All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Primary

At week #5 on the Island of Misfit Toys, we heard the counselors in the new bishopric speak. The bishop himself did not speak as he was out of town, visiting grandkids.

One of the bishopric members spoke on the theme "All I Really Need to Know I Learned on the Farm," based on the Robert Fulghum book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Both talks were great and got me to thinking, with all due to respect to both counselors and Mr. Fulghum, of a list of my own:

All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Primary.

1. Nobody cares if you can't sing well; join in anyway. And if a song has actions that accompany it, such as "Popcorn Popping," you better darn well do them.

2. Speaking of which, you won't always sing soprano. Enjoy it while it lasts.

3. Be quiet and polite when others speak, just as you hope others will give you the same respect when you speak.

4. Respect and listen to your teacher. That may be your calling someday.

5. Speaking of which, be afraid of the Blazer B boys. Be very afraid. It's strange how karma works.

6. Even so, some bratty or misbehaving kids turn out to be fantastic, well-behaved adults. And vice versa.

7. Speaking of which, some girls I once thought of as "plain" grew up to be downright foxy. Just as flowers and trees need time to grow and blossom, so do people.

8. Drawing with crayons is still one of the best hobbies you can have in life.

9. Mom wrote me some pretty darn good talks.

10. Don't do rotten things to your friends just to fit in with "the crowd."

11. People make mistakes. Jesus taught us to love them anyway.

12. Pioneer children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked, and walked . . .

13. Sharing time is fun.

14. There is a time to sing and to play, and there is also a time to be reverent.

15. Say please and thank you often.

16. "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" is pretty good exercise.

17. I am a child of God.

The Patience of Sarah

Week #3 on the Island of Misfit Toys, aka the new mid-singles ward, went very well yesterday. I got to help put the cups in the sacrament trays and then fill them up with water, which is something I hadn't done for years. Sacrament meeting itself was also good, as we had a chance to listen to three of the four wives of the new bishopric (one, regrettably, was home sick and couldn't be there) speak to us.

As a theme, they chose inspiring women of the Old Testament, profiling such people as Eve, Miriam, and Esther. All great choices.

For some reason, however, I found myself thinking a lot about Sarah, née Sarai, aka Abraham's wife, throughout the day. You know, the woman who had to wait until age 90 to have a child? This was partly due to the fact that I am currently reading Orson Scott Card's biography of Sarah.

The other part? Well, being a member of a ward in which there are several women who have not yet married, as well as some who are divorced and perhaps even a few who are widowed, and all are age 31 or older—most of who (I can only surmise at this point) have not yet had the opportunity to experience the blessing of motherhood—you don't have to be a genius to figure out the significance of Sarah's story.

As I have been reading Card's book, I grow only more impressed with Sarah's faith and with the enormous amount of patience she must have developed over the course of that 90-year wait for a promised blessing to be fulfilled.

I also realize that there were some sitting in my midst yesterday who, for one reason or another, will not get to experience that blessing during this lifetime. It's hard to see with our natural eyes, for the present, why things like this happen.

Or, rather, in this instance, don't happen. At least, not yet.

I don't pretend to know the answers. I don't even know a small percentage of the answers. But what I do know of a surety is that, in the end, all will be made right for those who, like Sarah, faithfully strive to keep their covenants and who seek the blessings available to all those who, by birth or by adoption, belong to the house of Abraham.

It's a pretty great family to belong to. And we have a pretty, great, pretty great mother.

Speaking of which, I'm glad I also had the opportunity to give my own earthly mother a hug yesterday and to tell her I love her and that I'm grateful for all of the many, many, many things that she has done for me. I also realize that not everyone had that opportunity, either.

And Now, a Word from Our Sponsor . . .

And now, a word from our sponsor . . .

Me.

The Angry White Loner has received more feedback on this blog over the past month than he has in all of the previous 10 months combined. Most of it has been positive, while some it has not. Getting negative feedback, though, is not necessarily a bad thing. Through it all, he has learned who has really had his best interests at heart and who has been willing to offer constructive, rather than destructive, criticism. After all, true friends tell you what you need to hear rather than what you want to hear.

At times, I have even considered whether it is really worth it to continue this blog. Or to express my opinions in a public forum at all. Every time I have done so lately, it seemed like three or four people were right there to burn me at the stake about one little thing or another.

One thought, however, prevails: Having an opinion is a good thing.

Certainly not if that opinion is contentious, hateful, overbearing, or rude, of course. One can express opinions and can disagree politely while still being respectful and tolerant of opposing viewpoints.

People who don't really have any opinions, well, are much like the sheep in George Orwell's Animal Farm, sitting around and waiting for someone to tell them what to think and/or for a bandwagon to jump on, because, hey, it's hip and trendy, and everyone else is doing it, and there's a catchy jingle involved. Before long, they're chanting, "Yes we can! Yes we can!" And we all know what a complete disaster became of that.

Sorry. I meant, of course, "Four legs good, two legs bad! Four legs good, two legs bad!"

I just finished reading David McCullough's excellent book 1776, and I was reminded, once again, that some of the best blood that has ever been spilt in this land came from George Washington and his Continental Army. They achieved something truly miraculous, while being outmanned and outgunned, in besting the British during the Revolutionary War. Thanks to them, we have a free land and a Constitution, which includes the First Amendment, granting us all the right to the freedom of speech, among other rights.

One of my favorite classes in college was all about the freedom of the press as it is found in the First Amendment. To this day, it remains among the best education I have ever received.

For now, I'm going to keep on writing and making observations. I will not be perfect in this process. I certainly am not anywhere near smart enough to be right all of the time. I can write only from my point-of-view and not another's. If anything I post leads to a discussion, well, that is most likely a good thing. I will also try to do so "with Malice toward none, with charity for all," as Abraham Lincoln said so wisely in his second inaugural address in 1865. I will also try to focus on lighter topics more frequently.

If a friend has constructive criticism for me, I will listen to it. If that criticism is destructive, well . . . that person was probably not a good friend to begin with. If a friend chooses that this blog is not worth his/her time, well, that is an option, of course, and is perfectly fine, as well.

I will accept compliments, too. And plates of brownies.

Spaghetti Uh-Oh

Who among you out there doesn't enjoy a good meal of SpaghettiOs?

*long pause*

To those of you who just raised your hands: We're no longer friends.

Just kidding. Sort of.

SpaghettiOs have been one of my favorite foods for as long as I can remember. They remain so to this very day, and, as I am a bachelor, they are also one of the few foods I can actually prepare on my own without risking danger of burning down the house. Sure, all it takes just a bowl and the push of a button on a microwave, but who's keeping score?

The other day, I enjoyed just such a meal for dinner. When I finished eating, however, I took a look at the empty SpaghettiOs can and read the expiration date: August 2009!

For those of you keeping score at home, that's three-and-a-half years ago.

Immediately, a few questions popped into my mind: (1) How did a can with such an expiration date end up among my groceries? (2) They tasted just fine . . . or did they? *stomach gurgles* (3) How long befBLEARARAGHGHGGHGHGH!!!

The moral of the story: It pays to read the labels on your food.

Also, note to self: Sign up for that community cooking class at the high school.