A Sunday Stroll

Sweetie has left me home alone while she goes out of town to a funeral.  I don't like being away from her, or vice versa.  As she drove away, feeling a bit melancholy, I sat down to the computer to play a little solitaire.  I didn't make it through one game before I knew I'd better get up and do something, or I might go mad.

I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood.  I had no agenda.  I wanted an adventure.  A neighborhood adventure.  G. K. Chesterton once wrote:

"By asking for pleasure, we lose the chief pleasure, for the chief pleasure is surprise."

I wanted surprise.  I wanted to just go for a walk and be surprised by what came of it.  What a pleasure!
What a surprise!

As I walked past Virginia's house, I had a notion that I might stop and see if she'd made it home from the Care Center, where I saw her last.  Sure enough!  She's still spending most of her time in a wheel chair but is practicing with the walker a little more each day.  Beau is taking such good care of her.  I've not met Beau before.  Virginia and Beau have created some kind of symbiotic relationship that is a mystery to me, but seems to work wonderfully for them.  She's probably 20 years his senior.  Beau grew up on the Crow Creek Reservation in South Dakota.  Having spent some time on the Rose Bud Reservation myself we had a jumping off place for a wonderful conversation and chance to get acquainted.  The Sioux are such a noble people.  Beau was surprised to learn that I had helped carve the Crazy Horse monument.  (I paid $10.00 to push the plunger on a preset dynamite charge, which I watched from the Visitor's Center.)  That was 40 years ago, when there was nothing recognizable emerging from that mountain of stone.  I was surprised to see Virginia so well and to find such a great new friend in Beau.  Virginia was surprised to learn how sick Rex is.

I bade them farewell intending to check on Rex next.  On the sidewalk I encountered Ann and Rachael walking little Landyn around the block.  Turns out they were headed for Rex and Dora's too.  We went together.  Landyn is getting so talkative!  What a cute little fellow.  Arriving together I had a chance to introduce the sisters to Darrin, who I chatted with as the gals commiserated with Dora.  Rex is failing and getting in two visits for the stress of one was probably a good thing.  We didn't stay long, but were comforted to find Dora feeling better and Darrin so ably easing her burden.

Parting ways again, I moseyed on down the street until I was startled by a rather formidable, "Woof!"  A Bull Mastiff was saying hello over a fence ridiculously shorter than he was.  His owner was smoking on the front porch and tried to set my nerves at ease.  We introduced ourselves.  His name was Scott.  We quickly made connections to relatives of his in Tridell and struck up an immediate friendship.  Single and young, Scott is a bit of an anomaly on his street where most of the residents are in their eighties or nineties.  I was surprised at how protective he was of those old folks that surround him.  He let me know that he was proud to have played a part in putting the druggies in the house across the street into jail, away from these sweet old folks who "need their peace and quiet

On down the street I encountered Tanner giving his little sisters a ride in a trailer behind his bike.  They stopped for a visit and those precious little sweet hearts were so polite and dignified in their delight.  Tanner, seasoned beyond his years, is one of my favorites.  Fellow flautists (amateur at best) there seems to be an age old bond between us.  Such a surprise,  because we've only known one another a few months.  We didn't talk long, rickshaws are only fun if they're moving.

The other night I watched The King's Speech on television and decided I'd better go compare notes with John.  I asked if he'd seen the movie yet.  "Don't need to!" was his reply, "I was there!"  Of course I already knew that and John knew I did.  But when you've been witness to one of the greatest moments in history, you've got to glory in it every chance you get.  We had fun bantering about the significance of that moment and of all the wonderful things God had done to bring it about.  Some people might believe in coincidences, but John and I don't.  An hour's conversation flashed by in what seemed like ten minutes.  I had been mildly rebuked in Priesthood Meeting by Billy and I decided I'd better get on over there and take my licks, so I excused myself from John's pleasant company and headed around the corner.

Billy was out watching a sprinkler cycle, having just got back from gathering the Bishop's Store House orders for tomorrow's grocery run.  What a fine, fine man.  He didn't beat me up at all.  Just wanted to emphasize mine and everyone else's need to try just a bit harder to build the Kingdom.  Push me, Billy, push me, I need all the help I can get.

And so it went, my little walk full of unexpected blessings.  No more melancholy.  I guess I'll be just fine.  The chief pleasure is surprise!

Thank you Arnie, Thank You!

Arnie Anthon is about the nicest guy you'll ever meet.  He's our local Frito-Lay distributor.  I hardly ever go to the grocery store without seeing Arnie busily stocking the chip aisle.

About five years ago at my favorite little lunch spot in Jensen, Utah, Arnie surprised us with a display of Lay's Dill Pickle chips.  I tried them and fell in love.  Anything dill is alright with me.  I love my wife's dilly bread.  One of my favorite memories is delivering packages to Split Mountain Green House in the fall when their dill patch leaned over the sidewalk.  As I walked to and fro past the dill weed the aroma of dill brushed off the plants on my pant-legs.  It was an olfactory delight I looked forward to every year.

As suddenly as Dill Pickle chips arrived on the scene, they also vanished.  I was devastated.  I no longer enjoyed the Roast Beef sandwich Monica made fresh for me every day, quite so much.  The next time I saw Arnie I let him have it, and the next and the next, in fact until this very day.

Now, I don't suppose Arnie had anything to do with the disappearance of Dill Pickle chips, but hey, somebody had to hear about it.  And Arnie did.  Patiently, week after week he has endured my complaints.  He was given a reprieve during the six weeks I was gone to Newfoundland.  Not me.  In the Maritimes they had every flavor of potato chips imaginable.  They had Fries and Gravy, Ketchup, Wasabi, Pizza, Salsa, and another favorite, Poutine.  But no Dill Pickle!  You wouldn't believe the variety of chips they have up north.  Those I mentioned plus all the regulars.  One of the big draws Canada holds for me is the food.  Up there food is celebrated in a way we here in the US can only dream about.  We must trudge along with three or four flavors of chips for example, when in Canada even the smallest store carries a dozen flavors of just potato chips.  Arnie has heard about this too.  You can imagine how utterly disappointed I was that Dill Pickle was not a favorite of the Canucks.

Well, today, walking down the chip aisle, still hopeful as ever, my wondering eyes beheld Dill Pickle chips!  I STOCKED UP!  Hurrying home I ran right to the phone and called Arnie.  You see, I am a whiner, but I am not an ingrate.  I want Arnie to know that he has made my day, week, month, year and possibly even my decade!  Thank you, Arnie, Thank you, from the bottom of the bag!

Book Review - The Dead Town by Dean Koontz

The last of Dean Koontz's Frankenstein series was very much the best!  I have looked forward to it for a long while and was not disappointed.  He culminated the story with brilliance and finesse.

I say this all the time, but must repeat it here.  Dean speaks to me like no other writer.  Each book is as though we are having a private, familiar and friendly conversation.  His distinctive voice is apparent on every page.  It warms my heart as I sit down for a visit with my good old friend.

A couple of quotations are in order and speak of the clarity of Koontz's thought and the depth of his wisdom:

"So putting ourselves through the what-if wringer until we're all wrung out--well, that's just a hellacious waste of time and energy."

"The world needed a little Evil, so Good had something to compare itself to, but you couldn't let it think it had the right-of-way on the road and an invitation to dinner."

This was one of those books you can't put down, but dread it's coming to an end.  Sigh.

There are five books in the series; all first printed in paperback.  Don't let that throw you.  These are some of Koontz's best work.  You don't have to have read Shelley's Frankenstein first, but it helps.

I love how Koontz shows evil for what it is and clearly demonstrates why evil is always bound to fail.  Of course he shows good accurately as well and contrasts the two with brilliance, truth, clarity, humor and certainty.

As for characters?  This series has some of my all time favorites, like Jocko the tumor.  Jocko is one of the most endearing monsters in all of literature.  Each character has purpose in the theme of Koontz's books and as they develop and grow in integrity, or evil, we learn so much about ourselves.

Five Stars

Barking Dogs

30 years ago I bought a house in a quiet neighborhood in town. One neighbor had a house dog, a poodle, which she kept indoors. Another had a dog that upended my trash can every time we tossed bones from KFC. Eventually, I took the chicken bones directly over to him. That solved the problem.


Now-a-days my neighborhood has filled up with dogs. Most of them are pathetic creatures locked or chained in backyards. Fed and watered and neglected. These bark night and day and since we've begun spending our time in the backyard, we are forced to endure a continuous cacophony of woofs, barks, howls, yelps, wines, and whimpers. One pathetic creature is an absolute drama queen moaning, groaning, whining even crying for attention.


One neighbor has two kids and a dog. Neither the parents, nor the kids, have any meaningful association with this dog. The kids have to play in the front yard because the dog poop covers the backyard and wafts unpleasantly around the neighborhood. That and because the kids don't want to be pestered by the love starved mutt. I cannot for the life of me, come up with a notion as to what motivates people to own a dog they want nothing to do with. Dog food is not cheap.


At this very moment I can hear not less than eight different dogs barking around the hood. My understanding is that the city has an ordinance allowing for fines to folks whose dogs bark between the hours of 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM. It doesn't seem to be helping much. When I am awakened by a dog I have tried to avoid troubling the owners as I'd like to be considered a good neighbor.


It became so problematic night before last that I called Central Dispatch who sent an officer around to the primary culprit's home and thankfully, the problem was resolved. I settled down after a couple of hours and got back to sleep.


I hate to characterize my neighbors, but considering that my neighbors have ears much like mine, I can't help but wonder what is going on in their heads. Is this commotion somehow music to their ears? Has our inner city been infiltrated by Red Necks? If I confront them about their inconsiderate intrusion into my quiet life, will I be challenged with fists or a shot gun?


I'd call for them to consider their rude, thoughtless intrusion into the lives of those around them, but I suspect they don't read the paper, as I can't imagine that thinking, informed citizens would be so obnoxious.


I think the police will help me manage the night-time problem; but what can I do about the more problematic day-time annoyance?


In the day-time hours people are typically gone and make no attempt to silence their noisy critters.


As a child I was taught in civics that one person's right to swing his fist ends shy of the other person's nose. Does this not apply to noise, stench and allowing their dog to trot over to crap on my lawn instead of their own?


I suggest that dealing with this problem would be in the Vernal City's best interest. Charging fines for day-time, as well as night-time barking, could help pay for the palace they've built for themselves when most of us can ill afford to pay for it. Additionally, how about a sin tax on dog food. Children are starving in this country in the millions while dog food is a billion dollar industry. Since the city lives on sales tax a special tax on dog food might cause people to consider the value of feeding a mutt they make no good use of. There could be exemptions for service dogs, and dogs actually used for companionship instead of background noise, fertilizer and aroma therapy.


Quite often I find people yelling at their dogs. Rarely, do I find a dog that listens. Usually, it appears the dog thinks the yelling means he is not barking loud enough. I don't think a dog is fairly treated if he becomes the scapegoat for all of his owner's pent up emotions. Though, I'd rather the dog "get it" than the kids. Of course those who yell at their dogs yell at their kids too, who don't listen either.


I have a friend who is currently in trouble for taking noisy dog matters into his own hands. I think I'll not be doing that. But Central Dispatch is going to know me by name before the next few weeks are over.

Now Let Us Rejoice!

I was a bit amused while sitting in Sacrament Meeting yesterday.  We were singing the opening hymn.  It was Now Let Us Rejoice!  The chorister had a pleasant, happy smile, but the Bishopric and a member of the Stake Presidency each had a somber, resolute, and heavy browed expression on his face as we sang those thrilling words.  They did not appear to be rejoicing.  They looked as if the weight of the world lay upon their shoulders.

Several weeks ago we were singing There Is Sunshine In My Soul Today when I noticed the same phenomena and a Counselor in the Bishopric happened to notice my amused smile.  He misinterpreted it to mean that I had sunshine in my soul.  Actually, I was just tickled at the huge contrast between their expressions and the words we were singing.  When he stood to conduct the meeting he drew attention my countenance as it related to the bright and cheerful song and I was a bit embarrassed that I had been smiling for the wrong reason.

Since that day, I have tried to be in the moment as we sing the hymns and to think more directly about what we are singing.  Often the songs we sing in our worship services are positive, bright, happy, rejoicing songs.  They should be sung in a positive, bright, happy, rejoicing sort of way.  They are much more fun to sing in that manner.  The key, I suspect, lies in being in the moment.  Who knows where the thoughts of these fine brethren were as that song was being sung.  Perhaps the Bishop was concerned about someone he saw, or didn't see, in the congregation.  Perhaps the First Counselor was concerned about getting the tithing counted quickly so he could get home to spend time with his visiting relatives.  Clearly, they were bearing burdens that weighed heavily upon them.  Or at least they were so accustomed to doing so, that such expressions had cast, that most common countenance, as the default expression on their faces.  Happiness, rejoicing can only be experienced in the present.  It is likely that while their mouths were singing the words, their minds were far away, actually carrying the burdens of their callings and concerns.  My heart goes out to them.

After yesterday's meeting I spoke with another fellow and commented on the dark circles under his eyes.  "I haven't been sleeping lately," was his reply.  When I asked if he wasn't feeling well he answered, "Dealing with a lot of stress lately."  He too appears to be carrying the weight of the world.

In John 16:33 Jesus said:

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have  overcome the world.

Here in this verse the Savior gives us a commandment we seem reluctant to obey, "Be of good cheer."  Jesus carried the weight of the world so we don't have to.  That is why there is sunshine in my soul today.

I don't wish to pick on the leaders in my Ward.  They are wonderful people.  There is no question about their sincerity, integrity, courage or faith.  I just think they are taking a bit too much upon themselves in their earnest desire to serve the Lord by serving us.  It is time to be of good cheer!   Come on Latter-day Saints, now let us rejoice!  When Jesus shows His smiling face there is sunshine in my soul.  How about yours?

My Father's 89th Birthday

My father wasn't perfect, but he was ideal.  Ideal for me that is.  For a long time I didn't understand this truth.  Certainly, he could have handled things better; but there is not a father in the world, including myself, who hasn't made myriad mistakes raising his children.

I have judged him pretty harshly over the years, holding him to a pretty tough standard.  Doing so has only hurt me.

There was no owners manual that came with my model.  He had no specific reference he could look up when I ran sluggishly, broke down, had sticky brakes, or a stuck accelerator.  Neither was there a warranty on my failed paint job.  Further, he only knew how to parent from his own, limited, experience.  That method seemed to work very well when raising him; so it must work similarly with his kids.  So he used horse and buggy experience for tuning up a '56 Chev, so to speak.  In truth, each generation's experience is out of date.  Which, I believe is how God intended things to be.

Ether 12:27 explains that God gives men weakness.  I believe His number one conduit for delivering that great gift to His children is through their mortal parents.  Weakness is vital to the Plan of Happiness.  Against what will we become strong?  Against our weakness.  Today, I feel a special debt of gratitude to my imperfect father, who endowed me with weakness of my own.  And to my kind wise Heavenly Father for turning many of those weaknesses of character and prowess into vital, blessed strengths.  For me, it is not so much that I am pleased with the strengths I've been given as consequence of God's goodness, rather, I joy in the process of growth and discovery.  Central to that process has been the discovery of my utter and complete need for a Savior.  My father, in his own weakness, gave me the best possible chance to discover my need for God's Grace in my life.  Thank you Dad.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It's Raining

While we hear and discuss a lot about the weather and, while there is cause for concern as the mountains are loaded with snow and the threat of flooding increases with the rain and delayed warm-up and, while rain dampens various plans and cancels baseball games and picnics and, while there is something to be said for sunny days; I live in the desert and I love the rain.

I'll gladly take it when I can get it.

Last night I went for a walk in it.  I like that thought.  I am not in the rain drops, or the clouds.  The rain is not just the rain drops or the clouds.  The rain is everything including the rain drops and clouds.  It is the wet pavement, the drowning worms, the smell of ozone, the smell of mud.  It is expanding rings it makes in puddles and the thankful croaking of frogs.  It is the burbling brook.  It is the overflowing river.  It is the green grass and the blossoming trees, and their perfume.  It is free and is a gift and always comes from above.  It is fresh and clean and cleansing.  It is life and renewal and full of hope and promise.... And I...I am IN IT!

I will not refuse it on the wettest days nor demand it on the driest.  As I said I live in the desert and those dry days, make these wet ones all the more precious.  The Navajo say that THIS is good weather and right they are!  Sunshine is also a gift from God, and I love it.  But this, more rare gift, is more priceless to me because it is rare.

God is in the gift and right now, I'm headed back out so I can be in it too!

Thank God for sending rain and for making me waterproof!

Sucking Hind Teat

The process of recovery from addiction and other weakness was once described to me as "peeling off  the layers of an onion."  As soon as I get some semblance of recovery from one character weakness and peel it away, I become exposed to another.  The deeper I go the more fundamental the problem.  As in onions this process usually brings a few tears.

I am grateful for this awareness, because I'm finally learning what to do as the next layer of weakness gets exposed.  I am finally able to believe that even this new problem is surmountable.

Ether 12:27 states:   

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.

Thank Heaven I can discover my weakness one layer at a time!  The current layer is overwhelming enough by it's self.  I'd hate to have to deal with it and all the others at the same time.

The current layer seems pretty complex and very deeply rooted in my personality and nature.  I'm just beginning to discover what it is.  I discovered it last week when, while speaking in Sacrament Meeting on the Atonement, I felt my message was being rejected by the audience.  Perhaps not all of them, but a large number.  When I speak in Church I always prepare my remarks so I can look into the eyes of the congregation rather than at a paper lying upon the pulpit.  It enables me to interact with the audience and to gage their reception of my message.  Normally, I get good interaction from a goodly number of attentive participants.  This time was different.  Few would make eye contact with me.  Those who did, seemed wearied by my words.  I came away feeling rejected and dejected.  I had been pleased with my message and with the preparation I had done.  I had gone into the meeting with the confidence of having received the assurance of the Spirit that my message had the approbation of the Lord.  So I was very troubled by the reception the message received.  Though I felt my message was correct and approved of the Lord, I felt an overwhelming urge to apologize for it.

Later in the week, I attended my Grandson's Pinewood Derby contest at Cub Scout Pack Meeting.  He lost and was miserable.  I was miserable too.  It was my first Pinewood Derby since my own Cub Scout days.  Back then, my Dad, being a traveling salesman, was unable to help me with my car.  I lost and added another failure to what was already becoming a long list of failures.  I could see the same dejection through my grandson's tears.  I stood there feeling helpless and wondered if it was just our family's lot to (please pardon the expression) suck hind teat.  I was already certain that it was my lot and I grieved that yet another generation might be relegated to the same status.

For you who didn't grow up on a farm, may I explain the expression.  Hogs have large liters of pigs.  Each sow has two long rows of teats from which the piglets suckle.  The the fore teats are larger, easier to use and yield more volume and nutrition.  The piglets vie for the best positions and the weaker are pushed and driven to settle for what they can get at the hind teat.

That seemed to always be where I found myself in life's pecking order.  I was chosen last for the ball games we played and never seemed to be victorious or fully successful at anything.  I may have mentioned this before.  In fact I thought I had dealt with this before.  There is however an aspect that never occurred to me until this week.

My father had an older brother who went off to California and became a millionaire.  His younger brother did much the same.  Those two families seemed to have everything we did not.  We did without, while they enjoyed a great abundance.  Dad never dissed on the younger brother for reasons I can only guess.  Quite often though, he would point out that the the older brother had lots of family problems that ended in divorce from his wife and estrangement from his children.  Dad would always say, referring to his present and embraced family, "I am far richer than Gerry will ever be."  I believed him then, and I believe him now.

Trouble is, I began to see settling for less of what the world has to offer as being more righteous.  I didn't envy those who had more abundance and success than I; rather, I felt sorry for them.  Further, every time I approached my own success, I subconsciously sabotaged it.  None, of this was ever consciously analysed, or deliberately accomplished, but subconsciously I have persuaded myself that I must not succeed.  The apparent consequence in my life is that I seldom finish anything.  I dropped out of college after three and a half years.  I quit job after job just as I was making head way.  My one attempt at business failed miserably.  I have written several books to near completion.  But I have never finished a single one.  I even quit trying on the last one feeling myself to be unworthy if I did.

I was now just consoling myself by saying, "You finished Sweetie's sewing room."  But I didn't.  It still needs paint on the door and a door knob.  "Okay, but you finished her study."  Nope there's a cupboard that needs paint on the frame and a door.  "How about your study?"  No again.  There's one whole shelf that is left undone.  I think I would feel guilty if I finished it, or the greater project that is the rest of our unfinished house.  After all success is wickedness and failure is righteousness, or as Katie just put it, "Being a Weirdo, is good."

Over all these years as I processed sucking on the hind teat; I first concluded that I was getting by just fine on the hind teat of life. Additionally, I promised I would never be the ignorant pig who would shove someone weaker than myself to the back of the line.  Pretty soon, that led to voluntarily giving up my place in line to someone weaker in addition to the "pathetic" strong ones.  That led to a sense of self-righteousness; which made me feel good about my lot in life.  I was proud to be sucking the hind teat!  I not only pitied those who got more, I rejected more when it was offered to me.  I still do.

Now, while I have a long way to go in overcoming this nature, this weakness; I thank God that I am mature and experienced enough to understand a few things.  First, life is not a competition!  There is abundance in the world even now.  My success doesn't have to preclude someone else's.  Second, not everyone who has succeeded in life has done it by shoving me or anyone else down to a lower station.  Third, Lehi promised that keeping the commandments would lead to prosperity.  There is no sin in success and....there is no righteousness in settling for less than the abundant prosperity the Lord has offered to those who love Him; be that success physical or spiritual.

Understanding this and being aware of the false beliefs that have informed my life is a great first step.  Awareness is a big key to making changes.  Still, I am certain that I am going to need the Lord's help.  Steps six and seven of the 12 Steps as listed in the LDS Addiction Recovery Manual are as follows:

Step 6 - Become entirely ready to have the Lord remove all your character weaknesses.
Step 7 - Humbly ask Heavenly Father to remove your shortcomings.

I believe in these principles.  As Moroni explained in Ether 12:27, God has shown me some more of my character weaknesses.  I am becoming willing and ready to have them removed.  It is God who removes them.  It is remarkable to me that the word here is shortcomings.  I have come up short all of my life and not known that it has been a result of my own erroneous belief systems.  This kind of thinking is certainly a shortcoming and coming short is the result.

So, Osama Bin Laden is Dead

Ten years, thousands of lives, billions of dollars later, was it worth it?  Have we really accomplished anything?  Is the world a better place than it would have been had we left the vengeance to the Lord (to whom it belongs, by the way)?  Does any one think Osama's demise leaves an unfilled vacuum?  How many additional enemies have we made?  How many more kids go to bed at night mourning the loss of a father?  Did defending ourselves from terrorists require all this?  Does anyone feel safer?  Satisfied?  In what way is YOUR life better because Osama Bin Laden is dead?

Book Review - A Cold Train Coming by Larry Barkdull

I have often read and enjoyed Larry Barkdull's articles in Meridian Magazine.  His thoughts on rescuing wayward children seem correct and are very inspirational.

Because of my interest in his articles, I was tickled to discover a book he wrote had somehow made it's way on to our book shelf.  (Booklogged obtains books from everywhere.  No telling where this one came from).

I finished it today, while waiting for drywall mud to dry.  It was wet and stormy outside and cozying up with a good book seemed just the ticket.

It is Fall in Ft. Benton, Montana, 1942.  The war is raging and 14 year old Ben Colby is in love.  He is also in turmoil.  His father has depression.  His mother is overwhelmed.  His brother is ill.  Money is tight.  Tensions are high.  And a cold train is approaching through mounds of isolating snow.  Trying to make sense of it all, Ben writes letters to God.  He gets no answers...Or does he?  That pretty much encapsulates the story, but really, the story is about a dog named Shep...Or is it?

I enjoyed this novel very much.

Four Stars  ****

I Have an Ancestor Who Came Over on the Mayflower

This evening, Sweetie and I were watching Who Do You Think You Are.  In this episode Ashley Judd is researching her ancestors.  She follows her family into New England and eventually traces them to the Plymouth Colony and to one William Brewster who came over on the Mayflower.  It was pretty exciting because she learned a lot about William's story, the religious persecution he suffered and his imprisonment in England before being able to leave for America.

I began to wonder if any of my fairly recently discovered New England lines might trace back to the same voyage.  Statistically it is not that much of stretch to be among the descendants of those few.  Each generation is currently adding thousands to their descendants.  I remember taking a genealogy class at BYU where the professor explained that it is a statistical impossibility, for example, that anyone out of Europe was not a descendant of Charlemagne.  Each generation results in myriad more families marrying into his lines.  With that notion in mind, I suspected that such might also be the case with the Plymouth Colony.

I went to http://new.familysearch.org and clicked on my own family tree.  Knowing which lines go into New England I began to examine each seeking those that lead, first, into Massachusetts.  In moments I found some and not only did a line lead back to the Plymouth Colony but actually lead to the very same William Brewster!
What a thrill to be sitting here watching my very distant cousin Ashley Judd walk into the very jail cell in which Brewster and William Bradford had been incarcerated.

It is one thing to know their names, but to see their places and hear their stories, is my favorite part of Family History.

For those of you who are related to me, here's how it goes:

      William Brewster came to Plymouth, Massachusetts on the Mayflower in 1620.  His son
      Jonathan Brewster, 1593-1659, presumably came with him.  He is buried in New London, CT (that's
                                                        info for you Steve).  His daughter
      Mary Brewster, 1627-1645, died in Plymouth, MA.  Her son
      Ezekiel Turner, 1650-1703, died in New London, CT.  His daughter
      Lucretia Turner, 1698-1756, also died in New London , CT.  Her son
      William Calkins, 1724-1762, died in New London, CT.  His daughter
      Temperence Calkins, 1758-1785, died in Brome, Quebec (I think).  her son
      Stephen Scoville, 1783-1869, died in Scugog, Ontario.  His son
      Oliver T. H. Scoville, 1824-1894, is buried in Unionville, MI.  He was a Civil War Vet.  His daughter
      Amaressa Scoville, 1844-1872, she is buried next to her parents in Unionville, MI.  Her daughter
      Mary Elizabeth Beattie, 1875-1904, she is buried in Afton, WY.  Her daughter
      Hazel Beattie Brown Dabel, 1897-1968, she is buried in Freedom, WY.  Her son
      Winslow B. Weber, 1922-1999 is also buried in Freedom, WY.  His son is
      ME!

Now, as I traced this back to me I found a few date mistakes and find myself a bit skeptical the Ezekiel Scoville, husband of Temperence Calkins is actually Stephen Scoville's father.  I've been trying to decide a family to work on for the Family History Class I'm currently taking and think I now have my answer.  I need to be sure of the parentage of Stephen Scoville.  Pretty fun project.  I've been to Stephen's grave on Scugog Island in Ontario and am very anxious to confirm that the pedigree in Family Search is correct.

I don't mean to single out this particular ancestor.  I'm sure William Brewster is someone to be pleased to have in my family tree.  But there are thousands, some famous, most not, who mean just as much to me.  I love them and love discovering their stories, leaning of their courage, faith, faults and trials.  It's such a wonderful time to be alive.  A time when I can sit in front of the TV and watch such inspiring stories come alive, while holding my computer on my lap and searching records from the past, right here in the comfort of my own home.  Contrasting that with my stroll down the street in the recreated Plymouth Colony, and my visit aboard the tiny ship that carried my ancestors across a raging sea, I count myself truly blessed that they sacrificed so much so I could enjoy this - in complete freedom!
    

That's Gross!

The toilet tank began leaking the other day.  It appeared to be coming from where the water supply attached to the tank valve.  I tried tightening it and only made it worse.

Seven year old Megan was over and I asked if she'd like to join me on a trip to Lowe's for some toilet guts.  "Gross!  Papa, that's gross!  Still, she accepted the offer and off the store we went.  We sang along with our co-favorite song from Great Big Sea, called Here's to Charlie Horse, a song about rallying together and solving problems and other things that matter like that.  It's a zippy, rousing tune and we belted it out at the top of our lungs.  Newfoundland music always elevates my mood.  I wanted to link arms and do the grapevine across the parking lot, but already Megs is starting show some prudent inhibition.

We headed for the plumbing department and were accosted by a helpful associate who asked what we were looking for.  "Toilet guts," Megan volunteered with a clear hint of disgust in her tone.  Amused, our guide ushered us right to the spot.  They don't make toilet guts like the used to - thank goodness.  We got out of the store without too much damage, though I did find a new color for our African Violet collection.  Cheap too.  I've been thinking about propagating some of Betty's but that takes nine months from leaf to blossom.  Holding out my hands palms up I weighed nine months against $2.00 and succumbed.  But I digress...

Back at home we tore the tank off the toilet and began disassembling the old guts.  Megan noticed quite a collection of silt in the bottom of the tank.  "Gross Papa!  Is that poop?"

"No this water gets in line before the poop.  The poop all goes down the drain when this water gets dumped into the bowl."

"So what is it then," she asked.  Not convinced.

"It's silt."

"How's it get in there?"

I explained that this is a very old house (by her standards) and that in the old days the spring runoff caused the tap water to get roiled.

"What's roiled?"  she wanted to know.

"Muddy," I said.

"Gro-oss!  Did you drink it?"

"Of course!  One gets thirsty you know."

"Gross!"

"Anyway the silt or mud would settle out of the water and obviously collected on the bottom of the toilet tank."  I explained.   I thought about cleaning it out, but it hasn't hurt anything so far, and who knows who'll be helping me and what questions will be asked the next time I have to replace the guts.

"Papa?"

"Yes dear?"

"Did everybody drink the muddy water?"

"Yes dear."

"Why didn't you just buy bottled water?"

"Wasn't invented yet."

About this time I gave myself a blood blister when the pliers slipped off a nut.  Megan thought it was a good time to let me be alone.

"Grandma?"

"Yes dear."

Did you drink the muddy water in the spring time too?"

"Yes dear."

"Gross!"

"Did anything happen?"

"Well, our skin turned brown when we bathed and the cows started giving chocolate milk for a few weeks."

"Gross!"

Allergies

My allergies have been working me over the past couple of days (mostly nights).  They're normally not bad enough to justify the expense of medicine, especially since they allowed it to be sold over the counter so my health insurance won't help pay for it any more.  But this week hasn't been quite normal.

Two nights ago I took some sinus headache medicine and that kept me awake most of the night, then last night, thinking I'd better not do that again, I cleaned my head out with a rinse with the Neti Pot which lasted long enough to get to sleep but not for long enough to get me through the night.  I was up at 3:00 and didn't get back to sleep until six.  I managed to sleep until the phone rang at eleven and have been lying around nursing a headache ever since.

I really don't know what I'm allergic to.  It usually begins around the end of February so it is probably the elms which begin to bloom so early.  Then it is usually done by the time the Purple Mustard (Chorispora Tinella) quits covering the desert meadows with their Eastery carpet.  In about another week I'm going to have to head South and East, maybe out on the Old Bonanza Highway so I can enjoy that pastel delight.  Acres and acres will be blanketed with mustard.  It stinks, but I think it's one of the prettiest Springtime delights.  I'll suffer for it.  But most nice things come at a price.  Purple mustard has a tiny little flower.

And would hardly be noticed if there weren't billions of them.  I love that notion - strength in numbers.  I guess the same is true of pollen.  Cough, cough.

 I get another little allergy spell in the Fall and that's about it.

As allergies go.  Mine aren't so bad.  I have acquaintance who suffers horribly for months and months.  Another friend claims to be allergic to alcohol.  "Every time I drink, I break out in handcuffs," he complains.  A nephew is allergic to peanuts, dangerously so.  What's a lost night's sleep compared with anaphylactic shock!

So, I'll ache and wheeze a little, enjoy the return of spring and flora and then celebrate the day when my swollen membranes shrink, relax and inhale the breath of life quite freely again.

95 Years and Counting. Or Living a Life that Counts.

I stopped in to see Brother Len in the hospital this morning.  He's in the ICU after having had his gall bladder removed on Monday.  The ICU is mostly a precaution on account of his advanced age.  "That gall bladder served me well for 95 years." he tells me.  "Can't very well complain."

He's not on any pain medication and was sitting up smiling and giving the doctor a hard time for not releasing him to go home.  He's not too happy spending his days in the hospital, something he's had very little experience with in his long life.  He's got everybody laughing and wondering how someone so old can still be so well.

His daughters are here.  His son came over the week end.  No spring chickens themselves.  They are fussing over him and giving me contradictory asides as he explains that he's good as new.  My money is on Len's opinion, not theirs.

I'm sure Len is anxious to get home and back to the Temple.  He rarely misses a day, faithfully serving in the House of Lord day, after week, after month, after year.  He's an institution around here.  He was Principal of the old Naples Elementary before it was torn down in 1966 or so.  Later he moved to Ashley Elementary, where he was Principal during all the years my daughters attended.  He seemed very old back then.  He still claims that Sweetie was the best PTA President they ever had.  He probably says that to all the girls, but the sincerity in his eye tells me he's right.

Like yours and mine, Len's days are numbered and shall not be counted fewer than God intends.  I'm thankful that today, God intends to leave him here a while longer.  I'm also thankful that He let me stick around long enough to enjoy Len's joyful, wise countenance, one more time.  Makes me want to hang in there, like Len.

General Conference, Did I Miss Anything?

I've got to admit that I dozed off a couple of times during Conference.  I'm not proud to admit it.  But it happened.  On Facebook I noticed a number of such confessions.  I appreciate everyone's honesty.  It gave me comfort to know I wasn't the only one.

A few of those comments suggested that they'd have to make up for it by reading those talks they missed when they come out in the Ensign.  That's great.  Sweetie mentioned that I missed a great talk on pain by Elder Richards.  This morning I went to LDS.org and listened to it in its entirety, just as if I hadn't fallen asleep.  What a wonderful blessing!  I think I'm going to listen to a different talk every morning for a while.

We no longer have to wait for the Ensign to come out.  And... if we should have something come up, or perhaps have to work during the regular broadcast, we are free to go online and enjoy Conference any time we wish!  

Two Reasons I Look Forward to Conference

The most obvious reason is that it is such a feast to sit at the feet of the prophets!  Their inspired words always inspire and lift me.  This conference was no exception.  What wonderful guidance we were so freely offered.  I marvel at the humility of these fine servants of the Lord.  Too often we think of them as celebrities who just go around motivating and encouraging us.  We hardly notice that behind the scenes these men and women perform Herculean tasks that involve monumental decisions and tremendous organizational and leadership effort.  There's is not an easy task of comfortable notoriety.  Theirs is a complete, entire and constant commitment of consecration.

That leads me to the other thing I so eagerly anticipate about Conference.  Here in Utah we get to watch documentaries about the Church in between sessions.  Presentations about Temples being built.  Missionary efforts abroad.  Tours of the Tabernacle Choir.  Things like that.  This Conference marked the 75th anniversary of the creation of the Church Welfare Program.  Much of the programing between sessions of Conference focused on that.  What a wonder to behold as Latter-day Saints from all around the world sacrifice time and resources to care for those in need.  Organizationally, that alone, is among the most incredible efforts on the planet today.  Producing, preparing and storing our own commodities, having our own distribution systems in place, responding to immediate needs here and abroad, requires an army of laborers and we seem to never lack for those who will step forward to serve.

Tears rolled down my face as I learned of a Ward, who, on Christmas day went out to a Church vineyard to prune the grapes in preparation for next year's growing season.  They called it a gift for the Christ Child.  Farm workers themselves, having little time off, they chose to serve the Lord on that precious day they were not required to work for their employers.  Legion, were the examples of faithful Saints quietly stepping forward to meet the needs not only of friends and neighbors, but of total strangers a world away.

In my own Ward I marvel at all the hours that are quietly spent serving, loving and watching over one another.  Spread that blessing across the globe, as it surely is in over 28,000 Wards and Branches, and it's power and magnificence is truly magnificent!  What a blessed time to be upon the earth!

Parley P Pratt's Pre-Priesthood Pizza Party

My cousin Steve is LDS Institute Director at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.  Last night the men of the Tute held an activity in conjunction with the Priesthood Session of General Conference.  Because of the time difference the meeting doesn't begin on the east coast until 8:00 PM.  So at 7 Pm they had "7 P's" or "Parley P Pratt's Pre-Priesthood Pizza Party."  What a great idea!  I wanted to do the same here in our Utah Ward, but alas, didn't hear about it until yesterday.

When I got to the Stake Center to enjoy Priesthood Meeting I sat by a good friend of mine who is an Elder's Quorum President.  He was crying.  We were 15 minutes early so we had a good talk.  He'd just been out trying to rally some Quorum members to the meeting.  He had failed.  There he sat all alone, feeling inadequate for the huge responsibility he bore on his sturdy shoulders.  I don't know if there is anything one can say to offer comfort at such a moment.  He wants so badly to bless their lives but too often they refuse his invitations.  I suppose the Master feels the same way.

I suggested we try the 7 P's next fall, which cheered him some.  But then I sat there wondering if I'd feel any better if they came for the pizza instead of the blessings inherent in sitting at the feet of the prophets.  Is there satisfaction in success if they are baited into attendance by their appetites instead of their testimonies?  Do we want them to learn to be good for pizza?  Or good for nothing?

On the other hand we are invited to be fishers of men, perhaps a little bait is in order.

Dr. Hilton Talks About the Effects of Pornography on the Brain

Book Review - Beatrice and Virgil by Yann Martel

I liked The Life of Pi, I really did. I learned a great deal from it.  The last bit was a bit disconcerting, but I liked it, all.

I loved Beatrice and Virgil.  This is perhaps one of the more profound books I've ever read about the...

I'd better not tell you that much.  It would make it much less fun to read, much less poignant at the end.  It is interesting that I have heard or read very little commentary on Beatrice and Virgil, while having heard and read much about the Life of Pi.  To my thinking it should be the other way round.  I can really tell you very little about the former and doubt I will ever forget the latter.

Here's a favorite quote from the book:  "Words are cold muddy toads trying to understand sprites dancing in a field."
Having said that, Martel then proceeds to use those muddy toads to try and understand.  His goal?  To figure out, "How are we going to talk about what happened to us...?"

I think he figured it out quite perfectly....sort of.

My Book is Nearly Done

I've been working on my new book Commend Yourself to God - Commentary on the Nature of Change.  It is nearing completion but needs some editing and feedback.  I am publishing it as it currently exists in the form of a blog, to be found at Commend Yourself to God.  As blogs publish backwards with most recent items posted at the top you can read it chronologically by clicking on the individual chapters under the table of contents listed at the right.  If you would like to copy or print it out in it's proper sequence you can also find it at my site on Google Documents.

The book is about manipulation which I define as: influencing or playing upon others, by devious means, to one's own advantage.  Most of us hate to be manipulated.  Most of us are loathe to admit that we ourselves are manipulators.  I think you'll be surprised how many of us manipulate.  Moreover, I think you'll be shocked at the damage manipulation is causing in our families, and in the church, community and nation.  It is time to make ourselves aware of this primary tool of the evil one and divorce ourselves from it's insidious use.

This book is not written to give victims of manipulation an excuse, nor ammo for retaliation.  It is not written to condemn those who have manipulated us.  It is written to make us aware of its effects in our lives and to teach us how to refrain from letting manipulation destroy us as well as how to discontinue the oppression of others by manipulative means.

I hope you will find it enlightening, occasionally entertaining, motivating and inspirational.  We manipulate because we'd like to see change in ourselves and others.  There is a better way to bring about change which you will discover as you study the examples set forth in this work. As you read you'll learn better what it is to change and how that is appropriately and effectively brought about.  Enjoy!

I Want To Fly!

I awoke this morning exhausted.  My shoulder muscles felt as if I'd been working all night.  This is not rare with me.  It is as though I have been carrying a burden the entire night.  That image caught hold in my mind and I began to discover the problem.  I am clinging to something. Desperately, earnestly hanging on for dear life, to something I cannot bear to part with.

I've just spent a few hours trying to determine what it might be.  What is this burden that I am so unwilling to release, but which is so doggedly wearing me out?  I can't seem to put my finger on it?  I started my journey of recovery with a backpack full of rocks.  I have unloaded most of them.  I say most because there is obviously more  baggage I have not dealt with.  I'm pleased, at this point, to have a starting place.  I helps to have the realization that I still have a burden that I have not dropped at the Savior's feet.  Knowing that, I think I can go on to discover what it is.

During my days I keep busy.  Mostly serving others.  This makes me happy.  I spend my days relaxed and full of meaningful activity.  What is it about the night time that causes this tension to return.  I described it to Darwin the other day like this:  Every morning I awake in the tree tops of fear and anxiety.  My understanding of the gospel, the atonement and my faith in Jesus Christ allow me to talk myself down from those precarious heights.  There on solid ground I am able to spend my days in peace, gratitude and happiness.  Why is it though, that every dawn finds me desperately clinging to a precarious tree top perch?  What is chasing me to the upper most branches?  What do I fear?

It appears that my subconscious is dealing with something my conscious mind is not aware of.  What can that be?  Consciously, I am quite willing to let go of my own will, surrendering it to God.  Much experience has taught me that such action always results in happiness and contentment.  His will for me is always beneficial, joyful, and positive, even when it pushes me regularly out of my comfort zone.  Yet, somehow, during my sleep, I find myself desperately clinging to some inexplicable something that clearly I would be better off letting go.

My dreams don't bear a clue.  In fact when I am most affected by this state, I don't remember having dreams at all.

I don't think it has anything to do with the winds of adversity that are blowing on me at present.  I consider adversity to be like the breeze that enables a kite to fly.  In this metaphor I am the kite.  The string is woven of trust, faith and obedience.  It is God who holds the string.  It is He that uses adversity to enable me to soar to lofty heights.  Were the string to be severed I would be blown by the wind, out of control, to eventually fall from the sky.  Attached to God by the string He can take me where we wishes.  Unlike mortal flyers of kites, God controls the wind as well.  He ensures that the velocity, turbulence and buffeting of adversity is not more than I can bear.  All of these factors I am experienced with, even comfortable with.  There is another factor however, weight.

I think too often we equate the burdens we carry with the adversity we experience.  They are quite different.  Adversity enables me to soar.  Baggage prevents me from doing so.  If I am a kite and something is holding me down, despite a strong string, expert kite flyer, good sails and energetic opposition, there will be no lively adventures across the sky.  What is the baggage I am so afraid to abandon?

So, this is where I find myself today.  Held down my some weighty burden that makes me and all other aspects of the grand design quite cumbersome.

There are enormous kites out there.   Sails and spars and cables and reels and machinery capable of lifting heavy burdens into the sky on the power of the wind.  I think, inadvertently, I am spending too much time trying to beef up my system so I can lift my burdens, rather than simply, quietly, elegantly releasing them.  What is so precious to me that I'd rather lumber low, straining against a heavy wind.  Wouldn't I rather dance across the sky on a merry breeze?  Don't you suppose that the velocity of our adversity might be commensurate with the volume of weight we are hoping to lift?

I love the scriptural language related to the disposal of burdens.  Words like yield, submit, drop, give, surrender, and release come to mind.  It is interesting that such things require no more effort than simple willingness.  In fact the truth is that burdens only require effort when we are hanging on to them, not when we are giving them up.  So, why would we choose to cling so desperately to our burdens?  What is it we are so afraid might happen if we don't have our precious baggage?

So, looking back over all this, my aches and exhaustion are beginning to make sense.  Now it's just a matter of exploring on paper what it might be that is still burdening me.  For me, the process of written examination results in revelation.  God knows what I've tied to the tail of my kite that keeps me straining to get aloft.  Once He's revealed that to me, He will help me let it go, so I can fly.

The Red Flag of Discontent

Lately, I've spent a lot of time praying, imagining, hoping, seeking and anticipating a special blessing from God.  I won't bother you with the details.  I believe that He has promised the blessing.  I am striving to do my part in seeing it come to pass.  I believe that it will come according to His will and good pleasure.  I have even been patient with the process, knowing that He knows best when it comes to the how, where, what and when of it all.

I have failed in one regard however; and yesterday taught me that it was a pretty major goof.  I have focused so intently on the blessing I seek that I have grossly overlooked the blessings I am presently receiving.  I have not defined that distant blessing in any detail.  I am wise enough to leave the details to God, who is far wiser than I.  Because I have not defined means, nor outcomes; I guess I allowed my imagination to wonder as to how it might come to pass.  In doing so, I allowed my heart to wander away from the present moment.  If you've followed this blog for any length of time you'll know that I am a strong advocate of living in the present.  Yet again, I find myself to have been coaxed away from the here and now and consequently from happiness.

I believe that one of Satan's greatest tools is distraction.  He is subtle and devious in his effort to make us miserable.  The interesting thing is that the level of happiness we currently enjoy is the best indicator - barometer, if you will, as to how much success he is having.  In my current case he has taken my quest for a particular blessing and corrupted it into a means to bring about discontent and misery.  There is nothing wrong with the blessing I seek.  As I said, I fully expect the Lord will one day grant it to me.  In the mean time, Satan has taken my desire, corrupted it and used it against me.

Being so intent and focused on this future gift, the devil has helped me overlook the blessings I am currently receiving, in abundance.  Not noticing gifts from God is the most ungrateful and heinous crime I can imagine.  Not only does it offend God; it fosters our own unhappiness.  In the moment that I receive the great gift I seek, I will most assuredly be happy.  But I can be equally happy today if I will just stay here, mentally and emotionally, and enjoy the gifts I am given in the here and now.  I have long contended that the key to happiness is to keep your heart, your head and your butt in the same place at the same time.  It embarrasses me that I must keep reminding myself of this simple truth.

I am so thankful for the red flags that pop up to warn me of the dangerous, treacherous territory I am approaching.  Red flags of self pity, frustration and discontent warn me that I have left the path of happiness.  They alert me to the fact that my heart, and/or my head, are not in the same moment as my body.

Dixon often reminds that, "the past is history, and the future is a mystery, right now is a gift, that's why the call it the present."  He reminded me again last night.  Thank you my friend to helping me refocus on the only place where joy resides.

I trust God.  I really do.  Years of experience have taught me that He is faithful, wise and able.  He knows the future and that must be good enough for me.  He knows how to prepare me for it and it for me.  I must be content with what He gives me today.  It is the only way I can be - content.

Wherever He Leads

Last night Arthur was eliminated from the Biggest Loser.  In the process he made a statement that really moved me.  I'll have to paraphrase because I can't find a direct quote.  In essence he said:  I asked God to show me the path and He did.  I will go wherever that path leads.  If it leads me home that's fine with me.

Jillian had a fit with that.  She interpreted it as weakness and capitulation on Arthur's part.  I saw it as surrender to the will of God.  I'm not condemning Jillian.  If you don't believe in God, how can you imagine that submission to Him is anything but weakness.  Too many who do believe in God have a hard time giving up control and trusting that He and His power will lead us to happiness faster and more effectively than taking it will.  Has Arthur given up his freedom?  Of course not.  What he has given up is his pride.  He is basically saying my way doesn't work, I am willing to try it Thy way.

Part of that trust and willingness comes with having the faith that God has our personal best interest in mind and that He is not in the business of removing our obstacles but rather in helping us overcome them.  We are sent here to grow; and resistance, both spiritual, emotional and physical resistance is required to make that happen.  Does Arthur get any credit?  Of course he does.  It is he who is willing to go wherever the path leads.  He can give up and take another path at any time.  Instead he has chosen to take the path God presents, adversity and all and the results are more than apparent.  He's lost an enormous amount of weight and gained so much of confidence and happiness.

In this case surrender simply means:  I give up; my way hasn't worked, I'll try it your way for a change.  Arthur has not said that only to God, but to his trainers.  Even mortals can be our higher power and Bob and Jillian and the others are very adept at being that.  Since they cannot keep Bob and Jillian forever, what a blessing it is that they can keep God...if they are willing.

Letting God Decide How to Answer My Prayers

I've been thinking a lot lately about answered prayers.  Sometimes I lose track of how that works.  I get on my knees and tell God what I would like and sometimes get pretty specific as to how and what He should grant me. Like I have even the slightest idea what is best for me.

If I boil my prayers down to the lowest common denominator, they all center on the acquisition of happiness.  Too often though, I have a preconceived notion as to what it is that will bring happiness about.  This past year has taught me that my preconceived notions are mostly ill conceived notions and that while the answers I got were not the ones I wanted, they most certainly were the ones that would produce the most happiness.  What God sees as fit for me and my happiness are seldom the same things I have envisioned.

Reading through my journal from early last Summer I encountered an entry in which I mentioned having prayed earnestly for the opportunity to be of service to the Lord.  Shortly thereafter, I lost my job.  I didn't see the connection then, but looking back I see that my prayer was answered and I was afforded abundant time with which to render the service I sought to offer.  I have relished that time and the resulting opportunities to express my gratitude in the care and (hopefully) blessing of others.  Later, when I wasn't even looking, God provided a way for me to supplement my income such that we have since had sufficient for our needs.  This blessed means was also an opportunity to render service and was on which left my opportunities to serve enhanced, rather than hindered.

Would I like to be more financially free?  Of course.  Would that make me happier than the blessings I did get?  I doubt it.

We talked of service in our Priesthood Quorum on Sunday.  It was such a blessing to rub shoulders with such wonderful servants of the Lord.  Each has found joy in serving those around them and by extension in serving God.  I led the discussion but their testimonies and examples made the lesson.  At the end I felt to bear my testimony.  I told them that I wasn't too sure I was all that good a servant or that I really knew all that much about service.  The one thing I could tell them that I was certain of is this:  When I am on the Lord's errand, I know, without doubt, that I will be given the resources necessary to accomplish the task.  Be those resources spiritual or physical, they will be given abundantly as necessary.  It was then that I realized that I have no such confidence when I comes to the pursuit of my own agenda.

Doesn't it follow then, that if I am constantly about the Lord's business instead of my own, I will always have sufficient for my needs?  Of course it does.  That settled it for me.  From now on I'm going to quit worrying about my own needs and focus on serving the Lord with full purpose of heart.  I have every confidence that if I am doing so, I will be given all that I require to sustain me in that effort.

What a relief!

Touched by the Finger of the Lord

I have long felt the need to have the Lord put forth His finger and touch my efforts that they might shine.  Even my very best my efforts, when left to themselves, are as inert as were the stones the Brother of Jared brought before the Lord seeking to have them give light in their vessels. Clearly, those stones did not shine until they were touched by the Lord.  I have not altered that notion. I and all I do are completely useless without the attending power and grace of God.

Yesterday, as I was on an errand for the Lord, I said a prayer to that effect.  "Would Thou, on account of my weakness before Thee, please put forth Thy finger and give power to my work that it might be satisfactory to Thy purposes?"  The Spirit whispered an interesting response.  "I already have.  I have given you the Priesthood, which is my power.  Exercise it righteously and you have all the power you need."

I will continue to pray for the grace and influence of God in all I do; but with the realization that such a prayer is an acknowledgement of my need for such grace, accompanied by the assurance that, if I am serving worthily, my plea has already been abundantly granted.

Movie Review - Babe

I get a fair amount of gas about this, but I still don't hesitate to say that this, yes this little movie, is my most favorite of all time.  There are lots of reasons:

• It's message is profound
• It's cinematography is superb
• It's story is delightful
• It's characters are wonderful and yes, believable
• It inspires and uplifts me every single time I watch it.
• It is rated G for all audiences
• This little movie is simply transcendent!

There aren't many films that I would bother watching a second time.  Most movies out there are hard to justify watching once, but this one I have eagerly viewed over and over.  I just enjoyed it again this morning.  And, I came away more inspired by it than ever.  

There is a loftiness, simplicity, courage and humility in this story's ideals that speaks volumes to me.  Most of us never face heroic Everest-like conquests.  Ours are more of a more ordinary, unseen nature.  Ours are more like those of farmer Hoggett, masterfully played by James Cromwell.  Or like those of Babe, the pig, himself.  We all have conflicts like Rex, the dog, and fears and prejudices like Ma the Sheep.  How good it would be if we were courageous, honest nurturers of others like that sweet,  unassuming dog, Fly.  Some of us wish to be what we are not like Ferdinand the Duck and confuse that with being congruent with our potential and value like Babe who, while breaking the mold, was indeed true to himself.  Oh, that more of us were like Farmer Hoggett and would follow our hearts and trust our instincts.

Babe's triumph is cheered by friend and foe because he has brought them all along with him.  His triumph becomes our triumph and liberates us from fear, doubt, skepticism and the pigeon holes life likes to file us in.  Babe prevailed, not because he became a sheep dog, but rather, because he didn't.

Babe became a shepherd and inspired even the sheepherders to do the same.  He did it with love, respect, civility and politeness.  This, in a world that seems to have rejected each of those most priceless principles.  In today's environment, the occasional dose of Babe brings me back to my center and those precious things that matter most to me.

Babe. 

Bravo!

Five Stars!

Motivating Home Teachers

This morning Simple Truths emailed out a little video.  It is called You Can't Send a Duck to Eagle School.  There is some good information in it, but not so much for Elders Quorum Presidents or High Priests Group Leaders.  The premise of the video is that if it is your organization's mission is to climb trees; you want to hire squirrels, not draft horses.  I suppose that is true if you can personally select your work force.  In a High Priests Group or and Elders Quorum we don't have the option of hand picking our members.

The challenges we face in accomplishing Quorum duties such as Home Teaching lie in how we see our mission.  If we are too focused on certain outcomes we will most likely continue in the mediocre status quo.  If, however, we take a different view of our calling we will thank the Lord for not only the squirrels and draft horses, but also the ducks, eagles, skunks and poodles.

For the moment, and for the sake of this discussion; let's forget about numbers for a while.  With that objective removed, what are we hoping to accomplish in our Quorums?  I can think of a few things.  I suppose you'll probably add to the list as well as you seek the Lord to guide your stewardship.

First, we are called to strengthen our brethren. When the Savior gave that admonition to Peter, (see Luke 22:32), I think He also had us in mind.  Our assignment is to strengthen our brethren, not change them.  We are not called to turn draft horses into squirrels or vice versa.  Each Quorum member has unique gifts to bring to the whole, which will be best used if we do not try to get him to "fit the mold."  The first order of business, I believe is not to get our Home Teaching done but to strengthen our brethren.  If we are to rely upon them to bring again Zion we must prepare them for that responsibility.  One of the key responsibilities of a Quorum Leader is to prayerfully consider the resources he has and match them with the needs that arise.  Try not to favor the draft horses over the squirrels.  Each has a unique and beneficial role he can play.

Second, I believe we can change the focus of the stewardship interviews we hold with those in our charge.  If we remove numbers again, we will see that the focus of that interview ought to be one of what I as a leader can do to assist him in his calling.  Meet with the brethren one on one.  Begin with a prayer.  Ask the Home Teacher to offer that prayer.  As he prays you can begin to take his spiritual temperature and discern what he needs in order to become a greater servant of the Lord.  If you don't get such revelation, then ask the brother himself, "What can I do to assist you in your service?"  Or, "Are there obstacles to the accomplishment of your duty that I can help you surmount?"  Or, (if he's just not going) "What is it that makes you resist the fulfillment of your assignment?"  I guarantee you will discover things you had not known and things you can do to help him overcome even the scariest problems.  Remember the focus needs to be on preparing and strengthening the Home Teacher.  If he is not prepared, he is not going to adequately watch over the families he is assigned.

Third, please don't micro manage your Home Teachers.  Please.  Begin by giving them the latitude they need to teach by the Spirit.  If we insist on drawing a detailed picture of what good Home Teaching looks like and refuse to let our Home Teachers color outside the lines I guarantee our Home Teaching will be less effective than it can be.  If, for example, you have a Home Teacher to travels on business frequently and the only way he can visit his families is on Skype then by all means encourage him to do it.  His family needs the time he is at home and what fun it might be to be Home Taught over the internet with Hong Kong in the back ground.

Fourth, we seldom see our Home Teaching and other Quorum assignments as team projects.  A little correlation and communication could go a long way toward making that happen.  If we were to take a moment in Quorum meetings to coordinate and deal with pressing problems we could cover Home Teachers in a scheduling crunch, give suggestions for sticky challenges, swap companions for a night... the possibilities are endless.  No Home Teacher should feel like he's out there on his own.  He should have the comfort that his Quorum is backing him up - all the way.  For example, on a third Sunday, someone might say, "I've tried to get with Sister Williams all month and just discovered she's been in intensive care in Salt Lake City.  Is anyone going that way who might have time to stop in to check on her?  Someone might respond.  Or maybe someone else knows her daughter's name and a number he could call.  That phone call, or that visit by one of his Quorum mates is surely effective Home Teaching.  How about this one?  "Does anybody know where and when Bill hits the coffee shop on Saturday mornings?  I'd like to stop in there and see if that might be a way I can spend some time with him each month."  Someone might answer, "Yea,  hope they have Postum on hand for you!  I see him pull out at about 7:30, follow him."  Someone else might say, "I think he meets Joe there, maybe I could come too!"

Fifth, take a moment at the beginning of each Quorum Meeting to invite someone to tell a Home Teaching success story.  Nothing spawns imagination, courage and continued effort better than witnessing success.  Ask questions like, "I saw Paul out to Sacrament Meeting this morning!  What's going on?"  The Home Teacher might say, "I was as surprised as you are!"  Or maybe, "All I did was invite him."  Or  "When he and Sharron were over to dinner, my little Mary asked him if she could sit by him in Sacrament Meeting.  What else could he do?"  Some Home Teacher in the Quorum might be wondering about a couple he is assigned and realize that inviting the Whosits over for a barbecue, just might actually count as Home Teaching!

Sixth, there is something for everyone.  All who run may win the prize.  Perhaps you'll assign more families to your heavy haulers than you do to your squirrels.  Maybe you'll send a draft horse with a squirrel.  The horse might carry the weight, but maybe the family would rather have a nut.  What if a retired gentleman is wearing out his junior companion with the eight families he's willing to teach.  Maybe you could give him two companions (four families each).  I have a potential Home Teacher who is homebound with poor health.  Could it count as Home Teaching if he wrote personal notes on the Ward News Letter and posted them to families who won't (yet) let Home Teachers in the door?  I think it would.  What about Walt who won't go Home Teaching.  Maybe he'll be Sam's companion at the Coffee Shop visiting Joe and Bill.  I can just hear Walt say, "Now this is what I call Home Teaching!"  Now Walt is helping carry the load (even if he orders coffee instead of Postum.)  Guaranteed his senior companion isn't perfect either.  Okay, so it's more like Coffee Shop Teaching, but which is better, the coffee shop or nothing?  I do a fair amount of Home Teaching in driveways and on sidewalks this time of year.

Now a final few thoughts.  One of the things I like about going to 12 Step meetings is that no one shows up and brow beats me or tells me what to do.  The tradition is to simply share our own experience, strength and hope.  I never feel like anyone is "Holier than Thou."  We would do well to adopt that pattern in our Quorums and in the homes we visit.  We would do well to take the word should out of our vocabulary.  People already pretty much know what they should do and don't often need someone naggingly coming around every month to remind them.  The reason we don't use should's in 12 Steps is because we believe that God will use life to prepare each person with sufficient humility to take necessary steps and that the preparation for humility is God's job, not ours.  We need to accept the fact that we are not in a position to fix anyone but ourselves.  It is time we quit trying.  God does the fixing.

So, back to experience, strength and hope.  When we share our Home Teaching success stories (in humility, I hope.)  We give the audience a chance to examine their own circumstances and accept the Spirit's invitation to emulate the good and success they see in the examples given.  They remain free to choose and often enough, will choose well.  That is if they don't feel manipulated, guilt tripped, arm twisted, carrot and sticked, into doing something they're presently uncomfortable with.  I once made this suggestion to a brother who jumped right in with the protest, "But what about D&C 20 where we are counselled not only to be with and strengthen, but to expound and to exhort?  You are asking us not to exhort."  I realize the dictionary defines exhort as to: urge strongly, give warnings or advice.  But, it was not always so.  Most New Testament instances that were translated from the Greek as exhort held a quite different meaning.  In the Greek, παρακλέω meant to call near or invite to come with, accompanied by strong connotations of  lending comfort and encouragement.  Quite a different view of exhortation, don't you think?  I believe that definition more closely parallels the counsel we are given in D&C 121, where exercise of the Priesthood is to be done by:

persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;

By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile—

If we are about enlarging souls we will be successful.  We can now put numbers back into the equation.  Numbers will naturally follow strong and strengthened Quorum members.  That's where numbers should be, behind people, not before them.  Putting numbers first is Spiritual Dyslexia. It is putting the cart before the horse (or squirrel.)