Christmas 2023, Part 2

On Christmas Eve, we gathered for Plowman family dinner at Biz's and Jeff's home in West Bountiful. We had all the fixings for a Christmas dinner, including ham, candied yams, funeral potatoes, charcuterie, meatballs, and other goodies.

Dinner was followed by our annual Christmas story pageant. The niblings enthusiastically dressed up as shepherds, wise men, angels, stable animals, and of course Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. In fact, six-year-old Tanner got a little too into the part of playing the baby, seen here resting (and cooing?) in the lap of his three-year-old sister Sadie, who portrayed Mary:

As always, the kids had a wonderful time taking part. As part of the pageant, we continued the family tradition of listening to Dad's recording of the Christmas story as found in chapter of the gospel of St. Luke.

Perhaps we began a new tradition by also playing a recording of Mom reading The Monster at the End of This Book, a family favorite since my siblings and I were very young, while Biz turned the pages in the story. We collectively felt her loss rather acutely during this holiday season and on this particular night, too, but I think this moment helped many of us to feel she wasn't really that far away from us.

In fact, it gives me a great deal of comfort to think that if she weren't already one of the angels who sang at the birth of the Christ child 2,000+ years ago that she is one of those angels singing His praises now.

Next came the exchanging of gifts. The niblings drew names from a hat to purchase gifts for each other, while my siblings and I did the same for each couple in the family. This way, everybody got to open at least one thing. Sadie was especially grateful for and protective of her Frozen action figure set:

Then followed a few family games, including a new one, "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Cup," that Biz borrowed from the Johnson Files, one of our favorite Instagram accounts. You had to be there to grasp what exactly this involved—but it was fun for all who played.

Christmas Day was, well, a rather lazy day at our house. Santa Claus came and left goodies, and JB and I exchanged gifts, too. My wife is very thoughtful when it comes to this sort of thing. One of my favorite presents was this T-shirt, based on The Lord of the Rings book/film series:

Hopefully, your Christmas was a good one spent with your own loved ones, too. If not, here's hoping for better times ahead and a better year for us all in 2024.

Christmas 2022, Part 2

Our Christmas family festivities continued on Christmas Eve. We headed over to Biz's and Jeff's home in West Bountiful for some holiday Plowman shenanigans.

Among the many revelers present were five-year-old Tanner and his three-month-old baby brother Sam:

After a good meal, including all of the trimmings, we all participated in the annual family Christmas pageant. The kids are always the most excited about this part, and they dressed up as shepherds, wise men, and the other main parts in the Christmas story as found in the scriptures (mainly, Chapter 2 of Mark and Chapter 1 of 3 Nephi).

The niblings then exchanged gifts with each other. I am always impressed with the depth and breadth of how thoughtful they are toward one another. Mom had gifts for each of her grandkids, to boot. She spent a good deal of time over the previous weeks and months knitting beanies for each of her grandkids, which they modeled here:

That bearded guy you may not have seen before in my pics is now counted among the niblings; he's Kylee's fiancé, Talin. They got engaged not that long ago and are now planning on a wedding in August 2023. Not pictured this year is our missionary Jenna, who had her beanie mailed to her in Texas.

One of our collective family gifts to Mom was her life story, which Steve, Summer, and I compiled (meaning that we asked her questions and typed down her responses to them) over the course of the year through the Storyworth Web site.

(Storyworth didn't pay me to plug their product for them; but I will say that we did find it to be a useful tool in putting the book together.)

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Mom's Birthday Party 2021

Last weekend, Mom had a birthday—as she is wont to do each year. We got together as a family over at her house in West Bountiful to help her celebrate, because we are good kids like that.

JB baked these delicious cupcakes for the occasion:

I wish I had come up with the genius idea to get Mom this Grover T-shirt, which is a reference to our family's beloved children's story The Monster at the End of This Book:

(The inside joke here is that Mom recorded this story a number of years ago as a Christmas gift to the family. Biz, who worked at a recording studio at that time, orchestrated it all [no pun intended, haha]. On the recording, Mom did her best Grover impression. This has already become a beloved family heirloom.)

The Prophet and the Proclamation

The Family: A Proclamation to the World was first introduced 25 years ago this week. I am grateful for the eternal truths contained in this wonderful document. I was serving as a missionary in Lima, Peru, when it was announced; and after our mission president encouraged us to share copies of the document in our everyday work, we saw many doors open to us, both figuratively and literally.

In Sheri Dew's biography of our current prophet, President Russell M. Nelson---an excellent book that I read not too long ago--she tells the story of how the proclamation came about.

In 1994, the brethren of the Church were concerned by the erosion of the family unit and numerous trends that were troubling. President Nelson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, explains in the book:

"The Twelve reviewed both doctrine and policies, considering those things that could not be changed---doctrine---and those things that could possibly be---policies. They discussed issues they saw coming, including an intensified societal push for gay marriage and transgender rights. 'But that was not the end of what we saw,' Elder Nelson explained. 'We could see the efforts of various communities to do away with all standards and limitations on sexual activity. We saw the confusion of genders. We could see it all coming.'

"This extended discussion, along with others over a period of time, led to the conclusion that the Twelve should prepare a document, perhaps even a proclamation, outlining the Church's stand on the family to present to the First Presidency for consideration. ...

"As an outgrowth of these discussions, a committee consisting of Elders Faust, Maxwell, and Nelson was appointed to draft a document."

Over the course of more than a year, these three brethren worked with the First Presidency to bring the document to its current status ... (and it was) introduced by Pres. Hinckley in the general Relief Society meeting September 23, 1995."

This idea was well accepted. "For many, the proclamation seemed to be little more than a restatement of well-understood, time-honored principles about marriage, family, and gender identity. In 1995, marriage between a man and a woman was a given. ...

"'But we could see what was coming,' said Elder Nelson some years later. 'What seemed so obvious in 1995 is now a standard, really, for the entire world. Over the years, I've given many copies of the proclamation to many governmental leaders not of our faith who've been grateful.'" ...

"In a relative few years, dozens of countries, including the United States, legalized gay marriage. Transgender issues came to the fore, with celebrities and other influencers popularizing the notion that gender was a matter of choice rather than a divinely directed reality. Criticism of the Church's doctrinal position as well as policies associated with that doctrine came from both outside and inside the Church. Society increasingly hurled cries of bigotry toward anyone who opposed gay marriage on religious or moral grounds."

"'There are those who label us bigots,' said Elder Nelson, 'but the bigots are those who don't allow us to feel as we feel but want us to allow them to feel as they feel. Our stand ultimately boils down to the law of chastity. The Ten Commandments are still valid. They've never been revoked. ... That powerful message is our stand. We cannot change it. We welcome people of different attitudes into the Church, but it is not our prerogative to change laws that God has decreed.'"

Reading this story made me especially grateful for the seer role of our prophets, seers, and revelators.

Here we are, 25 years after the proclamation's release, and we are exactly where the prophets warned us we'd be. Much has changed in the world, but the proclamation's teachings remain the same.

I look forward learning more from our prophets, seers, and revelators at this coming weekend's general conference.

Prophet of the People

This past Sunday, I was asked to go to the care center branch in our stake to give a talk in their sacrament meeting service. I have been attending and helping out with various functions at this branch for a number of years now, and I never cease to be floored the amazing people in the branch and the Spirit I feel each time I go. This time was no exception.

For my topic, I chose to speak on the Prophet Joseph Smith, as his birthday (December 23) is another birthday we recognize around this time of year. In concluding my message, I got to once again stand before a congregation of the Church and bear testimony of our latter-day prophets, in particular my witness that President Thomas S. Monson holds the same keys Joseph held.

Then, last night, I went to the local Megaplex for my fourth viewing (don't look so shocked) of Star Wars: The Last Jedi. As the closing credits began to roll, I checked my phone for any text messages or news. I was deeply saddened to read more than one post on social media alerting me that our dear prophet had passed away earlier in the evening.

As a Church, we're always sorrowful when any of the General Authorities shuffle off this mortal coil, but especially so when it's our president. I join with my fellow Latter-day Saints today in mourning this wonderful, bold, caring, exemplary man who has now been reunited with the wife he lost a few years ago and has gone onto his reward in the rest of our Lord.

If you're a Latter-day Saint and are looking for a great read, or even if you're just a friend of the Church, I would highly recommend reading his biography, To the Rescue, by Heidi Swinton. It's a phenomenal book. I learned so many things about our prophet that I did not previously know. For example, in all of the years he went to East Germany behind the Iron Curtain, he was warned by the U.S. Embassy more than once that they could probably not do anything to get him out if something went wrong—and yet he went anyway, time and again. This is the kind of person he was.

I know President Thomas S. Monson was a prophet of God. I also know that those of us who remain behind in these troubled times have nothing to fear, that in a short amount of time we'll see the First Presidency reorganized and another called to lead us with great faith and strength in his absence. My thoughts and prayers are also with President Russell M. Nelson and the other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles today.

42

What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?

That's one theory.

Another one is that the best is yet to come.

The Dementors of Tryptophan

Following the conclusion of Thanksgiving dinner, the last football game of the day, and my tryptophan-induced nap, I settled down to get a little reading done Thursday night. I'm currently making my way through the Harry Potter series for the first time ever.

(Insert here reaction of horror and/or dismay and chants of "Unclean! Unclean!")

The initial waves of Harry Potter mania passed me by for one reason or another, possibly because I was technically already an adult when the books began to take the world by storm. I did, however, often attend midnight premieres (this is a thing we did Back in My Day, kids) of the movies with my siblings and their friends, and I always enjoyed them even though I did not necessarily understand the cause behind all of the jubilation. Likewise, I had a enjoyable experience seeing the spin-off film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them last week.

Once upon a time, I also researched and wrote (and published) a brief biography on J.K. Rowling for a work project. I remain rather impressed with what she has been able to accomplish as an author and as a philanthropist, overcoming some rather difficult circumstances to get where she is.

Anyway, I'm a filthy Muggle, but I've been trying to atone for that. Currently, I'm onto the third entry in the series, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The books have not quite yet reached Lord of the Rings or Star Wars levels of symbolism for me yet; nevertheless, I did find myself empathizing with the characters when they first meet the dementors of Azkaban on the Hogwarts Express. These are the characters who, in their initial encounter with our heroes, bring only despair and misery.

Here are a few passages that describe their encounter:

"The thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings."

"The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart. . . . He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. He was being dragged downward."

"'It was horrible,' said Neville. . . . 'Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?'"

"'I felt weird,' said Ron, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably. 'Like I'd never be cheerful again.'"

"He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of the flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had?"

One thing I learned about J.K. Rowling in my research was that she had lived through periods of major depression, and that she created the dementors as a representation of what the illness feels like. Having been through more than one episode myself, I concur wholeheartedly that the dementors very accurately represent what depression is like.

I've heard more than one person (including one in a sacrament meeting talk Sunday) remark that 2016 has been a really tough year. That's certainly been the case for me. I've learned or re-learned the lesson that problems and trials don't really ever go away completely; they just come at you in different forms. One month it's dementors, and the next it's three-headed dogs or Mandrakes or what-have-you. And I've also been reminded through an extremely difficult period of time that my own personal battle with my own dementors is not over, and it's not something that's "cured" like other illnesses; it's a fight I'll have to continue every day for the rest of my life in one way or another.

Even so, as I took in this message on Thanksgiving Day, having also had my parents (one of whom was not home for the holidays last year), my siblings, my nieces and nephews, and even two of my three favorite puppies around me for a good portion of the day, I couldn't help but realize how immensely blessed I have been this year, too. They are my favorite people in the world. In fact, my cup runneth over in many, many ways.

There are parts of my life that remain incomplete, but though the dementors would have me focus on those, I am trying to choose instead to focus on what I do have, and to control the things I can control. If my own experiences with the dementors haven't helped me to be more understanding, more patient, more kind, and more grateful, then those lessons have been wasted; but I'm trying to make sure they are never lost.

Another message given in the book, once the attack has been thwarted, is that eating chocolate helps you to feel better. Which is also 100 percent correct.

Improvables: Fairytale Festival

The good folks at CenterPoint Legacy Theatre recently hosted their annual Fairytale Festival, and the Improvables were asked to help pitch in, which we were more than willing to do.

Our assignment was the storytelling tent, for which we portrayed a few different characters to . . . well, tell the kids fairy tales. Cassie ("The Princess and the Pea"), Erica ("Rumpelstiltskin," pictured), Joe ("Peter Pan"), and I ("The Hobbit") told our respective stories over the course of the evening.

Yes, The Hobbit. It counts.

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."

Nose Jobs, the Universe, and Everything

Three months ago today, I went under the knife for a nose job.

No, really. It's true. My particular procedure is called a septoplasty, aka the fixing of a deviated septum. This is when your nasal passages are crooked, not letting air pass through the right way. It was a problem I'd known about for years, and it had finally reached a point, with constant sinus pressure and pain, that multiple ENTs (ear, nose, and throat doctors) recommended the surgery. In addition, I had a turbinate reduction, in which my turbinates were reduced (as far as I know) to improve my ability to breathe.

Which, it turns out, is a really important part of staying alive.

The surgery was a successful one. I left the hospital woozy, nauseated, and generally bewildered, doing things that I never, ever do, like taking selfies:

I was sent home with a roll of gauze like you see in the photo and had to change my gauze "mustache" every 45 minutes to an hour, because my nose kept bleeding throughout the day and kept saturating the gauze, giving me red mustaches.

Good times, huh?

To make a long story even longer, recuperation went about like I was told it would be. In some ways. I had a few sleepless nights. I ate only a little bit and only soft foods for a week, losing 14 pounds total that week. I missed about about six days of work. But after a couple of weeks of a stuffy nose, I started to realize that I was actually, truly breathing better and that the surgery had done me a lot of good.

In other ways, recuperation was nothing like I could have possibly imagined. My throat was sore for weeks due to the tube that had been inserted for surgery, as I was told might happen, except it continued for additional weeks, which became months. As one prone to depression and anxiety, those issues were affected to a great deal. My brother graciously answered the phone and drove me to the E.R. at 3 a.m. and stayed there with me till 5 a.m. on one troublesome night. Another brother drove me to a different ENT for an emergency visit to have my nose splints removed a day earlier than planned when I learned my surgeon was out of town and couldn't do it right then. In fact, multiple family members stepped up and either let me vent what I was going through or sat with me to give me moral support or priesthood blessings. My sleeping habits were interrupted for a number of weeks, and other issues, such as work, improv, social life, etc., were thrown topsy-turvy for a time. Until tonight, I have also not posted an actual blog post (other than photos of family goings-on and whatnot) for nearly three months for these same reasons.

Without boring you with any of the other sordid details, I had a tough time. A much tougher time than I expected. It really put me through the ringer in ways I never imagined. This is not to dissuade anyone out there contemplating going through a septoplasty procedure for yourself, because it has done a lot of good for my sinuses and my breathing, as I was told it would, and most people who undergo this surgery do not go through the same complications I have faced. I also don't pretend that my difficult few months are or were any more difficult than anyone else's challenges or trials over the same period of time, only that they were quite difficult for me.

Upon my fifth or sixth follow-up visit to my surgeon, he commented: "I've never seen any of my patients go through this before" (reassuring, huh?). He also said, "You've really been through it these few months, haven't you?" After these six (or seven?) visits, consulting with and getting a second opinion from another ENT, as well, the good news is that we finally (knock on wood!) seem to have nailed the problem, and I've been feeling much better lately.

I don't know if the feeling will continue, but I am optimistic it will. All told, I am figuring out this mortal life thing one day at a time, just like the rest of you. I read something the other day in which an LDS general authority (I forget which one) compared life to an ocean wave; that it has highs and lows, and the hard times (the "lows") eventually pass.

A life lesson I've been reminded of multiple times these past several weeks has been that everyone is going through something tough. Often, these challenges are unseen or unspoken. The tough times test us to the very core. They test us physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and in every other way, shape, and form. And yet, how very reassuring it is that the Savior descended below all and knows how we feel and can comfort and guide us through His Holy Spirit. If these lessons are not lost on us, we gain empathy and sympathy for those around us carrying heavy burdens and pick up some glimpse into what He feels for us as the Savior of all.

I've "ponderized" and have written down several impressions that have occurred to me over the last little while, and I hope to give this blogging thing another try and may just share a few of these ideas with you. I also plan to be a bit more open in the future on my struggles with both depression/anxiety/OCD (they're all interrelated in one big ball of goo), as well as chronic pain, in the hopes that it will both give me an outlet for these issues and also give hope to others who may be going through similar challenges. Stay tuned.

As Tom Hanks's character says in Cast Away, "Tomorrow, the sun will rise, and who knows what the tide will bring?"

I pray I may never take another sunrise for granted. Each and every one is a wonderful blessing, come rain or shine.

That "Other" Book of Mormon Musical

Over the weekend, I had the chance to go and see the Book of Mormon musical.

No, not The Book of Mormon Musical, but rather Nephi & the Sword of Laban, which is based on (the horror!) a story from the pages of the actual Book of Mormon.

Covering 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi while also omitting the Isaiah chapters of the latter book, this production was a noble effort to tell the faith-promoting spiritual and physical journey of Nephi and his family from Jerusalem to the New World. Admittedly, there were moments that reminded me of both the cheesiness of Saturday's Warrior as well as the purposefully cheesy Waiting for Guffman.

Nevertheless, the story flowed well, the songs were composed and performed with heart, and the cast put on an admirable performance. It was way better than that "other" musical.

But you haven't even seen that "other" musical, you say.

No, I haven't seen it. I don't want to, and I don't need to to know that it's pure garbage. I know from the other productions of the show's "creative" team that I don't like their humor in the least. I don't find "anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy" about the show (Articles of Faith 1:13). Quite frankly, I'm baffled by those of my faith who think it's all that and a bag of chips.

Well, to each his own.

Naturally, Nephi & the Sword of Laban was also way better than Cats.

Weekends, Holidays, and All Throughout May

"I before E, EXCEPT after C,
And when sounding like A, as in neighbor and weigh,
And on weekends and holidays and all throughout May,
And you'll always be wrong, NO MATTER WHAT YOU SAY!"
 -Brian Regan

With some people, you just can't win. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter how you act, and/or no matter how kindly you try to treat them, in spite of their rudeness and/or indifference, they will always be infallible, and you will always be a babbling idiot.

I have a co-worker like this right now. I've tried to get along with this person to the best of my ability. He never says simple, polite things such as "please" or "thank you." Whenever any kind of discrepancy, miscommunication, or other type of problem arises, he always sighs, frowns, shakes his head, and says something such as, "You people in the office!"

When this happens, I pick up my three-hole punch and smash in his teeth.

Actually, that's what I would do if left to my own devices and I weren't, in reality, the loveable, gentle, forgiving, humble soul you all know.

Have you ever dated a person who falls into the category of someone who always has to be right, and this at the expense of you always being wrong? I have, and it doesn't do much for your self-esteem to have this constantly going on.

Earlier today, I read something about Pres. Franklin D. Roosevelt and the fact that, apparently, from the outset of their marriage, his wife apparently criticized and belittled him for decades on end. My heart went out to the guy when I read that. Not a happy place to be, in spite of all of the philandering he took part in (which the book also discusses).

It's tough to turn the other cheek in these moments and while dealing with toxic people like these. But, often, it's really the only option. If you let it, something like this can spoil your entire day.

I'm trying not to let that happen, one encounter at a time. Throughout May and during the rest of the year, as well.

Bookmobile Witness Protection

In the early '80s, to the best of my recollection, there used to be a Bookmobile that drove from place to place all over southern Davis County. As you might assume, it was a mobile library of sorts. You could check out books from the Bookmobile. Then, theoretically, you would return these books to the Bookmobile whenever it came back into your neighborhood or to your school.

Somehow, The Monster at the End of This Book never made it back.

Someone in my family checked this book out from the Bookmobile in 1981 and never returned it. As a result, this book has remained in my family's possession longer than all but three of the people in my improv troupe, by my figuring, have been alive. If the Bookmobile police ever catch up with the book and/or us, we might be facing a late fee of something like a combined total of $30,000.

Mom has also been recorded reading the story of The Monster at the End of This Book. My sister arranged it at the recording studio where she works. In this recording, Mom reads Grover's story in her best Grover voice. It's hilarious. All of her kids now have copies of Mom reading this story, and it is an heirloom I hope we will all cherish for a long time.

It's amazing how very simple things like The Monster at the End of This Book can mean so much for these simple (and other reasons). I have my own copy of the book now, and, the other day, I picked it up from my bookshelf to re-read it for the first time in a few years. It took me all of 30 seconds to complete it. All the while, I could hear Mom's voice narrating in my head.

Then, somewhere off in the distance, I also heard a siren in my head, and I immediately began to panic. Because I know that somewhere, somehow, the Bookmobile Police are out there, and they will not stop searching until they track us down one day.

Movie Review: "The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies; Or, How I Learned to Stop Smaug and Love Middle-Earth"

This movie—I just . . . I can't even. What a film! And that's just the title alone, which is marvelous.

About my viewing experience today: Sometimes, one of the best parts of going to see a movie in the theater is listening to the very audible reactions of the people around you (as long as they don't distract, of course). The lady seated behind us had the most hysterical laugh—risa que da risa, as the Peruvians say—heard, for example, during the scene in which the cheese-head orc (yes, really; this orc looked like it was a very upset Green Bay Packers fan) ran headfirst into a wall to break a hole through it.

I guess you had to be there.

All right, so . . . Before we go any further: SPOILER ALERT. (You'd think that would be obvious when you're reviewing a movie, but hey . . . some people. Am I right?)

 - In the previous two movies, we had Radagast and his rabbit-driven sled. In this one, we also have an elf riding a moose and dwarves riding rams—'cause they're RAM TOUGH! (rim shot)

 - The dwarves' hair was styled by the same barber who cut the hair of infamous '80s band A Flock of Seagulls. Well, at least some of them.

 - Gingers get angry, and they will not be stopped (Galadriel, Tauriel). Galadriel goes full girl-from-The Ring-crazy in one scene.

 - Christopher Lee has pretty sweet fighting moves for a 92-year-old guy.

 - Literally dozens of people are rescued from imminent doom at EXACTLY THE VERY LAST POSSIBLE SECOND.

 - Speaking of last-minute rescues, I think I figured out why the eagles keep appearing when they do to help save the day. The eagle is the symbol of the United States, right? Well, the U.S. didn't make it into World War I until 1917 and, later on, World War II until late 1941 (after more than two years of fighting). Those Americans are always arriving late. (Nevertheless, they do help to save everybody.)

 - Near the end of the film, Merry (Dominic Monaghan), from the first Middle-Earth trilogy, makes a very brief cameo appearance when Bilbo returns to the Shire. I later verified this in the IMDB trivia section because, hey, slow news day. You can see him on the bottom-right of the screen, walking away from Bag End.

None of this is meant to come across as any sort of a complaint. It's just Paco's unique take on things, because that's the kind of Sensitive New Age Guy he is.

Can't wait for The Hobbit 4!

A Merry Little Christmas, Now

We all have our favorite Christmas tunes—that is, of course, unless you're an Ebenezer Scrooge about Christmas, in which case Jacob Marley is already on his way to visit you tonight, followed later on by three spirits who will get medieval on your hiney and show you the error of your ways.

I divide up Christmas songs into two categories: "happy holidays," which are the ditties about Santa Claus and Rudolph and Frosty and caroling and walking outside in (or staying inside from) the winter cold, and the "true meaning" songs, which are songs that are actually about Christmas—"Silent Night," "The First Noel," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," etc.

Of the "happy holiday" songs, the one that continues to grow on me each year is "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." Its message is a simple but powerful, beautiful one.

Until recently, I didn't know that the song originated in the 1944 film Meet Me in St. Louis. (Musical nerds already knew that, I'm sure.)

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on
Our troubles will be out of sight . . .

"Through the years
We all will be together
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star
Upon the highest bough
And have yourself
A merry little Christmas now"

To me, the most important lyric in the song is the word now.

Students of history are well aware that the year 1944 wasn't exactly the brightest or most optimistic time to be alive. Here in the United States, as well as in other Allied lands, many people lived in fear of the very real possibility that they would have to live out the remainder of their lives under the Nazi or Japanese flag if World War II were lost. They also sent their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons off to fight in the war, not knowing when or if they'd see them ever again. It was a time of uncertainty, of walking by faith day by day, of sacrificing, and of doing what was necessary in order to confront and destroy evil, both on the homefront and abroad.

In other words, it was a time of "troubles." But even in the Christmas season, at least for a little while, those "troubles" could "be out of sight"—at least for a few days, or on Christmas Day itself. In the moment called now. People would all "be together, if the fates allow" in some future day, but even while families and friends were separated, they could still set those worries and cares aside, for a brief time, to celebrate the holiday and to have a measure of joy in it. In fact, I believe the original lyrics were, "Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow."

Muddle, they did. And they persevered.

So it goes for us. Whatever worries or cares are on your mind this holiday season; whatever problems, heartache, pain, uncertainty, or grief you're dealing with, set them aside at least a day to celebrate the season. To enjoy one another's company. To both reflect on the year that will soon end, and also to look forward with optimism to the possibilities of the future. Above all, to celebrate the reason for it all: the Redeemer of the world, Jesus the Christ.

I recently finished re-reading Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's book Shepherds, Why This Jubilee? If you don't have a copy, I would recommend that you get one. Or you can borrow mine. It has become required holiday reading for me each year.

In that wonderful (and short!) read, he teaches:

"You can't separate Bethlehem from Gethsemane or the hasty flight into Egypt from the slow journey to the summit of Calvary. It's of one piece. It is a single plan. . . . Christmas is joyful not because it is a season or decade of lifetime without pain or privation, but precisely because life does hold those moments for us. . . . In the end it is all right. It is okay. (Trials and sorrow) are sad experiences, terribly wrenching experiences, with difficult moments for years and years to come. But because of the birth in Bethlehem and what it led to they are not tragic experiences. They have a happy ending. There is a rising after the falling."