Pictures Sometimes Speak More Than Words

Cheap Sell for Self

In an effort to make some money and clean my wardrobe of my immodest dresses, I made a website that I'm going to post on Craig's List every week and am hoping to have it spread like wildfire on facebook this weekend. If you have any friends who do not dress by LDS modesty standards, please suggest this website to them so I can sell my clothes and make a few bucks before donating it all.

http://beemineclothing.blogspot.com

Such a Sloth!

I've made it one of my top priorities to scripture study in the morning. Usually, this attempt falls short and I end up trying to study a bit in the bus. Other times, I'm semi-successful but not consistent enough and end up studying right before bed. The only problem with that option is that an intended half hour of study time turns into an hour long battle of resisting the temptation to fall asleep, nodding off, and pushing myself to wake up and feast upon the words of Christ.

I wish I woke up and studied this morning. Instead, I lay in bed, texted my boyfriend, read some work e-mails (they start coming around 4 AM), talked to my mom, and enjoyed the warmth of my four blankets in the freezing cold house. Currently, at a quarter from 1 AM, I consider myself such a sloth because I put myself in this situation and when things happen, and scripture study hasn't been done.... you end up studying at 12 AM on a school night! Eeek!

Elder Holland once said, " True love blooms when we care more about another person than we care about ourselves." I think I might have found some buds of true love blooming and if I have.. it may have distracted me long enough to 100% note what was happening around me. Tonight, as Andy was driving me back from his house (a rather unusual and kind gesture for someone who has a strict 10 PM curfew when our 10 miles apart equals a 25-30 minute drive each way), his car broke down. Immediately, I started to think about what to do. We were so close to my house, he could leave his car - take my brother's car (was it fixed yet though?!) and we could worry about his car over the weekend. Or, he could take my car and I could take the bus tomorrow. But tomorrow is my weekly Temple night to do baptisms for the dead and I still haven't figured out how to take the bus to the LA Temple. So, maybe I could take my brother's car and he could - what about Triple A? Did Andy have a card? As these possible resolutions flew through my head, I worried. Frantically, I wondered... what was wrong with his car?! Was it safe for him to drive home if he tried to?!

"You should pull over" I suggested. He agreed immediately and slowed down... and the car continued in its funk while I continued to run through potential solutions.

How does something like this happen out of nowhere? I suppose it is a used car that has problems with some random tooting (albeit I haven't heard it lately), some maintenance lights that never turn off and a constant break light that periodically decides to work. We pulled into a parking lot and Andy got out to check the car by opening the hood of the car. I sat there in the passenger seat with a plate of sugar cookies we had made wondering if I should call my parents to come help us. It was pretty safe where we were but with Andy's strict 10 PM curfew, this might pose a problem as we had planned out him driving me home to meet said curfew.

"Should I call Triple A?" I asked. No response. He muttered something about finding something in his trunk and went towards it. Oddly, I recalled him not wanting me to put my backpack into the trunk earlier because his golf clubs were in there. And... at the time, I had wondered why that mattered since his golf clubs usually sat in his trunk alongside other things before.. but had shrugged it off, giving him the benefit of the doubt that maybe his golf clubs were misplaced and took up a lot more room than usual. He walked back to the trunk of the car and continued examining the inside of the car hood.

And then... it clicked. I surveyed the lot quickly - we were in the parking lot of the Church where we had our first DTR. He had offered me a ride home (not that he wouldn't normally, just that logistically it doesn't quite make sense on a school night). He had turned on a different street than our normal route - and when he did it, I thought it odd for a brief second but figured he wanted to avoid the Huntington split road turns (which now that I think about it, makes no sense). I tried with all my might to repress the grin that was beginning to sneak across my face at the realization of what COULD be happening, but I couldn't help it. Wait a minute Daisy! - I told myself... remember when you over thought things and had an inkling he might ask you something important when he suggested you go to a driving range this past weekend and then he changed his mind? Stop! I kept reminding myself. As my mind scattered through a million thoughts and as I reassured myself to stop grinning in case nothing was happening, he asked me if I could get help retrieve a tool from his trunk.

I knew it! Wait.. do I play along... do I respond? Do I give him a hard time? Truth be told - I wasn't 100% but I was ... 99.9%? .... but wait!!!... I'm wearing basketball shorts! Okay, in that nanosecond, I knew it wasn't happening. Earlier in the night, I had asked to borrow basketball shorts so I could change out of my work skirt and comfortably eat dinner and bake cookies while at his apartment. Convinced there was absolutely no way he would let me wear his baby blue basketball shorts paired with tights (it's pretty cold in LA lately!) and heels, I got up and walked towards the trunk.

"Look under the bag," he told me. As I lifted the trunk, there was a trash bag carefully placed across his trunk space. I peeled it away to reveal a MOUND of graham crackers and some sprinkled pieces of chocolate over it. [So... we have these corny nicknames for each other - and among the many, we joked about being smores for Halloween - he'd be the crackers and I'd be the marshmallows. Then, the bay bridge went out and our Halloween plans were disrupted. So for Christmas, I got an uber cute stuffed marshmellow with graham cracker velcro-ed to it made by his wonderfully crafty and creative sister! along with a poem that actually rhymed and detailed how we met, how we got to know each other and why the stuffed smore was cool and representative of us...] So... he continued the extended metaphor and likened us to the smore and how we could complete each other (if you don't like smores.. this won't make sense).

And so.. the lesson learned is....if I had not been such a sloth, had studied in the morning, I could have come home, excitedly shared the news with my mom, best friend, and other awesome friends, journaled, and gotten ready for bed. Instead, after all of the aforementioned, I still had scripture study to do. In the spirit of tonight's excitement, I picked two talks about marriage. Next time, I'll remember why it's important to scripture study in the morning.. because you never know when an important question might come at night. ... that keeps you up longer than you expected.

As I studied tonight, these words hit me hard. "To give ourselves totally to another person, as we do in marriage, is the most trusting step we take in any human relationship. It is a real act of faith--faith all of us must be willing to exercise. If we do it right, we end up sharing everything--all our hopes, all our fears, all our dreams, all our weaknesses, and all our joys--with another person." (Elder Holland) So, without denying my lard -like qualities and continuing to work at making my morning study happen, I will not be able to grow in faith and faith is something I should always be working at increasing - especially since I just made the next most important decision of my life (the first was accepting the Gospel).

Good night. Sweet dreams.

Good Habits Are Formed Young

Once upon a time, there lived two princesses by the name of Princess McKissick and Princess Lo. Although they had never met, they were second cousins who shared lots of things in common.

Both were the first grandchildren, both had a sparkle in their eye, both had a twinkle in their toe and both had a smile that could melt anyone's heart. On top of that, both princesses loved their princess toys, many of which their loving grandparents, uncles, aunts, and second cousins had given to them.

One day, both princesses left their kingdoms and went forth into the PhilGood Kingdom to ring in the new year. They had heard stories about each other, but had never met, and despite knowing they were related to one another, had no recollection of the other.

Alas, they finally met, in the PhilGood Kingdom, but were hesitant to meet one another. Instead, they retreated to their own corners, hiding their princess faces, and refusing to interact with one another. Upon the demands of their other cousins, they found themselves forced to sit and play with one another. As they sat down in front of a princess set, both played alone. They were together but apart. No interactions with each other had been made. They continued. Then, as they both reached for the same princess toy, a mutter of "my princess" was heard by all in the kingdom and within nanoseconds, tears welled up in both their eyes as they cried "my princess!"

Nearby, there was some jesters, who baffled and afraid of the dismay, just watched. And then, the eye of the storm closed its eye and slowly, the jesters devised a sneaky plan. They would distract the princesses, tell them of another fun game, and escape the princess territory distinctions. They would distract both princesses with a game of Candyland (really a much more simple and eventually boring game than you may recall from childhood).

A game they had. Connect they did. Friendship did they make. And the rest ... is history.

The rest of the night was spent battling dragons with the help of a courageous prince over... and over... and over... and wait... over again.

And together they became great princess friends. And learned to share with one another when told to do so by their mothers. And learned to sit quietly during a game of White Elephant even if their princess toys might get stolen. And they got along spectacularly!! ... At least until one of them criied again. It must be contagious. And last but not least, I leave you with lessons learned from the princesses.

1) Support each other... even if it's just up the stairs.















2) Sharing is caring.














3) Learn from others.














4) Sometimes....guys just get in the way!

I'm Over The Overs

When I used to tell my brother about guys I was dating, he would always mutter "Don't overthink it." I would claim I wasn't, continue with my stories, asking him if I should text back, call back, or not respond.... A couple seconds would go by and he'd normally say... "You're over analyzing now!" Then, as if not enough, he would then tell me I was over reacting if I tried to rebutt him. I've often thought about those three "overs" that girls are so easily accused of (yeah, it's not just me... don't deny it!). It must not be our fault, it must be built into our systems and if systematically plugged into our very being, how can we deny such feelings of overness?

Yesterday, I took a chance, without much thought and found myself in an "over" situation. In a last minute, gut driven, instinctive reaction, I jumped at the opportunity to stay another night in Salt Lake for a generous flight voucher since my flight was overbooked. As I observed the exhausted families, eagerly awaiting to board their plane, I realized my single status was exceptionally advantageous in this precise situation. Seconds later, I was on my way to the nearby hotel to spend the night.

I forgot it was the Sabbath and alone, refusing to turn on the television and instead retreating to scripture study and journaling, I wondered what else I could do in a suite hotel room (get it.. sweet) by myself. A friend messaged me out of nowhere, telling me he recently had surgery. We're not really close, so I forgot what his surgery was for despite him mentioning it to me a few months earlier. Immediately, I overreacted and wondered why he was messaging me of all people. Are we that close? I thought. Then, I overanalyzed, wondering if I had somehow led him to think we were better friends than I initially presumed. I was basically overthinking it.

I did what anyone would do. I asked him if he was okay. I asked him how it went. He told me there were complications. I inquired more about what it was that was wrong, what the surgery was for, and before I knew it... I blurted, "Do you want a priesthood blessing?" I quickly added, "do you know what that is? ....I know you don't believe, but...." and he responded that he was okay but that he really appreciated it.

Over?.....

The next thing I knew, he was sending me the transcript of his surgery. A bit odd... I'm unsure why this was... but my immediate reaction was exactly that... hmmm, how odd! Unsure what to do, I read the script. And in it, I noticed, the surgeons said a prayer. They didn't end it in the name of Jesus Christ, rather they said in your name Lord...Amen... So, it was a prayer of sorts.

Intrigued. Prompted. Responding.....

"So.. the priesthood blessing.. it's not like they bless you and you're okay..." I stammered, "sometimes, if it's not the Lord's will, something we can't understand, maybe the person praying won't ask for you to be restored to health, just that you understand or whatever..." because somehow I didn't want him to think that I thought him getting a blessing would mean he'd be healed immediately, but then... I realized, wow, this is it - yet another opportunity to share the gospel.... so I continued, "cuz not anyone can give a priesthood blessing, it is men who hold the priesthood (no, I was not going to get into the Aaronic vs the Melchizedek) who are worthy of giving a blessing, meaning they are living their lives, keeping the commandments, etc."... man! was I struggling!

"I appreciate the offer, really," he responded.

The conversation ensued.

We talked about life. He asked me about New Year's. I told him I had an awesome time in Utah and in fact, was still there!

And then, out of nowhere, he asked, "so I can let you know if I wanna do that thing?" Priesthood blessing?!" I asked, but in a much more nonchalant tone, if that is attainable over the internet...
"Ok" he responded. Pause. "You've turned out to be a good friend," he said.

So, maybe sometimes it's good to avoid the "overs" and just think to the Lord and be a good disciple. I know Christ would never have thought... why is SHE touching me? Does she think I like her? hehe.. which is kinda what I thought at first... even if I didn't say it explicitly above. Prideful, I know, but alas, I'm over the overs and now. Instead, I will just aim to see the opportunity in every situation that presents itself to me.

Beware of the Bus

At work, we like to joke around about not pushing anyone under the bus. It's a phrase that has become uncomfortably common among the work environment but alas, still brings a snicker to my face everytime I hear it. Truth be told, we avoid situations where someone might actually get thrown under the bus because it's a selfish sacrifice for one's own safety or well being and nobody wants to be the person pushing someone under or being thrown under.

I often think of this phrase when I'm taking the bus, which has been my normal mode of transportation for the majority of the week. It helps to take my mind off the fact that it is indeed a bit ghetto, that all my important belongings are tucked away safely in my backpack which I refuse to take off throughout the 25 minute ride.

At first, I attempted to read on the bus - quickly realized how motion sick I get and instead observe those around me. For me, the bus is a luxury because it alleviates me from the congested crawl to work on the 10. But for many, it is the only mode of transportation available. For the most part, the demographics are Chinese and Hispanic while the bus drivers are mostly the latter. The reason I noticed this is because often times, when someone gets on the bus who doesn't speak English, it is easy for him or her to communicate with Spanish since the bus driver most often speaks the language. Unfortunately, I can't help but ponder that for the little Chinese grandmas or grandpas who get on the bus, there is not this same luxury. I can help out if the situation arises but thus far it has not and until then, I sit tightly in the front (also cuz I'm too chicken to walk towards the crowded back).

Lately, I have been brought back to the memories of my own wai-puo (grandmother on my mum's side) who passed away in December 2005. She used to take the bus a lot from Monterey Park to Arcadia, mostly to visit us and because she did not want to always be a burden to my parents after wai-gong (grandpops) passed away. Often, we would also go to Monterey Park to visit her, but once she moved to Arcadia with us, she longed for the companionship of her friends and her days spent playing mah-jong. So.. she took the bus to visit her cronies! Just like me (except I go for work since LA parking prices are a nightmare)! But... as she grew older, her memory often slipped. She forgot that grandpa had passed away and yelled at my mom for joking about such a matter. She forgot that I had grown up, saw my little cousin who was 3 at the time and called her by my name. She forgot recent things, but held on tightly to the past memories. And one day.. she forgot where to get off from the bus.

This was pre-cell phone world we live in today. All we knew was Wai-Puo was not at her bus stop, had not returned home, and was nowhere to be found. The entire family freaked out, split up into troopes to scour the greater LA and all the potential bus stops she could have ended up at. We asked all the bus drivers if they saw an old Chinese lady who seemed lost. We eventually located her and she was a good hour away in some city I had never heard of.

I sit on the bus often and think about Wai-Puo and how scared she must have been that day. How lost she must have felt, not able to understand anything everyone was saying to her, just wandering around, hoping her family would find her, knowing that they love her and would not be relentless in locating her. I wonder if anyone offered a kind smile to her, if anyone tried to ask her where she was going, if anyone noticed. Then... I think back to the stories wai-puo and my mom both told me of her past.

...how her right ring finger was crooked because it was shot by a gun when she was only a toddler (even when she was almost not completely there in the family photos we took a year before in which she instinctively tucked that had under), how she had escaped to Taiwan as a refugee with three kids since her first husband had gambled off all their money and didn't live to endure, how she would cook meals of grandeur for all the people in the village, how wai-gong, a handsome and educated engineer would fall in love with her despite her three kids and how she would raise her five kids despite being dirt poor, how she had no fear when killing a chicken on the farm for dinner.... I think about the counseling she gave my mom, aunts and uncles, how she would have been in this situation.. and I realize..she was probably really scared on the inside but on the outside, courageous and determined.

So everytime I'm on the bus.. I think of wai-puo. I think of the strength she had, the faith she had, and the understanding she had when she was lost and am reminded of the same strength I must have when I might feel lost, alone or scared and remember that Heavenly Father is watching after me and that I am never lost, never alone, and never should I fear for faith and fear do not coexist.... if only I could remember that in everything that I do.

Wai-puo didn't live to see my join the Church, didn't live to hear the gospel, didn't live to see any of her grandkids get married or have kids. But wai-puo has been waiting on the other side of the veil and recently, I was able to perform her baptism. As I prepared the name files for wai-gong and wai-puo, I felt a flood of warmth overcome me, a sense of approval from both my grandparents and a sincere thank you for the work I was about to do and I knew, 100%, that was them telling me thank you, guai hai zi

Wai-puo and wai-gong are proud of me. This much I know.

Red Rock Canyon

Thanksgiving for the Phillips this year happened in the city of sin; however, thankfully that which gives Vegas that nickname isn’t what drew us to the city. Instead the plethora of buffets and promise of warm weather made it a destination of choice.

The food was great, the sunshine was nice, but as is the case with all holidays, being with family was the best part of the week. We did our ritual Thanksgiving movie marathon, looked around looking for good Asian food, took lots of pictures, caught up, and had an all around good time. I was able to see my pops show my mom he wasn’t cheap. I saw my mom relish the day off from preparing the lavish dinner we typically have. I got to see my two little cousins who aren’t so little anymore. Sadly, I wasn’t able to see my family walk away from Circus Circus’ dump the chicken in the pot, but I was able to see the fruits of their evening. Apparently they are as good as they said they were; I will doubt no more.

My favorite activity was hiking in Red Rock Canyon. It’s essentially a huge playground for adults; there are multiple peaks, no paths, and you can go wherever your heart desires. Some places it was easy hiking, other places you have to use all fours, and there were a number of people using full rock climbing gear. The path down to where the red rock began was covered in gravel and many people, including myself, were slipping down the somewhat steep slope. Walking down the path, I was worried about how dangerous it must be to hike up the mountain if we were slipping so much just on the path to the start of the mountain.

After getting on the actual red rock, I realized that it would be that dangerous. There was no gravel, it was solid rock, and with decent shoes there was little chance of slipping. The realization that climbing wouldn’t lead to sure death, my dad and I decided to ditch the women and children and be a little more adventurous. We had a blast as we crawled through little crevasses, slide down our butts and made my mom nervous by posing for pictures on high ledges. After exploring a good portion of the mountain, my dad and I returned to the trail head, and waited for the rest of our group. As I waited, I kept seeing all these people slipping as they were walking down the path covered in gravel. Some looked as if they wanted to turn around, as all the slipping made everything seem so dangerous. I wanted to reassure them that once they made it past the gravel, and got on solid ground, things would be much better.

It’s been said that when we choose to ignore what the prophets say, that we change the very ground that we stand on. Sure, we may choose to obey other aspects of prophetic counsel, but the act of picking and choosing what commandments we follow puts us on shaky ground. My experience at red rock reminded me of that quote. When the red rock is in one full piece, it gives you good traction and stable footing. However, when broken up into little pieces, the rocks provide little traction and cause people to slip. Same material, but when taken in pieces instead of as a whole, the outcome is very different. Such is the case we when choose to break the fullness of God’s gospel into little pieces that are most convenient for us. However, when are willing to show faith, and act on prophetic counsel, we will soon find ourselves standing on solid ground, as we gain testimonies of the principles they teach.