On Standing

I like to avoid being angry whenever possible.

I’m a firm believer in the freedom of speech.

I believe that all people, regardless of social, political, religious or moral background should not only be allowed to, but should be encouraged to speak their minds and stand up for what they believe in.

I don’t believe in boycotting people or organizations just because I don’t completely agree with their point of view or their social activism.

I believe that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God,

but I can’t stand with someone who uses vulgarity to defend the word of God or reduces straight or gay relationships to a market of consumption of sexual pleasure

and I sincerely hope that when people think of Christian values, the first image that comes to their mind is the bearded Son of Man who saved mankind, not a bearded reality tv star with a duck call.  

Two Good Things Used for Evil

Today I'd like to talk about two quite good things that have been misused for evil.

One: Hand Sanitizer 

Hand sanitizer is great. It provides a great hand washing alternative when hand washing is unavailable. I am very happy to see hand sanitation stations in such places as schools, libraries and hospitals. However, they have also been finding their way into many a public restroom, something I worry about. Sadly, putting and sanitizer next to a hand washing sink, makes some people believe it is a satisfactory substitute for hand washing. This is an evil lie. It's not enough to kill 99.9 percent of germs. You need to wash them away.It's just not sanitary to carry thousands of dead germ-bodies on your hands.

Good hand washing involves running water - preferably hot, soap - to build a contaminant catching lather and lots and lots of friction.

Two: Biodegradable Stuff

I'm all for decreasing humanities environmental footprint. The less synthetic trash we can pile up, the better. Therefore, I'm glad that so many companies nowadays are reducing the amount of synthetic material in their products and using more and more biodegradable stuff. A biodegradable chip bag is great because after some time in a landfill, the circle of life eliminates its effect on the environment. The problem with biodegradable stuff is that many people think this thought, "It's biodegradable, so if I throw it on the ground, it's not littering." You stupid, evil people. Just because something is biodegradable, doesn't mean it's good for the local ecosystem. Zebra muscles are biodegradable, but they're really really bad for the lake. Chewing gum is biodegradable, but it's not fit for squirrel consumption. The last thing you want is a squirrel to choke to death on your chewing gum. Besides, Bio-degradation takes time. If you throw it out your window today, it won't be gone tomorrow. It will be making things ugly for weeks, months and potentially  years before it becomes one with the earth. I think at the pinnacle of evil cigarette butts. Yes, they are technically biodegradable, but they still contain trace carcinogens, look ugly and turn your slow suicide into way more poison than it's worth.

So please use trash receptacles, compost piles and recycling centers.

That is all.

Learning To Pray, Getting to Know God

“If you want to be really good at something, you’ve got to spend time doing it.” Sister Kunz specified. In order to be really good at prayer, we need to spend time doing it, and man was I determined. Driving back to Storm Lake after zone conference, my mind whirled with what I could do to pray stronger. I would buy a journal. I would brainstorm. I would search the scriptures. I would wake up. I would speak up. I would kneel up. I would visualize the Father, my faith firm in the express image of the Father in the Son and my heart strung with the beautiful art of He who walked in Galilee. I was determined to pray longer, to seek Him more diligently than I ever had. Not long after beginning this journey, I remembered the admonition to pray in closets and realized mine would be the perfect pondering palace. A new light bulb gave dazzling light. I set up a little table and a picture of the risen Lord. I cushioned my knees.

The experience was life changing. I treated my time with my Father as the most professional, yet intimate of interviews and He reciprocated. I was taught in my mind and in my heart. I was lead through the pages of the scriptures, the words illuminating my understanding. I let down much of my “know it all” barriers and learned things I thought I knew, for real this time. I would come to Him with questions I had spent time pondering. I wrote them down, asked, received, wrote, asked, received, wrote. I felt divine inspiration for what to ask next. As I honed in on gratitude, it was easier to notice the things to be grateful for. I remember one particular Sunday, writing something down to express gratitude every other minute in sacrament meeting, so excited share my list that evening on my knees. I focused on others, seeking their needs and praying earnestly for them by full names. As I did this, I grew the most.

One particular night of learning how to pray, particularly impacted me. It was one of those moments where things that I always knew by the word, became flesh, became real. I was praying in my closet and about to close, when a thought crossed my mind to say something that wasn’t very new. In prayers in groups, I am frequently heard saying, “We love thee, Lord.” As the thought crossed my mind to express such sentiment, I realized, among all my prayers, I had never expressed love to the Father personally. Feeling kind of silly, I paused, opened my eyes and looked at the picture of the savior I had pinned to my wall. Awkwardly, I spoke aloud the words, “I love thee, Lord.” and paused. It made me feel weird at first. The words were clumsy on my tongue, but undeniable peace filled my closet. I thought for a moment I could feel a warm, calm hand on my shoulder. I listened carefully to the silence around me and could hear the voice of God speak aloud the words, “Joshua, I love you too.”

It was then that I realized that God is a perfect, glorified, Man of Holiness. Were we in a literal interview with him, He would hug us and we would feel it. Were we looking across a desk into His eyes, clumsily fumbling over our words, He would look back at us, through the window of our souls and upon our hearts and tell us He loves us. I’ve spent countless hours on my knees in humble prayer before Him. I have cried unto Him in the night. The Holy Spirit has made “intercession for (me) with groanings which cannot be uttered.” I have plead with Him for forgiveness in my darkest hours and beheld His glorious light.

Too often, I think we think of church and prayer and scriptures as just “good things.” I think we keep commandments as long as it’s convenient. Too much we think of the gospel as good headlines in the newspaper. We’re glad of it, but it’s too far away to really seem real, but God is real. Faith is following Him. Faith is serving Him till death and beyond. Faith precedes the miracle, the greatest of which is when our faith becomes dormant, when we look up and realize that not only do we know God lives, but we know God.

Come to Him. Be meek and lowly in heart. Find rest to your souls. 

Perhaps this means something.

The following is random selections from books on my shelf strung together like a macaroni necklace.

The first man, who, after enclosing a piece of ground, took into his head to say, “This is mine,” and found people simple enough to believe him, was the true founder of civil society. Inside, you’ll read about one company that’s taking a huge stake in China’s new pebble bed reactor development. You can trade this one right on the New York Stock Exchange. A bride-to-be would do well to ask herself, “Can my sweetheart manage money?” “Does he know how to live within his means?” These are more important questions than, “Can he earn a lot of money?”

The essential condition for the existence of sway of the bourgeois class, is the formation and augmentation of capital; the condition for capital is wage-labor. Wage-labor rests exclusively on competition between laborers. 3. Political power, then, I take to be a right of making laws and penalties of death, and consequently all less penalties, for the regulating and preserving of property, and of employing the force of the community  in the execution of such laws, and in the defense of the commonwealth from foreign injury; and all this only for the public good.

Grammatically, Burmese does not have noun declensions, or verbal inflections, so it has a more straightforward grammar than many European languages. It does however use many postpositions and auxiliary verbs that have important grammatical functions and associated shades of meaning. It signifies, let us have the courage to face it, a will to nothingness, a revulsion from life, a rebellion against the principle conditions of living. And yet, despite everything, it is and remains a will. Let me repeat, now that I have reached the end, what I said at the beginning: man would sooner have the void for his purpose than be void of purpose…

Voltaire obtained the basis for his wealth more from a lucky lottery speculation in Paris, than from any of his writings. Serve Man was the club’s motto – and it slowly dawned on me what this meant. Yes, cannibalism was alive and well in London’s Pall Mall, it looked as if, while I should soon me dead, I should not be much buried – just stewed, with, I trusted, at least a fine garnish. Later that day they were successful in their cooperative hunting. Frightful caught a rat.

Yesterday Peter and I finally got down to our talk, which had already been put off for at least ten days. I explained everything about girls to him and didn’t hesitate to discuss the most intimate things. The evening ended by each giving the other a kiss, just about beside my mouth, it’s a really lovely feeling. He favored me with a contemptuous stare, “If I raised never a hand for that poor fool,” – pointing astern to the tiny sail – “d’ye think I’m hungerin’ for a broken head for a woman I never laid me eyes upon before this day?” I must do some algebra – Kitty. Goodnight.

“What’s rape?” I asked him that night. Atticus looked around from behind his paper. He was in his chair by the window. As we grew older, Jem and I thought it generous to allow Atticus thirty minutes to himself after supper. He sighed, and said rape was carnal knowledge of a female by force and without consent. According to the Afrikaners, white Christians are destined by God to remain apart and above all other races. Said one Afrikaner of the ideal of racial apartheid, “The more consistently the policy of apartness could be applied, the greater would be the security for the purity of our blood and the surer our unadulterated European racial survival.”

Loneliness

Loneliness

Beyond the bar, one line short of music,

Beyond the crosses, one line long of tic-tac-toe,

Beyond the boxy squiggle snaking,

the Rubik’s cubist making,

the jaw wand gaping, and Picasso Pac men

thrash-squabbling a second unsolved not-quite Rubik,

Beyond the then beyond, multi-personal sunshine,

Beyond the Yellow-Red-Blue

Behind the whole Wassily Kandinsky, pacing in its frame-cage,

Behind the frame-cage,

Behind the beige, royal stamps on the

off-white wallpaper,

Behind the headaching orange paint it covered,

stood plain gray drywall, friendless, alone.

 

John Cage's 4'33

John Cage’s “4’33””

Movement I

Tacet.

The beat begins.

The steady rhythm pulses

pulses. pulses. Someone coughs.

Solo Rubato.

A chair creeks.

Ritardando.

A child fusses.

Diminuendo. 

The tension rises.

appassionato.

The beat increases.

Breathing stilled.

Maestro pauses, so strong willed.

Movement II

Tacet.

A Tempo,

Smoother, spianato

Lights on the stage hum something legato.

Sisters, row seven, simultaneously shift their position.

The air conditioning clicks on and each ear takes a listen.

Quick mezzo-forte the crowd grows restless.

Four guests cough, one sneezes, one blesses.

The air clicks off. Recapitulation.

Breath blends with buzzing, tight intonation.

The final two measures are measured and still

The maestro ceases and puts down his quill.

Movement III

Tacet

Allegro,

Snare clock ticking,

subdivided by wristwatch cadences clicking.

Restless leg tapping fast slapping the floor,

accents, staccato, scatter the score.

A beep, babe asleep, hiccup peep, wake and weep.    

Subito piano a rushed hush meant to keep

the silent tension alive, well, and deep.

But the buzzing of lights and the AC swell rises.

Maestro’s eyes widen at climactic surprises.

A quiet sforzando of audience stretching

and improvisational serenity sketching.

He holds the fermata to 4’34.

The concert hall bursts in applaudious roar.

Oh Say, What is Truth?

            Let’s be honest. I’m not going to lie. I’m going to be real straight forward here. The truth is on our minds all the time. It sneaks its way into our everyday conversations. It skips onto our facebook feeds. It jaunts into our essays and blog posts. We think about it. We talk about it. Not always, but sometimes, we dream about it. A few times, it’s a nightmare. It’s cold and hard and will always set you free. The truth will set you free… unless you’ve done something really bad. Then, you should probably plead the fifth and get a lawyer. He’ll mold the truth into something much more manageable. But is that real freedom? Is this really truth? How, really, should we manage the truth? Who’s really right? What is the truth about the truth? Now we’re on to something. What is the truth about the truth? This is an important question, because, really, you can know all you want to know, but unless you know what to do with it, you know nothing. With so many truths out there, many that contradict, before you start deciding for yourself which you believe (or much more seriously, what you know), you need to decide your relationship to truth.  

I propose that there are two dangerous extremes when it comes to the truth. The first is what I call “Radical Truth.” The second is Moral Relativism or “Relative Truth.” I’d like to briefly discuss both, and introduce what I think is the better way, the truth about truth.

First, Radical Truth is truth monopoly. Subscribers to this idea affirm the existence and importance of truth. Right and wrong exist and they are arch nemeses. They know what they know and know that all other parties, unless agreeing, know not. If you’re not right you’re wrong. This philosophy of truth is a deeply rooted binary. As humans, we like to double categorize. Men vs. Women, us vs. them, true vs. false, right vs. wrong, and so forth are examples of binaries. The only thing wrong with these groupings is in the two letters that always find their way between them. If you’re not with us, you’re against us! And if you’re against us, you must die. This is at the root of many a conflict. We draw boundaries between each other and fight to the death. A prime example, very much to do with truth, is the ageless contest between Christians and Muslims in and around the Holy Land. Lots of bloodshed has resulted from the Islamic idea that Christians are wrong and the inverse Christian equivalent. The crusade and the jihad stem from an eternal “us vs. them,” and a “right vs. wrong.” For more examples, flip on facebook or the daily news and do a look around for controversy. I’m convinced that something is controversial when both parties can’t see how anyone in their right mind could think the way the other does.

If you’re wondering if you fall into the above category, pay attention to the amount of rage that you feel when you read about the next dangerous ideology, moral relativism. In spite of the timeless popularity of the right vs. wrong binary system of thought, moral relativism is increasingly popular. Subscribers to this idea believe that truth is relative. Maybe truth exists, maybe it doesn’t. Regardless, who are we to decide? Who am I to judge? I have my ideas about what is true and what is not and you have yours and who knows, maybe we’re both right! Maybe we’re all wrong together and who cares? Let’s be nice to one another. While this sounds harmless, it certainly has repercussions. Moral relativism is an ideology of tolerance. If I believe truth is in the eye of the beholder, I’m accepting of everything, from gay marriage, to abortion, to marijuana use, to atheism. In all my niceness, I decide that all voices should be viewed equally, so I lift up minority voices and attempt to drown out, or wipe out, long lasting majorities. On the flip side, if I really believe in the relativity of truth, I become a wimp when it comes to defending the truth I’ve decided on that week, and majority voices probably prevail. I also must accept that what people consider truth has a great deal to do with their actions and I must accept that. Religious and ideological freedom through this lens technically allows for the free practice of whatever anyone believes to be right. This includes suffrage and suffering. It tolerates all extremes, from the LGBT alliance to the Westborough Baptist Church. Under this ideology tolerance, as Boyd K. Packer explained it, turns from a “virtue to a vice.”

I propose that the truth solution is Mormonism. If you’re not a Mormon, please don’t run away yet. I’m not saying what you think I’m saying. Brigham Young defined Mormonism: ““Mormonism,” so-called, embraces every principle pertaining to life and salvation, for time and eternity. No matter who has it. If the infidel has got truth it belongs to “Mormonism.” The truth and sound doctrine possessed by the sectarian world, and they have a great deal, all belong to this Church. As for their morality, many of them are, morally, just as good as we are. All that is good, lovely, and praiseworthy belongs to this Church and Kingdom. “Mormonism” includes all truth. There is no truth but what belongs to the Gospel.” Mormons believe that they are in a search for truth. They believe that the whole truth about God is being revealed through living prophets in the latter days, but that it is our duty to seek it from everywhere it might be. We affirm that all religions have light and truth and that that there is inherent goodness in everything. We definitely believe that truth exists and that it is possible to collect it. It is possible to be wrong, but just because someone is wrong in one way or another, doesn’t mean that they are bad or that they are never right. We find truth in Islam, Catholicism, Buddhism, Hinduism and the sciences. The church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is deeply invested in education in all fields and its members are encouraged to seek “anything that is virtuous, lovely, of good report, or praiseworthy.” There really is no us vs. them binary. We’re all in this together, us vs. Satan. And we encourage diversity and free thought.

In the Book of Mormon we read that the people of ancient America protected religious freedom under the law, blended with a responsible moral code, “Now there was no law against a man’s belief; for it was strictly contrary to the commands of God that there should be a law which should bring men on to unequal grounds. For thus saith the scripture: Choose ye this day, whom ye will serve. Now if a man desired to serve God, it was his privilege; or rather, if he believed in God it was his privilege to serve him; but if he did not believe in him there was no law to punish him. But if he murdered he was punished unto death; and if he robbed he was also punished; and if he stole he was also punished; and if he committed adultery he was also punished; yea, for all this wickedness they were punished. For there was a law that men should be judged according to their crimes. Nevertheless, there was no law against a man’s belief; therefore, a man was punished only for the crimes which he had done; therefore all men were on equal grounds.”

Ultimately, love truth. Seek truth. Recognize and respect the truth possessed by all. Love the truth more than you love your religion or your political party. Love the truth more than you love being right. Don’t try to impose your opinion upon truth. Rather, impose truth upon your opinion. Tell the truth and live truthfully, constantly seeking and progressing and the truth will set you free. 

a conversation, born in a library, now a poem about not being what you think

Knives

“Knifes” said Cole and then fretted about image. “Serialkillerish” a new word spawn from the left-hand corner of his mind. “Too serialkillerish.” Chit-chat of the evidently wrong sort, but I don’t mind cutlery now that I know how to chop onions minus myself. I’ll likely still cry about it. Most likely no one will die about it, and we’ll all go back to shelving books. Some, we’ll retrieve at the drop of a, “Name an object found in a kitchen” moment and wish we hadn't and if wishes were fishes we’d fillet, and if wishes were poets, I’ll have the Millay, and no. My candle doesn't burn at both ends. Whatever that means.

On Public Speaking and the Holy Spirit -

Speakers

The microphone was his icecream cone

in this bold new world.

“I,” breathing, “I know.” Breathing.

The third time he enunciated,

“Complete trust or confidence,” meaning

if we have faith, we’ll follow Him.

“I bring greetings

from the stake presidency.

They love you.”

Then stopped, and was stopped

in his quest for his seat.

Muffled laughter and heavy whispering

“Now this is the gospel

according to brother Jones

here.”

“We’re the missionaries

from the church – ”

slam.

Jesus Christ,

The Great “I Am”

met the seated people of the pews,

and a much too loud,

but much more clear,

“In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

He said

and breathed into his icecream cone.

“But sir!”

On the doorstep,

feeling alone.

“I know.” Breathing.

“I know.” Breathing. quickly

reverting to the five year old.

In the face of the

slamming door

the garden scenes started meaning more.

And the scripture read

in the primary mic,

the testimony

and the family night

and all the Mormon boys

and Mormon girls

learning to present

with no

applause,

In the MTC

learning to pause

culminated the spirit’s shouting,

“Hosanna to the Lord,

the most high God;

for he is God over all the earth,

yea,

even above all.

And blessed art thou,”

How I feel writing clean, unread poetry.

“Daniel” Scratched Into the Sink Side

“Daniel,” scratched into the sink side,

so careful. Who are you?

Daniel, stopped off at the rest stop,

probably on your long drive to Salt Lake City,

why?

Why not more vulgarity?

Penmanship’s a rarity

in vandalism’s lot,

your message soon forgot

amongst the penning

that is not so pure.

Yours is not profanity

scribbled on the door.

Yours is not the number

or the “Kristin is a whore.”

Just, “Daniel”

carefully carved into the sink side.

I get it Daniel,

keep writing.

Keep living on the fly.

Keep driving to Salt Lake City.

Stay classy.

Stay Why. 

Benny the Baptist Bear Part I

                Benny, Lucas, and Andi were best, best friends. they lived in three cottages that shared a backyard with no fences and no end to fun. Each friend was just different enough from his best friends to make things exciting, but just alike enough that there was no doubt they would be best friends forever. Benny ate blackberries, Lucas liked lemongrass and Andi ate anything, but they all loved eating. Lucas liked lacrosse, Benny loved rugby and Andy liked football, but they all liked contact sports. Benny was a Baptist. Lucas was Lutheran, and Andi was atheist, so Benny and Lucas were pretty sure Andi was going to hell. Lucas and Andi thought Benny was a sexist and Andy and Benny thought it was gross that Lucas thought he ate Jesus’s blood and Body on weekends, but they all liked… well, they tried to stay away from religious topics and focus on kid stuff.

            They were the best friends a bear, a Llama and an Armadillo could be. They spend every day of the year together: every schoolday after homework, every weekend after breakfast and every summer day from day dawn to dusk. The only week they didn’t play together was during vacation bible school. Benny and Lucas weren’t sure what Andi did that week, but didn’t ask.

            The day after Vacation Bible School was always the SUPER FUNNEST, awkward day of the year. Fortunately and unfortunately, it only happened once a year and things were back to normal. On one such day, right at day dawn, Benny and Lucas were surprised to find that Andi was nowhere to be found. With a gasp, they blurted out the first thing that came to their minds in a muddled mess of words, “You – man – know, - she’s – super – is – kind of – hot – really weird. Wait! What did you say?”

            “Oh nothing,” Benny sheepishly stammered, “I mean, yeah. What did you learn at Bible School?”

            “Acts through 1^st Corinthians. You?”

            “re-Revelations, and selections from Romans.” said Benny, “Plus we had this class about other religions that was mostly about how there’s no archaeological support for the Mormon Bible and how spiritual truths can’t be found through prayer.”

            “Nice,” Said Lucas, “so where do you think Andi is?” He leaned down and started grazing.

            “Beats me. Wanna play some rugby?”

            But Rugby wasn’t that fun with just two people and they ended up going home early.

            The next morning, Benny and Lucas were reunited with their best friend, Andi. They decided not to ask her about the day before. To their surprise, Andi brought it up. “So how did you pansies like bible school?” she snarled. Taken aback, Benny and Lucas stared blankly. “I spent the week with my aunt Alice and learned the way of the earth. You know, our society would be much more cohesive if we did things the natural way. Mother earth is filled with pleasure and peace.”

            “What – that’s – are – inter-you-esting – talking – tell – about – me more.” Lucas and Benny simultaneously stammered.

            “With the right combo, you can trip through your wildest fantasies just on the bounty of nature!”

            “I’m sorry guys. I’ve got to go.” said Lucas and he turned to leave. There was an awkward silence as he walked away.

            “What’s his problem?” Andi asked. hormones.”

            “Probably just hormones.” responded Benny, “You were saying?”

            “Well, we could chat about it, or I could show you!” She said. “Follow me!” They left the backyard and down the road they slunk through a back alley and then trudged through some mud behind a building where they saw two dumpsters with skulls on them. Benny had a bad feeling come over him but he was silent. Andi went behind the dumpster. “Over here!” she beckoned to Benny. Benny stepped into the darkness behind the dumpster. Andi  pulled a cardboard box out of a corner. “In this box, all of your wildest dreams can be reality.” The box said, “Danger: Poison” on it and smelled kind of funny.

            “I don’t know, Andi…” Benny muttered.

            “Andi pushed the box aside and got real close to Benny’s face. She looked straight into his soul and took his face in her claws. Her eyes were mesmerizing. “Trust me.” she whispered.

            Benny swallowed and nodded and Andi turned to the box. She opened the flaps. Inside the box there was a glass bottle on its side. A small pool of strong smelling liquid filled the bottom, soaked layer of cardboard. Six small frogs slowly walked circles around the perimeter. They all had distant looks on their faces and their frail bodies looked like they hadn’t eaten I weeks. For moments the only sound was soft moaning of garbled nonsense as the frogs staggered around the box.

            “Take one of these babies, and you’ll never have a single care again.” Andi scooped up a frog that let out a week squeal and dangled it before Benny. “Open your mouth.” Benny obeyed and slurped in the slimy amphibian. Andi closed his mouth and told him to chew.

            Benny felt suddenly drowsy, the good kind of drowsy, like after a good meal and a hard day’s work. He closed his eyes and chewed more carefully and slowly. the frog tasted terrible, but in a bearable kind of way and made his mouth tingle. Benny forced one eye half open to look at Andi. She had never looked so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled and twirled. She was dark and comely. Within Benny’s body there was a sudden electric feeling and he swallowed the frog. His eyes flew open and the world spun. Andi sprouted wings and flew to an exceedingly high mountain. Benny wanted to follow so he stepped into the music and floated to meet her. She said something Benny didn’t understand, then flew to a magical forest. Hideous witches were everywhere, but they looked friendly enough so Benny danced with them.

            Round and around they went until all the colors blurred together in a heap of muddy gray. The witches clawed open a tree and drank fresh blood from the bark. Benny followed suit until the tree became a giant ant hill covered with ants which crawled all over his body. The tingling sensation was … well… SENSATIONAL! Benny had never felt anything like it. He ran through the woods laughing until he tripped on a marshmallow pumpkin and rolled in the mud.

            “The trip is almost over! Before it wears off, we need to restock.” he heard Andi say, “find frogs! Stay away from the colored ones. They’ll make you bad trip.” Benny stopped and looked around. he saw a couple of frogs on a nearby lily pad and scooped them up.

            “Let us go!” they screamed, 

             but Benny didn’t care. 

"We Invite You to Be Reverent"

I learned a few things at General Conference over the weekend, mainly of inability to follow simple instructions, first, my own. The hardest part of the whole experience was definitely that conference is in Salt Lake City, and I am in Overton Nevada. Therefore, in order to attend, I had to put myself through 5 hours of I-15 northbound. Luckily, I had a buddy to do it with. Unluckily, that wasn’t the end of my driving woes. I-15, though long, is easily navigable. The Salt Lake Valley is less so. I know, to those of you who live there, I am wrong. Utah is the easiest place in the world to navigate. Unfortunately, I’m right. It’s hard to get around up there. Mostly, I’m sure, It’s hard for me to get around. I have the worst navigation skills of anyone I’ve met, and it doesn’t help that there are so many ways to use the same numbers in so many different combinations in street names. I arrived in Salt Lake city and lost my way to the conference center to drop off my copilot. I then adopted a new copilot, my iphone, to help me find my next destination. Unfortunately, here I must reiterate. Even when perfectly clear, I have trouble executing directions. One might say I’m “directionally challenged.” I do, for sure, and I am not two.

But in the spirit of prayer and accidental fasting, I made it to conference! Exclamation Point! I found great parking. I took a nice walk. I enjoyed the weather, I acquired some tickets. I waited in line, oh so near the front, and I saw the prophet. Shortly after seating myself on the front row of my section and reviewing Mosiah 2, I was ready to go, and instructions were displayed on… that thing they project the conference on for those, like me, who couldn’t sit in the first 10 rows.

“We invite you to be reverent.” Read the message, “your conference experience will be enhanced by taking your seat and quietly meditating,” or something like that. The point was, “we invite you to be reverent” it will help you feel the spirit and make your experience here better. Better is Better! But no one seemed to know how to read. They talked on their cell phones. They snapped photos. They talked. Perhaps they needed a wiggle song to help them settle down. Now, don’t get me wrong. Had I not been alone, I would probably not have noticed this. I would have joined them. I’m sometimes a social moth at all the wrong times and places. I’m not the most observant person in the world. However, I didn’t have many options but to accept the Church’s gracious invitation for reverence. And you know what? I certainly do.

I know that reverence enhances conference experience. In fact, I know that reverence enhances life experience. We run around too much. We talk too much. We have not enough “take your seat” time. Careful meditation is a lost practice. I’m all for loud, but we need not forget time for quiet. Quiet time clears the mind and calms the soul. It opens the window to inspiration. I was certainly helped when I took a few moments to pull over, reset my map app and reorient myself. Silence is sanctifying. So take some, on the house. You might find some groovy instruction. Consider yourself personally invited. 

Over You

Over You

I’m so over you,

like boats over water,

like the sun to a cloud,

like goats on the run,

a claustrophobic in a crowd.

I’m so over you,

but I’m probably not going to tell you that,

just in case. You know?

Just in case tomorrow you come back

to tell me you were wrong.

Just in case this was some sort of test,

to see what I’d do, to check my next move,

to watch reactions to “I’m through.”

I think you could be that clever,

but I am so over you. 

Snowbird

Snowbird

I would walk aimlessly

just to be in the wind

but I wanted direction.

The “flap flap” of my flip flops

against my heals inched me closer to the library

where I’ve judged every book

by its cover at least thrice

and I noticed the sky.

I soaked in surroundings,

the layers of business,

homes, hills, fire formations

and blue mountains,

the touch-me-not desert,

bold and beautiful,

but nothing so beautiful

as the air.

I swam through the

freshness like the cut

of a fighter jet through the blue.

Nothing but blue.

Not a cloud. No precipitous precipitation.

I breathed and the sky was weightless upon my lungs.

The weightless heavens that fell

upon my September morning,

drenched it in dehumidified splendor.

The crispness was captivating.

The breeze blew in believing.

My flag flew in faith,

and I remembered why I live in Nevada.

Blackboard

Blackboard

A puff of white hit the smoke slate blackboard

and I wondered if I’d ever get it clean with this.

This chalk stained eraser raced the last words written

into lumps of dust just pushed into the haze

and I was getting nowhere. Why would we

still use this archaic method?

Too often, I’ve broken my eardrums,

chalk sticks, clean hands, hungmens necks

and failed to completely erase the evidence.

But sometimes I wonder again what the inability

to complete a cleaning might reveal,

if chalkography was a science,

the art of interpreting academic layers

on blackboards.

And what would we find under hundreds of layers of

Sunday school classes and presidency meetings,

Primary play-groups and cub scouts.

Maybe behind Wednesday’s “Kim and Kate and

Sal, Kylee, Jen, Josie, Chriss and Kaitlin were here’s”

and a few layers of hangman

and hangman, merit badge classes, toddler scribbles

definitions, object lessons, and tic tac toe,

acronyms, and cartoonish murals, charts and diagrams,

the pride cycle, book titles, today’s readings, homework assignments

that will never be followed up on, names we prayed on,

some we fasted, plans we agreed on, some that lasted,

behind hangman, and hangman, and hangman, and the longer-lasting hang-woman,

complete with a skirt, blouse, eyes, ears, mouth, and nose,

behind the lyrics to “head shoulders knees and toes,”

and several scriptures carefully written beside five carefully positioned circles,

behind some ancient Hebrew and some Greek,

behind the teaching of etiquette to young men

and the memorizing of the Young Women’s theme and motto,

behind quotes from the manual and did I mention hangman?

behind a million words and even more strangled stick figures,

maybe as the chalk hit the blackboard, something clicked in the mind

of a young man or woman that this is real,

that this is true,

that this is how.

And here I am pushing around the soot of it like it’s a burden. 

"Greetings Defendant"

“Greetings Defendant” 

is a very nice way to start something.

Clever justice system. 

Greetings government. 

How’s the family?

Wife still with ya I’m sorry to hear that where you working bummer me too. 

What can you do for me?

Wait, I mean do for you. 

What can I do for you?

What did I forget to do?

What didn't I pay for?

What can’t I have now?

What’s new? 

That too?

Well now it’s personal. 

Maybe it’s just me but 

maybe you should’t be so cordial about this. 

Tell me how it is,

how broken hearted you are that she left you

how worried you were about her roaming Manhattan 

or the possibility that she can’t even swim.

She was getting pretty thin, trying to be pretty for you. 

Maybe if you would work out occasionally she’d still be around. 

If you’re gonna take it out on me

be more fierce. 

Sink your teeth in. Learn from Myanmar and Syria and Zimbabwe. 

Rebound relationships can be a blast, 

and you can get a new job selling stolen cars

to balance your budget and fend off your fake friendly debtors. 

My First Sonnet

please let me down lightly if this is no good.

Sonnet Number One

She swims she swims she swims she swims she swims
and puzzles momentarily.
Then legs go round rust one more time, then swims.
As though she planned it so meticulously

Checking the left and right and front and back
sides frantically feeling the shell she wasn't born with.
She's crunched inside this two square feet of lake.
She can't escape the murky water. Crunched,

and that's her name. Named crunch, like turtle road
kill. Bashed-out brunch. But once a week she sees
sweet freedom, taken from her captive abode.
In laundry basket palace free thought frees... but

only for an hour while they clean
the tank she gets to taste what freedom means.

Beautiful

Beautiful

By Joshua Chandler 

You’re beautiful like, 

Um.

A siamese fighting fish!

Um. Why are these “lightning whits” 

So hard to come by?

Beautiful like a bow tie

Shown high, contrast against blue sky,

Red on your bed-head black-dotted tilt

Said, “I don’t know why, but I felt sad.” 

Thinking, “what would it be like?” or graduated 

To the next high-healed tip-toe

Where never I’d been quick or quite-slow, 

At the stop light, I thought maybe I’d go so 

I smiled for a while thinking “wow. 

What if?”

That bowl looks kinda empty 

And you’re beautiful like cereal. 

Choose your favorite kind!

That kind. 

Cheerio bets raise the small blind.

Rewind. You can’t look like that at the table!

This aint to fairy laden fable!

What do you got?

Two pair, ace high? What up now miss hot-shot!

Beautiful like “all in”

Hokey pokey style

Shaken win

Quaken thin in their deep-glassed faces

Beautiful like clean, crisp places. Sweater weather. 

Sin sidestepped, 

Curve on their cases. 

Slur to the basement, watch your head, 

Curl round the corner and slip to the study. 

Feel for the light switch, not alone, 

With a buddy. 

You’re beautiful like teamwork - 

You and me in my mind 

A little longer to switch find, 

But Bam! Flood illumination. 

Height of adoration

Hide in your presence

Beautiful in essence. 

Beautiful like fireworks!

At least when compared to lights I didn’t know were so dim. 

Say a prayer. Sing a hymn. 

Bright beauty emblazoned! 

LIke pikachu on meth. 

Time lost a moment, heart stopped, 

Gasped for breath. 

Then!

Well, 

Refer to line two. 

The sunrise, over mountain highs 

Are beautiful like you. 

You are beautiful like lady bugs. 

Dainty dread of katie thugs. 

Hung up homie with a wonder was

What wasn’t what I want wouldn’t wake me cuz!

I can’t. Can’t count. But if I could come out of Comatose, 

I’d crumble, quite like melba toast

And count you mine, sweet simbios.

Is this making any sense? 

Good. 

You’re beautiful like

I don’t know! 

Come close, we’ll discuss this

Real. slow.

Every detail. 

Tiara tip to tipie-toe

You’re beautiful 

Like unexpected backflips

Like sips of liquid sunshine

Like specks of dew on lily pedals 

Like tiny ceramic balerinas

Like specific, warm shades of blue

Like realizing it’s not quite time to wake up yet

And falling gracefully back to sleep. 

You’re beautiful

Mhm.. 

Definitely. 

Like the dancing reflection of fire in a rain drop. 

Like fall flooded forests of western Iowa. 

Like Nebraska sunsets

And California dreamin’ 

Like snowflakes

And romantic getaway schemin’. 

You are beautiful. 

Not like Shakespearean soliloquy. 

Like peaceful, post-apocalyptic solemnity. 

Like seeing so clearly by the dawn’s early light what so proudly we hailed at the twilights last gleaming

You’re beautiful like America! 

Not the country. 

The feeling. 

You’re more beautiful than my best imagination of you. 

And that’s the most beautiful thing I can think of. 

Janet the Tiny Frog

Janet the Tiny Frog

By Elder Chandler

Janet

was a tiny frog. 

She could fit on the end of your pinkie and lived alone, on a rock, in a smalish pond, in the Giant Woods. The woods were so giant, if she hopped in one direction for her entire life, she would never leave the woods. Everywhere she looked there was woods. Woods woods woods. Hop hop. Woods. there were three colors in the woods, lightish brown, darkish brown, and green. Janet was kindof a mix of all three as far as she could tell, which she didn't mind, because sometimes she had to hide from frog eating beasts! She closes her eyes and shivers every time she thinks about it. 

One day, she hopped off her rock, splashed to shore and started hopping. Hop hop. Not long later, she met a darkish brown ant named Henry. “What’s your name?” said Janet. 

“Henry.” said Henry, and she ate him. 

Soon, she hopped across a lightish brown moth. “Hello!” said the moth. 

“Hello,” said Janet, “what’s your name?”

“Matilda,” replied the moth, “and yours?”

“It’s a secret.” said Janet. 

“Really? Why?” said the moth.

“That’s a secret too. But I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone else. Come here.” 

Matilda fluttered near and Janet ate her. 

Hop hop hop. 

At this point, it was time for a nap. Luckily, she had hopped in a circle so with a hop, splash and a snuggle, she was safe on her rock and back to sleep. 

To this day, Janet is still not sure how long she slept, which wouldn’t be significant had she not had a fantastic dream about a very handsome boy frog moving into the Giant Woods and falling in love with her. Which she did, which wouldn’t be important had just such a frog not come into her life moments after she awoke. Wouldn’t you know it? That happened, with one, undreamed up, twist. Jake was seven colors, blue, purple, red, orange, yellow, indigo, and violet. He was also a bit bigger than Janet. He would probably need your index finger. 

Hop! Splash! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Suddenly, Janet was all wet and Jake was laughing. “What’s your name?” asked Jake. 

“I think you should go away.” said Janet. 

“That’s a nice name. I’m Jake.” said Jake, “Do you think you might spare a spot on this lake so we can be neighbors?” 

“No.” Said Janet. as she turned away, but Jake was already rolling in a white rock to live on. Janet rolled her eyes and went back to sleep. 

The next morning, when Janet again awoke, Jake was nowhere to be seen. His rock was still there though, which was no comfort to Janet, but it was breakfast time, so she started her morning hop. Hop hop hop. 

In the distance, she saw a darkish brown beetle named Ted, making a basket out of grass strands. She pounced him and listened to him scream last words of undying love for his ten children as she devoured his flesh. Hop hop hop hop. 

Hoppity hop. After some exercise, she came across a spider, spinning a web between two twigs. She knocked down her work and howled “What’s your name!?” 

“B-b-b-b-b-Bonnie!” Whimpered the spider as Janet ripped off her legs one by one and fed them to her. 

“Goodbye Bonnie!” was the last thing Bonnie heard before her head was bitten off. Six spider siblings sobbed uncontrollably six or so inches away. Janet hummed a tune to their wails as she hopped home. On her way she hopped by Jake who was admiring some flowers. “Goodmorning I Think You Should Go Away!” Said Jake. 

“Pansy.” thought Janet and with a hop and a splash she was back in bed. 

When she awoke the next day, Janet was hungry. Jake was already gone again. “Prolly having another staring contest with posies.” though Janet, and she splash/hopped away. 

On her hop she found a giant anthill. “RUNAWAY!” screamed the ants. “SHE’S BACK!” yelled a few of the older ones who remembered the last time this happened. “AaGAglAblaGlAblagalaBLAgalALaglabaLAAAAAA!” screamed a gargled mix of ants, many of which were being sucked into Janet's mouth as she gormandized upon them. Utter chaos ensued. ‘

Janet was enjoying herself too much to notice what was going to happen next in the story. She hummed a tune, skipped around and tried to see how many live ants she could fit in her mouth at one time. For those of you who haven’t tried this, getting a lot in there is quite a talent. Even harder is not spitting them out when they tickle at the back at your throat. 

When she had had her fill, she flopped a few hops away from the feast. 

Suddenly, the sky when black. All was quiet. Janet hiccuped, then, out of nowhere, appeared a big black FROG EATING BEAST! It was the biggest, most frightening thing Janet had ever seen. She closed her eyes and shook violently, then laid paralyzed with fear. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME MS FROG!!” Wailed the beast. 

“Blend in. Blend in. Blend in!” she thought. 

“ANSWER ME!!” 

Then there was a soft “pita pat” of a light “hoppity hop” nearby. The beast let out a high pitched scream of fear and rolled himself into a ball and cried. Then he fluttered away, muttering something indiscernible. 

Janet could hardly think through the tears, but she opened one eye. All she could see was a blur of color and light. She quickly shut her eyes tight, afraid she might be experiencing a fear induced hallucination. 

“I Think You Should Go Away! are, are you ok?”asked Jake. 

“Jake?” asked janet as she squinted up at the blur of color standing carefully over her. 

“yes. Its me. Are you ok?”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Sheesh, I was just trying to check your pulse babe. Are you alright?”

She wanted to say something sarcastic but she couldn’t speak through the trauma. She looked at jake and started to cry. Jake didn’t say a word, he just nodded empathetically, helped her up, and lightly brushed tears from her face. 

“It’s going to be ok.” he said, “Why don’t you and I go on a little hop.” 

Janet didn’t say anything, but she hopped along beside Jake down a grassy knoll. Wisps of wind wafted across leaves of grass in a low whistle that over-toned the occasional light whimper. Janet was glad of that. She had never felt like such a sissy. “How did he do that?” Janet befuddled, “ how could such a pansy be so brave? What does he have that I don’t?” She took a deep, shaky breath. Jake slowed to a stop. 

“How do you feel Janet?” 

After a slightly awkward pause, Janet responded, “I’m scared. I’m angry. Embarrassed. Confused. I just don’t understand. Jake, I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I told you i didn’t want you here and I don’t want to know you! You’re inconsiderate of my wishes and I wish you would go away! I’ve never met such a flaming weirdo in all my life and I never plan to again! Who do you think you are anyway? Well? Who?!” 

Jake silently looked into Janet’s eyes waiting if there was anything else she had to get out. “I’m Jake,” said Jake, “and your name is Janet and you have a lot of questions. Which do you think is the most important?” 

Janet didn’t expect that kind of response. There was more silence as she looked away. “Jake, why was the frog eating beast so afraid of you? What makes you different?”

“Well that’s actually two questions, but I’ll do my best to answer both. Janet, have you ever considered,” Jake took in his surroundings and hopped to some roadside flowers, “... a lily?” 

Janet rolled her eyes. 

“I’m serious.” insisted Jake. “Have you ever thought about it? A lily doesn’t do anything! It just sits there ant grows. It doesn’t go out of its way to contribute. It doesn’t build houses of buy fancy clothes. Shoot! It doesn’t even find it’s own food. Yet, the richest creature in this world isn’t arrayed like one of these little beauties!”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it Janet! The fouls of the air, they sow not, neither do they ream, nor gather into barns yet your Heavenly Father feedeth them. Are you much better than they? Once we start realizing these things, our lives start falling into place.”

Janet sighed.

“Janet, what do you want to change about your life?”

A thirty second pause here felt like an hour. 

“Jake, I don’t feel like I’m worth it. You’re wasting your time! Every morning I get up and I glut the maw of death upon everything in my path. I know it’s wrong. I just don’t think I can change. I just don’t think any amount of flower gazing is gonna change me! I LIKE KILLING! ... to be honest though,”

She stopped. In a forced, barely audible whisper, she finished, “it’s killing me.”

Jake looked at Janet, took a deep breath and confessed, “you and I are not that different. The stuff I was doing about a year ago makes me cringe. I still dream about it. The night terrors I have would make your skin peal. You know that moment just before a caterpillar lets the blood trauma go to his head? When his screams degrade into absolute delirium? I’ve been there every night, giggling through it one moment and then experiencing his end the next. Every day I’m tempted to go back, but I remember the commitment that I’ve made. I remember the day I realized I couldn’t live that way anymore. The day I took the first step. Today is that day for you. It’s so exciting Janet! Janet, I’m different because I now how to repent! I know I’m not doomed to a life of sin. I don’t know if I can say I’m saved, but I sing the song of redeeming love.” 

Something in the following silence clicked inside of Janet. She wasn’t changed. She just felt like perhaps she could change, with help and a little effort. “What do I need to do?” she asked. 

Jake explained to her the process of repentance, of making things right again with God. “Just remember that you aren’t doing this for me or anyone else. This is between you and the Lord. He has taken upon himself your infirmities, your weaknesses, your sins. Now He is calling you to come unto Him. His burden is light. his yoke is easy. What’s more, I’m here!” and he gave her a light kiss on the cheek.” lets hop home. You’re got a lot to sleep on.” 

They hopped to their pond and said their goodnights before settling into their respective stones and drifting to sleep. Janet though about lilies as she closed her eyes and, for the first time in her life, said a prayer. “Thank you, Lord. I’m nervous, I’m afraid, but I think with your help I can do this.”

As the sun slowly rose over the horizon the next morning, Janet opened her eyes to a new outlook. She looked at her reflection and took a deep breath. “I can do this.” she thought. She didn’t even notice the streak of teal across her face and the little bits of purple in her eyes. She did notice though that Jake was already on his morning hop. With a splash and a “hop hop,” she too was on her way, ready for anything. 

The End. 

Ps. 

REPENT REPENT REPENT REPENT REPENT!!