Sitting On Josh's Bench

I stopped by Josh's grave this morning while out for my bike ride.  As you can see, his headstone is a bench.  That is so like he and Toni, always wanting to be of service.  Even in death, Josh invites us to sit a spell and rest our weary bones.  He lived an exemplary life of service.  There is no doubt he is still serving diligently on the other side of the veil.  There is much labor to be performed over there as well and I am certain that he is anxiously engaged in that service.

While I sat ruminating on that bench and watched the sun rising in the east.  I considered my place in the magnificence of creation.  All of this, earth and breath and inspiration come as liberal and beneficial gifts.  None of it belongs to me, I am just granted stewardship over some of it.  Suddenly, I realized that I've been given a great gift, that of being able to write full time.  At the same grateful moment, I realized that this gift is not a possession, but a stewardship.  I, in a remarkable way, have been given time.  Time to focus on what is most important.  Time that is not encumbered by worldly obligation or confined by worldly rules.  I'm exhilarated by this discovery.  Emancipated by it.

On the one hand I have a huge obligation of trust given to me.  I suddenly have a lot of time at my discretion  which I must not waste.  On the other, though, I am liberated by my freedom from ownership.  I don't own this Blog, God does.  I don't own my home, God does.  I don't own my future, God does.  While I am free to decide what I'll do with these gifts, I have no control over how long I'll have them, what will come of them, or how they might or might not yield further blessings.  Based upon the Parable of the Talents, I am obligated to magnify or increase my stewardship for Him, not for myself.  But, the portion the Master offers me in return is entirely at his discretion. I love this because it frees me to receive inspiration and liberates me from the worries of reward, remuneration or reciprocation.

I can do this because I trust Him.  He giveth and He taketh away, He is blessed in either case and so am I.

I don't have to think about doing what I do to draw dollars or to draw patronage.  I can just focus on doing it for Him.  Whether He meets my needs through my readers, or through advertisers, or by some other unfathomable means is entirely up to Him.  That is wonderful, because then I can focus on impressing Him with my efforts rather than impressing you, or someone else.  I believe He is the one who put me up to this.  I have yet to entirely discover why or how it pleases Him to put me to this task and perhaps I never will.  But I don't have to worry about that either

So, from here on in I'm not going to copyright anything I write here.  You are free to pass it on if it impresses you.  You are free to quote it, teach from it, share it, even publish it.  It doesn't belong to me.  I haven't earned it.  I haven't created it.  It is a gift.  One I am willing to share.  Please don't mistake my intent for altruism it is not.  To be altruistic I'd have to have something to give.  Rather, I'd call it consecration.  My willingness to share what I've been given.  A subtle but completely life changing distinction.  These things I write do not belong to me and never did.  I only hope to make use of them as The Owner intends.  I am incredibly weak and have a lot of work to do before I'll do justice to this task, but you may expect that I will earnestly be about it.

When I first began to write full time I determined that it would be a full time job and that, though I was home, I'd be unavailable for anything else from 8 to 5 every work day.  I would have to keep my nose to the grind stone if I were to support my family by this means.  My epiphany on Josh's bench this morning changed that.  Writing isn't the only task to which I've been entrusted.  The Master called me to another assignment this afternoon.  One of greater and more pressing importance.  Had my writing been about money, I'd have had a difficult time switching gears, adjusting priorities.  Money is about me.  It's about reward.  Its about feeling deserving, like I'd somehow merited more gifts because I had been given these.  It's like sitting under the Christmas tree and thinking that the mere act opening a present entitled me to another, and another...  But, today I concluded that its not about money.  Its about using God's gifts under His direction and for His purposes rather than my own.  So I gladly put down my writing instruments and exchanged them for a vacuum cleaner for the afternoon.  Would that every muscle that contracts in my body did so in the Service of He who gave that gift.  That every breath I breathe could do the same.  But I can't even succeed in attempting that distant goal without the benefit of His grace.

Did you notice the little box on Josh's bench?  It has an inscription on it, a quote from Isaiah:

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.

I've been trying to do that today.  I've been trying to make that the theme and content of my life.  I have a long way to go, but at least I've started on that journey.

Thank you Josh and Toni, for a fine example of trust and for nice spot to sit and think about it.  This day you've served me well.

Flowers on Main Street and Troubled Families

My morning stroll took me along Main Street this morning. The flowers were so beautiful. Our little town in renown for it's summer petunias which grow in planters the full length of Main Street and then some. I love them! They put such a welcoming face on our community. They show us for who we are. Their presence and freshness every year represent dedication to our values and commitment to our standards. They welcome residents and visitors alike to our special part of the world.

Sweetie and I have traveled extensively across the US and Canada and have never seen anything to rival this. We've driven down a lot of main streets in cities much more affluent that ours and never seen Vernal's equal. Many have more natural beauty, more magnificent architecture, more appealing attractions than Vernal, Utah, but none of them put out the welcome mat like we do. I think everyone reads that message loud and clear as they witness the floral abundance that is our greeting card.

As I walked today I had to resolve an issue in my mind. I struggled with it. I prayed about it. And I feel I got my answer. You see, I've complained about the flowers on Main Street. While I love them, I've been concerned about another issue, whose priority exceeds the need for our floral show piece.

Last year, due to severe budget constrictions, The State of Utah discontinued funding for the local Shelter and Receiving Center. This facility had been located in, but not part of, the youth detention facility where I have been a volunteer for the past seven years. During the years the Shelter was open I volunteered there as well. There I found young people who were being lovingly cared for after their parents had been arrested. There were others who were struggling with a foster care situation and needed a breather from that new, stressful and unfamiliar environment. There were kids who'd had a blow up with their own folks and both child and parent needed a "time out" and some counselling. These kids weren't criminals. They and their parents just needed some help. The Shelter provided that help in a safe, loving and productive environment.

Now, we have no Shelter in our Uintah Basin Communities. The need remains acute, but the service is gone. Too many of these sweet children are now winding up in Detention where they don't belong. Officials and parents, foster parents and others, too often, have no other recourse. They can't be left to run, unsupervised, unparented, alone.

As I prayed this morning I was struggling with this issue. Every time I see the flowers on Main Street I am reminded of these precious children, who, through no fault of their own, have been neglected, left untended, or have even been uprooted. My prayer was answered in a note on Facebook. A good friend called my attention to a local Pepsi Refresh Project candidate. My friend Joslin Batty and some others from the local youth corrections facility have proposed the creation of a Shelter and are in the running for $250,000.00 gift from Pepsi to help establish that dream. Here is their video:

Watch the video.

I am so pleased to make this discovery and so thrilled to have the chance to lend them my encouragement. Their efforts and this timely discovery are truly an answer to my prayers. Please help with this worthy project by going to Pepsi Refresh and voting for this dream, so it can become a reality!

I have watched Joslin and Patrick and Teri and many others and know of their deep love and concern for these wonderful children. Won't you please get behind them and help them help those is such desperate need?

As I said, I love the flowers on Main Street. I hope we never neglect them. I love our children even more and hope we don't neglect them either. They are too precious to be ignored. I hope and pray they are given their Pepsi grant. But, make no mistake, while $250K will take them a long way toward their goal, it won't be an on going resource. I've never quite understood why Juvenile Justice and the Detention Center are State agencies, while the Jail is operated by the County. I'm sure it wont be easy for our cash strapped communities to allocate the much need resources that will be required to sustain the Shelter. I'm sure it will be a temptation for them to say, that's somebody else's responsibility. Well, nobody else is stepping up to the plate. So, I am calling upon our City, County, religious and civic leaders as well as philanthropists and corporations to stand up and take hold of this most pressing need. These are our children, they belong to our community. Let's help them to bloom where they are planted!


The Flowers On Main Street represent how we are.  The Children In Our Homes reflect how we are.  Let's not let the flowers be a mere facade concealing a lie.

The Aerospace Museum at Hill Field

Just out side Hill Air Force Base near Roy, Utah is Hill's Aerospace Museum.  During a lull in the Family Reunion, while many were attending the ground breaking ceremonies for the new Brigham City Temple.  John, Jeff and I visited the Museum.  Earlier in the morning Jeff's imagination was piqued as a couple of F-16's flew over the reunion park on their way to the west desert for practice maneuvers. 

The Museum is free of charge and has a wonderful collection of vintage planes.  Here's Jeff in his flight suit ready for take off.

This sweet, beautifully preserved B-17 Bomber was my favorite.  I've read stories about flying these in WWII and seeing one really captured my imagination.  How I admire the heroes who flew them and the gunners who defended them.

Here's Captain Jeff in the cockpit.  Ready for a dog fight!

Jeff's Aunt Aly repairs Avionics on the F-15, pictured here and also the F-16.

Jeff was excited to see what Aly's Test Stations look like.

Here Jeff flies an F-16 flight simulator.  We had a fantastic time observing the marvelous advances in flight from the Wright Brothers to todays amazing jet fighters.  What a great opportunity and all for free!

Little Heroes

Last evening we gathered in Layton, Utah for a wonderful Family Reunion, I found little Megs and her big brother Jeff standing at the fence to a neighboring pasture.  Joining them, I discovered that they were chumming llamas.  They were tossing carrots over the fence and wondering what llamas say.  I told them they spit, so we were making our best spitting sounds, "pouittt, spouitttt. spouitt" to no effect.  We couldn't toss the carrots far enough to capture their attention.  They were surprised and little bit skeptical when I told them that llamas are cousins to camels.  I'd like for them to have had a better look.

It was about then that Megan drew my attention to a calf she took to be stuck between a fence and a shed.  It took me quite some time to even make it out a hundred yards across the pasture.  Sure enough, a little black calf seemed sandwiched between corral poles and the shed wall.  Jeff suggested we go tell the farmer so the calf could be rescued.  Sounded like a good idea to me.

We informed their parents and headed over there.  Out on Gentile Road there was some question as to which house in the row, connected to the farm.  I chose, using some deductive reasoning, the third house.  The kids were a bit concerned and then relieved when a sign beneath the house number read, "The Farm."

I asked them what they were going to tell the farmer?  "We're not going to tell him anything, you are!" was their desperate reply.  We knocked on the door and heard a neighborly, "Come in!" shouted back to us.

"Grandpa!  We can't just go in!"

"Sure we can, didn't you hear the invitation?"

Over riding protests we went in.  We found a couple of old fellows chatting in the drawing room.  The elder of the two asked our business and I explained the situation.  He had a difficult time making out what I was trying to tell him.  Megan and Jeff pitched in their two bits and finally we made him understand that his calf was in trouble.  The farmer didn't look well and we found out later he was suffering from cancer.  His companion informed us that he would help the farmer rescue the calf.  They seemed a bit skeptical as they thanked us and saw us to the door.  I'd secretly hoped they'd invite us out back to assist in the rescue.

Megan ran all the way back to the park so she'd be sure to be back to the fence in time to witness the goings on.  The rest of us went to the fence too, in plenty of time.  Those two old fellows weren't in much of a rush and were just making it to the barnyard gate.  The fiddled with the wire tying the gate shut for a couple of minutes.  When the finally did get to the calf, it was plain that they were in agreement with us.  The calf was in trouble.  The tried in vain to get him free so the kid's Dad, John, who'd joined us and I went back over to offer our assistance.  In the end we weren't needed, the took a saw to the pole trapping the calf and had it out about the time we arrived.  The calf hobbled over to the trough and drank and drank and drank.

This time the farmer seemed much more appreciative.  He gratefully told us that he doubted the calf would have lived until morning had he not been released from his trap.  I could tell he was about give out, but he wanted to chat, perhaps to make up for nearly blowing us off before.

As he lived on Gentile Road I asked if he knew my Uncle Don who lives another couple of miles West.  "Sure do!" he replied.  "We used to be in the same Ward, years and years ago.  Then the Ward was divided and then the Stake.  Now we don't even live in the same Stake!"  He remembered Uncle Don well enough to remember that he was from Star Valley.

John who thinks I must know everybody.  Had his suspicions confirmed and razzed me a bit about it on the way back to the Reunion.  There, we made a big deal out of Megan and Jeff saving the calf from certain death.  Nice to be in the company of heroes.  Big or small.

Patron Aint

I've sort of been on a Saint bent latterly.  So today I thought I'd introduce you to an Aint.  That's right this guy aint no Saint.  He's the legendary Doc Holliday.

Doc was a Dentist.  Though he claimed to have only practiced Dentistry for five years.  He lived in Georgia principally, until he contracted tuberculosis.  To ease the symptoms and prolong his life he moved west.  In Texas he met Wyatt Earp.  Later in Dodge City, Kansas he came to Earp's aid against some gunslingers and Earp acknowledged that Doc had saved his life.  They became fast friends.

Constantly moving, avoiding the westward crawl of civilization and respectability the Earps and Doc Holliday wound up in Tombstone, Arizona where they fought in the famous gunfight at the OK Corral.  Some time after the gun fight, Morgan Earp was murdered.  Doc jointed the Earps on a vendetta ride seeking revenge on those responsible.

They were law men, gamblers, and now out laws.  They went to Colorado and finally Doc settled in Glenwood Springs, hoping for healing from the curative waters of the warm springs there.  He died there November 8, 1887.  He was 36.  They buried him in a cemetery on a hill overlooking the city.

On August 5, 2002, I climbed that hill.  It is a steep trail and I wondered how elderly mourners made it up there, let alone the hearse.  Aside from its poor accessibility, it is the second most breath taking cemetery setting I've ever seen.  They don't know exactly where John Henry Holliday is buried but a marker has been placed with a wrought iron fence around his possible plot.

This photo is from a Geocache I established in Doc's honor.  I created the Cache to help others locate this tidbit of old west history.  When I first went there I was taken by the fact that folks had left tokens at his monument.  A shot glass of whiskey and an ace of spades lay there on that day.  It amused me.  It was as if Doc had become the patron saint of sinners, gamblers, drunks and outlaws.  Pilgrims from far and wide come here, pay homage and leave a remembrance.

I set it up as a Virtual Cache.  Typical caches have a hidden container with a log and some trinkets.  Virtual Caches just lead to a place such as this and finders must email the owner with some detail to verify that they had actually been there.  My request for this one is that cachers report what mementos they find left at the monument.  In the eight years since then there have been 374 logged visits cataloging the persistent tributes of supplicants and revelers from who knows where.  They've posted 178 photos recording this amazing, heart warming, mysterious, anonymous practice.

In their anal retentive way Geocaching.com no longer allows Virtual Caches.  Interesting since so many logs thank me for placing and maintaining the Virtual Caches I have.  I'm grateful I did because I, with the help of all my caching friends, have chronicled the on going devotion we seem to hold for our heroes from the Wild Wild West.  You can visit Patron Aint and read the logs and view the pictures.  You'll notice that some time in 2004 a new monument was placed at the site.  I liked the old one better.  Seemed more authentic.

You know I don't go in for drinking, gambling and so many of Doc's vices, still there is something about this man who died 123 years ago that appeals to me.  None of us are perfect, but most of us are forgotten.  Hold on, I'm not advocating a crime spree either, so don't go out and try to be the next D. B. Cooper.  What I am advocating is that we remember.  If these guys can faithfully climb that strenuous hill to Linwood Cemetery in all kinds of weather, what can we do?  Can we drop a note to a lonely grandmother?  Can we make a visit to a shut in.  Can we record our memories of ones we've loved and lost?  Wyatt Earp did:

"There was something very peculiar about Doc. He was gentlemanly, a good dentist, a friendly man and yet, outside of us boys, I don't think he had a friend in the Territory. Tales were told that he had murdered men in different parts of the country; that he had robbed and committed all manner of crimes, and yet, when persons were asked how they knew it, they could only admit it was hearsay, and that nothing of the kind could really be traced to Doc's account. He was a slender, sickly fellow, but whenever a stage was robbed or a row started, and help was needed, Doc was one of the first to saddle his horse and report for duty." 

He also said

 "Doc was a dentist not a lawman or an assassin, whom necessity had made a gambler; a gentleman whom disease had made a frontier vagabond; a philosopher whom life had made a caustic wit; a long lean ash-blond fellow nearly dead with consumption, and at the same time the most skillful gambler and the nerviest, speediest, deadliest man with a six-gun that I ever knew."   "I found him a loyal friend and good company."

If Wyatt Earp could so kindly remember Doc Holliday, what might we do?