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.

God Is in the Details

Week #7 on the Island of Misfit Toys: The bishop gave his first talk involving "actual doctrine," to use his term for it. And it was unforgettable. It was, indeed, simply profound.

Like improv, you just had to be there.

I'm not one who normally takes notes during sacrament meeting, but this discourse was full of such insightful teachings that I ended up taking a few. His theme was a play on the old phrase "the devil is in the details," except he turned it around and told us that "God is in the details."

He talked about the fact that we all experience disappointment at times, and these moments are when we are inclined to just stay home, close the drapes, and not answer the door—either literally or metaphorically, or both. The key to overcoming these moments in our lives is serving others. He added his belief that God has already prepared other people to answer prayers that we haven't even prayed yet.

"No one was foreordained to fail or be wicked," he said. I didn't write down many things word-for-word, but that statement was one of them.

"Don't goof up your orbit," he added, stating that our personal orbits have caused us collectively to meet in this ward at this place and at this time, and that it is for a special purpose. He concluded with the idea that the star of Bethlehem didn't just appear in the sky on the night of Christ's birth but that Heavenly Father sent it on its path billions of years prior.

Granted, that last statement may be speculation or from the Book of the Bishop, but he got his point across well.

Island of Misfit Toys? Yep, sure feels that way. And there's no other place I'd rather be right now.

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.

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.

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.

The Meat Market

Recently, I chatted with an old friend whom I hadn't seen in some time. As part of our conversation, and in the middle of catching up with each other's lives, I mentioned that I have been participating in an over-30 singles' group for the past couple of years as one of the activities that has helped keep me busy since I had last seen her in our singles ward.

"I don't really like going to those things," was her response. "They're such meat markets!"

Statistically, my friend is not alone in her stance against going to these so-called "meat markets." I recently found out from one of the advisors at one of these aforementioned group activities that there are estimated to be more than 30,000 people in our age group in Davis County alone. Though that number includes inactive members, as well as, presumably, single parents with children who prevent them from participating and people who don't even know that our group exists, it nevertheless still amounts to literally thousands of other people out there somewhere.

In my time with this group, I haven't even met 1,000 new people, let alone 30,000. The number is more like a couple of hundred at most. Of that number, there are between 60 and 70 who, on average, attend our weekly institute classes.

I am certainly no math whiz, but I figure that it all amounts to about .2 percent, or one in 500, of the people who could conceivably belong to this group who actually attend on a regular basis.That's some pretty slim pickings. It's a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy in that the majority, like my friend, view it as a meat market, too, and therefore decide it is not worth their time or effort. It may be a meat market, but that's where you have to go if you want meat in your diet.

Not coincidentally, my friend also mentioned that she hadn't been on many dates lately and had found it hard to meet new people with her busy schedule.

Conclusions:

1) I am still no math whiz.

2) However you look at things, you have to go where the meat is if meat is what you want. Though the meat market is not as well stocked as it could be, some vegetarians appear to be starving.

With all of this talk of meat, I am suddenly hungry for a McRib.