Sorry, Charlie

We were watching an episode of Bramwell on TV when, during a dieing scene the soon-to-be deceased reached out to his friend and pleaded, "Sorry Charlie!" And, of course, I burst out laughing.

For those who aren't as old as I, there used to be a tuna fish commercial in which a fish named Charlie kept trying to get caught by StarKist. His attempts were always spurned with a pronounced, "Sorry, Charlie." Indicating he just wasnt' good enough to meet StarKist's "lofty" standards.

It's startling how our culture influences how we think. So much so that in a death scene of a serious drama, an unintentional punch line changed everything for me.

None of our lives go unifluenced by the experiences we've had. My friend Curg told me today of an experience he had in California last week. He dreads California. So many indifferent, self absorbed people all smashed into one large self-gratifying society. He has family there, so he endures it two or three times a year. On this trip, he wanted to take a friend to LA's China Town, but got lost. Driving around, hoping to reorient himself, he was pulled over by one of Los Angeles' finest. Oh, boy, another example of why, we hate LA.

The LAPD officer approached his window and asked, "Are you lost?"

"Why yes, how could you tell?"

"Utah plates and slow uncertain driving."

"Where did you wish to go?"

"China Town."

"Just follow me, I'll show you."

Instant paradigm shift. Curg remained in Southern California for another week, during which his attitude was bright and positive and shocking to his wife. When she asked what was going on, he could only say that one solitary nice person had changed his whole view of the place!

If, "by small means the lord can bring about great things" (1 Nephi 16:29), perhaps so can we.

I once had an experience with a church hymn, that made it difficult to avoid laughing hysterically whenever it was sung. It is a wonderful hymn, full of meaning and inspiration. I hated that my experience had spoiled it for me. I've shared the experience a few times only to spoil the hymn for others as well. As time has passed, I've made an effort to disassociate the experience and the hymn. I've been pretty successful, but it has taken a lot of time and effort. Like my experience with Charlie the Tuna, it is difficult not to be effected by it, even long after the exposure.

I think I'm going to be more careful about the things I say and do, that might taint others' mortal experience for bad. I think I'm going to be more thoughtful about being more curteous and helpful, like that LA Cop.

The Hare Hilton Gets Its Finishing Touches

After way too many days of hard work the Hare Hilton has finally had its finishing touches applied. It was a good lesson in life for me. The grand kids have faithfully showed up to help and have been so very excited about the project. Too much of the project precluded them from participating as they'd have liked. What with the dangers of power tools and such, there just wasn't that much meaningful stuff they could do. I appreciated all the fetching they willingly, even eagerly did, but that wasn't very satisfying and fulfilling for them.

They got it in their heads that at least they could help paint. That's not too difficult or dangerous. So, when I broke out the airless paint sprayer and painted it without their help they were very let down. Grandma came to the rescue. You see I'm all about results, I guess. But Grandma is all about the kids. We got some colored paint and decided to let them paint after all. I still didn't get it though. I was going to let them have at the back where it wouldn't show. But Grandma protested, "What good is art you can't see!" I started to catch on and the slide show tells the rest. As I pondered the project later I realized that Grandma had it right. What if God wouldn't let me paint just because I couldn't paint up to His standards. Would I ever learn or grow? Of course not. He gives me stewardship and responsibility over things He could do much better than I and He no doubt smiles at my results, imperfect as they are. To me the Hare Hilton is beautiful. To God, my feeble efforts must be too!

Oh, To Be Like Steve

I have a cousin who is a very accomplished carpenter. In fact I'd call him a master craftsman. You would be amazed at the quality of his work. More amazing to me than that is the speed and efficiency with which he builds things.

One year I went to visit his folks at their cabin in Wyoming. Steve was adding a large family room to the cabin. I was amazed at the orderliness of the project. There seemed to be no extra stuff, just what he needed and no more. Everything was immaculate. The sawdust and scraps were constantly cleaned up. It was surreal to be in such an organized, tidy construction zone.

I on the other hand am much the opposite. I recently completed a project which I had to build out of doors. The construction site was chaos! Scraps here, tools everywhere, sawdust on everything. I'm certain it took me longer to build a rabbit hutch than it took Steve to add a large room to a house! What I've described represents Steve in every aspect of his life. What I've described represents me in every aspect of my life. Everything Steve does is orderly, tidy, well planned and masterfully done. By comparison, my life is shoddy, sloppy, and flown by the seat of my pants. Steve gets things done. I'm never finished with anything.

We were both trained to be as we are. We both have a nature to be as we are. I spent most of the day yesterday, cleaning up after my project. Whenever, I do something like this, I always admiringly think of Steve. I like myself well enough, but I'd sure like to be more like Steve.

Interpreting Dreams

I've never placed a lot of stock in the meaning of dreams. Mine seem silly and commonly disconnected with reality. They claim there are archetypal, metaphorical meanings to nearly everything we dream about. Maybe.

Lehi's Dream I can buy. His dream came as a revelation with much meaning and significance. Mine? Not so much. Now, some might say that I am much like Laman and Lemuel in that I haven't inquired of the Lord as to the meaning of my dreams. This is also true. Since I don't place much stock in my dreams, I spend little if any time trying to make sense of them.

I had a dream last night though, that has made me think a bit. Actually, it wasn't so much the dream as the circumstance that followed it.

I dreamt that I was sitting in a church meeting. I was near where the Deacons ordinarily sit when they are waiting to pass the Sacrament. The stand had it's usual railing wall along the front. Someone was speaking, but I didn't note who, or what was being said. Near where the chorister in our ward ordinarily stands to conduct the music, I saw Josh, my recently deceased friend, sitting at a small table and taking notes in a book. Occasionally, he looked around the audience. At some point he observed me looking at him. Surprised, he gave me a questioning expression to see if I responded. I did respond with an expression that let him know that, "Yes, indeed, I can see you!"

Acknowledging my response he promptly faded from my view at which point I awoke with a start. I no sooner had awakened, somewhat amused, than I was overcome with a heavy, crushing cloak of darkness, not unlike what Joseph Smith described in connection with the First Vision. It was smothering, opressively heavy, consuming darkness. I'd had a similar encounter with darkness while on my mission. Recalling the previous experience, I was not alarmed but rather turned to God in prayer and was released within a few moments.

I lay in bed pondering this circumstance for quite some time. If you've ever had a good foot rub, you may have had the experience of a lingering sensation in your feet that lasts long after the rub is over. I had a similar, lingering memory of this encounter with darkness that seemed to be recalled at the cellular level of my body. It was no longer oppressive or suffocating, but the residual memory or shock of it seemed tangible for quite some time.

I haven't concluded much from this experience. It seems to be a lesson in the enormous contrast between joy and misery, light and darkness. It is easy to dismiss the dream as a representation of the lonely longing I have to see Josh again. My heart and mind are still trying to process the loss. When I awoke, I was happy for the memory of the dream. I was pleased by the earnest, dutiful, but content look I saw on Josh's face and amused by the look of "yikes" on his face when he discovered himself exposed through the veil. There was nothing in the experience that seems even remotely connected with evil and yet darkness quickly came to counter my fun.

I know Josh's spirit remains in tact, that he's happily engaged in meaningful work and that I need not worry about him or the possibility of seeing him again one day. I knew that before this dream, no less than I know it now. Satan's intrusion hasn't affected that conviction in any way, so I really remain scratching my head about the whole thing.

If you, good reader, have any insights, I'd love to hear them.

Ashley Gorge Excursion with Billy