I already know.

Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way i ought to go from here?

Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.

Alice: I don't much care where.

Cat: Then it doesn't matter much which way you go.

At church today I felt particularly inspired. There were two talks about journeys and paths in life and making decisions and reaching our goals. Someone mentioned the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and it really got me to thinking and wondering and doing some pretty serious self evaluation and reflection. 

I decided which way I wanted to go in life long before I came to Earth. I believe that I (when I say I, I don't mean that I believe only I existed) lived before I was physically born, that there's a pre-existence. And I believe that in this pre-existance, I chose a plan. A part of this plan was coming to Earth and having experiences in a physical body that would help my spirit to learn, to progress. Another part of this plan was that if I made good choices in my life, if I respected my body and lived the way God wanted me to that one day, after I'd done all that I can I'd be able to be saved by his grace and I'd be able to return to him, my Heavenly Father. 

That means that I can't live my life like Alice did. It matters very much which paths I choose in life because I already know exactly where it is that I want to go. 

That's not to say that I don't have any freedom to choose, because I absolutely do. Having free agency is a fundamental Mormon belief. But it's the freedom to make the right choices. To choose good over bad. To choose right over wrong. To choose happiness over misery. 

I'm not perfect, I don't always get it right, and my choices aren't always the best. My perspective can sometimes get a little blurred. But I'm realistic, I'm only human. But despite that I know where I want to go and I'm going to do my outright best to make sure that I get there. 

The wedges of DOOM.

As a Mormon, I try to hear the Holy Ghost speaking to my soul. To let me know what God's will is for me and to help me make decisions and choose the right. I try to live so that I can feel the impressions of the Holy Ghost touching my heart at all times. But with some things in life, some inconsequential things, I can just rely on my own mind. Like whether to have pizza or pasta for tea. Or whether to wear pumps or boots. These kinds of things don't matter much. 


So as a Mormon, I believe that all things happen for a reason. I'm not sure if I would call this belief fate, or something else. Either way, today, fate (or whatever I decide to call it) stepped in. 


There are some beautiful shoes that I've had my eye on for a while now. Black, suede, wedges, peep toe, bargin. Beautiful. I saw them while I saw shopping last week. They didn't have my size. I tried to squeeze my feet into the next size down, but it looked ridiculous. Seriously. My toes peeped out of the peep toe a little bit too much. They didn't even have my size in the stock room. So I shed a little mental tear and moved on. 


A few days later I was in the shopping centre looking for something with Mr.K, so I went for a quick look to see if they had my size in yet. No luck, no joy, no nothing. 


So imagine my ecstasy when I go into the shop today and they have my size. They have the beautiful shoes in my glorious size. So I whip off my right shoe & sock and very enthusiastically shove my foot in. It fits perfectly and I mentally decide that the shoes are as good as mine. So balancing on one foot I take off my other shoe and start to pull off my other sock. Remember that I'm balancing on one foot. One foot that is inside quite a high wedge. I pull my sock a little more ruthlessly and wobble a little. I try to counterbalance myself and reach out for the shelf of shoes next me. Actually, I reach very dramatically and completely roll over on my ankle. As I fall I little helpless yelp escapes me lips and pull off at least three pairs of shoes from the shelf. I land, whimpering on the floor over my poor, hurting ankle. People rush around me and ask if I'm ok. I say that I'm fine, but I'm not. It hurts and I'm embarrassed. 


After a few friendly offers to help me up, which my bruised pride makes me decline, I haul myself up and onto a chair. I call Mr.K, who's in a different shop to ask him to come and get me. The sound of his caring voice makes me feel even more sorry for myself and brings a few tears to me eyes, so I hunch over my knees and slowly put my socks back on whilst I try to hide and wipe my tears. My ankle really hurts. I've never broken any bones or been in hospital before, so I pray that my bones are still as they should be. I try to hold it together and wait for Mr.K.


He arrives a few minutes later, with his sister Emily and worry in his eyes. As soon as I see him I just start to cry. Like a little girl. But silently. I don't like to publicly show any negative emotion, so this is embarrassing for me. Very embarrassing. I cry silently, but my tears are obvious. I'm aware of other shoppers looking at me and this makes me desperately want to stop crying, but actually it just makes me cry more. 


A few hours and some more tears later and I'm at home, on the sofa with my leg raised, a wheat bag, some chocolate and Emily, who makes me feel better because she makes my laugh. My ankle still hurts. Without sounding like a Drama Queen, it's probably the most physical pain that I've ever felt. But my bruised pride has healed now though.


Incase you were wondering, I didn't buy the shoes. 

Happy with my choices

15 year old self.

It's year nine, I'm fourteen years old and it's January. It's my friend's birthday party and it's a sleepover, but I'm not sleeping over because it's a Saturday night and I'm going to church the next morning. And that's the whole point. I'm not sleeping over because I'm going to church in the morning. And I'm happy with that choice. But it's not widely understood by my friends at the party. They don't understand why I can't just miss one Sunday.


---


It's the same night. Same age, same party, same friends. Everyone is drinking a brightly coloured, sweet smelling alco-pop. I'm not. Even though "if you just drink this last mouthful there's not even that much alcohol in it!" They're my friends so they all know that I don't drink, but I've explained it again anyway. I'm happy that I've stuck to a choice that I've already made long before the party even started. It's not widely understood by my friends at the party. (But this time most of them don't mind so much because it means that there's a free alco-pop up for grabs.)


---


It's year eleven. I'm fifteen years old, at school in my GCSE history class. We're learning about the American West during the time of the big immigration. Part of the syllabus is the Mormons. ("Does anyone know the proper name of the Mormon church?" "Yes Sir, it's The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." The boy sat next to turns and ask "how the heck do you know that?" "I am one.") The history teacher is great. He tells loads of stories peppered with character voices, hyperbole and dramatics that captivate the class and genuinely make them interested in history. But some of his stories about the early Mormons in the American West aren't quite accurate and aren't quite as respectful as they might have been. The accuracy has nothing to do with the teacher, he only knows what is in the curriculum and he only knows about Mormons from a historical persepective, not a religious perspective. The slightly lacking respect however, was all him. My whole class knows that I'm a Mormon. They ask me questions about what they've been taught in our history class and I gladly answer them and sometimes correct their misunderstandings. Eventually the history teacher is told that I'm a Mormon and he apologises to me. I'm happy with my choice to talk about my faith with some of my classmates, but mostly they don't understand why I believe what I believe and most of them think that I'm a bit strange. 


---


It's my first year of A-levels. I'm sixteen years old and in my second ever psychology class. My class has two teachers and this is the first time that I'm meeting my second teacher. Straight away she is very open about her sexuality and her atheist beliefs. She is very different from any teacher I've ever had before. We call her by her first name and she freely expresses her (extreme) opinions on God and religion. She asks if anyone in the class is religious. I look around. I raise my hand. I am the only one. She hones in on me and pelts me with questions. Are you a Christian? Which church? What do you believe in? Why? I was happy to answer her questions, but I was so aware of everyone staring at me and the slight tone of ridicule in her voice. I was happy to share my beliefs and I intended in time to make everyone in the class aware of them and my church membership. Eventually. But I want them to know me as Becky - the Mormon first, not 'The Mormon - oh, whats her name again?" I'm happy with my choice to raise my hand and answer the teachers questions, to declare my Mormonism to the whole class before I even know all of their names, but these strangers that were my classmates and my teacher didn't really understand my faith or why I believe. 


---


I'm now in my third year of university. I've had more experiences like these, where I've explained to people about my faith, my beliefs, my religion. I'm happy with the choices that I've made to do this, my faith is a large, nay huge, nay massive part of who I am, but sometimes, because of my choices I've singled myself out, drawn a big red arrow above my head that points out that I'm different. And I'm happy with that. 


On Friday I go to France. I'll be there for a month with 11 other girls from my primary education course. I don't know any of these girls especially well and this is the first time that I'll have spent a lot of time with and lived with people that aren't Mormons too. They're nice girls, I know this for sure, so in this coming month I'm sure that I'm going to have many more opportunities to be with happy with choices to explain what being a Mormon is, what I believe and why I believe it. 


Here's to choices that we're happy with. Ching ching. 

MST

Daylight saving time is sometimes pretty sucky. It means that when Mr.K gets up for work in the morning, it's dark. And by the time he gets home from work in the early evening it's dark too. 

Why do we even have daylight savings time anyway? Is it for the farmers? And if it is for the farmers, why don't they just get up an hour later when it gets to the wintery times and keep the time the same for always. That would definitely be helpful to my body clock. It always takes me an absolute age to get used to the clocks being back an hour. It gets annoying when I keep waking up at 6 in the morning instead of regular 7. Who am I kidding. I never get up at 7. (I have to make the most of 1). being a student. It's expected that students sleep late. And 2). not having any kids to wake me up at crazy early hours.)

One thing that I do quite like about time in Britain is that our time is what the rest of the world's time is set against. Like in France its +1, Singapore is +8 and Jamaica is -5. All depending on British GMT. It's good to know that even though Britain (Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves!) doesn't have an empire that is basically half the world anymore, that the whole world still sets it time by us. 

Aside from that little patriotic speech, what I really wanted to talk about (and I don't think that I actually have very much to say about it) is MST. Mormon Standard Time. It's not actually a real time zone or anything official, but it does exist. Oh boy does it exist. Really, it's just because every church activity that is being held in the evening starts at 7:30. Always. I think that there's an unwritten rule. 

MST has another meaning too. Well, not another meaning, it still means Mormon Standard Time. Basically, MST absolutely and completely ingrains itself into most Mormons (note, I say most). And when this happens it means that they are approximately half an hour late for everything. Who knows why it happens. But it does. I might even conduct an experiment....