Real Men Love Jesus

Recently, during my drive home, I saw a bumpersticker that read "Real Men Love Jesus".

I immediately thought that I, then, must be a real man; if the sticker was correct. Because of the traffic and the long, long delays, I started think about what it means to be a real man where Christians, specifically Mormon Christians, are concerned. My thoughts over time, have evolved here and there. As they perculated, I wrote them down and later, re-read them only to find myself changing the direction of my commentary as I focused more and more on two things; loving Jesus and being a real man.

While I will address these thoughts to men and boys, I hope the women and girls who read them might find some value as well.

My first, early thoughts, were of a young man from the scriptures. His name was Abiathar.

He was the son of Ahimelech, one of the priests murdered by Saul after he has shown kindness to David by giving him bread from the temple, to eat.

Abiathar was able to escape and took with him one of the ephods worn by one of the 100+ priests slain by Saul in his rage and jealousy.He ran and found David who promised he would be safe.

A short time later David asked the young man to put on the ephod, which was likely very large and bulky to the boy, and seek the Lord's counsel as to what his strategy against both Saul's armies and those of the Philistines. In the pocket of the ephod, were the urim and thummim.

No doubt somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the ephod and the responsibility of wearing it, Abiathar sought God's counsel which counsel led David's small band of rebels to both victory and safety. This young man eventually became the High Priest of Judah, after David was on the throne and remained loyal to him until David's death.

Thinking of this story, I remembered how often in my youth I might have had some good ideas to offer adults at various times for various reasons and never once have them ask my opinion.

I suspect that part of the reason they didn't was that my choices as a youth were not always what they should have been; but I also believe adults, myself now included, often never consider the experience and councel from someone young will be of value even it it's considered at all. Fortunately for Israel, David was not that kind of adult.

I concluded then, that being a real man in the Lord means asking for and listening to wise counsel from any source but particularly that found in the hearts, minds and experiences of young people.

Now for a little advice to the young people. If you want your opinions to be considered and taken seriously those opinions need to be based on facts and founded on principle. They cannot be products of selfish motivations or the desire for personal achievement. When asked for counsel, make sure the counsel is righteous and not stupid. Also remember that Abiathar was reluctant. He was humble and understood that David was not really asking his opinion of anything but was seeking counsel from God through an authorized holder of the priesthood.

Also from the story of Abiathar, I conclude that he was a real man who loved the Lord.

You young men need to remember this story and look for ways to incorporate Abiathar's example into your own lives by paying attention to the things going on around you and weighing their spiritual value on the scales of eternal principles that can be found in the scriptures, in the words of our modern prophets and in quiet moments of fervent, sincere prayer.

You fathers of young men need to consider David's example in this story. You need to particularly pay attention if you are the father of a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood, which priesthood authorizes worthy bearers to receive personal and private ministering - or teaching - by angels (D&C 84:26). Perhaps you would be quicker to ask advice or counsel from sons when you consider that Peter referred to the Aaronic Priesthood not as the lesser priesthood but as a Royal Priesthood (1 Peter 2:9).

Fathers and sons might consider that on April 6, 1830, Joseph Smith was 24 years old and stood at the head of the newly restored Church among five other men, the youngest of whom was five years older than Joseph. Think that 10 years earlier God the Father and His Son determined to appear to the 14 year-old Joseph and call him to his holy assignment to open the last dispensation. Just three years later Joseph received the angelic message that his name would be had for good throughout the entire world (Joseph Smith - History 1:31).

In 2 Samuel 23, there is a detailed account of the actions of the finest soldiers under David’s command. At one time, only 37 individuals out of the huge armies of Israel were considered good enough to receive the coveted title of “mighty man” . (2 Sam 23)

In 2 Chronicles 12 we learn learn more about the qualities of this outstanding group of soldiers. In Chronicles we read: “They were armed with bows, and could use both the right hand and the left in hurling stones and shooting arrows out of a bow” (2 Chron. 12:2).

They were “fit for the battle, that could handle shield and buckler, whose faces were like the faces of lions, and were as swift as the roes upon the mountains” ( 1Chr. 12:8).

These mighty men had developed the skills of a warrior to a very high degree. They were determined and, as with the faces of lions, completely without fear. They were prepared for any battle.

One inspiring account tells of three of these mighty men who overheard King David long for a drink of water from the well of Bethlehem. Apparently, in Bethlehem at that time was a well of particularly refreshing water of which the king wished for a drink. The king did not place a demand or order for the water; he simply expressed a desire for a taste of the cool, refreshing liquid.

Without command or assignment or even duty, three of the mighty men broke through enemy lines, at great personal risk, to travel to Bethlehem. They drew water out of the well and returned, again at great risk through the enemy lines, to bring the wonderful refreshment to David. David was so overcome by this act of personal, unsolicited service that he refused to drink the water. He considered the act so brave and wonderful that he poured the water upon the ground. The scripture says, “He … poured it out unto the Lord”.

These were men who could "keep rank" and were not of a "double heart" (1 Chrn. 12:33)

They understood the need for an organization which would stay in place during difficult and challenging times. They did not have a “double heart” which compelled them to seek their own personal interests ahead of that of Israel. Because of their single heart, manifest by pure motives, they did not aspire to a different position or rank within the armies of David. Each of the 37 could absolutely depend upon the others to fulfill the assignment which came to them, whatever their rank.

Then in 1 Chronicles 12:38 we read: “All these men of war, that could keep rank, came with a perfect heart to Hebron, to make David king over all Israel: and all the rest also of Israel were of one heart to make David king”

This quality was the condition of their “perfect heart,” which was demonstrated by complete devotion to building the ancient kingdom of Israel. They had no agenda, personal or otherwise, which was separate from their commitment to the king and the building of Israel. They understood the divine nature of David’s station and offered their complete loyalty and devotion to him. Theirs was a perfect heart. So were the mighty men of Israel! They were real men.

Real Men Have Perfect Hearts

In 2nd Chronicles 12 we read the names and some of the deeds of the men we call David's Mighty men. The entire chapter is an exciting glance at a few real men; but I want to focus on one of the groups mentioned. The sons of Issachar in verse 32. The verse reads:

"And of the children of Issachar, [which were men] that had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do; the heads of them [were] two hundred; and all their brethren [were] at their commandment."

I startles me to think that one of the duties of the real men of Christ, is to have an understanding of the times and to know what we, a remnant of Israel, must do and, I might add, when we must then do them.

So what must real men know of our times?

The airwaves are flooded with information. There is never a minute on any day that those with access to television or radio cannot watch something deemed as "news" by those who broadcast it. I think it is not unlike the apocalyptic visions seen by Moses. Elijah and others, where all the catastrophes, both temporal and spiritual in nature are set before us with amazing speed and scope. It's enough to turn an optimist into a cynic. Yet real men in Christ are not cynical. They are hopeful and they are joyful because of what they know with respect to the eternal nature of all things even if the temporal nature is dark and dreary.

Most Christians must rely of the scriptures and the interpretation of scriptures in the form of sermons delivered by mostly well-meaning preachers. They, like us, can rely on the arm of Jehovah to guide them through these last days of trouble and gloom.

As Latter-day Saints, however, we are blessed with a richer, deeper, and more critical knowledge which places the mantle of watchmen squarely on our shoulders. Those men of other Christian sects do not hold the priesthood. We do and, in effect, carry the burden of the ephod and its attendant urim and thummim.

Real men teach their families how to understand the times and lead them in that which they should do.

Real Men Know the Times and are Watchmen on the Tower

A few months ago, I sat in a stake priesthood meeting and heard two statistics. The sources of those statistics were named but I don't remember what they were. In any case they were shocking.

1. The state of Utah has more hits to porn sites on the internet, per capita, than any other state.
And:

2. In the Church, in the United States, one out of every three men participates in pornography at least once a week.

I don't know about you, but to me, those are stunning and tragic numbers.

How can we call ourselves real men in Christ if we are so eager to indulge our lusts? How can we look our sons in the eye and explain the value and necessity of chastity when we are participating in such vile entertainment?

I certainly don't pretend to have the solution to this problem except to suggest that anyone who might be participating in this activity, see his bishop and begin the repentance process.

Real men in Christ do not indulge in pornography.

Another startling fact in the Church surrounds the real sin of spousal and child abuse in all its ugly forms.

The priesthood gives men in the Church more responsibility, not more power over our wives. We must honor our wives, brethren, if we are to gain their respect and merit their love. We cannot honor them if we mistakenly believe we rule over them.

As for our children, can we be justified in our surprise if, after years of shouting, beating or other abuse, they leave the Church? How can we expect them to even seek a personal witness when they witness and are victims of such abuse during their childhood.

Real men in Christ do not abuse their wives or children.

There was an old story going around the Church a few years ago of a conversation between three Aaronic Priesthood boys.

"My dad always gets his Home Teaching done by the last of the month." Donny the Deacon said.

"My dad is better than yours because he always gets his done by the 15th." Tommy, the Teacher answered.

"Well," said Petey the Priest, "my dad has you both beat. He always does his the day BEFORE the first day of the month!"

Rare is the priesthood meeting in the Church where someone doesn't encourage us to do our Home Teaching. Oh, that our only encouragement would be that we do it better!

What good does understanding the times if we don't share that understanding with our friends in the Church? Are we real men in Christ if we hoard the knowledge for ourselves?

The Home Teacher represents the Elder's quorum president or the High Priest group leader, who in turn, report to the bishop. Home Teachers feed the flock, particularly that part of the flock that is wandering on strange paths or stuck alone in some corner of the meadow, alone and afraid.

Real men in Christ do their Home Teaching.

Three years ago President Hinckley issued the challenge to all members of the Church to read the Book of Mormon by the end of that year. The response of the members was overwhelming. In every corner of the world, faithful members cracked open their copies of the Book of Mormon and began reading. For many, even some who had been members their entire lives, it was the first time they read the book from cover to cover. For me, the impact was stunning. During that time I saw two friends who had left the Church for various reasons, return and both are not in full fellowship and finding joy in their testimonies once again. After each session of reading, during my prayers, I would ask the Lord to help my friends remember the peace that comes to the faithful.

Certainly others were praying for these people as well, so I can't take all the credit... I really can't take any of the credit. That belongs to my two friends and to God. Still, I think there is a thin thread of a connection.

The one mentionable miracle in my personal life that came from our reading of the Book of Mormon was the closeness I felt to my wife as we read together. I would not have believed I could love her more than I had before our reading. Sharing the scriptures with her, however, made our spirits connect is a way that doesn't generally occur outside of the Celestial Room.

We still read together almost every morning.

Real men in Christ read the scriptures regularly.

This list could go on and on and should include things like:

Real men in Christ pray always.

Real men in Christ pay a tithes and offerings.

Real men in Christ sustain their leaders.

Etc.

Each attribute of worthy manhood could be the subject of many sermons but I finally rested on two things real men in Christ will always do.

In the 22nd chapter of Matthew we find the Pharisees attempting to confound our Lord.

After centuries of arguing over the law and attempting to prioritize not only the nearly 400 articles legitimately associated with Mosaic law but also the thousands of traditional laws created by those who had lost the real meaning of the law and having no success in this prioritzation, they came tempting the Lord.

"Master," one Pharisee asked, "Which is the great commandment in the Law?"

The Savior, without any indication of hesitation answered this question of the ages.

"Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment.

And the second [is] like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." (Matthew 22:37-40)

Thus it was that the Lord taught us not only the two great commandments but showed me that real men love our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son and love and serve their neighbors.

If we demonstrate our manliness by obeying only these two commandments it is a witness that we have past the Lord's litmus test of our love found in John 14:15 "If ye love me, keep my commandments."

It is my prayer that we may all begin a daily regimine of spiritual calesthenics that we might be numbered among the Lord's mighty men.

Changes

I look forward to General Conference with both anticipation and anxiety. Whenever there is a major change in among the General Authorities, an upcoming conference fills me with curiosity.

My curiosity was abated last Saturday when Elder Henry B. Eyring was sustained as Second Counselor in the First Presidency and Elder Quinton Cook called to fill the seat in the Quorum of the Twelve vacated by Elder Eyring.

I had, like many members, tried to guess who the Prophet would select as a counselor but as much as I love Elder Eyring, his name had not entered my mind. I had thought that perhaps someone from Latin America of an Asian would fill the apostolic seat but that just goes to show how little regard God has for political correctness.

Once my curiosity had been satisfied, I hunkered down to watch the balance of the proceedings thinking they would be as they had generally been. This was not the case, however.

I spent the next 10 hours of conference alternating from shedding tears of joy, feeling the need to seriously repent, feeling extremely inadequate as a husband, father and priesthood holder and feeling deeply blessed as a member of Christ's only authorized Church. Ultimately, I felt deeply and often the profound effect of the Atonement as the Spirit whispered the confirming truth that I am really a child of a loving Heavenly Father.

This conference for me, was the most powerful one I have witnessed in my memory.

So along with the changes made among the General Authorities, I am making the commitment to change a few things about myself. I think it will be easier to be successful if I publish them here so the few people who read this will offer their encouragement through word and prayer in my behalf.

I Will Be a Better Husband

1. I will spend more time in conversation, prayer, study and recreation with my wife and less time on the computer at home or engrossed in some television show.


2. I will be slower to irritation and quicker to understand the pressures my wife faces in her life and the worries that weigh her down.


3. I will ask my wife's opinion more often concerning decisions I face in my life.


4. I will listen more carefully when she talks to me and try to remember the things that are important to her.


5. I will ask her to pray with me more often.


6. I will support her completely in her Church assignment.

I Will Be a Better Father and Grandfather

1. I will do a better job of contacting my children every week just to let them know how much I love them.


2. I will remember important events in their lives and recognize them in our conversations.


3. I will do a better job of recording my life's history that my children might learn from my mistakes and my triumphs.


4. I will be a peacemaker between my children and other branches on this diverse and interesting family.


5. I will remember my responsibilities as a patriarch to my children and invoke God's blessings where they are deserved and intervention when my children struggle or stray.


6. I will speak to my grandchildren at least twice a month.


7. I will bear my testimony more to my family.

I Will Be a Better Servant of the Lord

1. I will be a dutiful and observant Home Teacher


2. I will prepare my lessons by first asking God to teach me by the Spirit and then follow better, the manual.


3. I will offer more service to my quorum and my ward.


4. I will take the time to learn the names of members of my ward.

I Will Be a Better Employee

1. I will complete my tasks in a more timely manner.


2. I will be exacting in the quality of my work.


3. I will treat those who report to me with greater respect and confidence.

I Will Be a Better Latter-day Saint

1. I will begin working more diligently on my family history.


2. I will, with my wife, attend the temple more regularly.


3. I will find ways to demonstrate my love for my neighbor.


4. I will practice more diligently, personal prayer both morning and night.


5. I will seek ways to share the message of the Gospel with others.


6. I will repent more quickly and fully.

These commitments are real. They may seem too big but they are not and writing them down will help me to remember them more readily.

To start this process, I want to bear my testimony to any and all who may read this.

I know that my Redeemer lives; that He loves me and is keenly interested in my personal happiness; so much so that He gave His life that I might attain it.

I know He restored his Gospel and His Church through the Prophet Joseph Smith and that we have a living prophet today in Gordon B. Hinkley.

I know the priesthood was restored under the hands of John the Baptist and the apostles Peter, James and John to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery in 1829.

I know of the power of the Atonement when we repent. I know because I have personally experienced it's power in my life.

I know God's love is infinite and eternal and that His plan for us is designed for our eternal happiness even when we experience terrible trials during our brief sojourn in mortality. I know of God's love because I know that I love my children - even in its mortal deficiency.

I regret the horrible decisions of my past that have injured those I love and pray they will be able to forgive me as the Lord as forgiven me.

I invoke a father's blessing on all my children and their families; that God will grant them power from on high as they seek to love one another and serve one another. I ask God for a special dispensation of patience for those of my children who wander or who struggle with life's curve balls and I plead with Him to grant them the strength to "o'er come."

Finally I want them all to know that I love them. I love Matt, Laura, Alexandra, Jordon, and Maddy. I love Sam, Kathy, Hunter, Hannah, Spencer, Hyrum and the soon-to-be fifth child of that family. I love Erin, Dan, Daniel, Clara and Carolina. I love Mary and admire her desire to serve. I love Will for his strength of purpose in the face of challenges to which I cannot relate. He is my example. I love Deb as deeply as I love all these and more. She is my rock, my shield and my shoulder. She is my friend and lover. I thank God for her.

There are others I love whom I have hurt so badly they want nothing to do with me. I cannot blame them but still I pray for the day they can find joy that comes with forgiveness.

My foundation in the Gospel is firm and my reliance on God is fixed as i seek that broken heart and contrite spirit in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Of Comanches. Methodists and Strangite Mormons

Quanah Parker was an active polygamist. There is historical proof he had seven wives (pictured to the right with two of them) and, at least, twenty-five children but my mother's father and his brother claimed to be the twin sons of his 15th wife. But they also claim to be the younger brothers to White Parker whose mother was Mah-Cheeta-Wookey, Quanah's third wife. The second claim has more historical substantiation as Mah-Cheeta-Wookey died in 1902 and left the care of her remaining small children to her oldest son White and his wife Laura Clark who began as Methodist missionaries to the Comanche Nation in 1914.

Family legend attests that a Methodist preacher named Sanford Francis Yarberry and his wife Mary Ann (Lively), en route from Benton Country Arkansas to the Colorado territory in 1903, adopted two sons of Quanah and Mah-Cheeta-Wookey who had been left in the care of White and Laura. There is no record of the boy's Indian names but their adoptive names were Rodney Herbert, my maternal grandfather, and John Milton Yarberry, John being older than Rodney by two years.

As a sidenote, Sanford Yarberry was heading to Colorado looking for his uncle from whom no one in the family had heard since he had gone West two decades earlier. At that time they had no idea that Uncle Milt had been a rather notorious gunfighter in Southern Colorado and New Mexico and had been hired in 1880 as the first town marshal for Albuquerque. After shooting to death, an unarmed citizen, the city hanged old Milt on February 9, 1883.

My grandfather married three women, although he was not a polygamist. His first wife was Maude J. Dunn, his second, an Indian woman known only as Tillie and my grandmother, Leota Winona Park (Miller). With his first wife, he had one daughter, my Aunt Betsy. With his second there is no record of any children born and with my grandmother he inherited two step-daughters, my Aunts Eileen and Denny, then they had one daughter together, Roxana Lee, my mother. My grandmother and grandfather met when their two husbands decided to meet weekly to play cards with the wives. Apparently Maude fell in love with Mr. Park and Mrs. Park, Leota, fell in love with Rodney and both couples divorces and remarried each other. They continued playing cards together until my grandfather went on a drunk in 1949. My grandmother died in 1955, when I was four years old. The whole thing caused quite the little stink in Pueblo, Colorado which, while pretty wild, was not all that progressive in their thinking!

My mother is the family genealogist and has determined to follow the Yarberry line since the Parker line is pretty muddy before Quanah's mother (who had been kidnapped by Indians when she was a child and raised with them). The Yarberry line wades through the generations and melds with the England line which eventually takes us to a serf with an unpronounceable name before it stops cold.

John Milton Yarberry, my great uncle, became the state superintendent of schools in Colorado as did his son. My grandfather became a raging mean alcoholic who spent 9 of the last 11 years of his life in the Colorado State Hospital for the Insane from whence he walked away boarded a bus and arrived on our doorstep in Killeen, Texas in 1957. I was six years old and had never met him. I was very afraid of him from the stories my mother told.

When he arrived he was clean and sober and, although my mother told him he could rot in hell, my father invited him to live with us. Mom eventually forgave him and he spent the last two years of his life sharing a bedroom with an obnoxious me. He has various and sundry grandchildren spread out over the nation but I was the only one who he ever got to know and I count is as a special blessing to me. His was the first funeral I ever attended and his remains now lie many miles from anyone who even heard his name, in a cemetery in Lampases, Texas.

My mother and father each joined the Church in 1953. She was married to my birth father and lived in Pueblo, Colorado (also my birthplace) and he, married to his first wife, lived in Kalamazoo when he wasn't stationed somewhere in the world. They both went immediately inactive and each got a divorce. They would not meet until 1956.

In that meantime, my mother decided to attend the church where her former in-laws went because she knew it was somehow associated with the Mormons. She went once and there she saw some long-bearded men with chaw-stained lips, preaching a weird religion while they made the women-folk sit in a section apart from them. These were one of the last enclaves of Strang's followers who had escaped from Beaver Island in Michigan and started a few branches of that church in Colorado. It was this connection of which I learned years later, that sparked my interest in studying the life of King James and found him to have been an extremely fascinating man.

My father, after his divorce, returned to the church in which he was raised. It was my Nana's church and the church in which I preformed my first musical solo for money (Nana paid me 10 bucks to sing 'Rock of Ages' when I was 9). She belonged to what Joseph Smith once described as the second-best church. She was a Methodist.

In 1956, my father went TDY to Fort Carson, Colorado and my mother had moved with another single mother, to Denver where she worked in a Woolworth store by day and did some modeling in the evening. Her roommates best friend was a the sister of my father's first wife, who remained a close friend of my dad's even after the divorce. She thought my dad might be a good catch for my mother's roommate and hooked them up.

The roommate was nervous about meeting a GI on a first date, so she invited my mother along. So my mother and dad met in a Colorado honkytonk and in that same honkytonk, 6 weeks later, after they had become engaged, they discussed religion for the first time. This is how my mother tells it:

"Bob (my dad) said that since we were going to be a family, we ought to have a church. I was smoking a Lucky Strike and drinking gin when I told him he wouldn't believe what I was because I wasn't a good one. I told him I was a Mormon.His eyes widened and he smile that famous Bob Quantz smile, took a drag and said I would be more surprised to learn that he was too."

Bob left for Germany but returned a few months later and he and my mother were married in Dallas, Texas, in route to Fort Hood, Texas in what turned out to be a stolen Studebaker with a curly-headed brat in the back seat.

Once at Fort Hood, as Providence would decree, my father's CO was the branch president. Dad and I were playing catch in the street in front of our house one Sunday morning when his CO drove up and strongly suggested that my dad get his wife, himself and me ready for church and be there in an hour.

We went and never looked back. Bob adopted me a year later, just weeks before I was baptized and then we were all sealed in the Hawaiian temple a few years later.

So from my mother, I inherited a legacy of drunks, outlaws, preachers and wild Indians; from my birth father (who remarried a Mormon, became active, had 8 kids and was just released as a temple worker in Ogden) a foggy connection with the early LDS Church and from the man who raised me? Well, that's another story.

(This was originally written December 21, 2005)

Some Fishing Memories

Autumn is nearly here.

Hunters look forward to this time of year because most of the game seasons begin. I look forward to Fall because most of the anglers crowding the waters are also hunters and their leaving for forests and fields brings peace and often solitude for those who prefer fishing when the air begins to chill.

Perhaps it's this chill that has me conjuring up old memories of rivers, streams and lakes of my past. I can't begin a recounting them though, without stating clearly that I hope my best fishing memories are waiting for me in the future.

My Earliest Memory

This experience happened so long ago that I am not sure my memory is of the event itself or of the various retelling of the story by the adults who were there with me. I wish it were more vivid because I feel wonderful thinking of it, even through the mists of my mind.

I was very young, not yet in school. Thinking of this now humbles me a little because I am not sure I would have taken someone so young on this kind of fishing trip. If I am not mistaken, there were three adult men and me. Two of the men were my uncles Tom and Walt. The other man was probably by biological father as this event occurred before my parents divorced. His face, however, is unrecognizable in my memory. Perhaps because he left when I was 4 and I never saw him again until I was 27.

I remember leaving in the late afternoon from Pueblo, Colorado, where we all lived at the time. Gear and people were loaded in my Uncle Walt's Army Surplus Jeep and we headed toward the mountains.

Anyone who has ever been to Pueblo knows it is not the kind of town shown in the travel brochures that entice tourists to Colorado. For years the main industry in town consisted of a Nabisco plant and a steel mill (pictured above). For Mormon history buffs, Pueblo was a layover town for the Mormon Battalion and the first white baby born there was born to the wife of the presiding elder in the area.

It sits in the desert. The mountains, on clear days, can be seen in the far distance. It is almost never green.

Bisected by the Arkansas River, one side of town, in those days, was reserved for the whites and the other for the Latinos. Only rarely did one tribe venture onto the land of the other. There was a large Italian contingent then. My mother told me that Pueblo was a hide-out for mobsters on the run but I suspect that was more legend than reality.

My bio-father, at the time, recently furloughed from the Navy, was working for the National Biscuit Company, as he calls it. Even today he won't refer to the plant as a Nabisco factory. I don't know why unless he's a little ashamed he ever made crackers.

Uncle Walt worked at the mill and my Uncle Tom was a roofing contractor. I am much closer to my uncles because they didn't leave when my bio-father did.

I am careful to differentiate between my dad and my biological father. Bio-dad's name is Fred Ferguson. He is a good man. I know him pretty well. After he left us, he remarried and raised 8 kids. My dad was Bob Quantz. He adopted me when I was 7 and never left. He wasn't a perfect father but he was there.

I seem to remember sitting in the back seat of the Jeep as the sun began to set and as we entered some canyon pass on some two-track road. I remember it being very dark and I was convinced we were traveling on the edge of some deep and dangerous ravine where, with one mistake by my Uncle Walt, we would careen to a fiery death. I am sure I fell asleep before we arrived at the cabin.

I really don't remember arriving at the cabin but I think I remember waking up to the aroma of frying bacon. Only one adult was in the place and I can't remember which one. The other two were in the stream trying to augment the bacon with freshly-caught trout. I headed to the stream all by myself.

Now this is something I would have never let a 4 year-old of mine do; run off alone in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains, but it was a different time.

I found one of the men as he was landing a small Rainbow trout. He let me take the rod and reel the fish to the net. I remember being excited but knowing somehow, this was not really my first fish. It wasn't my fish at all.

Later that day, I was carried to a rock in the middle of a stream whose name is not part of the shadows. There I fished with my own Zebco rod and reel and there I caught my first fish.

Somewhere in the books of remembrance either in the Ferguson garage or the Quantz attic, there is a snapshot of me holding that fish. The look on my face was really no different than it is now when I land a fish. I am still 4 years old, on a rock, in the middle of the stream.

The First Time with Dad

My dad - that is my real father; the man who raised me... Bob Quantz - was more a hunter than a fisherman and he wasn't all that great a hunter. From the first time he took me hunting - rabbits on the ranch in Lampasas - to the last time, just a year or so before he died, on a dear hunt in Central Michigan, I was much more successful a hunter. When I was in college in Kansas, he and I went pheasant hunting 5 times and I never saw him take a bird. I remember him killing exactly two deer in 30 years and one of them was with the Plymouth.

I was always confused that he couldn't seem to hit the side of a barn because, as a professional soldier, he has competed on rifle and pistol teams and won most of them. It was only after his death that it came to me that he really loved being in the outdoors but found no thrill in the kill. When I figured that out, I all but gave up hunting because I have never found it either.

As lousy a hunter my dad was, he was worse as a fisherman except when it came to pure, cane-pole, baitfishing. He tried flyfishing and just couldn't get the timing down. He tried using all the hot lures with spinning gear and he would, on the first or second cast, get hung up and have to snap the line. Give him a cane pole, with a hook, bobber and a worm and he was happy and successful.

Shortly after he and my mother were married and we all moved to Fort Hood, Texas, on one sweaty Saturday, he asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him. I grabbed my little tackle box and my rod and reel as I cheered my answer. I was happy to go fishing, of course, but also elated that I would not be doing my normal Saturday chores as barked out by my mother.

I remember we drove down a country road somewhere outside Lampasas where we lived, and parked at the side of the road where a bridge crossed a river. We then walked down the bank to the shoreline. He found a comfortable perch and swung his line into the water. "Go ahead." he said, "But watch out for snakes."

It was a worthy warning as the place was crawling with Cottonmouths and Daimondbacks. The river was also crawling with fish. It didn't matter what lure I threw, something took it. I caught fish, one after another, for two hours and found my way back to my dad, who had also collected a nice stringer.

He asked me if I was ready to go. I remember clearly that my brain wanted to stay but I wasn't feeling all that well for some reason, so I sad I was. We packed up and I mentally prepared myself for the fish-cleaning that would happen when we got home.

Once back at the house, my dad said I wasn't looking good and told me to wash up and go to bed. If I had not been so sick, I would have been happy I didn't have to share in the fish-cleaning. I went immediately to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of my mother screaming and pointing at my face. My dad came into my room and got a look of his face that scared me. I finally stumbled to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My head was the size and shape of a basketball. Something was seriously wrong.

My folks rushed me to the emergency room at the base hospital where I was immediately admitted. A few hours later my parents were told I had something called Nephritis; a deadly kidney disease. The doctors explained that it would take two weeks of heavy antibiotics before they could even tell if I was going to live and that, if I did, I would be years in recovery and rehabilitation.

My folks had only recently become active again in the Church and my dad didn't have the priesthood yet. Two GI's who were returned missionaries in our branch were summoned to give me a blessing. They did. I was out of the hospital in 6 weeks and have never had a single problem since because of the illness.

The next time my dad and I went fishing was in Hawaii. On our way to the home of the man who would take us my dad made me promise I wouldn't get some fatal disease.

Security and Power

Helen Keller said "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature,nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable."

When I first read this, I didn't agree with her but the more I thought about it and the more I remembered her life's experiences, I was able to put the comment in its proper context. Helen Keller wasn't advocating the pursuit of dangerous activities or paths, but promoting a way of life that is not paralyzed by fear.

By "free spirits" I believe she was referring to those people who are not hampered by convention that has no meaning and not to those who abandon principles to participate in hedonism.

I remember clearly in the Sixties, when the term "free spirit" was bandied about by those who determined their world needed to be amplified by drugs and alcohol because they had difficulty seeing beauty in the realities of life. In truth, they were not free at all, but rather shackled by dependence on artificial happiness and counterfeit joy.

I have been watching the latest Ken Burns documentary on PBS, called, "The War". Here we see a horrible history of men killing other men for the spectrum of reasons both honorable and sinister. Amid the terrible tragedy are flowers of righteous purpose as he tells the stories of heroes who would not think themselves as such.

Last week my daughter attended the funeral for a fallen soldier in her community. As I read her account, I saw blossoms of hope amid unspeakable tragedy and sadness. I have asked for heaven's blessing to be with this hero's family as the hero has, no doubt, ascended into heaven for no man hath greater love...

Shortly after reading Helen Keller's words, I read other words, words written by a prophet of God.

Ezra Taft Benson said " When obedience ceases to be an irritant and becomes our quest,
Then God will endow us with power from on High."

It occurred to me that this might be the key to finding joy and freedom to sustain us in this weary world. The question then, is, "How do we do it?". The answer, I believe, is found in Helen Keller's philosophy of living life courageously.

It takes no courage to ignore principles. It requires no bravery to follow the whims of the crowds when they abandon eternal principles in favor of indulging themselves on the tempting fruits offered up by Satan with his lie that those who follow him "will not die".

It takes monumental courage to say, in the face of terrible trials, "...nevertheless, Thy will be done."

I pray that God will grant me the courage to face the world with a desire for absolute obedience and that He might touch my children with that righteous desire as well.

Worth a Thousand Words

Passages

Because of some events of the past few days, it has become clear to me that even the strongest of friendships can weaken and die.

Without getting specific, people I believed would never stand against me are now taking a position that, for me, is unacceptable. It should not matter to me because the issue itself is really trivial in the grand scheme of things; but alas, I am human enough and weak enough that I can sometimes be hurt. Knowing that being hurt is all part of the Great Plan to teach us and which leads us, one day, to happiness, does not seem to mitigate the pain. I believe Paul taught that we are not required to enjoy the trials, but to patiently see them through.

Autumn is encroaching on my world. The leaves are changing, albeit slowly at the moment. A harbinger of that wintry sleep that looks a lot like death. Having lived the last few years in either Oklahoma or Utah, I have missed the colors of the hardwoods in the Fall. Even though it means the trees will soon be bare and ugly, I like it far better than the constancy of evergreens.

Perhaps I am the cause of the estrangement of my friends because I don't care for the constancy of friendship. I don't think so, but I suppose it's a possibility.

Perhaps too, it's the loneliness of my new job that hones the edge of my feelings. I have frequent telephone interaction during the day with subordinates, occasionally with my superior and often with contractors and vendors. Sometimes one of my customers calls. Only rarely, however, do I actually see anyone. Maybe it's turning me into that old man who chases kids from his lawn and eats in front of the TV with his Hungryman meal resting on a fold-up TV table.

If I listen to my ego, I would think that I am simply outgrowing some of my friends, but they are growing too; perhaps outgrowing me.

In any case, I still have a wife who loves me and children too. My grandchildren certainly light my life. So maybe the cycle of friendships is here to remind us that family is the only thing that really matters.

生け花

The Kanji in the title of this entry refers to Ikebana or the Japanese art of flower arranging.

In contrast to the massing of blooms typical of flower arrangement in western countries, Japanese flower arrangement is based on the line of twigs and leaves, filled in with a small number of blooms. The container is also a key element of the composition. The structure of a Japanese flower arrangement is based on a scalene triangle delineated by three main points, usually twigs, considered in some schools to symbolize heaven, earth and man.

I believe this style represents best how we are influenced in life by both the beautiful and the mundane. Sometimes, we are even made better by the ugly.

This entry focuses on several of my influential friends.

I think many people think of friends who are influential as being influential on a general level, as in important because of who they are and what they can get accomplished. My definition is different. I think of anyone who teaches me something that changes me for the better, as a friend, even if we are not friendly. Below is a partial list for people who fit my definition. I hope no one who knows me who reads this is offended if their name is not on the list. There are two reasons I have this hope.

First, omissions are inadvertent rather than intentional; and second, it's not all that great an honor to be on a list I create.

Mike Johns

I first met Mike Johns when we were on the same Pony League baseball team. I was one of the pitchers and played shortstop when I wasn't pitching. Mike was our 1st string catcher and my first experience with a catcher that knew more about what to throw at a given hitter than I knew as a pitcher. Because of Mike's understanding of batters, even at a young age, I was able to throw 2 no-hitters in a single season with one of them being a perfect game. It was also because of Mike that I never lost a game that entire season and our team went on to win the State Championship for the State of Hawaii. For all of his diamond wisdom, however, he was really a jerk and one teammate that I simply could not stand to be around.

After a particularly strenuous practice just before a play-off game, during batting practice (no machines... the coach pitched and Mike caught), I learned that Mike liked me about as much as I liked him.

The coach was throwing and I was peppering them. Mike decided to create game-like conditions and started trash-chattering me.

During games, when other teams chattered, I never heard it and it never bothered me; but when my own teammate did it, I heard it and it pissed me off. After telling him twice to lay off, he responded with some insult so I turned and smacked him, as my father would say, "upside the head" with my Louisville Slugger. Mike stopped the chatter and I was pulled out of rotation and missed pitching in the play-offs.

Mike and I did become friends and remained so even when we were on opposing teams the next year.

Thank you, Mike, for teaching me that there is value in turning the other cheek.

Ed "Beezer" Vail

In 1968 I was working, part-time, as a cook at Sambo's. My friend, Beezer, asked if I could get him a job there as a dishwasher. I did and we worked together all Summer. In late October, I conspired with another employee, not Beezer, to steal a case of eggs to throw on Halloween. Beezer, Earl, Lyman and I had a great time throwing 30 dozen eggs at innocent bystanders in the Shoreline area of Seattle. A week later I was in front of the Sambo's manager getting fired for stealing eggs... ratted out by my friend Beezer, who, in turn, got my cook's job.

I am thankful for Ed's example of character and courage. He hadn't approached the manager but had been interrogated by him and simply told the truth even though he know it could mean both losing a friend and getting the crap kicked out of him. Neither occurred.

Bonnie Vail

Bonnie was Beezer's mother and mother to 11 others when I met her. Should would eventually be mother to 13 children.

When my father was transferred from Seattle just months before my high school graduation, Sister Vail invited me to stay with her family through the end of the school year and my parents acquiesced.

My own mother, beset most of her life with bi-polar issues, was Martha to Sister Vail's Mary. My mother insisted on a house in perfect order all the time and would get physically ill if something was out of place even if that something was in a sock drawer in my personal dresser in my personal bedroom. Sister Vail's home was always disorderly and she never seemed to care. During a conversation she and I were having one afternoon, I complained to her about my mother's fastidiousness and Sister Vail taught me a great lesson.

She taught me that all people have their own bugaboos and that comparisons were never appropriate. She made me see how it was torturous to my mother to suffer with the compulsion of perfection and her gentle lessons helped me learn to love my own mother more and to never judge people by the snapshots we take of them.

Les Smith

Les Smith does not know I consider him a friend, if he is still alive, he surely doesn't remember me at all.

Mr. Smith was the most popular teacher at Shorecrest High School for a time. I never met any student who had him as a teacher who didn't count him as the best they had ever had. Of course, I didn't like him at all. Besides giving me the heeby-jeebies, I always thought he was more interested in his personal popularity than the success of his students in their pursuits of a higher education or just living in the world.

He taught English courses, literature mainly, but also the language arts stuff freshmen girl's dreams are made of. He also cultivated the appearance of the liberal, cool teacher who really listened to his students and who was more interested in having them worship at his feet than arming them with the weapons that would help them win battles in life. He was vocally unmarried and there were rumors of his inviting students to his apartment and letting them drink beer and wine while they discussed Sarte and Camus. There were other rumors too, dealing with a couple of the girls who could only be described as his groupies.

We clashed mildly twice and violently once. Our mild clash came at the end of a semester wherein, at the beginning thereof, he had announced that he would pass the grade book around at the end of the term and allow us to put the grade there we wanted. I remember clearly that announcement and wrote down the words. He hadn't said he would allow us to write the grade we thought we earned, but only the one we wanted. I spent the entire semester doing nothing in his class or any of the assigned homework out of it. I didn't read the books he assigned, I didn't write the papers he assigned and I didn't take any of the tests he issued, other than filling my name in at the top. I did attend class occasionally but because he had established this "cool" rule that skipping was okay, I skipped as often as I could find somewhere better to be.

When the grade book came to me, I boldly wrote "A+". He asked me to see him after the class wherein he began to chastise me for my dishonesty, telling me that we both knew I didn't deserve an A or any other grade above an F. I opened my notebook and read back to him, his words. He started to explain what he had meant and I merely stated that his intentions were not reflected in his words and that, as an English teacher, he should have said what he had meant.

It was a battle I might have lost except for the fact that the rest of the faculty and staff couldn't stand the man. Some of the resentment, I am sure, was born of jealously because he was so popular, but much was a result of his methods and, of course, the rumors. When I was summoned to the Vice-Principal's office and Mr. Smith there explained what I had done, I merely read Mr. Smith's own words to the V.P. He looked up from his desk at Mr. Smith and asked him what he had expected. Smith stomped out.

That Spring, Smith was slated to direct the school musical of the year. That year it was "Camelot". He actually got permission for the boys to grow beards for the parts. I had auditioned for the part of Arthur but was rejected because I couldn't grow a beard. I launched an official protest based on the fact that there was no literary evidence that Arthur had a beard and that in the popular novel upon which the play was based "Once and Future King", the only mention of a beard was of the one worn by Merlin. I did lose this battle, although the V.P. did say I had a very valid point (I might have won, however, except for a slight disagreement I had had earlier on another issue, with that same vice principal).

The violent clash came on the heals of me calling Mr. Smith a pervert.

He had shown a film in his class in which there was a sex scene between two high school students. One young woman was embarrassed and told her parents and the bruhaha erupted. I decided to attend a meeting held by the administration for the parents who were united in their objection to the film being shown. There were several members of his fan club there including a young man who was very vocal in his defense of the teacher. After he finished his diatribe against the parents, etc. I said, loudly enough for Smith to hear, something about the man being nothing more than a pervert who like to watch naked teenage girls.

I was immediately ejected by the principal, even though I could tell he agreed with me.

I hung around outside, trying to hear the rest of the proceedings, until the meeting concluded. I was heading to my car when the kid who defended Smith approached me and called me a name. When the kid made gestures that suggested he wanted to fight, I turned and laughed in his face. Then someone slapped me in the back of the head. It was Smith and he was fuming. He was also smoking and cursing me with clenched fists. I saw the cigarette quivering and interrupted him long enough to ask him why he was trembling like a little girl... That was all it took! He lunged, swinging his arms like windmills with this head down. I stepped to the side and kicked him in the stomach. he went down trying to find his breath and I got in my car and drive away. About an hour later, the police came knocking at my door.

Fortunately, I had broken my normal habit of not telling my parents anything about my life, and had told my dad what had happened. He invited the police inside and they asked me some questions about the incident and I told them exactly what had occurred. They said there was a witness who said I attacked Smith. I name the kid (I can't remember his name now) and said I wasn't surprised he had lied. Keep in mind, I was scared to death that I was going to get hauled away but not so scared that I didn't get mad at the false accusation.

No arrests were made but the next school day I was summoned to the V.P.'s office and suspended from school pending a full investigation. This action bothered by father to the point that he put on his dress blues with all this medals, etc. and when to have a talk with the principal. He said that my suspension was fine as long as the teacher involved was also suspended. When the principal said he couldn't do that, my father said he would call an attorney that day. The principal then, quickly agreed to let me return to school until such time as it was determined I was at fault.

Within a week of that conversation, several students came forth and told about the drinking parties at Smith's apartment and some of the other "rumors" became public. Smith was fired and the sword was removed from its suspension over my head.

Now, why is Smith my friend? He is because he taught me that being "cool" is really nothing more that thinking you're better than everyone else around you.

Barney Hadden

In the interest of time, I skipped a number of decades because I want to wrap this up and get out of here.

Some who might read this know of the great affection I have for Barney but some may not know our friendship started after a battle. It was a battle that meant nothing, really, but I was impressed with his thought process and even more impressed with this scalpel-sharp wit.

We somehow kissed and made up and have become close friends. I love the man but I am most grateful for the things he has taught me.

He has taught me to be a better father by watching him with his two sons. He has taught me to be a better husband by watching his devotion to those he loves. He has taught me to be a better Mormon by making me ask questions of myself and seek divine resolutions. He has taught me humility in the way he wears his foibles for all to see. He has taught me much more than there is time to describe here.

So when any of you wonder if the forums are merely diversionary, remember that some of my closest relationships were born there and that the best friend I have, excepting Deb, is a man who goes by the name "The Danite".

MIracles

I just returned from three days in Nauvoo where I attended a seminar related to work. It was a good experience and one from which I left with some new insights and new goals.

During the five hour drive home, I had ample time to contemplate my life's experiences and to evaluation my personal history. There are areas where I remain weak and others where I feel I might have something to offer that is either helpful or humorous or both. My thoughts then rested on the concept of miracles...

Christ would often refer to the sinners of the world as needing a physician. He would refer to Himself as that healer. I am sure His working of healing miracles among those who suffered mortal infirmities was one way He taught us about the healing power of the Atonement. Nowhere in scripture is this better demonstrated than in the account found in the second chapter of Mark:

"AND again he entered into Capernaum after [some] days; and it was noised that he was in the house. And straightway many were gathered together, insomuch that there was no room to receive [them], no, not so much as about the door: and he preached the word unto them. And they come unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four. And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they uncovered the roof where he was: and when they had broken [it] up, they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee." (Mark 2:1-5)

The Scribes who were witnesses to the event began to entertained angry and jealous thoughts which the Savior perceived and which He answered by testifying of His personal mission and really, to who He was:

"And immediately when Jesus perceived in his spirit that they so reasoned within themselves, he said unto them, Why reason ye these things in your hearts? Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, [Thy] sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house." (Mark 2:8-11)

As I thought of the concept of miracles, I thought of several things but most poignantly, my heart was focused on the friends of the palsied man.

Their friend, perhaps even a family member, was sick. They had the faith necessary to bring him to the Savior to be healed and they refused to give up when faced with the crowds that were keeping them from getting near Him. I thought of the families I neglected to home teach over the years.

Oh, there are several reasons why I miss families this family, but, as I read about these singular men who climbed on the roof with their friend in tow and tore a hole in it to lower their friend to the Savior's side, none of those reasons sounded all that good to me. I confessed my sin to the Lord in a silent prayer asking God's forgiveness for my lack of tenacity, which really was a lack of love for these families.

For the balance of the drive home, I tried to count the miracles in my life.

I remembered when I was the palsied man, lowered to the feet of the Savior. I remember His healing touch as He commissioned me to repent of my sins. I remember the weight of the world being lifted from my shoulders at that moment.

I remembered times before my journey adrift when I had witnessed the healing miracle of the gospel when it comes into the lives of the most humble of mankind when I served a mission. I remembered how I felt when I was sealed to my wife forever and the dark sadness I suffered when I walked away from that miracle.

I remembered the birth of each of my children and saw in them the hope of the world.

I remembered feeling somewhat like Alma felt during his repentance ordeal on the day my blessings were restored and the sealing to my wife and children reestablished. My exquisite pain replaced by unspeakable joy.

I remembered see this same miracle in the lives of my friends.

There are few men more blessed with miracles than me. I have been forgiven by God and friends and family. I have made close friends who are great examples to me and who love me, in spite of my flaws. Most of all, I have been blessed with a sense of the reality of Christ and His personal commitment to me. I love the words He uses as my advocate with the Father:

"Father, behold the sufferings and death of him who did no sin, in whom thou wast well pleased; behold the blood of thy Son which was shed, the blood of him whom thou gavest that thyself might be glorified; wherefore, Father, spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life." (D&C 45:4-5)

Words cannot express my love nor my gratitude for my Advocate.

So, when the waves of life are boisterous and my faith wavers, it is comforting to know the Savior is there to keep me from drowning and that, more often than not, His lifeguards have names like Debra, Bret, Jody, Sam, Mary, Erin, Matt, Will, Barney and Paul.

Come Unto Christ and Be Healed

Near the end of Christ’s first ministerial tour on the Galilean area, after He had healed the madman in the synagogue and Peter’s mother-in-law of her fever, the Lord and his apostles boarded a ship and sailed from Capernaum, southeast to a place called Gennesaret or as Gaderes by Mark, in the mostly gentile region of Decapolis – meaning “The Ten Towns”. It was on this voyage that the Lord calmed the raging tempest and chastised his friends for their lack of faith. On the shores of Gennesaret, He cast the legion of devilish spirits from the madman and into the herd of swine.

After witnessing or hearing of this miracle, the pagans of the area believed Jesus to be the commander of devils and begged Him to return whence He came. As Christ headed back to the ship, the man once possessed approached and asked the Savior if he could travel with the group. The Lord, however, had another mission for this man who had been for so long tormented. He commanded that the man return to the cities and publish the truth of the miracle wrought by the Son of God. The scriptures describe the results of that mission call:

“And he departed, and began to publish in Decapolis how great things Jesus had done for him: and all [men] did marvel.” (Mark 5:20)

This story is a great example of how one person, motivated by the spirit, can do great things to build the kingdom of heaven on earth, but it is only a preface to the text that will be the foundation of this sermon.

Upon returning to Capernaum, the Lord was immediately greeted by a Pharisee known as Jairus who fell at the Savior’s feet and begged him to heal his daughter who lay, by appearances, dead.

Christ responded by immediately walking with Jairus toward his home accompanied by a large group of people who “thronged” the Lord, or surrounded him closely, as he walked. During this journey a woman who had suffered for 12 years with an issue of blood, saw an opportunity.

She had consulted physicians who gladly took everything she had for payment while doing nothing to solve her problem. Having heard of Jesus and His miracles, the woman pressed forward and fought her way through the crowd where she touched the hem of Christ’s robe because she had sensed that by doing nothing more, she would be healed. She made the contact and she was healed. She might have simply slipped back out of the group and thanked God privately for the wonderful blessing had not the Lord turned and asked “Who touched my clothes?” (Mark 5:30)

The apostles were a little perplexed by the questions. They said, in effect, “Lord, don’t you see this huge mob of people all around you? They are all touching your clothes!” The Savior then turned and looked directly at the woman. Thinking she was in trouble and afraid, she gathered the courage to come before Him, kneel before Him and confess that she was the guilty party and why she had done it.

The Lord then taught a profound lesson. He told her that is was her faith in Him that had healed her. Not His infinite power, not the priesthood. Not even the Father, but the simple faith of a troubled woman. He then told her, in Mark’s version of the incident, to go in peace and remain whole of her plague.

This incident was also noted by both Matthew and Luke, but only Mark indicates that she was both immediately relieved of the malady because of her faith and then followed that faith healing by a permanent blessing of health by His power and priesthood.

Today I want to focus less on the miracles and more something I think might be missed by some as it was by me for years. And that is the proximity of those recipients of the miracles to the Lord.

The Gerasene demoniac was healed only after he came near the Savior, Jairus fell at the Lord’s feet and the woman made her way near enough to His that she could touch His clothes.

Too often, I think, we make the mistake of believing that faith is a feeling or even an emotion when, in fact, faith in Christ is a driving force of energy designed to not only bless the faithful but also the faithless; and it is a choice...

The gentiles of Gennesaret who marveled at the story told by the man freed from the demons – a man they had known and cast out from their midst to living in the rocks near the shore of the sea – were blessed by the faith of one man who, even when overcome by legions of demons, ran to worship the Lord and then obediently did His bidding to return to his people and tell the miraculous story.

Can there be any doubt that the woman healed after touching the hem of the Lord’s garment, while reluctant to face Him, would have broadcast her miracle to all who would listen?

Immediately after the woman was healed and sent on her way, a servant of Jairus came and informed him that his daughter had died and that there was no longer any need to trouble the Master.

How often have many of us, during the dark times when we have lost hope, determine that there is no longer any need to trouble the Master because we are too far gone, too dead to the things of God? Worse yet, how many times have we made that judgment aloud or in our hearts about others who wander on crooked paths?

Jairus remained at the side of Christ to hear the comforting words “Be not afraid, only believe.” (Mark 5:36)

Our Savior and our Father are both keenly aware of our human tendency toward fear and they are just as aware of how quickly simple faith can remove the fear. It is also our proximity to the Savior that strengthens faith just as our faith weakens when we distance ourselves from Him.

To a nervous Israelite army, the Lord promised: “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he [it is] that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

It was that same people who, when they were disobedient, distanced themselves from Jehovah by that disobedience and found themselves without faith and without victory. General Achan’s army is a good example of what occurs when people distance themselves from the safe harbor of obedience and faith.

The Lord had commanded Joshua to send a force of three thousand men to take the city of Ai which, of itself, was unimportant militarily but combined with the gentile armies of Bethel, it was a serious threat to Israel.

What should have been an easy victory, however, turned into a devastating defeat of Israel and this because of the actions of one man who, seeing something he wanted, took, in a previous battle, spoils of great value but things which the Lord had forbidden the army to take.

Achan was confronted by Joshua and he was forced to confess his sin. He was punished – rather severely, I might add – and Joshua, following the direction of the Lord, headed a large force himself and took the city of Ai.

As occurred with those who had followed Achan in the first battle and were killed, we too are occasionally harmed by the actions of others, for we cannot enjoy the blessings of agency while avoiding the consequences. Even in those trying times, however, if we remain proximate with the Savior, we can find peace in faith and have no fear.

King Lamoni and his brother Anti-Nephi-Lehi and all their righteous subjects had determined they would honor a covenant they had made with God to refuse to raise their arms against their brethren and they buried their weapons deep in the earth knowing a force of non-believing Lamanites, who had been stirred up by apostate Nephites, was about to attack.

In the 24th chapter of Alma we read:

“Now when the people saw that they were coming against them they went out to meet them, and prostrated themselves before them to the earth, and began to call on the name of the Lord; and thus they were in this attitude when the Lamanites began to fall upon them, and began to slay them with the sword.

And thus without meeting any resistance, they did slay a thousand and five of them; and we know that they are blessed, for they have gone to dwell with their God.” (verses 21-22)

So, the scriptures are replete with examples of the relationship between faith and both the spiritual and physical proximity to Christ; and with rare exception, the one who makes the initial step that closes the gap between him or herself and Christ, is the seeking man, woman or child. In the 88th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord instructs:

“And again, verily I say unto you, my friends, I leave these sayings with you to ponder in your hearts, with this commandment which I give unto you, that ye shall call upon me while I am near -- Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you; seek me diligently and ye shall find me; ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” (D&C 88:62-63)

In this revelation referred to by Joseph Smith as the "Olive Leaf… plucked from the Tree of Paradise." (DHC 1:316), the Lord recognizes the fact that far too often we only call upon the Lord when we are in dire straits, distanced from Him by our own pride and human rebellions. Thus He commands us to call upon Him while He is near. He also instructs us in the process of bringing ourselves proximate with Him.

To come unto Christ and, as Moroni says, be perfected in Him, means to move in His direction, becoming more like Him, step by step. Delaying will not lessen the vast distance to be traveled. Procrastinating will not bring the emergence of new alternatives. All the anxiety and energy expended in milling about does not move us one inch forward on the path of discipleship. Unless we remove ourselves from what the prophet Joel described as the valley of decision, we cannot hope to move toward Christ and, in turn, hope for Him to move closer to us. We must choose either to resume or begin the journey and we must take the first step. I am convinced that the steps Christ takes in response, however, are not proportional to ours. I am convinced that He stands ready to run toward those who are doing no more than inching their way in His direction. He is eager to bridge the gap which, in all cases is one that can be narrowed by our faith and works but never bridged without the merciful grace of Christ through His infinite Atonement. When those Nephites who survived the devastation at the time of the crucifixion gathered themselves together and began to discuss Christ…just discuss the signs associated with His death! – Christ bridged the gap between time and space to succor them in person. I believe He can and will do the same for each of us. I know He has for me.

Recently I was watching a news program in which several of the victims of the tragedy at Virginia Tech were profiled. I was moved to tears and then I began sobbing almost uncontrollably. I felt deep sorrow for the pain suffered by both the killer and his victims and the families that survived them all. I wondered what possibly could have happened to the young man that would have filled him with such vile hatred for everyone and I had no answers; but I did find comfort in the Savior’s invitation to come unto Him and to take His yoke. I also remembered His profound counsel to a suffering Joseph:

“…if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.

The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?

Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.” (D&C 122:7-9 – emphasis is mine)

What a promise! What a blessing!

I pray that we may all begin to move nearer and nearer the Savior and that, as we do, we move nearer and nearer each other that together we might have God with is forever and ever.

While Shepherds Watched...

Originally written on December 27, 2005

I spent Christmas Eve with two sons, a daughter, two daughters-in-law, my wife, of course, and four grandchildren.

My day started early because I had to meet a friend to pick of the smoked brisket he had hauled from Tulsa so I could keep our Oklahoma Yuletime tradition alive in Utah. He has a condo in Park City where his first and second families gather for the holidays - Both he and his wife have been married twice and between them there are 14 children and a dozen braces of grandchildren. The oldest daughter in family #2 was arriving on an early flight from Rexburg thus we met in one of the parking lots at the airport.

It was great to see my old friend and his daughter. When I taught Course 16 in Sunday School, Chalice was one of my favorite kids. Now she is 21 and a stunning beauty... even after taking an Idaho redeye.

From there, Deb, Bubba and I decided to find someplace for breakfast and ended up at our favorite hole in the wall, the Star Cafe in Layton.

The Star is one of those diners where old men gather at large, tables and talk of things they never speak of at home, in front of the womenfolk. Partly because women often just don't get it but more often because they so get it and don't approve. It's the kind of place where round, weary waitresses with teeth colored by Lucky Strikes, can carry dozens of hot plates up both arms and four cups of steaming coffee and disperse it all without spilling a drop.

The food is good... truck stop good, but without the parking problems. It's not so tasty, though, to make it a destination were it not for the entertainment.

That morning, sitting behind us in a booth. two grizzled dads and their adult sons swapped lies about trout and mule deer and made profane bets on who was the best shot. To my left there was a large table with 10 men crammed around it. They were dressed for work; construction or a road crew perhaps and of varying ages from the seasoned foreman to the young gopher... who had, by the way, purple hair. In the hour we were there not one of them made any jokes about it from that table, although the fellows behind me made one or two.

Deb had Pigs in a Blanket and I had a hamburger steak with three eggs overeasy and hashbrowns. I tried to order the steak medium-rare but was told behind a wink and a grin, I couldn't get it that way because it was hamburger. It was delivered as ordered so if I get Mad Cow, you know who is to blame.

Full as ticks, Deb and I went home and she started baking her famous Hidden Mint and Hidden Peanut Butter cookies. I won't go into the recipe here but I will say they are effing good. Too effing good. Effing dangerously good whe you're a diabetic!

I made up three BBQ sauces to go with the brisket and we took a much needed nap.

At 4:00 PM we left Clearfield and drove to Provo to pick up Mary. BYUTV never sleeps, so we picked her up at the station and headed back home. She brought presents to pass and her laundry. At 8:00 PM we knocked on Sam's door and were greeting by sugar-controlled grandkids and our California son, Matt with his new wife Laura... as well as Kathy and Sam.

Sam sliced the ham as I did the same to the brisket while Deb, Mary and Kathy spread all the other food around the serving counter. There were pies, cakes, cookies, and candies of all varieties; there was potato salad, green bean cassarole, funeral spuds, Brussell's sprouts and baby lima beans (my favorite); there was egg nog and ginger ale; root beer and lemonade; there was German rye, Swedish pumpernickle, and Irish soda breads... There was, simply put, too much.

As has been our family tradition over the years, we then opened all the presents. Matt, who is the oldest of my children, asked where the tradition came from and I explained that it came from my inability to wait until Christmas morning coupled with my desire to sleep in but it really came out of necessity when we were a young family trying to decide when we could do our own Christmas when both sets of parents were unwilling to leave us alone on Christmas day.

When my kids were little, Deb would load them all in the car and take them to see all the lights on Christmas Eve while I stayed home and brought all the gifts out of their hiding places, assembling those which needed assembly. Then I would join them at a designated spot - Christmas Card Lane in Kalamazoo or Temple Square in Utah. Last Saturday we all just went downstairs into the family room. The exchange of gifts was delightful and long... We got back home around 1:00 AM and with early Church, there was no sleeping in.

I am the only tenor in our ward choir. Oh, there are four other men who sit in the tenor section, however three of them sing melody and the fourth, who sits directly to my right, sings something else. It's close to the tenor part, but always about a 1/4 pitch off the mark. But he sings it with gusto! fortunately the sopranos and altos are strong enough to make people forget about the pickles in the tenor section and the basses, although hesitant, can carry their parts. All in all, it was a good program performed as well as can be expected. The we took Mary back to Provo as she had to be back at work at 11:45 AM... BYUTV!

Sunday evening we returned to Sams for our traditional Italian meal. Mary was gone as were Matt and Laura, so it was quieter. The kids will still wired, of course, and Hunter had broken Spencer's toy Jeep simply because it was bigger than the RC car we had given Hunter. I suggested to Hunter that, if he wanted to break toys, that he reserve it for his own and Sam explained that Hunter had been given a cold shower for his actions and that Spencer's Jeep could be super-glued. But I knew better. Nobody ever super-glues broken toys and during the rare times they do, the kids never think of them the same. That Jeep will forever be the Jeep Hunter broke on Christmas day; exactly like my ukelele... the one I got for Christmas in 1963... broken by my two year-old sister on Christmas Day. So yesterday Deb and I found another Jeep at the store and delivered it to Spencer. Of course Hannah and Hunter pitched a small fit because they didn't get an extra present.

Aside from that little adventure yesterday, Deb and I stayed home where I slaughtered her is a game of Super Scrabble (A gift from Matt) and we watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory followed immediately by Quigley Down Under on On-Demand. Depp was a litte freaky and I couldn't understand 80% of the lyrics, but DAMN, that little English kid is cute!

My daughter Erin sent me a bluegrass CD. I put it in the player at about 9:00 PM last night and listed to the various artists play Christmas music. The cut by Union Station was a great rendition of "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night". I dozed off in my big, leather chair wondering if I were a watchful shepherd or one of the sheep who needed watching. I went into dreamland thinking I am both.

Regret

I suppose most thinking people have regrets. It's possible, however, that only I have regrets and offer their existence as universal in some propitious effort to mollify my personal responsibility for all the purely selfish things I have done which have scarred those I claimed to love or have loved. Yet, because I not only regret things I have done but also regret many things that have been done to me, I reiterate my suggestion that we all fall short of perfection, though some, like me, far shorter than others.

For me regrets, like sins, can be either mortal or venial. It's not as though the venial one's don't count but they are nearly impossible to distinguish when lined up beside the mortal ones. Still, in the process of purification in which humans ought to be actively engaged, as we resolve the mortal regrets and repent, the lesser ones get bigger and brighter and louder.

For the first 29 years of my life I had the notion that personal perfection was within my grasp if I could just overcome the slings and arrows of the flesh and mortality. My motivation was clearly misguided, however. The drive toward goodness was fed by my fear of punishment.

When I was a child I tried always to tell the truth, get good grades, watch all the "P's" and "Q's" and be a good boy so my mother wouldn't scream and hit me and so she wouldn't report my infractions to my father who would, without screaming, do his part to follow the lead established by Torquemada and torture the devil out of me in ingeniously insidious ways. I didn't know my mother was mentally ill then nor did I know my father was a sadist. I thought all parents were the same and, therefore, tried to be pure before all of them. I was successful with all except my own who, even when I was truly innocent, could color my innocence in purple grey until I would confess sin I had not committed.

At 15, my father stuck me for the last time although my mother remained insane for 3 more decades. At 15 I decided realized I was physically bigger and stronger than my father and, apparently, so did he. His dungeon deeds became confined to his imagination while my mother's white rages, though worse and worse, were aimed at him and my younger sisters because I had learned how to become invisible.

For the next 14 years, however, I continued trying to be perfect but still with mangled motivation. If I were the best at everything, everyone would love me... What choice would they have?

During those years I had enjoyed some sweet communion with God but that wasn't even a factor most of the time.

A short time before my 30th birthday I had an evil ephiphany. I determined that I had wasted a lot of years trying to pretend to be something I was not; something no one can be... And this was the birth of the list of my mortal regrets.

I could list them but I won't.

To those I hurt during my decade of debauchery, I offer my deepest apologies; knowing how truly inadequate the gesture is. I cannot take any of it back no matter how I wish I could. So all I can do is pray for a few pearls in the mud.

I can hope what I did the many I love toughened them without destroying them. Since I know and am in contact with most, I believe, for the most part, that that is correct. Unlike the father of the boy named Sue, however, I left you no legacy to help you along. That came from others who were there when I was not; either spiritually, physically, or both.

For the better part of the past 2 decades I have been trying daily to repent. I have felt the sweet consolation of forgiveness from those who should not have been able to forgive. I have yearned for the same from others who are distant; others who must feel abandoned. But that yearning is not a selfish one, as it once would have been, but rather borne from the knowledge that forgiving heals the offended as well as the offender.

My motivation is also better now. I have felt the arms of God around me at my lowest, weakest moment and learned that He loves me not just in spite of my sins, but even, a little, because of them. He has purchased me with His stripes with no motivation other than love for me. Now, I try to repay Him for the same reason.

I once was lost but am finding my way back; was blind, but am beginning to see.

Unlike Sinatra whose regrets are too few to mention, mine are legion... too many to mention. But my joy is growing until, I am sure, it will, one day, be complete. My hope is for those whom I have injured, that they can find a way to forgive and find that same joy.