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.

Thanksgiving 2020

Thanksgiving this year, like pretty much everything else in 2020, looked a lot different than it has in years past. But still JB and I made the best of things and had a most enjoyable meal between the two us. The menu included turkey breast cooked on our new pellet grill (easily the best turkey I've ever eaten on Thanksgiving), candied yams, mashed potatoes, rolls, cranberries, and JB's award-winning stuffing.

I have many blessings to be grateful for, and it was good to take time out to remember them over the holiday.

Mayflower

Did you know that the Mayflower Compact was signed 400 years ago last week? Well, I didn't. I learned recently from FamilySearch that six ancestors of mine sailed aboard the Mayflower in 1620. I am grateful for these ancestors who, along with others, immigrated to this country in search of religious freedom. Among them was my Danish great-grandfather Christian Jorgensen Plowman who, at age six, crossed the plains with a handcart company in the 1860s to a new home in Utah.

At the same time I learned this, I came across an article that explained just how pivotal and important the Mayflower Compact was in American and world history: “Before this mixed group stepped ashore, they signed an agreement, which we now call the Mayflower Compact. In that document, they set aside their deep divisions and voluntarily joined together to govern themselves with ‘just and equal laws.’ This was the very beginning of principled self-government among European settlers in the New World. The Mayflower Compact is not quite 200 words long, but those words pack almost as much meaning as Thomas Jefferson distilled into the Declaration of Independence 156 years later, or Abraham Lincoln in 1863 condensed into the Gettysburg Address.”

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.

Thanksgiving 2018

It was Thanksgiving last week (perhaps you heard?), and, ergo, it was also our first Thanksgiving together since we got married. It turns out that both of our families traditionally do even-year Thanksgiving Day meals together, so we compromised, splitting up our day with both families and two very plentiful Thanksgiving meals.

We first went to Mom's house for lunch with my side of the family.

After this, we journeyed over to JB's parents for second Thanksgiving (as the hobbits might say).

It wasn't all about just food, of course. For example, we had football on the telly at Mom's, and Harry Potter movies at my in-laws'.

On this national day of gratitude, we had a lot to be thankful for and a lot of loved ones around us for which we were grateful for more than all else.

Adversity

JB and I spoke in our ward's sacrament meeting earlier today. This is what I spoke on:

Good morning, brothers and sisters. I am grateful for this opportunity Jana and I have been given to speak to you today. We are so grateful for the outpouring of love and fellowship we’ve felt here since we moved in to the Stone Creek Ward five months ago.

Up until we joined this ward, I’d spent the vast majority of my adult post-mission life in singles wards. So, serving as a Webelos leader is something very new for me. I’m 42 years old, and she has been . . . let’s say 29 for a few birthdays now. We’re a bit older than most newlyweds.

Jana and I met a few years ago in our mid-singles ward, the Bountiful 8^th Ward, after it was organized in 2014. For those for whom the term mid-singles ward might sound made up: It’s a real thing for singles ages 31 through 45. Ours covered a large area, from North Salt Lake and Woods Cross up through Kaysville. Some call it the “Island of Misfit Toys,” though I like to think of it as the “remedial” singles ward. After we first met, Jana and I went on a handful of dates. It took a few years after that for me to get my head screwed on straight and to ask her out again, and after 16 months of dating and engagement, we were sealed in the Bountiful temple in April.

My topic today is adversity. When we think of adversity, we don’t have to look very far to see it all around us. We just have to step outside right now and see the smoke in the air to be reminded that firefighters in our state are currently battling some very devastating fires. We merely have to turn on the news to see images of widespread destruction caused by hurricanes, monsoons, earthquakes, and other natural disasters, “wars and rumors of wars” (Matthew 24:6), famine, shootings, domestic violence, and a number of other troubles. In addition to these troubles are the challenges of chronic physical and mental pain and illness, injury, disability, job loss, poverty, and the death of our loved ones.

For many of the people in the ward where Jana and I met, adversity comes in the form of loneliness for those remaining single into their 30s and 40s—and beyond. Sister Wendy Watson Nelson, for example, did not marry until much later in her life. There are some of ours who, sadly, may never marry in this lifetime. Still others who have married have endured the pain of the death of a spouse, infertility, wayward children, and other difficulties.’’

We live very much in a day and time when Paul prophesied: “In the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God; having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof.” Later in this chapter, Paul adds: “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution” (2 Timothy 3:1-5, 12).

It has always been this way for us in this mortal sphere. President Spencer W. Kimball taught: “We knew before we were born that we were coming to the earth for bodies and experience and that we would have joys and sorrows, pain and comforts, ease and hardships, health and sickness, successes and disappointments; and we knew also that we would die. We accepted all these eventualities with a glad heart eager to accept both the favorable and unfavorable. … We were willing to come and take life as it came” (Improvement Era, Mar. 1996, 217).

Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also taught: “The scriptures teach that ‘there is … opposition in all things’ (2 Ne. 2:11). Just as times of joy and happiness come to each of us, so also comes pain to every mortal. How can we understand those moments in our life when we experience physical or emotional pain? …

“I have come to understand how useless it is to dwell on the whys, what ifs, and if onlys for which there likely will be given no answers in mortality. To receive the Lord’s comfort, we must exercise faith. The questions Why me? Why our family? Why now? are usually unanswerable questions. These questions detract from our spirituality and can destroy our faith. We need to spend our time and energy building our faith by turning to the Lord and asking for strength to overcome the pains and trials of this world and to endure to the end for greater understanding” (“Healing Soul and Body,” October 1998 general conference).

In my preparation for this talk, and through studying the words and teaching of both ancient and modern prophets, I have come up with a list of four important concepts I have learned through adversity.

The first item on this list is the vital importance of keeping God’s commandments. I think it’s important to note that there is often a difference between trials and the consequences of our sins. Others’ misuse of agency may harm us. And when we sin, misusing our own agency, we must also face the consequences of those actions, becoming our own “worst enemy” or source of adversity.

In the most recent Face to Face broadcast, Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles talked about adversity and said: “Some of that (comes) because there’s agency and some of that because there’s adversary.”

King Benjamin teaches: “The natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).

Because Christ has already suffered for our sins, we do not have to suffer for them if we will turn from the natural man to Him and repent through His Atonement. Speaking of Christ, Paul tells us in the Epistle to the Hebrews: “Though he were a Son, yet he learned obedience by the things which he suffered” (Hebrews 5:8). We must learn to do the same.

President Henry B. Eyring spoke to our duty when it comes to obedience. He said: “The great test of life is to see whether we will hearken to and obey God’s commands in the midst of the storms of life. It is not to endure storms, but to choose the right while they rage” (“Spiritual Preparedness: Start Early and Be Steady,” October 2005 general conference).

It’s not possible to fully avoid adversity in this life, but we can still avoid a number of troubles by obeying gospel laws.

Second: Through adversity, we are given opportunities to grow spiritually. Trials help us to learn just what we are made of; they stretch and mold us into the kind of person Heavenly Father would like us to become.

Mother Theresa said: “I know God won’t give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.”

Toward the end of the “War Chapters” in the Book of Mormon, Mormon tells us: “Because of the exceedingly great length of the war between the Nephites and the Lamanites many had become hardened, because of the exceedingly great length of the war; and many were softened because of their afflictions, insomuch that they did humble themselves before God, even in the depth of humility” (Alma 62:41).

These Saints had endured the same trial together; and while some had grown bitter, others had grown better.

Another scriptural example that comes to my mind is that of Abraham. At a very old age, he and Sarah were finally blessed with Isaac, a son born in the covenant. And yet, in what was most imaginably gut-wrenching to Abraham, he was commanded to offer up this son as a sacrifice in a test of his faith. Well, we all know what happened. Abraham and Isaac both obeyed; and at the last moment, an angel intervened to save Isaac’s life.

BYU Professor Truman G. Madsen wrote about a time when he was with President Hugh B. Brown of the First Presidency in Hebron, near Abraham’s tomb:

“I (asked President Brown), ‘Why ... was Abraham commanded to go to Mount Moriah and offer his only hope of posterity?’

“It was clear that this man, nearly ninety, had thought and prayed and wept over that question before. He finally said, ‘Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham’” (Five Classics by Truman G. Madsen [2001], 232).

Viktor Frankl, author of Man’s Search for Meaning, was imprisoned in Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II. Even under such wretched conditions, he later wrote that people could nevertheless still decide what their attitudes would be: “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

Thirdly, adversity gives us an opportunity to serve and minister to our fellow man.

In the Sermon on the Mount, the Savior taught: “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:14-16).

Whenever and wherever a natural disaster occurs, members of the Church are always among the first ones there to help. A few years ago, following a hurricane in the Southern states, I remember reading about a cleanup effort the Church had headed. One very grateful woman was quoted as saying that she was especially grateful to two groups in particular for their help: the Latter-day Saints and the Mormons.

I very much feel for those who have been affected by Hurricane Florence recently, because I have been where they’ve been. When I was 13 years old, my family and I lived in Puerto Rico, where we weathered one of the worst storms ever to occur to that date. (Last year’s Hurricane Maria was much worse.)

Hurricane Hugo pummeled our island, and it went on to destroy other areas of the Caribbean and southeastern United States. Following the widespread destruction, we surveyed the damage, and it was extensive. It was at this time that I gained a testimony of the importance of heeding the prophets’ counsel to store a year-long supply of food, clean water, batteries, and other necessities, because we would desperately need them in the ensuing weeks.

What good can come of such a catastrophe? On the surface, it’s hard to say. The lives lost can’t be restored nor the extensive damage undone. But to give one example, I recall a cleanup service project I took part in with the youth in my ward. We went to a nearby park to clean up and carry away the fallen branches and leaves, to mow the grass, and other tasks. As we worked, residents of this neighborhood, most likely none of whom were of our faith, noticed what we were doing, and a few came out to help us. A few others brought us soda and snacks. They learned we were there representing our Church. It may have been the first contact with the Church they’d had in their lives, and we hoped it was a positive one. It certainly was a memorable one for me.

We have multiple opportunities to help bear each other’s burdens here, today, in Bountiful, Utah. There is much of pain and suffering that we can help alleviate when we look at those in need here in our neighborhoods and communities, at our workplaces, in our families, and in our very own homes. There are numerous chances to find those we can serve as we seek for and follow promptings through the Holy Ghost.

Fourth: Enduring adversity helps us to develop Christlike qualities of love, compassion, and empathy for others.

In his book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Dr. Stephen Covey tells the story of being on a train one day, where he found himself annoyed by two very noisy kids causing a disturbance to everyone around them. He noticed that the father was doing nothing about them. After a moment of restraint, he approached the father. Here’s Dr. Covey’s account of what happened next:

“Sir, your children are really disturbing a lot of people. I wonder if you couldn’t control them a little more?

“The man lifted his gaze as if to come to a consciousness of the situation for the first time and said softly, ‘Oh, you’re right. I guess I should do something about it. We just came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago. I don’t know what to think, and I guess they don’t know how to handle it either.’

“Can you imagine what I felt at that moment? My paradigm shifted. Suddenly I saw things differently, I felt differently, I behaved differently. My irritation vanished. I didn’t have to worry about controlling my attitude or my behavior; my heart was filled with the man’s pain. Feelings of sympathy and compassion flowed freely. Everything changed in an instant.”

Along these same lines, President Eyring shared what he said was some of the best advice he’d ever been given: “When you meet someone, treat them as if they were in serious trouble, and you will be right more than half the time” (“In the Strength of the Lord,” April 2004 general conference).

Or, in the words of one of my favorite hymns of the Church: “In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eyes can’t see” (Hymns, no. 220, “Lord, I Would Follow Thee”).

A few years ago, while I was looking for a new place to live, I had a few leads to move in with some friends; and yet I had the distinct impression I needed to move back in with my parents for a short while. It was not long after this that I learned one big reason, perhaps, I may have felt this impression: My father was diagnosed with dementia. It was astonishing to observe how quickly this illness took its toll on both his mind and on his body. Over the ensuing 18 months, I learned a great deal about patience, charity, and humility as I watched him suffer.

In the process, I was given a great gift: this small window of precious time, time I now look back upon as sacred, to give back to my father some of what he had given me all of my life before then. It was in simple things like driving him to get his hair cut or taking him out to lunch. It was mostly through just spending time sitting by him and talking to him as we watched sports on TV.

It’s been said that the only two guarantees in life are death and taxes. Well, after enduring his illness as well as anyone could have, Dad died on April 15 last year. On that final day of his mortal life, I was granted one additional blessing—a tender mercy to me—in the form of a spiritual prompting. By this point, Dad’s motor skills had deteriorated to the point he could not even walk around on his own, and we were forced to put him in a home where he could be cared for. He would be there for just nine days.

The next day was Easter, so my thought initially was to buy him some Easter candy that Saturday and then to bring it to him on Easter Sunday, when I could spend more time with him. Instead, the prompting was to go and see him that afternoon and not to delay. For one last moment, I got to visit with Dad, to embrace him and to tell him one last time that I love him. Jana and I had just begun dating at this time, and she felt the same prompting.

Just a few, short hours later, the phone call came that Dad had been rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest. By the time we arrived in the emergency room, he was gone. And yet, in the confusion and the chaos, I was at peace. I was comforted. Though I was deeply saddened to lose him, and I still miss him today, I became reacquainted with the Comforter that night and in the days and weeks that would follow.

When my siblings and my mother and I left the hospital, it was past midnight and it had become Easter Sunday. The timing of it all was, in my mind, no coincidence. It was a blessed reminder from a loving Heavenly Father that He is in control. Because of Easter and a loving Savior—“dearly, dearly has he loved!” (Hymns, no. 194, “There Is a Green Hill Far Away”), as we sang in the sacrament hymn—Dad lives on, and I will have the chance to embrace him again.

Perspective is an extraordinary blessing. Elder Orson F. Whitney of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God, ... and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire” (Improvement Era, Mar. 1966, 211).

How grateful I am for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, which encompasses so many griefs and woes and strengthens us to endure the crosses we are called to bear in this life, whichever crosses they may be.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Trying to comprehend the trials and meaning of this life without understanding Heavenly Father’s marvelously encompassing plan of salvation is like trying to understand a three-act play while seeing only the second act. Fortunately, our knowledge of the Savior, Jesus Christ, and His Atonement helps us to endure our trials and to see purpose in suffering and to trust God for what we cannot comprehend.

“Revealed truths reassure us that we are enclosed in divine empathy. As Enoch witnessed, we worship a God who wept over needless human misery and wickedness (see Moses 7:28-29, 33, 37). Jesus’ perfect empathy was ensured when, along with His Atonement for our sins, He took upon Himself our sicknesses, sorrows, griefs, and infirmities and came to know these ‘according to the flesh’ (Alma 7:11-12). He did this in order that He might be filled with perfect, personal mercy and empathy and thereby know how to succor us in our infirmities. He thus fully comprehends human suffering. Truly Christ ‘descended below all things, in that He comprehended all things’ (D&C 88:6). …

“Part of enduring well consists of being meek enough, amid our suffering, to learn from our relevant experiences. Rather than simply passing through these things, they must pass through us and do so in ways which sanctify these experiences for our good (see D&C 122:7). Thereby, our empathy, too, is enriched and everlasting” (“Enduring Well,” April 1997 general conference).

I add my testimony his. I testify that we have an all-wise, all-knowing, all-loving Savior who shows us how to love as He did. President Russell M. Nelson leads His Church on Earth today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

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!"

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.

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.

Turkey of Gratitude

I discovered this little piece of art only after everyone had gone home following our family get-together on Christmas Eve:

My talented 12-year-old niece Jenna strikes again, teaching an important lesson on gratitude and the receiving of Christmas presents as only she (and this turkey) could do.

Good Things to Come

I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving holiday today and, where possible, you were able to spend at least some time with family members or friends.

As for me, it is an odd-numbered year (i.e. 2015), so it is a year when all of my siblings go to the in-laws' for Turkey Day. That is partly why I ended up eating my piece of pumpkin pie in a hospital room.

It wasn't what I had planned on nor where I wanted to be, but then again, nobody at that hospital wanted to be there—the other visitors, the nurses, and the patients especially.

Someone in my family is sick right now. Out of respect to this person and the condition being battled, I do not get any more specific than that at this time. Suffice me to say, for now, that this person wanted to be in this hospital room less than anyone else there and asked multiple times to be taken home.

It is not possible at the moment. Not today. But we hope and pray that that day will come soon.

Over the course of a very anxious week, we have been doing a lot of hoping and praying. None has been more stressed or worried than Mom.

I am not the one who tends to be optimistic in these situations. Nevertheless, a familiar quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley keeps running through my head:

"Don't worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. . . . If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers."

How exactly it will all work out remains to be seen right now. But in the Lord's due time, it will all be OK. There is always hope when we put our trust in the High Priest of good things to come.

Sometimes, the lessons on gratitude are not totally lost.

Gratitude amid Chaos

During my travels out on the streets today, I saw something that affected me deeply. It is an image that has haunted me all day long. And I expect it will be in my thoughts for months, if not years, to come.

It was something that I caught a glimpse of for only about three or four seconds, because as much as we like to rubberneck and stare at things that have gone boom out there on the roads, traffic, like the show, must go on.

What I saw was several different things going on at once: At the scene of a car accident, where one vehicle had collided violently into another, a half-block or so from where I pulled from a parking lot out onto the street to head the opposite direction, a person lay there, motionless, on the ground. A paramedic was performing CPR, working frantically over the motionless person, while another obviously emotionally distressed family member or friend sat inconsolably nearby, being attended by another medical professional. It all happened right out there on the asphalt, in the middle of the street. A police officer, I believe, was working to restore order where there was, for the moment, chaos.

There but for fortune, as the old saying goes, that person lying there helpless could have been you or me or any one of us. Sometimes, it feels like we're stuck in a game of dodgeball, and the ball can strike indiscriminately and without regard for who you are or where in your journey you're at—literally or figuratively.

I said a little prayer for that helpless person, the grieving family member, and those who rushed to aid. I hope the scene ended better than how I left it. Which was all any bystander could do at that moment.

I am grateful for the reminder of what is really important here in this mortal existence—to see people giving their very best like that in a moment when fate had handed someone one of life's worst blows. I'm grateful for people who respond to calls like that, doing a job under enormous pressure that I could never, ever do.

It's a roundabout way of saying it, but amid all of the junk and click bait and jokes and memes and everything else that clutters up our collective online experience, I take this little space in which I write tonight to express gratitude for the good, the bad, and the ugly that can make up this mortal existence. If we can recognize the lessons when they are presented to us, they can help us to keep it all in perspective, to grow, and to be grateful to the Lord for the journey. I remain grateful at the close of this day for one day more above the ground. I am grateful for the many the Lord has placed in my life at this time who bless my existence in countless ways.

Above all, I'm just grateful.