Possibly Insightful Ramblings

I have recently fallen in love with a traditional Russian Orthodox piece called “Всего-то навсего.” (Roughly translated, that means something along the lines of, “It’s only” or “Simply.”) It is a song of faith. A song of hope. A song of love. A song of relying on the Lord and overcoming through Him. A song of encouragement to continue in life—to fulfill your calling down unbeaten paths despite the scorn of others. A promise that doing small acts of goodness will give you a new perspective on life. Всего-то навсего: полюби, сердечком-свечкою засветись! Тогда, как рыба в речной глуби, вверху увидишь иную высь. Simply love With your heart--light a candle! Then, as a fish in the river’s depths, Above you will see new heights. Всего-то навсего - не суди, как Бога сплюнувшая толпа. Твое призвание - впереди тобой нехоженная тропа. Simply don’t judge, As the spitting crowd judges God. Your calling is to go forward On paths as yet unbeaten by you. Всего-то навсего: полюб...

I’ve grown up hearing the stories of Mormon pioneers crossing the Great Plains to find refuge in the Rocky Mountains. These accounts of great men and women who were willing to give everything in order to worship God as conscience dictated have moved me to tears, inspired me, and motivated me to carry on the legacy they left behind. From them I’ve learned eternal principles to help guide my own life. Such happened again today when a sister in my Relief Society shared a story about one of her pioneer ancestors. Ann Walmsley Greenhalgh Openshaw was a member of the Martin handcart company. The difficulties of the arduous journey became more than this 50-year-old mother of five could handle, and she one day fell behind the rest of the company. The day wore on, the company continued their westward journey, but Ann remained behind, collapsed in a weary heap on the ground. Toward evening, this weary woman heard a voice telling her to stand up and continue her journey. Her weakened body, h...

Before the foundation of the world, God made a promise to mankind that would allow them to live, to change, to find comfort and purpose in suffering, and to ultimately return to God: He promised to send His Son. Prophets and sages spent millennia prophesying of Him, rejoicing in the far-off day of His coming. They believed God when He told them a baby would be born in some future day—a baby that would save them. These prophets and saints clung to that promise, even though they could not see the fulfillment of that hope. They trusted God’s promises. And trusting God’s promises is something I’ve been thinking a lot about recently. A couple months ago, a chilly fall morning found me walking to work, reflecting on my life. Things were not going as I’d planned. A recent break-up had left me a bit disenchanted with life, and I felt that I was powerless to stop my dreams and plans from falling through.  In particular, those worries that so often consume the thoughts of single wom...

                I peered through the glass in the dim room, into the makeshift headquarters from which Winston Churchill had conducted the affairs of his nation during WWII. The tables and chairs and maps, virtually untouched since they had been abandoned immediately after the war, looked as if at any minute Churchill and his advisors would return to discuss the latest movements of enemy troops. I continued down the hall, gazing somberly into makeshift bedrooms, allowing officials and military leaders and secretaries to remain on-call 24/7. The low ceilings and dimly lit rooms still exuded fear and tension. Stepping through them now, I suddenly felt the gut-wrenching fear and uncertainty that had gripped London decades before I was born. Each pin on the map signaled thousands of lives—thousands of mothers’ prayers, thousands of sleepless nights as young men dreamed of home. The uncertainty these soldiers and leaders felt weighed on my soul....

“Okay, I need you to take two steps back to your left.” I glanced over my shoulder. My already-pounding heart began a consistent presto beat inside my chest . The only way to go left was to move closer to the edge of the 100-foot cliff. And I sure did not want to lessen the distance between me and certain death. I reluctantly took two small steps. “Is that okay?” “Good. Now cinch up the rope. Now take another step to the left.” Cue cardiac prestissimo. Everything in my body was screaming at me to step away from the edge—to clamber back up to safety, back to my little perch on the rocks above me where I could enjoy the beautiful scenery and the gentle breeze through the canyon. I was safe there. Close enough to see the beauties of nature, but far enough away to not take a 100-foot tumble. If I’d learned anything in my 24 years of life, I knew that cliffs were to be avoided, not approached. And yet I was approaching this cliff, slowly backing up to a sheer drop into...

Remember this? And this? And who could ever forget this?  Or this?  Yep. Sometimes in life you just have to be a little bit nostalgic. Just for a moment. I think today is one of those days. One year ago today, I took my last look out across the Dnepr river and boarded a plane that would take me away from my beloved second homeland. As I watched my river and city slip underneath the plane's wing out of my reach, I sensed that I had likewise left my heart down there--the heart I had given to the Lord and to the people of Ukraine. Those 18 months changed me. They changed the course of my life. They changed eternity. And I will forever be grateful to God for giving them to me. There is no way I can adequately describe my mission in a few paragraphs here on my blog without seeming trite. But suffice it to say that my mission--the Russian language, Ukrainian culture, my companions and other missionaries, the church members, my friends, the people I ...

Anybody who knows me is well aware of how much I love Ukraine. Ukraine will always be my second home. She will forever have my heart and my loyalty. So I guess, given that love and the current political situation in Eastern Europe, I shouldn't be too surprised when people ask me how I could've gone to Russia this summer--isn't that somehow betraying my loyalty to Ukraine? And yet, that question does surprise me. Because I see in it the implication of the entire Russian nation in causing the unrest in Ukraine--the entire population as being somehow antagonistic to Ukraine. And, having now lived in Russia, that is a concept completely foreign and unfathomable to me. Because Russians are wonderful people! I know them. I have seen their hearts. My coworkers in Moscow are not responsible for my Crimean friends now claiming citizenship in the Russian Federation. My Russian friends didn't kindle unrest in cities in eastern Ukraine. The Russia I know is kind. It is peaceful. It...