News To Me

Mission Thoughts at the Half Way Point

My son Bradley reaches the halfway point of his mission this week. As I think back 25 years to my mission, I am nostalgic and perhaps a little jealous. But mostly i am grateful at the opportunity he has to change his life. This is what I told him about this milestone:

 

For many missionaries, their mission is the hardest two years of their lives--away from home, long hours of walking and working, difficulties with a different language and culture, etc. But for me--and I hope for you--they were the two best years: two irreplaceable years of hard work, yes, but also of joy and growth. I am constantly impressed by the depth of your testimony as expressed in your letters, and by your approach to the work. Your new "system" for tracking investigator progress seems great! And the humility with which you approach your service is exemplary. Enjoy it! These two years will never come again...

 

There is a country song called "The Boys of Fall" about football in small towns. At the beginning of the video, an NFL coach is talking to the boys of his old high school about what it is like to grow up. He says, 

"27 years ago I was in a locker room getting ready to play a game just like you are tonight. Walking in here, it still smells the same. One of the things that caught me was how fast 27 years go by...I would give anything tonight if I could jump in one of these uniforms with you guys. That feeling goes away; it goes away, and it doesn't come back every Friday night. It come when you get married. It comes when a child is born. So you get it, you just don't get it every Friday night. That's what I miss...So you Seniors that are focused on college, you're focused on your work after high school and what you're going to do next--you're focused on tomorrow, aren't you? There is plenty of time for tomorrow. But these tonights? They're going by fast. You focus on tonight. Because there are only so many of these nights left."

 

If he had been writing about missions, he wouldn't have changed very much. I would give anything to jump into a missionary suit and name tag and trade places with anyone on your mission. But that's not my role anymore.  As you begin to count backwards from the midpoint toward coming home, remember that the feeling you have of serving really never comes again--not in the same way, and certainly not every day. Cherish these moments. You may never again have the chance to serve the Lord so directly every day.

 

I get the same mission feeling when I am teaching the family and the spirit is there. Or when I go to the temple. Or during a particularly inspiring sacrament meeting. Or when any of my children was born. But it doesn't come every day. So don't worry about the tomorrows--they'll come soon enough with their own set of worries. You focus on serving the Lord today. 

Good Friday Thoughts

As a Christian, today has profound meaning for me. As part of that meaning, I was moved this morning by a quotation that my sister sent to me. While it is written specifically for women, the message is universal. It was written by a woman named Chieko Okasaki, in her book Lighten Up:

We know that Jesus experienced the totality of mortal existence in Gethsemane. It’s our faith that he experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don’t think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don’t experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually. That means he knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer- how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism.

Let me go further. There is nothing you have experienced as a woman that he does not also know and recognize. On a profound level, he understands the hunger to hold your baby that sustains you through pregnancy. He understands both the physical pain of giving birth and the immense joy. He knows about PMS and cramps and menopause. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were, “And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” (Matthew 28:20) He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that. He’s not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don’t need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He’s not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and our grief.

So much of life can be filled with a lonely emptiness that says, "No one understands this. No parent can understand the uniqueness of my challenges with my children's decisions. No spouse has seen the kind of difficulties in my marriage. No adult can identify with the unique sense of worthlessness that accompanies my financial difficulties, despite my abilities. I am alone in my quiet despair."

And then...He comes. His understanding of "all things" means that He gets it--all of it. He gets the challenges with my son, my spouse, my work. He understands what failed dreams feel like, or disapproving family members, or lost opportunity. And His message is simple:

"Be of good cheer; it is I. Be not afraid."

When I am in tune enough to remember that simple message, I am calmed and comforted. In fact, of all of the names given to the spirit of God, "Comforter" appeals to me the most.  The scriptures tell us that, "The Comforter knoweth all things, and beareth record of the Father and of the Son." That feeling--that my Lord has experienced my exact situation, and that His spirit knows and bears record of those experiences--makes life bearable, enables me to be positive, gets me out of bed when I don't want to, holds my hand when I am lonely, softens my heart when I am angry, and deepens my love for my children, my wife and my life.

Happy Easter

 

 

Resolved

A new year brings a great opportunity to set goals and evaluate changes you want to make. We call them "New Year's Resolutions," but really they become wish lists; that's why so many of them are violated by the end of January. I like the term "Resolutions" better: we resolve to do something different, something better. When you resolve to do something, that implies a level of commitment, of enthusiasm, of dedication. So if I say, "I resolve to lose 30 pounds," that is better than simply setting a goal to lose weight. In Congress, bills/laws are stated as "Given the following conditions, X, Y, and Z, be it Resolved that the US will do A, B, and C." In other words, we are committing our country to action around a set of principles. The statement from the legislature of the colony of Virginia regarding separation from England said, "Resolved: That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states." In other words, the colonies committed themselves, dedicated and worked for independence--they "resolved."  By choosing to resolve instead of just wishing, our New Year's Resolutions are a year-long effort in the same way that the Lee Resolution from Virginia did not suddenly make the colonies free, but set in motion the dedication to action that eventually resulted in freedom. 

So, resolve to do specific things in your life. Resolve to change behaviors that may be limiting you and to adopt new ones that will expand your horizons. Resolve to be a better friend, to repent of smaller indiscretions daily rather than waiting for larger ones to appear, to develop a love of all things spiritual. But don't just wish: resolve.

 

Daily Five Minutes: 9/2/10--Buckhead

I haven't done DFM in some time. So...as I seem to do every year...we start again.

 

Some random thoughts from my hotel room...

I am in the Atlanta area; specifically, the Buckhead area. Seriously? Buckhead? Who came up with this name? Buckhead sounds like a word the teachers invented when they dealt with some offensive graffiti by adding some semi-circles to the capital 'F' making it a 'B'. Can't you picture it? "Some kids thought that they would ruin our school; well, we showed them. No one will be offended by BUCK-head!"

I didn't know what I would find when I came to Buckhead, given that dialog that was running through my head. Turns out, Buckhead is a posh area of Atlanta--sometimes referred to as "East Beverly Hills". It has a mall with valet parking for heaven's sake. There is a movie-dinner theater; you can watch Inception or Eat. Pray. Love. while you eat (praying and loving are optional). 

Now the dialog in my head isn't about changing foul words to meaningless words. Now the dialog is more like someone trying to one-up his brother in naming his estate with snobbery. "Oh Phineas--you're so predictable. So you named your estate "Moraine Crest" eh? Well, I have named mine 'Buckhead.'"

Here in Buckhead I came across the regional headquarters of Fifth Third bank. Fifth Third? Again, seriously? I'm sure the boring answer is that there was a Fifth bank and a Third bank and they merged (turns out that's true). But what might Fifth Third mean? Does it mean 15th? Or is it like a competition where five different teams tie for 3rd place, so you are the "Fifth Third" and the next team is actually...eighth?. Or maybe it is 5/3, as in 1 and 2/3. "Sure, your bank is the First National Bank, but our bank is 2/3 better than that!"

As I walked around downtown Buckhead, I was surprised to see that Buckhead is also the headquarters of Spanx. Spanx is a company that makes, well, essentially girdles. No, these are not your grandmother's girdles or sexy Victoria's Secret corsets. These are modern, lycra-inspired compression-ware, and are the current favorite to make a woman's body seem to lose anywhere from 2 to 10 pounds instantly. Celebrities love them, including Oprah, Gwynneth Paltrow and Jessica Alba.

By itself, the headquarters of Spanx is no big deal, other than the whole be-honest-with-your-body thing. But...Spanx headquarters is on the same block as Ruth's Chris Steak House. Ruth's Chris must be the Fifth Third of steakhouses. Ruth's Chris? As opposed to Joan's Chris or Allison's Chris? Is Chris some specific way to prepare meat? No, it's much more boring than that. Some woman named Ruth bought a steak house from a guy named Chris. She ran it as Chris' Steak House for several years, and then her contract ran out and she moved to a new location. But so many people knew her restaurant as "Chris" that she named the new restaurant "Ruth's Chris". I'm sure she got funding from Fifth Third.

Anyway...Ruth's Chris has the largest portions of steak you can imagine. I have eaten there, and your arteries begin to harden just by looking at the menu. So you can eat an enormous steak just a stone's throw from Spanx headquarters. "Hmmm, if I buy a Spanx can I eat the "Porterhouse for Two" by myself?"

Lastly my day of random Buckhead observations was made complete by a guy I ran into on the subway (the Marta) who was selling Krispy Kreme donuts as a fundraiser. His pitch was amazing: "$5 for a dozen glazed donuts. Guaranteed Fresh--so fresh that if you actually have to use your teeth to eat one I'll give you your money back." He was personable, friendly and funny, and didn't mention that he was fundraising even once (except for the fact that the donut boxes said "Fund Raising" on them). He got off at the Buckhead stop, and as we walked down the platform together, I asked him for what was he raising funds?

Turns out the organization is fairly unique, and quite cool: Hip Hop Horticulture Society. And this is the guy: Harvey Jones.

Daily Five Minutes 1/25/10: Elementary Ballroom

You haven't lived until you have spent a Saturday afternoon watching Elementary Ballroom.

Let me set the scene: Mountain View High School gymnasium, with way more fans than the usual high school basketball game.  12 Elementary Ballroom schools represented (~200 dancers?).  Parents of all of the kids.  The kids are grouped into two sides of the gym (girls with roses in their hair and girls with daisies in their hair).

The competition starts with some required dances (Merengue, Fox Trot, Cha cha cha). Everyone dances their required "Heats" in front of a panel of judges.  There is no tapping you on the shoulder if you're terrible, just notes taken down and submitted to the "panel." Then there are dances by the "featured couples".

Got the picture?

OK, now for the fun. Most of the boys don't really want to be there, so their expressions range from fright (no one wants to screw up, even if they don't want to be there) to disdain (girls still have cooties at this age, remember) to disgust ("I'm dancing when I wish I were playing sports"). I don't know what would get a boy to dance who doesn't really want to (of all of the parental battles to fight, that one seems close to last on my list just above "You must memorize the names of all of

The boys who DO want to be there are having a great time, though. The dances are usually lively and the music if fun.

Pick My Brain: 12/17/09--Trust Issues

Last night I got mad. I was mad because someone I trusted implicitly--in this case a religious leader of a former congregation to which I belonged--violated that trust egregiously. I won't share the details (too private on my end and too maddening on his end), but suffice it to say that my trust in the relationship between pastor and member of the flock was shaken.  In this particular instance, information shared in confidence was used to defame a family member, and information given--nee promises made--were discovered to have been untrue (at best) or outright lies (at worst).

It made me want to be "lawyerly". When I have dealt with antagonistic lawyers in the past, they usually follow up our conversations with a document outlining the discussion and asking me to agree that the document contains the essential elements of the conversation. They do this so that there is a written record of the conversation, and so that neither one of us can go back later and say, "I never said that or agreed to that."

Should I have to do that with my religious leader? "Uh...sorry for the hassle, bishop, but could you sign this document indicating the details of our latest meeting? You know, just in case you decide to deny the things you said later on?" Uggh. I would hate to become that person.

Trust is a big thing with me. I don't like to violate trust in simple things with my kids. I don't like it when people in positions of implied authority abuse that authority and with it my trust.  I don't even like it when public figures that I have come to admire abuse that form of trust.

I generally give people more trust than they have earned; my brother has told me that that is a flaw of mine, and it certainly has gotten me into trouble (I believe his exact words were, "You often reward trust and loyalty were none was tendered.").  I have trusted people with money, only to have them renege on agreements made. I have trusted people with information about me and my family ("You're far too open with the details of our life," my wife tells me), only to have them use that information either to belittle or embarrass me later.

While there are other examples of violated trust, almost always that trust has been reciprocated, and both sides have been enriched by it. I guess that's what frustrates me the most: when that mutually beneficial relationship of trust is broken to my detriment, it causes me to begin to distrust every relationship and every situation. It causes me to want to be lawyerly.

Uggh.

Friends and Money

When I was in college, I had a good friend named Steve. From practically our first week on campus, Steve and I were virtually inseparable. We pledged the same fraternity, attended the same parties, went on dates together, hung out together...and spent money together.

We used to joke that we didn't need separate bank accounts; if one of us had money, then we both had money. We didn't really keep track either. It wasn't a case of, "You paid last time so I'll pay this time." Since we were both poor students, we didn't really have a lot to spend anyway, and our expenses were low, so...we just shared it.

Even today, among my close friends, I find that sharing small amounts of money is almost a given. One friend can't cover lunch, or forgot his wallet? No problem; the rest of us will cover. This sort of free-flow of money among friends and colleagues is quite common (within reason, of course. If one friend is constantly mooching off of everyone else, then patience for that type of behavior goes away).

There seems to be a line that delineates good-natured sharing from business-like loans between friends. That line is somewhere over $20; if someone just 'happens' to need $50, most people don't just give it without asking for it back at some point (the line is probably and obviously higher for people who are wealthier than I). When the dollar amounts get larger than that, the situation gets trickier, and even the best of friends may write down a loan agreement or contract to protect themselves against their erstwhile friend who may have latent deadbeat potential.

Why is that?

It's just money, after all. Friends aren't (usually) talking about asking another friend to take out a second mortgage or not pay their own bills in order to lend the money. Most friends have good intentions about repaying the loan, and therefore most creditor friends should be willing. But money brings out the worst in us. Just as we don't want to give to beggars on the street, preferring to pass judgment on them, believing that they will squander the charity or that they brought it upon themselves, we don't want to give to even close friends for similar reasons.

This has become an acute thought for me lately, as I currently find myself in considerable financial need. No, this is not a plea for money (though I wouldn't turn down blog 'tips' in my donation jar). But rather a thought experiment: why don't I ask my friends for money? Many of them have it, after all--and even small amounts would be helpful.

I don't ask, simply, because I don't want to lose the friends. Several years ago a good friend loaned me some money; after a considerable amount of time, I was able to repay him (though without interest). He said that any time I needed money, I could come to him. Fast forward to five years later, when I, again, needed some assistance. This time he declined, stating that he didn't think it would help me, and that perhaps I should review my spending habits or financial decisions/planning. His reasoning? While he didn't state it explicitly, he must have thought that I brought this on myself by poor money management. Or that I would squander his charity by poor decisions and spending, and probably be unable to repay the debt. In his mind, therefore, my request placed me alongside the beggar in the street. Right?

Needless to say I won't ever go to that friend for assistance again. Not that I blame him; it certainly is NOT his fault that I have the challenges I have. But the simple act of asking him for money has changed our friendship forever, even though we both said there would be "no hard feelings" on either side regardless of whether or not money was lent.

Perhaps we are used to the It's a Wonderful Life type of giving: George Bailey, good guy with a heart of gold and poor as a church mouse despite his financial genius, needs money and the whole town gives to him and his family in a big basket. But that giving was essentially anonymous, right? Only Sam Wainwright from New York steps up to the plate to offer $25,000 in his own name--and only then after his former girlfriend sent him a telegram. Everyone else just tosses in money and joins in the satsifying chorus of Auld Lang Syne.

So that's how we give...anonymously. We give to Katrina victims--they needed it, right? We give to strangers and to organizations (Red Cross) and Salvation Army Santas and church collection plates (or their equivalent) and starving children in far away places. But to friends? To people right next to us who we know and love and with whom we have shared a friendship who could really use the help?

Not so much. And in fact, they would never ask anyway.

I hesitated to write this post, and after it was written I hesitated to post it. I don't want it to come across as a beggar's plea. However, the thoughts are true, and, despite the desperate-sounding nature of the content, I decided to post it anyway.

Pick my Brain 12/09/09--Salvador Del Mundo

My wife and 11-year-old son, along with a sister-in-law and her daughter, are acting in the LDS production of "Savior of the World." It is being performed for the first time in Spanish. My son plays Nathan, the shepherd boy who sees the star and greets the Christ-child in the manger. It has been a challenge for him, as he doesn't speak Spanish, but he learned the parts and has a mom and family who have tutored him.

Anyway, if you speak Spanish or know someone who does, please invite them to see the production in Provo, December 18 and 19. We would love to see the crowd full!

 

This is the KSTU story about the production (though you can't see any of my family members in the video).

Dolly's Small Voice

After my post on my bedtime routine with my Rose-bud, several people asked me about this earlier post, from my other daughter. Since I couldn't find it on my site any more, I decided to repost it.

At 4:30 this morning, my Rachel woke me up with the smallest, meekest voice I have ever heard her use. She said, "Daddy..." in a plea for help so sincere and heartfelt that it woke me from a sound sleep.

I immediately jumped to my feet and ran to her. She was sick, and needed to throw up (which we have spent the rest of the morning doing). But what she really needed was me. She needed to hug me, to lay her head on my shoulder, to feel my cool hand on her forehead and to let me brush the hair from her face and cover her with a warm blanket. She didn't know she was sick, she just knew that she needed me.  Twice more this morning, in her exhausted illness, her littlest voice has said "Daddy..." turning my heart inside out each time. I would have moved heaven and earth to answer that plea.

As I held her in my arms and rocked her back to sleep, I thought of the symbolism of the experience. How many times have I cried to my Father in heaven, with my meekest, smallest voice? "Father...", I have plead, begged, and cried. "I am sick...or sad...or sinful." "Father, I need you to let me lay my head on your shoulder, to feel your Comforter, to bask in the warmth of your love."  

Each time I plead in this sincerity He rushes to me, and He will do so to anyone who truly seeks Him. I imagine that His heart turns inside out as His children cry out to him meekly, and He (quite literally sometimes) moves heaven and earth to answer those pleas.

He promises us that if we ask Him, we will receive. But receive what? Gifts? Riches? Rewards? No, we will receive Him. That is the great gift, the gift of His attention, His presence, His touch.

As I watch my Dolly drift back to sleep, I am content that I have given her what she asked for. Her littlest voice said, "Daddy..." I could not take away the illness or the fever. But I could give her...me. And that is what she really wanted.

Physical Therapy

So I missed a few days posting this week because I am hurt.  I ache, actually.

The short version is this: a medical doctor examined me some weeks ago and indicated that I have a partially torn rotator cuff (shoulder).  How I got it is too long a story.  Suffice it to say that it hurts, and that my range of motion is very limited.  The doctor's recommendation was surgery; my attitude, was "the sooner the better."  I'm not getting any younger, after all.

But I visited a chiropractor/physical therapist.  He examined me and said that he doesn't think that the muscle is torn, else I would not have the range of motion that I have.  He suggested three weeks of physical therapy, followed by further tests to see if my strength and range of motion have returned/increased.

OK.  I'll try it.

I don't like the idea of going to the doctor, and coming out feeling worse than you went it, but that's what physical therpay is. Basically he moves my arm/shoulder in ways that I cannot (without pain), he pokes and prods with sharp and blunt things, he pushes and tells me to resist, then pulls and tells me to pull back. 

As I stood up to leave this last time I said, "Wow, that really hurts."  He said, "Yeah, you'll need to put some ice on that three times a day for twenty minutes to keep the inflammation down."

Inflammation?  I didn't know I had inflammation.  Did I have it before I came in, doc, or did you cause it?  And ice is the best medicine for that sort of thing?  Isn't there a drug/wrap/sling that would help with that?

I said, "OK."  Two appointments next week, and two more the following week. I hope my shoulder doesn't fall off before I am well...