Timing: Four Years Later

About four years ago, when I was still stranded on the Island of Misfit Toys, one of the counselors in the bishopric called me to be the ward Sunday School president. The only thing is ... life got in the way. I was in the middle of some serious health problems, and I was unable to accept the calling.

If any of this sounds familiar, it's because I actually blogged about this experience here on Paco Nation. If you have a few more minutes to kill, you can read all about it here.

The point of this is not to rehash said experience; it's, in fact, to relate the fact that there is ... a little bit more to the story.

Bro. Hill assured me back then that the calling was always right; the timing perhaps wasn't. As of just a few months ago, it turns out that he was 100 percent correct. Whatever the timing may have been on it, the bishop recently called yours truly to be the new ward Sunday School president.

I have held a lot of callings and have served in a lot of Church positions over the years, but I haven't been a president of anything since I was a deacons quorum president over 30 years ago. (Yes, Paco is getting old. Don't look so shocked, in spite of his baby face.)

This is somewhat unfamiliar territory for me, but it's been great. I have wonderful counselors and a secretary to help me. Beyond that, I'm just sort of showing up and figuring out the rest. It's an exciting time to be involved with the Sunday School program and to see how the Come, Follow Me program is blessing families and individuals in our ward. I also get to go to ward council meetings every Sunday morning for a half-hour to try to feel useful.

This experience was a gentle reminder from a loving Heavenly Father that His promises do come to pass and that His chosen servants are truly inspired, both at the worldwide level as well as the local/ward level. I can't wait to see what else the future may hold.

SAD but Not Hopeless

With Daylight Saving Time ending this morning at 2:00 a.m., the sun set a whole lot earlier tonight. And it will continue to set earlier and earlier until the winter solstice in late December, just like it does every year.

With the shortening of days, not coincidentally there is also a higher occurrence of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) in people. As the length of days dwindles and we move closer into the winter, those who suffer from this illness can feel depressed most of the day, lose interest in activities, have low energy or problems sleeping, feel sluggish or agitated, have difficulty concentrating, or feel just hopeless, worthless, or guilty. Some even have frequent thoughts of death or suicide.

I know this because I just googled the term seasonal affective disorder and then found stuff on the Internet. Also, because I have suffered with SAD in years past, as well as with depression throughout the calendar year. I know how very difficult it can be. I've endured all of those symptoms.

There was even a time in my life in which I was so low that depression, coupled with a difficult physical challenge, consumed me to the point I thought there was no way I would recover from either. I remember once uttering the words out loud to a loved one: "I am not going to get better from this. This is going to kill me."

Yet here I am. I'm alive and kicking. Time and experience have helped me learn that horrible times pass, that you can and do get better, that therapies combined with positive daily thought patterns lead to healing.

And while I type this, I also realize at the same time that there are others who have had these same feelings and are no longer with us because they took their own lives.

This is why depression is such a dangerous illness: It makes you believe that this is a rational option, often that it is the one and only way out of your pain and anguish.

I've been to two funerals of friends who committed suicide. I've mourned and wept with their families. I miss them.

It's at times like these that I am reminded I need to talk, or at least blog, about this topic more. Because if I haven't learned empathy for others through my own experiences with depression, then the lessons I've learned have been wasted on me. Because it is so raw and real, my hopes in opening up about it are that it helps somebody, somehow.

Last year, when I was still on the Island of Misfit Toys, I gave a talk in sacrament meeting in which I talked briefly about my experiences with depression. Fast forward to just a few months ago, when JB and I went back to visit the ward on the night our old bishopric bid farewell after being released. I stopped to chat with an acquaintance from the ward who greeted me in the parking lot. He mentioned this talk of mine and told me how grateful he was that I had spoken about depression, because he was going through a really hard time at that time. He thanked me, and I was grateful for the feedback. I followed a prompting, and it made a difference to at least one person.

There is still such a stigma associated with depression. My hope is that by talking about it we can help diminish it.

Finally, and this is my last point for this post: I am among those who used to think, naively, that prophets and Apostles didn't deal with the kinds of problems and challenges we common folk have, and I've learned over the years that it just isn't true. They know far more about it than we think. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland spoke of this in a semi-recent general conference talk (one of the landmark addresses, I think, of the past decade) in which he addressed depression, reminding us that President George Albert Smith and a number of other prominent men and women have dealt with and are living with depression. Truly, God's rain falls "on the just and on the unjust" alike (Matthew 5:45).

While reading through the Old Testament this past week, I came across this passage in my study of the prophet Elijah:

"He himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers" (1 Kings 19:4).

It sounds suspiciously to me like Elijah was depressed, even suicidal. He had to deal with one of the worst and most wicked kings of Israel, Ahab, and his infamous wife, Jezebel, and after much fighting and struggling with a populace that largely didn't believe in the things he tried to teach them, he came to the point at which he just wanted to die.

Fortunately, there is more to this story:

"And as he lay and slept under a juniper tree, behold, then an angel touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat. And he looked, and behold, there was a cake baken on the coals, and a cruse of water at his head. And he did eat and drink, and laid him down again. And the angel of the Lord came again the second time, and touched him, and said, Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee" (1 Kings 19:5-7; emphasis added).

"The journey is too great for thee" is certainly a perfect way of describing just how hard it can get for those shouldering very heavy burdens, including the depressed.

I love this passage. We learn that, thousands of years before the TV show "Touched by an Angel," Elijah was literally touched by one, and it apparently saved his life (until he was later carried to heaven in a chariot of fire!).

Whose angel will you be? Whose life will you touch (even save?) with a small act of kindness? If you ever need one, family and friends, I am here for you, at any hour of the day, whatever your demons may be—be they depression or whatever else. If you're thinking you don't matter, you do. If you're contemplating leaving, please, please stay. You are loved, and you matter.

You matter so much that someone whose love surpasses us all suffered and died for you on the cross of Calvary. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 3:16).

The Brass Serpent and the Iron Rod

In a semi-recent elders quorum lesson in my EQ (one of four on the Island of Misfit Toys!), the instructor posed this question: "When we approach God in prayer to ask Him for forgiveness, how long does it take Him to grant our request?"

I was one of those to answer and posed the thought that, if we are sincere and are penitent, He grants it right away. He wants to give us this blessing. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught us in the mission field that preaching repentance is not condemning others; instead, it is offering them one of the greatest blessings God can give!

How beautiful it is to know we worship a God who's forgiveness is there for the asking! The Brass Serpent that Moses held up to the children of Israel in the wilderness is there for us all if we will not harden our hearts and refuse look up at it. It was a simple thing to do, and yet many perished because they were too stubborn or unbelieving merely "to look to God and live" (Alma 37:47).

It's a simple act of faith to get down on our knees, to offer a heartfelt prayer, to ask for forgiveness. And the granting of it is simple, in its essence, too.

Alma the Younger taught: "Now is the time and the day of your salvation; and therefore, if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you" (Alma 34:31; emphasis added).

Having said that, of course, and because "faith without works is dead," our sincerity in asking for forgiveness must almost be accompanied by action. I've learned that while we individually don't have to sacrifice or suffer to repent (because Christ suffered for us), we do have to sacrifice and suffer to change. We must not only cease bad behavior(s), we must also replace it/them with a good one(s). We have to daily choose to take hold of the Iron Rod as we strive to put off the natural man, to become someone different than we were before. It's not easy, and the pathway of discipleship was always meant to be. The same goes for breaking free from things that are not necessarily sins but bad habits.

In the October 2016 general conference, Elder Lynn G. Robbins taught: "An unwillingness to sacrifice as part of our penitence, mocks or belittles His greater sacrifice for the same sin."

It's one part simple, one part tough. But we have help. We have so much help to guide us along the journey. It is there in the simple, Sunday school answers of prayer, scripture study, attending meetings, and so forth. It is also there in those along the same journey who buoy us up in our efforts to change, like the ugly duckling who turned over time into a beautiful swan (metaphorically speaking).

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine bravely and opened expressed on social media that he has been struggling with a pornography addiction. In admitting to this, he also asked for the help of his friends by beginning a daily habit of posting as to whether or not that day was a "win," or a day in which he had succeeded in avoiding temptation.

I've been following this friend's posts since, and I've been amazed by both his progress as well as the incredible amount of support he's received from others as one or two days of "wins" have, at last counting, become now two weeks' worth. It's been inspiring to see his will to change. It also inspires me in my efforts to confront my own challenges.

When our "favorite sins," and we each have them, enter our thoughts or come around wanting to hang out again, like Peter in the New Testament, we each must answer the Lord in our own way if we love Him "more than these" (John 21:15; emphasis added). I use "these" in this sense being those things that would get in our way on the path of the Iron Rod.

Christmas Party on the Island of Misfit Toys 2017: "A Medieval Christmas Eve"

Our ward's annual Christmas dinner and party Saturday night featured a presentation titled "A Medieval Christmas Eve," for which I was asked to play the role of a Christian Crusader. I rarely get scripted roles these days, and I was more than happy to agree to take part.

We had a blast! Here's the assembled cast along with Kyle (far left), who wrote and produced the play, after we concluded our performance:

The food, catered by Red Flame, was delectable, to boot. It was a wonderful night.

Self-Esteem and Dating . . . and Fathers Day

As I've mentioned previously here on Paco Nation, we males may often find ourselves in a no-win situation in the eyes of a certain culture within our church.

On the one hand, this crowd (1) observes that marriage is either not happening like it used to statistically or is being delayed like never before, and (2) blames the men for it all. You're not dating, men. You're hanging out instead and being selfish and wasting time, and you should be dating. (To be fair, some guys, though not all, have this attitude, and this is criticism is warranted to some extent.) On the other hand, this same culture, whether purposefully or indirectly, also sends out another message, which is that men are inept, bumbling morons whose efforts at dating fall far short of what is wanted, expected, and/or needed.

In other words, collectively speaking, we're danged if we do and danged if we don't. Whatever you do or don't do, guys, your efforts (or lack of them) are wrong.

Society has even redefined the meaning of marriage and parents so that men and fathers are not only optional in family relationships but also totally unnecessary. Just this afternoon I read a "celebrity" tweet: "You don't need a father; so many families work so many ways." This in spite of overwhelming, abundant data from social scientists that fathers are the number-one critical element in preventing or reducing childhood poverty, violent crime, and a host of other ills in our day.

Anyway, getting back to my initial point: I think one of the largely unaddressed and underlying products of this danged-if-you-do-or-don't phenomenon is a number of men who suffer from low self-esteem, and this, rather than selfishness or pride, can often be the underlying cause behind their lack of action when it comes to dating. I feel like I've been one of them. And I can guarantee you there are many in my ward and among my circle of single male friends who feel this way and are frustrated and downtrodden by it. Their confidence in themselves is gone. Some have even become so idle with despair at the whole ugly mess that they have given up trying altogether.

That is why, I think, sometimes men don't know how to react when they finally meet someone who is genuinely interested in them romantically. They've become so disillusioned by this point and are so used to rejection and the messages that they're all nincompoops that they no longer know how to interact with the single ladies nor do they really find it worth the potential criticism and the effort.

They become like the person in Groucho Marx's infamous quip: "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member." Their self-loathing message can become: Who would want to date me? I'm worthless.

I bring this up today partially because it's Fathers Day. It's my first one since I lost my dad, and it's a tender one. I find myself reflecting on all of the good things he was and is and the many good things he showed and taught me. As his son, my eyes were often wide open to his faults during my growing-up years. I'm grateful for a day like today in which we can all take time out and praise the good, worthy men in our lives, be they our fathers, father figures, or future fathers.

In addition, I mention these things because I have been one who has suffered from low self-esteem. Over time, I have endured one upon another assault on my self-worth. I've been subjected to not one, not two, but three awful experiences of being repeatedly and relentlessly bullied by other males, and to this day I'm still working through them. I've seen my mistakes pointed out, magnified, and ridiculed by others. I've looked into the mirror and been saddened by what I see.

And yet my message to my fellow guys, in spite of it all, is: Carry on. I know it's hard to love yourself for all of the good qualities you possess, but try to focus on those things. They matter far, far more than your deficiencies, whatever they may be. Someday, you will meet someone who makes you feel wonderful about yourself in spite of your past and present insecurities.

At present, I count myself fortunate to find myself in such a dating relationship. Someone by whom I've been incredibly, unbelievably blessed. She frequently lets me know that I have great worth in her eyes. When one of my weaknesses or challenges makes itself known, things that were dealbreakers for others, she is patient, charitable, and kind. When I worry about things, she tells me, "We'll get through this." She is someone with whom I have both laughed and cried. She makes me want to be better than I am, yet she also sees the good that I have now. As any gentleman would endeavor to do, I try to treat her the same way.

From a guy who has struggled with multiple issues of self-esteem, I'll give out a nickel's worth of free advice to any of my single female friends who may be reading this post: If you want to improve your chances of getting asked out more than you do at present, do whatever you can to make the object of your affection feel good about himself. Pay attention to him. Listen. Give him a compliment. Be sincere. When necessary, be direct. Try to be patient with his faults, and focus on his good qualities. If he has a brain on his shoulders, he'll respond in kind and will treat you the same way.

Happy Fathers Day, guys.

Getting Mad?

"Mad Hatter: 'Have I gone mad?'
Alice: 'I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret: All the best people are.'"
 -Tim Burton's Johnny Depp Starring as the Mad Hatter of Wonderland, Also Featuring a Character Named Alice Sometimes, but Mostly Johnny Depp: Electric Boogaloo, 2 Furious, Etc., Etc.

Some years ago, I came home from a day of school and then work to the news that one of my younger siblings had become engaged to be married to the person who is now my sister-in-law. After springing the news on me, this person's next question surprised me: "Are you mad?"

I say that this question was surprising because, well, the term mad never entered my brain at any stage in the process. This person, of course, did not mean mad in the Mad Hatter sense of mad, but the angry kind of mad.

Are older siblings supposed to get mad when a younger sibling ties the knot? I tried to consult the sibling handbook and couldn't find anything.

I suppose this happens sometimes for some people. If it didn't, we wouldn't have a number of Lifetime movies on the subject of the fury of a woman scorned and then going bat-crud crazy, or of a man who's some weirdo psycho stalker creep who rummages through a girl's trash and then places her discarded yogurt cups under his pillow when he goes to sleep at night.

As we head in to the Valentine's Day season (yes, folks, it's already coming), I've begun to see some cynicism creep up from my fellow single adults about the whole messy thing. And I understand where they're coming from. I get it, because I've wandered into places like that. I've glanced at others finding sought-for happiness and then compared myself to the situation, feeling lonelier still.

It's not very constructive. There's so much anger, cynicism, and negativity floating around out there in the world, and this is not a pleasant place to linger long(er).

When all is said and done, however, it does my heart and my soul a great deal of good to see family members, friends, and acquaintances find what they're desiring most, and it is especially heartwarming to see it among my fellow mid-singles. These are some of my very favorite things to see on my social media feeds. At these times, I am far, far from mad. Yes, even Paco is a bit of a romantic at heart at times like these.

President Boyd K. Packer taught:

"Watched over by a kind and loving Heavenly Father, (we) will not, in the eternal pattern of things, be denied blessings necessary for (our) exaltation, including marriage and family. And it will be sweeter still because of the waiting and the longing."

Take heart, my friends. If they're not currently visible in your life, I believe that great things are around the corner for us all if we keep moving forward in all of the faith and patience we can muster, even if it's just a centimeter or two ahead some days.

Am I bonkers, though? The answer to that question is easy for those who know me best. Stay tuned for a blog post on that . . . sometime.

Timing

"Time travels in divers paces with divers persons."
 -William Shakespeare

It's been nearly a year now (and I feel like the time is right to finally mention) since one of the members of the bishopric of the Island of Misfit Toys approached me after our Sunday meetings had concluded and asked if I had a few minutes to meet with him. This got my Paco senses tingling, to borrow a phrase, and I immediately began wondering what would be coming my way.

He proceeded to issue me a new calling in the ward, which I expected. What I didn't expect was the calling itself; it was one for which I would need to pray about the selection of a couple of counselors and a secretary. This, in fact, was my first time dealing with these circumstances since I was called as deacons quorum president a long time ago and in a galaxy far, far away. So to speak.

At the same time this conversation took place, however, I was also dealing with some health challenges that were causing me a great deal of physical and mental distress. I do not need to go over those details again, but suffice me to say that, for the first time in my life, I could give only a qualified yes as an answer. Both physically and mentally, I was utterly drained and was hanging by the end of my rope, yet I I told him would accept the calling and desired with all of my heart to do a good job at it.

President J. Reuben Clark counseled: "In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one takes the place to which one is duly called, which place one neither seeks nor declines."

I thought over the matter for several days, and some names came to mind. For the aforementioned reasons, though, it was an agonizing series of days that stretched into a week, and then two and three. This bishopric counselor regularly checked in with me over that time period, not pressuring me nor demanding an answer but following up with me with patience.

Ultimately, I reached a point at which the issues I faced my anxiety and its accompanying side effects outweighed the struggle of the physical problem both my doctor and a second opinion were unable to diagnose. I reached a point at which I could not sleep well nor could I eat much if anything, and when I awoke in the mornings, I was filled with dread.

While I was at a family function, this bishopric member called me up on my cell phone, and I went outside to talk with him. I knew that the time had come to make a decision.

"I don't think I can do it," I told him. Inside, I was in shambles. I had reached the end of my rope and fallen off of it, to boot. "I have never said no to a calling. But I just can't do this right now."

With all of the love of a shepherd for his flock, this wise man, I believe, responded perfectly. He assured me that I had no reason to worry nor to feel guilty about it, that he and the bishopric knew of my struggles and were praying for me by name, and he also responded with wisely chosen words that have stayed with me since: "You didn't turn anything down. The calling was always right. It just wasn't the right time."

Over the next several days, one of my doctors, in what I believe was a direct answer to prayer, sent me to the hospital for a test that diagnosed my problem, and within a few days, my physical symptoms abated as my anxiety dissipated. Life got back to "normal," or at least the sense of normal I had at the time. With immense gratitude, I thanked the Lord for guiding me out of the darkness.

In the coming weeks, I watched in sacrament meeting as another was sustained to the calling I had initially been given, and I raised my hand in support of him and the new presidency. And I meant it. Through it all, I actually retained the elders quorum instructor calling, which I have now held for nearly three years (first given to me when the ward was in its infancy). It has been a tremendous blessing and has given me an opportunity to serve. If the lesson is not lost on me, hopefully it has also given me empathy to understand better the burdens others carry.

My point in sharing this experience is twofold. First, I testify from personal experience that issues with anxiety and/or depression, which can reach a point where they feel out of our control, do get better. Secondly, my experience taught me that the time is not always right for some things, even though our desires are righteous or we give our full effort.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught: "Since the Lord wants a people 'tried in all things' (D&C 136:31), how specifically will we be tried? He tells us, I will try the faith and the patience of my people (see Mosiah 23:21). Since faith in the timing of the Lord may be tried, let us learn to say not only, 'Thy will be done,' but patiently also, 'Thy timing be done.'"

The issues for which timing plays a part are myriad, be they work opportunities, health challenges, any number of crises of faith, and even (dare I say it?) dating. Believe you me, those of us who inhabit the Island of Misfit Toys, which by rule consists of single adults age 31 and older, know the struggle as well as anybody.

Sometimes, the answer is even that the timing is right now and things should happen as speedily as possible. I believe this is the case when spiritual promptings are given; often, the urging is to do that very thing right away, or it will be too late.

D&C 111:11 reads: "I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye are able to receive them" (emphasis added).

I heard these words clearly in my mind one night years ago when a sister I home taught in the YSA ward approached me for a blessing. At the time, she was sought for confirmation and peace of mind as she moved ahead with a romantic relationship. I know those words did not come from me. In the weeks that followed, I was amazed at just how quickly things moved forward for her.

In summation, just because things haven't happened yet doesn't mean that the Lord doesn't have great blessings in store. His timing is known to Him only. But I believe a day will come when we will look back on our lives and we will see the pattern of things that unfolded and, in it, His infinite wisdom and His endless love.

Blank Space

Even though we keep track of time second by second, minute by minute, and so on, science tells us it's all relative.

Nevertheless, I love the concept of beginning a new year. I love the day when I start to fill out an empty calendar with events, birthdays, social gatherings, and so forth. I love the very concept of new beginnings.

The bishop said as much yesterday on the Island of Misfit Toys in his sermon to lead off the new year. For me, one of the key concepts in the gospel of Jesus Christ is that of new beginnings. We get that chance each week with the sacrament of the Lord's supper. We get new chances during the week as we earnestly pray for new strength and opportunities to become better through the Atonement. We get those moments throughout the day if we will look around and see them in the people we interact with, the places we go, and the choices we make. The tender mercies are abundant.

Through social media, you couldn't help observe over the last few weeks that many people have come to the conclusion that 2016 was a a no-good, horrible, very bad year. If you look for them, you'll find the reasons why the glass was half-empty. I am grateful for the many who have also shared, conversely, the reasons why the past year was one of great blessings, as well.

As for myself, I have tried to put my focus on the latter. I've mentioned some of the difficult circumstances I faced in 2016 here on Paco Nation, and I don't think I really need to bring them up again at this point. Let them stay in the past.

Some solid truths I know about where I was 366 days ago versus where I am now: I began 2016 breathing in and breathing out, with a roof over my head, food to eat, a warm bed to sleep in, work to fill my days, enjoyable hobbies to fill my nights and weekends, people who care for me, people to serve, and things to accomplish. Those very basic things, the bare necessities, are everything.

As I look out on the still-very-blank space that is the year 2017, I wonder: What will happen this year? Will it be better than 2016 was? Worse? Will I accomplish bigger and better things? Will I get stuck in a rut? Will trials come my way? Will I have to undergo another unexpected surgery, or will I get healthier this year? Will my unexpected change in employment open new doors for me? Will death strike others who are close to me or close to my friends? Will new lives, including new children (nieces and nephews), enter on the stage? Will the person I've prayed and hoped for make herself known? An even better question: Will I become the kind of person who attracts such a person? Will President Trump get us all sucked down to the tenth level of hell? Or we will he (or at least the people in his cabinet) surprise us all and be better than everyone fears? Is whatever happens on Temple Square or in my house far more important than what takes place in the White House? Can I focus on what I can control rather than the many things out of my control that, in the past, have caused me grief?

My answer to all of the above is yes. It will be what we make of it. I'm grateful to have each of you along for the journey.

Light It Up

Previously on Paco Nation, I've written some of my thoughts on the mid-singles fireside message delivered by Elder Dallin H. and Sister Kristen Oaks back in August. Though this was four months ago, I am still reflecting on both things I learned and things I've pondered about from time to time.

One item I do not I believe I addressed fully at the time of my initial blog post on this talk was the topic of fear. At that time, Elder Oaks spoke of a conversation he had with someone who had fulfilled a Church calling to minister to the inmates at one of the LDS branches at a local correctional facility (AKA "jail"). The lesson that he taught us from this experience, as I recall, was: "There are more shackles on singles in the Church than there are on these prisoners, all because of fear." (Those were my notes from that night, so I may be paraphrasing the exact quote.)

The question that I am then led to, and which I put to my fellow mid-singles is: What, exactly, are you afraid of?

Certainly, many of us fear being vulnerable and putting ourselves "out there" in pursuit of a relationship only to fall flat on our faces yet again. For some of us mid-singles, this might feel like it has happened not only hundreds but instead thousands of times by this point. This feeling of frustration creates a term I call Rejection Burnout. (Don't worry, single friends in your teens and/or early twenties; you still have plenty of chances for heartbreak ahead of you.)

I'm only kidding about that last comment. Partly.

Others, I believe, fear not rejection but actually fear being successful. In other words, they've become used to being independent rather than what would be a better option: becoming "interdependent" with another.

"Interdependence is the kind of life the Lord desires for us," Elder Oaks taught.

Further, he added: "We have to be careful when we are single and we don't have a spouse to steady us, that we are not unduly influenced by worldly messages. For example, the world seeks and honors the accumulation of money, property, car, home travel, graduation before marriage, etc."

If I understood the message correctly, being successful, then, might put a damper on some of these pursuits.

In my own brainstorming, I've come up with a few other possible fears, and they include: social anxiety; self-esteem challenges; and health or financial difficulties.

If there are other fears I've failed to include here, well, please include them in the comments. I'd love to hear your point-of-view. Or talk to me about them in person over a froyo (your treat, of course!).

In addition, we singles, at this time of year, are bombarded with messages about how wonderful and great it is to be in love, and it comes in many forms. It's the songs about riding in one-horse open sleighs, letting it snow outside while staying indoors to cuddle, or going outdoors in the cold and getting married by snowmen acting as wedding officiators (which is, apparently, a thing). It's the countless Hallmark movies (which, admittedly, are one of my guilty pleasures) about people finding that special someone at long last under the mistletoe or in some other filmed-in-Canada location made to look like a setting somewhere in the United States. It's also possibly in the form of seeing others who have already been granted the blessing we desire to have, who get to enjoy it with their spouses, children, pets, etc. All of these can lead to some sort of envy.

In the movie Roxanne (which is not a Christmas movie, though I think the sentiment is applicable), C.D. Bales, he of the big nose, portrayed by Steve Martin, laments:

"Sometimes I take a walk at night, and I see couples walking, holding hands, and I look at them, and I think: 'Why not me?' Then I catch my shadow on the wall."

Maybe it's not a "shadow on the wall" that causes you and me this grief but (X) worry or concern, (Y) health or financial challenge, or (Z) other issue entirely out of our control.

What I'm getting at with this, and why I bring it up during the Christmas season, to boot, is that the angels who visited the shepherds and other witnesses of the birth of the Christ child began their proclamations with two simple but powerful words:

"Fear not."

"I don't have the answers," types a single guy wondering about these very things in his own life. But, as for myself, I've committed this holiday season to focusing on controlling some of the things I do have control over, and one of them is to do my level best to follow the Church's "Light the World" campaign, which is a wonderful initiative. It encourages us to perform one act of service or kindness every day in December. (But, if you can, why limit it to just one?) I've already tried a few things that were out of my comfort zone, and I'm looking to try a few others in the days ahead, including anonymously done deeds for family, friends, and neighbors.

If you're feeling down and out this Christmas season, whatever the reason(s), I invite you to join in on the fun and to see what miracles, small or large, occur in your life as a result.

I don't understand many of the reasons behind my own challenges right now, and I surely don't understand yours (although I'm willing to try), but I join with the prophet Nephi in proclaiming that "I know (Heavenly Father) loveth his children" (1 Nephi 11:17). And as Tiny Tim observed, I believe He does and will "bless us, every one" in ways we may not now expect as we strive to serve His children in whichever way His Spirit prompts us to do so.

White Flag

When the Island of Misfit Toys came into existence more than two years ago, finally giving mid-singles in Davis County a ward that they wouldn't have to make a round trip of 80 or 90 miles to get to (uphill both ways, of course!), I was one of those who began attending and who helped to get the word out to friends whom I thought would enjoy taking part.

From that first meeting, when the bishop asked me to offer the very first prayer given in this new ward, we grew not unlike Gremlins who go snorkeling. Elders quorums and Relief Societies were formed, and they have since split three times each. We soared to more than 600 people, with many more visitors and guests joining us. Membership dipped some when a similar ward was created in Riverdale last year, but according to the latest figures, we are over 600 strong again.

Not every friend I spoke to was enthusiastic about this new opportunity. One friend in particular surprised me a great deal when I told her about the ward, responding, "Oh, I don't do that stuff anymore."

And that was the end of that conversation. You could have knocked me over with a feather. And then, my emotions changed from shock to sadness. I was sad that my friend had either had her heart broken so many times, or she was exhausted with trying to meet people and dating, or Darth Vader had come down from the planet Vulcan and told her to stop or he'd melt her brain, or she had just stopped caring altogether that she no longer considered singles activities worthwhile. Perhaps it was some or all of these reasons that had brought her to this conclusion.

I don't presume to know anyone else's motivations, and I don't blame people who have become utterly frustrated with the whole dating scene that they raise the white flag for the last time and surrender. Because I've been there. I know that it sucks. I've been dating for more than half of my life now, and it often seems like the more I try, the less I understand, the less success I seem to have, and the more I sour on the tiresome process. I hear my single friends' stories and complaints, and hardly a week goes by that I don't talk to someone who is ready to give up and retire to their own planet to live like a hermit, not unlike Luke Skywalker in Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

I wish it were that simple. Back here on Earth, C.S. Lewis wrote:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

There are always statistics being floated around by pessimists that you're more likely to die by shark attack, be struck by lightning, or be eaten by a shark being struck by lightning than to get married after age 30. Or some such. But at the same time, I also understand that if I give up altogether, my chances fall to zero. My chances may be one in a million now, but at least I have a chance if I keep trying. And yes, I realize I'm letting myself be vulnerable while also paraphrasing Dumb & Dumber to make my point, but I think it's a valid one.

Recently, I've come to think of a well-known scripture in a different light, as it pertains to my efforts at dating:

"Let no man count them as small things; for there is much which lieth in futurity, pertaining to the saints, which depends upon these things. . . . Therefore, dearly beloved brethren, let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed" (D&C 123:15, 17).

To do anything less than all things that lie in my power is not good enough.

For me, that also includes continuing to invite my single friends and associates to try out the Island of Misfit Toys, if you are over age 30 and live within our very, very large boundaries. If you don't know anyone else there, then come and sit by me, and I'll introduce you to some of the very best people I've ever met. If Misfit Toys aren't your thing, then join a singles Web site, or have a trusted family member or friend set you up, or hit me up for a double date, or any number of other activities.

Together, we'll be vulnerable. We'll get our hearts pureed in a blender sometimes. But who knows? We just might also find something well worth waiting for. Any day now.

The Opposite of Love

"Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But I don't like being left behind."
 -Beth, in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women

A few years ago, I attended a Sunday School class in which the teacher expressed the belief that the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference.

I have thought about that lesson a number of times since, and I think there is a great deal of truth to it. With hate, which we normally would think to be the emotion directly opposite of love, there is at least some feeling there for you, even if it is a negatively influenced one. With indifference, there is no real acknowledgement of any feeling at all. It is apathy; it is ignorance.

I didn't realize until recently, though, that the teacher was quoting Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and 1986 Nobel Peace Prize winner, who just passed away last month:

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."

Indifference, then, causes a whole host of problems. Lack of caring about or acknowledging a problem, let alone doing something about it, leads to disastrous consequences. Fortunately, we do not deal with issues today that are anywhere nearly as serious as the horrors Wiesel faced during World War II, and I'm not attempting to address anything anywhere near that deep tonight.

This is not to say, however, that indifference hasn't crept into our society in less-subtle ways. Indifference is still alive and well under our very eyes. I see it all around, and it often appears in the form of cliques.

Cliques are great for those who belong to them, and that's fine and dandy. But what inherently happens with them is not that people are included but that other people, by definition, are left out or are forgotten.

This issue means a great deal to me because I have often found myself on the outside at one point or another during nearly every age and stage in life. I've seen cliques in my neighborhood, at school, at church, in the workplace, in my extracurricular activities, and even as a missionary. I have also been bullied on multiple occasions, which may be the ultimate rejection or feeling of being left out of a group. Many people never actually grow out of cliques, for I see them all over the place today. For all I know, there will always be cliques; there may be cliques at PTA meetings or in the retirement home.

As a result of my experiences, I suppose life has fine-tuned me to feel and see the needs of those left behind, and though I have not always been able to include everyone in everything, I have made an honest effort, albeit not a perfect one, to include as many as I could. My life has, likewise, been greatly blessed by those wonderful individuals who have reached out the hand of fellowship to me and have lifted my hands and my spirit when they have hung low, whether due to chemical or other reasons.

How rare is the true friend who sticks around; whose interest in you is motivated by true concern, patience, and shared mutual interests; and who is there by not assignment nor motivated by convenience. There's a handful of you who fit this bill, and you are appreciated greatly.

If you currently find yourself in a clique, I invite you to consider someone who might not be there at your next gathering but whom you could invite to join you. Or look for someone different to sit by next time. I assure you that you won't have to look too far to find them, because they are all around, and they are longing for friends. If you're not currently part of a clique, I invite you to come and sit by me, and we'll make fun of the cliques together.

Seriously, though, and not to make this sound too much like a Sunday School lesson of my own, but I feel like this idea fits the theme of the Island of Misfit Toys, which is: "Each one bring one." As one of the counselors in the bishopric taught on this topic: "You all know who sits 'alone' even though they're surrounded by a lot of people."

Ping Pong for Doubles

I follow the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles both in life (or at least I try to) and also on more than one social media format. In addition to putting out some of the best posts/tweets on the Internet, these 15 men are almost as popular as Kim Kardashian, by which I mean, having done some quick math, that they have collectively acquired one-sixteenth the number of her followers.

Earlier this week, Elder D. Todd Christofferson tweeted:

"Others will feel our love and Heavenly Father's love when we remember them. A letter, a text message, or a phone call can be a blessing."

I'm not smart enough to figure out how to take a screen cap and then post the actual tweet here, so I copied the message just now in case you don't also follow Elder Christofferson. But seriously, follow him.

I share that message with you today because it leads me into an addendum to my previous post here on Paco Nation—you know, one of those "extremely lengthy posts" that people who haven't actually read this blog think I post on a regular basis.

As a follow-up to that post: Ladies, we men don't speak your language. We speak a language all our own, in fact, and it's filled with stuff like sports, Star Wars, video games, and action/sci-fi movie terminology. It's an XY chromosome thing, really.

Collectively speaking, we also don't often get the hints that are dropped our way by the female gender and need to be told things directly in case you'd like to get a message across that you might like to do something socially with us. (This is something called flirting.) By the same token, many of us males have faced rejection so many times, especially by the Misfit Toys age, that we frequently cannot tell whether someone we're interested in romantically either shares an interest back or just can't play ping pong.

What do I mean by ping pong, you ask? I use the term here as taught to me by my mission president, Carlos Cuba, years ago. In this sense, ping pong is when you carry on a conversation with or teach a discussion to people by saying something to them, then listening intently while they speak, and then you speak again, and so on, thus taking turns bouncing the ball back and forth over the net, figuratively speaking, as you are both uplifted and edified together.

In the dating scene, then, I see the metaphor of ping pong being played out not with words only but with gestures, too. For example, if one person takes the initiative and asks out someone else, and they both have a great time, then the person who was asked out could—going back to Elder Christofferson's tweet now—send a text to the person who did the asking out as thanks for a fun evening. Letters and phone calls seem to be somewhat passé now, so a text may be your best bet.

From the perspective of a guy who does a majority of the asking out in his own dating experience, I can't tell you how nice it is to get a text like this after a date has concluded. It makes me feel appreciated and helps to dispel some of my insecurities about myself. Better still, if the lady then takes the initiative and strikes up a conversation with me the next time we're in the same room together, be it at church or elsewhere, she is showing that she knows how to play ping pong indeed, and the gesture shows that further interest is there. It makes things easier for both of us going forward. Then, on the following encounter, it's your turn again to start up a conversation, or you might send a text to say you're thinking about her, or whatever; this is how ping pong keeps working. Some kind of positive daily contact is wonderful—to use another mission metaphor.

Likewise, I have felt rather crestfallen on those occasions when a girl I really liked sent me no text message (nor something else akin to it) after a date nor really spoke to me the next time I saw her. On those occasions, a message is sent indirectly, and it reads: she's either not interested or doesn't play ping pong, and I'm not smart enough to know the difference.

When you're interested in a person who either doesn't know how to play ping pong or doesn't want to, well, it turns out to just one person bouncing the ball around, and that gets either boring or frustrating after a while, and you quickly lose interest in the game.

Some of you who are well versed already in ping pong may wonder why I even bring up this topic. Perhaps it is because in my time on the Island of Misfit Toys, I've found a surprising number of those in my dating pool who have not actually been in a committed relationship prior to their 30s. I'm always very floored when I learn this about some of those I've taken out, because these people are in no way unattractive or uninteresting. But nevertheless they exist, and they often are not familiar with the rules of ping pong, and a familiarity with ping pong helps both players to play the game far better than they would if they were not aware of the rules.

And the rules are really pretty simple when you break them down.

Dating: Impossible

Good evening, Paco. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go on a date. Should you not completely botch that up, you might even someday attempt to get a second date or, heaven help us, the delusion you've had for decades now that even a relationship is possible. Let alone anything further than that.

As always, should you choose someone in your ward, or anyone else you might see on a regular basis, and any of your I.M. Force (also you) be caught saying something unintentionally stupid, thus forever putting you in the Friend or Stranger Zone, your date will disavow any knowledge of your actions and will ignore/avoid you, and possibly unfriend you on Facebook. This tape will self-destruct in five or ten minutes. Good luck, Paco.

First, though, let me rewind the tape a bit and explain where I'm coming from today.

Last weekend, as in two weekends ago now, we castaways on the Island of Misfit Toys, aka the mid-singles, the Left Behind, or the Leper Colony, took part in an annual mid-singles conference, which involved people from all over Utah, as well as folks from out of state, and even people out of the country. Those who organized it did a phenomenal job of putting things together and delivered an excellent product.

The event concluded Sunday night with a fireside at the Ute 'tute, at which I'm told 2,500 attended. The featured speakers were Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife, Kristen. I was seated in the overflow, about a half-mile back from the pulpit, but technically I was in the same room as a dedicated servant of the Lord and his wonderful, insightful spouse, and we received some very helpful, very meaningful counsel.

To make a long story even longer, and I promise I'm going somewhere with this, Elder Oaks read as part of his presentation a number of letters from current and former mid-singles who, like many of us, struggle(d) with the dating scene. All but one of the letters Elder Oaks read were from the female point-of-view, I believe. One of the letters touched on what Elder Oaks called the "Peter Pan syndrome," which means that the whole dating thing largely isn't happening, and hanging out is the norm, because many men are selfish, immature individuals who instead of growing up and taking on adult responsibilities are far more concerned with "the accumulation of money, property, car, home, travel, graduation before marriage, etc." than in building a lifetime with someone else. For the first time in our country's history, he said, there are more single adults than married adults, and this concerns the Brethren.

When conversations like these arise about why dating isn't happening, single guys like myself often see the finger of blame (and not always of encouragement) pointed at us, in this and many other settings. And this is because many years ago, sometime after Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, men lost a Rock-Paper-Scissors game to women and got stuck with the responsibility of being the gender that has to make that move and shoulders that responsibility, and thus it has been ever since.

Elder Oaks is correct, of course. I see a lot of men doing the Peter Pan thing, and I can empathize with the frustration that many ladies must feel about priesthood inaction, so to speak. So, we should own that, collectively speaking, guys. This counsel and message are intentionally given, and should be.

Nevertheless, there are always two sides to a story—are there not? Believe it or not, there are those of us who are actually trying to break out of the mold, who are trying not to be Peter Pans. We've been trying for years now, because we heard these same messages as young single adults and have been dating, or at least trying to date, for years—long before we washed up on the shore of the Island of Misfit Toys. And we are frustrated, too.

Why? Because we often feel like we are caught in a darned-if-you-don't, darned-if-you-do, no-win, catch-22 situation. We hear these calls to date, and we make an effort, and yet the end results of our attempts often leave us feeling even more disillusioned with the whole horrible, gut-wrenching process. We hear our fellow female singles wondering why they don't have dates, and after we've done what we think they asked for and have asked them out or gone on a date, we are often left feeling like asking you out was one of the most offensive things we could possibly do.

Let me stress: This particular message is largely given, I believe—and as a contrast to the intentionally given counsel from Elder Oaks—unintentionally. I'm not trying to offend or alienate anyone here, let alone my own dating pool. And I realize that I may be treading in shallow waters.

Let me give you a few examples of what I mean.

I have previously posted here on Paco Nation about the problems of approachability with some and in trying to get to know those who just don't come to activities or who appear to evacuate the building like it's on fire after church meetings conclude. We can't proceed to the dating stage if you just don't show up or if we otherwise don't get a chance to meet you first. Sometimes, even getting the privilege just to talk to some of you—and it is a privilege—can be very difficult.

In addition, we live with the conflicting messages. One side of society tells us to get busy and to get dating already, OK? The other side keeps reminding us that we're nincompoops, which can put us between a rock and hard place, self-esteem wise. As another single woman put it in a different letter Elder Oaks read: "All of the single men are like parking spots: either handicapped or far out." This is how society portrays us sometimes, and it isn't exactly inspiring once the laughter has died down.

Once we've passed the stage of getting to know you, getting to know at least a little bit about you, getting an actual date with you is not always a guarantee. A fellow single friend of mine recently lamented that he had gone on two dates the previous month, but that was after he had asked out 10 girls. To use a different Rodgers and Hammerstein reference: Sometimes, some of you can be a girl who cain't say yes.

After an actual date has taken place, getting a second date can often be as difficult, if not more difficult, than getting the first one. There are a handful female acquaintances in my ward who will no longer speak to me, for whatever reason. My offense, as far as I can gather, is my last previous social interaction with them, which was having taken them out on a date. Before going on a date, I got along swimmingly with these people. I daresay we were friends even. But now, these few go out of their way to avoid or ignore me.

So, you see, the message—once again, unitentionally—is that having taken you out is possibly the most offensive thing I could've done. The message can be: Ask for a date, lose a friend. Maybe it was a glance, a bad joke, paying with a coupon instead of forking out a whole $50 for dinner—something I've unintentionally done has disqualified me from future social interaction, and I don't know what it is or was.

For the life of me, I don't know why this phenomenon occurs or why this approach is considered more "kind" than taking perhaps 10 to 15 uncomfortable seconds to to tell me something akin to: "I just don't feel any chemistry with you"; "I had a good time with you, but I don't see a relationship going anywhere"; "I don't wanna kill you, but I will"; or some other message that leaves no possible room for misunderstanding. But instead, we play the avoid and ignore game. Society teaches us that this is "kind."  I saw the same thing occur in my YSA ward, and I see it now.

Well, that's all of the potentially-offensive-but-I-sincerely-don't-mean-it-that-way stuff I've got for now. If you have made it to this point, fellow Misfit Toys (and others), thank you for bearing with me, and I welcome your input/feedback. I realize that the bemoaning-your-singleness approach does not necessarily attract people, so I really don't intend to do this type of thing often.

I also urge you to consider that just because you may have read something that doesn't fit your experience doesn't mean that my experiences and frustrations aren't valid, just as your experiences and frustrations are plenty valid. I guarantee you that many other active LDS single men feel this way, because we have conversations about these frustrations frequently.

I cannot judge anyone else's motivations or intents, because they are known to only that person. I can, however, report on observed patterns of behavior and express how they have affected me, and I feel that's what I'm doing with this post. I'm not pointing fingers at any one person, let alone am I trying to malign the female gender. You confuse me sometimes, and I'm trying to understand why you do what you do sometimes.

Of course, if the real issue is you're just not getting asked out by the men you want to ask you out, rather than single men in general, you might try, I don't know, asking them out yourself and seeing where that leads. It is possible, and it's not viewed negatively by us gents. I recently got asked out on a lovely picnic prepared by a sister in my ward, and together we enjoyed a most pleasant afternoon together. It was thoughtfully done and was a wonderful gesture. And we have even had some conversations together after this social outing, too.

So, ladies, what I'm saying overall is: Please be kind to your active LDS single male friends who are trying not to be Peter Pans. According to conference attendance figures, we may even be an endangered species; I'm told that single women outnumbered single men at a 7-to-1 ratio.

With that plea for kindness, I remind you that we're trying (not always succeeding, but trying), per the Golden Rule, to be kind to you in return, because you are wonderful; and not to quote One Direction or anything, but sometimes you really don't know how amazing you truly are. Sometimes, you perplex the snot out of us, and trying to understand the feminine mystique remains one of life's greatest mysteries, but you really are wonderful. I look around me at the wonderful ladies in my ward each week and the recurring thought is that there are still so many of you I'd like to get to know if given the chance.

If any of you, with total recall abilities, bring up that certain Tuesday back in 2003 or 2007 when I said this or did that, and it left you feeling this way about me, well, I validate that. Our actions have consequences, whether intentional or unintentional. I'm not perfect, nor am I claiming perfection here, and neither are you. But together, with understanding and with effort, perhaps we can still somehow form a more perfect union.

*KABOOOOOM*

Tangled Up in the Blinds

"To judge from the covers of countless women's magazines, the two topics most interesting to women are (1) Why men are all disgusting pigs, and (2) How to attract men."
 -Dave Barry

Yesterday was Fathers Day. Perhaps you noticed?

This made for an interesting Sunday block on the Island of Misfit Toys, in which the men (at least in my elders quorum) were treated to handfulls of candy. Which is all we really could want on such a day.

In addition, I really appreciated the closing prayer offered in sacrament meeting, in which the plea was expressed that on Fathers Day (and throughout the year) our Father above might bless the single men of the ward; those who are already fathers (we do have some) to be good fathers to their children, as well as those singles who are seeking to become fathers, that their righteous desires might be granted in His due time.

There is, unfortunately, a stereotype floating around out there that men are clueless, incompetent nincompoops who are obsessed with trivial, inane things and don't really care about the important things in life. I promise you, in case this comes as news, that such a stereotype exists.

I call this the "tangled up in the blinds" idea, in reference to a comedy bit by Brian Regan about the cliché moronic husband often portrayed on national TV in commercials (and elsewhere). The product being promoted is cold cereal or soap or something of that sort, and it begins with a woman talking about said product and how it helps out her family. Meanwhile, her idiotic husband it "tangled up in the blinds" behind her because he's just not smart enough to know any better.

Don't get me wrong; Regan's comedic piece is very funny (he's the best currently in the business IMHO), and I have a pretty darn good sense of humor myself and can take a good deal of ribbing that's done all in fun. But sometimes I feel like it goes beyond a little bit; that what's harmless to one is hurtful to another. And believe me, it does affect many of us in a negative way in some shape or form. We see this stereotype perpetuated, and it is not necessarily a boon to our individual self-confidence.

Getting back to that closing prayer: So very many of us do long to become fathers, just as the women we worship with desire motherhood. The results of those efforts are varied, but for the most part we're doing the best we know how to do in order to obtain that great blessing in the right and proper way. Unfortunately, it's taking us a bit longer than it has for many of our peers.

I feel this is an especially important reminder in a society that increasingly teaches and accepts the false concept that women do not even need a man around (ideally, a husband) to help raise their children and/or that "alternative" families in which fathers are actually an option and not a requirement are a reasonable concept.


I recently read Elder M. Russell Ballard's new book, in which he taught:

"To belittle or ridicule someone who has traits that you view as peculiar or to speak in a demeaning manner of members of the opposite sex is offensive to God."

This goes for us all, single men and women. In addition to this habit being offensive to God, here's the other problem with it: It is not attractive. Complaining about how horrible and stupid men/women are, respectively, is not going to attract a spouse. At least, I've not seen it work once.

And yes, before I get a bunch of angry comments, I realize and say again that it goes both ways; that there are a number of negative stereotypes about women, as well, and men who view women unfavorably, and I denounce this, too.

Anyway, that's about all on Paco's mind tonight. Let's all be a little bit nicer to each other and try to see potential mates through our Heavenly Father's eyes. And maybe not bemoan the fact that all of the men in your dating pool fail to compare to the likes of Channing Tatum (perhaps a post for another day there, too).

And now, I need to get my pant leg free from the extension cord.

Solitude

Toward the end of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, the burden of carrying the ring has already taken its toll on poor Frodo. Boromir approaches him and says:

"I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. You sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take."

I know of a surety that the Dementors in the Harry Potter universe, for example, represent J.K. Rowling's own battle with depression during her life. I think this is quite an accurate representation. I don't, however, know all of the symbolism involved in the One Ring and its ill effects on Frodo's body and soul in the LOTR trilogy, though many comparisons that can be made to depression, as well as to chronic pain and other challenges.

One of the end results for many who battle depression, indeed, is to seek solitude. It has happened rather subtly over the years, but I see it in my own life when I don't even realize I'm seeking out solitude. Or, in other words, to just be left alone.

Some nights, I'm just not up for the social scene. I can't do it. Perhaps that's why I'm here alone on a Monday night pouring these thoughts onto a blog that maybe a few dozen will read, and that part doesn't really matter; I mainly write for myself so my brain doesn't explode under the weight of the ring I carry myself.

The irony, to me, is that much of the time, and in the big picture, I don't like to be alone nor do I want to ultimately be alone, either. I'm reminded of this weekly with my friends and colleagues on the Island of Misfit Toys, most of who crave companionship and are doing everything they can think of to remedy the situation, often ending in disappointment. (I say "most"; but that is a topic for another day and post.)

The Lord alone knows how very many, many times I have prayed, wished, sacrificed, gone out of my comfort zone to meet new people, and have tried time and again to improve my own situation. Sometimes, I feel when a relationship ends that all I'm left with is the option of disappointing someone new, and that's as good as things may ever get. That I just can't wait to get hurt again. But I am where I am nevertheless, though not through a lack of trying.

Fortunately, Boromir was right about one thing: There are other paths you can take, even though it requires a great deal of patience. And the righteous desires of our heart do matter, in spite of our imperfections and not seeing the results we want when we want to see them.

"For I, the Lord, will judge all men according to their works, according to the desire of their hearts" (D&C 137:8-9).

Where am I going with this? I don't rightly know. It's still a long walk to Mordor.

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

This week in Sunday School on the Island of Misfit Toys, we studied the last few chapters of the book of Mosiah. Before his experience of being "touched by an angel," so to speak, Alma the Younger was something of an insufferable punk:

"He became a very wicked and an idolatrous man. And he was a man of many words, and did speak much flattery to the people; therefore he led many of the people to do after the manner of his iniquities" (Mosiah 27:8; emphasis added).

As I have the opportunity to read and study the Book of Mormon again this year, one of my principal foci (focuses?), since it was a book written for our day, after all, is to pay particular attention to the similarities between the days of the Nephites and Lamanites and our time. And the similiarities are abundant. Sometimes, it's a little scary just how close our two societies resemble each other, keeping in mind things like the Pride Cycle and the number of times the people were compelled to be humble through their sufferings.

The problem with flattery is that it's based on telling people what they want to hear rather than what they ought to hear. It often employs partial or half-truths but ends up being lies nonetheless. I think Nephi would have called it "carnal security."

We are constantly flattered by politicians (egad, we're facing in November the most frightening election in my lifetime), celebrities, media, etc. Even our peers sometimes flatter us, principally through social media. This flattery stuff is rarely, if ever, a good thing.

Elsewhere this week, I re-read a message by Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve:

"Sometimes, the adversary tempts us with false ideas that we may confuse with the Holy Ghost. . . . Faithfulness in obeying the commandments and keeping our covenants will protect us from being deceived. Through the Holy Ghost, we will be able to discern these false prophets who teach for doctrine the commandments of men."

Fortunately, Alma the Younger got the message, and through the Atonement became one of the most righteous people in the Book of Mormon. Humility replaced flattery, and he was completely changed for the better. His (and the sons of Mosiah) story is one of my very favorites in that wonderful book. It gives me hope that I can get to that place, too.

My Soul's Complaint

"He lives to comfort me when faint.

He lives to hear my soul's complaint."

 -"I Know That My Redeemer Lives," Hymn no. 136

We sang these very words not long ago, as Latter-day Saints are wont to do in our meetings. It's one of our most common and most beloved hymns, though I don't think I've ever really stopped to ponder much about this particular phrase. It was later pointed our by our elders quorum instructor, which then led to a rather interesting discussion.

Again, as Latter-day Saints are wont to do. Especially in elders quorum.

Complaining to the Lord? You mean, He lives to hear me moan and groan when things go poorly, or when I'm heartbroken or lonely, or when my faith is not a strong as it would or could be? He puts up with all of that?

Apparently so. It is a somewhat reassuring thought. In our deepest, darkest moments of despair and trial, He is there, and He understands, because He has walked where we have walked and Has felt what we have felt. I think He gets it if we have moments even when we doubt everything we once thought we knew to be true. We can only imagine the loneliness, isolation, pain, and anxiety He felt when He cried out, in the moment of His deepest despair:

"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46).

What's the difference between complaining and murmuring? I think there is one, though it may be a fine line sometimes. I also Googled this very question and read a number of intriguing responses, mainly on other Christian Web sites and blogs.

Personally, I believe that murmurers have gone beyond merely complaining. They are not only complainers as a habit, but they are in open rebellion; not because they have doubts, but because they choose not to believe.

Then again, it may be just semantics. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, and all that.

This is not also to say, at the same time, that it's a good thing to be primarily a complainer. Because complainers are not only miserable people; since misery loves company, they love to pass it around.

This topic has been on my mind lately because my family has lost from this earthly existence two souls very dear to us this week; one on each side of my family. If I get to the afterlife and find neither one of them there (one was a member who shared our faith, while the other, one of the most giving and loving souls I've ever known, was not), I'll know I've ended up in the wrong place. Both were unexpected, though one was far less expected than the other due to age and health circumstances. Whatever the reasons or expectations may have been a week ago, we feel the loss dearly, and we mourn and grieve.

To some extent, our souls even complain. We may wonder why things happened the way they did. Personally, I wonder what to say that doesn't sound forced or stupid or uncaring. I always do when death is involved, for it is never an easy topic.

What I do know is that He is there to hear our soul's complaint. He understands. He loves us. In the end, He will make everything all right, even though all may be noise and confusion and chaos right here and now in this mortal coil.

Indeed, the He lives portion of the "He lives to hear my soul's complaint" is the most important part of that phrase.

Trials or Consequences

Moral agency was the theme of the messages delivered yesterday on the Island of Misfit Toys.

Incidentally, our speakers did a great job. It's a topic I often ponder about, because the gospel teaches two immutable truths: Moral agency brings with it both blessings for choosing the right and consequences for choosing poorly. And I think sometimes people mistake trials when they are actually consequences.

An example from natural law recently reemphasized the notion of consequences for me: If you drop something heavy on your foot, it will hurt a great deal.

I learned this the hard way a few weeks ago, when I accidentally knocked my laptop over onto my right foot. Fortunately, nothing was broken, though X-rays revealed a "deep bone bruise," and I had to wear the boot (pictured) for a couple of weeks, as well as deal with a great deal of pain and swelling.

Do not mess with gravity. You will lose.

When it comes to spiritual laws and consequences, I see a lot of misery around me generated from one key misunderstanding: That we can choose whatever we want and to act however we wish without suffering the consequences that will result of those choices. It is one of Satan's favorite lies, and he is having a lot of success in blinding minds with it in our day and age. Certainly, I, too, have fallen victim to this false ideology when I've made poor choices and then suffered the consequences that followed. Sooner or later, they always come.

Trials, on the other hand, often come as a result of things out of our control, such as a number of health issues, some financial problems, natural disasters, etc., or they can come from the poor choices made by other people.

I had a talk about this same matter with a very wise member of my bishopric, and he pointed out that, sometimes, our consequences, in turn, become our trials.

Point taken.

"Control what you can control" is an idea that has been running through my mind over the past several months. As long as I do that, or try to do that as often as I can, I can avoid a number of unpleasant consequences.

With my penchant for clutzyness, though, I can make no guarantees.

Nevertheless, as Elder Dale G. Renlund taught in the April 2015 general conference, quoting Nelson Mandela:

"A saint is a sinner who keeps on trying."

Leftovers

Sunday on the Island of Misfit Toys, it was announced at the pulpit that the sisters had gone on a retreat together over the weekend and that they had come back with a great deal of leftover food, which would be served in an impromptu Linger Longer after the block to all ward members who wished to dig in.

Interesting word, that—leftovers—to be used on the Island of Misfit Toys, because there have been occasions when I have heard that term used to describe we mid-singles (those aged 31 to 45) in a rather derogatory manner. Those moments make me cringe.

For the record, you all have permission to slap me upside the head if I ever use the L-word in your presence. Lepers? That one I might use from time to time, in an obviously kidding manner. There are those who (erroneously) feel that remaining single into your 30s and 40s is a contagious disease, and those who suffer from it should be shunned in much the same manner.

But no, no that other L-word. Never.

Sometimes, the little devil on my shoulder, like in that Donald Duck cartoon "Donald's Better Self," whispers in my ear that there have been many people who have given the ward maybe one or two tries, who have shown up to some of our activities, looked around the room, and said to themselves, "Is this really all there is to choose from?" Then, they've never returned and gone back to their home wards and the witness protection program, or whatever its mid-singles equivalent may be.

The little angel on my shoulder, however—and this is the one I try to pay attention to—reminds me that the glass is not only half-full; it is filled to the brim and overflowing.

I look around me each week and see wonderful people, whom it has been a great blessing to get to know, to both serve and to be served by. I get to both fellowship and be fellowshipped by some of the greatest people I've ever met. My current calling is as an elders quorum instructor, and over the past two-plus years, I've enjoyed it immensely. Last night, I got to spend a wonderful evening with some of these fellow Misfit Toys serving in the temple. On Sundays, there's no place I'd rather be.

And as far as that other "curse" word, the D-word—dating—opportunities are abundant. Sisters, you're wonderful. And if that comes across as pandering, so be it. Elders quorum has nothing I want.

What is my point? I did have one when I started. And seriously, no malice was or is intended by any of this. I'm on your side, fellow Misfit Toys. I hear the voices of scorn and ridicule, from the Great and Spacious Building and in my own head, and I dismiss them as much as I possibly can. Like you, I'm trying to do the best I can.

My actual point may have been that nobody makes good food like the Relief Society. And that's a fact.