No Other Idol Before Me

In 1 John 1:9 it says "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." So here on the world wide web I will confess my most recent, and egregious sin. My poison of choice? Television. More specifically the hypnotic drug most known as Netflix.

It starts off simple enough, it's a boring afternoon, nothing to do. I flip open the computer, or sit down and hit the red Netflix button on my TV remote. I quickly scan the thousand of options before me. Netflix is the best dealer on the block, instant hit, and to boot, a plethora of choices. I choose one episode of a series, thinking, "Oh just one episode wont hurt." Before I know it I'm staying up till 6 in the morning watching episode after episode. The tantalizing character developments, the drama, the romance. It is all so intriguing, captivating, and pointless.

Honestly, when I meet my Maker, and he asks me how I used my time in my mortal probation, how am I going to answer? "Oh I rooted for Tim Riggins in Friday Night Lights." Or "I watched Nick and Jess fall in love in New Girl." Or even better, "I found out who Gossip Girl was."  Will he smile, and say good job my good and faithful daughter? Or will he just shake his head in disappointment. If the TV hasn't rotten your brain cells too, then I'm assuming you already know the answer.

I've noticed that since I've gotten my call my Netflix obsession has become more intense, and all consuming. Instead of spending my last precious months with my loving family, I'm locked away in my room bonding with fictional characters. Instead of taking the time to read my scriptures, I'm observing day to day life from some of the most worldly characters. Satan sure has put that flaxen cord nice and tight around my neck. Just last night I was up till 4 in the morning watching my fifth episode of my newest guilty pleasure. I remember being so tired, that I didn't even pray or read a single verse in the scriptures.

When I was studying the Old Testament in Seminary a few years ago I remember being so annoyed with the Israelites. I mean how stupid could one tribe be? Over and over again God proved himself, constantly blessing them. And yet, it seemed like seconds after a miracle took place they were ready to build some new statue for some other God. How much more would God have to do to get it through their thick skull? I sat in class, frustrated, and asked my seminary teacher why we were even studying the Old Testament? Obviously, I wasn't out worshiping other Gods, so what was the point? I have never forgotten what he said to me, "Sure, you don't worship other Gods. But do you place other worldly things before Him? Is He always your first priority? Or do you let "other Gods" take precedence?" For this modern time Israelite, I'm just as moronic as they were. Blinded by the world, and it's cultural trends. My "Gods" are my television series. I'm struggling with exactly what the Israelites were hundreds of thousands of years before.

No more. I have 34 precious days left here to prepare. I am not going to waste another second on a mind numbing fantasy world. I will delete my account, I will hide the remote. I will no longer hide away in my room. Good riddance. Through Him I know I am able to do it, because he promises to do so in Ether 12: 27.

I feel better already.

Forever a Family

Over these last few weeks I've been able to witness for myself the Plan of Salvation, and how loving and brilliantly it was set up by our Heavenly Father. Last Friday, I was able to witness a beautiful marriage sealing for my cousin and his wife. That was the first time I had ever seen a sealing take place, and I felt blessed to be a part of such a beautiful occasion. I had been in the room before, after a few endowment sessions, but with the presence of loved ones it felt transformed, and translated to a much higher sphere, full of love and joy for the soon to be wed couple. The eternity mirrors were to be marveled as they bounced back and forth the light from the chandelier and the sunlight breaking through the crystal windows. I sat in awe as two families became one, as my cousin married the love of his life, not just for this mortal period, but for all time and eternity.

That day was filled with laughter, joy and reunion. I was hugged, squeezed, teased, you name it by family members that I hadn't seen in years. We all gathered together and rallied in celebration for the happy couple. There was not a single frown in the crowd, (minus a few screaming children, but what can you do?) I especially loved the tender moment I got to share with my Uncle Brent as he gave me his typical big bear hug, and quizzed me about my future mission plans. I remember him telling me to keep him informed on all my wonderful adventures. 

The day continued onward, in a typical Mormon fashion: luncheon, then later a reception. All of which was elegantly decorated, with excellent food, funny stories shared of the bride and groom, and families rejoicing in one another's company. 

On Tuesday, I was woken up by a call from my mother. She informed me that my Uncle Brent had passed away of a heart attack, the previous night. I demanded that she repeat the news several times, making sure I wasn't asleep. But each time she said it, with tears cloaking her voice, the answer remained the same. He was no longer with us. The rest of the day was spent in shock. I had just talked to him not four days prior? How could he be gone? He wasn't even sick, he was even healthier then me. No matter how I tried to add it up, the math never made sense. My heart broke for my Aunt, and my cousins. They had just celebrated his sons wedding on Friday. How could a family have a wedding one weekend, and then follow it by a funeral. It just didn't seem fair. 

The week was a blur, full of continuous silent prayers for my Aunt and her family. On Friday my family and I traveled up together to be there for the viewing. I was amazed to walk into the mortuary with smiles on my Aunt's face, as well as my cousins. My Aunt hugged my sister and I as she said, "He looks good doesn't he?" I stared at my once lively uncle, while tears pooled my eyes. I tried to remain composed, surprised to find them comforting me. 

I've been to four funerals in my life, all of which have taken place when I was very young. At those funerals I was unable to understand the sadness, and the sorrow that engulfed the loved ones around me. But, as an adult I understood the tragedy before me, and it broke my heart. I hugged my cousins, wanting to say "I'm sorry," but it felt trite. After we went through the line, my family and I sat on a couch and watched a video my cousins had made of my Uncle. We sat on that couch from 5:30 to 9. We watched that video play on repeat about 11 times. I enjoyed that time sitting on that couch, observing the people who trickled into say their condolences. I've never seen a steadier line of people, no joke that line didn't die until after 10.

On TV when they display funerals, everyone is dressed in black, there is only sobbing, and not a smile to be seen. But here, in this twisty long line of those waiting to say their goodbye's, I hardly say one black article of clothing. There were smiles all around, including my cousins and Aunt, and there was even laughter to be heard. I tried to fathom, how that could be possible for such a tragic occasions, and then it came to me. Because, everyone here knows this is not a goodbye, but only an "I'll see you soon." 

The memory of that beautiful Friday morning, just a week ago came back into my mind. Oh how grateful I am for the sealing power that has been restored here again! How blessed are we to know that a family is not just a mortal practice, but an eternal principle. I will one day hug my Uncle Brent, and here of all his crazy adventures, as he will hear of mine. I know that my Aunt will one day embrace her husband once more, just as we all will be reunited with our loved ones. How grateful I am for a loving Savior who was able to break the chains of death, so that we all can live again. 

I am grateful to be reminded of the rich blessings the gospel brings into our lives. I sit and think about my brothers and sisters in Spain without this knowledge and my heart breaks. I know now, more fervently then I have before, that I need to go out and share the restored message with them. That we all need to go out and declare the glad tidings of this gospel. I know that this church is true. I know that we can a Forever Family. I know my Uncle Brent is in a much better place, and that my Aunt, my cousins, and myself will be able to see my Uncle again. I say this humbly in the name of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, amen. 

House of the Lord

I'm going to start off by being completely and totally honest. For a long time, the only reason I wanted to go to the temple was to know what went on in the temple. It had nothing to do with the covenants I made with the Lord, or the blessing's I'd receive. I just wanted to know what the big fuss was about. Growing up, I always tried to piece it together "It's in the Old Testament," they'd say. "It's all there in the scriptures," was the only hint I ever got. As a women, I love being in the "know," so to not know what went on behind those pearly white doors. Killed me. However, until the age change I figured I'd find out once I got married (at 34), but once that wrench got thrown into my life plans, the reality of the temple pressed heavily on my mind.

Once I realized what motivated me to the temple, I really tried to take a step back and reevaluate my commitment to the Lord. Because how I see the temple is one spiritually turning 18. There is no more "slap on the wrist," so to speak. It's nothing but the slammer for the big sinners once you've gone through. Honestly, that freaked. me. out. So, I backed off, I let fear rule me. I knew girls who had gotten their call the same day as me, that had taken their endowments out months before I did. But you know what I believe? This gospel isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. The key is we are all running in it, some run faster at times, but then they slow down to a crawl, and then pick it right back up again. Some, just constantly move at one steady speed. Others walk around aimlessly, backwards, forwards, side to side. The key is that we are all moving. One foot at a time, and so it took me a little longer to go through, that's fine. I still went, and it was so much more meaningful to me because I was ready to make that commitment to my Heavenly Father by that point.

But boy was that journey a long and hard one. I promise that once I am able to, I am going to punch that little weasel Satan directly in the nostrils. That guy is such a jerk! Right as you are moving along, trying to be good, he sure does like to melodrama all the tiny mistakes you've ever made in life (and for me, there was ALOT). I wish I had been stronger then I had been, I let alot of what he said dictate the way I felt about myself, even though they were all lies. I believe that hate/angry words that you say either to yourself or to others are all lies, because they are from Satan, and Satan, is the father of all lies. So I said very mean, and untrue things about myself, that stopped me from desiring to enter the temple. I was afraid I'd get struck by lightning, or that people would just know that I didn't belong. None of that was true, and sadly it took me awhile to figure that out.

The big day came, April 16, 2014. I was so nervous, and excited. I couldn't help but remember, all the crazy stories some non-LDS coworkers of mine had tried to tell me, to warn me about the temple, that they "sacrifice animals," and other crazy things. I also remembered all the advice I had been given, "don't try to memorize it all in one day," and "remember it's very symbolic." I remember walking up to the St. George temple shaking, and literally hyperventilating. My mom chastised me, telling me to be silent. But I couldn't get my panic under control. It wasn't until a very calm, sweet, temple worker pulled me aside and gave me some words of encouragement. I was completely calm the rest of my four hours there.

Now I believe in honesty, and so I'll be frank. My first time was weird, anyone who tries to tell you that your first time isn't a little odd, is lying to you. I guarantee it. I remember sitting in the celestial room with loved one's completely confused, and not to toot my own horn, but I get things pretty easily. I walked out of the temple with the biggest headache I've ever had in my life. I wasn't sure I'd ever want to do that again, but I did. One week later I went with a couple of friends of mine who were also going on missions, and it was amazing. The peace I felt there was beautiful, and amazing. I've since gone back multiple times, and I promise each time get's so much easier. I love going, and seeing other people that are there for their first time. I see their knee shake, their hands twitch, and I smile reminiscing about my first time.

Let me take this opportunity to talk about garments, because I was a huge critique, but now I LOVE THEM. The entire week before I went in, I wore all my shorts, all my tank tops. I would do an outfit change just so I could fit them all in. I was dreading the day I would "dress like an old women," as my sister so delicately put it. Surprisingly? I feel so beautiful in them. I have not felt more comfortable in a set of cloths. Sure I miss the shorts on a typical St. George Summer day, but the blessings I have received far outweigh the comfort for one brief afternoon. Garments, really do become an extension of who you are. I love them, and if you had tried to convince me otherwise a year ago, I would have called you psycho.

All joking aside, the temple is beyond a doubt the only place where I feel free. When I'm there I feel myself becoming the person God has created. I feel divine, and the people that I meet in there are divine. I'm not perfect, heaven knows I'm not, and the people I meet in there aren't perfect. We are all on this long marathon back to His kingdom above. I know that the temple is more then just a place to learn the "secrets," of the church. It's a house of the Lord. I know that this is the only true church restored on the earth today. I know that Satan will do everything in his power to deter us from making progress, but I do know that we have a Savior on our side, who can help us fight this battle. We are not alone, we never will be. I love this gospel, and I'm forever grateful that He loves a rebellious soul like mine.

How the Journey Began

I remember waking up on February 6, 2014, almost sick with anticipation. I decided to skip my college classes that day, because I just knew that that windy, rainy day was the day my life was going to change. Let me back up and explain, growing up I believed that rain was God's way of saying "Hey, I'm thinking bout you." So when I rolled over and opened my eyes to a window decorated with dark clouds, I just knew that it was the big day. My three weeks of waiting (not-so-patiently), for my white envelope, had ended.

I stared at the clock, and if tradition held true the mail women would drop off the mail around 1 in the afternoon, and so I paced. My two German shepherds followed behind with each twist and turn, excited and unaware of the hurricane storming in my belly. I remember staring at the clock and seeing 12:31, and thinking "no harm in checking," and so I did. I reached for the mail key and walked barefoot the exact 15 steps to my mailbox. There was no sign of the mail lady around to see if she had stopped by our mailbox or not, and so calmly I chanted to myself "it's going to be here, and if not then it's ok. Breathe, please just breathe." My hands shook as I turned the key, and instantly my eyes landed on a thick, wide, white envelope. I screamed, or at least I tried to, my lungs were in shock. 

I've never been a runner, but boy did I sprint back to my house. I slammed the door behind me as I yelled, "Dad, DAD! It's HERE!" My father was the only one home, and he came half-jogging out of his bedroom, laughing. "No way." He kept laughing as he hugged me tight. We hugged for a long time, both just in a state of bliss. Once I pulled away from him, he said "Well, open it." The reality of that moment became toooo real for me. So far the dream of serving a mission for my Lord and Savior, had just been that, a dream. But within my small hands held my very real future. A part of me wanted to just rip it to shreds, while a very dominate part wanted to tuck it away and keep the reality at bay. I shook my head, knowing my mother would murder me if I opened it without her. So I hid it. I knew myself and my father well enough that if we sat it in plain view long enough, the temptation would be to much and I'd cave.

We had the drill down, we would wait until 8 to open it, due to my grandparents being in Fiji on their mission and that was the most convenient time for them to skype. In theory that sounded like a good idea, but in practice, not so much. Waiting eight hours to open my call seemed like an eternity. So I tried to keep myself busy; I cleaned the house, blasted my social media sites with the news, texted sporadically, watched a few episodes of Supernatural, etc. But, no matter what I did, I could not get the envelope out of my mind.

At around 7:45 people began to trickle through the doors. I was grateful for the out pour of love I felt as people who had help shape me came to support me in my next adventure. I was even surprised that a second family of mine, from Mexico, called to be a part of the big moment. Once the clock stuck 8, and all the phones were faced on me, I began to tear open the seal. First rip, maybe I'll go to Australia? Second rip, maybe I'll be sent to New York? Third rip, maybe Chile? The paper was in my hands, and the packed room, full of Shurtz's who were for the first time in forever absolutely silent. I began to read out loud.

"Dear Sister Shurtz,

You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints."

"STOP!" My mom yells at me. I freeze. Come on really? Now? Apparently my uncle had been disconnected, or something, but it had ruined my big moment. I tried to resist from reading further, but my eye had caught an "M" and instantly I thought "Madagascar!" I was so filled with emotions that I was prancing around like a two year old who needed to use a restroom. (If I learn how to upload video's I'll totally put it on here, it's hilarious). After "patiently" waiting 10 seconds I started up again.

"You are assigned to labor in the Spain Madrid Mission."

Cheers. Screams. Tears. My knee's buckle and I fall forward, my best friend of five years tackles me. I can't breathe. I'm trying to decipher the emotions, but I can't pinpoint them, they're new to me. It's a mixture of excitement, fear, nerves, love, joy, but mostly it's reality rushing all through my body. The closest thing I can describe it to is probably how the football coaches feel when their players pour cold Gatorade all over them after a big win. Not the most religious metaphor, but the most accurate.

Ironically, I didn't want to go to Spain. Not because I loathed the place, or the people, or anything like that. This is going to sound ridiculous but it's the honest truth, I didn't want to learn the "vosotros," form of spanish. I just didn't. I had spent the last four years of my life, NOT learning vosotros, and now I'd be back in the beginning. But I'd always say while I was waiting for my call, "I want to go to Europe, and I want to learn Spanish. But I do NOT want to go to Spain. So however God can swing that, that'd be great." So here I am. 38 days left, and I could not be more excited to go.