Hal or you weening?

I didn't realize it was Halloween this morning. I didn't realize much this morning actually. The pedal fell off of my bike while riding it to work on Friday (a story in and of itself) and so I am walking to campus until I can get it fixed. So when I was walking to campus in the pitch darkness I didn't really think much about the holiday, but more about being ambushed in the twilight hours.

I like Halloween though, because you get to see all sorts of fun costumes around campus, giant Bananas searching for their monkey, the testing center gone completely Harry Potter, random dance parties in front of the JFSB and, my favorite, the sexy saxophone man:



I also have my own sexy something man, I realized though while looking through some of the costumes we've donned that he seems to have a favorite pose.

We're just links in the chain or The Missionary Countdown

Excerpt from my missionary collection of "Rebecca's Observations"

It started out as a joke. I suppose some of the longest lived traditions had similar beginnings.
The multi-colored chain links seemed to span eternity in the significance of each paper folded piece and it was a constant reminder of just how much time I had left until I would return back to my home, my family, my life filled with non-Korean, non-missionary like tasks.

But yet as each chain link is broken it provides a reminder of just how tangible time is, how short even the longest second is and how it goes

moving always consistently

stampeding, crawling, rushing,

unfeeling, regardless of our

desires to change, it is

immovable in its flippancy.

The links between now and my future fate. The cord connecting now with what has gone before and the eternal potential of tomorrow.
              And it's an ethereal reality- a dream waiting to be lived since childhood which came all too quickly and what  you thought was standing on your doorstep is now walking around your house, remodeling, re-painting, tearing out cupboards, cleaning out closets and you know it will leave before you are ready.
It seems all too much like a dream to be real, but the pinches and pokes, jabs, sneers, rejection, and tears let you know you're awake. And then one day you really wake up and there are no more links in the chain, it's over, and your time is up.

Time to start all over.

Bike me back to San Francisco

I've been working on the Provo Bike Committee for the past little while, and I really love it. I love bikes. I love a sense of community. I love meetings. What could be better? Anna and I helped to sell neat water bottles with bikes on them at an outdoor concert. And I decided to start a bike education class, which will be GREAT. Or so is my hope. I have to get more information together and finally put together my power point, figure out who my audience is, and other such things.

In honor of bikes I decided to record some of my favorite biking memories.

As easy as ABC, 123

You might think with such an avid love of riding bikes that I learned early in life, but to be honest, I never honestly rode by myself until I was about 12. We had lots of bikes at our house, there was no shortage on rusty bikes, mostly provided by my Grandpa who would collect them from junk heaps and store them in the garage for years with a firm resolve to get around to fixing them one day. Eventually they would fall behind on his never ending list of projects and be buried by dust and good intentions. 

But as far as working bikes were concerned, they were limited and almost always occupied by an older sibling. Considering all my friends were either across the street or too far away to even think of getting there on anything not motorized, I never had much motivation to learn. One day though I was invited to go on a bike ride with some friends and I was so embarrassed to admit my ignorance that I decided to learn.

So I approached my grandpa and asked him for a bike and lessons. He willingly agreed and explained how to mount, how to balance, and the basics of peddling. Or as much as one can explain it without using words so much as stories of his childhood. And then we were off.

My neighborhood in Kentucky is known for it's home-town feeling, quaint accents, and beautiful rolling hills-- the last of these became terrifying to my ten year old self looking down them from my bike seat. However, with my grandpa by my side and his comforting hand the back of my bike seat to guide me, I faced it with courage. One thing you should probably know about my grandpa, though, is that he is not fast. So after the first couple of steps he let go of my seat and I went careening down the hill. 

The wind in my hair, the free fall feeling in my stomach, it was pure freedom. I closed my eyes and for a split second I could feel that this was where I belonged in life. Then I opened my eyes to the fast approaching base of the hill, the cross roads with an approaching car, and I realized I had missed a quintessential part of my training-- how to stop. I quickly veered into one of the deep ditches next to the road and came to an abrupt stop that included a stylish dismount over my handlebars and crumpling into a heap face first.

A few minutes later my grandpa came huffing and puffing up to me and apologized for letting me go. He related a story about his first (and last) time riding a motor bike and how after his accident he had sworn to never ride another one. He assured me that I could do the same if I wanted to and I wouldn't have to feel bad about never touching another bike again.

Thankfully, I discarded this loving advice and just learned how to use the brakes.

I'

Tri- a little harder

I'm not sure what happened actually.

If you would have asked me a year ago if I would ever run a race of any kind, I probably would have just laughed. I'm just not that kind of gal. I don't run. I don't race. I don't pay do things that I can easily do for free (like put on shoes or ride a bike).

While I was in Korea though I realized something: I can do hard things. I remember feeling this when I would wake up in the morning and wish more than anything to go home, to go back to the United States and back to the people and things that I knew and loved. I wanted so badly for things to be easy again, to fit in and to not just struggle and make it through the day, but to do things that I knew I could do well. I would pray every morning for the energy and the faith to get through another day. I could never look farther than that.

"Dear Heavenly Father," I'd plead, "help me to get through the day. I promise I will do the best I can today, but just send me home tomorrow."

And then about half way through I realized that I could do it. I looked back at all the days that had gone by and realized that there were fewer in front than behind. I realized that I had made it to the top of my mountain and the rest was possible.

I can do hard things.

This has become my mantra in life. I bike to and from work most days and every time I have this horrible hill to get over. It wouldn't be so bad if I had a bike that works and could actually climb any sort of an incline without breaking out of gear and causing my chain to jump. However, since I don't right now, I just grit my teeth, pedal a little harder, and mutter "I can do hard things, I can do hard things."

And that's how it started.

I began to start running in my seventh transfer, early last summer when I first was companions with Lee Kyung Ran. I remember that she would struggle out of bed every morning, not because she wanted to, but just because she wanted to be obedient. I didn't tell her that this was actually the first time I ran every morning with my companion. Every day I would set a new goal, one more lap, slightly faster, fewer stops, and on and on it went. Even in the winter we would wake up and watch as the warm air from our lungs would illuminate our path.

One of our investigators ran marathons. We went running with her and her parents one evening and I realized that although it was still beyong my capacity, it was not beyond my dreams. I could dream and plan and I could do it. So as soon as I got home I started my training schedule and in a little more than a month I have a marathon planned.

I was told though that more enjoyable than marathons are triathalons. So when I heard abou the free one happening this Saturday I immeadiately went online and signed up me and my younger brother and sister. And I did it. I even swam the entire 24 laps without a break and without getting water up my nose (a first in my life).

How does it feel?

Refreshing.

Removing the subtitles

We all love the commentary, the sarcasm, the one who adds flavor and meaning and their own spin to things. I think that's why we love the news. We could get the same information in a much less flashy, must less biased manner, but then it wouldn't be news. Instead it would just be congress, talking of another bill, another imperfect man doing his best to lead a country, crimes from a moment of passion instead of the crime of a century.

But I've been trying to improve my language abilities, so I've decided to go without subtitles. At first it was confusing and I wondered if I was really catching everything. Could I really understand everything? Didn't I need other people to interpret and scrutinize? It requires a little more concentration, a little more astuteness, but once you don't have to watch the words you can begin to watch their faces. You pick up the subtle nuances of voice inflection, the turn of a head, you can begin to see if for yourself instead of through a lens.

So I decided to put it to the test, not only would it be for my Korean dramas, but I'd try it in real life. Not put words in people's mouths, not spend my time figuring out what I wanted them to be or mean or say. Instead I would spend less time analyzing and more time observing. More time really listening instead of mentally summarizing and compartmentalizing.

And although I can't say I'm a native, I'm definitely more fluent.

What I think about biking in the rain and falling and scrapping my arm

Popular Mechanics for Lovers

It's one of those books.

You know. The kind that you don't need. The one that you have so thoroughly mastered that you don't even have interest in it. The title is intriguing, but certainly not something that you would bother with, unless...


She is one of my best friends and the library is free, so I checked it out. I'll give it a quick look over at least.

And the more pages that I read the more I feel the desire to change. The desire to fix myself before trying to find the one who is out there waiting for me. I'm not a mess. But I'm not perfect either. And so I continue reading, mesmerized by the truthfulness of every page and the encouraged by the thought that maybe, somewhere out there, my soul mate is waiting for me. Waiting for me to realize it.