This Song is AWESOME

Sister Maylinda

Meet "Sister Maylinda."

Born in the Dominican Republic, she moved to Aruba in her younger years to marry an Aruban. I knew her because I was a missionary in Aruba for 9 months. Every Friday, she had us over for lunch. She made the best food--rice and beans, but they were THE BEST rice and beans I've ever had. She'd usually make us some kind of chicken or meat to go with it. Plus, she'd make fresh passion fruit or mango or pineapple juice. And she'd serve us a little snack-pack pudding for dessert. When we finished lunch, we'd always take our plates over to the sink. Sometimes I would absentmindedly throw the chicken bones from my plate in the trash. She hated that--she saved every scrap so she could give it to the dogs on the side of the road.

She was a very talented seamstress. She ran a successful business for years, but by the time I knew her, she mostly just did favors for people. One time I was with her when she ran into someone who remembered Maylinda from 20 years before because Maylinda had made her wedding dress. She made my companion and me skirts one time--I still remember her exclaiming how VERY WIDE my hips were when she measured me. :) (Thanks to her beans and rice, probably.)

When I went back to Aruba a year after my mission to do research, she let me stay at her house. Even though I didn't expect her to, she doted on me and fed me. She was always putting people up in the spare bedroom in her house--it wasn't just me--and I'm sure she took care of them all, too.

A couple of times as a missionary, I remember having to go through her bedroom to get to the bathroom. Her bedroom was perfectly tidy. The bed was always made. All she really had in there was a set of scriptures sitting on the stand next to her bed. It was simple and clean and focused, just like her.

Maylinda was dependable. Nearly every week, she came with us to the English class we taught, just to be there. (She already spoke fine English.)

She was a sweet grandmother. Her grandkids LOVED spending the day at her house.

She walked to the bus stop every Sunday so she could go to church.

She would respond immediately if she heard someone didn't have anything to eat, by taking them a hot meal.

I remember someone we taught as missionaries who didn't know how to read. Maylinda agreed to have the woman over every week so she could read the scriptures to her. The woman continued to walk to Maylinda's house for months after my companion and I stopped teaching her. All kinds of people felt welcome in her house.

Aruba won't be the same place now that she's gone. I'm grateful for her example, her testimony, and her constant service. Mi ta stima bo pa semper, Hermana Maylinda.

The Weepies!!

Atlanta+Friends+Some-of-the-best-pizza-ever+THE WEEPIES LIVE=happiness.

Agency

I read the following talk by Elder Hales (one of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)

He said:

"Throughout His life our Savior showed us how to use our agency. As a boy in Jerusalem, He deliberately chose to “be about [His] Father’s business.”10 In His ministry, He obediently chose “to do the will of [His] Father.”11 In Gethsemane, He chose to suffer all things, saying, “Not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.”12 On the cross, He chose to love His enemies, praying, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”13 And then, so that He could finally demonstrate that He was choosing for Himself, He was left alone. “[Father,] why hast thou forsaken me?” He asked.14 At last, He exercised His agency to act, enduring to the end, until He could say, “It is finished.”15

I like the phrase "deliberately chose" in that second sentence. It's making me think about my life, and how often I deliberately choose to follow Christ. Sometimes, I may just do the right things out of habit or because my family and friends do them. But I feel a desire to be more intentional in following the Savior.

My Music on Grooveshark

Hey there. Some of you know that I like to write music. I'm no professional, but it's something that I really enjoy. A while back I spent some time (and moolah) making a recording of some of my songs. The quality isn't perfect, and some of them could DEFINITELY stand to be re-done. But, I found a way to share them! Just go to grooveshark.com and search "Cammie Beckstead" and they'll come up.

Enjoy!

Bamy

My name is Cammie. I'm from Alabamy. Well, I live here anyways. With either a church or a Waffle House on every block, this is definitely the south. Football is king--don't even think about going for a drive on game day. And campus? It's closed down for the weekend. That's right, even the library. Here in the south, the world is green and beautiful. People say "Yes, ma'am," and "Yes, sir." People ask me where I'm from and tell me I have an accent. If you don't like someone, you just say, "Bless her heart," and everyone knows what you really mean. This is my new home, and I'm loving it.

Trust in Me

Why, I wonder, is it so hard to trust people?

Today, I got a $30 parking citation. This was given to me in a Visitor's Lot on BYU campus, after I had spoken with the parking attendant girl at the booth, and she had asked me if I was a BYU student. No, I told her, I wasn't a student. She asked me if I had graduated previously (the answer is yes), and if I was a grad student at BYU (the answer is no), and then she gave me a temporary Visitor's pass for my car, as well as a razor blade to try and remove the ridiculous Y lot sticker that I can't get off my windshield. (Maybe that was what made her think I was a student in the first place.)

Anyway, I got out of my car with my backpack, ready to hit up campus for some work on my research project, and when I came back out two hours later there was a $30 citation. On the bottom of the ticket, in girly handwriting, were the words, "See parking booth attendant to avoid ticket." Turns out the ticket was issued by the same girl who had given me permission to park there in the first place, and she thought I was a liar all along.

Why would I even park in the Visitor's Lot at 8 in the morning in the summer, when I could have my pick of all the student lots around campus? Also, how weird that the girl wouldn't have just verified my non-student-ship during the initial interrogation.

Oh, well. I'm over it. I gave her my ID, and stood there somewhat smugly as she called someone to verify that I wasn't afilliated with the school. I guess it's just hard to trust people these days.