Che Sarà, Sarà!

“When I was just a little girl I asked my mother ‘What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?’ Here’s what she said to me: ‘Que sera, sera. Whatever will be will be. The future’s not ours to see. Que sera, sera. What will be will be.” This is the first verse of an old song my parents sang to me when I asked too many questions (which I did all the time). They sang it for two main reasons: First off, it told me to calm down and let life happen, and secondly, “sera” in Spanish and “sarà” in Italian both sound like my name, Sara. It was a perfect match. My parents sang it when I wanted to know what was for dinner, when I asked about my next birthday, about family vacations, and often when I asked a lot of questions about my future. Needless to say, I was a very inquisitive child.

As I got older I mellowed out a little. I don’t plan my birthday a year in advance any more, I rarely know what I’m making for dinner ahead of time, and I rarely make plans for my future. Why? Because plans change, and change and I are not friends. I lived in one town for 18 years. I went to church with the same people. I had a comfort zone, and I didn’t want to leave it. But of course, there’s no growth in the comfort zone and no comfort in the growth zone. And, changes happened. I moved from Texas to Utah for college. I got a job that started at 4 every weekday morning. I came home and worked 60-hour weeks. After my freshman year I thought I can do hard things! I’ve got this! But that’s just the thing about change. It keeps changing.

For some reason I thought that as I got more used to change, the changes I faced would get easier. But for the most part, they’re not. Moving out of my apartment yesterday was hard. Moving out and not being with my roommates any more, that was even harder. Sitting in church, I realized that the next time I go to church, it won’t be in English. More change. And I’m nervous.

In case you missed the news, I’m going on a study abroad to Italy. I’ll be gone for six weeks, and I leave on Tuesday. We will be staying mainly in Siena, with lots of weekend trips to other cities. While there, I’ll be taking classes. And yes, I have been taking Italian. I’ve actually got 2 years on my professor. I have my talk (in Italian) all written and ready to go. I’ve packed. I’ve got my ticket. And then I look at what I’m doing and try to take it all in. It’s wonderful. It’s an amazing adventure. And yet it’s also scary. I mean, It’s on the other side of the globe! How did I talk myself into this? I pinch myself, but I’m not dreaming. This is really happening. I’m going to Italy. And I’m excited, really, I am, but it’s change. A lot of change. And that is not something I do well.

Some change is bad, but some of it is also good. People go off to grad school. They leave on missions. They get boyfriends. They get married. And with the good and the bad, I really need to learn to simply let things happen, and to enjoy them while they’re there. Maybe there won’t be rainbows day after day, but there aren’t supposed to be. Life is supposed to have ups and downs. It’s how we learn.

I’m not trying to say that I’ve got this all figured out, because I don’t. Change is still really hard for me. I’m still more than a little freaked out about Italy. Do I know what I’m doing once I get there? Where I’m going on which days and what I’ll be studying and where and when? No. Does my dad ask about it all the time? Yes. I’ll figure it out eventually. Italy will hopefully help me learn to just let things be, and more importantly, to let myself be. I’m not going to impress anyone, and yet I want to make sure that I’m “enough” for Italy. It’s stupid, because it isn’t expecting anything from me. I’m hoping that someday soon I’ll let that get past my head and through to my heart. I’m going, and that’s final. But Italy really doesn’t have expectations for me, so I should stop making them up. In all aspects of this trip my professors have approved me. So I’m enough.

You know those lessons you have to learn over and over and over again and you still don’t get it? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that song. “What will be will be” sounds like a simple enough message, right? Then why is it so hard? I can tell others. I can help them understand. But, someday I’ll learn to internalize that lesson for myself, that I don’t have to know all the answers now; that I’m doing just fine where I’m at; that I’m doing what’s right and that that’s going to have to be good enough. One day I’ll be able to say that and mean it. Maybe that day will come tomorrow. Maybe it will come while I’m in Italy. Or maybe it will be fifty years from now. But that’s okay. I’m still learning. I am still growing. And I am still trying. If that’s all the Savior asks of us, I should probably learn to be okay with that too.

My next post will be from Italy. I have no idea what changes will happen over the summer, but I am trying to have a positive view of them. I will have so many chances to learn and grow, and it will all be wonderful. Che sarà, sarà. What will be will be. Ciao, tutti!

Dayenu: You Are Enough

On Friday night I had the opportunity to go along with my roommate to her family’s annual Seder (pronounced say-der), the Passover celebration. I’ll admit I was a little curious to see how it would go, for a couple reasons. First off, I’d never been to any sort of Passover before (with the exception of my senior seminary class doing something at six in the morning, but that doesn’t really count). I didn’t want to mess anything up. And, although my whole apartment was invited, I was the only one that could go, so I was a little worried about feeling awkward around so many people I didn’t really know. But, I told my roommate I’d go with her, and I’ll be forever grateful that I did.

Sitting down with my roommate, her parents, eight of her siblings, and one other guest, we were all handed packets with the “program” we’d be following for the evening. I felt a little nervous, but tried to hide it as they began. The symbolism of the different parts of the meal were explained: The bitter herbs represented the bitterness and harshness the Hebrews endured while in Egypt; Charoset represented the mortar the Israelite slaves used to build the pyramids of Egypt; parsley dipped in salt water represented the tears of the slaves. And the symbolism went on.

Of all the symbolism, my favorite was the matzah. It is unleavened bread, so it looks similar to a 6 by 6 inch saltine cracker. The matzah is pierced, just as Christ was pierced with the nails in his hands and feet, and striped, because “with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). At the beginning of the meal my roommate’s father pulled out the middle matzah and broke it in half. The bigger half became the afikomen. It was wrapped in a cloth, and the patriarch of the home went and hid it in the backyard. I was informed that later in the meal, all of us would go out and look for it. Whoever found it would then barter with the patriarch until they were satisfied. This is where we truly would act on the meaning of the afikomen: it would be bought with a price, just as Christ paid the price for us.

I heard several stories of different things the afikomen had been bartered for in the past: one year a girl had my roommate’s dad dress up as the Easter bunny and deliver Easter baskets to their apartment. My roommate’s mom said if she found it she’d barter for a dishwasher. They also told stories of other Passover celebrations, where one afikomen had been traded back only on the condition that the class had no final. Another college student had his tuition paid (the group had very deep pockets). Basically, I learned that if you found it, you needed to make sure your needs were completely met before you handed it back. It was worth its weight in gold.

We went on with the meal, reading about how the Hebrews praised God for all they’d given him. Over and over again we said “dayenu,” which means “it is enough.” We thanked God for one thing and said that even if he hadn’t given us anything else, it would have been enough. And then we went on to list all the other things God had given us, even after we’d claimed it was enough. It was a beautiful reminder that God’s plan isn’t to give us enough to just scrape by, and then leave us on our own. He opens the windows of heaven, to “pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10). God will always give us enough to make it through the hard times, but really, he gives us enough to help us flourish. He always has, and he always will. Tears filled my eyes as I told the Lord that he had given me enough, and I felt like I could hear him whisper back that not only had he given me enough, but that I was enough.

The meal continued. We read through the parts. We filled and re-filled our drinks. We had the main meal. Then, it was time to find the afikomen. Children quickly scrambled to get their shoes on and find flashlights in the now darkened yard. I waited until most of them had hurried out, and then followed. At a glance, I realized just how big their yard was. Even with a dozen or so people looking, it would take a while to find a small cloth holding the afikomen, especially in the dark.

Unfamiliar with the yard, I turned on my phone’s flashlight to keep from tripping over anything, and started to slowly walk around the yard. It really was a lot bigger than I’d thought. A large hedge wrapped around the side of the house, and I decided to follow it to get a better idea of where the yard ended. I could hear children excitedly searching, talking about what they wanted if they found it. I continued walking, but had only made it about fifteen feet. “Seriously?” I asked myself. I looked again. “I…found it?” I said, pulling it out of the bush. A couple of the others echoed that I’d found it, and several seemed surprised the search was over so quickly. Everyone headed back inside. “Great!” I thought to myself, “What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know what to barter for. I don’t need anything!” I was reminded as I sat back down at the table that I couldn’t hand it back to my roommate’s dad until I had bartered with him. He had to buy it back, with a price.

Suddenly, all the suggestions I’d heard were forgotten. What should I barter for? They asked if I needed a service? No. Candy? No. My roommate commented that I was going to Italy on a study abroad. The mom asked if I needed comfortable walking shoes. No. A new scarf or necklace or something? No. The twelve-year-old piped up: “A plane ticket?” I assured him I already had that covered, and that plane tickets (especially to Europe) were quite expensive. His family teased that if he was suggesting it, he’d be paying for it.

The room got quiet as I made my request. “Can it be in two parts?” I asked timidly. The dad responded that it would depend on what I asked for. “First off, this has been wonderful, to be here with your family. It reminds me of being home. I don’t get to see my family until after I get back from Italy, and I miss them. Could we do something my family usually does together? Could we sing two or three hymns?” The dad looked at me, asking about the other condition. “Well, it’s a weird request,” I explained. “See, my home teachers don’t usually come.”

“I’ve got a baseball bat,” the dad teasingly remarked. Everyone laughed. “You could make him dress up in the bunny suit and go over with a baseball bat,” the mom added. More laughter. “Thanks,” I replied, “But I don’t want them mad at me for the rest of the semester. However, there is something I’d like from you.” I found myself a little choked up as I asked if he would give me a blessing. The room was quiet as he agreed.

“You could have gotten so much more!” the other visitor (a lawyer) said. She and the mom said they would try to see if they could add something else to the bartering, but I said it didn’t matter, and I handed the afikomen back to the patriarch, who passed it around, and we all ate it.

All of us piled into the piano room, gathering around the piano so we could play and sing together. We sang “Redeemer of Israel” and “The Spirit of God.” I played during one of the songs, and sang for the other. And it was beautiful, reminding me of home and time with my family, crowded around our own piano, singing at the top of our lungs. “You should pick the last one,” my roommate’s mom said. “What’s your favorite? Did any come to mind?”

I smiled. “One came to mind, but we won’t sing it. My family sings it all the time, but most people don’t. My last name is Herald, if that gives you any clues.”

“Oh, we love Christmas music,” they assured me. “Besides, Christ’s birthday is in just a few days. It’s perfect!” I didn’t need any more convincing. I sat down at the piano, and all of us sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!” at the top of our lungs; and angels sang with us.

After the singing, they brought a chair into the middle of the room. Everyone else sat against the walls. He placed his hands on my head and gave me a blessing.

I honestly don’t remember all of what he said. I remember feeling the Spirit. I remember crying. And I remember feeling that God was telling me “dayenu,” that I was enough; that in spite of all my imperfections, my mistakes, and all the trials I’m currently going through, that I am enough to get through them. No matter what happens, I’ll be given the strength to do all I need to. As I sat in that chair, my eyes wet with tears, that is what I heard. And, just as we had said “dayenu” over and over again, God was repeating his message to me, to help me understand that I am never alone, that I have more strength than I realize, and that the Savior would have been willing to suffer in Gethsemane even if I had been the only person that needed saving. Cutting through the doubt and darkness, I heard his voice telling me not only that I matter to him, but that I am enough.

I guess I could have asked for more in exchange for the afikomen. I probably could have gotten a gift card or new shoes or a lot of Easter candy. But looking back, I don’t regret my decision. I don’t really have a lot I’m in need of, and the things I am in need of aren’t things someone can give me or do for me. But that’s okay, because I got exactly what I wanted: to feel close to family, and to have a reminder of God’s love for me. Is life still hard? Yes. Do I still have papers to write, books to read, and projects to finish? Yes. And I’m supposed to fit in a social life, work, study for finals, move out of my apartment, stay sane, get healthy again, and pack up for Italy. I couldn’t ask for those things when bartering for the afikomen, even though I feel like all of these are righteous desires. I didn’t need to, though, because of Christ. He loves me, and he will never leave me alone. Even if all the things I want done don’t get done, that’s okay. Why? Because dayenu. It will be enough. I will be enough. I believe that. But the only reason I know that is because of Christ. Because he suffered for us; because he paid the price; because he atoned for our sins; because he died on the cross and was resurrected; in short, because He is enough.

In The Beginning…

After 21 years, I’m finally giving in. I haven’t before this, and why? I guess I figured I didn’t have anything exciting to write about. But, I leave for Italy in three and a half weeks, so it seemed like a good idea to start, to post my pictures and tell my stories. This will mark my first time out of the country, and hopefully help me to look for adventures in all I do. Wish me luck!