The wheel chair

When my daughter was younger, there was a pretty young girl in a wheel chair at her school. Every day her father would come to the school and feed her with a spoon. He had been someone of importance in China, here he was a father whose daughter was crippled.

Because some of the students were a little insensitive about current events, my daughter's teacher had him talk to the class about an eight month period in his life. He spent that time in a three foot cube, except for the times they pulled him out to feed him and torture him. Every day, for eight months. Before that, they had tried some things to break his will, such as drugs, toxic in heavy doses, slipped into things, such as cough syrup. Such as the cough syrup he gave his daughter instead of using himself, because her health was more important to him than his own. Whose body mass and health was not strong enough. Who now sits in a wheel chair, making mental progress, but physically unable to feed herself.

Did they think they had good reason to torture him? Was it important? Could it have been justified to cripple his daughter and send him through eight months of electroshock and worse?

Do we have the right to do the same to others, with the same basis that we have good reasons, it is important, and the collateral damage is what it is?

I was just thinking about those things as my daughter asked me about rendition and other topics and the effects of "intimidation" vs. "torture" since the gentle man who spoke to them was clear that the government only wanted information, only wanted to intimidate him, not merely punish or cause him severe pain.

When you think of prayer, pray for our country, where we let such things happen under our aegis. Pray for us, and for those we wrong.

Interlude: When we don't need God (or think we don't)

Self-sufficiency -- when we don't feel a need for anything besides ourselves -- is as dangerous as pride: in many ways it is the same, only mild instead of brash. It is, in my opinion, the core of the post-Christian world in Europe. People have enough and do not feel need, their weaknesses do not trouble them or cause them to fear for their safety or that they or their children will starve.

Ether 12:27 "I give unto men weaknesses that they might be humble ... "

Alma 32:14 "do ye not suppose that they are more blessed who truly humble themselves because of the word?"

Ether 12:27 "if men come unto me I will show unto them their weaknesses." "if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong."

Alma 32:15 "he that truly humbleth himself, and repenteth of his sins, and endureth to the end, the same shall be blessed."

In our age it is easy to live our lives in contentment, finding things sufficient, without needing to humble ourselves. I look at my own life. Even in the midst of the worst of tragedies I experienced, my family always had food, a house, schools, neighbors and physical safety. Now, I'm making trade-offs where I take time over money (I could probably double my income, if I were willing to work more and see my family less). I have more than enough. That is one thing that struck me about Paris: many of the people there were content with a great deal less than we feel we need, they had found contentment, they were self-sufficient.

I may have more than enough, but that gives me a renewed force in my life, a concern that if I am not careful I will drift away. As a result, I find myself earnestly seeking to turn again to God. I need God, not for some thing, not for some help, not for some intercession, but I need God to be my God. I need God for God and as God -- but so do we all. So do we all.

With this aside, I'll be back to my series on prayer in the next post.

Intervention v. Intercession, passive or tangible?

God's intervention in the world happens spontaneously or sua sponte all the time (sua sponte means on God's own initiative and is a slightly better word than spontaneously which makes it seem like God just chaotically intervenes). I remember a training accident or two, where I was protected from harm and a seventy foot drop down a mountainside. Physical, tangible acts of God, (much like a friend of my father's who was blessed and had all of his tattoos disappear) except they happen without our asking.

Less tangible, but just as real, is inspiration. Most missionaries have encountered it. I've been on my way to an appointment and had a flash of light and clear directions. The appointment fell through and we slogged back through the snow, up the stairs and past the corner to the door, where a complete stranger was still hoping and hungering for us to come. Most can tell you of many such experiences.

I've had direct direction to speak to people or to help them when they had not thought to pray for help. It is easy to start to believe that inspiration and comfort are all that God does. I have friends who believe in what I call the "non contact" God -- a God who whispers into the world and who cares, but who lets every sparrow fall. It is easy to believe in a non-tangible God, but that vision would not be true. While comfort and guidance are important, God is more than just a comfort and a guide (or, as a friend said, happiness may be a compass and a warm blanket, but God is more).

Beyond intervention by God, sua sponte (there is that word again), there is also intercession (where God responds to prayer). Intervention is usually a delightful surprise, intercession is what we often plead for. We hunger for a God of miracles who can be interceded with.

I'll write on that next.

On Prayer (part one of four or more parts)

Geoff J wrote on why prayer works and as the comments progressed I had some thoughts. I started writing on them during a class and now I've got a four part (at present, I may rewrite it) discussion about prayer.

Most prayers I hear appear to be said out of habit or need. Prayers said from habit are like shaking hands or brushing your teeth: part of a routine that has a positive place, but is engaged in because it is engaged in. In times of need, or in times when people think they have a need, they also pray. Everyone has heard the old joke "God, I've never prayed before and if you help me now I'll never bother you again ..."

I've been reflecting on this a good deal recently, because I've slipped into praying just to feel the Spirit and so my children will pray with me and feel the Spirit (too many habitual prayers are empty -- the loss of school prayer is a positive thing in that regard -- one less empty prayer). I haven't had things to talk with God about that I could express, my needs are more than met in my limited understanding of what my needs are, and having the Spirit present has felt like more than enough reason to pray when praying by myself or with my family.

But what about what people think of when they think of prayer? What about praying to God to intercede in the world? What about prayinf for others or for needs? I will write on that next, because we are told that prayer is more than ritual and more than an excuse to find a sense of presence, calm and peace. Not only are we told that it is more, we need for it to be more for us to be fully engaged in living rather than merely existing.

Talking blogs with a reporter

I was talking with a reporter, the interview went over an hour, so we ranged a bit off-topic for about five-ten minutes at the end, when he asked me about LDS blogs.

I think Feminist Mormon Housewives made him wonder if the links were LDS blogs or not, or just what that meant. I have non-blog links (see my side bar), and they touch on my primary concerns, but I've got a lot of reciprocal links too.

Non-blog Links

• Compassionate Friends
• Living Beyond Loss
• On Line Journal (pre-blog)
• On History and Religion
• The true wiki (the edition I liked ;> )
• CBS Mormons in America

But yes, religion is a part of my life and my journey out of grief.

Though I'm aware of just how tenuous the connection to religion can be, and still work miracles in people's lives. That is why I've found the pragmatic God of AA to be so interesting. He is so similar, in many ways, to the God in the Book of Mormon as experienced by people who had little theological experience or background.

Anyway, there is a bloggernacle.

A Song for My Father (by a friend, for his father)

Horace Silver is one of America's greatest jazz musicians / composers. One of his most memorable compositions is called "Song for My Father." Even if you are not a jazz fan, you've probably heard part of that song, because Steely Dan used its "signature" motif in their tune "Ricky Don't Lose That Number," and used it in the same way that the Horace Silver Quintet had. There's a vocal version of it, but I believe Silver's original was an instrumental.

This is a song for my father.

He was born in 1924. Thus, he was a child during the Depression. Times were bad for his parents then, as they were for most Americans. He sometimes would tell of how his own father, desperate for income, tried to start a mail-order business to sell pills that, when added chickens' drinking water, would supposedly cause hens to lay more eggs. As I recall, he said a package of pills cost a quarter. That was a lot of money during the Depression: it would buy a breakfast of two fried eggs, French fries, two slices of toast with jam, coffee, and apple pie.

His father had been a self-educated civil engineer. He'd spent many years in South America, building railroad bridges and laying out rail lines, until the Depression brought all capital projects to a halt. Hence the egg-pill scheme....which itself ended up laying an egg.

Dad's father had served in WWI, in the Army. But dad's grandfather had been a career officer in the Marine Corps. He'd served in the Spanish-American War, and retired as a full colonel.

Once upon a time, long ago, my family had some social standing. Its history goes back over 700 years. One ancestor became a lawyer--a canon lawyer, which is to say, he was a man of the cloth who specialized in Church Law. When Henry VIII broke with the Catholic Church, that ancestor helped paper over the seizure of all the monasteries' property in the name of the king. There were some others, uncles, I suppose, who became lawyers, and one was even a small-time judge. But in terms of the direct line, I am the first lawyer in my family in nearly 500 years...to my father's disgust.

At one point, an ancestor was a prominent banker in London. But he was addicted to gambling. To try to recoup his losses, he tried the typical loser's gambit of doubling up. When that failed, he attempted to cover his losses by embezzling from his bank. He was eventually caught, of course--but only after he'd stolen the modern equivalent of tens of millions of dollars. He was tried (I have a copy of the trial transcript), convicted, and hanged.

My dad's first ancestor to come to America did so as the result of another gamble that failed, when he--possessor of a knighthood--backed King Charles I against Cromwell in the English Civil War. But he'd not stayed on to the bitter end. As a refugee, he came to Virginia in 1643, bringing with him sufficient funds to become a plantation-owner. And yes, he had slaves.

His descendants, plantation owners all, routinely served as Justices of the Peace--which, in colonial Virginia, as in common-law England, was a big deal--and as members of the House of Burgesses. They were counted as being among what were known as the "First Families of Virginia."

My father's great-grandfather was a doctor, a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania's medical school. But he too placed a losing bet, on the War of Northern Aggression. As was the custom back then, professional men automatically got to have high commissions as officers. This one was a colonel. When the Federals captured Vicksburg, he was taken prisoner. He spent the next few years treating patients in a prisoner-of-war camp as a guest of the Union.

After that, the family fell on hard times. As was common for Southerners during and after the Damned Yankee (the "damned" is redundant, of course) "Reconstruction," they were poor. Hence my father's grandfather's choice of a career in the armed forces--which was quite common for poor young Southern men (and some who were rich, such as George Patton) until well after WWII. He was able to get a college education only courtesy of Uncle Sam, via Annapolis.

The Depression completed the work that the Civil War had begun. Ever after, Dad was quite frugal. The only cars he'd buy were Fords or Chevrolets--preferably a "demonstrator model" sold far below list price. And he never took any chances, at all, on investments, forever fearing to lose what he already had.

Like his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather before him, he served in a war--in his case, WWII, in the Pacific, as a Marine. He was in the Battle of Okinawa, the bloodiest of all in that "theater" (and perhaps anywhere).

He was always willing to tell stories about being in the Marines. In fact, for him, those times were the high point of his life. He was in perfect physical condition back then, fighting a noble war, and the camaraderie among the leathernecks was astounding.

But I could never get him to talk about combat. The only times he'd open up, about the things hidden deep within him, were when Mom was out-of-town--because, after I reached legal age, I'd buy a couple six-packs of beer, and proceed to get my dad drunk. That would loosen his tongue...but never, ever about combat--with two exceptions.

Once, he mentioned the shock of seeing a fellow Marine whose intestines were spilling out all over the place after he'd been struck by shrapnel. Another time, he mentioned riding in the front seat of a jeep, to the right, after the Battle of Okinawa was supposedly over. Another man was also in front, between my father and the driver. A die-hard sniper put a bullet right between the man's eyes, killing him instantly. Other than that, he would never talk about anything other than his good times during the war. It was only when I recently saw The Thin Red Line, which is perhaps the only realistic war movie ever made, that I understood my father's reticence.

He did tell me that, when the news broke that the first atomic bomb had been dropped on Japan, he and all his fellow Marines burst into tears. They knew the war would end without an invasion of the home islands of Japan--an invasion in which my father's unit was scheduled to be in one of the front ranks that would assault Japan's shores south of Tokyo. After the horrific casualties of Okinawa, they all knew that the Japanese would fight to the death in their homeland even more than they had elsewhere, and that perhaps nearly all of the Marines in the first waves would die.

Several decades later, when I was a student in Japan, I visited Tokyo's Yasukuni Shrine to Japan's dead from "The Pacific War" (as they call it), and toured the adjacent Museum of the Pacific War. (Yet another flag-waving propaganda film about Pearl Harbor has just been released. I do wish Americans would face the truth about the background to the Pacific War and Pearl Harbor, instead of using it as an occasion for jingoistic Japan-bashing. But then again, I do wish the North would face the truth about the background to the Civil War.)

Japan's war museum has on display a two-seater Zero fighter-bomber. It would be hard to describe the feelings I had as I stood at the foot of that aircraft, which is suspended from the ceiling at a downward angle. While there, I met some Japanese veterans of WWII. I could not help but wonder if one of them had been among those on Okinawa who had been trying to kill the man who became my father, or had been among those whom he had been trying to kill. (I did not ask where they had served, of course.)

It always amuses me to hear fellow Americans talk about how "we" have never lost a war and suffered an Occupation such as Japan's after WWII. I quickly remind them that the South not only lost a war (and 365,000 men), it suffered an Occupation that lasted 12 years--longer than that of Japan after WWII.

It was strange to meet those Japanese veterans. At times I felt I had a lot in common with them. Both Imperial Japan and the Confederate States of America started a war that was almost impossible to win--although they came much closer than history acknowledges. Thank God, they lost. But the pain of the loss is still there, lingering through the generations. I can fully understand how Japan's Imperial Family and the country's ultra-nationalists still refuse to accept responsibility for Japan's wartime atrocities, because, in much the same way, far too many (white) Southerners still refuse to come to terms with the tragedy of the South's past and its legacy of "Jim Crow" laws, segregation, and--even now--racism.

Historically, engineering has been a profession of the lower-middle class, something like school teaching or the ministry. That is why my father's dad had become an engineer. That is why my own dad followed in his footsteps. The family was poor. Only the GI Bill enabled my father to take a degree.

Engineering is perhaps the only profession where, as a general rule, either you are good at it, or you are out. The successful practice of law, in contrast, is notorious for its ability to be based on bullshit. Hence my father's antipathy for my choice of a career. Even medicine has far more room for error. (Incompetent doctors' mistakes are often literally buried--though, thanks only to lawyers and courts, doctors are now sometimes held accountable.)

Dad was a good engineer. He was also an old-fashioned do-it-yourself home repairs guy, of the type that is almost extinct now. If it involved electrical or mechanical devices, or plumbing, he could fix it. But engineers are notoriously poor at playing office politics. It was only with the rise of William Hewlett and David Packard that engineers began to rise to the top of corporations--and, of course, Hewlett and Packard were entrepreneurs, so they started at the top.

Most of the time, engineers were overworked and underpaid, while the bullshit-management types, like typical politicians, took the credit (and the pay raises) for their successes. So it was with my father. The last year before he retired, he made less than half of what a 24-year-old top graduate of a top law school can expect to make today. He was well aware of this, but not at all bitter about it. Instead, he referred to himself as a "burro," and watched in amazement as the corporate racehorses garnered stunning salaries and stock options.

Dad took pride in his work, but was willing to let the management-types take the credit and the money. He did not want to play corporate games. He just wanted to be good at his job. And he was. He had no dreams of getting rich or famous, let alone of restoring the family to prominence.

I was born late in the marriage--an "accident," when it was thought my mother was too old to conceive again. Perhaps for that reason, I was also born a cripple. (For that reason, I was the first male in a direct line going back more than 225 years who did not serve in the armed forces at all, and thus not in combat.)

When I was a young child, my father would spend long hours slowly, patiently, stretching my legs, bending them, trying to get them to work right. It was all in vain, as were multiple surgeries. Sometimes, while working on me, he would remind me of how he used to change my diaper. When I was older, he would again remind me of the diaper-changing, always adding "And you're still always making messes that others have to clean up!" (As an attorney, I would of course shoot back: "That's what lawyers are for!") In my teen years, we had some very bitter rows, and were never again close. My becoming an attorney just made it worse.

But although he never realized it, my dad taught me something by the force of his example: do your job right. Don't just do enough to get by; do it well. Other people are depending on the quality of your work. And even though they might be far enough removed from you in the scheme of things, such that they could not suspect that it was your laziness or incompetence that ultimately led to the screw-up, the fact will remain that it was your laziness or incompetence that ultimately led to the screw-up. It isn't just a matter of avoiding guilt. It's a matter of taking pride in your work, but without being vain about it, of a job well-done, even when no one knows...or, perhaps, cares.

You see, he was very old-fashioned that way. Although he (unlike I) never preached morality, morality ran through everything he did--perhaps unbeknownst even to him.

On May 14, Dad had a medical checkup. The doctor immediately put him in the hospital. I flew to the city where he was hospitalized, and spent time with him. On May 22, his kidneys shut down. Then began what I knew to be a death watch over him, 12 hours a day, my mother and I alternating shifts.

He'd been in much pain from some other medical problems, and the doctor put him on morphine. He would occasionally have a lucid interval, though. (By the way, "lucid interval" is a legal term. It will come up in your wills course, or--if you don't take wills--perhaps in the wills portion of your bar exam.) During those intervals, he would usually ask me to lift up each of his legs in turn, and to bend them, because he could not move them at all. He had also lost control over his elimination function. The hospital had him in an adult diaper. It was I who sometimes changed that diaper while my father endured in embarrassed silence--if, that is, he was conscious.

When his kidneys stopped producing urine altogether, the doctor said the end was near. Dad had one more lucid moment. It lasted only about five minutes. He was unable to speak. He wanted desperately to talk to me, but all he could do was make sounds, not words. He had a look in his eyes that I cannot describe, other than to say that it was the same look my 97-year-old grandmother occasionally got in her eyes in the weeks before her own death, last year. I hope I never see that look again. And I hope I never need to look at anyone that way.

When I was sure Dad could understand what I was saying, I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. I told him of what a good father he was--even though, I added, at times, he had truly been a pain in the neck. I told him that, even though he was not happy that I had become a lawyer, that I had tried to be a good lawyer, just as he had been a good engineer. I told him how proud I was of him because he had always been such a good husband, a good father, a good man ... and a good role model for me.

Shortly after that, he slipped into unconsciousness again. He never came back. At approximately 7 p.m. on Thursday, May 24, he began gasping for air, like a fish out of water. Within a few seconds, he was gone. After a few minutes, I kissed him again, for the last time, and said goodbye. Whereas he had been running a slight fever before, his scalp had already cooled below normal body temperature. Soon a nurse's aide came in and wound tape around his head, so--as rigor mortis set in--his jaw would not be agape. As his skin color turned ashen, my mother and I left.

So why am I telling you all of this? Obviously, in part, it is because I am trying to deal with a pain that runs very, very deep.

My father was old, 76. I knew his time was coming. As is so common among former Marines, he'd allowed himself to fall apart. He drank too much too often, smoked, never exercised, and got overweight. (I, unfortunately, have followed those examples too--without even being a former Marine.) As a result, he had developed heart trouble and become diabetic. Every Christmas that he lived was the best gift of all.

A few months ago, my fellow author, had recommended a book to me about WWII, A War to Be Won. I'd quickly bought it and sent it to my father. He and I both knew what I did not have to say: that it was unlikely he would be around to receive it as a Christmas present this year. He had been living on borrowed time for a long time, and his credit line abruptly ran out. I do not know if he finished reading that book before he died. But I do know that at one point he thanked me very, very much for it, and asked me to convey his gratitude to my friend for recommending it.

Father's Day is around the corner. Many of you are young enough that you can expect your father to be around for many years yet. But you never know. I do not know what your relationship is with your own father. But if there are antagonisms between you, I urge you to find a way to set your ego aside and to try to make peace, even if your father will not set his ego aside ...

This does not mean you should give in--I would hardly urge you to do what I myself was never willing to do. But often there is far more common ground between disputants than at first appears to be the case. That is the wisdom of Atticus Finch, in which I, unfortunately, do not share. What I am saying is this: instead of the perfunctory "I love you, Dad" phone call, or the Hallmark Father's Day card, please try to let your father know that you are aware of how much he (presumably!) has done for you, and how much your own good qualities (assuming you have some) are due to his influence.

I was lucky. I was able to tell my father some of the things I needed for him to hear from me, for the first time, before he died. All those years, I had been gambling without even knowing it. And I won--though too little, too late. I hope you do not repeat my foolish pride. (I suspect my father had made the same mistake with his own father. Near the end, he was delirious. He called out for his wife / my mother. But he also called out for his own father...who had died in 1962. I think there were some things he wanted to tell him. Well, I hope that's what he's doing right now, and that they're having a long, long talk.)

For those of you who are fathers, or expect to be fathers, I hope you will realize that there are some things in life that are so important that you will see there should be a limit to the sacrifices you make--even in the name of your family. Getting good grades in law school is important. Becoming successful as a lawyer is important. Those things will benefit your family as well as yourself. But if you are too caught up in the rat race, you turn into...a rat. I don't care how many brilliant contracts you write, how many brilliant court victories you win. Long after all that's gone and forgotten, your children will still be around (I hope).

I know that, as my father lay dying, he was aware that he was dying. I suspect that, in his lucid moments, he was able to give some thought to his life, to what he'd done with it. I am quite sure he was satisfied with his work as an engineer. But I hope that what he saw, and was most satisfied with, is that he had been a good husband, a good father, a good man. Maybe I am hopelessly idealistic, but somehow I think that that's far more important than the usual things men live for, even though he died in obscurity and will soon be forgotten by all except those who loved him so much.

Sitting there those nights, watching my father slowly die, I had a lot of time to think about my own life, and what I want it to count for.

In the great chain of being that stretches back those 700-plus years, I am now first-in-line for the next sweep of the Grim Reaper's scythe. However long, life is short. And as some wag once said, "The thought of one's impending death has a wonderful way of concentrating the mind," or something like that.)

My father's ashes now fill a little container that looks like the sort of small gift box that would hold, say, a pocket watch. Not much to show, is it? With luck, I shall have the secret satisfaction of knowing that my life really did count for something.

And now, I shall light up a cigar and crack open a fifth of my favorite Scotch (which was also my father's favorite). If you wish, think of it as having a solo "Irish wake," even though there's not a drop of Irish blood in me. Or think of it as another manifestation of an old Southern custom (even though I am nowhere near the South)--for as the saying goes: "When the going gets tough, the tough get...drunk."
On this Memorial Day, here's to you, Padre. Semper Fi, my fallen warrior.

---

From a friend, a memorial.

Lies in our lives

There are inherent lies, conscious lies, compromise lies and intentional lies.

• The first category of lies are those inherent in many life decisions. The most neutral example must be the inherent lies a slave holder tells himself.
• Conscious lies are those we are aware of, but made in passing, though we did not start out intending a lie. White lies, promises made to children or spouses without intent, excuses made for not turning in homework on time and more.
• Compromise lies are similar to inherent lies, they are those which are parts of the compromises we make in the way we live (e.g. lying to yourself about how much you drink or how much you eat, transferring your emotions to not admit the truth about what in our lives makes us angry, lies about our motivations).
• Intentional lies are those lies we mean to tell (such as those actively or passively told in negotiation or by a swindler).

Those are the interrelated ways in which we lie to ourselves.

---

A powerful post on some of that in action is at feh-muh-nist

As for Calvanism, which often causes people to lie (all wealth is a sign of God's grace and inherent virtue is a common neo-calvinist belief), here is a post on health as the new Calvanism (among other things).

Or some doctors who told some very interesting (and related) lies to themselves.

I was thinking more about co-dependent behavior, subsumed hypocracy and the lies people believe (such as negotiators who lie best when they believe what they are saying), but those examples brush against the edges of the concept and illustrate parts of it well.

My family is my life, once again.

My daughters are always pleased when someone says they look like their mother or when someone says they will grow up to be like her.

When my oldest was asked to write a profile of herself, she finished on this note:

Her most influential person in her life is her mother. She says that her Mom is everything she wants to be: tall, strong, beautiful, smart, and kind.

When her mom read that, it made her cry.

Then our six year old asked her "Mommy, when I grow up, will I look like you?" When she was told "Yes" she jumped up and down for joy and told her mom that "that makes me so happy!"

It makes me so pleased that both my daughters love their mother so that above all they want to be like her. I see my daughters and I feel like the father in Mulan, who is just so very pleased with his daughter. They and my wife are my life and why I live. I'm back to where I started before everything fell apart, where the thing I want most, and love most, is my family.

I don't know if I'm undone or reborn to my true self again.

Things are not always what you expect.

It is not what you expect, to get in touch with your feelings. Severe grief explodes emotions out of control, but out of touch as well. So many other things can also submerge your feelings: food, spots, work and the grind of day to day. But they come back.

To get in touch with your feelings again can be a shock. you will find:

• Feelings are stronger and more intense than you remember [and you have to learn to deal with emotions all over again as if you were a child]
• The feelings you have are not the ones you expect [nor will they be the same emotions day after day]
• Feelings are not facts [feeling worthless does not mean you are worthless; anger does not mean the other person has done wrong]
• Feelings can be nurtured, guided and shaped ["...bridle all your passions, that ye may be filled with love ..." is more than just dicta in the scripture]

Regaining feelings is like stepping out of a cave into noon-day light: intense, starling, blinding and confusing. Many people step into disaster, others hide back in the darkness. But, with understanding, you can come back safely into the light, living a life more vivid than it was before, and more rewarding.

If you have lost touch with your feelings and find them returning, regardless of the cause, it is my hope that keeping these four points in mind will help you succeed in the transition.

What it means to preside.

He emphasized this point, emphatically declaring that a man who said, "'I hold the priesthood and you've got to do what I say'" ... should be tried for his membership." [ellipses in original]

-- from Lengthen Your Stride, The Presidency of Spencer W. Kimpball, Deseret Book, 168-169

WATER

a medley by Stephen M (Ethesis)

a man is supple and weak when living
hard and stiff when dead

No power or influence can be maintained, except

the hard and the strong are the signs of death
the supple and changing the signs of life

by persuasion, by long suffering, by meekness and by gentleness

that which is forceful will not vanquish
that which is strong will fall to the axe

by kindness and pure knowledge

the strong fails
the supple succeeds

without hypocrisy and without guile

nothing is more submissive and weak than water
yet for breaking mountains, nothing can surpass it

Charity and virtue

that the weak overcome the strong, the
submissive the hard, all know
Yet none can put it into practice

Then the priesthood shall distill upon thy soul

as the dew from heaven and without

compulsory means dominion

shall flow unto thee

Forever and ever

Lao Tze
Tao Te Ching

Joseph Smith
Doctrine and Covenants 121

---

My thoughts on what the priesthood means and what it means to "preside" -- it means a call (a reminder, a duty, a command) to act by persuasion, by long suffering, by meekness and by gentleness by kindness and pure knowledge, without hypocrisy and without guile.

I had really feared I was broken forever.

I had really feared I was broken forever. Each child that died, and each of the miscarriages, took something out of me. Each death broke a coping mechanism, which is normal, and the succession of deaths did not give them time to heal or be restored. After three funerals, and three miscarriages (and yes, my poor wife went through pregnancy eight times and has only two children to show for it) I had mostly shattered shards of myself.

We had reached a sort of peace, the two of us and our one surviving child, who so much did not want to be left alone, when my wife decided to put off graduate school for a year. That brought Rachel into our lives. Beautiful, bright, happy, resourceful (right now she is trying to figure out how to read in bed when she is supposed to be sleeping, but she has gotten into fourth grade books and loves them), she has forced us all to deal with things that were buried and hidden.

But amazingly, in many ways she has given us our lives back as well. We thought we were living, but in so many ways, because of her we are no longer broken. Things in my life that had failed me are suddenly working again (such as being able to go for long walks).

Replacement children are a disaster in grief. The literature and the community are filled with examples. But subsequent children, taken on their own, are so precious. We had anticipated that so much with Robin, and then she died. I did not think I could ever face a baby again. I'm so glad we did. It is so good to not be permanently broken after all.

---

BTW, for those of you who have noticed that MA is displaying my name, but no links to posts or post titles, they are aware of the problem and are looking into it. I'm sure they will figure it out, just some technical glitch that is affecting only my blog, but shouldn't last. It appears to be a problem from a Blogger setting with a changed default, I'm hoping it is cured.

The diet is still working. I lost 44 pounds.

The diet is still working. [latest diet entry here -- I'd lost fifty pounds when I wrote that] I'm amazed at how differently I think and feel about food. The weight loss is a nice side effect, but what has been very interesting are the mental changes. I just don't think about food the same way and I'm healthier (and 44 pounds lighter [at the time of this entry, I've lost more weight since]) for it. Seth's book at Amazon.com explains it, but unlike most diets, all it took was five dollars of extra-light olive oil from Costco. No expensive food plans, no hard to find items, no real disruption of my routine. His on-line forums are at http://boards.sethroberts.net/.

If you want just the food plan version (where you eat only prepared foods, every meal different), then try Rachael Ray 365: No Repeats--A Year of Deliciously Different Dinners (A 30-Minute Meal Cookbook).

For more information, see:

• Calorie Lab
  
  
  • A long discussion with a lot of comments following afterwards.
    

• Annie's Diet Blog (with specific details and advice).
  
  
  
  • Tidbits
    
  • "How to"
  • Archived comments from 2005
    

• Taste Celibacy
  
  
  • The blog of "Seth's friend Tim" (Timothy Beneke) who lost 100 pounds.
    
  
  
• Blogjack
  
  
  
  • One man's posts on the diet. After he lost weight he went to brute force methods (lots of exercise) and then back to the diet after that failed to work for him. He is back to success. http://blogjack.net/2006/04/losing-weight-with-shangri-la.html

[If you want specifics I lost sixteen pounds the first thirty days, then ten pounds the second thirty, and it turns out seven and a half pounds the third thirty days. I'm now losing about a pound a week, which fits with the total calories that I'm eating. I no longer feel like I'm on a diet, what I eat is just the food I eat normally and I'm happy with it. I'm also in an OA group, which has really helped me deal with the emotions that eating was submerging. It got me through the holidays and the memories of my three dead children.]

BTW, for the facts on the "standard" diets, see this post at Alas, A Blog.

An excerpt:

From a review of empirical tests of weight-loss plans by Wayne Miller, an exercise science specialist at George Washington University:

No commercial program, clinical program, or research model has been able to demonstrate significant long-term weight loss for more than a small fraction of the participants. Given the potential dangers of weight cycling and repeated failure, it is unscientific and unethical to support the continued use of dieting as an intervention for obesity.

Let's closely examine a study cited as proof that weight loss diets work (I examined this study in a previous post): "Behavioural correlates of successful weight reduction over 3y," from The International Journal of Obesity (2004, volume 28, pages 334-335).

Normal diets are unscientific and unethical impositions that have, as their only result, reduced health and increased fat to muscle ratios after the cycle has run.

---

Other posts and important links on this topic:

• ... it-is-not-is-not-promises-made-but.html
• ... diet-is-working.html
• ... I-knew-that-by-using-food-to-submerge.html
• ... additional-links-on-shangri-la-diet-by.html
• http://www.oa.org/
  
• Alas, A Blog -- Collected Entries on Fat (scroll down)
  

---

Seth's book at Amazon.com.

Dallas Judo -- where I work out when I'm not at Bali Fitness with the weights. The program there is better than I had hoped for (which reminds me, I need to do a post on expectations).

Additional Links on The Shangri-La Diet By Seth Roberts Ph.D.

Additional Links on The Shangri-La Diet By Seth Roberts Ph.D.

• New York Times Article
• Marginal Revolution on the Shangri-La Diet
• Marginal Revolution on Seth Roberts
• ABC News Story
• Freakonomics Blog on Shangri-La Diet and Seth Roberts
• Seth's book at Amazon.com (which is the cheapest price I've found it at on-line Buy new:$12.97 )
• healthnetwork Article
• Blog Critics -- a full scale attack on the method. The comments are great.
• Johnny Bowden -- Number two: I've made it my own personal mission to restate this point as often and as loudly and as frequently as I can, at least till they throw me out of the bar or until a critical mass of diet book buyers finally "gets" it: No one plan works for everyone! Not low-carb, not high-carb. Not calorie counting, not vegan, not fasting, not high-protein, not orange food, not canola and fructose. We are metabolically and biochemically unique. It is the ultimate vanity to think that because you have discovered something that may work for your particular metabolism at this particular time that it is a universal principle that everyone who wants the same results should do.
• Health-Hack.com Interview of Seth Roberts about Shangri-Law Diet.
• Earlier Health-Hack.com Comments.
• http://forums.sethroberts.net/index.php
• Statistical Modeling, Causal Inference and the Shangri-Law Diet.
• A Pavlovian Theory of Weight Control.

Feel free to add more links in the comments. I've linked to the notable blogs that hit the topic in my main entry on the diet.

While many who grieve gain weight "there is great solace in food" a friend told me, there is more to surviving grief than eventually finding a way to lose the weight again. I've probably finished with blogging about the diet for a while after this burst in April (much of which I backdated, so it was never the current blog post on my blog and did not show up in the accumulators. I want the information where people can find it, but I don't want it overwhelming other things).

It is not is not the promises made, but that it delivers

The strange thing about Dr. Roberts' book is not the promises it makes, but that it delivers.

My book review

Also, as to the alternatives:

http://www.amptoons.com/blog/archives/2006/02/03/anti-fat-science-uk-edition/ -- must read for anyone who just says "exercise and eat less." As the author says: "I for one feel underwhelmed.

2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 and 10 can be summed up as "eat more fruit and veggies, and cut your calorie intake." (Number 9 doesn't appear at first glance to be a calorie-cutting tip, but when you read the details it turns out they think that people who eat in front of the TV eat more). 3 and 7 can be summed up as "exercise more." So 9 of the Top Ten Tips are the two most commonplace and well-known weight loss strategies known to humankind.

Do they honestly think that the 75% of fat people (80% of obese people) who want to lose weight have never thought of eating less and exercising more? That notion has just never been presented to them before January 2006, and that's why they're fat?

Good lord, how can these people look at themselves in the mirror? (Answer: they're thin, and to them that's the only criteria that matters.) What kind of brainless moron of a researcher brightly chirps to newspapers that fat people should try and lose weight by eating less and walking more, as if this is news?

J---s C----t! (And I say that as an atheist Jew.)"

Gorgeous
When you smile, the whole world comes alive
I love you

That is an example of the next three step pattern. It is a way to say "I love you" to your spouse or children. The steps are

1. A positive address (something that says "I love you" or "I value you" or "I adore you" or words that mean those messages).
2. Comment (positive feedback on something)
3. The "I love you" statement.
   
   

Precious
When you are kind like that, it makes me so happy
I hope you realize that your mother and I cherish you fiercely

There are many reasons why you should use this pattern, but using a three step "I love you" pattern makes your words more real, more nourishing, more connected. Especially in times of tragedy and despair, the words you use need to be real enough to nourish and connect.

Honey
Your new hair cut frames your face perfectly
I'm so happy to be married to you

The statements don't need to be connected or caused by each other and they don't need a point. They just need to be said, and they need to be said several times a day, without cross messages. (A cross message would be giving a loved one a nickname like "disaster" or "nimwitt" or anything else that doesn't carry love and admiration, or that focuses on a change you want made).

Babe
I love to lie next to you and just hear you breathe
You make me so happy

I love you.

Say it often.

---

BTW, next I'll post on the classic three step message. I was amazed to see in in action as a person in the grasp of narcissism was able to talk about how he had really made progress and communicated without his disorder submerging him. I was amazed, and it is a powerful tool.

Bitter words often go with terrible emotions. In the midst of them, you have to find ways to disagree without being disagreeable. To survive grief, it is another important skill.

There is an excellent essay on that, by Dr. Elgin, at Ozarque.

For a taste of what she is saying:

Rule 1 (The It-Should-Go-Without-Saying Rule)
Don't swear, don't use obscenities, don't use name-calling, don't use open insults, don't yell, don't get physical. Be civil.

Rule 2
Follow the language interaction traffic rules. That is: Listen with your full attention when the other person is talking; don't interrupt the other person; don't monopolize the conversation by delivering monologues instead of taking turns; don't have a tantrum.

Suggestion 1
If the other person does monologues at you, follow these steps.

Step 1. Match the rhythm of your body language to the other person's. Blink your eyes at the same rate; breathe at the same rate; nod your head at the same rate.

Step 2: Once your and the other person are synchronized for body language, start synchronizing with the words being spoken, saying something innocuous, speaking -- softly -- along with the other person and at the same speed. Use a phrase like "I hear you" or "Mmhmm" or "I see." Choose one phrase, and stick with it. You're not interrupting when you do this; you're supporting and helping. It's like pulling ahead of a car whose driver is obviously lost, getting the driver's attention, and leading the way to the next exit.

Step 3: Now that you and the monologuer are nicely matched, start slowing down your words and saying them more and more softly. Do this very gradually; let the other person follow you, very gradually, toward silence.

Suggestion 2
Do your best to put out of your mind the Disagreement Is Combat metaphor, where you blow the other person out of the water, tear their case apart, shoot down their arguments, and are obligated to WIN, no matter what it takes. Try Disagreement Is Carpentry instead, or some other non-competitive metaphor of your choice.

The essay has a number of good rules and suggestions and some interesting comments.

In addition, her book on the topic is still in print and available at Amazon.com or, in a special edition, at Barnes and Noble.

If you find yourself fighting or in the grips of continual disagreement following the death of a child, it helps to learn, once again, how to disagree without turning it into a cause for fighting.

Available by interlibrary loan almost anywhere.

BTW, as to one of her points, another sort of three part message

If you feel that you cannot avoid making a critical statement or a complaint or a request for a change in behavior, use a Three-Part Message for that purpose. [Posts on Three-Part Messages are at http://ozarque.livejournal.com/109401.html , http://ozarque.livejournal.com/110486.html , http://ozarque.livejournal.com/109957.html , and http://ozarque.livejournal.com/110211.html .]

I'll be blogging on that three step method and on how to tell people you love them (another three step method) in the future.

Divorce is almost certain with the death of a child. It does not have to be. You may not have chosen to go through the loss of a child, but there are things you can do to choose not to lose a spouse. This entry is about some of those things, and I'll blog more on this topic from time to time.

The first thing I would suggest is to be aware of, and careful with, three step patterns.

The most common three step pattern is the compliment, criticize, compliment pattern. That is, whenever you feel a need to criticize or correct your spouse, you should first say something positive about them, then make the suggestion, and then end on a positive affirming note.

Things to be aware of are:

1. Learn the pattern and learn to use it.

2. Learn the pattern and learn to not use it -- that is, learn to compliment and praise without following up with a criticism.

I've known people whose only exposure to a compliment or praise is as a part of this pattern. When I was first married, I would say something nice to my wife and often she would go "And?" There wasn't any "and." But, she was looking for the rest of the pattern, and there I was, stuck without any criticism to use to follow-up the positive note with.

I was just happy and sharing my happiness with her. She was waiting for the criticism. We've adjusted, and now she doesn't expect criticism to automatically follow any compliment.

You never want your spouse to react to any compliment by hearing only the incipient criticism to come. Be aware and be careful to say positive things without any agenda or purpose other than saying positive things.

3. Learn to complete the pattern. It is important to always end on a positive note.

It is easy, much to easy, to leave on a negative note. You don't want to do that, especially in the emotionally charged atmosphere of loss and pain that is already there when a child has died.

Reprising the words of the song:

I bruise you
You bruise me
We both bruise too easily
Too easily, to let it show
I love you and that's all I know.

All my plans
Are falling through
All my plans depend on you
Depend on you, to help them grow
I love you and that's all I know.

...

(most recently in Chicken Little)

I hope that if you are reading this, it helps you to find a positive note.

"I realized I did not know better." As I listened, it hit me, how many problems do we have that come from thinking that we know better? Better than our parents, our teachers, our God? As I watch my own children, especially my six year old, and listen to other people talk about how they really thought they knew better and now realize that they did not, I look at myself.

How many times have I thought I knew better, when in the end, I realized that the way I was following was not the better way?

---

It is really amazing just how many problems people get in because of one of two reasons:

1. The did not know better.
2. They thought they knew better (that what they had been told or experienced in the past).

Seeing all the things people have done wrong and have messed up because of one of those two reasons has really made me stop and think about what are the things I do not know and when are the times I think I know "better" and really don't.

We all remember times from when we were kids. We thought we really didn't need to study for a test, or really did not need to get to sleep or that we really could make it across that stream without falling in or really did not need a coat or ...

But there are times for adults too.

How do you deal with a Snarker? Everyone meets them, every office has one or two (if they are lucky) and even the bloggernacle has at least one.

The real question that a Snarker represents is how to deal with humorists. If you are Bill Clinton, how do you deal with Doonesbury?

You have several options. You can ignore a humorist. If everyone snubs them, they go away, though the world is often a grayer place without them. Not to mention, almost every community will generate its own humorist or two. In getting rid of one, you need to ask yourself what will take his or her (or their) place. If the Onion (or Sugar Beet) falls, what comes next?

You can fight with them. Shower them with attention and provocation. They will be grateful and you will encourage them to do whatever it was that got your attention to start a fight.

Or, you can try to encourage good humor and ignore the bad. Humorists generally broadcast for an audience. If what they do creates attention and comment, then they do more of whatever that was.

The maxim, of course, is that whatever you feed will grow. The approach to take to any humorist is to treat them like a bonsai, using all the tools available, to encourage the kind of humor that you want.

The rule works for a blogging community, a congregation or a classroom.

Good humor doesn't just occur on its own, it needs cultivation.

A complete collapse of hope and desire. That is what Russell Arben Fox is facing.

His essay has stimulated some very interesting comments and reflections.

I think that the Lord does not value us more when we are unbruised. All the guarantees of hope and blessings in the scriptures (I searched for them frantically, looking for a promise that things would be okay) concern the next life. For this life, he promises that he will always be with us, but not that our loves, our hopes, our families, our futures, or our self-conceptions will be. There is no terra firma, but just as surely, there is still the Lord.

Is one of them.

Read the comments and reflect.

---

One thing that really struck me as I was reading his post and going over my old on-line journal I kept at http://adrr.com/living/journal.htm is just how many typos I had in my writing then.

Some day I need to go back and clean up all the things I wrote to edit and clarify and remove the mistakes.

Which reminds me of Carol Lynn Pearson and a part of My Turn on Earth [the musical, not the song] where she implies that editing and clarifying is part of what God does for us after everything else, to give us meaning and perfection.

The play shares so much hope.

If you have any hope to share, please drop by the discussion about Fox's decision to stop blogging as he tries to salvage his life and share it with him.

[link]

Too often people react to their own histories and not the present.

You will find people reacting to
* people in their pasts
* events in their pasts
* problems in their pasts

Sometimes if you point out what they are doing to them, they immediately realize what they are doing (like when my brother said "but Grandmother, I'm Mark ..." and she immediately changed the way she was reacting), but often, even if you know what they are doing and tell them, they don't adjust. "It is 42!" "But, that was the math question from yesterday" is not the right response. Telling them makes the problem worse, it does not solve it.

There are many things that can only be heard by letting there be silence on your part.

Sometimes what we need to do is listen in order to listen. It can be a necessary use of silence. Too often people listen in order to speak when what they need to do is listen in order to listen. One way to catch yourself, is to hear your own questions. Do the questions have a point or are they questions. Is the question a prelude to speaking or is it a prelude to listening?

Sometimes the only way to the present is by listening and sometimes that can only happen if one person can be silent until the other person reacts to the present and not the past.

---

As an aside, I've been amazed at how often telling people the truth causes them to reject it or causes more harm than good. I remember a dear sister who saw a psychologist. "You are trying to be the child in the relationship instead of one of the adults" he told her. 100% right. She was grossly offended and told everyone and rejected what was the key part of what she needed to make progress. As I listened to her outrage I kept my peace -- telling her the doctor was right would not have helped, it would have only made her problem worse.

The Rotary formula of:

1. Is it the TRUTH?

2. Is it FAIR to all concerned?

3. Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?

4. Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?"

has a great deal of value. Metamessages aside (i.e. when you are asked "do these make me look fat" sometimes the real question is "do you still love me and find me attractive" and the way to answer "yes" is to not say "yes, they make you look fat."), what are we really doing if what we say is not fair, does not build goodwill, and harms instead of helps? I don't think it is communicating a truth that is worth being said.

Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius

In these Spiritual Exercises, when seeking the Divine Will, it is much better and more advantageous that the Creator and Lord should communicate to the devout soul, inflaming it with His love and praise, and disposing it for the way in which it will be better able to serve Him in the future. Thus, the one who is giving the Exercises should not turn or incline to one side or the other, but standing in the center like a needle on a scale so as to allow the Creator to act directly with the creature, and the creature with his/her Creator and Lord.

For more, see Christian Classics Ethereal Library at Wheaton College. Note that "All of the files linked here are in the public domain. Copy freely."

See also:

• Charles Finney
• Conversion v. Socialization
• Oxford Groups (before they degenerated)
  

---

BTW, I'm tempted to blog on why almost any nation that invests in weapons of mass destruction has just wasted a great deal of money. All of them provide less "bang for the buck" than conventional weapons. Nuclear weapons rot as they sit in silos (nuclear decay ...), Hitler never found a time he could use his nerve gas stockpiles effectively against military targets, biological agents are best used against populations that are less healthy than one's own ...

Even the printed information on fusion weapons (that focused on light pressure as the key to fusion) was misdirection. A nation-state has much better things it can do with wealth.

With rare exceptions (the capital of South Korea is within mortar range of the border with North Korea), that rule holds.

Anyway, the topic is away from the core of what I blog about, but I thought I would mention it. The times when a country should invest in nuclear weapons instead of conventional (or, better, infrastructure such as schools, roads, water and power) are extremely limited. I do not see anyone looking at the issues in those terms.

Peace.

May we have it, may we share it, may all find it.

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace,
that where there is hatred, I may bring love;
that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
that where there is error, I may bring truth;
that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
that where there is despair, I may bring hope;
that where there are shadows, I may bring light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort
than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life

St. Francis

With my vacation over, I've not had much time for blogging, though I've thought more on the thought that it is our weaknesses that bind us together and make us able to become what we should be. We are human, acting in faith, rather than static entelechies, isolated in perfection.

Also encountered A Prayer of Faith, a new group blog. I've high hopes for them.

I'm so sore from my work-outs, but happy too.

---

Note, Blogger has crashed this entry several times. I'm hoping the system starts working again soon. Guess the post will show up when it does.

Here's another guest post -- by Annegb:

I went on a cruise to Catalina Island and Ensenada, Mexico last week with my stepdaughter, Jessie. Cruises are over-rated, in my opinion. Not restful in the least. They show pictures of beautiful people lazing away on a sun-drenched deck with a waiter serving them Pina Coladas. It's not like that. It's wall to wall people with waiters tripping to serve them Pina Coladas, wall to wall gluttony, eating lobster and chocolate mousse, then refilling on shrimp salad sandwiches and sherbert two hours later.

But this isn't about cruising. I didn't know what to expect in Mexico, I don't like southern California at all and I was just humoring Jessie, letting her pick, it was her special trip. We got up in the morning docked off Ensenada.

The city looked promising in the early morning light, with the harbor water reflecting the sun and little boats all over. We got on a bus, incredibly rickety and went into the city to change buses or walk downtown.

As we got off the bus, a young mother came up to me to sell chimes. She wanted $5 for it. Jess herded me away, but I pulled out dollar bills from my pocket and stuffed a bill in each of the children who rather miraculously appeared and multiplied around me, being scolded by my daughter all the way.

We got on the bus, and the young mother went around to my window. I bought the chimes through the window and put a dollar bill in the tiny hand of the baby another woman held up for me to see with a pleading look.

It was a small thing.

Then we drove out to the blowhole, with our wonderful guide, Fernando (another younger man for me to fall in love with), telling us jokes and explaining the few sights--Costco and Radio Shack! The landscape reminded me of Tonopah, Nevada, where I grew up, scraggly bushes dotting the deserty mountains, ramshackle houses.

When we arrived at our destination, we headed for the toilets, 50 cents a pop. They were clean, with warm water and soap, and hey, double ply. Nothing to complain about there, I could have been home. Wal-Mart in Cedar City only has single ply.

I somehow immediately lost our group as I gawked and tried to speak to all the people asking me to buy stuff. I felt very important and rich, magnanimous in my smiles and como esta's.

I turned and some trinkets caught my eye. I immediately noticed the barren nature of the stall the boy was standing by, as compared to the others. Bare wood and dirt, unadorned by the colorful shawls and scarves, a small table with statues and bracelets. Maybe he was 10, maybe 11. No more. He was alone in his stall, no fat, happy, ebullient parents and silly siblings.

He didn't smile broadly and shout "hey, Amiga, buy!" He smiled thinly, with effort. His eyes were glazed, his color was bad. He looked tired. He caught me.

I stepped toward him and touched his arm and asked, "are you all right?" As I reached out, he flinched, then caught himself and tried to smile, apologetically. I took my hand back, but I wanted to draw him in and hold him close and fill him with my abundance, to warm him and comfort him.

I bought something, I don't know what. I didn't dicker, I just gave him the money and said, "God bless you" as I walked away.

Then I forgot him. I danced my way down the aisle of shops, having fun and buying stuff cheap, probably cheap stuff. I bought a hat which I must say made me look like a hot older woman and I bought dresses for my granddaughters and hammocks for my grandsons. I bought and bought and bought.

I bought and ate a seafood taco, the guacomole dripping through my fingers. I had my picture taken with four merry men dressed in black, with guitars. Happy men, happy pictures.

I gorged on stuff. I gorged on the act of buying, of being important to those poor people.

When I got back to the ship, I counted my bounty, sorted out what I give to who, sighed in satisfaction over the wood salad bowl and dishes, gawked at myself in that hat with my hoop earrings, "damn, I look good for an old woman."

But when I went to bed, when the lights were out, and I laid in my bunk, with high count sheets and the down comforter, that boy, his eyes, oh, his poor glazed sad eyes, they came back to haunt me.

How utterly selfish and self absorbed I was that day. How greedy. In the face of sorrow or whatever burdens those people hid behind their merry calls to buy, the face that young boy could not hide, though he tried. How could I have been so small minded?

I came home to my little house, small even in America, but clean and warm, well kept, comfortable. I will delight my granddaughters with those pretty dresses. Ryan and Forest will have a blast with the hammocks this summer, Grandpa will help hang them. Casey and Alex will love the marble game sets and Max will probably break his guitar the first twenty minutes.

And I will be haunted forevermore by that nameless sad child.

Just because things are known to be true doesn't mean we believe them. That recently came in focus when Naiah posted at FMH. Kindness, patience, grace: everyone knows them to be true principles. Yet, the trolls were out in force, trying to deface what was the brightest post I've read this year.

Too bad the trolls did not have either faith in the truth or the strength to embrace kindness, patience and grace.

Even worse, the trolls are sick enough that they do not feel shame and remorse for being trolls. Without recognition, they are unlikely to acknowledge their wrongs or their weakness, face their mistake and weakness, and in facing those, turn to God.

It is weakness, not strength, that binds us together and to God. We have weaknesses that they may become a source of strength to us (cf Ether 12). It is hard to remember that sometimes, and harder, still, to believe the things we know to be true and to let God in our lives.

---

Yes, I'm aware of Naiah's weaknesses (after all, her various blogs document them). Yes, I know that trolls are people too.

But, read her post, skip the comments, and may this week give you kindness, patience and grace.

As Naiah says:

I look forward to the stillness, the unperturbed stillness. It is an anchor, a point of sanity in a world gone awry. Eternal truth in all its depth and breadth and height is there as plainly manifest as the sun shining on me now.

From the very first of my return, (detailed here) I have known I was working my way back to the temple. I am almost there. I can’t wait. I can feel it in my veins… “Home. Welcome. Welcome Home. Time to let it go. Beat. Beat. Beat. Breathe. Beat. On and on.”

No matter how lost, no matter how much pain, may you be able to believe the things you know to be true and may you all find your way home.

The most flattering thing anyone ever said to me was a female attorney in our stake who remarked that she wished she had been one of our kids, which led several other adults to chime in that they felt the same way. Felt like a vote from my peers. My kids love me, but that is the nature of kids. I always loved my parents, never realized just how good they were until much later in life.

Now I'm grateful for them in a much deeper way, as well as loving them intensely.

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Not much else to blog right now. Saw Jeff Green today, Win and I had lunch with him, always makes us happy to get good news about he and his family and to see them.

Other than that, I did a guest post at Naiahdot. I've been waiting on Pistas3 (the founder of FAIR) to write a guest post for me, not getting around to doing my next guest post for Millennialstar (I've done a couple in the past and had one I started a few months ago, and never got done) and this one crept up on me when Naiah asked me to write it. The introduction is better than I deserve, but I was glad to write the post.

For spring break, I took the week off for vacation. On my time off I won a summary judgment motion (well, that is work, but it is also recreation for me), started a new exercise program and helped build a fort (a family project) in the back yard.

That fort is a lot larger than it looked at Costco (cheaper from the store than ordering on-line as well). Big enough for our family and lots of friends.

I'm glad we spent the last three days on it (among other things we did). More vacation to come. (And yes, center is Win, my dear wife, who, when someone realized she had laid the tile in our house said "she gives new meaning to the term 'homemaker' doesn't she?" At the JRCLS Christmas party I introduced her as "taller, better looking and smarter than I am, for which I'm grateful" and one of the other guy's wive's nudged him and said "I want that kind of introduction too." Better half? I just prefer to note "better." Or, as our kids say "the best.").

We are a two power drill family, and have double socket sets around. As a team, building the fort went a lot faster.

I made a mistake and my wife heard me talking to her. Ever since we were first married, I've talked to my wife in her sleep. I'd just be so happy with her and would have to tell someone. So, I'd talk to her while she was sleeping, telling her how wonderful she was. Last night, I was just too happy and woke up and was talking to her about what a neat friend and wonderful wife she was, when I realized she was awake.

She went "ahh" and went to sleep. This morning I was thinking about it and smiling and she just laughed at me. But she makes me so happy.

In recovery, grief differs from other afflictions in that once it starts, even when fatigue sets in, recovery just keeps happening. For an alcoholic, a compulsive overeater or someone similarly afflicted, when they have recovery fatigue, they can relapse. For them it is a great peril, but also a great freedom. Those walls they hit at three and five years are real walls, not just periods of pain that can only be embraced until the suffering grows dim.

That is something I learned from studying twelve step programs. Over the past thirteen or so years, there have been times I was so weary, when the warning "be ye not weary of well doing" really struck home. But I felt like I had no choice if I did not want to go septic, burying my grief and hiding from it in ways that could only make it worse.

I just realized that I had choice. Not a good choice, mind you, but that it was a choice, and that rebirth and renewal were choices, not unstoppable forces.

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Other than that, I've agreed to teach an ethics class, something I really enjoy doing. I confess that much of the way I present things depends on my audience. Not to mention, as an audience member in ethics I tend to be an essentialist, which is somewhat simplistic, and I don't compete with the presenters. When teaching, especially lawyers in practice, I tend to be much more lively and nuanced. With undergraduates I'm more bright line, but I love the topic.

Also started an a great exercise program -- they have a strong program for adults. It has been a long time since my bengoshi waza days, and I've always planned to return. Now that I've lost the weight, and found a great program, I'm excited. I know, it seems like no matter where I've been or lived I've always found things that I really enjoyed, but I'm still pleased. I'm looking forward to enrolling my youngest as well.

A figurative story is sometimes more important than the historic one. For example, the way this story is used to illustrate things in our own lives that are timeless:

... while that world was young, and we, too, were young and beautiful and full of life, a corner was turned. Something happened, which we have heard about, but never fully understood, or we would see it playing itself out every day of our lives, and more important, we would also see the chances given to us every day to reverse what happened.

'Now the serpent was the shrewdest of all the creatures the Lord God had made. "Really?" he asked the woman. "Did God really say you must not eat any of the fruit in the garden?"

"Of course we may eat it," the woman told him. "It's only the fruit from the tree at the center of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God says we must not eat it or even touch it, or we will die."

You won't die!" the serpent hissed. "God knows that your eyes will be opened when you eat it. You will become just like God, knowing everything, both good and evil."

The woman was convinced. The fruit looked so fresh and delicious, and it would make her so wise! So she ate some of the fruit. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her. Then he ate it, too. (Gen 3:1-6 NLT)

Alas.

There are no words.

Wail; beat your chest; fall to your knees; let out a long, lonesome howl of bitter remorse.

The woman was convinced. That's it? Just like that? In a matter of moments? Convinced of what? Look in your own heart - you'll see. Convinced that God was holding out on her. Convinced that she could not trust his heart toward her. Convinced that in order to have the best possible life, she must take matters into her own hands. And so she did. She is the first to fall. In disobeying God she also violated her very essence. Eve is supposed to be Adam's ezer kenegdo, like one who comes to save. ....

... Having forfeited our confidence in God, we believe that in order to have the life we want, we must take matters into our own hands. And we ache with an emptiness nothing seems able to fill.

(Captivating, by John and Stasi Eldredge -- pointed out to me by Elesaid)

We all seem to have that moment, when we feel that God is holding out on us, that we can not trust his heart towards us, when we have learned to fear the will of God.

Pain, resentment, prayers without answers we can understand -- all of these lead us to the point where we need God, we need to trust in a power greater than ourselves, but we have learned to fear that there is something better if we just don't follow God, because God is holding out on us and the only solution is to find another way.

Which cuts us off from the path that can heal us, which is the human condition.

We are bounded by time, and the real test is to find a way to trust God to order our time in the way that leads us to finding hope, faith and love -- the things we truly need.

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The importance of a figurative story is that we can apply it to our own lives. Such a story is told not necessarily as it really happened, but in a multileveled way that allows us to see ourselves in it.

Thus Eve can be seen as someone who chose to experience life, to know good from evil, to experience hardship, pain and choice, that she could grow. Each of us can look at ourselves as having made the same choice by being born. But we can also see in our own lives other levels of the story, especially the temptation to believe that there is no other way to have what we want than by disconnecting from God and that our great challenge is to find that connection again.

That is why we have figurative stories, to find multiple levels in them.

"Stay away from that racist." The warning was clear, blunt and hostile. The sergeant getting the warning was African-American, the person he was being warned against eating lunch with was my dad, another sergeant. The guy giving the warning had an extra stripe or two, but was part of the squadron.

"He's a Mormon *&* and you know how they are."

"Yeah, I know" replied the sergeant. "When the shippers screwed up and I went more than two months without my car showing up, Marsh here was the only person who would give me a ride to work. Every morning he drove over from Landstuuhl, crossed the base, out the other side, to my house, picked me up and drove us both to work. Every night he drove me home. Never asked me for a penny, never hassled me, the only one of you man-jacks who doesn't swear at me."

"I know who the racists are, and I know who the Christians are in this group. I'll sit with Swampy here."

Made me proud of my dad. Kind of like how I felt on learning that when my grandfather's first pastor joined the KKK my grandfather found another church. Sometimes actions are the only true message.