Of Life and Times

Each year I am sure you have all received those beautifully done Christmas cards with family letters attached extolling the accomplishments and virtues of each family member. This is done with the best of intentions, and is designed to show how grateful they are for the blessings of God in their lives, especially as it relates to their perfect, trouble-free children. This is a tongue-in-cheek response to all those who can't send such letters because they are just happy their children are alive and still talking to their parents.

To all our Friends and Relatives,
Merry Christmas! Wow, what a roller coaster this year has been. So many things have happened to our busy family it is hard to know where to start. Let's start with the youngest of the family this time and work our way up, shall we?
Jessie is now 12 and enjoying his first year in Jr. High. He has managed to get on the track team this year, thanks to the bullies who kept chasing him home each day. All that running has helped him lose those last 35 pounds he gained when he started puberty. He looks great! I'm sure the bruising from his last after school pounding will be gone in the next week or so.

Mildred is in this year's school play. She was hoping for the lead, but got something better. She has been chosen to the clapping leader in the audience. Her drama teacher says that for those of her unique talent this is even better than lead. She couldn't be happier. She is doing well in school, having gotten her grades up to a C after much late night tutoring. Her reading is really progressing as well. She is now working on her 4th grade primer. By the end of 11th grade we might even have her up to the 6th grade reading level. We are just beaming over her progress.

Marge is 17 and was finally able to get the father of her two children to agree to marry her. They have been living in our spare bedroom for the last two years. As much as we love having those little darlings of hers around, it will be wonderful for them to have a father in their midst. You know grandpa, he just can't keep up with the little ones like he used to. We hear that Jed will be moving his fledgling family into a studio apartment on the other side of the valley in a couple of months. They just need to find a Justice of the Peace and do all the legalities the state requires for the marriage. At least he won't have to go through adoption proceedings to become their father.

Justin, our oldest will be on parole in a month. This is great news because it means his prison term is being cut in half. We couldn't be more pleased with his progress. Why in just the last year he has gotten out of solitary, been through a rehab program, finished the first year of a college program, and started counseling for anger management. What more could we ask for? We look forward to having him in a halfway house close by so we can have a decent visit. Those prison visits are just downers.

Lastly, Horton and I have been so blessed this year. Horton has found work after being unemployed for six years. He has gotten his Church membership reinstated, and is finishing up his addiction therapy. I have been able to cut my anti-depression meds in half during the last year because of all the good things that have been happening in the family. We are so grateful to the Lord that our children love us, and we hope they honestly know how much we love them. Trials make us stronger, so we anticipate becoming one of the strongest families in the Church this year. May the good Lord bless you and guide you with the same care and tenderness He has shown us this last year.
Sincerely,
Peggy and Horton Toxweed

This post is for my wife and children. Elaine and I were talking about our families during the days just before Christmas, and I happened to mention a story about my mother. She has encouraged me to write it down, so here it is.

When I was twelve or thirteen we lived in Nebraska, just outside the airbase. Mom had recently purchased Herb Alpert's Whipped Cream record. On that record was a number named The Lonely Bull. It was great rhythmic music that was perfect for a strip tease. One day I was sitting in the living room all alone, just listening to the album. The Lonely Bull came on and out of nowhere this panted leg appears in the door frame of the hallway. It waves in small circles, and up an down before being withdrawn. Then an arm appears, a hand running up and down the door frame. I had no idea what was going on. As the music progressed, my mom appears around the corner stepping from side to side as she sachet-ed down the length of the long living room. As she moved through the room she was removing imaginary elbow-length gloves, one at a time. When one would come off she would swing the imaginary glove in circles over her head and toss it to the side, then begin on the next glove. I was stunned, but laughing. I was completely beside myself. I had never seen my mother be so silly.
I was speechless, but enjoying myself immensely. As Mom finished with a flourish of the second, unseen, glove she disappeared around the corner of the kitchen with a little flick of the back of her heel.

My mother has always been the most stayed of women, in most respects. But occasionally, during my childhood, she would come out of her reserved mood and do something completely unexpected. She is the one who taught me to "waltz" down the road in the car. We would have an eight track tape playing a waltz, and suddenly she would start swerving to the left and then to the right in rhythm to the music. It was usually done to the Blue Danube. Yes, we were alone on the road; she was usually a very safe driver. I found that my children loved it when I did it for them as well.

Come to think of it, she also taught us the "Thank You Momma." When we were driving we would occasionally come upon a small dip in the road that would make our stomachs feel like we were on a roller coaster that was taking a quick dive. She said that when she was a child she would say "Thank you Momma" each time her mother would hit one of those dips. Sometimes Mom would speed up just a little to give it greater effect. We loved Thank You Mommas.

I'm sure you have heard about what it means to live in the moment. It is to accept what is at that time and just run with it. Don't question what could be or worry about what isn't, just accept what is and work with it when it happens. This way of living provides us with a level of spontaneity that, in some situations, is very admirable. There is also living for tomorrow, being aware of future needs and preparing for what is surely to come by making preparations today. Living in the past robs us of all the present and future joys, because we can't let go of what used to be or what happened in a single defining time of our life. Then there is living for today, an expanded version of living in the moment. Living for today means that our focus, our world view and vision of reality is centered around the here and now. It is part of the "eat, drink, and be merry" syndrome that has caused our society to become so short sighted. It is because we tend to live for today that we make unwise choices that have negative impacts on our lives in the future. We pick up addictive habits that hobble our abilities to feel the Spirit or learn wisdom. Living for today keeps our focus on what feels good now, what interests will serve us best (as opposed to those around us), and how this can make us happy right now. It is short sighted and selfish, and most of the world lives this way. That is why our rivers are clogged with pollution and our land torn up and eroding away. This is what causes prosperity in one country and starvation next door. Living for today is self serving, and is the food of pride.

My wife said there is a new book out called, "Even the Prophet Started Out as a Deacon." That set off a chain of thoughts that lead me here. Lucky you.

While it is true that even the mightiest Latter-Day prophet started out as a Deacon, the reverse is not true, that every Deacon ends up a prophet. That is what got me thinking. Why not? As I recall the promises that made the Prophet what he is today weren't any different for the other boys in his Deacon's quorum. The Lord doesn't apply a separate set of requirements and promises to intended prophets than what the rest of us get. That opens up some interesting possibilities.

I haven't ever been called as a Bishop. Does that mean that I will be forever held in lower esteem by the Lord because I haven't held that position? The answer is no. Let's be clear about that. What does the Lord really care about? He cares if I am worthy enough to be a Bishop if he ever has need of me in that position. That is all that matters. So if all that matters is that I am worthy of being a Bishop if the Lord decided that I was needed in that capacity, then why can't I assume that I can be every bit as worthy of the Lord's blessings as the Prophet, without being the Prophet?

We all have our callings in the Church. Almost every Bishop in the Church is a Bishop over people who were once his Bishop. Same goes for those in Stake Presidencies. If there weren't people worthy of being Apostles and Prophets who are currently not serving in that capacity, then where would the Lord go to find the replacements when one of them dies?

It is not vanity that tells me I can be as worthy of the Lord's love and blessings as His Apostles and Prophets. It is the Lord that says He expects me to be that worthy. That is, after all, the purpose of all the covenants I have made since I stepped into the waters of baptism.

All this is to say that we should never set our dear Brethren in a category that is unattainable for us. Yes, they hold the sacred callings of being especial witnesses of the Lord, but we can be, and should be His witnesses as well. We don't have the weight of responsibility they carry in the Kingdom, but we can and should be carrying our weight with dignity and humility in the sphere we are called upon to act in. The Lord loves us no less than His Twelve. Our blessings in the eternities can be as great. But somewhere along the way we need to decide that even though we can't all be the Prophet, we can all start out as "Deacons" and progress through the ranks of covenant making, and faithful living, and in the end receive all the approval and blessings the Father has promised to those who follow His Son.

I have noticed something about the old potluck dinners. You may not be old enough to remember what real potlucks were like. The object was that you said to all your neighbors, "Hey! Let's have dinner together. This is casual. We are just getting together to enjoy each other's company, so bring whatever you like." Very interesting concept that, getting together just because you liked each other.

See, the old potluck dinners, though they didn't know it at the time, embodied a mindset that no longer exists. Back then it was understood that life is fragile. Sometimes people had tragedy in their lives, and everyone had to be able to rely on each other. They trusted each other. So how does this fit with dinner you say? I'll tell you. It didn't bother anyone that they didn't know what anyone else was bringing to eat. That was half the fun. If everyone brought rolls, then it was like a giant scone fest. Out came all the jams, jellies, and spreads, and everyone had a good laugh over it. They may end up with a dessert showcase instead. But then no one ever complains about too much dessert.

The company was paramount at a potluck. The "luck" part was just for fun. So when did we run out of luck?

I live in Hawaii. Perhaps there are places on the mainland where real potlucks still take place, but not here. The modern culture is run by a sense of this ultimate ability to control everything in their world. Nothing is left up to chance. It just isn't done any more. Today's version of a potluck is to call it a potluck (that gives it that old fashioned flare and makes everyone feel all warm and fuzzy), but they post a menu list with categories, and everyone has to sign up for one of the limited number of slots in each category. Where is the fun in that? That isn't a potluck, that is a planned menu.

People act like there is some big conspiracy in play if you suggest that we leave the menu up to chance. They have to know exactly what each person is bringing, and in what amount, or they act like someone or something might get them in a dark alley. I've tried to talk people into doing it up right, but have been informed that I'm being silly. After all, you can't leave such things to chance. The women look at me like they really want to say, "Leave it to a man to be such a dunce about a social function!", but are just too polite to say it out loud.

I guess this is what happens when you don't notice that the world has changed. I must have missed that memo. My son is having a potluck this weekend for his birthday. I tried the potluck pitch on him, but instead have received two Facebook reminders that I need to go sign up for what I am bringing so that there are no duplicates at the "potluck."

The original definition of barnacle was a type of grey goose. Now it means just a crustacean. I guess my definition of potluck has gone the way of the barnacle goose, and me along with it.

I stepped back and looked at my life from the perspective of decades later.

When I was a little child the world revolved around me. There was no trouble but in the moment, and it was only mine. When I got older I was aware that my brothers and sisters had some problems, but mine were still of the greatest importance. When I married I adopted all my wife's problems. Now I had to learn to deal with not only mine, but hers and ours as well. And I thought being a teenager had been tough.

When the children came along, another layer of trouble was added to my life. There were regular trips to the hospital for sickness, cuts, breaks, braces, you name it. As the children approached coming of age I began to recognize that it did me no good to try to answer for their mistakes, and trying to be personally responsible for their problems was more than I could bear.

This was when I came up with the term, "divorcing your children." At some point every parent needs to stop feeling personally responsible for every decision each child makes. Some sort of separation has to take place. The parent eventually needs to learn that whatever they had done to teach and train up that child would have to suffice. Yes we continue to feel the need to counsel our children, but we can no longer take personal responsibility for every action they take. And some of them take some pretty stupid actions. I don't know why they do that, because no one in my generation did such things ...

Anyway, the children grew up and started to have children. They made the same types of mistakes I made at their age, and I can counsel, but can't allow myself to own their problems. That is hard to do. I so want them to make better choices and be happier because they bipassed my old mistakes. I'm not so encouraged when I see some of my children making mistakes that I never dreamed of making. All I can think of to say is, "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." But what can you do but continue to love them and try to help them find their way out of the results of their own actions, knowing that many of those results will haunt them for decades and generations to come.

Finally, the grandchildren start to grow up and start to marry, and the process starts all over again. Where am I now? I am on the outside. The great grandparent becomes an almost silent witness to the results of our parenting methods, those of our children, and those of their children. No longer could I even possibly take responsibility for all those people and their personal decisions. Now I have to watch as my posterity moves on without me. My family has hit critical mass, it carries on without my help and continues to grow. As the once great and all important person, I have progressed to partner, parent, family patriarch, and then faded into a person that little children know only by old photographs and family stories. But I watch, and I see. As a couple we see our traits, habits, issues, and strengths being passed from one generation down to another, mixing with other families along the way. Part of us will always be in them, though our time has come and gone. We have lead, directed, prayed for, blessed, and nurtured our family the only way we knew how at the time. Would we do it differently if we had the chance to do it again? I certainly hope so. If I didn't do it differently then what have I really learned from the experience?

I got to thinking about the notion that sometimes things just happen. They don't seem to have any rhyme or reason, they just happen. Some say that there is no such thing as a coincidence. That may be, but I question it.

I firmly believe that the good Lord knows everything before it happens. If that is true, then is it a coincidence when something happens to us? Just because he knows about it before hand, it doesn't change the nature of the event. To us it is a coincidence. But this is the wonder of it. Because he knows even the happenstances that will befall us, he is able to steer events to give us boosts or blessings or trials and tribulations, whatever we need most at the moment. We need to remember that He knows why we are here better than we do. He knows what will give us the perfect opportunities to grow and learn more about Him and about ourselves.

So does He just let things "happen"? Sometimes I think so. But knowing his perfect love for us, no matter what it is that happens to us, it is always for our own good, even when it hurts.

We just left the cabin in Wapiti, Wyoming where we spent a week visiting grandchildren and family. When Elaine booked the place she was told to be sure to buy a can of bear spray for protection against the grizzlies in the area. For a week we took walks up and down the road, scanning for any sign of wildlife. We did see several mule deer and a couple of squirrels, but that was it.

When it was time to leave the cabin we were talking to the cleaning lady about how disappointed I was that I didn't get to see one bear while in the cabin. She told me to count myself lucky that I did not. She told us of a couple that had been doing research on bears in the area who had not been able to spot one either. Earlier that week the wife was going to take a nap at home so the husband said he would do some reconnoitering to see if he could spot one they could observe together. He would be back at such and such a time. When he did not return at the appointed time she became worried and called the police. They started the search. Two days later they found his mauled body in the ravine. The cleaning lady told us that they would not let her see the body to identify it because it was mauled beyond recognition.

Okay, so maybe I did not really need to see a bear in the woods.

Here is another paper I had to write for my education class. The prof. wanted to see that we have been thinking about our past experience and relating it our current learning. The title of the assignment is the title of this entry.

I have just gone back to school for my 5th year teaching certificate so I can teach TESOL. My first assignment in one of my classes was to write 700+ words about me and school, whatever that relationship entails. Here is what I wrote. I think it is revealing of me.

I have a tale to tell. Those who know Elaine and me know that we had surgeries to help us get our weight off in 2009. One of the requirements for the rest of our lives, at least for me, is a ton of protein every day. Without the protein my hair will fall out.

Recently we have had problems with mice in our pantry. They nested and destroyed a huge percentage of our food storage. We have had to Clorox all the shelves to get rid of the mouse droppings and maggots, etc. It was totally disgusting. We hauled out at least 10 carcasses after they were poisoned.

Well the other day I was needing a protein drink, which we keep in the cupboard. Yes, I usually drink them room temperature.  Because of problems in the past I am always very careful to inspect each container before putting my mouth on it. This one had been nibbled on the flap you pull up to open it, but it looked safe otherwise. I washed it off, opened it up and started to drink.

One of the problems with these drinks is that when they have been sitting around for a while much of the very bottom of the drink clots. It is like putting a blood clot in your mouth. That is the texture. Elaine won't drink them any more because of that. I can mush it up in my mouth so I can swallow it without gagging. Oh the things we have to do.

This time when I got to the bottom I was mushing up the clots when I felt something that was small and firm. Hmm, I haven't felt that before. I rolled it around in my mouth and felt it with my tongue trying to identify it. No good. So I swallowed everything else and spit it onto my finger to see what it was. There, covered in chocolate protein drink was what looked for all the world like a dead maggot. I'm sure I don't need to describe in detail the spitting, the scraping of the tongue, and hard swallowing that followed. Shivers.

I have been asked to share a memory of each of my children. At the risk of embarrassing them all, I will try to keep each comment short, thus lessening the public pain of a parent doting on his children.

Eleanor was my first exposure to parenthood. Every tragedy was for the first time, and therefore more emotionally extreme for us as parents. When she had pneumonia and we had to tent her crib and buy a humidifier, and prop up her mattress so her head was elevated, we were terrified. If she got much worse we would have to take her to the hospital so the doctors and nurses could give her the care she needed. We stayed up almost all night for several nights in a row, wondering if she might die, and how we would handle it after having lost our first child prematurely. Watching her labored breathing and the amount she suffered bonded me to her in a way I can't explain. I have felt protective of her ever since.

Anna got lost in the middle of the family somehow. Eleanor had special needs in school, Paul had medical conditions that needed constant attention, and Elizabeth was the baby, so demanded her fair share of time and effort. Anna was quiet, and well behaved, so we didn't give her the time and attention she needed. I will always feel bad about that. My biggest wake up call was one day when she and I were doing dishes in our house in Orem (upstairs). We were just talking, and I was focusing my attention on the dishes in my hands. Suddenly she said in a weak voice, "Daddy." Something in her voice told me she was slipping away. I turned immediately to see her upturned face. Her eyes became vacant, and her pupils instantly became fully dilated as she started to fall to the floor. I thought I was watching my little baby die. My heart just broke on the spot. I caught her as she slumped to the floor, calling her name, but with no response. Then, without any precursor,  she rolled over on the floor and threw up a little bit. Any of my children will attest to how much I hate throw-up. But I was almost grateful to see it because it meant she was still alive. She confessed that occasionally she would simply pass out for no apparent reason. Ever since then I have been worried about her health. I just don't want to lose her again like I thought I did that day.

It is hard for me to look at Paul and remember him as a young child, until I see his son PJ with a stick in his hand. PJ will walk for hours with something in his hand to hold on to. It really doesn't matter what it is, as long as he has something to wave in the air, poke things with, and swing. That was Paul to a tee when he was little. Sometimes we almost had to resort to hiding the broom or mop because Paul was always swinging anything long he could get his hands on. Once, again in the Orem house, he put a croquet mallet through the Belnaps downstairs window. I wonder how many things Paul will have to repair or replace because his son has the same love of sticks.

Marie and I got off to a rocky start. She had Elaine all to herself her whole life, then I moved in with four other children and totally disrupted her life. Our invasion into her shrine, and yes, Elaine had turned the whole house into a monument to Marie's accomplishments turned her world upside down. We were a totally dysfunctional family. My first glimpse at the Marie Elaine knew before we got married was when we picked her up from a ranch she had been at for a few months. I had never seen her so happy and relaxed, so polite and careful of others around her. I was truly impressed. Now that she is getting married (in April), I am seeing her with her baby. She just dotes on Tayah. I have never seen her be this happy before, and it gives me great joy.

Elizabeth is, in many ways, too much like her father for her own good. She is afraid of life, and doesn't know how to approach it. I'm afraid that is my fault. What I think about when I think of Elizabeth as a person, is her way of making you feel good about yourself. She has a way of cuddling up to you either physically or verbally so that you are more than happy to do whatever she wants you to do. Maybe it is just me. I always was a pushover for someone who actually liked me. Whenever she wanted to stay up late, she (and the others as well) had but to start scratching my back or rubbing the back of my head and neck and I was out like a light. then when she was tired she went to bed and left me sleeping on the couch, contented and blissfully ignorant of what she had just gotten away with, until I woke up.

Just a quick thought - Today I was talking with Elaine, before I took her in to school, about life in general. On the way back from dropping her off I had a flash of insight about myself.

The parable of the talents popped into my head. I thought about the qualities of the three servants. Then it hit me, I am a third servant kind of person. I have always known that I was afraid of life. I have deliberately stayed away from it for fear of contamination. I have been afraid that if I got too close I would become defiled by all the evil out there, and was more afraid that I wouldn't be able to deal with the evil in myself. Don't get me wrong. I am not afraid of what the Lord will do to me in the day of Judgment. I know he is kind and loving and will give me every consideration He can. It is me I am afraid of.

Part of the flash that hit me showed me that in the day of Judgment it is I who will be worthy of condemnation because I refused to use the gifts God gave me to bless the lives of His other children. I will have, if you will, buried them out of fear of what might happen were I to openly use them. I have lost so many years crawling around in the dark, looking out with envy at the experiences and accomplishments of others. I have always wondered what they have that I don't. Now I know. They haven't held back for fear of not being stellar at whatever they wanted to participate in. I have.

I don't know what it will take, or how I will accomplish it, but I need to learn to put myself out there and take some risks so that in the end I won't be worthy of my current rebuke, "Thou wicked and slothful servant." Sounds harsh? Well it isn't, considering how I have lived my life. I need to change what He is going to say to me, because the current path is the last one I ever wanted to be on.

We have perhaps 70-80 years of this life to learn the lessons that mortality has for us before we are called home for the rest of our eternal lives. Our time here is truly short. As each generation enters this stage and begins their journey of discovery, it is our elders who have been here the longest who teach us the lessons they have learned.

It has occurred to me that the most valuable of lessons the older generation has to pass on to the rest of us is their perspective. As I walked across campus today, I thought of those who have come before. What have the kapunas, the elderly, experienced in their lifetimes that create what I know as my history? The study of these individual histories, and the collective histories of each generation before them are what paint the picture of the development of our human race. Without this picture, without these stories what am I left with?

By myself I lack the perspective I need to pass valuable knowledge on to my children. By myself I can only have a somewhat skewed view of reality, since it is only from one perspective, and is, therefore, suspect of being laden with emotional prejudice and all my personal issues. Interestingly enough, so are our societal views of life. Such views we sometimes refer to as "culture."

True wisdom comes from listening to my elders, learning from the mistakes of their lives, the success of their lives, then balancing the lessons against the prevailing times and emerging philosophies of the day. Some things will need to change for my children, but some things were never meant to change. Some principles, such as love, honor, acceptance, tolerance, loyalty and devotion to what is good and right, must never change or we as a race will be threatened with destruction.

My mother, my own kapuna, is my best connection to that collective wisdom of the ages. She sees through hardships better than I do and can guide me to find the lessons from them. She has experienced more generations of humanity than I have and can see more clearly the trends and the consistancies of our human conscienciousness. I know that she is not flawless, though sometimes I would like to think she is. But she has always been such a source of strength and support, such a comfort in times of trial that I wonder what will happen when she is gone.

When our parents die we no longer have that final link to the generations that came before us. As we go up that ladder and become the kapuna to our children and grandchildren, will we be able to gain a greater clarity of vision? Will we be able to see more clearly the nature of the human soul to help teach those younger than we are how to better navigate their human experience than we did? The hope is that we can all answer affirmatively to these questions. If we cannot, then we are contributing to the world's end of wisdom. What a responsibility age carries with it.

What seems like many years ago, I went to Vegas. I was heading down for a business trip by myself, and was going to stop in to Las Vegas to see some old friends before heading over to my meetings. It was December 31st, and late in the evening. I had hit a deer on the way down, and still had clumps of deer hair and flesh wedged into the crevices of my passenger side of the car. I was tired from a long drive and sleep apnea, which is what caused me to hit the deer.

I left Utah and started down through the canyons toward the valley floor to get to Las Vegas, and I had the surprise of my life. There were no lights on the side of the highway, no cars, no homes, no businesses, just the mountains and me in the inky blackness of the night. As I rounded one bend of the road the first sight of the city took my breath away. Usually when you think of Las Vegas you think of the Strip, glaring lights and glitz everywhere. From where I was none of that was visible, or at least not discernible. I pulled off the road to get a better view.

As I walked to the edge of a cliff and looked at the valley below me it was as though I was floating alone in the black vastness of space. All I could see above me was stars, and around me darkness. But in front of me was a golden net that had been cast by celestial fisherman, but frozen in mid cast. The lights of the city sparkled at that distance. All was golden glitter on a sea of black. The silence, the serenity, the beautiful grandeur of that moment is emblazoned in my mind. I hope I never forget it. Nothing moved, it just existed, it just was.

I could trace some of the lights in imaginary lines, but most just seemed to be like a cloud of glitter that had frozen in place as it settled on the valley floor. It was so peaceful and surreal. I don't know how long I stood out on that cliff in the freezing night just gazing at the web of twinkling gold in front of me. I wanted so much to reach out and touch it to see if it was real.

I know that what I saw clashes jarringly with the reality of Las Vegas, but in those few moments the magic was palpable.

These thoughts have been brewing for several days, but did not come together until last night. Elaine and I went to Paul and Tami's house to watch PJ. I have been watching parents and their young children of late, thinking about what I was thinking when I was in their time of life.

When I was younger and was just starting a family, I remember worrying to myself that Eleanor's parents weren't coming to get her. She is our oldest child. That lasted for days. Eventually she became part of our routine. Well actually, she became the routine. But it was a long time before I felt like she was part of me. I don't know if others have that trouble with their first child, but I did. I spent a lot of time looking at her and trying to imagine what she would look like or act like as a teenager or adult. Though my mind came up with all the cultural cliches that I was raised to expect to happen to any young woman, I still could not see past that little sleeping form in my arms.

Now that I have raised, not only Eleanor, but four others as well, and each of them has grown up and moved away, most to start their own families, my perspective is vastly different. I look at PJ, for example, and see him as he might be in kindergarten, as a Deacon or Priest. I see the potential for rebellion and the potential for a Mission and marriage. Now I can play out his life in so many ways, each based on the events of his life, the attitudes of his parents, and his personal decisions. I can see it all because I have seen four children go through the process. It is all relevant experience for me. I've seen the variations on the general theme.

It puts me in awe of my mother who is watching a fourth generation grow up. I can't imagine what her perspective must be.

Friday of last week my wallet was stolen from my front yard. I guess it fell out of my pocket when I got out of the car and someone picked it up and ran off with it. It was not like they could not tell who owned it, I had every ID I owned in there. But despite the loss of the money, credit cards, ID cards, etc. the one piece of paper in that whole wallet that means more to me than everything else combined is my social security card.

When I was twelve years old we were living in Alaska. My parents told me that we had to get a social security card for me. Some new rule or something. When I received my card I felt so grown up. I was now recognized by the Federal Government as a real person. Don't ask me now why that is supposed to be anything special. I guess to a twelve year old boy there is an air of mystery surrounding something like that. Over the years I guarded my wallet like a she-wolf. No one was going to throw me into a pool or get my social security card wet, it was my original. Well, I was able to protect it for almost 41 years before losing it. I guess that is better than many. What I miss about it is that it has the signature of my 12 year old self on it. The signature is so old and faded as to have lost its visual appeal, but it reminds me of who and what I was a long time ago. I'll miss my old companion. We have been through a lot of living together. Come to think of it, I have lost a lot of my visual appeal as well. Hmm ...

For the welfare of those who maintain that we should not have any children to stop the world's growth, perhaps if their parents had had the same idea the problem would already be solved.

I have decided that there is something decidedly wrong in the way we approach modesty with our children. Currently we teach them that the woman is the prize jewel in the life of any man. We teach our daughters to behave modestly, extolling the the virtues of chastity, and cleanliness of thought and body. We spend many a lecture teaching them that they have great power over the men in their lives, how many a young man made it on his mission and into the temple because of the virtues of the girl he was dating. Our wives are taught, as are we that when dressing ourselves we should never wear anything that would require that our garments be altered or exposed, thus keeping us modest, and the thoughts of those around us on more wholesome things.

So why is it that when I walk around the campus at BYUH (or any other place in the United States) I see LDS women dressed in tight spandex pants, jeans into which they could never have fit without having first liquefied themselves before pouring themselves into the jeans? They wear tops that are either too low in front or not long enough to cover their belly. Why are the pants worn so low as to make one wonder how on earth they stay in a vertical position? I can't tell you how many times I have seen one of these young sisters bend over only to show the entire waistband of her g-string underwear, along with a few inches of what little is left of what is below the waistband. And have you noticed that the heavier a young woman is the more likely she is to wear form-fitting clothes? What is that all about? I can't count the number of times I have thought to myself how sad it is to have some sweet young lady walk past me with every roll of fat proudly displayed under the tight top that rarely ever makes it down to greet the top of her pants. It never even occurred to me that people have so many differently shaped navels until the girls started to wear all these tight clothes.

It is so difficult to carry on a conversation with a person when you don't dare look at them anywhere but in the eye. Ewww! What if turnabout was fair play? What would we think of a young man who wore spandex tights to class, shirts that were so tight you could bounce a quarter off the space between his pecs or wore his pants so low that imagination became a lost art? Ewww! again!

Like I said at the beginning, there is something wrong in the way we approach the teaching of modesty to our young people these days. If they are listening, then why aren't we seeing it in the way they dress in public? I would like to say that it is only because they are caught up in the fashions of the world, but too often I see their mothers in the same kinds of clothing. I guess I can't really blame the innocence of youth if they are coming by their fashion sense from the examples set by their mothers.

Like most things in life, examples are rarely universal. I know plenty of very modest women who have very ferociously dressed daughters, and many men who are the epitome of decorum whose son's pants either need to come off or be pulled up rather than hang in the limbo that is neither dressed nor undressed. There just seems to be a lot of great rhetoric being spun, but much of it is not being translated into actual demonstrable examples in our young people's dress.

I have had a frozen shoulder for almost a year and a half now, so Elaine finally talked me into calling the doctor to have it looked at. I am so glad I finally did. We checked into the hospital at 5:30 a.m. It is an hour drive, so yeah, we got up early. The routine at hospitals nowadays drives me crazy. In an effort to make sure they are doing the correct procedure they ask you to repeat back to them what procedure you are having, who your doctor is, which body part it is and on what side of the body that part is, what your birth date and name is, etc. But it is not just the check-in clerk who asks it. The pre-op nurse asks all the questions, the surgery nurse, the attendant, everyone asks you the same battery of questions. I'll bet if I had taken too long in the bathroom the custodian would have grilled me as well. It is as if the whole hospital staff has collective amnesia and is trying to cover up by asking you to repeat everything for them. Scary.

The pre-op nurse was a southern lady, drawl still intact. She spoke rapidly and without stopping for air. Don't know how she did it. When it came time to put the I.V. into my hand she let it be known that she has only had one I.V. in her whole life, and it hurt like the dickens, so she wasn't going to tell me it would only be a poke or that it wouldn't hurt because she knew full well it would be very painful, she wasn't going to lie about it just give it to me and that would be that, because she has given a lot of these things and they always hurt so she apologized, but that is life. I'm not sure which hurt worse, the burn from the needle sliding up my vein or the assault on my ears from her perpetual sentence.

All day yesterday my arm and me were strangers. I could shake hands with myself and still feel like I was groping a stranger. It is mentally unnerving to have a body part that is connected, but not yours. The deadening of the nerve down my right side also deadened half my diaphragm so I felt short of breath all the time. I am so happy to have my own arm back today, and to be able to move it to places I have not been able to reach for a long time. I will finally be able to scratch my own back.

Elaine made a good point today. We are working on our Fern Alley to get it ready to have the path laid down the center of it. We have been moving the rocks along the sides so we can basically start over. Yesterday, before the fellow came to give us a quote on what it would cost, Elaine decided that the quote would be lower if the path were fully weeded. Well, at least more weeded.

After much work she finished basic weeding of the 50+ feet of path area. Once we had the quote and had settled negotiations I went down the path removing all the old stone slabs and the cement that was under them. It appeared to me that all we needed to do was push the decorative rocks off to the side so they could run their forms, and we were finished. Oh, that it was that easy. Elaine decided that after the path was in we were going to have to basically start from scratch with the decorative part of the landscaping, so she determined that all the rocks needed to be, not just moved, but picked up and placed in buckets, and then moved.

She spent hours moving more than 7,000+ one inch rocks, one at a time. She filled a 10" plastic pot then picked them up and took them to the stacking place, one pot at a time. We have dozens of filled pots now. She was in absolute agony last night. I tried to rub her back, but she was in so much pain I couldn't even touch her back without her crying out in pain. Sometimes I wonder about her.

This morning, as she was surveying the work that was done, she made this comment,"There is never an end to weeds, but there is an end to rocks." That got me thinking. I suppose there are many things in life that never seem to be done. You complete it, then have to turn around and do it again. Sometimes the very thought of those activities just make you tired. But there are things we do in life that, once finished, are truly finished. These activities can give us a real sense of accomplishment.

The dishes are always needing to be done, again. Are children every totally raised? See my previous post. But little things, like picking up the rocks, that is finite and can be done with finality. At least with rocks you don't have to worry about them growing back.

It is the burden of every parent to torment their child with sage advice, age not withstanding.

Elaine (my wife) and I were talking today as we went to church, about the new manuals for Priesthood Quorums and the Relief Society sisters. Instead of the teachings of the prophets, which we have had for the past eight years, we have the Gospel Principles manual.

I told Elaine that I was worried about what the teachers around the Church would do with this new manual. Many of the members of the Church have never even attended a Gospel Principles class. I know that when I was first asked to teach the class I was at a loss as to what to say. The lessons were so short that I was afraid that there would be no way of filling up the time allotted to us in Sunday School.

It took me a while to finally realize that I was no longer thinking like a new member of the Church. My head was so full of doctrine that I had forgotten the wonder new converts feel about the simplest parts of Christ's gospel message. That is what the whole Church needs to find this year, a new sense of wonder at the power of Christ's role in our lives.

The first two lessons are on the existence of God and the nature of God. Both of these lessons, so simple in design and content, fly in the face of all the worldly beliefs that there is no god of any kind, unless it is us, ourselves, which is shameless. To be able to bear testimony that I know there is a God, and that not only does He love me, but that He is keenly aware of everything I do, is a marvel in and of itself. Then, next week, we talk about the nature of God, and how he is the father of our spirits, how we lived with Him before coming to earth, and how we can, through Christ's atonement, become like Him and live with Him for all eternity. I will be curious to see if our instructors will be able to see past the casual verbiage and see the lesson for the marvel that it is.

If there is one thing I have learned in my time as a teacher of Gospel Principles, it is this, that the gospel of Christ holds power in every detail. What part of His atoning sacrifice is not essential to our eternal wellbeing? Is there any part of the great plan of happiness laid out by our Father in Heaven that we would be willing to toss as a thing of naught? I think not.

This year's course of study holds many promises of revelatory delight. I just hope we can all find them as we search for the true appreciation of all the simple messages God has given to us.

I have been thinking about the upcoming marriage between our third daughter and her beau. I was reviewing my experience while at the altar and I remembered that word "mantle." There is a Christmas song that refers to a mantle of white, referring to a heavy blanket of snow that covers the ground. Mantles are garments meant to keep you warm and dry, but we don't normally use the term any more, except in connection with callings in the Church. The connection here is that I got married (the first time) in December, so the "mantle of white" fit in just perfectly. I can remember the feeling I had when the final words were spoken sealing us together as a couple. I was very surprised to feel an actual weight placed on both my shoulders, like someone's large warm hands were now resting on me. A realization of my responsibilities to my wife and future family began to form a picture in my mind. It was almost overwhelming at the time.

I don't believe I have ever lost that feeling, though I have grown to be accustomed to having it there. If the weight were completely removed I dare say I would feel quite lost and out of place. That awareness that follows me day and night helps to ground me, and gives me a place in the world. Even if I don't feel like I have any physical place in the world, i.e. no noticeable social presence, I still feel my connection and responsibilities to my wife and children. Sometimes it is a lonely feeling, and sometimes it is a comfort.

I wonder if others have some kind of experience like that at the moment of marriage or shortly thereafter, or am I just unique? Don't answer that, I already know I am different from the rest of humanity. LOL

FYI
Mantle - Something that covers, envelops or conceals, as in a loose sleeveless cloak or cape or a mantle of darkness. In the Church it refers to the full range of responsibilities and blessings that go with callings, such as the mantle of the Bishop.

Here is a thought that came to me as I was walking about the BYU-Hawaii campus one day. The campus has more than 65 countries represented in a student body of only 3,000. The Polynesians have such infectious smiles. As I passed one person on the sidewalk they smiled at me and my soul just blossomed with joy. This is the thought that I formulated as I tried to put into words my feelings.

The light of the soul is released through the teeth of a bright and happy smile.

If not every, then almost every country on earth has something that can be called a stream. A stream is just a flow of water. Every stream is identifiable by where it is, how large it is, where it goes, and so on. Some people debate about whether a stream is too large to be called a stream and perhaps should be termed a river, but be that as it may, its anatomy hasn't changed, it is still a flow of water and will alway follow a predictable path. If it is in Bulgaria or Buford, Montana, if the flow is above ground, anyone can recognize it for what it is, a stream.

Why then when we develop an addiction do we try to cover it up and rename it, deny it, even ignore it? All addictions, like streams have governing characteristics. Now I'm no expert here, but as I understand them addictions are pervasive predilections or outright obsessions that any clear thinking adult should be able to recognize. Funny how many of us can't see them then.

It doesn't seem to matter if the addiction is to food, sex, thrills, drugs, alcohol or anything else you want to name. Every addiction involves a flow of thought that reads pretty much the same in everyone. But the difficulty that we run into is that we are afraid of addictions. There is shame involved, so we mask them, hide them, and when we can no longer hide them some people even become aggressive about flaunting them. Sometimes aggressive behavior keeps people away so we don't have to address the behavior that has us out of control. The football saying that the best defense is a good offense really holds true for addictions.

If a stream is underground is it no longer a stream? If we hide our addiction does it cease to exist? If I build my house over a wet weather stream bed should I be surprised when it rains that my house floods? Even when we take precautions to divert the water around us sometimes nature will take its natural course and we get flooded anyway. Addictions are no different. We can put on a show that we are clean and in control, we have all of our diversions in place. We can assert this in public till we are blue in the face (no racial slur intended for those with blue skin), but nature will take its course. Sooner or later the rain will come down hard enough that the natural result will be a deluge where we thought we couldn't possibly have one any more. We may lose a loved one and find ourselves so lost and bewildered, feeling so alone and without hope that we binge on food, sex, drugs - whatever our addiction is. We will no longer be able to conceal it from society. Then we have to deal with the public scorn, pity and shame which can drive us further into the addictive behavior.

I do not plan on a full treatment of addiction here. I am not qualified for such a task. What I want to point out is that we need to accept the fact of nature that just as a stream has its properties, and though buried beneath the ground it is still a stream, so too do addictions have real and natural properties that cannot be ignored. Burying an addiction does not make it go away, it is still an addiction and will eventually need to be dealt with. It is only when we recognize an addiction for what it is, and admit to ourselves that we have it (or them) that we can begin to address the causes and possible treatments for the addiction. The key is to stop making excuses and stop trying to mask it and turn it into something that it is not. It is addictive behavior and that fact needs to be kept at the forefront of our mind because it will always be there, even if we turn away and look at something else.

When I was young, well younger anyway, I was often puzzled and a little lost when people would ask how I was, but never waited for an answer. It was years later, when I was taking a sociolinguistics class that I had it spelled out for me. We have placeholders in the English language. Phrases like, "How are you?" are not generally meant to literally inquire after our wellbeing, but mean no more than a "hello" or "g'day."

When I was first married, my wife and I had a saying to indicate that we actually meant to inquire after someone's wellbeing. After saying, "Hi. How are you?" and they would respond with, "Fine, thanks." we would counter with, "No, how are you really?" The last really was a little stretched out so they could catch the meaning better. It almost because a standing joke amongst our friends. But the point is they understood that our inquiry was genuine and not just a passing pleasantry.

I used to think that people were just being shallow when they would ask me how I was then run off without even waiting for my response. Finally, someone told me the people just did not care how I was. I believe the exact words used were, "People only care about themselves. They are not really interested in how you are doing, it is just a formality." Ouch.

Now, when I ask someone how they are doing and they actually start to tell me, I remind myself that people are always more important than processes. That has become one of the rules I live by. This means that if I am in a hurry, and ask someone how they are, and they tell me, then I am obligated (by my own rules) to stop and listen and respond respectfully. It can be difficult to be patient, especially if it is someone who has been having a really rough patch in life and has a lot to vent. But I fully believe that taking the time to help them feel heard is more important than anything else I may be doing at the moment. I know that it meant the world to me when I was having a lot of difficulties in life if someone was actually willing to listen to me vent. It didn't change anything physically, but I felt less isolated and derived a little more comfort from feeling that someone was actually willing to listen to me and care about my personal pains and hurts.

This life rule of mine has shown me just how much time it takes to connect with people. There is rarely a quick fix when it comes to helping people feel cared for or loved. It is all about time and attention.

The nature of the word "commandment" has long eluded me. What kind of a being orders another person to "bow" before them, to love them, and to obey their every word? What kind of being could be so important to us that it would be necessary for our own health and well being to do such things?

I have always known that the basic 10 commandments are good for society, but why do they have to be commandments? That seems so arrogant and self righteous. Now, before you think what I am thinking you are thinking, let me tell you that I finally saw the light today. I have been getting closer and closer to an answer for many months, and today I think I finally see enough of the big picture to explain some things to myself.

The great commandment tells us not to put any other god before the one true God. We are to follow that up with the need to love our fellow man like we love ourselves. I tried for years to imagine God saying that with a straight face. It all seemed so totally self absorbed. Then, today, as I was holding Tayah, my newest granddaughter, I began playing out life as a parent as I remember it from my five children. What have I taught my children from day one: listen to your mom and dad, we love you more than anyone, and we only want what is best for you. And as for this love your neighbor commandment, what are we always telling our children? Play nice. Share, you have enough to spare. Be kind to that little boy, he looks lonely. Etc, etc.

The Lord tells us not to take His name in vain. How many times have I told my children, "Don't speak that way to your mother!" "Show me some respect. I am your father, you know."

The Lord says "Thou shalt not steal." We tell our children, "You break it, you buy it." If it doesn't belong to you then keep your hands off!" "Give that back to Susie, it belongs to her."

It sounds to me like the Lord's commandments and my own commandments are not all that different. I guess the apple really does not fall far from the tree.

I have been in this place for so many years I forget how different a New Year's Eve celebration is here. The weather is normal, clear sky, followed by periods of intense rain, clear sky, then drizzles. but that does not slow the celebration one bit. Everyone just takes the party in under the easy corner (a very large pole and canopy setup that people use for camping and dining outside here) until it clears up then they move back out onto the streets to hit the fireworks again.

Because of the many Asians who live here, and the fact that most people by this time have some Asian in their blood somewhere, Chinese firecrackers are very popular. Chinese firecrackers are about 12 foot long strings of firecrackers that are strung from a tall frame or a tree limb. They are all in red, the color of celebration in China, and have two or three boxes of mini explosives at the top of the string. The neighbors across the street had five strings going off at once last night. I think they had two or three sets of them they set off in succession.

The locals don't just set off firecrackers. Those who buy the packages of fireworks in the grocery store are rookies. I don't know if the people who shoot off fireworks in the neighborhoods actually buy the requisite licenses each year or if they just smuggle in the fireworks, but each year as we stand in our street we can count at least seven aerial displays going off at the same time. The noise is positively deafening! While five neighbors are setting off firecrackers, fountains, flowers, smoke bombs, etc. the other neighbors are alternating between professional aerial displays and the same assortment of ground fireworks their poorer neighbors are enjoying.

I never seem to lose the sense of wonder as we stand, hand in hand in the middle of the street and crane our necks skyward to see as many of the displays as we can, all happening at once. Last night was a full moon, with a huge halo of yellow and orange around it because of the water vapor in the air. When the clouds parted the moon was like a giant floodlight on the landscape. You could almost read a book by its light. As we stood there watching in the distance the enormous mums exploding on the horizon, suddenly we heard the muted "pumph!" of some aerial fireworks right close by. We looked straight up into the air as we saw the shooting stars rocket upwards. Like exploding planets on a science fiction movie, rings of color and light, sparks and comets shot in all directions. As we stood there in awe watching wave after wave burst in the air directly over our heads from two different houses, we started to feel the cinders and ash raining down on us. But that only heightened the excitement of the event, knowing that we were so close to these marvels.

We live up on a hill, directly next to the Ko'olau mountains, almost vertical faces that rise hundreds of feet above the ocean level. With every burst the reverberation off the mountains doubled the sound. Smoke filled the air making the entire subdivision look more like a battle zone than the quiet neighborhood it masquerades as the rest of the year. The fireworks actually started the day before New Year's Eve. The booms and crackling were sparse, but expected throughout the day and night. For the actual eve there is always a stony silence in the afternoon that belies the bedlam that is to follow once darkness falls.

Once it was thoroughly dark the neighborhood came alive. Sound systems blared into existence at full volume, and didn't quiet down until well after midnight. Laughter and shouts could be heard from all directions. Whoops and hollers, and warnings not to get burned or to get out of the way of that car were as frequent as the call of a bird in the country on a calm summer's day. The streets were filled with people, many of them setting off their own fireworks, and others, like us, just wandering from one beautiful display to another with our mouths unabashedly open at the spectacle and wishing each other a happy new year.

Despite the noise and confusion of the revelers each year, when sleep comes at last it is welcome, deep and full of repeats of the night's performances. Waking on New Year's day is sweet and quiet. Most refreshing.