Love

So much can happen in a year, as it turns out, and life never turns out quite how it seems to be progressing. In sum, I feel very strongly that what I have learned about love can be explained in a sentence. The greatest act of love is to let them go. You know you really love someone when you are faced with the most difficult decisions, and you do what is best for them even while your heart is breaking. The question is not what is the best for me, or what is the easiest or the least costly, but really and truly, what would make the other person the happiest.

Another thing I have learned is the great pressure that a single heart can undergo. All the pain, all the heartache, and uncertainty only increases the capacity for one to love- if addressed in a healthy way.

To love and be loved is the greatest gift I have been given. Being loved challanges me, it completes me and motivates me in ways nothing else ever has.

While I was running...

So, today I went for a run. I came home from school (only teachers say that they go to school instead of work), watched a crazy chick flick movie, facebooked, and then really felt lame. So, the crazy thought came to me. Go on a run. So I did it. I put on my running shoes- good thing I was already in my pajamas and it's a good thing my pajamas are essentially running clothes-and I went.

The first block was incredible, I felt great the air felt incredible- chilly and fresh, and I felt totally on top of the world. After six blocks, I felt truly humbled. My ears hurt from the cold, my lungs were burning, my arms and shoulders were incredibly tight, and my legs were so heavy I even tripped a couple times. So, whenever you're feeling really sorry for yourself, go for a run. It will remind you of how far you truly have to go.

The good news is, my best thinking comes when I am running and here it is. Running today served as a little personal interview with myself, and while people always tell me to not be so hard on myself, I beg to differ. I am all about mercy- a huge proponent of it, because therein lies the only hope. I am also a huge proponent of justice. This is why I am a latter-day saint, because in the gospel of good news lies the perfect reconciliation of the two laws. Because, to take from the story of the child who wanted the bicycle. She worked as hard as a child can and then realized that she would never have enough money to buy a bicycle. So her Dad looked at her, wiped her tears away and said, "Give me all you have, and a big hug and kiss, and I will pay the rest." So yes, while the Atonement was made so we could be saved, it is not by grace alone. We still have to pay our 95 cents for the 80 dollar bicycle. He doesn't need it so much in terms of dollars and cents, but in the sense that he needs our heart to be in the right place. For my heart to be in the right place, sometimes I need to realize how intently I need my Savior because I am so far off. So I was thinking about the people in my life and how I don't pray for them enough. I got to thinking about a scripture in the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 33:3, the last little part of the verse. He is talking about how he is a good speaker, not a good writer, because the spirit is able to take what he says and carry it into the hearts of men, but his people cast away what is written because they have hardened their hearts and the spirit can't reach them. And he writes, "But I, Nephi, have written what I have written, and I esteem it as of great worth, and especially unto my people. For I pray continually for them by day, and mine eyes water my pillow by night, because of them; and I cry unto my God in faith, and I know he will hear my cry." I was thinking about this scripture and trying to remember the last time or even the first time that I have ever cried for someone else. When I have been compassionate enough to truly cry for someone else's pain- not only because it reminded me of my own, and it was really difficult for me because I don't think I have.

I think it is time that I cry for someone else, instead of myself. So, I will start by more earnestly praying for them.

After my humbling run, I was feeling a bit weird. Not sad necessarily, but empty and reminiscent of happier times. I was kind of just sitting in this feeling, soaking it up- getting a little deeper into it (not a good thing) when I thought that I should call an old roommate. A mentor really. One of those happenstance meetings that changes your life. I hadn't talked to her in years literally, and so I felt a little resistant to this idea because what was I going to say? But, I did it. I called her, and we had a good conversation. She began crying- not very far into the call- and continued to cry for most of the good forty minutes we talked saying she was glad I called because she was having a hard time. Why? She teaches at the MTC and she was teaching a missionary who two years had come to the MTC and returned home, and was back again for the second time, and just today went back home. She was having a hard time because of the this young man's pain and was feeling sorrow because she didn't feel she had done enough to help him. Wow. It is not only running that has humbled me today. So who needed that phone call more, her or me?

While I was talking to her I was reminded of a fabulous quote by Mother Teresa, that is something that I hold on to nowadays (I feel like a wise old grandmother using that word "nowadays," I like it, it's a charming word-romantic even). "We should ask ourselves, "Have I really experienced the joy of loving?" True love is love that causes us pain, that hurts, and yet brings us joy. That is why we must pray and ask for the courage to love." My soul responds to this quote in a way I can't quite describe because it is true. There is the age old question, "Is it better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?" Sometimes, I truly wonder if it is better sometimes, and why does this weak mortal wonder that? BECAUSE it hurts SO much, that I question the worth... when really this quote explains to me that it is because is hurts so much that I know that it truly has and is and will be worth it to love as I have (and more to come). SO my answer to the question is yes, it is better because in the end it will be worth it. Pain has more value than we realize. I tend to think that God doesn't hurt... but that just can't be because he loves more deeply than I can even comprehend and so his sorrow is just as uncomprehendable.

Along the lines of this thought is another moment of truth that came to me as I went to the Temple a couple weeks ago. It had been a busy and wonderful day, and I sat in the temple and kind of looked down at me from a high view point and I was amused at the interesting perspective I gained. Because I thought when I was married and when I was with Michael that I could never be happier-I truly honestly and deeply felt that, probably because is was the happiest I had been in my life, and then since his passing I have felt that I will never feel greater pain, sorrow or sadness. Yet, the truth is this. You will be happier, Natalie, and you will be sadder (more sad). How often in the moment I paint my day as the ending to my story instead of the beginning that it is. I look down instead of up, backward instead of forward. I do want to take a moment to validate a couple things. The pain and joy you experience during the day is significant and it isn't helpful to write it off because of what is to come. When I haven't taken the time to be present in my journey, I have had to take far more time down the road to re-visit it.

I will end this rambling post with words to live by. Thomas S. Monson - "The future is only as bright as your faith."

Pontificating

Gods ways are not our ways, and his thoughts are not our thoughts. The irony of all ironies is that to truly allow that phrase to cut through all the pain and lonliness to where that truth brings comfort and illuminates the shadows of our veiled minds takes a perspective that is not of this world. It takes humility, faith, and cheerfully enduring. Not false cheer, mind you- but truly a jolly outlook.

Because from a mortally flawed human perspective, whether you have all several options except for the one that planned for or one the option that you sacrificed everything to pursue that is showing no signs of promise; whether your loss is public or private; whether you are young or old- the experience is an every day battle. The pain is too great, the restrictions too binding, the way is too difficult, too lonely, and the moments of happinesses too fleeting.

The bottom line for me has been, a sentence of wisdom from the mouth of one widow to another. "There comes a point when you realize that it really is up to you and God." That the greatest gift that mankind has- the ability to choose for himself- unlocks the spiritual power that is ours when we decide that we want our ways to be Gods way. It isn't just one single decision that will change our lives or our hearts, or even a life-long moment by moment renewal of desire- though it involves both of these steps- because even that would fail because we fall short. The key lies in sincere repentance, the humility to listen instead of talk, and the courage to act when all present motivation flees.

Confused

Life is a series of learning to let go. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I feel like I am just along for the ride many times, as soon as I say outloud that life is good and that I am happy (because I really am for a minute, for a day, for a week) I find myself plunged back into the water again. I feel as though I am treading water in a wave pool, that I can't reach the bottom just barely staying above the waves.

I find that after a particulary significant spiritual experience in my life when I know without a shadow of a doubt of the reality of the atonement, the blessings of the gospel, and the strength that the spirit gives us in our lives-then comes "reality" it seems like, when really perhaps this isn't reality at all, but the adversary coming in on cue.

It is so difficult. This journey.

I am worried that I am forgetting. That I am losing Michael. While he was living his presence was tangible and life-changing for me, and just after his death I was just as affected by the affect this had on my life. Now, though he is part of me, I sometimes suprise myself by how easily I forget the little things-that maybe you could say are unimportant- like that the fact that he loved smoothies and how many we made and ate together last summer. I haven't had a homemade smoothie since. I forget what he would tell me. Situations come where I really just want to know his opinoin, I wish he was by my side experiencing what I was experiencing to give me feedback. We had such wonderful communication, and now that is no longer it seems. He is my greatest friend and I miss him.

I made taco soup today, and he would have loved it. He would have basked in his tastebuds and blessed my name for making him dinner. He would tell me about things that brought him joy during the day, or things that frustrated him. How I want to know how he is. I remember the last time I spoke with him on the phone, just talking with him on the phone didn't seem enough. I wanted him to come home so soon because one day without him seemed unbearable. Now, what I would give for a minute to speak to him again, or to even know what he is thinking.

It doesn't seem right that I can live without him, because I surely don't want to. But here I am to stay, to bless others lives apparently... when mostly I just feel to be a burden.

Readjusting

This is my attempt to explain to a friend who recently returned from a mission how I understand her sentiments about feeling like a fish out of water. She told me "I feel a little misplaced...It's like an identity crisis of how and where I can fit in an mold the old me and new me into a wonderful CURRENT me." To which I replied...

I think I know a little how you feel... a lot actually. Let's see if I can put it into words. You were living your life and you were happy, but then you were changed for the better, you felt whole for the first time- you learned so much, you learned what it truly meant to have a testimony of the Savior, you knew that the Lord had a plan for you and you were right where you needed to be- not that everything was perfect... but almost, not that it was a walk in the park, but definitely worth it. No doubt about that. Then all of a sudden, it was over in some pretty fundamental ways. Way too fast. Not that a mission ever really is over, or that an eternal marriage ever takes a break but it changes thats for sure, whether you were ready for it or not, whether you anticipated it or not. And it's almost like in some ways you get to go back to the old you... but you're not the old you. Life seems to have moved on pretty well without you too... So what to do, what to do? Take the postive, leave the negative and keep moving forward with faith. The best is yet to come... even though you feel pretty sure you've already had the best.

And to my friend who broke up with the one he loved so much, I also relate. This is my advice, you know the kind you give to yourself when you hurt and don't understand why. "So Hebrews 11 is an amazing chapter for me. I read it last night and it really gave me hope. It explains how the prophets did all these amazing things, how? By faith. I like to add myself to the chapter like this. By faith, Natalie Joyce Clark Hess, lost the love of her life, remained happy, positive, and lived a full life. I'll add you too. By faith, (insert your name here) had their heart broken multiple times without the understanding of why or what's next, remained faithful in their callings, touched the lives of others and didn't drop out of school. It's kind of like in the war chapters where the nephites have all those lamanite prisoners that they don't know what to do, so they are moving them with the army, and ultimately they lose all the prisoners, and go back just in time to save their army. So sometimes we lose what are fighting for at the moment, but it redirects us back just in time to save the army.

Can't Sleep

Why can't I sleep? I'm plenty tired physically. Maybe it's because today for the first time in too long, my mind is awake. I am happy today. Something broke through my misery, my grand little pity party. So what shall I write about while most sane people are sleeping? Well, then again, I never claimed to be sane.

I will stick to memories of Michael tonight:

Michael loved the Jewish nation, and he affectionally called those he loved and those he was perturbed by jew faces. Jared, his roommate and good friend, got to where he would just say, "Hey Jew."

Michael was appropriately inappropriate... it's hard to explain. Here are some examples, "Shall we go down?" "It is delicious to the taste and very desirable. "- referring to good food. In the middle of sacrament meeting, "This isn't the appropriate time or place, but you have hot legs."

MIchael was a self appointed music snob. The first concert we went together to was a band concert. Halfway through, he leaned over and asked me if I was enjoying myself, and I said, "Sure." He seemed slightly uncomfortable, and replied, "Would you mind if we left?" He then apologized, and said, "I really am a music snob." Michael was the first one to admit that musically talented people had generally great big egos.

Michael loved fascimile number 2. He coveted Tyron Jensen's facsimile number two.

I remember the first time we held hands. We were going on a walk, I had just told him that I liked him and wanted to know either way- yes or no, so I could either get over him or know what was going on. He told me a story, about how there was this girl who he had been seen to be spending more time with over the past week, and when questioned by people in our ward if we were dating, he said he didn't know. Then on several different occasions, different people told him he better be careful and that he would be in serious trouble if he hurt me. So he told me that this caught his attention and that he wanted to be sure that he did like this girl. The verdict was that he did. So we continued walking, and it was snowing, so I said we should make snow angels and promptly lay down in the thick, cold, wet snow and made a snow angel. I got up, and Michael said, "You have snow on your bum." When I thanked him he said that he would be willing to help me but didn't feel like we had quite reached that stage in our relationship. I then said, "My hands are cold." He then said, "Well, I can help," and held my hand. What I hope to always remember was the next question was, "What are your pet peeves, so I don't do them."

On the crazy bowling date he clicked his heels, we cuddled while watching Madagascar. I put my head on his shoulder, and he put his hand on my knee. He made me spaghetti the next day, and we finished the movie.

Oh the walks we went on. We always went for walks to talk about how we were feeling, mostly to assure me of his love for me. He would always thank me for calling him, listen, and then tell me that it was completely valid how I felt, then go on to explain to me how much he loved me and would try to help me see the good in myself.

I remember once going to his apartment before we went out to do something. I knocked on the door, entered when I heard a "Come in." from the back, MIchael came out from the back with so much energy, pushed me against the door, kissed me- then looked at me and said, "Well, hello." That made me feel so loved.

I remember after we had our apartment and began eating dinner there together. He would come home from work to me working in the kitchen, come and hug me and say so warmly and sincerely, "Coming home to you makes me so happy. I love you so much."

I remember when I was called to be a gospel doctrine teacher, he was so jealous that he swore. It makes me laugh to think of that.

He would get so mad at stupid drivers.

When we were eating delicious but not so nutritious food, he would say, "Now this'll kill ya, but at least you'll die happy."

When we would play Settlers of Catan, and a good number was rolled he would say, "And there was much rejoicing."

He loved his Mom so much. She was who he called to ask advice about what he should do, to vent a little bit, to get recipes from her, but most of all he loved to call and share with her when he was having a good day.

He would hold me till I fell asleep, and wake me up with a kiss and breakfast.

I remember the first time I met his Dad, he was so nervous because he'd never really brought a girl to meet his parents. So we didn't even hold hands. Afterwards we went to temple square to see the lights for a little bit before picking up my friend Alexay. We were walking back to the car and he said when we get back to the car, we are going to have a magical kiss. Instead, we had gotten a ticket, which made him so mad we got in the car, were on our way when he hit the steering wheel, and said, "That blasted ticket ruined our magical kiss!" It made me laugh.

To be continued... but can you see why I loved him? It's pretty easy to see, isn't it?

When do you know?

When is it exactly that you know that you are changed? That you are different than you were before? Is it when you smile at things that would have made you uncomfortable before-- but only because you weren't comfortable with yourself before? Is it when people tell you you seem different somehow-happier, more confident? Is it when you make mistakes and then are able to forgive yourself? Is it when you feel that you have found what has been missing, when so clearly you see the rest of your life mapped out? Is it when you finally have meaning, someone who loves you for who you, who accepts you and loves your mistakes away. Is it when you used to cry alone that now someone is with you who not only wipes your tears away, but replaces them with sounds of laughter.

No... my friends it isn't. In fact, you only know that you have been changed for better, for good, when you are no more surrounded by whatever helped you to be different. When, even without the one who helped you discover who you truly are, you continue to believe, continue to remember. When you wake up amidst the falling snowflakes and remember what it felt like to feel the sun, and display it in your countenance. When instead of curling up in his arms, you curl up in the blanket of the one you love and wipe away your own tears. When you look in the mirror to swollen eyes reflecting a broken heart, and say "I miss you Michael Scott Hess," and because you are changed you then think, "That will never change, and he knows that and I can do this." When you learn to say no to others and yes to you, without your other half. When you see the beauty in your imperfections. When you can take what someone has taught you and stand on your own two feet. When your life reflects their memory.

I don't claim to have it all put together. Instead I claim this. I have been changed for the better. I know now that there is something special about me because I was blessed to be loved by someone special. I know my savior Jesus Christ because of personal sacrifice, He has wiped away my tears, he cheers for me in my exultant moments and stands by me in difficult moment. So, in short you know your life has been changed because of someone else when you find yourself measurably closer to the gospel of Jesus Christ, closer to the understanding of God's plan for His children, and closer to how intimately and infinitely He loves me.

Even thought this particular piece doesn't have the details- Let it be written and known that Natalie Joyce Clark Hess is better woman because of the love and life of Michael Scott Hess.

Random thoughts

I have been blessed with just about the best friends.... take that back. I have been blessed with THE best friends ever.

So, maybe I am a little morbid, but I love storms. I love the prestuff, the wind that almost knocks you over, the dust so you can't see the mountains isn't my fav, but it reminds me that there are mountains and that I like the view. I love the crazy dark, pounding rain that soaks you (I also LOVE the shelter, the warm blankets, dry clothes and fuzzy slippers)- or if it involves snow, the quiet snowfall that covers the world in white- I love when the windshield is cold and you can see each individual snowflake a little before it melts (awesome) and I love the peace, the clean air, the CLOUDS and the freshness in the world- the smell.

Life is cazy, I have decided... full of "owies" (keep in mind that I work with kids every day all day) just be sure you get some wicked awesome bandaids- it really helps, sort of distracts you from the pain for a little while, while your owie heals.

Burnt Popcorn

Nothing smells worse than burnt popcorn... well okay that could be argued otherwise, but burnt popcorn is up there on the list of 'worst smells in the world." I think the thing that bugs me the most is that it isn't enough that it smells hideous, you know the take your breath away fumes, but it attaches itself to everything it come in contact with-clothes, hair, anything it can attach itself to. So when people walk into your apartment, their first thought is not how snazzy your place looks, but, "what is that hideous smell?" or the anxious, "Is something burning?" Nope, everything's okay that is just because I burned popcorn in the microwave last year. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration.

So what prompted this fabulous post? I went to a Book of Mormon study at my Bishop's home this evening, and his wife made popcorn for us to snack on- smothered in white chocolate. Well, needless to say it was delicious. So I went home from this spiritual occasion with the desire to not only read, pray and attend the temple more consistently, but to make delicious popcorn. So I microwaved a bag of popcorn, melted the remainder of my cherry chips on the stove, and mixed the two together. It looked and tasted good, but it was still a little bit melty so I thought I'll just let this cool down and I'll have a yummy snack for work tomorrow. So I am laying in bed, listening to a wonderful song over and over again on repeat when I smell the popcorn and it's burning. So I walk into the kitchen and reconize the source right away. I left the ceramic bowl on the stove top and left the burner on. So... I wasn't too smart. I opened the door and waved it back and forth hoping to get rid of the smell, after a few seconds I thought to remove the smoking bowl from the apartment. So I took it outside, turned on the fan, lit some candles, then checked on the bowl outside on the cement stairs. There still is a strange sound of boiling/burning coming from the bowl, so I stupidly brought the bowl back inside and doused it with water... which caused it to hiss and smoke even worse INSIDE instead of outside. Trauma. So, there you have it.

Burnt popcorn stinks.

4 years later

It's hilarious, really, that I even remembered that I had created this blog my senior year of high school. It's way late, and I am avoiding sleep, because I know when I do sleep I won't want to wake up. So, for whatever reason, I thought of looking at blogs, and then remembered that I created my own, many moons ago.

I have been watching a lot of movies lately and so finding this after 4 years reminds me a lot of how in movies they switch scenes with only the words 4 years later to help you figure out what happened in between. Four years ago I was miserable... not all the time, but most of the time. I was finishing up my senior year of high school in Illinois. I was hurting inside from years of self-hatred, and self-blame. I was dramatic... very dramatic. I was writing this partly because I didn't feel like I had anyone to turn to, partly because I didn't want anyone to know I was feeling this way, and partly because I did want someone to know how I was feeling. Now? Now I am in Utah, working at an elementary school with so many more experiences under my belt. I have a couple years of college done and a couple more to go. I have met and married the man of my dreams, and he is still the man of my dreams quite literally. He died September 18, 2008 in a freak car accident, and I watched as his spirit left his body. He changed me. He taught me how to be happy. He loved life and loved people. He saw in me someone that I didn't see, and because I loved him I was willing to look for her. He balanced me, he healed me, he helped me so much. He was handsome, charismatic, and always kind. Truly a judge of character is the caliber of his friends, because since he died, all of his friends are now truly my friends too. So why do I write now? To process, to have it written for all to see or not see. To make my own notes of my life, I am writing my own story, my own dreams for the future, like my url says.

Now, with this outlet again... my dear friends that I have not met. I have so many stories to tell, so many people to introduce you to, before you can truly have the context for these dreams that I dream. But now it truly is time for me to dream, the unconsious kind that I don't ever seem to remember :).