You can visit that blog by clicking on the tab above, labeled The Book of Mormon Today.
I sure hope to see you there.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Let's Read The Book of Mormon Together!
You can visit that blog by clicking on the tab above, labeled The Book of Mormon Today.
I sure hope to see you there.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Growing Up In Himni, Utah - Episode 8
I was always pretty scrawny. Consequently, I got picked on quite a bit through Elementary School and Junior High. It was pretty unpleasant but I learned to keep clear of the bullies for the most part and managed alright.
When I got to ninth grade though, I really met my nemesis. Gavin Richardson was his name. Gavin was one of Butch Farley’s minions. Gavin was small and smart enough to befriend Butch because Butch could easily have whooped him. But, he was big and dumb enough to pick on me. Those intermediate bullies were the worst.Butch for example never picked on the little kids. He had nothing to prove. Picking on us puny ones was the realm of bullies who didn’t dare pick on anybody their own size. There was one exception. One day Butch got crossways with my seventh grade brother, Todd. I really don’t know what made him mad but he slammed Todd up against the back wall of the auditorium so hard that Todd’s head ricocheted off the wall and head-butted Butch right in the nose. Blood splattered everywhere. Todd came out of it unscathed and Butch cut him some slack after that.
Gavin, however, wouldn’t cut me any slack. Going to school became a nightmare. I hardly slept at night for the dread. One day I happened to see the great Disney movie Song of the South. In it, Uncle Remus told the story of Brer Rabbit and how he out witted Brer Fox and Brer Bear. About the time the fox and bear tossed Brer Rabbit into the briar patch it occurred to me that I, like Brer Rabbit shouldn’t have all that much trouble out smarting Gavin, or Butch for that matter.
A couple of days later, I got my first chance to test my theory. We were showering after gym class. My locker was uncomfortably situated right between Butch and Gavin. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Gavin winding up a towel with which to pop my bare backside. The Brer Rabbit in me began to emerge. I kept my cool and made like I hadn’t noticed. Just as Gavin let the towel fly, I moved and that towel snapped like a firecracker on Butch’s exposed rear end. All I had to do then, was quietly, discreetly, get dressed while Butch cleaned Gavin’s clock
.
.
Things quieted down for a few weeks.
The next semester though, I took Mr. Hocker’s typing class. Gavin took it too. My assigned seat was near the door at the side of the room. Gavin passed my desk every day and with an extended knuckle whopped me on the shoulder blade as he entered the room. It wasn’t three days before that became intolerable. There was no such thing as “Safe Schools” back then. I was pretty much on my own to solve this one. Gavin was clearly meaner and tougher than me, but I had already concluded that I was smarter.
The next day I kept a wary eye out for his approach. When he arrived and went to thump me, I exploded out of my chair, shoved him over a desk, typewriter and all, and came down on top of him swinging for all I was worth. The element of surprise gave me the initial advantage and I calculated that Mr. Hocker would be there to break thinks up before Gavin recovered enough to kill me. It worked! We got sent to the office where neither of us confessed the reason for the altercation. After a warning, we went back to class, Gavin subdued and Jinx quietly triumphant. Gavin never bothered me again.
In today’s schools the aggressor is automatically considered guilty and I’d most likely have been threatened with expulsion. That would prevent me from daring to defend myself against such subtle bullying. And that would tacitly give Gavin license to pick on me for the rest of my life. The old ways are sometimes better.
Other bullies have prevented Disney from distributing Song of the South anymore. The Sista Rabbit in my wife, however, found it for sale in Europe over the internet and bought us a copy on DVD.
Zippity Doo Dah!
Monday, October 12, 2009
There Am I In the Midst Of You
I just read an article about former Latter-day Saints who have begun to gather. One reason, they say, is to help them with their loss of the culture. They don't miss the gospel, but miss the culture. I found it interesting, because I lean a bit in the opposite direction.For five and a half years, I've served in the Branch Presidency at the local Juvenile Detention Center. Our gatherings are simple and I have often described them as the gospel without the culture. We don't have much in our little Branch that resembles a typical Ward, but what we do have is the sweet, comforting, need for and companionship with the Savior. During that five plus years we've served under two Stake Presidents. Each of them, in an expression of love and encouragement has told me of his conviction that if the Savior were here, He'd be ministering at the Detention Center. On both occasions, this was my reply, "President, He is and He does."
This is not to say that the Savior is not actively present in a typical Ward. I'm sure He is. But sometimes, I've found the clutter, commotion and flurry of activity around programs and meetings and expectations and disappointments and anticipations and meetings and competitions and rumors and reports and guilt trips from the pulpit, and comparisons and cliques and did I mention meetings?.........
I've found it what? Disconcerting? Disappointing? Unfulfilling? Can't really put my finger on it. Can't really even criticize it. Don't really miss it. Can hardly bare to live without it. I guess it's kind of a love/frustration relationship. Both, I suppose because, despite that earlier list, there is love and service and compassion and friendship and inspiration and meetings and brotherhood and companionship and fellowship and meetings and encouragement and understanding and rejoicing and testimony and refreshments and meetings and instruction and spirit and Spirit and did I mention meetings?.......
I attended my home Ward yesterday for the first time in months. It was all there, including the gospel. It was a joy to greet and worship with old friends and new ones. It's amazing how a Ward can change in five and a half years. Wards, like people, have their imperfections and their flaws. This is how it was intended. Wards are like hospitals only the doctors and nurses and paper pushers and custodians are also patients in every sense of the word. If your doctor has a cold, is his diagnosis and treatment any less needed or precious? Of course not. If you gave him a mug of chicken soup would the service you return be of any less value than what he offered you? Probably not. We each bring ourselves to the table of the Lord by participating in a Ward. Inevitably we each bring our strengths as well as our weaknesses. Who's to say which is the greater blessing to the whole. Both are God given (see Ether 12:27) and both bring a dynamic to the Ward that invokes the necessity of the Grace of God, not only in our individual lives but in the entirety of our Ward, our Stake and indeed the Church.
In our own lives, weakness is an opportunity to learn, grow and be strengthened. If it frustrates us it is because we have excluded God from the equation. The same is true of a Ward. Weakness, there too, is an opportunity to learn, grow and be strengthened. If is frustrates us it is because we have excluded God from the equation. His Grace is sufficient for all men and all Wards too.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Billowing Sails
I've written in the past on manipulation. I've pondered the phenomenon extensively. First hand, I've been severely manipulated and I'm here to admit that I've dished out my share too, over the years. While, I'm not perfectly refined in my ability to resist its influence, or for that matter to resist using it occasionally, I have become more keenly aware of its insidious presence.
Yesterday I was called on the carpet for going on strike at work. My strike could be construed to be manipulation except for one important, missing element. Manipulation is defined as playing upon someone else to ones own advantage. I was striking for the kids' (my clients in this case) advantage not my own. I went to work there in the first place for the kids, not myself. Now, having said that, I'm quite certain that my employer will, to some degree, doubt that claim. Though he probably doubts it less now, than he did before. Without going into detail, I struck, because my clients were being cheated out of respectful, competent service and I was determined to get it for them. I had attempted for three weeks to use diplomatic means to accomplish my ends, but to no avail. In the end the strike failed too.
Anyway, back on the carpet, the meeting began with a threatening posture. I was amused, because I felt no threat and told them as much. There was nothing they could do to me that in anyway distressed me. This was very difficult for me to get across to them. One, in particular, is a "died in the wool" control freak. Manipulation is his sword. It was as if I was a ghost and his sword passed through me with no effect. He kept on swinging it repeatedly, as if the next blow might somehow make contact. His frustration reddened his face like a rising thermometer. Had I parried with a sword of my own, it would have been different. Instead the wind he blew on me passed harmlessly by, because I had not furled my ego sails. I had nothing to prove, no reason to resist, so I didn't.
I have long concluded that there are essentially three things one can do to respond to a manipulator. They are: comply, lie and rebel. If you think about it, those are, in order, the way we usually respond to manipulation. In my encounter yesterday, I discovered a fourth. I'm not sure what one word I can give it. Release, perhaps. Ignore? Not quite. Um, how about Evade. Still, not right. I guess I'll have to think about that for a while. Let me know if you have any suggestions.
Anyway, this fourth method is a difficult one, had I, for example, been a young father with a family to care for and protect. My controlling, manipulating boss would likely have had much more power to influence me. I'd have had my responsibility sails furled and his wind would have pushed me right where he wanted me. The fabric of such sails is not canvas, but fear. I would have feared letting my family suffer the consequences of my lost job. He'd have had me right where he wanted me. I'd have been forced to reject my quest in exchange for capitulation and compliance, Probably too, I'd have had to grovel and plead for forgiveness and a second chance. Pride after all doesn't demand humility, but humiliation. Then, I'd have had to endure doing my job at a level that was beneath what I've been given to offer and less beneficial to the kids. The consequence of which is a numbing, drudgery of unhappiness and regret.
When I was a kid, my Dad got in a fist fight with one of the students at school. He was Vice-Principal at the time. He and the kid went to their respective homes to clean up. Serious blood had been spilled. The faculty, including my Mom, had an emergency meeting in which they informed the administration that if that youth was ever allowed to darken the doorway of the school again, they'd all walk. Their resolve was unanimous! Meanwhile, Dad was at the student's house, working out a resolution to their conflict. Part of that resolution was an agreement that the boy would be well behaved and that Dad would tutor him to ensure his graduation. When Dad discovered that the faculty had insisted the boy be permanently expelled, he plead for them to change their minds. They wouldn't. So, Dad went on strike. For six weeks he stayed out; privately tutoring the young man. Unpaid, for six weeks, he stuck by his guns and quietly lobbied the other teachers until they finally rescinded their decree and allowed the youth back in school. There was no further trouble. The boy graduated.
The wind the faculty blew on my father had no effect. Why is that? I think it was because of Dad's determination to do the right thing and because of his faith that regardless of the consequences the right must prevail. Perhaps if the fabric of our sails is faith, rather than fear, the ill winds of manipulation will always have no effect, furled or not.
Now, you might say that I failed to follow my father's example because I quit. You might be right. But as I saw it I had only two choices. It was made plain that the condition, under which I would be allowed to keep my job, was to continually unfurl sails of fear. I wasn't willing to do that, so with no drama and no misgivings, I humbly resigned.
When we deal with these troubled youth we often counsel them to quit justifying themselves and start dealing with their issues. My boss wouldn't follow his own advice. Not once in our interview did he consider the issues I had, but rather all of his language was focused on justifying his position. Things are not about to change under those conditions. So another way of looking at it is pride versus humility. If the winds of pride blow on prideful sails there is certain to be resistance. That resistance changes the position of the boat. But if the sails are woven with fabric of humility, the winds of pride have little effect. Consider Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego for example. The King, manipulatively threatened them, but they were humble and full of faith. Even the threat of the fiery furnace failed to alarm them, or to change their position.
I still don't have a word for it exactly, but today I've concluded that if our sails are woven with the warp of faith and woof of humility, and if our ship is rigged with masts of truth, a hull of integrity, rigging of discipline and with God at the helm, the winds of fear and pride will not harm us and the winds of love and joy will propel us to the safe harbor of God's embrace.
Note: The people I mentioned here are not bad people. They are good, faithful Latter-day Saints. They are just like me, doing the best they know how. Were I in their shoes, I might, quite likely, have behaved just as they did. I left their names out for that very reason. Perhaps I should further apologize for even using their story to illustrate what I'm just now trying to learn myself. In most respects they are better people than I am. They just made such good fodder for my further examination of manipulation that I couldn't resist the opportunity.
Yesterday I was called on the carpet for going on strike at work. My strike could be construed to be manipulation except for one important, missing element. Manipulation is defined as playing upon someone else to ones own advantage. I was striking for the kids' (my clients in this case) advantage not my own. I went to work there in the first place for the kids, not myself. Now, having said that, I'm quite certain that my employer will, to some degree, doubt that claim. Though he probably doubts it less now, than he did before. Without going into detail, I struck, because my clients were being cheated out of respectful, competent service and I was determined to get it for them. I had attempted for three weeks to use diplomatic means to accomplish my ends, but to no avail. In the end the strike failed too.
Anyway, back on the carpet, the meeting began with a threatening posture. I was amused, because I felt no threat and told them as much. There was nothing they could do to me that in anyway distressed me. This was very difficult for me to get across to them. One, in particular, is a "died in the wool" control freak. Manipulation is his sword. It was as if I was a ghost and his sword passed through me with no effect. He kept on swinging it repeatedly, as if the next blow might somehow make contact. His frustration reddened his face like a rising thermometer. Had I parried with a sword of my own, it would have been different. Instead the wind he blew on me passed harmlessly by, because I had not furled my ego sails. I had nothing to prove, no reason to resist, so I didn't.
I have long concluded that there are essentially three things one can do to respond to a manipulator. They are: comply, lie and rebel. If you think about it, those are, in order, the way we usually respond to manipulation. In my encounter yesterday, I discovered a fourth. I'm not sure what one word I can give it. Release, perhaps. Ignore? Not quite. Um, how about Evade. Still, not right. I guess I'll have to think about that for a while. Let me know if you have any suggestions.
Anyway, this fourth method is a difficult one, had I, for example, been a young father with a family to care for and protect. My controlling, manipulating boss would likely have had much more power to influence me. I'd have had my responsibility sails furled and his wind would have pushed me right where he wanted me. The fabric of such sails is not canvas, but fear. I would have feared letting my family suffer the consequences of my lost job. He'd have had me right where he wanted me. I'd have been forced to reject my quest in exchange for capitulation and compliance, Probably too, I'd have had to grovel and plead for forgiveness and a second chance. Pride after all doesn't demand humility, but humiliation. Then, I'd have had to endure doing my job at a level that was beneath what I've been given to offer and less beneficial to the kids. The consequence of which is a numbing, drudgery of unhappiness and regret.
When I was a kid, my Dad got in a fist fight with one of the students at school. He was Vice-Principal at the time. He and the kid went to their respective homes to clean up. Serious blood had been spilled. The faculty, including my Mom, had an emergency meeting in which they informed the administration that if that youth was ever allowed to darken the doorway of the school again, they'd all walk. Their resolve was unanimous! Meanwhile, Dad was at the student's house, working out a resolution to their conflict. Part of that resolution was an agreement that the boy would be well behaved and that Dad would tutor him to ensure his graduation. When Dad discovered that the faculty had insisted the boy be permanently expelled, he plead for them to change their minds. They wouldn't. So, Dad went on strike. For six weeks he stayed out; privately tutoring the young man. Unpaid, for six weeks, he stuck by his guns and quietly lobbied the other teachers until they finally rescinded their decree and allowed the youth back in school. There was no further trouble. The boy graduated.
The wind the faculty blew on my father had no effect. Why is that? I think it was because of Dad's determination to do the right thing and because of his faith that regardless of the consequences the right must prevail. Perhaps if the fabric of our sails is faith, rather than fear, the ill winds of manipulation will always have no effect, furled or not.
Now, you might say that I failed to follow my father's example because I quit. You might be right. But as I saw it I had only two choices. It was made plain that the condition, under which I would be allowed to keep my job, was to continually unfurl sails of fear. I wasn't willing to do that, so with no drama and no misgivings, I humbly resigned.
When we deal with these troubled youth we often counsel them to quit justifying themselves and start dealing with their issues. My boss wouldn't follow his own advice. Not once in our interview did he consider the issues I had, but rather all of his language was focused on justifying his position. Things are not about to change under those conditions. So another way of looking at it is pride versus humility. If the winds of pride blow on prideful sails there is certain to be resistance. That resistance changes the position of the boat. But if the sails are woven with fabric of humility, the winds of pride have little effect. Consider Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego for example. The King, manipulatively threatened them, but they were humble and full of faith. Even the threat of the fiery furnace failed to alarm them, or to change their position.
Note: The people I mentioned here are not bad people. They are good, faithful Latter-day Saints. They are just like me, doing the best they know how. Were I in their shoes, I might, quite likely, have behaved just as they did. I left their names out for that very reason. Perhaps I should further apologize for even using their story to illustrate what I'm just now trying to learn myself. In most respects they are better people than I am. They just made such good fodder for my further examination of manipulation that I couldn't resist the opportunity.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Book Review - The Continuous Atonement by Brad Wilcox
The Continuous Atonement has such a fresh, sweet, uplifting perspective. You know how, when you're searching radio stations and the receiver lands on one playing LDS music, you can recognize it instantly? Not because you know the song, but because all LDS music seems to have a familiar ring to it? There is something almost generic about it. Well, there is none of that in Wilcox's writing.
Other examples come to mind. I love to hear a new convert pray or speak. Especially one, who was spiritually mature, before joining the church. They don't express themselves in the same ways we are used to hearing things in Church. They don't use the same old cliche's and they seem to bring a fresh vocabulary to the familiar and well worn truths. What they say is not different, but the difference in how they say it, sheds new light and fresh perspective on old topics.
So it is with Brother Wilcox. Every chapter is a fresh, hopeful, delightful expression of things we've long been taught. Each adds bright fresh flavor and texture that captivates and inspires. I have read lots of books on the Atonement and this one tops my list! Thank you Brad, for sharing part of the depth and breadth of your understanding, with one, such as I, whose mind has such a hard time breaking out of the ruts of the past.
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