The Worth of a Soul

Bishop Deets, from 5th Ward stopped by today to ask if I'd speak in their Sacrament Meeting on Sunday.  I was delighted to say, "Yes."  He wants me to address the topic "The Worth of a Soul."  He, being aware that I'd just been released from the Detention Center Branch, thought I might relate the subject to my recent experience. How easy and sweet is that!

Last night I went to the Center to conduct a couple of 12 Step groups.  It was so gratifying to hear the kids rejoice that, though I would no longer be coming to church, I'd still be doing Addiction Recovery with them.  It doesn't seem logical that a bunch of problem teens would have any affinity for an old duffer like me.  Most of the time they don't seem very intent on working the steps, or even quitting their substance abuse, for that matter.

I do think I know why they come to the meetings though.  I think they feel the love of their Savior when they're there.  I think it feels good and while most of the time they don't have a clue as to why it feels good they keep coming back for that feeling.  I wouldn't mind if they felt my love too, but I need to work harder at pointing out that its the love of the Savior that so satisfies and fulfills there effort to attend.

Sunday at 5th Ward, I think the main thing I want to express is that the Savior truly does love even the wicked ones and that their souls are indeed precious to Him.

Another thing that the kids respond warmly to is acceptance.  They live in a world in which there is little about them that appears acceptable.  No body accepts them as they are.  Everyone wants to change them in some way.  They feel that everyone with whom they associate wants to change them.  Parents want them to get good grades and do their chores.  Teachers want them to behave and do their homework.  Police want them to conform to society's rules.  Peers want them to take risks, dress like the group and break rules.  Detention staff want them to present honor and respect.  No where do they find anyone who accepts them just as they are.  That is until they come to 12 Steps.  Everything I do there is to help them make changes, but never to I hold change up as a measure of their worth and desirability as my friends.  I love them right where they are, doing exactly what they're presently doing.

While it is true that nothing would make be happier than to see them happy and productive and forgiven; I am completely patient with the process.  God will confound them without my help.  Life and its circumstances will beat up on them plenty.  I don't need to do any of that.  This is no secret to them.  I give them complete liberty to make mistakes and poor choices.  I let them know that those choices make no difference to me, except that I'll shed some tears for their pain.  I also let them know that poor choices and unacceptable behavior always lead to misery and then I remind them that when they finally get tired of being miserable, I'll still be around willing to help them find their way to happiness.  I put the burden and responsibility on their shoulders, where it belongs.

I believe that this approach cultivates and softens their hearts and prepares their soil for the seeds I may plant.  If on the other hand I try to manipulate, shame, scold or pressure them, the soil of their hearts will be hardened and nothing fruitful will grow.  We understand this when we think about ourselves, but tend to operate differently when dealing with others.  Who wouldn't rather grow in an atmosphere of freedom, love and acceptance instead of one fraught with conditions and disapproval.  I'm talking about teenagers here.  Obviously, we need to exercise some control over little children.  But, by the time they hit the teen years we ought to have taught them to make their own appropriate choices and prepared them to make them on their own.  Prepared or not, the will be making their own choices.  Universally, the kids at the Detention Center have not been given that kind of guidance and preparation. Most are being raised by parents who haven't learned how to choose happiness themselves, is it any wonder they've failed to so teach their children.

With or without appropriate guidance, God loves them.  He will let them make their choices and he will afflict and chasten them until they're tired of their misery.  Then, if they seek to change, He will facilitate that blessing in their lives.

Now, some will die before this happens.  Occasionally, a youth in detention will ask, "But what if I die before I manage to change?"  I always tell them, "You'll probably land in hell, but I'll be right beside you and we'll work the steps together over there."  Dr. John Lund says, "Hell is just God's Alternative High School."  I believe that.  Hide and watch.  We're going to lead these kids to their Savior sooner or later and I intend to be available to them every step of the way.  Once I am doing this work in Spirit Prison, if I am permitted to tarry, I want to accompany the last person in hell into paradise.  Their souls are that precious to me.

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.

Behind the Glines Church

For years, Sweetie has had an afternoon ritual that we've all come to wonder about.  For a long time all we knew was that she went some where to eat lunch and read.  I think it began with a desire to get some sunshine to alleviate the encroachment of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  She had a lamp that would help deal with the long dark winter months, but nothing beats real sunshine.

Earlier this Summer when unemployment rendered me available during her lunch ritual, she graciously invited me to participate.  I had always assumed that another of her motivations for this practice was solitude.  Her midday practice began back when the house was rather full and chaotic.  I was humbled to be invited to participate in this private, personal realm into which I had never expected to peer.

Sweetie is a principal stock holder in McDonald's Corporation; or so I've always teased.  When she taught school, a swing through McDonald's drive-thru was the foundation of every work day.  I was always amazed that she could get her books and breakfast in the door, secured with a pass key, up the stairs, down the hall and through a locked classroom door, without ever setting anything down or spilling something.  She has always been more coordinated than I, but this was pure athletic grace!

Now, her ritual has migrated to lunch at McDonald's.  I don't like McDonald's all that much so I pack a lunch. I usually make a chicken, Gouda, spinach and pesto sandwich on whole wheat bread, accompanied by a few carrots and grapes or something.  I fancy it to be reminiscent of a sandwich I once had at a sidewalk cafe in Friday Harbor.  We grab our current novels and climb into the Yukon.  Its a little different than usual.  I always drive everywhere.  On our ll,080 mile trip to Newfoundland and back, I drove every mile.  But on these occasions Sweetie drives.  She likes the interaction with her friends at McDonald's and she likes to lean her book on the steering wheel.  This is an accommodation I'm completely comfortable with.  I've had to learn to keep my reading to myself and am not permitted to use either cup holder, but aside from those few parameters I'm completely welcome.

It is just a few blocks from our house to McDonald's which I've always considered a blessing.  We pull into the drive-thru and she begins her order.  "I'd like a Three Piece Chicken Selects meal, medium..."  At which point she is typically interrupted with a smiling voice continuing the order, "...with a Large Diet Coke, Apple Dippers instead of Fries and Sweet and Sour Sauce for the dip!  If your order is correct on the screen that will be $5.36 at the first window."  Giggles all around.  She has done this for so long she's become an institution.  They recognize the car and voice and since she never varies in her request it's just a foregone conclusion.  They treat her like she's the CEO, except they're not timid as they might be if their Big Kahuna showed up.  There's always a little chat with Melissa (a friend and former student) and some pleasantries with other familiar faces.  These people are like family.  She greets them every day and they count the passage of time by her daily smile.

As we head for the Glines Church I think of all the hours we've spent in this wonderful ride.  The Yukon has now carried us 101,325 glorious miles.  It has taken us as far as Victoria, BC in the Northwest, Cape Spear and L'Anse aux Meadows in the Northeast, and Dallas, Texas in the South.  Every glorious mile has been precious to us and each moment back in the car is reminiscent of those glorious journeys.  You know how biting into a crisp tart apple can return you to so many autumns and apple dunking contests, and Halloween pranks, and jars with caterpillars spinning cocoons, and new boxes or crayons, and jumping in piles of colored leaves?  That's what climbing into the Yukon does for us, only its, forest framed seascapes, and fresh blackberries, and audio books, and the hum of ferry propellers, and High Teas in splendid places that come to mind.

Behind the Glines Church on West Highway Forty are Green Ash trees that have been shading the parking lot since I was a boy.  The building shields the place from the hum of traffic and the grass beneath the trees lends a cool inviting air.  We don't get out of the car.  We just kick back for a quiet moment, leisurely eat or lunch and let our novels take us wherever they will.  Too poor to travel much these days, these are our daily mini-vacations.  I wouldn't trade them for all the world.  In a very real way they are giving us the world.

We are not the only ones who've made this discovery.  Not far from the hustle and bustle, this quiet retreat invites visitors every day.  We are seldom the only wayside occupants of this serene, convenient spot.  The guys who mow the church lawns, lunch here too.  Other's who've swung through the various nearby fast food joints stop here to eat before heading back to work or return to their day's journey.  Some get out and sit at the picnic table beneath a tree, most, like us, remain in the car.  Yesterday, Sweetie stopped to commiserate with another fellow reader, wanting to know what great book she was missing now.

The drive home affords time to share tidbits from the books we're reading; which we always delight in.  We share quotes and insights and learn together.

I used to wonder why Sweetie performed this ritual.  I couldn't see how sitting in the car could be better than just sitting home and reading.  Now, I get it.  It is a vacation.  Small and short though it may be, it is fresh and exciting every day!  I hope we never stop these priceless, rejuvenating moments together, except to go on those real, long vacations that stock the stores of our imaginations and fuel the batteries of these more constant and sustainable ones.

Movie Review - Inception

Sweetie took me to the movies last night.  Most of the time we'd rather stay home and watch them from Netflix, but this time we made the much more expensive choice and went out.  It was certainly worth it!

I've not kept a list of my favorite movies and wish I had.  This one ranks near the very top!  It is clean, clever, imaginative, cerebral, and followable.  The concept let the movie be set in several different environs and circumstances and kept you on the edge of your seat the entire time.  The acting was exceptional, the plot was brilliant, the special effects were outstanding and the cinematography top notch.

Director Christopher Nolan did his job with finesse.  Often you find a director that has a profound vision for his story, but rare is the director that can actually put his imagination on the film.  Too often the creativity doesn't translate to the audience in a seamless, credible, understandable way.  Not so with this ambitious effort.  It was majestic in it's depth, breadth and scope.  Bravo!

Leonardo DiCaprio carried the movie supported magnificently by a fresh, varied and interesting cast.  I loved it and expect to love it again very soon!  I'm not sure I want to go back without a totem though.  Again, BRAVO!  

Five enthusiastic Stars!

Book Review - Change of Heart by Jodi Picoult

Jodi Picoult is reported to be a master at addressing current and complicated issues.  In Change of Heart addresses issues surrounding Capital Punishment.  Reports are correct.  She looked at the issue from more sides that I ever imagined.  It is a complex problem.  Of course Picoult exaggerated the complexity by plowing every conceivable issue into one single case.  Doing so it became a bit far fetched.  I can handle far fetched.  I like Sci-Fi/ Fantasy.

I loved the way each chapter was written from the perspective of a different character in the story.  The flow was smooth and seamless, but the varying perspectives made it seem much more intimate.  I like hearing the characters speak in first person rather than from the perspective of a fly on the wall.  The only character not to have a first person voice was the main character.  His story and point of view remained quite mysterious throughout and kept an air of uncertainty which kept my curiosity piqued.

While the topic of the book was Capital Punishment the theme was the heart.  Every metaphorical and literal representation of the human heart was woven artfully and subtly into the fabric of the story.  Not once did the thematic representation of the heart bear a flashing arrow to point them out, yet they were not to be overlooked either.  I think that is masterful.

Part and parcel with the retribution of Capital Punishment lies the question of Redemption.  This too, is examined from several angles.  While Picoult seemed to come to some conclusions about the acceptability of of the death penalty, she seems utterly lost regarding the nature and means of redemption.  That examination of course, wasn't researched thoroughly enough, for she never found the truth of the Redeemer.  Failing to make that discovery, she was left without a plausible conclusion; just as is the case with every religious tradition she examined.

I like reading it, for it was interesting and well written throughout.  Despite some crude language it was coarse at all.  I'll give it three stars.

Goodbye Vernal 12th Branch

After six glorious years serving in the Branch Presidency at the Vernal 12th Branch serving the Split Mountain Youth Center, I was released today.  Actually it was six years, one month and seven days.

The Detention Center has been my spiritual home all of that time.  It is where I worshiped, played, loved and rejoiced.  I partook of the Sacrament there each week in a quiet, intimate meeting that rarely had over six people in attendance.  It is where I met some of the finest servants of the Lord I've ever known.  Four of those years I was Branch President and hadn't a worry in the world about assignments being carried out with love and care.  I would like to thank, Greg, Tamara, Nick, Harley, Jose', Garth, Marie, Carl, Andrea, Berk, Barbara, Dan, Charlene, Don, Raeann, Darwin, Carolee, Curg, Arvid, Les, Julie, Gary, Karen and most of all my companion Dixon for all the wonderful service, lessons and experiences that made our time together there such a joy.  I would like to thank the amazing, professional and loving Center Staff for the wonderful way in which they supported us and for the magnificent and compassionate way in which they serve the precious youth placed in their charge.

I wish I could list the hundreds of precious, terrific, delightful youth who crossed our paths over the course of 73 months.  Every one was a unique child of God.  So easy to love.  So respectful and kind.  We had so much fun laughing together and grew so strong through our tears.

How can I ever adequately express my gratitude to my Heavenly Father for the priceless opportunity it has been to serve there.  I had hoped I'd never be released, but I guess all good things must come to an end.  Those who've been called to take my place are finer servants than I and I take comfort in the knowledge that God's Kingdom is run by inspiration and that these fine stewards will take our little Branch to great new heights.

The blessings I've received and the lessons I've learn from these incredibly gifted youth are far beyond what I deserve.  I am forever changed for having had this blessed experience.

I have the blessing of being able to remain as the facilitator of the 12 Step program, which takes away much of the pain as I'll still get to spend a couple of hours a week serving my fine young friends.

As for the rest of my future; I'll be able to worship once again with my own family.  I'll be able to experience a real Ward for the first time in six years.  I absolutely can not wait to discover what the Lord has in store for me next.  What ever it is I know I will find unspeakable joy, just being in His service.  A privilege I hope I may always have.  If I have leaned anything, serving in the Detention Center it is that God truly loves, even a wretch like me.

The Top-Most Height

This morning's email contained this quote:

Those who, relying upon themselves only, not looking for assistance to anyone besides themselves, it is they who will reach the top-most height.

-- Buddha

Hog wash!  Those who know me know I've studied Buddhism extensively and have learned much from it.  But I don't think Buddha was very enlightened when he made this statement.  Perhaps he, like Yertle the Turtle, had climbed high enough to convince himself there was nothing higher; but he was pitifully mistaken.   Let me repeat, as this quote stands it is utter hogwash!

You might cite examples of rich tycoons who've made it to the top of their game by themselves by stepping on and climbing over everyone and everything that stood in their way.  And they may actually be rich and sit in lofty towers of pride and accomplishment, but these have fallen way short of the top-most height.

The top-most height bears no similarity to the ivory towers of materialism, or the halls of fame of the popular world, or the majestic castles of the politically powerful, or the lofty cathedrals of the sectarianism.

The top-most height is not reachable by a single individual alone.  It is completely unattainable by relying upon one's self.  There is zero competition in the process of experiencing the top-most height.  It is a group project and "all who run may win the prize."  Neither is the top-most height an exclusive vantage point granted to only a few.  It will not be lonely at the top.

So what has this to do with old friends?

Last night I spent some quality time with an old friend.  Our friendship spans 46 years of mortality.  We both would agree that it spanned eons prior to mortality.  It is one of those friendships that can withstand weeks, even months of busily operating in completely separate circles; yet can be taken up immediately, right where we left off.  Our lives have wobbled to and fro, near and far, up and down; but through it all has been a thread, a theme, of lifting, reaching, inspiring one another to loftier heights.  Should I ever reach the top-most height it will be because of this dear friend and a multitude of others.  Each of these friends has pointed me toward reliance upon the greatest old friend of all.

That friend is my elder Brother, Jesus Christ.  If I reach the top-most height it will be upon His merits not my own.  There is no other way.  He is the way.

That is what I always found lacking in Buddhism.  It lacks a Redeemer.  It lacks a way to cross from flawed and filthy humanity to heavenly majestic purity.  It cannot be done alone; even if we were given an infinite number of lifetimes to attempt it.

Glorious Morning

I was up before dawn this morning and, having enjoyed my devotions, went for a walk.  The sunrise this morning was spectacular!  So breath taking in fact, that I wanted to run from door to door in the neighborhood waking everybody up so they wouldn't miss it.  It was one of those heavenly scenes that make you wonder if this is the day.  Is this the moment of Christ's glorious return?  Will He appear in such a magnificent sunrise?

I knew my daughter and grandkids were up in time and headed out to participate in a Kid's Triathlon in Roosevelt.  They would be traveling west at that moment and I prayed that they might turn around a behold the brilliant grandeur of the morning sky.  How thankful I was that we weren't snuggled under the covers, but rather, out here beholding the handiwork of God.

I have a funeral to attend today and later a fireside to address.  I spent my walk contemplating what the Lord would have be express to the bereaved and what He might have me offer as counsel to the Youth of Maeser 1st Ward.  My mind turned to the end of the world.  Will I be here to see it?  Or, will I like Aunt Vera have my own mortal end come before then.  Over the course of my life I've had a number of people ask if it was the end of the world.  After every earth quake or typhoon we experienced in the Philippines, people would approach and ask if we thought it was the end of the world.  After 9/11, the same thing.  After Presidents Clinton and Bush and Obama were elected, the same thing.  Is this the end of the world?  Some times I've been tempted to say, "I hope so."

What some of us fear others of us eagerly anticipate.  I suspect the world has some significant time left, but do we?  Aunt Vera's end of the world came just the other day.  Mine might be tomorrow.  Yours might be thirty years from now.  If we are prepared for it, it may come at any time.

Then it occurred to me that the Second Coming can come any time as well.  We don't have to wait for the end of the world.  We don't even have to wait for death.  The Second Coming happened for Joseph Smith  190 years ago.  For multitudes of others, much more recently than that.  I think of Elder Bruce R. McConkie's wonderful testimony:

"I am one of his witnesses, and in a coming day I shall feel the nail marks in his hands and in his feet and shall wet his feet with my tears.

But I shall not know any better then than I know now that he is God’s Almighty Son, that he is our Savior and Redeemer, and that salvation comes in and through his atoning blood and in no other way."

I can remember watching another sunrise with some anxiety about the pending arrival of the Lord.  Today was different.  Today He was already leading me, guiding me and walking beside me.  And I realized, with joy, that I no longer need to dread that blessed day.

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?

What's In Your Wallet?

I was fumbling in my overstuffed wallet this morning and decided it was high time I cleaned it out.  I used to clean it quite regularly when I carried it in my hip pocket.  Of necessity I had to keep it thin.  Back then I had fairly chronic back pain and a constantly sore hip joint.  At a family reunion we went for a hike and a cousin who is a physical therapist noticed a limp in my gait.  He suggested I start taking two steps at a time, when climbing stairs, for the sake of my hip and to quit sitting on my wallet as a remedy for my back.  Miracle of miracles, I was cured!  I am so grateful he wasn't I quacktopractor or I might not have taken his suggestion seriously.  Of course a quacktopractor would have overlooked the cause and required ongoing appointments to adjust my spine and the thickness of my wallet.

I can adjust the thickness of my wallet just fine on my own.  Thank you very much.

This was going to be a treat so I grabbed tall glass of milk and a bag of cookies to sustain me through this trip down memory lane.   I really like my wallet.  I've carried it for years.  I bought it from Day-Timer.  Originally, it came with a spiral bound calendar/planner that fit snuggly between the folds. It has a nice loop that perfectly fits my favorite Zebra Gel pen.  There's a pouch for credit cards and a four or five others of various sizes.  You'd think I could keep things well organized, but haven't seen what's in most of the pouches for several years.  I don't carry the calendar any more.  What little I have to keep track of I put on Google Calendar who sends me email reminders.  I like that.  I used to put things on my calendar and then forget to look at it.

Here's what I've been carting around:

• A fishing license receipt from 1999.  I suppose I kept it as a back up in case I lost the license.  I wonder how many times I went fishing that year?  The receipt says I bought it in late June, right after Free Fishing Day.  My Dad was sick and I spent a lot of time in Wyoming for the balance of the summer.  He died in late September.  I wonder if I ever used it.  In those days fishing licenses expired on December 31st.  I probably didn't get my money's worth.  These days the license is good for a year from whenever it was purchased.  Much better deal!
• A Lowe's receipt for a bundle of shims from October 2008.  There's no way I'd consider returning shims to the store.   I wonder why I put it in my wallet?  There's a phone number on the back.  Maybe that's why I kept the receipt.  I looked up the number up in the reverse directory, wondering who I was supposed to call.  It wasn't listed.  I wonder if I ever called it.  Did I miss out on something, or forget an important assignment?
• My Temple Recommend.  I'm pleased to report that it is current and good for another 22 months.  Looking at the signatures I remember the evening and following morning that I met with the Brethren to have it renewed.  They don't keep the same schedules they used to and being gone to the Detention Center for so long, I'm pretty out of touch with regular church routines these days.
• A 1998 penny.  There's no explaining that one.  I've never kept coins in my wallet and that certainly wasn't a rare collectible or anything.
• A stack of family photos from a visit to a photographer from around Christmas 2001, maybe a little after the first of the year.  Our grandson Jeff looks to be around 4 to 6 months old and is as cute as a button.  There's one of him alone,  one of Sweetie and I, one of the four girls, one of Jeff's parents and one of the whole clan.  There's another from a year or two earlier of the entire family. My we all look young!  Megan thinks I need an update in the wallet photo department because at age 6, she ought to be in grandpa's wallet too.  So do I.
• Three quad-fold reminder cards of the larger For The Strength of Youth.  I suppose I thought I was going to have them to hand out to at risk young people at some point.  I don't think I ever had occasion to do that, or a least forgot I had them when they were needed
• A tri-fold reminder card of the Young Women Values.  Like the others, it is worn, faded and tearing at the hinges.  And since they fairly recently added Virtue, it is out of date.  It sounds rather funny to think that Virtue wasn't always a Young Women Value.  Of course it was, just a bit more implied than it is today.
• A 2007 Vernal Temple schedule.  Which makes me sad.  Until recently, it still would be accurate as to the day to day operation.  Only the closing dates would be different.  Now though, the Temple is closed on Mondays and the 6:00 AM sessions no longer exist.  That was my favorite time to visit the Temple.  I am sympathetic to the concerns they had for sweet older workers who had to drive all the way from Tabiona, Duchesne and Altamont needing to be dressed and ready for a 5:30 prayer meeting.  Folks were getting up at 2:00 AM to make it on time.
• A Teamster's Health Insurance Card.  What a blessing, to have the same benefits we had before retirement for the balance of our lives!  And to think I never joined the Union.  You might think me ungrateful.  I looked into it once and when I read the oath of allegiance and then considered the Teamsters' track record I thought I might as well join the Gadianton Robbers.
• Two books of First Class Forever Postage Stamps.  I think these have been in there for two rate changes.  Thanks to email, and online bill payments I don't use stamps all that often.  I think I have about ten more books in my desk too.  At the rate I'm using them I may never suffer a postal rate change again!  Don't tell Kristi.
• Two twenty dollar bills.  One from 2006 and one from 2008.  No they haven't been there that long; that's when they were printed.  I wonder if they have cocaine residue on them?  Filthy lucre!  I once read that it's a real confidence booster to keep a $100.00 bill in your wallet.  I tried it, but then I realized how frequently my wife and daughters asked for the exact amount that happened to be in my wallet at the time.  Fearing that they did this by Zen rather than more conventional methods of inventory, I didn't even dare hide it in an obscure pouch in the back.  It didn't boost my confidence at all.
• A debit card.  It's from Mt. America Credit Union who has lately had the customer service culture of a Bank.  What a disappointment.
• A credit card.
• My driver's license.  Holy Cow!  It doesn't expire until 2013!  It says I'm a donor, which I take to refer to my organs rather than taxes.  I guess I give taxes more freely than organs, which I'll only give up over my dead body.  No, that isn't right either.  My body can't be dead, only my brain.  Hey, they probably can start harvesting any time now.  It lies about my weight.  Hopefully, that will be more correct in 2013 so I don't have to lie again.
• A Smith's Rewards Card, so they can charge me more, then make me think they're so generous by giving some of my money back.
• A GNC discount card.  It expires in 5 months and I haven't even been back since the initial visit in which I paid for it.
• A Cafe Rio Diner's Card.  Two more meals and I get one free.  I have been back there.
• An American Red Cross First Aid Certification Card.
• An American Red Cross CPR Certification Card.  Hope I never need to use what I've learned.
• A Staples Rewards Card.  This one is free.
• A National Park Service Annual Pass.  I buy one almost every year.  I've never wasted the money.  On this pass I've been to Arches twice, Canyonlands three times, Zions, Dinosaur, Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef!  It expires in a week.
• A Library Card.  Mostly I piggy back on Sweeties, though since she hooked up with Book Mooch, we don't borrow from the library all that often.
• A Blockbuster Membership Card.  Don't use it much either since DVR and Netflix.
• An Ace Rewards Card.  This one gets used a lot.  Plus they often send a discount card with I gum* to the Rewards Card so I don't forget to use it.  It come's gummed* to the flier.  (*Gummy glue that resembles a booger and is equally hard to flip off your finger.)  Better prices, service and products than Lowe's.
• My DOT Medical Examiner's Certificate.  This is expired as is my need to carry it.
• An Address Book.  This one is very portable.  The size of a credit card it is accordion folded between two magnetic covers.  Really handy but way out of date.  When I put it in my wallet Kristi lived in Hall's Crossing, John and Jen in Glenwood Springs, Lee Ann and Gary in Anderson, Eric and Annie in Goose Creek, and Alyson in England.  We're about the only ones still in the same place.
• A Movie Gallery Card.  They're out of business.  Netflix?  Red Box?  Boom gone bust?  All of the above.
• USAA Auto Insurance Card.
• A Uniform Donor Card.  Is this redundant?  I think I'll keep it anyway.  I've tossed so much stuff that the card pouch is no longer snug and I'm likely to lose something if I don't have at least some filler.
• Steve Cowan's Business Card.  He's no longer with Gulf Stream and I'm no longer with Sundance.  My back is aching just thinking about all the energy I've wasted toting this around.
• Pastor Kirk's Business Card.  We each walked alone into the 711 Cafe one lunch time and wound up sitting together.  We had a great visit and enjoyed getting acquainted.  He's Pastor of the Kingsbury Community United Church of Christ.  He pointed out that his was a church of sinners as opposed to Saints.  I pointed out that he needed a less Catholic definition of the term Saint.  
• The Business Card of J. Gordon O'Brien of O'Brien's Music Store.  O'Brien's is the oldest store on the oldest street in the oldest city in North America, or so they claim.  When we were in St. John's, Newfoundland we stopped in there.  I was hoping to find a concertina or small accordion.  Gordon talked me out of it fearing it would be out of tune before I got it home.  The reeds are set in wax and the summer heat in the car could melt it.  So instead, I bought a Bodhran which I've yet to learn to play as the tipper is pretty tricky to operate.  Having spent the money I owed Sweetie, so she got a terrific tea set in Cape Breton that has so totally justified the dust on the Bodhran that neither of us feel bad.
• A Voter Registration Card from 2006.  It lists me as unaffiliated, a situation I still celebrate as I bolted from the Republican Party for abandoning me.  The intervening four years have only affirmed my decision.  Plus, I have a great answer when the call asking for money.

Well, if you're an archaeologist, scrounging through the strata of today's dig, you might have a better understanding of this old fossil.  As, for me, it was quite a trip down memory lane.  I'm a bit sad to have a much thinner wallet.  Not because I'm poorer but because it is no longer thick enough to stay put in the nice little slot in the dash of the Yukon, where I've parked it for the past 100,000 miles.