A Pandemic, a Quake, and a Quarantine ... Oh My

What a year we've had this past month ... amirite?

It's not like Paco needs to tell you what's been going on out there since he last blogged, but for the sake of future generation(s) or the cave dwellers who may be reading this post: The coronavirus, or COVID-19, has reared its ugly head into each of our lives in a matter of a few, short weeks. Originating in Wuhan, China, and spreading across the globe, it has changed things for all of us in countless ways.

Many businesses have had to close their doors and numerous public gatherings and events have been canceled in order to help contain the spread. A "stay home, stay safe" order for many of us means that the only exceptions for leaving home right now are for work (those who are "essential"), grocery shopping/takeout, or for medical needs. We've learned new terms like social distancing as we've each tried to lessen the spread and to weather the storm of this disease.

I remember watching the news the night when the first diagnosis was announced here in Utah. Then that number became a few more people, then a hundred, then 300, and currently it's (the last I saw) over 1,800 infected here in our lovely Deseret. The United States, at the moment, leads the world in the number of COVID-19 diagnoses, especially in larger cities like New York City.

JB and I have been fortunate enough to be able to continue to work throughout all of this (JB from home), but we are keenly aware that not all of our friends and neighbors have been so lucky. Many are worried about the economy, whether they're still going to have jobs when this thing is over, and how they're going to make ends meet until then.

If dealing with all this wasn't enough, we out of nowhere experienced a strong earthquake here in Utah (5.7 on the Richter scale) at approximately 7:09 a.m. the morning on March 18, with its epicenter in nearby Magna. Yours truly was asleep, but it sure gave me a rude awakening. A number of aftershocks followed it that day and have occurred in the weeks since then.

You can't spell pandemic without the word panic. As one who already dealt with anxiety and depression on a daily basis prior to these new challenges, I've had all sorts of thoughts and feelings about these events---not all of them optimistic nor, admittedly, rational. I've had some really hard days mentally, while other days have been ... just okay.

Then, just in time, came general conference this past weekend. Never did it come at a time when I needed it more.

Under the circumstances, the sessions were not held in the Conference Center but rather in a small auditorium at the Church Office Building. Only the First Presidency and each session's speakers and prayer givers were present. Even the Tabernacle Choir members were not there; prerecorded broadcasts of the choir's former performances were aired as the musical numbers instead.

Not once did I hear from any speaker any doom or gloom about our current situation, which was not in any way ignored. They, in fact, acknowledged it directly but also spoke of it as a temporary difficulty and a trial that will pass in time. I heard only faith and optimism in the messages that were given.

While church meetings have been temporarily suspended and temples have been closed until it is safe for them to resume and reopen, the home is now the de facto sacred refuge for us as Church members. Multiple speakers spoke on this concept. This is, in fact, what the prophet, the Apostles, and the other general authorities have been preparing us for over the past few years! The introduction of the Come, Follow Me curriculum and the emphasis on home-centered church have been getting us ready for the current situation this whole time. JB and I are doing our best at present to make our home such a refuge for ourselves not only on Sundays but throughout the week.

In the Lord's due time, His work will roll forth. I believe that there is so much still to be done, temple work foremost among those tasks, that the He will make a way for His temples to reopen before long. President Nelson, in fact, announced eight new temples to be built across the globe, including another one (our third!) in Davis County in Syracuse, Utah; one in mainland China in Shanghai; and another in Dubai, United Arab Emirates---the Church's first temple in the Mideast!

No, general conference didn't magically heal my anxiety about our current situation. Depression and anxiety will still always be there for me to deal with to one degree or another until I am cured of them beyond this mortal existence. But conference did help me immensely nonetheless. It recharged my spiritual batteries and has given me sorely needed direction and hope as we move forward through the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I hope to cheerfully do all things in my power to endure whatever may come in the near future. I look forward to joining my fellow Saints in fasting and prayer this Friday, Good Friday, along with all others from different faiths or no faith who wish to join us, per President Nelson's invitation, as we implore the Lord for help and relief for those suffering physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and financially.

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 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!

Bombs Away

This was the highlight of the weekend.

I'm a tremendously fortunate individual.

The Mish: The Guinea Pigs Reunite

When I received my mission call to serve in the Perú Lima Central Mission years ago, I had no idea at that moment in time that American missionaries had not been sent to the country for several years previously. When I read my letter, which was signed by President Howard W. Hunter, out loud, Dad even remarked, in disbelief, "No, they don't send 'em there!"

I came to learn that due to terrorism in the country, a couple of missionaries had been murdered in Peru, in the '80s, after which all American missionaries were shipped out to other lands. By the mid-'90s, however, Peru had taken control of the situation to the point the Church felt it was time to send Americans back. Indeed, I had received a correct call. Three other Americans and I were among the first group of four Americans headed to MPLC. Since that time, we've often joked that this was a test (it sort of was) to see how we would fare and to see whether or not we'd be killed by terrorists (it sort of wasn't; not really). Unofficially, we were the four guinea pigs.

Which is ironic in itself, because Peruvians eat guinea pigs (yes, you've been told correctly). It is a delicacy for the Peruvians, and it is called cuy.

With Bill Bay and his family in town from Florida, JB and I were invited to meet up at Mike Bryner's home in North Salt Lake to reminisce about old times and to catch up with each other's lives. The food (which included some of the best spare ribs I've ever eaten) was delectable. The company was equally as good.

I'm very grateful for my association with the three other cuys (the fourth, John Ure, is currently on the East coast) who pioneered the return of American missionaries to Peru, paving the way for several more to serve (and, eventually, sister missionaries) in the years that have followed. They helped me socially and spiritually in countless ways, as did the Peruvian missionaries and people with whom we had the privilege to associate.

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.

The Sacrifice of All Things

Since last week's announcement about the handbook update and the new policy regarding same-sex couples and their children, social media is ablaze once again. Quite understandably, there are some very strong feelings about this matter on both sides of the issue. I don't really need to go into the details, because I'm sure you know them by now, but in case you were pearl diving in the South Pacific and somehow missed it, Elder Christofferson explains the change and the rationale behind it in this interview here.

I have pondered a great deal about what to write about on this subject. The more I have studied it, the more I see the wisdom in the change and the great deal of thought, prayer, and inspiration that are behind it.

Nevertheless, I fully realize that, for others, including many members of the Church, the reaction is the polar opposite. The announcement has really thrown them for a loop and has caused confusion, doubt, and anger.

The scriptures and events from Church history are replete with heart-wrenching, defining moments in which people were asked to do things that shook the very ground they walked on. Consider Abraham's commandment to sacrifice his only son, Isaac; Daniel facing the lion's den; Alma and Amulek being forced to watch their converts being burned alive; the commandment for some latter-day leaders to obey the law of polygamy (which caused Brigham Young to look at a funeral casket and wish he were in it); and many others.

The greatest, most important example, of course, was our Savior, who plead in agony: "Remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done" (Luke 22:42).

Each was tested to core but, at the same time, each obeyed because they clung to a vital truth that was taught by the Prophet Joseph Smith:

"A religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has the power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation."

The sacrifices we make and will have to make are likely not going to be on such a grand scale as the aforementioned examples, though there are those among us who live under very difficult circumstances, be they mental, emotional, spiritual, or physical. Certainly, no one can know the extent of the Savior's infinite sacrifice for us all nor will have to endure that kind of suffering.

However, my point is that, sometimes, what it all boils down to is that the most important thing we are asked to sacrifice is the only thing that is really ours to give: our will. We are asked to sacrifice our pride, our natural man instincts, or our inclination to disbelieve, criticize, or murmur. We are asked to believe, or to plant to seed to believe even if we can't believe right now. We are asked to support and sustain even when we don't fully understand the reasons why as we see through our natural eyes. Our father Adam sacrificed because he didn't know the reasons but he knew that he had been commanded by the Lord.

In a 1978 speech, Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught: "In the months and years ahead, events will require of each member that he or she decide whether or not he or she will follow the First Presidency. Members will find it more difficult to halt longer between two opinions."

I believe that this is one of those moments of decision for some among us.

Having said all that, I am also troubled by comments from a few Church members about the policy change. To those who are struggling with this news, they have said: "If you don't like it, leave."

This sentiment should not exist among those who profess to follow Christ. Our Savior invited all who were burdened all to come unto Him and to find rest to their souls.

To any reading this who may be considering leaving the Church, whatever the reasons, I plead with you: Stay. The Church needs you. I need you. And you need the Church. If you have concerns or worries, it is okay to have them, and there is a way to resolve them. Pray. Read the scriptures. Meditate. Re-read a conference talk. Counsel with your bishop. If not him, talk to someone else you trust. Talk to me, and I will listen. Ponderize. Or tenderize. Do whatever you need to do to figure things out, and take the time you need to do so.

After all, the reason we have this church is because a young man had doubts, agonized over them, and prayed about them.

Remember this counsel of President Hinckley: "Be believing, be happy, don't get discouraged. Things will work out."

If we seek out the Lord's will and have the courage to act upon the answers, I believe that things will, indeed, work out.

Being Approachable

Over on the Island of Misfit Toys, we had our biannual stake conference a few weeks back. Elder Becerra, an Area Seventy, was the presiding authority. To prepare us for the conference, he invited us to complete a few simple tasks such as attending the temple, re-reading our patriarchal blessings, reading one of President Uchtdorf's recent general conference addresses, and . . . going on a date?!

That "simple task," you say, huh? Yes, this was part of his counsel to all adult members of the stake. While for married couples in the other wards of our stake this is something very easy to do, it tends to cause a great deal of anxiety and to be a little bit harder for the Misfit Toys to carry out. When it comes to dates, we have no guarantees.

Then again, it's not an impossible task, either. We believe, after all, that there is no commandment given where there is not a way to accomplish it, do we not? (See 1 Nephi 3:7.)

After this counsel was delivered in sacrament meeting, reactions to the go-on-a-date part of the counsel were varied. I heard a number of different people, both male and female, express doubt about being able to do it. I even observed a few of the sisters say in effect that they could comply with all of the requests only if "by some miracle" they were asked on a date.

About the same time, I came across this quote in a book I was reading:

"The Lord will not translate one's good hopes and desires and intentions into works. Each of us must do that for himself." -Spencer W. Kimball

So, how does that apply to dating, then? What can any of us do to improve our chances of getting a date?

I do not share any of this to single out (no pun intended) any one individual nor to make anyone, especially the sisters, feel bad about a lack of dates. Asking out is largely the man's responsibility, after all, and it is a weight we are frequently reminded that we bear when we attend the priesthood session of general conference, firesides, elders quorum meetings, etc. (In other words, we have constant reminders.) It seems like there is plenty of unnecessary guilt enough already to go around for all of us.

Also, I realize that there are many sisters who may read this who are actively trying to do all of the right things and who are striving meet potential marriage partners but who, for whatever reason, are not getting the kind of dates they want, or even a date at all. It's a darn shame, and I recognize that it is. I'm on your side. I want us all to succeed and to be happy. I know that many of the brethren are frustrated, too, as I wrote in a recent post, and a great deal of that frustration stems from things that some of the ladies do that often unintentionally may make them appear to be uninterested or indifferent when this is not actually the case.

Instead of raking anyone over the coals, instead my hope is to provide some sense of encouragement and to offer, from my own humble point-of-view, a few suggestions that help me personally as a male attempting to obtain female companionship. None of us, male or female, is necessarily powerless when it comes to getting a date, and there a number of things we can do to pursue one without waiting around for the phone to ring or the text message alert to chime and an aforementioned "miracle" to occur.

I start tonight with the phrase "being approachable." Getting a date starts with meeting people, and that begins with being approachable.

I recently read an LDS Living article in which the writer suggested that singles "must always be on the lookout. We must go places where we would want our future spouse to be; we must be approachable; we must be open to possibilities; and we must do those things consistently" (emphasis added).

I googled the phrase "be approachable," and I came up with this great blog post on the subject for those who may have social anxiety (i.e. "shyness") about meeting members of the opposite sex. Among its simple pieces of advice are to smile and to use eye contact. Doing these simple things can help open doors for you and for me, and even the most shy among us can do them without having to say a word.

When it comes to actually speaking, well, if you feel shy about conversing with the opposite sex, start with a close family member, a trusted friend, or a work colleague you get along well with, and practice the art of conversation. Learn to ask questions and to listen to the other person's replies. Be interested in others and in their opinions, goals, and hobbies.

I recently had a conversation, or at least tried to, with a very pretty sister in my ward whom I'd admired from afar for a while. I found this attempt difficult because she gave only one-word answers when I asked her questions. She didn't seem interested in talking to me at all as a friend, let alone as a potential date. She did not seem "approachable" at all.

Sisters, I know that we can give off this vibe sometimes, too. It goes both ways.

No one can be "approachable," either, who is always at home reading books, or playing video games, or watching sports or sitcoms endlessly on TV, or always sitting by or talking to the same people week in and week out. There is a time and a place for any one of these things in moderation, certainly, but someone who is always doing "something else" or is always following the same exact routine is far less "approachable" than those who show up at meetings and activities and put themselves into places where they can meet new people.

Again, none of these tactics will guarantee you a date. Part of the gospel we embrace includes the concept that we must "cheerfully do all things that lie in our power" (D&C 123:17), which means that we exercise faith by endeavoring to control those things we can control, and then we will see the blessing(s) come in the Lord's due time. But being approachable will multiply your chances at getting a date exponentially, and it will help out anyone socially far more than not being approachable.

Ton of Bricks

Life moves pretty fast sometimes—and not always in positive, Ferris Bueller kinds of ways.

Six months ago, I met up at the local Village Inn with one of my troupe's fans. Over breakfast, as he had outlined in his phone call to me the day before, he excitedly elaborated on his plans to propose marriage to his girlfriend. Their first date had been attending one of our shows a few months previously, and he wanted to bring things full circle by moving ahead with his plan at that week's performance. We were more than willing to help him out, and we devised a scheme that everyone in the troupe was in on.

The plan—as much as you can plan something in improv, anyway—went off without a hitch. He asked, and she said yes. The audience stood up and cheered for what seemed like five straight minutes. It was a beautiful moment that I will not soon forget.

I wish that their story ended here.

However, just a few days ago, this young man's life was cut short in an instant. The life that this couple had started to build together had been brought to an abrupt halt almost as quickly as it had begun.

I don't understand it.

I've learned, and I'm learning, that there are many things that occur in this life that make absolutely no sense whatsoever. They are not fair. They are not right. At times, they seem cruel and pitiless. Nevertheless, they occur, and there is nothing any of us can do about them.

I still do not have the appropriate words for when a friend is grieving. I do not think I ever will. I do not pretend to make sense of horrific pieces of news like the one about this friend's unexpected passing. I will not try to do so tonight.

I will say, though, that a crucial part of faith—of my own faith, at least—is trust in our Heavenly Father's plan. Part of that trust includes trust in the fact that these inexplicable things will happen, and we won't know the reasons during the here and the now. Nevertheless, my faith is that they will given someday.

Another crucial part of that trust is that all will be made right in the end, and that He will wipe away all of our tears. Further, He will restore to us beyond our comprehension our losses and heartaches suffered in this mortal coil and will reward us according to the desires of our hearts.

I know it. Even when there's so much I don't know.

The Mish: 20 Years Later

"I was young and foolish then; I feel old and foolish now."
 -"Lucky Ball and Chain," They Might Be Giants

Twenty years ago today—March 8, 1995—was a Wednesday. A nervous and in many ways bewildered young man, his parents, and his siblings climbed into the family van and headed south on I-15. Along the way, they turned on the radio and tuned in to the funeral services for a prophet of God, Howard W. Hunter, who had passed away the previous Friday.

Arriving at their destination about an hour later, the family escorted the young man and his possessions, packed into two suitcases, inside the doors of the Provo MTC. After a brief send-off meeting, this young man, who had never lived away from home until now, bid farewell to his family for the next two years and walked through that doorway and stepped into the unknown.

That first day was like a strange dream. So, this is really it. Am I really a missionary now? he wondered. I don't feel like one. Yet here I am with wearing a suit and the nametag, living and studying and preparing with other missionaries.

Back in my day, though, you had to be 19 years old to do this if you were male or 21 years old if you were female.

Some days, you just don't forget. Ask me what happened this past Wednesday, though, and I couldn't tell you bubkes about it.

Twenty years? Wow. It feels unreal. In some ways, I'm still that same nervous, confused, and bewildered person. I'm definitely not so young nor able bodied anymore. In many ways, I'm still unsure about the future. I walk through that door into the unknown again and again each day.

One thing I know for certain: Just about every good thing that has happened to me in the two decades since that day has come as a result of that decision of choosing to serve a mission. And it will continue to bless my life for years to come.

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."