Do what YOU do, because of who YOU are.

I was talking to my son today and he made the comment that he needed to call someone to apologize for being a jerk on the phone. He went on to say that his actions were in response to the way they had treated him earlier. It reminded me of a story that I have told my children time and time again. It goes like this…

Once upon a time; there was a young scout walking into a store he looked ahead and saw an elderly lady coming so he grabbed the door and dutifully held it open for her. She walked by without acknowledging him. He turned to enter the store as she turned to him and with a bitter tone snarled out “listen here little boy. I don’t need you to hold the door open for me because I’m old, or because I’m a woman.”  To which the boy simply smiled and said “mama I didn’t hold the door open for you because you’re a woman or because your elderly. I held the door open for you because I’m a gentleman.” With that he turned again and went on his way.

The moral of the story is this “Do what you do because of what you are” not for those around you, not because others are watching, not because it’s convenient but simply because that’s who you are.

This is a double edge sword however, if we act mean or rude we must own it as well. If that’s not who you want to be, than change. It’s that easy. But how we act is who we are, we can do better or worse, it’s up to us to decide. We cannot and should not blame others for the way we act, saying something like “well I only act that way because they are a jerk.” or “Well they cut me off.” Or “They made me so mad that I lost my temper.”  Nope! it won’t fly!  On that day when we stand before our Maker; He won’t, for a second’ buy that excuse. I am in charge and accountable for me and my actions! No one can make us act a certain way. It’s just an excuse and He expects better of us.

Good news/ bad news, no matter where you are or how you are treated, if you treat others with dignity and respect; you get to own it. (Winner, that’s who you are). If you are rude and intolerant of others regardless of the circumstances or worse because of the circumstances, you get to own that two (sadly, that’s just who you are).

 

 

My dad is a work horse and my ramblings

The other day as I was driving home I heard the question on the radio,” If you were an animal, what animal would you be?” After thinking this out with no real answer for myself, I began to think of others. Then my thoughts settled on my Dad I started to think what would he be if he were an animal? The thing that stuck as I reviewed all the possibilities was a “work horse”.

This thought brought to mind the first time I saw a real work horses in action. It was at the Idaho State Fair when I was in my teens. The announcer told us that these horses were in the light weight class. They were younger, smaller (still huge) horses and would come out nervous and prancing. They were hard to handle and you could feel their pent-up energy about to be released.  Farm hands would wrestle and pull or even some times drag on the reins trying with all their might to keep all that power under control. I couldn’t believe they were the light weight class. There was a large metal hook that was connected to the team of horses that was dropped into a ring on the weighted sled. This was what would connect them and they could then start to pull. The goal was to pull it a certain distance then they would stop. Each round more weight would be added to the sled making it harder to pull. When the sled was too heavy to be pulled the full distance, who ever pulled it the farthest was the winner. Sometimes the horses would hear the “clink” of the hook connecting them to the sled and they were off. Leaving men to jump out of the way scrambling for their life to get out of the way of the runaway weighted sled. I heard that fingers would be cut off if the guy hooking the team up wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes they would miss the hook and the team would take off without the sled and drag the handler down the track. Wide eyed I moved down to the arena fence and knelt down so I could get an up close look at these awe inspiring athletes work.  

 

Each class of horse brought out bigger and bigger animals. I remember still the impressive, mammoth creatures that came out as they introduced the heavy weight class grand champion team from last year as they entered the arena to make their pull. An older gentleman was handling them and he spoke softly to them as they moved. He called each of them by name and they would respond to his confidant quiet voice. These extra large athletes were calm and well mannered. It seemed to me that the three of them had a relationship probably from countless hours over the past years of working together day after day. Each knew what the other needed and wanted instinctively. The handler dressed in his warn out coveralls walked them in and backed them up to the sled calm as a Sunday morning. They stood there while they were hooked up and I noticed that the old guy never stopped talking to them. Always calling them by name, calm and reassuring he issued every instruction with the flip of this or that reign. They waited quietly for the command to perform.  When he was ready and everyone was out of the way he, calling them by name asked if they were ready, then just made a clicking noise. These two giants in perfect unison took a step forward and leaned into their harnesses. Up on their toes, with hoofs sinking into the soft arena floor, muscles bulging, veins popping the harness pulled tight into their skin and they began slowly to move the heavy overloaded sled forward. Slow at first then building speed, step for step till they crossed the finish line at a good pace. It was a sight I will never forget.

As I reflected on the animals attributes and likening them to my father I came up with the following;

Dad has always been a real eager go-getter. In my mind he is unstoppable when he puts his mind to something. Sometimes when I was young I would see him much like those strong, young, high strung horses. He would charge into a problem knowing he could do, or overcome whatever the challenges may be, and most of the time he could and would. Once in a while this high-strung approach would create a situation that… (Later much later) we could reflect on and get a little chuckle out of.

Raised a farm boy in Vernal UT he has worked hard his whole life, from early in the morning till late at night. It would seem like all those years of hard charging has extracted a toll on him. He gets up a little slower now with a few grunts, his joints don’t move like they use to and he doesn't heal as quick when he gets kicked or bucked off. But he still works hard and can out work most of the young guys in spite of the creaks and pain his body now offers him. He is calmer these days as he moves into a new project. Still sure he can and will come out on top. Time, a large Idaho farm and six teen age children have rode the rough off of him, smoothed out the edges of this old rolling stone. Now he is more like the seasoned grand champion team I witnessed that won the state competition so long ago.

As I made this comparison it got me thinking. I thought about the team of horses pulling together in perfect unison and their handler talking so softly. I could not get the memory out of my head, how they worked so well together knowing each other’s thoughts, moves, even intentions. The parallel was too close to home to be missed. My Mom, his partner, best friend, consultant, right hand and helpmate, I realized that he had lived his life with all the ups and downs as a team evenly yoked with her. That she was an intricate part of his success, no their success. She has always been there step for step in every situation in every success and setback. They move in perfect unison each pulling their weight, responding to the constant gentle commands of their master.

At least that’s how I see it. My parents are work horses!

 I love my dad and mom.

How is it we can remember to forget?

“...Sometimes we can actually change the past. Because the only part of the past that  is still alive in the present. Is the story we tell our selves. About what the past means. When we change that meaning. We can change the past.” –Wendy Ulrich, Ph.D., M.B.A.,

 

This is a subject that has been on my mind for some time now.

I recently heard that we rewrite our personal history over and over based on whether we want to remember our history in a positive light or a negative one. How is this right? Can we at will rewrite history based on whether we’re feeling good or bad? Like someone or hate them? Yes we can, and we do it all the time. How is this fair to the others in our memories? Well it’s not fair, and it’s just that simple.

So many things play into how we choose to remember. Like how we’re feeling that day, good mood or a bad one, future grievances or perceived wrongs, a difference in perspective for example; two people can watch the same movie and have a totally different outcome. One may love it for the romance and the person right next to them may hate it for the violence. They will inevitably have a deferent personal perspective or history on the memory of that movie. Even worse let’s say they both love it as they leave the theater that night. Both laughing and reciting the funny lines that made them laugh. Then a week or so later one will remember that they didn’t really like the leading lady or the way she acted in one of the scenes. And now that they think about it they really didn’t even like the film or the theater.  Now that person may subconsciously or consciously rewrite how they felt about that whole evening. In so doing they will influence the history of that same time for those involved perhaps inviting them to reconsider their take on how they really felt, thus rewriting history. We all do it every day.

So it is with life, and this really bugs me. I would like it if everyone remembered my life and the things I or we have done the same as I do, but they don’t, nor should they. Whether it’s a difference of perspective or perhaps they have just chosen to rewrite history for a more convenient truth I don’t know. Maybe it’s all me and the desire as an eternal optimist to remember everything as the good ol days, seen through my rose color glasses. (Did you get that? I just admitted, I think??, That I like to rewrite my history in a positive light)

Now I’ll be the first to tell you that my stories may not be true, but they dang sure are the way I remember them. My childhood for example, we were poor Idaho farmers. We didn’t have money for a big screen TV or even a color TV we just had one 13” black and white TV with rabbit ears (ask your grandpa) and no remote that got 4 channels that’s all. Hardly ever anything good on, and if you watched it you did it as a family and watched what your dad wanted to watch. No computer, iPod or cell phone, as a matter of fact we were on a party line meaning that you shared you phone line with 3 or 4 other families and if they were on it talking, you couldn’t be. We didn’t have money or time for lessons or activities of any kind really, although in my youth I did take piano for a couple of years (Ms. Capp I Love You). We didn’t “hang out” with friends all the time although we did get a friend to come over from time to time. Time was spent mostly working on the 600 acre farm. It seems to me that work started most days on the farm at 5am except for Saturday which started earlier.  Dad would get Bryan and me up and we would go out to start the day. We would come back in for breakfast and sometimes cook it for the whole family. It was always big and you ate all you could kuz breakfast may be all you got till dinner that evening. Dad could be rough on Bryan and me from time to time too. Now some might say it was a bleak time or that we were held back, unfulfilled, and overworked. I could look at all I didn’t have or didn’t get and weep softly, but I will and do tell everyone it was the best childhood that anyone could have hoped for. You see once and a while the work would get done and there would be time for us to do whatever we wanted, well whatever we wanted, that you could do for free… on the farm… in the middle of nowhere… which is exactly what we did. I wish you could see the full, warm smile spread over my face as I tell the stories that and remember all the things we or I was able to dream up.

 I think the statute of limitations has gone by and there are no charges that can or need to be pressed.

 So I don’t mind telling you a few. Like the time I stayed home sick (I was faking) from school and set fire to the old log cabin outside our house. I thought it would be a good idea to fill the inside corner of the cabin with dry tumble weeds and set them on fire. They would burn up in one big whoosh, with flames licking and rolling around the roof and rafters and then just like that, nothing would be left but some red embers floating in the air. I repeated this for a while till my A.D.D. kicked in and then I was off to do whatever I wanted next. Apparently one of the red embers found a spot to smolder kuz several hours later dad and mom (who were working in a field far away) saw the gray column of smoke rising and they rushed back to the house to see what was burning, thinking it was the house of course. They saw it was the old log house and dad came in and got me by the nap of the neck. That is to say kicked my butt all the way out to the fire and handed me the garden hose to spray the fire. I will always remember the school bus driving by slowly with all the leaning out the windows pointing at the fire and me in my pajamas with one slipper on and a garden hose sprinkling the rubble of the old log house.

Another time when I was about 14, I faked sick, I decided to go hunting and I loaded up the 20 gauge shotgun and the 22 rifle and was about to head out to go rabbit hunting. I was sitting on mom and dad’s bed, as that’s the room where all the guns were kept. When I stood up to leave I accidently pulled the trigger on the 22 that I thought was empty and it went off. Sure I freaked out for a minute but when I calmed down I realized there was now a bullet hole over their bed in the ceiling. What to do? In a moment of shear brilliance I decided to put a Band-Aid over the hole.  Now for sure mom and dad would see this Band-Aid and of course they would naturally call me in for questioning first. But my plan was to coolly and calmly look at it and tell them how strange it is for them to have a Band-Aid on their ceiling. Knowing all along that they would never get a ladder to climb up and check it out only to find the bullet hole that would really get me in trouble. It worked flawlessly!!!!! I believe on the day we moved out that Band-Aid was still there. 

Or the time Bryan and I told Jolene (our younger sister) she could be in our club if she agreed to go through our initiation. It took place on this particular time in an old log cabin this is not the one I burned down. This one didn’t have a roof, just 4 log walls. We poured out a large circle of gas in the sandy dirt floor then sprinkled 22 shells into the gas ring and told her to stand in the middle, and then we lit it on fire. Sure it sounds bad now but then, to us it sounded like fun… well at least to Bryan and me. We didn’t make her stand there too long, she kept asking for permission to run out, (she was always so obedient) We told her to get out, after all we didn’t want to have to explain it to mom on the trip to the hospital. She ran out of the ring of death and the walled room and sometime after shells started going off. If you had asked us at the time”what were you thinking?” We would have said. “We’re thinking how surprising it was that it took so long for a shell soaked in gas to go off. However when Jolene found out that all we did in our cub was find more ways to torment our little sisters, strangely she didn’t want to be in our club anymore? Girls?? Go figure.

So why go on and on about this? My child that’s why! I overheard one of my children telling his grandma that it was a good thing that his mom and dad got a divorce because they were always so unhappy. How untrue could this possibly be!!!  Our life of almost 21 years together was by-and-large great, (until the end) I remember we spent a lot of time laughing. We had rough times but I always believed we could and would do better. This is how I remember it. We had photo albums full of happy faces so I can believe it is not just me tainting my memories with my rose colored glasses.
Now I could see how he may remember unhappiness as the kids didn’t know that my wife had asked for a divorce a long time before they knew about it, and we actually did divorce. So for the last three + years of our marriage she was trying to get rid of me and I was desperately trying to keep us together. However she had already found my replacement. So in the final days there was friction all the time.

My hope and prayer then is that as my kids look back they will hold onto the good and fun memories we did have, putting these first, and chose to remember with fondness the good rather than let the bad overcome and overwhelm, destroy and eventually forget altogether that which was good. Hence rewriting history from what it was into just what we remember.   
2012






 

Based on my thoughts after listing to a BYU Devotional;

David Paxman, Zoram and I,  2010

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwJSUgUmKcY

If not you Than who???

I’ve heard it said that just outside our comfort zone is the Lords work zone.  

I was out shopping this weekend with my wonderful wife when down one of the many aisles I saw a beautiful young mother to be who was very, very heavy with child. Her countenance glowed and the smile on her face told me she was a happy person. I said to myself “bless her heart “ and thought for a moment how we all could be a little more thankful for the woman that have brought us into this world and their sacrifices in giving us life.

Later after we had checked out and my wife had gone to get one last thing I waited alone at the exit and I again saw her and this time with her family, she was there with her husband and their young child. All were smiling and having a good time. They seemed picture perfect. They were young and were just at the beginning of this adventure of life.  It seemed that they were happy and well adjusted. It brought me joy to see the sincere expressions of happiness in their lives.

Then I reflecting in that split second on my life, and the ugliness and heart break of divorce I said a quick prayer that they might remain a happy family. As I prayed I thought of the importance of the gospel in our life's and how it helps us all be better people, to try harder and treat each other with love and respect and how if they had that in their life it may give them better chances to resist the world as it tries to rip them apart, and remain a happy family. So I added in my prayer “Please father bless them that they might come to the knowledge of the gospel  and the happiness it would bring to their life's.” as I prayed the words came into my mind “share the gospel with them” they had already passed me and were out in the parking lot headed for their car. I can’t (I said back confidently in my thoughts, brushing it off) I don’t know how.? What would I say? What if they thought I was a stocker, freak or weirdo? (now pleading)Haven’t I prayed for them? Isn’t that my part?  Will you please send someone to tell them? They need this gospel!!! The thought came again “Go now, you can still catch them.” In my heart I felt heavy, now my eyes started to fill with tears as I fought the paralyzing fear that held me in place. Softly and sheepishly I thought “I can’t….” As I watched them step into the darkness of that Saturday evening the next thought filled my mind and echoing in my soul and was left to haunt me, was “If not you then who?"

1 Nephi 8;12 And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy; wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit.