Utah and I are no longer speaking.

This past Monday was October the 20th, which commemorates two things: Peli's birthday (she's one year old!) and something else I'm not allowed to mention, because we "only have one anniversary."

Balogna.

Two years ago this past Monday, I pulled into the 10th Street church building's parking lot on the phone with my mother. It was early afternoon and very sunny out, and we were having a serious discussion about what would later be diagnosed as my chronic depression. I revealed to her what living with my little sister (who my therapist would later describe as "toxic") was doing to me, and she insisted I come home to talk about it.

Screw that, hippie. I've got a conference to run.

It was a Friday, and the reason I was pulling into the church's parking lot was to get everything decorated and ready to go for the institute conference Lawrence was hosting. My complete and utter inability to delegate meant I was a little ragged as the institute president and had a lot of work before me.

A few hours later, the decor was complete (Cinderella, many of the decorations courtesy of Mrs. Stock) and I was in the kitchen with Brother Heiner working on the food. I was just in the photography room with Heidi, watching her giggle with a boy or two (which boys, I'm not sure) and I mentioned casually to Brother Heiner that we needed to find someone for Heidi. Brother Heiner paused, and without looking up from what he was doing, he said, "What about you, Katie?"

Le gasp. It was well known I was waiting for a missionary, and I nervously played with the necklace holding his CTR ring and the key sent me after going into the field (the "key to his heart" for all you cheese fans out there), and said with half a laugh, "Brother Heiner! I already have somebody!" Masking complete shock as I said it, though, because the past month and a half included many hours spent on my knees asking Heavenly Father what to do with the doubt that had been plaguing me. In that time, a friend had died, truths been told, and I had visited the Nauvoo Temple, knowing full well in looking at it that I would be married there (after a couple years of insisting I'd be married in Logan), and while there finding myself completely unable to fill a tape to my missionary.

Brother Heiner stopped his chopping and looked at me. "Katie, he's great. You're great. But you won't be happy together."

I made some kind of joke and then excused myself. Brother Heiner was like a dad to me, but I sitll didn't want him to know the conflict I was feeling recently. That day had marked eighteen months (EIGHTEEN MONTHS! That deserves an applause or something), and without having even hinted at what I was struggling with, Brother Heiner brought it up. After a few minutes in the bathroom checking my makeup smudges (blasted emotions), I went to the lobby area to begin checking in people showing up for the conference.

It wasn't long before a couple of guys showed up that I'd never met before. The name of the boy in the striped shirt and tie stuck out to me: "Bobby." Who's named "Bobby" anymore? When signing in, under gender he wrote "B." He caught his mistake instantly and laughed with his friend, and explained that "B" meant "boy."

The dinner and speaker went smoothly, and with the "amen" at the closing prayer, I scurried out quickly to get the food into the dance. The cultural hall was dark and I was carrying lots of chopped up food (aw, chocolate fountain), and given my grace, I was very focused on what I was doing. As I was walking in the door, that boy, Bobby, was walking out. With my concentration on the little cubes of angel food cake, I was caught a little off guard when this Bobby guy punched me square in the arm. I looked up to see him running away, and I was very confused as to what had just happened (I later discovered he was just as confused with his actions as I was).

The night continued, and I squeezed in a dance here and there between chartering the food in and out. A slow song started, and the Bobby kid walked up to me and said, "Sorry about punching you earlier. Let me make it up to you with a dance." Cheese lines don't typically work on me, but he was cute, and I have trouble saying no at the expense of others' feelings. So we danced, and we chatted, and he commented on how ridiculously sarcastic I was being (yay defense mechanisms!) when at the end of the song, the DJ of the evening made an announcement.

"We've found a CTR ring, so if you lost yours, come on up and describe it." I looked down at my hand and was relieved to see mine, and thought how sucky it was for the person who lost theirs when I casually reached up to my necklace. Where my necklace used to be was a very broken chain with no ring or key to be found. I ran to the stage and described the CTR ring that used to be around my neck, and they handed it over. I looked every where to find the key that night and the next morning at cleanup, and nothing.

The next day, Bobby asked for my number before leaving the conference, and we were pretty much inseperable after that. So I like to remember October 20th because not only was it the day that I met my husband and best friend, but because that day, Heavenly Father was very blunt with me. I couldn't have asked for a clearer indication of His will for me.

And now Peli's puking. Happy Wednesday, all.