Serving Cheerfully

Yesterday was first day back in my home Ward after attending church at the Detention Center every week for the past six years.  I was really looking forward to worshiping with old friends and my own family.  Somehow, there was more disappointment than pleasure.

I have said over the past six years that I loved worshiping in the more intimate setting of the youth correctional facility to which I had been assigned.  "It's the gospel without the culture," I'd explain.  Nobody seemed to understand what I was talking about.  Behind those locked doors there was little that resembled the typical church meetings and traditions that I'd spent a lifetime growing familiar with.  There was no chapel or cultural hall.  Prayers didn't have the same wrote, repetitive familiarity that we've all come to expect.  Nobody got reminded to do their Home Teaching, or scolded for not behaving in class.  There was no talk of the most recent Scout camp or the scores in the Church ball tournament over the weekend.  Instead of asking about this boy who'd just gone on a mission or that one who was just leaving; we spoke of this one who'd just gone to rehab and that one who'd just come back.

There was talk of Jesus Christ and faith and forgiveness.  There was talk of love and understanding and compassion for one another.  There was talk of sin and confusion.  There was candid confession and deep humility.  The gospel was there in rich abundance and it, rather than the cultural appendages that have become attached to the gospel, was the focus of every meeting.  Questions in class applied to real life, ever present problems instead of the hypotheticals we skirt around in Gospel Doctrine Class.  In Gospel Doctrine principles are treated in 3rd Person so often.  Like, "I have a friend who...."  Or, "what would happen if...?"  That is if we even dare to get that deep into real, actually problems with living.

Not so in Detention.  Where questions are like, "I have done this horrible thing for which I am very sorry.  Is there any possibility of forgiveness for me?"  Or, "What must I do to become free of this tendency I have to get angry, or seek revenge, or use drugs..."  It was so disappointing to sit in class in my home ward and pretend we were perfect and that the lesson had no practical application to our lives.  No one would dare say, "I have a problem understanding how to control my thoughts."  Or, "I've tried and tried to do what's right and I still can't quit sinning.  How will I ever make it to Heaven?"  And if they did, no one else would likely dare come out and say, "When I was lost and trying to fix myself, my frustration grew until I finally turned my problem over to the Savior."  That is a degree of candor and honesty that is not only refreshing, but productive; and which seems to be seriously lacking.

The culture of the church seems to have set us all up to be pretending to be better than we are.  I think that is destructive.  I personally, through all of my sinful addictive ways took the notion from everyone's "good example" that I was somehow inferior, in that I could not muster the self control and perfection that seemed second nature to most other active members.  I'm old and experienced enough now to realize that everyone has weakness, a God given gift, but most are going to great lengths to conceal it.  Looking back I realize I did the same thing.  Would it not be more productive and helpful to others to confess our weakness and describe how the Savior, applied His redeeming blood to help us recover from the damaging bonds of sin?  Growing up, I never once heard anyone except Alma the Younger make such a claim.  Surely there are others who could have given me a more contemporary example of how to apply the Atonement to my life.  He just wasn't willing to do it.

Another distressing thing I noticed at church yesterday was a startling lack of apparent joy.  Most of those to whom I was exposed seemed to be going through the motions like a bunch of Zombies.  We who served at the Detention Center did so with exuberance and good cheer.  Serving in the Kingdom is fun!  Yet it appears that so many see it as a necessary drudgery with must be endured to the bitter end.  Holy Cow!  What a shock to come back to such a dreary, dutiful, drag.  I wonder if I was ever like that.  I think I must have been.  Back when I thought I had to achieve heaven on my own merits, it was burdensome and hard.  And since I knew I wasn't living righteously, I carried the added burden of doubt.  Doubt that despite my dutiful, reliable efforts, I wasn't going to make it anyway.

What joy it is to discover that Jesus is the way, that I will make it on His merits not my own, if I will but trust Him, have faith in Him, repent of my sins and serve Him with all my heart.  Understanding that, having experienced that, knowing He is assisting me with the stewardship He's given; I can do nothing but rejoice at the opportunity to share what I've been given!  In that light, His burden is indeed light and full of joy and good cheer.  It is fun to serve Him.  I is fun to see the Spirit work in the hearts and minds of good people who so desperately know their need for a Savior.  It is fun to spread the fun!

I remember when Paul Justice came home from his mission.  He was exuberant and cheerful all the time.  I want to be like Paul and rejoice in the blessings and opportunities of the gospel.  I hope its contagious!  And that I can spread it like wildfire among my fellow Saints.  It breaks my heart to see them so drearily burdened with the very thing that could bring them the greatest joy and satisfaction.

Part of the problem may be our tendency toward piety.  We think the gospel is a somber, serious thing.  Did President Hinckley make it look like that?  The gospel is good news, after all, why don't we celebrate it with joy.  I took my nephew Ryan through the Provo Temple for his endowments.  He was so excited he was giving high fives to the Temple workers.  Sensing his unrestrained joy and receiving those marvelous blessings, many seemed to take Ryan's good cheer and pass it on.  There was no call for irreverence and there was none, but it was a time to experience fully embraced joy!

Now, I don't want anyone faking it.  Artificial smiles will not conceal pretended joy.  If you're in my ward and you're not happily serving, I'd like to know it, so we can deal with it.  Let's all quit faking it at church and start lifting each other out the morass of despair and discouragement.  Lets start treating the gospel like the GOOD NEWS that it truly is!

Dogs and Cats

You can see that scheming, diabolical look in their eyes.
At least this way Kristi can see that I haven't killed them yet.

We're sitting our daughter's dogs for four days. (Wish they would sit, or obey any other command for that matter.)  We do this because we love our daughter.  They are a pair of Dachshunds.  They've taken over our lives.  It is a takeover of the hostile variety.

We're fortunate that it is cool weather and that Mosquito Abatement has the bugs under control.  For the sake of the rugs we've been able to leave the patio door ajar so they can come and go as they please.  "As they please" being the operative phrase.  So far they've been pleased to go outside.  Remind me to wear shoes on the lawn for a few days.  We've placed pads around the house just in case, but past experience has shown that the dogs think the pads indicate where not to go.

Weenie dog's would only qualify for remedial obedience school as they are most certainly learning impaired.  Essentially, they're cats that bark.  You probably already know that I harbor no affection for cats either.  We love our other daughter and so we are the proud owners to two creatures of that ilk.  The only good thing about the dogs is that it's been three days since we laid eyes on the cats.  I don't know how they're faring in exile, but then I don't really care either.  I couldn't possibly be so fortunate as to have cats that would consider this sufficient an insult as to warrant moving out.

Have you ever noticed that pet owners think their pets are their children, until they have children.  Then reality sets in and their pets lose their anthropomorphic status and become just ordinary dogs and cats.  This must be quite a shock to a pet.  They must miss their former status.  Whereas before they were honored guests at Petsmart whose employees referred to their owners as their parents; where their food was gourmet; now they get generic chow from IFA, get fat, neglected and for once, actually need the pet shrink that was once their second best friend.  No more play dates with the poodle down the street.  No more grooming at the beauty parlor.  Goodbye to manicured claws, hello to dingle-berries.  No more pampering kennels when the folks are out of town; just extra big bowls of chow and water and abandonment in the back yard.

I, for one never kept pets before the kids arrived.  That was duty the kids pressed me into as they grew.  "I'll feed him, I promise!" we heard to the accompaniment of batted eye-lids and a pouty "pleeeeease."  The feeding lasted a day and any interest in the actual pet faded in a week.  Pets, with the noted exception gerbils last a lot longer than a week.  Gerbils have babies in about a week and then begin cannibalistic rituals that quickly render the $60.00 Habitrail you bought into yard sale fodder.

We have a cat that has looked to be at death's door for years now.  He's really let himself go.  He doesn't groom himself any more.  His fur is a mess.  He seems depressed all the time.  I can't understand why he doesn't spend more time in traffic.  We've had him for 15 years!  He looks insulted all the time.  He probably hasn't forgiven us for the last time the dogs took over the house.  At one time I thought I'd let him into my lap for what some TV show billed as some soothing companionship.  I'd never felt soothed by a pet in my life.  Thinking perhaps I hadn't done my part I gave it a try.  When I finished I had to go take a shower to get rid of the little puffs of stray fur that kept following me around, clinging to eyebrows, tickling in ears, getting suddenly drawn up a nostril or something.  I couldn't quit sneezing and have steered clear ever since.

The other cat insists on weaving through my legs.  This has resulted in a kick every couple of hours for the past six years.  I can only conclude that cats love to get kicked and have learned that leg weaving is the way to bring that about.  Works every time.

As I sit here listening to little claws clattering over the Pergo, I wonder who in their right mind would do this to themselves?  Is there a diabolical Alpha Dog somewhere who really is anthropomorphic?  Has he taken over the media and spread the propaganda that pet ownership is somehow soothing, somehow therapeutic?  Has he brainwashed us into thinking that having your big toe mistaken for a squeaky toy is somehow appealing?

Humans of the world, rise up.  Put a stop to this madness!  Stop spending billions on pet food, meds and accessories!  Stop replacing shredded furniture and stinky rugs.  Stop, just for a minute, and think how soothing it would be to sleep an entire night without barking dogs or bellyaching cats wanting to come in or go out or both.  Put a stop to the indignity of having your crotch sniffed by every dog you encounter or having the butt of every cat flounced in your face.  How have we let these self serving creatures gain such hold on us.  Rise up and put them in their place, back in the barn.  Where is the SPCH when we need them!

Book Review - Change Your Questions Change Your Life by Wendy Watson Nelson

There's an old Chinese proverb that says, "When the student is ready the teacher will come."  I was so ready for this book.  Wendy Watson Nelson is every whit the brilliant, inspired teacher her husband Russell M. Nelson is.

I have long been aware that if I don't ask the right questions, I'm not going to get the right answers.  Understanding that principle in generalities helped some, but Sister Nelson has helped me bring much more specificity to my questions; resulting in much more specific and useful answers.

I have drifted away from self help books over the years.  I find them too success oriented.  They seem to all have money and power and independence as their central themes.  Even Stephen R. Covey, who preaches interdependence eventually caused me to abandon ship because his boat lists toward taking control of our lives.  I didn't get where I am by taking control, by enslaving myself to a planner.  I got here by giving control to God and letting Him, not lofty goals, direct my life.

Change your Questions Change your Life is all about communing with God.  It is about discovering your mission in life.  It is about receiving revelation, motivation, purpose and power from God.  It is not about what I can obtain, but rather about what I can give.

Wendy Nelson's book ranks (outside the scriptures of course) in my top ten books ever read.  It is up there with The Three Deceivers, My Grandfather's Blessings, The Peacegiver, He did Deliver Me from Bondage  and Believing Christ.  It is beautifully bound, pleasantly laid out and made to engender expansive growth rather than restrictive regimentation.  I came away thinking of possibilities rather than limitations.  I came away with a active, more constant, companionship with the Holy Ghost; whose role it is, to lead me to "the truth of all things."  This is a work book. Take the time to do the work; it is so worth the effort.

Five Stars

Look Who's Expecting A Visit From The Tooth Fairy

Wishing On A Shooting Star

Jeff was over yesterday afternoon.  He had this notion that we ought to go midnight kite flying.  He thought it would be great fun to suspend a glow stick from a kite and "fool people into thinking it was a UFO!"  Sounded good to me.  It being August and as I was aware that the Perseid Meteor shower takes place in August decided to look it up.  As luck would have it, their peak performance was scheduled for that very night!

We decided to kill two birds with one stone.  Mom approved the outing and Megan was invited to come along.  I also called Steve, a night sky enthusiast friend and brother-in-law of mine.  We stocked the car with goodies, sleeping bags and ground pads and at eight o'clock, headed for the mountain.

There's a large sloping meadow above Grasshopper Flat on Taylor Mountain that made a perfect observatory.

We arrived just after sunset and eagle-eyed Jeff discovered the fingernail moon just about to set as well.

There was a wildfire in the west that turned the horizon to a deep red brown.  Through the binoculars the moon seemed ethereal and mysterious.  We all thrilled to have seen it, so thin and tall against the distant mountains.

There were clouds most of the day, but they were dissipating as the heat of the day cooled away.  At one point the sky above was brilliant with stars, but a light misty rain showered on us out of nowhere. 

We had such a great time, munching cookies, while lying in our warm bags and gazing at the majestic sky.

I suspended a glow stick from a broad delta kite I have.  I chose it because it can sail on a breath.  Trouble is, there wasn't even a breath of wind and we failed to get it launched.  You can only watch shooting stars when they're shooting and you can only fly kites when there is wind.

I told them all the story of Katie and I taking her butterfly kite to the park.  As we walked to our destination we passed a very elderly Chinese fellow sitting on a bench.  As we approached he remarked, "Beautiful kite."

It was beautiful in the shape of a butterfly.  Her sister had given it to Katie for her birthday.

"Thank you!"  I replied thinking he must be a masterful kite flier as kites are common in Asia.

"That kite not fly." he certified in a rather authoritative statement.  I expected him to call me Grasshopper, but he didn't.  Thinking I might truly benefit from the wisdom of a master, I asked, "Why not?"

"No wind."

It was funny at the time, but thinking back, there is wisdom.  We need to seize our opportunities when we have them.  Which is why we're on the mountain tonight instead of next week.

After dark, Jeff drifted right off to peaceful dreams of Alderaan and higher adventures than this, in galaxies far far away.  Megan was more determined and stuck it out until she'd seen a shooting star upon which to make her wish; before also wandering off to slumber-land.  When a coyote began to howl, she stirred seeking assurance, but soon was gone to visit the imaginations of her own dreams.

This left Steve and I to watch and muse and wonder to our heart's content.  We didn't head for home until after midnight.  The meteors were few, but not disappointing.  Most carved long slow arcs across the brilliant sky.  They put on quite a show as we mused about why they shot in various directions, and why these are long lived while others we've seen are brief little flashes.

We always bring binoculars, but I don't use them much.  The immensity of space and the multitude of stars is more than I can take in, even with the naked eye.  On the mountain, it becomes more difficult to make out the constellations as they're obscured by the visibility of so many more sparkling points of distant light. The milky way is so brilliant it looks like a cloud.  I begin to hum John Denver's Rocky Mountain High.  It isn't exactly "raining fire in the sky" this time, but there are fireworks and they are worth staying up, climbing up, to see.

Sleepy heads, still in their bags, are buckled into seat belts for a satisfying ride home.  Home is visible much of the way.  A pleasing cluster of welcoming lights spreading across our quiet valley, stars above and stars below, both beckoning me home.  I guess I'll go down for the time being, resting assured that up remains a distant certainty.