2020 Vision

For one of my first clichéd and/or peer-inspired posts of the year 2020, here's one about goals.

The end of a calendar year/start of a new one is a good time for assessment of where one has been and where one is going. It must be, I guess, because I've been seeing a lot of "decade-in-review" posts by family and friends on social media lately. (These are great, by the way.)

As for me: It was just a few, short years ago that my life was a bit of a country song, minus the obsession with beer and dirty boots. I was living in the basement at my brother's house. I had a job but was somewhat underemployed; probably not coincidentally, I was in some degree of debt. My car was on its last legs and would soon die forever. I was active in my LDS singles (social) group, and though I wasn't technically inactive in the ward where I attended church, I was going through a period of time when I was less involved in my discipleship than I had been at better times. I was also in my 30s and was frustrated and despondent after decades of dating, which seemed to have led to only futility.

In short, I wasn't happy with a lot of things. This brother of mine cared enough about me to sit down with me and ask me how I felt about these matters, and also what I wanted to do about changing them.

With his help, I set some goals: Get a full-time job. Simultaneously, save money/get out of debt/get a better car. Move out into an apartment or home. Recommit to attending all of my Sunday meetings, and actually serve in my ward calling instead of just being there. Be worthy of a temple recommend, and use it. Oh yeah---get married. (I used to lose sleep over this last one, because it's just about the hardest one of all; you can't reach this goal on your own!)

It wasn't enough to set these goals (some of which took months to complete, while others took years); I also set weekly and daily goals (spending a certain amount of time daily and weekly job searching and interviewing, for example) to make them happen. My brother then followed up with me as those days and weeks went by.

Not too long ago, I spent some one-on-one time with this brother, who brought up the goals and reminded me that I had achieved every one of them.

I have been working full-time for a number of years now. I have been out of debt for over four years, and I bought a new (used) car. I rarely use a credit card and try to pay cash/use debit for things when and wherever possible (I highly recommend this). By recommitting myself to fully participate in my church meetings, I met my wife in the new singles ward I joined, and we were sealed in the temple. We are both active in our current ward and love serving and being served by the good people in it. We share a wonderful home together, which we are currently in the process of remodeling and furnishing.

Perhaps I have a friend or friends reading this who are wondering something like, Well, that's all well and good for you, but I'm never going to find (job) or (wife/husband) or (fill in the blank). I'm tired of giving and giving and failing every time, and I don't want to give any more. To that I say, I understand, because I've been where you've been. I was that way for a long time. To a large degree, I now understand that it was negative thought patterns of depression that caused me to feel and think that way.

It was a very wise man who taught that "the Lord God gave unto man that he should act for himself ... and not to be acted upon" (2 Nephi 2:16, 26).

Ultimately, we have to decide to take charge of the things we can control and act for ourselves. That requires a lot of effort, obstacles, failure, trying again, failure, more obstacles, trying again, rinse, and repeat.

When it comes to those d- and m-words (dating and marriage)---those can be some of the toughest and cruelest battles of all. Once again, they require another person's own free will, someone who will choose to want to be you. You can't make people like you (confound that precious free agency!), but you can cultivate your character and do other things to make yourself more likable. Your chances of attracting someone with the same goals also rise significantly if you put yourself in places (cough singles wards cough) to meet such a person. Though you can't control when you'll marry, you can control whether you are worthy to marry in the temple.

Conversely, if you don't put yourself in those kinds of places or stop trying altogether, your chances of being successful in dating plummet significantly. A number of friends my age, I fear, have reached this point or have already been there for years, and my heart breaks for you. If my humble story is worth anything to those friends, I plead with you to do yourself a favor and try again. It is the only way to succeed, even though there are indeed careless people who may yet still toss your heart into a crock pot and slow roast it ... like careless people do.

It's been said that hindsight is 20/20, and to a large extent, I can look back and see now how I was being blessed amid the frustration and the setbacks. I look at those past few years, and they've gone by somewhat quickly in a way. The Lord has promised, "I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye are able to receive them" (D&C 111:11). If I hadn't been ready to move quickly when some of those opportunities came up, I might have missed one or more!

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.

You Don't Have to; You Get To

"It doesn't really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentist's chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on."
 -C.S. Lewis

Looking back, I don't remember too many of the things I learned specifically in the sixth grade. I remember learning pre-algebra, and I also remember we often had dances with the other classes in our grade. I also became a pretty good Jacks player during recess, because that is the kind of thug life I lived at age 11.

Anyhow, I also remember that we loved our teacher, Mr. Handley. He made learning fun, and he also had a way with words.

Whenever one of my classmates or I didn't want to do something he had the class do, that student would invariably ask, "Do we have to?" His response was always the same: "You don't have to; you get to."

It's taken me decades since then to fully grasp the wisdom in that concept. Much of adulthood (and of life itself) has turned out to be about things I get to do---things that come with the territory of being human. And sometimes, it seems, we get to pass through some truly awful things.

At age 11, back when I naively thought I was invincible, I couldn't have imagined some of the difficult things I would have to go through later in life. Depression, OCD, and more than one form of chronic pain have been tough teachers and unwelcome companions. At times, they have shaken me to my very core.

When I say this, I don't pretend that my difficulties have been more difficult than anyone else's; but they have been challenging for me. A recent visit to bless and pass the sacrament at the care center branch in my stake also reminded me that there are plenty of people in my own neighborhood who live daily with much worse, some of whom may even long for death when it doesn't come. I also write this in the shadow of the death of one of my sibling's fathers-in-law, who endured to the end despite a number of physical challenges he apparently battled the majority of his life.

Though life is undeniably pain, it's fortunately not only pain, too. It is also comprised of a great deal of joy if we will look around for it, even during the bleakest times. In fact, we couldn't know joy were it not for the pain. So much of what I get to do on a daily basis depends on my attitude about things. And through it all, I'm blessed and fortunate to have someone by my side now who sees me for who I am, sees the warts-and-all side of me, and loves me and inspires me regardless.

The trick, at least for me, is found in Chapter 29 of Alma. In it, Alma says:

"I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me. I ought not to harrow up in my desires the firm decree of a just God, for I know that he granteth unto men according to their desire, whether it be unto death or unto life; yea, I know that he allotteth unto men, yea, decreeth unto them decrees which are unalterable, according to their wills, whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction. Yea, and I know that good and evil have come before all men; he that knoweth not good from evil is blameless; but he that knoweth good and evil, to him it is given according to his desires, whether he desireth good or evil, life or death, joy or remorse of conscience" (Alma 29:3-5).

Ultimately, Alma touches on the most important thing of all: All have seen "good and evil," and all ultimately get to choose what to do about it.

Despitefully Used

The year 2019 hasn't gotten off to such a great start for me. At the moment, I feel downright awful.

For a number of years now (more than a decade, in fact), I've been a contractor for a local business. At some points, it's been my only job; at other times, it's been supplemental work. Over that time, I've had more than one "Will this ever become a full-time possibility?" conversation with the Powers That Be, and always the answer has been that there isn't enough work to warrant that happening.

Nevertheless, when they've asked me to do something, I have done it. When they've needed me in a pinch to meet a publishing deadline, I've dropped what I was doing multiple times to rearrange my schedule, often working around the clock to get my assignments done. When they've said "Jump!" I've asked "how high?" And to boot, I believe I've done so while being paid much less than others doing similar work in my field.

Well, just this past week, the same Powers That Be not only informed me that a whole team has been hired and has for some time now been working full-time doing the same work they used to send my way, but to add insult to injury, they also told me there probably wasn't anything else for me to do for them in the future. Essentially, they have disavowed my existence, not unlike how the government would disavow Tom Cruise were he ever to fail at his impossible mission.

It would be ungentlemanly of me to elaborate any further or to reveal names. This is where I'm at right now. I feel liked a used Kleenex and not in any sense a valued human being or employee.

In His Sermon on the Mount, the Savior spoke of "them which despitefully use you" (Matthew 5:44).

Incidentally, I was there at the Conference Center last month for the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional, just a few dozen rows back from President Russell M. Nelson when he spoke on this very topic:

"(The Lord) gave you and me an unlimited capacity to love. That includes the capacity to love the unlovable and those who not only do not love you but presently persecute you and despitefully use you."

Later on in the same talk, he added:

"Through His infinite Atonement, you can forgive those who have hurt you and who may never accept responsibility for their cruelty to you.

"It is usually easy to forgive one who sincerely and humbly seeks your forgiveness. But the Savior will grant you the ability to forgive anyone who has mistreated you in any way. Then their hurtful acts can no longer canker your soul."

Little did I know at that moment how much I needed to hear those words and to re-read them again tonight. My soul needs some serious un-cankering right now.

There is an old saying that another door opens when one door closes. I believe this is one of those times for me.

What does that mean, exactly? Well, the full phrase in the scripture, now that I read it again, is to "pray for them which despitefully use you." I can start there.

I also happened on this wise counsel from a friend on social media just the other day, and I believe it's the path that I now want to follow:

"Want to 'get back' at people that did wrong by you earlier in life?
1. Forgive them.
2. Don't show them how successful you are; show them how happy you are.
3. Wish them well, mean it and move on.
4. Repeat 1-3 for everyone on your 'wronged me' list."

It's the only path that make sense, and it's something I'm going to work hard at doing right now and throughout the year. It's good advice not only for work relationships but also for every other one, like dealing with exes, misunderstandings between friends, and the bullies who once made my life a living hell.

SAD but Not Hopeless

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fortunately, there is more to this story:

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

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

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

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

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

Inktober and Living the Dream

I've been enjoying seeing everyone's art on display as Inktober rolls on this October. I didn't even know Inktober was a thing until this year (please forgive me, I'm a draftee), but I love the concept of it. It's great.

If you're not familiar with Inktober, well, I'm no expert on what it is and what it all entails. But from what I gather, people who take the Inktober challenge post a piece of original art every day.

For me, it's also indirectly a painful reminder of a hobby I once cherished. When I was a kid, I loved to draw.

It started with cartoons. I drew cartoons all of the time, beginning with doodles (I was and am still in many ways a daydreamer) and morphing into drawing actual comic books of my own. I drew about all sorts of subjects that interested me. I am particularly proud of the Nightmare on Helm Street series I created about my friends and our neighbors, the Helm family. (Still best taken with a grain of salt, in case any of them happen to be reading this. That's always how it was meant, and this isn't Monday morning quarterbacking.)

My interest in art grew also actual art in the form of pencil and colored pencil drawings once I took a weekly art class during eighth and ninth grades. Some of this art I still have framed and in my possession, thanks to Mom.

And then, in the tenth grade, I had an art teacher who unfortunately was not high on me nor on my work. I thought I did some of my very best work for Mr. A. I recall one project in particular that I poured my heart and soul into, and I had it returned to me with a "B" grade. Other such lukewarm feedback followed. My frail, 15-year-old ego was crushed.

It's at about that point in time that I fortunately found other creative outlets. The next year, I continued to develop my love of writing as I joined the school newspaper and also started an underground paper with a few friends. By my senior year, I served as one of the school paper's co-editors. Eventually, I majored in journalism in college.

In the years that followed, I also fortunately discovered a love of making home movies, theater, and of course improv in particular, and I'm very blessed to have that creative outlet now on a weekly basis.

Was Mr. A single-handedly responsible for destroying my ambitions as a budding artist? It's tough for me to say. Ultimately, the choice was up to me, but he certainly did not help me in the way I wanted. At the time, I think blamed him for it. I don't have any of those myriad comics now because, convinced I was no good, I threw them all away. It is one of my biggest regrets in life.

The attitude a teacher takes can help make or break a young person's soul. I hope and I trust that my teacher friends are aware of this concept and keep it in mind as they shape young minds.

On Twitter, I recently read this Tweet by a man named Clint Smith:

"One of the only reasons I'm a writer is because I had a teacher in 3rd grade who looked at my poem about clouds & said 'you can be a writer when you grow up.' It stayed w/me forever. Teachers, don't underestimate what your words can do for your students."

I echo that sentiment.

These days, I still doodle once in a while, but I'm nowhere near the artist I once was. It's been decades since I drew my last comic book. When I doodle, I'm keenly aware that my skill for what once was my passion is nowhere near what it was when I drew and sketched. Any ability I currently have to do what I once did with reckless abandon is, I feel, nearly gone. You wouldn't want me on your Pictionary team, either.

This is just to say that if making art is your thing, however and in whichever form you choose to make it, don't let anyone stand in your way. Create, and create some more. If you're just getting started with a new hobby, try and try again. You never know what the end result may be.

Don't Need No Credit Card

Blogging has been on my mind lately, because the other day I realized it's ten years ago this month that I started my first blog. (Yes, I think about things like this.) Also, I've been thinking about how I haven't been doing all that much blogging lately besides the occasional family photos and short updates and such, and I feel like I need to work on that right now.

Getting married in the spring is a big reason why I've been so busy. It's also a reason now why I feel like I need to be recording more of my thoughts and such, because marriage is still so new for us both, and I've learned a few things in this last little while; I hope they will be of some use to me and/or my family and friends at some point.

The best piece of advice, at least so far, that I've been given regarding marriage: Put your wife's needs and happiness above everything else. I've not been perfect at following that advice, certainly, but when I have followed that counsel, it has blessed us both immensely. And fortunately, I've been extremely blessed with a companion who tries to do the same thing herself.

It's not uncommon to run into both old and new friends lately and to hear the question, almost always in these exact words: "So, how's married life?"

The short answer is that it's wonderful. In fact, it's far better than I'd imagined it would be. I'd even go so far as to say that marriage is somewhat undersold and understated. As a single adult, and I was one for a long time, I didn't quite grasp this concept, but I get it now, and it's something for which it's worth sacrificing.

A couple of times, some of my single friends have asked what my "secret" was or how I got to where I did, and the answer to that is that I don't have any "secret," nor do I know anything they don't already know.

In the words of the great Huey Lewis:

"Don't need money,
Don't take fame
Don't need no credit card
To ride this train."

Oh yes, and one other thing: perseverance.

Yes, my discouraged single friends, those of you who may still lay awake at night wondering if it will ever happen for you: You must keep on trying. No matter how many times your heart has been broken, no matter how frustrating it's been, not matter how tired you are of the dating scene, you must keep trying.

If the horse has thrown you off, you must get back on the horse. You must be willing to risk, for without risk, there is no reward. You must put yourself out there and be vulnerable and allow someone else into your life with the possibility remaining that you will get hurt and/or burned yet again.

It's a long, tough journey, not unlike Frodo's journey with the One Ring, and it doesn't wrap up nicely in ten hours' time. It stinks. I know it does, because I've been there. But it is, nevertheless, the only way.

One day, you will meet someone who will take the pain away. It will fade into oblivion. It doesn't mean your life will be perfect, but you will have someone at your side to fight your battles with you, and you will know joy like you've never known before.

When I hear my friends in their 20s and 30s complain about it all, I chuckle in my head a little bit and say to myself, "Just wait until you get to be my age." No, that doesn't mean you necessarily have several more years of bad dating experiences ahead, but it might. I also recognize a number of other friends who are my age or older who are still dating, who keep trying and praying and wondering if it will ever happen for them, either. Still others have given up completely, and it saddens me to a great degree.

My advice, for whatever my advice is worth, is the same to you all, and I use the words of the great Winston Churchill: "Never, ever ever ever ever give up."

Or, may I paraphrase the scriptures:

"Cheerfully do all things that lie in (your) power; and then may (you) stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed" (D&C 123:17).

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!"

42

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

That's one theory.

Another one is that the best is yet to come.

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.

Blank Space

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of the Mouth of Babes

"All the broken hearts in the world still beat;
"Let's not make it harder than it has to be.
Ooh it's all the same thing;
Girls chase boys chase girls."
 -Ingrid Michaelson, "Girls Chase Boys"

I'm gonna get a little candid tonight, folks. But the older I get and the more I try out that singleness thing, the less I really care about being vulnerable like this. So, here goes.

I took my niece out to dinner the other night for her birthday. Maybe you read about it on my award-winning blog.

At one point during the course of the evening, she took the conversation in a rather unexpected direction.

Niece: "How is that girl you brought to family dinner?"
Me (marveling at this girl's candidness and excellent memory, but also stumped for an answer): "She's doing fine, I guess. We're not dating anymore."
Niece: ". . . (Name) is not your girlfriend?"
Me (still in awe of this kid's memory): "No, not for a while now."
After a brief pause, she asked the $64,000 question that she had been leading up to:
Niece: "You should ask her to marry you."
Me (after what seemed like five minutes, but which in reality was only about 10 seconds): ". . . I wanted to. But she didn't want to. That's just the way it goes sometimes."

Later that night, reflecting on this conversation, I had a well-know scripture come to mind:

"And a little child shall lead them" (Isaiah 11:6).

It's amazing how simply a child can see life. To be honest, she makes a great point. The whole miserable process is really very simple in its essence. But we're the ones who make things much, much harder than they have to be.

Life gets in the way in so many ways. Imperfect people make mistakes they don't necessarily intend to make, like being selfish, communicating poorly, keeping their eyes wide open to others' faults while keeping their eyes half-shut to their own, being "nice" over being direct, and a number of other errors. I know because I've inadvertently done them all, and I've felt the sting when others have done the same to me.

This is the point at which the gals will say, "Men are problem, because they do this, and this, and they don't do this," while many of the men (believe you me) feel the same way about the ladies.

If you find yourself in this situation, let me suggest a new strategy: Rather than making it all about someone else, take a good, hard look at yourself. Take charge of the things you can control, and do not worry about the free agency of another. Be your best self. If you're not finding the Captain Moroni or the Rebekah you seek, ask yourself if you are being the Mrs. Captain Moroni or the Isaac that type of person would attract. If you are struggling with a favorite sin or bad habit, pray to overcome it, work as if it all depended on you, and then work on the next thing.

President Spencer W. Kimball taught:

"You might take a careful inventory of your habits, your speech, your appearance, your weight, . . . and your eccentricities. . . . Take each item and analyze it. What do you like in others? What personality traits please you in others? Are your dresses too short, too long, too revealing, too old-fashioned? Does your weight drive off possible suitors? Do you laugh raucously? Are you too selfish? Are you interested only in your own interests or do you project yourself into the lives of others? . . . What do you do to make yourself desirable? Do you overdo or underdo? Too much makeup or too little? Scrupulously clean both physically and morally? What are your eccentricities, if any? I think nearly all people have some. If so, then go to work. Classify them, weigh them, corral them, and eliminate one at a time."

Sooner or later, because "intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence," someone else, using his or her own free agency, will choose to be around you and may even decide to stay, because you're both at the same spot on the straight and narrow, working on the same goals and striving to improve those imperfections.

It's just my two cents on the matter. For an expert's opinion, though, go and see your nearest niece or nephew. It may cost you dinner, but it's an investment well worth making.

Point of No Return

How do you know you're getting old? You have another birthday. Or you just take a look at your digital watch, if you still have one of those antiquated devices from the 20th century. Watch the seconds tick on it. As each second passes, you're getting a second older.

You're getting older as you read these very words. No need to thank me!

There's another, more direct way to realize just you how old you're getting: Go and see your doctor, and he or she will tell you why all of your aches and pains mean you're aging much faster than you might think.

I recently visited my gastroenterologist, aka the tummy doctor, because I've had stomach and digestive issues nearly non-stop since living and working in South America for two years. If you catch my drift.

The good doc mentioned some dirty words, including: the "C" word ("colonoscopy") and the "F" word ("fiber").

Growing up, I would see commercials that mentioned nasty terms like these on TV, and they usually appeared in connection with products aimed at those who were old. Like old old.

Over age 30, at the time, is what I thought old was and would be, but that day was at least seven or eight decades away, even though mathematically it wasn't. Summers also lasted a lot longer then, too.

Was this anything like childhood for you?

Anyhow, the aforementioned doctor counseled me to make both fiber and probiotics a part of my daily diet. So, I've been doing that for a while now, and admittedly it has helped things a great deal. It has also helped me realize one important fact:

I've passed the point of no return.

"Come what may and love it," taught Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin. You mean, even getting older?

Yes, I think he meant that, too. Especially that.

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.

Words with Friends

Every so often, I open my mouth to say something, and then several other somethings come pouring out in rapid succession, and before I realize what I've done, a whole lot of ugliness has spilled out. This is not unlike a situation in which, say, the EPA, in its wisdom, were to "protect" the environment by spilling toxic waste into Colorado's Animas River.

Which the EPA would never do.

When you've had "words with friends," so to speak, the damage is often very difficult to clean up or repair. And even when you feel like you've done all you can possibly do to make amends, some scars and distrust nevertheless remain.

Long story short: A good friend and I got into a heated discussion last week, and this occurred online. So, naturally, I said some stupid things I wouldn't have the gumption to say to his face because, hey, I felt like he had done the same to me.

To social media: the cause of and solution to all of life's problems!

#ShareBadness

When it comes to hurt feelings between friends, usually one of two things happens: Those people never speak to each other again, or they ultimately end up deciding that they value the other person's friendship far above whatever petty difference(s) may have driven a wedge between them and make amends, no matter who's at fault or whose pride has been wounded more.

I am fortunate enough to say that the latter was the case with my friend and me. After talking things out for more than two hours over burgers and ice cream at McDonald's, like real men do, we hugged it out and agreed to let bygones be bygones. I'm grateful that this person had the greatness of character not only to do this but also to tell me some things about myself that I needed to hear, whether or not I wanted to hear them, so that I can be a better friend to him and to others in our social circle in the future. It's always a good idea to get both sides of the story.

In fact, I'd even dare say that our friendship is now stronger not because of our disagreement but because we bounced back from it.

And that made for a happy meal.

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.

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.

Atrophy and the Heart

Years ago, I suffered one of the worst injuries of my life: tearing one of my pectoral muscles. Unless you're unusually or morbidly curious about what that feels like and want to try it out, please take my word for it: It is not something you want to experience for yourself. Ever.

In sports, tearing your pectoral muscle is considered to be a "season-ending injury." It was a long and a painful rehabilitation, just as it would be for any athlete, taking several months before I felt close to "normal" again or before I could resume some of the activities I had previously enjoyed taking part in, such as sports or dancing.

Never having experienced anything like this before, I wasn't entirely sure how to proceed with my day-to-day life in the meantime. Since my right muscle had been injured, I ended up doing a lot of simple tasks by using my left hand, arm, and shoulder only. Often, these were rather basic daily tasks like holding onto the steering wheel of my car and shifting gears or picking up dishes in the kitchen.

After going on like this for some time, both my orthopedic doctor and a friend who was studying medicine talked to me about a word I had heard but had not understood the meaning of before: atrophy.

Atrophy, they told me, means that a muscle will weaken and will become harder to rehabilitate the longer it goes unused. Sooner or later, I would have to use it again and exercise, no matter how scary this prospect was nor how much pain I was in. Otherwise, I would either make the healing process even more difficult, or I would lose the use of it altogether.

Physical therapy was hard work. Anyone who has had to go through it for any injury knows exactly what I am talking about. At first, it felt strange to perform exercises with a muscle I hadn't used for anything other than combing my hair or shaving for months. I can't do this, I thought more than once. It hurts way too much. It was, indeed, painful, albeit a new kind of painful, and a different kind of painful than my injury had been.

The more I went to physical therapy, however, and the more I completed all of my therapist's instructions, I got better. It was painful, as I mentioned, and it took a great deal of effort on my part. It also took time and required a great deal of patience. It was subtle, but it happened. Eventually, I could do the things I once had enjoyed doing before my injury.

Now, I move on to where I'm going with this with an analogy. I think that the heart, the body's strongest muscle, can atrophy, as well. And not being a cardiologist, I can speak only figuratively. But many of the same principles apply.

In matters of dating, the heart, too, can be injured. Sometimes, the injury hurts way more than we ever imagined it possibly could. We wonder what we could have possibly done to feel the amount of pain that we feel, and we even stop using it altogether. Not only that, but, whether by choice or inadvertently, we numb ourselves to anyone or anything that could make us even begin to feel those emotions again.

The longer we go on this way, the harder it is to heal. Some even close themselves off to that mere possibility completely. I once dated a girl whose particular heart injury was grieving over the death of someone in her immediate family. Now don't get me wrong; I'm not saying in any way that she wasn't right to feel this way nor is it important to grieve and to deal with loss, and I understand that everyone heals in their own way. But this wound, years in the past, had completely consumed her past as well as her present and future. When this family member was buried, her heart was buried in the ground along with it. To the best of my knowledge, it is still there.

I hope and pray that she will, someday, open her heart again to loving another human being as she had loved this family member. I really do. I could not be the person to reawaken that desire in her. But as I wrote about my aforementioned injury, opening up the heart again, a little at a time, is the only way for healing to take place.

Consider Miss Havisham, she of Charles Dickens's book Great Expectations. Jilted on her wedding day as a young bride, her entire life figuratively ended on that day, too, as she became a recluse and a shut-in and a despiser of all men and mankind. In the end, it destroyed her—both spiritually as well as physically. I was reminded of her sad story when I recently watched a recent BBC adaptation of the tale. Hopefully, it is a lesson to us all about the negative consequences of harboring ill will, anger, spite, and remorse.

I don't pretend to be an expert on this subject nor to possess any special insight. I know only my own experience, thoughts, and intentions. Likewise, I can't judge anyone else, and I don't know their experiences, thoughts, and intentions; I can only share what I have observed and, consequently, how those things have made me feel or how impacted me personally.

Very recently, my heart was again injured deeply. So was hers. When I met and began dating this person, the thought occurred to me: This is either going to be wonderful, or it's going to hurt like the Dickens. (No pun intended.)

Both possibilities occurred. For a time, it was wonderful. Right now, though, it hurts a lot. People aren't perfect, and I have made my mistakes. I have challenges I still need to overcome, although some, particularly physical challenges, I have no control over, and the only thing that remains in my power of agency is to deal with them the only way I know how—one difficult day at a time.

Rather than pointing fingers or casting blame, however, I choose to take a moment, albeit a brief one, to grieve—and then I will move on. My prayers will be only to let in forgiveness and healing, in all of their forms. I will take the positive things I have learned from this person, my mistakes and the lessons I have learned from them, and I will use them to make myself a better person, too. I will keep my eyes, my ears, and, above all, my heart open to the possibility of good things and of good people to come. Were I to keep them closed, I could miss out on something good. And that would be a tragedy easily preventable.

It's the only way to heal.

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.