Thank You

Our time of bereavement has come.  Rae Petersen Rasmussen has majestically returned to that God who gave her.  This morning all I can really feel is gratitude.  So, I just want to say thanks!

Thanks to Cheya, Steve, Jenny, Verona and Shaneen who faithfully took their turns caring for Mom over the past few weeks.  How they tended to her every need.

Thanks to Susan who rode to the rescue all the way from Virginia to help us carry on as we, exhausted, needed to redouble our efforts.  You never falter and we are so grateful you came. 

Thanks to Mark and Susan who so very frequently gave up their weekends and traveled so far to give the others a break and also give such love and service.   

Thanks to Uintah Basin Home Care/Hospice and more particularly to Rose and Kay, for their fine attentive service and kindness.

Thanks to Wayne and Greg, Kevin, Debbie, Melinda and Janna for coming so very far to love and to serve before she left, only to come so far again to see her off.

Thanks to Steve for doing all the work to get Mom and Dad's headstone so beautifully designed and set in place in time for Mom to see it.  Thanks for getting her out of the house on that one last, special excursion.

Thanks to Bishop Cook and President Case for coming to the house to renew her Temple Recommend.

Thanks to Jodi, Mom's Relief Society President for precious acts of service, accompanied by so many Sisters in Zion.

Thanks to Davis for being worthy to bless the emblems of the Atonement one last time for his dear Grandmother.  And for the Priests of her Ward who faithfully rendered that precious service all the while she was homebound.

A special thanks to Kevin for being Mom's house-mate these several years.  You eased our hearts, blessed our lives and broadened our smiles.  You most certainly blessed the life of your Grandmother.

Thanks to Kristi, Ronnie and Kevin, Jenny and John, Steve and Cheya, Shaneen and Mark for painting her house.  And to Steve and Eric, Scott and Ryan and John for shingling her roof.

A heart felt thanks to Jenny and John for mowing her lawn and shoveling her walks season upon season.  And thank you for washing her windows and cleaning her house and for rallying the rest of us for Spring projects and so many other good deeds.  No one's beat a more consistent path to Grandma's door than Jenny.

Thanks to Cheya for countless hours working on boxes and boxes of family photos.  Mom loved that project so very much.  You blessed her life greatly as you reminisced together through so many precious memories. We will forever be the beneficiaries of your tireless efforts to preserve and chronicle our lives together.

Thanks to Shaneen for paying all the bills and keeping Mom's financial affairs in order.  You did it quietly and without fanfare, but this great blessing didn't go unnoticed.

Thanks to Steve for his oversight of the property and for his constant concern for Mom and her welfare.  Your selfless service and constant concern make sure nothing falls through the cracks.  Additionally, Steve, your concern for others and your willingness to give us much needed breaks, have given us the vitality and perspective we needed to carry on.

The whole family is grateful for the NOBLE, pioneering, wisdom of Eric.  He has showed us all how to serve, to mourn, to have faith and great courage.

Mom's final night in mortality was a difficult one.  She was closely attended to by Susan, Steve, Mark, Shaneen, Verona, Scott, Jenny and Katie.  The vigil they kept through the night was one of devotion, prayer and concern.  A heart felt thanks to each of you.  Mark and Steve's words of comfort and encouragement fell on our ears as well as hers.  Most especially we are grateful for Mark's prayer and Katie's wonderful song.  It was certainly a sacred moment when she passed beyond the veil to her glorious and certain reward and happy reunion.

When Cheya arrived at her mother's bedside and found her body relaxed and at peace, she exclaimed a joyful, heart felt, "Yay!"  In celebration of a life well lived and a fight well fought.  In rejoicing that the long ordeal of suffering had finally come to its joyful end.  Thank you Cheya for your enduring faith and refined perspective.

There is a long list of others who because of work and distance and other difficulties, couldn't enjoy the rich blessings so abundant to those who could give her more constant care.  Loved ones who came by as often as they could and who did so much to lift her spirits, and ours.  Kristi, Julie, Cory, Audrey, Jason, Rachel, Alyson, Ryan, Julie, Cassie, Jordan, Stacey, Brett, Angela, Donald, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Billie, Molly Dean, Amy, and Darryl; thank you all so very very much for your love, devotion, encouragement and concern.

When, Brinli, Aubree, Ryker, Porter, Brooke, Robbie, Lincoln, Jeff and Megan, bopped in for loves and smiles, she was never happier.  And she often mentioned and asked about her more distant great-grand children in far away Virginia.  Thanks to all of them for their affection, prayers and expressions of love and concern.

Thanks to the Blackburn Vernal Mortuary for the warm, professional way in which they served our family and for the dignified way in which they cared for Mom.

Thanks to the Davis 1st Ward Relief Society for lovely arrangements and delightful food.  The luncheon was marvelous and gave us such a bountiful opportunity to mingle with loved ones.

Thanks to so many Petersens and Rasmussens and Harrisons who came such amazing distances to express their love and condolences.  Add to that the dozens of friends who also came to pay their respects and you have an amazing group of wonderful people whose lives were touched by mother and very much the other way around.  The flowers and other arrangements were beautiful and added such cheer to our sorrow.  They were a source of great joy.  Thank you.

Most of all, a special thanks to Mom.  You were faithful and determined to the very end.  Your example of sweetness, persistence, humility, grace and goodness will never be forgotten.  

You left your house clean and freshly painted, with brand new doors and a full propane tank.  You left our lives equally filled and bright with your love and attentive care.  We cannot imagine life without you and hope you are never very far away.  We trust we will see you again for the sake of your goodness if not for our own.  None of us has ever known a more perfect example of righteousness and womanhood.

Finally, a special thanks to Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ, for giving Mom to each of us.  Thank you for comforting, lifting and touching our lives through her.  Thank you for giving us the promise of seeing her and Dad again one day.  Thank you for answering our prayers in her behalf.  Thank you speaking peace to our souls at her passing.  Thank you for orchestrating the theme and circumstances that made this difficult occasion a holy, memorable and blessed one.

Note:  I'm glad this is an adaptable medium so I can amend it when I discover that in my weakness I have overlooked someone, which I surely have.  If you know of such an oversight, please let me know.  I guess to be adequately thorough, I should have written a book.  Myriad are the kindly deeds of service that have been rendered incident to Mom's illness and passing.  This is but a brief overview.  I hope I can be forgiven for it's mistakes.  It's just that I could not restrain myself from expressing the profound gratitude I feel for all that has been done to ease and bless the life of our dear Mother, Grandmother, Great-Grandmother, Sister, Friend, Aunt and dear one, Rae Petersen Rasmussen.

It has been a strain and a joy, as we tearfully remember our way through a house full of memorabilia.  A heartfelt thanks to seven wonderful siblings whose generosity, love and affection for one another has transcended worldly wants for something far sweeter and more meaningful.  You honor your mother richly by the way in which you conduct your lives and the care with which you maintain your family relationships.

A Great Heart

Sweetie's dear Mother is leaving us.  It has been a long slow process.  She has such a great heart that doesn't want to quit.  She is completely bedfast now.  She is mostly unable to respond to us.  For days now she has struggled for breath, but still she chugs on.  We've taken turns at her side around the clock for a couple of weeks now.  Each day we marvel that she continues to persist in living.

We've all said our goodbyes and are hopeful that she doesn't need to suffer much longer.  Two of our daughters spent the night with her last night.  I was just there, where she is surrounded by two sons, a daughter, two daughters-in-law and three grand children.  When Sweetie awakens from her exhaustion, we'll return to carry on.  Everyone gets a break but Mom.  Seems as though that's how it has always been.

In our prayers we wonder why she must suffer so, but last night Katie sang her a lullaby and her grandmother roused briefly in an expression of gratitude.  Numerous little incidents of closure like that have taken place during the long ordeal.  All we can do is trust Heavenly Father's wisdom in the matter.  For days we thought, "this is the day."  We think so today as well.  But who can really tell the strength of a great heart.

Choosing Up Sides

I answered the phone last night.  There was a sweet lady on the other end conducting a survey.  Ordinarily I don't have time for such things.  I also resist the fact that they just assume I have plenty of time and never even ask if their interruption in my life might be convenient or not.

For some reason, curiosity I guess, I said I would participate and asked how long it would take.  She couldn't tell me because she didn't know how long it would take me to respond.  That was my cue to take as long as I wished.

The premise of her survey was completely flawed as pertains to me, but still I persisted to the bitter end.  You see, all of her questions wanted to know if I were conservative or liberal.  It never occurred to those seeking the information that there might be people who are neither.

She asked me who I preferred Bush or Obama.  I paused, considering that for quite a while.  When she expressed curiosity as to why such a answer would take so long I answered, "I'm trying to decide if I prefer crap or poop."  She seemed totally lost as to what I might mean.  I explained that I didn't like either one and so was not in a position to honestly answer the question.  I asked if there might be a third alternative.  Nope.

I chose poop.  The next question was, "Do you consider yourself liberal or conservative?"  I answered, "Neither."

"That is not a choice sir."

"Do you want me to lie?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed.

"Maybe I should just hang up then."

"Oh, no, we value your opinion." she declared.  I explained that if she valued my opinion she'd let me answer truthfully, but since she was restricting the answers I could give she was forcing me to lie."

"Can we proceed now," she impatiently asked.

"Of course!"

I decided the only way I could fairly represent my position was to answer the remaining questions alternately conservative and liberal.  She struggled with my inconsistency and accused me of messing with her data.  I tried again to explain that I needed to represent the unrepresented middle and that I needed to average the two poles.  This was way over her pay grade.  We discussed almost every answer so I could help her understand.  I explained that when the left goes to some extreme or other, the right feels compelled to counter with an extreme of their own and vice versa.  I pointed out that when this happens the two sides find less and less common ground.  I stand on that common ground, but nobody is representing me.  Common ground is the fertile soil of common sense and nobody I'm aware of in Washington has a lick of it.  Come to think of it very few of my acquaintances have much of it either.  Of course the Washington establishment is aware of that as well as I am.  They are not bumbling idiots.  They are greedy power mongers whose time is spent securing their own personal interests above those of the nation.  They are not going about this blindly, they know very well what they are doing.

This can only be fixed by term limits.

The economy, the environment, race relations, poverty, military, health and welfare are not the fundamental issues.  They are seen by the controlling elite as means with which to manipulate the country for their own power hungry ends.  We the voters no longer control the system, we are just fodder for it.  Their fundamental tactic is to divide and conquer.  They have succeeded in dividing us and the results are more than obvious.

The Crunch of Sugar on the Kitchen Floor

I awoke from a nap just moments ago and as I walked into the kitchen, felt and heard the crunch of sugar spilled on the kitchen floor.  Sweetie is spending the afternoon at her mother's.  Katie is sleeping off a cold.  Neither are suspects.  The grandkids live through the back gate, one of them is.

Now, I'd rather those two didn't feel they had free rein in our house; especially when we aren't up or around.  Still, I want them to feel comfortable; as though they belong - which they do.  Megan has a lot of energy and ton's of initiative, she is my most likely suspect.  She's turning seven this month and is a whiz at First Grade.  I wonder how to approach this as they will arrive here to be babysat in a few moments.

I often look at the troubled kids at the Detention Center and ask myself, what happened that turned these children from sweet little kids to the pained hoodlums they've become.  Was it a 'sugar-on-the-kitchen-floor' moment when they were seven?  Maybe, maybe not.  But I'll wager that it all started with a gross over reaction to something.  Soon it became a series of somethings and the divergence between the two roads became wider and wider.

I wonder if a parent, grandparent or baby sitter looked at a pile of spilled sugar and thought only of themselves.  Who thought, "I'm tired.  I have to clean up this unnecessary mess.  What did I do to deserve a kid like this?  I can't take this any more. I....  I..... I...."

What if they'd have thought of Megan.  What if they asked, "What did you have in mind when you pulled out the sugar cannister?  Were you successful at making a batch of Kool-aid?  What flavor did you choose?  How did it taste?  Can I have some?"

I'll bet that during the last course of interrogation an apology for the mess, just might be forth coming.  I'll wager that the reason no attempt to clean it up came as result of being called home before the project was complete.  I can imagine that her intention was to surprise me with something sweet to drink...... (I just checked and was disappointed that the fridge didn't hold such a prize.)

It took me all of a minute to sweep and mop it up.  Shall I blow that all out of proportion and send little Megan down a more difficult road?  When you're seven big ideas don't turn out quite like you expect, shall I condemn her to the closet or the corner and commence building a barrier between us.  Shall I push her away when all she wants is to love and be loved?  Shall I punish her enterprise?  Shall I scold her initiative?

She just walked in the door.  I was glad I'd considered some questions in advance.  As a young father I might have sat her beneath a bare light bulb and used her Mom to play good cop, while I played the bad one.  Regrettably, I doubt I was playing.

Kids are quite capable to understanding the magnitude and appropriate consequences of their various mistakes.  Blown out of proportion, this little incident might have driven a wedge between she and I.  I think I'll let her help me decide how serious her little infraction should be.  Kids deserve at least the treatment citizens get in our courts.  They ought to be considered innocent until proven guilty.  A reasonable period of time might be granted before sentencing.  Careful consideration should be given to ensure the punishment is appropriate to the crime.

After supper we decided to have a trial and Jeff (nearly nine) accepted the responsibility to be Megan's Defense Attorney.

Court was called to order and the accused was asked to stand.  Her charges were explained and when asked she pleaded not guilty.  (Now what do I do?)  I proceeded with the trial and asked the Defense Attorney present evidence of Megan's innocence.  He called himself to the stand and confessed that it was he who had spilled the sugar, so it could not possibly have been Megan.  The case was immediately dismissed and the prisoner released.

Another trial was held with the roles reversed.  Jeff plead guilty and we moved right to the sentencing phase.  Megan suggested Jeff's punishment should be that he be required to put make-up on.  Jeff plead for mercy and suggested a week without video games.  "Commit the crime - Do the time," I said.  "Roll the dice - Pay the price", Jeff replied.

Sentencing guidelines considered both suggested punishments to be excessive.  The condemned was asked if he'd like to explain his actions.  He answered forthrightly.  He was conducting an experiment in the process of dissolving a solid in a liquid.  When asked why sugar was left on the floor he plead, "absent minded professor!"  His plea for mercy and understanding carried the heart of the court.  With an apology and a promise to be more thoughtful next time, the criminal was released on his own recognizance.

Best spent spilled sugar ever!

General Conference Was Wonderful - But It Made Me Jealous

I love General Conference!  I was able to listen to every moment of the proceedings.  Each talk lifted and inspired me.

I was so grateful that such emphasis was placed on pornography and the certain possibility of recovery from that and other addictions.

I was also grateful that Elder Packer declared that homosexual promiscuity could be repented of.  I'm sure that will cause a fire storm in some circles.  Gays don't seem to understand that they cannot dictate to the Lord what is right and wrong.  He makes the rules.  As the church is nothing if it doesn't represent God; how can anyone suppose that capitulating to social demands would do anything but destroy the church.  If they honestly think they can influence church policy by protesting what the church stands for, they are of necessity, making the church out to be something it is not.  The church is, after all, a Theocracy.  If it were operated as a Democracy, it would represent the people, not God.

In my youth I was quite jealous of the General Authorities.  They seemed to have such a romantic life, traveling the world, teaching the gospel.  I wanted to be so engaged.  I was also jealous of the opportunities they had to sit in council with prophets and apostles.  I imagine those meetings to be uplifting, harmonious, full of light and love.  In my more mature years it is becoming more obvious how challenging, difficult and demanding their jobs are.  I imagine constant jet lag.  I conjure images of sleepless nights, strange food, tiring schedules and long absences from home.  I remember one day standing the the Salt Lake airport and seeing Elder Neal A. Maxwell walking down the concourse on his way home from who knows where.  He looked resolute, but utterly exhausted.  My heart went out to him as he carried his enormous burden.  I wonder how many birthdays and ball games and school plays and anniversaries they the are required to miss.

My grandkids live right through the back gate.  I am able to serve in meaningful realms right here at home.  I am no longer jealous of their busy lifestyles.  I was thinking today that I shouldn't be jealous of their opportunities to sit in council in their various quorums.  I have a quorum.  Somehow though, my quorum doesn't seem to be following the pattern that appears to transpire at church headquarters.  My quorum is more like a class.  A rather disconnected class at that.  We do precious little to promote brotherhood.  We don't commiserate or council together.  We just sit in the same room for a lesson; one that draws distressingly little comment even.  We serve as individuals, but we don't serve as a group.  We all have testimonies.  I dare say we all love each other too.  We don't socialize as a group.  We don't seem to have a collective purpose.  We accept Temple and Home Teaching assignments, but we seem to content to do no more than we're asked.

I'd like a quorum that was more like the School of the Prophets.  I think we can do this!  I think there a just a few things that would make a big difference.

1. We could sit in a circle instead of rows.  I need to look into the eyes of my brethren, not at the back of their heads.
2. We could actually take on a project, or three.  I can't count how many times I've been organized into a committee around the three missions of the church, never to actually meet or do anything with said committee.  To date, those committees have never actually committed to or accomplished anything they set out to do.
3. We could actually have Personal Priesthood Interviews regarding our Home Teaching and our Quorum objectives.  I heard an example once of a Quorum Leader who held PPI's.  They were such a pleasure that no one missed them and everyone looked forward to them.  He would have his brethren say the opening prayer so he could "take their spiritual temperature" and then seek the guidance of the Lord as to what they needed to yet do to build the Kingdom.
4. We could have a monthly pot luck social during which we could get better acquainted with one another, as couples.  No big deal.  No special preparations.  No assignments.  No dishes.  Just sociality.
5. We could actually study the lessons, rather than have the teacher read it to us.
6. We could actually explore the application of the Atonement to our lives, rather than pontificating about how much we know.
7. We could identify problems and actually work on solutions.

Do you not suppose that this is more like what transpires in the Quorum of the 12 Apostles?  More than what we are currently doing?  I want to be part of a quorum like that.  I don't want to have to be called to Salt Lake City to get it.  I want it right here in the part of Zion that has been granted to me.

Earlier this week I praised the Freedom Ward in Star Valley.  Over the century they've been serving together, they been much like I describe.  The Priesthood has been the governing body in the town.  I remember the topic in Priesthood Meeting once was the acquisition of a fire trailer to be used in fighting fires in the community.  This was accomplished along with dozens of other projects.  They never even considered having the government take care of their needs.  The did that themselves.  They volunteered one another's equipment to help with the crops.  They cooperated in strengthening the gene pools of their herds.  They took turns watching their stock on the range.  They worked together on irrigation projects.  Their quorums had things to accomplish and they did them.

There are some very real challenges in my local, city ward.  We lack the kind of pressing community problems to solve that are part and parcel of everyday life in a farming community.  In the city, though we live closer together, we are actually more isolated and independent.  Also,some of my quorum members meet with Aaronic Priesthood quorums, some are in the Primary.  We need to find a way to include them.  We need their strength.  Additionally, we need to overcome the status quo.  Most of us have never seen the kind of quorum I envision.  It will be easiest to just stay the same.  While I hope not, it just may be that the only way to change things is to start with the boys in the Aaronic Priesthood.  The final problem I can think of is a matter of personal commitment. Like everything in the Kingdom, conversion is the key to motivation.  While many may be converted to the Church, some may not be converted the notion that a Priesthood Quorum may not be what we've always allowed it to be.  Like everything else in mortality, a vibrant quorum requires energy and effort.  It requires vision and purpose.  It requires faith and devotion.  Oh, how I pray we can do this.

A Bridge Across the Span of Years

My Great Grandparents, Samuel and Verena's Grave in the Freedom Cemetery
That's Rex's farm in the background

Thursday I went to Star Valley to the funeral of Rex, a dear friend and first cousin, once removed.  He was a dairy farmer in the family tradition.  We all admired Rex greatly for his remarkable tenacity.  Rex was born on that farm in 1922 and never left it until Parkinson's drove him to the rest home about a year ago.  Rex never went on a Mission or off to fight in WWII, he had cows to milk.  When others gave up farming in harder times Rex persisted and carried on.  I wish we had statistics of how many cows, how many milkings, how many cold, hot, rainy, snowy, windy, miserable mornings he trundled out to the barn.  On the other hand, how many sunrises, sunsets, births, gorgeous star valley days, did he enjoy while we were stuck in our offices or tucked in our beds.

It stirs my heart to think of countless hours spent alongside his children as his work hours were spent at home.  Growing up I had just enough taste of the dairy business and enough pragmatism to make me glad my Dad had given it up.  I couldn't see myself happily showing up in the barn at 4:00 in the morning and again in the afternoon, with tons of chores to do in between.  But I sure admire Rex for having done so, day after week after month after year for eight decades.

Rex lived in the little town of Freedom, Idaho/Wyoming.  Main street is the State line.  Our farms were on the Idaho side.  There is one Ward in Freedom.  The ward has never been divided or changed appreciably in over 120 years.  That's pretty remarkable as many people have lived in several different Wards without ever moving from their original home.  Like Rex, Freedom has a kind of stability that anchors those who live there.  More than that are the myriad people who grew up and moved away, yet still call Freedom home.  I moved away 55 years ago.  Even so, I've returned for reunions and funerals and simple touchstone visits.  And so, I can name Sheri, Lynn, Dean, Elaine, Dee, Fern, Fred, Farrell, Kelly, Robert, Curtis and others who've never left; as well as Rhonda, Julie, Larry, Wayd, Teri, Trudy, Merrill, Joanne, Gerald, Jim, Dan, Polly, Steve, Clark, Marion, Don and others who have.

Up at the cemetery are rows and rows of headstones whose names I am connected to.  Robinsons and Izatts, Heaps, Crooks, Haderlies, Jenkins and Hokanson's as well as my own Webers.  It is a most beautiful cemetery.  It is where my parents, grand parents, great grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins await the resurrection.  The cemetery overlooks the Weber farms that are gradually changing hands.  It is a place of peace and memory and I love to visit there.  This trip was unusual.  The weather was unseasonably warm for late September.  Most funerals I remember were cold and snowy.  My father was buried here in late September eleven years ago, the weather wasn't bad, but nothing like this.  Mom and Joseph, Grandma and Grandpa and Gerry were all buried in the cold and snow.  Statistically, the odds favor snow.  Dad used to say, "The trouble with Star Valley is that if Summer falls on Sunday you have to go to church."

Back at the chapel I sit down to eat ham and funeral potatoes while I visit with three of my kindergarten classmates.  Lynn, Rhonda, Larry and I were all in school together that year.  I left after two months, Rhonda after a year.  Lynn and Larry stayed, and grew up here.  We remembered the sloped wood desks with the lift up tops and having crushes on one another.  So much water under the bridge in the ensuing half century; we all turned 60 this year.  Only Lynn remains in the Valley, so I've seen him more recently.  I haven't seen Larry since 1974 nor Rhonda since 1967!  Still, because of our Freedom connection, we took up right where we left off.

I have not mentioned my brother Brad.  He and I drove up together.  Brad has never recovered from the loss of the farm and this place.  He returns much more often than I.  I remember, even when we were little boys, hearing him sing "Why Oh, Why did I Ever Leave Wyoming."  This trip he is investigating the purchase of a couple of Cemetery Plots for he and Wendy.  After 55 years the place is still calling him home.  He remains a farmer, avocationally at least, and has this place in his blood.

Last night after General Priesthood Meeting, I had a parking lot visit with Dan and his brother Jim.  Dan is a Star Valley expatriate, Jim still lives there.  Always we compare notes.  There are dozens of Star Valley ex-pats in the Basin alone.  You can go just about anywhere and find them.  Star Valley has produced a lot of children over the years but it's economy has never allowed the majority to remain at home.  I consider this a blessing because the result is that the place never really changes all that much.  This trip we noticed a new apartment complex in Freedom.  It looks and feels so out of place there next to the slough.  No body likes the change.  Perhaps with the loss of Rex a good bit of Freedom's long held stability has gone, certainly it will never be the same.

Book Review - A Storyteller in Zion by Orson Scott Card

I waited way too long to read this remarkable collection of thought and counsel.  I have long loved Card's fiction, in fact Ender's Game is my all time favorite Sci-Fi novel.  I hadn't begun to give Card the attention I'm now persuaded he deserves.  I always stayed away from Sunstone and Dialogue magazines because they had a reputation for seeking to correct the church.  I remember when Booklogged read this I thumbed through it and saw that some of the essays were written for one or the other of those publications.  I guess I judged Orson by the company he kept.  Ironic, since his articles republished in this volume were written to take critical writers in Sunstone and Dialogue to task.  I ignored Card until one day I heard that he'd turned up on Rush Limbaugh.  Rush Limbaugh?  No kidding.  I knew Orson was a dyed in the wool Democrat and the seeming incongruity was irresistible.  I'm no Democrat.  I'm no fan of Rush Limbaugh either.  In fact more recently I can also declare that I'm no Republican either.  I went to Limbaugh's web site and found the circumstances.  I was one up on Rush, at least I'd heard of Orson Scott Card.  If you followed the link you've discovered that Rush was thrilled with a newspaper piece Card had written.  He was clearly astonished by his honesty, candor and clarity of thought.  That is exactly what I love about this book!

I haven't read a book that opened my eyes to new possibilities like this one in a long long time.  It was published in 1993.  How I'd have benefited had I read it 17 years ago.  Card is clearly a well trained intellectual and his work is thought completely through.  His discourse on art, Zion, homosexuality, relationships and more is truly brilliant.  I recommend every Latter-day Saint read his work.  You'll get a clearer view of who we are and what we mean.  If you don't find his separation of substance from fluff as refreshing as I did, I'll be truly surprised.  Never has anyone spoken my language more eloquently.  While I have examined many of the concepts and principles Card elucidates, I certainly have not thought them through to the magnificent, eloquent conclusions he arrived at. 

I haven't read another LDS writer whose loyalty to the Church was more apparent, nor whose gift for making perfect sense of it's teachings more exalting.  Church members on both the left and right of today's political spectrum would do well to clarify their positions through the lens of Card's honesty.  Get it.  Study it.

Five Stars

Confessing Other People's Sins

Yesterday, I felt troubled while sitting in Gospel Doctrine Class.  For a while I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was that had me unsettled.  Then I realized that everyone who commented was busy confessing someone else's sins.

We were discussing Isaiah and the teacher had listed several scriptures on the board.  As we examined each one we tried to interpret what that ancient prophet witnessed and then recorded about us.  Much of it had to do with the sinful way in which we of the Latter-days were predicted to behave.  A person would be asked to read a verse and then imagine how it was fulfilled in our day.  Many of those interpretations included examples of how someone they knew or had seen, had actually done the "disgusting" thing Isaiah was describing.  It seemed to me that many of the comments were offered in a tone of thankfulness "that I am not like other men."  (See Luke 18:10-14)  

It is possible that I am judging a bit harshly.  I think I was most sensitive to the situation though, because for the past six years I have been worshiping at the Detention Center.  There, when we speak of transgression and sin, we speak openly of our own weakness and our personal need for repentance, improvement and understanding.  By contrast the Gospel Doctrine Class seemed to be quite certain that they were on firm ground and that someone else was in need of repentance, improvement and understanding; but most certainly not themselves.  I am not naive enough to think that in a congregation of 80 souls no one was personally in need of Isaiah's warning, including myself.

Quite frankly, if I were to have recorded the comments and let you listen objectively, you might have thought you were listening to a group of Zoramites.  Listen to Alma's description of them from chapter 31 of the Book of Alma.

 27 Behold, O God, they cry unto thee, and yet their hearts are swallowed up in their pride. Behold, O God, they cry unto thee with their mouths, while they are puffed up, even to greatness, with the vain things of the world.

  28 Behold, O my God, their costly apparel, and their ringlets, and their bracelets, and their ornaments of gold, and all their precious things which they are ornamented with; and behold, their hearts are set upon them, and yet they cry unto thee and say—We thank thee, O God, for we are a chosen people unto thee, while others shall perish.  

Sounds an awful lot like the scriptures we were discussing in Isaiah.  Now I'm not in the business of condemning anybody.  I'm the weakest of the saints.  I look around my ward and find that I love and admire each of my fellow worshipers.  What disappoints me is that we go to church and pretend we are not the ones the scriptures were written for.  We speak in class as if we have already made it and that the lesson is surely for some one else. Oh, and heaven forbid that our 9th Ward brothers and sisters might be led to discover that we have problems like everyone else!

It seems to me that a big part of the problem is the admonition that we all take so seriously - to be a good example.  We take that to mean that we are expected to present ourselves as perfect Latter-day Saints and breathe a sigh of relief because doing so enables us to "justifiably"cover our sins.  I personally don't think that is what the Lord had in mind.  Alma was a good example!  A good example of a flawed and rebellious person humbling himself, repenting of his sins and receiving the blessings of the Atonement in his life.  When he sat in Gospel Doctrine class it is likely that he repeatedly told the story of his redemption and reminded his fellows that it was not until he cried out, "O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me..."  (Alma 17:16)  that he received a remission of his sins.  Now that's a good example!

I wish that my Gospel Doctrine Class or High Priest's Group meeting were more like an LDS ARP (Addiction Recovery Program) Meeting.  How close we become as we share our experience, faith and hope in an atmosphere of honesty, testimony, humility and kindness.  We speak of our weakness.  We weep as we share our experiences of recovery, repentance and redemption.  We find hope because we see example after example of real people who have real problems and get real forgiveness and find real happiness.  We plead for mercy and feel the gracious companionship of the Spirit in each of our meetings.  How is it that with our fellow Saints we are so reluctant to be that honest with one another.  How much closer to Zion would we be if we were.

Now lets revisit Luke, Chapter 18:

  10 Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican.

  11 The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.

  12 I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess.

  13 And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.

  14 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one  that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.

Sound familiar?  It should.  I am going to work a lot harder at confessing my own sins and not those of another.  I have enjoyed the blessed privilege of being allowed to sing the song of redeeming love.  Why?  Because I, in great weakness needed to be redeemed.  Part of the reason it took me so long to enjoy that blessing is because I actually thought that my fellow travelers in the Kingdom were doing so well all on their own.  Hardly anybody bothered to show me how redemption was obtained.  Surely they weren't all pretending to be righteous out of a duty to be a good example were they?  Surely some among us have actually humbled themselves and received Christ's infinite mercy in their otherwise broken lives.  If you are one such, please share your story with us?  We all need to be shown how it is done.  We're tired of pretending.  We really want to change and to be able to rejoice in that newness of life that we hear so much about.

After Alma described the Zoramites he prayed these words:

 35 Behold, O Lord, their souls are precious, and many of them are our brethren; therefore, give unto us, O Lord, power and wisdom that we may bring these, our brethren, again unto thee. 

This is also my prayer.  The members of my ward are indeed precious to me.  I need them and I hope they need me.  I pray that together we will be humble, open and willing to share our stories of weakness and need and how the Lord in His mercy has allowed us to stand on His merits when our own were so pathetic.  Let us confess (no gory details necessary) our sin and weakness and acknowledge the means of our rescue so that we might be like Paul, "an example of the believers." (1 Tim. 4:12).

Book Review - Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

First of all it is needful to recognize that this is a young adult novel.  Most of the reviews I've read were written by young adults all of whom (that I read, at least) were highly critical of the book.  I am not a young adult.  I loved it!

Reading young adult fiction, as an adult, I don't expect the mature or sophisticated writing that can be expected of one written for older audiences.  Still, I thought it was very well, very interestingly written.  As for story, plot and substance the whole series is very deep and thought provoking.  There's the  trouble the younger set has with the book.  By their responses, they wanted it to be a romantic, happy-ever-after tome where everything turns out to be sweetness and light; so they bellyache about all the conflict and disappointments that are so pervasive in Collin's work.

Apparently, the books, and this one in particular, are too deep for their intended audience.  I thought Mockingjay was superb!  Better than that I thought it to be important.  The critical message of the story, to me, was that just because one side is clearly bad, does not mean that their opponents are good.  I think this is lost on most of the audience.  This is no surprise because it is lost on most Americans right now as well.  Likewise, it is true that just because you think yourself to be good, that doesn't necessarily mean you are on the good side or that your opponents are automatically and legitimately classified as bad.  

Way to go Suzanne Collins, for dealing with real issues and daring to show that, even in the face of loss, sacrifice, tragedy and overwhelming odds, right, though unpopular, is right!

The Hunger Game series is serious fiction and well worth reading.  The series finished strong.  Mockingjay was the best of the three volumes and made it plain the author had created a well thought out story from beginning to end.  

Five Stars.

Things Change

I tossed another ball into the Kid's Canal last week.  This time it was a tennis ball.  It didn't fair as well as my previous voyager.  I followed it just a hundred yards before it got hung up in some low hanging branches.  I decided to leave it be and see what happened.  For a week or so it was stuck in the same place.  Then, last Thursday I found it was gone.  It being fall, the water level had gone down and released it from it's sticky prison.  Not many yards down the stream though, I found it stranded in an eddy.  It went around and around from Thursday until some time after my Saturday stroll.  I know that because this morning it was no longer treading water in that minuscule vortex.

Again, I found the ball stuck among some exposed roots some distance on down the stream.  As I watched the ball struggling against it's obstacles, while being encouraged by the current; I realized that this is much like life.

Sometimes we move along quite nicely only to find ourselves stuck in a problem situation.  We try and try to move on, but we're stuck.  I thought it was encouraging to realize that inevitably something changes.  Something outside ourselves that frees us to move on.  Just like the tennis ball, our progress is influenced by our environment.  Maybe you can't find a job and then out of the blue the economy improves and washes you out of the roots of unemployment.  Perhaps, you'd like to continue your education, but you're spinning round and round in a house full of pre-schoolers.  Suppose your house just burned down in Herriman and you're camped out in the High School gym.  Snags?  Yes!  But things will change, they always do.

My tennis ball may be stuck there all winter.  I'll keep you posted.  It may even get frozen in the ice.  But I guarantee that if I'm patient, it will move on.  I have no idea how.  I may not even witness it.  Jeff might float by in a tube and take it home.  High water next spring might do the trick, who knows.

I have several people in my life right now who are stuck in some pretty difficult situations.  There is no doubt, however, that things will change.  The key is patience.  God will see to it.  Things will change.  And sure enough, they'll move on.

Post Script:  


It's now one day later.  I seriously thought the tennis ball would be hung up all winter.  Those were some serious roots!  So imagine my surprise when today it was gone.  I looked as I walked all the way to Main Street.  No sign of it.  I decided to extend my walk and went on along the canal to 5th South.  Just before the bridge at the Cinema, there it was!  Merrily bobbing along without a care in the world.  I had only hoped to see it if it had hit another snag, there were plenty to encounter.  I imagine my little tennis ball moving on to meet its destiny.  So it is with each of us.  I remembered what Elder Munday said at Stake Conference on Sunday.  "How many of God's children does He want to bring home?"  "All of them."  It was nice to see the ball moving pleasantly past it's snags.  Gives me hope that I will too.

Garden Tomatoes

Our tomatoes did lousy this year.  The weather couldn't make up its mind, the plants got nipped and finally quit trying.  It was so sad watching them languish away in the garden.  So pathetic next to the Spuds that did so well. We went to the Farmers Market and discovered that we weren't the only ones.  Hardly anyone has tomatoes this year.  Such a tragedy.

We can put a man on the moon, but we can't come up with a grocery store tomato that tastes like anything but polyester.  Buying a store-bought tomato is about at ridiculous as licking a photograph of one.  So, we look forward all year to August and September and real tomatoes.  We grow a garden for no other reason really.  I wonder how the nutritional value stacks up between flavorful and plastic tomatoes.  Why is there even a market for the artificial ones?

With that off my chest, I'm writing to celebrate that Kristi and Ronnie and their tomatoes got it right!  They brought us a bag and we rolled out the bacon, cottage cheese, Doritos, toaster and whole wheat bread and had a feast. These were the nicest, plumpest, reddest, firmest, tastiest tomatoes ever!  The fact that I haven't been eating them fresh from the garden this month, made them better than ever!  I guess scarcity has its virtues and last night the fact was made abundantly manifest.

As much as I like a good BLT, I think I like sliced tomatoes and cottage cheese better.  The combination, though wildly different, is as wonderful as peaches and cream.  Have you ever tried Doritos and cottage cheese?  That's terrific too!  Doritos, cottage cheese and fresh garden tomatoes, now that's the ticket!

Another summer time treat will be my feast today.  I like to take a nice piece of tasty whole wheat bread, anoint it with a touch of Miracle Whip, slice some tomatoes on top, pepper it to taste, then cover it with a nice slab of Tillamook sharp cheddar and broil it in the oven until the cheese starts to bubble.  Yum!  I'm sure I'd like it with Killaree Irish Cheddar too, but I like the orange yellow with the tomatoes, over the pale cream color of the Killaree.  Don't ask me why.  Maybe it's like the white margarine they once sold in the store.  It just didn't look right.  I remember for a while they even gave you some yellow die you could knead into it if you couldn't take the color.  White, it looked like you were spreading lard on your bread, which they do in Austria they say.  Doesn't that sound delectable.  My mom used to spread bacon grease on her bread.  At least that tasted good.  Yellow or not I don't eat margarine anymore anyway; it just isn't natural.  All those modified fats and not nearly as tasty as butter.  Who said, "I can't believe it's not butter?"  I can!   Any way eye appeal is half of a good meal and there you have it.

Now none of this is all that great for my health but the other day I got a note that put things in perspective anyways.

 The Japanese eat very little fat, while people in Mexico eat lots. Both groups suffer fewer heart attacks than the British or Americans. Africans drink very little red wine, while the Italians drink large volumes of the stuff but both these groups too have fewer heart attacks. An epidemiological conclusion might be that you should eat and drink what you like: speaking English seems to be what kills you.  

I like that, but I hate my paunch.  So I'll still keep walking and usually watching what I eat.  I'll try to learn another language.  But in the end, I'll probably not change my diet significantly.  Who wants to get old enough to die of prostate cancer, when you could go quickly with a heart attack.  One of my all time favorite movie quotes comes from Jack Nicholson's character in Bucket List.  In the hospital undergoing chemotherapy, he has just finished barfing his guts up in his hospital  toilet.  Braced against the sink, he looks himself in the mirror and says, "Somewhere, some lucky bastard is dying of a heart attack."

So, every now and then, I'll eat my tomatoes adorned with bacon or cheese.  I'll relish the flavor and thank God for being so nice as to give me taste buds and for making food that tastes so wonderfully good.  And, I won't worry too much about it or my inability to do it credit in my dangerous native tongue.

Book Review - The Utah UFO Display by Frank B. Salisbury

When I was a teenager there was a rash of UFO sightings that stirred up my home town and also quite seriously consumed my own thoughts.  I was so interested in it that I spent night after night outside watching from a great local vantage point.  Months passed and I never saw a single thing that was even remotely unusual.  I could hardly contain my disappointment.  Several people I personally knew and respected had remarkable UFO experiences; some on nights when I had been out earnestly watching.

I remember going to work and hearing the rumor mill churning about Valda Massey or Garth Batty having seen something "last night."  I remember groaning from the exhaustion of an all nighter and having missed a sighting that happened right on my watch.  It didn't help that I could see Valda's house clearly from my vantage point.  I began to feel gypped.

There were, of course, thoughts of hoaxes.  Still, as I said before, I knew and respected these people.  Then when Estel Manwaring had her remarkable UFO experience, the jury came in.  I trusted Estel with my life!  There was no way she was confused or lying.   I happened to see Estel at a funeral a few weeks ago.  We hadn't spoken for quite some time and had some catching up to do.  For sometime now, I've been considering writing about the phenomena and thought I'd start by interviewing Estel, and Valda and Garth.  I took the opportunity at the funeral to bounce some questions off Estel.  She responded with the same certainty she had 45 years ago.  The story hadn't changed.  Estel was not ashamed to stand by her guns.  She wasn't the least bit hesitant to state her case.  Valda's son, another close friend is just as adamant about what occurred at their house that summer.

I've written about this before.  In UFO Summer I tell the story of a hoax a friend of mine and I played to assuage our disappointment at having been left out of all the fun.  I also poked a little fun in Why Not Me?
I have also read the exciting book The Hunt for the Skinwalker:  Science Confronts the Unexplained at a Remote Ranch in Utah.  I wasn't reviewing books at the time so I'll comment a bit on it here.  I've been to the Skinwalker Ranch; delivered packages there.  There again, I never saw a thing out of the ordinary.  After the book came out, some nephews were in town for Thanksgiving.  I had not read the book yet.  They had.  I told them that I could take them there and before I knew it we were in the car.  Four of us.  We left about 10:15 PM and drove the 25 or so miles to the ranch.  They say it's remote; a bit of a joke around here.  Remote would be like the three hour drive on a dirt road to Main Canyon Ranch, not a mile off a well traveled, paved highway.  Anyway, we drove the mile off the highway and approached the locked gate at around 11:00.  The gate is around a bend, behind a hill.  The instant we arrived a set of headlights came on at the ranch house and headed rapidly our way.  No point in conflict; we hurriedly turned around and got out of there.  Still, nothing unusual; though I was sure surprised that after all this time the place is still under 24 hour guard.  Apparently, they're still very protective of the place.  They claim the ranch is a portal to another dimension or perhaps the entrance to a wormhole that delivers strangers from across the universe.  After years of scientific study Bigelow's NIDS group has proven nothing.  Of course, they've disproved nothing as well.  Frank Salisbury's done better than that on a far smaller budget.

I was thankful when I found The Utah UFO Display:  A Scientist Brings Reason and Logic to Over 400 UFO Sightings in Utah's Uintah Basin.  I was thankful because, I didn't really want to take the time to do all the research.  I can't imagine that Frank Salisbury, with all the other stuff he was involved in was able to find the time.  I'm thrilled to have all of these incidents recorded and cataloged.  Kudos to Junior Hicks whose Herculean effort to interview and record so many sightings is truly amazing.  Without his thorough work, Salisbury's book wouldn't even exist.

Salisbury went to great lengths to educate his audience in the scientific method.  He never considers a single incident without critical thinking.  Still at the end, he comes to the same conclusion as I have, that the only reasonable conclusion is that the phenomena cannot be utterly dismissed.  It is clear that what these people experienced was real.  There remains the unanswered question as to what it all is and what it all means; though the author presented more original and plausible hypotheses than I've ever encountered before.  While the book didn't answer most of my questions it did leave me content with my lot.  You see, Frank Salisbury and Junior Hicks have one major point in common with me; neither of them have had any sort of personal manifestation of UFO activity either.

The best part however, is that the book settled the issue for me.  I no longer care if I ever have such an experience.  Without spoiling Salisbury's most significant conclusion, may I say that this book has made the mystery and quandary of UFO phenomena a non-issue for me.  Why?  You'll just have to read the book and see for yourself.  I recommend it highly for doubters and also for jealous types like me.  If UFO's are already a non-issue for you - don't bother.

Four Stars.

Hail, Hail the Gang's All Here!

L/R - Ronnie, Kristi, Katie, Aly, Jenny, Megan, Cheya, Myke, Jeff and John

Alyson came home for the weekend so we updated our family photos.  We went to Grandma's and took the pictures by the Mulberry Tree and out by the cow shed.  We also all got a picture with our wonderful Grandma Rae!

L/R - Ronnie, Kristi, Aly, Megan, Cheya, Myke, Jeff, Katie, Jenny and John

Knot Heads

Grandma Rae then going left, Jeff, John, Ronnie, Kristi, Cheya, Myke, Katie, Aly, Jenny and Megan

I can't adequately express how thankful I am for my wonderful, beautiful family!

Its A Small World After All

It was the fall of 1972 and I was about to enter the US Navy.  The war was continuing in Vietnam and I expected to serve in the Western Pacific.  In fact I had requested it when I enlisted.  I had wanted to return to the Philippines and the wonderful people I'd served while on a mission there.  When I enlisted I was single and had expected to be so for the foreseeable future.

Then one day, about three weeks before I was to report to Boot Camp I happened upon the girl of my dreams. We went on our first date and really hit it off.  In fact on that date, I felt impressed that I must marry her.  That notion was quite alarming to me.  Not because I was afraid of marriage; but because I'd put in for WestPac and expected to be away from home for the entire two years of my enlistment.  I couldn't imagine marrying this wonderful girl, only to leave her behind.

The day following our first date I had a notion that I'd like to see my brother.  Brad and I had been best friends all our lives and we hadn't laid eyes on one another for over three and a half years.  I'd gone on my mission in 1969 and he had left for his a few months before I got back.  Now I was bound for Vietnam, or so I thought, and might not see him for an additional two years.  I couldn't bear the thought.

With an attitude of nothing ventured nothing gained, I called his Mission President, President Rex C. Reeve Jr. and explained my situation. I told him that I had a regulation hair cut, plenty of white shirts and ties, the discussions memorized and a current Temple Recommend.  Then I plead, "Can I please come out to South Dakota and spend some time with him?"  There was a long silence on the other end.  Finally, he spoke and said he'd have to take the matter to the Lord.  I agreed and hung up the phone.  It wasn't two hours later the phone rang and it was President Reeve.  He had found a bother in the local area to be Brad's companion's companion and said I could come if I would be my brother's companion and serve as a missionary by his side.  I was ecstatic!  He made it clear that this was not a time to play around, but that he expected me to be a missionary and to follow mission rules.  I promised I would.

The next morning I jumped in the car and headed for the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, where my brother was serving.  It took twelve hard hours to drive there.  It was a difficult journey.  I spent almost the entire twelve hours in prayer.  I was determined that marriage was not the answer.  I had every excuse in the book.  It was too late.  There was not time for preparations.  There was not time to get acquainted.  Who in their right mind would marry a man she hardly knew and who was about to leave to war for two years.  The list went on and on.  All the way to South Dakota I plead with the Lord to excuse me from what appeared to be my destiny.  All the way, I got no relief from His expectation of me.

There was some respite upon my arrival.  A happy reunion!  And a wonderful opportunity to be missionary companions for something just shy of a week.  We worked hard and kept the rules, except one.  We couldn't get ourselves to go to sleep on time.  Too much catching up to do.  It was a very different mission than the one I had experienced.  Rather laid back.  The Elders wore white shirts and ties and blue jeans.  They drove a pickup truck.  Brad explained that we might be called upon to haul hay or do some other chores as we loved, served, fellowshipped and taught these wonderful Native Americans.  This was not new to Brad and I.  As young men our family had been called to serve a two year mission among the Ute Indians of Utah, not far from our home.  We loved the Indian people and do to this day.  Their great hearts, sweet testimonies and profound faith, coupled with a cheerful nature and terrific sense of humor, make them fond brothers and sisters of ours, for life.  I won't go into too many details except to say that these were precious days and a sweet gift from a kind Father in Heaven.  I will always be amazed and grateful that we had such a blessed time together as missionary companions.

One highlight, though, is the reason I'm writing this now.  My brother's companion in South Dakota was Elder Sion Latu.  He was from Tonga and a giant in body and in spirit.  I loved getting acquainted with him and after nearly 40 years, still have not forgotten his name.  I remember what a great cook he was and that his cooking not only represented quality, but quantity.  Easily, he ate more than I and my brother combined.  And we had great appetites ourselves!  Elder Latu was jovial and warm hearted and really made a big impression upon me.  I only got to see him briefly each morning and again in the evening but I loved being around him.  He had that famous Polynesian charm and talent and it was just a joy to get to rub shoulders with him.  Actually, I might have had to stand on a chair to do that, but you know what I mean.  On the other hand, most Polynesians I know are larger than life and should you actually take their measurements, you might be surprised that they are not as giant sized as they seem.  Part of me wishes I had such a personality.  Of course if such wishes could be granted we'd all be Polynesians!  Wherever you find them, they are the leaven of the loaf!

A couple of weeks ago I met a wonderful girl from the Islands.  Her name is Kika and she told me she was Tongan; though she'd only visited there.  I thought I might ask her if she happened to know Elder Latu.  I'd forgotten his first name - if I ever knew it.  I decided not to.  You know.  Different generation.  Lots of Tongans.  What are the chances?

Since then, Kika has visited my blog, and in a comment, she signed her name Kika Latu.  I wrote her a note and asked what I should have when we met.  Sure enough!  Last night I got my answer.  Kika is Sion's very own daughter!  It is indeed a small world after all.  Kika is a walking breathing tribute to her father.  Wonderful in every way.  I loved watching her play with the children and engaging with the others at our Book Blogger's Summer Social.  She may not be in the islands, but the islands most certainly are in her!

I feel so blessed to make connections from my remote and neglected past.  God is so good in that regard.  You'll remember another, quite similar post from this past spring - I Don't Believe in Coincidences and also Remembering to Trust or Meet Joe Hapi.  I was able to track down Joe through Facebook a couple of years ago!

All I can say is a little prayer to my Heavenly Father, "Malo 'aupito!"




Post Script:

I drove home with another prayer in my heart.  One of faith and courage and trust.  Qualities encouraged by my brother and received by contagion from Sion Latu.  I asked Sweetie out the day after my return and that night made a proposal of marriage.  Miracle of miracles, she accepted!  The next week I went to boot camp, came back at Christmas, and married her in the Provo Temple.  We spent the next two years together, stationed in San Diego, California.  We lived in a ward leavened with one third Polynesians.  Life is so good!