Book Review - Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

The second The Hunger Games series, Catching Fire is even more compelling than the first. I ordinarily take my time, savoring as I read. Not so with Suzanne Collins' books. They are captivating and so thoroughly engrossing that the sensation of my eyes scanning a page of words vanishes from my consciousness.

I can't ever seem to predict where things are actually going to go with these stories. The actual outcomes seem too impossible until the entirely credible solutions resolve before your eyes.

A master of the twist and turn of story and a genius of inventive imagination, Collins has blown me away again! Once again Katniss and Peeta are placed in the most awful of predicaments. Situations that commonly provide the Capitol with much amusement and predictable, controllable outcomes. The Capitol, is still attempting to clean up the mess these two, unpredictably created in The Hunger Games. But these two are not cast from a predictable mold and what the Capitol previously deemed a "situation" now turns into impending disaster. Never underestimate the strength of loyalty, integrity, devotion. If you have, The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, will convince you otherwise.

It's going to be a long wait for the final volume of the trilogy!

Growing Up in Himni Utah - Episode 5

1938 Harley

Lew Hopkins always rode a motorcycle. I knew nothing about them and am a little fearful of them even to this day, probably because of hanging around with Lew.

Lew lived up the Canyon on a nice little farm nestled against the Dry Fork of Omner Creek. The creek ran in the spring and early summer, but most of the year was just a strip of cobble rocks. His dad rarely got a third crop of hay because the water petered out. Funds were tight for the Hopkins’ and 12 miles to school didn’t help. Mostly Lew rode the bus. After his sophomore year though, he got a job at a Winslow’s Auto Parts and bought a Honda 350 to ride to school and work. Even then he didn’t have a lot of pocket change.

School lunch was 25 cents and often Lew would offer to do loony stunts for a quarter so he could eat with us. One time he said, “If I lay down in the middle of the crosswalk to the Seminary building and using my shoulder as a pivot, spin a full 360 in the road with all the girls watching, would that be worth a quarter?” “Sure.” Or, “If I jump off the folded up bleachers in the gym, onto the, six foot in diameter, push ball, would that be worth a quarter?” “Sure.”

Heck, now I’m going to have to tell you about that one. Lew was a big kid even then. The top of the bleachers had to be 12 feet off the floor. That’s a six foot drop to the ball. I feared the huge canvas covered ball might pop. Or what if he missed? He stood there calculating a moment and leapt. He did a seat drop and landed slightly forward of top dead center. He sank deep into the ball and then shot at a 90 degree angle out across the gym floor, where he gracefully slid to a stop against the bleachers on the other side of the gym. I gave him a dollar.

Often, after work on a Saturday, Lew would pick me up on his Honda and we’d head up the canyon for some exploring. One evening we were coming down the canyon and we spotted a doe running beside us on the opposite side of the fence that paralleled the road. Lew decided to race her. We’d nearly caught her when she decided to jump the fence and cross the road in front of us. She landed right on the front fender and was gone, as quick as that. We stopped and shook it off. Examining the bike we found deer fur jammed between the fender and the front shocks.

Early one summer Lew got word that his friend and hero Billy Wainwright had been killed in Viet Nam. They were neighbors and Billy had been the big brother Lew never had. Lew was devastated. After the funeral Billy’s mom took Lew aside. She assured him that Billy loved him. Then she explained that she wanted Lew to have Billy’s old 1938 Harley Davidson motorcycle. “Billy would have wanted it that way.” Lew was thrilled.

He worked on the old worn-out beast for a month. One afternoon I was up there helping him try to get it started. Nothing seemed to work. The Hopkins’ lane had a nice downhill slope to it. It ran along an alfalfa field to the bottom of the slope then made a hard right and went out to the main road. We decided to try to push start it. The Harley had a foot clutch on the left side and a hand shifter on the side of the fuel tank. Lew put it in second gear and depressed the clutch pedal. I started pushing him down the road. The first couple of clutch pops had no results. We still had some momentum though so we kept going. On the third attempt she fired up and the old hind wheel started churning. Lew was way too close to the corner though, and was forced to cross through the hay. Flames were shooting six feet out of the exhaust pipe and a 20 foot rooster tail of green alfalfa was spraying into the air. I laughed so hard I had to step into the bushes.

Now she was running, we had to go to town and show her off. We put our ball caps on backwards and headed down the canyon. There was no second seat so I had to sit on the back fender. We got down to the intersection of Himni Avenue and Main Street and stopped at the light. We were in the left turn lane. While we waited for the light to change Mitch Warner pulled up next to us in his rod. He rumbled the engine. Lew responded by wrapping up the Harley. Just then his foot slipped off the clutch and the bike pulled a wheelie, through the red light, right out into the intersection where it dumped me smack dab on top of the manhole cover in the middle of the street! Lew went on to careen over the curb where he finally got control in the parking lot of Hanley’s Department Store. Aside from a sore rear end and singed eyebrows I was no worse for wear, just a little smarter.

I rode home with Mitch.

Book Review - Mort by Terry Pratchett

When this world gets a little too heavy for me, I love to travel to Disc World. Terry Pratchett has created a place of humor and perspective that always lightens my heart and reorients my thinking.

In this most delightful story yet, young Mort is taken by his father to the market in search of an apprenticeship.

Reminiscent of those youthful days when two captains choose up sides for a ball game, Mort is picked last. He is apprenticed to DEATH. That's right, the grim reaper.

Mort has quite a time learning the ins and outs of his new job. And we get an inside look at the meaning of life, the burden of history and the power of choice.

Pratchett's writing and thinking are always off the wall. But don't assume you have to sweep it under the rug. You're reading along having the time of your life, laughing, shaking your head, wondering what antics he's going to come up with next and suddenly you realize, hey, this guy really has something to say! It's kind of hard to get your mind around, sort of like worshiping on a roller coaster, or meditating at the arcade.

Here are a couple of my favorite quotes: "Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So lets just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound."

"Death gave Mort the look he was becoming familiar with. It started off as blank surprise, flickered briefly towards annoyance, called in for a drink at recognition and settled finally on vague forbearance."

"One of them had drawn a knife, which he waved in little circles in the air. He advanced slowly towards Mort, while the other two hung back to provide immoral support."

Don't miss this delightful read you're sure to have the time of your life, er, DEATH.

Halting Between Two Opinions

Here is a bit I wrote a little over a year ago. I just returned from an LDS Addiction Recovery Program Conference and what I wrote back then seemed pertinent to what we discussed today. I decided I'd post it again here. It all still applies.

As you know, my life has had it's ups and downs this Summer. While I have not fallen off the wagon, I have wandered some distance down the wrong road. My blood pressure has been up and my anxiety levels high.

You need to understand that addiction is not what it seems. The outward manifestation, be it drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn, Twinkies, is just that, the symptom, but not the problem. The problem is something deeper and painful and quite possibly unidentified. I’ve been writing and pondering madly for days trying to identify the fork in the road that took me in the wrong direction.

Today, I was given my answer. I was writing, something I always do, to sort things out. I was expressing the dismay I’ve felt of late about my new job and my uncertain future. I’ve taken a job as a salesman. I have a lot of uncertainly as to the frequency and size of my paychecks. The economy troubles me. The price of fuel dismays me. My own inadequacy frightens me. I don’t know what the future brings and it gives me a great deal of anxiety. Then, a phrase of scripture came into my mind, “How long halt ye between two opinions..?” I had no idea where to find it, so I looked it up in the concordance. I found it in 1 Kings 18:21.

It was the story of Elijah’s famous contest with the priests of Baal during which God consumed Elijah’s offering with fire, while that of the false God did nothing. Elijah was calling upon Israel to make up their minds. Unlike Joshua who had earlier declared, “Choose you this day whom ye will serve…but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15) The verse was inspirational and encouraging but I couldn’t see the answer that was before me. I was still stuck on the decision regarding my choice of employment. I couldn’t see how that could be a choice between God and Baal. Surely, I was choosing the Lord, wasn’t I?

Then another phrase of scripture passed through my mind, “Oh thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” I found that in Matthew 14:31. Here is the story of Peter walking on the water. I'm not being facetious. I've never understood why we typically call it the story of Jesus walking on the water. That was no big deal. The big deal was that Peter walked on the water. The phrase was the Saviour’s mild rebuke of Peter who, fearing the waves began to sink beneath them. I wasn’t too sure what this story meant for me, but I determined to find out.

At my new job I have made a new friend. He is Pastor of a local Landmark Baptist congregation. His specialty at Divinty School was Coyne Greek. My good friend has taught me, that much can be gained from understanding the original Greek meanings of the words found in the New Testament. I just recently acquired Bullinger’s Lexicon of New Testament Greek.

I decided to look up the original meaning of the words in Matthew 14:31. Two words were most informative. I looked up faith and found that in this case the Greek word chosen had only been used four times in the New Testament and all by the Master himself. It has been translated into English as

'of little faith’ and means: to rebuke four states of mind, viz., anxiety, fear, doubt and forgetfulness. I felt my searching was on the right track. I was full of fear, doubt and great anxiety. I didn’t yet comprehend forgetfulness. Then I looked up the word doubt. The definition of the original Greek word translated as doubt was this: to stand in two ways, being uncertain as to which to take. I was shocked, for it lead me right back to my first prompting, “How long halt ye between to opinions….?”

It was then that I realized what Heavenly Father has been trying to tell me. I am like Peter. I am figuratively walking on water. My struggles of late have come because I have taken my eye off my Master and have allowed myself to look at the boisterous waves of economic and political commotion that surround me. No wonder I have been sinking in despair!

This is not a new concept for me. I have long considered my ability to proceed through life entirely free of my addiction to be no less a miracle than walking on water. To the flesh, they are equally impossible. Yet day after day, I go forth, temptation free, to live a life of joy as though I had never been an addict. I was foundering and in need of rebuke for my forgetfulness. I had forgotten to whom I must look for my safety and salvation.

My struggles came because I had taken my eyes off of the Redeemer, who sustains me in recovery and had looked in fear at the turbulent chaos around me. They were prolonged because I supposed the fork in the road that was troubling me was whether or not to change employment. Instead, however, I discovered that the real decision was, is and always will be, whether or not to trust God and keep my attention focussed on Him.

My heart is led to these words given of Jehovah to Joshua, and all of Israel, including us: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” (Joshua 1:9) Whithersoever – no matter where I go or what paths in life I choose, if I can but ignore the turmoil around me and trust in God, I will be sustained above the stream.

Like Peter, I called out to my Lord saying, “Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught” me. I felt the anxiety, fear and doubt drain out of me. I had been so stressed that I felt ill, but now I was renewed and refreshed.

The Measure of a Man

I remember a few years ago, an older man joined the church and became active in our Ward. His enthusiasm for the gospel and his participation in the activity of our Ward were a wonder to behold. He wanted to drink fully from the fountain of church membership. He attended his meetings. He went to all the socials. He jumped at the chance to serve. When the kids went to the Temple to do baptisms for the dead, being not yet endowed, he sought the chance to do baptisms. He was always there, smiling, enthusiastic, eager to learn.

Somewhere in this process I heard someone comment that, "he's trying to catch up for lost time." The observer had supposed that our friend, due to his late discovery of the church, was way behind in his progress. I beg to differ. I think he was keeping pace, if not just a little ahead of the rest of us.

The supposition that Billy, for that is his name, was somehow behind, presupposes that life long members of the church are somehow ahead. Ahead of what? Ahead of who? Hopefully, we're ahead of where we, personally, once were; but I'd be loathe to suppose I was ahead of anyone else.

Such a supposition also seems to exclude Billy's former (pre-membership) life as null and void. As if we only get credit for the way we live if we're members of the church. As if our progress begins only after baptism. Billy always lived a good life. He was faithful to his wife. He responsibly raised responsible children. He worked hard for his employer. He was generous with those in need. He was honest and forthright in his dealings with others. He was happy, gregarious, enthusiastic, kind, thoughtful and good - even then. In fact, if I were to take Billy's measurement, I'd say 95% of Billy's goodness, in deed and character, preceeded his baptism. He certainly lacked the ordinances and with the covenants those ordinances represent, Billy became perfected in Christ - then - on the day of his baptism. He had no catching up to do. He was as caught up as any member of the church anywhere. His accounts were paid in full because he'd humbly entered a covenant with the only one who could settle Billy's account, or mine, or yours.

Was Billy perfect? Am I? Are you? Billy came to mortality for the experience to be had in a body. He had that in full. He experienced what a body has to offer; pleasure and pain, sickness and health, vigor and exhaustion. He came to earth to learn, serve and grow. He also came to mortality to reaffirm his faith and trust in Jesus Christ, the author and finisher of the Father's Plan to bring us home to receive all that He has to give us. Billy did all of those things and in my view, he did them right on time. Billy wasn't catching up, he was drinking in. Absorbing every ounce of mortal experience he could soak up.

Good on ya Billy!

Boycott The Biggest Loser

Update: 9/29/2009 - I was persuaded to watch again this evening. Much has changed. The language is much much improved. NBC, may I personally say thank you, for making the much needed change.

I watched the opening of The Biggest Loser, until in disgust I had to shut it off. It isn't new to this season that Bob and Jillian have filthy mouths that have to be bleeped during every workout. But last night was over the top! Folks, that behavior is not necessary and need not be tolerated by the viewing audience. It's time to boycott the program and it's sponsors and see if we can't get it back on track.

Bob and Jillian are not the fall guys here. The editors can bleep their language. They can also edit such behavior completely out of what we see. Clearly, they choose not to and I can only imagine they're after ratings. Let's give them some - some lousy ones.

I'm sure they'll try to justify the language as a "boot camp" approach. I went to boot camp. In six weeks I never heard the kind of abusive language I witnessed last night. Things may have changed in the nearly 40 years since I enlisted, but I'll bet it has changed for the better.

Our society has such a sickening double standard. If Nancy Pelosi told some junior congressman, she was trying to school, that he was going to be her "bitch" for the season, she'd be out of a job. They didn't bleep that one last night, when Jillian was shown making such a declaration to one of the contestants. Call it reality if you like. I call it debauchery and disgusting beyond the pale.

I've felt for years now that this program was a helpful, inspiring force for good. I've changed my mind. Count me out, until such time as The Biggest Loser can lose the trash talk.

Here is a partial list of sponsors to include in the boycott. Leave a comment if you're on board and pass the word. We want NBC to get the message soon and emphatically!

Sponsors:

• Britta
• 24 Fitness
• Shinealight
• American Express
• QVC
• Subway
  

Book Review - Freedom From Addiction

I'm pretty well steeped in addiction recovery methodology. I'm in recovery. I've worked the 12 Steps. I've taught the 12 Steps. I facilitate three 12 Step groups. I picked up Freedom From Addiction by David Simon, MD and Deepak Chopra, MD, to expand my understanding of addictive behavior and disease. Simon and Chopra have some pretty good theraputic methods to consider and certainly some wisdom to impart.

I liked this quote from early in the book: "Addictions serve a purpose. When people seek a shift in their emotional state and do not know how to create the change from within, they reach for something outside." I fully agree with that assessment. I agree with much of what they've concluded. Still, I struggle to recommend the book.

You have to understand how I feel about new wave philosophy, and Deepak Chopra's brand in particular. Who can know what motivates individuals within the movement. It appears, though, that in general the movement has seen holes in the world's religions. While they favor eastern thinking, they have drawn from all religious and scientific thinking. They've stepped up to the philosophical smorgasbord, so to speak, and selected what works for them. In one way this is good. I'll be the first to admit that most religions have clung to tradition and philosophy that glaringly contradict one another and because of rigid loyalty to their history are slow to correct obvious errors. Smorgasbord thinking makes the error correction possible, even attractive. In many ways, because of this, new wave thinking has the potential to step ahead of religions mired in archaic and apostate muck.

I struggle with new wave thinking, mostly because, I'd characterize it as me-theology. They have adopted the Nirvana view of me being god and god being me. I don't buy it. Like all modern day reformers, they, while shopping for truths to glean from the various sources out there, they have clearly neglected to look at LDS teaching and philosophy. They've allowed themselves to lump us in with main stream Christianity and thus overlooked revealed doctrine that has corrected the error so obvious to thinking seekers. Should they honestly investigate what we teach they'd discover they (and we) agree on many truths.

Now, the original 12 Steps as developed by Alcoholic Anonymous, is inspired of God, in my view. It so correctly mirrors LDS Doctrine that the Church has adopted the steps with only one clarification. Where AA refers to God in generic terms palatable to people of all walks of life, the LDS version refers to Jesus Christ. This is in no way a criticism of AA. Their target audience is broad and intended to encompass everyone. It is clear that Heavenly Father is cool with that. Legion are the AA stories of atheists and agnostics who, swallowing the possibility of some vague, inexplicable "higher power" have begun to find recovery and who consequently discover God in more and more detail and clarity. We in the church program are primarily focused on people who already have a pretty clear understanding of God, have been taught about the Atonement and have already clarified details about God that the population at large has not. We try to start from there.

Simon and Chopra have done the same thing; they've adapted the 12 Steps to match their paradigm. They make no mention of having consulted with AA (which the LDS church has done) and I doubt if AA would be pleased with their result. They remodeled the 12 Steps in their book beyond recognition. Now I'll allow them that privilege if they like. But I reject the result.

For me the 12 Steps only work because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. New wave philosophy rejects any need of The Savior's redemptive sacrifice on our behalf. They have some neat, practical and probably even useful psychologial therapy and some useful meditative technique that could be beneficial to folks with addiction problems. But, they have rejected "the power of God unto salvation." They think we can evolve into recovered creatures. I'm convinced that we must learn to repent and to rely upon the merits and mercy of He who is mighty to save. They think the power is in us. I'm convinced the power is in God and can only be in us by His grace.

For me, their approach to addition recovery seems hollow and while it may have resulted in recovery for some, cannot possibly provide the relief and healing the Redeemer has to offer. That said, I know the Master is kind and will grant grace to all who are sincere and there are certain to be Chopra followers who are experiencing a portion of His grace and goodness despite their lack of clarity as to it's source. The fact that any of us is breathing is rudimentary evidence of this. He came to redeem all of us. All of us. And He is about that business, even now, in all of our lives.

Growing Up In Himni Utah - Episode 4

The Halloween Dance

Dances and ball games were Himni's primary entertainment in the 60's. 80% of the student body attended every Himni High football or basketball game. Much of the town did too. During basketball season the gym was always packed. The band was rocking the house. The Pep club was seated in uniform in a block H on the home bleachers. The place smelled of sweat, popcorn and Right Guard.

There was a dance after every home game. Often even the adults stayed to dance.

The Halloween of my Junior year brought the annual costume dance. I took Rhonda Wardley and we double dated with my best friend Mitch and I can't remember who. Mitch never went steady until the next summer when we met the twins at Boy's State. That's another story though. His date could have been just about anybody, but was probably Dana Williams.

Anyway, after showing our activity cards we walked together on to the dance floor and grouped up with a crowd that had already gathered. We had no sooner joined the circle when one of the Hooper twins handed me $20.00!

"What's this for?" I asked.

"For dancing with Celestia Hopewell," he said.

"No way!"

He grabbed the twenty back but I hung on - thinking about it. Twenty dollars was a fair chunk of change in those days and one didn't let it go all that easily. Celestia Hopewell was the oldest, meanest, hardest, strictest teacher on the faculty. She might have retired ten years ago, but teaching High School English was all she knew. The gang had taken up a collection and determined that for $20.00 they could get Jinx to do it. They were right.

Mrs. Hopewell had come in a very elaborate witch's outfit. It suited her and made her seem even more formidable. Rhonda came as a clown which was pretty much in character for her too. I had come as a pumpkin. Well, actually, I came with a Jack-o-lantern on my head and a double knit green suit put on backwards. There was a rule against masks. I thought I'd have a little fun, so I cut a large hole in the back of the Jack-o-lantern which completely exposed my face (no mask). The Jack-o-lantern face was in the back, but so was the front of my pants, faux shoes and jacket. It had it's desired effect too. Twice during the evening I heard the voice of a teacher behind me, instructing me to remove the mask or be kicked out of the dance. It was such a kick to turn around a see the startled look that resulted when they realized they'd been scolding the back of me. Pumpkin guts drizzling down my neck all night was not part of the plan though.

It took a couple of dances and lots of encouragement from Rhonda to get up the gumption to earn my twenty bucks, but I finally did it. I made a broad arch around the gym floor and kind of tricked myself into stopping in front of Celestia Hopewell. She politely commented on my clever costume and I mumbled something about how scary she looked. At least I didn't lie. Then I cleared my voice and, as politely as I could, asked her to dance. To my chagrin and consternation, she graciously accepted.

We walked together on to the floor. Lots of eyes were on us. I'd picked a slow dance because I just couldn't picture her doing anything else. We assumed the position, her hand on my shoulder, mine at her waist and the other two joined, and the music stopped. Well, that was awkward. Now we had to visit a bit while we waited for another song. I wasn't due to take her English class until next year and as it turned out, I chickened out and never did have a class from her. The result was that there just wasn't that much to talk about. The break lasted forever. I wondered if the guys hadn't paid off the band too. Finally, the music began. It was Blue Velvet. Once again we made contact and began to dance.

Now Rhonda is a great dancer. She went on to college and became part of a championship ballroom dance team. She always said I was pretty good myself. Celestia, though, was amazing. She responded to every lead I offered. Not once did I feel that she was doing anything but flawlessly following my cues. She let me lead the dancing, but she lead the conversation and was so charming and witty I was in shock. I was having a great time! Me, 16 years old and Mrs. Hopewell, at least 70! I couldn't believe it. When the song was over, I began to escort her to her seat when she practically begged me for one more. She explained that she hadn't danced a single time since she was widdowed over 30 years before. I gladly consented. I even relaxed.

When I did take her to her seat I was overwhelmed with how pleasant the experience had been. As she sat down she thanked me and then asked, "So, was it worth $20.00?"

The pumpkin surrounding my head began to steam. I was about to break and run, when she presented me with the sweetest, warmest smile. I took a deep breath and replied that I''d pay $20.00 to have the opportunity again. I meant it too.

Sucking Too Hard On My Lollipop!

I've been pretty low lately. I couldn't put my finger on it. As I pondered things on this Sabbath Day, having already been to church and having listened to Les' inspiring lesson, my thoughts began to collect in some sort of coherent form.

I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. I still haven't put things back together since the flood that destroyed our basement. I tackled the repair on my own because we wanted to move the stairwell. Interruption, followed by set back, over shadowed by life has practically incapacitated me. When I want to do what I'm inclined to do, the unfinished basement haunts me. When I tackle the basement, more important things get neglected. The usual result is that, overwhelmed, discouraged, confused, I do nothing. I have a hard time setting priorities. Too often, I choose the wrong thing to do out of some sense of demand. I spend too much time concerned about what I assume others consider to be my priority, instead of doing what my heart directs. The consequence of this is that I'm unhappy, unsettled and stressed.

I shared my dismay with Sweetie, who listened empathetically, without judgment or duress. Thanks Sweetie for that. I told her that I didn't want to have this hanging over my head for what appears to be forever; but that I couldn't see a way out from under the problem.

It was time to take Kate to her Singles Ward. On the way she had me listen to a couple of her favorite songs. They were nice. After dropping her off a third song came up on her CD; Sucking Too Hard On Your Lollipop by Mika. It's a lively, fun, enthusiastic tune and I just plain enjoyed listening to it. I couldn't understand the words. When it was finished, I listened again, and again, and again. I began to pick up the lyrics.

I went home and moped some more and watched a little TV. Then it was time to go to 12 Steps at the Detention Center. I listened to the song a couple more times on the way. I skipped up to the door, to the beat of the song and rang the buzzer. Dorothy unlocked the door and I went on in bopping down the hall to the control booth to sign in. Amused, Dorothy asked me about the spring in my step, so I sang the chorus to her and explained that I loved one of the lines, as it applied so well to some of the love struck girls who've been incarcerated there. Something about how Mama says to "live your life 'til love is found or love's gonna get you down." Suddenly, Dot began to tear up. When she collected herself, she thanked me saying, "That's just what I needed to hear. It not only applies to love, it applies to life. I've been sucking too hard on my lollipop!"

Nobody wanted to come to 12 Steps today so I turned right back around and headed home. I bounced into the house singing "sucking too hard on your lollipop" and Sweetie exclaimed, "What's happened to you?!"

"I've had a paradigm shift!" I told her. And I had. Over the course of a couple of hours this afternoon and especially, with the help of Dorothy, I discovered that I have been suckin' too hard on my lollipop. I've been trying to force my life, just like someone who's trying to force love. I need to just go on and live my life or life is going to let me down. Its so characteristic of addictive behavior to be trapped in a vortex of "shoulds", "ought tos." In my insecurity due to the choices I've made I am overly concerned about looking good, about appearing normal and in control.

Once again, the process of my recovery has revealed an undiscovered facet of the nature of my condition, my mortality. The more I take control of my life the less control I have over it. Once again, I have to admit I have a problem over which I am powerless and my life has become unmanageable. Time to work the steps again! Just like my addiction, this problem is too big for me, I can't lift it alone. But, also like my addiction, God can free me from the bondage I've got myself into, but I've got to quit trying to rescue myself and give the problem over to He who can.

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly a paradigm shift changes everything; my mood, my clarity, my purpose, my faith. Talk about God's tender mercies. Suddenly, I know what I'm about and the direction I need to go. Finally, I can give myself permission to go there. At last I can enjoy my lollipop and quit sucking so destructively hard.

Thank you, Les, Sweetie, Katie, Mika, Dorothy, Darwin, Dr. Bob, Bill W., John, Bonnie, Kim, Heavenly Father, you are all so helpful and kind.

Book Review - The Hunger Games

My sweet daughter has begged me for weeks to read this book. She had told me the premise, and quite frankly, the concept repulsed me. I didn't want to think about it, let alone experience it, even vicariously.

The premise is that, annually, in the land of Panem, the Hunger Games are held. Each of 12 Districts contributes two 12 to 18 year old, lottery-chosen children, a boy and a girl, to enter an arena and fight to the death. The winner is the one left standing.

I had read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson, in my youth and found it so unsettling I didn't get over the experience for years. I could see no useful purpose in subjecting myself to a story so similar, yet in so many ways, much worse.

The Lottery was about grim resignation and oppression. The inventors of the Hunger Games have the same intention, but Suzanne Collin's book about them is not. It is about courage, integrity and triumph!

The triumph in our lives is never about the outcome. Bad things happen to good people. The triumph lies in our response to what happens to us. Will we do the right thing regardless of the outcome? Will we remain loyal, honest, true - regardless of what might happen? If, while reading this remarkable story, you are not asking yourself what you'd do if facing these obstacles and challenges, you are wasting a marvelous opportunity to understand your own character, to develop and strengthen your own integrity.

I read this masterpiece through the night. It just wasn't possible to put it down. I discovered, just now that the sequel is presently in the house. I'd better wait to read that one until I a few night's sleep under my belt.

I recommend it highly! If you liked Ender's Game, you'll love The Hunger Games. Collins has given Card a serious run for his money. Ender Wiggins is a favorite character of mine, but Katniss Everdeen could certainly teach him a thing or two.

Book Review - Travel Writing

I have seldom read a book whose first pages captivated me as much as this did. Peter Ferry describes himself in his High School Classroom telling a story to his students. Four times in the course of two pages of story he points out to the kids that he is making the story up as he goes along. Even knowing that, the kids are so intrigued and involved in the tale that they clamor to know what happens next. "....and that is why stories are so powerful," he teaches them - and me.

I love a good story. Travel Writing is a number of them. In and out of the stories Perry describes the life, troubles, obsessions, self recriminations, confusions of the writer. He tells his own story along with those he is making up. In so doing he discovers that he is making up his own story too and like his students, he can barely wait to discover what happens next.

I found the book to be a bit too crass for my personal taste, but I carried on, in this case, because I identified so completely with the protagonist. Our stories were completely dissimilar, but I too have been, lately, full of confusion, self recrimination, obsession and troubles. I found it cathartic to observe how he dealt with a life spinning off course on some inexplicable, seemingly ridiculous tangent. I related to the seeming inevitability of surprise in our lives. I've long held that life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. Peter Ferry helped me see that sometimes our real hopes, our real dreams, our real selves just cannot be restrained from emerging, no matter how hard we try to hide in the comfort of the "normal" compliant, acceptable lives we've created for ourselves.

Ferry is teaching his students to write. He admonishes them to write what they know. From his own experience he tells of a critique he received from a mentor, regarding his own writing. "I like what you're doing. I really do. I think you are sincere, and I think you are talented. You haven't much to say, but you say it very well." I related, as well, to this. A while back I wondered how Stefan Merrill Block could have written such a deep and well crafted novel as The Story of Forgetting at such a young age. Clearly the answer lies in writing about what he knew. Ferry knew a lot about writing and he new a great deal about uncertainty, doubt, and confusion. In his first novel Peter Ferry seems to have discovered that he had something to say, not so much in what he knew, but in what knew he didn't know.

Maybe we're making it up as we go, but our stories and their characters, like literature, tend to take on a life of their own and always lead us to unexpected ends.

Any Advice?

Here's the thing..... I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a quandary the past couple of weeks. I've begun to wonder if I'm courageous or just stupid. I'm in need of some good counsel and I've decided to seek it here (and elsewhere if I can find it.)

I wish I could explain it succinctly but the dilemma has its subtleties and nuances that I feel compelled to detail.

I'm in pretty serious need of a source of income. I've been actively looking for over two months now. Perhaps, not as actively as I should. My brother is Stake Employment Specialist in his Stake and the other day I heard him say (not to me) that the Church's policy on the matter is that if you're unemployed you should be spending eight hours a day looking for a job. Finding employment thus, becomes your job. He makes a very good point. So does the church. I would think this especially true if I were drawing assistance from the Church to support my family. The policy seems to be cut and dried and, if I were to take it at face value, I have been extremely lax in my duty to concentrate all of my attention to the task of getting employed.

Now, it seems to me that such a policy implies a few things that are unsettling to me. It implies that any job is better than no job. At least any honest, honorable employment, trumps no employment. Ordinarily, at least in the case of one drawing assistance from the Church or the Government, I would wholeheartedly concur. In my current situation I'm not so sure; let me explain why.

I have had a good, decent, exciting and promising job offer in recent weeks that I felt strongly impressed I should not accept. I didn't. I still feel good about my decision. Had my brother been helping me find a job, I expect he, or someone else in his role, might have been pretty aggravated with me for turning down such an opportunity. Perhaps, I could have persuaded them that I was going by the Spirit, which ought to trump Church policy; or should it. There's the rub.

I've had the feeling that God has something in store for me. I even have the notion that it will be meaningful and, spiritually as well as financially, rewarding. I have no notion what it might be. I have hoped it would lie in a realm that might use my talents and predispositions to make a difference in the world. I have even been willing to accept less money than I might otherwise make so it might be so. I'm at a time in life and to some degree, in a financial position to allow that. I have earnestly pursued such opportunities, as I have found, that might fit in that framework. So far, I have not been the best qualified or for other inexplicable reasons have not been selected for such positions.

My last job was a mixed bag. I enjoyed the people I worked for and those I worked with. In fact in that regard it was the best group of people I ever had the pleasure of working with. But, I hated my job, in that employment, with a passion I didn't think myself capable of. I even hated that I was successful at it. I was a salesman. I have a strong aversion to manipulation and as I participated in sales training, it seemed to me that manipulation with the core and fundamental sum and substance of sales. I refused to do it and yet I sold, or rather, I helped people buy. There was more to hate though. There was too much time when there were no customers and it was hard to stay busy doing "make work" activities. Especially when I was encouraged to do a lot of sales training in the down time. In prayer, during the year I was in sales, I begged God to help me get out of there and repeatedly came away convinced that I was right where He wanted me. I never fully understood why, but I stayed. I stayed until the firm went out of business. Because of the poor economy, I never made much more than enough to make ends meet.

The economy is still bad; restricting my prospects. I've had an interview that looks promising. It is for a part-time job that doesn't pay very well. I could manage with two such part-time jobs but I wonder if I'll find two that are compatible. I thought I might but the other has already hired someone else. This job, should it be offered to me, also requires I work six days a week which will severely restrict what I can do on the weekends and such. Part of my quandary is whether it is fair to the employer to accept the job and then abruptly quit when something better comes along. It costs money to train any new employee and an unplanned interruption will also greatly inconvenience them. Does my obligation to become employed supersede my future lack of loyalty? I would enjoy the job, but is it fair to accept it when I'm sure I'll need to move on as soon as something better surfaces.

Here's what I know:

• God is predisposed in my favor, He wants to bless me and help me prosper.
• His blessings come on His timetable not mine.
• I can be patient.
• I can trust Him.
• He has never let me down before. He has also never made me wait before.
• I'd rather prosper than just get by.
• I can accept His will in all things. I've proven that to Him and to myself.

Here's what I don't know:

• What God has in mind for me.
• If I should be doing more to facilitate finding a job. Am I too patient in waiting upon Him?
  
• Why He led me away from the one job I was offered and wanted.
• Does He really even care what I do to provide for my family?
• Is there any justification for hoping for something I might enjoy?
• Am I reaching beyond the mark in thinking I might be of significant service at work as well as in church or my personal life?
• Am I just settling for mediocrity if I don't hold out for "what God has in store for me?"
• Am I being irresponsible and unrealistic for not grabbing what's available?
• Did God have something in mind for me, but exercising their agency, did some potential employer choose other than God's course of action?

I feel no sense of entitlement to any of the information I'd like to know - but don't. Faith is all about stepping into the darkness. I just wonder if there's a time at which one could cross from faith to foolishness. And I wonder if I'm wise enough to make the distinction if I did.

Anyway, if any of you have any light to shed on the subject, post a comment and tell me frankly, what you think! Maybe I should even take a poll - Faith or Foolishness. If you've followed my blog lately, you'll know that I'll keep you posted on what transpires.

Movie Review - Evelyn

Set in Ireland this wonderful movie will warm the cockles of your very heart.

Abandoned by his wife and left with three children Desmond Doyle (Pierce Brosnan) has his children taken from him. He fights a desperate and heroic battle to get them back.

It is a true story of love, desperation and triumph that will linger in my heart for a life time. The film is filled with the charm and desperation of a great people in a great land. Not since I read Angela's Ashes has the heart song of Ireland stirred so deeply within me.

Though I've proven Scottish and Manx ancestry the story and culture and music of the Emerald Isle resonates so deeply in my soul that I cannot doubt there is Irish blood flowing there as well.

Be sure to put this one on your list of movies to enjoy!

Settling For Less, Much Less

Last night at our LDS ARP (Addiction Recovery Program) Meeting, there were 12 in attendance besides the missionaries. It is so gratifying. The Spirit attended in abundance. All were edified.

As our attention moved around the circle and each person shared his experience, faith and hope, I couldn't help but observe that some, while relatively new to the program were making amazing progress. Over the years there have been others who despite coming to meetings for months or years made little if any progress and continually struggled with their compulsions. Why is this?

I think I could hear the answer in their words. Quite often, dead in the water, old timers know all the words to say. They are big on giving advice, quoting the Big Book and citing examples, they know the methodology cold. They understand the technology of recovery thoroughly, but they are stuck. Why is this?

I think it comes down to humility. In fact I think the bottom line of recovery is humility. I don't mean the dejection of failure heaped upon failure. Nor do I mean the humiliation of being found out. When I say humility, I mean the real and understood acknowledgment of one's utter and entire dependence upon God. We have good people, some in recovery even, who've never crossed that bridge. It is apparent in their words, in the counsel they give to others.

There is a method to the 12 Steps that is useful, even critical, to helping us find humility. Too often though, the method becomes the end rather than the means leaving the addict short of the goal. To me, the goal is not recovery, the goal is humility and the resulting companionship with God. Ether 12:27 is a favorite of most in ARP, but I don't see weakness actually becoming strength all that often. Why is this?

Perhaps its because in our short sightedness too many of us see abstinence and sobriety as the goal. While a worthy objective, it falls utterly short of what Moroni was talking about in that glorious scripture. God gives us weakness to draw us to Him (see verse 28). It is not God's objective to merely make us sober, His desire is to help us become like Him. In order to do that we must completely "turn our will and our life" over to Him. Yet it appears that to most of us Step 3 is just the means to a sober end, when in all reality, (see also Step 11) it is the end.

It appears to me that the difference in the progress I see in our little group boils down to the goal each individual sets. If the goal is sobriety, most won't reach it and even if they do, the struggle will continue. On the other hand, if the goal is humility, success is more likely and more rapid. Turning our lives over to God can be seen as a tool for obtaining sobriety, but too many take back control of all or portions of their lives upon successful abstinence and never experience the joy and freedom intended for them by complete surrender.

Someone said last night that one of our most prolific and superlative sponsors, who's been sponsoring for well over ten years, has only seen one of those she's sponsored make it all the way to and through the 12th Step. Most don't even make it through step six. Why is this?

I think it is because most people have set their sights way too low. They are shooting for abstinence when they ought to be shooting for recovery. They are shooting for sobriety when the could be shooting for the constant companionship of God. They are settling for so much less than what is offered them. Why is this?

It is because they are still holding back and that is what's holding them back.

Book Review - Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast Pillow Book

Bill Richardson has done it again. Just when I thought his rampant imagination had been exhausted, he blasted me out of the saddle with another galloping romp. Now, lest you expect some high adventure, this is after all, about a couple of boring bachelors who operate a B & B for crying out loud.

I can't quite put my finger on Richardson's art. He can take the everyday, even mundane events so common to all of us and help me see them with fresh perspective. Something so ordinary as a dishwasher becomes an ethereal, even spiritual mentor as it chants it's soothing mantra.

Reading his description of life is so rich in detail and warm in color that its like looking at a Norman Rockwell painting, only you get to look in on the scene through every window in the house.

Some of the funniest things about ourselves come of how seriously we tend to take ourselves. So it is with Virgil, Hector and now Caedmon, a newly introduced character who drives an old bus with a thatched roof. All are, off the charts eccentric, and yet so ordinary, they could just as easily be me, or (even funnier) you!

Told from the perspective of practically every character the tale waxes and wanes through mists of amusement and then bursts into a clarity of invention that delights and satisfies. I enjoyed myself from beginning to end.

I'll leave you with Virgil's high noon wishes to ponder:

1. I wish you a comfortable bed.
2. A roof to withstand every storm.
3. A pillow to cushion your head.
4. An angel to keep you from harm
5. I wish you remembrance of dreams.
6. I wish you the love you require.
7. In summer, the sheltering shade.
8. In winter, a welcoming fire.
9. I wish you the comfort of friends.
10. I wish you an absence of fear.
11. A wish for the right wish to end.
12. And it's over. I wish you were here.

I wish I had a chiming clock.

The Golden Factor

When Bishop Bassett asked me to speak in Sacrament Meeting on the topic, Refrain From Swearing, he had no idea of my profound admiration for J. Golden Kimball. When I told the congregation as much, in my introduction of the topic, they say the blood drained from Bishop Bassett's face. Still, I made it through the entire sermon without a single slip. It's a good thing too because, back then I wasn't as quick to repent as Brother Kimball. I am repenting pretty dern fast these days, though.

He really had nothing to fear. I don't cotton to swearing. Clean language is a beautiful thing and I encourage its use. I personally, refrain from crude language most of the time, usually.

It is important to understand that J. Golden Kimball was called of God to be one of the Seven Presidents of the Seventy. Despite the occasional slip of the tongue, Golden, was golden. People flocked to hear him speak. There was humor, surprise, and profound testimony of the Atonement in every sermon he preached. There was also honesty. Sometimes painful, always enlightening, Golden's honesty and frankness opened hearts and encouraged transgressors. And that is the Golden Factor.

It is said that poor Elder Rudger Clawson had a painfully difficult time stomaching Golden's antics. Serious, straight laced, Apostle Clawson was appalled that the Church should be represented by such a rough shod cowboy. He is reported to have sought Golden's dismissal, but President Heber J. Grant wouldn't hear of it. Frayed, as he was around the edges, Golden had a place in the Kingdom and God had a use for him. And that is the Golden Factor.

J. Golden Kimball knew he wasn't perfect. In fact he once said, "I may not have walked the straight and narrow, but I crossed it as often as I could." To further enhance his uncharacteristic image, Golden was an avowed Democrat. He did, once, attend the Republican Caucus and, having been discovered in the crowd, was asked by Senator/Apostle Smoot to offer the invocation. Golden declined, answering, "No thanks Reed, I'd just as soon the Lord didn't know I was here." (See, he didn't always swear!)

I didn't set out to tell J. Golden stories, but I feel one coming on. Hugh B. Brown once said of a urge to tell a tale, "Its like a fit, there's no stopping it, you might as well go ahead and have it." Please forgive this fit: In a church welfare meeting Golden was assigned to check on a piece of property in Manti for a possible welfare farm. He was headed that way for a Stake Conference. In the next meeting President Grant asked if he'd had the opportunity to visit the parcel. Golden answered that he had.

"How was it?" asked President Grant.
"Well now, it was a nice piece of ground, about 180 acres, with a nice slope to it and a good stream of water at the head." responded Golden.
"How big was the stream?" queried the prophet.
"I could piss about half way acrossed it." answered Golden.
To which Rudger Clawson huffed, "Bro-ther Kimball, you're out of order!"
"Of course I am," said Golden matter of factly, "if I wasn't I could've pissed all the way across."

Golden often plead for the Saints to be kind to him and forgive him and one another. His message was one of repentance, redemption, and devotion. No one was more devoted than Brother Kimball and inspite of His weakness, God allowed him to do a great work in strengthening the church. A loving Heavenly Father knew that lots of the Latter-day Saints needed to realize that they were invited to the table, just as they are. The church needs its Rudger Clawsons, but it doesn't need 12 million of them. It needs its J. Golden Kimballs too and everyone in between. Everyone has something to offer. Everyone has someone to bless. All are blessed with unique gifts that the Lord can use. Gifts few if any others can offer as well. And that is the Golden Factor.

Sweetie's grandfather was such a man. On a rare weekend home from sheep camp, Willard was approached by the Bishop to get things started for him to go on a Mission. Willard was shocked and said, "Bbut, Bbishop, I've only been to the Second Grade and can hardly read ner write!" In great wisdom the Bishop responded, "The Lord will use those who are willing to be used." And Willard answered, "If the Lord can use me, then I'll go." And that is the Golden Factor.

This isn't the Stepford Church, full of flawless, Molly and Marty Mormons. The Church wasn't meant to be operated by perfect people or God would have to outsource it to Angels or something. The Church was designed for you, everyone of you, and even me, as a place to learn and grow. A place to try us, to teach us, to sharpen our skills, and test our mettle. If we can see it as that it isn't hard to see how well it is doing it's job. Every day humble Saints work myriad miracles for which they are lacking in experience and expertise. Who, because they love the Lord and acknowledge their weakness before him are able to be instruments in His might hands. And every day, myriads make mistakes and stumble along and mostly we understand and forgive them, help them up and help them along.

And that, is the Golden Factor.

Me? Agnostic?

Early in my experience with addiction recovery I glossed over Step Two: Come to believe the power of God can restore you to complete spiritual health. Of course I believed in God, I didn't need this step. I already had that mastered.

When my sponsor discovered I had disregarded step two, he rolled his eyes and made me read Chapter 4 from the AA Big Book. Obediently, I complied, while thinking it was a waste of time. Boy, was I wrong! That chapter was such an eye opener for me! I was behaving like an Agnostic!

You need to understand that I've been active in the Church my entire life. I've had a testimony too! Long since. But somehow, as Stephen E. Robinson puts it; while I believed in Christ, I just didn't believe Christ. I believed He was there, created the earth and was powerful beyond my comprehension. I just didn't believe He could or would save me. Somehow, I had developed the notion that Salvation was my task, not His.

I couldn't imagine that Jesus would reach down into the mud, I'd got my self stuck in, fouled with, and pull me out, clean me up and set me off in the right direction. I thought I had to climb out of the mire of my life on my own; that I had to clean myself up and arrive presentable at the judgment seat on my own. How I could have come to these conclusions while attending church, Sunday School, reading the scriptures all my life, is simply beyond me. As Colleen Harrison so aptly describes it, I was spiritually dyslexic! It was as though I thought I had to excise my own tumor, before I could go to the doctor. I was behaving like an Agnostic while professing to be a believer.

The Twelve Steps are inspired and wonderful. Key to their success in helping me repent is the inclusion of the first three steps. They're about acknowledgement of guilt and about faith, trust in God. All of my previous attempts to repent, failed, largely because "faith preceeds the miracle" and I had skipped that part. There is a reason why Faith in Jesus Christ is the first principle of the gospel. I had never truly repented. All I had ever done was stop sinning (for a while). True repentance requires a remission of sins which requires allowing Jesus to remove the guilt, heal the damage and change the heart. Quitting a sinful behavior, in the short term, is not repentance. Quitting sinful behavior, in the long term, without repentance and a remission of sins, is impossible. All my life the connection between the Atonement and true repentance was somehow lost on me. I guess I should have stood on the bench in church, then maybe, what was being taught wouldn't have gone over my head!

Today, I am free of addiction because I have repented and received, throught the merits and mercy of Jesus Christ, a remission of my sins. Not for any merit of my own, for I am nothing, as to my strength I am weak. This blessing has come because my Redeemer decended below all things that He might lift me up, knowing I would be unable to lift myself.

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified
That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died

I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine
That he should extend his great love unto such as I
Sufficient to own, to redeem and to justify

I think of his hands, pierced and bleeding to pay my debt
Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me
Secure in the promise of life in his victory
Thus ransomed from death I will live to my Savior's praise
And sing of his goodness and mercy through endless days

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me
Oh, it is wonderful
Wonderful to me

(I Stand All Amazed, Charles H. Gabriel)

Growing Up In Himni Utah - Episode 3

Bucking Bales and Lemonade

Of all the stuff Butch Farley is reported to have done. One is for sure. I was there and have felt guilty ever since.

We were bucking bales for Pop Wardley up near the canyon. Hot, sweaty, hard work it was. Especially if you were a skinny kid like me. Every afternoon at quitting time Pop would ask us what time we wanted to start in the morning. We would all go for six when it was cool. Every day Pop would reply with, “Too many tireds, how about nine.” And so we always hauled hay in heat of the day. At noon we’d skinny dip in the canal so we’d be all cleaned up and cooled off for lunch. Aunt Marge always fed us a great lunch. We’d work about six hours a day for $1.25 an hour. The older kids and some of the younger city kids got work in town for more than that. If you were 14 though, it was bucking bales or nothing.

Pop was a favorite to work for though, mostly because of Aunt Marge’s cooking and because Pop slip stacked. Lots of folks had given up slip stacking after Bobby Roberts’ accident, but not Pop. He was just too set in his ways. Someone drove the tractor (usually one of Marge’s girls) and one of us rode the slip. It was a large sheet of steel dragged by a chain behind the baler. The slip stacker (one of us) stacked the bales on that sheet of steel as they came out of the baler. At the end of the field all you had to do was step off the slip, stick a hay hook in a bottom bale and hang on. The slip would slide right out from under the pile of bales. Now the guys on the hay wagon would load them up and haul them off to the stack yard. It sure beat walking all over the field gathering up the bales. Bobby Roberts managed to get under the slip with a stack on it. It killed him and the thoughts of it kept us on our toes.

Usually, we shut down for a break midmorning and again midafternoon. We didn’t need to bring food but we always brought plenty to drink. On the day I’m thinking of Pop was driving the hay wagon and Mirtle was driving the baler. Butch was slip stacking and Delin Perkins and I were loading the wagon and stacking the hay stack. When we stopped for a break, Mirtle and Pop went to the yard for more baling twine and Delin was finishing up on the big stack. Butch got shaded up and noticed Delin’s thermos full of lemonade. Now, you’ve got to understand that, though we were the same age, Butch was two of me. I hadn’t quite cleared 100 pounds yet and I stood 5′ 10″. Butch on the other hand was a good 190 pounds and was already shaving every day. He didn’t really look like a bully, but his reputation and a particularly cold glint in his eye on top of his size kept me in my place. Anyway, Butch picked up the thermos and looking right at me, drank half of it down. Though I said nothing, I’m sure the glint of terror in my eye made it clear that I wasn’t going to say anything. I did wonder what Delin would say though. I glanced up at Delin on the stack and when I looked back, there stood Butch peeing Delin’s thermos back full.

I have never had a more confusing gumbo of emotions in my whole life as I did that day when I silently watched Delin Perkins down that entire thermos. He never noticed a thing and Butch never even flinched. Today the fear, revulsion, shame, awe, anxiety, delight and bewilderment have all boiled down to a thick greasy guilt. And every time I see old Delin I wonder about that facial tic he’s developed.

Leadership in the Church

I never cease to be both pleased and amazed at the method and inspiration with which leaders in the LDS Church are selected. I was part of that process this week and feel even more grateful to know that God is at the helm.

Being a Branch President, I was invited along with other Priesthood Leaders to have an interview with the visiting Authorities from Salt Lake City. They interviewed 60 or 70 of us with the intent of finding who the Lord desires to be the two new Stake Presidents. Our lives and service were explored, but most important, we were each asked who we felt the Lord would have to lead us. The names we gave certainly had a bearing on the decision, but then these humble leaders took the matter to the Lord.

Having thus become a bit more familiar with the local leaders they had a bit more to place before the Lord as they sought His guidance. Long exposure to this method, affirms to me that we are truly led by inspiration. Never have I felt that the Stake President I then had was not the perfect person for the job. Not that any of them were or are perfect. They're not. But they were called by God to labor in his vineyard with talent and humility that made them wholly adequate to be instruments in His hands.

None of them desired the position. None campaigned or lobbied for the post. Neither were they coerced to accept such a burden of service and stewardship. All of them had burning testimonies of the truth. Each only desired to serve where the Lord needed them. None of them accepted without knowing of the sacrifice required to so serve and each of them accepted anyway.

One of the most beautiful things I've ever observed in this wonderful process was a Stake President, who upon his release from his highly visible, "important" calling of leadership, was called next to teach a class of rowdy boys in Primary. He served with just as much distinction, care and diligence in a tiny Primary class as he did leading an entire Stake of the Church. To him and the others. It never was about where you served but how. What a gift it is to be led by people such as that!

All that is required is to be willing to serve the Lord and let Him direct the affairs of the Ward or Stake. No special education, no remarkable gift for language, organization, or leadership, no amount of experience or dynamic of circumstance can substitute for the simple humility of letting God take charge of their lives and guide them in paths, He directs. Such are the men chosen today, whom I shall gladly follow.

Anybody Have a Flashlight?

I called Randy today and turned down his generous offer of a job. I'm still scratching my head about it. Randy and I've been friends since High School. We've laughed and cried together. We've served in the Kingdom together. We've hiked Grand Canyon together. We've helped each other through crises. We've celebrated one another's triumphs. We've wondered at one another's trials.

Most of those years our circles have not overlapped and we've spent months without much contact. I've long prayed that God would allow our paths to merge more. And now here is the answer to that prayer and I have to decline. I'd explain it to you if I understood it myself.

I guess if you needed a short answer I'd have to reply with, "Stupor of thought." I've lived long enough to know I should go with my feelings and working with Randy, though appealing beyond description, doesn't feel right. Apparently, Heavenly Father has something else in mind for me.

Randy asked if another of my prospects had come through. That would have been nice. No, I have applications for employment out there, but have had no response from any of them. Of course that makes my decision to decline Randy's offer seem even more irresponsible and foolish. Still, I must go with my feelings. Interestingly, Randy seemed like my decision confirmed feelings of his own. Being Pals both of us would have loved working together, yet both of us sense that God has something else in mind for each of us. There is no point speculating why or what this should be. Perhaps, the answer will one day be revealed, maybe we'll never know.

And so, for now, I sail blindly into the darkness of my future, trusting God to be at the helm. While a flashlight would be nice, if God is my Captain I need not fear. I'm certain that out there, in the darkness, God has a blessing for me. I have no inkling how that blessing will present itself. It could be buried treasure on some island of comfort. It could be smooth sailing on a bright tranquil sea. I could be a disastrous wreck on the rocks of some unfamiliar shore. And it could be a heart wrenching storm of monstrous proportions. Whatever it is, it will be life. And life is what I signed up for.

I have only one hope and that is to tarry. I want to serve. I want to reflect the light of Christ into the life of someone in the darkness of despair. I want to love. I want to pour the love of Christ into the wounds of those I meet. I want to care. I want to show to those I encounter that they matter not only to me but to God. I want to teach. I want to share what I've been given all my days. I want to live!

Wayne A. Jenkins - December 1961 to August 2009

I didn't know Wayne A. Jenkins. I knew his parents. I knew of their concern when he first got sick. I knew of the roller coaster ride of fear and elation, doubt and confidence, miracle and disappointment that thrilled and chilled their hearts for the past two years. I knew of their deep abiding faith and trust in God. It was all evident yesterday morning as I sat in their living room and grieved his passing with them.

Jim and Jackie told me of tender moments of faith and testimony during Wayne's ordeal. They told me of faithful friends, devoted siblings, earnest children, loving in-laws, a constantly devoted wife and a caring, loving and enduring, though dieing, father. They were touching stories of love, sorrow and faith. There was no panic in their voices, no anguish in their demeanor. Only, faith and love and loneliness. It will likely be a long time before they see Wayne again - long in the dog days of mortality. But in my two sweet friends glows an inner confidence that, distant or close, that day of joyful reunion will come and it will be accompanied by the majestic music of gratitude and love.

As is so often the case, I go to comfort and return comforted. What a blessing it is to know and be known by faithful, faith-filled Latter-day Saints. Like everyone else, they suffer tribulation in life. Like most they face it with resolute determination. Like some, they also face it with assurance, confidence, courage and above all perspective. What a gift it is to know and understand God's Plan of Happiness, Redemption, Salvation, The Great Plan of the Eternal God. A plan which He has revealed to us, so that we can see life in its entire beauty, majesty, and perfection. A gift we so gratefully appreciate because while embracing our sorrow, through the tears we can look over it's shoulder at the bright broad glory of eternity.

Growing Up In Himni, Utah - Episodes 1 & 2

Note: My alter-ego A. Jenkins Parker has written a series of stories about a fictitious town in Utah called Himni. I'll be making it a regular Tuesday practice of sharing some of those stories with you. Jinx as he his known to his friends, doesn't approve of this, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Enjoy!

My How The Place Has Changed, by A. Jenkins Parker

I wasn’t born in Himni. It had plenty of history, by the time I got here. I’ve learned some of the past, but mostly, I’m just going to tell you about the stuff I’ve seen in this little town since my family arrived. Even so, you ought to know a little about Himni for reference purposes.

Situated in a lonely valley in Eastern Utah, Himni has always been a bit out of the way. When Brigham Young was sending folks into the far reaches of the Intermountain West, this must have been one of the last places he thought of. Himni was hard to reach, dry and pretty much inhospitable. We’ve always wondered if the first pioneers who came here weren’t chased rather than directed to come to such a place. The old folks somehow scratched out a living, but by the looks of things when I arrived, just barely. Then the gentiles started showing up. They were chasing minerals and oil and didn’t care much for cows and sheep. They prospered and the rest of the community began looking in their direction.

There never has been much of a quarrel between the Mormons and the gentiles out here, but the mixture has been interesting to see. That’s about all you need to know.

I arrived in 1962 and entered the seventh grade at Omner Valley Jr. High. That was about the time of Himni’s transition and I thought I might like to share some of those days with you. It was a different time. One today’s youngsters may even find hard to believe. I had just turned 12 and was pretty confused about life and living. I had lived in Salt Lake and Provo during my formative years. Not exactly big cities, but really something compared to Duchesne where I’d spent the past two. Now we had uprooted once again and moved to Himni, at least four times the size of Duchesne. The streets were paved. The library didn’t have wheels. They had a swimming pool.

Once when my kids were little they wondered how come I knew so much about the 50’s when I would have been too small to remember much. It was simple. The 50’s didn’t get to Himni ’til the 60’s. In many ways, thank goodness, the 60’s never did get here. There was that couple of weeks the Hippies were passing through town…which makes a great jumping off spot for a first story.

Of Hippies, Produce and Making a Living, by A. Jenkins Parker

One summer in the mid-sixties the Hippies had a rendezvous in Boulder, Colorado. Most of them hitchhiked through Himni on their way from California. There wasn’t a male in town who had hair over his ears so to us they were quite a sight. Most folks just gawked, a few mothers kept their kids indoors, but life didn’t change all that much.

Butch Farley and his buddies rolled a few of them, or so we heard. They claimed to have even taken a load of Hippies into the back of Butch’s pickup truck ostensibly to convey them on towards Colorado. Instead they took them up on Pine Top and impolitely dropped them off in the middle of nowhere. Butch loved the reputation, but I don’t really know if he ever did half the stuff his minions bragged about. I was working at the local IGA that summer. My first town job. We had the usual crew; a few sweet old ladies in the bakery, a trio of young mothers running the check stands, a bunch of high school kids bagging groceries and stocking shelves. We had an ambitious out-of-towner for a manager who’s name was Lester Moore. A smooth ladies man in the meat department called Tuff. And we had a scrawney little manager wannabe running the produce department. His name was Mark Wilson. Mark was also from out of town.

Mark was always having problems. I think his ambition far outstripped his brains, but he was a nice kid and we all liked him. One day, for example, we called him to the front to help check groceries. He never came. We called again with the same results. When the rush was over; Les sent me over to the Pine Top Cafe’ to see if he was sitting in the coffee shop. Nope. We made a cursory search of the store with no results. We even called his house to see if he’d gone home for some reason. No luck, but his wife Leslie, hurried down to help with the search. They’d been married just a few months. Leslie was gorgeous and I had a secret crush on her.

I personally had checked the produce cooler a couple of times. The light switch was on the outside of the door. Both times the light was off. On my third trip around I looked in the cooler again, nothing. Just as the door was closing, though, I heard something and opened the door and turned on the light. A wall of lettuce boxes had collapsed and fallen on top of poor Mark. He’d been there under the pile in that cooler for over three hours. He was shivering uncontrollably and Leslie took him home for the rest of the day.

Another time we had a late night stocking project. Us kids went home at midnight and Les and Mark stayed behind. When we got to the store in the morning it was locked up. We rattled the door and Nellie from the bakery, who had been inside for hours making bread and doughnuts and stuff, let us in. It was dark up in the office so Sue Connor, the head checker made me go up with her. There we found Les and Mark passed out after polishing off a bottle of Jack Daniels. As in the rest of Utah, a bottle Jack Daniels isn’t available in a grocery store and I had never even seen one. Mark had fallen asleep with his neck propped between two coke bottles in a 24 bottle crate. We let them sleep. When they finally came down about eleven, Mark couldn’t hold his head up and he stayed that way for about a week. One Friday morning we got this huge shipment of cantaloupes. Les was livid. We’d never sell that many in a million years. Desperate to prove him wrong before the cants spoiled, Mark put on his thinking cap. Where he got his stroke of genius we’ll never know.

Rarely, had the hippies actually stopped in the store, but on this particular day they were swarming the place. Oh, they bought the usual stuff and tried to look casual but it soon became apparent that it was cantaloupes they were after. Every sale included several! By Saturday night they were almost gone! We had nearly sold the entire stock in two days!

Now, in those days the most common advertising method in the grocery business was the painted sign. Poster paint on butcher paper was the medium. These were usually stapled on a wooden “A” frame out on the sidewalk for the passing traffic to see. For a couple of days none of us employees had noticed what Mark had done. There on an ordinary “A” frame was this message. “NOTICE – IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT PEOPLE HAVE BEEN DRYING THE RINDS OF OUR CANTALOUPES AND SMOKING THEM – WE ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO SELL OUR MELONS FOR ANY OTHER THAN THEIR INTENDED PURPOSE!”

Sometimes we get so desperate to find happiness, we’ll try anything.

Hedging My Bets?

These days we rather despise the hedging of bets. The practice of betting on both sides in an effort to protect ourselves from losses has become pervasive, even institutionalized in the stock market. We get all upset about the devastation the practice has had on the economy, but hedging in our own personal lives is more common and even worse.

Let me give you a few examples of how we hedge our spiritual bets. When I was serving a mission in the Philippines we were instructed to live on $100.00 a month. Our parents were told the same. Before I arrived, missionaries had discovered that if we cashed our checks on the Black Market we could get 600 pesos for $100.00 as opposed to 350 pesos if we exchanged our dollars at the bank. We used the Black Market. For a while we went each month to see the China Man in Quiapo in his dark hole in a shady part of town. It seemed so adventuresome to sneak through the dark alleys and up secret stairs to conduct our clandestine errands. Later, for our safety, the China Man began coming to the Mission Home on P-Day. He was doing so when Elder Ezra Taft Benson came for a visit. Clearly, that gentle Apostle was not pleased.

Elder Benson admonished us to have faith. He counseled us to refrain from this illegal activity and promised that if we went to the bank and trusted in God we would manage just fine. We did so. In other words, we quit hedging our bets. The next month the Philippines floated their peso on the international money market and thereafter, and for the remainder of my mission, the bank yielded 650 or so pesos in exchange for $100.00!

A friend once told me that she would pray each morning for the strength to quit smoking and then (just in case God was too busy) she would slap a nicotine patch on her shoulder. She was hedging her bet. When she realized what she was doing, she repented, put her trust in God, quit hedging and, exercising her faith, quit smoking too!

I am aware that Brigham Young admonished us to pray as if everything depended on God and then to work as if everything depended on us. There is merit and blessing in this counsel. But too often we use such counsel as an excuse for our own lack of faith. Exercising faith in God is not the same as gambling. Laboring in the vineyard is not the same as hedging.

If we are short on funds enough to pay the bills, keeping back our tithing is hedging, even if we promise to make it up next month.

If we truly accept Joseph Smith's declaration that, "I teach them correct principles and let them govern themselves," we won't teach correct principles to our children and then hedge by controlling their lives. Joseph wasn't a control freak and neither is God.

Today, I have been offered a job, that, in my heart, I know I should not accept. Still, I am tempted to accept the offer because I have no other present prospects. In other words, I am tempted to hedge my bet. The thing is, it is not a bet. I know what God expects of me and I must trust that He has something else in mind for me. While I am not privileged to know what lies in the future, I am clearly assured that this job is not for me. I am grateful for what knowledge God has granted me and that must be good enough. If it is not, what does it say of my faith and trust in God. If not, it says I don't truly trust Him and that I feel I must rely on the arm of the flesh to ensure my survival.

Trusting in the arm of the flesh is always a case of hedging our bets. It means that we have yet to come to trust God sufficiently that we are confident that he is true and faithful. It means that we feel we must have contingency plans in place in the event that God doesn't come through for us. Trusting in the arm of the flesh does not mean we should not prepare. It is an expression of our faith in Him when we follow the Prophet and store a year's supply of food, for example.

When the saints were leaving Nauvoo, Brigham Young gave very explicit instructions as to what each family should prepare and take with them. Many were unwilling or unable to fully adhere to those instructions. Brother George A. Smith was one who followed Brother Brigham's instructions to the letter. Weeks later President Young encountered Brother Smith while crossing Iowa. George A.'s wagon was bogged down in mud up to its axles. He anxiously asked Brother Brigham what should be done, whereupon the prophet told him his load was too heavy and that he ought to lighten it by giving much of his supply to the poor. George A. Smith, didn't flinch, didn't hedge his bet, he simply, humbly, trustingly complied.

Today, I want to be like George A. Smith.

Movie Review - The Kid

This great little Disney movie has an outstanding message. When an adult Russ Duritz discovers an eight year old version of himself standing on his front porch, he doesn't recognize his boyhood personage. He has grown to become a markedly successful loser, a markedly successful liar.

He and his younger self embark on a journey of discovery in which Russ digs out unpleasant memories from his past, examines them from an adult perspective and files them away understood and resolved.

It is a painful, humorous, emancipating process told with a delight and whimsy that is sure to make the movie a classic. When I first watched it, I found it enjoyable, heart warming. As I've watched and imagined it since, it has become cathartic and catalyzing. I too, have baggage I've carried from childhood that I've not examined from a more mature perspective. I too, have given up on core dreams and values that might have fulfilled me and brought me joy. I too, have struggled with relationships that have been harmed by lack of perspective and unfair judgments. I too, have fears and prejudices that keep me from taking the plunge into full and purposeful living.

My childhood dreams were not the same as Russ Duritz's but they were just as real and just as vital to my present happiness as his were to him. There is great comfort in the message of The Kid; which is that it is never too late to reconnect with those dreams. In a very poignant way, I think this is part of what Jesus meant when He admonished us to "become as a little child."

Watch this movie, if you already have, watch it again. See if it doesn't stimulate a heart deep longing for what you always knew really matters.

Family Excursion to Ely Creek Falls in Jones Hole

The Rasmussens, Rodericks, Coutures and Webers combined for a wonderful excursion to Jones Hole today. We played in the Ely Creek waterfall enjoying the world famous Power Shower. We also swam in Jones Creek below the bridge. A fun five mile hike, great picnic and tons of fun had by all. To see even more photos, click on see full album at the end of the slide show! Or click here!

Dump Runs

I've hauled a lot of trash to the dump this week. I cleaned out two sheds and was amazed at the volume of junk I had hoarded over the years. One shed in particular was like an archaeological dig layered with 20 years of stratified detritus from our lives in this location. Some of it, I might have used, had I remembered it was buried under accumulations of other stuff.

I could hardly get into that shed and the pile had essentially rendered the shed useless, not to mention it's contents.

Now, after a thorough cleansing, the shed is able to serve me. I have easy access to all of it's contents. It's contents are only those things I need. The trash, overburden, worthless and rotten is all gone, buried in a growing mountain of stuff others have similarly discarded. In fact a scraper, loader/compacter and bulldozer are kept busy full time just managing that mountain of once priceless rubbish.

I guess at one time, I must have thought that trailer load of stuff was worth keeping. What has changed? Perhaps the realization that if I hadn't used it again in 20 odd years, what makes me think if might in the next 20. Perhaps I kept it because having exchanged it for money, which represented hours of labor, I somehow needed to justify it's expense in the first place. As the money was no longer hoarded in the Bank, I needed to hoard it's results somewhere else.

All I really know today, is that it was liberating to toss it all and be done with it. It was a burden I took on long ago. One I took on so gradually that I didn't notice the weight of it until it had practically buried me. It was so liberating in fact, that I'm looking elsewhere for more baggage to unload. I love the dump for it's open maw, so willing to receive my burdens allowing me to leave so empty and light, happy to return to tidy, useful, swept out sheds.

I was tempted to call this a metaphor for life, living, repentance, redemption, healing, salvation, all provided by the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It is not so much a metaphor as a real manifestation of life. For Atonement is both spiritual and temporal. Mortality is both spiritual and temporal. Eternity is both spiritual and temporal. Cleansing the sheds of valueless garbage is no different than cleansing our souls of the same. Both foul our lives. Cleansing is cleansing.

Book Review - How Greek Philosophy Corrupted the Christian Concept of God

Richard R. Hopkins has thrilled me with his carefully researched treatise on a most important subject.

I would call this the definitive work refuting the claim the Mormons are not Christians. He has carefully, masterfully, examined the history, method and means by which orthodox Christianity became heir to corrupted notions about the nature of both God and man and about the nature of their relationship.

No thinking scholar could deny Hopkins' thesis; not in the face of the evidence he has here examined. That said, I suspect that his work will largely go unnoticed by those thus corrupted. It is a nice, affirming read for those of us who already understand and accept the Latter-day Saint view of God. If there are honest seekers among those whose belief in God has been influenced by Orthodox Christian views, they will find this book helpful and gratifying, but we all know that a man convinced against his will, will remain of the same opinion still.

I recommend the book highly for it's clear examination of truth and is unflinching indictment of error. I especially loved Hopkins' treatment of the subjects of time, eternity and infinity. Those were the most concise and enlightening chapters on the subject I've ever encountered.

From the book: "Mormon theology provides a coherent concept of God, while that of classical theism is demonstrably incoherent." You might think demonstrably to be a pretty strong word in such a declaration, but Hopkins' book fully demonstrates the incoherence of which he speaks.

John 17:3 "And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent." I am thankful beyond measure for the revealed correction we enjoy to the world's corrupted understanding of God.

I wish Richard R. Hopkins, would follow this book with one devoted to How Greek Philosophy Has Corrupted Western Thought. I am convinced that we in the West have adopted patterns of thinking that make understanding God and even our own religion more difficult. We struggle to understand many important concepts because we've been culturally trained to think according to Greek ideology. We are trying to understand what is essentially an Eastern Religion, with Western minds. I believe that without the Greek influence in our thinking we'd more easily understand and accept such concepts as losing our lives to gain them, submitting our will to God's, becoming "perfect" and so on. One of the reasons the Pharisee's struggled with Jesus' teachings was that they had already been heavily influenced by Greek philosophy.

How Greek Philosophy Corrupted the Christian Concept of God is an academic read, but flows easily and is not over the lay person's head. I recommend it highly!