Angry No More

"I don't wanna be angry no more
You know I could never stand for this."
 -Rob Thomas, "Lonely No More"

It's been a month since the Angry White Loner's last blog post. Did you miss him/me?

Life goes forward in cycles. The coming of the Christmas season is a reminder of this. So it goes for all of us. Including Angry White Loners.

This blog started out, admittedly, as an inside joke that only a few of you were part of. To this day, I still get questions as to what the title Angry White Loner refers to and why I would ever choose such a name for a blog.

I'm clearly none of those three things. Well, two of those three things.

Believe it or not, I wrote a blog post for the folks at LDS Living magazine recently, and they wondered the same thing. They, in fact, suggested I create a new blog with a different name were I to continue to write posts for them. Can you believe that?

Whatever your view(s) on the issue, I believe that this blog has been a very good thing for me, and hopefully it hasn't be torture for the many of you who have read it and have given your (mostly positive) feedback on it.

But it has also outlived its usefulness, I think. It's time. I don't want to be the Angry White Loner anymore.

Doctor Who fans, aka Whovians, of which the AWL has joined the ranks in the past year, know that the good Doctor regenerates from time to time. While he is still the same person inside, he is physically altered, and each regeneration brings out a different side of his personality. Or of the actor who plays him.

Think of this change as that sort or thing: a regeneration. The Angry White Loner will be back; possibly soon, possibly later on. Who can say for sure?

The Angry White Loner has actually been yours truly's third blog. In case you were unaware, you can read past posts/rants at:

http://theepistleofjon.blogspot.com/ (2008-2014)
http://angrywhiteloner.blogspot.com/ (2013-2014)
http://gobblewonker.blogspot.com/ (2014)

In fact, if you have a suggestion of a title for my fourth blog, please post it in the comments section. The suggestion with the most "likes" will become the title of my new blog.

Maybe.

Train in Vain

And now, a word about a very important issue:

Trains.

All other issues aside, I'll cast my vote tomorrow for whichever candidate will take a stand against the trains consistently blocking east-west traffic between Bountiful and West Bountiful, Woods Cross, and North Salt Lake. I've been living in North Salt Lake for the past few months, and I never cease to be amazed at how frequently this rampant abuse of power takes place.

Sometimes, the trains taunt you. You wait there for the train to pass either to the north or to the south, and then once it does, and you feel like the barriers are about to go up and let you through, it switches gears, and heads back the way it just came. Then, it changes directions again and shuffles back once more.

This charade continues on for several minutes, as people in their cars blare on their horns and unleash more curse words than in Reservoir Dogs and Trainspotting (see what I did there?) combined.

Not me, though!

Other times, the trains just sit there like Jabba the Hutt up on his dais, not moving an inch and also not caring that they're making everybody waiting in their cars even more late for trivial matters like whatever appointment they're headed to, or work, or just to get home to watch all of their DVR'd episodes of Weather Channel forecasts.

All more important things to do than sitting in an idling car, waiting for a train that will not budge.

Such was the case this morning, when I was trapped for a full 40 minutes in Woods Cross while the train sat there and did nothing. If Hollywood were to make a movie about it, it would be titled Unstartable.

In its defense, the train did, while just sitting there, accomplish far more good than the U.S. Congress has so far in the 21st century.

First-world problems, am I right?

Sadly, no candidate has yet taken a stand on this controversial issue. Maybe I'll just vote for the guy whose TV commercials air an estimated 11 times each night during "Jeopardy!", proclaiming "people before politics." He seems like a stand-up dude, even though he either conveniently forgot or doesn't want to tell anyone which political party he belongs to and doesn't want you to vote for his (allegedly) cat-murdering Republican opponent.

I'm the Angry White Loner, and I approve this message.

North Star: Choosing Happiness

"Love is like the Polar Star. In a changing world, it is a constant. It is of the very essence of the gospel. . . . Great beyond comprehension is the love of God."
 -Gordon B. Hinckley

A good friend, also one of my home teachers from my YSA ward days, invited me to attend a fireside last night for the North Star International group. I'm so glad I went.

As described on its Facebook page, North Star is "a place of community for Latter-day Saints dealing with issues surrounding homosexual attraction who desire to live in harmony with the teachings of Jesus Christ and the doctrines and values of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." Another stated purpose is "to empower individuals to help educate themselves, their family, friends, and Church leaders as they strive to become integrated more fully and lovingly into the Church community."

I'm grateful to be one of those friends, and I proudly stand as one of their supporters. Also, as one of their admirers.

This fireside featured possibly the greatest display of congregational singing I have ever witnessed. They sang loudly, but they also sang with the voices of angels. As they sang, "So long thy pow'r hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on o'er moor and fen, o'er crag, and torrent, till the night is gone," and then, later, "O Savior, if thou wilt be my guide, tho dark and rugged the way, my voice shall echo the message sweet: I'll say what you want me to say," the words were not just words on a page but also a testimony of their very lives.

In addition, I was impressed by the number of hugs I saw people giving each other throughout the evening. I don't think I've seen that much hugging take place since the last time I was at sacrament meeting in Peru. Hugs are very much a part of their culture, too.

Truth be told, it's one of the things I miss most about that place and those people.

"There's so much love in this room," I overheard one person say. There was indeed.

Oh yeah. There were actual speakers at this fireside, too. The husband and wife (the husband has lived with same-gender attraction, though they've been married 9+ years now) who spoke talked of the most important commandment being that of loving God, and, in turn, He will love us back. It is the whole purpose for existing in the first place. All that seems unfair in life can be made right through the Atonement. We don't really know what we believe until we are tested. What you truly value and what you want out of life is far more important than seeking gratification. Purpose can be found in the service of others.

The wife spoke of an important lesson Eustace learns about being cleansed of his dragon scales by Aslan (i.e. the Lord) in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which gave her an extra gold star in my book. (The Narnia series remains my favorite.) The husband also spoke extensively on Victor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning and reminded everyone of an important lesson: The last and most important of humanity's freedoms is the freedom to choose what our attitudes will be in any given set of circumstances. Whatever trial or challenge any of us faces, we always have a choice.

Frankl knew something about that because, well, he survived Auschwitz concentration camp.

Speaking of dealing with difficult circumstances, the world would tell the members of North Star that there's no possible way they could be happy following this path that they have chosen.

Well, it ain't necessarily so, folks. It's bubkes, actually.

Last night, I met some of the pleasantest, happiest, and friendliest new people I have met in a long time. There wasn't a frowny face in the bunch. They are proud to be disciples of Jesus Christ, and it is a choice that brings them true joy and gives them hope and purpose. It shows in the way they act, and it radiates in their countenances. They choose to love God by keeping His commandments (see John 14:15) and loving their fellow man—in that order—and that is what makes all of the difference.

They know it, they live it, and they love it.

Minding Manners

I picked up some lunch today at McDonald's, just like the cool kids do. Say what you will about their menu, but you can get some decent food—even salads—there for not a whole lot of money (done in moderation, of course, as the film Super Size Me reminded us all).

McRib season is right around the corner!

Anyhoo, upon placing my order and telling the nice lady "thank you" for ringing me up, she stopped what she was doing and thanked me for thanking her.

"That's the first time a customer has said 'thank you' to me all afternoon," she beamed. She went on to say that many others were too busy talking or texting on their cell phones while ordering to give her their full attention or to even make eye contact, let alone to simply say "thanks."

Saying "please" and "thank you," and saying them often, I have found, go hand in hand. If my parents have taught me anything that has helped me to make friends and to get along with others, it has been instilling in me the value of using these two phrases frequently.

One of my favorite all-time writers is Dave Barry. He's written a lot of laugh-out loud funny things over the years, but one of my favorite statements of his is also one of his most profound:

"A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person."

I have found this to be true both when I've been the customer and when I've been the person behind the counter or desk or on the phone trying to help someone.

Good manners, it seems, are still in style. Even at Mickey D's.

Life's a Country Song

"Everything is great
Everything is grand
I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand
Everything is perfect
It's falling into place
I can't seem to wipe this smile off my face
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by my side to sing along"

 -From "Life's a Happy Song," featured in The Muppets

As my friend the Modern-day Muse has written about on her blog, life can happen "all at once." There are periods of time during which "nothing much" seems to be the norm, and a string of days can feel like the movie Groundhog Day, and there are also other timeframes during which all sorts of things can turn your world upside-down in a hurry, for good or for ill.

Lately, it's been the latter for this Angry White Loner.

I broke up with the girl I've been dating. One of my best friends, whom I've known for over 30 years, basically told me to "drop dead" and to leave him alone, to not to invite him to do anything social with him anymore (no worries; I don't think he'll read this). And my car, the Aluminum Falcon, died a slow, painful, ultimate death, as I mentioned before.

 

All of these events went down within a few short days of each other.

It's been pretty much the opposite of the aforementioned Muppets song. It's been somewhat more of a country song instead: losing your girl, your friend, your truck (car), etc.

That's not to say, however, that the glass is half empty. Because it's certainly not. If you look around and count your blessings, you can see how truly blessed you are, in so many ways.

Fact: Life hands you disappointments. They can be tough blows to bear. And sometimes, they happen all at once. We all have them.

The question is: How will you respond when they occur? Will you become embittered and angry and cynical and blame others for your problems and let others' actions/inaction determine your happiness and retreat into self-loathing? Or will you consider it a lesson learned, forgive, take responsibility for your own happiness, and move on?

Will you raise the white flag in defeat, or will you bounce back and try again?

Once again, I'm going to go with the latter.

The Nephew's Mite

Admittedly, my last post ended on a bit of a downer. But that's not to say the weekend was a total washout. For, no sooner had I finished my last post when I reached into one of my pockets and found: a treasure that was a crumpled-up dollar bill. And suddenly my perspective changed altogether.

I couldn't believe that, in my frustrations about my car, I had completely forgotten all about it and what it represented.

At the aforementioned family get-together, it was also a birthday party for all of those in the family with October birthdays, myself included. Two of my siblings and their families had each given me a copy of my favorite film of 2014, The LEGO Movie, on DVD.

Great minds think alike and all that.

My six-year-old nephew had, just before gift-giving time, collected a $1 bill from Grandpa for scoring a goal in Saturday's soccer game, which is a deal Grandpa has worked out with all of his grandkids. Some of them really take him to the cleaners on it, but the deal goes on nonetheless.

Back to gift-giving time: This same nephew gave me, as a gift, the same $1 bill that Grandpa had given him for scoring a goal. Now, a buck is not a whole lot of dough to us big kids, but to a six-year-old boy, well, it was all that he had.

It was a very humbling moment, and I was grateful for the gesture. Six-year-old nephew is like that. He'd shave your back for a nickel. He's my buddy.

In retrospect, it has made me think of the scripture in St. Mark 12:41-44:

"And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living."

Six-year-old nephew has a heart and soul that big. I'm lucky to be his uncle and also his friend.

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
 -Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Without any prior warning at all, Elder Christoffel Golden Jr. of the Seventy appeared on the stand at the Island of Misfit Toys today and ended up spending the entire block of meetings with us. It was a very unexpected but nevertheless a pleasant surprise. Accompanied by his wife, Diane, they instructed us over the course of a two-hour block that normally would have been taken up by Sunday School and then elders quorum/Relief Society meetings.

"Don't put this on your blog," Elder Golden instructed more than once. (He actually uttered those words three times, to my count.)

Well, no. I'm not sharing any of the three teachings he specifically instructed us not to share. But I will say that it was an uplifting, spiritual, unique experience that you just don't get every Sunday here in Utah. "Don't give up on yourselves," he taught us. "God will bless you according to your righteous desires." Also, "Once we are cleansed by the blood of Christ, our whole desire is to be merciful toward others."

In spite of what my friends in foreign countries believe—that we regularly get visited by General Authorities here in our meetings in Utah—it just doesn't happen very often at all.

From that spiritual high, I got in my car and drove most of the way up to my brother's house in Layton for bimonthly family dinner. Passing through the final stoplight on the way up there, my car began to poop out, made several loud and unsettling noises, and moved very slowly in exactly the same way it had twice before—something which, I had been told, had been fixed twice before by my auto mechanic.

If I can just make it to my brother's, I thought, I'll be okay.

Then, a few blocks after that, my car stalled and died. Right there on the freeway. A man behind me angrily blared on his horn for me to turn before he realized that I physically couldn't move. At the same time, three good Samaritans got out of their car, right there on the highway, and pushed me to safety. They then walked back across the highway, got into their car, drove over to where I was, and offered me a ride to my destination to make sure I got there okay.

Thank heavens for the kindness of strangers. They could have been the Three Nephites, for all I know. Even so, the spiritual high I had been at just an hour earlier became a depressing, frustrating spiritual low. I felt like pushing the old bucket of bolts over a cliff or taking off the parking brake and letting it roll the rest of the way down the hill.

I finally made it to family dinner, and one of my siblings chided me for being late. Then I told them all the story. They understood.

The Aluminum Falcon's days, I fear, are numbered. The first and only car I have ever owned may soon be headed to the junkyard. I literally don't know what I'm going to do with it tomorrow. As I type this, it sits there on the side of that road, 16 or so miles from where I live.

The best of times, and the worst of times, indeed. Sometimes, they can happen within the same day, or within a very short time of each other. Such is our mortal journey. It's all part of the deal, I had to remind myself tonight.

Who knows? Tomorrow may be just a little bit better.

Hooked on the Brothers (and Sisters)

The '90s TV program "The Super Mario Bros. Super Show," designed to cash in on the popular video game franchise, featured a theme song that included killer lyrics such as these:

"We're the Mario Brothers, and plumbing's our game
We 're not like the others who get all the fame
If yo' sink is in trouble y'can call us on the double,
We're faster than the others, you'll be hooked on the brothers!

The show was, well, terrible. Worst of all was the choreography for "Do the Mario," featured during the closing credits and sung/danced by Captain Lou Albano, aka Mario.

It didn't make any of us like the video games any less, but it did make us all cringe a great deal.

Anyhow, my topic today revolves around being "hooked on the brothers"—or, rather, the brethren (and sisters) who lead and guide the Church in these latter days. They're amazing, valiant, strong, inspired, and exemplary people, and I enjoyed so many of their talks from this weekend's biannual general conference.

I am hooked on the brothers (and sisters).

Speaking of the sisters, did you know that the still-relatively new general women's meeting is now considered to be the first session of a six-session general conference?

True story.

This conference was also the first at which speakers were invited to give their talks in their native languages, and we ended up with Conference Center sermons delivered in Cantonese, Portuguese, and Spanish.

It's wonderful to be reassured twice a year like this that, as Elder Bednar taught, "Absolute truth exists in a world that increasingly disdains and dismisses absolutes."

We Are All Beggars

"Are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?
-Mosiah 4:19

Recently, the Angry White Loner asked if any of you readers out there had questions that he might attempt to answer. In return, he received a number of queries. So many so that he nearly required four fingers to count all of them.

Tonight, he attempts to answer one of your questions for the first time. (It will require nearly four blog posts to get to all of them, as you might have guessed, so please be patient with me.)

Angry White Reader Erik asked:

"Giving to the beggars . . . do it? Don't do it? Does it reinforce their behavior? Is there an alternative? Again, I have my opinion, but I would be interested in your thoughts."

Thanks for your question, Erik. This topic has been on my mind today because of our Gospel Doctrine lesson this afternoon on the Island of Misfit Toys, in which we covered in part the Old Testament book of Amos. Not only is Amos famous for the cookies and also for the oft-quoted (by missionaries) scripture about God not doing anything save he does it through His servants, the prophets (Amos 3:7), but I learned that, at this particular point in time, the people of Israel as a whole were in deep doo-doo for, among other things, not taking care of the poor and needy.

Like you all, I've come across many panhandlers in my travels. I am not wealthy. After all, I studied journalism and English literature in college, and I pretend to be an actor on the weekends. I am of the opinion that those who have been richly blessed (as in, big bucks) are under the obligation to give more where they can.

I do not give money to most panhandlers, but I have given a buck or two to the occasional person. And, as long as I have cash on me, I always stop to buy lemonade or Kool-Aid when kids are selling it on the curbside on hot summer days.

Always.

Once, I met a young man on my way out of Wendy's, asking if I had any change to spare. I honestly didn't (I rarely carry cash these days and make most purchases with a debit or credit card) and told him so, but instead I offered to go back into the restaurant with him and buy him a hamburger. He gladly accepted and seemed genuinely grateful for the gesture.

Earlier that day, in fact, I had landed a new job after looking for one for quite a while. I was feeling particularly blessed, and this young man gave me an opportunity to "pay it forward" to someone.

That's just one example from the AWL's life. So, are people asking for money really in need, or are they conning us?

My answer is: Yes. To both.

Panhandlers fall into both categories. Some are genuinely in need, while others are not. Only God knows the heart and soul and is qualified to judge which is which, in my humble opinion.

I have a testimony of the blessings and the benefits of paying tithing, of giving fast offerings or to the Perpetual Education Fund, etc., to the Church. On countless occasions, I have witnessed the Church use these funds, infinitely more wisely than I ever could endeavor to do, to save, to lift, and to heal people of any and all faiths. To help all of Heavenly Father's children.

Angry White Dad worked for the Church for many years, during which time I got to volunteer and/or tour various canneries, bishop's storehouses, farms, and so on, and I saw it all in action. On a trip to the east coast that the two of us took together when I was 18, just prior to leaving on my mission, we got to see the Richmond, Virginia; Washington, D.C.; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and Boston, Massachusetts storehouses in action. It's the real deal, folks; it's not just here in Utah. Later on, when the PEF was created in the early 2000s, AWD got to work with that program, too. We got to see even more lives being blessed with a newfound opportunity to obtain an education.

Above all, I love that the Church teaches us to be self-reliant. It's the old adage of "teaching a man to fish" rather than giving him a fish, so that we can help ourselves and then, in turn, help others who cannot do so due to chronic illness, injuries, death of a spouse, loss of employment, natural disasters, and so forth. Because I have faith in the Church, I have faith that my contributions are being put to the best possible use.

Of course, the LDS Church does a great deal, but it does not have a monopoly on helping the poor and needy. More than one Angry White Brother performed an Eagle Scout project collecting clothing and other items for the St. Vincent de Paul Catholic charity in Salt Lake City, a rock star of an organization if there ever was one. In addition, Angry White Mom (prior to her recent accident, anyway) volunteers at the local food bank run in the back parking lot of a Bountiful Protestant church, giving service and helping customers feed their families. Yours truly had the chance to volunteer time there a few times in my previous ward. If you live in Davis County, I highly recommend paying them a visit or giving them a call to see what you can do. Odds are, they need you.

Many people may view charity as "a coat you wear twice a year," helping out at a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. While this is a worthy and an important cause, I believe charity is really more of a way of life than a check mark that you make on a list as a task to be completed. It is both in giving the bare necessities like money, food, and clothing but also in the small things, such as giving friendship, a listening ear, love, time, and genuine concern for those around us.

That little stream that said "give"? As in, the Primary song? That's what I mean.

And that is something we can all afford to do.

Legal Advice

Today's unlikely voice of reason comes from Fletcher Reede, played by Jim Carrey in the movie Liar Liar. Due to a wish made by his son at his birthday party, Fletcher, a lawyer who is also a compulsive liar, cannot tell a lie for one 24-hour time period.

The scene I refer to here takes place when Fletcher is in the middle of this 24-hour day, and one of his clients, who finds himself frequently in trouble with the law, calls up Fletcher on the phone to ask for help.

"He knocked over another ATM," Fletcher's secretary explains. "This time, at knife point. He needs your legal advice."

Fletcher grabs the phone and shouts, at the top of his lungs: "Stop breaking the law!"

**Disclaimer: Liar Liar is certainly not a family movie. Don't go around telling anyone that the Angry White Loner recommends it for a date night, either.

Nevertheless, I love Jim Carrey's facial expressions in the film, because he is more shocked than anyone else is at the truths he is forced to confess when he can't lie. I also love this particular scene of legal advice because, well, it applies to us all on so many levels.

Stop breaking the law! It's good advice both legally and spiritually. The laws of the land, for the most part (with the exception of such things as abortion and, oh, say, the "Affordable" Care Act), are meant to help maintain order and harmony in our society, to prevent people from injuring or harming others or from infringing on their God-given rights. Likewise, God has given us commandments to help us to progress and to also keep us on a path that will bring us joy. Unfortunately, these commandments are increasingly seen by many in today's society as a means of controlling us, making us blindly obedient, and limiting our choices and/or happiness.

In reality, the converse is actually true.

"Wickedness never was happiness," the prophet Alma wrote (Alma 41:10). When we obey, we have peace of mind and conscience, and we feel joy. It's not an easy choice to make, but it is the one that matters. When we disobey, we feel guilt and regret. Continued disobedience can lead to bad habits, addictions, and, above all, misery. Indeed, this is when our choices and our happiness are truly limited.

It's a crucial but also a tough lesson to learn in this mortal experience, and an important one nonetheless. Looking back on many learning experiences from the past, I can't think of one experience in which I knowingly broke a commandment or law that I achieved any sort of lasting happiness or felt good about myself.

In other words, the story checks out.

I'm no Fletcher Reede, nor am I George Washington. About this, though, I cannot tell a lie.

Best You Can Do Is Forgive

"Well it's all right, remember to live and let live;
Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive."
 -The Traveling Wilburys, "End of the Line"

Currently, I travel up to Layton a couple of times a week. It's not personal; it's business.

While driving up there along I-15, I always pass under the Burton Lane Bridge in Kaysville. This is one landmark I always look forward to seeing in my travels because, much of the time, someone has spelled out a message with plastic cups in the holes of the chain-link fence.

It's a thing we do here in Utah, often to welcome home returning missionaries, to ask/answer requests for local high school dances, and such.

The Burton Lane Bridge reminds me a little bit of the movie L.A. Story, in which Steve Martin's character receives a number of messages with advice particular to his own life from a roadside sign on the L.A. Expressway. The sign ends up playing something of a major supporting role in the film.

Anyway, the message spelled out across the bridge last week consisted of only one word, but it is nevertheless a very important word:

"Forgive."

It would turn out that I would really need that specific message on this specific day. My family would, anyway.

At work, I received a phone call from Dad in which he informed me that Mom had, unfortunately, tripped over a piece of twine or string that was left hanging over the sidewalk at a neighbor's while out for a walk. She had been hurt very badly in the process. It turned out to be not one but two broken elbows, leaving Mom wearing a cast on each arm for the next several weeks. Said injury will also require her to be attended by someone else at nearly every waking hour, as she now needs help eating, scratching itches, and doing several other ordinary tasks that you and I often take for granted on a daily basis.

"Mommy is a mummy," Dad said.

This is the kind of accident that can turn some neighbors from friends into mortal enemies. Again, it was all a result of a neighbor carelessly leaving string or twine hanging over a public sidewalk.

Mom decided to take the high road. (Like moms do.) She visited this neighbor, a member of the parents' LDS ward, upon returning home from the hospital to let the neighbor know what had happened, one intent being to hopefully help prevent additional injury to other neighbors. Another intent was to forgive, to not hold any kind of a grudge. (Of course, it also doesn't mean said neighbor's insurance might not still have to cover some medical expenses.)

Neighbor lady's husband was away on a business trip, but neighbor lady took full responsibility, burst into tears, and apologized profusely. I think we may be able to save this friendship after all.

Forgiveness is always a good option. It's really the best one.

Sharing Goodness in a Dark World

It's relatively easy to become cynical, frustrated, jaded, etc. by all of the bad things we see not only taking place in foreign countries and across our nation but also in our communities and in our daily interactions with others. The Angry White Loner is certainly not immune from it and, admittedly, has shown it from time to time here on his blog.

Passive-aggressivism has long been one of my defense mechanisms. As I look back, it began to develop when I was bullied not once but twice in two different grades at two different junior high schools. Though I sometimes feel as if the compulsion or tendency is leaving me, I am reminded on occasion that it is still very much with me. This is not an excuse but rather an admission that it is a demon I still have to fight.

We all have them. They come in many shapes and sizes.

We are living in difficult times—some might even call them the "latter days." Prophets have both warned us about these days but have also reminded us that those who have faith and who are prepared shall not fear in the face of it all.

Just yesterday, I had a conversation with Angry White Brother in which I expressed a degree of frustration at some of the negativity I had encountered during the course of the week.

To attempt to make a long story short: Five years ago, football player from local university AWB graduated from and which we both support made some unfortunate comments about the arch-rival's school and fans. During the week, the news broke that said football player, currently retired from playing football himself and an assistant high school football coach in Arizona, had been arrested for shoplifting and had also been found in possession of illegal, addictive narcotics. The fallout from this breaking story included a number—not most, but some—of rabid fans of arch-rival school jumping on the opportunity to again label this person the devil incarnate and to use such words as "karma," "just desserts," and (I'm paraphrasing here) "neener neener." Some of the fans of the school AWB and I support, in turn, engaged some of these people in a battle of words.

Not a war of words, but most definitely a battle.

We men and our sports rivalries. We take it far too seriously—myself included. For some, it is a matter as serious as the Ebola virus or world hunger, which sadly are two very real problems faced by certain corners of the globe.

On behalf of my entire gender, ladies, I sincerely apologize for what utter dweebs we make ourselves look like sometimes.

Well, I couldn't make that long story short after all. To quote Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, however, "let me sum up" by stating that, in concluding our discussion over my frustration, AWB was the voice of reason and shared with me two simple words:

"Share goodness."

There's always going to be people who take trivial matters such as sports far too seriously, he said. There's nothing we can do about them. They're always going to be there. Both cockroaches and people who take sports far too seriously are the two species pretty well guaranteed to survive a nuclear holocaust (that last part was the AWL's editorial comment).

Nevertheless, AWB continued, we can combat all of the negativity swirling around out there by, much of the time, not even addressing it at all and instead heeding a recent call by a man I hold to be an Apostle of the Lord, Elder David A. Bednar, to help flood social media with positive messages about things that, rather than tear others down, instead inspire, uplift, and enlighten.

We can #ShareGoodness with the people around us.

Earlier today, a friend (thanks, Steve) posted this tweet on Twitter, which he retweeted from Scott Hanselman: "Other people's success does not diminish your own. Help people, don't hold them back."

Conversely, I might add: Other people's failures, mistakes, or sins do not elevate you nor anyone else. Forgive, just as you hope to be forgiven. After all, we are all beggars in the sight of God. Give others the benefit of the doubt.

Chucking It

I spent part of Labor Day afternoon with Angry White Nephew, who is not only related to me by blood but who is also one of my best buddies. Autumn is nearly upon us, and with the weather still warm but yet also gradually cooling down a few degrees here and there, we made another venture over to the Splash Park in Kaysville for some fun in the sun.

Afterward, we went over to one of the local greasy spoons to pick up some ice cream, like you do when you're an amazing uncle like the Angry White Loner is . . . ladies. *wink wink*

AWN said that he was craving something Oreo-flavored, and that sounded good to me, too. So, we ordered a large shake, presumably for the two of us to share. I knew he wouldn't get through it all, and I figured I would help him finish when he got tired of eating what his little tummy could. All of this was implied, at the time, which is probably my fault in the first place.

As the time came for us to leave, I dumped the contents of our tray, napkins and such, into the trash can and turned around to see that AWN was standing by another trash can, also empty handed. He had chucked the contents he was carrying into the trash. In other words, the still mostly full milkshake.

After taking four or five bites out of it, he had chucked the whole thing. "I didn't want to eat any more," he explained.

Granted, AWN is just six years old and is in the first grade. He doesn't yet understand too much about the value of money nor the reasons why we don't waste food (first-world problems, huh?). We could have very easily also taken it home and put it into his freezer for him to finish later had he not let me help him finish it up. Either choice would have been acceptable, I told him.

I'm not angry about The Chucking, though I tried to calmly explain to him on the way home why we don't throw away that much food. I don't love the kid any less, and I don't hold grudges about things that insignificant.

The English literature minor in me, of course, has, in the three days since, read a little bit more into the Chucking incident. Like when we give a family member or a friend or a co-worker or a member of our neighborhood or ward or even a significant other something that we feel is of great worth because we want to share it, they then take a few bites and realize they don't like it, and they chuck it.

These "milkshakes" we give them might be another kind of food but might also be such things as our time; cooking, cleaning, or a number of other household chores; a book, TV show, movie, even a YouTube clip we think is worth sharing; a simple act of service; going out of our way to do something nice or complimentary; and, in the dating world, giving our very hearts and souls to someone . . . only to see them tossed away nonchalantly as a thing of little or no value to the person receiving it.

Sadly, a Chucking of one sort or another of the type mentioned above, or any number of other possibilities, probably happens to each of us far more than we'd prefer it. It's disappointing, and sometimes it can be downright heartbreaking. Some would respond by simply refusing to give anymore if that is that sad result of giving.

I understand that. I don't think anyone would blame someone who believes that no good deed goes unpunished this way.

Nevertheless, I'm still of the opinion that giving is good. That the people who receive what we offer with gratitude, and who give something of their own in return, are the people worth hanging onto and not letting go of. We may grow a little wiser and/or a little more selective, over time, about what we give out and whom we give it to, but it's still a great choice to make: to give.

Especially to AWN. Because we have an understanding now.

Shoulder to Cry On

This week on the Island of Misfit Toys, the Gospel Doctrine lesson was all about Job. It's too bad that we get to spend only one week, one too-brief 40-minute class period on Job and his eponymous book in the Old Testament, because there are so many lessons we can learn from both him and from the people who were close to him.

I had a boil once when I was a eight or nine years old, and it occurred "across the pond" when we were on one of my family's and my trips to England to visit my mom's family. I remember my Aunt Mary, one of the greatest, kindest souls ever to walk this Earth, applying a poultice for multiple nights to help treat it and to bring down the swelling. She always knew what to do.

I can't even imagine what it would have been like to be covered head to toe with boils. And yet, somehow, Job lived to tell the tale.

Specifically, however, tonight I'm not thinking of Job but of the three friends, Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar, who came to comfort him when he was in the middle of his afflictions. Upon arriving to visit their old friend, "they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great" (Job 2:13).

Later on, of course, as those who are familiar with the story will remember, they made the mistake of berating him for what they perceived to be his sins or errors, and they were chastised for it. Nevertheless, I try to give these three men the benefit of the doubt. They were human, as we all are, and I believe that the simple act of keeping him company for that entire week, just being there with their friend when he needed them, yet not saying a word, did far more good than anything else they could have done at any point during Job's misfortunes.

Thus it is when we mourn, too. A friend (#1) of mine who lost his father far too soon essentially said the same thing recently when he spoke of another friend (#2) of ours, who lost his mother to cancer. Friend #2 was there for Friend #1. He didn't try to console him or to say it would be all right; he was just there, spending time as a friend, to let him know someone cared.

Years ago, Angry White Mom witnessed the slow, painful death of a friend of hers to a debilitating illness, her body literally wasting away until she passed from this life. The night of the friend's funeral, AWM saw me in the kitchen and, needing the same comfort, I suppose, that Job and Friend #1 sought, she simultaneously burst into tears and hugged me tightly, not letting go for what seemed like at least 10 minutes.

Sometimes, you literally need a shoulder to cry on. I'm grateful to have shared that moment with you, Mom. Mainly, I realize I got to share it with her because I was there. It's something I'll never, ever forget, a memory I will always cherish.

Family and friends reading this, I hope you'll consider me "there" for you if you ever need it. That goes for both my recent post about those who struggle with depression, as well as with any other problem or worry under the sun.

I also don't get many hugs like that these days, but I'm willing to give if the need arises.

Ladies especially.

Pretty in Pink

Yesterday, I went out to lunch for corn dogs. Because, well . . . corn dogs.

'Nuff said.

Upon sitting down to eat my meal, I noticed that there was a man seated in my vicinity whom I can describe only as "pretty in pink," as in the '80s song/movie. Decked out in a bright pink shirt, a bright pink hat, bright pink shorts, he also carried a cell phone with a bright pink cover on it and was accompanied by a bicycle with a bright pink seat and pink handlebars.

It was a lot of bright pink for any human being, especially a guy with more facial hair than your own Angry White Loner.

My first inclination, admittedly, was to take a photo of this man with my camera. Because there's no way anybody else would believe I had seen someone go out in public dressed this way.

Fortunately, a second, better thought occurred to me soon after:

That man is a child of God.

On second thought, it's often a good idea to listen to and to be guided by those second thoughts that occur following those "natural man" initial impressions.

No other editorializing by me this time, folks. I'll simply leave it at that.

Tell 'Em Big Baby Sent Ya!

Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care"?
 -P!nk

I used to be somewhat more adventurous of a person than I now am. I don't know when exactly it was that I turned into a fuddy-duddy, but it happened a few years ago. I woke up one morning, and there he was: a bona fide fuddy-duddy, staring back at me in the mirror.

You'll all get older someday, too. That's both a threat and a promise.

I think that it is a good idea, nonetheless, to occasionally take a look back at some of those things that used to be part of your routine and wonder why you don't do some of those things anymore, maybe even to do some new things that might scare you a little bit. For example, going to Lagoon at least once every summer.

It's something that your very own Angry White Loner used to do, but until a couple of weeks ago, he hadn't been to the friendly confines for 13 (count 'em, 13) years. It was beyond time that he give it another try and go on some rides, for heck's sake.

When I talk about doing things that scare you a little, I'm not, of course,  advocating doing unnecessarily stupid things, such as drag racing through your neighborhood or tying rubber bands together and then bungee jumping. Or even eating at Five Guys Stomach Flu and Food Poisoning. Ever.

It was good to be back at Lagoon and to try to, once again, erase those horrible memories of having worked there for a summer when I was 17 years old.

OK, a little off topic there. Anyway, the rides have changed a great deal in my 13-year absence from the park. Some of the ones that were there last time are still quite terrifying, like The Rocket. My ride on the new(ish) Samurai was quite possibly the most frightening experience I've ever had. And I've witnessed a terrorist attack up close.

I spent the course of the ride much like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, chanting, "I do believe in spooks! I do believe in spooks!" over and over again, until after what seemed like 17 straight hours strapped in, it mercifully ended, after which I basically French-kissed the ground and promised her that we'd never, ever fight again.

When you've not been on a roller coaster or other amusement park ride for 13 years, you apparently have about 13 years' worth of motion sickness to make up for. That, or the lap bars fit a bit more snugly than they used to, if you catch my drift. Whatever the reason(s), I had to sit out for a few rides while my friends continued to party on. I never fully recovered that night, but I did end up going back on a few more rides to round out the evening. And I'm glad that I did.

It's what fun is. Or what it used to be. There's still more fun to be had.

Dog Daze

Thanks to all of you—all one of you—who responded to the Angry White Loner's latest post. He didn't receive any questions to base any future blog posts upon, so he supposes at this point that he'll just have to continue to come up with his own dithering ramblings about life, the universe, and everything for the time being.

The AWL has taken the past couple of weeks off from blogging—not because of the aforementioned fact of not getting any responses, but because he's needed some time to think. About a lot of things. It's been his longest gap between new posts since he began this blog a year-and-a-half ago.

It's the dog days of summer right now. I do not know if there is a specific timeframe to them. Personally, I consider it to fall somewhere between the end of Pioneer Day in July and Labor Day in early September. In other words, it's basically the entire month of August.

No offense intended to those of you who get excited for August, for whatever reason. But I just can't. It's my least favorite month of the year. The only good thing about it for me is that autumn is right around the corner.

I was all ready to post something new earlier this week, and then Robin Williams's suicide happened. I read the news online Monday evening, and I was crushed. Like many of you, I spent several days reading various blog posts and retrospectives about the life of one of the most unique talents we've ever seen.

I'll spare you my going into much more detail on the matter, because others have already done so and have done it well. If it affected you or caused you to think in any way, shape, or form, then I say: Congratulations. That means you're a member of the human race, and you give a darn. Whether or not you personally or someone close to you struggles with depression, substance abuse, or Parkinson's disease, then at least there is something of a desire inside you to want to understand and to help others who fight those battles.

It's one of the most important lessons we can learn here in this human experience.

Depression is not something that you just "get over," like a cold or measles or having your tonsils removed. It is something many people have to battle on a daily basis, and it can, at times, feel like a dark, bleak, and hopeless fight.

Nevertheless, there is hope, and there is healing. I had to learn this the hard way, but I'm glad that I know now that such a thing exists. I feel like I've said this before here on the Angry White Loner, but if you're dealing with depression and need someone to talk to or someone who will lend a listening ear, please count me in as one of those who will drop whatever he's doing to help. However I can.

Carpe diem, my friends.

Life's Greatest Mysteries . . . Solved?

Got an (intelligent) question for the Angry White Loner? Would you like to see him take on a new blog topic answering your queries about life's greatest mysteries? Post your question in the comments box, and you, too, could achieve fame and glory here on http://angrywhiteloner.blogspot.com/.

Yes, I'm being serious. The asking me a question part, I mean.

The Best Two Years, and Beyond

I spent a good deal of the weekend listening to two old cassette tapes, which I dug up the other day. Cassette tapes, in case you were wondering, came along way before MP3s and iPods and also preceded CDs, which are sadly becoming more and more passé these days.

These tapes had spent a few years collecting dust and basically just lying around. One tape was a recording of the sacrament meeting in which I gave my "farewell" address before heading off to the MTC and then the mission field at age 19, and the second recording was of my "homecoming" talk upon returning from Peru two years later at age 21.

I can sum up the experience in one word: Wow.

It all brought back so many memories to listen to myself speak on both occasions, and I don't like to listen to my own voice all that much, so it took some patience and self-consciousness, too. It was interesting to listen to my young and eager but not-so-wise-in-the-ways-of-the-world self speak before departing and then my heavily Spanish-accented self (much more than I recall being at the time) speak somewhat extemporaneously and much more fluidly upon returning.

Reflecting back on those times and on the perspective I've gained since then, it's interesting to me to hear now, from many different sources, that the mission is "the best two years" in your life. Certainly, it was an amazing, unforgettable, growing, and educational experience that I'll never, ever forget, I saw some very beautiful and also some very ugly places, and I made many friendships that I hope to carry with me into the eternities.

But "best two years"? Well, if my life has already reached its greatest point at age 21, then I've been living through years of disappointment, with additional years of disappointment still ahead.

Another school of thought, and the one that I agree with, is that the mission is "the best two years" of your life up to that point of your life. You then return home, go back to school, work, marry (well, two out of three isn't bad), etc. and then make the next year the best year, then the year after that, and so on.

Have the years since my return home been disappointing? Has it been nothing but a downward slope? In some ways, these years have not turned out at all like I expected they would. I've had my share of disappointment, trials, grief, thorns in the flesh, and unfortunately also consequences when I've not done some of the things I should have done or I've let opportunities slip away. To quote John Lennon, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

Nevertheless, I've also been richly blessed at the same time. I've been given opportunities to work, to play, to study, to learn, to develop talents, to grow, to date, to meet new people, to travel, to give, to receive, and to take uncertain steps into the dark future, one day at a time—some of which have paid off, and others have not. And I wouldn't have missed nearly all of it.

Except for January 2008. That was a tough month that I never want to repeat, ever again.

How Does *He* Know?

I was listening to the old iPod the other day, shuffling through my playlist of Disney songs, when a familiar voice began to sing. It was the melodious voice of my favorite Disney princess, Giselle, played by Amy Adams—who hasn't really left the Church, ya know. She's just been inactive for past few decades.

Anyway, the song I refer to is "That's How You Know" from Enchanted. "Does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind?" she inquires. Does he "send you flowers when the sky is grey?" Or "does he take you out dancin' just so he can hold you close?" Or "dedicate a song with words in just for you?" "Don't treat her like a mind reader," she adds. Don't take her for granted!

All of these are valid and important questions in a relationship, Giselle and/or Amy. A man should do all of these things to let a woman know that he loves her, or else really really really likes her a lot, with chocolate syrup and a cherry on top.

Fair enough.

Generally speaking, though, men also tend to have a difficult time figuring out whether, after they've followed Giselle's advice and have done all of these things, or have at least attempted them, whether she loves him back, or even really really really likes him back.

This is partly due to the fact that women, often by their own admission: (1) tend to drop hints rather than to say directly what they are feeling or what they want, (2) can be driven by emotion more often than men are, and (3) can be confusing, as one tends to come from Mars, and the other from Venus. (Yes, ladies, I'm sure we're equally as confusing to you sometimes. Maybe more!)

Now, don't get all upset and write me nasty comments or e-mails. The Angry White Loner has said in the past that women are the world's biggest mystery, and he's just trying to figure out this part of their personalities right now. On this night, in this blog post. (No one person should take any of this personally.) He is actually looking for some practical advice, generally speaking, and is trying to foster a positive discussion on the topic, because his friends and readers, all six of them, give pretty good counsel. He would, in fact, welcome answers to any or all of the following questions:

Does she want to spend time with you, or is she just scared of being alone?

Does she see spending time with you as a priority or as an obligation?

Does she often claim to be "busy," or does she go out of her way to include you in her extracurricular plans?

Does she, you know, pretend like she acknowledges your existence out in public, and, if so, will she approach and/or talk to you when others are around? Are any and all dates carried out only when she's checked an re-checked the neighborhood for spies and gossipmongers?

Are you plan B, C, or D because her girlfriends happen to be busy that night?

Does she get excited for the next date because, just as Café Rio employees get excited on your 11th visit, a "Free Meal!" is coming?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Some Like It Cold

"I really love those summer mornings when, even with the air conditioning on and a box fan in the room, I still wake up drenched in a pool of sweat," said no sane person ever.

The summer is hot. There's no denying it. There's also no denying that the human body needs the sunlight and the warmth. Studies have proven the benefits of both on keeping us healthy.

I get that part. I'm not saying that I don't like warm weather per se. Summer nights can, much of the time, be most enjoyable. (Why would Olivia Newton-John or John Travolta lie to us?)

However, the summer has a way of wearing out its welcome rather quickly. There is a difference between warm weather and hot, muggy, sticky, uncomfortable weather. Five days in a row 95-degree or higher temperatures, and I'm done with it. A month of those temperatures, and I'm already counting down the days until autumn, which is my favorite season of the year.

Perhaps it is a sign that I'm getting old, I don't know.

Here are 10 reasons why cold weather is better than hot weather:

1) Proponents of hot weather argue that, in the summertime, they don't have to go out and scrape the ice off of their cars, nor do they have to wait for their cars to warm up in the frigid air. These are valid points. But these people also then tend to add, in the same argument, that they can come inside from a hot summer day and relax by turning on the air conditioning at home.

In other words, they, too, really are basically admitting that they really prefer it cooler, as well.

2) Warmer weather is also hurricane, monsoon, and tornado season, which are far more destructive than snow. Having lived through a hurricane, I know this from firsthand experience.

3) In the winter, you can always bundle up when it gets cold. When it gets very hot, there's only so many layers of clothing you can strip down to.

4) Making your own gravy, i.e. sweating.

5) One of the best ways to warm up in the winter is by cuddling with a loved one. If you don't believe me, than I daresay you haven't had enough experience(s) with this.

In the summer, I suppose you can sit by the swamp cooler and sweat together.

6) The phrase "hot as hell" is about, well, hell. Heaven is the other extreme, right?

7) Fall/winter is football season.

8) Fall/winter is also Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's season, the best time of the year. Why limit it to just one holiday?

9) That feeling when you come inside from the cold and drink hot chocolate

10) Christmas music > songs of the summer

So, there you have it. The Angry White Loner just needed to get it out of his system and promises to post no more complaints about the weather the rest of this summer. Maybe.

I'm Not Naming Names, but . . .

After nearly three months since it all went down, things are really starting to take shape on the Island of Misfit Toys. The Angry White Loner even has not only one but two callings and is proceeding to share the love as only the AWL can.

Just before Gospel Doctrine teachers were called, I also volunteered to teach a lesson from the Old Testament. Why? Because I'm a glutton for punishment, possibly. Or because the chicks dig me.

Take your pick.

Another huge reason I volunteered to teach was that the lesson that week focused heavily on my namesake, Jonathan, who was the son of the Saul, the king of Israel.

Jonathan was an absolute rock star, but he didn't get the attention nor the women that his friend David got. Upon killing Goliath, David became a great hero—something like the Tim Howard of his country. David was also anointed by the prophet Samuel to become the next king of Israel.

As a prince of Israel, Jonathan had every right to be jealous and envious of David. Jonathan had also earlier achieved a rather significant military victory of his own but did not receive the fame nor recognition that David did. Nevertheless, Jonathan remained true to his friend David and helped to save his friend's life from Saul on multiple occasions.

He was an amazing example of friendship and sacrifice and is really a pretty great guy to be named after. If you also look at the etymology of the name Jonathan, it breaks down to "God's Great Gift."

At least, that is what a framed picture my parents gave me when I was a teenager tells me.

Contrast all of this with an episode of "Gilmore Girls" I recently watched, like all of the cool kids do. In this episode, Rory finally cuts the umbilical cord from her mother and goes off to college. She and her frenemy Paris meet one of their roommates, who is named "Tannina" or something akin to that. (It was late; I can't even read my own handwriting.) Paris then, skeptically, asks her if she even know what her name means, and the poor, scared girl replies that she hasn't the faintest clue.

Granted, that's just a random sample. But it does bother the AWL a little bit when he sees the rising generation growing up with names that sound like types of medications, rejected names for elves in the Lord of the Rings/Hobbit universe, or names that were thought up while playing and losing at Boggle. Names like, for example, McFlurghan. Or Buckley.

There's also been a new trend this week. No, not of U.S. presidents casually mentioning, in passing, acts of terrorism on U.S. citizens in airplanes, then telling a bunch of jokes about his vice president/making fun of the GOP, then bravely leading America forward by venturing off to attend a couple of fundraisers to round out his day.

No, the new trend I refer to has been all over Facebook this week, one of people sharing their first names and how their names could be spelled out as an acronym with adjectives used to describe that person. Well, I think that's great. I think taking a look at your own name, what it represents, and also how you represent that name is certainly a worthwhile use of time. So is learning whom you were named after, if that is the case, or even what the word origin of your name is. I'm always intrigued to hear stories like these.

What's in a name? Upon further review, plenty.

The Dangerous Lives of Shopping Carts

As a public service, and also because the Angry White Loner considers you to be a friend, he's here tonight to warn you of the dangers of shopping carts.

But shopping carts aren't dangerous, some of you, naively, might be inclined to say. Well, your opinion is duly noted. And you would be, of course, DEAD WRONG!

From an Ogden Regional Medical Center ad, I recently learned that over 47,000 people in the United States alone are injured by shopping carts each year. The AWL's personal encounters with shopping carts have also led him to both fear and respect the mighty shopping cart.

Incredible-but-True Shopping Cart Story #1: The AWL and Angry White Sister were once traveling out to Salt Lake City on the freeway at night when, out of nowhere, there was suddenly a shopping cart sitting on the road. AWS was *ahem* driving the car, though there really wasn't that much time to react to said shopping cart, which ended up leaving a sizeable dent in the front bumper of Angry White Dad's car.

AWD, as you might imagine, was rather upset by this turn of events. His Angry White Children, in case you wondered, were thankfully not injured.

Just the other day, in fact—this really happened—I had to swerve the Aluminum Falcon out of the way of a SOFA, also lying there on the road on I-15.

Incredible-but-True Shopping Cart Story #2: A friend of the Angry White Loner's, when he was younger and foolish, decided to hop into a shopping cart and took it for a ride down 1800 South in Bountiful. Those who live in or know Bountiful know that this is a rather steep hill and will have already correctly guessed that this was a very bad idea. The shopping cart won this battle with said friend, leaving him with horrendous injuries.

"Where will the shopping carts strike next?" is the question that, I'm sure, is now on everybody's lips.

Weeping, Wailing, and Gnashing of Teeth

"There shall be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and this because of their own iniquity" (Alma 40:13).

What an eventful week it has been. In case you spent the week stranded on a deserted island or have been out with the flu, one of the leaders of the Ordain Women movement was excommunicated from the LDS Church, the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals upheld Judge Shelby's ruling overturning the gay marriage ban in Utah, and the United States Supreme Court ruled in favor of Hobby Lobby's challenge of the contraception mandate in Obamacare, among other things.

So many strong emotions about it all. So very many. And, sadly, a great deal of contention as a result.

Yesterday after church, I unfortunately found myself involved in a rather contentious conversation about one of these topics, and it was a horrible, ugly, empty feeling. It was not a situation I had sought out nor one I was happy to be a part of, and I'm embarrassed for both myself and my friend's sake that it ever occurred.

Your very own Angry White Loner has blogged about this friend before. He's one of those people who, as President Hinckley once said, has left the Church but cannot leave it alone. He also seemingly falls into the category, as one institute teacher of mine called it, of "toxic personalities"—people who are impossible to please and who place the burden of their happiness on everyone and everything else around them. On everyone else, that is, but themselves.

After this conversation ended, I made the decision to unfriend this person from Facebook—that is, until I discovered that he had unfriended me first. Well, so be it.

This doesn't mean I will go out in public in disguise just to avoid this person, nor will I rev the engine of my car like Cruella DeVil should I see him crossing the street. In fact, I told him I hoped we could meet someday and that I could take him to lunch so that we could talk things over in person. I also told him I would be praying for him and that I would look for him at future social activities involving others of our age/married status.

Nevertheless, cutting ties with this person on social media, which is far too intertwined in all of our lives, was the right thing to do—for me, at least. Even the great Nephi reached a point that he had to move far away from his brothers Laman and Lemuel, because it had become dangerous for him to remain in their presence—both physically and spiritually. He still loved and forgave his brothers, yet he and his crew packed up and got the heck outta there.

At the same time, my heart breaks for this friend. The bitterness inside him has grown like a cancer, and he seems not to see it in himself. He has lost his testimony, has left the Church, and has replaced it with . . . apparently only vitriol, hatred, cynicism, blame, and, above all, misery.

What do you do with a friend like that? I don't know. But I'm going to figure it out, one day at a time.

In the meantime, I'm going to rededicate myself to accentuating the positive. Even an Angry White Loner can work at this. In spite of the whirlwind that the last week was, there is still goodness and beauty out there to be sought after, as we read about in the 13th Article of Faith. I'm glad to have you who are reading this as friends, because you more than likely wouldn't be reading it if you didn't consider yourself to be a friend of mine. Otherwise, I would just be some plumb loco quack philosophizing into the nameless void. And that, if it were true, would be utterly ridiculous.

I'm grateful to be surrounded by so many people who build up rather than tear down, which is what real friends do and is also, in its essence, what the gospel of Jesus Christ is all about. I'm grateful to have the opportunity to work on improving my own weaknesses and imperfections, some of which were made all too clear to me recently.

I'm a work in progress. We all are. How lucky I am to have such good friends along with me to enjoy the ups and downs of the ride.