The Trouble With The Biggest Loser

I like The Biggest Loser.  I've watched it regularly for years.  There is something very inspirational about watching the successes of people you grow to love.

A friend called me last night.  He was looking for someone who'd recorded LOST.  I hadn't.  When I asked him why he'd missed it, he said, "I thought I had set it to record on the DVR so I sat down with a bowl of ice cream and watched The Biggest Loser."  My friend is morbidly obese.  I went to bed wondering what is it that appeals to him watching that show.  I have several friends, including myself, who do the same thing.  Week after week we cheer for our favorite contestants from our comfortable sofas, while eating and loafing ourselves into oblivion.  We don't seem to have the slightest inclination to let the program affect our behavior.  We seem to enjoy the show without the slightest personal discomfort.  There seems to be a huge reality disconnect, when it comes to watching this particular "reality" show.

I'm not finding fault, I'm just trying to understand.  While I wouldn't qualify to be a contestant, I am overweight and have other issues that I'm not addressing either.  Are we vicariously letting someone else lose our weight for us?  I think maybe we are.

Eating disorders are so closely aligned with other addictive behaviors.  To me there is little difference between running to the bottle or the fridge for a fix.  We don't like ourselves, or how we feel and so we seek something external to ourselves to help us feel better.  Be it alcohol, narcotics, hallucinogens, Twinkies, gambling, porn or adrenalin, if we are looking for a way to escape our discomfort, we are looking in the wrong places.

That was apparent in last night's episode where Darris ran all day and then stayed up late stuffing his face.  Home for a month, running daily, completing a full marathon in 4 hours and 2 odd minutes, he still gained two pounds.  What's up with that?  Why would Darris "sabotage" himself after all that effort?

Here's what I think.  While there is so very much good about The Biggest Loser, the program has some fundamental flaws.  One of them being the Ranch.  Now don't get me wrong.  These are generally people who won't get better without a major, even institutionalized intervention.  The Ranch is literally saving their lives and there is no getting around that.  The problem lies in the fact that in that artificial environment many are not learning to deal with real life.  Bob and Jillian seem to be very aware of this and the program makes great effort to prepare the contestants for reality.  Still they often fail.  Here's why.

The Biggest Loser deals well with the physical and emotional side of addictive behavior, but they entirely neglect the spiritual aspect.  The 12 Step model established by Alcoholics Anonymous is so uniquely successful because it does not neglect the spiritual component.  The "higher power" AA includes in its approach to recovery is essential to every recovery.  God and a spiritual connection to Him is a vital component in obtaining and maintaining sobriety.  There is no getting around it.  A higher power is part of Biggest Loser's success, don't get me wrong.  Too often though, that higher power is Bob or Jillian or $250,000.00.  This works, until you no longer have Bob or Jillian to serve you.  Or until you no longer have the financial carrot dangling before your eyes.  Here again, Bob and Jillian recognize that the contestants need to be weaned from the trainer's influence, but they try to introduce self as the alternative and self is the absolute worst higher power they could choose.

Darris was clearly struggling without his higher power, while at home.  Absence from Bob and Jillian and his friends at the Ranch, left a painful void in his life and automatically he went right back to his old "go to" remedy to fill that emptiness.  Koli, had the same problem, so he went to Vegas and found a substitute for Bob and Jillian in another trainer.  Even Sam was not enough to keep Koli going at home. That rather surprised me.  But then on reflection, Sam has his own life to live and surely couldn't devote his whole time to Koli.  That's the way it is for each of us.  Our lives are inconsistent.  Our relationships are inconsistent.  We are inconsistent.  The only thing consistent in our lives is God, if we'll let Him provide.

Bravo!  To all the contestants on this inspiring show for their courage, effort and success as they shed the physical and emotional baggage of their lives.  I just hope that in the process they discover what I am discovering, that spiritual emptiness is what got us in our predicaments in the first place.  I am a physical Schmiegel inhabited by a Spiritual Golum when I neglect to connect with God.  I am quick to feed my body while starving my Spirit.  We all recognize physical hunger, but most of us have not been taught to recognize spiritual hunger.  We experience the discomfort, but not realizing what's causing it, seek to satisfy the pain with things that cannot satisfy.

The answer is not knowledge.  Darris knew he was hurting himself.  Koli was embarrassed too.  My friend knows there's a better way than to eat ice cream on the couch.  The same goes for me.  Why are we failing amid so much success?  Because we are climbing the ladder of success, sometimes with Herculean effort only to find it leaning against the wrong wall.  The goal that will make us happy is not weight loss, it is not a quarter of a million dollars or a title or record or a good job.  The goal that will make us happy, fulfilled, satisfied and ultimately successful is a healthy, well fed Spirit that is constantly connected to God.

I Don't Believe In Coincidences

It was the fall of 1969.  I was still a Greenie Missionary having only been in the Mission Field for three months (I had eaten Balut by then, so maybe not - depends who you ask and how you measure such things).  The church in the Philippines was in a great expansion period directed by President Paul S. Rose.  Elder Daniel Johnson and I were given the blessed assignment of opening the city of Dumaguete on the Oriental side of Negros Island.

President Augusto Lim was a Counselor to President Rose.  Dumaguete was President Lim's home town.  He graciously accompanied us to Dumaguete to introduce us around and help us get established.  We stayed in his parents' home for a couple of weeks until we were able to rent a place to live and hold meetings.

There was one member of the Church in Dumaguete, when we arrived; President Lim's sister Dalisay.  Not too long after our arrival, his sister Beverly was our first baptism in that wonderful place.  Elder Johnson labored in Dumaguete for five months and then was released to go home.  I stayed another month or so.  We were blessed to bring four souls into the Church in those precious days.  Beverly Lim, Loline Valero, Grace and Virginia Llego.  We had some disappointment that the numbers were so few after having labored so diligently.

We were comforted by a promise we'd received from President David O. McKay.  In the Mission Home in Salt Lake City, we were given a promise from the prophet that there would one day be a convert baptism for every Book of Mormon we placed.  In Dumaguete, Elder Johnson and I placed over 1200 Book of Mormons.

I lost track of Elder Johnson.  I made several attempts to find him but was unsuccessful.  I even visited his hometown in Washington on a couple of occasions and checked the directory and asked around among the locals, all to no avail.

About ten years ago, my nephew received a mission call.  I was invited to attend the Temple with him when he recieved his Endowment.  I was seated in the Temple chapel, waiting for the session to start when, to my great surprise and inexpressable joy, in walked Grace Llego, one of our four converts from Dumaguete.  We recognized one another imediately, but were unable to converse until we found one another in the Celestial Room.  What a joyous reunion is was.  What a joy to introduce my nephew to the flourishing fruit of my labors.  Grace had met and married an American working in the Philippines.  A member of the Church named Greg Frame.  They had moved to Grand Junction, Colorado which was in Vernal's Temple District.

What a blessing it is to have reconnected with Grace and to learn of her life and joy in the gospel.  Additionally, I learned of her sweet sister, Virginia and even some about the others.  I was replaced in Dumaguete by Elder Beecher.  As Grace's parents hadn't joined the church and weren't much support, Elder Beecher had arranged for Grace to be a pen pal with his sister back home.  They wrote consistently for quite a while and became good friends.  Then, somehow they lost track of one another.  Years passed and Grace moved to Colorado.  Shortly after their arrival she received a visit from her new Relief Society President.  As they got acquainted it became apparent the Grace was from the Philippines, so the visiting sister mentioned that she once had a pen pal from there.  Sure enough.....it was indeed they, who'd been pen pals. 

And, now she and I were also reunited after 30 long years.

A couple of weeks ago I was surprised to get a letter from Daniel Johnson.  He too had a desire to reconnect and was a bit more able than I in his ability to track down an old pal.  He had another amazing story to report.  He'd gone to visit a daughter who is now living in Maryland.  While there he and Sister Johnson went to church.  In attendance that day was Loline Valero Lim, married to Ismael Lim, Augusto's brother.  They too, were visiting children abroad.  That connection led to the Johnsons making a trip back to the Philippines and to Dumaguete.  There they found a warm welcome and several Branches of the Church.

We had been counselled in those days to avoid keeping contact with our converts.  The thinking was that we wanted them to be weaned from the missionaries and to depend upon God.  I had often mourned the fact that I had no idea how anyone was doing.  Now, God has miraculously brought them back into my life and I can't express enough, how grateful I am for that great gift.  Some folks might call all of this a coincidence - I do not.  These remarkable events, against extremely long odds, have been orchestrated by a loving Father who grants such tender mercies in abundance to his children.  Children of whom He is obviously very fond.

I haven't yet spoken or corresponded with Beverly or Loline but that day shouldn't be too far hence.  Just yesterday I got a CD from Dan containing photos from 1969 and from his recent visit. The flood of memories those pictures restored to my mind is overwhelming.

 Now a whole new generation is emerging from those four sweet daughters of Zion.  Among them, missionaries, who are continuing to share the blessed truth.  Grace, even had a son who went to France?!  They say there are close to 1200 members of the Church in Dumaguete today.  A prophecy fulfilled; one for every Book of Mormon we placed.  Another promise was also fulfilled ... "how great shall be your joy with them in the Kingdom of my Father."

Remembering to Trust -or- Meet Joe Hapi

It was May of 1971.  I had three months left on my Mission to the Philippines.  I received a transfer to the Marikina/Pasig area.  I hoped to exit with a quiet cushy assignment.  Instead I was given a Greenie, made a District Leader and assigned to be Branch President of the Marikina/Pasig Branch.  I was overwhelmed until I met with the District President, then I was floored!

The District President informed me that a new building had been announced for Quezon City and that each Branch had an assignment to raise funds for the local portion of the cost of the building.

(I was so heavily occupied during this three months that these are the only months I failed to keep a journal.  For this reason I’m going to be vague about exact figures in my account of what happened.  I am also going to condense the story greatly.  Hopefully, the highlights will convey the miracle I am about to describe.”)

The District President assigned the Marikina/Pasig Branch a large number of pesos to raise.  And after making the assignment he added, ” We want it before you go home Elder.”  Did I tell you I was floored?  Understatement!

From there I met up with my new companion, Elder Joe Hapi.  Elder Hapi is a Maori from New Zealand.  He was the first foreigner to receive the David O. McKay scholarship.  Joe was twice captain of the Church College of New Zealand Rugby Team.  He’s large, robust, engaging, courageous, joyful and full of faith.  Elder Hapi arrived with the discussions memorized, the confidence of virtue and a profound testimony.  Elder Hapi hit the ground running!

Getting acquainted with a new Branch, learning so many new jobs, and getting everything organized had my head spinning for days.  Promptly, we organized a Branch Carnival hoping to raise a good chunk of the money.  It was well attended but didn’t yield 1% of what we needed.  I was just sick.  The average family in the Branch made ten pesos a week.  There was no way they could contribute anywhere near the required amount.

I was heart sick about it and expressed as much to Elder Hapi.  “I can’t do it!” I complained.  “You don’t have to,” was his response.  “God is able to do his own work,” he declared, in such a matter of fact tone that I just stared at him.

I’d had exposure to that kind of faith, but not in circumstances where it applied so directly to me and not at the feet of a mentor who manifest his faith in such a simple, forthright and confident manner.  He was sure and I knew it.

Day’s later we were out tracting and were invited in by a nice, middle aged man.  We asked him what he did for a living and he answered that he was a manager for the UTEX (professional) baskeball team.  Elder Hapi nudged me with an elbo.

“What?” I asked.

“Here it is.”

“Here’s what?”  (I didn’t get it.)  My companion, accepting my position as Senior Companion, asked for permission to take the lead.  I granted it, still confused.

“Would your basketball team consider playing an exhibition basketball game as a fund raiser to help build a church building in the area?” he asked.  Our new friend responded affirmatively, noting that the final decision wasn’t up to him.  He went to bat for us and acquired the go ahead.

We had a number of missionaries in the greater Manila area who regularly gathered on P-day to play ball.  Some had played college ball, others were High School stars.  Often they would arrange to play local college teams.  President Smith granted approval for the Elders to face UTEX.

We were able to rent a large arena, which supplied tickets enough to fill it.  I was beginning to think it might actually all come together.  Then, in rapid succession came three seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

First, the Philippine Basketball Association denied UTEX’s request to play an exhibition game.  To make matters even more impossible, the head of the PBA was a Catholic Priest from Ireland.  I am freaking out!  “What are we going to do?”  “We’ve already sold the tickets all over the city!”  The only hope I could think of was the immediate destruction of the island by a sudden eruption of Mt. Pinatubo!  Elder Hapi, calmly reminded me of 1 Nephi 3:7.  I didn’t get it.  He had to spell it out for me.  We needed to go meet the Priest.  Clueless, I asked, “What will we say?”  He didn’t know and didn’t care.  He was totally comfortable with “not knowing before hand” what we would say or do.  To make the story short our good friend the Priest, granted permission and sent us on our way saying, “Go with God, me boys, and tell ‘em a Jesuit sent you!”

Second, we discovered we would be in violation of the law if we held a fund raiser within 120 days of a National Election.  I was catching on.  We went to see the Philippines Election Commission.  Again, our way was miraculously opened before us.

Finally, there became a very real concern that anti-American sentiment could be agitated by this event, which could result in a very dangerous and ugly situation.  Again, Elder Hapi’s confidence and faith carried the day.  We went forward with assurance.  God had, time and again, guided our steps and cleared our path.  Indeed, God is able to do his own work.

That night at the commencement of the game, we presented the colors and a large block of foreign, mostly American, missionaries stood and proudly, boldly sang the Philippines National Anthem in Tagalog.  This completely dismissed the fear of anti-American demonstrations or activities at the event.  The entire crowd was moved by the Spirit they felt as we enjoyed those moments together.

We lost the game 78 to 87, placed dozens of Book of Mormons, had a wonderful event and raised more than enough money to reach our goal!

Each of us is given stewardships in this life.  God entrusts us with people and things to care for.  Elder Joe Hapi taught me that God is sure to provide the resources to properly care for those stewardships.  Seeing myself as a steward rather than an owner greatly facilitates my optimism.  When things look impossible, when the road ahead is dark and appears treacherous, I think of my Maori friend, trust in God and step forward with confidence.  Nothing is impossible for God and if I am on His errand I may proceed with a perfect brightness of hope, knowing God is fully able to do His own work.

I had not seen or heard from Joe for these many years since the summer of 1971, until this very week.  I found him on Facebook and we are in the process of reconnecting our lives.  I marvel at the impact one great man could have on my life in three short months.  He has been the yard stick against which I have measured my faith for all these years.  I will be forever grateful to know him.

Note:  I wrote this for another blog some time ago and was thinking of it today.  This past week has been another week of miracles for me.  So often Nephi and other Book of Mormon prophets reminded themselves of the great things God had done for them and their people as a way to find courage and faith to face uncertainty in their futures.  The Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt was their benchmark experience in that regard.  This experience with Elder Joe Hapi, was my benchmark experience.  As I faced the utter impossibility of making the house payment this week, my mind went back to the story above described.  My faith and trust grew and I knew that somehow, God would move this mountain too.  I is with tears and gratitude this morning that I affirm that He has.  Thanks again Joe, for teaching me to put my trust in God.

Please Remove Obama from the Eagle Scout Certificate

The President's use of the F-Bomb the other night was the last straw for me.  His total disregard for social convention, societal morays and simple etiquette are disgusting.

This man clearly thinks he is above all that and can literally do as he pleases.  His behavior is a disgrace to us and to what his office represents.  

According to Wikipedia the President's signature was removed from the Boy Scouts of America's Eagle Scout Certificate after the Monica Lewinski incident.  It was included again in 2002 while George Bush was President.

If I were an Eagle Scout I would insist that it be removed again.  President Obama does not embody the principles of the Scout Oath or Scout Law and having him sign the highest award that BSA offers boys is a travesty.

Politics aside, I am ashamed to have such a crude person representing me in the White House.

Mistaking Symptoms for Causes

I've really enjoyed watching BBC's Irish Drama/Comedy Ballykissangel.  They developed such a wonderful mix of characters and over several seasons, I came to love each one.  In a recent episode Padraig O'Kelly a regular at Fitzgerald's, local pub, went on a drunken binge after being rejected first by a young woman he was interested in, and then by his only son.  Dr. Michael Ryan pays him a visit and makes a simple but profound statement.  "Drink is only a symptom of a deeper problem."

Can you spot the alcoholic?  It's Ireland, they may all be.  Pardraig (pronounced Porrick) is third from the left.  A life of sorrow, self pity and disappointment shows pretty plainly on his face.  I identify with Padraig.  I don't belly up to Fitzgerald's Bar but I've been on plenty of sorrowful, disappointed pity party binges of self indulgence.  Most of the time I had no idea that my behavior was just a symptom of a deeper problem.  Like Padraig just thought he was a hopeless lush.  I thought I was hopelessly lost in my addictive behavior as well.

It's like my problem is an injured leg.  I can't deal with the injury right now so I wrap it in a bandage and forget about it. It hurts but, in denial, I refuse to acknowledge it and the fact that beneath the bandage it is festering.  I need to continue to function in society so I take up a crutch.  Something that helps me get along and helps me to ease the pain.  Pretty quick I'm back on my feet and have myself convinced that I'm functioning on a par with my previously undamaged condition.  I even manage to convince myself that the crutch is invisible and that no one notices how heavily I lean upon it.  Occasionally, I hear a talk or have some other reality check that reminds me of how disgusting and evil my crutch is, so I resolve to throw it away.  I do, but now I'm crippled by my unattended wound and cease to function at all.  I remain in denial and do nothing to treat the wound, except to heap more bandages on the old ones.  I have even forgotten how it got injured in the first place.  Needing to function I take up the crutch again.  A cycle of repeated tossing and retrieving of the crutch ensues.  Years pass this way.  Discouragement and then despair follow.  Determined, I carry on hobbling on a crutch that becomes ever more burdensome, ever more ugly and apparent.

Finally, someone like Dr. Michael Ryan points out to me the possibility of healing the wounded leg and invites me to go to the Great Healer and have the infected gash healed.  I do and before long, I am walking pain free.  I suddenly realize that I no longer need the crutch.  Serving no purpose I set the crutch aside and go on without it.  The Doctor of my Soul reminds me that I have a particular vulnerability to re-opening the wound and that I must remain constantly vigilant against doing further damage.  At first I don't heed that counsel.  I feel so great!  So emancipated!  Before long, recklessly, I reopen the wound and instantly my need for my old faithful crutch returns.  Or I receive another injury and automatically go to the same old ridiculous remedies. Again by invitation, The Good Doctor returns and heals my leg once more.  This time I'm more careful, more watchful, more vigilant.  Gradually, with care and determination, I rehabilitate the atrophied muscles and grow in strength.  Eventually, months and then years pass and the crutch becomes long forgotten and entirely left behind.

I loved he scene where Padraig puts down his crutch.  There is a light in his eye and a lightness of being in his countenance.  The pity party is over.  He has dealt with his pain.  The sore is healed over and the alcohol is put aside.  I loved it because I've experienced it!

When it comes to addiction I still find most people operating under the misconception that the booze, or Twinkies, or joints, or needles or roulette wheel or the porn sites are the problem.  They are not.  Not in any case I've worked with.  Those are only the symptoms of a deeper problem.  A deeper problem most of us are loath to explore.

My Nephew taught school in a little village on the North Slope of Alaska.  Despair and Alcoholism were rampant there.  One day he drew a line down the middle of the chalk board.  On the left he asked the students to list what was right with their village.  The list grew quite large.  On the right they needed to make a list of what was wrong.  The students rebelled, they threw chairs, they shouted and stormed out of the room.  The travail of dealing with our problems is no small thing.  Eventually, the negative list was completed.  Finally, they could address what they were going to do about the problems.  You would be amazed today to see the results of that project!  We need to be willing to do the same thing.  To take the bandages off the infected wounds in our lives, clean them out, treat them appropriately and actually get better.  We need to learn to face our pain and to quit anesthetizing it with treatments that only mask the problem and inevitably make it worse.

I think this applies to everyone, addict or not.  We are a society full of folks running around trying to avoid or ignore our problems and the resulting pain.  We want easy fixes instead of genuine healing.  Let's stop that and get on with living.  Really living.

Increasingly, we live in a Plutarchy

As a young adult I read a 1300+/- page book called Tragedy and Hope by Caroll Quigley.  It was about the ultimate conquest of global society by the wealthy.  Later I read W. Cleon Skousen's book about the same thing.  It was called The Naked Capitalist (same story only much shorter).  I was pretty skeptical at the time, but since I've watched Quigley's predictions unfold before my very eyes.  So, here we are enveloped in the Plutarchy Quigley envisioned.

Here we are in a society controlled by the wealthy.  We can hardly call it otherwise.  Our very lives are under the deliberate thumb of Wall Street.  Our government leaders are literally owned by them.  A year ago I abandonned the Republican Party.  Or rather, I discovered that the Republican Party had abandonned me.  Don't panic, I didn't become a Democrat. 

I've spent the year wondering what I am, wondering where I fit, wondering if anyone is like minded out there.

The other night I heard Bill Moyers interview Populist Jim Hightower and thought I was hearing the most refreshing views I'd heard in a long time.  Still, I hesitate, Populists tend to favor unions, I don't.  Well, that's not true either.  I favor unions in the original or pure sense.  But the big unions have become as Plutocratic as the Government has.

Goldman Sachs has been on the carpet this week for their power mongering antics.  Clearly theirs is not a matter of guilt, but rather a question of legality.  They are guilty, but was it legal?  Congress will ultimately create bigger government to resolve the issue, which will fail.  The result will be more taxation and less control, both of which benefit the plutarchs and harm the rest of us.  The Securities and Exchange Commission will continue to sit in their Ivory Tower and view pornography while we assume they're spending our money looking after our best interests.

Moyers, in his program Bill Moyers Journal drew my attention to a policy statement from Citigroup that made big business' position and strategy plain:

Citigroup Mar 5 2006 Plutonomy Report Part 2

Is it any wonder that the economy is struggling.  Not the economy of the rich, but that of the average American.  I've long struggled with my feelings about Sean Hanity and his version of Conservativism.  In light of what I'm presently learning, Hannity appears to be the Plutarch's Poster Boy.  I don't struggle any more, Hannity is out, my mind's made up.  Don't suppose by this that I am opposed to Capitalism.  On the contrary I am in full favor of Capitalism.  Greed has turned Captialism in to Plutarchy in the hearts and minds of far too many.  It is to be expected; with money comes power and power corrupts - at least sometimes.  Contrast that with Capitalism as described in the book The Mormon Way of Doing Business and you'll understand what I mean.  The distinction between Captitalism and Plutonomy (a term coined by Citigroup) is an important one and as long as we fail to make that distinction we will fail to treat Plutarchy as the demon it is.
Hannity is often heard defending big corporations by saying that no one was ever employed by a poor man.  This may be true, but Plutarchs are not about employing people but rather about exploiting them and then laying them off while cleaning out the coffers the workers filled. Plutarchs are not hard to recognize.

It is going to be thus.  At least as long as we depend on the Republicans and Democrats to managage our economic lives. 

I wrote this morning on The Book of Mormon Today that I think the solution is not governmental but personal.  I do think we need to be politically active and to stand up and be counted.  But on a personal level there will always be Plutarchs trying to control our lives.  The answers, at a personal, individual level, lie inside us, not outside in the polical and public arena.  We may never see an end to Plutarchy in our life time, but if we focus too much on the problems Plutarchy creates we will miss the blessings that are ever present in our lives.  Blessings that difficulty and hardship, even Plutarcy assure us.

When Atlas Shrugged

My last post described my most exciting job yet.  Yet, I've quit....

They wanted me 24 hours a day for eight days straight at a rate of $4.79/hour.  I accepted that initially because I wanted to do something meaningful and because I was certain that the company's resources were stretched sufficiently to warrant lousy/beginner pay.

Now, in all fairness, I really enjoyed the job.  I enjoyed the students and I really enjoyed the staff.  There was never a boring moment.  Last week I spent 24 hours on the run with three students who'd decided to leave the program.  That excursion included a helicopter ride.  An eight day shift simply few by!

During the course of the week I had a surprisingly candid conversation with the owner, who bragged about the huge percentage of the revenue he puts in his own pocket.  I was a bit disillusioned because, naively, I thought he was in it for the youth, as I was.  Instead he made it plain that he was in it for the money.  This is not to say he isn't good at what he does, he's great!  Still as the week wore on it became more and more clear that he makes all of the decisions and thinks he deserves all of the rewards.  Toward the end of the week I discovered that a field staff, who is an amazing asset to the company, who is skilled, responsible and talented, and who has served for 18 months was being paid the exact same amount as a rookie like me.  Additionally, I learned that a head staff, in charge of a camp, is paid, $0.33 more per hour than I was.  This is a clear statement of company priority and finished me off.

I went in at the end of my shift and resigned.  Here is a tremendous program that is making a difference in the lives of some great young people.  A program whose primary focus is developing integrity in the lives of it's students, but which manifests little integrity with it's employees at all.  When I pointed out my grievance I was told that they were not pleased to have their staff comparing compensation packages.  I wonder why?

I've decided to get clear out to the youth correction/rehabilitation business.  There's no money in it.  I can get a full time job at the Detention Center for which they'll pay me $11.00 an hour.  Or I can deliver packages for UPS for $27.00 an hour.  What would you do?  What is wrong with this picture?

Now all of this begs another question.  One I don't have the answer for?  "Where should the line be drawn between self and service?  I went in to that last job hoping for personal growth as well as monetary income.  While there I did very well with regard to my personal issues.  I even thought that my recovery was being strengthened and facilitated by my experiences.

I have always been taught and even proved that when I get caught up in my selfish, self defeating behaviors that the best thing I can do is to focus on being of service to others.  On the mountain I was doing just that.  Every waking moment and much of the night was spent in selflessly serving others.  I didn't have time to think of myself.  Even my choice to quit was primarily motivated by my regard for my younger colleagues who are being so grossly taken advantage of.  I expected to come home from that experience better and more fulfilled.  Instead, I found I had just put myself on the shelf for a couple of months and have returned to find myself unchanged having done little more than collect a bit of dust.

What was the problem factor?  Is it the money?  Does money destroy service?  If I had taught Seminary would the money have tainted the service?  I'm confused by what I'm feeling.

Last week I spent in Las Vegas painting my daughter's house.  It was a good thing.  I little tough because my own house is a wreck and could have used that effort.  I returned to a plan by the family to spend the next two weekends painting my mother-in-law's house.  I have always been gung ho about such projects knowing in my heart that what goes around comes around and that bread I cast upon the water would return in abundance.  But today I feel like John Galt.  I've carried too much for too long and can no longer bear it up.  The world wants all it can get from me while giving as little as possible in return.  I know God is not like that.  There may be my answer.  My recent employer has taken God out of the equation and put money in.  I remember a time when my daughter befriended a little old neighbor lady.  They spent a lot of joyous times together.  Then the lady decided to hire my daughter to attend to her needs.  What had been joyful service quickly turned into resentful drudgery.  The pleasant rewards of friendship and service were replaced by unsatisfying stinginess, expectations, demands, inequality, reluctance and eventually separation.  Must money always spoil things?


Like so many in Ayn Rand's amazing book, Atlas Shrugged, I'm no longer willing to bring my talent to the business world without being adequately compensated for it.  More and more the world wants all it can get from me.  That would be okay if it were not for the fact that more often than not, someone, behind the scenes, is benefiting financially, while claiming to be serving the critical needs of the less fortunate.  People are getting rich in the human services "industry".  Under the guise of meeting serious needs, and on the backs of sincere and willing laborers, they pad their pockets and meet far fewer needs than they might.  I got my start in the "industry" as a volunteer.  I got sucked in to doing it professionally because I thought it would be satisfying to make a difference full time.  It should be.  It isn't.  In fact, I see a measure of perpetuation built into both government and private human services programs.  A subtle effort to keep themselves in business rather than working themselves out of a job.  It is about the money.

So, for now, you can call me John Galt.  You'll find me about doing good.  You'll find me this weekend, happily helping paint Mom's house, for free.  You'll find me at the Detention Center on Sunday teaching the kids about Jesus Christ and about how He can help them change.  If one day, there are no kids to serve there, I'll be the happiest man around.  Besides, I always said my volunteer job at the Center pays better than my employed one - which is true.... and it'll keep on paying long after those prison walls have served their purpose.

As for money?  I'll have to earn that somewhere.  I just hope I can find a place to earn it where it won't pollute the things that matter more than money.

Mountain Magic

I haven't written for a good long time.  I've been pretty busy remodeling my lifestyle.  It's time I explained and got back to writing. 

My theme for this blog refers to the business of mortality.  The business of living and learning.  This latest episode has been pretty intense in that regard.

A little over a month ago, I hired on as Wilderness Staff for an outfit called Mountain Homes Youth Ranch / Ashley Valley Wilderness.  When I went to my doctor for a physical he said he thought I'd come to the wrong doctor, suggesting I needed to have me head examined.  Indeed, I probably should.  What business does an old geezer like me have camping eight days at a time in the snow, mud, rain, wind of the Book Cliffs, with a bunch of troubled kids.

I guess I didn't feel like reporting on the new adventure until I had some experience with it.  I needed to see if I would enjoy the experience and actually invest myself in the process.  I do and I have.  I have stumbled onto a rare and unexpected opportunity.  This company is amazing in it's preparation to make a difference in the lives of children with behavior problems.  Couple that with the miracle of the mountain and you have a formula for success.  This is a good time in my life to be envolved in making a difference. 

It turns out that I actually have something to offer.  Students and Staff alike express appreciation for the calming effect an older participant can bring to the program.  Clearly, I lack the vigor and energy of the younger staff, but I don't lack experience and a settled, comfortable relationship with the principles and processes of joyful living.  I think my greatest asset is patience.  It takes time to make the changes we hope to help these youth experience and I am content to let the process do it's magic.  Seeing those changes transpire is it's own reward.

I never dreamed my life would lead me to such an occupation.  I never imagined that I would be suited for such a thing.  The other night though, laying in my bag after a challenging day, I couldn't help but rejoice at the long, protracted set of experiences, trials, talents, blessings, set backs, afflictions and serendipitous circumstances that had brought me to that glorious moment of joy.  There I was in a tent in the middle of nowhere with a bedraggled bunch of strangers for whom my heart was absolutely bursting with love, and hopes, and dreams.  I had just serenaded them to sleep with my native american flute and was in no rush to sleep myself.  I just wanted to bask in the glow of a culminating moment that seemed to have been forseen by a loving God who had somehow brought me here.  I unexpectedly felt a sense of mission and purpose and realized that the mountain holds magic for me as well.

I work eight days on and six days off.  I expect you'll hear from me every other week.  Perhaps with more stories and observations.  The wilderness camp is a microcosm of life.  There on the mountain we are all on an excellerated course of living and learning.  Life is challenging there, but it is also simpler, with far fewer distractions. I like that.....

Book Review - The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder

Thornton Wilder's interesting book, The Bridge of San Luis Rey won a Pulitzer Prize.  I have no quarrel with that; it is wonderfully well written.  It is so very interesting to learn of Colonial Peru and the daily life of Limeans.  I was a bit disappointed though that Wilder was, in the end, unable to answer the question the book so intriguingly poses.

A 100 year old foot bridge suddenly collapses and five people perish in a horrifying plunge into a deep gorge.  Brother Juniper wonders why?  Was it part of God's Plan or merely an accident?  He decides to examine the lives of the victims and see if he can discern the answer.  He discovers that though every life is both ordinary and extraordinary, nothing unique pegged these folks to perish at this particular place and time.

I have dealt with the same question much of the past year.  I've watched good people die at the most inopportune times.  No amount of faith or pleading with God could turn the tide of death that overtook and destroyed.  For me, accident, disease, ultimately death are all an integral part of God's Plan.  They are not necessarily caused by God, but the Fall of man and the earth as Adam and Eve were driven from Eden, set things in motion that God intended and fully sanctions.  I also believe, that on occasion, God deliberately countermands the course of nature, intervening in man's behalf.  Why He does on one occasion and does not on another, is not my affair.  I trust Him to know fully, fairly and perfectly, what He is up to.  We have no right to boast that He has favored us with a blessing we desire and we have no business condemning Him when He does not.  Either way, He is favoring us with that we He, in His infinite wisdom, sees fit for our best - in the long run - interest.

I don't think Brother Juniper ever figured this out.  But it seems He did come to understand that love bridges the gaps between us and lends meaning, when all else seems to fail.  Considering, Brother Juniper was a man of the cloth, he might have gone on to discover that despite life's troubles and trials, the love of God undergirds and overarches all and in the end can heal all wounds. 

Philosophically, I thought Wilder came up just short of his target on this one.  Too bad.

Opportunity

I've enjoyed a bit of a wake up call this week.  All my life I've associated opportunity with goals.  Making that association has been rather crippling as I look back on things.  Goals have been connected with such adages as "shoot for the stars," so I've spent my time seeking pretty lofty opportunities.  Couple that with the adage, "opportunity only knocks once," and you have a formula for scarcity thinking.  I've always been a relatively positive person and always anticipated the appearance of the next opportunity.  Usually, they have come, sometimes in disguise, but always beneficial.  Trouble is, I've wasted a ton of time looking for the big opportunities and overlooking the little ones.

Let me give you a current example from my life.  I'm looking for a full time employment opportunity.  As I have yet to find one that has materialized for me, I'm rather strapped for cash.  I have often said that my unfinished basement is bogged down because when I have time I have no money and when I have money I have no time.  The other day, while taking a walk, I realized that doing so was a luxury, when compared with my past, when finding time was so difficult.  I realized that right now, I have the opportunity to walk without much time constraint.  That got me to thinking about this subject.  How many little opportunities have I overlooked, looking beyond the mark so to speak?  How many days have I wasted because I was so focused on the distant goal that I couldn't see right in front of me.  How many days of opportunity lie in that basement that don't cost money.  Things that could be done so that when money becomes available, they don't have to be done then.  Days and days worth I suspect.   I thought of another adage.  "Better to aim for the sky and hit the horizon than to aim for the horizon and hit the dirt in the foreground."  I'm not so sure about focusing all my attention on the distant goal, especially if it causes me to look past opportunities in the present.

My friend Dixon often says,  "The past is history, the future a mystery, today is a gift, that's why they call it the present."  I love that.  Since making this discovery I've come to realize that the present is rich with opportunity.  It reminded me of a song I'd not adequately considered.  "There are chances for work all around just now, opportunity right in our way, do not let them pass by saying sometime I'll try but go and do something today."  (Hymns, 223, Have I Done Any Good in the World Today.)  Tomorrow's opportunities may be wonderful and appealing, but there is no better opportunity than lies right before me, right now.  Ever.

There are constantly opportunities to serve others, to learn more, to improve something, to love someone.  These are the opportunities that matter.  We don't have to wait for something big or momentous to take blessed action, we can do it now!  I'm so impressed with the myriad souls who've dropped everything and gone to Haiti to help with the disaster there.  They must be opportunity seizers.  This isn't likely to be their first rodeo in the opportunity game.

One of the great troubles that comes of addiction is the decline into utter selfishness.  I spent so many years in addiction that I've missed out on so many simple pleasures, so many useful concepts and principles.  This is surely one.  Those who know me might point out that I've served long and well in my life and while on the surface that is very true, if I look back and examine my motivations, they are purely self serving ones.  I saw opportunity and service as a means to advance my own ends.  I seldom if ever saw it as a means to bless the lives of others.  Because of that I came think of opportunity as a scarce commodity in the market of life.  Looking beyond the perspective of self, I suddenly have discovered that opportunity is more abundant than anything else.

Every time I have such an epiphany I feel a little foolish for having gone so long with out realizing such a thing.  But that is mostly swallowed up in rejoicing that even this late in life, even after having become so lost and misguided, this earthly probation can be long enough for one such as I to get straightened out and come into the light.  What an ungrateful thing it is to overlook the profound blessing of opportunity.  It is much like the Atonement itself.  It is always available, but what good is the gift if I am unwilling to receive or even recognize it?

Pen Pal Wanted

I've just watched a wonderful old movie starring Anne Bancroft called 84 Charing Cross Road also starring Anthony Hopkins.  It is a wonderful, true story, based on an epistolary memoir of the same name by Helene Hanff.  I've been fascinated lately with epistolary books and have enjoyed several including The Bachelor Brother's Bed and Breakfast books, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and Third Wish.  I've come to love that method of story telling as well as the simple, yet fine art of letter writing.

Letter writing is a dying art.  A loss which I am learning to lament.  I shall never forget reading some of Abigail Adams' letters in John Adams by David McCullough, and thinking what a joy it must have been to receive such a letter.  There was so much of warmth, good humor, cleverness and wisdom captured in those marvelous epistles.  How I'd love to write such letters and have a correspondent who would both appreciate and reciprocate with such ease and delight.

The upthrust of all this is that I've decided I just have to do it.  The biggest problem will be to find a like minded soul out in the world somewhere, who might like to embark upon such an adventure.  I went on line and Googled Pen Pal and found those sites to be mostly engaged in matching lonely persons to someone of the opposite sex.  I am not at all interested in getting into a romantic foray with some lonely woman, or man for that matter.  I am very happily married thank you very much.

So, I am taking applications if you will.  I'm hoping for a long term, mentally and emotionally taxing relationship with a total stranger.  People who cannot make such a commitment need not apply.  Applicants must write a letter of sufficient interest and quality as to spark my imagination and persuade me that I've found someone with whom I'll happily correspond.  You need not be like me anyway.  If you disagree with me that is fine, so long as our disagreements are not allowed to foul our friendship.  This of course requires an open minded individual who doesn't mind banter and isn't easily offended.

Email will be an acceptable medium, so long as the bulk of our correspondence is done, thoughtfully, deliberately and dependably.  Typical email and chat abbreviations and streamlining methods will not be tolerated.

I suppose I'd prefer someone from far away, in different circumstances to my own.  Someone who's life and culture do not mirror my own.  I'm afraid I must restrict applicants to English as I have not bothered to become proficient in any other language.  Scold me if you will.  Even so, I'll entertain a pen pal from just around the corner if their personality and presentation so inspire me.

I expect that the person I'm looking for has ideas of his or her own regarding what form such a friendship should take and I am open to negotiations.  Certainly, once the relationship is established further negotiations will be called for as the friendship or perhaps mere association develops.

If you dear reader, are not so inclined, but know of someone who might be please forward this along to them.

Divisive Politics

This is Senator Harry Reid.  I just thought I'd point that out because most pictures I've seen of him lately depict him monstrously, flipping the bird, scowling, in one he even had horns.  I don't think the horns were because he's a Mormon either.  And clearly the depiction of his extended middle finger was not intended as an expression of the disgusting sign I loathe.  I was concerned that you might not recognize him with a smile and kindly look.  There isn't one of us, if we were photographed 1000's of times, that wouldn't produce some fodder for our opponents to mis-depict us.

I'm writing about this because Harry Reid probably has a higher percentage of opponents among his fellow Latter-day Saints that he has among any other group.  I've spoken to Mormon's who've even considered the merits of having him assassinated if you can imagine.  I didn't take their vitriol literally and I seriously doubt if any of them would actually act upon their wishes, but the fact that they even mentioned it troubles me big time.

I have a brother-in-law who lives just outside of Washington DC.  He has been in the Stake Presidency of his Stake and has served as a Bishop.  He has lived near the Capitol for many years.  He pointed out an interesting tidbit of fact - Harry Reid has a reputation for being one of the best Home Teachers in the Church.  Does that startle you?  It got me to thinking.  We have lots of folk in my ward who are not the least bit timid about expressing political views in Gospel Doctrine class or from the pulpit.  If Harry Reid lived in our ward he would undoubtedly be persecuted unmercifully, by such people.  Even when I agree with their politics I am very uncomfortable with them using church as their forum.  I am also very uncomfortable with the oppositionally defiant attitude of so many church members.  I'm constantly hearing them berate people of a liberal bent for listening to the liberal media.  If they'd just listen to themselves they'd hear canned conservative mantras that are equally spawned by conservative media.  The polarizing effect of this is damaging to both the country, the church and the individuals caught up in this contention.

Alma 2:5 - And it came to pass that the people assembled themselves together throughout all the land, every man according to his mind, whether it were for or against Amlici, in separate bodies, having much dispute and wonderful contentions one with another.

If you cross reference the word contention in that verse you'll discover what we all know in the Kingdom, that contention is of the Devil and is to be avoided.  That the adjective wonderful was used to describe it in this context implies astonishment rather than pleasurable excitement.  The observer here, to my thinking is clearly dismayed.  He probably had friends on both sides of that issue, just like we might here.  He probably heard them not only disagreeing with one another, but calling each other names.  He probably heard them casting aspersions on one another's character and making unkind reference as the their parentage and well...you know the drill.  Pretty soon rather than fellows of different persuasions, they've become enemies who are willing to kill one another.

Now I'm not suggesting compromise is the answer, sometimes we just have to take a stand and stand our ground.  But we are also commanded to love our enemies and to do good to those who despitefully use or abuse us.  Further we are commanded to pray for them, not against them.  Conservatives, when was the last time you prayed for Harry Reid?  He is after all your brother in the Kingdom.  Or have you spitefully suggested he have his Temple Recommend revoked because he doesn't see things the way you do.

I might remind you that on July 20, 2009, Harry Reid introduced President Thomas S. Monson and Elder Dallin H. Oaks to President Barak Obama in the White House.  Those brethren presented a fine gift to the leader of our nation.  There was no vitriolic rhetoric, no oppositional rancor.  Do you think President Monson, or Elder Oaks agree with President Obama's views on everything?  Of course not.  Did that prevent them from having influence with him?  Absolutely not!  We are lead by example, but generally speaking, we are not following that example very well.

I believe we have got to learn to express our views in the positive manner in which the Church has shown us.  If we cannot, despite the efforts of our leaders, we will be marginalized more and more and our influence will be felt less and less.  When the church interacts with other religions, it is not in a spirit of compromise or opposition and look what that has accomplished.  So much collaborative humanitarian work has resulted in blessings across the globe.  The other day in the Deseret News I found an article in which Jewish Rabbi, David Rosen suggested that The Quorum of the 12 Apostles should be key players in Middle Eastern Peace talks!  Why would he even consider such a thing if they were as contentious as the general population of the church appears to be.

For many Harry Reid just might be the litmus test for whether or not you've chosen to follow the Prophet. Scroll back up and take another look.  What will you do when you see that face across the prayer circle in the Temple?  I've decided.  I will remain.

Pornography Addiction Prevalent

I'm currently reading a book called He Restoreth My Soul by Donald L. Hilton Jr. MD.  I first heard him speak at and LDS Addiction Recovery Program Conference last summer.  He is brilliant, motivated and insighful in his approach to the subject of addiction recovery.  He is a faithful Latter-day Saint and a renown Neuro Surgeon.

Here are a couple of startling quotes from the book:  (He is speaking of addiction to pornography)

The current scenario of sending the young man on a mission after three to six months of 'white-knuckle' sobriety is only setting him up to intermittent struggling throughout his mission, and/or quick relapse upon return and re-introduction into the overwhelming media barrage he will surely face.

Understand that the majority of young men returning from missions are slipping quickly into addiction, and we must be ready to support them with 12 Step support groups specific to pornography addiction immediately upon return from their mission.

I quote these things not to alarm you but to give you a reality check.  The pernicious plague of pornography is present in the lives of our young men.  It is addictive and problematic, but it won't destroy us. 

Another quote:

While we have emphasized prevention in the past, and should continue to do so, we must also recognize that virtually all of our young men and many of our young women are already seriously exposed, and are therefore already in need of treatment.  By continuing to emphasize avoidance only, we shame the majority who are already caught in the addiction into secrecy and guilt.  We must extend a hand of healing and support to those trapped in secrecy, so there is a safe place for them to seek help.

It could destroy us, but it won't.  I say that having experienced recovery myself, after 45 years of addiction.  The answer is the same as it has always been.  Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, Repentance, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins and the laying on of hands for the Gift of the Holy Ghost.  The gospel is, has been and ever will be the answer, the only answer.

Satan, has made horrible inroads into our society, indeed our very lives and homes.  His influence is part of the Plan of Salvation.  These kids and adults are not evil monsters, they've just been exposed to a deadly and potentially fatal disease.  It has become pandemic in society and most of society doesn't even recongnize the destruction and havoc it is causing.  Satan's influence through pornography can be overcome, by turning to the Lord.

I always wondered why the Lord told us the story of Zeniff, Noah and Limhi and their people.  That is until I discovered that their story shares a key to escaping this great bondage that is enveloping us.  Most of us, like Zeniff are zealous, even righteous, but we are also willful.  We want what we think we deserve, so we go out and take it.  That marked lack of humility always leads to bondage in one form or another,  In their case it was bondage to the Lamanites.  Gradually, pride leads us deeper and deeper into a trap of our own making.  Evenually, Zeniff's people, under the corrupt tutelage of Noah are utterly bound by their poor choices.  They didn't like their bondage any more than we do.  Ask any addict if they like being where they are.  Of course not.  And each has tried and failed, tried and failed, tried and failed until they are in the depths of despair.

Remember the people of Zeniff and their descendants did the same thing.  They tried and failed repeated times to deliver themselves from the bondage they'd gotten themselves into.  They suffered horrifying losses and returned from each battle weaker either spiritually or physically or both.  Finally humbled, Limhi instructs them regarding the means by which they can escape:

Mosiah 7:33 - But if ye will turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart, and put your trust in him, and serve him with all diligence of mind, if ye do this, he will, according to his own will and pleasure, deliver you out of bondage.

And so, they did, and so did He.  That is the business God is in, delivering us.  Multitudes of Latter-day Saints are laboring in the bonds of addiction.  Most are laboring under the impression that they must deliver themselves and consequently are failing.  That, coupled with widespread secrecy in the matter, are doing great damage to lives and families.  It does not need to end like this.  Ultimately every Latter-day Saint, every person on earth, for that matter, must allow the Atonement of Jesus Christ to take effect their lives.  This principle applies, addict or not.  If addiction drives us to our knees and humbles us sufficiently to reach for that relationship with the Master, the end result will be Perfection in Christ.  Then opposition will have served it's purpose.

Ether 12:27 - And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

Would prevention have been better?  Of course.  The reality though, is that for many many it is already too late for that.  The call to teach the gospel of faith and repentance is imperative.  Our brothers and sisters have a great need to know that they can indeed be forgiven, and in this case, more specifically, that they can be delivered from bondage.  Addicts cannot (I am unequivocal about this) deliver themselves and thank God it is true.  If it weren't, what need would we have for a Deliverer?
I am certain, that the Lord does not intend to allow this horrific plague to destroy His Church and Kingdom.  He will prevail and He will afflict His addicts until they let Him prevail in their individual lives.

If you or one you love is caught in this trap.  Go to your Bishop, seek the Deliverer, come out of bondage and rejoice in that liberty wherewith you are made free!  You are more than welcome to drop me a note.  I will strictly keep confidences and I'm sure I can help you find help.

The Inanity of It All!

I have long contended that most television is empty and pointless.  A long time Johnny Carson fan, I don't see what's funny about these guys, or Letterman for that matter.  Maybe their ratings have dropped because watching their programs is such a waste of precious time.  Maybe their current furor is just about building ratings.  Letterman's scandal did that for him.  My advice, watch C-Span, it's just as inane, only funnier.

We've taken to watching television off a DVD rather than items that are publicly broadcast.  Without the commercials alone we save 1/3 of the time we'd spend watching broadcast TV.  Netflix is wonderful that way, inexpensive, controllable and a cornucopia of selections.  Occasionally, we Tivo something as well, though too often we forget to fast forward the commercials.  Not that I entirely hate commercials.  The best laughs on TV are the drug commercials, 50% of which are disclaimers that can be hilarious!  Another draw back to commercials are the news teasers, especially if they're for an event we recorded a couple of weeks ago.

News magazines, evening news programs, tabloid programs have all become ridiculous.  They tell you what they're going to tell you three to seven times, before they tell you.  Often what they finally report is a mere sentence more than they teased you with in the first place.  Then, the level of their priority has sunk so low I can't reach that far down in the muck.  When Tiger Wood's personal life trumps the debate on Public Health Care something is seriously fouled up.  I do like the teasers for one reason.  When they tease me, I can jump right on the internet and find out about something I might not have heard of before.

Not too long ago, one of the teasers pertained to an Amber Alert.  They made us wait a half hour to find out the details.  The culprit could have carried the victim another 30 or 40 miles before we were told any details about how we could help.  All for ratings = money.  I abandoned newspapers for television for the convenience.  I've abandoned television for the internet, for information, details, efficency and content.

Good bye, broadcast TV.

Growing Up in Himni, Utah - Episode 14

EMS

There were three Baritonists in the Himni High School Band. LeGrand Morris (Grandy), Michael Simper and myself. In the band room we sat on the back row, but in front of Rob Hanke, who played the Sousaphone and needed a bit of elbo room in the back corner opposite the drummers. Mitch Warner played the tenor sax and sat right in front of us.

Mr. Hess, our band teacher, had listed the student’s names in alphabetical order. He then assigned each a consecutive number, in that order. When it was time for roll call, he just called on us to count off in the appropriate sequence. As luck would have it, Morris, Parker, Simper and Warner stacked up right in a row. Our numbers were 27, 28, 29 and 30. We soon took to calling out our numbers in four part harmony. Grandy would sing his number and hold the note, then in succession, the others would add their number and harmonious note. Rob, not wanting to be left out, often added a deep bass sousaphone drone as foundation for our performance.
We were a “harmonious” group in more ways than one. We saw eye to eye on most things and were pretty much inseparable even when not in the band room. The previous summer, all of us except Michael had gone to Boy’s State together. Michael’s big brother Ronald had gone with us. Michael was a year younger. We talked often of Boy’s State, of the fun we’d had. Mitch and I were still corresponding with Rhonda and Wanda, twin girls we’d met while up there in Logan. Michael was desperate to have the same experience. It’s hard to say this about Michael, we liked him a lot, but he was a bit odd. I know what you’re thinking, but I mean even odder than the rest of us. He was even awkward around us, his best buddies. He always treated us with a kind of awe and respect, like he couldn’t believe we liked him and that our friendship was somehow tenuous.

Michael invented the “blip boid.” I think he intended it to be sort of a combination sign somewhere between “the bird” and a salute. To correctly execute the blip boid you had to hold your right arm out in front of yourself with the forearm in a vertical position. The hand was held in a relaxed posture with the index finger and thumb extended, but also somewhat relaxed. Once in this position you slowly elevated the hand while twisting it back and forth in a jerky, syncopated motion until you got it about half as high as you could reach, where you stopped until all responding blip boids had been completed. Michael insisted this be our club high sign. Trouble is, we didn’t have a club.

Maybe Michael thought going to Boy’s State was the final initiation that would make his membership in our club complete. It must not have occurred to him that we’d all be gone next year. Or, maybe he thought that he’d fall in with other Boy’s State alumni in our absence. Anyway, he mused about it a lot and was constantly seeking the mysterious key that would insure his invitation. One day, off the cuff, I mentioned that never in the history of Himni High had the newly elected Student Body President failed to be invited to Boy’s State. His insecurity prevailing, Michael asked, “So I run for Student Body President, but what if I lose?”
That was no problem, because never in the history of Himni High had the loser of the election for Student Body President not been elected Senior Class President…and never in history had the Senior Class President failed to be invited to Boy’s State either. It was a sure thing! Michael was elated!

“Would you guys be my Campaign Committee?”

Now Mitch and I, in particular, were into politics. We’d gone to Boy’s State after all, plus we’d gone to Model United Nations twice and were steeped in Mr. Parker’s (my dad) American Problems class. We were the quintessential campaign committee! We didn’t tell him that neither one of us got elected to anything more important than Dog Catcher at Boy’s State.

The next few weeks were spent developing strategy, painting posters and overcoming Michael’s Pip Squeak image. The latter was a challenge. We decided the jocks were out. Michael’s challenger was Ricky Hanley, a jock – who had money. Our attention turned to the shops. If we could turn out the vote in the Auto, Wood and Ag shops we could kick Ricky’s butt. There was a reasonable population in that end of the school. That group was typically disinterested in such things as school elections. The academics were already pretty much in the bag on account of the persistent rivalry between academics and sports. Yup, the shops were the key.
In those days there was a common phrase used by the greasers down in the shops. As an insult cum challenge they would often offer a surly “Eat My Shorts!” Quite often that, or more commonly, “EMS” was scrawled on the restroom walls. We appropriated “EMS” for ourselves – Elect Michael Simper!
It was a good strategy and it might have worked. We’ll never know, though, because Mitch and I panicked and stuffed the ballot box – and got caught.

Ricky Hanley was declared the winner and Mitch and I were hauled in on the carpet. The Disciplinary Council consisted of the Principal, Mr. Steckler, Coach Harker and Mrs. Celestia Hopewell. We were doomed. Mr. Steckler informed us of the charges and explained that if found guilty, we’d be suspended for a week and our diplomas would be held until we’d completed 100 hours of community service. The biggest implication, I thought, was that it took Mitch out of the running for Valedictorian. He and Emily Allen were in hot contention for the honor and I couldn’t bear to have him lose it this way.

The witness, Marci Merriwether was called and before she was even halfway through her deposition, Coach Harker declared, “I move we convict ‘em. It’s clear they done it!”

“Did,” Mrs. Hopewell sharply replied.

“Did what?” Coach Harker queried.

“The correct English is “did it”, sir, not “done it.”

There was ice between them
.
Mitch offered a subtle blip boid in my direction. I responded.

Coach Harker raged on at the vile act we’d committed. He always hated Mitch. Mitch could have been an All State Quarterback. He was smart enough, athletic enough, tall enough, and charismatic enough to have done the whole thing. He just had no interest in sports and that killed Coach Harker. His bitterness was showing like a girl’s slip.

Mr. Steckler finally got him settled down and turned the attention back to Marci. Meanwhile, I observed Mrs. Hopewell scratch a quick note which she passed to Coach Harker. When he held it up to read it, the light was such that, I could see the name Ted Traynor was scrawled on it. Ted was next year’s hope for a successful football season. I still can’t believe what came next. The coach mouthed the words, “You wouldn’t!” She responded with a most resolute glare
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The exchange was interrupted by Mr. Steckler, who dismissed Marci. She gave us a nasty little sniff, letting us know she was getting her revenge for the Golden Emerods incident. The Principal called for a vote. “By a show of hands, who finds the defendants guilty?” All three hands went up. He was about to declare our sentence when Mrs. Hopewell interrupted, “Due to extenuating circumstances, I propose that we ease up on these boys a bit. They’ve been assets to our school. This is the first time they’ve appeared before this council. May I respectfully suggest that we limit their punishment to community service and leave this little affair off their academic records?”

Mr. Steckler smugly suggested her proposal be put to a vote. “All in favor of the lightened sentence, suggested by Mrs. Hopewell, please signify by raising your hand.” Mrs. Hopewell’s hand went right up and not so swiftly, so did Coach Harker’s!

Mr. Steckler’s jaw hit his chest. Mitch and I were pretty shocked too. We came away shaking our heads. After all, who’d have thought that the greatest lesson in politics of our high school career would have been taught by an English teacher!

You might be interested to know that, though Ricky Hanley was the new Student Body President, he didn’t get invited to Boy’s State. Neither did Wes Whickham, the Senior Class President. Michael Simper, however, was invited and was elected Senator, his campaign slogan – EMS!

Book Review - Third Wish by Robert Fulghum

I was thrilled to discover that Robert Fulghum had written a novel.  I knew it would be unusual, creative, imaginative, outside the box and superlative in nature.  I was not wrong.  Fulghum never does anything half way.

You all know I have a great love for Robert Fulghum and his work.  I don't agree with it all, but his view of life and living is fresh and has influenced me greatly.  I must say that this tome intimidated me a bit.  It is enormous in size and scope.  Volume 1 is 502 pages and Volume 2 is 416.  Don't despair, many of the pages comprise wonderful original art that perfectly enhances Fulghum's storytelling.  Holding such substantial books casts the illusion that what is being said might be substantial as well.

I thrilled at the storytelling.  I was swept away by the travelogues.  I was charmed by the characters.  And I was dismayed by the message.  After all the serious chasing around Fulghum has done seeking a philosophical anchor he still hasn't hit on anything but existential, self indulging emptiness.  As a witness of life he is remarkable.  As a participant in life he is fun.  As sage or even mentor of living, he keeps on falling flat for me and that is a huge disappointment.  He seems to me to be like the thirsty man the Lord spoke of who dreamed that he drank, but when he awoke he was still thirsty.  This author is supreme in his wonderful gift.  He is superlative in his observation of the human condition.  But what he keeps delivering to me is a wonderfully crafted, ornate box with nothing inside.  He seems to think silliness is happiness.  He seems to think that education is wisdom.  He seems to think experience is a trophy.  He seems to think he can distract himself from despair by novelty.  He seems to believe that self indulging fondness is love.  He seems to think that a full life is a fulfilling one.  And he seems to strongly suspect that God is himself.   I don't.

I think the central theme in the book is Fulghum's quest to find himself.  So far he seems to be looking in all the wrong places.  I hope, for both our sakes, that he keeps looking.  Onward!

Now, please do not hesitate to read this wonderfully entertaining story.  It is really well written.  Lots of fun and worth your time.  If perchance you should decide not to pick it up, scroll down and I'll give you the briefest of synopsis's.

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-The book can be encapsulated in words I once saw hanging from a secretary's desk: 

I've gone out to find myself.  If I should happen to return before I get back, would you please keep me here?

Movie Review - The Number 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

If you're looking for good wholesome, educational, delightful entertainment, The Number 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is a must see!  Sweetie and I loved the series of books written by Alexander McCall Smith and read or listened to every one.  Now they've spawned an HBO series that is in every way true to Smith's masterful work.  Flawlessly cast, wonderfully directed this charmer is classic story telling and refreshing in every way.

The stories are set in modern Botswana and depict the charm and life of a sweet and deliberate people.  I have never dreamed much of visiting Africa, but Smith has magnetized the place and drawn my heart and hopefully, one day, my person, to this magical place.

The lead character Mma Ramotswe, perfectly played by Jill Scott is a resolute, traditionally built Botswana woman, who is a masterful detective with the heart and insticts of a mother..  Mma Makutisi, her secretary is the funniest, sweetest perfectionist you'll ever meet.  She is played by Anika Noni Rose and will win your heart from the very first.  The director, Oscar winning, Anthony Minghella hit a grand slam with this cast including Lucian Msmati as the kind, patient JLB Matekoni, proprietor of Speedy Motors and frustrated suitor of Mma Ramotswe.  Also included is the flamboyant, meddling next door hairdresser, BK played by Desmond Dube. 

The first season is out on DVD, rent it and enjoy!

Movie Review - Cranford

Set in the village of Cranford, England in 1840, this wonderful series is so wonderfully crafted.  Judy Densch leads a magnificent cast of warm and credible characters.

1840 was a different time and great care was taken to make it so in this charming mini series.  This is the period in which thousands of English converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and migrated to America.  Seeing how customs and morays governed their lives and compassion, goodness and charity guided their hearts, I felt I could better understand such women as Eliza R. Snow and Mary Fielding Smith.

There was a refinement and quality of character that is so lost among us today as to make me jealous.  Yet there were such formalized restrictions as to make me rejoice to live now and not then.

If you are a Latter-day Saint of English stock, I highly recommend you spend the time and get acquainted with your wonderful roots.  Surely there were many who came from poverty amongst the factories of Manchester or the wharves of Liverpool, but I think many many are of stock such as these, whose integrity out weighed convention and whose courage stood the test.

Book Review - The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Set in post war England and the Island of Guernsey, this little gem is a brilliant examination of the German occupation of the Channel Islands.  Mary Ann Shaffer is the principal author who was assisted in the book's completion by her niece Annie Barrows.  Mary Ann had some health issues that prevented her from finishing it herself.

The story is told in a series of letters to and from most of the characters.  Each is brilliantly formed in character and content.  I have been fascinated with the mostly lost art of letter writing.  Shaffer has given wings to that wonderful means of expression and perhaps new life to it as well.  Good letter writing is a joy!  You could sense it in the feelings of both writer and reader.  The trouble with email is not in it's length, but in it's quality.  We don't take the time to really write in email these days, we simply blurb.  Read the book and tell me you don't feel the same way. 

I was amazed at the German occupation of the Channel Islands.  A little corner of history that never even occurred to me.  It was both fascinating and appalling.  Through all the hardship, the quality of character and courage that prevailed is utterly inspiring.  The best part is that these were very ordinary people.  In Guernsey, even the Germans suffered untold privation. 

This was a book I was loathe to hurry through.  It was a delight on every page and I didn't want it to come to an end.  I count it as one of my favorite books of all time.  It is deep with substance and yet breezy with charm and cheer. 

Of that post war period one character, Amelia wrote, "Sorrow has rushed over the world like the waters of the Deluge, and it will take time to recede.  But already, there are small islands of - hope?   Happiness?  Something like them, at any rate."

Another time Amelia wrote, "My worries travel about my head on their well worn path, and it is a relief to put them on paper."  It became abundantly clear that correspondence was critical therapy and was in it's very nature cathartic.

I love this style of writing and hope to employ it someday.  Each character told her story in first person and in such an intimate and personal way that I found it hard to believe I was reading fiction.  I'd give my eye teeth to be personally included in that round of conversation or one like it.  Anybody want to be my pen pal?