home, I like to go see Joe and Moira because they're different in the best way—they're very real, and humble, and even Misteereeous, and I feel so attracted to them as people.

Joe and I had some great experiences together and may have talked more during lessons than played music. Even into my junior or senior year, I told my teachers I wasn't interested in going to college, but Joe went to college and is a musician and is really cool, so . . . he helped me prepare for auditions. Although—he didn't exactly persuade me to go the starving-musician route. “Are you sure you want to do this,” he'd say. My senior year was the year the Colorado Springs Symphony went bankrupt and had an overhaul in administration. But I still decided to go to music school. It was something to do.

Not that I've been obsessed with music my whole life, but sometimes you end up just doing things you're relatively good at just because you have a knack for it, but not necessarily because you're especially crazy about it. That's how music is for me—just a natural part of my life, like the necessity to brush your teeth or sleep. I don't rave about brushing my teeth or sleeping (well, I do rave about sleeping sometimes), but they're things I like to do and that bring me comfort.

Anyway, when I graduated from high school, Moira, Joe's Scottish wife, gave me one of their garden gnomes. I've always cherished this gnome as one of the most wonderful gifts I've ever received because I love Joe and Moira so much. Moira just knew it was something I would really like, and I really did. I really do.

Not everyone can tell what you really like or what you are really like in that way. I like being friends with people who have an eye for that sort of thing, and I want to be that kind of person myself.

The ability to see people as they are.
Faults and all.
Beautiful packages of flesh and spirit.

So . . . I guess that's why I like gnomes. Little people who watch the garden and see.

Why I Quit

I think I left a bit of a cliffhanger as far as the whole putting-in-my-two-weeks-and-leaving-my-job thing goes.

It was halfway a whimsical decision, but at the same time, I've been looking for other opportunities for several months for a number of reasons. I don't want to publicly denounce my employer; my decision to leave the office was based more on my personal values and the vision of what I hope to accomplish in my life . . . and the fact that there is, literally, no sunshine in this facility. I can't seem to dismiss the fact that I'm working in a recovered bowling alley—in the most endearing way.

I think I'm an artist at heart, one of your mostly left-brained/creative kind of people. So it's been almost torturous for me to sit still at a desk in an office in a gray box with no windows doing the same kind of task over and over again with limited communication with my coworkers or the outside world. I've been mostly editing instead of writing web content, and over time, the balance of editing vs. writing has not been in writing's favor.

As some of you know, I worked at McDonald's over the summer as sort of an ethnological study, and I wrote a little bit about it. It's funny that the pros and cons of working at McDonald's haven't much differed from the pros and cons of working in this particular office—at least for me. Okay, so my feet don't hurt, and people aren't as rude to me.

But the nature of my work is similar in so many ways. It's about production, numbers, and getting through as many edits during the day as possible. Short lunch, short breaks, and lots of menial tasks. My hourly wage (not including bonuses/commission, thankfully) was actually only $0.30 more than my minimum wage at McDonald's in California—is that wild?

So I'm demoting myself. I'm going outsource to write for the company on contract. I guess technically I'm not quitting the company completely, but officially I am to become a contracted writer. One of many things for which I am particularly grateful to my current employer is that they're extending me the opportunity to work outsource. It's much harder to make your way in from an outsource position than to go outsource from within.

So I'll be working for the company from home. I'll be my own boss—yes! I can write from home or from a grassy knoll or from Hawaii or Timbuktu and pick up as many accounts as I'm up to, and pursue other creative ventures—like writing my own projects/books (cross your fingers), picking up more music students and the occasional session gig, and preparing for my first EVER bass recital at the end of the summer—if I don't chicken out (also cross your fingers, and your neighbors' fingers, and your friends' fingers).

I'm just not the type to work for the Man—at least not now. I need some sense of freedom balanced with the appropriate amount of work so that when those ideas come, I have a little leeway and time to work with them.

So here are my plans:

• SEE the sun.
• Write, by George, write!
• Freelance as an outsource writer for this company
• Find more students and teach music lessons
• Brush up on the guitar and get ready to busk at the SLC Farmer's Market
• Prepare for my very first classical bass recital
• Do what I love . . . and not worry so much about the money.

In times like these, with the economics the way they are, I know it may seem crazy to quit my job and pursue a life as an artist/musician/writer. But if it's a question of being true to myself, I'd rather take a pay cut doing something I feel passionate about than selling my soul for precisely 8 hours per day doing something that feels like the belittlement of what I have to offer the world. Life is too short to spend so many hours and days and years doing things that don't ring true with you.

I am young. I continue my discovery.

So that's it. This Friday is my last day. And then I'm free. So if you need a good meal, a friend to talk to, a babysitter, a story, a painting, a song, or walk in the woods—just give me a buzz, because I'm going to have time for you now.

Today's Happy Gift

The updates and design departments took orders today for desktop backgrounds, and this is what I got:
Little gnomes! My monitors will bring that much more joy into my life for one more week.

Cheers to the first day of spring! What what!

The Ideal Home

About 100 yards down the river from settlement No. 1 is a TOTALLY conspicuous neighboring camp. I'm pretty sure they moved in as winter phased out because I'm pretty sure I would have noticed before. And speaking of men (not homeless men, I guess—those are some pretty sturdy-looking tarp structures) living on the river, I'm thinking, what will my ideal settlement be?

What do I want? What do you want?

Here's what I want:

Just kidding. Sam will have a heart attack. This is actually Castle Howard in North Yorkshire, England—it is beautiful. When I went there, I ran through the woods and frolicked through the fields, and it was divine. But . . . that's a little too high maintenance. Give me a field without the castle, and I'll be very happy.

However, I know Sam and I won't be in our apartment forever, so . . . I'm taking a few minutes to ponder on the specs of my ideal living space. For me, it would include at least the following:

• Peace and happiness

• A large, clean bathtub with a functional drain

• Our awesome Cal King bed . . . but with the headboard we want to build and carve ourselves.

• At least 3 stairs (single stairs—not staircases, necessarily); these could be on the front porch.

• Painted walls . . . in various colors

• Large windows with flowy, white, sheer curtains, especially on the east and west fronts

• The baby grand (I'm inheriting my mom's piano that no one plays . . . when there's a home to put it in.)

• Soft, bare-foot-friendly carpet

• A pretty area rug

• Trees, flowers, and a large garden—especially for tomatoes

• Maybe a dog and a cat. Maybe even a pug. (This is a new development—liking dogs. It may have something to do with an improved perspective on the world, including the notion that proactive happiness is allowed. Or it could be that Sam's parents' new pug puppy is really, really cute and fun and awesome. Dogs are actively happy and naturally entertaining. You've got to give them credit. Cats are passive, sleepy, and sometimes depressed. For me, I think both would suit my variant moods.)

• A woodshop and art studio: a place to paint, make garden gnomes, and work on antique furniture

• Tunnels, lofts, large cushions, murals, ladders, and maybe a little pool with fish for the only the most adventurous kingdom for the children

• A library

• Original art

• A healthy rose or dalia bush

• Many, many guests and friends continually flowing in and out

Variable factors which I don't really care about right now, or simply don't know:

• The size or age of this home

• The exact location of this home

• The number of people who will live in this home

• The weather

So . . . what does contribute to the ideal home?

The Man from Provo River

I ate lunch out by the river. That is, if a banana and my 19th, 20th, and 21st chocolate chip cookie within the past twelve hours counts as lunch. I feel like eating iceberg lettuce with lemon juice for the next 12 days—that is, if that tasted like cookies but didn't make me feel sick.

As I brought my water bottle to my lips, I looked up to see a face through the trees mirroring me, drinking from a bottle. I could barely make out the face in the brush.

There is someone living across the river. I noticed a couple weeks ago as I was walking that through some of the thick brush between the east bank and the chain link fence behind the the storage compound is a little settlement. You can see the blue tarp and some wooden structures—maybe a cot, and on occasion, a duck pecking around, and even, on occasion, the being that lives there.

You really wouldn't notice this residence with all the trash around the river—I forgot about it between two weeks ago and today until that man (is it a man?) was drinking at the same time I was. This is the introduction to my imaginary conversation with this man:

“Yoo-hoo! You there! Are you living on the river?”

“Doesn't everyone?” he would say, wisdom seeping from the gaps in his smile.

“The Walden type, eh?” I'd reply.

“Have you met my duck?” he'd call back.

“Oh, no actually.”

“His name is Martha. Martha Stewart.”

“Martha Stewart is a man?” I'd say.

“Isn't everyone?” he'd reply.

I decided not to start this conversation today because it's something I would want much more than a half-hour lunch break to delve into. Hence, another reason working for the man doesn't suit me. No time to talk to the man across the river.

I know he must have so much to say.

And . . done.

I put in my two weeks.

I think I'm going to do it.

Summer is coming, and I don't want to miss it. I refuse to miss it.

I feel a life change coming on.

These walls can't hold me in any longer . . .

Sam is Asleep

Sam is asleep. I am awake. This is usually the case.

The more people that read my blog, the more excited I get, but the more tentative I feel about writing what I really think. I keep up my honesty policy pretty well in my personal writing, but sometimes I censor myself on this space. Honesty can create enemies . . . It's like in Harriet the Spy when Marrian Hawthorne get's Harriet's journal and reads it to everyone in the park, and then everyone hates Harriet--it's absolute chaos--the paint, the notes, the bra on the flag pole. (P.S. Harriet the Spy has been my favorite movie for years.)

I have so much I want to be honest about, but there are people watching and . . . it's a frightening thing, to tell the truth.

You can interpret that last line in two or more ways.

At the same time, my mind is vacant. Right now, I would rather talk to someone in person that talk to myself online. But . . . Sam is asleep. So I guess I'll sleep too. Maybe I'll run into him in my subconscious. That sounds nice.

lizlambson.com

My husband, Sam, bought me a present this week. He bought me my own URL.

Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip . . . hooray!

Watch this. If you click on this link (lizlambson.com) it will take you right back here. Amazing.

Oh, the possibilities, the places we will go.
My little URL and I, we gotta keep the flow.
Will it be a blog forever?
Will it be an online store?
Will it be a long newsletter . . . or an epileptic bore?

But I do have this idea for an online store. I want to make customized, felt voodoo dolls. You can pick the outfit, hair color, etc., and even what color pins you want. It could really take off.

But really, really, I hope that someday lizlambson.com will be a place for all my books to be. The ones I want to write. I think it'll happen.

Karl G. Maeser and the Noodle of Honor

WARNING: This is really, really dumb story.

Thirteen-year-old Karl stood in front of his mirror, shirt off, admiring his lack of muscular build. “One more day,” he said to himself, “Just one more day to carbo-load.” Tomorrow was the track meet of a lifetime. He'd be doing hurdles—he was never very good at hurdles. But he knew he had to win—Heloise would be there, and he just had to impress her. Morp was coming up, and he thought if he won, she might—just might—ask him to go.

Karl had been eating spaghetti for the past three days for every meal, and tonight was his last chance to beef up before the big day. As he sat in front of his bowl of Western Family noodles and generic tomato puree sauce, he looked down into his dish and noticed it was wiggling a little bit.

His noodles were moving.

Backing away from the table, worried it might be a beetle or something, Karl froze as he saw the end of a spaghetti noodle, pink with tomato juice, peek over the edge of his bowl.

“Hello, Karl,” it said.

The noodle began rising out of the bowl like a charmed snake, curving and waving toward the ceiling. This was no bowl of noodles, Karl realized. This was a bowl of noodle. One noodle. And it was coming towards him.

Karl lept from his chair and ran towards the door, but it was locked from the inside. He ran to another door—every door in the room was closed and locked! He was stuck in the kitchen with a very long noodle that was slithering towards him across the floor, leaving a trail of Western Family parmesan cheese crumbs and bits of tomato across the tile.

Frozen in the middle of the room, Karl watched the long noodle form a circle around him.

“Ha ha ha,” said the noodle.

“What do you want from me!” Karl cried. “Anything! I'll do anything!”

The noodle was staring him down.

“Give me your word of honor that you will never leave this circle,” said the noodle. “And Heloise is yours.”

Karl really did want Heloise—there was no question about it. After about two seconds of thought, Karl nodded his head and sat down on the floor.

Minutes passed. Hours. He stayed there all night. And the next day, at 2:47pm, Karl couldn't take it anymore. He was starving, and the track meet was in 13 minutes. It looked like the noodle was asleep.

He just couldn't control his appetite.

“I just can't take it anymore!” he yelled, and just as the noodle whipped up it's stringy head, Karl grabbed the noodle and started slurping into his mouth. He wasn't going to miss this track meet—nor the opportunity for a last minute carbo-load. Swallowing the last bit of the noodle, Karl ran to the door and found it unlocked. Free! He sprinted out the door and bolted to the track.

In the end, Karl didn't keep his word of honor. His team lost at the track meet. And Heloise, who asked him to Morp, ended up dumping him for a guitar player.

It would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The End

From Silt to Sandstone & Sand to Glass

The Thought Conceived by Today

This was my second day since winter walking out by the river on my break, and I can't seem to get enough. I told my boss I was losing my will to live, and was there anything I could do for work outside? I've been very blue in the office this past week. I used to work for a magazine, I said, and I could go outside and write and work on articles in the sun. He couldn't think of anything I could do outside, so he said I could take an extra break.

I miss school. I used to have the power to skip class and lie in the sun, but now I feel subject to Big Brother. I don't know how much I like working full time—can't I tend a garden or talk to people all day? Did I choose the wrong career field? Is this even my career? What is a career anyway? Can I just be a professional me?

Sam and I watched all three High School Musicals in the last three days, and . . . I loved them. But, the effect they had on me was unexpected—I just cried myself to sleep last night because I don't want to grow up!

I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up I don't want to grow up!

I want to be young and have fun forever! I don't want to work. I want summer vacation! Maybe I'm just spoiled. I think I have growing pains, and the winter blues. I felt like I was melting outside.

So this is the thought conceived by today: Do people thaw like the earth does?

When a person goes through a winter or a season where their soul either dies or hibernates, does the ice melt down to the bare surface and the grass grow again? Or are we just the ice, melting down to nothing and building up again? Or are we the grass, drying up, taking root, and growing again? Or are we the earth—unchanging bedrock that ages and slowly presses from silt to sandstone and from sand to glass?

Or are we everything?

There's nothing like . . .

. . . a little 2Pac "Changes" on a Monday afternoon.

The Chair by the River

There are no windows where I work. There is no weather, no sun, no shrubbery, no indication of time or season. This building used to be a bowling alley—the lanes are still here behind my desk, marked with caution tape lines where the floor is uneven and covered with industrial carpet. I sit in one of many cubicles sprawled across one large room.

There is no sense of the outside world.

One of the pleasures I enjoyed when I first started working here was to go outside during my breaks, and during lunch and walk by the river or to the park. We're right by a trail on the Provo River, so I would sit by the river to eat. Off the path at one point, you could climb down the rocks, and by a tree there was a folding camp chair with writing on the back. It said something like, “Please don't take this chair. It's for everyone. Sit and rest your feet, and share the pleasure.” Something like that. And a pregnant woman had written on it too saying she was so grateful for the chair—she found it on a day when she really needed to rest her feet, just like it says. What a simple pleasure. One of those little things.

Today was the first day I've gone outside to walk on the path since winter “happened,” and I went to look for the chair by the river, but it wasn't there—or at least it wasn't where I thought it was. It was a little blue thing in my day. One of those little things.

There are little things that make your day, and there are little blue things that also make your day . . . a little blue. Like the other day, I realized that recently, when I park my car, I go to turn my lights off, even if they aren't on. You know why? Because since winter “happened,” I left for work in the dark, and I came home when in the dark, and in between I never saw daylight from my window-less workspace. That's a little blue thing.

I am so happy for spring to come. Just when I get used to the winter blues, spring surprises me. It's the best present every year—I look forward to it until I forget that spring even exists, and that's why it always surprises me. Winter never lasts forever.