Chicken Little?

Yes, please.

The sky is, in fact, falling. Ah, the beauty of Autumn: gotta love those crunchy leaves and unpredictable projectiles.

The Army of Helaman.

They couldn't have been much older than my eighteen years, and they couldn't have known much more than I know. Besides having strong testimonies of the Saviour, they probably didn't know much about battle. Sure, they'd most likely heard stories and seen the awful conflicts, but never had they actually fought for their families, religion, and lives.

I feel like them sometimes, especially in relation to Heavenly Father's call to serve. I've never been on a mission before, but I've heard wonderful stories, and I've watched missionaries work miracles as instruments in the Lord's hands.

But I've never taken mission prep classes, let alone sat down and practiced teaching someone principles of the gospel.

. . . but then again, while I may not be able to teach the principles as well as I wish I could, I have something I can share better than anything else. And that is my testimony.

I can go to Chemistry and learn all about atomic theories; I can go to French class and learn about why you pronounce the "s" in tous for the sentence, "Je les ai tous mange" but not for the sentence, "Tous les bonbons sont petits"; I can go to American Heritage and learn about utilitarian views of society; and I can go to Nutrition to learn about the enzymes your body can synthesize.

And I could try to explain to you what I know about atoms, pronunciation, and enzymes, but I can guarantee there will be something I don't understand, and something I can't explain.

My testimony, however, is not a theory about atoms and molecules, or a structured method of pronunciation, or even a broad viewpoint of something.

Rather, my testimony is built from small experiences, small truths, and small words from the pages of the Book of Mormon. It is living: it grows. It is real: I can feel it. And it is special; it is precious.

It is my treasure. 

And like those 2000 young men in Helaman's Army, I have faith in God. I trust Him. And It's nice to know that while I have many weaknesses and shortcomings, He trusts me. And He helps me.

I picture thousands of young men and women running to find those who are wandering; those who feel hopeless; those who are lost. I imagine an army of youth going forth to share the good news of the Gospel. I picture them sharing their testimonies of the Saviour.

And I have been given the opportunity to be one of them. It's so wonderful to know that I am doing the right thing. Even when I don't know how to do it.

I will.

Even though I don't know how it will work out.

It will.

Should I be afraid? The world tells me yes, and the attacks and temptations of the devil definitely merit fear.

But the gospel is true, isn't it? Then what else matters?

So, soon I'll be like those stripling warriors. For now, I will not doubt. I'll go where He wants me to go. 

"Behold, I am a disciple of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I have been called of him to declare his word among his people, that they might have everlasting life." 3 Nephi 5:23.

And I can't wait.

:)

love, a daughter of God.

Of Red Leaves and Happy Things.

I've decided I love autumn.

I love the beauty of the red speckled leaves; the crunch of the acorn shells under my shoes; and the colorful trees that can be spotted everywhere I look.

But I also love the concept of autumn: I love autumn because of what it means.

It means it's time for long sleeve shirts and fuzzy scarves, mittens and Scottish caps; it means hot chocolate and soup for dinner and warm blankets at night. It means General Conference was two weeks ago, and I get to go on a mission after Fall Semester. It means somebody asked me to Homecoming - one of the best autumn nights ever and definitely one of the best dates. It means I get to bring more grape juice to college because my family made 50 quarts of it. It means Thanksgiving is coming and this semester is halfway over. HUZZAH.

That's what Autumn means: it's more than just red leaves and hot chocolate.

It's warmth. Hearth. Thanksgiving. Blessings. Tender mercies. and Love.

Warmth because of my fuzzy socks.
Hearth because the thought of my mother and my home bring happy tears to my eyes.
Thanksgiving because that means there will be no school for three days!!!
Blessings because President Monson challenged us to count them - large and small.
Tender mercies because Heavenly Father cares about me, and his tender mercies come no matter what day or season it is.

And lastly,
It means love. Love because everything is evidence of God's love for me. Even if it's a trial.

and lets be honest . . . it's also kind of fun to be in love ")

Love, Sunny

Zucchini Bread

The kitchen counter was filled with vegetables - tomatoes, peas, green beans, and zucchini. Unfortunately, the zucchini had been forgotten, and as a result had exceeded the regular length, width, and depth of a regularly grown zucchini.

Dad and I just smiled.

"The best thing we can do with this," he said, "is to make it into zucchini bread."

And so we did.

I cut the zucchini and then sliced it with the food processor while he got the batter ready. Sometimes he would ask me about ingredients, but mostly, being the amazing amateur cook that he is :), he would just add the ingredients and toss in a little extra of this and a little extra of that.

It was some of the best zucchini bread I've ever eaten.

Tonight, my roommate Rachel and I made zucchini bread. And I couldn't help but remember that evening when dad and I shredded tons of overgrown zucchini and made loaves and loaves of bread. It's not the biggest memory in the world - in fact, it rests with the majority of my memories: the small ones that build up and keep me going during the week.

I remember when mom took me to get a smoothie after a really hard day of senior year. I remember when Amanda and Melanie left me notes on the days that I needed them most. I remember when Amanda snuck up on mom and scared her really bad, and when Melanie sang to the song "Guard Him, Joseph" as I played it during Christmastime last year. I remember when Spencer jumped on the tramp with me, and the days when we used to play Ghost in the Graveyard. A lot of times I would win because he was scared of coming to find me :) I remember when John and I rode up to Deerfield and when he decided to, on Christmas Eve, make up a story about Mickey Mouse stealing peaches. I remember when Amber and I went on a walk in the rain - in our Sunday skirts and under her umbrella. We tried not to look at the dead worms on the sidewalk, and we loved the leaves whose colors seemed more vibrant after that storm. I remember when she and I laughed over my biology homework, and when she let me sleep next to her because Santa was coming and we were going to wait for him.

I remember that night when thunder shook the house and the rain pounded against the windows , as if intending to scare me out of my bedroom . . .  which it did. I was the first one on mom and dad's bed, and all of my siblings came to join me :) That was one of the best storms I've ever endured, mostly because it didn't seem as scary when I had the people I loved sitting right there beside me.

Zucchini bread just represents the little things, I guess. It's a memory in physical and edible form - and one that I intend to keep alive every time I make it.

So, thanks to the best family in the world; the ones who make zucchini bread worth making.

Love, Alissa.

O French Exam, O French Exam . . .

Did I just make up a verb on my French exam?

Yes, yes I did.


:)