contined resolutions.

At the beginning of the year I made resolutions--just like everyone else in the world.

I wrote in late December:

For 2014, I want to live more deeply.

I want my foods to be rich in the colors of the earth.

I want to wake early and move my body because it's good for my heart.

I want to be the kind of person and friend who honors commitments, takes the time to make calls, sends emails just because and cards in the mail, and who speaks freely and truly.

I want to have discernment with what's important and let go of what isn't.

And I want to know God better and let others know Him, too.

Almost half of a year has progressed since I compiled that list. In those six months I've questioned myself to search the deep, hidden crannies of my soul. Which in turn has encouraged me to add to the goals that I'd previously committed to.   

Because my life has taken a startling turn.

You see, it'd been rather easy to thrive in Mesa. It was something about the dust, wonky cacti, and the go-go-go of missionary life that clicked for me. I lived in a state of sheer wholeness that I can't put into words. There were, of course, bouts of discouragement that we need not ignore, but I felt completely realized and got used to the wash of daily joy that warmed me each morning. It didn't need encouragement or enticing; it was just there. 

And then I left. And it didn't come with.

The first two weeks home were dim. I was a returned missionary—a missionary that came home early. I was disheartened and reeling, and life felt off. Very off. The needs-no-reason happiness had been ripped away along with purpose and daily structure. What I realized is that I needed to develop intrinsic joy. Environment—surrounding yourself with good—is vital, but generating joy from within is paramount. It's everything because it cannot be taken. I held out by forcing myself to find solace in the little things—the everyday rituals. I fought to find peace. And rode on the wings of hope while searching for it.

Week three approached. It would be seven days for healing—this became my focus. My spiritual efforts increased and became passionate and wholehearted again. I studied and pondered out of desire and not out of wanting to cling to details of the past. I began to gather myself and my focus shifted to cleaning myself of the muck I’d packed inside.

I wrote in my journal, "I can see myself running down a raceway, trying to catch the peace in front of me who’s coaxing me to put her on and wear her like a gold medal. I can see the changes lined up near the finish line and hear them cheering. Cheering for me. And I can feel the hope flowing through my veins encouraging my legs to keep pumping."

The week progressed and I waded through confusion, elation, beginnings, ends, healing, heartbreak, understanding, loneliness, and growth. Not in that order.

But I was so right. Week three changed who I was. It divided my sense of self into a well-defined "before" and "after." Before returning early and after being a missionary. I found myself running at the sight of peace and draping it around my neck, while hope pushed me there. I won the single-person race, and will I ever be the same again? 

In the most terrifically and horribly cliché way, I felt like I found myself in Mesa. At least, I thought I did. And now as I stagger and sweat to again secure my footing, I realize that what I really found was the capability to reach a deeper, more developed level of bliss. There is no finding yourself. There is only building, and fighting, and straightening out. and rising. 

Despite the darkness—perhaps because of it, though—there were many wonderful, fiery moments. They came while on my knees. There I found that every good part of who I am is because of the atonement of Jesus Christ. And what isn't can be changed. I was then able to inhale and exhale in moments that speak mostly of drowning. Not only breathe, but burn. And the burning holds hope.

For the rest of this year, I resolve to love with all the kindness in the world, to be kinder to myself.

I want to develop a deeper, more passionate level of spirituality.

I want to let the space between where I am and where I'm headed inspire me instead of terrify me.

I want to be the kind of person that refuses to judge the life of another, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you're on the right path, but it's another to think that your's is the only one.

I want to inhale and exhale and live instead of drown.

I want to find solace in God first.

xo.pa