Book Review - Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast Pillow Book

Bill Richardson has done it again. Just when I thought his rampant imagination had been exhausted, he blasted me out of the saddle with another galloping romp. Now, lest you expect some high adventure, this is after all, about a couple of boring bachelors who operate a B & B for crying out loud.

I can't quite put my finger on Richardson's art. He can take the everyday, even mundane events so common to all of us and help me see them with fresh perspective. Something so ordinary as a dishwasher becomes an ethereal, even spiritual mentor as it chants it's soothing mantra.

Reading his description of life is so rich in detail and warm in color that its like looking at a Norman Rockwell painting, only you get to look in on the scene through every window in the house.

Some of the funniest things about ourselves come of how seriously we tend to take ourselves. So it is with Virgil, Hector and now Caedmon, a newly introduced character who drives an old bus with a thatched roof. All are, off the charts eccentric, and yet so ordinary, they could just as easily be me, or (even funnier) you!

Told from the perspective of practically every character the tale waxes and wanes through mists of amusement and then bursts into a clarity of invention that delights and satisfies. I enjoyed myself from beginning to end.

I'll leave you with Virgil's high noon wishes to ponder:

1. I wish you a comfortable bed.
2. A roof to withstand every storm.
3. A pillow to cushion your head.
4. An angel to keep you from harm
5. I wish you remembrance of dreams.
6. I wish you the love you require.
7. In summer, the sheltering shade.
8. In winter, a welcoming fire.
9. I wish you the comfort of friends.
10. I wish you an absence of fear.
11. A wish for the right wish to end.
12. And it's over. I wish you were here.

I wish I had a chiming clock.

The Golden Factor

When Bishop Bassett asked me to speak in Sacrament Meeting on the topic, Refrain From Swearing, he had no idea of my profound admiration for J. Golden Kimball. When I told the congregation as much, in my introduction of the topic, they say the blood drained from Bishop Bassett's face. Still, I made it through the entire sermon without a single slip. It's a good thing too because, back then I wasn't as quick to repent as Brother Kimball. I am repenting pretty dern fast these days, though.

He really had nothing to fear. I don't cotton to swearing. Clean language is a beautiful thing and I encourage its use. I personally, refrain from crude language most of the time, usually.

It is important to understand that J. Golden Kimball was called of God to be one of the Seven Presidents of the Seventy. Despite the occasional slip of the tongue, Golden, was golden. People flocked to hear him speak. There was humor, surprise, and profound testimony of the Atonement in every sermon he preached. There was also honesty. Sometimes painful, always enlightening, Golden's honesty and frankness opened hearts and encouraged transgressors. And that is the Golden Factor.

It is said that poor Elder Rudger Clawson had a painfully difficult time stomaching Golden's antics. Serious, straight laced, Apostle Clawson was appalled that the Church should be represented by such a rough shod cowboy. He is reported to have sought Golden's dismissal, but President Heber J. Grant wouldn't hear of it. Frayed, as he was around the edges, Golden had a place in the Kingdom and God had a use for him. And that is the Golden Factor.

J. Golden Kimball knew he wasn't perfect. In fact he once said, "I may not have walked the straight and narrow, but I crossed it as often as I could." To further enhance his uncharacteristic image, Golden was an avowed Democrat. He did, once, attend the Republican Caucus and, having been discovered in the crowd, was asked by Senator/Apostle Smoot to offer the invocation. Golden declined, answering, "No thanks Reed, I'd just as soon the Lord didn't know I was here." (See, he didn't always swear!)

I didn't set out to tell J. Golden stories, but I feel one coming on. Hugh B. Brown once said of a urge to tell a tale, "Its like a fit, there's no stopping it, you might as well go ahead and have it." Please forgive this fit: In a church welfare meeting Golden was assigned to check on a piece of property in Manti for a possible welfare farm. He was headed that way for a Stake Conference. In the next meeting President Grant asked if he'd had the opportunity to visit the parcel. Golden answered that he had.

"How was it?" asked President Grant.
"Well now, it was a nice piece of ground, about 180 acres, with a nice slope to it and a good stream of water at the head." responded Golden.
"How big was the stream?" queried the prophet.
"I could piss about half way acrossed it." answered Golden.
To which Rudger Clawson huffed, "Bro-ther Kimball, you're out of order!"
"Of course I am," said Golden matter of factly, "if I wasn't I could've pissed all the way across."

Golden often plead for the Saints to be kind to him and forgive him and one another. His message was one of repentance, redemption, and devotion. No one was more devoted than Brother Kimball and inspite of His weakness, God allowed him to do a great work in strengthening the church. A loving Heavenly Father knew that lots of the Latter-day Saints needed to realize that they were invited to the table, just as they are. The church needs its Rudger Clawsons, but it doesn't need 12 million of them. It needs its J. Golden Kimballs too and everyone in between. Everyone has something to offer. Everyone has someone to bless. All are blessed with unique gifts that the Lord can use. Gifts few if any others can offer as well. And that is the Golden Factor.

Sweetie's grandfather was such a man. On a rare weekend home from sheep camp, Willard was approached by the Bishop to get things started for him to go on a Mission. Willard was shocked and said, "Bbut, Bbishop, I've only been to the Second Grade and can hardly read ner write!" In great wisdom the Bishop responded, "The Lord will use those who are willing to be used." And Willard answered, "If the Lord can use me, then I'll go." And that is the Golden Factor.

This isn't the Stepford Church, full of flawless, Molly and Marty Mormons. The Church wasn't meant to be operated by perfect people or God would have to outsource it to Angels or something. The Church was designed for you, everyone of you, and even me, as a place to learn and grow. A place to try us, to teach us, to sharpen our skills, and test our mettle. If we can see it as that it isn't hard to see how well it is doing it's job. Every day humble Saints work myriad miracles for which they are lacking in experience and expertise. Who, because they love the Lord and acknowledge their weakness before him are able to be instruments in His might hands. And every day, myriads make mistakes and stumble along and mostly we understand and forgive them, help them up and help them along.

And that, is the Golden Factor.

Me? Agnostic?

Early in my experience with addiction recovery I glossed over Step Two: Come to believe the power of God can restore you to complete spiritual health. Of course I believed in God, I didn't need this step. I already had that mastered.

When my sponsor discovered I had disregarded step two, he rolled his eyes and made me read Chapter 4 from the AA Big Book. Obediently, I complied, while thinking it was a waste of time. Boy, was I wrong! That chapter was such an eye opener for me! I was behaving like an Agnostic!

You need to understand that I've been active in the Church my entire life. I've had a testimony too! Long since. But somehow, as Stephen E. Robinson puts it; while I believed in Christ, I just didn't believe Christ. I believed He was there, created the earth and was powerful beyond my comprehension. I just didn't believe He could or would save me. Somehow, I had developed the notion that Salvation was my task, not His.

I couldn't imagine that Jesus would reach down into the mud, I'd got my self stuck in, fouled with, and pull me out, clean me up and set me off in the right direction. I thought I had to climb out of the mire of my life on my own; that I had to clean myself up and arrive presentable at the judgment seat on my own. How I could have come to these conclusions while attending church, Sunday School, reading the scriptures all my life, is simply beyond me. As Colleen Harrison so aptly describes it, I was spiritually dyslexic! It was as though I thought I had to excise my own tumor, before I could go to the doctor. I was behaving like an Agnostic while professing to be a believer.

The Twelve Steps are inspired and wonderful. Key to their success in helping me repent is the inclusion of the first three steps. They're about acknowledgement of guilt and about faith, trust in God. All of my previous attempts to repent, failed, largely because "faith preceeds the miracle" and I had skipped that part. There is a reason why Faith in Jesus Christ is the first principle of the gospel. I had never truly repented. All I had ever done was stop sinning (for a while). True repentance requires a remission of sins which requires allowing Jesus to remove the guilt, heal the damage and change the heart. Quitting a sinful behavior, in the short term, is not repentance. Quitting sinful behavior, in the long term, without repentance and a remission of sins, is impossible. All my life the connection between the Atonement and true repentance was somehow lost on me. I guess I should have stood on the bench in church, then maybe, what was being taught wouldn't have gone over my head!

Today, I am free of addiction because I have repented and received, throught the merits and mercy of Jesus Christ, a remission of my sins. Not for any merit of my own, for I am nothing, as to my strength I am weak. This blessing has come because my Redeemer decended below all things that He might lift me up, knowing I would be unable to lift myself.

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified
That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died

I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine
That he should extend his great love unto such as I
Sufficient to own, to redeem and to justify

I think of his hands, pierced and bleeding to pay my debt
Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me
Secure in the promise of life in his victory
Thus ransomed from death I will live to my Savior's praise
And sing of his goodness and mercy through endless days

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me
Oh, it is wonderful
Wonderful to me

(I Stand All Amazed, Charles H. Gabriel)

Growing Up In Himni Utah - Episode 3

Bucking Bales and Lemonade

Of all the stuff Butch Farley is reported to have done. One is for sure. I was there and have felt guilty ever since.

We were bucking bales for Pop Wardley up near the canyon. Hot, sweaty, hard work it was. Especially if you were a skinny kid like me. Every afternoon at quitting time Pop would ask us what time we wanted to start in the morning. We would all go for six when it was cool. Every day Pop would reply with, “Too many tireds, how about nine.” And so we always hauled hay in heat of the day. At noon we’d skinny dip in the canal so we’d be all cleaned up and cooled off for lunch. Aunt Marge always fed us a great lunch. We’d work about six hours a day for $1.25 an hour. The older kids and some of the younger city kids got work in town for more than that. If you were 14 though, it was bucking bales or nothing.

Pop was a favorite to work for though, mostly because of Aunt Marge’s cooking and because Pop slip stacked. Lots of folks had given up slip stacking after Bobby Roberts’ accident, but not Pop. He was just too set in his ways. Someone drove the tractor (usually one of Marge’s girls) and one of us rode the slip. It was a large sheet of steel dragged by a chain behind the baler. The slip stacker (one of us) stacked the bales on that sheet of steel as they came out of the baler. At the end of the field all you had to do was step off the slip, stick a hay hook in a bottom bale and hang on. The slip would slide right out from under the pile of bales. Now the guys on the hay wagon would load them up and haul them off to the stack yard. It sure beat walking all over the field gathering up the bales. Bobby Roberts managed to get under the slip with a stack on it. It killed him and the thoughts of it kept us on our toes.

Usually, we shut down for a break midmorning and again midafternoon. We didn’t need to bring food but we always brought plenty to drink. On the day I’m thinking of Pop was driving the hay wagon and Mirtle was driving the baler. Butch was slip stacking and Delin Perkins and I were loading the wagon and stacking the hay stack. When we stopped for a break, Mirtle and Pop went to the yard for more baling twine and Delin was finishing up on the big stack. Butch got shaded up and noticed Delin’s thermos full of lemonade. Now, you’ve got to understand that, though we were the same age, Butch was two of me. I hadn’t quite cleared 100 pounds yet and I stood 5′ 10″. Butch on the other hand was a good 190 pounds and was already shaving every day. He didn’t really look like a bully, but his reputation and a particularly cold glint in his eye on top of his size kept me in my place. Anyway, Butch picked up the thermos and looking right at me, drank half of it down. Though I said nothing, I’m sure the glint of terror in my eye made it clear that I wasn’t going to say anything. I did wonder what Delin would say though. I glanced up at Delin on the stack and when I looked back, there stood Butch peeing Delin’s thermos back full.

I have never had a more confusing gumbo of emotions in my whole life as I did that day when I silently watched Delin Perkins down that entire thermos. He never noticed a thing and Butch never even flinched. Today the fear, revulsion, shame, awe, anxiety, delight and bewilderment have all boiled down to a thick greasy guilt. And every time I see old Delin I wonder about that facial tic he’s developed.