Diana Leaney López Ruano

They lied when they said that the past doesn't define you. Of course it defines you. You are a compilation of all of your pain, all of your difficulties,  all of your trials, all of the mistakes and all of the loss you've experienced up until now. You are also a child of God. For that reason I remember, sitting in an interview with an ecclesiastical leader I was presented with a question that changed the way I see myself.  He said, "What would you be; without the sexual, physical, and emotional abuse that you use as shields...  without the mistakes and fears that you use as masks...  without the racism, judgement and mocking you hold as a torch?  What would be left behind without all of that?" The answer was simple. A daughter of God. To some that may mean nothing.  To me it meant that I was not my pain.  I was simply a person that learned how to love their companion so deeply that I endured the darkest of hells while waking that I coul...

I hadn't written much over the past two years because I didn't want what I was living to be documented.  Or rather,  I could have documented it and gone to the police,  but I didn't.  I just left. A lot of you know what happened,  some through the grapevine and some from the original sources.  Basically,  I was in an abusive relationship and now I am in a happy one. August 2016.  An empty shell with long sleeves and a scarf to cover the bruises,  I walked into the University of Utah's Counseling Center.  I knew I needed to get help.  I was ready to end the pain at any cost,  so I filled out the questionnaire.  I was on the life or death end of severe situational depression.  She asked, "What reasons do you have to stay alive?"   I said, "Bella."   She asked, "Who can help you stay alive?"   I said, "Lauren."   She made me pinky promise that I wouldn't kill myself over the weekend and I held ...

A father.  A husband.  A follower of God.  A coach.  A leader.  A servant without applaud. An uncle.  A brother.  A counselor.  A light. An example and friend. Tio Paco A man is not measured by how extravagant and costly his house is,  but by the feeling inside of the walls he provided.  When he reaches heaven,  angels will measure the kinds words spoken,  the goals made and achieved,  the teachings given and lessons learned under the roof of his home,  none of which can be measured monetarily.  A man is not measured by his titles of power,  but the magnified humble titles of father,  husband,  friend,  uncle...  Tio Paco I miss you. My uncle passed away on Monday and as we gathered in his home to be with family I was subconsciously looking for the peace I had felt there many times before.   I found it.  I enter...

I want to say so much about the nothing that I feel. There is loneliness in the absence of hope,  and it fills you to the point you don't know what is real and what is not. Who are we? Who are we but beings going through a rough time trying to do human things and then realizing that we are more than our actions. Cortes. That is my new last name.  Add Lopez to the end of it and I realize that I lost my mother's name.  What does that mean? Cortes Lopez No longer Lopez Ruano.  No longer Sister Lopez,  but Hermana Cortes.  Or to be more specific,  Hermanita Cortes because my mother in law has the main role. Who am I? What is a wife? Married. Married people wear wedding rings Married people Marriage. "Marriage is hard." Everyone says that,  but they don't tell you the pain of losing your identity. 

Miss.  Hello,  Miss.  I Miss you.  Are you Missing? I am missing.  I am MISSing. Missing Japan.  Meaning,  it is gone and I can't find it.  Its somewhere on a spinnig globe,  an arms-span away on a map,  but so far and currently unreachable that I wonder if it even still exists...  Nihon.  The place my heart was humbled.  The land of the rising sun,  the land where I discovered what love could do to a wounded soul. Be still,  my soul. It was something about the uphill bike rides on a turquoise mamachadi in the core-peircing cold of December.  On a humid island that did not remember the reason for Christmas.  Many did not remember Christ. It was something about ping-ponging the intercom in hopes of someone opening the door just long enough to hear the silent night duet of you and your companion renditioned over and over and over and over to an unseen,  unheard,  possibly nonexisten...

The strongest man in the world is Jose Antonio Ruano Roca.  Mi abuelito.  We call him "Papito." El hombre mas fuerte del mundo es Jose Antonio Ruano Roca.  Mi abuelito.  Le decimos "Papito." He is so strong that he states spoken word poetry and the room stays still. El es tan fuerte que cuando recita poecia,  el cuarto queda callado para escuchar.   He is so strong that he lifts up his grandchildren and sings our most familiar of childhood tunes,  "Tingi riki riki riki,  tingi riki riki rin."  He never tires. El es tan fuerte que toma a sus nietos en brazos y nunca se cansa de cantar "Tingi riki riki riki,  tingi riki riki rin!"  Una melodia que nos penetra hasta el corazon.   He is so strong that the machete he wields is nothing compared to his testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ which he shares,  has always shared with the power of God. El es tan fuerte que el machete con que defende a su fam...

There was this moment,  in Japan.  The hardest of moments when I turned to my Heavenly Father for love and guidance.  I turned to the Priesthood Power, a blessing.  Afterwards,  the Elder said to me,   "Sister L ópez,  I just saw all of the times your plans have not gone according to plan."   All the times I have tried to do what is right, to change, to follow the plan Heavenly Father has set for me and failed miserably.   A patriarchal blessing is a blessing from God given to someone when they are ready to listen to Heavenly Father's plan and potential blessings for them specifically.  I read mine today and got stuck at the part after  my full-time missionary service.  My college life was always focused on going on a mission and for six months,  returning to finish my missionary service.  Things are different now.  Now,   I am here to stay.   Utah.  The place I want to raise ...