Thoughts for a Sabbath Day

FRUITS OF OUR LABORS

2012-02-26T05:33:00.003-08:00

There are good folks in the Washoe County area of Northern Nevada (for the uninformed this is the county where the cities of Reno and Sparks are conjoined) who annually enter into a ritual of self-induced frustration, which in polite societies is referred to as gardening. To the insiders across back fences and in private exchanges the foiled toilers of the soil use many other adjectives to describe their defeatist inspired hobby.

These back yard gardeners of the Truckee Meadows engage in some very interesting annual cult practices.

They passionately disagree as they watch the snow and frost recede on a local mountain called Peavine on whose meteorological magic they all have differing opinions, arguing as to how to interpret the faithful gauge of snow blanketed sage covered landscape which supposedly dictates when they should once again begin their rites of self-defeating behavior. This gauge is a Sword of Demosthenes which dangles over both the daring and the patient as they watch the last remnants of winter disappear from Peavine’s peak.

Some of the foolhardy will go forth with a flare of bravado and plant while patches of graying slush still adorn some of the shady areas of the mountain. These foolhardy souls will invariably have to, after the first killer frost, re-turn the soil of their gardens and replant with eternal hope driving them forward with every shovel full of earth freshly prepared. With appropriate expletives these impatient planters will soon compare frost blackened leaves of tomato and squash plants whose bright buds will never mature into edible delights.

The less daring and obviously more patient planters wait and wait until the last vestiges of winter’s whiteness have evaporated or melted into the soil of the trusty gauge. Ere long they find that their patience brings them no reward since the staying of their hand has shortened the growing season to such a narrow window that the yield of their efforts is a another bumper crop of unripened tomatoes which are either left on the vines as a sacrifice to King Jack Frost or picked and bottle and added to the ever increasing supply of green tomato relish.

I have to admit that one year on the 24th of July as we were freezing at San Rafael Park while celebrating the Mormon Pioneers entering the Great Salt Lake Basin that I was duly tempted to refrain from ever again entering into that futile backyard planting ritual. While we celebrants shivered and crowded under the minimal sheltered areas, watching the snowflakes fall, my thoughts turned to the bounteous harvest I had bragged about to my neighbor on the 23rd of July and my perfect Peavine Mountain timing,. With frozen thoughts, I knew the morning of July 25th would once again bear testimony of the futility of farming in that fertile soil.

However, the true horticulturist never becomes discouraged to the point of quitting and can always, in spite of the frustration involved, rationalize that gardening is relaxing and does avail one of a pleasant way to get in some much needed summer exercise.

From the unpublished book on ‘Gardening for Fun, and Only for Fun in the Truckee Meadows’ we find creed-worthy words which are meant to encourage and animate frustrated farmers in times of nearly annual failure induced discouragement.

Never analyze your gardening successes based on labor and production costs versus returns.

The frequently repeated practice of balancing nutrients in the soil in order to control weeds while not causing the ground to be barren, in another pursuit would time-wise add up to the equivalency of a Doctorate Degree.

The truly gifted (Master Timers of late springs and early winters) who year after year plow ahead, may (that would be a huge may) someday in the far away future receive a blue ribbon as recognition for their untiring efforts.

After the digging, planting and harvesting of green tomatoes are done the trip to Fallon (a nearby fruitful farming community east of the conjoining cities of Sparks and Reno) to buy some fresh produce isn’t that big of a drive anyway.

As I diligently added my name to the list of devotees who sacrificed greatly to become one with Mother Earth, I have found that all was not in vain and there was more to be gained from the frustrating gardening ritual than a bit of relaxing summer exercise. In spite of the failures, I learned many lessons which would be useful in more farming friendly areas and also have given meaningful understandings to other parts of my life.

In a very practical way I came to understand some gardening practices and their benefits and dangers. For example, corn should be planted in shorter multiple rows rather than one single long row if one expects to have a successful pollination take place; Also, root crops should be planted adjacent to plants which discourage grub worms and other creatures which crawl in the ground. And it takes many seasons for asparagus to yield enough sprigs to make a meal.

I came to understand that if a gardener were to concentrate on the sod alone, season after season tilling greater amounts of fertilizers, compost and chemicals into the ground, he may exhaust his energies and the labors of a life time before the perfect soil is achieved and ready for planting.

If the back yard row cropper decides that weeds are the real enemy of crop development, he possibly could attack them with such vigor and resources that he kills the soil and then many seasons will be needed to restore the barren ground.

On the other hand, if our amateur farmer believes that gardening is nothing more than planting and watering, his garden may soon be overrun with weeds, the nutrients in his soil will be depleted and he will be rewarded with an ever diminishing return for his efforts.

TO BE CONTINUED

A PRAYER FOR THE HUMAN FAMILY

2012-02-12T05:42:00.001-08:00

Many years ago in the spirit of ‘I can do something crazier than you can’ a group of young men combined their efforts into pulling off the ultimate Halloween prank.

Late on the final day of October they broke into the local furniture store and with muffled snickers of joy and jubilant merriment they spent the bewitching hours switching all the price tags in the store.

The next morning the owners were greeted with price tags selling radios for ninety-nine cents and wastebaskets for five hundred dollars. Early shoppers gleefully picked out their longed for sofa which that morning was priced at three dollars and seventy nine cents. One elderly lady screamed she would never pay three hundred and twenty nine dollars for a plain old picture frame.

Although the young men gleefully watched through the big front windows of the store from across the street, the owners were left to bustle through the problems and toils created by what the young men thought was an evening of fun.
Those of us whose lives span multiple decades may be excused if oft times we become confused and frustrated by the value switching of our ‘up to date progressive modern day world.’

We are constantly observing standards being lowered in order to conform to performances.

We see actions which traditionally were considered to be evil now being identified as acceptable activities, illnesses or excusable character flaws.

We hear long held values being shouted down into the abyss of old fashioned silliness.

We stand in awe as all that was good in former generations is replaced by that which is currently deemed as pleasurable.

As we are inundated with changes which seem to increase in rapidity with each turning of the hour glass, we witness a generation involved in frequent judgments which become clouded by strange conflicts as old values collide with new concepts.

Although these introductory paragraphs could be a springboard into an endless array of subjects, today I want to use them to talk about what has happened to our holidays of commemoration. For many of the multiple generational group, value switching philosophies over the years have created curious moments of mixed wonderings, emotions, values and ideals.

How does a generation who grew up on war heroes learn to hate war?

How does a generation who has learned to enjoy and love peace learn to pay proper respect to those who have paid such high prices for that peace?

How does a nation properly honor the men and their life threatening deeds without glorifying the events of destruction and desolation?

If the day arrives when our fervent prayers for perpetual peace are answered and brothers and sisters throughout the lands live in love and unity and we war no more against the universal human family, I suspect in that day and in that way we will give the ultimate tribute to those millions who have laid down their lives in the quest for peace.

COMPANIONS OF THE HEART (part 2)

2012-02-05T05:24:00.000-08:00

As far as memory serves me, my vicarious experiences with animals, started when my sister Geraldine and I regularly attended the KEIO (local radio station in Pocatello Idaho in 1940’s) KIDS KLUB at the Chief Theater. Besides the weekly ‘adventure cereals’ and that week’s movie there was a talent show and since the KEIO KIDS KLUB was sponsored by the local potato bread company they always threw out loaves of bread liberally to the audience. I still remember eating that potato bread during the movie as being more enjoyable than buttered popcorn, and I really like buttered popcorn when watching a movie.

Besides the movies of my heroes, Hoot Gibson, Gene Autry, Red Rider and Roy Rodgers there are four movies which really seem to be locked in my mind from those delightful Saturdays spent with my sister and friends. One of them was a terrible film which should never have been shown to an audience of kids. This film in black and white (as were most of the movies of my younger days) portrayed the deteriorating life of a carnival worker who, through the misuse of alcohol, destroyed his life and that of his loved ones. I have often wished there was some way to relegate the ugliness and trauma of that movie to the un-recallable foggy cells of my memory. Maybe the intent of the theater owners was to discourage the youth of Pocatello from partaking of the demon rum.

The other three movies were about animals, ‘Bambi,’ ‘The Yearling,’ and the last which I think was called ‘The Egg Eater.’

Sometime during the process of coming into mortality I seemed to have been given an abundance of sensitivity and emotionalism which not only surfaced when our Irish setter met his demise, but also pours forth in what I call happy-sadness in movies. I cry happy! No matter how I might have tried to stem the tide, it was always a vain attempt when I tried keeping my companions from noticing my tearful reaction during happy-sadness movies.

I was recently thrilled to see the re-release of the birth, the life and struggles of Bambi, which in my mind will forever be one of those films which will perpetuate the name of Disney.

The Yearling was about a young boy and the growth he experiences as he finds and cares for an abandoned fawn. Eventually, he must choose the greater good by allowing his beloved friend the opportunity to find happiness in its natural habitat.

The least known of these movies which I think was called The Egg Eater was about a dog which was mistreated and maligned unjustly because he was thought to have been raiding the family’s chicken coop and eating the eggs. The sad picture ends happy when the dog is vindicated when he saves the henhouse from the invading fox who had been the guilty raider all along.

As one generation rolled into another, in my early days of fatherhood, I watched my children as they were moved and enraptured watching Lassie, Black Beauty, Benji, Old Yeller and even Mister Ed. Their attention wouldn’t even waver as they listen to the droning of unexcited voices narrating the first of what would become a multitude of nature and wildlife shows. No wonder I am not astounded when my grandchildren tell me that their favorite channel is Planet Earth or any show that shows the wonders of the animal kingdom. The upcoming generations who tire easily while shopping seem to have boundless energy when wandering through zoos, animal parks and sea worlds.

I know my personal joys and weaknesses concerning animals, but I have pondered about the almost universal magnetism which seems to draw children into a mesmerized semi-fascination state as they interact with the animal kingdom in real life or vicariously. The medium doesn’t seem to matter, be it live interaction, television, movies, comic books or adventure novels; children find lovability and believability as writers attempt to humanize dogs, cats, pigs, horses and all their cousins.

Another interesting phenomenon which I have observed is that children who mock and treat with ridicule their friends and family, often treat animals with great patience and lovingness. Also, care givers of the elderly are now finding that troubled minds can be soothed with the companionship of a lap dog.

The whys may not be totally known and may not be important but there seems to be a universal value of having children of all ages interact with the animal kingdom through touching and caring and even through the semi-reality of the media.

Children who have meaningful experiences with a pet seem to grow into adults who have gained a meaningful reverence for life. The attributes which accompany the nurturing and caring for an animal are most often carried over into families yet to come, bringing responsibility and a sense of sacrifice for meaningful others.

Parents may be wise to weigh the eventual results of their actions the next time they are tempted to get rid of the cat because of the inconvenience, or turn off Animal Kingdom in favor of the latest half hour sit-com.

I believe parents have a stewardship to make sure they provide opportunities for their children which will help them become responsive, caring adults. A quick stop at the pet store in the mall or watching the most current Rin Tin Tin might just provide one of those valuable teaching moments.

As a personal note, I believe that even the negative events which might accompany the companionship of a loving buddy, serve as catalyst for the softening and rounding of our rougher edges. I am also just as sure that Heaven cannot be heavenly if the whole of the animal kingdom is not there.

I apologies to all of you who are much younger than my generation and who have no idea concerning many of the referenced shows or animals. I hope you will in some way be able to transfer the thought into your own personal set of references.

COMPANIONS OF THE HEART

2012-01-29T05:32:00.000-08:00

Received this tale in an email from my nephew Bruce Barrett just before I started to write my thought for this week and, therefore, I have no idea who to credit as the creator. However, the tale fits so well with what I was thinking about today, I just had to include it in my Thoughts for the week.

An old cowboy was riding his trusty horse followed by his faithful dog along an unfamiliar road. The man was enjoying the new scenery, when he suddenly remembered dying, and realized that the dog beside him had been dead for years, as had his horse.

Confused, he wondered what was happening, and where the trail was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall that looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch topped by a golden letter "H" that glowed in the sunlight.

Standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like gold.

He rode toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. Parched and tired out by his journey, he called out, 'Excuse me, where are we?'

'This is Heaven, sir,' the man answered.

'Wow! Would you happen to have some water?' the man asked.

'Of course sir, come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up.'

As the gate began to open, the cowboy asked, 'Can I bring my partners, too?'

'I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets.'

The cowboy thought for a moment, then turned back to the road and continued riding, his dog trotting by his side.

After another long ride, at the top of another hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a ranch gate that looked as if it had never been closed. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

'Excuse me,' he called to the man. 'Do you have any water?'

'Sure, there's a pump right over there. Help yourself.'

'How about my friends here?' the traveler gestured to the dog and his horse.

'Of course! They look thirsty, too,' said the man.

The trio went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with buckets beside it. The traveler filled a cup and the buckets with wonderfully cool water and took a long drink, as did his horse and dog.

When they were full, he walked back to the man who was still standing by the tree. 'What do you call this place?' the traveler asked.

'This is Heaven,' he answered.

'That's confusing,' the traveler said. 'The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.'

'Oh, you mean the place with the glitzy, gold street and fake pearly gates? That's hell.

'Doesn't it make you angry when they use your name like that?'

'Not at all, actually, we're happy they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.'

When I was just starting my formal educational experience (since I didn’t have the opportunity to attend kindergarten, it must have been during my first or second year of elementary school at Roy Elementary) I had the last real pet that I ever allowed myself to bond with and love.

We lived on a small bit of ground which allowed my father to enjoy a large garden. It was so large that he bought a horse to help him plow and prepare the ground for planting. We had chickens which roamed freely and occasionally met their demise on Roy road which went in front of our property. We had a family Irish setter which was my personal companion. We were constant companions as we adventured through the rows of the garden and around the small pasture playing the cowboy with his trusty companion.

One day we walked up Roy road to the Bamberger Station (a small commuter train which travelled between Salt Lake City and Ogden, Utah, when we lived in Roy in the 1940’s) and my wonderful companion followed us to the station. I wanted to run him back home, but my mother and sister insisted that we didn’t have time to wait for the next Bamberger. I told my companion to go home and he started in that direction. When we returned that evening he was nowhere to be found. A few days later a good neighbor told us that he had found my buddy by the tracks and had taken him home and buried him.

While I was growing up I was never able to allow myself to become attached to another pet. This was fine with my mother since when we left Roy we always lived in houses with small yards and she didn’t believe that animals should be allowed in the house. Also, my pleadings for another dog were never very heart felt nor sincere.

As I now look back I can see that my lack of personal experiences with live pets being replaced with vicarious movie type experiences was my loss, a loss which in many ways I will always regret and which can never be recovered.

I do remember a few gold fish and maybe a turtle, but never a pet who became a buddy and a companion.

TO BE CONTINUED

FIND A WAY OR MAKE ONE

2012-01-22T05:23:00.001-08:00

Thankfully, the days when I have felt a bit of motivational dampening despair have been relatively few during my life. I think one of the reasons I have been fortunate enough to minimize my down times, is that in my early years, I was a constant consumer of biographies of men and women who became my heroes and at least for short bursts, my mentors.

One of the biographies I remember was that of Robert Edwin Peary, who became the first recorded man to reach the North Pole. Robert grew up in a household without a father and spent his early years finding his role models and heroes in the written word. After reading about the adventures of Elisha Kane in the Northlands, Peary set his major goal for life – he was going to reach the North Pole.

Years later his history records these events, which took place at Fort Conger during his first attempt to reach the North Pole, near the northern tip of Greenland. A capsule of these days reads like this. Peary is in an abandoned cabin lying on his back in pain. A few days before in the frozen wasteland he had eaten the last of his biscuits and beans. A dog had been killed to sustain the group. Finally, they were able to stumble back into the little cabin. Removing his boots Peary found his toes frozen. For six weeks he lay in dreary darkness in the frozen north in agonizing pain. In the midst of all this he turned on his side and wrote with his finger on the cabin wall these words of the ancient philosopher Seneca: “I shall find a way or make one.”

As it is said, the rest of the story is history. After giving seven toes and almost his life, after two unsuccessful trips, Peary at the age of fifty-two finally made a way. Using a boat with thirty inch thick walls, enduring the stench of seventy tons of whale meat, the companionship of forty-six howling and fighting dogs, Robert Edwin Peary in April of 1909 made the North Pole yield up its loneliness.

In a day when many have fallen captive to the opium of the dole, we would all do well to fill the motivational part of our memories with examples and heroes like Peary.

In a day when it is evident that there is an abundance of needs, why do we so often sit back mourning the lack of opportunity?

In a day when we see so many who are so quick to throw in the towel and yield to the dampening doldrums of despair, maybe we could all add those words of Seneca, which Peary wrote with his finger on the cabin wall in the frozen days at Fort Conger, “I will find a way or make one,” to the magnets, cartoons and children’s drawings which decorate our refrigerators.

Indeed, opportunities abound. There is a world to feed and clothe. There are tremendous social, emotional and economic problems to be solved. There are crimes which need to be eliminated and laws which need to be modified. There are heads which hang down and arms which need lifting up.

Indeed, the world is deeply in need of new discoverers – those who will pay the price to make or find a better way – those who will march to places where none have ventured before.

Once we envision our days as days of blessings and boundless opportunities – we begin to gain a vision with eyes that see unknown horizons – we begin to broaden our understanding with ears tuned to the needs of mankind – we once again begin to build with callused hands – we begin to multiply our accomplishments with backs bent toward reaching our objectives – we once again realize that goals are not unfulfilled fantasies of youth, but goals are unreached realities of individuals and nations who have determined that they “can find a way or make one.”

2012-01-15T05:35:00.000-08:00

CHOOSING SIDES

The summer after going through the third grade in American Falls, Idaho, our family made the move to Long Beach, California, where in September of that year I entered into the fourth grade at Lincoln Elementary.

This move brought about many life changing experiences, one of which was that, instead of having playgrounds of grass and dirt, the playground at Lincoln Elementary was completely covered with asphalt with the exception of the little fenced off area reserved for the kindergarten kids. In American Falls even the outdoor basketball courts had been dirt with patches of grass.

Lincoln Elementary also had an afternoon activity program which was conducted by the Recreational Department of the City of Long Beach. I spent most of my afternoons enjoying the activities provided by this program. Actually, during the fourth grade I mainly spent my two hours after school playing kickball with an occasional excursion to the tether ball ring. Our afternoon kickball games always started with the laborious task of choosing up sides.

There was no way that the activity coordinators could leave this task up to the eager kickers. If they were left without supervision the ‘good kickers’ somehow always ended up on the same team. When the coordinator lined the kids up and counted 1, 2, 1, 2 … the ‘good kickers’ always somehow had an ‘average kicker’ on both sides of them in line. (The ‘bad kickers’ always sat at the picnic type tables and did crafts or played board games)

The coordinators continually had to create new ways of choosing teams in order to try to keep some sort of competitive balance. With all their creative attempts the ‘good kickers’, even when on opposite teams, found a way to keep their friends ‘safe’ by missing catches and letting balls escape them.

I don’t think these experiences permanently scarred me or any of the ‘kick ballers’, but I do know that throughout my life I have been very aware that the phenomena of ‘choosing sides’ exists in almost all facets of our lives.

Tacitus, a Roman historian, who in his Histories chronicled the tumultuous times of the Empire during the years 69 and 70 of the Common Era, said “When a ruler once becomes unpopular all his acts, be they good or bad, tell against him.”

In the political arena we find that strategic statements made by candidates as they vie to gain their party’s nomination become fodder to fuel the flames of fury which engulf them as they enter the general elections. Once a winner is determined, it will matter little whether their decisions are sound or silly, all those who were (2’s) when the choosing was finished will find nothing but fault in all that is said and done by the (1’s). If the results were reversed the negativity would still be a consuming constant.

When a long time union is dissolved by divorce or separation, sides are immediately chosen usually along the lines of common DNA. From the moment the decree is written, right and wrong are no longer matters of reality, but one of relationship. Long time friendships are ended and the rotten (2) suddenly becomes someone whose reputation should be trashed and muddied, no matter how sterling their character was previously. In areas of disputation (1) will always carry the day.

Adherents of religious beliefs, who weekly read and listen to words of love and common kinship, when encountering one of another belief will invariably seek to be right rather than righteous. In any disputed doctrine the (1’s) will always find shortcomings in the doctrines and ritual of the (2’s) and visa-versa.

Economic social groups find the sides they choose to be surrounded by are as distinct as the bottom line on their tax returns. The wealthy (1or 2) continually talk of the poor (1or 2) as if they were all lazy and indolent underachievers, while the poor (1or 2) are sure that most people of wealth (1 or 2) have what they have because of some accident of birth or because they were willing to sacrifice principle for profit.

We could go on citing examples of how we all choose sides depending on the schools we have attended, sports teams we support, the relative beauty of the dominant pigmentation of our skin, how high on the hill we live, the country of origin of our ancestors and even the correctness of the age we are currently passing through contrary to the dismalness of another’s years. It seems as if we are constantly lining up to choose sides. If I have been chosen to be a (1) I will almost always walk contrary to your (2). If you think of yourself as a (1) you will most often see me as a (2) to be walking a crooked path.

Most of us have dreams about living in a utopian society where we will all live in peace, but most of us secretly feel that this will only happen when you desert your side and make an effort to be more like me and mine.

The apostle John in his first epistle gave the following counsel. “If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?” “Beloved, let us love one another; for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.” “Herein is our love made perfect, that ye may have boldness in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world.” (1 John 4: 20, 7, 8, 17)

So there it is, it matters little if thee become like me or I become like thee, it is imperative that we both choose to become like He.

2012-01-08T05:56:00.001-08:00

A NEW YEAR – A NEW ME (part 2)

Lloyd C. Douglas, in his novel Magnificent Obsession, gave a warning to those who have felt the stirrings and yearnings from within to jump off of the sand pile and follow the path which leads to better way. “If the thing hasn’t gripped you a little by now – think no more about it – if, however, you seriously wish to proceed, let me counsel you that you are taking hold of high tension: Once you have touched it, you will never let it go – if you are of the temperament that demands self-indulgency to keep you happy and confident to do your work – and many inestimably valuable people are so built and cannot help it anymore than tall people can help being tall – leave this alone and go your way. For if you make an excursion into this, you’re bound: It will plaster a mortgage on everything you think you own and commandeer your time when you might prefer to be using it for yourself – it is very expensive – it took one man who discovered it to the cross at the age of thirty-three.”

I find it interesting, that even though the literature of the ages is proliferated with the new and everlasting doctrine which brings peace, contentment and joy to all who embrace it, each generation seems to glory in the need to redevelop and redefine how to use every tool in the shed.

Life’s greatest secrets of happiness are not buried under hills of sand, but are liberally available on the pages of the Torah, expounded in the Koran, found in the sayings of Confucius, overflow the teachings of the Dalai Lama and fill the verses of the Bible. Nevertheless, down through all the generations of time there seem to be only a relative few who are willing to pay the price to truly make these universal truths which lead to joy a reality in their lives.

Many have attempted to describe the principles of the eternal truths which have the power to remove men from the shakiness of the shifting sands of life and plant them upon the foundations of the eternities. However, He who millions have proclaimed as Master, best expressed the rallying cry of the revolution in these words, “He who shall lose his life shall surely find it.”

Somehow I must lose that part of me that demands that everything in the home must be predicated on making my life fit for a king and become one who seeks for the happiness and fulfillment of those I am privileged to call family.

Somehow I must lose that part of me that only feels fulfilled when I hear shouts and whispers of adulation and acclaim and become one who seeks to lift heads that are bowed and strengthen arms that have become weak.

Somehow I must lose that part of me that only finds satisfaction when I see my own mountain of sand grow higher and seek to become one who finds a way for my troubled neighbor to have a few grains added to his meager pile.

Somehow I must lose that part of me that only feels fulfilled when I hold the scepter and when my words are law and become one who finds value in the words of wisdom as they fall from the lips of the smallest child.

Those lucky few who follow the Savior’s counsel, that finding that their true life is dependent upon the sacrificing of their selfness, will discover that true joy in life will never come from striving to be ‘King of the Hill’ but will come from seeking the path which leads to the ‘Kingdom of Heaven.’

I hope that each of us this year will take hold of that high tension – and never let it go – becoming bound by the wonderful excursion – gripped by the magnificent obsession.

A NEW YEAR – A NEW ME

2012-01-01T05:37:00.000-08:00

‘Little People,’ Joseph Smith said, “are fond of using tools before they are able.” The prophet said these words after having observed the propensity of men to attempt to take upon themselves power and authority while lacking knowledge, skill and understanding of life’s true purposes.

This characteristic manifests itself in the schoolyard game of ‘King of the Hill,’ a game sometimes played by youngsters as they joyfully tumble on a pile of sand, a game which sadly is all too often played for popularity, position and power upon the sand piles of life. This game can only be won by pulling another person down.

It must be one of the world’s most exciting and thrilling games for most never lose their zeal for playing even though the school grounds have long ago been left far behind. We may set new boundaries, we may choose new teams and we may even play on a new sand pile, but the pull of the game seems to constantly intrigue us.

Two young lovers wed and almost immediately start turning their new nest into a sand box where roles, traditions, and procedures are determined by domination or cleverness.

We enter into a vocation and our dream job almost immediately becomes a perpetual growing pile of sand where daily tugging and struggling toward the top overshadows all altruistic desires which were once part of the dream.

Our periods of recreation are dominated by piles of sand which are continually made more daring and frightening where enjoyment is mocked by standardizing and regulating the quest.

We witness our political leaders maximizing their individual importance by throwing sand upon all in their arena as they clamor for a spot of importance upon the pile.

We go to places of worship because we think we find there a pile of sand we believe to be whiter and purer than the dingy pile of our neighbors.

It is a singularly sad state, that the people of the world not only tolerate, but seem to support and heap accolades upon those who become most expert in the real life game of ‘King of the Hill.’ We continually praise those who have clawed their way to the top of the pile by stomping on the lives and reputation all they had to pull down to get to the top of the heap. We cast upon them our meager grains of sand at the ballot box. We melt our meager quantity of sand and mold statues of glass to add to their self-generated loftiness. We change our bits of sand into gold and willingly add it to their mountainous mass.

Is the die so permanently cast that we can never break the chains of competition, can never loose ourselves from the slavery of success by survival, can never look beyond the restraints of relative recognition and, therefore, remain trapped in the game of ‘I can only win because you lose?’

A plan exists, which could become an active revolution, but since it decries the supremacy of the game of ‘King of the Hill,’ it seldom is recognized today as a viable alternative. We can be assured, however, the revolution is active and alive, silently manifesting itself in the lives of individuals who have come to understand how the tools of life are to be used.

TO BE CONTINUED

A WITNESS OF JESUS THE CHRIST

2011-12-25T06:03:00.000-08:00

Some five centuries before the Birth of the Blessed Babe Jesus which we commemorate on this day, Plato, that ancient philosopher, taught that since all change involves a body at rest being put into motion and must involve an actuator of that change; there must have been a prime principle actuator of change. He considered this first act of change to have been consummated by that soul he considered to be God. Two thousand years after the Birth of the Blessed Babe Jesus, scientists feel that if they can find the ultimate source of existence they will solve the mystery of existence of all things. This study has been labeled by some ‘String Theory’ and their work is an attempt to find the lowest form of existence. One branch of science feels that by colliding protons at near the speed of light they might be able to view what they are calling the God Particle or the foundation of all that exists.

While I find these approaches to finding what is behind all existence interesting, I believe that most of the time God becomes a reality in people’s lives in a much different way. For lack of a better way of expressing it, I have come to call this approach to a belief in Deity “the Law of Witnesses.”

In the following paragraphs, I will discuss some of the facets of this law which I believe influence the conversion and the strengthening of testimony of all who proclaim a belief in Jesus the Christ as the Savior and Redeemer of mankind.

There are those who lived in those wondrous meridian days whose hearts burned within because of the things they both saw and heard and whose witnesses were anciently recorded and preserved for all to read:

Mary and Joseph who were told by the angel Gabriel of Immanuel who would be born of Mary.

Elizabeth who had the embryotic John leap within her womb as a witness of the majesty of the child Mary bore.

Simeon who was at last able to depart mortality in peace because he had seen the Lord’s Christ.

Shepard’s following angelic direction witnessed Him wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

Wise men from the East who deciphered ancient signs and came to Jerusalem to proclaim the birth of a newborn King

I have often pondered on others who lived in those wondrous meridian days who likewise had confirming witnesses whose stories have been lost in the dust of the ages or who never took the time to record:

What of those who travelled in the caravan from Galilee to Bethlehem, did they not have their soul’s stirred in the presence of she who was choice above all women?

What of those who crowded the inn which housed the place of birth of the Savior of mankind, did they not feel the power which that day came to earth?

What did those who the family knew and dwelt among in Egypt see and of what marvels could they bear witness?

What would be the tales of those of Nazareth who saw him playing in the dusty streets and carrying wood and water for his Sainted Mother?

What were the words of those who were fed by the shores of the Galilee as they witnessed to their families and friends of the fishes and the loaves?

What of the masses who never lived in those wondrous times whose witnesses, even when recorded, will seldom be read by generations to come:

Whose hearts are stirred as hymns heralding His coming are sung by choirs in churches, halls and homes?

Whose heads are bowed as silent and vocal prayers of thanksgiving are said for the abundant love which came to earth when the Son of God was born?

Who when faint glimpses of times of then and there quickly cross their minds as a remembrance that they knew Him in another sphere?

Who find greater meaning in all the glitter and glitz of the holidays and each lighted storefront and Happy Holiday card helps them find a way for His light to touch their souls?

Who meet and greet their fellow sojourners in such a way that His light bears witness that they know the Blessed Babe Jesus is the Savior of the world?

All these things touch our spirits and manifest themselves in an undeniable physical reaction that makes it so that none of us can doubt that our hearts have had that Holy Witness burn within our souls.

Are we not left with a sacred commission to add our witness to those of the millenniums “That we also know that the Blessed Babe Jesus is indeed the promised Christ?”

JESUS THE CHRIST AND CHRISTMAS

2011-12-18T06:14:00.000-08:00

Some years ago a family situation found us far away from home on the 28th of September, in a suburb of Seattle, Washington named Woodenville. As we were going down the main street, we passed a large nursery called Molbaks. At first I didn’t notice, but something subconsciously made me look again; it really was true, the windows of this large store were totally decked with all the types of Christmas trees that one could imagine.

This was not November 28th (just after Thanksgiving), not even October 28th (just before Halloween) but the 28th of September (when children had just returned to classes after summer vacation). The freshness of the displays eliminated the possibility of last year’s laziness and therefore, I knew that this was a deliberate attempt to stretch the commercialization of Christmas beyond the bounds of propriety.

In the rapidity which only the processes of the mind and some monster computers can achieve , my thoughts skipped from rejection and revulsion concerning the blatant 28th of September display to a remembrance of thoughts vocalized the 28th of December last. Vividly, across the span of time through the miraculous capacity of the mind, came the words as if they were now first being spoken; “I wish the feelings and goodness and love which have abounded this Christmas season could remain with us all year long.”

Gratefully, I quickly repented of my feelings of rejection and revulsion and decided that I would determine not to fight the feeling, and even resolved to become part of the flow of Christmas Spirit which annually floods mankind no matter what the date on the calendar might be.

It may well be that if one twelfth of the year is made joyous because of the abundance of those tinsels and lights which can remind us of the Christmas Spirit, four twelfths of the year might even be better. After all, if one has seriously determined to be a disciple of the Savior Jesus Christ, they should welcome every bit of help they can get in carrying forth His message.

Therefore, if my neighbor wants to leave his outdoor lights up all year long, I will be grateful and not label him as lazy. He can even turn them on for Valentine’s Day, the Fourth of July, his kids’ birthdays, his anniversary or just because he feels like it, if he so wishes. Then for a moment, I will be reminded of the birth and mission of my Savior.

If the department stores what to send out their ads for Black Friday with their Christmas specials the day after Halloween and then follow up with weekly reminders by every method of advertising known and yet to be known, it should cause my heart to rejoice about all the reminders which are flooding home about the birth of the King of Kings.

If the choir starts rehearsing for the Christmas program right after the ringing of the explosions of Independence Day have left our ears, and if Christmas carols are heard before the last cord of hymns of Thanksgiving are sounded, I’ll reverence the wondrous messages heralding the birth of the Prince of Peace.

Therefore, as one who has resolved to add his droplets to the flood of His Eternal message, I wish you happiness and joy this time and always. I pray that living Christmas trees in August will stimulate us to a remembrance of our Savior in the same way that artificial ones often do in December.

I pray that colors in May and summer scenes in June and the fresh smells of April will cause your emotions to soar and your heart to respond to the needs of your earthly companions no matter whether the date is in January or the day is in March.

We all need to spend more time pondering that it isn’t Christmas day which makes us different, but it is Jesus the Christ, his teachings, his life and his Atonement.

Without Christ, gift giving can be changed from charitable exchanges of love to concerns of commercialization and indebtedness.

Without Christ, bright decorations turn from being beacons of light into gaudy glitter.

Without Christ, gatherings turn from devoted remembrances to riotous reunions.

Without Christ, Christmas and all other days turn from Celestial contemplations to thoughts on Telestial trivialities.

It may well be that the key to maintaining feelings of goodness and love during the appointed Christmas season and throughout the whole year is not to be found in trying to keep the Christmas Spirit; but though finding Christ and keeping Him and His teachings in our lives all year long.

May the Spirit of our Savior, Jesus the Christ, come into our lives in such abundance this Christmas season that it will flow though us all unto our fellow travelers not only for a day or a week or a month, but at all times, is the prayer I offer in His Holy name at this blessed time of year.

A PERSPECTIVE

2011-12-11T07:17:00.001-08:00

The existence of the Eternal Universe, the birth of a baby, Lazarus coming forth, medical advancements, feelings of comfort from the God of love and peace; these things and many more are MIRACLES to me!

The placing of Isaac upon the alter, a toddler’s first step, Adam’s willing step into mortality, healings, Peter’s declaration ‘thou art the Christ the Son of the Living God’; these things and many more are ACTS OF FAITH to me !

The abundance of Job which surrounds me, a grandchild’s hand touching my cheek, the Samaritan’s kindness to a stranger, health, guidance of scriptural passages; these things and many more are BLESSINGS to me!

The annunciation of Gabriel to Mary, children kept from harms way, guidance to Jacob as he slept, a loved one’s smile, those promised to surround and administer; these things and many more are proof of ANGELS to me!

The descending of Moses from the mount, a child’s innocent testimony, spiritual stirrings as living prophets guide, anointing’s and sealings when ill, those whom the Lord has promised to be among us; these and many more are PROPHETS to me!

The metamorphous of seed to tree, the journey of babe to adult, the leavings and histories of ancestors, cells and cosmos, seeking to know a little of the mind and will of God; these things and many more are important KNOWLEDGE to me!

The regular attention to devotion, teens kneeling beside their beds, the mount of transfiguration, expressing gratitude, Wise men coming from afar; these things and many more are forms of WORSHIP to me!

The Lord’s submissions to his Father’s will, a missionary’s bowed head, thoughts which greet the rising sun, pondering for understanding, a silent thanks; these things and many more are PRAYER to me!

The Atoning Sacrifice, cooking a little extra for the widow next door, a prayer offered for another’s sake, watching more carefully over Mother Earth, the feeding of the thousands by the shore; these things and many more are SERVICE to me!

The closeness of the twelve to the Savior, eternal marriage, a phone call from a friend of long ago, caring for all of earth’s created, drawing closer to Heavenly Father; these things and many more are important RELATIONSHIPS to me!!

OUR UNIVERSAL KINSHIP

2011-12-04T08:31:00.000-08:00

Some years ago I enrolled in and completed a course of study on World Religions. Because of other pressures of life, family and career my efforts in the class were superficial and, therefore, the knowledge I gained was very rudimentary. In all honesty I was left relatively unchanged by the experience.

A few years later, I received the assignment to teach the basic concepts and histories of the Religions of the World to another generation. Being motivated by a strong desire to keep from being embarrassed each Tuesday and Thursday morning, I fell into a vigorous study program. Long hours were spent in reading as I tried to fill the void left by my meager efforts in my former course of study. I tried to anticipate questions which would easily stretch beyond my fundamental knowledge of Buddhism, Jainism, Shintoism and all those other exotic ‘isms’ from the ages and nations of the world.

Slowly, as the weeks of the course unfolded, a new growth started to bud within my mind and soul. As I was confronted with the teachings, mores and dogmas of the world’s numerous religions I was constantly impressed that I was reading ideas which did not contradict my own deep-seated testimony of God and His purposes for man. These concepts more often than not paralleled and in some cases gave deeper understanding to those ideals which I had held so dear during the major part of my life.

I found encased in the precepts and sayings of the Shinto concepts which I memorized and tried to inculcate in my life from the teachings Moses brought from the mount and consistent with the Holy Prophets of the Old Testament.

In the teachings of Taoism I found a genuine search for eternal truths which became an example to me in my personal quest.
From Confucianism I was frequently reminded of the simple day-to-day practices which bring majesty to my own personal religious practices and make it possible to experience the true joys of life’s relationships.

Opening and exploring the teachings of Judaism brought to reality the immense influence the teachings of Israel brought to the foundations of Christianity.

As the weeks of the course drew to a conclusion I was no longer unchanged by a study of the Religions of the World. I had come to understand to a much greater degree what is meant by the universal kinship of mankind and the singular parentage we all share.

As I repeated the teaching of this course several times during my life I came to believe that it would do us all well if we were to become more conversant with the fundamental understanding our ever approaching neighbors have of the underlying meanings and purposes of life.

Rather than having an immediate defensive reflex to one of the beliefs of our neighbor’s religion we might take a moment to reflect on such things as:

How can I come to understand what you believe, so that our kinship might be strengthened?

How can I use this moment to bring joy rather that sadness by overcoming a bit of my prejudice and bias?

How can I try to stop perpetuating those parts of our lives which divide us and instill relationships which bring us closer to oneness?

How can I spend this moment with my new neighbor exploring those areas of beliefs and yearnings we share in common?

How can I more firmly dedicate my life to bringing universal joy and peace into my many varied spheres?

I don’t know where your journey will lead you, but I testify that the reward of discovering the universal goodness which lies innately in the souls of our earth mates is worth the required effort.

MEASURE TWICE CUT ONCE

2011-11-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

I suspect if there is any validity to the cliché, ‘we learn from our mistakes’, there have been some periods of my life when the learning curve was exceedingly steep, filled with intense educational moments.

For some months I had been laboring in my ‘spare time’ to build a second bathroom in our home. The eight of us had lived in our ‘getto’ home (I left the H out of the word because I was knocking the ‘H’ out of this 5000 sq. ft. monster) for seven years, making do with one bathroom. Having only one bath with all those bodies was quite an education also, but that will be a story which will have to be told in its own time.

I was very pleased that I had finally completed the second bath and all that was lacking was the laying of the linoleum. It was at that stage of the project that I finally got around to hooking up the water into the bathroom. When I turned on the faucet I was greeted with a miserly flow of water dripping from the tap. To my horror I soon discovered that I had plenty of water collecting in various locations within the finished walls. The next four days were spent in a maddening vicious cycle of discovering leaks, fixing leaks and repairing the walls and flooring in our now twice built bathroom. I hope some of you are able to appreciate the remarkable dedication I was demonstrating in the pursuit of learning.

I don’t believe it requires a very vivid imagination to conjure in your minds the numerous ‘you should haves’ which were freely expressed by family and friends who appointed themselves as sidewalk superintendents…

Having personally suffered through the frustrations and anxieties of building the ‘twice built bathroom’, I don’t feel it essential to further expose my ignorance by detailing the many places I went astray. I am sure it will be sufficient to mention that as I was driving in the last nail while replacing the floorboard, rejoicing in the fact that I had finally found and fixed the last leak, that the nail found the PVC pipe and the floorboard had to be ripped up and replaced for the third time. For some unknown reason, decades later, whenever that bathroom is spoken of by anyone in our family it is referred to as the ‘damn’ bathroom. Personally, I will continue to call it the ‘twice built bathroom’ or the ‘blue bathroom’.

Many Centuries ago a wise and righteous king in a long forgotten land in the Americas by the name of Benjamin admonished his people “that all things should be done in wisdom and in order.” (Mosiah 4:27) Hopefully, having built one bathroom twice will be enough ‘education through hard knocks’ to give me the understanding that it is wise to connect, and test a plumbing system before sealing all the pipes inside of walls and floors.

Oh, that the proper order of all of life’s lessons were so easily learned and could be repaired with only a few minor adjustments!

Oh, that we might be wise enough to glean the wisdom of the ages, so that the pangs of discovering and fixing a disordered life might not be needed to be suffered personally by all!

Oh, that we might be wise enough to stay within the bounds of the order which has been tested and proven to be true!

Oh, that the joy of the orderliness of our Father’s House might not be extinguished by unwise decisions made hastily!
I strongly feel that as it is with twice built bathrooms, so it is with life:

Pre-learning the purposes of life will give understanding as to how we should order our progressive steps.

Orderliness in life’s phases will help eliminate frustrations and anxiety and will lead us to fulfilling our appointed purposes in life.

By orderly, sequential moving though the experiences of life we can grow ever closer to our Heavenly Parents and thereby fulfill life’s main purpose which is that we might have joy.

THANKFUL FOR YOU

2011-11-20T08:54:00.000-08:00

Planting, nurturing and harvesting are numbing cycles if one’s bounty is but stacked and stored.

Selecting the perfect bird would be meaningless if Thanksgiving was a ‘little red hen’ experience.

The trip over the river and through the woods would be far less joyful if grandparent’s arms weren’t outstretched.

Gratitude for the feast spread upon the table would seem hollow if the surrounding chairs were vacant.

Clearing the remnants becomes drudgery if many hands don’t make the task light.

That overstuffed feeling is somewhat alleviated by knowing that the many are well satisfied.

It didn’t come as a seismic jolt, but I am grateful that over the years a significant shift has taken place in my life that where once my gratitude was centered on stuff, it has now gravitated to being dominated by thankfulness for meaningful relationships.

Although I am thankful for the all the technical marvels which have blessed my life, I am much more grateful for the tremendous tentacles which this technology gives me to reach across decades and around the world to establish and reestablish loving friendships.

Although I am thankful for my new titanium knee joint, I am much more thankful for the medical team of doctors, surgeons, nurses, physical therapists and pharmacists who have become part of my life and helped me make this piece of metal functional.

Although I am thankful for our warm and peaceful home, I am much more grateful that Kathleen is here to ad measures to the warmth and peace and for family and friends who continually surround us.

Although I am thankful for a life which has been prosperous and healthy, I am more grateful for all with whom we have been able to share our blessings and have added meaningfully to our well-being.

I AM THANKFUL FOR YOU!

ENDURING TO THE END

2011-11-13T08:58:00.000-08:00

When I was a young lad I used to spend hours building structures out of Lincoln logs and little red blocks. The Lincoln logs were made out of real wood and worked marvelously until they came into contact with any moisture. Since those were also the days of pre plastic Lego blocks these little red blocks were also susceptible to damage by moisture. One of the wonderful things about these earlier times was that these construction pieces didn’t come in prepackaged projects which were intended to build only one object. The only thing which limited what I was to build was my imagination and the number of logs or blocks I had in my construction chest.

After dedicating numerous hours building a pioneer complex or some futuristic tower, within just a few minutes my creations were demolished and I had all the logs and little red blocks back in the chest.

Wouldn’t we all consider ourselves to have had an amazing life if structures of Lincoln logs and little red Lego bricks were the only part of our lives which had taken a long time to build and then were torn down in just a matter of seconds?

How often do we see someone’s well-earned reputation crumble with one ill-advised choice?

How often do we see a pattern of honesty destroyed with a ‘chance of a life time’ dishonest deal?

How often do we see pains-taking well-toned bodies quickly weakened by neglect of diet, exercise or disease?

How often do we see years of savings eradicated by a budget busting spending spree?

How often do we see a life time of unifying family life scuttled by someone succumbing to a siren call?

How often do we see a talent extinguished by the cessation of practice?

How often do we see learning limited because of the termination of retention exercises?

How often do we see belief in Deity dissolve because we cease to attend to prayer and chapel?

Observing the rather frequent repetition of these passages in our personal lives and the lives of loved ones never seems to lessen the sadness which accompanies the demolition of an aptitude, acquisition or attribute which had been built with years of relentless proper placing of one bright brick upon another.

Simply because there is a frequency of these ‘life’s efforts’ eliminating activities does not mean that this is the way things should be. We should all believe strongly in the wonderful principle of repentance and perhaps we have had numerous occasions when we have had occasion to call upon the extended mercies. However, it might be well if we were to give equal awareness to the principle of enduring to the end.

During my more experienced years (euphemism for senior or old) I assembled holiday villages around the house and only removed them after numerous requests or pleas for the restoration of our home to its non-holiday state. I suspect if room had been available they would have been a year round Fung Shui part of my environment. Even though this activity did not in anyway ‘endure to the end’, never the less, I was able to get a little bit of understanding between the pleasure and excitement which comes from building with little red block or Lincoln logs and then their immediate destruction and the more continual joy and satisfaction which comes when the results of our efforts endure, if only for a season.

We might consider striving harder to keep our reputations whole through proper choices.

We might consider always making honesty the best policy.

We might consider being constant in healthy habits.

We might consider concentrating on needs and controlling wants.

We might consider faithful relationships to be of more importance that fantasies.

We might consider talents timeless and not temporary.

We might consider the ability to learn an eternal blessing.

We might consider the building of Heavenly relationships a daily responsibility.

Yes, repentance is a tremendously important, necessary and well used principle, but the principle of faithfully enduring to the end is worthy of consideration because of the constancy of joy, peace and satisfaction which will surely attend.

A LIFE FULL OF TOMORROWS

2011-11-06T09:10:00.000-08:00

I guess I miss the days of attempting to gather our five sons and our little daughter on Monday evenings for Family Night. (I made an error or slip when I was typing that last sentence and typed Family Fights) I think the pain of undisciplined chaotic hours is fading, because I am now beginning to recall some special evenings when everyone was involved and it felt like the purpose of Family Home Evening was realized if only for a few fleeting moments.

I remember one of those Monday Family Home Evenings which turned out semi positive. (This was before we instituted volleyball as our regular Family Night and attempted to have our spiritual lesson on Sunday evenings, when all members of the family seemed to be a bit calmer.)

The lesson for that ‘better’ Family Home Evening instructed us to make a search of our private mounds of treasure and select that ‘one’ item which if we were called upon to evacuate our home and city, we would not be willing to leave behind. The lesson presenter was told to remain seated during the search and after each family member had shown their article and given a reason for selecting it, the family was supposed to ask where the presenter’s item was. Then, the presenter was to respond, “You are all here, my family is the one thing I would never wish to leave behind.”

This Family Home Evening lesson probably fits into the many cliché formats which have an extra amount of emotional appeal, because they are based on Finality Themes. For years speakers at BYU forums have been asked to give a ‘Last Lecture’, which was intended to stimulate all who were listening into making a dramatic change of direction in their lives. We have all been asked to think about what we would tell our parents if we knew it was the last time we would see them. All of us have probably been asked to contemplate what we would do if we knew we only had a short time to live.

Some years ago I was paying a consolation visit to a friend of mine who had recently lost his brother. Little did I know that I would leave that short visit with a very interesting twist on finality themes. Just a few months earlier his brother had been told that his illness was not one of those ‘take a pill’ things, but he was embarking on a short journey to terminality. My friend summarized the last few months of his brother and his brother’s family with the following thoughts. “There were no dramatic changes of direction needed.” “Their proper course was already a well-established pattern.” “The family was at peace because peace was the norm for the family.” “Love abounded during those months because the family relationships had always been founded on love.” “This final journey was a shared familial experience because all previous experiences had been done with oneness.”

Since that day, when I received far more consolation from my friend than I was able to give, I have remembered this, along with other experiences on that marvelous list, when the skin on the back of my upper arms prickled and the lower lids of my eyes were unable to retain the tears which welled while the Spirit was felt.

Subsequent pondering on this experience with principle has brought me to the belief that the secret to gaining a life filled with purposefulness may not come from living each day as if it were to be our last, but because we weigh each action as if we had a millennial life ahead. Living each moment as if the way I now react will have everlasting consequences for multitudes of tomorrows.

I believe it is possible that weighing decisions on eternal scales might help us become more genuine in our relationships and more sincere in our actions. We might find ourselves developing patterns of constancy of goodness. We might find the directions of our steps more consistently straight. We might find that our tomorrows seem directed to a higher level of trust and security. Not only will we be more constant in seeing the good in others, but I believe likewise, we will begin to have a greater degree of self-love with an appreciation of what we are becoming.

I pause to think about how much more speedy my progress would have been if there hadn’t been so many moments of retracing, retrieving, repenting and regretting. I can’t help but think that ‘futuring’ my thoughts, words and deeds would have saved decades of accumulated detours.

The longer I live the more I desire an epitaph which reads something like “he lived a long, peaceful good life full of love and joy” rather than, “that fellow really came through at the end.” Scrooge is to be respected for his last minute character correction, but lost forever are the decades of sweetness ‘which might have been’. Gone are the years of loving having been cankered by bitterness. Never to be retrieved are the moments of loving tenderness which dissolved in the darkness of fear and pride.

We should all hope we can be more constant in remembering that today will never be the last day of anyone’s life but will always be the first day of the rest of our eternal lives.

It might be well if a part of those prayers we send heavenward might be for help in living today in such a way that we will begin or continue a constancy of a pattern of life that will forever lead to an increase of joy and fulfillment for us and all those we encounter.

SOME REALLY SCARY THINGS

2011-10-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

As I drive around on Halloween evening I find myself amused at three and four foot monsters, goblins and pirates clasping empty caloried/teeth decaying loot in burdened bags. Not a second of fright overcomes me as I glance here and there at ghosts and pumpkins hanging from trees. I even catch myself laughing at headstones and skeletons half buried in browning lawns. However, there are many things that I see not only on Halloween, but also during the other 364 days of the year which really do scare me.

PEOPLE WHO HAVE DECIDED THAT A LAW IS BROKEN ONLY IF ONE IS CAUGHT
LAW OFFICERS WHO HAVE DECIDED THAT ENFORCEMENT HAS NO RESTRAINTS

PARENTS WHO NO LONGER BELIEVE THAT EXAMPLE IS THE BEST TEACHER
CHILDREN WHO BELIEVE THAT THEIR PARENTS’ EXAMPLE GIVES THEM LICENSE

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT ONLY ONCE WILL NEVER CAUSE ANY HARM
PEOPLE WHO GET GAIN BY TAKING ADVANTAGE OF ADDICTIVE PROPENSITIES

POLITICIANS WHO BELIEVE THAT THEIR JOB IS TO BE RE-ELECTED
ELECTORATE WHO BELIEVE THAT GOVERNMENT IS SOMEONE ELSE’S RESPONSIBILITY

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THEIR DECISIONS NEVER AFFECT ANYONE ELSE
PEOPLE WHO ALLOW THE DECISIONS OF OTHERS TO AFFECT THEM FOREVERMORE

ATHLETES WHO THINK THAT SKILL REMOVES THE NECESSITY FOR CIVILITY
PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT FAN-DOM GIVES THEM THE RIGHT OF INTRUSION

PEOPLE WHO FEEL THERE IS NO REASON TO RID THEMSELVES OF BAD HABITS
PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE A PERSON WITH A BAD HABIT IS TOTALLY BAD

MEN WHO FEEL THAT MARITAL RIGHTS INCLUDE A DOUBLE STANDARD
WOMEN WHO FEEL THAT MARITAL RIGHTS INCLUDE A DOUBLE STANDARD

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE DOGS AND CATS ARE CHILDREN
PEOPLE WHO ALLOW OR CAUSE SUFFERING TO DOGS AND CATS

MEN WHO BELIEVE THAT GENDER INCLUDES THE RIGHT OF DOMINATION
WOMEN WHO BELIEVE THAT FULFILLMENT COMES IN BECOMING LIKE MEN

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT THEY HAVE NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE NEEDS OF OTHERS
PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT THOSE WHO HAVE PROSPERED MUST BE MORE CHARITABLE

CELEBRITIES WHO BELIEVE STARDOM MAKES THEM UNIVERSAL AUTHORITIES
PEOPLE WHO ACCEPT THE OPINIONS OF STARS WITHOUT QUESTIONING

LEADERS WHO BELIEVE THEY HAVE BEEN ELECTED TO BE SERVED
CITIZENS WHO BELIEVE THAT THEY ARE OWED THE GOOD LIFE

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT MONEY GIVES THEM SUPERIORITY AND PRIVILEGE
PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT STEALING FROM THE RICH IS NO CRIME

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT FREEDOM OF SPEECH HAS NO LIMITS
PEOPLE WHO DENY OTHERS A VOICE

PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE THAT THEIR WAY OF LIFE IS THE EPITOME OF VIRTUE
PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE OTHERS HAVE NO VIRTUE

I hope these thoughts will not be the cause of nightmares and loss of sleep!!!

THE PLAZA

2011-10-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

As Pierre sat looking at the fountain in the middle of the Plaza a strange thought came into his mind. A brief brightness came from his eyes as he wondered how many pairs of shoes had walked the bricks around and through the Plaza, how many pairs of pants had worn the spots on his favorite bench on the west side of the fountain, how many greetings had been exchanged over the years?

His name wasn’t really Pierre and the years had hidden the reason why everyone in the pueblo always addressed him by this strange name from a country he had only seen pictures, of but had never visited. On the faded birth certificate his name was recorded Carlos Antonio Gonzalez Riviera, but the only time he even saw that name was when he took his pension check to the bank. It had always been and was to this very day, Pierre.

The bent benches his father and grandfather had sat on in the Plaza had been replaced a few years ago with these cold cement objects which were not at all a pleasant experience. Modern they may be, but comfortable they were not.

Sitting in the Plaza as the brightness of the day started to put on the paling of the evening, Pierre gazed around. It was as if he were seeing his entire mortality parading before him as friends and family communed. Over by the old oak tree there were little children scurrying while being closely watched by attentive mothers. For a moment he saw the vision of his beautiful mother holding his hand as he tugged for freedom, wanting so badly to be with his older brother as he climbed this same oak tree which at that time was much less magnificent. His mother always called him Carlos except on those occasions when she was disappointed in his choices and then it was always Carlos Antonio! In remembrance it seemed to Pierre that it was a time filled with ‘don’ts’ and ‘some days’.

Because the work in the fields was more important than sitting in the small classroom at the school, Pierre had only attended four years. He suddenly remembered that the town’s teacher had called him Carlos the first day of school and when that was met with an uproar from the other children, it was always Pierre from that day on. During those years he passed by the Plaza each morning and each afternoon, but the buildings surrounding it were much more appealing to him than anything the Plaza itself had to offer. On Monday mornings he stepped inside the Church to ask for help with his numbers and letters. He would be forever grateful for having had the opportunity to learn to read, Pierre knew his life would have been much less had it not included the wonders found in books. On Fridays his father gave him a few cents to buy a sweet at the little corner tienda. He longed for the day when he might be able to have one of the delicious meals whose scent he was able to smell coming from the open air restaurant. There was the store where his mother had bought his first torturous pair of shoes and his first pair of pants which needed a belt. It was a time of ‘things new’ and ‘things different’.

It was a magical time when the passages of life allowed him to participate in, rather than observe, the promenade around the Plaza in the evenings. When Maria’s first smile caused him to turn and walk by her side until the day she joined the other angels she had always called him Antonio. Pierre might be what others would call him, but to her he would always be her Antonio. From that day, until Maria stood by his side before the Priest near the Alter of the Church and became his wife, they had spent every evening walking the bricks of the Plaza and sitting on the bending benches. It was a time of ‘knowing love’ and ‘knowing companionship’.

During the years of fathering and providing, Pierre seldom entered the Plaza, but usually sat outside the restaurant at the table nearest the street and looked across at the continuing of the cycle of life going on in the Plaza. It was only on Saturday evenings when the week’s work was done that he was able to join with his friends and enjoy a few moments of pleasantness. It seemed like only a closing and opening of his eye and their children had passed through the stages of the Plaza.

Maria went from living to memories way before Pierre was ready. He soon found little reason to sit at the table near the street in front of the Restaurant. It was a time filled with ‘happiness’ and ‘sorrow’.

Now as Pierre sat on the unforgiving cold cement objects, these day breathing and thinking seemed sufficient reason to be at the Plaza. Pierre now went daily, but Tuesday afternoons had become his favorite evening. On that evening the two young men in the white shirts, who wore ties even on the hottest days, came and told him of wondrous things he had only hoped for. He marveled as they assured him that there would be continuance to being at Maria’s side and their joy would extend eternally.

He was astounded to hear that there were Plaza moments before his mortal birth and there would be Plaza moments forever. The revolutions of life went on in the Plaza, but on Tuesdays, Pierre concentrated on his conversations with the young man from Idaho who spoke with an interesting accent and the young man from Peru who was always at his side. It was a time abounding with ‘hope’ and ‘peace’.

I have written this week’s thought with two purposes in mind:

It is your life; write it down so those who follow will know!!

I would hope we would all be blessed with our personal Plaza where we can sense and contemplate the restrictions, the discoveries, the emotions and the truths of life.

SOMETIMES

2011-10-09T05:06:00.000-07:00

Enlightenment sometimes seems brightest when soul replaces sight.

Understanding sometimes seems most profound when silence replaces sound.

Feeling sometimes seems most tender when heart replaces hand.

Communication sometimes seems clearest when thought replaces word.

Savor sometimes seems sweetest when gratitude replaces tongue.

Happiness sometimes seems most sublime when you replaces me.

Drink sometimes seems most quenching when thankfulness replaces thirst.

Humor sometimes seems funniest when honoring replaces hurting.

Bravery sometimes seems most courageous when the many replaces the one.

Kindness sometimes seems most genuine when now replaces then.

Home sometimes seems warmest when courtesy replaces wants.

Work sometimes seems most productive when loyalty replaces recompense.

Parenting sometimes seems most effective when nurturing replaces discipline.

Virtue sometimes seems purest when thee replaces me.

Worship sometimes seems most reverent when laughter replaces mourning.

Silence sometimes seems most calming when aloneness replaces the many.

Confidence sometimes seems most appealing when humility replaces pride.

Knowledge sometimes seems most profound when revelation replaces reading.

Life sometimes seems most meaningful when giving replaces getting.

Eternity sometimes seems closest when today replaces tomorrow.

TO THE PONCE DE LEON WITHIN

2011-09-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

As a young man when I first started to sense that mortal life was limited and physical prowess was fleeting, I pondered upon the blessings which we all might have been able to enjoy had Ponce de Leon been successful in his quest for the fountain of youth.

However, as the years have turned into decades, I have come to realize that those same emotions which drove him in his search and stimulated my youthful pondering are often detrimental to the achieving of ultimate happiness. Time and time again experience has reinforced on my consciousness that idols worshiped by unobtainable, unnecessary or undesirable quests usually turn out to be standing on feet made of clay.

If some time in the far, far away an archeologist were digging in the remains of the
cities buried beneath the present day megalopolis of Los Angeles, California, and happened to discover the film and tape vaults of that then, ancient movie and television industry they would be overwhelmed with an impression which would be very distinct from the realities of the 21st Century.

Even today advertising and program content lead most of the world to have a distorted view of what reality is in Los Angeles, Las Vegas or New York. They would lead many to believe that our world is dominated by beautiful people who are constantly involved in committing or resolving criminal activity, who drive oversized limos and live in mansions which are never inhabited by faithful mothers and fathers. As we open our eyes to the world around us we quickly realize, as we stroll the streets, we are surrounded by people who wouldn’t be considered as ‘extras’ in a Hollywood production. We walk daily with people who generally have rather plain and unsplendored countenances. We drive down streets lined with comfortable homes inhabited by families which are functional.

Magazines extolling wondrous bodies with near zero body fat levels are sold by the millions both above and below the counter. ‘Ordinary man’ observing himself in a mirror quickly finds himself on a steep path leading toward feeling like an ugly duckling as he longingly compares himself to the ‘spray tan muscle beacher’ portrayed on the glossy page. After only a few minutes on any beach laden with ‘sunners,’ reality quickly reaffirms in all our minds that the vast majority of society have bodies which contain fat cells which manifest themselves as ungainly rolls in funny places about the body.

The good life, which has been correlated with one’s possessions and purchasing power, is often propagandized upon us as the necessary key to acquiring earthly pleasantness and pleasure. One only needs a minimal exposure to the masses who reside in meager abodes, who can be seen, gratefully and happily enjoying lives minimally encumbered with possessions.

The masses are seen gaining greater pleasure in having pure water to drink than others find in fine wines.

The masses sleep better cocooned in their hammocks than those on the hill restlessly bouncing on their multi-mattressed four posters.

The gourmet with his napkin still spotted from the sauces and sweetmeats of the ‘rich and famous’ quickly downs a handful of pills to quiet his digestive system
which is seconds shy from revolting and racking his body with pain. Ironically, the fundamental diet of the grateful masses often labeled the ‘less fortunate’ results in satisfaction and health.

The blame for the damaging twisting of society’s decaying value system should not be placed solely on the shoulders of those who through the process of birth have been blessed with certain attributes; being blessed with beauty, being well framed or in circumstances of abundance, but with those pseudo-priests who practice their priest craft of unrelenting commercials, spewing forth their propaganda, postulating these attributes as the only standards which are to be accepted and valued.

I really hope we are not jogging ourselves toward a day when Jack Sprat and his wife may be forced to closet their shameful bodies hidden away from the beautiful people.

In our relentless pursuit of the mythical ‘American Dream’ we may have already relegated the middle class to the other side of the tracks.

As we frequent the gourmet section of the frozen foods in the giant box store, (not hard to find contradictions in that statement) filling our oversized cart to overflowing, do we even casually yearn for the little corner store where fresh produce was never sold if it was more than two days old.

Reason and our grappling natures will never allow us to encourage the development of society content with mediocrity, but I often wonder if it might be well if we were to move toward a measure of balance. Would it be so bad if we were to become a little more rational and much less susceptible to what others consider to be of most importance in life.

If we were capable of seeing with vision unclouded by the propagandizers and were able to understand with greater clarity I believe we would be far less prone to desire those things in life which, in spite of all our efforts, will ultimately wrinkle, sag or decay. Would it really hurt us if we were more prone to set our goals and thus use our precious moments of life in the pursuit of those attributes which are lasting, stabilizing and comforting.

Just a last note to the Ponce de Leon which still lingers within:

Rainbows are for viewing and enjoying not for chasing!

Life is for living and enjoying not for mortgaging and spending.

LEARNING

2011-09-18T07:23:00.000-07:00

I think it was in the sixth grade when the idea of being a teacher started to bubble through my brain. By my junior year in High School I was determined to pay the price to pursue the profession of teaching. After serving a mission in Mexico and discovering that it was possible to teach the principles of my faith while supporting life I made movements to join the Church Education System. In my twenties I was an entertainer in front of students delivering fundamental concepts. In my thirties I was beginning to understand that the real power in the classroom was with the student and not the teacher.

Instructors can spend hours in preparation, honing their lesson plans toward a state of perfection, but the reception of precepts is entirely up to the readiness of the pupil. A person’s physical self can be present and seated, but their mind can be on the football field, on last Friday’s party, preparing dinner or lost in the fog of drowsiness.

Words fly from lips which haltingly express partially understood principles
Words fall on ears which seldom receive in the same way as sent
Thoughts are expressed in utterances formulated by experience
Minds interpret through the maze of the moments of past months

As the decades at the rostrum passed I came to realize to a greater degree:

That, attentiveness gained by entertainment did not necessarily make it a great conveyor of concepts.

That, laboriously construed lesson plans were valueless when delivered to reluctant listeners.

That, many times there is little correlation between what the teacher is presenting and what the student is receiving.

That, teachers may think they are in charge of the journey to be taken during a class period, but they turn out to be little more than map makers and each learner will determine the trail they are taking.

During my life I have met students from long years past and heard them repeat something they remembered me teaching. On many occasions I cannot ever remember saying such a thing.

Words fly from prophets, princes and paupers
Words are written by cleric, crown and clerk
Words are trumpeted by tutor, titan and trainer
Yet, it is the hearer alone who determines what is learned

Some years ago Elder Richard G. Scott, and apostle in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, moved me to think about another teacher/learner relationship. He was about to deliver a lecture on ideas either never heard or long ago forgotten, but what I still retain from his counsel, was that we should let his words be a stimulus which would open the windows of heaven and allow the Holy Spirit to direct the real lessons we needed to learn that day.

Since that day in the conference room of the Gold and Green Hotel in Quito, Ecuador I have spent many hours wondering about my receptiveness as the Master Teacher has attempted to teach me Eternal Truths from the absolute perfection of His Omni Lesson Plan.

After my goal mandated morning scripture reading did I leave my cubicle before the additional clarifying promptings were received?

After pleading for guidance, was I too preoccupied with the cares of the day to hear the directions of His still small voice?

When in deep discussions with trusted colleagues did I pause to receive guidance from Him whose counsel should be trusted most?

Did I anxiously desire sleep at the end of a long day and thereby fail to hear His response to my bed side petitions?

I wonder how many messages from the Master Teacher have been misinterpreted by me because I wanted to hear what I wanted to hear and not the instruction He was trying to send.

He lovingly sends forth words in pure simplicity
Yet, I hear mixed and muffled tones
He patiently leads me on paths of shining straightness
Yet, I walk on clouded crooked paths

Whether in mortal classroom or Eternal Halls, on my shoulders alone rests the responsibility of being the attentive ardent learner!

COMMUNICATION

2011-09-11T05:40:00.000-07:00

When I was involved in the pursuit of a college education some of the classes in my major area of study became a springboard to a life-long interest in the area of successful communication. I had grown up with the idea that communication was a very simple thing: I talk-you hear, you talk-I hear, we understand. I was introduced to the concept that communication was more often a case of: I talk-you hear something different, you talk-I hear something different, we misunderstand.

As it turns out there is one filter or gap which causes the thoughts which I express in words to be filtered by my personal speaking patterns, the bias’ I have developed, the understandings I have reached due to personal experiences and my current emotional mood. Once I send these filtered expressions into the air they then go through a second filter or gap which causes the words I have sent out to be filtered by your personal hearing patterns, the bias’ you have developed, the understandings you have reached due to personal experiences and your current emotional mood. This miscommunication pattern can continue as long as we continue conversing.

I came away from those classes wondering if all speaking was a big waste of time. Eventually I came to believe that partially understood comments were better than not speaking at all. I finally came to understand that we are not trapped in this dilemma, but through the process of developing proper communication skills we can overcome the problems which lead to misunderstandings and miscommunications.

My eyes were opened and I came to the realization of why we so often hear such comments as:

That’s not what I said at all!

Why don’t you listen more attentively!

(After listening to a speaker) That’s not what I heard him say!

I never said such a thing!

I can’t believe he said such a thing!

Happily, I was also introduced in these classes to skills, which if applied, could help participants to increase the chances of being better understood during conversations. Interestingly, many of these skills require an active participation of the listener rather than the speaker.

Empathy: Strong attempt to understand where the speaker is coming from and why they would be saying what they are saying.

Acceptance: Allowing the speaker to be where they are on a given topic without being threatened by their current understanding of the subject.

Openness: Having an inward desire to improve relationships with others and avoidance of destructive reactionary behavior.

Leveling: Evaluating the importance of your involvement in this particular conversation.

There are also several things the speaker can do to help the communication process.

Avoid Dumping: Mortals are capable of handling only a few stress related concepts in a given period of time. We would be wise to limit our conversations to one or two such subjects.

Speak in Specifics rather than Generalities: “You bumped my cap” rather than “you are really clumsy.”

Be Tentative rather than Absolute: “You seem unconcerned” rather than “you never have cared about my needs.”

Be Informing rather than Ordering: “I wasn’t finished rather than “stop interrupting.”

Describe feeling: “That really hurts. “I feel depressed.”

Replace whenever possible Hurtful words with Helpful words: “I hope we can come to an understanding on this topic” rather than “that is just plain stupid.”

Communication will result in better relationships rather than dysfunctional relationships if both the speaker and hearer are more willing to openly recognize when helpful communication has taken place.

In a world where we are continually confronted with reports of contention and confrontation, in a world where there is so much arguing and antagonism, in a world where there is so much division and dysfunction it might be well if we all gave a little more thought to what we are saying and hearing, if we all judged each other’s words with more tolerance, if we were all more ready to respect each other and to speak kind words.

MY FATHER KNOWS ME

2011-09-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

Archeologists and historians are trained to make judgments about the accomplishments of ancient and modern civilizations based on the artifacts and writings which have survived the ravishment and rusting of time. They label one very lengthy era as “Stone Age” because of a very few simple tools which have been uncovered, dated and categorized. They brand another “Industrial” to describe an era of time when humans began to desert their family farms and congregate together in cities in order to facilitate the production of goods. The premise upon which the judging and recording of the eras of our existence has been built and sustained, often brings uneasiness to many who view the accomplishments of men as more than the accumulation a few material droppings or scribbling’s upon stone or papyri.

How grateful we should be that our loving Heavenly Father is not confined to the restraints of diggers and compilers. We should give abundant thanks that He will never make sweeping generalizations of large groups of His children, but will always judge each child independently according to their understandings, efforts and accomplishments.

“Now it is better that a man should be judged of God than of man, for the judgments of God are always just, but the judgments of man are not always just.” (Mosiah 29:12)

Thus, we find Lot and his family being saved even though the inhabitants of the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah had reach the point of having their cup of iniquity full. The forward looking Lot escapes the fate of his wife who turned her gaze backward. This is a major component of the good news of the gospel. Even though we might spend our mortality during an era when mankind is practicing dehumanizing lifestyles, our worthiness for a place in God’s kingdom will be judged solely on how we personally have lived.

Long ago, Elijah invited the people of his day to choose between Jehovah and Baal. Likewise, we constantly find ourselves in circumstances where our priorities are demonstrated by our thoughts, words and actions. We can no more walk in two divergent paths in comfort than ancient Israel could serve both false and true gods and remain a covenant people.

We each must choose whether we are going to center our lives in the quest for gaining attributes of godliness or in inundating ourselves in worldliness.
We each must decide if “making the sale” is more important than remaining totally honest in our dealings.

We each must decide if we will allow vulgarism to become more dominant in our lives than purity.

We each must decide if we will speak the profane or the truth.

We each must decide if the social register is to become a more important gauge of our success than how well we are serving our fellows.
Joshua declared that these decisions were not to be tarried upon, but that they should be made today.

We need not fear the judgments of paupers and princes who see through darkened lenses as they stumble with us through mortality.

We need not fear that the success of our mortal passage will be determined by some future digger or compiler as they examine the plastics, polyesters and faded headlines which our generation has left in mountainous heaps throughout the land.

Our Father will never determine our level of advancement by inventorying our material belongings or by comparing us to another, but will scrutinize our souls individually to see how close we have come, given our individual circumstances, to emulating the attributes of our Celestial Parents.

One of the principles of the Good News which we should cherish most is that the judgment of our mortal passage will come from a loving Heavenly Father who will search our individual souls and be able to perfectly view the reality of what we have become.

WHY

2011-08-28T05:04:00.000-07:00

My shelf of things I don’t understand continues to be piled higher, is filled to the brim, overflowing and only occasionally am I able to take an item down, dust it off and carve a bit off of a bulky piece.

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why is life’s curriculum so varied for the offspring of common Eternal parentage? Why do some glutton upon porcelain with golden forks while others search cans of filth for morsels to sustain? Why are some comfortably clothed with silks in mansions while others freeze upon their cardboard mattresses clothed in rags?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why is education abundantly provided for some and withheld from others? Why do some enjoy the production of their own hand while others consume the labors of generations past? Why are some provided with the miracles of modern-ness while others linger in darkened decades? Why is the progress of some repressed while others are propelled upon speedy tracks?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why do some have minds which are bright and quick while others seem to be dull and slow? Why do some have mortality long beyond their allotted three score and ten while others have their lives pass in shortened terms? Why do some enjoy freedom from pain and sorrow while others suffer throughout their sojourn?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why do brothers and sisters seek their own benefit at the detriment of others? Why are we who seek to have bounteous tables content to leave scraps for others? Why is my thought right, leaving all other choices to be wrong? Why do I think I see clearly and consider my brothers and sisters blind? Why do I seek to make my limited understanding dominate earth and heaven alike?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why do I go through life seeing only darkly through the glass? Why does the light of future events have such limited extension? Why do I not receive more obvious intermittent grades but must wait to know how I did until the Final? Why do I allow the view of others to supersede the comfortings of the Spirit?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why do I let the cloudiness of the future interrupt my concentration on today’s loving relationships? Why do I let a reckless thoughtless moment destroy calendars filled with joyfulness? Why do I feel such a need for being comforted and so little need to comfort? Why do I consider ‘me and I’ more powerful positions than ‘we and us?’

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

Why do we refuse to find commonality in theories, philosophies and revelations choosing to concentrate on differences? Why is it so difficult for some to see the hand of a Creator and others to value knowledge beyond man’s meager attempts as naught? Why do some brush away principles with the cloak of mystery while others feel that man has the capability to understand all?

They do not come like lightning springing from the ground
They will not come because I demand it so
They come as gifts from Heaven whispering gently to my soul
Answers come in that moment when Father knows I will hear and understand

BUSHES – BUDS - BLOOMS

2011-08-21T07:53:00.000-07:00

Jose Fulano had gone through 15 cycles of dry and wet seasons of the year. Tonight he sat by his bed trying to remember the first day his mother took him to the small vegetable garden behind the humble home which Jose, his three brothers and two sisters shared with his father, mother and grandmother. Patiently, his mother had shown him how to know the difference between a plant springing into life and a weed. Joy filled his heart the year she handed him some precious seeds and sent him out on his own to put them into the freshly cultivated soil.

After 10 cycles of wet and dry seasons Jose was taken from the secure feelings he had gained when working in the small vegetable garden behind the home and followed his father and his two older brothers to work with the coffee plants on the hills which surrounded their little home and the small garden.

Jose’s years now became filled with the long process required to change the small coffee plants which had grown in the bedding area, transferring them carefully into the polycover planting bags and replanting them into the most shaded area of their land and then after six months, moving them to the coffee plantation where, if they survived, they would remain until time to go to the part of the plantation where they would finally, after three or four years, begin to flower and produce beans.

It excited Jose to think that those little plants he had so carefully watered when he first was taken to the plantation by his father were now abundantly producing the beans which, when dried, brought all the wonderful things into his family’s life.

For many years he had watched his father and then his older brothers lead the three little burros down the trail away from the plantation on the way to trade at the pueblo in the valley far below. Today his father had told him that in the morning it would be Jose who would be taking the three small, heavily loaded burros to the village tomorrow.

He awakened even earlier on that special morning, with his father’s instructions revolving endlessly through his head. He felt as if he had gone down the trail many times, found the buyer of beans and then gone to the market with his certificates to trade for the needed essentials for the family. In reality this would be the first time his foot prints would be found on the narrow winding path leading down to the pueblo below.

As Jose rounded a small bend in the path he saw a bush which looked like it was filled with red berries peeking through their velvety green coverings. His breakfast potato and corn soup had long ago worn off and he quickly filled his bag with the harvested berries. He hadn’t gone much further down the path when he pulled a berry from his bag and, pulling back the velvety green covering, bit into the berry. Bitterness filled his mouth and he felt that even with its redness this berry wasn’t ripe yet. Pulling berry after berry from his bag, repeated peeling and biting only brought repeated bites of bitterness. Discouraged, Jose emptied the rest of the berries from his bag beside the trail and looking at his arms which were scratched and even bleeding in a few places, wondered why such a plant would exist. It was painful to pick and brought fourth only bitter fruit.

Two days later, after faithfully following his father’s instructions and loading the small donkeys with the goods he had traded for, Jose returned to the small path leading to his humble home and the joys he shared with his wonderful family. When he passed the brutal bitter fruit bush in the small bend Jose once again wondered about the purpose for the existence of such a plant.

At the end of the next dry season Jose was once again instructed by his father on the impending trading trip. The beans were dried, the bags were loaded on the small donkeys and Jose once again found his feet moving slowly along the winding path to the little pueblo in the valley below. When Jose rounded the small bend and saw the brutal bush with its bitter berries he felt his arms throb as if they were once again experiencing the pain of the previous year.

Jose following his father’s instruction perfectly had another successful trading trip and two days later found himself climbing the trail leading to his humble home and the joys he shared with his wonderful family. As he approached the small bend where the brutal bitter fruit bush grew, Jose’s arms began to tingle. When Jose rounded the bend a wondrous sight filled his vision. The brutal plant was now clothed with a robe of red. Jose halted the small donkeys and paused to inhale the wonderful smells which seemed to float off of the red robe of beautiful roses. The tingles of pain in his arms were now replaced with tingles of joy about the beauties of the creations of God.

That evening when the family settled outside their humble home to exchange the joys they had felt and experienced that day, Jose related his experience with the brutal bush during the trade journeys of the last two years.

After listening with great interest his father asked Jose if he might say a few things about his story. Jose was anxious to hear his father’s comments and all the family gathered just a little closer. There had been other times when their father had wanted to make additional comments and the family knew his words would be filled with great wisdom.

He started by reminding Jose about his days at his mother’s side carefully caring for the small garden behind their humble home. He asked Jose what would have happened if he pulled up a plant while weeding the garden. Jose replied that the plant would never bring fourth the bounty it was created to produce.

Jose’s father then reminded him about the long process of preparing a coffee plant before it was finally ready to flower and produce beans. He asked Jose what would have happened if they had not put the small tender plants in the bedding area or moved them directly to the part of the plantation where the mature plants were, or if they had not carefully put them into polycover planting bags or if they had not harvested or if they had lost patience with the drying of the beans.

Last of all, he asked Jose, what would have happened if he had plucked the buds from the rose bush this year as he had done the year before.

Jose’s answer was always the same. The plants in the small garden would not produce the sweet foods for our table, we would never gain the wonderful things which bring added joy to our family if we didn’t carefully and patiently take the coffee plants through the steps until they were mature enough to begin to flower and produce beans, if I had once again picked the buds before they blossomed I would never have beheld the beautiful sweet smelling red robe.

Jose’s father then addressed the whole family, remember, remember my children there are essential and important stages which all of our Heavenly Father’s children must go through. If we impatiently try to rush that process or try to experience the fruit before it ripens or pick the buds before they flower, we will not be able to experience the full purposes which we were sent to have along the trail of mortality. We will have hunger in our souls rather than being filled. We will miss experiences which would have added to our growth. We will certainly miss many of the beautiful and marvelous sights which have been created to bring us joy in mortality.

The sun dipped below the mountain and the family retired to their mats and hammocks.

Jose didn’t remember when he finally stopped looking into the brilliant night heaven. He slipped from awake to sleep with thoughts of patience, love, avoiding unnecessary painful experiences and trying not to hasten the process he was sent to earth to fulfill in preparation to return as a completed work to that Father in Heaven who had planted him in goodly soil and given clear instructions as how he
might return matured and fruitful.