My Funny Valentine

Early in our marriage, I told my young dashing husband that when he got old he would look like S. Dilworth Young. We both thought highly of S. Dilworth Young, who was a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, so it was a happy contemplation. We may even have met Elder Young once in conjunction with a Seminary and Institute Faculty Meeting. Paul began teaching Seminary in 1969 and Institute in 1972. In 1969, S. Dilworth Young was 72 years old—which is how old Paul is now.

Interestingly, “Dil” and Paul had several things in common, such as their involvement with The Boy Scouts of America, their poetry, and their wit.

So, I think I was almost spot-on. What do you think?

Celebrating the Shortest Month of the Year

When I was growing up in Minnesota, January for me was the “longest month of the year.” It was also the coldest, darkest, and dreariest month of the year. It was just nasty and odious! In contrast, I was always fond of February because it was a mercifully short winter month. But March was about as cold and dreary as January, although it wasn’t as dark—which made March the second longest month of the year. I lived in Minnesota enduring 13 long winters beginning when I was in third grade. I left when I was 21.

Fast-forward to today. I really have had no reason to complain about the weather during January 2015 in Utah Valley.  The proverbial “longest and darkest” month of the year was gone in a flash!  And on many days, it was almost spring-like. Utah Valley winters over all are much milder than Minnesota winters anyway. But this January was even milder than normal.

On the radio this morning, the Ground Hog Day report was that there would be 6 more weeks of winter because “Phil” saw his shadow in Pennsylvania. Of course, Phil has always been full of baloney—with only a 39% accuracy rate. Anybody could guess that well. I don’t think Phil’s cousin “Youvie” in Utah Valley saw his shadow today, so supposedly we will have an early spring.

As I was slowly becoming conscious this morning, I was remembering the 1993 movie “Ground Hog Day” starring Bill Murray. I’ve not watched it for several years. But, I have probably viewed it at least half a dozen times since its release, so I could reconstruct much of the movie in my mind. The moral of the movie was you can live a selfish self-centered wretched existence, complaining about the weather and life in general and making everyone miserable around you, or you can adopt an optimistic outlook, make the best of your situation, try to do good and make others happy.  There is a true principle. Happy Ground Hog Day!

Year's End, 2014

Derailed? Or A Train Wreck?

I suddenly vanished from the blogging world after my last two blogs in early March 2014.

It wasn’t that I had run out of things to blog about. I was still thinking because there was so much to think about. And, we were still in the midst of ever-changing “Sweet Is the Work” MTC adventures.

So, what derailed me?

I suspect it was too many significant things all happening at the same time. My life apparently got out of sync trying to respond to so many of yesterday’s events while today’s multitude of events simultaneously demanded a response. 

Or something. 

Every day. 

I can surmise this because of the existence of several partial, incomplete, unpublished blogs. Consider, for example, these unpublished titles:

              “The Illogical Power of Ridicule and Name-Calling”

              “Seeing a Seachange”

And then the veritable Double-Whammy Train-Wreck occurred: Total knee replacement surgery in August and deep vein thrombosis in September. A bit too Melodramatic? Perhaps. Nevertheless, “normal” life vanished for about 4 months.

The good news is that I am finally beginning to return to “normal.”  Looking back, I am struck with how I had no inkling as to what might transpire during the year. I am now surprised to note that where “two roads diverged” it could have gone either way.

.

Meanwhile, in Uganda

The radio station that I tune into every morning features news from the BBC. One morning last week, I caught just a fragment of one BBC broadcast. The part that I heard intrigued me, so I went to the internet to learn more. I first wanted to see what kind of spin the major US news outlets were putting on the story. I was somewhat surprised that I could find no mention of the BBC story at all.

What I had heard on the BBC broadcast that intrigued me was the voice of a Ugandan government spokesman, speaking in English, saying:

“There was a time when the international community believed slave trade and slavery was cool, that colonialism was cool, that coups against African governments was cool.” He then called for respect for Ugandan  sovereignty.

The man spoke with a polite tone of voice. It was not the shrill, dramatic voice of outrage that one hears so frequently these days. I think that’s why I wanted to find out what was going on.

What had happened was that Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni, on 24 February 2014, had signed a bill criminalizing homosexuality. He had signed this bill despite international criticism and threats to cut financial aid. (Barack Obama and John Kerry were among those who condemned the law.)

“Harsh” is an accurate description for the law: [As reported in “The Independent” (UK)] Those found guilty of “homosexuality” may be sentenced to 14 years in jail. Life imprisonment will be the maximum penalty for “aggravated homosexuality,” defined as repeated gay sex between consenting adults as well as same-sex acts involving a minor, a disabled person or where one partner is infected with HIV. The original draft called for the death penalty for some homosexual acts, but this was removed from the legislation following an international outcry.

In “The Independent,” President Museveni was quoted as saying: The law was needed to stop what he described as the West's “social imperialism” promoting homosexuality in Africa. Museveni accused “arrogant and careless Western groups” of trying to recruit Ugandan children into homosexuality. Many of our homosexuals are mercenaries, heterosexuals who become homosexuals because of money. These are prostitutes for money,” he claimed.

What?  

Promoting homosexuality?    

Recruiting children?  

Was this outlandish hyperbole, or was there some element of truth?

To try to get a grip on this story, I spent some time reading Ugandan history and the history of the AIDS epidemic in Africa. The two histories seem inextricably connected, and, the law appears to be a response to the AIDS problem as well as the issue of morality. Those in favor of the law see it as a solution to the ongoing AIDS epidemic. Those against the law see it as a violation of human rights— comparing it to Nazi Germany’s treatment of the Jews in World War II.

 “We Africans never seek to impose our view on others. If only they could let us alone,” President Museveni said, speaking of Western pressure not to sign the bill. “We have been disappointed for a long time by the conduct of the West. There is now an attempt at social imperialism.”

The financial squeeze is now on, as several countries have withdrawn aid. The World Bank, ironically, is rethinking a loan that was intended to increase health services to combat AIDS in Uganda.

As I studied the Ugandan situation, I reflected on the increasing momentum of the gay rights movement here in the US.  The showdown in the courts over gay rights versus the First Amendment right of free exercise of religion, as many are well aware, is currently under way.  If we have not done so before, very soon each of us will necessarily end up having to draw a “line in the sand” or declare on which side of that line we stand.

I wonder, will money be an influence or deciding factor in our choice?

Love Stories in Green

Desperately needing to see green grass and green leaves in the middle of winter in Utah can make one want to move to warmer southern climes.

If that can’t be done, watching a movie that was filmed on location where greenness abounds can be a salutary substitute.

With greenness in mind (mostly), I started with the movie, “Persuasion,” based on Jane Austen’s novel of the same name. I persuaded the Knight to watch it with me. Fortunately, I had actually just finished re-reading the story again, so the plot and characters were fresh in my mind. The Knight, unfamiliar with the story, kept interrupting with plot and character questions as the movie progressed. At the end, the Knight agreed that the movie was an “OK” story and was not terribly insipid (even though there was a shocking dearth of gun fire and car chases).

Several days after that, my eyes again had an insatiable thirst for green. This time, I chose the movie “Emma,” again based on a Jane Austen novel. Unfortunately, I had not recently reread the book (since it is not my “favorite” Jane Austen novel), so I was a bit rusty on the details. Gallantly agreeing to watch the movie with me, the Knight once again asked constant questions. Even though he really didn’t want to watch this movie, I think he secretly liked it because “Pepper Potts” from “Iron Man” was the star.

A week passed and we were still in the midst of the bleak Utah midwinter, with no green grass anywhere to be found. Did I dare push my luck with another Jane Austen movie? I obviously caught the Knight at a weak moment. This time it was “Sense and Sensibility.” Such a lot of green! By the end, I was well aware that watching three Jane Austen movies in close succession had certainly been going “the second and third miles” on his part! (Lots of green but no “little green men.”)

Now, you won’t believe this, but it is true. I actually had the temerity to suggest that we watch “Pride and Prejudice” next. At this, the Knight balked. “I don’t want to watch that,” he said. He was adamant. (Whoever heard of going a fourth mile?)

Well, you probably already guessed it. He had a change of heart: “Pride and Prejudice,” it was! That’s why I married him: He’s a gallant, fourth-mile-Knight. He even professed to enjoy the movies.

Picturing Hope

On New Year’s Eve, last week, I bought a picture calendar at Michael’s on sale for 84 cents. Michael’s  84-cent calendar display by that time had only a few choices to select from such as Hello Kitty or Angry Birds or maybe Despicable Me. But there also just happened to be one flower calendar remaining.

The January picture is of a vase of purple lilacs on the window sill of an open window (a subliminal suggestion of warm weather). The old wooden window frame is painted bright blue.  Faded curtains frame the window. Interspersed among the lilacs are some fragile white flowers. I could not not buy this calendar. The picture of lilacs on a cold winter day conveys such hope to my heart and soul. I can almost smell the lilacs.

I stopped to gaze at the lilacs again today and my heart smiled enough to reach my face: Hope. The fact that the calendar cost only 84 cents also makes me smile. However, to me the picture is priceless.

On New Year’s Day, I changed our cottage sign. The December cottage sign was “Christmas Cottage.” The January cottage sign is “Hope Springs Cottage.” The idea that should come to your mind is the phrase “hope springs eternal” (from “An Essay on Man” by Alexander Pope). It also implies, “hoping for Spring” (I am hoping for an early Spring).The background of the sign is a montage of snowflakes.

Yes, Winter will again yield to Spring. Meanwhile, the picture of the lilacs gives me joy and hope.

Thinking About Christmas

Ben fixed my internet and computer issues this morning. My 20 years of experience with the internet and more than that with computers have not resulted in my becoming the least bit internet or computer savvy. 

A month or so ago I tried to do something with my Facebook account that Emily could have done in less than 30 seconds, but me it took all morning—that’s how UNsavvy I am. So, thanks, Ben!—I shall regard it as your Christmas present to me!

. . .  Speaking of Christmas . . .

. . . There is this family tradition with meatballs . . . .

For the past 30 or more years, 15 pounds of homemade meatballs and gravy simmering all day long in a crockpot have warmed and charmed us on Christmas Day.

I have usually made the meatballs far in advance of Christmas Day and stored them in the freezer until the big day.

Somehow, it slipped my mind this year.

So, I fear there may be all kinds of sadness on Christmas Day: “What??? NO MEATBALLS???!!!”

Cue the background music: “You’re a mean one Mister Grinch …  your heart’s an empty hole, you’ve got garlic in your soul!”

Another confession: there’s no Christmas tree this year either.

“What??? NO CHRISTMAS TREE???!!!”

Cue the music: “You’re a monster Mister Grinch … (etc., etc.)”

To top it all off, there are also no outside lights decorating the eaves and bushes…

“… your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch.”

Hopefully, Christmas will come anyway.

Hopefully, there will be so much Whoville-like Christmas Spirit and love amongst our family members that no one will even notice what is missing . . .  .

Goodbye Mr. Chips

 

When I was 18, I saw “Lawrence of Arabia” starring Peter O’Toole in a movie theater in Duluth, Minnesota. I actually watched it twice in the space of a week or two because I was so mesmerized by the stunning, captivating image of heroic Lawrence on the big screen. However, the truth is that the story starts on an exultant high note, but descends slowly (in about 4 hours) into Hell, as Lawrence essentially is driven to a kind of madness. So, I “loved” only the first part of “Lawrence of Arabia.”

 

 

Truthfully, it was watching Peter O’Toole (as Lawrence)—who was so dashing, stunning, captivating, and mesmerizing on screen—that I loved. Therefore, when the movie “Lord Jim” came to Duluth, I went to it because it starred Peter O’Toole. I went because I hoped that he would somehow reprise the image of the heroic T. E. Lawrence. Instead, O’Toole’s portrayal of the anguish and psychological turmoil of Jim was so eerily believable that it was deeply disturbing to me. Additionally, “Lord Jim” reminded me of O’Toole’s depiction of T. E. Lawrence’s disturbing descent into madness and Hell, which I did not want to remember.

 

 

 

As I viewed each succeeding Peter O’Toole movie over the years, in my mind’s eye I fondly recalled O’Toole as heroic Lawrence and I sentimentally yearned for just a glimpse of him somewhere in each movie – to no avail. That stunning image was gone forever.* However, O’Toole’s haunting portrayals of madness in Lawrence and in Lord Jim seemed to echo through many of his subsequent movies.

Even though I foolishly yearned for a glimpse of the hero, in time I gradually—if begrudgingly— learned to “appreciate” O’Toole’s immense acting ability. It was clear that he was able to immerse himself so completely into a character that he seemed no longer to be “acting” – he became the part. These portrayals were always disturbing because they were so real.

According to the New York Times:

“His acting method …  was a process that blended ‘magic’ with ‘sweat,’ a matter of allowing a text to flow into his mind and body until he fully inhabited the character…. ‘I use everything – toes, teeth, ears, everything,’ he said."

Indeed! It was obvious: he truly deserved each of those eight Academy Award nominations as best actor!

My favorite O’Toole movie—one that I have watched several times and will yet enjoy watching again in the future—is “Goodbye, Mr. Chips.” I love it because it is sentimental, and gentle, and full of love. It is a story about hope and charity. In his quiet, reserved way, Mr. Chips was truly heroic. And I think that in Mr. Chips, we can actually catch a glimpse the real Peter O’Toole.

 Goodbye, Mr. Chips -- rest in peace.

* There is one image from Mr. Chips that is reminiscent of Lawrence: Mr. Chips runs across campus with his academic robes flying about him; Lawrence runs across the top of a train with his Arabic robes flying about him.

Perfect

Weather-wise, it is a perfect Thanksgiving morning: sunny and calm with a few patchy clouds and an expected high temperature of about 50^o.  

In stark contrast, I can still vividly recall the Thanksgiving of 2010. An arctic cold front blasted through Provo-Orem with temperatures in the single digits and a deadly wind chill factor. That weekend, a big snow storm dropped at least 6 inches of snow on us. (Shudder!) And, while the 2010 Thanksgiving weather was not “typical” for Provo-Orem, neither is today’s weather typical. This is probably the best Thanksgiving Day weather since we’ve moved here. I think it even rivals the lovely November weather we experienced in Albuquerque from 1993 to 1999.

The weather, of course, is merely the back-drop – albeit, a splendid, spectacular back-drop! The major focal point, however, of what will be perfect about today is the family gathering at Dara’s house. About half of our children and grandchildren will share one another’s boisterous company and a potluck feast during one raucous, breath-taking, whirlwind celebration in the afternoon. (Dara is such a good sport – and gracious hostess – to share her spacious home that can accommodate a crowd of 20 that seems more like a crowd of 40!)

Abraham Lincoln issued his proclamation of a national “day of Thanksgiving and Praise” 150 years ago, on October 3 1863. The call to recognize God’s blessings came even amidst the sorrows and devastations of the ongoing Civil War. It is a perennial human irony that we often do not recognize God’s many blessings in our times of prosperity. Then again, in times of sorrow and trial, it is also so human a tendency to “charge God foolishly” rather than to remain faithful like Job. Therefore, because of our human weaknesses and failings, we need this special day of Thanksgiving and Praise to remember our beneficent Father, and the debt we owe to God and to so many others.

I am deeply grateful for family and friends, and God's many blessings.

 Happy Thanksgiving!

Winter in Utah

I have a small Holmes space heater that I have been using for the past couple of weeks while I am at my computer desk. It’s purpose is to keep my feet and legs warm. Meanwhile, while it is ostensibly warming up my cold feet and legs, my upper half is often too warm. Goofy body.

Feeling over-cooked on the top today made me remember being a kid on our Minnesota farm.  During the winter, the old fashioned wood burning cook stove in the kitchen produced enormous heat. I loved to sit on a chair near  the back of the stove, soaking up the Kelvins.

Between the ages of 8 and 21, I lived through 13 brutal Minnesota winters. Mercifully, temperatures below  -40^oF [40 degrees below zero] ]were only an occasional and not an every day occurrence. However, in my estimation, any temperature or windchill factor below 0^oF was, by definition, brutal. And potentially deadly. And that describes most Minnesota winter days.

 

As a matter of fact, I personally dealt with my own first degree frostbite symptoms throughout the duration of each Minnesota winter: itching and painful toes, fingers, thighs and buttocks.  Sometimes I scratched the affected areas until they bled. I remember many occasions when I immersed my frozen hands into cool water that felt like it was boiling hot. And this in spite of my best efforts to dress warmly—I  was not like some of today’s young people who insist on wearing shorts and sandals year round even during a blizzard—but somehow whatever I wore was never sufficient.

Consequently, at the end of each brutal wintry day, as I roasted slowly next to the great cook stove, I often thought of the Robert Service poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” At the end of the poem, the corpse of Sam McGee is smiling in the midst of the cremation flames, and says, “Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm!” I felt great empathy for Sam.

Of course, I no longer live in Minnesota—nor even in Indiana, for that matter (I also spent 8 semi-brutal winters in Indiana).

Now I live in Utah. Here, our license plates proclaim, “Greatest Snow on Earth.” In the recent past, it has even been possible to go snow skiing in the mountains on the 4^th of July! However, Utah winters (in general) could hardly be characterized as brutal.

Winter temperatures at our house (in Provo-Orem) during the past dozen years have not once reached brutal (0^oF).  Therefore, in my estimation, as long as this trend continues, there is no justification for complaining about Utah winters.

So, hush! 

If things change, there’s always St. George! (And space heaters.)

 

Stephen R. Covey and My Daily Private Victory

One year ago today, Stephen Covey passed away due to complications from injuries he suffered in an unfortunate biking accident. I am reminding you of him today because I have been reminded of him nearly every day since his death. The reason I have thought of him is because I have a file in my computer documents called “Daily Private Victory” which I see every day. “Daily Private Victory” is what Covey called his daily lifestyle practices of continually “sharpening the saw.” While Covey’s “daily private victory” included four dimensions: spiritual, physical, social/emotional, and mental, I chose to focus on the spiritual in my own personal daily private victory. During the past year, under each day’s date, I have logged the scriptures that I have read that day.

On 16 July 2012, when Covey died, I was about halfway through The Book of Mormon and I was also reading Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s talks.  Additionally, a footnote in one of Elder Maxwell’s talks had led me to the writings of Malcolm Muggeridge, including his Confessions of a 20^th Century Pilgrim, A Third Testament, and “The Christ-Centered Life,” which I was also in the process of reading in July 2012. At that time, however, my reading of the scriptures was not always consistently done on a daily basis. My purpose in deciding to keep this log was so that I would become more consistent in my daily reading of the scriptures.

So, each day I see the words: “Daily. Private. Victory.” Daily reminds me that I made a commitment to read the scriptures every day. Private reminds me that keeping my commitment has everything to do with my spiritual health and strength. Victory reminds me that the very real struggle is between my “natural man” and my spiritual nature. “Daily. Private. Victory.” And then I log in the readings of that day. I am happy to report that although I have not been perfect at it, I have indeed improved! In mid-December 2012, I finished reading the second half of The Book of Mormon. The next day, I began again. A few days ago, I yet again completed the cycle and began again.

I expect that there are those who would wrinkle up their noses at so many re-readings of The Book of Mormon. I may even have been one of those in the past. But, the counsel from more than one Prophet of the Church has been to read daily from The Book of Mormon. Obedience brings blessings. (Incidentally, for those who might be concerned about such things, I am also reading from The Doctrine and Covenants, and from the writings and talks of the General Authorities, among other things.)

Many thanks to Stephen R. Covey for his inspirational example and teachings. He is gone, but not forgotten.

The Four-Year-Old Epicurean

This evening I caught a glimpse into the mind of a four-year-old Epicurean.

Henry had asked his father to put mustard and relish on his hot dog bun, “and ketchup, of course,” he said.

His mother cautioned him about the relish since he’d not had relish on his prior hot dog experiences. But Henry insisted.

After a few bites, however, Henry decided that the relish was not to his liking, so the relish was scraped off the hot dog and out of the bun.

About half way through the thus altered hot dog and bun, Henry began hoping for a reprieve of some kind. But his parents were not persuaded. They expected him to finish his hot dog before he could have chips or watermelon.

As his Grammie, I felt sympathy for the little guy’s chore of choking down that bun slathered with ketchup, mustard, and relish juice. I hoped that I might revive his interest in finishing his hot dog by announcing that we would be having homemade banana cream pie for dessert.

I began to cut the pie into pieces and to top each piece with an overly generous dollop of Cool Whip.

The first piece went to the grandpa who inhaled his piece in a flash. The next two pieces went to Ben and Emily. Then Audrey was ready for hers. Audrey’s pie was half the size of the adult serving, but it nevertheless had a scoop of Cool Whip that more than equaled the size of her pie slice.

Henry was still struggling with his hot dog and bun. Suddenly the hot dog squirted out of the bun and landed on the seat of his chair. The bun and hot dog were reunited, and Henry’s task continued.

In spite of his hot dog struggles, Henry was monitoring the dispersal of each banana cream pie slice topped with a magnificent cloud of Cool Whip. Last of all, I dished up Henry’s slice of pie. It was like Audrey’s, with a towering billow of Cool Whip perched atop the pie, and I set it on the table just out of his arm’s reach.

At that point, Henry stuffed the remains of his hot dog and bun into his mouth. His mouth was so full, I was sure that it would impossible to chew and that he would choke. 

Amazingly, at last he triumphed. His eyes sparkled as he was given his pie, and he began to dip the tip of his fork into the cloud of Cool Whip and savor the taste. Dip. Taste. Dip. Taste.

Then, suddenly Henry let out a horrified howl: the cloud of Cool Whip had toppled off his pie onto the side of the plate. Grief overwhelmed the little guy who cried, “It’s RUINED!” More howls.

Emily, as any good Mommy would do, quickly scooped the Cool Whip back atop the pie, and spread it around so that it would not fall off again. “There!” she said, expecting a return of happiness and calm.

Henry’s grief and howls and protests only increased. “It’s RUINED! I never want this to happen again in my whole life!”

It was a moment of such drama as I had not seen in some time. I couldn’t help but laugh.

But I understood:

Henry had been given a “perfect” piece of pie with an astonishing, fantasy-fulfilling mound of Cool Whip on top. He had envisioned himself savoring each bite. He had imagined extending his pie experience for as long as possible. Maybe forever. He had contemplated the perfect and most memorable way to eat his pie: it would be a memory to last a life time.

Then, tragically, it was all ruined.

Forever.

It’s hard being four.

 

 

Seeing the Good

Today it’s a beautiful spring morning here along the Wasatch Mountains of north-central Utah. The sky is a stunning, smile-inducing, cloudless blue. Snow-capped, majestic Mount Timpanogos, contrasts exquisitely with the green grass, jaunty daffodils, and blossoming fruit trees in my backyard. It’s supposed to warm up to about 60 degrees by this afternoon. Almost Paradise.

With such a glorious day before me, I whimsically wish I had the energy of Henry, nearly age four, so that I could run everywhere – as he wants to do – all day long. With that energy, I would be able to conquer the world: I could do the spring cleaning of the entire house before lunchtime, plant flowers in my flower beds and visit all those whom I love most in this valley before dinnertime, write interesting and encouraging letters to half a dozen loved-ones in the evening, and end the day reading inspiring and uplifting literature for an hour before falling asleep with a grateful smile on my face . . . .

Being a realist, however, I recognize my limits. So, I thank Heavenly Father for the beautiful day and for whatever energy I have, and then I set about doing what I can to ‘see the good’ and do the best I can in my present circumstances.

Just being able to see the beauties of nature outside my window and to acknowledge God as the creator is soul-healing. Everyone I know is searching for a soul-healing ‘balm of Gilead’ or a place of refuge from the stresses and storms of daily life. Sadly, many choose endless mind-numbing activities, hoping in vain that they will feel better.

I had a break-through experience in ‘seeing the good’ recently.  I had been guilty of becoming angry or irritated every time I was compelled to clean up a mess that someone else had created. But, gradually, I began to see that, while I was in the process of cleaning up these messes, many times the mess was indeed a blessing in disguise. Important things needed to be done that I would not have discovered if I had not had to stop to clean up the mess.

I hope I have had enough experience now to always look for the good, and see the good, in what otherwise looks like a frustrating and unnecessary mess. Becoming angry or irritated is soul-wounding, to say the least.

May all the “messes” in your day today turn out to be blessings in disguise, too.

 

Thinking

It's been such a long time since I posted anything.

But, never fear, I have been thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking.

I expect to blog some of my thoughts soon.

So...

I'll be back!

                                       (...thinking...?)

Christmas Messages in the Night

Early this morning as I was semi-awake, a phrase from a Christmas hymn was playing over and over in my mind:

“And He leads His children on to the place where He is gone.”

 

Those words, coupled with the words from the poem “The Gate of the Year,” generated an image in my mind of my being led through a great darkness by the Savior as he held my hand:

"I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,
   ‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’
  And he replied,
   ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.
   That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way!’"

 

I think the encouraging message to me was that I can travel through much darkness or trials in my life with peace and even joy, as long as I stay focused on Him who is leading me, and the reality and safety of His strong hand holding my hand.

               

 "The night is dark and I am far from home, lead Thou me on."

 

"O Come, O Come, Emmanuel"

 

For some Christmas Spirit, click on the following link to watch an exquisite music video. (Or copy and paste the link.)

http://youtu.be/ugV6QGcafEE

 

The pianist is Jon Schmidt and the cellist is Steven Sharp Nelson. The video was filmed at the LDS church’s Jerusalem set in Goshen Utah. The video also features portions of New Testament videos filmed there by the church.

Merry Christmas.

PS: try this one too!

http://youtu.be/iO7ySn-Swwc

 

Not the Benedict Arnold of Christmas

Did you happen to see the recent headlines about Pope Benedict that falsely implied that he said the traditional Christmas story was not true?

The major media (CNN, The New York Daily News, etc.) published headlines like this:

“Killjoy pope crushes Christmas nativity traditions”

"Pope sets out to debunk Christmas myths"

Of course, I was shocked and dismayed that the Pope had apparently lost his mind and had caved in to atheism.

But there was something about such shocking news that didn’t quite ring true for me. So I did a bit of investigating (on the internet) to find out what the truth really was.

The brief story in the local Deseret News by Matthew Brown, “Vatican comes to the defense of pope’s book on Christmas,”  was almost too brief. It merely noted the current media flap, but left out the important point that the Pope had been misquoted and misunderstood! The five people who sent in comments to the Deseret News obviously thought that the Pope was probably guilty as accused: the Benedict Arnold of Christmas.

However, on the website, firstthings.com, Kevin M. Clarke, set the record straight, showing that the media reports were sloppy journalism at the very least. His parting words:

As should be painfully evident, there is a big difference between what the media says that the Pope says and what the Pope himself actually says. Each time the waves settle from their slipshod coverage, the media should find that it has displaced a bit more of the public trust, trust that they will deliver the truth about Vatican news. They forfeited my trust a while ago. If anyone were to ask me, “How should I read news about the Vatican from the secular press?” I would say, “It can be useful for information, but must be read with a fundamental principle of uniformly applied suspicion and doubt. In other words, read it in the same way in which they would have us read the Bible.”

In reality, we probably should regard any and all of the media’s news stories with “Uniformly applied suspicion and doubt,” not just stories about religion. But especially about religion!

Sad, but true.

Even Matthew Brown of the Deseret News did not work very hard to set the record straight on Pope Benedict. He missed an opportunity to defend someone misrepresented by the mainstream media. Shame on him.

Astronomical Baloney

Astronomical  baloney often shows up unexpectedly. The other night, I was watching the first show (the pilot) of “Warehouse 13,” a SyFy Channel series now on DVD. In one scene, Pete, the hero, is gazing skyward into the night sky in South Dakota and says something about seeing Leo, Cygnus, and Sagittarius.  According to the online character profile, Pete “has extensive esoteric knowledge, including popular culture and astronomy.”

Most viewers probably didn’t know or care a fig about the constellations that Pete mentioned. However, it came into my ears like hearing a novice attempting to play the violin. Something was definitely off key.

So, I asked myself: Is it actually possible to see Leo, Cygnus, and Sagittarius at the same time? The answer is, not really.

Sagittarius is a summer constellation that is located by looking southward. Leo is a spring constellation that sets in the west by the time Sagittarius becomes fully visible. And, the constellation Cygnus is found in the northern half of the sky.

Obviously the writers were not intentionally making Pete look like one of those fakers who merely pretends to know something about astronomy, or who was randomly name-dropping constellations in a failed attempt to impress Myka. Because, if so, since she is the bookish one, having grown up in a bookstore, she would have spotted his balderdash and immediately challenged him. So, why did Pete name those three particular constellations? There is nothing that logically or visually connects them.

I suspect that it was the writers who were just randomly name-dropping constellations…. Just think: they could have chosen Cygnus, Lyra, and Aquila, the three constellations in the “Summer Triangle.” Or they could have name-dropped the three bright stars of the Summer Triangle: Vega, Deneb, and Altair. At least those names have logical and visual connections.

 Astronomical baloney also popped up in Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River, which I reread recently. I expected better of this author who, for many years, was a reporter and producer for Minnesota Public Radio.

The first astronomical blunder Enger made was on page 117 when he wrote that as evening fell, “Stars were appearing. Venus in the east.”  (Italics added.)

The immutable astronomical facts are these: Any time that Venus is visible in the evening, it is always seen in the west, never in the east. The only time that Venus can appear in the east is in the morning.

The second astronomical mistake Enger made was on page 224. Enger has Reuben seeing the “blue disk” of either Venus or Jupiter in the South Dakota sky just after midnight in the winter.  

Two problems. First of all, Jupiter does not appear to be blue; it looks more yellowish.  

Secondly, it would be impossible to see Venus at midnight in the winter in South Dakota. Perhaps south of the Arctic Circle in northern Alaska during the summer, you might possibly see Venus at midnight, because Venus is found during the twilight near the sun. This obviously could never happen in South Dakota in the winter.

A suggestion for Enger: The most noteworthy star in the winter skies suitable for determining general direction would be Sirius (found in the southern half of the night sky). Also, some easily spotted winter constellations can help with direction: Orion and The Big Dipper. Traditionally, the Big Dipper and the North Star/Polaris in the Little Dipper are used to establish the direction north. In the early 1960s (the timeframe of the story), every kid in Minnesota knew that. I knew that (I was there). Reuben, who was a kid from Minnesota, would have known that.

For some reason Enger seemed fixated on Venus: Two references to Venus – both of them inexplicable nonsense. Astronomical baloney.