Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Silly Captive Words: California

Do you have moments when you are content to be in a supine position? Your back is on the floor, Norah Jones sets the ambiance, and you could simply exist in limbo for hours. I think it's a blessing to catch these moments. They contain a therapeutic element; a means of catharsis. Dive in deeper with me. Your back isn't just on the floor, it's on the sand. Norah Jones may be playing, but if she is it's only a small tune in the back of your mind. The real music comes from the gulls and the waves and the people. The gulls cry out in a weary melody. The waves are the beat. The people offer up the lyrics not so much in words as in the ever present rumble of humanity. It's a good noise.
Maybe you have your favorite novel in hand. But remember, for every word on the page there are a thousand pictures all around you and every picture is worth a thousand words. These words aren't held captive, either. No amount of cleverness could ever capture them. Not even the most skilled author could chain these words to a page, because these words are wild. They were never meant to be tamed. They are embodied in the jellyfish on the beach, the shell in the little girls hand, the sand castle the boy and his dad made from wet sand, driftwood, and seaweed. Who are you to read silly captive words in this singular moment full of the wild words?
 The waves are full of stories better than anything you brought along. Listen to them. One has a tale of sadness. The fisherman down the way lost his boat. He couldn't make the payments. But the next wave is playful. She and the breeze have become friends. The breeze picks up a sun hat lying on an empty chair. He tosses it into the waiting hands of the wave who pushes it about until the elegant lady it belongs to rescues it. She has to get wet and though she huffs about it she really enjoyed the moment of childlike innocence as the wave washed around her, the hat in tow. The wave never intended to keep it anyway. She just wanted to play.
The sun falls from the sky much faster than any of the kids would like, but he is tired. He had so many hearts to warm and souls to rescue from the darkness. All he has strength for is one last hour of pink and orange draped across white clouds and then he sinks into the sea for a much needed nap.
Each moment has a thousand pictures and each picture is worth a thousand words. Don't miss the wild words because your mind is too engrossed in the silly captive ones. There will be time for those when the sun is sleeping, I reckon.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Perfect Timing: Utah

I think it's high time for a post on gratitude. It might be wise to limit it to things that I am grateful for this week, though, because a more extensive list may have me writing 'til the wee hours of the morning.
I have never agreed with the mentality of saving the best for last. I don't really like waiting for surprises. Either I am going to be surprised now or I am going to be surprised later so why draw it out, yeah? Anyway, enough of my opinions. 
I am very grateful that my Heavenly Father knows exactly what I need. I say that with a grain of salt because I feel that trials keep stacking up. Someone keeps putting rocks in my backpack. Fortunately, our wonderful Father in Heaven sends me little shots of light that I can tuck away for later. Today's little boost was found in Alma 17 and when I say it was found there I mean it was encompassed in the entire chapter. I love it. The Lord  had me in mind when He said and did those things. I am sure of it and I say it without irony. He had just completed the Atonement and I would like to think that everything He suffered was not so soon forgotten. I am sure the pain was still very real in His mind, easily recalled but easily relieved because He had also completed the single greatest act in human history. He had created a way for our pain to find relief, our burdens to be laid aside, and our sins to be swept away in a flood of compassion. That is what I am thankful for. 
Also, I am grateful for friends who are exceedingly patient with my nonsense. It's like hanging around a moody little weasel. You never know when it'll snap, and if you're not careful you have a furry demon up in your grill. Ok, it's not that bad, but nevertheless I still have great friends who put up with a lot of junk from me. 
Lastly, I am eternally grateful for my family. They are so great. 'Nuff said. Words don't really describe my family. You really just have to be fortunate enough to know them to know what I mean. 
So in all reality this is not the most epic post or even the least bit entertaining. The good news is that it's all true. Remember to cultivate and attitude of gratitude because I reckon that, just as Elder Richard Scott said, we can find peace and comfort in our trials and pain.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

My Friends Mike and Angela: Part 2: Missouri

Angela is one of the most inquisitive people I know. After we met her on that wonderfully cold night we continued to teach her and her daughter about the gospel and the Plan of Salvation. Angela read almost everything we gave her and sometimes a lot more. She would be prepared with questions. I love the quizzical look she would get on her face when she absorbed some new bit of information. Her mane of curly hair stuck out and her eyebrows would come together and then it would click and she would softly say 'Ohhh, I get it' and then she would smile. She let the Holy Ghost teach her so quickly. She, like Nathaniel, was without guile.
After some time, though not much, Angela made the fateful decision to be baptized. She honored me by asking me to baptize her, though the real credit of her baptism goes to the Holy Spirit and Elder Adamson Bryner, a dear friend of mine who helped her understand the importance of baptism.
The day of her baptism was filled with suspense. She often arrives for things just in the nick of time, and her baptism was no exception. I was dressed in white, and so was she. As we sat next to each other I couldn't help but smile as I thought of the miraculous way in which she found the church. Heavenly Father knows us, His children. He knows where to find us. He knows how to help us. He knew that Angela was ready to accept the gospel and He sent us, two young missionaries and a dear friend named Mike. I cannot express the love I feel for my Savior, my Heavenly Father, Angela, Mike, and all the others who have touched my life with their love and faith.
Do you think the Lord knows you? I reckon so.