JB's Birthday 2026, or: Niblings, the Next Generation

Over the weekend, JB celebrated another birthday. It was a busy Saturday for us, but we managed to fill it with a lot of good things with a lot of great people.

Firstly, we journeyed down to South Jordan for my high school buddy Clayton's mother's funeral. It was good to see my old friend, whom I hadn't seen for several years. (He and his family live in Atlanta.) I got to meet all four of their kids for the first time. Another high school buddy, Darren, sat by us for the funeral service, which contained wonderful tributes to a great lady. Clayton's older brother is actually Elder W. Mark Bassett, a General Authority Seventy of the Church, and was, as expected, one of the speakers. Whom we didn't expect to see was Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who presided and who was the concluding speaker. Elder Renlund offered an Apostolic blessing on the Bassett family, and the Spirit was so strong as he spoke.

From there, we trekked down to Salem in Utah County for our great-nephew Levi's baby blessing. (Yes, we now have two grand-nephews.) Two-month-old Levi's dad, Dallin, performed the ordinance. We took a number of pics of baby Levi, along with his parents, Dallin and Eliza, and several others, but we are also honoring their request not to post any pics of him online. Another kid we got to meet for the first time was six-month-old Beau Nelson, our cousin Madison's and her husband, Wyatt's, baby boy. A number of family members on both sides joined us for this occasion.

Lastly, we traveled to Provo to meet up with our niece, Olivia, and her husband, Caleb, who are BYU students, for JB's birthday dinner, featuring sushi and pho, at Saida's on University Ave. It was a great end to a great day.

Mom's Funeral

How do you measure the life and love of a wonderful mother? I have no idea. I won't even try. (I posted the tribute I gave at her funeral in my previous post, if you'd like to read what I shared.)

Our angel mother passed away on Sunday, November 19, at age 80. We held her public viewing a week later at Russon Brothers Mortuary in Bountiful on Sunday, November 26. Before the public arrived, there was a brief message about death and dying that one of the staff shared with our nieces and nephews, and he did very well with such a difficult topic.

I especially love the above pic of Kira consoling her younger cousin Katy.

Extended family members and good friends and neighbors poured in by the dozens to pay their respects, share their memories, and give hugs upon more hugs. This number included some of Dad's childhood friends, people we've known since we moved to Bountiful in the late 1970s, and even some dear friends from our Puerto Rico years who now live in Utah.

The well wishers on this evening included our (JB's) nephew Spencer, who is now laboring as a service missionary for the Church.

The next morning, on Monday, November 27, a second viewing was held at the West Bountiful 5th Ward building in West Bountiful. (This is the ward Mom belonged to before moving to the care center, and they graciously agreed to host.)

Once again, several extended family and friends were there to mourn with us. Something you're reminded of at times like these is that they really help you know who your true friends are. Gratefully, our family has been blessed with the very best friends, neighbors, and ward families (past and present) that I could possibly imagine.

Our Sanders cousins Shellie and Denny, Jamie and Julie, Scott and Claudia and a number of their kids, and Sherrie and Aaliyah made the trip (from California and Utah County, respectively) to be there with us.

Following a family prayer offered by my sister, the funeral service in the chapel came next. All six of Mom's kids spoke, too—and we actually spoke in the same order we previously spoke in for Dad's funeral in April 2017. Bishop David Wood, Jeff's brother, presided and was the concluding speaker.

Admittedly, it was the musical number, the Primary favorite "I'm Trying to Be like Jesus," performed by our nieces and nephews and accompanied by Summer on the piano, that made me tear up the most.

As one of the pallbearers, I accompanied Mom's coffin, along with my fellow pallbearers (my brothers and three oldest nephews), out to the waiting hearse at the conclusion of the service. Our family friend and neighbor Lance Lindsay stood outside to play "Scotland the Brave," "Amazing Grace," and other folk tunes on the bagpipes as we left. A Brit by birth, Mom absolutely adored the bagpipes, and she and Dad would have savored this precious moment.

(After that, watching the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan will never be the same for me.)

After being provided with sack lunches by the amazing Relief Society of the West Bountiful 5th Ward, we carpooled up to the Smithfield City Cemetery to lay Mom to rest beside our Dad. It was a chilly November afternoon (about 30° F), yet the sky was clear, and the sun still shone upon us.

Since my oldest brother, Mike, had previously dedicated Dad's grave, my siblings decided that I, as second oldest, should be the one to dedicate Mom's grave. This was perhaps the most humbling moment of my life. (I learned a lot about the ordinance by studying the Church's handbook of instructions, just in case you were wondering what a graveside dedication consists of.) I did the best knew how to do with such a significant responsibility.

After that, someone had the brilliant idea to pass out magic markers so that everyone could write one final message to Mom on her coffin. I think that this activity was most therapeutic for the niblings, because it gave them something tangible to do to convey their tender feelings.

No trip up to Smithfield is complete without a visit to Gossner's Dairy in Logan, so we stopped there for squeaky cheese and egg nog for the trip home. We had never tried their egg nog before, as we are usually in Cache Valley either around Memorial Day or in the summer on our way to/from Bear Lake. It was great!

Finally, to cap off the day, we gathered at Joy Luck Chinese restaurant back in Bountiful for dinner together with our cousins. One of Mom's favorite places to eat, where the owner has known her and most of us by name for many years, they provided us with another delicious meal.

You can't spell the word funeral without the word fun, per se, but there's not much about the experience that you'd hope to take part in frequently. Nevertheless, I'm grateful for eternal families, and I'm glad that we did it together.

Mom's Obituary

My dear mother passed away apparently peacefully in her sleep on Sunday, November 19. I had the privilege of writing the bulk of her obituary, along with input from all of my siblings. You can read it here:

https://www.russonmortuary.com/obituaries/kathleen-plowman

Improvables: Megan's Tribute Show

Still reeling from the loss of our dear friend and troupe co-owner Megan, we nevertheless marched forward and put on a tribute show/fundraiser for her daughter, Roxie, on Friday night at the Bountiful Davis Art Center. As they say in show biz, the show must go on. We feel that Megan would've wanted us to put on a funny show even amidst the tears that were collectively shed, and that is what happened.

We shattered out previous attendance record with more than 100 attendees in chairs. Among those present were several of Megan's family members, former students, and other acquaintances. Together, we were able to raise over $1,500, which is also by far our best fundraiser ever.

The show itself included appearances by several improvisers past and present, under the direction of co-MCs Erica and Ricky. Some of my favorite moments included this scene set in a bowling alley/shooting range in "Sing It":

... along with Richard's "Advice Panel" character Shy Jerome:

There were hearty chuckles all around, just like Megan would've wanted there to be. Her departure leaves a large hole in our troupe that will be difficult to fill.

Goodbye, Megan

This past weekend, JB and I, along with the Improvables troupe, lost our dear friend Megan. It doesn't make sense. I don't know if it ever will. We are grieving but are also grateful.

Grateful to have been her friend. Grateful to have shared the stage with her for over a decade and to have seen her unique brilliance in action. Grateful to have known the genuine, selfless person she is off stage. Grateful to have visited a number of her classrooms to help teach her improv workshops and to see how her students love her and thrive with her teaching. Grateful she helped JB and me to take on troupe ownership as we brought Improvables back after a lengthy pandemic hiatus. Grateful for many late-night meals after shows and shared karaoke nights and birthday parties (our birthdays being only three days apart; Libras rule!). Grateful to have gotten to know her family, including stepkids and especially Tiny Human, whom we love like one of our own nieces.

We love you, and we miss you.

Death, Taxes, and a Few Other Sure Things

I was asked to give a short talk in my ward's sacrament meeting today. I have posted my remarks below. Happy Easter, friends.

Jana and I recently watched the new Ken Burns documentary on Benjamin Franklin, one of our Founding Fathers. I’m a history buff, and I even majored in the subject in college until I realized one day, “Yikes, I’m majoring in history.” Franklin’s is, of course, the portrait on one of my favorite pieces of U.S. currency. If a hip hop musical were ever created about his life, I would most seriously consider listening to it.

It was interesting to me to learn that when the Constitution was adopted, he wasn’t completely sure it was last---though he hoped it would. He observed: “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” A cynic today might look at the state of the world and reach the same conclusion.

Five years ago this weekend, death and taxes converged for me on the same day when my father passed away following a long illness on Saturday, April 15 (2017). Earlier that day, I got the impression to go and visit him in the care center. Jana and I were dating at that time, and she got the same impression. I’m so glad we followed that prompting. Had I waited to go and visit him the next day, on Easter Sunday, with the Easter candy I planned to bring, it would’ve been too late.

On that day, I got to hug him one last time and tell him once more that I loved him. Just a few hours later, he was gone. The doctors had given him six months; he lasted only nine more days. Though it was an expected loss, it occurred unexpectedly quickly, and it was a painful one.

When I arrived at the hospital that night, Dad had already passed. My siblings and I recalled numerous funny stories we remembered about Dad; it was a mix of laughter amid the tears. Upon leaving the hospital, I suddenly realized that it was past midnight, and that the day had changed from Saturday night to Sunday morning---it was Easter morning! The timing of this loss was a tender mercy to me and to our family.

In addition, the Comforter came in an unexpected way. The words of a favorite scripture appeared in my mind as I drove home. I saw or heard them repeated very clearly:

“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die” (John 11:25-26).

In the April 1992 general conference, Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy related the following:

“Let me share with you the tender story of an eleven-year-old boy named Philip, a Down’s syndrome child who was in a Sunday School class with eight other children.

“Easter Sunday the teacher brought an empty plastic egg for each child. They were instructed to go out of the church building onto the grounds and put into the egg something that would remind them of the meaning of Easter.

“All returned joyfully. As each egg was opened there were exclamations of delight at a butterfly, a twig, a flower, a blade of grass. Then the last egg was opened. It was Philip’s, and it was empty!

“Some of the children made fun of Philip. ‘But, teacher,’ he said, ‘teacher, the tomb was empty.’

“A newspaper article announcing Philip’s death a few months later noted that at the conclusion of the funeral eight children marched forward and put a large empty egg on the small casket. On it was a banner that said, ‘The tomb was empty’” (Ensign, May 1992, p. 11).

The tomb was empty---and yet that tomb with nothing and no one inside gave us everything! Our Savior gave us the two greatest gifts He could: triumphing over sin through the Atonement and over death with His Resurrection. Beyond death and taxes, the gospel gives us so many certain things in this life, and many reasons to have great hope in the next one.

The Prophet Joseph Smith taught: “The fundamental principles of our religion are the testimony of the Apostles and Prophets concerning Jesus Christ, that he died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended to heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 121).

That is why we are here, today and every other week. We take the sacrament as an appendage to the Atonement and the Resurrection. We meet here on Sundays as an appendage. Our missionary and temple work are appendages to it. We have so much to be grateful for and so many reasons to rejoice this day and every other as followers of Christ.

Brothers and sisters, I know that my Redeemer lives. I also know that the gift of the Holy Ghost is real and is also one of our Father’s greatest gifts to us. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Adios, Amigo

It's been nearly two months since my friend Jared very unexpectedly passed away. I haven't written anything about this till now because I've been trying to collect my thoughts and use the right words. I still don't know if I have those words. But here goes anyway.

Jared was my friend. (Is there a loftier title for someone not related to you by blood who chooses to be a part of your life? I can't think of one.) I knew him for more than two decades, and with all of life's changes—his first marriage, address and job changes, health challenges, his second marriage, then my  own marriage—he remained my friend. He was interested in me and my life and kept inviting me to do things with him and our mutual friends, many of whom I wouldn't have met if not for him, through those changes.

The older I am, the more I've realized what a rare blessing it is to have friends like this. So many others become either mere acquaintances or strangers; and though you might see them on Facebook or other social media channels once in a while, they otherwise disappear completely from your life. My experience has shown me that it's not that common to count on friends to continue to show up in your life over the years.

He had his quirks. For example, there was the time we were playing ultimate Frisbee, and the disc got thrown into and lost somewhere inside a tall patch of weeds; Jared got in his car and plowed into the middle of the weeds to retrieve the Frisbee. There were also group games we'd play, only with Jared around, like "Spin the Body" (trust me, you had to be there). Or the night of playing Balderdash when every answer turned into made-up trivia about John Denver (sorry, Kirsten).

If you knew him, you knew that Jared sometimes did other odd things and could sometimes rub people the wrong way. (Nobody's perfect.) In spite of that, Jared also possessed the ability to reach out to and include other people—people who often wouldn't be included by others—in his activities, parties, and game nights. It is a trait which I admired greatly and have tried to emulate in my own life.

I don't know if he quite knew just how important video game nights playing Halo, Rock Band, or San Francisco Rush 2049 were to me during a period of my life during which I was severely depressed. Very few people in my life know just how bleak things got for me, and it didn't get better for a long time. Yet one constant was video game night every other Friday night at Jared's house, and it gave me something to do and got me out of the house when little else could.

Jared was also among those who made it out to see me perform improv, a unique accomplishment considering many friends and acquaintances have had other plans on literally every single Friday night for the past 13+ years I’ve performed in Davis County. (No, I’m not calling anyone out. Just sayin’.)

The photo below is from a murder mystery dinner Jared, mutual friends of ours, and I participated in on February 15, 2003. The theme was "Roman Ruins," which is why we're all dressed up in togas and such. I played Caesar, ergo the crown of leaves:

About a year-and-a-half ago, Jared and I had an argument online. Why and about what—that's no longer important. I felt like he was the instigator and had said some things that were uncalled for and also weren't true. After that, we didn't speak for several months.

Then out of the blue, around Christmas time last year, he contacted me to apologize. He was sincere, he frankly admitted he had made what he called an "inexcusable" mistake, and he asked for my forgiveness. How could I not say I forgave him? I felt his request was in earnest, and. freely, I told him I did forgive. Between people who had been friends as long as we'd been, I told him I owed him the to never bring up the matter again.

I'm so glad, so incredibly relieved we had that talk. Had the silence between us gone on much longer, it might've been too late to make amends in the here and now. Regret is a painful emotion. Fortunately, I will have that memorable experience to look back on at future Christmas seasons.

This experience led me to recall the sage counsel of President Howard W. Hunter, which was given at Christmas time but is applicable throughout the calendar year:

"This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love, and then speak it again."

This is wonderful advice. I know from firsthand experience that it matters a lot. If something like this is unresolved in your life, I invite you to do what you can to make amends today, and to do it now. It may be too late tomorrow.

Visiting Grandpa

One year ago today, JB's grandpa passed away from this mortal life.

After our church meetings this morning, we went to visit him at the Centerville cemetery, where we delivered some fresh flowers. It was our first time seeing his (updated) headstone since the funeral last year.

We take comfort in knowing that his spirit is not really there and that he has been reunited with his sweetheart. We also look forward to the day we will see him again, through faithfulness to our covenants. In the meantime, we love and miss him here.

While I Was Sleeping

After dealing with a sore shoulder all summer long, and after having tried both physical therapy and a cortisone shot to remedy it, my doctor and I made the decision to proceed with surgery. I ended up having torn labrum cartilage, so it's a good thing we did.

My surgeon said it would be a relatively simple surgery.

Narrator: 'It was not simple."

On Tuesday, September 3, I went in to the surgical center to get prepped and wheeled into the operating room. The last thing I remember before passing out from the anesthetic was JB leaving the room to go out into the lobby to wait.

I awoke two or more hours later in what I assumed was the recovery room at the surgical center. Instead, I learned that I was in the emergency room at Lakeview Hospital. JB was there by my side. I asked how the surgery went, and she replied that it was successful. There was one complication, however. She said three words that have forever changed my life:

"Your heart stopped."

Well ... that was humbling news. I missed all of the fun when I was asleep, apparently. I also missed my first-ever ride in an ambulance, because I was snoozing for that, too. In JB's words in a text message she sent out to family members, here is what happened:

"Jon went into cardiac arrest (not a heart attack) during his surgery this afternoon. His heart stopped beating for less than a minute, and they were able to quickly revive him. He was brought to the ER at Lakeview, and they ran tests to be sure everything was OK. All of the tests have come back positive, but he is being kept overnight for observation. His oxygen levels are a bit low, so he might come home on oxygen if that doesn't improve. At this point, they still aren't sure what caused the cardiac arrest. The hospital doc thinks the sleep apnea contributed, but the anesthesiologist from his surgery was just here and said Jon's heart rate just dropped rapidly, and he thinks it was a result of the anesthesia. There will probably be more tests down the road."

Up till now, my closest brushes with death, I believe, were a number of frightening taxi cab rides I somehow survived in the sprawling metropolis of Lima, Peru. I believe I had a guardian angel (or angels) looking out for me then, when I was a missionary. I believe I had at least one looking out for me on the day of my surgery.

As JB wrote, the tests (including a heart ultrasound and chest X-rays) conducted at the hospital fortunately came out positive. I spent the night in the hospital (also a first for me) for observation, and, thankfully, my vitals and all other signs looked good enough that I could go home to rest and recover the next day. Both my surgeon and the anesthesiologist visited me and caught me up to speed on what happened. According to the surgeon, he was "99 percent" done with everything he wanted to do during the operation when the cardiac arrest occurred, so at least the original goal of the surgery was accomplished in the process.

And in the two weeks since then, well ... honestly, I'm still dealing with a few emotions. I'm in a little bit of shock and awe at it all. I rested at home for eight days until returning to work last week. The most (physically) painful part of my recovery wasn't my shoulder but instead has been a great deal of bruising around my sternum, oddly almost in the shape of an Iron Man Arc reactor triangle, where CPR was administered. It has  gotten much better since, and I've mostly resumed my usual day-to-day activities.

Through that time, the overwhelming emotion has been gratitude. I'm grateful to be here still. I'm grateful to the surgical staff, EMTs, doctors, and nurses who took such good care of me. I'm grateful my patient, caring wife was there by my side and that she'll always be there, no matter what trials or health problems may befall me or us in this mortal existence, as long as I live worthy of the covenants I have made and we have made together. I'm grateful for a loving family who visited and prayed for me and for JB and our little family. I'm grateful for good neighbors and ward members who minstered to and watched out for JB while I was in the hospital, who prayed for us, and who were over in our home the first few nights back to bring dinner and well-wishes with genuine concern and fellowship.

To my Heavenly Father, I'm grateful for the very gift of life itself. Having been given this realization of just how fragile life can be, I am trying to be more appreciative of some of the simple things I used to take for granted: sunsets, sunrises, waking up each morning, and especially a heart that beats throughout the day and night.

My perspective on several things has also changed. I make sure to say "I love you" to those closest to me with more frequency, and I also am trying to do and say things that will show it.

A day will come, hopefully decades from now, when my heart will stop beating again and won't start back up this time. I'm keenly aware of it now. Until that day comes, I hope to keep these important lessons in heart and mind and to make my life worth saving.

The "Funereal Philosophy"

Well, as it turns out, April 15 is, to paraphrase President Franklin D. Roosevelt, a day which will live in infamy. On this calendar date, Abraham Lincoln died, the Titanic sank into the Atlantic Ocean, it's Tax Day, and, if you've been watching the news today, now unfortunately the day on which the great French Roman Catholic cathedral Notre Dame burned while all the world watched in deep sadness.

It is also the day that Dad left us---two years ago today.

In the 730 days that have transpired since then, I've learned some important lessons. Most importantly, I use the words I love you more often to those closest to me, and I am trying harder to mean what I say in both word and deed.

I recently read the biography of Elder Richard L. Evans (1906-1971) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In this book, he teaches: "There would be much more human happiness if some of the eulogies we offer after others are gone were uttered before they go. And there are many things we would be grateful we had done, if we wouldn't wait until we wish we hadn't waited. ... Don't save all those sweet songs and charitable thoughts and kindly words for funerals. Put a bit more of the 'funereal philosophy' into the living of life while there are still ears to hear and eyes to see and hearts to understand" ("Tell Him Now!", The Man and the Message, p. 294).

That's great advice, and something I am working on every day. Where I have erred, I will do better.

We love you and we miss you, Dad.

Grandpa's Funeral

A beautiful funeral service was held today in honor of JB's beloved grandpa. We congregated with her family members at the Centerville 3rd Ward building for the occasion. JB's brother Jeremy was one of the speakers, telling a number of great stories and memories of Grandpa.

After this, we journeyed to the Centerville city cemetery for the graveside service and found that the heavens were weeping for the occasion. Members of the U.S. Navy were there to give him a military memorial, and it's the first such one of these I've ever seen. I loved it.

Here's Grandpa's 21-gun salute, followed by the playing of "Taps" on the bugle:

... and the folding of the flag that draped his casket:

Our five-year-old nephew Tatum kept dry from the rain in part by wearing his dad's suit coat:

It was a beautiful day, one filled with many tears and a lot of laughter, as well. How grateful we are for our knowledge of the plan of salvation.

Grandpa Moves On

JB's beloved Grandpa Arbuckle passed away Saturday. He was 91 years old.

Since JB came into my life, so did my having a grandpa to spend time with for the first time in many years and first time since I've been an adult. (All of my own grandparents were gone by the time I was 10 or 11 years old.) Most every Wednesday night (unless weather or illness intervened), we took him out to dinner locally and simply enjoyed his company, listening to his many great stories about serving in the U.S. Navy, a career in HVAC filled with opportunities serving others, or just his love for his many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

More than anyone else, though, he almost always would speak of his beloved wife and how much he missed her. They were married for over 60 years. She preceded him in death by nearly seven years, and he missed her desperately. While we mourn his passing, we are also grateful he is now reunited with his sweetheart and is free of the pain he endured in this life.

Today is, in fact, our first Wednesday without Grandpa. His viewing and funeral will be held next week, so I will post more about it here on this blog. We love you and miss you, Grandpa.

The Audacity of Thoughts and Prayers

Bad news, it seems, comes in threes. And that's exactly what happened at JB's and my respective workplaces recently.

Over the course of a week's time, the spouse of one of JB's coworkers unexpectedly and suddenly passed away. At my workplace, a coworker's mother passed away following heart surgery. A few days later, I learned that the 10-year-old nephew of our boss had been involved in a horrible car accident and had been taken to the hospital in critical condition.

This last piece of news, making the it third piece of very bad news in a week's time, was delivered by the boss's wife, who also works for the company. She was distraught, as you'd imagine any family member would feel about her nephew. I told her, in all sincerity, that for whatever she thought thoughts and prayers were worth, she'd have JB's and mine. I told her I didn't mean that to sound cliché.

Oh, those despicable thoughts and prayers. Do a Google search for images related to "thoughts and prayers" (I did while working on this post, and I triple-dog dare you to do the same), and you'll see just what people out there in the world think thoughts and prayers are really worth, which is not very much. In fact, one of the most offensive things you can do these days, apparently, is to send "thoughts and prayers" when any kind of tragedy occurs. The Thought Police make sure of this all over social media.

This sort of judgment from the Thought Police, of course, is based on two basic suppositions: (1) that those who send thoughts and prayers do so independent of any sort of action or effort, what we in Christianity would call faith without works; and (2) that if thoughts and prayers actually worked, then God would drop whatever He's doing somewhere in the Earth or out in the universe and would personally intervene to stop gun violence, natural disasters, and/or any other kind of senseless tragedy, as if thoughts and prayers magically controlled the Supreme Being and His will for all mankind.


Thoughts and prayers are deemed to be either insulting or worthless, or both.

I beg to differ. Because thoughts and prayers, sometimes, are all we have. When we hear of tragedies, it's often all we can offer. And I do not believe in a God on whom thoughts and prayers fall on deaf ears. On rare occasions, He does intervene. But most of the time, He does not, because (1) it would thwart this little thing He gave us called free agency; (2) His judgments will come in a later day, and they will be just on the unrepentant and merciful toward those who call on His name; and (3) oftentimes, we must be the answers to prayer, and this often comes through the promptings of the Spirit.

I can't begin to count the number of times other people have been God's answer to my prayers. I like to think that I've been prompted by the Spirit, on more than one occasion, and during times when I've been worthy to hear His voice, to do something for someone that may have made a difference to that person. And when I've offered prayers that, at times, at first seemed to fall on deaf ears, I've simultaneously been given trials that have made me more empathetic or sympathetic, more patient, and more understanding of the burdens others bear.

When I look at things from that perspective, not a single thought and prayer has ever been wasted or worthless.

When tragedies aren't too far from us that we can do something to help, well, I also believe in a God who expects us to pray to Him as if everything depended upon Him while also working as if everything depended upon ourselves. If we can donate time and/or money to a worthy cause, I believe He expects us to do so. If we are prompted to do something kind for someone in need, I believe we should. No act of kindness is ever wasted, either.

If we're talking guns, I believe we won't survive as a nation without both prayer and action. I pray for a country that is going downhill morally, in which the disintegration of the family is, as the prophets have forewarned, bringing about calamities. I also believe that measures should be taken to keep guns from the hands of those who should not have them while also believing that criminals don't follow laws and a good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun. Both schools of thought are not mutually exclusive. But perhaps that is a conversation best had another time.

We can talk about it over pizza. Your treat!

Memorial Day 2018

We spent some time today with Dad, whose headstone is now up at the Smithfield City Cemetery in northern Utah.

Here is the view of the inscription on the front:

. . . and from the back (it's a quite surreal, Ebenezer Scrooge-like experience to see your own name engraved on a headstone):

In addition to all of that, we spent some time with some of my siblings and niblings at nearby Mack Park in Smithfield. It was a beautiful Memorial Day.

No Fooling

One of the last movies I saw in the theater before leaving on my mission (in case you've not been keeping up with Paco Nation, I'm old, folks), was Forrest Gump, and I went to see it with Mom. *SPOILER ALERT* After Jenny's death and the very somber ending, Mom turned to me as the credits began to roll and said, "I wish I could introduce them (presumably Forrest and Forrest Jr.) to the missionaries right at that moment."

This is just the kind of person Mom was and is. That's how her mind works.

Fast forward to earlier this week when, on my day off work, and while recovering from a bout of the Martian Death Flu, I watched the last few episodes of "Parenthood," a TV drama I did not watch when it originally ran on TV but which I've been following over the past few months on Netflix. In the final episode, which may be one of the all-around greatest TV episodes and finales ever produced, so many things wrapped around my heart like an anaconda, and I was bawling like a baby during the final 15 or 20 minutes. *SPOILER ALERT* What hit home most was (1) the grandfather/patriarch of the family passing away and (2) Sarah's and Hank's wedding, which was beautifully done. Most if not all of the main characters' (and even some of the supporting characters') story lines also wrapped up rather well in the process.

JB and I are in the middle of our own wedding preparations as I write this. So, of course, my brain goes there only several hundred times each day right now. It's getting real at this point. I picked up my suit just a few days ago. This is actually happening, I have to keep reminding myself. So, my heart was there with Sarah and Hank as they tied the knot.

Beyond that, though: As the four adult children and widow grieved for their departed father, I went mentally and spiritually where Mom went with the ending of Forrest Gump. Basically, I wanted to hug them and tell them: I've been where you've been. I've lost my father, too. I know your heartache. But I also know the peace, "which passeth all understanding," that only the gospel brings. This life is not the end. You can see him again!

I'm incredibly grateful for the gospel plan by which families can be sealed not for this life only but for eternity, as well, if we are faithful and give our whole souls to the great gospel plan. Because of it and because of our Savior's sacrifice, this incredible blessing is ours for the asking. And unlike the plots of both Forrest Gump and "Parenthood," this concept isn't just a neat story. It's not just something that makes me smile when I am down or a good idea. Though today is also April Fool's Day, it is most certainly no joke. It's everything! And it's what keeps me going day by day.

It being Easter Sunday, I'm reminded that Dad passed away last year just a few, short hours before the dawn of Easter morning 2017. Though it's not chronologically been a year yet, it was still last Easter, and this Easter brings with it memories of that sorrowful night. It also brings with it a reminder of the truly great gift the Savior gave to us all.

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.

Never Really Gone

With only 13(!) days remaining in the year 2017, I look back today at the year that was. And I'm amazed at what an incredible year it's been and just how much can change in only 365 days.

Paco hasn't blogged all that much this year, as a friend pointed out to me earlier today. Other than putting up a number of family photos (really one of the most important things I think I could do) and "postcard" posts, that is. This is true. Hopefully, a lack of original blogging this year has been at the expense of a greater good in my day-to-day life.

I have had my new job for almost a year now, one I was searching for a year ago at this time. I'm free from debt (knock on wood). I have done a lot more improv and have expanded my horizons, performing with new people in my troupe (while others have moved on), and like two snowflakes, no two performances have yet been the same. I even got out of town for a rare weekend for someone who doesn't take many vacations these days; yes, I even made it to the Idaho side of Bear Lake!

Every day, I wake up, get out of bed, and accomplish daily tasks, while working on monthly and yearly goals. I am reminded of the great blessing inherent in this simple fact. Goodreads just reminded me that I have read 27 books in 2017 (which will be 28 by week's end), or approximately one book every two weeks. One of those books was the Book of Mormon, which I have now read . . . I don't know how many times. I began this latest read-through in February and completed it in October.

I was involved in two car accidents in July and September, neither one my fault: rear-ended both times. I am incredibly grateful I was not injured any worse than I was (whiplash only). My car, however, required nearly $3,000 in repairs.

Like the citizens in Whoville who cry out to Horton: "I am here!" I'm still breathing. I am still ticking. In spite of the challenges I face and those I have overcome, as well as those yet to be overcome, I am grateful to be here.

Oh, and the most significant happenings of the year have occurred family wise. First and foremost, I have a fiancée(!) with whom I'd gone out on two dates a year ago today. How did I get here? How did I ever get to be so richly blessed? I may not learn the answers for a while yet. Still, it's yet another reason my heart is full of gratitude at this holiday season and my cup runneth over.

In the past three months, I've been blessed with two new nephews. The nibling count is up to 14! They are the most amazing kids an uncle could ask for.

Last but not certainly not least, one of the most important happenings of the year 2017: We lost Dad in April after a lengthy battle with dementia. Earlier today, I drove past the place where I last saw him in this mortal sphere. On that day, I had the chance to spend some time with him, embrace him, and tell him once again, "I love you." Within a few, short hours, he was gone. I will be forever grateful for the prompting to go and see him that day, to not put it off until another time.

The jogging of that memory saddened me once again for a brief moment today. We recently had our first Thanksgiving in which his chair was empty. Just a couple of weeks ago, his namesake, Tanner Brent, was given his name and blessing. And now we are in the midst of our first Christmas season without Dad. For me, the wound is a bit fresh still.

Also today, I found myself reflecting on a scene in Star Wars: The Last Jedi, which I saw for a second time (there will definitely be a few more in the coming weeks; go figure!) last night.

STOP READING HERE IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE MOVIE YET AND DON'T WANT TO READ WHAT MAY BE A MINOR SPOILER.

When Luke visits Leia, and he hands her a trinket of Han's that hung in the Millennium Falcon, he reminds her that those we love who depart our mortal existence are "ever really gone."

THIS IS THE POINT AT WHICH THE POTENTIAL SPOILER ENDS AND YOU MAY KEEP READING IF YOU WISH.

When I returned home from completing various tasks today, there was this incredibly beautiful poem on the doorstep, gifted by one of our neighbors down the street:

The girl who delivered this, I am told, lost her own mother when just three months old, after which, just a couple of years ago, she also lost her stepmother to cancer. I believe this girl is wise beyond her years. I'm speechless at this incredible gesture.

Without trying to sound too much like Linus in "A Charlie Brown Christmas," that's really what this Christmas season is all about; that those we lose, because of the holy child born in Bethlehem, are never really gone. And that is basically the greatest gift we could ever receive from an all-wise, all-loving Father in Heaven. With the birth of this baby is the gentle reminder that death, too, is part of the plan.

One day, we, too, will each spend our first Christmas with the Lord. In the meantime, I'm grateful to spend this one with all of you, to "have . . . a merry little Christmas now."

"And so, as Tiny Tim observed: God bless us, every one!"

Death, Taxes, and Other Sure Things

I recently gave a talk in church. The occasion, in case you hadn't guessed from my recent posts, was Dad's funeral. Here is what I spoke about:

There is an old saying that the only sureties in life are death and taxes. Well, Dad passed away April 15.

Dad had a great sense of humor. But in all seriousness, and in the few minutes I have today, I'd like to talk about some of the most important things he gave me (besides nearsightedness and the bald spot):

1) Time. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught: "In family relationships, love is really spelled T-I-M-E." Dad gave us his time, and he was thoroughly invested in our lives. Whether it was yelling from the sidelines as a coach or just an anxious parent, he was there at our basketball and soccer games and hardly ever missed one. He supported us in our hobbies and interests. We knew he cared, and his love language was the time he gave.

2) Work. Dad taught us to work. The plowboy who grew up on a farm in Smithfield and learned the value of an honest day's labor taught his children that you don't get something for nothing and you have to work for it. We were given an allowance, but we had to do our chores (weeding, mowing the lawn, etc.) to earn it. For years, we had a paper route, waking up at 5:00 or 5:30 a.m. even on school days and holidays, and he worked right alongside us, never taking a cent for himself. Those lessons carried me through part-time jobs in high school and college and into the present.

3) He taught me five simple words that stand out: excuse me, please, and thank you. I vividly remember him teaching me to use these words when I was growing up. Good manners were and are important. Knowing and using these words have helped me open countless doors in my daily interactions with people and my work experience.

Though Dad passed on a Saturday night, as a family we left the hospital when it was already Sunday morning. Easter Sunday! The timing of it all, we think, was not a coincidence. And the most important message in the world is still, as the Prophet Joseph Smith described, that Jesus Christ "died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it."

In a world rife with "fake news," rumors of wars, fads that come and go, the philosophies of men, and other false Christs the prophets saw would be abundant in our day, my knowledge of the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ is, in addition to death and taxes, the third sure thing in my life; and not only do I believe it, but I also know it through the Holy Spirit.

In the New Testament, Paul said that "this thing (the gospel) was not done in a corner" (Acts 26:26), and Peter spoke of the world's "cunningly devised fables" (2 Peter 1:16). Elder Jeffrey R. Holland recently spoke on "cunningly devised fables" in his Face 2 Face event:

"This is not a cunningly devised fable. This is God's truth. I want all of you here and afar to know that I know that this is the work and kingdom of God on earth. I am more certain of that than anything I know, anything I have seen, anything I have ever heard, and anything I hope to embrace in the future."

Today, I echo what he taught. When we talk of the concepts of resurrection and eternal families, not only are these good or neat ideas; I testify that they are true! And that knowledge carries me at this time and will carry me in future days.

In an all-wise, all-loving Heavenly Father's magnificent plan, there is so much more in store for us than wearing halos and playing harps in heaven! He has so much more in store for us, and it is beautiful and wonderful to think of. Death is a necessary part of that plan. Though we mourn today, we also rejoice.

Paul said: "For now we see through a glass, darkly" (1 Corinthians 13:12). I know that Dad now sees clearly. I take great hope in the knowledge that he is reunited with his parents, my Uncle Dexter, and other loved ones who have gone on before.

Dad was sick for a long time. Some of his thorns in the flesh he carried for all of his life on Earth. He is now free of them. I don't know why Dad had to suffer through those nor the illness that ultimately claimed his mortal life. (How can any of us know for sure why these things happen while "we see through a glass, darkly"?)

Neverthless, like Nephi, though "I do not know the meaning of all things," "I know that he (God) loveth his children." I know that (1) our Heavenly Father loved Dad and (2) Dad loved his children and his grandchildren.

I testify of the importance of the gift of the Holy Ghost. His presence has been so important to me over the past week. When we got the call that Dad had been taken to the hospital, I felt urgency to get there, and yet I also felt peace. I feel at peace today. The Spirit, also known as the Comforter, has comforted when I have been sad, and He has given me also joy in the knowledge of these things, of which I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.