What Plane Ride?

Wow, I guess my plane therapy worked, because I do not remember any of the 3 flights we took to get to Nova Scotia! Well, it also could have been the fact I was drugged, we left at 1 AM, and I'd spent the day before exhausting myself via my nerves. I choose, however, to believe it was the magic of this note I made for myself...

                                           

 That's right. There is the cold hard fact of life (get it? Life.) Right there on the seat in front of me. "As long as you can see this... you're alive." Alive through all 3 connections. I only had a chance to order ONE of my precious Ginger Ales, before dozing off, yet again, on the way to New York. I had to make the conscience effort to wake myself up as we flew into my city, because, let's face it, I wasn't about to miss the view :)

Things in airplane world were pretty good this trip! Faith is a thing that works, people.

My Aunt Patsy and I hurried to our hotel where we had a delicious dinner. I ordered the Maple (insert obvious Canada joke) salmon, with the most amazing vegetables, and carrot-ginger soup... mental note to discover HOW to make that soup. Incredible. The two of us then headed to our room, where we literally hit the pillow and slept for 12 hours. Jet lag... it's alive and well. You'd think after my HOURS of glorious sleep, I wouldn't be tired, but i suppose i'm getting old because I even managed to fit in a nap on the drive to Cape Breton. 

This morning started out seemingly well, until you-know-what hit the fan, and Patsy started to feel terribly sick. My heart went out to her, and I wish there were more I could have done for her. Soon, my other Aunt Cathy (my biological Dad has a lot of siblings,) came zooming in on her "white horse" to save the day, along side my cousin Karen. More family, every where I turn! It was then decided that we were going to take Patsy to the Hospital in Truro, en route to my Nanny and Grampy's in Cape Breton. After a few hours at the hospital, we got Patsy mostly mended up, or at least drugged up enough to continue to the drive to the island. Celiac is a hard thing to have. Love ya, Patsy.

The happy, excited anxious feeling hit me as I started to recognize the neighborhoods, and before I knew it, we were pulling into my Nanny and Grampy's house. Now, mind you, Grampy had no idea Patsy and I were coming. Man, was he surprised! The look on his face is going to keep me grinning for weeks. And, hey, I even got a chance to surprise Blair, too :) 

The night ended with some of my Nanny's homemade Frico, and off to bed at Cathy's house down the road. 

I am THRILLED to be "home" for a couple of weeks. I plan to celebrate my Grampy on his 80th birthday, emerge myself in the beauty of the island, play some guitar with my Father, and ultimately soak in all this Canadian family i've been blessed with. 

Planes don't got nothin' on me, eh? ;)

Pre-Panes.

Post Planes

My Lovely Aunt Patsy 

I'll never forget the surprised look on his face :)

My Crazy Canadian Father 

Gooooooodniiiighhhhht, Caaaannnaaadddaaa!!! See YOU in the morning. 

*Aviaddict; The Soaring Bliss Apparatus

Once upon a Tuesday, I wrote an endearing post about my sheer LOATHING of Airplanes. It's a great little piece. Here, take a look: http://www.loockinoutforyou.blogspot.com/2014/01/aerophobia-flying-death-trap.html.

Well, after some deep thought, and discussion with my mother, we decided that talking negatively about flying was, in no way, helping calm my anxiety. Thus began POSITIVE flight therapy 2014!

With my impending flight to Nova Scotia approaching (more on that probably later today,) I've been trying my darndest to find the happiness among the flying death trap... errr... soaring bliss apparatus. :) It was only fair that I write a rebuttle piece regarding my new found state of mind. Keep in mind, this is not the easiest thing to write, but it's like my Grandma Loock used to say, "Oh, honey, just pretend you're having a good time, and pretty soon, you will be. You look hungry." Wise woman. Miss her.

This is my "fake it 'till you make it" attempt at loving flying.

Planes. Incredible things, am I right?! Wilbur and Orville Wright (why does that make me want popcorn), were just two young boys from Dayton, Ohio, who had a dream of putting people in the air. 100 and some odd years later, here we are, with 'flying machines,' of all sorts, taking the sky daily! We are talking thousands of planes flying over the US alone at this very moment. Take a look at the example image below:

 

Woah.

That's a lot of cans of ginger-ale WHICH happens to be my favorite drink of flight. Good for the nerves.... of which I have none, because flying is beautiful!! Have you ever sat next to the window? You literally get the birds-eye view of the world. HIGHER than a birds-eye view even. I most definitely prefer the window seat.

 

A couple of my favorite pictures out of the window of a plane.

 

I took to the interwebs, going around the theoretical Facebook room, asking what some of my fellow chums thought of this mode of transportation... only good things, of course. I am now going to make a list, for you, of some examples I got as well as some of my own thoughts.

1) The biggest satisfaction most people shared with me was the sheer speed of flight. Would I have been able to arrive in Germany several years ago, meet a German farm boy, and have a foreign love story to tell my posterity (the dog) for years to come WITHOUT a plane? No. I would have had to drive to New York, then hop on some sort of Titanic-like ship to make it to Europe. Airplanes get people to EVERY part of the world... and fast. Within mere hours, I went from my Utah walls, to fairytale Germany. That's pretty neat.

 

2) In addition to the above statement, air traffic is little to none. I've flown about 60 times, and i've never once sat in a bumper to bumper airplane traffic jam. There are THOUSANDS of planes in the air at any one time, yet, it seems there are never more than one or two at a time. Just your plane and the clouds.

3) Aw, the statistic that is every frightful flyers vice. "You know, airplanes are much safer than cars." Yep. You're probably right. But in the mind of a nervous aviator, cars are close to the ground; the ground I call home. This stat never does seem to ease my mind...um... I mean nervous flyers' minds. However, you can't argue with science. It is true.

4) The view!!!!

 

5) Provides hours of uninteruppted time to think. Flying gives people a chance to un-plug, layback, and relax!

6) Direct quote from my good ol' Jr. High School music teacher, "Not as many blisters on your feet as compared to if you had to walk the same distance." Enough said.

7) The miracle that is an airplane. With Bernoulli's Principle and all the other scientific equations it takes to get an airplane off the ground, into the sky, and back to the ground safely and effeciently... THAT took some brilliant minds. Hats off to the aviator braniacs of history.

8) Free drinks. Free Peanuts. And, on Jet Blue, free BLUE CHIPS!

9) You get to meet interesting people of all nationalites.

and 10) The most important beautiful fact of flying... Getting to see family in far off lands. Being able to serve a mission on the other side of the Earth. Seeing anciet artifacts, and the numerous wonders of each nation. Creating new opportunites for you and your family. Planes provide the chance to not just live on Earth, but rather, experience it.

Let's be real with each other right now... I'm nervous as all get out to get on a plane, tomorrow, and fly to Nova Scotia. It's just a matter of fact. However, I am surrounded by people who have faith in me, faith in this mode of transportation, and faith in the fact that accomplishing each flight I take, takes me to somewhere I need to be.

Right now, I need to be in Canada. I need to spend time with my family. So... the airplane it is.

 

Bring on the Ginger Ale!

 

 

*Aviaddict may, or may not, be a made up word...

 

 

How the Holy Ghost Confirmed My Calling

I spoke in church yesterday. Here's the thing. I enjoy speaking in church! I love getting a talk together; probably just the weird writer in me. But! I am posting my talk on here, ya know, for my posterity. Ha!

Posterity.

Does Tip count?

Anyway, enjoy my religious side.

My name is Lauren Loock and I've been in the ward for about 3 and a half years. Although, the first year, I attended the ward with my brother, who also doubled as the Elders Quorum president. Each week I would look forward to the phrase, "Hey, Spencer's Little Sister, will you say the closing prayer?" Well, he's gone off an gotten himself married, and I was left to make a name for myself.

I'm speaking to you all today regarding an article in the ensign titled "The Holy Ghost Confirmed My Calling." Well, wouldn't you know that I got this topic just a couple weeks after I was asked to be the Ward Choir Accompanist. The meeting with Brother Harmon was almost funny, because the moment he looked at me, and said my name had been submitted, I looked right back and him, finishing his sentence saying "… and let me guess, it has something to do with music." Sure enough. It did. Bringing the number of my callings up to three; Relief Society Accompanist, Ward Chorister, and now the Choir.

I'm going to be very honest with you all right now. I'm not very good at the piano, or leading the music for that matter! I'd be lying if I didn't tell you guys that I left my meeting with Bro Harmon questioning who it is out there that sees musical ability in me. Sure, I can usually stumble through what needs to be stumbled through, but let's be real, juliard isn't calling anytime soon. Yes, it's true, I doubted myself. I'm sure i'm the only person in this chapel who has ever doubted their calling.

Then, in a beautiful case of inspired irony, I'm asked to speak on the Holy Ghost confirming callings. That's what happens when you doubt yourself, Lauren. People, cough cough, Brother Harmon, feel inspired to give you a topic just SO specific to your doubts. Then it hit me. I wasn't called for this topic by Brother Harmon. I wasn't called to serve musically by him either. I was called of God.

I found a Conference Talk by President Uchtdorf which he gave in 2008. The title of his talk is "Lift Where You Stand," and there was one line, in particular, that jumped out to me. He says,

"Whatever your calling, I urge you to see it as an opportunity not only to strengthen and bless others but also to become what Heavenly Father wants you to become."

I could go on for days about how other people's callings have served me and my family. From enthusiastic Primary Teachers who went out of their way to have Saturday morning breakfast with my class, to Bishops who listened and cared in only a way that a close friend could, and to a singles ward FULL of people, full of callings… and full of love. My life has been blessed, repeatedly, by faithful people magnifying their calls.

Aw, but I wasn't asked to speak about how I got confirmation for other people's callings; this article is how the Holy Ghost confirmed MY calling. The article talks about a man leaving the Bishop's office, confused and doubting why he was put in as scoutmaster…..again. It goes on to share that there was a young deacon in his ward who was battling between a parents divorce on top of other pre-teen struggles. That's when this calling was confirmed to him. In being a strong presence and priesthood holder in this young boy's life, it gave the boy, and his mother, a sense of peace, trust, and faith.

So the real question is… why the music callings?

I'd like to go back to my high school days for a moment. Let me just paint this quick picture for you. Here I am, a Junior, walking into Seminary a half hour late with a footlong subway sandwich falling out of my hand… when, wouldn't you know it, I run into the head of the seminary. After fumbling around with my lettuce droppings, and coyly answering the questions regarding my tardiness, I took my seat in the back of my class, and counted the minutes 'till the bell would ring. At that moment, I was far from your ideal seminary-going student. I knew it. We all knew it. Well, fast forward to my senior year. New class, new teacher.... new deals at Subway… when, the teacher asks ME to be class president. At the time, I was certain that he'd fallen off his rocker thinking I could lead our class, and, although it wasn't an "official" calling I cautiously accepted, and got on my knees that night to pray. While doing so, it hit me that this opportunity has now presented itself to me, and I could do one of two things with it; I could continue on being the girl who just "gets by" in seminary and show no class leadership skills…. or I could buck up and be the best I knew how to be.

So that's what I did. I became your typical, over the top, annoying president. I worked to learn the names, hobbies, and trials of each classmate. Like the true choir geek I was (and I usually played the piano) I picked triumphant hymns. When I wasn't playing, I would walk over to the my classmates, not singing, open their hymn book for them, and told them I couldn't hear them. I'm telling you… over the top. At the end of the year, I took the time to write little individual notes to each of them, and told them to find me the rest of the year if they ever needed anything. For the most part, I got eye rolls and generic head nods, but, oh well, I had done what I felt I needed to do regarding my calling of class president.

The next semester began, and ended, and I occasionally kept in touch with my old seminary class mates. Just the basic stuff. It wasn't until a year, or so, later that my calling as class president that one semester opened my eyes as confirmation that I had done what I needed to. There I was one night, perusing Facebook, when a message popped up from a very shy, sheepish boy from that seminary class. I opened it up, and tears began to form in my eyes as I read these words:

"Hey, Lauren seminary is great this year and i have you to thank for that i wouldn't have been able to have a great and positive seminary experience if it wasn't for you."

He then told me a little about how he'd been struggling with seminary, and how he loved coming to that one, fateful class because he knew I was there… and he knew that I genuinely cared for him. We chatted for a little, before the president came out in me again and I asked if there was anything I could do for him, in which he responded;

"Lauren, before you go, I have to share one more way you helped me. The Hymns. You got me to sing the hymns, and that is now one thing I can look forward to at church… in fact, it is one thing I most enjoy doing at church and seminary. I'm a terrible singer, but I enjoy every second of it. The one thing you can do for me, is to continue to help others the way you've helped me. Let's please stay in touch!"

Although this confirmation came several months after the actual calling, I couldn't have asked for a better way to KNOW I'd been called of God, and, that I did my part by reaching out to even one young, shy boy who sat silently at the back of the class. He is now on a mission, where, I assume he is singing those hymns ever so loudly. And THAT makes me happier than any pair of brand new boots ever could.

So…. we come back to the question, Why the music callings. I'm going to share a scripture with, now, that I found in 1 Cor. Chapter 1. "26 For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called:
27 But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;"

I may not be Jon Schmidt when it comes to being musically inclined, but I do know a thing, or two, about it. I can attribute that as far back to being small child, and my Father singing his favorite primary song to me, to being raised along side a brother who taught me what it means to sing out, or parents who strictly enforced piano practice for the 10 years I took lessons. Music has always been a part of my background, and I believe it was no accident. In 3 days, I will get on a plane, which is my least favorite thing to do, and fly to Nova Scotia Canada where I plan to spend 2 weeks with my biological Father…. my very musical biological Father, who has already put his favorite guitar in my name.

The Lord knows me. Man, does he know me! He gave me the gift of music in my home, among my friends, and in my daily life… and that's because he knew, far before any of us did, that music was in my blood. Since the days of kinder music when I was 6 years old, I've had various callings in the church, and every single one of them has involved music in one way, or another. It's like I said earlier, Juliard isn't calling me anytime soon, but by having these callings I am able to continue strengthening my art, strengthening my talents, strengthening the everlasting bond with the family that raised me… and in 3 days, I will be able to strengthen the new bond with biological family in far away Canada.

I am just a girl, with a whole lot of musically inclined family… and The Lord gives me these callings so I can continue to appreciate, perform, and discover the legacy of a Father who raised me, a Father who gave me life, and a Father i get on my knees nightly to thank for my talents. To all three Fathers, I'm forever grateful for the music.

The Music is All Around us. All you have to do, is listen. The Lord's love is all around us… all you have to do… is accept the call.

Shattered

"Your time is limited. Don't waste it living someone else's life."

Thank you, Steve Jobs, for saying what we all wish we had the balls to say. If only it were that simple. We were all raised by parents, who were raised by parents, who were raised by parents, all of whom did so with specific expectations of THEIR ideal life in mind. Grow up. Go to school. Get a job. Marry the sensible option. Don't move away. And, as tradition would seem, raise your kids in the same manner you, and the generations before you, were.

Kids grow up and do this. These kids, grow to adults, living fine, happy, and productive lives doing this. No one gets hurt; at least I would HOPE this seemingly "safe" option would allow pain to be at a minimal.

But what about the kids who dare to stray. The ones who dare to take the path with the sharp rocks, the steep drop offs, and that freakin' dense brush. These are the ones who are stuck between having a spirit and soul DIFFERENT than the generations before them... and, yet, are being pulled and tossed between how it SHOULD be, and how it could be. And don't get me started on the adopted child, forever struggling finding their identity when they're, without a doubt, made up of two very different existances; that of their genes, and that of their bringing up. The last thing you want to do is to hurt your Mom and Dad, the ones who have earned the title, and who have raised you from the crying, screaming child, to angsty teenager, to identity-struggling adult. Who would? You love them. You care for them. You respect the heck out of them. They may not have brought you into this hellish world, but they saved you by giving you the life you know of today.

That should make the decision easy, right? Honor how you've been raised and become the traditional member of society.

Where does that leave the other, very real, part of me, though? The part that wants to stick it to tradition, and bomb down that unknown mountain trail... not looking back.

More likely than not, a medium must be found between the two halves of me, no matter the acute differences. Maybe i've spent the majority of my life masking that other half of me...

Is it time to find it? What if i'm too late? What if the mask is too constraining and tight?

I haven't asked for hardship, yet, it's been thrown my way... and, hey, turns out i'm still breathing. I didn't ask, that I know of, to be adopted. To be short. To be pasty white. To be bad at math. To be a dog lover. To be a wanderer. To be a questioner.

I didn't ask to be depressed.

I didn't ask to have anxiety.

I didn't ask to love; to love someone against the ideal tradition that's been so precisely planned for me.

Does that make it wrong? Does that make me bad? Aw, to love whom I love. It would seem to do so fastens the mask of shame tighter around my tear stained face, yet, to not...leaves me choking with regret. Oy vey.

More on this later.