If it makes me feel better, isn't that all that matters?

I’ve noticed a trend lately, already prevalent in much of society, but most recently I’ve seen it within my own family and circle of acquaintances. And that’s what brings me here: It really bothers me. :D

My younger son was in the middle of a big verbal argument with my youngest daughter. When they were little, we used to surmise that when they grew older, Kristi would “clean his clock.” Hehehehe…. But anyway, she told him that she didn’t think he could come up with a better insult than she had, so he said something really cruel about her ears. She’s very sensitive about her ears because she hasn’t quite grown into them yet. And he knows that. We call them “Presidential Ears” because they are reminiscent of the president’s ears, though she is MUCH cuter! By the time Darryl and I got on the scene, Kristi was sniffling, Lauren was furious because they had been fighting, and Scott had refused to go to his room. Scott was in full argument mode because, see, he had apologized. He said he had felt bad, so he’d come back and told Kristi he was sorry. But is that really enough?

Another incident involved other people, older and wiser, but no less sensitive than Kristina. One used a public forum (facebook) to vent some feelings she had been carrying for a long time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her facebook page where she chose to do this, and there are a number of people who saw it who know all parties involved and even more who don’t and are left with only that entry on which to judge our family members. When called on that behavior, the offending person exclaimed, “But I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest!” No apology, no acknowledgment of how others might have been affected. Just an assertion that the “feeling better” far outweighed any burden it might have caused to anyone else.

There are countless other examples in my own personal life. I’m sure I have done the same thing. I hate it when I do that. I don’t want to offend anyone. Even if it is because I am getting something off my chest. How can that be of any benefit to me if my “resolution” comes at the price of another?

I see this all the time in the news and in my work. Many people have the idea that they need to let their feelings out, regardless of who is in the way. We seem to have gone from the “me” generation to the “ONLY me” generation. Some recent egregious examples are Kanye West, Serena Williams, Joe Wilson….

I was born of goodly….completely HUMAN parents. They made plenty of mistakes in their time. From the time I can remember, I was afraid of my dad…then he aggravated me completely….then I felt his behavior was simply unreasonable….then I got married to an even MORE unreasonable man (not talking about Darryl, for those who know him LOL), and I began to appreciate my dad more. I have had the misfortune of seeing that many of my loved friends and family went through horrible experiences in their early years. I realize that, while I felt absolutely picked on, I actually had it really good. I never doubted that my parents loved me. They never did anything to me that was really as awful as I imagined. I have the 20/20 hindsight goggles that you get when you have raised (sort of successfully) four kids to adulthood, and you’re in the process of finishing up the remaining three.

So, yeah, it’s amazing how much softer the edges of my memory are about my father. After all, he’s been gone 10 years already, and I mostly just remember the good things about him. He was a good dad but a better Papa. I think my mom would be in a better place if he were still here, but wouldn’t any wife who loved her husband?

While we’ve generally had a good relationship, I’ve had struggles with my mom over the years, but she is, after all is said and done, still my mother. She had to sacrifice a great deal to raise me and my brother and sister. We are all good people who have raised a good group of children ourselves. I hate it when I get frustrated and say anything that would hurt my mom’s feelings. But that brings me back to the very human makeup I share with my parents. My goal is to look at my mother, my sweetheart, my children, my in-laws, and my friends as the glorious beings they truly are. Each of us has a life fraught with emotional danger. Some of us are much better than others at navigating the waters.

Darryl and I had a talk about this the other day, and I mentioned that I feel like when we get into an argument, and I feel I’ve crossed that imaginary line, it diminishes me as a person. Once said, you can’t truly take back the hurtful comments. That’s not who I am, nor does it truly reflect who I think HE is. He’s a good man…also completely human….who has hurt people in his life, including me. Yet he is the sum of ALL his parts, including the kind, intelligent, funny, fascinating, compassionate, talented parts. So when he hurts my feelings, I may lick my wounds for a while, because I’m certainly not immune to hurt feelings, but I know that he loves me and that no one has ever been such a good match for me. I just remind myself that one day each of us will have the partner we deserve…..and long for. Mind you, the wait isn’t all that bad :D

What I really need to do is figure out how to view MYSELF as a glorious being. I need to recognize that the hurtful things that others say and do on occasion are NOT representative of all of me. I know that I am kind, compassionate, funny, smart, and very sincere. Those parts of me as a whole make me a person worth knowing. I need to live my life more as those parts of myself and less the parts that others find unacceptable.

My hope is that I can resolve to be more kind and more compassionate in my dealings with others. I can’t know what is in the heart and mind of another person. I would want the same from them, so I hope that I can set that example.

Dodging the Bullet

About 2 weeks ago now, I was playing "daddy-daughter softball" with my 9-year-old daughter. This is, of course, turns out to be less about 9 year olds having fun than it is about a bunch of fat, middle-aged dads pretending to play for the Mets while their daughters wander obliviously around the field smelling the dandelions.

I trotted out on field like the pro I just KNEW I had been in some previous life, and took my place playing second base, girding my loins and slapping my fist in my glove, hungry for the "big play." :)

One cute little girl dribbled a grounder past the pitcher, and I ran up on it like the final game of the World Series depended on my speed and overall athletic prowess. As I picked up the ball, I stood up to throw, and realized a tad too late that I had been running on wet grass... with sneakers. As this thought made its' way... slowly... across the synapses of my brain, my feet... both of them... continued straight out in front of me, in one of those slow-motion "Oh-Crap" moments when you realize that your body is not doing what your mind thinks it is. I got great hang time while I hung there... mid-air... kind of like the coyote before he disappears in a cloud down to the canyon floor below.

OK, so I didn't fall to the canyon 200 stories below... OK, so it was only a little over 2 feet... but I landed flat on my back, which complete broke ribs 7 & 8 on my right side. I writhed around in pain for a minute, wondering if I would EVER be able to draw breath again, when several of the dads helped me up. My wife judiciously waited to see if I was OK before she began giggling.

Not only was that embarrassing in the extreme, but it seriously bruised my machismo-laced self image. I got back up, brushed myself off, and determined to "play through the pain." I think now I had transitioned from professional baseball in my mind to professional football, but I digress.

My next chance to redeem myself came when I came up to bat... now, this was SLOW-pitch softball, mind you. I was going to hit it CLEAR outta the park. Redeem myself. Prove that I'm a manly man. Three GLORIOUSLY unsuccessful swings and misses later, I checked my aluminum bat with the utmost scrutiny to see if there somehow had been a hole strategically placed in it as a practical joke. No such luck. Of course, a number of little girls... including my own daughter, who had never played softball before that day in her LIFE... got solid hits.

When I got up to bat again, I decided to throttle back my enthusiasm a bit, and connected enough with the ball to dribble a grounder past the pitcher... and ran like my life depended on it. Picture a Sumu wrestler trying to do the 50-yard dash. It took 15 seconds for the waves in my blubber to stop rolling when I reached 2nd base.

When the next little girl dribbled another base hit, I sprinted for 3rd... only to find that our ex-Bishop's little 9 year old had wandered obliviously into the baseline... and stopped. Not wanting to put his little flower into the ICU by running her over, I nimbly stepped out to the left to kind of "dance" around her. Again, the realization that I was running on wet grass with sneakers darted across the few remaining synapses of my brain as my left foot shot out from under me, forcing me into the splits. OK, THAT one was excruciating. Again, my wife and all the other dads ran out to see what kind of damage I had done to myself, and 2 dads had to practically carry me to the sidelines. One of them helpfully advised that I might want to "sit a few innings out." My leg wouldn't straighten.. at all... and wouldn't bend. Several of the parents there mused out loud as to whether someone had captured all this for later upload to YouTube. I was NOT amused.

So, the result of my foray into the world of athletics after a 30+ year absence was... 1 pulled hamstring, 2 completely broken ribs, and 1 seriously bruised ego.

I lived on Percocets for the next week and a half, and the pain kept getting worse and worse. At first it was mainly my leg. Then my leg started healing, and the ribs started becoming more and more painful until it was difficult to breathe...it just hurt too much. So, on Tuesday of this week, I broke down and went into the ER (where I usually transport patients, so I know them all by name), and had an X-ray taken. The ER, by the way, is $439 just to walk through the door, I found out.

The cute little PA that came in to see me asked what was wrong, and I said, "I think Ribs 7 & 8 are cracked." She gave me that condescending "you're-so-cute" look, and asked me why I thought that. I rattled off the medical signs and symptoms, and told her that I had had broken ribs before. After a Percocet had mellowed me a bit, I had the X-ray taken... which cost me $657. No, I don't have insurance, so I carefully track these things.

After a couple of hours of waiting, the PA came in, and said, "You're scary accurate. It was ribs 7 & 8, and they're complete breaks." I smiled with vindication. And then she shattered my world. A very serious look crossed her face.

"Your X-ray came back abnormal. The radiologist found a shadow on your right lower lobe."

She showed me on the computer monitor where the shadow was... and kept trying to reassure me that it "could be nothing." But she also had to admit that it could be bad. Very bad. She told me that the radiologist suggested that I have a follow-up in "3-6 months." I remember the whole thing being rather surreal... almost as if it weren't happening to me, but to someone else.

I don't remember much of what happened after that... I do remember telling Tracy... again it was surreal... like it was someone else... how could this be happening to ME? I remember going through the motions of going home, trying to get some work done but not being able to concentrate, and then going online and doing research. I didn't come up with anything encouraging.

I called and made an appointment with my doctor, since it didn't make ANY sense to wait 3-6 months for something as potentially lethal as lung cancer. I also called the hospital and asked them to prepare a copy of the x-rays and the final report from the radiologist. I picked the films and the report up bright and early the next day... and read the report out loud;

"Impressions: Density in the right lower lung. Advise PA and Lateral chest radiographs with nipple markers in place to evaluate this region and exclude lung abnormality. Lung abnormality could be due to numerous etiologies to include neoplasm."

The last part stopped me cold in my tracks: "to include neoplasm." Neoplasm is med-speak for cancer.

I went through the rest of the day in a fog... not being able to think clearly about much of anything... but about what the end would be like. Will I suffer? What about my children? How will Tracy make it without me? Am I ready to die? I have so much to do... how long will I be able to function? Where will I be buried? HOW will I be buried? We have no insurance. Tracy had the good sense not to get too rattled until she had more definitive information... I wasn't so rational. I was scared spitless. All of a sudden, my ribs didn't hurt so much anymore.

I wept. I worried. I paced. And I researched. I pretended to work. I pretended to function. I pretended to not want anyone to know, but quickly realized that I didn't have the emotional strength to go through this alone.

I went to my appointment with the doctor, hoping for good news. She didn't offer any. What she did do was to write me a script for another confirmation x-ray at another imaging center. We went straight from the doctor's office to the imaging center, and they took me right in. The x-ray, BTW, cost us a whopping $78... after the hospital had charged us $657 for the same thing. But I digress.

The X-rays and the radiologist's Final Report were due the next morning. Due to rampant miscommunications, however, I didn't reach my doctor until the next afternoon, when they cheerfully reported to my everlasting relief that... the X-rays were normal.

The experience left me changed... at least for now... until the stresses of life shove it to the back of my mind again. I'll never forget that feeling of knowing that I could be dying... and the hopelessness and terror that accompanied that news. It has made me appreciate life that much more.

Now... in a couple of hours, when my heart actually resumes beating, I'll probably go celebrate dodging the biggest bullet of my life so far... hopefully by having a healthy salad somewhere.

When Pigs Fly (Or Swine Flu)

I've been watching the hype on the Swine Flu for some time now, and am more then mildly amused at the near-hysteria it caused, and the utter non-issue it has since become. And, to be honest, I've had to raise an eyebrow at some of the circumstances behind the flurry of hand-wringing that has accompanied it as it has spread.

Let's take a look under the hospital gown of this panic-infested disease, keeping in mind that the venerable WHO shrieked hysterically when the first cases were reported, and gave Hamthrax it's next-to-highest "warning level"... Level 5... which means that a pandemic is "imminent." That doesn't mean that it COULD happen... it means that it WILL. What, exactly, *IS* a "pandemic"? With no small amount of irony, the word "pandemic" comes from the Greek "pan," which literally means "all," and "demos," which means "people." Pandemic means, literally, "all people."

Now... weeks after this shrieking warning blared its way through the airwaves, where are we? How bad is it? Do we have areas roped off with barbed wire, guard dogs, and tanks a la "Outbreak"? Not so much.

As of today's date, there have been 4,694 cases of swine flu reported... WORLD-WIDE. To give you some perspective, that's ONE in every 1.3 MILLION people. And deaths? So far there have been... wait for it... 48. World-wide. That's one in every 125 MILLION people.

Now... according to the Royal Aeronautical Society, there are approx. 24,000 deaths each year from LIGHTNING strikes. That means you have a 500 times GREATER chance of getting killed by lightning than you do of dying from Hamthrax. Or, to put a finer point on it, you are 36,125 TIMES more likely to die of... say... "runaway diarrhea" than Swine Flu. In fact, you are 20 TIMES more likely to get eaten by a tiger than you are to die of the Swine Flu. And no, I'm not making this up. And yet, curiously, I have yet to see the WHO raise The Trots to a Level 5 Pandemic Panic.

Now... if you REALLY wanna talk "pandemic," let's review the numbers of the Influenza Pandemic in 1918-1919. Estimates on that one range from 13 to 20 MILLION deaths world-wide. And here we are, reduced to a quivering, panic-stricken puddle over... 48 deaths.

So, to Enquiring Minds everywhere, the question is dutifully begged, "Why, then, all the hysteria over Hamthrax"?

There are many reasons, of course. We have become far more reactionary as a people than our stronger, more hearty predecessors. And then one must consider the old standby villain... the Almighty Buck.

Not to point fingers carelessly (and lord knows Big Pharmaceuticals would NEVER pull anything remotely shady), but consider our benevolent "friend," Hoffman-La Roche Pharmaceuticals... maker of Tamiflu, the only effective flu vaccine on the market. In March of 2009, the Swine Flu was discovered in Mexico, and was ultimately traced back to a 4-year-old boy on a pig farm there. Shares of Hoffman-La Roche were the lowest they had been in the last 5 years... $26.50/share. Fast-forward one month to April 10, when the WHO inexplicably raised Hamthrax to a "Level 5" outbreak... and La Roche shares shot up to $35.05/share for a one month share increase of over 25%. Not bad, considering that the lion's share of the profit on this drug had already been realized when La Roche raked in billions over the last 5 years by fear-mongering governments world-wide to stockpile millions of doses of the vaccine, which the helpful La Roche people strongly warned would "not be nearly enough" to handle the swine flu "pandemic." How magnanimous of them. Imagine the dismay in the boardroom when the numbers weren't nearly as dire as they must've hoped. If you want to see just how dismayed they are, look at where their stock went AFTER the "pandemic" didn't even reach "getting-eaten-by-a-tiger" levels.

Oh, well. Maybe I'm just becoming cynical in my old age. Or maybe there's something I'm missing here. I don't know. You decide. I'm not feeling too well.

The REAL Miss USA

Just when you think you've passed the last pothole on the road of sound judgment and logic, out pops flamboyant gay "celebrity" blogger Perez Hilton and trashes the suspension on your SUV. I know I've sounded off on this before, but the events of the last week have just taken my breath away. So here I go again.

You may have seen what I'm talking about. The Miss USA pageant. Or maybe you missed it. Doesn't matter. I don't follow beauty pageants generally by virtue of the fact that they smack of meat-market sexism that rivals such deeply intellectual fare as "the Batchelor" and "Wife Swap" on the substance-o-meter. What piqued my interested in this one was the set-up question that Hilton intentionally dropped in the lap of Miss California, Carrie Prejean.

Hilton, aka Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr. (his real name), openly stated that he set up the unwitting beauty contestant to have a national forum to bring this issue to the forefront. In other words, he hijacked this contest... which has NOTHING whatsoever to do with gay rights or gay marriage, to advance his own selfish agenda, and bring it before a "national audience." And Hilton personally has no moral or ethical problem doing so. You see, for gay rights activists, there is nothing that could be possibly unethical in advancing their "cause." There is no act too brazen, no lie too bold, no fraud too despicable, no sleaze too slimy. There are simply no holds barred in their quest to advance their agenda. Apparently, boundaries, ethics, constraint, diplomacy, etc. are for the OTHER side. Not them. After all, the end justifies the means, right? Those who oppose gay marriage dare not step out of line... or else. But PROPONENTS? Anything goes. The hypocrisy here is stunning and unbelievable. And completely unacceptable to us as a nation.

And as far as this loaded question goes, there was obviously no acceptable answer but one. In a stunningly brazen move, this inappropriate question was asked, with the prior approval of pageant organizer Lewis (who is also gay), deliberately to throw the contest the way Hilton and his conspirators wanted it to go, knowing that Prejean was a Christian, as well as to steal the spotlight from those who rightfully earned it... to HIM... and the cause he embraces so passionately. For Hilton, the entire pageant was simply a convenient vehicle to roughly shove aside the relevant purpose of the pageant to openly advance gay marriage... with some annoying girls thrown in for looks... pun intended. What was really revealing were the CHEERS from the audience that accompanied Prejean's statement... which Hilton then LIED about on Larry King and tried lamely to pretend that they were actually "boos."

Hilton sunk to an all-time head-scratching low when asked why he asked such a loaded question in such in inappropriate forum... his answer? "I thought it was relevant." Huh? At a beauty pageant? Hilton went on to explain that in HIS view, Miss USA should "represent ALL of us." Apparently, there is no room for conviction in Hilton's world, if it disagrees with his. One must honestly ask why Hilton himself isn't willing to take his own advice, reel in his invective, and be content to respect the "ALL of us" who disagree with HIM and his precious "cause"?

Prejean noted, quite correctly it seems, that the honest belief she shared (which is what Hilton asked, after all), cost her the Miss USA crown. And you'd have to be inhabiting the basement apartment under the closest rock not to agree. What was even more jaw-dropping was the fact that the pageant organizer agreed with Hilton that Prejean should not have been crowned Miss USA, based solely on her beliefs on gay marriage. WHAT???!!! So much for objectivity and fairness. Apparently, the Miss USA Pageant has jettisoned the "beauty" part for the sake of only naming someone who was supportive of the organizer's gay agenda. What's wrong with this picture? We have arrived at the ultimate precipice of absurdity... where a beauty pageant's beauty, grace, poise, and intelligence are disregarded, honest well-thought-out, well-expressed opinion is discouraged, and shallow, politically-correct pandoring pablum is exalted as the ultimate goal for the optimal "Miss USA."

The comically ridiculous part of all this came in an interview that Hilton gave on Larry King, wherein he stated that by honestly stating her beliefs (which statistically a vast majority of the population share, by the way), that she was being "divisive," and that she somehow wasn't "MY Miss USA," representing "the rest of America," such as "gays and lesbians and their families." That's funny. I somehow didn't realize that gays and lesbians represented "America." Apparently Hilton has never read a poll before, nor did he pay much attention to the statistics behind the decisive victory of Prop 8 in California... one of the most gay-friendly states in the nation. Nor has he paid attention to the myriad of national polls that have been conducted that have clearly outlined just exactly who the majority is on this issue. Poor dear. He probably doesn't realize that gays comprise a tiny minority in this country... and a minority whose public image is deteriorating at warp speed for just such antics as Hilton has displayed here.

The end result of this mess is that Hilton obtained far more exposure than he (or his cause) deserves, and a qualified, beautiful, courageous young woman was denied a crown that she most assuredly deserved... all because she had the strength, courage, and moral conviction to answer a set-up question honestly and with conviction. God bless her.

Fortunately, the majority in this country can see this ham-fisted, openly biased morality-bashing for what it was, and quietly acknowledge Carrie Prejean as the REAL Miss USA this year.

And the only real LOSER here.. is Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr., and the other morally and ethically bankrupt screeching, whining coalition of homosexuals and lesbians who insist that lying, fraud, dishonestly, and deception are justifiable strategies for forcing their views on a majority who have clearly rejected them. We can only hope that NAMBLA isn't waiting in the wings, studying the gay rights playbook, and planning their own campaign.

"And They Shall Hear My Voice"

The following is the text of a talk that I gave in Sacrament Meeting two Sundays ago.


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As you may or may not have picked up from the wonderful talks given so far, our topic this morning is 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13, which centers on the Savior’s visit to the Americas after His crucifixion and resurrection in the Old World.

Since we were given such broad latitude on this assignment, I decided to read through 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13 and stop whenever I arrived at a passage that spoke to me. I started reading in Chapter 11, and made it all the way to the 1st verse before I stopped… so let me take a few minutes and just share some random musings on the next couple of verses.

Here’s the setting as we begin Chapter 11… months had passed since the three days of darkness had dispersed and the people were gathered at the temple in Bountiful. The Savior had just spent 40 days teaching his Eastern Apostles the mysteries of the Kingdom. There were 2,500 men, women, and children present, (3 Ne 17:25) and they were gathered together as families, (3 Ne 19:1) which indicates that this was probably a conference of the Church called by Nephi III.

“And now it came to pass that there were a great multitude gathered together, of the people of Nephi, round about the temple which was in the land Bountiful; and they were marveling and wondering one with another, and were showing one to another the great and marvelous change which had taken place.” (3 Ne 11:1)

The fact that they were marveling and showing each other the changes that had taken place suggests that many of them had come from a considerable distance… to get an idea of why they might be “marveling,” imagine that the entire Eastern seaboard had suddenly changed, literally, overnight. Mountains now stood over in the general direction of Orange. All the familiar landmarks that you are familiar with… gone. Hills that you remembered playing on as kids… are now hollows… and vice versa.

In the middle of these hushed conversations, they all heard a voice… but it was different than anything they had ever experienced before.

“And it came to pass that while they were thus conversing one with another, they heard a voice as if it came out of heaven;”

It’s interesting that in both this and another account of Nephites hearing a voice from heaven, the writers draw attention to this… that the voice was “as if it came out of heaven,” and from Helaman, “from above the darkness.” You can imagine how this might have been odd to them… loudspeakers hadn’t quite been invented yet... they really had no concept of voices being heard from anywhere but someone on the ground… so the direction from whence the voice came was significant them… so significant that they felt compelled to take note of it.

“And they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard;”

Growing older has helped me understand this to a degree that I don’t think I could have in my younger days… I’ve noticed that my hearing is starting to go… I have difficulty hearing normal conversations now, and a lot of the time I’m aware that someone is talking… I can hear the sound… but sometimes I can’t make out the words. The only way I can understand them is to focus my attention, listen more intently, and really concentrate to make out what is being said… even in quiet conversations. This is what the Nephites seemed to be experiencing.

Nephi describes the unique characteristics of this voice…

“And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn.” (3 Ne 11:3)

Elijah described the voice of the Lord in a very similar way;

“And [the Lord] said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, ‘What doest thou here, Elijah?’” (1 Kings 19:11-13)

Nephi’s experience with the voice of God in the land Bountiful had happened before in the Book of Mormon as well. Earlier in the Book of Mormon, in Helaman, Helaman’s son Nephi and Lehi had been thrown into prison by the Lamanites, and starved “many days,” until the Lamanites actually showed up to kill them. Do you remember what happened? Talk about the ultimate in Special Effects. Industrial Light and Magic has nothing on the Lord.

Nephi and Lehi stood up, probably resigned to their pending execution, but instead were “encircled about by fire.” THEY didn’t know this was going to happen… they were as surprised and freaked out about it as the Lamanites were… until they realized that even though they were encircled about by fire, they weren’t being burned;

“And when they saw that they were encircled about with a pillar of fire, and that it burned them not, their hearts did take courage.” (Hel 5:20)

I love how understated the scriptures are. If that had been me, it would have said, “and the terror-stricken apoplectic seizure that he was experiencing diminished slightly.”

When it dawned on them that this was the work of God on their behalf, Lehi and Nephi then stood tall and told the Lamanites that what they had witnessed was of God… Now… not to be too irreverent, but can you imagine someone on the other side of these manifestations, in some “divine control booth,” chuckling and saying “you think THAT’S awesome.. watch THIS. Cue the earthquake.”

Sure enough… as soon as they uttered those words, as if to add a divine exclamation point, the walls shook… without falling down. Cue the darkness.

Darkness then descends upon them, and they are overcome with an “awful, solemn fear.” I would imagine most of us who have lived very long have had instances in our lives where that “awful, solemn fear” has rested on us. The Lord certainly knows how to get your attention when He really wants to, doesn’t he?

Then comes the part that I wanted to touch on…

“And it came to pass that there came a voice as if it were above the cloud of darkness…” (Hel 5:29)

Now… pay close attention to how Nephi and Lehi describe this voice, and see if it is anything similar to what the latter Nephi wrote:

“And it came to pass when they heard this voice, and beheld that it was not a voice of thunder, neither was it a voice of a great tumultuous noise, but behold, it was a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper, and it did pierce even to the very soul—
And notwithstanding the mildness of the voice, behold the earth shook exceedingly, and the walls of the prison trembled again, as if it were about to tumble to the earth; and behold the cloud of darkness, which had overshadowed them, did not disperse— “ (Hel 5:30,31)

In both of these accounts… the writer is fascinated by how “still” and “mild” the voice was… “as if it had been a whisper”… while at the same time marveling how it caused them to quake and tremble to the very core, and that it “pierced them to their very soul.”

Why was this so significant to them? In the day these incidents occurred, the only method available to communicate to more than a few people was to shout… to be loud. The only way to hear a whisper was to be standing next to someone… surround sound and PA systems had not quite been invented yet… therefore it is no small surprise that the stillness of the voice would astound them.

Even in our day, the movies and media have largely portrayed God has having a LOUD, booming voice… like the Ten Commandments, or even Bill Cosby’s routine on Noah… yet the real voice of God is “as if it had been a whisper.”

Three times the unintelligible voice was heard by those at the Bountiful Temple… and listen to what it took to understand the voice…

“And again the third time they did hear the voice, and did open their ears to hear it; and their eyes were towards the sound thereof; and they did look steadfastly towards heaven, from whence the sound came. And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them: Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne 11:5-8)

This was the voice of Elohim, of which all of those gathered were a witness.

This account contains some powerful lessons for us. The Lord is profoundly skilled at bringing us to our knees when He needs to… and places us in situations where we can only flounder and fail without His help. But He is always there to help us… We are surrounded by revelation waiting for an “open ear” and for us to turn “look steadfastly unto heaven.” The Holy Ghost attempts to speak to us constantly through a multitude of means… direct revelation, the scriptures, the counsel of the prophet and the Brethren, the tender guidance of our local leaders… but many times, we don’t hear the answers that we ache for… because our spiritual ears “are not open.” And our lives, our behavior, our actions are oftentimes not “looking steadfastly towards heaven.” We need to turn up our “spiritual hearing aid”… humility.

When we do… when we open our ears… really focus, and concentrate our spiritual ears… become more humble and teachable… when we “look steadfastly unto heaven, from whence the sound comes,” by bringing our lives into alignment with the Gospel through obedience, we finally “hear” the message the Lord has for us.

And what an amazing message it is. And how many messages have we cheated ourselves out of by not “opening our ears,” and “looking steadfastly unto heaven”? And how many can we afford to miss out on? All we have to do is to turn up our spiritual hearing aid… and be where we should be, when we should be. If we really want to hear the voice of God, we need to be where He has commanded, and not be doing “something else.”

Some of us from time to time may be tempted to be somewhat lax on that last part, especially when it comes to attending, say, Stake Conference. But imagine that THIS particular conference is one that you chose to blow off. After all, you’ve been through a lot during the last couple of months. Lost your job. The farm you were working is now… a mountain. Destruction. Mayhem. Fires. Earthquakes. And then there’s the brand new lake in your front yard that wasn’t there a couple of months ago, which, now that smoke and darkness has cleared and things have calmed down a bit, looks like it desperately needs to be explored. So you take a weekend off. After all, you made it through the destruction intact, right? You must be OK in the Lord’s sight. And after all, it’s “just conference.”

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to you, this is the Conference of All Conferences… you know… the one where the Prophet stands up and calls us all to go to Missouri, or that all those in attendance have had their calling and election made sure, etc. THAT conference. And you were doing… “something else.”

Apparently, this is not only a latter-day malady, but is precisely what happened in the land of Bountiful. “An exceedingly great number” of the Saints traded the opportunity to hear the voice of Elohim… to see the Savior of the world descend out of Heaven before their eyes… and to actually meet Him face to face… touch the prints of the nails in His hands and feet… thrust their hands into His side… look into His eyes, see His face, and hear His voice… for “something else.”

Imagine the feeling after conference when you’re standing in your driveway washing off your truck, when your neighbors, who (let’s face it) you always thought were a little too “goody-two-shoes” for you, come running up to you with the news of the incredible miracles that happened at Conference; so excited that they can hardly get the words out amidst a flood of tears and joy… Oops. Wrong weekend for a Mental Health Sunday.

For those who skipped out on conference in Bountiful, the bad news was pretty obvious… they forever lost the opportunity to witness, see, and hear what those who were faithful did on that sacred day. The good news was that they had another chance, if they repented, to stand the presence of the Savior.

“And now it came to pass that when Jesus had ascended into heaven, the multitude did disperse, and every man did take his wife and his children and did return to his own home. And it was noised abroad among the people immediately, before it was yet dark, that the multitude had seen Jesus, and that he had ministered unto them, and that he would also show himself on the morrow unto the multitude. Yea, and even all the night it was noised abroad concerning Jesus; and insomuch did they send forth unto the people that there were many, yea, an exceedingly great number, did labor exceedingly all that night, that they might be on the morrow in the place where Jesus should show himself unto the multitude.” (3 Ne 19:1-3)

You know the rest of the story… they came, they witnessed unspeakable miracles, saw their little ones encircled about by fire and blessed by the Savior Himself… and heard the same gospel taught that the Apostles in the Old World had heard in the streets and synagogues of Jerusalem and in the hills of Galilee. Talk about the ultimate General Authority visit to your Conference.

The lessons embedded in this experience are many. If we want to hear the voice of God in our lives… we need to be where we should be… when we should be there… doing the things He has commanded. We need to focus our spiritual attention and “open” our spiritual ears… and “look steadfastly unto heaven”… to understand the “unspeakable things” that God is ready to share with us.

Let us not be caught being deaf, blind, and doing “something else” when the Lord is ready to reveal Himself to us, answer our prayers, give us direction, or heal our broken hearts. And if we have been, let us change now so that we may yet experience the miracles the Lord has in store for us. We can never recover the opportunities for spiritual miracles or revelation that might have been ours in the past, but we can ensure that we don’t miss out on any in the future by likening this wonderful passage to ourselves.

That is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ,

Amen.

"Be ye therefore perfect...."

The following is the talk I gave in sacrament meeting on February 22, 2009:

As you’ve learned by now, our family was asked to speak about 3 Nephi 11-13. I had the great joy of teaching the Sunday School Book of Mormon course this past year, and my testimony of the Book of Mormon was increased beyond measure. I love the Book of Mormon and how rich it is in teachings about and of the Savior. I have a feeling that the entire theme of General Conference, both April and October, could be 3 Nephi 11-13, and the sessions might just go beyond their usual time frames. Fortunately for all of you, each of us is taking only a portion of the riches to share with you today.

3 Nephi 12:48 reads as follows: “Therefore I would that ye should be perfect even as I, or your Father who is in heaven is perfect.” Okay. Piece of cake. I should probably tell you that Bro. Christopherson asked us to speak about this because he knows I *am* perfect. If you don’t believe me, ask my sweet husband or our wonderful children. Okay, I confess, I’m not REALLY perfect. Not even a little.

So why would Jesus direct us to be perfect? He didn’t say, “Try to be perfect.” He didn’t say, “Be good.” He said, “I would that ye should be perfect.” We all know that none of us will attain perfection in this life. At least not the way we usually understand the word. We commonly think the word means “unimprovable.” But that is rarely what is meant in the scriptures. As Latter-day Saints, we believe in eternal progression. My Sunday School kids will tell you that I love the use of “action” words in the Book of Mormon. We’re instructed to feast on the scriptures, to hearken to the words of Christ, to pour out our souls in mighty prayer. In my mind, the word “perfect” in the scriptures is also an action word; not a passive one. So what did Jesus mean?

In the New Testament the Greek word translated “perfect” is teleios, and I apologize to anyone here who speaks Greek and finds my pronunciation to be painful. Teleios means ripe, mature, ready, complete, whole, etc. As Stephen Robinson described, “An apple on the tree might be called teleios when it was ripe and ready to be picked, but that doesn’t mean it was an unimprovable apple. It might still have a worm in it.”

Brigham Young explained:

“We all occupy diversified stations in the world, and in the kingdom of God. Those who do right and seek the glory of the Father in heaven, whether their knowledge be little or much, or whether they can do little, or much, if they do the very best they know how, they are perfect….‘Be ye as perfect as ye can,’ for that is all we can do, though it is written, ‘Be ye perfect as your Father who is in heaven is perfect.’ To be as perfect as we possibly can, according to our knowledge, is to be just as perfect as our Father in heaven is. He cannot be any more perfect than He knows how, any more than we. When we are doing as well as we know how in the sphere and station which we occupy here, we are justified.”

Some of you may know that I am a court reporter by profession. It is my job to capture verbatim deposition testimony as well as court proceedings. I have two certifications to my name. The first I received in 1993. I had to take a test; four-voice dictation at 200 wpm, transcribed with 98-percent accuracy. The other certification came after I took a three-part test, the last of which was a two-voice dictation at 225 wpm. My family will tell you that I have told them that they are to keep those certifications active until I draw my last breath. I am not interested in taking those tests again!

In the spring of 2005, I took a job in Fresno Superior Court. I had to sign a contract stating that I would write “realtime” for any judge for whom I worked. There were about 36 judges at that time, none of whom I knew. The day before I took that job, I actually had a dream that I was giving birth. I was very anxious about having my imperfections there for all to see. Well, okay, so just some judges. But have you seen how mean judges are on TV? They call this “writing naked” for good reason. Have any of you read closed captioning on television or the movies? This is done by court reporters or captioners who are capturing extremely difficult, rapidly spoken words. I confess that I often get a chuckle at some of the mistakes that are made by the captioners. But I have great respect for these professionals, and I know that their job is really hard and many people benefit from their effort to get it as accurately as possible.

Anyway, I had that court job nearly a year and a half and loved it. Some days my writing was really good; other days it was embarrassingly bad. We had at least one judge who spoke like that guy in the old FedEx commercial years ago. I received compliments from several of the judges. They loved having the ability to read the proceedings as they were occurring. Whenever an attorney would object, the judge just had to look at his or her computer screen to review what had transpired before the objection and then make a ruling. It saved a lot of time. They had good things to say about my skill. And did I puff up with pride and accept that as my due? Of course not! Being a true LDS woman, I had a running monologue in my head that said things like, “Oh, no way. Doesn’t the judge know I’m really bad? I’m a fraud! I hope they never get to see a REAL realtime reporter’s work,” etc.

Darryl has been after me for a long time since I returned to the deposition arena, even conspiring with some of the agencies who hire me, to start accepting realtime jobs. That means I would hook up my laptop, which is already hooked up to my steno machine, to the computers of others in the proceedings. It is very daunting. But what really holds me back is that my brain has convinced me that I must be perfect in every way BEFORE I can write realtime. Will that day ever happen? Of course not. But what I learned when I was a realtime reporter in court is that my writing was better when I knew that I was not the only one seeing it before it was edited. The judge was “watching.” I can promise you that my writing was the best it has ever been. And I know that will happen again. I am in the process of preparing to be a realtime reporter again, and it scares the daylights out of me. Not because I can’t do it; intellectually, I know that I can, but because it’s going to be hard. It will require all my concentration, my willingness to accept the mistakes I will make and find better ways to write. I will have to practice. Even after 16 years as a reporter, I need to practice. Because what is the saying? “Practice makes perfect.” Now, what I really wish I had was a “sacrament” to take after each week’s work, to renew my promises to be a better reporter next week…

When I joined the Church at age 15, I was barely familiar with the Book of Mormon. I had a tender testimony that required study and learning and prayer and mighty doses of the Holy Ghost. I was blessed with phenomenal teachers and leaders who helped me to nurture my testimony. When I was 16, I received my patriarchal blessing, where I was told that I had a testimony at an early age that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and that that testimony would carry me through the temptations and trials I would face. Boy, if I had been given a glimpse of what I would face over the next 30 years, I think I might have run the other way! But a regular reading of my patriarchal blessing has reminded me that the Lord DID have more than a glimpse, and He was encouraging me to hang on for the ride.

I have learned over the years that I need to continue to “practice” being a Latter-day Saint. I struggle with reading my scriptures and praying…why? Not because I don’t believe in the power of scriptures and in prayer, but because that awful monologue comes back and tries to tell me that I’m not worthy enough, I’m not good enough, the Lord doesn’t want to hear me whine again. But when I DO read the scriptures, my mind is overwhelmed with absolute certainty that these are the word of God. My heart swells with love for Heavenly Father and with a desire to be a better daughter. I realize how much I miss Him and want to be with Him forever. And sometimes when I pray in private, I feel overcome with emotion. I remember that God loves me. That He WANTS to hear from me and that He misses me too. So I realize that practice makes perfect, well, it is a divinely inspired quote. If I practice living the Gospel, I will become more perfect every day. I will never BE perfect in this life, but thankfully, the Atonement of Jesus Christ is there to help me complete the process of perfection. I just need to keep practicing. And practicing. And practicing…..

Bruce R. McConkie said:

“We begin to keep the commandments today, and we keep more of them tomorrow, and we go from grace to grace, up the steps of the ladder, and we thus improve and perfect our souls. We can become perfect in some minor things….and so degree by degree and step by step we start out on the course to perfection with the objective of becoming perfect as God our Heavenly Father is perfect, in which eventuality we become inheritors of eternal life in his kingdom.”

He also said:

“I think we ought to have hope; I think we ought to have rejoicing. We can talk about the principles of salvation and say how many there are and how people have to meet these standards. And it may thereby seem hard and difficult and beyond the capacity of mortals so to obtain. But we need not take that approach. We ought to realize that we have the same appetites and passions that all of the saints and righteous people had in the dispensations that have gone before. They were no different than we are. They overcame the flesh.”

So, no, I am not perfect. But I want to obey the Lord’s command to BE perfect, and I remembered that this morning as I partook of the sacrament; my opportunity to renew my covenants made at baptism to take upon myself the name of Christ. And I hope that this week I will be just a little better than last week. And so on.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

My Miserable Mid-Life Crisis

WARNING: This blog uses a naughty word. Read at your own peril.

I spent a sleepless night some time back fretting. And pacing.

I gave up caffeine for Lent (no, not really... just gave it up) several weeks ago... and have been feeling pretty good. Usually sleep better, but the other night was difficult. I was on duty, and when I went to bed, I tossed and turned all night, and never slept. Heart pounding, mind racing... all the symptoms of acute caffeine poisoning without the actual caffeine. :(

About my 43rd lap around the apparatus bay (it's about the size of 1/2 of a football field), it dawned on me why they call it a "Mid-Life Crisis." I'm mid-life. And I'm in crisis. And I have no idea how I got to this point in my perpetual train-wreck of a life. Well, that's not totally true. I do, I guess. I got here by one heaping failure after another.

In my youth, I had wide-eyed hopes. Dreams. Aspirations. Goals. And I don't think I've accomplished many... if any... of them in the decades since. It always amuses me when my wife (or anyone else) talks about my "many accomplishments." I don't see them. I see 51 years of unwavering failure. 51 years of regrets, heartache, sadness and sorrow. I see children who I love with all that I am, who no longer speak to me, or want me to be their father. I see grandchildren that I'll probably never have the chance to know... because of nothing more than the mean-spiritedness of their parents. Did *I* raise them that way? Was I really that bad of a dad? What crime did I commit besides trying desperately to keep my emotional head above water to merit being treated like this?

I'm truly baffled here... my step children's father physically, verbally, and emotionally abused them for years and made their lives a living Hell before he ultimately took his own life and abandoned them forever. And yet, most of them still love him and miss him... and despise me. I love my children with all my heart... and they want nothing to do with me. What's wrong with this picture? Oh, wait. I already know. I'm a loser. And a colossal disappointment. I tried to recover from the unbelievable pain of losing my family and my children when I went through my last divorce by pouring myself into "doing it right" with the next family who was unfortunate enough to be in my life-path. The first kids resented me for not being there for them... the new set of kids resented me for.. being there for them. Lose-lose all the way around. Now neither set speaks to me.

Around my 67th lap around the apparatus bay, I came to the realization that not only do I have no clue what went so terribly wrong in my life, but I have no clue where I'm going or how to fix it, either. I'm kind of like Tom Hanks at the end of "Castaway," where he finds himself at a crossroads on a very lonely stretch of road... trying to decide which way to go (except for the fact that he has money, no kids, and his whole life ahead of him). One way leads, hopefully, to happiness. One way to continued failure and despair. And then there's the knowledge.. the SURE knowledge... that no matter WHAT road I take... it won't be the one I want.

Everything that I've touched in my life, with very few exceptions, has turned to crap. Everything. Marriages, children, professions, possessions, interpersonal relationships... doesn't really matter. It's all a colossal steaming pile. I spend most days trying to figure out what great cosmic competition my poor wife failed so as to be stuck with ME as the consolation prize. I truly feel desperately sorry for her. She is stuck with me, and more than likely BECAUSE of me, has no friends. Of course, neither do I. Not really. Haven't had for years.

Oh, now don't get your panties in a wad. I have long-distance-we-really-like-you-because-we've-never-met-you-in-person friends. But they don't count. Not really. The only real friends that count are the ones that are actually, physically HERE for you. The kind who can sense that you're in pain, and who take you out to lunch so they can kick your butt back into normalcy. The kind who can quietly listen to you pour your heart and soul out, and who have a tear of empathy in their eye when you're done... but who don't then try to "fix" you.

I haven't had a lot of luck with Best Friends. The best friend I ever had turned on me 12 years ago. Had a traffic ticket I hadn't paid... slipped my mind. He was the city manager. So one day, out of the blue, he had 2 detectives come to arrest me in front of my house.. handcuffs and all... in front of my children. That was his intentional plan. For a traffic ticket. Fortunately for me, his wife called me and tipped me off, and I scampered down to City Hall to pay it before returning home that day. When I got home, there they were... waiting for me. They (and he, who was probably waiting in the bushes with binoculars, I'm sure) were truly disappointed that I had paid the ticket. And this man was my best friend for over 16 years. We hung out together, worked together, went camping together... we did everything together. He was the brother I never had. And he turned on me in the blink of an eye... for what reason I still don't know to this day. That's a succinct encapsulation of my life so far. Loss. Betrayal. More loss. More betrayal. Both being betrayed, and betraying others. Having your guts ripped out on a regular basis.. both by things done to you, and things you know you have done to others you love... for reasons not even you really understand.

Tried counseling... a bunch of times. Went all the way through Impact... a "self-realization-find-the child-within-through-three-different-sets-of-three-20-hour-days-of-sleep-deprivation-intensive-group-therapy"program that managed to simultaneously strip you of your dignity, your emotional baggage AND your life savings in one fell swoop. Felt good for a while. For a while, I felt like I actually had some worth as a human being. And then I woke up. Then it all came crashing back. Went through 6 years of therapy during my second marriage after which the therapist actually threw me out. Told me nothing was wrong with me anymore. And so, of course, more therapy during my third. Boy, THAT was a trip.

Poor Zoobie therapist at LDS Social Services. What a lost little lamb. LOL!!!! He didn't know WHAT to do with me. He was a Bishopric Wannabe, died-in-the-wool-wearing-the-uniform product of LDS Higher Education. He was adorable. :) This guy would've looked at a can of Diet Coke the way most people would look at a bag of uncut Cocaine.

He came up with a great therapeutic "assignment." He had me list those things that I had "lost" in my life. 2 1/2 pages of single-spaced itemized heartbreak later, he stared at me with those "wow, they never prepared me for THIS" eyes, and said, "I don't know how you're still standing upright." No shit, Sherlock. Me neither. That's why I'm HERE. I honestly believe that by the time I was done with him, HE was in therapy.

I discovered one valuable thing during that foray into the Jungian forest though... came in the form of an epiphamy right in the middle of listening to a droning clot of graduate school textbook 'talk-therapy' wisdom: I'm angry. As soon as the thought struck me, I started weeping inconsolably. Kinda freaked Zoobie-boy out. I think he was trying desperately to remember what masterful thing he had just said that had triggered such a huge "break-through." I was ANGRY.


I know. Pretty profound. And not just your everyday "My bra's on backwards" annoyance or petty irritability, mind you... but Cosmic Angry. Angry at God. Angry at life. Angry at the poor waitress at Denny's who had the audacity to give me eggs that were over easy instead of over medium. Angry at people I didn't even know. Angry at the frustrating nothingness that is Hell-bent on cheating me out of a cogent thing to be angry AT. Just all-consuming anger. And not the "over-the-top" sociopathic shoot-you-in-the-head-road-rage angry. The more insideous kind. The kind that's always right there... smoldering just under the surface, ready for one more playful shriek to trigger your already-metal-on-metal sensitivities and meltdown. Angry when I see anonymous best friends laughing, playing, spending time with each other... knowing that I'll never have that in my life.

Wow. This is waxing morose. I'm even depressing ME, and I started OUT depressed. That's quite a feat! But I digress.

The only thing worse than the anger is the feeling... of nothing at all. An all-encompassing numbness, mixed with a generous helping of emptiness. It's the feeling of overwhelming abandonment. Of isolation. Of desolation. Of... hopelessness.

I guess that's it in a nutshell. Hopelessness. Hopelessness secondary to Infinite Cosmic Anger. Sounds like a diagnosis from House, or a pronouncement from the Genie in Aladdin, I can't make up my mind which. The feeling that no matter what you do, you won't be able to "fix" anything. Ever.

Your stomach will never stop hurting. You'll never stop feeling tired and weary and beaten up. You'll never get a home of your own. You'll never get a job. You'll never pay off your back taxes. You'll never be out of debt. Your children will never love you. Your wife will never respect you. Your Bishop will never look at you with anything more than nervous discomfort before he skittles off in another direction... ANY direction... away from you.

You'll never be happy. Ever. Worlds without end.

The ever-pervasive "I'm-So-Done-With-This-Life-I-Just-Wanna-Go-Home" hopelessness has helped me understand what both Hell and Satan are like. As awful and overwhelming as it is to realize that NONE of your hopes, dreams, or yearnings will ever be achieved, it is second only to the soul-stabbing misery whose hunger for company seems to rise in direct proportion to the amount of pain one is in.

OK. I better stop. Stepping in front of a commuter train is looking pretty damn good to me right now.

When do people just get along?

We had a bit of drama around here this past week. Because I have personally been hurt by someone else who used names and particulars in a rant on that "someone's" blog, I will leave out the pertinent details so as not to offend, embarrass, or slander.

That said, I will say once again that I will never wish to be back in high school. One of my children has had the misfortune of being named in a rumor (probably more than once) which has been embarrassing as well as hurtful. Said child also has a "friend" who is really a drama queen in disguise (though just barely). She seems to find it absolutely necessary to run to my child whenever she learns something that has the slightest thing to do with my child; whether that something is beneficial for my child to know or not. I've learned in my years that it's not necessary to tell everyone everyTHING. Sometimes it's a kindness to NOT share things you know or hear or even feel. It's really best to take it on a case-by-case basis. For instance, last year someone called me right after the Pinewood Derby, which Scott had won, miracle of miracles. Turns out this caller (she says) overheard two of the other dads complaining about how Scott and his dad had cheated and, boy, they were gonna tell the bishop, and he was gonna fix it! It got my hubby all riled up (there was no cheating, thankyouverymuch!) and had him running to the bishop to make sure his character was not defamed. Of course, we don't know who the mystery men were, nor did this make the caller and me friends (she never particularly noticed me after that). It was kind of a chance for her to be in the center of a drama that really didn't need to go any farther than her overhearing it and rolling her eyes privately.

Anyway, that's old news. Most recently one of my kids had a little get together at our house and invited everyone. Several kids did come, and they all seemed to have a good time. One person who did not come told my child that that person's parents were "uncomfortable" with their child coming to our house. First, if that were true, why would you tell that to your "friend"? How could that be anything but embarrassing and hurtful? And secondly, if it were not true, wouldn't you think you could come up with a kinder lie?

Unfortunately, in a moment of hurt and anger, my hubby wrote an e-mail to the parents of the offending person, who were unhappy about it and confronted their child, who denied saying any such thing. And I didn't know about the e-mail until we both received a reply from one of the parents. Thankfully, these parents were never too friendly to us in the past, so not much will change, but still... And one of the parents is in a leadership role at church, which can only be awkward.

And then we get a call on Tuesday night, asking Lauren, Lindsay, Darryl, and me to speak in church on Sunday. Our topic is Chapters 11, 12, and 13 of 3 Nephi. Since I recently finished teaching a Book of Mormon course this past year, I'm pretty excited about the prospect of delving into this much-loved book of scripture. I just hope we can do justice. Well, let me amend that. Darryl WILL do justice; the girls will probably do a great job; me, I dunno.

Right now it's a Thursday, almost noon, and I am sitting in a very empty, very QUIET house. I think the silence is echoing :) It is amazing how therapeutic it is to spend a few hours alone. Of course, work has been pretty dead, and I really don't feel like working on what little I have to do. So here's my effort for the day.

Cupid's Target

Today is Valentine’s Day. It’s really all about the marketing opportunity for retailers anymore, but I have to admit that I’m really glad I have a Valentine, and that I *am* someone’s Valentine (thank goodness it’s the same person, because THAT would be awkward!)

We’re quickly closing in on 12 years of marriage. I know that Darryl will agree with me when I say that they have been 12 really hard years. Mind you, the 12 years have not been hard BECAUSE of our marriage. In fact, if we hadn’t had each other for the past 12 years, while going through so much heartache and frustration, I can’t imagine the awful place we’d be right now.

So I’m going to tell you about my Valentine, my best friend, the love of my life. He’s awfully hard on himself, and most recently he’s taken sort of a beating from a family member, so I want to make sure to set the record straight.

Darryl is one of the most talented people I have ever known. He is a great photographer; a self-taught programmer in several programming languages; he served a mission in Japan and would take very little effort, I believe, to return to his near-native fluency; he has been an Intermediate Paramedic and is soon going to be recertified at the same level; he delivered our two babies at home – I can’t speak enough about how amazing those experiences were; he is a fantastic cook (if he leaves the stale potato chips off the casserole); he has a vast knowledge of the Gospel and has been able to answer so many questions and has been a tremendous help to the missionaries.

Darryl took me on, an “aged” 35-year-old mother of five kids. He took on my kids with their assorted issues and needs, and he never ran away, no matter how hard it got. There have been many times that he has been the better parent and has been able to help me deal with a sticky issue. I never realized before that I was doing it all by myself, something I wouldn’t recommend to anyone. We argue over which is the more thankless job: stepfather or stepmother. His children made their feelings known pretty thoroughly, so I don’t really feel like a stepmother anymore. But even when I was, I only had six months of actually having one of the stepchildren living in the home. So I guess, for our family, Darryl wins that contest :)

What’s really weird is that Darryl thinks he’s a waste of space. It makes me so sad. He has made such a contribution to the world during his short life (so far), and I look forward to seeing what’s next for him. The best thing, for me, is he is the most entertaining person. We talk and laugh and generally have a great time when we are together. We go out a lot, whether it’s for lunch or for a real date night. My life before was kind of like a dry desert; there was no talking and no sharing.

I am so grateful that we found each other and that we are able to share our 13th Valentine’s Day. I hope there are many other Valentine’s Days to come :) I love Darryl with all my heart and feel grateful that he's been mine for all these years. Heavenly Father loves me, and my Valentine tells me so :)

The Honda 2010 "Atonement" Model

I love it when the sister missionaries come over. :)

They graced us with their presence this past week to deliver a message and to seek some help with an investigator they've been dealing with. This particular woman who they were teaching was from an Evangelical background, and told them that our religion could NOT be true because we "required works," which, according to her, "cheapened what Jesus did for us on the cross."

Now. If you've ever been a missionary before, this was definitely not a new argument. We used to hear it all the time, especially in San Diego, right before I came home. Long the stronghold of consumate anti-Mormon Walter Martin, that particular area had a large and disturbingly frothy following of his, including one passionate but misguided soul who actually started chasing my companion and I down the street one day when we rode by on our bikes, waving his Bible at us like a weapon, and shouting. Much to my companion's dismay, I stopped. He had long since come to know this about me... even then, I couldn't resist a great "discussion." He circled back around, rolling his eyes, and pulled up for the show. :)

This individual's argument was precisely the same as the woman that the sister missionaries were teaching... not even a syllable had changed... and it goes something like this: "The gospel that we as a Church teach as the 'true, restored gospel of Jesus Christ' can't be, because it relies on a 'works theology' as opposed to 'what the Bible teaches...' and that our insistence that obedience is necessary cheapens the value of the Gift of the Atonement given to us by the Savior." Apparently, the only way we can truly appreciate the great gift of the Atonement, is to be totally disobedient. And as ludicrous as it may sound, this was precisely the ideology of many of the Great Reformers, namely Martin Luther.k But I digress.

As I was sharing some ideas with the sister missionaries about how to handle this, an analogy popped into my head which really speaks to this idea of our obedience "cheapening" the work of Christ in the Atonement. I shared it with the missionaries, and they became very excited about using it with this woman the next time they saw her. I share it with you now, in case you have a modicum of interest. The reality is that if I don't commit this to writing, I'll forget it in a few days given the sorry state of my memory lately. :(

So.

Imagine your self as a newly-minted 16 year old on your birthday... full of excitement... full of passion for life... sure in your knowledge that you're going to somehow change the world. As your birthday celebration reaches its' peak, your parents lovingly take you aside and ask you to close your eyes. You do so in eager anticipation of what they might have in store for you... what will it be?

When they finally give you permission to open your eyes, you find yourself standing in front of your dream car. A brand new Honda (yes, this is a "green" analogy) 2010 model hybrid... in your favorite color... with a huge red bow on top!!! They hand you the keys, hold you tight, and tell you how much they love you.

In the midst of your shrieking and squeeling with delight and gratitude, your father arches one eyebrow and says, "you know... this does come with some strings." Uh oh. What does he mean?

"We know you are a good student... we've watched you for a long time. We know you could never afford this on your own, so we are giving this to you as a free gift. No payments, no taxes, no insurance, we'll cover everything."

The daughter, now grinning ear to ear, says "So... what are the strings?"

The father smiles back and says, "The only strings are that you obey the rules of the road."

"That's ALL? Of course I will!" the daughter exclaims.

Many of those in the world reject the Doctrine of Salvation as taught in the Bible and the Book of Mormon because they do not understand the nature of covenants with the Lord. There are those, for instance, who would point to this analogy and claim that by putting ANY conditions on the gift of this brand new car, that it "cheapens" or "demeans" the value of the gift itself. This is not the nature of covenants. Covenants are never "free." They are never one-sided. Covenants with God are always two-sided. And they NEVER degrade, diminish, or cheapen the Lord's side of the covenant.

Now... imagine how that loving father and mother would have reacted if the child had thrown a fit, pouted, and shouted at them, "How COULD you! This brand new car is worth NOTHING if I have to obey TRAFFIC rules! I want to drive any way I WANT!"

Imagine the loving, patient, yet concerned father trying to explain to his now-hysterical daughter, "Sweetheart... I put that condition on you to keep you SAFE... to make sure that you will be HAPPY and to ensure that you return home safely to us at the end of the day!"

"I don't CARE. If you make me do that, this gift is worth NOTHING to me."

Can anyone imagine behaving this way in the face of receiving such a magnanimous and generous gift? Yet, in their lost and ignorant state, this is the attitude of Apostate Christianity when it comes to the greatest gift given to mankind.

In the case of the atonement, Paul's epistle to the Hebrews clearly and irrefutably lays out the covenant relationship that exists with the atonement, and the conditions upon which we become partakers of that great gift:

"And being made perfect, He [Christ] became the author of eternal salvation to all them that obey Him." (Heb 5:9)

THAT is what the Bible teaches about the atonement and obedience.

If we are obedient, He is the author of our eternal Salvation. If we obey the rules of the road, He has given us the most magnificent brand new car we could ever hope for. If we disobey the rules of the road, we risk losing that precious gift in a painful "accident" that could "total" our precious new car, and inflict permanent and devastating injury to our eternal souls.

In His omniscience, Heavenly Father has given us "rules of the road" to keep us safe, to help us be truly happy, and to be able to return to Him at the end of the day. They are there because He loves us, and knows what kinds of treacherous conditions exist on the freeways of our lives.

Remember. Satan and his angels don't drive so well.

Diminution

I wonder whether anyone has noticed how long our posts are? ;) Both of us type awfully fast, and our minds work faster than our fingers! We have great conversations, and there's just so much to think about! But this post will be blissfully short!!

Groundhog Day

I love the movie “Groundhog Day.” It seems like a cute little movie, but it has a deeper meaning. I’ve always been the kind of person who is drawn to stories about time travel. Sure, I know that we really can’t do it and that it would be disastrous if we could. We as a species do enough to mess up life as it is. Can you imagine what we’d do if we could meddle with the past and/or the future? Yikes!

My all-time favorite TV show was “Quantum Leap,” specifically because it was about a man who was able to “leap” into other people’s lives in their past and fix something that changed the course of their lives for the future. Because I made some fundamentally bad choices in my late teen years, I have spent far too much time and energy in wishing I could have someone come “fix” it for me so I could have the life I was supposed to have. Alas, that only happens in Hollywood or in novels.

Back to “Groundhog Day.” I love that movie because it has a great story, one that I think we should all learn. There’s the character that Bill Murray plays, an arrogant weather forecaster who is forced to go cover Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day. He thinks it’s stupid, beneath him, pointless, whatever. He’s simply NOT a joy to be around. Then, to make his life even worse, he learns that there is a huge storm coming in, and he’ll be stuck in Punxsutawney another night.

This is where the fun part comes in. He wakes up the “next” morning and quickly realizes it’s the same exact day. On the rare occasion I hear “I Got You, Babe,” I have to smile. So the poor guy watches all the exact same situations come up. At the end of the day, again, he learns there is a big storm coming, and he has to stay over again. Of course, the next day, Sonny and Cher are happily crooning on the radio, and he realizes it’s Groundhog Day….again. As he does the same things he did the first or second time, he gets the same result. So then he tries to change a thing here or a thing there. Of course, he’s the only one who knows this is happening.

So the character is, at first, bewildered. Soon his bewilderment turns to despair. Kind of a “why bother?” or “what’s the point” attitude. Then he starts to play around and act as though life is just a big joke. He risks his life, pigs out, etc., but he never loses his sense of hopelessness. I mean, tomorrow won’t be another day, will it? It’ll be the same day. He feels stuck in that short moment in time.

The ultimate lesson in the movie is that as the character learns to truly live his life and appreciate it for what it is, he really DOES live his life. He starts to do things for other people. He tries to save the life of a vagrant who will ultimately die, to no avail. So then he takes him out for a meal, showing an unexpected dose of compassion. He then shows compassion for the child who falls from the tree and the man who chokes on his meal.

So this poor guy has been suffering through this day, feeling trapped and unable to get “un” trapped. He then recognizes the suffering of others. He looks at his life from an entirely different perspective, being much more positive than he ever had in his life. You need to see the movie to find out the whole story.

How often do we get “stuck” in a situation or a frame of mind or an experience and find ourselves either unwilling or unable to rescue ourselves? You know what I’ve learned? I have found that when I step back a little bit and take in more of the entire picture, there is a lot more to learn than what I initially see. When we are babies, we can only react to external stimuli as well as to our own hunger or pain. If we are fortunate, we have someone who is loving and who unconditionally answers our needs, forgiving us and loving us despite our worst temper tantrums, but gently teaching us to be better. But as adults, we have the opportunity to handle our needs and our concerns in an entirely different way.

I have watched a few of my children stray, and it has been really hard for me. I know that they have been taught correct principles, and it’s easy to blame myself. I haven’t been one of those parents who continues to “parent” my adult children. They have the right to make their own choices, and it is interesting to see what they do and how they succeed (or not). On the other hand, when I was much younger, I blamed my parents for not doing this or not doing that or, conversely, for DOING this or DOING that. I thought, “If only they had (or had not) done this thing or that thing, my life would have been SO much better.” Well, duh, who has parents who can read the future and can make every decision so that it leads the children where they should be? None of us.

My father and I struggled through my teen years. I was a good kid. I NEVER experimented with drugs or drinking or any kind of immoral behavior. I thought of myself as the best daughter my parents could have. The reality was that I was rebellious and angry much of the time from about age 15 to age 19. I have the benefit of journals from that time to see how out of touch my “reality” was with the real reality. Thankfully, while I could barely stand my own father at times, as I grew up and began to experience my own adult tragedies and triumphs, I also matured and learned to love my dad again, as well as my siblings, who were the bane of my existence when they were so young. I also gained a greater appreciation for my mom. My parents didn’t change; I did. Now that my dad has been gone for 10 years, my grieving isn’t as sharp, but my gratitude has grown tremendously. I am so glad that my dad was able to know and love six of my seven children. I am so glad that I had at least that one person in my world who still liked talking to me and sharing a corny joke when he had one. I miss him.

I still have some struggling children. My heart rejoices when someone sees past their imperfections and loves the soul within and nurtures them. I hope that I do the same for other people’s children. I love my kids, struggling or not. At least five of them have issues with ADHD and/or other conditions that make their battles seem more uphill than others. And yet they are each very unique and necessary to my life for very different reasons. And then there are still days where I just want to ask Heavenly Father, “Okay, would you, please, tell me what lesson you want me to learn from this so I can learn it and move on?” I swear, He has a sense of humor…..

Clearing the Cache

As usual, I can see that Darryl has had more time to put fingers to keyboard and write. No, really, that’s not the reason I haven’t written in a while. I have to be in the mood to write, or it is just plain morose, and who wants to read that? I have about half a dozen journals that cover the years between 14 ½ to not long after I got married when I was almost 20. The journal entries since then have been so sporadic that entire decades have gone between them at times. There are two reasons for that. One is pretty basic. As a court reporter, I can write at over 250 wpm. Even when I am just typing on a computer, I write about 114 wpm. And longhand just takes.....soooooo......long....:) But the other reason is that I started collecting a lot of bad memories and didn’t want to write them down. Then when something good happened, I simply didn’t think to write about it. In a way, I really don’t regret not having a record of those bad times.....but I’m sure my kids would enjoy reading what was going on in my mind when they were born and went through the different stages of growing up. Oh, well. One more reason I’m not gonna win the Mother of the Century award, darn it all. Anyway, the past week or so has been pretty hard for me. I've had a lot on my mind, and I definitely didn't want to put THAT in our blog. I want it to go away, and the good news is that it does seem to be.

I did want to take the time, though, to write some thoughts I’ve had these past couple of days. Today is January 21, 2009. Yesterday the 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama, was sworn into office. The feeling in the whole country (well, okay, there are a few “others”) is hopeful for the future. It’s been such a long eight years. I voted for Pres. Bush not once but twice, and I finally had to admit that I was sorely disappointed in what has happened while he’s been in office. I’m sure he’s a good man, and a President can only act on the information he’s given....and I wouldn’t have that job for all the wealth in the world, I can tell you!

As for No. 44, he is biracial, as are many, many people in our country, but because his father was actually African, the African-American population has felt an indescribable joy over seeing in their lifetimes a face in the Oval Office that looks an awful lot like theirs. I am so happy for those who suffered so long ago and have lived to see this happen. I can’t say that I can really know exactly how they feel, but only because I can only look on from the sidelines of life and see their pain. I sincerely hope that I have never been nor ever will be someone who adds to that pain. I’m so grateful that my children have been blessed to have grown up with children of many nationalities and racial backgrounds. I know that each generation in my family has been a little farther away, step by step, from the bigotry of the past, and it gives me such a feeling of pride and joy to know that, to my children, disliking someone for the color of his/her skin is weird.

As I watched the Inauguration, it was hard to miss the First Daughters. They look like a couple of characters, and I can see that there is a lot of love in that little family. And every girl deserves to be her daddy’s princess, and I’m so glad to see that our new President is filling that role quite nicely and unabashedly loving all three of his royal women.

Okay, enough politics. Work has been extremely slow recently, which doesn’t really surprise me, because it’s been the holiday season, followed immediately by the excitement of the Inauguration, which is basically a holiday in the DC/VA area. I just finished my last outstanding transcript today, though I have a short job tomorrow and then another job on Friday. It’s really scary that our financial situation continues to be so shaky. I really wish Darryl could get a job, because ever since I left my job at the court in Fresno, we haven’t had benefits, and it’s been really hard. Plus, being self-employed, we are constantly in a “feast or famine” situation. Right now we’re in a famine. And, of course, I have no idea when work will pick up so we can feast again. ::sigh::

One thing I’ve learned recently is that I simply am not able to please everybody. I’m sure that most people who are reading this (what, are there five of you?) are thinking, “Well, duh!” Okay, so I’m a little slow. No, my point is that I can strive every day to be a good person who loves others and makes the choice to be kind to everyone. I can urge my children to be good people, to do well in school, to be concerned about the world around them. But some people NEED to be in the center of drama. Some people NEED to have someone to blame for the problems in their lives. That one’s always bewildered me, because I know that I am to blame for most of my own problems....maybe *I* should find someone else to blame. It might make my self-esteem improve!

As I watch Lindsay get ready to graduate high school, I can see glimmers of the young woman she will be. She is really maturing, and I have high hopes for her in her future. Lauren is so active, and she can really try my patience, but she, too, is having an occasional glimmer...if we can survive her! LOL She is the most ambitious of all my kids, and I can't wait to see what she'll do with her life. Scott is at the awkward stage....11 years old, too smart for his own good, but he's one to watch. Kristi still amazes me with her compassion at such a young age. She was scolded recently for being rude to her sister, and she came to me later and said she needed to talk to me. She was very concerned, it seems, because she'd noticed that she'd been acting "mean" lately. We had a serious conversation about that, and while she continues to hassle her siblings, she is trying. I don't think it ever occurred to me at the age of 9 that *I* was ever the problem :)

I really enjoy having this blog, but mostly because I like reading what Darryl's thinking. He is my best friend, and he makes me laugh every single day. I'm so glad he saved my life 12 years ago. :)

So, yeah, thanks for hanging in to this point. I hope it hasn't been too painful!!

Tom Hanks on Mormons

I find it exceptionally noteworthy when celebrities have the courage to step out from behind the carefully-crafted scripts and personas that have been tailor-made for them, and truly reveal the stunning depth and breadth of their ignorance and bigotry.

This is the case with Tom Hanks' latest bout of verbal diarrhea against the Mormon Church. Apparently he slept through High School Civics class.

To save everyone the time and boredom of wading through Hanks' rant, here is the Reader's Digest Condensed Version:

* Hanks doesn't like the Mormon Church (probably because his step-mother joined the church when he was a child, and forced him to attend... I don't know)
* Hanks finds it absolutely acceptable to write large checks for causes HE believes in.
* Hanks finds it absolutely despicable when those opposing those beliefs do the same thing.
* Hanks believes whole-heartedly in the "Constitutional Process"... when it's on HIS side.
* Anyone who follows the rule of law and votes their conscience is "unAmerican" if it's against something Hanks believes in.
* If anyone doesn't agree with a particular pet issue of Hanks, (like re-inventing the definition of traditional marriage, against majority wishes), that group must be "bashing" whoever the minority is that's trying to promote that idea.
* Hanks has no problem bashing one minority (say, the Mormon Church), while whining and wringing his hands about Hanks' pet minority being "bashed," even though it isn't.
* Hanks seems to have incredibly selective memory, since Blacks (en masse) and Catholics had just as much, if not more, of an impact on the passage of Prop 8 as Mormons did. Apparently, Hanks is loathe to label Catholics and African-Americans as "unAmerican," but Mormons are, for some reason completely beyond the pale of logic, a "safe target."

And the sad part? Hanks isn't even remotely smart enough to recognize the reality of what I've stated. Perhaps Hooked On Phonics could help him sound out the big words. I think their number is 1-800-ABCDEFG.

Resolutions v. Goals

As I sat down for my annual ritual of trying desperately to reinvent myself into something that more closely resembles a human being, I took a moment to reflect on why my past forays into this noble, time-honored endeavor had yet to be successful.

As I pondered this puzzling dilemma and confronted the veritable mountain of past failures that have littered the first 3 days of Januaries' past for as long as I can remember, it occurred to me that I have completely missed the boat on the Resolution thang.

It occurred to me that resolutions are, at least in my mind, absolute commitments. Black and white. Did or didn't. Absolute success, or absolute failure. Kinda like the way we sometimes view the eternities. Resolutions do not have a margin for error. There is no "slop" in Resolutions. No "wiggle room." No "fudge factor." You either do them... completely... or you don't.

Which, of course, is why we fail miserably. Or at least I do. Human beings, with very few exceptions, are not absolute creatures. Unless you're talking about my wife's ex-husband, who came very close to being an absolute jackass. But I digress.

We seem to take the Dow Jones Industrial approach to self improvement... one step forward, two (or 10, if you factor in this last year), steps back. In short, we're hard-wired to fail, and we, as a species, seem to only learn through trial and error... no matter how many sage Jedi Knights appear to us in holograms, encouraging us on to instant greatness and technical perfection. It's just the way we are.

On the other hand, the kissing cousin of the rigid Resolution, the Goal, is of a somewhat different breed. A goal is something to strive for.. some higher achievement to seek after. Where a Resolution is an End at the Beginning, Goals are the Beginning that have an End. Goals allow for mistakes. Goals tolerate human frailty to a much higher degree than Resolutions. Goals are forgiving... as long as one continues to strive after them. And most importantly, goals can be achieved. Resolutions? Not so much.

So this year, instead of Resolutions, I have a set of brand-spanking new Goals. I'm sure I'll struggle along the way, and will fall down a time or two. Truth is, I already have. But I will continue to strive towards these goals throughout the year with the hopes of achieving them before next New Years' Day.