Where were his parents?

I spoke in Sacrament meeting today. I was actually filling the assignment of another member of the high council who had to be in California. The stake president was the other speaker, so I was (happily) relegated to the "companion speaker" slot -- right after the youth speaker.

The young man, whom I will call Jared, sat down next to me. I joked as I always do that I hoped he had at least 20 minutes of material. In a very earnest voice he told me he had written all he could think and it was only about 3 minutes long. Sensing his concern I assured him that 3 minutes was exactly the right length.

I asked Jared if his parents were in the congregation. No. Unfortunately they had to work today. I asked him what they did, thinking that they might be in some profession that demanded Sunday work. But no, his mother was "retired" and worked in the gift shop at a local landmark. His father was the maintenance supervisor for the regional airport. In my own mind I had already concluded they were "less active."

He told me had to work until 3:30 am this morning and so he was pretty tired. I asked him what he did. He said he was the "Clubhouse Manager" for the local Triple-A baseball team. Last night had been opening night and it had been rather disorganized and he had to wash and dry 15 batches of laundry (uniforms for both teams) with only one drier.

Jared told me that he was getting really scared. I told him that no one in the congregation had an unkind thought toward him. I assured him that if they thought about it at all it was with gratitude that he was speaking and not them. He squeezed out a nervous grin and sat forward, resting his head on his arms folded across his knees.

During the Sacrament he touched me on the arm and said "Would you say a prayer for me? I feel like I might get sick and pass out." I told him I would gladdly pray for him. His face was white. I did pray for him, almost continuously during the Sacrament service. As it was ending I asked how he felt. He said "better" but he was still afraid he might pass out. I said "Don't lock your knees, and if you start to sag I will be right there to steady you." Again that nervous smile.

I felt like I was his father sitting next to him. I put my arm around him and gave him a squeeze and told him he would do fine.

The counselor in the bishopric introduced him. It turns out he wasn't even from that ward, but from an adjoining stake but attended that ward because he had some friends there. It was at that moment that I noticed two young women (sisters to each other?) who were sitting near the front of the chapel. They were mouthing encouragement to him. Yes, his parents were not active, but Jared was diligent in attending church.

Jared got up and with considerable poise that belied his shaking hands began to to talk about friendship. As talks go it was just a brief recitation of why he was grateful for his friends. Knowing his circumstances, however, to me it was a monumental address.

He finished and sat down. Mission accomplished! I sensed in him a jubilation at having managed to not only not faint, but to also have given his talk intelligibly.

Strangley enough, as I started to speak I found myself almost overwhelmed with emotion. With some difficulty I expressed my admiration for him and mentioned his request for me to pray for him. I also mentioned (and had to turn back to him to get the right title) that he was the "Clubhouse manager" for the local professional ball team and that he had been up until 3:30 in the morning and had still made it to church on time.

My talk was just fine and I'm grateful to the Lord for His help in the preparation and presentation of it. My gratitude is boundless, however, for His willingness to bless this future missionary / father / Elders Quorum President / Bishop with a positive experience at a pivotal moment in his life.

The bishop thanked me afterwards for building him up. He said, and I agree, "There was nothing you could have done or said today that was more important for that young man than what you did."

I don't know if he will go on a mission. I encouraged him to go. I assured him that the ward would help support him. He was he was considering it. I am convinced that if he makes the decision to go, it will be in large part because of his experience today. Here was tangible proof that what his friends had been telling him was indeed the truth. This is a God in heaven and he does hear and answer prayers.

Now, where were his parents? They missed a major milestone in their son's life. Where were his parents?

Paris burns while Villepin fiddles

A Reuters dispatch says a lot in how is says things as well as what it says.

Vehicles torched in French riots
By Kerstin Gehmlich

AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS, France (Reuters) - Rioters set fire to hundreds of vehicles in an eighth night of unrest in the impoverished suburbs of northeastern Paris as exasperated local officials criticized the response of national leaders.

Rioting erupted again late on Thursday despite hopes that festivities ending the fasting month of Ramadan would calm rioters, many of them Muslims of North African origin protesting against race bias they say keeps them in a second-class status.

Police reported fewer clashes than previous nights when police and fire crews were fired upon by some rioters.

But the rioting continued to spread, with firebombings in western Paris suburbs and similar areas near Rouen in northern France, Dijon in the east and Marseille in the south.

Residents in the bleak housing projects were fed up after eight nights of violence. "I've had enough of this," said a woman of African origin in Aulnay-sous-Bois, a northeastern Paris suburb where a warehouse was burned down overnight.

Officials in Seine Saint Denis, the worst-hit department located between central Paris and Charles de Gaulle airport, said 187 vehicles had been destroyed there overnight.

Police detained 27 people and reported two injuries -- one a policeman and another a handicapped person badly burned during an arson attack on a city bus. (ed: The "arsonist" poured gasoline on her and set her on fire. It wasn't an "accident" that she didn't get off the bus on time -- it was attempted homicide.)

French media said up to 600 vehicles were destroyed in the whole greater Paris region, including 23 buses at a terminal in Trappes in the southwest near Versailles. An amateur video aired on television showed them all in a row and all in flames.

Security officials said the presence of hundreds of riot police had acted as a deterrent, but rioters nevertheless set fire to two textile warehouses, a bus depot and a school.

"Why a school, why a car? What can you say about such blind violence," one local mayor, Michel Beaumale, said.

On Thursday evening, local officials complained loudly about dithering and politicking among national officials after Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin (ed: nice hair!) briefed them about an "action plan for the suburbs" he aims to present later this month.

"Many of us told him this isn't the time for an umpteenth plan," said Jean-Christophe Lagarde, mayor of Drancy in the riot-hit region. "All we need is one death and I think it will get out of control." (ed: it isn't already?)

Manuel Valls, mayor of Evry south of the capital, said: "We're afraid that what's happening in Seine Saint Denis will spread. We have to give these people a message of hope." (ed: don't bother. They don't want hope, they want a caliphate and sharia and all the stuff that comes with militant Islam)

LAW AND ORDER "ABSOLUTE PRIORITY"

Rioting among young men of North African and black African origin -- mostly locally born citizens who feel cheated by France's official promises of liberty, equality and fraternity -- began last week after two teenagers of African origin died while fleeing the police.

Villepin and Interior Minister Nicolas Sarkozy, whose bitter political rivalry has overshadowed the government's reaction, teamed up in the French Senate on Thursday to announce that restoring order was their "absolute priority." (ed: I'll get back to you later in the month on my plan to do so....)

Villepin blamed the riots on gangs he said terrorized residents and sought to keep police out of their districts, and vowed law and order would be restored.

In several interviews on Friday morning, conservative politicians said drug traffickers and Islamist militants were fanning the unrest, although they gave no details. (ed: didn't think to ask either, I'll bet!)

Sarkozy, accused by opponents of inflaming passions with his outspoken attacks on the "scum" behind the violence, said 143 people had been detained in the past week for rioting.

His two-pronged approach -- a crackdown on rioters combined with proposals to promote minorities and help fund mosques (ed: don't bother. The wahabbi's have it covered already. And once they are built don't ever think if listening to what is being said. You might be accused of being an Islamaphob)-- has provoked rearguard attacks from rivals in the conservative government, who accuse him of stoking extremism.

Villepin has struggled to end cabinet squabbling over how to handle disturbances that forced him to cancel a trip to Canada and Sarkozy to call off a visit to Pakistan and
Afghanistan.

No Hope for the Future

This is just a short followup to my post "Hope for the Future". Dalene and I were on our way to Preston to meet Paula and drop off Alexander. We stopped in Preston at a Kicks 66 / Burger King to change Alex's clothes and give him some french fries and "keps" to eat. Two boys, about seven and five, brought a tray of food into the eating area and sat down in a small booth. Moments later a girl, about nine, came around the corner, walked over to them and said, "Where do you think the rest of us will sit?" The boy said something that I couldn't understand and the girl replied (in a sarcastic and strident voice) "We can't sit here it's too small. Come on."

There were a few more exchanges back and forth with her talking in a demanding and impatient tone (remember, she's only nine at most).

She left and sat down at a table. I thought "I'll be she didn't learn that at school. Let's see what the mother is like." A moment later she walked around the corner, walked past the boys and said "Git up and git over here!" in a demanding, unkind, voice. What a surprise! She sounded just like her daughter (or vice versa).

Two thoughts. I doubt there is a man (a permanent man, commonly known as a husband / father) in that home. The way the girl talked just makes me think she and her mother run the house. Second, the boys will grow up despising women because of how they are treated by them, and never realizing that there is a way that men and women can live together in harmony, with love and respect shown for each other.

Affliction and perspective

A couple of things have had me thinking about the role adversity and affliction play in our lives. First, was the very untimely (from our perspective) death of Frank Jameson. Forty four years old, in good health, didn't wake up from a nap. Second is an assignment from Bishop Landon of the Osgood ward -- lead a discussion on adversity in the next fifth Sunday lesson.

Adversity is an element of the Plan of Salvation. It's easy to say the (and see it) in the abstract, but much harder to comprehend its role when in the middle of it.

As I read the scriptures this morning and thought about what Seth and Jessica's death has taught me, I though that the biggest lesson is a sense of perspective. It is much easier to look at some "thing" that is happening and measure it. Is this really a "big thing" or is it just a momentary annoyance?

While this enhanced sense of perspective should be with me all the time, even the ability to draw on it is a blessing.

[More...]

Hope for the future

I saw something yesterday afternoon that renewed my hope for the future of our society. Before I continue I should say that I'm not predicting the imminent demise of life as we know it. I'm commenting on the slowly quickening spiral of our society into the black abyss of hedonism, selfishness and disdain for God and Godly things.

I should also say that what I saw yesterday is something I always see when I'm with Jennifer and Jesse, it's just that it was good to have "it" reaffirmed outside of my own family circle.

"It" was this. We were eating at a local fastfood place. Seated several tables away was a young mother with two children. At the table was a woman who appeared to be the young mother's mother. What struck me was this. This young mother loved her children and loved being with her children. How could I tell? I watched her deal with her little two-year-old boy who was running around the table next to theirs and laughing loudly. There was none of "I told you to quit running around the tables!" Instead she got up, pretended to be a monster, grabbed the runner, and gave him a big hug and a kiss and put him back in his chair. When she was dealing with her children they had her full attention.

Later, when he was finished eating, she put him down (he was about two) and just let him toddle around the tables, which were empty. Instead of just turning him lose and rejoining her mother at the table, she just sat there on her haunches, watching this little guy explore. The look on her face was what struck me. It was just pure delight at being a mother. When he had explored enough, he turned around and came back to the safety of mommy's arms. She didn't have to call him back because he knew that he could explore until his world was too big and scary to go any further and then he could go back to his mother. He knew that because he could turn around and see her waiting. What security! She wasn't, as Jennifer describes it, a helicopter mom, hovering overhead to prevent any accident or mishap. She was just close enough to ensure his safety without bridling his spirit.

By contrast I was in Walmart a couple of weeks ago and a mother was standing behind me in line at the pharmacy. She had a young boy about five years old with her. He was totally out of control, and so was she. In between loud threats to him (obviously without any meaning to him) she would remark in a rather loud voice to the collective audience around her that "She didn't know why he was like that whenver they went to a store. There was just nothing she could do to make him behave." Which, as Jennifer pointed out in a similar situation, was obvious. What was obvious to me was that this child was an inconvenience. He was annoying. He interrupted her life (instead of being the reason for it). If it was that obvious to me, it must have been totally clear to that young boy. Why should he mind her? She didn't care about him, it was all about her.

As long as there are mothers like the first one I have some hope for our society. They not only raise their children, they nurture them. They love them, but sometimes from just far enough away that they learn to be independent. They learn to interact in a civil way with those around them. These mothers are the "bearers of the flag," the "keepers of the flame" or whatever other phrase fits. Their children are the bright lights that will keep the darkness at bay for another generation. And given time and opportunity, these chilren will become mothers and fathers that will pass that nurturing love on to yet another generation.

God bless mothers like that everwhere to realize that theirs is the most important work on earth.

A Box of Nuts and Bolts

It must have been in the early 80's that I received a rather heavy Christmas present. If was from my friend, Frank. Frank and Michele lived across the street from us. Their children were of comparable ages to ours, their interests ran along similar lines as ours and we became (and still are) fast friends.

We were not poor, but we had to watch our money, and it was no different with Frank and Michele, and perhaps even a little more so.

That is the context in which I received this present. Frank and Michele brought their gifts over a couple of days before Christmas. I couldn't help but be puzzled by the weight as I took one of the gifts from Frank and set it under the tree. I almost dropped it out of surprise for its weigth and mass.

I honestly don't recall if I spent much time wondering about it for the few days leading up until Christmas. I do recall opening it with some anticipation since its weight was so intriguing. I will have to confess I was taken aback just a bit when I saw that it contained nuts and bolts. Hundreds of nuts and bolts and screws and washers of every imaginable size.

When we visited Frank and Michele later that day Frank asked if I liked his gift and told me that he had put a box to one side at the moving and storage companied managed and just tossed in whatever hardware had come his way during the course of the previous month or so.

I thanked him for it, but I was still rather taken aback that he would give me something like that -- almost a joke.

The box went out into the garage and sat on a shelf. When I had to fix the lawnmower or a bicycle or a swing I would dig around in the box and invariably find what I needed.

Eventually the box gave way to a plastic tub. Every once in a while I would disassemble something and toss the screws, washers and nuts in the tub, but that was fairly infrequently. When we moved across town, the tub followed us to our new home and found a place on a shelf in the garage.

The other day I cleaned the battery posts and cable terminal for my riding lawnmower. One of the screws had been corroded away in a rather significant manner. It wasn't until I had gone into the garage and started digging around in the old plastic tub that it occurred to me what an enduring and essential gift that box of nuts and bolts had become. I can't even imagine working on something without having access to the tub of nuts and bolts. It is indispensible.

There is a parallel between that box of nuts and bolts and the atoning sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. Our first instinct might be to say "Is that all there is?" Somewhat like the hardware, it seems rather useless when considered out of context. It's not until later and wiser years that we realize how incredibly indespensible is the Atonement. We may not think about it much (although we should) until something in our life breaks. Suddenly we remember. The atonement. He understands. He's already carried this burden. This is familiar territory for Him. He has already walked this way. By Himself. In the Garden.

The analogy isn't perfect, and many things aren't fixed in an afternoon, but nonetheless, what seems like a rather insignificant gift has become, over time, more enduring than any other gift. The gift has not changed. My appreciation for it has.

Twelve

I had just managed to get the satellite system working at the church as President Hinckley welcomed members to the opening session of conference. Rather than rush home and miss the first few minutes I stepped into the chapel to listen to President Hinckley.

I like President Hinckley. He has a great sense of propriety and yet he's not locked into "we can only do it one way". He took the opportunity during his opening remarks to mention the passing of Elders David B. Haight and Neal A. Maxwell. Then he said that after much fasting and prayer the call to serve as an apostle had been extended to Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf and President David A. Bednar.

I was not surprised about President Bednar. On a number of occasions I have said (usually to myself) that President Bednar would be an Apostle some day. Yesterday as I was setting up the equipment the thought came to me "President Bednar will be sustained as an Apostle today." It just seemed natural.

I don't mean to digress, but one of the gifts of the spirit is enumerated as the ability "to believe on their [those who "it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God"] words". I am one to whom that gift has been given. (See Doctrine and Covenants 46: 13-14)). I have heard Elder Bednar bear testimony of the Savior on about a dozen occasions. It has strengthened my testimony immensely as I have heard him.

The sad thing about President Bednar's call to the Apostleship is that he will no longer be the President of BYU Idaho. He has been there for three of our four children. He presided and spoke at the funeral of Seth and Jessica. Seth left BYU-Idaho with a charge from Elder Bednar to "be a missionary for the University". There is a connection between our family and President Bednar that goes deeper than just admiration for a man. He has helped us bear our burden and his own inspired counsel has eased our pain at the loss of Seth and Jessica. I have no hesitation in sustaining him because I have seen into his soul and know the goodnes that is there. Sister Bednar is every bit his equal in her own strengths.

As we listened to Elder Uchtdorf and Elder Bednar today all of us had tears in our eyes. I can only speak for myself, but my tears were the result of a witness of the Spirit of God that these two men had been called by God to bear witness unto all the world of Christ's life and ministry and restored Gospel.

My feelings were even more poignant as I thought about Seth and Jessica carrying on that work unhampered by the limitations of this earthly life. I can't even imagine the joy they must feel, and the happiness that Seth must have felt as he learned of President Bednar.

I Don't Need God; I've got "The Arts"

Warning: Gross generalization ahead:

I really enjoy the music that I hear on our local NPR affiliate. Please note that I said music, not news!

The one problem I have with listening to NPR is the live studio sessions (Saint Paul Sunday, Performance Today, etc.). The music is great, and listening to Ted Libby or Bill McGlaughlin is generally an enlightening experience.

Even as I listen, though, I sense (and here is the generalization) that for most of these artists, the music is their god. As I listen to them talk about their education, their lives, etc. it seems to me that there is no room for the author of their talents.

Now here is where many people will have to disagree with me. There are a couple of different arguments: 1) When I use my talents I glorify God, but I don't feel the need for formalized religion (tacit admission that there is a God, but that He is satisfied with a hat-tip from time to time), 2) God doesn't care about me or my abilities. He is busy worrying about global issues; I developed my inate abilities through sheer hard work (again, tacit admission that there is a God, but hey -- why should he care about us -- He has bigger things to worry about, and so do I), 3) there is no God, and, your pious protestations to the contrary, my talents are a lucky mix of genetics, environment and hard work.

Fine. That's the beauty of mortality. Agency (and its associated consequences) is one of the gifts God granted to us. In the end, we will find out who is correct. If the non-believers are right, it won't make any difference to me. If the faithful and believing are correct, it will make a great deal of difference to the non-believer. I'd rather be on the side where heads or tails I win.

In the meantime, I listen for a sense of soul in the music. Especially during the baroque and early classical period it is there, it's just hard to detect when you have to filter it through the image the players try and project. Sorry if I'm wrong.