rediscovery.

Dear You,
or me.
Or whomever.

Has anyone ever told you that you have anxiety? Because you do.
You do, and guess what? It's okay.

Sometimes you sit in fear that you'll never know what you want to do with your life.
From not knowing what to major in and what classes to sign up for, to what hairstyle you want for your wedding, and will those colors really match with the fall leaves?

But guess what else?
You rediscovered something this week.
A piece of paper that tells you about your life, about your marriage, about your family, about your talents and responsiblities.

And then you breathe, because you realize that God knew what He was doing when He decided to make you the college-going, stress-ridden, quirky little feminist that you are.

And until you figure out what you want to be "when you grow up", nature wouldn't be a bad place to spend your time.

 

love always//talor

You are a palace.

Dear You,

Or me.

A few days ago I talked to a dear friend. A friend who I swear has all of the wisdom in the world flowing through her finger tips and out of her mouth. She compared herself to a house—how sometimes you need to paint and learn to love the color tan, even though it’s hard to change, even if you love your blue paint. And I’m sure you’re reading this thinking, weird? I promise I’m going somewhere with this.

C.S. Lewis once said that we are all houses.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running towers, making courtyards.

You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come live in it Himself.”

But to be honest, sometimes I feel more like a trailer. Sometimes I feel trampled on by others. Sometimes I feel trampled on by myself. Sometimes I feel like God just needs to tear me all down and build me back up again. And lately I’ve had a hard time loving my paint chips, my withered creaks.

But CS Lewis also said that if we knew of our potential, we would understand that we are all possible gods and goddesses. And one day I want to walk into my house, or look at who I am, and gasp at all that I am. I think Heaven will be like that. I think our Father will grab our hands and say, “My dear Talor! Look at you.” And we will all fall to our knees when we see what we are really capable of, how majestic and beautiful we really are. We will see the beauty of those paint chips and withered floors. Because those are the things that make us who we are.

I am a daughter of a King. A King. A Father that loves the pieces out of my quirks, my flaws, and my chipped blue paint.

I will get there one day.

I will love myself as much as He loves me.

I think I owe that to Him.

Love always//talor.

they don't teach you to write letters to yourself;

My whole life I have written letters to people.
The second I learned how to fill out an envelope and put a stamp on it, I sent letters.
I had a pen pal once.
I wrote to my best friend when she moved in elementary (no cell phones for children back then).
I wrote my friend who disappeared to her dad's in the summers.
I wrote to my friends that served LDS missions.
I wrote to one of my dearest friends when she was finding herself in Washington.
And I wrote letters to God when I was losing myself.

I write letters to my fiance.
And I've started to write letters to myself.

What? I know. That probably sounds a little crazy. Almost like when people talk out loud to themselves in the grocery store and everyone gives them a weird look.

But I have always been one that's bad at journaling.
I'll be good for like a whole week, or maybe a whole summer, and then I just get so tired of repeating everything I've done!

And writing letters to yourself is kind of like writing a journal.

I write letters to my future self, my past self, or my present self. To help me to remember to be kind to myself, to have patience, and to be happy.

So I think this blog will be officially that.

Just letters written by a 21 year old girl to herself.

P.S.

the happiest of happy

For some reason it's been so hard for me to write a blog post lately.
Almost every night I sit and stare at the computer screen for ten minutes and then decide to put it away. Because there has been so much going on and I can't always find the words to comprehend how I'm feeling.

Because one day I'm getting excited about summer semester and the next second I find out that my student loans have been denied without any warning. (FYI college and government loans are shiz sometimes and there is a bunch of illegal stuff you shouldn't do THAT THEY DON'T WARN YOU ABOUT.) Idiots.

And then the next second, I'm going to summer semester and everything is okay.

And then we realize that we can't pay for a New York honeymoon because we are paying for summer semester. And I'm devastated all over again.

And the next second we're at Lagoon and we think: why not Disneyland for a honeymoon?
Because who doesn't love Disneyland?  IT'S THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. If you don't love it, you're just as bad as my student loans and college.
Sorry not sorry. 

Sorry not sorry for using a cliche term.


And now we've decided to go to New York when we are both finished with school as a graduation present.
Because what's better than a New York graduation present? Nothing.





And sometimes I change my major a bunch of times (from teaching to criminal justice to political science) to finally land on something that was sitting in my childhood all along.

And now I'm content.

Although I've used "And" to start almost all of my sentences and it's making me want to gag a little.