Thursday, December 29, 2011

Thank you, Mr. Gardener

My absolute favorite "Parable". Please take the time to read it! It was in a talk by D. Todd Christofferson. Read the whole talk here.

"God uses another form of chastening or correction to guide us to a future we do not or cannot now envision but which He knows is the better way for us. 
President Hugh B. Brown, formerly a member of the Twelve and a counselor in the First Presidency, provided a personal experience. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if thecurrant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”
Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:
“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.
“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …
“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”




Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Christmas Surprise

I am rarely surprised.
It's a sad truth: When you over-analyze, you are bound to find things out before you're supposed to.

This year my parents actually did it. They surprised me. Or tried to.
Maybe it was my mom telling me quietly that they simply couldn't find a car for me. Maybe it was because I convinced myself not to hope too much. Either way, I wasn't expecting anything big.

Christmas Morning: I woke up early with my siblings to make muffins. We were out of juice. Innocently, I opened the garage door to go to the outdoor fridge. What do you know, a car I have never seen before was sitting right in front of me! I gasped and shut the door.

When I opened the present holding the key thirty minutes later, I pretended to be shocked. I single handedly ruined the biggest surprise my parents were going to pull on me.

But I still got a car!

It's a Volkswagen Beetle. I'm seriously debating putting an Abbey Road vinyl sticker on the rear window. Beatles on the Beetle... you know? Haha..ha......ha. Well I thought it was funny.

I love driving around in it. I know somewhere a little kid is screaming "Slugbug!" and punching their sibling because they saw me drive passed.

Ruined or not, it was still a wonderful Christmas surprise.

Friday, December 23, 2011

A Tiny Truth

Hurt doesn't go away in an hour or a week or a month.
Hurt stays inside you for an undefined time.
Hurt is a tattoo, an open sore, festering skin around a piece of shrapnel.

And you look up at the sky and think "Can't I just be done? Can't I just feel better already? I've learned what I had to, didn't I?"

Hurt won't go away just because you want it to.

But great news: neither will those who love you.
Your family. (Give them the credit they deserve.) Your friends who make you laugh and who listen to you. Those amazing girls who have been where you are right now. And always, your Savior.

So yeah, as much as I'd like to say "I'm happy every single moment of the day", I can't. That would be a lie. I take things one moment at a time. I have this learning curve to go through right now. But I just know: Hurt ends. Somehow. 

Tattoos can be undone, sores can heal, and shrapnel can be removed. The healing can hurt just as much as the initial wound, but it will end.

"Please understand that what you see and experience now is not what forever will be. You will not feel loneliness, sorrow, pain, or discouragement forever. We have the faithful promise of God that He will neither forget nor forsake those who incline their hearts to Him." ~Dieter F. Uchtdorf



Sunday, December 18, 2011

Pinterest Help.

I joined Pinterest.
I don't know what I'm doing.

What is the difference between 'pinning' and 'liking'?
Do I just pin every single picture I love?
How do I find my friends?

Once I get over my frenzied confusion, I have a feeling this is going to be one of the best websites ever.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE help me!

P.S. My username is kimberlypelle.... just so you all know. Is that important? Gah.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Cliché.





We're all in such a rush to be original that we forget how cliché ever became cliché.

All the hipsters are cliché. All the models and the movie stars are cliché. Pushing the envelope? That's been done since 753 B.C.

I'm cliché. I wore an 80's style Latin Club sweatshirt and felt like the hottest person at the school. I claim to read more literature than I actually do. I stay up late watching Youtube because I'm afraid to dream.

Whatever you do, be you. If YOU like old fashioned cameras and scarves, by all means take pictures with the camera tilted sideways and a half smile on your face. If YOU really feel a strong connection to shaky voices and weak guitar, then go find another underground band and continue writing your sonnets.

But never, ever be different just to be different.

Maybe someday soon someone will finally have the idea to be original by being actually normal. Normality will reign, and our pop stars won't walk on the red carpet wearing meat dresses. We'll all watch The Brady Bunch and abhor ugly sweaters.

Then we'll all feel so hip and progressive all over again, because we're actually being "Normal." No ones ever thought of that before.

Monday, December 12, 2011

L-I-F-E-G-O-E-S-O-N

I got dumped.

Never thought it would happen to me, and then it did.
And yeah, it hurt.

But you want to know the amazing thing?
I'm so happy.

Yeah, it hurts when someone you love tells you all they things that they don't like about you. All the things that they just can't get over, that you need to fix. It kills when your favorite person looks at you and tells you they don't love you anymore.

I don't wish that pain on anyone.

I went home and my mom held me.
But then... I prayed. And I know, I just know, life is going to get so much better than I can even imagine.
I gave my entire heart back to the Lord, right where it should be.

I woke up this morning, and I was happy. I looked in the mirror, and I was still proud to be me. I can change to be better, but I would never trade who I am. Today is a great day.

Every single thing around me seems to whisper "I love you, Kimberly. I love you, my daughter. I love you."

I am loved.
And I don't need an eighteen year old boy to make me feel that I am.
My seminary teacher asked me how my weekend was. I told him. He said "He's a jerk." I said "No, he's not. He's an amazing person. We just have to grow differently right now."

Here's the ironic truth of my life:
He'd call me Sunshine. He'd sing "You Are My Sunshine" to me.
Here are the (some of) real words to that song:

Your Are My Sunshine- Johnny Cash
The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried.

Chorus: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

I'll always love you and make you happy,
If you will only say the same.
But if you leave me and love another,
You'll regret it all some day:

(Chorus)

You told me once, dear, you really loved me
And no one else could come between.
But not you've left me and love another;
You have shattered all of my dreams:

(Chorus)

Who knew it was a heartbreaking song?
I guess things aren't always what they seem to be.

I discovered something about myself: Believe it or not, I can't stand those moaning love songs anymore. I couldn't even listen to "You Are My Sunshine" because it seems so ridiculous to me. If you're hurt: why keep reopening the wound? Let it heal. Let yourself become better because of what you went through.

Your heart might be broken. Someone might have hurt you.

.... but that happened yesterday.
Seize today.

That's exactly what I plan to do.




Saturday, December 10, 2011

Mi Abuelo


Hi, My name is Kimberly. I have white skin and freckles.

And yes, I'm Mexican.

I cannot tell you how much grief I get about this. "Kim, you're not Mexican!" Really? Why do people think they know my blood better than I do? I qualify for Hispanic scholarships. The cut-off for checking the "Hispanic" box on applications is a quarter Hispanic. I am a quarter Hispanic.

"How is this possible? You're so lying!"

Well, these are my grandparents:


(That's Zach, my grandma, and my grandpa. Please notice his skin color.)

He is one hundred percent Mexican.

I feel like I'm part of a giant Hispanic family, full of brothers and sisters I don't know yet.

I hate when people talk about Mexican immigrants and generalize. "THEY are all thieves. THEY are all taking our jobs." One of those immigrants was my great-grandfather. He came from Mexico. He raised a family. His children went to college. I'm his legacy. I'm living his American Dream. I am so proud of him and I want to honor my heritage.

Hi, my name is Kimberly. I am Mexican.

Monday, December 5, 2011

One Year and Three Days Ago

Exactly one year and three days ago, I met a redhead. We ate apple pie together. I've said this before, but I'm so grateful for that apple pie.

So I just wanted to say thank you, Daniel. For letting me be your Sunshine. For making "quality" and "gas" become part of my daily vocabulary. For the goodnight texts. For baseball.

I honestly have grown so much, and I cannot wait to hear about your growth on your mission. I don't know where I'll be when you come home in two years: studying abroad, already married, or somewhere I can't even imagine right now. But I know I won't be the same person I am today. I'll be so much better, and I'll owe much of that change to you.

You didn't start me on my quest for excellence, but you've accelerated my progress by a million.

Thanks for seeing something in me that I couldn't see for myself.

I've never met someone as purely wonderful as you.
Scout's Honor.





Saturday, December 3, 2011

I Like to Pretend the SAT and I Are Friends

Last month, I was taking the SAT test for the last time. My mom took me out to lunch afterward to celebrate. I was so happy I almost cried.
(This is how I feel about the SAT: It is 30 times harder than the ACT. The ACT is like taking a slightly challenging uphill walk. The SAT is like running a marathon while being repeatedly punched in the gut.)

Today, I had to take some SAT Subject Tests. (They are a lot shorter than the SAT, and I can handle them.)

But fate had other plans.

Three months ago, I had to change my testing dates. I felt that I should listen to the prophet of the Lord speak instead of taking a test. So I clicked on the "Change Test Day" button on the SAT website. This (I guess) changed my subject tests to an SAT regular test.

This all sounds so confusing, but what it comes down to is that I was taking the SAT. Again. My nemesis.

After struggling for a half an hour thinking "Why am I here?", I decided it was a blessing.
I needed to improve my score.
The Lord was giving me one last chance.

So I took ran my marathon, again. And I decided to pretend that the SAT is my friend.
Oh, that is so nerdy. Then again, I am a girl who watches movies like this on youtube:


Hi, I'm a nerd.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Completely Rational

I sit at home alone for about 45 minutes between when I get home from school and when my mom comes home with my sister.
(Please don't tell any kidnappers that. Thanks in advance.)

Usually I'm fine and I just watch vlogs and read.

Not today.

I had to go into the basement to make sure the internet router is working. Guys. The girl from The Ring is down there. I swear I can hear her crawling up the stairs.

Currently, I'm as far away from the basement as I can get.

It's only a matter of time, though. She's coming.

Let's be honest: Who doesn't run up the basement stairs as fast as they can when they are home alone?
If you answered "I don't run up the stairs!", then you are a calm and levelheaded person. Congratulations. Invest in a retirement plan and feel grown-up.

In the meantime, the rest of us will be crouched in the corner, praying silently.

P.S. I looked up 'stairs' to find a picture. This is what I got:
It was just to good to ignore.

P.S. I'm really sick of seeing all of the sick pictures on weheartit. Pinterest? Yes? Is it easy to use?