Sometimes.

I have a confession.

Actually, I have lots of confessions. Some of them are funny, like how I don't know what to think about being visited by boys . . .

Some of them are weird, like how sometimes I crave cereal at eleven thirty at night, but don't eat any because there may not be much left for breakfast the next morning.

And some of them are just silly, like that I don't understand the concept of Facebook, despite how convenient it seems. I just don't get it.

Some of my confessions may interest certain people more than others, as in the fact that it's kinda fun to be around boys all day :) and some will leave absolutely no impression on anyone except those who can sympathize with me that there is really, truly, nothing like a hug from your mom or your dad.

Sometimes, I miss it. I miss the dog pushing my head off my pillow at night. I miss the side walk drawings with Melanie and the let's-poke-Amanda-moments. I miss the little 8 year-old children who taught me how to be thoughtful and always remember the simplicity of the gospel and who would only sing loud when I would.

I miss the garden that always had to be weeded and watered and picked and picked and picked; the apple tree that never produced much of anything; the rose bush - the one nobody knew about besides those of us who were ever blessed to weed back there.

I miss grandma's house with the roses lining the driveway. As a little girl, I used to smell every single one, just to find which had the most fragrant aroma. I miss Pine Valley, the porch and the swing set, yes, the blue one that is nearly fifty years old (probably).

Sometimes, I miss the pink walls and the wall paper that always made me smile, as well as the green curtains and the carpet that never really looked clean - even when it was. I miss the piano - the polishing and the playing. Nothing can really ever replace the lovely vitality in that piano. Oh, how I miss my music.

I miss the Temple - the 4:30am trips and the young women outings. I miss Sister Neb. And Amy. And all my girls. A lot. Sometimes I get a lump in my throat just thinking about them.

Sometimes, I even miss high school - dear old AF High where everything could go right and wrong in the same day - from AP French quizzes to English reading.

I miss the dinner bell, you know, the one that mom or John rings when it's 5:30 and dad gets home?  I miss the bar stools and being able to sit down and watch mom make my birthday cake or the lasagna or bottle peaches. I miss my mom.

I miss sitting by my dad in the computer room, asking him about what to do when this pops up or how to plug the speakers in, or why in the World can't I be as cool as him? I miss his "good mornings" and "good night Alissa"'s. Nothing can really ever take the place of a good night from your dad. I miss my dad.

I miss Spencer's sweet muscles (even though I am jealous that I don't have any), as well as his quirky sense of humor. I miss Amanda's talent of always making me laugh, even when I don't want to and even when my mouth is sore. I miss Melanie's hugs and messages on the white boards. And I miss John's little smile and his long ramblings and stories about who knows what. I especially miss when he would ask me to "Please, oh, please, be my prisoner."  :) Now I would gladly say yes.

Sometimes, I'm happy to be here - excited and pleased. And sometimes, I'm just having one of those moments where "not even my imagination can solve my anxiety" (Anne of Green Gables Quote).

Sometimes, I guess, it's just hard. And that's all I have to say: it's hard.

"O Lord, my heart is . . . sorrowful; wilt thou comfort my soul in Christ. O Lord, wilt thou grant unto me that I may have strength, that I may suffer with patience these afflictins which shall come upon me . . .

"And the Lord provided for them, that they should hunger not, neither should they thirst; yea, and he also gave them strength, that they should suffer no manner of afflictions, save it were swallowed up in the joy of Christ. Now this was according to the prayer of Alma; and this because he prayed in faith." Alma 31: 31,38.

What exactly is "the joy of Christ"? Well, lets just put it this way.

He knows how you feel. And that's the joy of Christ - that you always have a friend to help you make it through the ups and the downs.

In the meantime, it's okay to cry, because sometimes "it's through our tears that we find a better way."

Love, Sunshine