I've done my future children the service of keeping a semi-regular journal since I was 12. In reminiscence of my 22 years, I decided to look through them and see if I was as funny as I imagined as a 14-year-old.

NOPE.

In fact, I think I hate myself from ages 14-19. Did I really write the words, “We looked at each other a lot in US History,” or “I HATE DRAMA”? 

In all caps? Did you really hate drama, Sarah? Um, kill me with a spoon.

I’ve never seen the words “skank” so much on paper. For all those times I said I wasn’t judgmental— Confession: I was LYING.

In fact, if I were to converse with teenage Sarah, I would jump in a pool while inhaling through my nose as a way to do ANYTHING else.

I’ve said I haven’t changed since I was 12 so many times, but GOSH please let that not be true.  

Also I looked at the journal entries around this time of year for each journal. Good to know I was on the verge of losing it annually for the last 7 years, (I was a very thoughtful, emotional teenager) and not just this year when I missed my train TWICE in one day last Friday.

Let’s talk about that.

((Actually let’s not, because it’s embarrassing and long. Just know I had a mini-but-very-real nervous breakdown. I called my mom (naturally), and given my reaction she said, “Sarah, what is this really about?”

And I said, “… You know, Mom. I wish there was an underlying reason to my reaction, but really I’m just upset I missed my train.”))

ANYWAYS.

I was talking to this fellow a couple of weeks ago, and he asked me what the best year of my life was. I thought about it for a second, and I realized. 22. By a landslide. I verified through background checks via journals, and yeah. Definitely age 22.

I’ve thought about why that is the past couple of weeks. Circumstantially, sure. It’s been unparalleled. I mean, for examples:

I lived here:

At a job I kinda hated, I randomly stumbled across these while looking for a screwdriver for a customer. If this isn’t a blessing, I don’t know what is:

I did this: (meaning, I got through a 17-hour graduation ceremony)

After doing so, I got to live with two of my best friends from college:

 

I got a grownup job pretty quickly after graduation. And not only that I was placed in "The Office" set. I wish everyone could understand exactly how much this person is actually Dwight Schrute. I was blessed to actually work with him: Sam the Intern. His last day was the worst day of 2013 for me.  He also asked me once if I ever thought about how much I hated one of my exes. The answer to that was, no. But it turned out to be a good exercise. Thank you, Sam.

This was his Halloween costume. Apparently he got a lot of attention at a Stake Dance. Well, of course he did.

Annnnd I missed my train twice in one morning. That has to be an accomplishment. Also, apparently when you cry it makes your eyes twinkly. I'll either invest in "Chicken Soup for the Soul" or eye-drops for my wedding day. Lesson learned.

It was Christmas Eve when my father made me go with him on a bishop’s errand. I was 14, and you can imagine my hesitancy (refusal) to do such things amid my adolescence. But ultimately, I’m the kind of person that will complain, but would rather do what the person wants than get my own way. (No one knows the science behind that psychological mess.)

I didn’t really like to go on bishop errands with my dad. Mostly because this meant going to dodgy neighborhoods and sitting in the car with the doors locked praying my dad would come back soon.

My dad was bishop of our stake’s singles ward, meaning he was over all the young single adults in the Bellingham area. He had been helping this guy that would call several times a day, sounding drugged out of his mind and say, “Uhh…. Is the bishop in?”

I’m not sure what my dad was doing that day. I’m not sure if he was giving him money, talking to him, listening to him, bringing him food or paying for the motel. I have no idea at all. But I remember this moment more than I remember any Christmas present I got that year.

We pulled into a parking lot of a run-down Motel 6.  I sat in the passenger seat of our Excursion when my dad said he’d be back soon. Ah, the ambiguity of “soon.” But that’s a different subject.

With keys in the ignition I listened to some obscure radio station my dad had picked out. Likely jazz or radio talk—some AM station that was only being fueled by my father’s viewership. I checked the locks of the car several times, testing to make sure I was secure in the vehicle. I looked outside as rain pattered on the window and the greenery around me.

I glanced up and saw a man standing on the deck of a hotel room two floors up. He looked tired. His clothes were tattered—I’m sure he hadn’t used a washing machine in weeks, maybe months. His countenance was dark. His face was sullen.  Health didn’t seem to be good to him, whether self-inflicted or not. I knew right away this was the man my dad was here to see.

Moments later, I watched my dad come through the sliding glass door and stand beside the sunken figure. I watched. I watched my father in his black suit and Christmas tie. His hair neatly combed over. His glasses squarely supported on his red nose.

I watched him interact with someone in such a different situation than he. I watched the defeated man look at my dad with respect in his eyes. He listened. I watched as my dad spoke with him—no judgment in his interaction. Purely love.

Minutes later my dad came back into the car. The irritation I once had left my body and was replaced with disappointment in myself and pride in my father. How could I be so selfish?

We then went and shopped for my mom. This 24^th of December Christmas shopping for Mother Reid is my least favorite Christmas tradition Father Reid and I have. And it’s an accidental tradition each year.

 

Another Christmas tradition: We fall asleep in the living room while everyone else is playing. It's a real gift we have of falling asleep everywhere.

Since that day nine years ago, I have thought a number of times about this moment. I have thought about what it means to be selfless. I’m sure my father would have rather have been home reading the dictionary (yup) and eating fudge and Christmas bread. I’m sure he didn’t want to drive a half hour to spend time in shadiest parts of Bellingham. I’m sure that didn’t cross his mind though. I’m sure he wanted what the Lord wanted—whatever that may be.

I have thought about people and the respect they have for my dad. Not just people at church or people in the workplace. But also, those consumed with tormenting addictions, those stuck in a pit of misery, those who made one mistake after another to the point they have no idea how things got this bad. They love my dad. They love him because he radiates charity, no judgment and the Spirit of Christ.

When people first meet my dad, they can sometimes be intimidated. Probably because they think he sleeps in a suit and showers with a tie on. But it doesn’t take longer than a few moments to understand that he honestly loves you. He recognizes divinity in each person he interacts with, and this is apparent.

This Christmas season, may we all dig a little deeper to sacrifice what we want for what our Father in Heaven wants—for us and from us. May we interact with those whom we differ from, and learn from them. May we live in the way that if someone was watching, they could be uplifted and inspired.

May we remember the biggest sacrifice of all that our Father in Heaven made of His son Jesus Christ. Because of that day in Bethlehem those many years ago, we have the privilege of singing Christmas carols, saturating ourselves in department store bliss and spending scheduled and necessary time with our families.

Thank you, Father not just for funding my 22 years of Christmas, but for living the example I hope to be.  

Blessed. 

We all have been there, spent time there, currently live there. I don’t care if you were married at 18 or 41 – I promise you at one point you hated dating.

But here’s the thing: Why are we always so negative about it? I mean, my word. There are some definite pros to this whole courting thing.

I’m not saying it’s always fun and games, because GOSH, it is not all fun and games. I will tell you, that there have been plenty of dates that I chugged a Monster or Red Bull prior to the date just so I knew I was guaranteed a good time. Am I joking? Absolutely I’m not. Am I ashamed? Meh. Got the idea from my best friend Niff. And I promise the boys were grateful too. It turned me from a brick into a sideshow.

I’m dedicating this blog post to the pros of dating. Because like I said, they exist.