New Family Blog - Check it out!

It seems that the birth of our seventh child and my duties as Scoutmaster the last two years have taken over my schedule, temporarily squeezing blogging time clean out of it.

However, with the birth of our eighth child, I really feel a need to write some stuff down again, before it is gone forever from the old gray matter.  This time, it will be a similar flavor, but perhaps a slightly broader focus (meaning I'll write about family and faith, plus whatever else I feel like).  I'm also going to give a more personal glimpse into our family life--which is a fancy way of saying that the new blog will have pictures!

So, I invite you to check out my new family blog, Now We Are Ten.

And I fondly bid MyWifeRules a long-belated goodbye, officially turning out the lights on this labor of love.

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Wife Rule #166: Things Change

2013 has been a year of many changes for our family.  Most of them were good.  For example, Rachel began middle school, and Charity began Kindergarten.  Andrew was baptized, and Dawn and Rachel got their first church callings, Dawn as president of the Beehive class (about 20 of them!), and Rachel as first counselor to Dawn's replacement.  Summer found her courage to talk to grownups in our neighborhood, and Scott began enjoying piano lessons.  I was released after seven years of service in the elders quorum presidency, and my wife taught herself to play the accordion (a little).  Perhaps happiest of all, our little Lily was born and delights us all with a constant barrage of smiles and coos and her intense gaze with those bright, wide-open eyes.  Our home has never felt fuller and our lives have never felt busier.

Some changes are not so good.  For example, we no longer fit into our minivan; we've been shopping for larger vehicles and so far have found nothing that we like, so we've been driving two cars a lot.  Certain things are starting, of necessity, to drop out of our lives; we all find ourselves having to choose which of our many interests are most important to pursue, for lack of time to do everything.  Scott broke his arm for the first time.  And far more significantly than these other things, my father passed away early this year.  My wife and I have lost all of our grandparents, and my kids have now lost their grandpas on both sides.  I'm the living patriarch of my little family, as are my brothers in their respective families.  It's all too much, much too soon.

Then there are those things, some good and some not so good, that remain constant: the laundry, for one.  Dishes to be washed.  Gas tanks to be filled.  The bustling from place to place.  My job (thankfully) at a great company, working with great people.  The struggle to balance ever-present priorities, perpetually pulling us all in too many different directions.  Faithful friends.  Weekly date nights (gotta have 'em).  Our wonderful mothers.  The way our kids surprise us with what they learn and the talents they develop.  Many holiday traditions.  The comfort we receive from the scriptures.  The power of prayer.  The increasingly vital roles that family dinners, family scripture reading, family prayer, weekly family home evenings, and family church attendance play in keeping balance in our lives.  Most of all--definitely most of all--the staying power of the Savior in our lives.

He lives. His atonement is real.  The constancy of His love is vital to survive the ever changing world around us.  The principles of His gospel do not change.  His commandments are as true today as they were two thousand years ago, when he said "A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, love one another" (John 13:34).  He is still "the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened; yea, and also a life which is endless, that there can be no more death" (Mosiah 16:9).

At Christmastime, we celebrate the birth of a baby boy.  He arrived pure and innocent, as all babies do.  But in stark contrast to the rest of us, He remained pure and innocent until His last breath, when He gave his life as a ransom for us all.  He truly carried the weight of the world on His able shoulders.  He gave all and conquered all.  He did it for us, to provide a means for us to escape the consequences of both our own sins, and the effects of the fallen world around us.  His grace is sufficient for us--for all of us.

It is because He is the Savior that we celebrate His birth.  As the prophet Gordon B. Hinckley so beautifully stated, "There would be no Christmas if there had not been Easter. The babe Jesus of Bethlehem would be but another baby without the redeeming Christ of Gethsemane and Calvary, and the triumphant fact of the Resurrection." (see http://www.lds.org/ensign/2000/12/the-wondrous-and-true-story-of-christmas)

My wife and I testify of His reality, and the power of His atonement.  Without Him there would be no light, no hope, no life in this world.  Because of Him, we'll see our dads again, in the flesh, and embrace them warmly.  Because of Him, our precious little ones will always be ours.  Because of Him, we are a forever family.  Because of Him, we'll rejoice in those good things that never change; and we'll survive the many changes that come, both good and bad. Because of Him, we have a vibrant hope for that greatest of all changes: to be lifted from our fallen, mortal states into perfected, immortal glory.

And that's the kind of change we can live for.

Short Story

Okay, so I sort of became obsessed with the idea of writing my own spooky short story at Halloween time, and I've had an idea rattling around in my skull for a couple of years now.  As a kid I loved reading Edgar Allen Poe's stories, and have more recently discovered the works of Algernon Blackwood and H.P. Lovecraft.  There is something really fun about the elegant way these old writers weave a spooky tale together.

So, foolishly, I attempted to do the same thing myself.  Though it's certainly not a masterpiece, I am pleased with the way it turned out.  I would love for you to read it and give me feedback.

Keep in mind (this is for you Mom), this is not my normal style of writing.  This is not a feel-good, funny, or spiritual story in any way.  It's a horror story--or at least my attempt at a horror story.  Read it being forewarned.  It's also rather long for a short story--think of Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher," or Blackwood's "The Wendigo."  You will need some time and the proper setting to get into it.

You can find my story, The Maze, on my other blog, Matt's Scratch Pad. I'd love to know if you like it.

Favorite Photos Exhibit

I've had my nature photography blog, ColorfulUtah.blogspot.com, for a while now.  Recently I began the process of collecting my personal favorites from the hundreds I have posted there.  I picked out about 50 of my favorite pictures on my photo blog and added them to the following post:

Matt's Favorites

I've posted these in significantly higher resolution than normal--especially if you click on the pictures.  I've also included a paragraph explaining what I love about each picture, which could make the exhibit more engaging to the interested reader.

Let me know what you think!

Wife Rule #165: Cuteness Prevails

My wife and I have minions.

You've seen minions if you've ever watched one of the Despicable Me movies.  Our minions aren't amorphous yellow blobs wearing blue overalls and glasses, but they are cute, wonderful little people who often speak in incomprehensible babbles, provide a steady stream of slapstick comedy, brighten our days, put smiles on our faces, and ultimately enrich our lives.

At some point the older kids seem to graduate from being minions to being apprentices, or something like that.  We have three who seem to fit this description.  But with the arrival of our newest addition, our minion count is still at four.  Here is a sample of some of the smiles they have recently provided:

Example 1: Seven-year-old Andrew recently came home from school, and was shocked and appalled to find out that his younger sisters had finished the leftover bag of Cheetos while he was away at school all day long.  His righteous indignation flared as he petitioned my good wife: "This is why I want to be home schooled!"  Point taken. 

Example 2: We wanted to make five-year-old Charity's first day of kindergarten extra special so that she would head out the door with a smile on her face.  We let her sleep in longer than normal, then my wife asked her what she would like for a special breakfast, suggesting waffles, pancakes, or cheesy eggs.  Charity's response?  "I would like a piece of bread with butter and a glass of water.  With a pink flower in a vase.  On a silver platter."  Request granted. 

Example 3: We spent much of our ten-day vacation at the beach trying to convince three-year-old Summer to "go potty in the water."  This is because walking back to the beach house across the hot sand is not only a big bother, but once at the house, she must be stripped down and hosed off before entering to avoid making a grand mess with all the sand that accumulates in her swimsuit.  So we put a lot of effort and emphasis on wading into the big, scary ocean far enough to cover her legs and letting go in the cold water.  She put in a valiant effort, but as far as we know, never succeeded the whole time we were there.

Well, on the way back we stayed overnight at a hotel, and took a swim in the pool.  As I was shepherding the kids out of the water to return to our room, I heard Summer saying over and over again "It was amazing!  It was amazing!"  I asked her what was amazing, and she said, "Daddy, I went potty in the water!  It was amazing!"  Yup.  Amazing.

Example 4: In our church, most fathers of families hold the priesthood, so we can administer blessings and other sacraments and ordinances to our family members.  It's really a wonderful part of the gospel--the privilege of using God's authority to bless those we love the most is distributed far and wide among church members.

Today in church I had the privilege of giving a name and a blessing to our newest daughter Lily.  I tried to prepare for the experience, and petitioned the Lord that Lily, despite being a mere infant, would sense something special about the day.  Well, when the time came, all went well, and Lily seemed very happy.  As I held her in my lap after the blessing, cushioning her head so that we were looking directly at each other, she stared with bright eyes and a smile up into my face.  A congregational hymn began, and as I sang, I continued looking at her.  She maintained eye contact, and with a joyful, but earnest look on her face, joined in the song with a steady stream of loud cooing for as long as the hymn lasted.

Together Lily and I sang: "For Jesus died on Calvary that all through Him might ransomed be.  Then sing Hosanna's to his name; let heaven and earth his love proclaim."  In some ways, interacting with her in such a personal way, in such a special setting, felt just as sacred as the blessing ordinance we had shared prior to the hymn.  Once again, Lily utterly, completely melted my heart.

So you see, just like the minions in Despicable Me, what started out in our family as a kind of cute sideshow to the plot ends up stealing all the attention and becoming the main attraction.  And like the script writers, who gave the minions an even more prominent role in the second movie, I now realize that's just how it should be.

Cuteness prevails.

Wife Rule #164: Appreciate Leftovers

Leftovers

Looks like leftovers are the menu again
Even though I vowed it would never so be.
When we were first married, when we first began
I hoped only to serve you the best of me.

But years have passed, and things have come
That complicate what once was simple bliss.
Pining for more, we added first one,
Then two, three, and four, then five, then six.

Now we live among whirlwinds that give us a mess;
Stuff clutters our floors, our rooms, and our days.
It’s mostly good stuff: but like all excess
Even good things sometimes can quench the sun’s rays.

Is the simple life found in lessons, in teams?
In recitals and concerts, in seeing them grow?
In a calendar stuffed full and bursting at seams?
In careers, volunteering, and serving them? No!

Not simple; but life--even if barely so.
To help us keep balance we cherish our dates;
We talk late at night; and we plow and we hoe
Side by side if we can; we’re still perfect mates.

And leftovers seem to be all that is left
So often when darkness has stolen the day
And we find ourselves breathless, collapsed and bereft,
In a heap on the bed, barely able to lay,

And you look at me, tired, but with a soft smile
And you whisper sweet words and a few “I love you’s”
And I reach out for you, while you reach for a pen
To add something to tomorrow’s unending TODO’s.

So we get leftovers: You get leftover me.
I get leftover you. But one thing is still sure.
Amidst all we give, where the well runs most deep,
New water flows in; we give, yet we get more:

For in serving the Master who truly gave all,
He gives us this promise: “Thy gold I’ll refine.
And when all the dirt, and the dross, and the gall
Are burned up and away, the leftovers are mine.”

So we’ll work, and we’ll serve, and we’ll grow closer yet,
Handing Him all we have: run the race, delay rest;
And when wrinkles and wheezing seem all that we get
We'll look forward to leftovers--He'll give back the best!

My Witness, at Christmastime

A while ago as I sat in church, I was thinking about the unbelief and misunderstanding of the world regarding Jesus Christ, and it made me sad. Today there are many who admire Him as a great teacher but deny the miracles that He did. There are some who say that He never existed, but was only a personification of God’s love for the people of the world, and that the disciples made up stories of Him as a metaphor of this love. There are an increasing number in the world who deny the existence of God altogether and preach the secular doctrines of atheism and humanism instead of the worship of Christ.

All of these groups, though varying widely in some beliefs, share one common false belief: that the man Jesus, if He existed at all, was not divine, miraculous, or powerful in any way other than that which is common to mankind. If they profess a form of godliness at all, they deny the power thereof. This secularism is preached persistently and tenaciously by text books, news reporters, politicians, celebrities, and important men and women holding powerful positions in society. They broadcast their false doctrines with an air of intellectual superiority, often with a sneering, condescending disdain for those they call foolish enough to believe in Divine power. At worst, they are militant in pushing their doctrine of disbelief and reckless in their efforts to let the chips of shattered faith fall where they may; at best, they view the believers as poor fools who need to be rescued from their ignorance.

Choosing to draw a line of demarcation between those who believe in a Divine Christ and those who do not, I can’t say how widespread the nonbelievers are, or whether their recruiting efforts are succeeding. All I know is that the more I perceive the things of the world and the more that time goes on, it appears to me that the secularists’ attacks on Christians are growing more loud and persistent than they once were. It is within this toxic culture of spiritual warfare that my children are growing up, and that so many good, humble men and women are left feeling confused—and that makes me feel sad.

Though I am but a single voice and no one of any consequence in the world, I want to stand up today as yet another witness that Jesus Christ lives, that He is divine, and that He will come again to earth. I testify without reservation that the time will come when Jesus of Nazareth will return to this world and be seen as a glorified, exalted Man by all those who survive the calamities of the last days before His coming. I testify that He was born to a virgin mother under circumstances that cannot possibly be called anything but miraculous. I testify that He is, literally, the mortal Son of our Eternal Father. Angels really did herald His birth to a few, chosen witnesses who received their testimony. I testify that as a man, He really did walk the streets and paths of Palestine; that He calmed the seas; that He healed the sick in a miraculous way that man’s inventions cannot reproduce; that He raised the dead; and that He went about doing good: loving, lifting, serving, and acting out of pure, selfless love in all that He did. I testify that He was the only perfect man to ever walk as a mortal on this earth—that He kept every divine law perfectly and never had cause to apologize, repent, or ask forgiveness of another.

I testify that Jesus the Christ went with witnesses to the Garden of Gethsemane, where as a God, He took upon Him the weight and sins of the entire world. Through means we do not comprehend, He suffered the demands of broken law so that all the rest of us could find a merciful release from the eternal consequences of sin, through faith in Him. I testify that He took upon Himself not only our sins, but also our pains and sicknesses and troubles, so that He would be enabled to succor us individually in whatever trials and tribulation we are called to pass through. Through His grace we can overcome our own failings, the consequences of others' sins, and the natural turmoil of the world as it spins on its appointed axis.

I testify that Jesus the Savior allowed Himself to be taken by ignorant, hateful men and tried on spurious charges, convicted, spit upon, and scourged. He carried His own cross to the hill Golgotha where He was nailed to it and lifted up for all to see as He finished payment of the penalty for our sins. He finished His terrible work in completeness, paying the price for our salvation to the last bit, and then voluntarily gave up his life, His spirit departing from his mortal body. On the third day afterward, angels rolled away the stone from the tomb where his body was laid, and our triumphant Redeemer took up His body again and rose from the grave, breaking the bonds of death. Again through means not understood by mortal men, His triumph over death enables all mankind to rise from the dead.

I testify that all men will rise again from the dead to be judged by Christ the Lord. I testify that the spirit of man is eternal; that this mortal life is but a moment in the grand story of endless existence; and that the condition of life we will enjoy in future eternities depends entirely on our acceptance of Jesus Christ’s atonement for us and our willingness to be His disciples, to turn over our free will to Him, to emulate Him and render to Him all that we have and are. He bought us with the price of His own blood, and we owe all that we have to Him.

I testify that in the latter days Jesus of Nazareth appeared in glory to the boy Joseph Smith, and used him as the appointed vessel to restore the full authority and organization of His church. The church of Jesus Christ that once graced the earth during His ministry in Palestine has been restored in completeness to the earth again, with the express purpose to preach the everlasting gospel to the world, to provide the ordinances of salvation that enable families to be sealed for eternity, to relieve the burdens of the oppressed and afflicted, and to prepare the world for the second coming of the Savior. Jesus Christ is the head of His church, and I testify that He leads it today exactly has He led it after departing this world two thousand years ago, through the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to the apostle He has set at the head of the Church. I testify that today this chosen leader is Thomas S. Monson, and that he holds the governing keys today that were given by Jesus to Peter of old, and that the succession of key-bearing, apostolic leaders of Christ’s church will continue unbroken until He comes once again to lead it in person.

I testify that Jesus is the Christ, the Anointed One, chosen and set apart by our Father in Heaven to be the Redeemer of the whole human family, and is the only one who can save us. Salvation comes through no other name, by no other way, and by no other conditions than those that Christ the Lord has laid out for us. I testify that He created this world under the direction of our Father, that He redeemed this world through the shedding of His own blood, and that he will judge the world with a perfect, righteous judgment. I testify that someday, every knee will bow before Him and every tongue will confess that He is our righteous Savior and that He is our King, our Judge, and our Lawgiver. Someday the haughty and unbelieving will bend in shame before His majesty and bemoan their fate as those who would not be redeemed, even though a Redeemer never ceased to seek after them during their probationary estate. And someday the meek, humble disciples of Christ will fall down before Him, and kiss His feet, and wet His feet with their tears, as He raises them up and crowns them with the angels of heaven, to dwell with Him in eternal splendor as families and friends, engaged in celestial work and glory that never ends.

I testify of these things through the witness of the Holy Ghost that is in me—the same witness given to Peter, Paul, Joseph Smith, Moses, Adam, and every other witness of God throughout the ages. Though I do not have the same calling these prophets had, I have the same witness through the same mechanism that they obtained it. I testify that every humble seeker of truth can obtain the same witness of the Holy Ghost through diligent study of God's word in the scriptures, earnest prayer, and a determination to obey and serve Jesus the Christ.

He is real. He lives today. And He will come again.

Wife Rule #163: I'm a Woman's Man

It was getting late in the afternoon and the ski lifts were closing. I stood at the top of the hill and sighed. This one was rated as a double-blue-square, or "advanced intermediate," and it was the easiest route I knew of to eventually get from where I was to the car. I used to think of myself as kind of an advanced intermediate skier, but I was starting to wonder. I looked at the steep grade, coated with an unforgiving layer of ice and littered with moguls, and wondered if I could do it, especially with this leg cramp I was developing.

My friend Lionel gave me an encouraging word and then took off down the hill, his 6-foot-2-inch frame gracefully dancing back and forth between the moguls. He looked like one of those guys on the ski commercials, one of the ones that made it look easy. Lionel made a lot of stuff look easy. He was tall, barrel-chested, good looking, successful by any measure of the word, and about the nicest guy you could ever know. He made you feel at ease, could talk about any subject, and could compliment you so naturally and with such honesty that you would never think to question his sincerity. Everyone likes Lionel, and indeed, there's nothing to not like. He's a natural leader, athletic, kind, generous, outgoing, and a wonderful family man. As I watched his picture-perfect form descending the ski slope, I thought to myself, Now there goes a true "man's man."

Which, coming back to the painful cramp in my leg, felt like quite a contrast to me at that moment.  You see, I've never quite fit in with "the guys."  Growing up, where most guys loved to talk sports, cars, and rock-and-roll, my interests were in academics, art, and classical music.  Other guys dreamed of being a pro athlete; I dreamed of being a concert pianist.  Other guys spent hours watching, studying, and memorizing statistics about their sports heroes.  I spent hours tinkering on my computer.  While others were pumping iron, I was pumping out drawings.  When many of my friends would discuss their favorite Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin tunes, I tried--without any measure of success--to bring Harry Connick, Jr. into the conversation.

And things aren't that different now.  I still find that my musical tastes gravitate towards those more commonly held by 60-something-year-old women (Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Michael Buble, anyone?)  My lack of athletic ability only grows more pronounced as I struggle to figure out how to help my sons learn the common sports of the day.  The first pinewood derby with my freshly-minted cub scout was saved only because you can buy pre-cut cars now--I don't even own a saw.  And I still spend too much time on the computer (you're looking at Exhibit A).

Instead of growing gracefully older, I'm growing pleasingly plumper.  Instead of having a swell cleft in my chin (like Gaston), I have two (going on three) chins.  I kind of went straight from high-school pencil neck to happily-married padded neck.  I completely missed the sweet spot somewhere in-between.

Somehow, miraculously--even bewilderingly--this never mattered to my wife.  When we met, even though she's a good athlete, she didn't care that I'm not--she was happy that I studied hard.  She didn't care that I'm not broad shouldered--she was happy that I'm smart.  She didn't care that I don't know how to fix cars or own tools--she's glad that I can get around on a computer.  She didn't care that I more closely resemble Mr. Potato Head than Arnold Schwarzenegger--she always wanted to marry someone who's "nice."

And now, 14 years later, we've got a great marriage and six wonderful children.  We're a happy, blandly average, middle-class family living in a middle-class neighborhood in the greatest country on earth.  All because my wife was willing to take a terrible chance on little old me.

So as I slowly and painstakingly made my way down the hill, slipping on the ice and stumbling over the moguls, I was reminded that no, I'm not in the "man's man" club.  Though I admire them and struggle to understand them, I'm at peace with the fact that I never will be one of them.  Heck, I'm not even a "women's man."  I'm simply a "woman's man."  One woman's man.

And for this life and forever, one is enough.

New Photo Blog

I recently put together an online gallery of some of my favorite photos that I've taken over the years (and a few my wife has taken as well).  It can be found at ColorfulUtah.blogspot.com, and will have a permanent link in the header of this blog.

I may update it from time to time if I can get around to looking through the hundreds of photos we take every year (it's always more fun to take them than to process them).

Please take a look and let me know what you think!

Wife Rule #162: We're Family

Sometimes when I want to say something most, it's hard to find the words to say it.

My cousin Erica passed away a week ago from cancer. Her funeral was yesterday. We grew up together. For several years she has lived in Florida with her husband and children, whom I don't really know. I've occasionally checked in on her blog, and tried to offer condolences when her mom (my aunt) passed away last year, also from cancer. She has extended sympathy to me regarding my dad's cancer the last several years. There have been mutual prayers sent back and forth in our respective struggles, but in truth I haven't been all that close to Erica in recent years. Now she is gone.

I know from reading her blog that she loves her spouse and children, I'm sure just as much as I love mine. And I know they must love her back, just as much as mine love me. And so my heart breaks for them--for the children who miss their mother and for her husband, who has lost his wife: the source of so much happiness and balance and meaning and direction in life.

I have learned from loving my wife that there is a beauty that comes into your life when you enjoy a happy marriage and family that cannot be replicated in any other way. This is because the married life--the family life--is what God intends for His children. It is the way to happiness. It is a shadow of His life.

Feeling this celestial love and yearning in our own families is a big part of what makes the separation from our loved ones sting so much. Because of what Erica's husband and children lost when she died--because of her love for them and their love for her--they must literally be going through hell.

I believe this is why God sent his Beloved Son to save us: so there would be a way back out. So that we can find a way to dry our tears. So that after the sting of death eventually loosens its grip on us, we can have hope again. So that we can find joy again. So that we can overcome both sin and death, and live together as families again, with Him.

He is real. He cares. He loves us. He really did rise from the dead, and because of Him, so will each one of us.

Some day I'll see my cousin again, and I hope that in the next world--the world that never ends--we'll keep better track of each other. I hope to get to know her husband and kids.

After all, we're family.

Wife Rule #161: It's a Half-Full Life

I've heard social media criticized because people tend to only show the positives in their lives and neglect sharing the negatives. This can lead to unfair comparisons between a person's real life, with all its baggage, and the picture-perfect lives portrayed by others online. I suppose this blog is no exception to that criticism.

I haven't written much lately, and that is because I have often been busy, down, stressed, or my mind otherwise consumed to the point where I simply didn't have much to say. "If you can't say something nice..."

So this blog tends to reflect only the times when I am feeling happy, grateful, and positive about life. I have written about some hard times in my Wife Rules, but typically only after I have arrived in a place where I can put a positive spin on the end of the story. To me at least, this blog is clearly a half-full glass.

The half-empty times mostly pass in silence.

And in a way, my wife is a lot like this blog. She chooses to love me with a half-full-glass attitude. She sees the best in me. She assumes the best in me. She expects the best of me. She downplays or ignores those parts of me that are part of the half-empty glass. And on occasion, when there's just not much nice to say about me, she refrains from saying much at all.

Not that she shies away from the occasional constructive comment, or avoids talking about the serious times we sometimes face. She's willing to tackle tough issues when they need tackling.

I guess I'm just trying to say that when I'm not at my best, and I know it, and she knows it, she simply lets it be.

And in so doing, she shows her faith in me and love for me, and soon the half that was empty is filled up again--in part, because she made it so.

Wife Rule #160: What Love Is

Love is a many-faceted thing.

Love is when I invite my parents over for dinner and our annual Valentine's Day dance without consulting my wife, and then she agrees with a genuine smile, even though I just complicated her preparations a bit.

Love is when my older girls pitch in with decorations for the dance and my wife interrupts her food preparation to help them gather the needed supplies.

Love is when I leave my work at the door, shake off the drowsiness that settles in during the evening commute home, breathe deeply, and muster my remaining energy to greet a wonderful wife and energetic family.

Love is when my sons greet me at the door and enthusiastically remind me of my important goal (to drink a glass of water before each meal) by screaming "GOAL! GOAL! GOAL!"

Love is when my wife puts aside the feelings of tension that build up amidst the chaos that occurs as hungry children are corralled and directed to clean up before dinner, and greets me with a tender hug and a smile.

Love is when my parents arrive for a visit after a long, complicated day of being out and about while enduring the pains that come with advanced cancer and the onset of the golden years.

Love is when my toddler and my three year old, dressed as pink ballerinas, greet my parents at the door with shy smiles and tender hugs.

Love is when my parents endure being pummeled by the four older children and all they have to show and tell.

Love is the beautiful table setting my wife laid out in honor of the holiday.

Love is the delicious meal and the chickens, grain, and green beans that gave their lives for our enjoyment.

Love is the complete trust engendered by a wise and kind father, so that his son can ask him for advice about complicated decisions at work.

Love is my father talking as long as I had more to ask, and my wife waiting patiently while I sought needed help.

Love is dinner followed by a dance.

Love is the special feeling a proud father gets when he takes the hand of his daughter for a dance.

Love is seeing a brother who wasn't all that comfortable with the idea of dancing take his older sister by the hand, smile warmly, and join in.

Love is the surge of affection that I feel as my two little ballerinas turn and fall, get back up, and march around the room, cookies-with-icing-licked-off still in hand.

Love is swooping my baby up and holding her tight as we tip and spin to the music, her little eyes smiling in the lamplight.

Love is not caring that the icing left on her hands is now on my shoulder.

Love is the picture of my parents, holding tightly to each other, slowly turning, sometimes with eyes closed.

Love is the sting in my eyes as I watch them, knowing this will be the last Valentine's Day dance we'll all have together.

Love sometimes hurts.

Love is the warm, soothing feeling of holding my wife as we slow dance together--the familiar feeling of her back, the shine of her hair, the warmth of her head on my shoulder.

Love is the lingering hug I give to my parents as we say goodbye.

Love is finishing up the kitchen cleanup and starting the dishwasher while my wife puts the last load of laundry in the dryer--even though it's very late and we're both very tired.

Love is kneeling side by side at the bed, holding hands as we petition our Father in Heaven on behalf of our marriage and our family.

Love is the familiar look of tired sweetness in my wife's eyes as we say goodnight and turn out the light.

Excuses...

Okay, so I've spent far more time being worried about my job the last nine months than writing blog posts about my life with my wonderful wife, who is more supportive, kinder, patient, and deserving of praise than ever.

And now I finally feel compelled to write something, but it's not a Wife Rule. It's a sweet experience that needed to be recorded. So to read it, please visit my other blog (which gets written on even less frequently than this one).

I've composed many beautiful Wife Rules in my head as I've driven to or from work or at other inopportune times. Hopefully one of these days I'll actually write one down...

Wife Rule #159: Celebrate the Holidays

A great many things have happened to our family during the past year: Summer learned to crawl, walk, talk, and push Daddy around like putty in her tiny hands; we took our first family vacation to Disneyland and Charity learned that Tinkerbell is the scientific force behind all fireworks; we traveled to Newport Beach for my wife's beloved grandpa's funeral; we helped organize a surprise anniversary celebration and reception for my parents; Andrew started Kindergarten; Scott was baptized; Rachel and Dawn learned to ski with--and notwithstanding--the instructions of their father (lesson one: how to fall down); we sunk several grand into our first adventure with orthodontics; we survived the weekly activity schedule of six children, including Cub Scouts, Activity Days, ballroom dance, the school play, soccer, piano lessons, chores, homework, poopy diapers, and play time together; we said goodbye to and lost my beloved grandma; and we helped my parents stage their home, pack it up, move, unpack, and "try out" their new swimming pool no less than a dozen times. Just to name a few.

Yet with all this hustle and bustle, with all this activity and running back and forth, with the greetings and partings, with the ups and downs, "there is one thing which is of more importance than they all" (Alma 7:7).

Our family was challenged this year by our church leaders to study the life, teachings, and atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ. We made it a goal to read the first five books of the New Testament--Matthew through Acts. It took us over 10 months of daily effort, but we finally finished. As we read together each morning, a beautiful story unfolded before us, again and again with each new writer: a baby whose birth was announced by heavenly messengers; wonderful parents who protected and loved the child through heaven-sent help, against all odds; an obedient child who taught His parents and others in the temple; the stirring testimony of John and the beginning of public ministry; the equally compelling private ministry among those who believed; the miracles that were witnessed by many but understood by only the faithful; the gentle teaching, the lifting, the comforting, the helping, the healing; a Man who loved perfectly and came to be loved by the faithful few who would ignore the doubts, jeers, mocking, and scoffing of the crowd; the careful preparation of beloved disciples to carry on the work after His departure; the bravery and agony of infinite atonement, followed by the welcome release of death; the miracle of resurrection and new life and hope offered to all; the majesty of heavenly ascension and the promise of return; the charge to take the message to the world, and the assurance of His presence and guidance in the acts of those willing to take up the charge.

All these were laid before us in splendid, powerful prose. The testimonies of those eye-witnesses still rings true with relevance in our lives today. It is because of that baby--because of Him--that we have peace in this world and hope for a better world. His plan for us imbues day-to-day life with meaning, providing context for the schedules and comfort in the hard times. Because of Him, we recognize the precious value of a human soul and work hard to allow our children opportunities to learn and grow. Because of Him, we hope to remain a family forever, influencing the way we deal with the Big Stuff like death, as well as how treat each other in even the smallest of daily interactions. Because of His example, we serve. Because of His grace, we endure, we pray, and we hope for deliverance from sickness, from pain, from disappointment, and even from death. Because of Him, the trials in life are not insurmountable walls to block us, nor bottomless pits to ensnare us, but stepping stones to help propel us to a better, higher place.

Truly, "He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened; yea, and also a life which is endless, that there can be no more death." (Mosiah 16:9)

In this season of thanksgiving and celebration, we testify of Him--that He lives and loves us and will come again. He is the Giver of all good gifts. We owe Him gratitude for our faith, our families, the peace we find today, and our hope for the future. The babe born in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago remains relevant and resplendent in our lives today: He is the Comforter and Counselor, the King of kings and Lord of Lords, the Savior and Redeemer of us all.

Wife Rule #158: Find the Treasures - III

Today was a great day, a true treasure.

In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we baptize our children when they have reached the age of accountability--in other words, they should be old enough to have a firm grasp on the difference between right and wrong, and understand the commitment they are making to God when they are baptized. My third child and oldest son has reached this age and was baptized today.

It's a sweet and tender thing to take a child this age--only eight years old--and see him make a conscious choice to devote his life to following Jesus Christ. His faith is so simple and pure--he still takes most of what I say at face value, without question--yet he is also beginning to mature and peek into the deeper layers of life that escape the notice of younger children.

The baptismal service was beautiful. Grandmothers gave the opening and closing prayers. Aunts played the piano and led the singing. My daughter, his big sister, gave a brief, well-prepared message about being baptized. A beloved grandfather gave a thoughtful talk about receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost and the lifelong quest we have to hone and perfect the skill of listening to His guidance and direction.

In the middle of it all was a musical number, which I foolishly thought would be nice to have performed by our immediate family. So my wife and I and our six children stood in front of the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and started to sing "Families Can Be Together Forever" and my eyes started running like a faucet halfway into the first line and never stopped. My contribution to the song was a complete, mushy mess. Thankfully, the older kids kept the tune going along as my wife and I were having a hard time holding a steady note.

Since there is a lay priesthood (no professional clergy) in our church, I was able to baptize my son. Distributing the priesthood authority to perform ordinances to the fathers of the church is truly a wonderful thing--a miracle--that puts into the hands of a common man like me the responsibility and privilege of representing the Savior in blessing God's children. What a wonderful, hands-on tutorial about how to be a father!

As we changed back into dry clothes, we chatted about the experience. My son said how happy he felt and what a great day this was. I explained that the happy, warm, good feelings that confirmed his decision to be baptized came from the Holy Ghost. My emotions were still at surface level, and I told him through more tears how much these special days mean in my life--how days like today were the happiest times I have ever had.

When we finished changing, my father and brother and brothers-in-law joined me in a circle to confirm my son a member of the church of Jesus Christ, and to bestow upon him the gift of the Holy Ghost. What a wonderful privilege it was to convey this most precious gift upon a pure child, newly baptized and such an open book for the precious truths that can only be taught by the Lord's Spirit.

My wife was asked to say a few words, and shared her feelings--through tears--about what a wonderful step this is in our son's life and what a happy day it was.

After the service, our family gathered at our home for refreshments. Our son was beaming. I was beaming. My wife was beaming. Grandparents and aunts and uncles were happy. Some had driven four hours or more to be there, and had a long journey ahead of them. Some had extended their vacations to be there, delaying the 10-hour drive home far into the night in order to attend. Some had come after being up all night long at a doctor's office. Some had dressed their children in their Sunday best on a sunny, Saturday afternoon, and driven across town to attend a meeting when there were a million other things to do. Some had brought goodies to share. All had rearranged their busy schedules and taken time out of their hectic lives to come and celebrate with us.

This, truly, was family--the full, splendid meaning of the sacred word demonstrated, with every positive facet of familial love on display. My wife and I finished the day with an overwhelming sense of fullness. The gratitude we feel for these loved ones--who shower us with support, who give to us their precious time, and who come to celebrate this seminal moment with us, all the while with huge smiles on their faces and genuine joy in sharing life with us--is beyond what I can write. I can only attempt to sum it up by restating the hopeful words of the song I blubbered through earlier today:

I have a family here on earth.
They are so good to me.
I want to share my life with them
Through all eternity.
Families can be together forever
Through Heavenly Father's plan.
I always want to be
With my own family
And the Lord has shown me how I can.

On days like today, it's obvious that anything less than forever just wouldn't be enough.

Wife Rule #157: Find the Treasures - II

Another recent treasure:

On our way home from our weekly date, as we approached our neighborhood, on a whim I pulled off the road into the parking lot for a small walking path that runs along the edge of the golf course and follows the river towards the canyon. Though we have jogged and biked along alternate paths through this general area, this was our first time along this particular stretch.

It was already past sunset. The cool blueness of dusk enveloped the landscape, the long shadows of the valley having long since merged into the mountainside. Only the tops of the peaks still glowed in the last yellow light of the day.

The earth around us was suspended in a hushed stillness. The low, rolling hills of field grass and wildflowers between the path and the groomed lawns of the golf course only occasionally murmured, when a lone bit of breeze wandered through the valley. The marsh grass and cattails surrounding the ponds betrayed no movement.

We strolled through this mesmerizing scene, noting the various landscaping features we admired in the backyards of the homes that bordered the path. Cheerful, yellow light spilled out from some of the windows of the homes. A few children scrambled past us, engaged in an early night game. A few residents sat, enjoying the beauty from their patios. We exchanged waves of hello with them as we passed.

My wife's fingers tightened around mine as we made our way up the path. We walked clear to the end before turning around. Her eyes shone with peaceful joy as we chatted softly about the homes, the yards, the grass, the flowers, the canyon, the mountains, and of course, our children.

Our younger children were safe at home, already in their beds, in the care of our oldest daughters. The darkness deepened, signaling our time to return home. The whole walk had only been maybe thirty minutes, but even so, we hadn't done anything spontaneous like this little diversion in what seemed like a long, long time. But now that there wasn't a sitter to send home and a schedule to stick to, we had a whole, new world of options open to us.

This built-in babysitter thing is a game-changer. That day was a good day.

Wife Rule #156: Find the Treasures

Life seems to increase in difficulty, complexity, and pace all simultaneously. Unfortunately, during the times when my wife most needs to hear sweet words of affirmation and when I most need to write them, life doesn't seem to allow time to jot them down. It has been this way for the past several months, as various Wife Rules have floated into and back out of my head without ever lodging long enough to write down.

So what is a man to do when his time in the sun is up and he's sent into the dark of the mines? Dig for treasure, of course. And it's always there to be found, no matter how much dirt has to be moved to get to it. I've been reminded recently that life's treasures only increase in value the deeper into the mines we go. Or in other words, the harder life gets, the more precious those gems become.

I'll attempt to catalog just a few of the treasures I've enjoyed the past several months, since I haven't been finding time to regularly write My Wife Rules.

***************

The sun had sunk in the west, leaving behind a canvas of Carribean blue that bled into black as my eyes scanned upward, searching for stars. I have long referred to this particular pallete of colors as a "Disney Sky," because this is how the skies are always painted in the Disney cartoon movies--especially during the parts where the princess and prince fall in love. Think of the way the sky looked during Aladdin's carpet ride with Jasmin, or Belle's dance with the Beast.

As the sky slowly darkened, the lights of the attractions at California Advanture park became more punctuated. I watched the trains round the loops of the California Screamin' roller coaster in time with the shrill soundtrack of delighted riders. The giant outline of Mickey Mouse shone brightly on the Ferris Wheel as the cars swayed lazily in the night. The black lagoon reflected the lights, and the breeze was stuffed with the smell of water and grease and sugar.

I sat alone on the terrace with Summer--alone because my wife had taken advantage of the short line on the new Little Mermaid ride to entertain the five older kids while we waited for the World of Color show to start. I remained behind with the baby to reserve our spot, which was marked by a couple of blankets and a stroller that had managed to keep just a bit of space free from the crowds of thousands of other enthusiastic park goers who were also waiting the remaining 30 minutes for the musical and visual spectacular.

Speakers from somewhere behind us had been playing pleasant instrumental music all evening, and as I bounced Summer on my knee, the familiar melody of Stardust began. The high strings sang out the lines I had so often repeated to my babies as I rocked them to sleep:

And now the purple dusk of twilight time
steals across the meadow of my heart
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart...


Ooooh, this was perfect. Perfect setting, perfect music, and the perfect little girl to sing to. I turned Summer around so I could look her directly in the eye. She smiled back at me through slurping lips full of chubby little fingers as I sang along in my best Nat King Cole voice:

Sometimes I wonder how I spent
the lonely night dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my memory
and I am once again with you
When our love was new
and each kiss an inspiration...


I leaned in and rubbed noses with Summer, eliciting a delighted squirm with squinted eyes and outstretched arms. I finished her off with a kiss, right on the mouth.

But that was long ago and now my consolation
is in the stardust of a song
Beside the garden wall, when stars are bright,
You are in my arms
The nightingale tells his fairy-tale
of paradise where roses bloom...


Some paradise, like this place. Here I was, surrounded by gardens and flowers and pleasant sights and sounds and smells, and sharing it all with my little princess, under a Disney sky. I was definitely falling in love.

Though I dream in vain
in my heart it always will remain
my Stardust melody,
the memory of love's refrain.


As I finished singing the closing lines, we rubbed noses again, eliciting another Summer smile. As I drew back my head, she reached out to touch my face. I caught her fingers in my mouth and kissed them.

I was called back from my trance by the presence of a sweet older woman who must have been sitting next to me the whole time, but who had faded into non-existence along with the rest of the crowd during my serenade.

"That was beautiful. I didn't know anyone knew the words to that song anymore," she remarked.

"It's one of my favorites," I replied. "It has such a nice melody--perfect for a lullaby."

"I wish I had my video camera for that," she sighed. "That was so sweet. They grow up so fast, you know."

I know. I know. Times like these fade too quickly into the twilight of the changing sky, just like stardust. My oldest is already over half raised, and I'm just barely beginning to figure out how to be a dad.

My wife and the other five kids appeared, wearing wide grins and chattering about the events of the day. It was suddenly noisy, but it was also so good to have them back, to be a whole family, together again. I returned fully into the crowded setting as we reshuffled our positions and tried to arrange seating for the show.

Times like these are what being a dad is all about. Today was a good day.

Wife Rule #155: Thanks

Okay, this is not really a Wife Rule. But I don't ever post on my other blog and thus I'm sure no one reads it, and I think these thoughts are really worth reading. So I'm posting them here.

For Memorial Day I want to share a brief presentation I prepared for my daughter's 5th grade class about my grandfather's service in World War II. It is a few of my explanatory words mixed in with some excerpts from his autobiography (whose pages I hastily photographed since I could not get an acceptable scan due to the way the book was bound). I hope you find this as interesting as I did, and that it serves to remind us why we celebrate Memorial Day and honor those who served our country.

* * *

My Grandfather served in World War II as a chaplain in the Army. A chaplain is a representative from a church who serves in the Army to provide religious support for the soldiers. My grandfather served in the Army for many years and was a full Colonel when he retired-only one rank lower than a general, the highest rank in the Army. He was in charge of all the chaplains in his division, which had several thousand soldiers in it. He was one of the first three Mormon chaplains in the U.S. Army.

As a chaplain, he was not a fighting soldier-he wasn't supposed to have a gun, although he learned to keep one on hand, since, as he said, the enemy didn't seem to care that he wasn't a fighting soldier-they would shoot at him with or without a gun.

Even though he belonged to a specific religion, he served soldiers from many different religions-that's how chaplains often worked. He conducted Sunday worship services, held funerals, and provided counseling for the soldiers wherever they went. He served with his division of solders through several different battle campaigns in World War II. He served in the Pacific War, starting in Alaska, then down in many of the islands of the South Pacific, and ending up in Okinawa, Japan. Most of the enemy he fought were Japanese.

My grandpa recorded many stories from his service in World War II in an autobiography he wrote when I was a young boy. I'll read some of his own words about his first assignment after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and forced the United States into the war.


"Tokyo Rose" was the name given to several Japanese women, who would do radio broadcasts in English, and tell about the American army's plans. They did this on purpose, so that the Americans would know the Japanese knew about their plans and feel discouraged and lose hope of a surprise attack. This is called Propaganda-the art of using words as a weapon in a war to influence what people thought and how people felt. It worked well. Back to my grandpa's story:


Propaganda was also used by the Americans on the Americans. Here's an example my Grandpa wrote about:


Attu is an island on the far end of the Aleutian island chain that comes off of Alaska. It is very cold there-the ground is rock and tundra. My grandpa describes the first battle as the Americans reached the island:



They had been training to fight in Africa, and their assignment was changed to Alaska at the last minute.


So despite their best preparations, things don't usually go according to plan in a war. Here's another example of a problem they had:


As the division chaplain, one of my grandpa's duties was to arrange for burial and hold funeral services. Here's what he said about this as the Battle of Attu continued.


A chaplain's work is not only for the soldiers, but also for their families. My grandpa wrote hundreds of letters to the "next of kin," or the surviving family of soldiers who were killed.


Even though Chaplains were not fighting soldiers, they performed a very important service and many were true heroes. My grandpa wrote about one chaplain he knew who was given a medal for his heroic efforts to help the soldiers he served:


Sometimes in war we think that all of our enemies are evil and deserve death. After all, the U.S. army used propaganda to try to make the American soldiers believe this and hate the Japanese enemy. Yet, there were times even during battle, when they were reminded that we are all part of the human family and what a shame it is that we were fighting each other. Here's an example:


Realizing that we are not all that different from our enemies can help us reach out in kindness like the chaplain who made the effort to return the book to the soldier's father. The Japanese and Americans have been able to forgive each other and are no longer enemies, but have been close friends and allies since World War II.

Here is my grandpa's summary of the total casualties in the battle of Attu:


Finally, as an illustration of why our brave soldiers fight in wars in the first place, here is a story from my Grandpa's time he served during the battle at Kwajalein, a tiny island in the South Pacific:


He goes on to explain that the battle lasted five days and they killed 5000 enemy soldiers, losing 150 Americans in the fight. This battle destroyed many of the homes of the natives people living on Kwajalein.



Our brave soldiers fight for freedom-not just for our freedom, but for the freedom of good people all over the world. They fight for the freedom to worship as we choose, the freedom to work, the freedom to play, the freedom to marry and have families, and the freedom to live in peace. I am proud to have relatives who served our country in World War II.

Wife Rule #154: Why I Am Grateful For the Resurrection

It seems a little strange to be writing an Easter-themed Wife Rule after Easter is over, but perhaps the timing goes better with my thoughts anyway.

Easter is a celebration of life--new life--that comes to the world as a direct result of Jesus' resurrection. When He voluntarily gave His life and then took it up again early on the morning of the third day, He broke the bands of death for all mankind. All that have ever lived will likewise be resurrected, thanks to this free gift He provides.

As I awoke this morning and looked across the bed at the peaceful, beautiful face of my beloved wife, her eyes still closed in restful repose, my mind flooded with thoughts of how blessed I am because she is in my life. I have known such beauty, such meaning, such purpose, such joy as I never could have known without her. She is shelter when the world seems cold. She is comfort when the world seems unfeeling. She is escape when the world seems overwhelming. In a sense, she is my world--my true world--for she is the embodiment of my fondest hopes and my deepest love, independent and unfettered by the rest of the world. She truly has given me a little bit of heaven on earth.

The words of Paul about the resurrection seem appropriate here:

"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable" (1 Corinthians 15:19).

Having tasted such sweetness in marriage as I have, I can attest how pathetic--how miserable--it would be if the joy and hope my wife and I share were all in vain because of the looming and inescapable specter of Death. How unbearable it would be to once feel the warm embrace of true, selfless love, only to have it crumble to dust in our arms. How cruel a plan it would be to tease us with such joy, only to pluck it out of our grasping hands. How tragic it would be if we were all like Shakespeare's lovers, star-crossed and destined to die prematurely when viewed in light of a love whose strength could have--and should have--lasted forever!

If I could plan our inevitable end, my wife and I would grow old together, wrinkly and gray and still holding hands, until our time was up--and then we would lie down peacefully and exit this world together. Most likely, it will not turn out that way--it seldom does. One or the other of us will likely have to endure the painful, lonely pangs of loss that true lovers feel: that half-dead grayness that seems to shroud the very light of life in a veil of perpetual sorrow.

And yet, through the haze and gloom there is a bright sun shining. The promise of an eventual reunion with a sweet, beloved companion and untold numbers of loved ones and forebears shines as a penetrating beam of hope with power to dissipate the darkness. There awaits a bright reawakening--a dawning into a never-ending day--for all who have ever lived on this earth. A joyful coming together of all that was broken; of old associations and friendships long forgotten. And for the faithful who choose to be sealed through the authority of the governing God, the promise that family, that golden standard of all happiness, can and will endure in unbroken chains of glory past the ends of eternity.

All this is possible in and through--and only through--our Redeemer, whose life and death and resurrection we celebrate each Easter. He is the resurrection and the life; our hope and salvation; the bright and morning star.

"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable. But now is Christ risen from the dead.... For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive" (1 Corinthians 15:19-22).

It is the hope that springs from Easter--from Him--that sustains us each day after the holiday and gives us reason to celebrate in the first place.

Wife Rule #153: I Am Loved

Work has been hard recently. Several weeks ago I returned home completely drained--physically, mentally, and emotionally. I felt down in just about every part of my life, except my family. My sweet wife--even though I found out later that she had had a hard day of her own--was kind enough to let me come in and crash on the floor with my eyes closed until dinner. I didn't offer to help. I just lay there, completely self-absorbed, trying hard not to think about how frustrated and upset I was, and of course, unable to think of anything else.

I felt stuck. Or perhaps a better word is trapped. It seemed that every option I could think of to get out of my current situation had at least one serious drawback--a drawback that was too big to make the option worth seriously considering.

I could tell that I was in a bad spot and something needed to improve. Since I couldn't think of any way to improve my circumstances, I knew I needed to focus on getting over it. So I determined to do one of the only things that almost always seems to help when I'm down: I decided to awake early the following morning and attend the temple, the Lord's house on earth.

Since I live within five minutes of a Latter-day Saint temple and I was exhausted, the next morning I allowed myself to sleep until the last possible minute. I generally consider waking any time earlier than 6:00 AM to lie within the realm of obscenity, but for the temple that morning, I made an exception. I awoke at 5:50 with the intent to make it to the 6:30 session. Everything went well--no problems, no trouble with the icy roads, no wait once I was there. I hurried up the stairs as much as I dared, only to be met with the kind smiles of the hosts there, telling me that they had just shut the doors for the 6:30 session. I was literally probably one minute too late.

Well, if I've got to wait around until 7:00 and be 30 minutes late to work, I figured I should make the most of the time. I opened up the Book of Mormon to the spot I had been reading the previous night, in 1 Nephi 11. I followed some cross-references into the New Testament, read up on some stuff in the Bible Dictionary, and about 20 minutes later found myself back in 1 Nephi 11. I was reading about the prophet Nephi's vision of the Christ child being born and then read verses 16 and 17:

16 And he said unto me: Knowest thou the condescension of God?

17 And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

The words of verse 17 seemed to jump out of the page at me: I know that God loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

This verse, taken in a totally different context than how it was written, seemed to perfectly describe my situation: I didn't know the meaning. I couldn't see the way. I was in a place of ambiguity. A wide assortment of roads lay before me, each as unappealing as the next. I was stuck, and simply did not know what to do.

How much easier it would be, I thought, if God would just tell me which path to take. I would gladly do it. But being where I was, trapped and seemingly unable to move in any suitable direction, I felt helpless and without direction. I did not know what to do, except to be patient and simply keep going.

But despite what I don't know, like Nephi, I do know that God loves His children. I know He watches over me and that he never has, and never will, abandon me. He has always been there to point the way, to give me just one step ahead, when I needed Him most. And since I have not yet felt his nudge to change my course, I have enough experience with His method of gentle guidance to know that I must not be at that point yet. He never gives us more help than we need--for doing so would deprive us of the growth that can only come through experiencing and slogging through life's perplexing ambiguities.

In the midst of these thoughts the time for the 7:00 session came, and I spent the next 90 minutes thinking about the ways that our loving Heavenly Father--for our own good--lets us deal with the ambiguities of life. He does provide direction at crucial points when we need it--I am a witness of this fact. But it also seems to me that often during very challenging times--those times when we're desperately seeking a change in our situation--the path to change seems ambiguous and the answers to our pleas for help are simply to be patient and keep on going.

Sometimes, because the scriptures are so terse, I think some of us get the mistaken notion that the "great ones" walked a golden path from miracle to miracle until they landed in heaven. But a careful reading of the stories in the Bible, Book of Mormon, and other scriptures reveals that even the Lord's prophets walked long, difficult pathways involving lots of ambiguity while waiting for the Lord's guiding hand to point the way or provide relief. The scriptural miracles that inspire us so much are in fact very special--and often rare--points of punctuation in lives that, like ours, would otherwise seem to be just long, run-on sentences.

Consider the difficulty of three of the epic journeys we read about in the scriptures:

• Sometimes the faults of others cause us delay and pain in our journey. Nephi's journey to his promised land was certainly impacted by his older brothers' constant murmuring and occasional physical abuse and attempts on his life. These difficulties caused even faithful Nephi to struggle (2 Nephi 4:27-29).
• Sometimes our times of ambiguity are because we don't ask for the help we need. The Jaredites spent four years completely stalled on their journey to their promised land before the Lord chastened their leader for not asking for guidance (Ether 2:14).
• Sometimes our own failures land us in ambiguous places. Moses and the children of Israel wandered for forty years in the wilderness--and only a handful of the original bunch were permitted to see the promised land (Numbers 14:33). Moses, the great prophet, finished his life on the doorstep to this goal, but never attained it personally.

However, for many of us patience is required to work through the ambiguities of our journey simply because the distance we must travel is so very far. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; but after a while those steps start to feel repetitive, and perhaps we wonder if we are taking the right journey at all, or whether there might be another, better way. But often the right answer is to simply see it through to the end:

• Nephi and the rest of Lehi's family spent eight years in the wilderness between the time they left Jerusalem and when they arrived at the seashore where they built the ship to cross to the Americas (1 Nephi 17:4). Most of this long journey is never mentioned--just a few stories. It's probably safe to assume that it was often hard and boring. We often judge Laman and Lemuel harshly for complaining, but I wonder if I would have lasted eight years in a tent, walking day after day, with a cheerful attitude.
• As for the Jaredites, even after they repented for not seeking the Lord's direction, their journey was still long. They spent nearly a whole year cooped up in barges without windows on a storm-tossed sea before arriving in the promised land (Ether 6:11).
• The righteous children of Israel who would eventually be allowed into the promised land still had to wait the full forty years it took for the unbelievers to all die off.

Surely these people must have wondered at times whether they were doing the right thing, or whether things could be improved somehow. Despite the varying reasons why these journeys were so long and arduous, the reason for them was the same: the Lord loved these people and had designs--a promised land--specifically tailored for them. Their part of the bargain was to go when He said Go, stop when He said Stop, and have the patience to wait on Him and the fortitude to continue on during the times when He seemed to say nothing at all, despite the hardships and ambiguities they surely faced.

The Lord permitted the prophet Joseph Smith, after being unjustly tried, to wallow in the dismal Liberty Jail--a dungeon with four-foot thick walls, a filthy stone floor, and a ceiling too low to allow standing upright--for six months spanning perhaps the coldest winter on record before being allowed to escape (read more here). Doctrine and Covenants section 121, a prayer and revelation recorded during these dreary conditions, illustrates the ambiguity the Prophet felt so keenly during this difficult time:

1 O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?
2 How long shall thy hand be stayed, and thine eye, yea thy pure eye, behold from the eternal heavens the wrongs of thy people and of thy servants, and thine ear be penetrated with their cries?
3 Yea, O Lord, how long shall they suffer these wrongs and unlawful oppressions, before thine heart shall be softened toward them, and thy bowels be moved with compassion toward them?
(D&C 121:1-3)

Consider these scenarios of life's ambiguity, common to our day:

• A young mother with children seems to spend her entire day picking up after careless toddlers; washing, folding, and putting away an endless stream of laundry that will somehow all end up on the floor again; preparing meals for people who will be hungry again in a few hours; and washing dishes that will be dirty again the next day. She wonders if she will survive and whether life will ever change.
• A father spends a decade building a career that he hopes will provide a nice retirement someday, only to find himself out of work for a prolonged period of time, eating up the savings he had so carefully put away.
• A child can't wait to grow up when he is small, only to discover that he doesn't feel ready to face the challenges and decisions required to be a "grown up" when he's big.
• A widow spends decades alone, wondering how long the Lord will keep her here on earth, waiting for the happy reunion that will someday come.
• A cancer patient with a poor prognosis tries to figure out how aggressively to fight the disease, trying to balance longevity with quality of life.
• A woman with multiple-sclerosis battles her disease every day, all the while knowing that there will be yet harder days ahead.
• A couple with a special needs child tries to figure out what kind of life they can provide for their child, while adjusting their long-term plans to accommodate this unexpected care burden.
• A man searches diligently to find a woman to love and marry, only to have his purest intentions and best efforts frustrated.

There are no easy answers to the ambiguities present in these common scenarios--each one of which represents someone I know, and so many, many people I don't know. Each of these trials may cause the best of us to ask, "God, where art thou?" Each presents a challenge that only perseverance, patience, trust, and pure love (with a dash of true grit) can overcome. And the solutions always come according to the Lord's time table, which often doesn't align too well with our wishes.

There are many things I don't know, and many answers I don't have, but this much I do know: each of these trials are selected for us by a loving God who knows us and precisely plans the ways He will stretch us and help us to grow. The Lord's response to the Prophet Joseph's prayer in Liberty Jail applies to all of us: "know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good." (D&C 122:7)

Physical growth always occurs one cell at a time, and is almost imperceptible except by looking back over a long period of time. The kind of spiritual growth we signed up for when we voted to come experience mortality is the same, occurring a little bit at a time, one second after another during the long periods of waiting and ambiguity we must all endure. In fact, the very moments when we feel we are stalled in our forward progress may be the periods when we are experiencing our most rapid growth and are poised on the threshold of our greatest blessings.

Another thing I know: our loving God allows us our periods of ambiguity to wear down the mountains of our pride and selfishness the same way the mountains crumble and find their way to the sea: by the sheer erosion that only extended time and rough weather produce.

As I listened to the teachings in the temple that morning about the Savior, I was filled with gratitude that God has a plan and a way to help us in our need, offered through the gift of His beloved Son, the Savior of the world. Through Him we can overcome whatever may befall us. His grace is sufficient for me--and for all of us--and is the very key to surviving life's hardships and finding meaning in life's ambiguities.

As I finished the temple session and made my way into the center room in the temple representing the Celestial Kingdom where God dwells, the morning sun was streaming through the windows. It seemed to me that a new morning brought the promise of another chance to start fresh--that each new day segmented the challenges I face just enough to handle them, one chunk at a time. I felt a renewed confidence that God is in His heaven, that He loves me, and that I can work through my challenges and the ambiguity I currently face.

As I stood up to leave, I noticed someone: Alice, a sweet, elderly woman whom my wife and I knew in the previous neighborhood we lived in. She and her husband had worked at the temple for years, and we had greeted them here from time to time. In one of these occasional meetings we found out that her husband had passed away. It had now been several years.

Alice was seated near me, her eyes closed in fervent prayer. I wondered how she was doing. I wondered how much she missed her husband. I wondered whether being here, in the Lord's house where she and her husband had joined hands and began their journey together so many years ago, made her loss more poignant. I felt like I should stay and say hello, so I sat back down to wait for her to finish. Perhaps the smile of an old friend would brighten her day.

Alice prayed a long time, and I waited. When she finally finished, I paused for a few seconds and then stood up to greet her. She looked up and her face brightened as she recognized me. She greeted me warmly and told me how much she loves my wife, and offered her hand to clasp. I grasped it and we quietly chatted for a few moments. Then I stooped down to give her a hug.

While I embraced her, something very unusual happened. As I held this wonderful, sweet widow in a warm hug I thought of my own grandmother, a widow of over twenty years now. I thought of my dear mother-in-law, widowed for seven years. I sensed how very, very much God loves his widows. His love, which I had been basking in for my own sake, now seemed to stream down from heaven in even greater measure for Alice, and completely filled me. So I kissed Alice on the cheek. Prior to this day, I had only kissed two women outside my family, and I married one of them. I wondered a little at what I had done but was relieved when she kissed my cheek in return. I stood back up and looked at her. "I miss you as our neighbors," she said with genuine affection. "I do too," I responded, my voice nearly choking for the tears in my eyes. "It was so good to see you today, Alice."

We smiled at each other and I turned and walked out. As I left the temple that day, the love that God has for His children burned in my soul like a bright, warm fire. As I drove home to my loving wife (who had prepared a special breakfast, waiting for me when I arrived), I suddenly found myself with tears streaming down my face--not tears of despair because of life's ambiguities, but tears of gratitude because of what I have. It is true that I do not know the meaning of all things, and I don't yet know how my present challenge will turn out, but this I do know: God loves me, just as He loves all of His children, and whatever the problem, I will make it through--He will see to that, so long as I trust in Him. His grace is sufficient. This I know.

When our times of ambiguity seem to stretch on without a foreseeable end, we can remember the comforting words of the Lord to the prophet Joseph: "Therefore, hold on thy way.... Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not ... for God shall be with you forever and ever." (D&C 122:9)