Learning from Procrastinating

So, you will probably think this is a post about procrastination and how I learned never to do it again…think again my friend.

I am in History 421, which is called "The History of Handwriting", I have really like this class. Not only because there was almost no homework in the class, but the main thing we did in the class was taking a document and deciphered the handwriting. Because I have taken a calligraphy class, I was familiar with the different "hands" of writing. Unfortunately, this love of history and handwriting kind of died in the middle of the semester. Kaput. My editing classes began to take greater precedence over history, and at one point, even sewing was the focus of my time. Sick huh?

Because of this lack of my time, I began to fall behind in my history class. At the end of the semester, we have this HUGE project that supposedly, we have been working on all semester. Funny. I even managed to miss my meeting with my professor to talk about my project because I had not even taken a look at my proposal since September. Long story short, I was in BIG do-do. Part of the assignment was to find a topic that you wanted to learn more about (in 18^th century London), I chose something pretty random because I like to look at the small things in history. I am not a big picture kind of historian. I like to look at obscure topics in history. I feel that you learn more about a society when you look at their medical history, or the books they used to learn how to read, or, for this project, what they did and how they managed to keep roads clean and paved.

I had thought that I had found all the documents that I needed and all I had to do was just sit and decipher the hand. O how I was wrong. I only had 800 words, I needed 2,000. I spent about three hours in the library looking for documents. To my dismay, there were a ton of documents that I could use, the problem: they were all in Salt Lake, about an hour drive. I didn't have that kind of time. I knew I was sunk. But there was nothing else I could do. I had to go.

So my trek to the Salty City began.

I ran out of my apartment at 2:15 because I was talking to Cecilly, she and I have really bonded lately, she makes me think, which will be addressed in another post. To my horror, I found that the Family History Library in SLC closed at FIVE. I would have less than an hour and a half to find documents and park and everything. I literally sped along the way to Salt Lake, I may or may not have been going an average speed of 95-100 mph the whole way.

As I arrived in Salt Lake, I ran inside the FHL and I could feel a sense of doom. I had no idea what I was looking for, I didn't know where anything was. I was a dead woman walking.

I got the floor I needed to start looking, and a sister missionary kindly started asking me questions about what I was looking for. I must have looked like a mad woman because I was soon surrounded by three missionaries. I hadn't even asked for their help. They didn't even say anything and I could just sense the love that they had for me. I didn't even know their names, I didn't know who they were, but the spirit was so strong in them.

They calmed my troubled heart; they made me really think about what I was doing there. I was so frantic when I left my apartment, I forgot my wallet—and my money. I had to make copies of the documents and I had no money. I almost sat down and started crying. Then, a sister missionary took me by the hand and whispered to me, "I got this—we do this all the time, its service." She didn't even give me a chance to refuse.

Going to the FHL, was a blessing in itself. I was amazed at how missionaries have so much love in them. And I know its because they are filled with the spirit of God. I was so overcome by their sweet spirits, and I will admit, I was jealous. I wanted to be like them.

I realized that maybe, even though I joke about being a bitter old person, I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be like that now. I want to look for the good in people. I want to bring out the best in people. I want to be an old woman that smells like freshly baked apply-pie (which I did make today!) and people gravitate towards because of their sweet spirit. Maybe, in thirty years, I will be there.

Just maybe.