Wife Rule #126: Why I Love Your Mother (to my children) -- Chapter Two: The Agency of Man

They are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them; and in the Garden of Eden, gave I unto man his agency.
--Moses 7:32

A key to understanding God's dealings with His children is the concept of Agency.

The prophet Lehi gave to his son Jacob one of the most profound sermons in all recorded scripture, found in Second Nephi chapter two. One of his primary subjects in this sermon is agency. My dear children, in addition to recommending that you read this yourselves, I want to put it into my own words.

In this chapter, Lehi lays out eternal law as the foundation upon which God exists and operates in our lives (vs. 11-13), and then dwells significantly on the difference between "things to act, and things to be acted upon" (v. 14). It is through agency--the power to truly act, and not just to be acted upon--that mankind's destiny and purpose in creation is found. Agency is not the goal of man's existence, no; rather, it is the means through which man can achieve the ultimate goal of existence. You will never understand the purpose of creation without also understanding agency.

There are at least three pillars upon which agency depends. Like the legs of a three-legged stool, if you take away any one of these three pillars, agency ceases to function and mankind is lowered to the level of the brute beasts. These three pillars are eternal law, choice and accountability, and probation and atonement.

I. Eternal Law

Agency, or "freedom" as it is sometimes called, is greatly misunderstood in our world today because most people don't know that all three pillars must be in place for it to exist. There are those who believe that agency is restricted by applying consequences to our actions. This camp of people are opposed to enacting laws forbidding certain actions such as taking illegal drugs, for example. They feel that "freedom of choice" includes freedom from reaping the consequences of our choices. They feel that in order to increase freedom, we should decrease law. Each of you has expressed this sentiment at one time or another in our family (always when you are in violation of our family "laws," or rules). You protest loudly that "it's not fair" that a consequence should be given when a rule is broken. You can relate to those in the world whom I am talking about.

But in fact, they have it exactly backwards: agency, or "freedom," depends on laws being in place. Without any laws, as Lehi explains, the universe would be "a compound in one... having no life neither death, nor corruption nor incorruption, happiness nor misery, neither sense nor insensibility" (2 Nephi 2:11). If there is no line drawn in the sand, then it can't possibly matter where you stand, not having a fixed point to reference your positin from. As the Cheshire Cat replied to Alice in wonderland when she asked him which of two paths to take, "Where do you want to go?" "I don't know," replied Alice. "Then it doesn't matter which path you take" (see Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (New York: William Morrow, 1992), p. 89). Earthly laws based on correct principles of eternal law are essential to the agency of man, and agency is essential to growth.

II. Choice and Accountability

Second, there has always been a camp of men on earth who seek to restrict freedom (agency) by forcing others into making certain choices. Repressive governments seek to control every aspect of their citizens' lives. It is obvious to any rational human being that while certain laws are essential to lay the moral groundwork that establishes a basis for freedom, it is also possible for laws to go too far. It is in the process of understanding law, weighing alternate choices, acting, and experiencing consequences that growth is achieved.

God will teach and explain, but He will never force action. As Lehi explains, "Wherefore, the Lord God gave unto man that he should act for himself" (2 Nephi 2:16). It is certainly wrong for men to attempt to do what God himself will not do. That is one of the toughest balances for your mother and I to get right in raising you children, but because we have your best interests in mind and desperately want you to eventually grow up and become independent, we provide opportunities for you to make your own choices as your ability to comprehend increases.

A baby makes very few choices and has very little accountability; its parents dress it, move it around, and decide when to put it to bed or get it up. As the baby grows, it gradually takes on more choices, such as what to put in its mouth, where to crawl, etc. Even with this new freedom, certain actions are restricted such as not letting the baby crawl into the street. But as the child grows further, even a place such as a street becomes an opportunity to exercise judgement and make choices. God's working with us is similar: He has given us a tremendous amount of latitude within the parameters He sets up for us according to our abilities. The more we exercise good judgement, the greater the latitude He give us, and the greater our "freedom" or agency becomes.

III. Probation and Atonement

Third, there are those in the world who lose their agency because they become trapped by their pasts. God has provided an escape from our pasts by delaying judgement for our actions, giving us a "probation" to work out our salvation:

"And the days of the children of men were prolonged, according to the will of God, that they might repent while in the flesh; wherefore, their state became a state of probation, and their time was lengthened, according to the commandments which the Lord God gave unto the children of men. For he gave commandment that all men must repent; for he showed unto all men that they were lost" (2 Nephi 2:21).

Without a space to learn from our choices, and a chance to correct wrong choices, our freedom (agency) would be non-existent and we would be instantly blocked in our progress, or "damned." The prophet Spencer W. Kimball explained it this way:

"If pain and sorrow and total punishment immediately followed the doing of evil, no soul would repeat a misdeed. If joy and peace and rewards were instantaneously given the doer of good, there could be no evil—all would do good and not because of the rightness of doing good. There would be no test of strength, no development of character, no growth of powers, no free agency.... There would also be an absence of joy, success, resurrection, eternal life, and godhood" (The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball (1982), 77).

For example, suppose your mother and I always rewarded you with a cookie for every good choice you made. You would either grow very fat, or learn to hate cookies, but you would certainly not learn to make good choices for their own merits. We would stunt your growth by spoiling you.

Likewise, if your mother and I sent you to Time Out forever the first time you broke a family rule, it would be very difficult for you to grow and develop as you should. The fact that we have a space for repentance--to change our actions in accordance with eternal law--is essential to our growth and progress.

It would all be meaningless, however, if repentance were not possible. This is where the "good news" of the gospel comes into play. God sent his Son, the only perfect man to ever walk the earth, to become a ransom for us, a mediator between us and the eternal law of justice, which cannot be violated. Justice demands consequences for every choice, and having a mediator who is able to pay the demands of justice introduces the eternal law of mercy into the equation, enabling us to rise again after we fall.

Alma 34:16 explains, "And thus mercy can satisfy the demands of justice, and encircles them in the arms of safety, while he that exercises no faith unto repentance is exposed to the whole law of the demands of justice; therefore only unto him that has faith unto repentance is brought about the great and eternal plan of redemption."

This plan of redemption, another name for the plan of salvation, hinges on the Savior coming to earth and through His suffering for our sins and breaking the bands of death, redeeming us from the fall. It also hinges on us having a chance (or a probationary time) to repent and take advantage of what He offers us.

As Lehi explained in 2 Nephi 2:

24 But behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things.
25 Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.
26 And the Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall. And because that they are redeemed from the fall they have become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given.
27 Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself.
28 And now, my sons, I would that ye should look to the great Mediator, and hearken unto his great commandments; and be faithful unto his words, and choose eternal life, according to the will of his Holy Spirit;

The gospel of Jesus Christ truly is "good news," and it brings increased freedom to all who learn of it. In fact, knowing the gospel plan is the only way that mankind can achieve complete freedom and attain the full measure of agency available here on earth. That is why it is essential that the whole world be given the gospel message.

You, my children, are free. You have been provided with a full measure of the three essential pillars of agency: you know the law because your mother and I have taken great care to teach you; you have the ability to make choices and we try to make you accountable for those choices; and you have the chance to repent and change because Jesus Christ died for you. You know these truths, and you can exercise your agency to your own salvation if you so choose.

And what exactly is that salvation? To have any hope of understanding that, and how it relates to the love I have for your mother, we must better understand our relationship to God. And in order to do that, we must first understand what God is like.


Part two of a twelve-chapter essay. Read more: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Epilogue

Wife Rule #125: Why I Love Your Mother (to my children) -- Chapter One: Truth and Law

The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.
--David O. McKay

My children, I love you. And in so doing, yes, I love your mother too. I could list, and in these Wife Rules I have listed, many of the reasons why I love your mother like I do.

Your mother is kind. Her feelings of sympathy and compassion have been manifest countless times in the tender way in which she has interacted with you; in the way that she prays for those in need, and then rises from her knees to serve them; in the way that she truly "mourns with those that mourn, and comforts those that stand in need of comfort" (Mosiah 18:9).

Your mother is unfailingly unselfish. She has placed her life on the line to bring each of you into the world. She has devoted the best energy and hours of her day to serve you; to wash you; to clothe you; to feed you; and to clean up after you. She gives most of what time and energy are left to me, and is a wonderful companion and the best comfort and friend I could have.

Your mother is tremendously talented. Her mind is capable of understanding the finest art and literature; the mysteries of science; the logic of mathematics; the economy of running a complicated and busy household; the events--and their implications--of the world around us; and for appreciating and integrating the best, most beautiful aspects this world has to offer into our home and family.

Your mother is virtuous. "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies" (Proverbs 31:10). The virtue of her soul and the integrity of her heart shine from her eyes and set her countenance aglow; they add to the physical beauty of her person and give her a luminance worthy of the angels. And indeed, I feel that I can trust her with my very life and soul, as I can the angels. I have placed my complete confidence in her, putting "all my eggs in one basket" in entering into an eternal quest with her as my wife. Her virtue is her greatest strength and should be prized and emulated by her children.

There are a hundred other reasons that I love her, and a hundred other ways that she has enriched my life, but I won't list any more of them now. You know many of these already, and if you observe her demeanor and actions carefully, the rest will manifest themselves. My point in what I am writing now is something far more important; for without it, all her kindness, unselfishness, talents, and virtues would ultimately not have much of an eternal impact on my life.

There is, underlying all these gifts your mother possesses, an order in the universe that gives far more meaning to the feelings of love we share. This order, this truth, is eternal. Before you can hope to make sense of the wonder of eternity, or even the limited scope of the world we know now, it is essential for you to understand the truth.

I will do my best here to explain the truth to you, at least as well as I understand it myself, using my own words and the words of others. Please keep in mind that this explanation is coming from your father's very limited mind and heart, and may be filtered or distorted by my own life's experiences and prejudices. Please remember that to whatever extent my words happen to conflict with the revealed word of God, whether revealed in the past or yet to be in the future, to that extent I am wrong. But despite my weakness, I believe that I have something of value--in fact, of tremendous value--that has grown in my heart from small seeds that were planted when I was only your age, which have been carefully nurtured and cultivated until they have grown into a mighty force which governs my life now. I very badly want to paint a picture for you of what I know, to give you a glimpse into the lens through which I see and interpret life and the world around me. To me now, as a husband and father, a son and brother, it is a more beautiful view than I could ever have imagined, with a scope that extends far beyond the highest mortal vistas; a grand hope and anticipated--and actualized--joy that reaches through time and touches the far places in eternity.

There does exist absolute, nonnegotiable truth. The world, through both willful and unwitting ignorance, will tell you that this is not so, but the world is wrong. Truth exists, the "fairest gem that the riches of worlds can produce" (John Jaques, Hymns of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, no. 272). What use is there in believing in fables or false systems that lead to dead-ends? Truth is real; truth is eternal; truth is unchanging; truth is not subject to popular opinion and does not modify itself for your convenience or circumstances. Truth is the one, the only, solid thing to grasp onto in a tumultuous sea of philosophy and sophistry.

Whether you know the truth does not change the truth. Whether you choose to believe the truth does not change the truth. All true principles are as eternal as God himself is (and yes, it is true that we have a God). God neither creates nor destroys these principles; He proclaims the truth of them and lays them out in a pattern and plan that we can understand. This plan is called the Plan of Salvation, and these principles of truth are called eternal law.

Lehi the prophet explained about eternal law this way:

"And if ye shall say there is no law, ye shall also say there is no sin. If ye shall say there is no sin, ye shall also say there is no righteousness. And if there be no righteousness there be no happiness. And if there be no righteousness nor happiness there be no punishment nor misery. And if these things are not there is no God. And if there is no God we are not, neither the earth; for there could have been no creation of things, neither to act nor to be acted upon; wherefore, all things must have vanished away" (2 Nephi 2:13).

You will notice, my children, that the foundation of all existence is law. This may seem surprising to you, since we know that God created all things, but if you stop to think about it, it makes sense. Law is like a line drawn in the sand; without the line there could be no left nor right of the line. Law defines the "opposition in all things" (2 Nephi 2:11) upon which all creation hangs (see verses 11 and 12). From eternal law flows the definitions of sin and righteousness, of happiness and misery, and without these concepts, God's status as God would not mean anything. God himself follows eternal laws; for example, He loves His children and always does what is best for us; He is unselfish and unfailingly kind; He embodies virtue and holiness. He cannot break these laws, such as the law of justice, or He would "cease to be God" (Alma 42:13).

The false, imaginary gods of the world that are conjured up in men's minds (and have no basis in truth) follow no such laws. The legends about them show them to be as foolish and fickle as the men who invented them, rendering them completely unable to engender any true faith. They do not look out for the welfare of men, but serve their own selfish purposes. Beware of any system of belief that bows to any god besides the one, true God, the God of truth.

The prophet Joseph Smith taught that true faith must include a "correct idea of [God’s] character, perfections, and attributes" (Lectures on Faith [1985], 38). This makes perfect sense; any faith founded upon false principles or looking to a false concept of God will eventually be shown to be powerless.

Joseph Smith also taught that "If men do not comprehend the character of God, they do not comprehend themselves" (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1938, p. 343). Having a correct understanding of who God is, what He is like, and why and how He interacts with us is the key to comprehending our own existence, and the key to comprehending why I love your mother more than any other person or thing on earth.


Part one of a twelve-chapter essay. Read more: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Epilogue

Wife Rule #124: Pause to Reflect

It always pays off to pause to reflect on what has been happening in life. We have an annual event--the writing of the yearly Christmas newsletter--that helps us in this effort. Here is this year's entry:

Dear friends and family, we are attempting to “spice up” another rather mundane Christmas newsletter by presenting it in a style inspired by humor columnist Dave Barry’s “Year in Review” series. So here’s our Family 2009 Year in Review:

January: Besides making resolutions that we mostly don’t remember anymore, we spend a lot of time shivering. We also spend weeks trying to free the children’s remaining Christmas toys from their display packaging. Did you know a single Barbie has 347 distinct connectors that must be severed, some with bolt cutters, in order to release her from her cardboard display, which when unfolded, is approximately the same square footage as our home? My wife, being recently released from three years of service as the Primary President, resolves to have hobbies again. Rachel (age seven) resolves to spend as much of the year upside-down as possible, and vigorously works towards this goal by hanging off the couch onto her head during all religious family functions.

February: My wife and I return to sunny St. George for our second annual winter getaway, inspired by our first annual winter getaway last year, inspired by our first-ever vacation away from children in Hawaii the summer before. My parents, who watch the kids yet again, see a worrisome pattern developing. We have a fabulous time, doing totally crazy things such as eating our food while it’s still warm, taking naps, and enjoying actual dead spots in the conversation. My wife takes Andrew (age three) to the Thanksgiving Point Farm where he experiences his first full-on crush: she’s kind of short, has long brown hair, is named “Flicka,” and is a pony.

March begins okay, with Rachel upside down a lot (gymnastics class, you know) and Dawn (age nine) and Scott (age five) starting up the spring soccer season with a bang. Unfortunately, it turns into a rather somber month when we learn that my dad has cancer again, after about five years of remission. We spend a lot of time crying and praying. This leaves Scott with excess pent-up energy, which he releases by scoring soccer goals like a madman. He scored six in his first game against the other team’s one (really).

April: Spring Fever hits hard. The tulips burst forth at Thanksgiving Point botanical gardens and our family spends hours there, frolicking on flowery, grassy knolls along with the fluffy bunnies who escaped the Elmer Fudd-like exploits of the overly protective gardening staff. Nearly the whole extended family treks through wind and snow to camp and hike together at Arches National Park. Here, my dad, my brother, and I—in the grand name of tradition—rouse the kids from their tents, through early-morning snow flurries, and march them—in their pajamas—for several miles off-trail through a red-rock canyon riddled with icy pools to cross and terrifying (if you are three) cliffs to scale. After the survivors return and all the band-aids are applied and all the tears are dried, the kids plainly discern that tradition not only builds a lot of character, but also is fun! Scott averages 13,057 goals per soccer game. An opposing player loses an arm when, in frustration, he tries to knock down one of Scott’s super-sonic, goal-scoring kicks. Charity turns the big Uno.

May: Dawn, Rachel, and I go to a Daddy-daughter Sock Hop at the church, and win the “Most Authentic Costume” award on account of the girls’ adorable homemade poodle skirts and my naturally greasy hair. Soccer season ends with Scott’s tally topping 1,000,000 goals, shattering intergalactic records. Andrew has a falling-out with Flicka when she is seen giving a ride to another boy at the farm, and takes the hayride instead. I turn 30-something (again), and start daydreaming about the next trip to Arches.

June: Motivated by Dad’s cancer, plus thinking how cute we would look smooching on the bow of a large cruise ship, my wife and I decide to pony up the cash to join my parents on a 7-day Alaskan cruise (thanks again for watching the kids, Mom!). Charity tags along, and, although she is barely one year old and sleeps in the closet, costs $450. She does, however, single-handedly score us a reserved table by the window and a super-attentive waiter by virtue of being as cute as a button. She manages to wolf down at least, maybe 50 calories per meal, at a dismal efficiency rate of 2.33 calories per dollar spent. I earnestly try to compensate for this inefficiency by ingesting at least 2,000 calories at every sitting, usually eating at least two entrees and two desserts, and I return home looking, well, more like Jabba the Hutt than Han Solo, if you follow. The first time I go out to play with the kids on the trampoline after returning, I take a mighty jump and find myself standing on the grass beneath, having broken clean through it (really). While on the cruise, my wife turns 30-something (again). I am called to replace the wonderful Elders Quorum President I have been serving with for three years. My wife and I celebrate this new opportunity for growth by both growing several new gray hairs.

July: My side of the extended family spends a reunion in Paris Idaho (thanks again, Mom), in the house where my wife grew up. Here we do a little bit of everything this region of Idaho has to offer: swimming at Bear Lake, spelunking in Minnetonka Cave, hiking in Bloomington Canyon, eating yummy food, playing games, talking into the wee hours of the night, and, of course, shooting stuff. I take pictures of my parents sporting guns with genuine weeds hanging out of their mouths. Andrew’s horizons expand when he notices that there are lots of other ponies here. Rachel spends some quality time upside-down. She and Scott turn eight and six, respectively.

August is a whirlwind of activity—the kind that typically leaves a jumble of trailer homes behind it. We start out with the happiest of occasions, Rachel’s baptism, which is everything we hoped it would be. This is followed by a week in Newport Beach, where Charity eats lots of sand, Andrew throws lots of sand, Scott kicks lots of sand, Rachel spends lots of time upside down with her hair in the sand, and Dawn spends all her time in the water (there’s one in every family). We arrive home just in time to travel to Idaho for my wife’s sister’s wedding, where—as if a minivan full of five kids weren’t already chaotic enough—we promptly make a spectacle of ourselves by taking the wrong road on the way to the temple, instead taking a scenic tour of the Snake River and showing up nearly a full hour late (thanks again for waiting). Scott, Rachel, and Dawn start school and soccer. Scott decides defending is really “his thing” and tones it down on the goals (no one on the opposing team loses any limbs during his first game). Andrew joins Rachel (still upside-down) in gymnastics. Rachel joins Dawn in the ranks of piano students. Dawn joins the 4th grade ballroom dance team. The kids all shine as their talents continue to develop.

September is a welcome return to our regularly-scheduled program of controlled chaos. The kids are back at school, I am grateful to be back at work, and Andrew has replaced Flicka with a new love at the farm: a small, plastic, red fire engine in the gift shop. Now he begs to return to the farm to see the fire engine instead of the ponies. Charity, growing into quite the little lady, begins a love affair with purses—or when a real purse can’t be found, any pair of undees she can find laying around that will fit over her arm. My wife is happy to have the chance to just breathe. My dad accompanies me, Scott, and Andrew on a Fathers and Sons campout, and helps a ton. Thanks, Dad!

October: Thanks to a hot tip from Mom, we spend two jam-packed days on a “staycation” wherein we see everything around town (the zoo, the aquarium, the planetarium, etc) that we have promised to take our kids to for ages, and have the time of our lives. We survive another weekend of “making memories by defying death” in Arches National Park. I return home in a blissful, dream-like state and immediately begin planning next April’s trip to Arches. Halloween involves too much sugar: Rachel is on her head for weeks, and Scott finishes off the soccer season by inflicting a full decapitation during a goal-scoring kick. Andrew turns four and literally shakes with delight as he opens both the red and the green fire engines from the farm’s gift shop. He also asks for, and receives, a Dirt Devil handheld vacuum and is genuinely delighted (who knew?).

November: Chilly air brings the scent of tradition. My wife delights herself in decorating, and delights the rest of us in baking. My dad begins chemo and can surely use your prayers. Dawn (who turns ten next month) absolutely slays her teacher with her preparation for her 4th grade research report. My wife and I worry that we are spoiled by having an overachieving first child. Christmas shopping shapes up, the whole family spends a week sick, and this Year in Review is written, the week before Thanksgiving. I am sure to become a little fatter by the end of the month (a cause for celebration all its own), but for now we are concentrating on being thankful for you, and believe us, we are.

December: As for our family, we’ll see what unfolds; there will be parties, concerts, recitals, and of course, more chaos. We hope that December finds you well and happy. It is, after all, the happiest of all the happy months of the year, celebrating the world’s best news of all: a Baby was born with the message and power to change us, forever. And the our family is shooting for forever, even if one month at a time.

Wife Rule #123: Appreciate the Gifts

My wife often gives me gifts. Not the kind that are wrapped in colored paper with ribbons or bows, but the intangible, more valuable kind: gifts of service, gifts of self, and gifts of time.

This past month she has given me a precious gift of time by agreeing that I should participate in a church-sponsored production of selections from Handel's Messiah. For the last several years I have sung with my parents and siblings in the chorus for this production. Singing together is a cherished family tradition, dating back as far as I can remember, to the hymns we would sing together each Monday family night, to weekly congregational singing in church with Dad as chorister, to the many years we sang together in our church choir with Dad often serving as the choir director, to more recent memories of huddling around the piano at family gatherings and singing Christmas music or hymns to our Lord.

Throughout all these memories, if I could point to a single common thread besides the sweet Spirit that always accompanies the unifying experience of singing sacred music together, it would be Dad. Dad's intense love of music, coupled with his profound love for the Lord, brought a passion and sweet flavor to these singing experiences that has engraved itself on my heart and memory like a soft, ongoing melody.

As the Messiah concert has developed into sort of a new tradition, I have come to relish the yearly opportunity to sing with the choir, which continues to improve, and the orchestra, which is absolutely top-notch for a community-level production. Unfortunately, my wife's experience sitting with the kids in the audience has continued to deteriorate year after year, culminating in several tantrums so loud last year that she was forced to first leave the chapel where the audience sat, then leave the adjacent foyer, and eventually sit out the remainder of the two-hour program in a remote classroom where my loving progeny couldn't be heard by those trying to enjoy the music. She vowed never to bring the younger kids to the Messiah again.

Hence, this year not only did she give me the opportunity to practice with the choir, but also her blessing to spend a precious December night away from the family at the performance. This is a significant sacrifice for a full-time mother of five children ages ten to one, and one that is very much appreciated. She knows how much this means to me, despite the difficulty of leaving my family for another night. She was genuinely happy to do it, especially considering that we don't know how many more performances my Dad will be able to sing with us in, with his ongoing cancer struggle.

This year's production held an unexpected treat. During Saturday morning's dress rehearsal, as we were getting ready to sing the most well-known and beloved of all the Messiah choruses, the Hallelujah chorus, the conductor suddenly stopped and said, "I have a special request." She then asked my father if he would come down to the podium and take the baton to conduct choir and orchestra through this masterful composition of scriptural praise set to jubilant music.

As Dad made his way through the choir seats and then through the orchestra to the podium, there were quiet whispers of excitement among us. Nearly everyone from the choir knew Dad--knew of his long service as a church music conductor, of his love of music, knew of his struggle with cancer, but especially knew of his quiet, humble, unassuming demeanor and his unwavering faith in the Lord.

As Dad flicked the baton to start the orchestra in the opening measures, energy built up in the choir until it practically exploded in the first strains of "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" The sound burst forth in perfect rhythm and harmony in praise of Jesus Christ, the Savior who had healed the man now conducting us five years ago from cancer, and He to whom we now trusted Dad's life in his current struggles.

"Hallelujah!" Our single-word cries of love and adoration for God rang through the chapel.

"For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!" Expressions of faith in our all-powerful Creator mingled with unspoken cries of hope for further healing and faith in His wisdom as my father's hand led us onward through the chorus.

"King of kings, and Lord of lords!" Tears flowed freely now from many members of the chorus as we contemplated the majesty of the Savior's position as Creator of kingdoms without end.

"And He shall reign forever and ever!" Yes, forever and ever. That is what we have to look forward to. There will come a time when sickness, and loss, and sorrow will end and all will be replaced with order and perfection by the might of His arm and the grace of His love for us. Dad's cancer is temporary. The humble, gentle man now standing before us, leading us through an anthem of faith and adoration, will someday be permanently healed. In the eternities, Dad and every friend and loved one who honors the name of Christ the King of kings and Lord of lords, will reign with Him forever and ever, in happiness that never ends.

Our voices broke again and again until the final triumphal shouts of "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" gave way to a few seconds of silence, followed by enthusiastic applause. Amidst teary eyes and encouraging smiles, Dad made his way back to his seat with the choir, and the conductor took her place to lead the soloists through the transcendent melodies of I Know that My Redeemer Liveth and The Trumpet Shall Sound:

I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the last day.
Though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.

The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised, incorruptible. And we shall be changed.

Yes, we shall be changed. Changed from mortality to immortality. Changed from our frail, sinful states to a condition of perfected glory, to stand together with our families, forever to worship our Creator, our Redeemer, and the Captain of our souls.

Thank you for the gift of time, my Love.

Thank you for the gift of music and testimony, Dad.

And thank You for the gifts of redemption and love, my Savior and Messiah.

Wife Rule #122: Appreciate the Good Days

I am now finishing day eight of a nasty run-in with Swine-Flu's lesser-known little brother. This illness looks, acts, and feels like Swine or any other good, hearty flu, but yet turns up negative on the flu tests. That means Tama-Flu won't help. There's nothing to do but try to rest (while juggling life) and wait it out.

I am getting weary of being sick and am a little discouraged today, having taken a step backwards, and especially since three of my five kids have now joined me on the Fever and Cough Train. I tried my hardest not to share. Really I did.

But Wednesday was a good day. It was the first day since last Sunday that I didn't feel foggy around the brain. It was the day my appetite ventured back, at least into the background. It was the day I only napped for two hours and still felt pretty good by 8:00 at night. It was also the day Mom and Dad dropped in to visit.

That was a special treat, because I had been wanting to see them fairly badly since we had to cancel our visiting plans on Sunday on account of this sickness. Dad started chemotherapy two weeks ago, and I hadn't seen him since--only talked to him on the phone. Everyone else in the family had found a way to make it up for a visit but me. It just hadn't worked out. I wanted to see him badly, just to tell him in person that I am sorry he is sick, and I am sorry he is suffering. But delivering both comfort and the Black Plague to a sick man with a weakened immune system didn't seem like a good idea.

So it is a little ironic that it was me who was crashed out on the couch on Wednesday and awoke to find Dad standing nearby, greeting me with a smile and a bit of a concerned look on his face. He told me that he was sorry that I was sick. I reciprocated. I stared up at that man that I love with all my heart. He didn't look tired; it is his week off chemo, and he was having a good day. I longed to give him a hug. It's all I've wanted to do for several weeks now, but I knew better. There will be a chance for hugs later, and for that I am grateful.

Mom and Dad didn't stay long, and now that four of us are running hundred-and-two's, I'm glad they didn't. But it was so refreshing, so comforting to see them, even if for only a few minutes. It made Wednesday an extra good day.

And to cap off a good day, Wednesday night held an extra treat in store, specifically the hour from 3:00 to 4:00 AM. It was during this hour that I found myself unable to sleep, with my mind recalling in vivid detail the Alaskan cruise my wife and I took with Mom and Dad and one-year-old Charity back in June. It was a most pleasant hour.

Mom and Dad had planned this cruise with friends several months earlier. We tagged along at the last minute, quite frankly, because of Dad's cancer diagnosis. We had talked of going on a cruise with them for years, but it was never convenient. Then cancer, the Great Priority Reshuffler, suddenly made it convenient. We got one of the very last cabins in the price range we could afford.

It was our first experience cruising, and we had a marvelous week. Even though cancer spurred us out the door, it was absent on the cruise. I can honestly say that the week consisted of only smiles, happy conversation, adventures, recreation, amazing food, and the occasional poopy diaper. We had a great time together and I will always cherish that week in my memory.

I just hadn't gotten around to writing it down before now; I don't know why. Maybe it's because there was too much detail to record in a few hours. Maybe it's because I was afraid of not doing it justice. Maybe it's just life. But the hour I spent back on the cruise again Wednesday night, in a pleasant, dream-like state of silent reverie, devoid of any sight or sound or workaday worries to distract me, felt something akin to heaven. I decided then, while wrapped underneath two quilts with my heated mattress pad on (chills, you know), that I needed to write it down, and soon, before the visions passed forever from my mind.

* * *

My memories centered around and kept flowing back to one certain day of the cruise, the day we sailed up Tracy Arm. Tracy Arm is one of the Alaskan fjords that runs several miles inland, winding its way through a dramatic canyon cut between majestic glacier-topped peaks. While the famous Alaskan Inside Passage afforded rather spectacular scenery during much of the cruise, this was the only day during the week when the windows and deck of the boat were the front-row seats of the primary attraction.

Tracy Arm was spectacular; it was the best scenery of the week. The imposing gray cliffs of the mountains often plunged into the water at the same nearly-vertical angles they maintained for hundreds of feet up the mountainside, disappearing into the inky, glacially-tinted aquamarine waters. Every so often the cliffs were segmented by fissures, in which grew hardy pines and shrubs, or were split clean open by a miniature canyon barely wide enough for the continuous onslaught of meltwater that roared and foamed its way into the Mother Sea.

Where the vertical cliffs gave way to more tempered slopes, they were blanketed by dense forest growth of a surprisingly lustrous green, giving the canyon walls a look similar to tightly-packed boulders with a heavy moss coating on top, magnified a hundred thousand times.

The individual mountains were demarcated by grand, U-shaped valleys, each with its own glacier, whose erosive forces subtly but surely increase the reach of the tentacles of Tracy Arm as she claws her way further inland, year after year. These long, narrow valleys often looked like a slice of paradise, paradoxically juxtaposed against the fury of a world of ice and snow. The verdant fields of grass and lazy, meandering streams seemed to hold a magnetic attraction to the spotty sunlight that day, illuminating them with gold and giving them such an idyllic appearance that I was almost amazed not to see great herds of moose or caribou luxuriating in the gentle caress of their meadows.

But, it seemed that the wildlife that day was all in the fjord, sharing the waters with our ship, the Golden Princess. In fact, just as we (my wife, Charity, and I) were finishing up breakfast while enjoying the scenery out the window, an announcement came over the Public Address system to look for some seals alongside the ship. We all got up to look, since the announcement came from the very dramatic voice of our trusty, on-board naturalist.

A few words about our naturalist: he was probably forty-something, maybe pushing fifty, but apparently still believed he was quite a catch. He wore hippie garb and had long, flowing brown locks and a thick mustache below beady little eyes; kind of a hybrid of the musician Yanni and Geraldo Rivera, but without the talent or the broken nose. His oratory style was singularly dramatic, uttering every single line as if it was both profound and deeply moving, with his voice inflection sinking down a full octave on the last syllable of each phrase. Think of the melodramatic tempo of William Shatner: "Space... The final frontier... These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise..." but imagine that his voice dips from normal range to a deep, sultry bass on the words Space, frontier, and Enterprise, and you will get the sense of listening to our naturalist. We only survived the first twenty minutes of his first lecture, through hushed sniggering and gleeful sideways glances, before leaving. But we carried his legacy with us throughout the week, often repeating phrases in his oratory style for dramatic effect ("Please... pass the breadbasket...").

So as I said, I was just about to bite into my last sausage when our naturalist came on the PA system to announce that a mother seal could be seen with her cub, resting on a small iceberg up ahead. Then he went on: "You know... it's amazing up here... in the mighty Alaskan wilderness... that nothing is wasted... I once saw a bald eagle land on a blood-red iceberg... it was ravenously eating something there... but it wasn't a baby seal... it was the afterbirth... the baby seal was safe with its mother... and the eagle was well fed... nothing is wasted, not even the bloody afterbirth..."

After that moving and emotional story, I looked down at the greasy piece of meat on my plate and asked my wife, "You want my sausage?"

It was about this time that my parents found us and we all decided to head up to the top deck to better enjoy the scenery. It was fairly warm for a June day as far north as we were, and the breeze was nearly non-existent. We marveled at the slate cliffs and waterfalls, the green of the forest, the height of the mountains, the ominous coldness of the water, and the small chunks of glacial ice floating all around us. Every once in a while the ship would run right over the top of one large enough to hear just a little crunch and groan as it was pulverized beneath our weight (see, all that cruise food does some good!).

Speaking of excess weight, our naturalist came over the PA again: "Now here in these frigid waters... where waterfalls cascade down like satin ribbons... a human will only survive about ten minutes... before freezing to death... the longest record of human survival here... in majestic Tracy Arm... was a native woman of the north who fell in... and it took them almost an hour to find her... but she was still conscious... and holding onto a log... she survived without any serious injuries... How did she do it?... She was less than five feet tall... and weighed over 300 pounds... like the seal or the otter... her natural insulation protected her..."

At this point we all agreed that we felt pretty optimistic about our chances for survival. After all, we had spent the whole trip up to this point preparing for just such a catastrophe by stuffing ourselves to the point of exhaustion during every meal. I mean, let's be honest: the main point of a cruise--yes, the main point, even more than whatever sights there are to see--is to eat like a pig. You could actually emulate a low-budget cruise fairly realistically by dressing in fancy clothes and parking yourself in Chuck-a-rama every day for twelve hours straight.

* * *

The food on the Golden Princess, of course, was much better than Chuck-a-rama. Instead of struggling to decide between the fried chicken or the roast beef, you had to struggle with the decision between filet mignon with sauteed shrimp, or the blackened swordfish with lobster reduction. It didn't take long to discover that in reality there was no reason to choose between the two at all, when you could solve the problem by simply having both. This proved to be an essential strategy, because most of the menu items only showed up one night of the cruise, only to be replaced by other outrageously yummy items the next night. I employed this strategy at almost every meal, and as a result I maximized my chances to sample some of the tastiest food I have ever eaten in my life.

Of course, let's not forget the appetizers. From a person who has never ordered an appetizer, a main course, and a dessert from an ala carte menu, these simply could not be missed. I almost always ended up with a shrimp cocktail (available every night) and some other adventurous thing, such as a lobster souffle, or thin pieces of meat with artfully drizzled French sauces on them. I don't even really know what most of the appetizers were; but they were almost always delicious. Even the escargot was surprisingly good, like eating cheesy, garlicky, buttery, rubber bands. The lone exception was the caviar, which was like eating grainy tapioca soaked in super-strong fish oil--no, thanks.

Then of course there were the desserts: each night there was a different dessert menu, again with several "standard" choices available every night and a half-dozen or so items that only appeared once. I always ordered any available dessert souffle after my first rewarding experience with the chocolate souffle, punctured personally by my waiter and filled via teaspoon to the brim with warm caramel ("Are you sure you want another spoonful, sir?" "If you've got more, keep it coming!"). I almost always ended up with two desserts as well. I think my stomach stretched significantly during that week. Those were good days.

Dessert also provided some of the best entertainment of the whole meal, as I'll explain in a minute. We spent our first dinner at the buffet, but on the second day we went to one of the several formal restaurants early, to avoid the hour-long lines that often formed during peak mealtime. During our second meal at the restaurant, one of the Maître d's, an older gentleman from Portugal named Antonio, took a particular liking to Charity. When he came to personally take our dessert orders he asked, "And what would leetle Charitee like?" We replied to bring a small dish of ice cream. "Oh no! No, Charitee would like The Volcano!" So it was that he brought her a large dish with three huge scoops of ice cream and a mound of whipping cream and chocolate sauce about five inches high. She took one look at her Volcano, looked up, and smiled. Antonio was smitten.

At the end of the night, Antonio asked us, "How would you like to have a reeserved table here everee night, by the window?" Are you kidding? There were only about a dozen tables by windows at all, and this meant that we would never have to wait in line! "Just come at seex o'clock, and Antonio will take care of you, right leetle Charitee?"

So we came every night at six o'clock, strolled past the long line already formed at the door (rumors of the filet mignon and prime rib must have reached the buffet crowd at last), and sat down at our reserved table by the window. There was always a high chair waiting for Charity. Antonio would come by to take her order while the rest of us were still deciding on appetizers. Then he would personally bring her food out and painstakingly cut it into bite-size pieces on her tray. "Ees thees leetle enough?" he would check with my wife or me. When he saw that Charity was settled in for her meal, he would disappear to his other duties and let our normal waiter staff take care of the rest of us (which included bringing our courses, taking our dishes, swiping crumbs off the table, smoothing the tablecloth, etc).

Antonio would reappear 45 minutes later or so and ask "Ees Charitee ready for her meelk now?" and take her sippy cup back to the kitchen, wash it, and fill it with milk. He would then disappear again until making his final appearance to bring Charity her Volcano for dessert. Antonio made sure that Charity kept her own eating schedule, regardless of whether there was a backup in the kitchen for lobster for the rest of us, or whatever. He really made the difference for Charity.

One more dessert story before I return to Tracy Arm: tired of mousses, warm fruit cobblers, ice cream concoctions, dessert crepes and souffles, and everything else the menu offered, my nothing-if-not-adventurous wife decided to order the "fruit and exotic cheese" dish. The cheese, was, well, exotic. She enjoyed a few of the varieties, but crinkled up her nose when she poked at something called "esrom cheese." Mustering her courage, she forked off a small bite and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes immediately turned red and started watering, and she struggled to swallow before spluttering out "Sweaty armpits!" We had all paused to watch this spectacle and with her official assessment of esrom cheese we burst into laughter. And then, for some unexplainable reason, my nothing-if-not-persistent wife took another bite, setting off another chain of tears, hacking, spluttering, and even harder laughter. "I just wanted to see if it was really as bad as I thought it was," she later explained. "And it was even worse. It was like... like putrid feet!" My dad thought that was one of the funniest things he had ever seen, and mentioned esrom cheese with glee for weeks afterwards.

* * *

It was this type of humor that provided the good cheer we found ourselves enjoying up on the deck of the ship while cruising up Tracy Arm. Enjoying the scenery from the ship was a different type of recreation; not necessarily the superior type for every day, but today it felt like the best place to be.

Over the previous days we had hiked the lush rainforest surrounding Mendenhall glacier out of Juneau, and taken a bus ride into the Yukon from Skagway (yes, take the bus, not the train, unless you get a real charge out of riding a rickety old train; but the bus goes much farther north whereas the train doesn't even reach the best scenery). We had marveled at a river that splits clean in two on the continental divide, emptying into both oceans (really!), watched Iditarod dogs clamor to pull sleds (Charity loved the puppies), and saw a bear rummaging through an old Yukon railyard. In the next several days we would enjoy both the shops and the rainforests of Ketchikan, and the beauty of the city and shores of Victoria. The on-shore activities were top-notch.

On the ship we had fully utilized the available venues, having gone to the musical shows with mixed reviews of what we saw there; enjoyed ballroom dancing lessons (thanks again for babysitting, Mom and Dad); been to several of the dances--some alone, some with the whole crew; watched the amazing skills of the performers of the Rolla-bolla act as they performed mind-bending balancing feats atop stacked layers of rolling cylinders; laughed at the charming juggler guy whose appeal probably came as much from looking and acting like a normal guy as it did from his skills; and spent hours being dazzled by Chris May, their on-board Jazz pianist.

Chris was amazing. His arrangements were top-notch and virtuosic, his repertoire seemed endless, and his voice was that of a classic New Orleans jazz man. He was surely the least appreciated of all the performers, coming out only later at night and playing to a small, intimate crowd. My wife and I sat there, mesmerized for at least 30 minutes every night after we discovered him. I would sit right by the piano with a rather stupid-looking grin on my face as I watched his fingers fly across the keyboard effortlessly. It was exceptional entertainment.

There were a couple of memories of dancing that will stick, too. The first is when all of us--Mom, Dad, Charity, my wife, and me--went dancing to the music of a small, live band at the back of one of the clubs. We only stayed for maybe fifteen minutes, but in those minutes my mind recorded footage that I will cherish forever: Mom and Dad dancing, not just the slow dances, but the faster ones too. Them laughing; them together; them looking at each other like newlyweds; them taking Charity, allowing my wife and I a slow dance together; holding my wife and softly pecking her on the cheek; dancing all together in a circle, with Charity in the middle. It was one of those times where, for the sheer joy of the moment, time slowed to a crawl and I found myself wishing it would never end.

The other was when my wife and I, who had been practicing our West Coast Swing moves (I only do dances I have been taught, not having any natural aptitude at all), were given a "lucky stick" by some random guy. He walked up, gave it to us, and told us to hang onto it. I should have known that was trouble. We didn't realize that the random guy was a staff member who had been charged with finding three couples to do a Twist competition, and our "lucky stick" was our ticket into the competition. I panicked. I didn't (and you may have a hard time believing this) even know what the Twist was, and as fate would have it, we were Couple Number One. I had no idea what to do, so with the spotlight and all eyes on us, I gave my wife the most desperate look I could that pleaded "Please don't abandon me on this... whatever you do, just keep ahold of my hand!" and led her through a snazzy West Coast Swing while the band played a Twist.

There was restrained applause when our 90 seconds of pure torture was over, and I was never more relieved to shrink into the shadows then when he announced Couple Number Two. They were a 60-something couple from Japan who did the Twist perfectly. After seeing what they did, I thought "Ooooh, I could have done that!" I just didn't know. The Japanese couple won the contest (and finished with an impressive flourish). A few kind-hearted souls approached us afterwards and said "I would have voted for you, but... you just didn't dance the Twist!" No kidding.

Happy to have that awkward moment behind us, I am quite content now to be up on the deck, viewing spectacular Tracy Arm. The four of us (plus Charity) have been chatting about this and that, pointing out interesting features in the scenery, sharing stories and memories, and laughing together in an idyllic way. It occurs to me that this is what the ultimate goal of family is all about; moments like these, where Father, Mother, Son, and Daughter are all together, sharing life as friends and peers, bound together in common love. Eternity was made for an unending stream of moments like this.

* * *

Suddenly the voice of our fearless naturalist bursts over the PA system, this time announcing a contest. After a brief quote by Shakespeare, he said, "I'm sure... that like me... you are all duly inspired... by the grandeur of magnificent Tracy Arm... So I'd like you... to write a Haiku... about our morning in Tracy Arm... and I'll award prizes to the best ones..."

And we were duly inspired. We all brainstormed for the best combination of quotes from William Shatner, William Shakespear, and our naturalist. Dad thought up several impressive entries along this line, such as:

Into Tracy Arm
Where no man has gone before
saith William S.

But perhaps the family favorite was this one that yours truly composed, as if inspired by Nature herself:

Ravenous eagle
Ingests blood-red afterbirth.
You want my sausage?

This triggered a whole new generation of gross Haikus, each of them eliciting giggles until the whole conversation had erupted into laughter. For several days following, Dad and I delighted in composing a Haiku consisting of some disgusting description in twelve syllables and ending with the line "You want my sausage?" We are all quite certain that if we had stopped laughing long enough to actually turn in our favorite Haiku contest entry, that it would have won. It certainly captured our experience in Tracy Arm, as narrated by our fearless naturalist.

* * *

As the fjord narrowed, we approached the bay where the water bumped up against the largest of the glaciers--a huge wall of crumbling ice that dwarfed our ship. The water around us now had much larger and more interesting icebergs floating in it, each pocked with holes, and criss-crossed with cracks, of a deep, vibrant glacial blue. We spent a long time on deck pointing out different icebergs and the bizzarre shapes and textures they had. Ever wonder why glacial ice is blue? As a helpful display at the Mendenhal Glacier informed us, "It is because all the other colors of light are absorbed by the ice and only the blue light is reflected back." Oh, really? Thanks so much for clearing that up.

It was here also that the true skill of our captain was evident, as he stopped the boat and did a complete 180-degree turn in place. There wasn't much room for error; it seemed like the bow and stern of the boat might each scrape the cliffs as we pivoted. Ice was sucked into the swirling vortexes left behind, and pulverized underneath our ship with great, shivering groans. And then we were off, at a little greater speed, towards the opening of the fjord and our next destination.

All too soon our adventure in Tracy Arm was behind us, transformed in an instant from present to memory. But what a pleasant present it was, and what sunny memories they are! Celebrating life's good days is a key to living happily, and our days aboard the Golden Princess, and particularly our morning in Tracy Arm, were some of the best we've had.

As we face an unknown future regarding Dad's cancer, there will be both bad days and good. The only certain thing is that the trials and pains of mortality will eventually pass away and we will be left with only our memories of these times. I hope that when that time comes, my wife and I, my parents, and the rest of us will be able to see that we have not let life wear us down, but that we "tipped the balance" in our favor by focusing on and appreciating the good days. With that kind of attitude, I'm sure that our best days together are yet ahead.

Wife Rule #121: The Unblemished Truth

What do you call it when my wife
(1) gets all the kids ready for church because I am at early-morning meetings
(2) takes the tired, ornery baby during the last hour of church so I can be free to attend to my church responsibilities unimpeded,
(3) lets me attend choir practice, while she instead spends the hours right after church making her famous homemade rolls for our family dinner,
(4) makes a batch of cookies in addition,
(5) lets me--in fact, encourages me--to take a nap after choir practice, before heading out to the dinner,
(6) while gathered with the family, during a special moment of quiet reflection and solemnity involving my father with cancer, basically takes herself out of the picture by removing of all the noisy little kids, so the rest of the adults can enjoy the moment,
(7) is willing to take the kids home and put them to bed while I linger just a little longer with Mom and Dad on this special night,
(8) does a hundred more things that I probably fail to take notice of?

I don't know.

But whatever you call it, I certainly don't deserve it. I often really don't deserve her at all. And that's the unblemished truth.

Wife Rule #120: It's Nice to Share

It's one of those lessons you learn in kindergarten. It makes snack time go so much more smoothly. It makes your mom happy because there's less fighting in the home. It helps people to like you. It even helps you win friends and influence people (just ask the lobbyists).

It's nice to share!

And tonight is one of those nights where the niceness of sharing is on the top of my mind, because I just got back from a very uplifting meeting and I'm floating a little. It's nice to come home in such a mood and grab the hand of my sweetheart and lift her up onto the cloud with me. The view is great up here tonight.

On the other end of the spectrum, we've recently had some more bad news with regard to my dad's cancer. It's nice to have someone to share that with, too. Her shoulders and neck are just the right height that when such tidings sort of drain the life right out of us, we can lean against each other and our heads kind of fit together. We can help to hold each other up when we share the downs.

And when we sat together Monday night with our little flock of five kids and watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for the first time together (we recently finished the book), and little 1-year-old Charity decided that instead of watching the movie, she would dance and twirl and look over her shoulder and shrug and flirt a lot, we shared a giggle, and then we shared a laugh.

Sometimes after the kids have gone to bed, and we have diligently denied them dessert (because good parents have to do that sometimes), we share an indulgence of a dish of ice cream. Often when we share this way, we have to get seconds. But we share those too.

And last of all, before (and often after) we turn off the lamps in our bedroom, we share a final wrap-up conversation for the day. It's often the first chance we've really had to talk when the rest of the house is shrouded in silence. It's a great time to decompress, to discuss our kids, our parents, our siblings, our neighbors, and certainly not least, our marriage. We analyze, we plan, and sometimes we share a dream, just a little bit.

It doesn't matter so much what we are sharing; the important part is that we are sharing, at least a little bit, every day. We're both so much richer for it.

You can take that to the bank.