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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Success

Week #10 on the Island of Misfit Toys: The wife of one of the counselors in our bishopric taught today's combined, fifth-Sunday lesson. Because, as we've all been hearing repeatedly for the past week, women have no real authority to teach and don't have a voice, nor can they really do anything at all significant in the Church.

No, seriously, I'm not going to get into that topic today.

This was an inspired lesson about "success" and the choices/behaviors/habits that will lead us to real, lasting success.

She began her lesson by passing out pieces of blank paper and asking us to write down specific actions or goals that would lead us to success. I began rather tongue-in-cheekily, jotting down a list that included:

- Getting 100 likes on a Facebook status

- The Jazz making a smart draft pick at #5

- USA winning the men's World Cup, or at very least not getting terribly, embarrassingly beaten by Belgium Tuesday

- Burning down the South and then doing baptisms for the dead

- Eating bacon

- Climbing atop the Rameumptom to thump your chest, and then shouting out to the world exactly why you and your kin and your entourage are better than everyone else. Use good grammar, and give specific examples.

- Having muscles and a jeep. Or a Mini Cooper. I won't judge.

- A six-figure salary. Or more!

- Owning your own mansion, fully staffed with a butler, maid, masseuse, personal trainer, jester, llamas, and other servants/pets (what's the difference, really?) you can apply the strap to mercilessly whenever you feel like it.

 - Beating everyone else at Mario Kart

By the world's standards, that's a pretty good list. Well, the world's standards, as usual, are wrong.

I also wrote a list of "real" reasons, which included:

- Keeping the commandments

- Being Christlike

 - Building up, rather than tearing down, others. True success is a win-win proposition whereas, according to the world, you must lose and I must win in order to be successful.

- Peace of conscience/mind

- Perspective

- Serving others

- Family

- Saying "please" and "thank you." A lot. Because some of the most miserable people I know are also some of the most ungrateful.

- Friends/being a friend, without regard to another's creed, religion, beliefs, sexual orientation, etc.

- Finding joy in the journey

- Magnifying my talents/callings

- Tender mercies of the Lord

I like the second list better. Also, I put "eating bacon" over on the second list.

Ex-Women: Days of Future Past

Some of my siblings and I went to a concert a couple of weeks ago, enjoying the music and new songs of a favorite band of ours that had just reunited for a new album and was touring again for the first time in seven years. One of the siblings' wives had traveled out of town unexpectedly the day before, so I got to attend in her place.

Not that I'm complaining about that. 'Cause I'm not.

Before introducing one of the songs, one of the band members asked those in the audience if they had ever dated a horrible or terrible person. Several hands went up, while others cheered or hollered. He then explained that the next song the band would play was taken from his "Bitter Box," and, though he had never dated someone he would call a "bad" person, the "Bitter Box" of music is his way of dealing with break-ups and relationships that did not go according to plan.

I really like the concept of the "Bitter Box." I'm not an Angry White Loner for no reason, after all.

At the same time, I also do not endorse bitterness as a way of life. Being "bitter," at times, is a normal, albeit "Natural Man," emotion, I think. I understand that. I have my own "Bitter Box" cache of music to help me get through break-ups—not as a means of pointing fingers or assigning blame to myself nor to anyone else but rather as a means of giving myself a few days—no more than a week at most—to sulk, to forgive, to heal, and then to "climb back on the horse" and begin dating again.

Like the writer/singer of that song, I can also claim that I have never dated a "bad" person, let alone a horrible or terrible person. In addition, I hope that no one who has dated me would ever think of me as a "bad" person, either, though I may have unwittingly given them a reason to do so. I'm a work in progress, and I make mistakes. Daily.

I've dated only good people who have made mistakes, too—and who are not at all "bad" but are, rather, "different." I've come to see a break-up as not a bad thing but as a good, necessary thing, though it sometimes is a pill that is nastier than cod liver oil to swallow. Nevertheless, I can choose to look at my dating experiences with bitterness, or I can choose to look at them as a learning experience, in which I have gained valuable insight into my own behavior, as well as lessons about women that will help me be better in my present and future opportunities.

Given the choice, I choose the latter.

Warts and All

Week #4 on the Island of Misfit Toys was also our first high council Sunday as a ward.

The high councilman who spoke delivered a very interesting message, I must say. Included among his thoughts—and I'm paraphrasing here because I wasn't smart enough to write down his exact words when he said them—was the idea that the adversary tries to make us "strive for perfection rather than self-improvement."

I took statement that to mean something to akin a recent general conference address by Elder Dallin H. Oaks, in which he spoke about things that are "good,  better, and best." Ultimately, of course, perfection is our goal, though for many of us, that's thousands of years in the future. In my case, we may be talking five or six digits. Or more.

However, self-improvement is something that is attainable in this lifetime—whether it be on a daily, weekly, monthly, or yearly basis. Self-improvement is a "good" or even a "better" goal that will, ultimately, take us to the "best" goal, which is that of perfection. We have to start with self-improvement and keep working at it throughout this lifetime before we can even begin to consider moving on to attaining something like perfection.

Still with me, Mouseketeers?

This concept, I believe, is also directly relatable to dating. So many of us may be looking for the "perfect" man or woman rather than one who is a genuinely good, dedicated, faithful Latter-day Saint who has flaws and challenges, warts and all, yet who also has goals and is striving to improve him/herself at all times.

It's something that affects both the women and the men. For each woman who wants a Captain Moroni or a Nephi, there's a man who wants a Rebekah or Rachel (whom Jacob served 14 years for because he was that much in love with her) or any number of exemplary women from the past or the present.

Were I to ever find the "perfect" woman, why would she want to date me? I am not the perfect man. "Intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence," and all of that, you know?

This is also not to say that it is a good idea to, then, "settle" for someone who does not inspire you to be better, who has no goals or ambitions, who has a nice-looking car and muscles but can't carry on a conversation with you for more than two minutes, nor for someone who sees how far he/she is from perfection and has given up trying altogether. Nor for jerks. Especially not jerks.

It's just to say that there are no perfect men nor women from which to choose in the dating pool.

But perfection? That is for another day and another time. Also, it's for Costco cheesecake.

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.

Love Poetry for Dummies: "Star Gazers"

Star Gazers

Standing in the light of a blood-red moon,
Then bathed by a meteor shower;
It's way too late to be up on a weeknight,
But who's really minding the hour?

I can't tell one star from the next;
Is that dipper big or little?
I don't know.
But one thing stands apart in my mind:
The  skies above put on a pretty great show.

There are bodies celestial, and bodies terrestrial,
Paul once wrote very elegantly.
But the only celestial body that matters right now
Is the one lying here next to me.

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.

Forgiveness and Stuff

Singles' Awareness Day came and went, like it does each year, yesterday. You may have heard of this so-called "holiday" at one point or another.

Rather than sitting alone in the darkness at home, eating only the chocolate part right out of multiple boxes of Neapolitan ice cream and sobbing uncontrollably while watching Moulin Rouge! for the 27th time, however, I decided to take a different approach to Valentine's Day this year. I didn't plan on it when the day dawned, but my friend Tyler's Facebook status inspired me to look at things with a new point-of-view as I faced the day.

He posted the following:

"This Valentine's day, instead of celebrating romantic love, I'm going to celebrate forgiveness love. My heart has reached critical mass with bitterness and resentment for all those who have wronged me, all the girls who left me to 'find' themselves or weren't entertained enough or who wouldn't give me the time of day, all the guys who ditched me for their other friends or girlfriends or lied to me, and the family members who weren't there when I needed them. This day I will let forgiveness cleanse my heart so that I may start anew and love without the weeds of the past stifling the flowers of the future. Happy Valentine's Day!"

I have such respect for this unflinchingly honest statement. It recognizes that bad things happen but that they don't need to hold us back or to affect how we interact with others in the future. It encompasses so many worthy, rather than wasteful and unproductive, uses of my time that I don't know where to start. The Angry White Loner couldn't have said it better himself.

I've been where he has been, even recently, but I want to be where forgiveness, time, and experience will and can lead me. Just as I need forgiveness for the many things I do wrong, I, of course, need to forgive others.

It's truly an amazing concept. It's almost like I read it in the scriptures once somewhere.

This also doesn't mean that the AWL won't still be bewildered by some of the things the opposite sex does or doesn't do. (And he's sure that the feeling is mutual.) He will still post about these things from time to time, but it will be done in an effort to decompress and to understand what makes them tick. If family members or friends have input or insights that will help him understand things better going forward, they are certainly welcome to give them.

So, Happy (Belated) Valentine's Day, you wonderful old Building and Loan! Happy Valentine's Day, you twitterpated couples who get all gooey and post photos of flowers delivered and of yourselves hugging and squeezing each other and do more than your share of giving the rest of us diabetes! Perhaps most of all, Happy Valentine's Day, future significant other(s)!

When Darkness Falls

"And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
One day they're here;
Next day they're gone."
 -Don Henley, "New York Minute"

A friend of mine started her own blog this week. I'm certainly interested in following friends' blogs, especially those who follow mine. I read through the first post and, in doing so, I learned a lot more about this friend that, unfortunately, I did not know before.

Among the facts I picked up were that, like me, she lives with depression. Unlike me, she attempted to take her own life not that long ago.

What would ever make a person want to do such thing? I used to wonder—a number of years ago. I'm sure it's a thought many of you may have asked yourselves at one time or another. If you've never been chemically depressed yourself, it's certainly an understandable query.

That was before my own battle began. And when I learned exactly what depression could do to me or to anyone else, I learned several hard, painful lessons, some of which took me years to learn. Others, I am still in the process of learning.

It certainly affected a good friend of mine, who not only suffered with depression but also with issues of anger and I-don't-know-what else. The thing is, he suffered in silence, never opening up nor uttering a word about his struggles. At least, not to me, he didn't. One summer day, the last time I saw him, he and I went to see a blockbuster movie together (the title of which is not important, but it rhymes with Revenge of the Sith). A few short weeks later, he was featured in the top story on that night's newscast.

He had shown up at his ex-wife's house and, when she opened the door, he shot her at point-blank range, killing her instantly.

Depression also, sadly, runs in the family of a handful of other friends of mine—all brothers in the same clan. One spring day, our circle of friends was informed that one of these boys had taken his own life. A mere three years later, his brother, likewise, committed suicide, as well.

I attended two separate funerals for this family over a three-year span. Both for the same reason.

So, what have these experiences taught you? you ask?

Many things, to be sure. I don't have all nor even most of the answers, but I have learned that everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle of one sort or another. Many, like my three aforementioned friends, suffer in silence or perhaps feel there is no one around who will understand what demons they are battling. What I do know is that kindness is always a good choice. I don't always choose that route, but when I do, it is always a good option.

Perhaps it's something I need to talk or blog about more. If there are any friends or acquaintances reading this who are depressed or have been depressed at one time or another, please count me among those whom you can talk to about it. If my own struggle has taught me anything, it's that help and healing are available, and though times may be dark, there is always a way to see things through. If I can help out anyone in any small (or big) way, then all of the difficult things I've been through won't have been suffered in vain and I will have learned the lesson(s) I was supposed to learn. If it's not me, then talk to someone about it—a parent, friend, bishop, or someone else in your circle of trust.

To those who don't know what it feels like to be depressed, just know that it is not imagined and is very real, and it happens to people you know—to family members, neighbors, friends, people in your ward, co-workers, etc. If you don't understand it, then at least err on the side of caution and believe people when they tell you or show that they are having a hard time.

Doctrine and Covenants 45:31 reads: "And there shall be men standing in that generation, that shall not pass until they shall see an overflowing scourge; for a desolating sickness shall cover the land."

I do not know what this scripture means, per se, and I have not heard any General Authority speak directly on it. It may refer to the spread of some sort of illness or to indifference, pride, anger, any number of addictions—even to some kind of plague yet to come. But when I read it, it reminds me directly of depression. It certainly is a scourge and a sickness to the millions who live with it.

Right now, when the days are very short in length, is a particularly vulnerable time for people who are depressed and/or dealing with S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder). From personal experience, I know that that is also a very real thing. It can truly make some people feel as dark, despondent, and gloomy inside as the sky is outside.

They're having a tough time right now. Love them anyway.

Everything Old Is New Again

The Angry White Loner's last post generated several more views than any other post he had previously made to that point. According to the view count, this particular post actually made it into triple digits, which is a rare thing for the AWL but still means more viewers than who, on average, tune into CNN or MSNBC programming.

In addition, I've received a lot of feedback about the post in my day-to-day conversations and on social media sites like Facebook. Most of it has been positive and civil, even from people who have disagreed with me, while some of it was less than civil and, unfortunately, has led to further debate and discussion.

In summary, if I may paraphrase Vizzini's assertion from The Princess Bride, the Three Classic Blunders must now be:

1) Never get involved in a land war in Asia.

2) Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.

3) Never get into a debate about religion or politics on an Internet discussion board.

That doesn't mean I intend to stop standing up for the things I believe in, nor does it mean I will stick my head in the sand like an ostrich when it comes to current events. But it does mean that I will try harder to both avoid casting "pearls before swine" and to avoid contention, because I think it's possible to do so in the process. With the New Year right around the corner, it's a resolution I am making and will try my darndest to stick to in 2014.

One overarching thought has occurred to me through it all, and it is simply this: Everything old is new again.

As a wise friend reminded me that, since the beginning of time and throughout the scriptures, people have ridiculed and discarded the counsel of the prophets of God in every dispensation of time, as well as in our own. That hasn't changed and, apparently, won't change anytime soon. It has happened before, and it shouldn't surprise us that it is happening again.

One less-than-courteous poster asked me bluntly, "Who are you to impose your religious dogma on other people and to deny them their Constitutional rights?" (There is no such "right" as gay marriage in the Constitution, but that is a discussion for another day, I suppose.) I must admit that it reminded me of King Noah responding to Abinadi's sermon in Mosiah 11:27:

"Who is Abinadi, that I and my people should be judged of him, or who is the Lord, that shall bring upon my people such great affliction?"

The flip side? Though the prophets have always been ridiculed and their counsel discarded, their words have always been fulfilled, and those who have ridiculed them and discarded their counsel have been destroyed, whether spiritually, morally, or physically.

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.

Love Poetry for Dummies: "Rope Burns"

"Rope Burns"

I held on very tightly—
Perhaps a little too tightly—
And it may been what smothered the flame.
Now there are just rope burns
And my tired, bleeding palms
And only myself to blame.

I set you free
And hoped for you return,
But in the end, that wasn't the case.
Instead of a boomerang,
You flew off like a balloon,
For all I know, you've gone into space.

Is this what He meant
When He said that He wanted
To gather his children like chickens—
Safe, secure in His wings?
But you wouldn't have it;
Leaving me with the slim pickings.

You're flying high now,
But what goes up must come down;
And someday you'll come back to Earth.
You may land lightly like a butterfly
Or crash and burn like Icarus
It's all the same to me—
For what it's worth.

Here, Phishy, Phishy

The other day, a honey of a check arrived in the mail:

If you can read the dollar amount on my oh-so-eloquently taken photo, that's $2,900. For about five seconds, I felt I had hit the jackpot.

Then, reality and/or common sense quickly began to set in.

The check was mailed to me partly due to my own fault, or lack of homework on the subject, or call it what you will. I have been doing a good deal of job hunting lately, in attempt to find something additional to my regular day job or what-have-you. A few days prior, I answered an ad to inquire about becoming a "secret" shopper, and shortly thereafter, the aforementioned check arrived in my mailbox, looking legitimate in its overnight mail envelope and everything.

After conducting a good deal of research online,  Googling information on the company behind it all and so forth, I learned that I had been suckered, like so many Home Shopping Network subscribers, into a scam. The idea is that these so-called "secret" shoppers deposit these checks into their bank accounts to then transfer most of the money, while retaining a percentage of the funds as payment, to then test the customer service and timeliness and so forth behind a couple of money-transferring businesses.

Sounds like a pretty sweet deal, right? The only problem is that these checks are fake/forged, and the person who thinks he/she is doing secret shopping actually is stuck with exorbitant fees when the check later bounces.

Suffice me to say that I wrote back to this company, asking them to remove my name and information from their database. The check ended up as confetti and in my wastebasket.

Generally speaking, I believe in trusting others and in giving them the benefit of the doubt. But, at the same time, we live in a world in which we must be "wise as serpents" and yet "harmless as doves" (Matthew 10:16).

If something appears to good to be true, it most likely is. That principle certainly applies to those who would be "phishers" of men.

Black Holes and Vacuum Cleaners

Over time, I've come to realize the sad truth that some people are, simply put, like black holes and vacuum cleaners.

They just plain suck.

The term suck, in this sense, refers to people who, to paraphrase Bruno Mars, "take, take, take it all but (they) never give." Whatever their motivations may be, they take your time, emotions, goodwill, compliments, money, possessions, etc. and they offer none of their own in return.

Like the lady who, a few years ago, ran past a Yield sign, entered a roundabout I was already in, and collided with my car, they will not only refuse to accept blame for the trouble (in this case, car accidents) they create; they will then turn around and accuse you of being the person who instigated the whole mess.

People who suck are something unfortunately encountered among some supposed friendships. As a result, their behavior tends to be something of a friendship killer. It's also an unfortunate result of some dating experiences - and I think we've all been there at one point or another.

In dating, they are the people who string you along and use you for any number of what amount to be selfish purposes. Dating them is like pumping quarters into a slot machine for hours on end; all the while you dream of some kind of reward or result, but you get bubkes back and end up bankrupt emotionally.

I bring this all up as a result of a conversation I had with a friend the other night. This friend is a mutual friend of someone I went on a few dates with not long ago, and I learned a few things that helped me to understand why this person completely flaked out what I thought was our potential relationship. In a nutshell, someone she had dated earlier, who had acted like an utter tool and whose behavior led to them breaking up, decided he was suddenly interested in her again and wanted to get back together with her. Therefore, even though I had behaved gentlemanly toward her and she had only nice things to say about me, I was dropped like a rock.

I felt, in a word, used. I doubt it was this person's intention to make me feel this way, but that was the effect nonetheless.

Of course, some very good advice was given on this subject 2,000 years ago. The Savior instructed us to "pray for them which despitefully use you" (Matthew 5:28). I know that statement applies in all relationships in which we're adversely affected by people who suck and that it's what I need to do in this case. There's no other sane way to move forward.

It also leads me to reflect whether I have unintentionally ever been a person who sucks, be it in dating or in any other relationship. The AWL has admitted before that he is a work in progress, and if this is the case, he begs for your forgiveness.

At the same time, it doesn't mean we need to keep people who suck around us. What did Nephi and his clan do when Laman and Lemuel had used up all of their opportunities to be good? He put a great deal of (physical) distance between himself and the Lamanites. Though they were his brothers and he still loved them, he could no longer stay around them, or he would perish. He even lived long enough to see wars with them during his lifetime.

Forgive? Absolutely. But forget? Well, that just leads to our being vacuumed up off of the carpet, like so many particles of dirt, again and again.