I am a numbers girl...I always have been. I love math...absolutely love math! Numbers can be perfectly logical, carry so much information, and tell a story. Patterns are everywhere with numbers and in math and I love it!
There is one place in life that I can think of something represented by a number that has little value to me...the age of my friends. Let me illustrate:
The year I turned 8, my primary teacher was Mark London. Mark and I had a special connection. I would like to think that I was his favorite. I still remember sitting on his lap during sharing time singing "Follow the Prophet." I looked forward that year to turning 8 and getting baptized. I had certain people (outside of my family) that I wanted at my baptism and Mark was at the top of the list. Mark turned 19 that year and was preparing for his mission. He got his mission call to The Dominican Republic, to enter the MTC on August 3. I turned 8 and got baptized on August 6. As those dates may suggest, Mark was not able to attend my baptism. At 7...almost 8...this was very difficult for me. The morning he left on his mission, my mom took me over to his house to say good-bye. As we were leaving, he gave my mom a letter to be read at my baptism. I still have that letter, and know where it is. At that young age, I didn't care that one of my favorite people was 11 years older than me.
Fast forward a few years to my first day of high school. My first class in high school was seminary. I walked into the seminary building, found which class I was in, and walked down the hall to my classroom. I was greeted by my teacher, Brother Corbett. Throughout the semester, we had a lot of fun. He definitely took advantage of the fact that I am easily teased. By the end of the semester, Brother Corbett and I had become friends, and throughout the next two and a half years, we became even better friends. I had other great seminary teachers, but it was Brother Corbett who I was closest to. Occasionally, I was sure I drove him crazy, but I knew he cared about me, and he assured me of this in my senior yearbook. I am grateful that one of my best friends in high school was more than 30 years older than me.
Fast forward again. Four years ago, I graduated from BYU-Idaho and moved home. I knew that during the summer, the youth in my stake were going on Pioneer Trek. I was excited to learn that they wanted the big brothers and sisters to be young single adults from the stake, and I got to go. My family consisted of my Ma and Pa, me (the big sister), four young women, and six young men. From the very beginning, I could tell that the boys would be quite entertaining, and they didn't disappoint. Most of them were typical teenage boys, but one surprised me. That was Nate. I adored this little brother and admired his maturity. I was shocked to find out he was only 14. Because of the influence he had on me during those four days, I have since made it a point to keep in contact with him. And over the last almost four years, he has become one of my very good friends. I am sure he gets annoyed with my relentlessness as a "big sister," but I am pretty sure he knows it is all out of love. I enjoy the fact that I have a wonderful friendship with someone who is 8 years younger than me.
I have heard that age is just a number, and in some ways I agree. When people say this, they don't see numbers the same way I do. The idea behind this is that age doesn't mean anything, and I completely agree with this. In the case of the ages of my friends, the number means nothing; it is strictly a label that has no value in my mind.
I'm not usually a fan of Mondays. Occasionally, I find reasons to look forward to them: seeing a friend who has been out of town, going on a trip, looking forward to a fun activity, etc. Another fun thing about Mondays is getting emails from missionaries. When my little brother was out, I always watched for the email he sent home and read it as soon as I had the opportunity. Now, I look forward to the emails I receive from my little friend, Nate.
