Last week, I bought some fresh green beans for the first time. When I cooked them, it really surprised me how much genuine pleasure I had in their texture and taste. Let's be honest; how many of us taste any plain vegetables and just melt because of how good they are?
My positive reaction to green beans wasn't necessarily because of their virtue, but rather because I was overwhelmed with memories from my childhood. I remembered going outside during the summer to search for green beans in our garden, picking through the snaking vines, verdant leaves, and dappled sunlight. My mom and little sister Alysia were there too; Stacy couldn't participate yet, so I was probably around seven years old. I loved it so much that I would imagine building a house with wire mesh walls and ceilings covered in green bean plants. After harvesting, I was always proud as I brought in a bowl of my finds to my dad so that he could cook them.
I've been realizing lately how much my childhood memories affect my perceptions and connotations. I'll be sitting in the car, listening to music, and I'll react positively to an 80's song the comes on; then I'll remember standing in front of my house, hearing 80's music drift from the garage where my dad is working with his tools. Or on the other hand, a classical song will come on, and I'll remember my dad reading a newspaper on the couch while a recorded orchestra plays; I can't help but appreciate music that reminds me of these happy, warm moments.
A strong part of my identity is that of caretaker; I feel a strong need to take care of people and make sure that they're OK. My earliest memory--or at least that I can think of--comes from a pre-school activity where I went to the zoo. I was probably four years old, and we painted our own shirts before we went. Because my little sister Alysia was only a year old, my mom started off by helping her. In that moment, I realized that I was an older sibling, and I needed to take care of my sister. I realized that the world wasn't always about me, and therefore my thoughts shouldn't be either. It's the first time I can really remember feeling old--yes, I realized four isn't very old--and I'm convinced that feeling of age came because a part of my divine, eternal nature was activated. But this awareness came because my mom was taking care of my sister, and I knew that in a lot of ways, I should grow up to be like her. This childhood realization channeled the course of my life.
I have to wonder how much my family's scripture reading as a child influences just how much I love the scriptures now. I remember that at somewhere between 11 and 13 years old, I participated with the young women in a scripture activity, the oldest young women having taken seminary classes already. The leader would read a part of a commonly used scripture, and then we would race to see who could finish it. I remember being bewildered as time after time, I could finish the scripture. There was only one that I didn't know, ironically Alma 37:35, which counsels us to learn wisdom in our youth. In a flow of intelligence, these scriptures resonated with my core and somehow found their way out of my core in the form of words. At this time, I hadn't been able to finish the Book of Mormon on my own, but because my parents had lead family scripture study and taken me to church, I had been able to absorb a lot of spiritual knowledge that still brings me comfort and joy today.
I'm really grateful for my parents and for my childhood. I'm so blessed, and there have been so many people involved in helping me become ever closer to who I'm meant to be.
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