Of Life and Times

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.