The Remedial Singles Ward

Tonight, I had a major case of déja vu all over again.

In a meeting filled with many other mid-singles (i.e., 31-to-45-year-old, non-married people my age who have been deemed too old for the regular singles ward, or leprous and highly contagious, or both) congregated in my old stake center in Bountiful, at which the new stake president of my old stake announced the creation of a new mid-singles ward, the first of its kind anywhere in Davis County.

Everybody with me so far?

Not only that, but my former bishop, bishop of the singles ward I used to attend in that very same chapel, was sustained as the new bishop of this new ward.

In a very real sense, things had come full circle for the Angry White Loner. And for many of his friends and associates.

To top it all off, I then got in my car to head over to a family function, and you know what? The tune "Zero Population" started playing on a random shuffle of the Sunday listening playlist on my iPod.

I knew I'd heard that melodious tune somewhere before. And then it hit me . . .

It was (and is) one of the grooviest tracks from literally one of both the silliest and most overplayed (on BYU-TV, at any rate) and arguably greatest* LDS musicals with false doctrine, Saturday's Warrior!

Mind = blown!

*No, it's not. My Turn on Earth wins in that category.

Gotta Get Up and Try

"Gotta get up and try, and try, and try"
 -P!nk, "Try"

I recently saw the 2013 movie Ephraim's Rescue, which had been in the #1 spot in my Netflix queue for months. Took ya long enough, huh, Netflix?

For those not familiar with the plot, Ephraim's Rescue is based on the true life story of Ephraim Hanks, who, among other accomplishments, helped lead the rescue of the Martin and Willie handcart companies in the winter of 1856, saving the lives of many of the destitute people stranded somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming.

But I repeat myself. It really isn't too hard to imagine if you've ever driven lengthwise across Wyoming along I-80, which I have done and lived to tell about.

The film also recounts some of the other miracles Ephraim, who was blessed with the gift of healing, carried out during his lifetime of service and sacrifice. It touched me deeply, partly also because I am a descendant of handcart pioneers.

If you haven't seen Ephraim's Rescue yet, then go and buy it. Netflix takes too long. Obviously.

One of the parts that impressed me most, and there were many of them, is a scene in which someone asks Ephraim how he is able to do all of the good that he does. His response is simply, "I try."

It's a simple yet a powerful response, and it contains and important lesson. Sometimes, all it takes is that we try.

Take, for example, the Israelites who were bitten by the poisonous serpents in the desert, as recounted in Chapter 21 of Numbers. To be healed, all they had to do was to look at the brass serpent that Moses held up. Tragically, many of them refused to look and died. (See also Chapter 33 of Alma.)

All they had to do was to try.

If we give our very best effort in life—if we just try—then the Lord will do the rest. I didn't really understand the concept until a recent Sunday School discussion, but that is the very essence of grace.

If it applies to the big things, it also applies to the little things, or so I am wont to believe. Just trying it out will help us to learn new hobbies or learn new things, to meet new people, to ask out that girl or guy you've known for years and always wondered about, to find out likes/dislikes, and so forth.

Naturally, we need to then follow through and work at many of these things. But the first step—the initial trying it out—is usually the hardest. Obviously, this also doesn't mean trying out things that are clearly stupid and/or dangerous, such as jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Or voting for Obama.

That's just not common sense.

Hero's Welcome

The Angry White Loner's cousin returned from her mission abroad late Saturday night. Where she went is not important—at least, it's not relevant to today's post. But an important fact is that she came home after serving for only a handful of months rather than the 18 months usually served by sister missionaries. The reason? She had aggravated an old injury that was making it physically impossible for her to continue in the day-to-day labors of missionary work.

I joined with several other family members in greeting my cousin at the Salt Lake City airport, giving her a hero's welcome. Those people watching us—including BYU football coach Bronco Mendenhall, who was also on the flight!—were none the wiser that she had been out there for only about seven months. It was great to be a part of, and it was also fantastic to sit back and watch.

Earlier in the week, I reviewed some old mission photos of my own and remembered that this same cousin, at age 6, was there when yours truly walked off his own plane coming back from South America.

I wish the hero's welcome were always the case for missionaries who are forced to return from the field due to a physical or mental condition. Sadly, it is not. I fear that far too many people incorrectly judge these missionaries as being unworthy, unmotivated, lazy, or cowardly when they don't know all of the facts. Few of these RMs get the hero's welcome that my cousin did.

To this end, I recently read an article about a support group called Sick RMs, which was recently organized to help people such as my cousin. It was a very eye-opening piece. For one thing, I learned that missionaries who return from their fields of labor early often fail to receive proper treatment for these very health issues both during and after the mission and needlessly go on suffering for months or years. As a result, one of the goals of Sick RMs is to push for more doctors, psychiatrists, and other medical professionals to be made available to missionaries currently serving and recently returned. (Yours truly would really have benefited from this.)

A few other facts I picked up from the article: Only about 50 percent of Sick RMs end up giving a "homecoming" talk in their wards/branches. Seventy-three percent feel like they have been a "failure." And more than a third of them end up becoming inactive in the Church.

Add to all of that the stigma associated with being someone who reappears before crossing the so-called finish line, and these RMs are put into a very difficult situation through absolutely no fault of their own.

A good friend of mine had to return early from his mission a number of years ago. I remember him expressing a lot of the same frustrations shared by Sick RMs that were mentioned in the above article. A part of him also feared no girl would want to date him because he had served for only a few months and not two years.

It's been a decade since that time, and this friend, as far as I can tell, has been happily married to his wife for over six years.

This is just to say, cousin, as well as to all of those other unheralded and unsung Sick RMs, that you are not a failure—far from it, in fact. You have fought the good fight, you have finished your course, and you have kept the faith (2 Timothy 4:7). In the Lord's eyes, you are no different and no less appreciated than those who serve for 24 or 18 months.

Why It Matters

On Friday, a federal judge overturned Utah's Proposition 3, passed in 2004, which defined marriage, under Utah state law, as a contract entered into between only a man and a woman. I just read in tonight's paper that, in the three days since, more than 700 gay marriages have already taken place across the state.

This is all happening so fast—much faster than I was prepared for. I didn't think we'd have to cross that bridge here in Utah for a few more years at the earliest.

And yet, here we are. "Tomorrow" has come. Some rejoice in that fact. I have been somewhat surprised to see more than a few of my LDS friends join in their jubilation.

As a result, many conversations have taken place, some more heated than others, over the past few days. Personally, I have engaged in discussions about the issue with family, friends, and even a few mere acquaintances, both in person and on Facebook discussion boards.

Earlier today, one friend posted a link on my wall that read, in part:

"Should a particular religion’s faith document (referencing the Proclamation on the Family) become law for everyone? Is the Bible the Constitution? Churches can still believe and practice what they want and not impose those beliefs on secular law. And do you really want to make legal or illegal everything the Bible endorses or opposes? Do you really want to go there?"

To paraphrase: "Why do you care, Angry White Loner, whether a man chooses to marry a man or a woman chooses to marry a woman? It's all about love, not hate. What does it matter to you whom another person chooses to love? How dare you impose your hateful, ignorant, outdated, homophobic religious beliefs on society."

I've pondered a great deal over both these questions and the possible answers over the course of the weekend. (Having strep throat tends to leave you with a lot of time to think about a lot of things.) And I've come up with two main points to sum up why this issue does matter a great deal to me personally and why it should matter to us all.

1) Two months ago, in the October 2013 general conference of the Church, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said:

"Each day is a day of decision, and our decisions determine our destiny. One day each of us will stand before the Lord in judgment. We will each have a personal interview with Jesus Christ. We will account for decisions that we made about our bodies, our spiritual attributes, and how we honored God’s pattern for marriage and family" (emphasis added).

Though the world may not care what I, personally, believe on the matter, and may discount my opinion as someone unqualified to opine, the Lord cares what each and every one of us thinks on the matter and whom or what ideals we choose to follow in this lifetime. The day will come when we will have to account for it, face to face. And His opinion of us matters. He will want to know where and with whom we stood when all of this was going on.

2) Because of my nieces and nephews, it matters. A lot.

That thought occurred to me yesterday while I got to spend some time with them (at arm's length, of course, because I'm currently under the weather) at our bi-monthly family dinner.

I care for all nine of them a great deal. Hopefully, more will join us in the next few years. If and when I have kids, I will feel the same way about them, too. Next to their parents, grandparents, siblings, and other aunts/uncles, I care for them more than anyone else on this Earth. I want them to be happy and healthy and to succeed and grow and to live up to their potential. I also worry about what the future may bring them, though it is with cautious optimism. I hear a lot of optimism from President Monson and the other General Authorities when they speak.

As a family, collectively speaking, we are teaching these children that "marriage between a man and a woman is essential to His eternal plan" and that "children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother." Following this teaching is the only pathway to true, lasting happiness and a fullness of joy, both in this life and in the eternities. The God we believe in is a God of pure, perfect love, not of hate, and one who wants us to return to live with Him—though we have to do our part.

Already, however, the world is telling these children, either directly or indirectly, that this doctrine, as it is found in the Proclamation and in the mouths of 15 modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators, is outdated, stupid, wrong, changeable, hateful, discriminatory, bigoted, and other, worse adjectives that I won't mention here.

I cringe at the thought of this happening, though I know, sadly, one day, it will. I want to protect them from these detractors who are, in reality, the hateful, spiteful ones. I will fight with everything I possess to prevent it from happening. I will try to be the best example I can be of someone who honors God's pattern for marriage and family. Never, however, will I resort to bullying, fear mongering, unkindness, shunning, or any other tactic unbecoming of a follower of Christ to do so.

On a different friend's wall, I read this other thought:

“Right is right even if no one is doing it; wrong is wrong even if everyone is doing it.”
― Augustine of Hippo

Family and friends, the wheat is being sifted from the tares—even within the membership of the Church itself—and the five wise virgins are filling their lamps with oil, while the five foolish ones are being "tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine" (Ephesians 4:14). Nevertheless, the way to go is clear, if we will but hold to the rod and "not be deceived" (D&C 52:14) by false prophets, secret combinations, and other wolves in sheep's clothing.

Giving and Receiving

I attended a very thought-provoking institute class last night. Our discussion revolved around the idea of giving vs. receiving. It's a timely topic because, well, I think it relates directly to the spirit of the Christmas season in which we now find ourselves.

For me, the pendulum has swung both ways on giving and receiving over the years. Hopefully, experience and time have taught me a few things about it.

When I was growing up, Christmas, to me, was all about receiving. I eagerly awaited the arrival of the JC Penney catalogue, devouring the pages of the toy section and wishing for the newest and most popular LEGO, He-Man, G.I. Joe, Voltron, and Transformers sets, then spending many sleepless nights and restless days each December, awaiting Santa's arrival and (admittedly) also trying to spy on my mom's secret cache of presents, usually hidden somewhere in the basement.

Fortunately, it was a phase I grew out of as the years passed. When I became an adult—notice that I do not use the phrase "grew up," as I may be in that process for many years yet—Christmas shifted to being all about giving rather than receiving. My mission certainly helped a lot with that, as I had the blessing and the privilege of giving two years of my life to the full-time service of my fellow man. Since that time, it's certainly still nice and appreciated to get gifts from family members and friends, to be sure, but perhaps my favorite thing about the holiday now is observing the looks on my nieces' and nephews' faces as they open their gifts.

In a very real sense, the whole process has gone full circle.

As far as giving and receiving goes for all other kinds of gifts, our teacher correctly pointed out, I think, that it is both blessed to give and to receive. Who among us hasn't prayed about and sacrificed for and labored for a present that, to you, was a significant gesture of love from the bottom of your heart, only to be disappointed and heartbroken when the person the gift was intended for either didn't accept it or treated it as a thing of naught? I'm sure we all have at one point or another.

Many dating experiences certainly apply here. But that is a post for another day.

In other words, a gift both has to be given and received, and it is as much of a virtue to receive a gift as it is to give one. Such is the case with the Atonement of Jesus Christ, which cost the best blood of the history of humankind—the greatest gift ever given, along with the gift of life itself and the bestowal of free agency. Each of us has to make the individual decision whether or not to receive this gift.

At any rate, that's what I got out of it. Now, I must be off. I suddenly have a hankering to dig out my old Optimus Prime action figure.

The Turkey Trot

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but (honk! honk!) I participated in my first 5K race today.

It was also the Angry White Parents' and the Angry White Sister's first 5K. We did it together, and it turned out to be more fun and more worthwhile than I had imagined it would be. Kudos to my sister for convincing me to do it, 'cause I can be a tough nut to crack sometimes.

Our 3.1-mile race, the Family 5K (there was also a 1K race for kids and a 10K race for masochists/actual athletes), was really a race only in name, as together we walked the entire length. It was never about competition, just finishing. Soon after crossing the starting line, AWS and I realized that we were prepared to walk much faster than the parental units, so instead we slowed down to walk alongside them.

In the end, the Family 5K was more about the "family" part than about the "5K." After 66 minutes on the road, which included the Angry White Loner getting in "Biggest Loser" trainer mode on his mom and encouraging her to press forward during what was for her a grueling final mile, the four of us crossed the finish line together. For their age bracket, the parents did a great job.

Something else I really appreciated about this race was the sense of community involved in the whole process. Not only did we get to walk through the streets of our beloved hometown Bountiful, but all other race participants were nothing but polite and friendly to us, as many of them ended up passing us. In addition, complete strangers standing at mile markers or handing out water or just standing on street corners to watch cheered us on and offered encouragement along the way.

It was really a great way to spend a Thanksgiving morning, and I look forward to taking part again the future. The turkey, yams, pumpkin pie, etc. that followed were not too shabby, either.

That's a Deal Breaker!

What are your deal breakers?

It's a question that got me thinking a couple of nights ago when I watched the latest episode of one of my favorite TV shows, "Studio C," and saw the music video posted here.

A deal breaker, in this sense, then, is defined as "something that makes it impossible to continue dating someone else." At least, that's how I define it.

Some of the Angry White Loner's major deal breakers include:


 -Jerks

 -Inability to be honest with me

 -Clinginess/high maintenance

 -Major baggage

 -Publicly or privately insulting or disparaging members of my family

 -Wanting anything less than a temple marriage, and/or supporting principles or causes that go directly against Church doctrine and teachings

 -Refusal to support my interests or hobbies (sometimes, this involves merely giving me time and/or space to pursue them rather than participating in them)

 -Voting Democrat

 -Preferring cats over dogs

 -Preferring country music to "good" music

 -Not liking Star Wars

 -Not liking "Weird Al" Yankovic

Just kidding about those last few. Only partly.

*Do* Be Ridiculous!

Lately, I have finally been "getting with the times" and have slowly been coming into the 21st century. That's right, folks! I have jumped onto the "Downton Abbey" bandwagon and have been watching episodes of everyone's favorite TV show.

Because, you know, you never know when "Downton" will come up in a conversation with the cool kids. And you've gotta be prepared for when that happens.

Okay, so, if you hang out with some of the same people I hang out with, you know that's not really a necessity. At any rate, I have found "Downton Abbey" to be a decent show, as long as it's not featuring storylines involving such silly things as Ouija boards.

In an episode I watched last night, I found a line uttered by Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith), who is basically the comic relief in almost every scene in which she appears, to be particularly insightful. Her granddaughter having been called "ridiculous" by a detractor, she replies, "Life is a game in which the player must appear ridiculous."

I like this comment because I feel that being ridiculous is one of the things I do best---or, at least, it is when I am most comfortable being me.

Appearing ridiculous is certainly an important part of performing improv, something that I have been doing semiprofessionally for the past nine years now. It is not uncommon for me to have a conversation with friends who, according to their reckoning of time, have literally not had one free night to come and see perform in a show during that nine-year period and who have no idea what an improv show is like. Also, these people tend to believe that I have just made up the word improv (which is funny, because improv is all about making up things on the spot!).

"I basically make a nincompoop out of myself on stage," I tell them. To tell the truth, that may very well be the most accurate way to describe an Improvables show. There's really no other way to explain what we do each week.

Indeed, one of the ground rules of comedy is making the ridiculous to seem normal and the normal to seem ridiculous.

Off stage, however, it is also comforting to have family members and good friends with whom I can feel comfortable by being my ridiculous self. In dating, I have found that I have enjoyed myself most when I have found others who can be their silly selves along with me.

At their house, my parents have a collection of home video tapes of my siblings and me acting silly in our younger years. Even though my initial attempts at both acting and filmmaking are a somewhat of a mixed bag as I look back on them today with some degree of embarrassment, there are many good memories associated with those movies, as well.

Don't ask me if you can watch them, though. They're just one accidental arson incident away from being destroyed and lost to the world forever.

Sports Rivalries and the Rameumptom

Once again, folks, it's time for Holy Week.

Or, to describe it more accurately, it's the time of the year when even 50- and 60-year-old men act like bratty teenagers and get into "my dad can beat up your dad" chest-thumping shouting matches with each other over something as trivial as a sporting event.

For those who don't live in Utah or who are not familiar with the phrase, the term Holy Week refers to the seven days leading up to the annual BYU vs. University of Utah football game, which culminates in (usually) a grueling and hard-fought grudge match that leaves the winning team with a great sense of pride and bragging rights and an "in-your-face" smugness and the losing team with a sense of embarrassment and shame that lingers for the next 365 or 366 days. Or longer.

It's all really very silly. It tends to turn otherwise sensible, decent, and good people into raving lunatics and jerks. It can ruin friendships. The rules of good sportsmanship are completely forgotten. And the silliest thing about it all, at least as far as I see it, is that neither team's fans have any control whatsoever over the outcome of the game.

The sore winner's bragging can basically be summed up this way: "The team that I root for beat the team that you root for, and even though neither you nor I have any impact on the result of the game, my association with said winning team makes me, as a result, better than you. It's even better if my team beats yours in a humiliating fashion. In order for me to be happy, we win, and you lose."

The sore loser, meanwhile, finds excuses for his or her team's loss ("it was the referees' fault" or "we had an inexperienced quarterback this year," for example) and berates or makes vulgar gestures toward the other team's fans. He/she will never, ever utter the words: "The better team won today. We will do better next year."

It's most definitely a guy thing, but, over the years, I have seen more than a few females get in on the hype, too. And, of course, it happens on both sides—both those who bleed blue and those who bleed red.

Holy Week reminds me of Chapter 31 in the Book of Alma, in which Alma, Aaron, Ammon, and a few others head out on a mission to Antionum to reclaim the apostate Zoramites and find them praying on top of something called the Rameumptom, which is translated as "the holy stand" (Alma 31:21).

Alma discovers the Zoramites praying: "We believe thou has elected us to be thy holy children . . . and thou hast elected us that we shall be saved, whilst all around us are elected to be cast by thy wrath down to hell; for the which holiness, O God, we thank thee; and we also thank thee that thou hast elected us, that we may not be led away after the foolish traditions of our brethren" (Alma 31:16-17).

Fortunately, the gospel is not "win-lose" but "win-win." We are exalted only by humbling ourselves and by helping those around us to be better, just as we try to improve ourselves day by day. In the words of U2 and Bono: "If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel."

It's okay to love your team and to want them to do well and win. I grew up in a sports-loving family, along with sports-loving parents and four sports-loving brothers who played basketball, football, soccer, softball, and about every other team sport (and a sister who came around when she met her sports-loving husband), and I've known no other way of life. I love it when my teams win and feel bad with them when they lose.

It's also possible to be an enthusiastic sports fan without climbing up on the Rameumptom—in other words, without being a jerk about it.

Road Trip Music, Past and Present

Earlier this week, many of the members of the Angry White Loner's clan, including the Angry White Parents, the Angry White Siblings, and the AWL himself, made our annual August pilgrimage down to southern Utah to attend the Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City. It's a tradition that we've had for several years now and one that Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof would sing an epic song about. 'Cause it's all about acting and theater and musicals and getting more cultured and all of that good stuff.

Occasionally, we will even catch a play written by William Shakespeare himself. Which stands to reason, as he is the namesake for the whole shebang in the first place.

An important part of road trips such as these, or of any road trip, really, is the music that we listen to in the car along the way.

As the AWSs and I were growing up, the music for these road trips was always the AWPs' choosing. We were forced to listen to things like Olivia Newton-John (from her pre-"Physical" and pre-Grease country music days), Roger Whittaker, the Kingston Trio, and an assortment of folk music from the '60s, among other choices.

The siblings and I also delivered a paper route growing up, and, naturally, the AWPs were also in charge of picking the radio station that we listened to in the car. If it wasn't BBC news, then it was usually FM100, which had a "soft sounds" format in those days before it became all modern and hip like it is now. And before they added the "point-three" to the station's jingle. As a result, we became all-too-familiar with such timeless hitmakers as England Dan and John Ford Coley, Dan Fogelberg, the Carpenters, and so forth.

If you haven't heard of most or any of these artists, then you're not alone. The AWPs certainly have had some eclectic tastes in music over the years.

Fast forward to this week's road trip, during which the he-who-shall-not-be-named sibling I carpooled with chose to play country music for four consecutive hours on the road. Don't get me wrong; I don't mind country music if it is taken in small doses. Four straight hours of country music, though, and I would have been more than happy to roll down my window and jump head-first under a semi truck traveling in the next lane.

Thank goodness I brought my iPod with me. I shuffled through my playlists and discovered that - what do you know? - I have a lot of songs on that iPod that are performed by none other than Olivia Newton-John, England Dan and John Ford Coley, the Carpenters, etc.

Of course, I have other tastes. The AWP won't be joining me at a "Weird Al" concert anytime soon. I guess the prevailing thought is that . . . well, history tends to repeat itself.

Or, like the Manchurian Candidate, I have been brainwashed.

Love Poetry for Dummies: "The Fifth-of-July Blues"

"The Fifth-of-July Blues"

The summer is for barbecuing,
And this one's no exception.
Extended friends and family gather,
And all is near perfection.

Soccer game on the lawn out back,
As the boys chase a chicken around;
But the party isn't over yet
As the sun goes down.

The sky lights up brightly
In a wondrous glow;
People in blankets and chairs
Sit back to enjoy the show.

Someone runs out to the circle
And lights up another cone;
Dozens of people surround me,
and yet I am all alone.

I am not a smart man,
But I know this much is true:
The only thing missing from my yesterday
. . . was you.

The Good Old Days

One of my favorite TV shows, "The Office," came to an end last week after nine seasons on the air. During the last few episodes, many of the storylines of the Dunder Mifflin employees were wrapped up - some more satisfactorily than others. One of the best parts was a moment of epiphany for Andy "The 'Nard Dog" Bernard.

Toward the end of the series, Andy abruptly quits his job at the office to pursue a career in the entertainment industry, trying out for acting roles and an "American Idol"-like singing competition and hoping to become a famous celebrity. A year later, after his new career doesn't pan out the way he has planned, he returns to Scranton to be interviewed one final time by the documentary crew. It is only then that he realizes that his experience working in the office has made him a celebrity after all and that he has enjoyed some truly unforgettable moments while working there.

"I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them," he says.

It is a thought-provoking statement, and it got me to thinking about my own "good old days." Certainly, there are many of them in the past, whether they were spent with family, friends, at school, in the neighborhoods where I grew up in Utah, in my junior high years in Puerto Rico, in the mission field in Peru, with the good people of my singles ward, theatrical events, and so forth.

Just this week, I was invited to attend my upcoming high school reunion - one of those moments that some look forward to with great anticipation and others dread like a prostate exam. Nevertheless, it's one of those opportunities to revisit some of our collective good old days.

Certainly, there's nothing wrong with reminiscing about the good old days. We can learn a lot about where we are and where we're going by doing so. But there can be a danger in it, too, if we believe that things will never be that good again or that our best days are far behind us.

There are also those who live only for the future, believing that "I'll be happy when I have a boy/girlfriend," "I'll be happy when I'm married," "I'll be happy when I have kids," "I'll be happy when I have a better job," "I'll be happy when this bunion goes away," or whatever it may be. In a 2008 general conference address, President Thomas S. Monson quoted Professor Harold Hill from The Music Man: "You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you've collected a lot of empty yesterdays." Pres. Monson went on to say, "There is no tomorrow to remember if we don't do something today."

After all, the present moment is really all we've got. I'm fortunate to have a lot of good things going on in the present, as well as goals I'm working on and items on my "Bucket List" I still want to cross off, to boot.

For now, though, I hope to live in the present as much as I can. I hope to make many new memories with family, friends, troupe members, co-workers, etc.

If possible, I even hope to make it through my class reunion.

Shuffling Off the Mortal Coil

For those who have followed my blogging through my older blog, Disconcertingly Choppy - and, let's face it, that may be as many as a dozen people - as well as those who know my family and extended family personally, then you may remember that my nine-year-old niece McKenna got a hamster, which she named Hammy, for Christmas. She was very excited about getting Hammy as a pet and has taken good care of him in the four months since that time. Around the house, it was not unusual to see Hammy rolling around in his hamster ball or just being held and cared for in McKenna's hands.

Well, a couple of days ago, Hammy left us. Someone, and I won't say whom, squeezed Hammy a little too tightly, and in an instant he became Peruvian food. (I've tried hamster twice - both times in Peru, in those "when in Rome" situations - and, incidentally, and it tastes like chicken. I don't recommend it.) McKenna, surprisingly, wasn't upset at the person who did this (accidentally, I might add), but was she was rather grief stricken by it and was somewhat inconsolable throughout the day.

Rather than have the traditional family home evening that night, we instead held a graveside service for Hammy, who was laid to rest in the backyard. McKenna talked about what a great pet Hammy had been, and we all bowed our heads in a moment of silence. As you may recall, this was on the same day as the explosions at the Boston marathon, and feelings were tender all around.

A wise person once said something along the lines of: "Death is an important tool. It teaches us to tell each other that we love each other."

I'm paraphrasing here, but I appreciate the sentiment. When tragedy strikes, and it will affect us all to one degree or another, it's often the only thing we can do. I believe it applies to all instances when we're affected by death - be it terrorism that takes human lives untimely, or unintentionally enthusiastic hugs, or everything else between and beyond.

And so, my friends, let me take advantage of this opportunity to tell you that I love you, collectively and individually. I realize that a blog is not the ideal means for doing this, so take it for whatever you may think it's worth. I'm not great at expressing it vocally, as my "love language" tends to be either spending quality time or performing acts of service, but please know that I am truly grateful for the relationships I feel the Lord has blessed me with in my life, be they family, friends, co-workers, or even acquaintances who may yet become lifelong friends.

Hammy would want it that way.

Lowered Expectations?

The relatively new film The Perks of Being a Wallflower arrived in the mail yesterday from Netflix. I watched it with great interest.

Don't worry, folks. This isn't going to be another movie review, as the AWL has already posted a couple of those lately. I merely wanted to focus on one particular thought-provoking scene from the film.

The main character, Charlie, is a high school student who develops a major crush on Sam, one of his classmates. (Sam, by the way, is played by Emma Watson in one of her first post-Harry Potter roles.) The only problem, however, is that Sam is dating someone who's not really a very good person for her (or for anyone else), and she seems to be somewhat oblivious to the fact that Charlie likes her, much to his frustration. He's fretting over this fact when he asks his English teacher, Mr. Anderson---one of the few adults he feels he can talk to---about it.

"Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?" he wonders.

"We accept the love we think we deserve," comes the reply.

It's a very profound response to a question that, I think, we all wonder about at times. It also leads me to a follow-up question: "Why do people, then, feel like they deserve so little or that they don't deserve something better?"

The answer (or answers), I believe, is not an easy one, because people are so different by nature. Some people, for example, choose to date certain other people because they are scared of being alone and fear that they will not meet anyone else who will want to be with them, or perhaps they are tired of waiting around for someone who meets those standards. Consequently, someone who falls below what these people really want is better than no one at all. I call this the "Good Enough for Now" syndrome, if I can borrow the title of a "Weird Al" Yankovic song that pretty well reflects this very idea. (If you haven't heard it, download it from iTunes - now! You won't be sorry.)

Others are attracted to a person not necessarily by the person him/herself but by something else that comes with that person, such as good looks, money, a nice car, etc. Don't get me wrong; there's nothing wrong with any of these things. They are all things I'm looking for in a mate. But when there's no personality to go with them, or the person is not someone who can carry on a conversation, I think, there will be problems.

Don't even get me started on the phenomenon of women who fall in love with convicted murderers---yes, convicted murderers---because they believe they are the only ones who "understand" them or they can "change" them.

Single men out there: Let the thought that there are women who are in love with convicted murderers, and not you, lull you to sleep tonight. (Yes, I realize that it goes both ways, too. Probably.)

I recently had a conversation with a close family member in which the subject of dating happened to come up and also the fact that I am now the lone, remaining single member of my siblings. (By the way, thanks for reminding me about that, family member.) This person pointed out that there had been several girls interested in me over the years, and I had certainly had my "chances." While I recognized that this was, technically, true, I was quick to point out that had I gone ahead with any of the relationships in which I was the one to break things off, I would have ended up being miserable. The same goes, I'm sure, for those relationships in which the girl was the one to break things off.

That's at least one thing I have on my conscience: I did not let go of anyone I shouldn't have let go of. Going forward in the present and future, that idea will be my guide, and I certainly don't want a single female to "settle" for me, either.

No one should ever have to. I want to find someone who not only is a good person at heart but who also makes me want to be a better person than I now am (not hard to do, I freely admit), who makes me count down the days and the hours when she is away, and who makes me ache at the thought of losing her. I would hope that she would feel the same way about me.

As children of God, we all deserve so much. And if we, as Latter-day Saints, truly believe in eternal relationships and marriage, then eternity is a long time to pass with someone we have merely "settled" for. Conversely, it will be paradise, indeed, with someone we truly love and cherish along for the ride.