wondering & wandering

Embracing Empty

2012-02-08T21:57:00.000-08:00

Ah, Valentine’s Day. It’s ironic, as I'm sure you've noticed, that a day that exists solely to celebrate love so often evokes feelings and declarations of loathing. Each year I hear many people question how anyone can dislike this day of love. Their arguments are good—they point out that love takes many forms and that those who feel a strong dislike of the holiday are perhaps afflicted by a narrow-minded focus on romantic love. I cannot argue with that. They are absolutely right.

But, for me, trying to love Valentine’s Day in the years when I am not in love with someone is akin to trying to happily eat a plateful of cauliflower (my least favorite veg, for context) while everyone around me is relishing a particularly fine creme brulee. The love of family members and friends is truly wonderful—I don't want to diminish that at all (so I apologize for the unintentional comparison to a disliked vegetable). I am grateful for their love and for the beauty and joy it brings to my life. But it’s just not the same. And I believe we need both.

For those of us who don’t have someone to love (romantically) this Valentine’s Day, what if we could learn to love the emptiness and longing we feel? The following paragraph is a transcription of a portion of the story (called “Metaphorical Reasons”) told by David Wilcox as part of his song, “That’s What the Lonely is For” (sadly, I can’t find a version online that includes his story and song—I highly recommend downloading both on iTunes). His words are full of humor, wisdom, and hope.

I was touring the Biltmore House, which is just a ridiculously big house some Vanderbilt made. He thought it would be a good idea to make “the largest private dwelling ever built.” And it’s, you know, just stupidly big. Some friends were visiting and we paid our 26 bucks, or whatever it is, each, you know. And we’re touring and they were delighted. They were just saying, “Oh my!” “Look how…” “Ooh, gee…” “Isn’t it…” “Wee-woo...” “Look at the…” And I was feeling bugged. Really bugged. And I was trying to take myself aside; I was trying to say, “Dave, you paid 26 bucks, just relax, don’t be like always Mr. Critique about this. Just relax. It’s not your house. You don’t have to vacuum it. Just relax.” And I was saying, “No, no, this is a profoundly bad idea; this is wrong!” And I said, “It’s ostentatious. OK, it’s a little stupid. What’s so wrong?” And I realized that I was bugged for a metaphorical reason. ‘Cause I realized that I started to get bugged when I read that little plaque all about Vanderbilt and what he did in the house. He was alone a lot. Ahh. I mean, you can just imagine him coming down to breakfast, in his bathrobe, he’s got his corn flakes, he’s reading his paper. Now, it’s one thing to be alone. But sitting at a table that will seat 350 people? Now why rub it in? We get enough of that. Right? ‘Cause hearts are made that way. We have hearts that are just huge. They’ll hold a tremendous amount of fullness, which is great, if there’s that much fullness to find. But man, it leaves us a lot of room for empty. And then I realized, “Well, relax, Dave, because the reason why you’re bugged is ‘cause you’re worried that your heart is a bad design. It’s not. It’s not some stupid, ostentatious house. It’s the design of your heart. Come on.” There’s a lot of fullness to find. Maybe it’s only the empty that could keep us looking long enough to find it.

So, while I would love to be able to say that I will really love this Valentine’s Day, the best I can do is say that I will embrace the longing, and I'll hope that next year my "embracing" will be a lot more tangible. :)

Head Over Heels

2012-01-30T11:14:00.000-08:00

Most of my posts lately have been rather heavy. Not surprising, given my propensity for analysis-paralysis. So I figured it was time for a little levity. It was recently brought to my attention (because of a friend’s blog post on the subject) that I haven’t recorded most of my ridiculous dating experiences in a journal. And that’s a shame, really, because I’ve had some very funny dates (I guess that’s bound to happen when you amass nearly 20 years of dating experiences). Now, which one to share…?

The fact that my first love interest after I returned from my mission turned out to be a second cousin? (SO glad we figured that out early on.)

The blind date with a guy who thought it would be fun for us to run his errands together on a first date? (If any single guys are reading this and had been thinking, ‘Hey, I could take her to Walmart so I can get those batteries I’ve been needing—two birds with one stone!’ — I’d advise against it.)

The time I failed to realize I’d been asked on a date and invited a friend to come along (and she did!). Wow. Props to the guy, who handled it quite well.

The time (only four years ago) that an 18 year-old gave me his number while I was teaching a class he was in?

No, I’ve got it. About 9 years ago, a woman I taught seminary with decided to introduce me to a young man she knew. He lived in the Provo area and I was living in Logan at the time. We talked on the phone a couple of times and emailed back and forth. He asked me out and I drove down to Provo with not much idea of what he had planned for the date. But I like surprises, so I wasn’t worried.

I should have been.

You see, I had been a little under the weather for a day or two preceding the date, so I hadn’t eaten much. I’m generally a fairly healthy person but I do have low blood sugar (it’s a curse), so when I don’t eat, things can sometimes get interesting. But only if I engage in physical activity that is somewhat strenuous.

Like a hike.

We started on the hike in the late afternoon. It was a pleasant day and the hike was really more like a walking trail—nothing too difficult. As we entered the trail, families with young (really young) children were exiting the trail, having completed the hike with ease. I don’t really remember how far into the hike we got—in what is most likely a vain attempt to salvage my dignity, I’m going to say we had hiked at least half a mile. He stopped to take a drink and I noticed with a sinking feeling that my vision was starting to go dark around the edges and I was seeing stars. I managed to tell him that I was pretty sure I was about to pass out. I even started to sit down on the side of the trail, so that my faint was somewhat contained. (Seriously?!? On a first date? Who does this?)

Long (only semi-conscious) story short: we ate some of the food he packed, finished the hike, finished the date, never went out again. :)

I’m happy to report that while I have passed out in a fair number of places and situations since then; thus far I have not subjected any of my dates since that time to the ordeal of watching me faint and having to try to salvage a date after my swoon.

(And for single girls who have entertained the thought that maybe a ‘damsel-in-distress’ approach is the way to win a man — I’d advise against it.)

Whistling in the Dark

2012-01-25T23:12:00.000-08:00

I’ve been noticing and thinking about an interesting human tendency. We have something of an obsession with lists and rankings. It’s quite useful in many circumstances. I recently had a very fun conversation with a total stranger who I will never see again; one of the highlights of our conversation was our sharing of “top 5” lists: top 5 iconic songs, top 5 classic literary works, top 5 Christmas carols. In that setting, lists are great. But what I’ve noticed is that our ranking tendencies spill over subconsciously into our evaluations of and associations with those around us.

Lately I’ve seen a lot of Facebook links to blogs that all center on the same theme. In a nut shell, they all discuss whose life is hardest. Is it the mom with one child or the mom with nine? Whose life should be most enjoyable? The mom whose children are young or the one whose children are grown? While some of these articles are kindly-meant and well-written and others are slightly biting and darkly humorous, they all have the same failing (in my opinion). They all engage in comparison, which is nearly always perniciously degrading—to ourselves and others.

Life is hard. It’s supposed to be. It is also meant to be rewarding, joyful, and beautiful. And I think it can be all those things at once. As my friend’s mother used to say, “Life’s the limit.” It is hard for every single person. Our challenges differ and we all have some days that are mostly hard and some days that are mostly joyful. Most of us aren’t happy about what life is giving us all the time. When we, consciously or subconsciously, look around at others’ lives and assign a rank—easiest to hardest—we lose sight of what really matters.

For a person in one stage of life to tell a person in another stage to “cherish every minute” or to be “so grateful you are where you are” is very shortsighted and dismissive. It discounts that individual’s own feelings and personal experiences with his or her life circumstances. It can demean them and discourage them. But it also demeans the person who gives such dubious advice. It discounts their own struggle while they were in that stage of life or, alternately, dismisses their current circumstances.

My dad recently retired from his job as an elementary school teacher. Through most of his career he taught 2nd grade students. One day several years ago, I stopped in at his classroom to drop something off. When I got there, his students were engaged in a discussion about whistling. A fair number of the kids had mastered the skill and some had not. The whistlers were telling the non-whistlers, in kindly-intentioned tones of encouragement, “whistling is easy!” My dad interrupted the conversation and told them that they should never describe a skill as “easy.” To do so, he explained, could make the person who couldn’t do that thing feel badly about themselves. But then he went on to explain that doing so also dismisses the effort one made to master the skill. That simple but profound lesson has remained with me.

It is all too easy to forget, once we have mastered something, the investment in time and effort that was made in the process. And it is easy to see abundance in everyone else’s lives and scarcity in our own. But more importantly, it is so easy to unwittingly dismiss another person when we decide to rank his or her life on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being “I could do that with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back” and 10 being “This is so hard I can’t even spare the energy to call out for help.” Comparison is a game nobody wins. We all have lives of abundance and lives of scarcity. We all have lives of difficulty and lives of profound joy and beauty.

So, is whistling easy for you?

Nice. Fair. Politicians. Really?

2012-01-10T15:07:00.000-08:00

I love politics (mostly). I at least love politics in theory. In practice politics often become far messier and meaner. While the study of politics can remain relatively romanticized and noble, politicking itself is often the polar opposite of those ideals.

I have been watching the GOP campaign with great interest. That is in part, of course, because of my shared religious belief with Mitt Romney. That interest has little to do with his politics and far more to do with watching the nation’s reaction to him and his religion. Aside from that facet of my interest, I am watching because I have this hope each time we enter a new presidential election that maybe, this time, the race will be an intellectual, mature, honest discourse about national needs and responses to those needs rather than a petty, childish playground squabble. (Hope springs eternal, as my high school history teacher was fond of saying.)

So my inaugural poltically-themed blog post is about a few observations and articles that have surfaced lately regarding small acts of fairness and maturity by two of the GOP candidates. These examples give me hope that we are capable (at least some of us) of taking the political “high road.”

The first is an article that appeared in the Washington Post just after the GOP debate in early November—the one when Rick Perry had his big “oops” moment. The author points out how Romney tried to help Perry remember the third government agency that he (Perry) would eliminate if elected. The author also tells a story about Romney cleaning someone’s garage for them while waiting to film a TV ad for his campaign. I enjoyed the article, primarily because its tone and content was so positive.

The second occurred at a Mitt Romney “meet and greet” in North Liberty, Iowa. I happened to be in North Liberty the week after Christmas, staying with a cousin. When she found out about the Romney meeting, she asked if I would be interested in attending. I was. During the Q&A session after his prepared remarks, a woman asked a question that bothered me. It was one of those “this-is-my-personal-sob-story-with-a-semi-related-question-at-the-end” type of questions. In the midst of the story / question the woman blamed the state of Utah and former Governor Jon Huntsman for the loss of her job and exclaimed that she would never vote for Huntsman because of it. I was impressed that Romney took the time to interrupt her story / question to say that it would not be fair of her to blame Huntsman for that. That may seem like a small thing, but I was struck by it at the time. And it seemed even more significant after I read an article that described Huntsman (like most others in the race) taking some of Mitt Romney’s words out of context in order to improve his own chances of gaining votes in the New Hampshire primary. Typical politics, of course, so that makes Romney’s defense of Huntsman even more noteworthy.

Lastly, I just read this article about Ron Paul defending Romney regarding those same out-of-context words others were using against him. I respect Ron Paul, and seeing him refuse to take advantage of Romney’s words for his own benefit made me respect him even more. Very cool.

And Mrs. Benson (history teacher, Parowan High School) is proven correct. Hope does indeed spring eternal.

What we leave behind

2011-12-01T18:29:00.001-08:00

Every once in a while I have a fleeting thought of how embarrassed I might be if I died and someone had to sort through all my things. Don’t worry, I don’t have this thought often, just when I’m running out the door with a significant level of disarray left behind.

On Monday, my grandfather died unexpectedly. He was at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving, in fact, he cooked one of the turkeys we ate that day. He was 88 years old, but in good health. He had a mild heart attack on Saturday but doctors said there was very little damage to his heart and that they didn’t think surgery was necessary. He was in the hospital under observation on Monday and planned to go home soon. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

While I was washing dishes at his house the next day, listening to the conversations of many of my extended family as they also cleaned, I realized that no one who loves you will care if they have to clean up a few messes after you’re gone. More than that, I pondered on the many beautiful things my grandfather left behind for us.

During what became the last week of his life, my grandpa was active and busy. He and another man went to the home of a widow in the neighborhood to chop and stack her firewood. They were at it for hours. That is typical of his whole life. He served others tirelessly. I often heard from others of the many acts of service given by both my grandfather and grandmother.

One of the last requests he made was for my mom to stop at his house and bring his scriptures to him at the hospital. His love of the gospel of Jesus Christ was always evident in all that he said and did. He and my grandmother served five missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and they served in the St. George LDS temple. Their love for Jesus Christ, for the gospel, temples, family history work, and the scriptures is the best gift they could have given us. There has never been a time in my life that I did not know of and benefit from the faith of my grandparents and parents.

When my dad and mom went to my grandpa’s house after leaving the hospital, they found two small blocks of wood in his basement wood shop, waiting to be turned on his lathe. My grandpa was a very talented wood-worker. He taught Industrial Arts at Cedar City High School and had a full wood shop in his basement. I have many great memories of “helping” him in his shop. The smell of sawdust will always remind me of him. All of us have beautiful clocks, bowls, goblets, pens, and other items he made. He recently made a set of lovely Christmas tree ornaments. One style has an opening large enough to house a miniature nativity. He has two of these, and we all commented during Thanksgiving that he needed to make two more so that each family could have one. The two blocks of wood my dad found had been marked for creating these ornaments, as we had requested.

My grandpa gave me my first lesson in photography. I was seventeen years old and I was about to leave for a month-long trip to Russia. My grandpa gave me a few quick pointers about how to shoot a better picture. I’ve never forgotten what he taught me and I think that was the beginning of my love for making pictures.

I could go on, but you get the idea. He was a giant of a man and he left us a great legacy. I will miss him, but I’m so glad he and my grandmother (who died two years ago) are together again.

Confessions of a Christmas Music Junkie

2011-11-21T12:02:00.001-08:00

I listen to Christmas music before Thanksgiving <GASP>. I listen to Christmas music before Halloween. In fact, I listen to Christmas music whenever I want, regardless of the month. Now for the really shocking revelation: my listening to Christmas music prior to the holidays that immediately precede Christmas has not decreased my enjoyment of these holidays and/or their value in any way.

Take Thanksgiving for instance, the purpose of Thanksgiving is either 1) to set aside time to be explicitly grateful for the multitudinous blessings we enjoy, or 2) to fill our bellies with food to the point of physical pain, wait a while, then eat more. Christmas music (and all that it represents) engenders feelings of joy, gratitude, anticipation, and wonder—these feelings seem perfectly compatible with the purpose of Thanksgiving if the former purpose is the real reason we celebrate this holiday. If it is the latter, I still fail to see how Christmas music detracts in any way from the enjoyment of food. I will grant that it is difficult (or at least potentially messy) to sing and eat simultaneously; so if that is your reason for banning Christmas music until after Thanksgiving (‘cause you just have to sing along), I applaud your responsible attitude toward public safety and cleanliness.

For the sake of brevity (or at least a nod in that direction), I won’t go (too far) into the arguments of commercialism surrounding holidays. I am not an advocate of having the commercial aspects of Christmas foisted upon us at increasingly early dates in the year. But this is not because I feel that Halloween and Thanksgiving deserve their own commercial limelight, it is rather because I don’t particularly enjoy the commercialization of any holiday.

Christmas, for me, is remarkable because it somehow does encourage a childlike wonder, hope, and joy. Maybe I am naive or simplistic or hopelessly romantic, but I really believe that Christmas is magical. I find it easier to believe during this time of the year that beautiful, hoped-for desires will come true. My anticipation isn’t always rewarded, but year-after-year, despite any previous disappointments, that hope begins to stir in my heart as Christmas approaches.

I love the loud, joyful sounds of Christmas. I love the quiet, sacred hush of Christmas. I love the smells, the treats, and the parties. I love searching for the perfect gift for someone. I love receiving gifts—because they are expressions of love. A roommate of mine several years ago gave me a rock for Christmas, and to this day, it remains one of my all-time favorite gifts—because the rock she gave me had the word remember carved in it (and why that was meaningful would take too long to explain). The point is that the rock didn’t cost very much money at all. But it was a touching, meaningful gift that demonstrated that she knew me and cared about the things that mattered to me.

And I love the way the whole world, knowingly or unknowingly, turns to things that matter most. Whether they are religious or not, people generally see Christmas as a time of year that is more focused on family and loved ones. I know there are exceptions—scrooges and humbugs and commercialized fanatics for whom Christmas means little, if anything at all. But for the most part, people are kinder and happier during Christmas. It really is beautiful to see that and feel the way it subtly changes everything we do.

And Christmas music is a big part of all that is good and beautiful at this time of year. So it is hard for me to understand why I should relegate that music (and its attendant joy, sacredness, anticipation, and hope) to the period stretching from the day after Thanksgiving to Christmas Day. Steven Sharp Nelson has an instrumental version of O Come, O Come Emmanuel that is so hauntingly beautiful, I can’t get enough. It inspires in me the deepest longing for Home—a feeling strong enough to help me get there. Why wouldn’t I want to listen to that all year long? (This link is not to that song, because I couldn’t find a video of it, but it is to his version of Nearer My God to Thee, which is also on his Christmas album and is my favorite version of that song. Stunning.)

I’m not here to change your Christmas music listening habits (or rules). If you don’t listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving, that doesn’t hinder my early enjoyment of Christmas music. And if I listen to Christmas music before Halloween, it won’t destroy your celebration of that holiday. When I hear you stating emphatically that Christmas music should never be listened to before Thanksgiving, I won’t even say anything. I’ll just return to my car, turn on my stereo, sing at the top of my lungs, and feel magical well ahead of schedule.

Gas Pump Humor

2011-11-06T15:57:00.000-08:00

On the whole, I think Oregon is a pretty great place to live. The scenery is diverse and stunning, so that’s one thing to love. The people are very friendly and open, which I think is great. And (as I stated, more emphatically than was strictly necessary, in a previous blog post), I love the rain. Then there are things about Oregon that are a little unusual, but still great. I love that my car registration is good for two years instead of one. I think it’s great that I don’t pay sales tax (it makes the math that much easier when I go into a store with a goal to keep my expenditures to a pre-determined limit). Perhaps my favorite of these “unusual” improvements is the restriction on pumping one’s own gas.

Some people dislike this law, but I revel in the fact that I don’t have to pump my own gas. There were (many) times during Logan, Utah winters when I literally rolled into the service station on fumes because I put off filling my tank until the very last minute in a futile attempt to get slightly warmer weather for those few minutes out of my car. I know that makes me sound like a big, fat wimp—and I probably am—but because of my schedule I was often filling up at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, and the temperature was nearly always sub-zero. BRRRR….

But, as with all things in life, there is something lost with the adoption of the rule regarding full-service gas pumping. For example, some of my funniest experiences in life occurred while total strangers stood around pumping gas together.

One such experience took place in a very small town in southern Idaho. I had just left a conference and was wearing a dress (which was the catalyst for the whole conversation). As I was pumping gas, a man pulled up on the other side of the pump and started washing the windshield of his truck. He noticed me and I smiled in greeting. He looked at me for a second and said, 'Aren't you a little dressed up for a Wednesday night?' I laughed and said, 'Yes, maybe I am.' I explained that I just finished teaching at a youth conference at BYU-Idaho. He asked me what kind of conference it was, so I gave him more information about what EFY was. He still seemed a bit confused and he asked me about the topics of my presentations. I told him that I spoke on a variety of religious topics. He looked at me again, even longer this time, and asked, 'Are you a nun?' I laughed again and said, 'No.' He continued looking at me in a pointed way and said, 'You are wearing black and white.' And I laughed again... he had me there, I must be a nun since I was wearing black and white. : )

An experience with several very “helpful” men at a service station near downtown Chicago also comes to mind. And there are others. Maybe I’m the only one who has such experiences at gas pumps, but they seem to happen to me fairly often. Well, not anymore… and as much as I may miss the humor, I can’t say that I miss any other part of the gas-pumping experience. I’m quite happy that someone in Oregon once thought of making it a law that ‘only trained employees of service stations are allowed to put “Class 1 Flammable Liquids” into cars.’ Bravo.

Wait for it...

2011-11-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

Do you remember when you were a kid and your parents ran into the store, into the post office, into the school, or any number of places and promised you they would only be gone "a minute"? And then didn't reappear until many (many!) minutes later?

Do you remember how agonizing it was to wait for Christmas or your birthday each year? Do you remember how you always seemed to be waiting for the next "big thing," kindergarten, high school, 16th birthday, driver's license, graduation, college, etc.?

Waiting is, in nearly every case, frustrating and hard to do. But there is a strange sort of magic in waiting. Almost enough magic to make up for how terrible it is. For me, waiting is even more difficult when it involves uncertainty. Christmas, my birthday, these events occur with precise regularity. And it now astonishes me how quickly we fly from one instance of these holidays to the next. But the waiting that is open-ended, that still gets me. Waiting for things we desire when there is no indication when those things will be given to us, that is when waiting is really hard.

Like when your parents went into the store for "one thing" and would be back in "a minute." You knew they never actually meant that only one minute would elapse before they returned. But you also didn't know if it would be five minutes, ten, thirty, or more. So every new minute could be the minute when they returned. And when there was no definite end to keep in sight, five minutes could feel like fifteen. It is a phenomenon I still don't understand.

My scripture study today included two scriptures that got me thinking about waiting. I don't know what Solomon was waiting for when he wrote these things in Proverbs, but he got it spot on:

Proverbs 13:12
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.

Proverbs 23:18
For surely there is an end; and thine expectation shall not be cut off.

Happy waiting. :)

Baby Elephant Walk

2011-10-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

There are only a few baby elephants in these videos, but Mancini's classic still seemed like the perfect music for my elephant videos from Kenya. Now J. (my nephew) can watch the elephants even when I'm not in Cedar City.

Tangled Up in Changing Colors

2011-10-06T13:20:00.000-07:00

I discovered something a few years ago that has remained in the back of my mind. I was reminded of it recently and I’ve realized how that initial discovery has been refined in my thinking through the intervening years. I don’t know whether or not a person who is not married is qualified to make an observation like the one that follows, so feel free to dismiss it if you are married and find my thinking entirely erroneous.

It seems to me that there is a circumstance that is both a blessing and a curse (but more a blessing, I think) that is inherent in a really good marriage (and applicable in other relationships too). It is that when the needs and desires of two individuals become entwined, it sometimes becomes difficult to distinguish the two. Consequently, it can be hard to know whether or not you are seeking to fulfill your own needs and desires, the other person’s needs and desires, or some combination of the two. It is difficult to know where your own needs end and the other’s begin.

This is a blessing because, in my estimation, it is evidence of two people becoming one. It is a blessing because, if you are mindful and careful, it can help you better meet the needs of both individuals. It is a curse because, if you are not careful, you can spend a lifetime believing that you are serving the person you love when, in reality, your service has been self-focused and self-serving.

Let’s say, for example, that someone I love is struggling with heavy emotional or mental burdens. And I want so badly to help this person carry those burdens because I hate seeing my friend hurting and struggling. If I intervene in some way, am I truly meeting the needs of this person, or simply satisfying my need to be the person my friend turns to for help? That may seem like a ridiculous question because we generally assume it is always good to help others. But I have experienced times when the help someone gave me was clearly detrimental to me but met their own need / desire to be of service. And I am sure I have done the same to others. Appropriate service, I think, should mirror the Savior’s manner of serving. And the Savior’s service always helped others to grow and always honored the other’s agency. And the marriage relationship, I think, is where that criteria for service is most needed if two people are to become one.

Not surprisingly, I found a song that expresses, in beautiful metaphor, some of these same thoughts. When I went to the Josh Groban concert in August, he opened with a song called “Changing Colors.” I love this song as an analogy for the challenges and opportunities inherent in marriage (I should point out that I’m not sure that is what the writer(s) of the song intended to portray). I think the imagery of leaves changing colors and falling from branches is a poignant and beautiful way to describe the fear inherent in change and challenges. I also love how it expresses oneness—that incredible place when you are so “entangled” with another person that you can no longer (fully) distinguish yourself from him or her (not that you have lost who you are, quite the opposite, you have found [or re-found] yourself as more than you were alone).

Here are some of my favorite lyrics from the song (and the YouTube video so you can just see it for yourself):

“I see you hesitate to fall down, but it’s a pretty good view from down here too.”

“The cold air is pushing hard on you; I know what you’re saying, I can feel it too.”

“When the wind takes you, it takes me, too.

When you change colors, I change mine, too.

Try not to think and I will try, too.

When you let go, I will let go, too.”

I Knew There Had to be a Reason...

2011-09-19T21:56:00.001-07:00

I have a tendency toward analyzation. OK, who am I kidding? I have a tendency toward analysis paralysis. : ) For some reason, it is not enough to know certain things, I must also know the why behind those things. That’s not to say that I want to have a deep understanding of everything; in fact, there are a great many things that I can’t seem to care at all about. For instance, I love nature; I love both bold and subtle beauty in nature. But I don’t feel the need to know the details of what I am seeing (as Brooke learned while visiting and I refused her invitation to learn the names of every species of tree at Silver Falls before her next visit). I enjoy the flowers just as much by calling them (generically) flowers as if I knew them by name. In fact, in that case, knowing the names almost seems to diminish their beauty for me, maybe because they become too technical if I’m thinking of their proper names. But that is a personal analysis for another day…

My love of understanding and analysis is at its peak when considering human behavior. In that case, I seem to be almost incapable of accepting something without analyzing why it is the way it is. And that is true of hugely significant events and decisions as well as for completely insignificant preferences.

My current preference that is under the microscope is my love for Rob Thomas’ music. He is a favorite singer / songwriter of mine. I like his stuff with Matchbox 20, and I find it quite interesting that he so successfully goes back and forth between being a group musician and a solo artist—very few people really pull that off longterm. But what I love the most is his solo music. But after claiming that he is a favorite (and while my list of favorites is long, he is fairly near the top), I felt this internal need to understand why that is. So I listened to several of his songs and I came to the conclusion that his lyrics really aren’t brilliant. I certainly can’t maintain his position in my list of favorites for that reason. I like what he does melodically—his music is generally fun and enjoyable to listen to, but again, it doesn’t necessarily stand out (besides which, lyrics are almost always far more important to me than the music itself).

After a bit of listening and thinking—building an “argument” in my head—I figured it out (and that moment of nailing the reason behind my own behavior, preferences, etc. that is why I love analysis—I think it’s just awesome to figure yourself out that way). It’s his emotion. Like most singers who write their own songs, his songs are his personal stories, but he tells them with just enough detail to make it obvious that there is an actual story prompting the song, and still with enough ambiguity to allow listeners to associate the song with their own stories. But whether you are thinking of Rob’s story or your own, the emotion is powerful.

It’s probably no surprise to most of you that I use music as an outlet for emotion. It is almost a second language to me. I often use the lyrics of a song to convey an emotion or a thought that I cannot seem to express in any other way. I don’t think I’m alone in that. In fact, the Hungarian composer Zoltan Kodaly once said that “there are regions of the human soul which can be illuminated only through music.” I have realized that Rob Thomas’ songs are nearly always a top choice when I need an emotional outlet. His songs are often positive and hopeful, sometimes they are complex and vulnerable, at other times they are filled with sorrow, anger, pain, or heartache. Again, many artists do that (or attempt it), but in my opinion, Rob Thomas is uniquely talented in the art of sharing a very wide range of emotion. I love how obvious it is that he is singing very openly and genuinely about very real emotions.

I love the wisdom, perspective, and encouragement in Problem Girl. Her Diamonds and 3am are both very poignant descriptions of one person watching someone they love struggle. He wrote Her Diamonds for his wife (who struggles with chronic illness) and I love when he says, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but if she feels bad then I do too.” I also love the imagery of her tears as diamonds. He wrote 3am about his mom’s battle with cancer (and I LOVE this acoustic version of the song). When life is feeling a bit heavy for me, I can actually feel that burden lift just a bit when he sings (in Little Wonders): “Let it go, let it roll right off your shoulders; don’t you know the hardest part is over.” And there are just days where I need the therapy of singing / yelling along with This is How a Heart Breaks or Disease. And (to end on a positive note), I love the hope and willingness to patiently work to make a relationship work that is portrayed in Snowblind.

Appropriately, as I was looking for YouTube videos of some of my favorite songs, I discovered many videos where he talked about the stories and emotions behind his songs and how he honors music as a form of emotional expression and a way to connect people to each other.

(And yes, Brooke, this all came from the fact that you and I talked about Rob Thomas while you were here — it was eight days of great conversation, so you’ll probably see even more blogs about things we talked about.) :)

Little Wonders

2011-09-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

I witnessed a beautiful miracle yesterday. It was scheduled, so I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I guess I hadn’t realized just how beautiful or how miraculous it would be. My friend called me about a week and a half ago to ask if I could come to her home to take pictures documenting a significant development in her family.

She and her husband are two of the best people I know. They are open, genuine, generous, and grounded. I love being with their family and I admire all the good that they do—without ever drawing attention to themselves. The development that needed photo documentation was the addition of two beautiful girls to their family. The girls are (fairly) distantly related to them. They were being removed from their mother’s custody because of her inability to care for them. So my friends agreed to become legal guardians for O., who is 5 years old, and S., who is 2 years old. That’s a big responsibility, but you wouldn’t know that by this family’s reaction to the arrival of these two beautiful girls.

The homecoming was so full of joy, smiles, laughter, hugs, and overwhelming love. Clearly this family is making an immeasurable difference in the lives of these girls. They are leaving behind a world that was filled with violence, fear, drugs, and neglect. They are entering a world full of love, acceptance, discipline, potential, beauty, and joy. And yet, watching them interact yesterday, this family seemed touched by what these girls were bringing to them more than by what they were offering the two girls. It was such a tender and beautiful scene. I felt so privileged that K. invited me to be a part of it.

In Defense of Rain

2011-09-12T22:49:00.000-07:00

I know that most of my fellow Oregonians are probably loving our heat wave, but I nearly cried with joy when I saw this week's forecast (nothing over 80!). And I'd be even happier if we had rain coming. When I first moved to Portland, I got the same comment from everyone I met, "Hope you can handle the rain." I always responded by telling people how much I LOVE rain. And they responded with, "Yeah, I'll ask again in a year."

So, one year later (wow!), I will answer the question that no one really ever intended to ask: "I still LOVE rain!" I think a terrible injustice is being foisted upon us, from our youth up, where rain is concerned. We repeat nursery rhymes and other children's songs like "Rain, rain, go away," and the disturbing "It's raining, it's pouring..." (a little verse that forever links rain and epidural hematoma... talk about negative association...). : ) Then we add songs about how "rainy days and Mondays always get me down." In other songs we "blame it on the rain," "can't stand the rain," and bemoan "oh no, it's raining again." I remember "raindrops keep falling on my head" as a particularly unpleasant musical vilification of rain. We sing that we can "see clearly now, the rain is gone." When we are feeling particularly downtrodden, we sing "bring on the rain" as if it's the last bad thing that could happen to us.

It's always bothered me a bit that rain gets such a bad rap in our culture. I mentioned this to a friend last week and she didn't really believe me (so I was compelled, you see, to compile a list of examples). So to all those who (either consciously or subconsciously) buy into the "rain is the bad guy" mentality, I have scoured my music and poetry collection to identify reasons to love rain (you won’t see anything about how rain is responsible for the beautiful green landscape we enjoy here in Oregon, that is far too utilitarian for my purposes—what can I say? I'm feeling poetic tonight).

I love these lyrics from a Peter Breinholt song: “I can feel the rain wash my fears away.” I love how rain is literally and symbolically cleansing. The smell of rain is impossible to replicate and it is something that makes me pause in appreciation every time I smell it.

Sara Bareilles sings: “I want to let the rain come down, make a brand new ground” and she even embraces dark skies (“I want to darken in the skies”). I know this is incomprehensible to some people, but I love dark, brooding skies. I can’t say it better than my friend, so I will quote him: “I think they engender deep, brooding thoughts and emotions, which resonate like deep, low bass notes.”

I think that might have been what Annie Lennox meant when she wrote “Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory, falling on my head like a new emotion” and “is it raining with you?”—this is a song that could technically be listed as an indictment of rain, but I never see it that way. Rain is complex, and (again, as strange as it sounds) that is one of the reasons I love it. It has depth and emotion—I like that rain sometimes makes you work to understand or appreciate it. Maybe that’s too much personification…

I can’t ignore Gene Kelly’s classic: “Singing in the Rain,” because singing and dancing in the rain is about the most joyous activity one can engage in. I love the potential for rain to be childlike, simple, and joyful (which I know, is a complete contradiction of my earlier point, but the fact that both are true rather proves my point, or at least I think so!). I love being with my nieces and nephews when it is raining, because it is impossible for them to walk past a puddle without jumping in. So I jump in too.

A few of you may know that “rain in May” is the best kind of rain there is—it is a rain that can change your life. Maybe because it interrupts what you had planned for that fine spring day, which opens avenues for better things. Or maybe because it causes you to reflect deeply and set a new course. It might be because rain in May is empowering and liberating. Whatever the reason, rain in May is even more miraculous than rain at any other time.

I’m sure you won’t be surprised that I could share many additional examples, but I’ll spare you all that. I just had to explain why I always look so much more cheerful in the rain than in the sunshine. And now you won’t question my sanity or maturity when you catch me jumping in puddles. I’m singing inside (and sometimes out loud) every time it rains.

Star(fish) gazing

2011-09-07T16:49:00.000-07:00

My friend Brooke is visiting from Salt Lake this week. We have driven to the best beauty spots of Oregon (Columbia River Gorge, Silver Falls, and the coast), laughing most of the way. For years to come, we will laugh (and probably still argue) about what qualifies as a dessert. We will joke about never slamming on the brakes when the passenger doesn't have a seatbelt on. And, most importantly, we will remember the profound discussions and the awesome beauty we enjoyed.

We were at Cannon Beach at low tide and we saw loads of starfish (and other creatures, but the starfish were my favorite). I will be sure to take all future guests to the coast when we will be able to access the tide pools. Very cool. Here are a few favorite pictures. Go to: http://nutmegphotos.blogspot.com/ to see the rest.

Brooke is displaying the natural (and exuberant) joy that often attends the viewing of a beautiful sunset
(must be the lithium).

Sunset at the Columbia River Gorge (I never tire of this view).

Brooke, contemplating how much she would love to frolic in the waves.

I felt like I won the lottery when I saw this guy hanging out on the beach.

How can I not LOVE this beautiful place??!!

Brooke, giving in to her desire to frolic in the waves.

What are you afraid of?

2011-08-31T19:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about fear, for a few years now (which should explain the length of this post). : ) I think fear is a distressingly effective tool of the adversary. And I think it is often misinterpreted by us. I believe that we underestimate the complexities of fear and fall victim to it far too often.

As most of you know, I teach at EFY (Especially for Youth) during the summer. Three years ago I developed a class that I call, “The Enemy Within,” and it is all about overcoming fear. It’s one of my favorite classes, partly because it is so entertaining (and enlightening) to me. I open the class by having three young men play a little “Fear Factor” game. I chose three tasks that are at least nominally fear-inducing (depending on the person). Each boy chooses a task and performs it, then the whole class votes on who should win the prize (bragging rights and a candy bar).

(Side note: for those of you who haven’t already discovered this, it seems that there is nothing a boy won’t do when a challenge has been extended. Case in point: one of the tasks is to “lick the toe of another participant”—which I included only because I wanted the shock value. I never thought anyone would actually choose that task. I have taught the class six times and I have watched six boys lick six toes. <SHUDDER>)

I digress. The primary reason I love this class is because whenever people (friends, family members, EFY counselors, ward members, etc.) ask me what topics I teach at EFY and I mention this class, the response is always: “Oh, I need that class! Can I come?” I think it’s safe to say that we all battle fear at times. What really worries me about fear, though, is that it is an enemy we often don’t recognize, which sometimes leads us to conclude that what we feel is an answer from the Lord.

I was reminded yesterday (by a good friend) of a great talk by Elder F. Enzio Busche (emeritus General Authority), called “Unleashing the Dormant Spirit.” Here is a link to the full talk: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=5

My favorite statement from the talk is: "Avoid any fear like your worst enemy...If something is wrong, God will give you clarity, but never doubts." I love that. I have learned, more forcefully than before, that God does not work by fear. If our path is incorrect, He will guide us to a new path by giving more instruction and greater clarity, not by paralyzing us with fear. He does not give us doubts or try to influence our choices by fear. For me, the difficulty lies in distinguishing between fear and a stupor of thought. I don’t really have any answers regarding how to recognize the difference (if you have suggestions, please, let me know). This is what I have learned, from my personal experience.

Fear often follows a confirmation of a good choice and precedes (in an attempt to stop that good thing from happening) the completion of the action decided upon. Elder Holland describes this BEAUTIFULLY and POWERFULLY (so much so that I HAD to use all caps) in his BYU Devotional address, “Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence.” (You can find the full talk here: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=795&tid=2) He says, “I wish to encourage every one of you today regarding opposition that so often comes after enlightened decisions have been made, after moments of revelation and conviction have given us a peace and an assurance we thought we would never lose...This opposition turns up almost any place something good has happened. It can happen when you are trying to get an education. It can hit you after your first month in your new mission field. It certainly happens in matters of love and marriage” (italics original).

I’ve learned that fear is not always replaced with peace because we pray for it. I believe there are times when the Lord lets us grapple with fear to see if we will be true to earlier illumination and/or established truth. I feel like this is demonstrated by Oliver Cowdery’s experience with trying to translate ancient records. He petitioned the Lord for the privilege of translating, and the Lord told him that he could and taught him about the process of revelation (found in D&C 8). With this encouragement from the Lord he makes an attempt and it doesn’t go so well. Then Oliver received this gentle rebuke from the Lord: “You did not continue as you commenced...It is not expedient that you should translate now. Behold it was expedient when you commenced; but you feared, and the time is past, and it is not expedient now” (D&C 9:5, 10-11).

When I made the decision to move to Portland and, specifically, to buy the house I now live in, I was struck by overwhelming fear. I had felt good about my decisions to that point, but when it came to the final acceptance of an offer, I was scared to death and no amount of prayer replaced that fear with peace. But as I thought about it, I recognized that this decision made “real” all my previous decisions (to quit my job, start my own business, move to Oregon) and that I was just facing very normal fears associated with those decisions and changes. I had to push through that fear and “continue as I commenced.” Eventually that fear left me and I have heaps of evidence now that it was a good decision. But I couldn’t pray the fear away, I had to act it away. I think that is often the case for so many of our most important decisions (like college, missions, marriage, etc.)—when they become “real” they often become quite scary. I think that kind of fear is the kind we often (though certainly not always) have to push through on our own, trusting in the earlier answers we received.

Elder Holland also addresses this idea in the talk I cited above. His insights about D&C 8, Moses parting the Red Sea, and the “spirit of revelation” are amazing (really, I cannot say strongly enough that you should read this talk). He provides several lessons about what our part is in the process of receiving revelation. This is one: Once you have received an answer “…’go forward.’...With the spirit of revelation, dismiss your fears and wade in with both feet...Like Moses in his vision, there may come after the fact some competing doubts and some confusion, but they will pale when you measure them against the real thing. Remember the real thing" (italics original).

I have learned that feelings of fear are very real but are not true. I have experienced how Satan can plant fear and then leave me to water and tend it (I’m so obliging sometimes). And what I grow in my own heart and mind is often harder to uproot than other forms of temptation.

Lastly, I have learned more fully what the Lord means when he says that “perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). I had always focused on it as an external defense (i.e. “fearing not what man can do"). Now I have pondered how perfect love can free us from internal doubts and fears—from those times when our own minds become “bad neighborhoods to be in.”

Here are some of the other talks I have found in my journey to better understand and overcome fear:

“Some Things We Have Learned Together”—Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and Sister Patricia Holland: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=859&tid=2

“Fear Not”—Sister Patricia Holland: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=1282&tid=2

“One Step Enough”—John S. Tanner: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=449 (his opening discussion of transcendental metaworry is hilarious and so true, and I LOVE the way he describes becoming a contemporary of Abraham—this talk changed the way I read scriptural stories)

“Some Lessons on Faith and Fear”—Gregory Clark: http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=1769

Expression (or, in other words, "What would Neil Diamond Do?")

2011-08-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

This may be messy, but I can’t think of any other way to describe my thoughts today (and that’s ironic, as you’ll soon see). So, messy though it may be, I’m going to share these thoughts just as they came to me.

Several days ago I was trying to share something that was deeply meaningful and exciting to me (a new perspective on a few gospel doctrines) with two of my friends. They listened attentively, smiled and nodded in (pseudo, perhaps) agreement, but also looked at me like I was a variety of vegetable in their latest “Bountiful Basket” that they could not identify—interesting, possibly good, but definitely a mystery. That happens to me fairly often and I’m usually alright with the fact that most people don’t quite “get” me when I share the deepest stuff in my head (not because my thoughts are deeper; just different, apparently, from others' deep stuff). But this week it reminded me of one who always perfectly understood me and it made me sad.

Yesterday I read something about how important self-expression is to most people, even if they aren’t aware of that need. And he (the writer) emphasized music as a particularly powerful and rewarding form of self-expression for him. Music is that way for me too. I don’t write it (pity), but I nearly always find myself seeking music that matches my mood, and even hunting for a song with lyrics that can express what I am feeling and thinking. I realized that a song almost becomes a source of validation—it extends what I am thinking or feeling to a place outside my own head and heart.

Last night I went to the Josh Groban concert (AMAZING!). He played an instrumental song (“Wandering Kind,” from his latest CD) and told us that he wrote the song when he was 12 years old after a really rotten day at school. Then he talked about how writing melodies comes fairly easily (how would that be?) but that finding the right lyrics to express what he is thinking or feeling is often quite difficult. He said that when he and/or a co-writer get thoroughly stumped during the song-writing process, he or they will ask, “What would Neil Diamond do?” (and now you know that Josh gets the credit for the catchy title).

During the concert (particularly watching Josh sing his heart out—it was like watching emotion take shape and find a voice at the same time, it was such a “whole body” singing) all these thoughts converged into this internal dialogue:

Musicians and artists are in a rare and lucky position—their work is all about self-expression. Their whole effort is focused on saying what they think and feel. That must be so cathartic and healthy. But wait, why then do so many artists and musicians become self-medicating addicts with broken relationships and every other form of brokenness trailing behind them? I wonder if they feel like they pour their hearts out and everyone smiles, nods, sings along, but still thinks of them as an unidentifiable variety of squash? Or maybe, since their interactions with the public are usually so removed and impersonal, they instead feel that everyone thinks they understand them (and even “own” them to some extent), but they are left with a distressing sense of aloneness still. Hmm…

I know that I tend to lean (maybe too far) to the side of hyper self-awareness, so maybe my feelings about the importance of self-expression are skewed. But I hope we all have at least one person who truly can look into our deepest places and understand and love what is there.

Glass Hearts

2011-07-01T14:30:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wished your heart was made of glass? Anyone? Didn’t think so. As a society, it seems that we desire (and value) the opposite: a tough heart, protected by layers of defense mechanisms and coated in teflon. Lately, I’ve been thinking about what that costs us.

About 18 months ago I reread O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi for the first time in years. I was so impressed by the last paragraph of the story, I wrote a blog post about it. The subject was vulnerability and wisdom. Here is part of what I wrote (which is connected to all my current thoughts on the subject):

So I wondered, after I read the story today, why were these two the wisest of all who give gifts? And the first answer that came is simply this: it is profoundly wise to love with all one's heart, to hold nothing back.

The story that I noticed this time was not about giving up a material possession—it was about the willingness of both individuals to be utterly vulnerable in order to give something to the one they loved. I noticed this time how each gave up the one thing they had that could be relied upon to make them feel important and/or worthy of recognition. I noticed how their own sense of personal worth was on the line. And each loved perfectly and (maybe even more impressive) trusted perfectly in the love of the other. And in being that vulnerable, in trusting that much, they found how strong their love was. That, I think, is what made them so wise.

One of my favorite quotations (evidenced by its placement on my blog’s sidebar) is from Anne Morrow Lindberg: "I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable." Her words suggest that there is personal power and, again, wisdom in vulnerability. Hmm….

Last night I read the thoughts of my friend Rinda, whom I love and respect very much. She was writing about an experience we had in Kenya. I read what she wrote and I cried—feeling overwhelmed again by the greatness of the individuals we met there and feeling so blessed to have had this experience. The thing that compelled both Rinda and me to write was a speech we heard in Kenya.

Kenyans love speeches. They are a very formal society and they take speeches very seriously. We watched children quietly, patiently sit through hours of speeches. It is considered a great honor to be asked to give a speech, and an insult to be excluded if you have any reasonable claim to the honor. We heard many speeches.

This speech was notable, though, even in the midst of many heartfelt speeches. It was written and delivered by Khamisi Mjape Katui, a Class Six student (6th grade) at Egu Primary School. He was asked to give a note of thanks to Kenya Keys. This is what he said:

On behalf of the entire Egu school, the teaching fraternity and the community at large, I feel very much honored for this opportunity to shower you with these warm words of thanks, first for your frequent visits, learning resources, and not forgetting, the social interaction. We feel very much blessed to have you here and we will promise to better our best. May the Almighty God reward you for all sorts of support you did for us. I miss the relevant adjectives to put in my speech, and wish our hearts were made of glass so that you can see the truth of our center.

Wow. There are so many things I love about his speech. I love the unique phrasing. I love that he made reference to their love of adjectives (they do use adjectives a lot!). I love that he promised to “better [their] best”—capturing their inexhaustible desire to work hard and improve their lives. I love the humility and faith evident in his words. But most of all, I love his wish that they could have hearts made of glass so we could simply see what they felt. Actually, I think he got his wish. I may never fully understand how grateful they are for the gift of education, because I never had to struggle for that gift they way they do. But I felt immeasurable love and gratitude from them because they are the most open, artless, vulnerable people I know.

By contrast, we so often devote a great deal of our time and energy to making sure we are invulnerable, that all our “soft spots” are protected. Whether it is the makeup I put on before I leave my house, or the way I shrink from public participation in any activity I know I am not good at (can any of you say you’ve ever seen me play basketball?), or the fact that I would rather throw something away than take food to someone if I don’t think it tastes great, or how I avoid social events if I feel sub-standard in any way—all evidence that I worry too much about never letting anyone see me when I am not my “best” (whatever that even means).

I’m at the point in the narrative when I should make a point, and I don’t know for sure what that is (and I should say that I am sorry for the absurd length of this post, if you’re still reading it you deserve a prize). : ) I am not suggesting we all wear our hearts on our sleeves or seek opportunities to let others hurt us—that would be stupid. Maybe it is simply this: though it seems counterintuitive, there is strength, power, and wisdom in appropriate vulnerability and openness. Consider these characteristics of the Kenyan villagers:

Most do not have mirrors, so they don’t worry about their physical appearance or any supposed imperfections. Most do not have many articles of clothing, so they don’t worry about dressing better than anyone else. Most have very few material possessions, so they don’t worry about having more or keeping up with, well, anyone. They do not make fun of each other. Ever. They do not even know what that means. So they don’t worry about looking foolish in front of their peers. The result is a complete lack of self-consciousness and a whole group of people whose hearts are wide open. They suffer together. They love each other. Although they are always striving to improve themselves, they are content with who they are and what they have. They have glass hearts, and they are profoundly beautiful, strong, joyful and wise.

Kenya: Day 16 (last day in Kenya... really)

2011-06-30T19:08:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed it took me a while to get this last day posted? I think I’ve been putting it off because I haven’t wanted to be done posting about Kenya. But that’s silly, there are still a lot of stories to share.

This day was pretty uneventful. We woke up, got ready, had breakfast, went to church, had lunch, packed, went to the airport, and then left Kenya. <sigh>

Going to church at the LDS congregation (called a branch) in Mombasa was really nice. That was something I had hoped to do, so even though the delayed flight was a bit of a hassle, I can’t complain. In fact, I felt a little guilty and confessed to my fellow intern that I had prayed for a way to attend the LDS church at some point while we were in Kenya. I generally enjoy and appreciate worshiping with people of other faiths, and I loved attending church with Joseph and Mwaka in Taru. But I also wanted to experience what an LDS church service would be like in Kenya. There are so many stories of the incredible faith and perseverance of the African members of the church—I love being able to be a part of their worship. Anyway, it was wonderful, and I was very glad we had that opportunity—I just didn’t realize a cancelled flight would be involved. Guess it’s true that you should be careful what you pray for.

People have often asked me if I felt unsafe in Kenya. For the most part, the answer is “no.” In Taru particularly, I felt very safe. One exception to that was our drive from the LDS church to the hotel. We had contacted a member of the branch and he provided us with a ride to church, but we needed to leave before the three-hour block of meetings ended and he was teaching a class in the third hour, so we got a taxi (a little tuk-tuk) to the hotel. These are funny little vehicles, and really we were fine. But both of us said later that there was a moment while we were on our way back to the hotel when we didn’t recognize where we were at all and the thought came that really, anything could happen. He could have taken us anywhere. We had very little with us that could have helped us out if something had gone wrong. Nothing did, of course, and we really didn’t worry much or for long. It was just one of those funny reminders of the fact that you are vulnerable.

Kenya: Day 16 (last day in Kenya... or is it?)

2011-06-24T17:31:00.000-07:00

Today was a tourist day. Some of went shopping for souvenirs, some went to Haller Park (the wild animal park we visited at the beginning of the trip), and all of us relaxed a bit. I was actually pretty proud of how little I bought—simple gifts for family and a few friends and one wood carving of an elephant for myself (you had to know that was coming). After paying for my things, I walked outside to get back in the van and I saw it. This:

And my resolve to not buy anything large, bulky, or difficult to transport to the US crumbled. I owe a HUGE thank you to Rinda for packing it home with her (they had the empty suitcases that had books in them when we came, but they were all back in Taru, so I couldn’t pack it home myself). It is really quite a unique and beautiful piece. The man in the picture is the one who carved it.

The first van left the hotel at about 2:30 to drop off three of us at the airport and take the others back to Taru. The second van was waiting for additional errands to be completed before heading back to Taru. Somehow we got through the goodbyes and the exchange of phone numbers and emails and Lauren, Brennan, and I headed into the airport. We were about two hours early for our flight. Perfect. Or so we thought. Lauren and I walked to the counter for Ethiopian Airlines (Brennan was booked on a different airline), which was unmanned. We waited for a while and no one came, so we tracked someone down.

Alex informed us that we had missed our flight. Turns out it was actually cancelled (but that’s a long and pointless story). So, we got an extra day in Mombasa. The airline put us up in the same hotel we had stayed in the night before, which was quite nice. In fact, we were even given the same room I had stayed in (and it was really nice!). They provided a taxi and paid for all our meals, so it wasn’t bad, other than needing to arrange for pickup at our respective airports on Monday night instead of Sunday night.

When we arrived at the hotel, we saw Joseph standing on the curb. The group was in the van and just waiting for Joseph and Brent to get in so they could head back to Taru. We had already called them to let them know our flight was cancelled. I know it sounds funny, because we only saw them briefly and we were really just fine—but it was SO good to see everyone before they left for Taru.

If you’re going to get stranded in a foreign city for 24 hours, you could do a lot worse than staying at Nyali Beach (the hotel). And this delay gave us a great opportunity I had hoped to have (but that’s tomorrow’s story). :)

Kenya: Day 15 (last day in Taru)

2011-06-22T17:42:00.000-07:00

How do you feel on your last day in Taru? I won’t lie, part of you feels relief at knowing a good shower is almost within reach. And, with the sun up and your eminent departure, you are done with the task of trying to prepare to retire for the night with only the light from your headlamp guiding you through the maze of your suitcase (who knew PJs could get so lost in mere hours?). The thought of flooding a room with light just by flipping a switch makes you almost giddy. But those are surface feelings, and they quickly fade into unimportance when you have to say goodbye to the friends you didn’t even know two weeks ago but who mean so much to you now. You don’t realize, at the time, how unprepared you are to reenter the world that brings the luxuries of running water, regular flushing toilets, and electricity. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

On this last day, I left with Brent, Rinda, Joseph, and Mbotte to interview students at two schools that lie between Taru and Mombasa (but a ways off the main road in both cases). I’ve already mentioned how much I enjoyed talking one-on-one with the students. I really could not have spent my last day in a better way.

I did have one unfortunate experience during the day. The details certainly qualify as “too much information,” so I won’t go there. Just know that it qualifies as the worst bathroom experience of my life, and it helped put the whole “modern world” vs. “rural Kenyan village” situation into perspective. :)

We arrived in Mombasa with plenty of time to greet the incoming interns. The rest of our team was already at the hotel (actually, already enjoying the pool). I am slightly ashamed to report the joy that swelled up in me when I felt the first faint intimations of air conditioning. With nowhere I had to be and a very cool room to myself, I propped up my feet and read a book for about 45 minutes; it was great.

Then I wandered down to the pool, shared some “pan crepes” with other members of the group, and then wandered to the beach. I had been told by a member of the hotel staff that, on this very beach, it was possible to fulfill one of my lifelong dreams. That’s right, for a reasonable sum I could ride a camel. I guess the claim that camel-riding was a lifelong dream is something of a stretch. The idea hadn’t really occurred to me until after I rode an ostrich in South Africa. But since then, I figured riding a camel and an elephant were certainly worthy goals to add to my list. And now I am down to just the elephant ride and my dream will be complete. Riding a camel along the Indian Ocean was, well, awesome. I highly recommend it.

Kenya: Day 14

2011-06-20T19:57:00.000-07:00

I had heard of the women’s soap group at Bahakwenu before going to Kenya. I had even used their soap. But I wasn’t prepared for the experience of meeting them. Most of the women only speak Daruma, not Swahili or English. Joseph interpreted for us, but we didn’t need an interpreter to understand their enthusiasm and the fulfillment they find through their soap business. They are more than just business partners, they support each other in many ways.

They showed us their soap molds and explained the process they go through to make and market the soap. They keep careful records. They are starting to diversify their business by selling sugar and aloe vera products. This really is an inspiring group. Here are a few pictures of the group:

While there, a few of us were fortunate enough to receive Daruma names from the women of the group, making us part of the tribe. The women had never met those of us who were being newly adopted into the tribe. The naming ceremony was a really beautiful and fun experience. I have to admit that, with the blisters I had on my ankles and feet, I worried a little bit about being given a name that meant something like “woman with boils.” The women dressed me in a khanga as they told me my Daruma name: Umazi. It turned out that they had one piece of material that they cut to make two khangas—they gave one to me and one to Rinda. They were singing and Rinda leaned over to tell me that they were making she and I sisters. This was an honor I never expected, but was very happy to receive. I have the highest respect and admiration for Rinda. I would love to be more like her. Maybe now that we’re sisters I will have a better chance to learn from her and follow her example.

We sang and danced and after it was all over I had a chance to ask what my new name meant. Umazi means “one who is kind.” So much better than “woman with boils.” And it gives me something to strive for.

Kenya: Day 13

2011-06-19T23:35:00.000-07:00

The Kenyan people have many attributes that I would love to emulate. I’ve mentioned many of those attributes in previous blog posts. Of them all, the one I most want to develop is their balance. I’m not talking about the balance that allows them to carry buckets of water (or any number of things) on their heads (as impressive as that is).

The balance I’m talking about is the kind that allows them to maintain childlike enthusiasm, contentment, trust, and hope while simultaneously responding with wisdom, maturity, and determination to the countless challenges they face. One of my least favorite words is “inevitable.” I dislike the idea that we can’t avoid certain conclusions. I think we too often have come to expect that one who has suffered great hardships and disappointments inevitably becomes hardened, guarded, or pessimistic. Or that we cannot be both tough and tender. Or that our only choice is to adopt either a happy cluelessness or a grim realism.

I loved seeing evidence in nearly every face I saw in Kenya that it is possible to have dogged hope despite countless disappointments. Everywhere we went we saw abundant need. Nearly every principal or village leader we talked to provided a list of urgent needs. They are very much aware of the depth and breadth of their challenges. They do not discount those difficulties. And yet, the prevailing feeling in each interaction was one of hope. They consistently expressed their trust in God, their optimism, and their willingness to work hard to make things better. They also were very good at seeing abundance, rather than focusing on what they lacked.

Egu Primary School was full of such hope and gratitude. They held a welcoming ceremony for us that eclipsed any we had experienced. They obviously prepared very well. It is important to note that the day we met with the staff and students of Egu was a national holiday celebrating their independence. They didn’t have to be there; they all agreed to come hold school that day for our benefit. It would be interesting to see how teachers and students in the US would respond to such a request.

The ceremony was a beautiful, joyful, hopeful event. They sang and danced for us and they included us in their own “entertainments.” They were delightful. Their humor and happiness were beautiful to see. They demonstrated their love for learning and their love for life. When we gave them a suitcase of books for their library, they cheered so enthusiastically. We could not have given them any gift they would have appreciated more. It was a pretty remarkable day. It was impossible to really capture the feeling and beauty of the experience, but here are a few of my favorite pictures and videos.

They met us out on the road, already singing their hearts out. Several students held trees in their hands. Each of them paired up with one of us and we planted the trees together:

They don’t just read books, they devour books! They have regular book days when the staff brings out all the books and displays them on desks so that students can see if there are any books they have not read yet. This one boy just couldn’t walk away from the books—he remained, long after they had asked everyone to gather elsewhere:

A traditional dance:

This is a “store” they have in a classroom to help them study economics, maths, and other topics (if you look closely, the items used here are all essentially garbage):

They have a “hot seat”—the student whose name is called sits in the chair and answers any five questions from the audience. This young man answered some very tough questions:

The sack races:

“We are the future leaders of Kenya” (I love this!):

Kenya: Day 12

2011-06-18T21:16:00.000-07:00

The Kenyan sky is so beautiful, it almost seems surreal. The landscape is wide open—the horizon is virtually unbroken in every direction. The clouds appear to be painted in the sky. And they seem so close, it is easier to imagine reaching the clouds than the distant mountains. Each night, the sky fills with stars so bright and, again, so (seemingly) close that one is compelled to stop, and gaze in awe at the impossibly stunning scene.

Since arriving in Taru, Kenya, I have stopped to appreciate the sky countless times. But the sky is not the only thing that is stunning in Kenya. The people of Taru have caused me to pause time and time again in wonder and admiration. Have you ever met someone that you wish the whole world could know? Have you ever been so moved, so inspired by a person that you felt a turning inside you—a change you knew would always remain? I just spent one morning at Fuleye (sounds like "fillet") Primary School. Most of our time was spent with the mrembo (beautiful) students of Fuleye. We spent about 30 minutes talking with Moses, the school’s Head Teacher and Principal. That 30 minutes made me a better person—I am “more” because of my brief time with this incredible man.

Moses is the second of seven children born to very poor Kenyan parents. He attended primary school and, at age 16, took the national standardized exam: the KCPE. All students in Kenya must achieve high marks on this exam in order to qualify to attend secondary school. Moses scored very well on the KCPE. He was the second highest-scoring student in his region. But his family could not afford the school fees, so he waited and worked six years in order to enter secondary school (beginning at the age of 22). His older brother had taken a job and contributed money to help Moses attend school. After completing his education, he was given a post as a teacher. He then joined his older brother in providing funds for the education of his younger siblings. All of his siblings are educated and many of them are now teachers in the region.

That is not all. His students are from very poor families and many of them do not have more than one meal per day. The government does not provide a lunch meal for the students because they consider the school close enough to the students’ homes that they can walk home for lunch. Most of the students do live in close proximity to the school, but many of them walk 10 kilometers (6 miles) or more each way. And, regardless of their distance from the school, most students and their families do not have enough food for a mid-day meal. Students who have no lunch stay at the school. So Moses stays with them. He told us he wanted to be one with his students in this. He feels that he cannot treat his students well, or inspire them, if he is “satisfied” and they are wanting.

I had a large backpack with me when we went to Fuleye. I had set it down inside an empty classroom and I asked Moses if it would be alright to leave it there. I asked because I worried that it would be in the way if the teachers or students needed the room. His response was that his students were very disciplined and honest and that my belongings would be perfectly safe. He then took me to his office to show me the school’s mission statement, which was to provide education that would help the students develop discipline and self-reliance. He talked to me about how education was a partnership among the pupils, their parents, the teachers and administrators, and the community.

While we visited classrooms with Moses, he sang along with the students. He was lively and enthusiastic. We all felt his overwhelming love for his students and his thirst for learning. I am sure every student at Fuleye feels his love and his desire to help them learn. They are lucky to have such a principal. I was blessed to meet him.

Kenya: Day 11 (the early bird gets the rhino)

2011-06-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

We were up fairly late last night waiting around for a leopard to show up for the piece of meat the hotel staff had set out for him. I don’t have any pictures of the leopard because I didn’t have time to set up my tripod and knew that my pictures would just be blurry without the proper setup. So you’ll just have to trust me, we saw a leopard (that meant we had seen four of the African “big five” — for those of you scoring at home). The “big five” are: elephant, lion, leopard, buffalo, and rhino.

I decided not to get up early on this last day of our safari. I figured that I had seen the sunrise the day before and that I would rather sleep later (we were leaving on the game drive at 7:00). But, my body had other plans. I woke up at 4:30 am and thought, “guess I'll see the sunrise after all.”

It might have been the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen — it is certainly in the top three. I am so glad I was up for it. Here are a few pictures:

While I was taking pictures of the sunrise, a member of the hotel staff was scanning the landscape through binoculars. He got really excited and motioned for me to come look. It was a rhino. Can you see him?:

Yeah, not really. And that was taken with my telephoto lens. Here is a cropped version (and if you look really hard, you can just make him out):

I would love to have seen him close-up, but I can't complain; I got to see all of the "big five" and that is pretty amazing. Here are a few more favorites from our safari:

A picture with me in it — proof that I was there!

Dixon got a bit bored with the idea of looking at animals. He decided it might be fun to try to get a little more action out of the animals. He chose this elephant for his fun. He honked and yelled and got the elephant quite excited (yes, we were that close, and yes, the elephant chose to be the bigger “person” and walk away from the fight).

Have you heard of the Tsavo Man-Eaters? When the British were building a railroad through the area, two maneless male lions developed a nasty habit of sneaking into camp and killing and carrying off men to eat later. These are pictures of the railroad and bridge they were building when the attacks took place:

Kenya: Day 10 (more safari)

2011-06-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

Early (early!) morning at the watering hole:

A little yoga to stay limber for the game drive:

Giraffe day at Tsavo:

Great tree:

Another elephant shot (surprised?):

SIMBA!!:

And a nod to the flowers:

Kenya: Day 9 (Let the safari begin!)

2011-06-15T14:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we were focused, dedicated Kenya Keys interns. Today, we are safari tourists. Quite a transformation:

Tsavo National Park is located very near the village of Taru. The gate through which we entered the park was only about a 20-30 minute drive from the village. That is why students frequently encounter elephants and other wild animals while walking to school.

Like typical tourists, we were incredibly excited when we saw our first animals. Our first “big” sighting was a herd of elephants off in the distance.

We thought that was great. Little did we know how many we would see or how close we would get to them. Dixon was our driver, and he did a fantastic job of getting us to the animals. He’s got a great eye for spotting distant, (to us) barely perceptible movements that indicated the presence of animals. He was also quite the comedian. This is a picture of him with elephant dung (“it’s just hay,” he told us).

It was the kind of experience where you feel like pinching yourself, or at least verifying with your friends every few minutes: “I am on an African safari, right?” The landscape was beautiful. Watching the animals in their natural habitat was unreal. The whole experience was amazing. I feel very blessed to have had this chance.

On this first day, we had two particularly noteworthy (or should I say, picture worthy) experiences. The first was the sunset. Again, the landscape was simply breathtaking—a dream come true for a photographer. I have always loved images of trees coupled with a dramatic sky. Here are my favorite shots of our twilight in Tsavo East:

The other moment (and it was my favorite of the whole safari), was watching the elephants at the watering hole at the Voi Safari Lodge. The hotel includes a structure that allows visitors to walk down to the watering hole and watch the animals up close and at ground level—without the animals seeing the visitors. It was the perfect place to watch their interaction with each other and with the water. I got lucky: a few elephants gave me the photo opportunities of a lifetime:

Kenya: Day 8

2011-06-14T14:25:00.000-07:00

They called it an office, but I am convinced it was an oven. If I had been in there just ten more minutes I would have come out a nice golden brown. I shouldn't have been surprised--the building was constructed entirely of metal sheets, and metal is such a good conductor. : ) I don't think we visited any other place as miserably hot as this "office." But I would gladly go back (just maybe earlier in the morning or later in the evening).

Paige (a fellow intern) was filming an interview with Charles. As I listened to Charles I noticed a hand-written sign behind his desk. This is what it said:

Charles and Mary, his wife, live by that motto. They are the kind of people who literally inspire others to do more. At least, they inspired me. They are both university-educated and licensed social workers. With their education, they could have chosen to pursue more lucrative careers in one of Kenya's larger cities. Instead, they have dedicated their lives to creating a home for children who are rarely welcomed into any other home: children whose parents died of AIDS.

In Kenya, these children are usually taken in by relatives. But they will often be the last person in the household to be given food, clothing, or an opportunity to attend school. Charles and Mary are giving them so much more than just a safe place to sleep and food to eat. At the top of the sign in the picture it says, "In a family." Charles and Mary are giving these children a family. If you ask the children, they will enthusiastically declare that they do indeed have a mother and a father, brothers and sisters.

When we were given a tour of the facilities, we noticed how clean everything was. That, alone, was more than I expected to find. The overwhelming feeling of love and happiness was another surprise (maybe I’ve read too much Dickens). The children were so obviously content, secure, grateful, and happy. I mentioned in my post yesterday that it was often difficult to get Kenyan children and adults to smile for a picture. Daniel, apparently, didn't get the memo that he was EVER supposed to be serious. Here are my two favorite pictures of Daniel:

Another surprise was their English. When we first arrived, all the children were at the orphanage on their lunch break. A few minutes later most of them returned to school. But there were three girls who were not in school yet. They spoke and sang to us in English. It wasn't until later that I realized that Mary and Charles must be teaching them English at the orphanage. A few days later I had a chance to talk to Mary at a dinner party and I asked her about it. She confirmed that they do teach the children English (as well as other subjects) before they even begin school. They want to give them the very best chance at succeeding in school and escaping the cycle of poverty.

Charles told us about some of their needs at the orphanage. They hope that we can help them get more indoor games, especially educational games. They said they would love scrabble because it would help the children learn English and practice it. When I asked Mary for specifics about what they could use, she listed several things but then said that we couldn't send them anything that they would not use and appreciate. I feel a great desire to provide them with whatever resources I can. I do not know exactly how I will do that, but they are in my heart and I feel that I can and should help them.

Here are a couple pictures and a video of one of the songs the girls sang to us while we were there:

Kenya: Day 7

2011-06-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

I have been really looking forward to blogging about this day. Ironically, it was probably my hardest day in Kenya. I woke up (and I use that in the loosest sense, because up to that point I still had not managed to really sleep in Kenya -- I am a poor sleeper under the best of conditions, and Kenya was pretty far from the best of conditions as far as sleeping goes) in a lot of pain and general grumpiness. Sleep deprivation and the physical issues I was struggling with caught up to me that morning and I sat on my bed and cried and prayed. I had nearly two weeks ahead of me still and I just couldn't see how I was going to get through all that time feeling like I did.

I didn't have any answer or alleviation of pain. Someone interrupted my wallowing and so I just got up and got going. We didn't have anywhere to be that morning so Rinda arranged for us to go with Mwaka to get water from the water catchment area. The home we stayed in (and Joseph and Mwaka's home) had a pipe that brought water to the backyard. So most of the time we only had to go out the back door to fill a bucket of water. But some part of the pipe system broke the night before (as often happens) and so we were not getting any water. When that happens Mwaka has to go to the water catchment to get the water she needs. We gathered buckets and set off.

Many women came to the water catchment while we were there. They took off their shoes before walking to the water. Mwaka explained that the water catchment is sacred and it is against the law to enter the area wearing shoes. Because they have to work so hard to get their water, it would be understandable if they looked on water as a negative thing, and the fetching of water as drudgery. Instead, they consider it sacred. I love that. And I love the lesson it provides. I realized as we gathered at the water catchment that in many ways this Kenyan village is more like the world Christ lived in than the world I live in. All the symbolism and beauty of the Savior's teachings about himself as the Living Water meant so much more in a setting where water is so dear.

I can't point to any single thing that happened while getting water with Mwaka that helped me put my own situation in perspective, but this day marked a turning point for me. I was still in pain through the rest of the trip, and there were times when I felt nearly overwhelmed by it, but for the most part the pain didn't matter as much as it had in the beginning. I even became grateful for it (but that is a story for another day).

The pictures from our water catchment experience are among my favorites from the whole trip. We were joined by little Mwaka, a young girl living in one of the huts we passed on the way. Seeing her carry her little pitcher of water on her head was about the sweetest thing I have ever seen. Seeing us mzungus trying to carry buckets of water on our heads was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. We need A LOT of practice.

Kenya: Day 6

2011-06-13T17:12:00.000-07:00

Today we went to Samburu Secondary and interviewed students for the first time. I think most interns initially think that conducting student interviews will be their least favorite part of their experience in Kenya. But when you sit down with one student and start talking to her about her background, education, and challenges, your whole perspective changes. To say that these students are an inspiration is so miserably inadequate.

If you ask students in the United States what their biggest challenge in school is, you are likely to hear about a subject or a teacher they dislike or are struggling with. If you ask a student in Kenya what his or her biggest challenge in school is, you may hear one of these responses: "The distance I have to walk to get to school (many of them walk 10-15 kilometers, or 6-9 miles, one way)," or "We can't afford paraffin (kerosene) for the lamp, so I cannot complete my homework," or "I have to work in the evenings to help provide food for my family," or any number of similar struggles. I never heard a single student complain about how hard their homework was. I never heard a student complain about how long they are in school (usually at least 8 hours, with no recess).

Thomas Paine wrote (of the struggle for American independence): "What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly." I think education is supremely important and should be available for every person. But how do we give education to everyone and yet instill in them a sense of its value? I don't know the answer to that -- but helping them see education from a Kenyan's point of view couldn't hurt.

As a photographer, the day was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed the challenge of getting the students to smile for me while I was taking their pictures. It is one of the anomalies of the Kenyan people. They are the happiest people I have ever met, and they laugh and smile freely and often. But pull out a camera, and their faces instantly become serious. Mbotte taught me the Swahili word for "smile" -- tabasamu. I could usually get people to relax and smile when I said that (probably because I was slaughtering the pronunciation). But not always. Many times I simply had to wait until they didn't think I was taking pictures any longer. I LOVED capturing their beautiful smiles and a hint of their happy personalities. Here are a few examples:

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

And this is just a picture I loved from the day:

You have to sweat

2011-06-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

Meet Salim. Salim is a student at Taru Secondary School. He is a very intelligent and hard working student. He is also remarkably good at expressing himself. His countenance is full of light and his attitude matches it. Salim comes from a poor family, and his father passed away several years ago. He is one of the students whose tuition is paid by a US sponsor. I worked with Salim on a project called Village to Village, so I had many opportunities to talk with him while I was in Kenya. The first time we talked he told me something that I will always remember. He was talking about his goals for further education and his career. Given the circumstances and challenges he faces, he knows it will be hard to reach the goals he has set for himself. He told me, "You have to sweat." Every good thing in life, he said, requires effort and hard work. If you aren't willing to sweat, you won't get very far. Pretty wise. I think he will get very, very far. I'm excited to see just how far he will go.

Kenya: Day 5

2011-06-11T16:28:00.000-07:00

We were "officially" welcomed to Taru today. The ceremony lasted several hours. It was rained out briefly, then resumed when the rain cleared. Most of the songs were in Swahili, so we couldn't tell what they were saying. But we frequently heard "Kenya Keys" and "Mama Rinda" in the songs. At times someone would interpret what the songs were saying, and it was usually something along the lines of: "today is a happy day because Mama Rinda is with us." Rinda is the woman who started the Kenya Keys organization, and she and her husband Brent keep the organization running with the help of the Kenya-based Board of Directors (and a Board in the US). "Mama" is a title of respect in Kenya. And no one is more loved or respected in Taru than Mama Rinda. She is embarrassed, I know, by all the attention; but she is an integral part of their village. I don't think it is possible to measure the impact she has had in this one small corner of the world.

Here is a video of one of the songs they sang in English. You can't see the man who is singing and drumming (on a bucket). His name is Rai (pronounced, "Rye") and he is one of the most animated and enthusiastic men I've ever met. The picture after the video is one I took while he was interpreting for one of the school board members. From the picture, you'd think he was reciting a story, but he was simply talking about the impact Kenya Keys has had on the school and of additional help they need. He was a very fun part of a very long ceremony (the Kenyan children were far more patient than we were with how long it went, it was a bit embarrassing actually).

My favorite part of the day was when the ceremony was interrupted by a downpour. That sounds ungenerous of me, but it wasn't because the ceremony stopped (I really did love all their songs and dances), it was because all the children ran for shelter, and many of them came and sat on our laps and around the chairs we were sitting on (because we were under the eaves of a building). Some of my favorite pictures of the whole trip came during the rain storm. Here they are:

Initially the children are quite shy with us. They warmed up to us, but it always took a while to get them to start laughing and playing with us. The rain was loud enough that we couldn't really talk to the kids who sat on and by us, but it was great just to have them close to us. They really are beautiful and inspiring children. I feel like these are all just a jumble of disconnected thoughts and pictures -- I seem incapable of describing what I experienced in Taru. I think that is largely because these first few days were pretty crazy and our interactions were more formal and in large groups. I think I am trying to write about these from my later perspective (which was shaped by the one-on-one experiences we started having). At this point in the trip, everything was still pretty abstract. My next few posts, I hope, will reflect the personal interactions we started having once the ceremonies were done.

Kenya: Day 4

2011-06-10T22:06:00.000-07:00

This day was our first introduction to the schools of Kenya. We spent the morning and early afternoon at Bahakwenu Primary and the rest of the day at Taru Secondary. In Kenya, primary school includes classes 1-8, while secondary school includes forms 1-4. Primary school is available to all and is funded by the government and (in some cases) parent organizations. At the end of Class 8, the students take a national standardized exam called the KCPE. Only students who achieve a qualifying score are allowed to attend secondary school, and the students and their families are responsible to pay tuition.
The infrastructure and protocols of schools in Kenya are so different from what we, in America, are used to. Bahakwenu has, if I remember correctly, about 600 students (we visited so many schools, it is hard to keep them all straight). The first picture below shows the buildings that house the classrooms (there are two additional buildings, similar in size to the two that are visible, behind where I was standing). The second picture shows the interior of a classroom. It was raining while we were there, so the holes in the roof were quite noticeable.

Because Bahakwenu is so far outside any village, the government provides a lunch meal for the students. For many of them, it is the only meal they get each day. Lunch is always a type of porridge -- usually made from maize flour but sometimes made from another type of flour. The children all bring their own bowls, so pictures like the next two were common.

The next picture shows the cooking pot in the "kitchen" at the school. The room had three of these pots, all with fires burning under them (it is hard to tell from the picture, but each pot was very large -- I could have sat inside one without difficulty). We asked the women who worked as cooks for the school about their work. They told us how much it hurts their eyes to be in the smoke from the cooking fires for so long. And they are paid very little. They need the money, but they say that the real reason they are there is for the children. It is a pretty miserable job, but they do it for the sake of the students.

As shocking as the buildings and circumstances of Bahakwenu are, the principal and the students will surprise you even more. Bahakwenu's principal is one the most incredible men I have ever met. Joseph cares deeply for his students. He knows the details of their lives. He knows of their struggles and he is a passionate and determined advocate for his students and all the students in the region. He is trying to educate Bahakwenu's many students with only four teachers to help him. He works tirelessly.
And the students. Wow. I could tell you a dozen stories about the children of Bahakwenu and Taru Secondary just from this one day alone. Their desire and will to learn is impossible to describe. They are patient, hard working, grateful, beautiful individuals. Most of my blog posts from the rest of the trip will be about the individual stories that really touched me while I was there. I hope I can convey how amazing the people of Taru are.

Kenya: Day 3

2011-06-09T20:37:00.000-07:00

This first picture is actually from Day 2, but I forgot to mention it. This is the main highway for all traffic between Nairobi and Mombasa. It can get really crazy. It is a two-lane highway, but (as the picture shows) sometimes drivers have to make a spontaneous lane. The only times I was even remotely scared during my time in Kenya all occurred on this highway.

We arrived in Taru late Saturday night, so our first good look at the village was Sunday morning as we walked to church. Joseph and Mwaka are our hosts in Taru and they are Catholic. We attended church with them. Sunday is a big market day in Taru, so we passed a lot of colorful displays of clothing, shoes, food, and other items.

When we asked Joseph what time church started, he told us 9:00 am, but he added that it likely wouldn't actually start until a bit later. I think it started around 9:45 or 10:00. The church service was in Swahili, for the most part. It was a beautiful service. Their choir sang beautifully and so joyfully. Even though I couldn't understand what they were saying, I could feel the faith, love, and joy of their worship. They invited all the visitors to speak as part of the service. Brent and Rinda said a few words and introduced all of us. Then we sang a few songs for them: A Child's Prayer, All Creatures of Our God and King, and Oh Happy Day. All the interns on this trip are pretty musical, so we didn't embarrass ourselves too much, but we also weren't at all prepared. But Joseph told us later how much he appreciated the words from A Child's Prayer -- that heaven is close. When Rinda spoke, she expressed beautifully what I felt there. She told them that they not only worshipped God, they celebrated God. Their devotion and, again, joy was tangible. It was inspiring to be part of their worship. We were able to meet with Father Katana in his office after the church service. He is a generous, kind, and humble man. He does so much for the community. He is always traveling through the region to meet the needs of the members of his congregation. He is literally wearing himself out in the service of the Lord. I didn't take any pictures during church, so this last picture is of some of the children in the churchyard. They are beautiful! This is the first of many, many pictures of the beautiful children of Taru.

Kenya: Day 2

2011-06-08T17:31:00.000-07:00

We visited three places in Mombasa today (well, four, if you include the Costco-esque market where we bought supplies, but apparently I'm not counting that): Haller Park, Fort Jesus, and the historic port.

Haller Park is a wild animal park. We were immediately impressed by the massive tortoises. We spent a lot of time feeding and petting this one:

There were monkeys running around everywhere. They also had crocodiles, snakes (I avoided that part of the park), hippos, buffalo (the African variety, see below), and giraffes. While we were wondering the park, Rinda found us and told us to head over for the giraffe feeding. We thought the feeding would consist of us watching the park rangers feeding the giraffes, but we actually got to feed them. Very cool. Here are my favorite pictures from Haller Park:

Fort Jesus was built by the Portuguese in 1593. It was built to protect the Port of Mombasa. If you see the fort from the air, you can see that it was built in the shape of a man. It is pretty run down and doesn't seem to be used or highlighted much. When we drove up, several men in the area offered to be our tour guides. Our driver, Mbotte gave us a quick tour of the exterior.

Mombasa was a major port in the slave trade. We saw the place where they held the men and women captive, washed them, then loaded them onto ships. It was a dismal place. I noticed this statement spray painted on the wall:

The last two pictures are from the streets of Mombasa. I don't know what the man in the first picture is carrying on his head -- as far as I can tell it is a massive bag of garbage. There are several distinctive things in the second picture: the women carrying things on their heads, the men working on the second story of a building with no protection, men scavenging in a dumpster, narrow streets, etc. The one thing you can't experience through the picture is the smell. And without that, you're only getting half the picture (for which you might be grateful!).

Kenya: Day 1

2011-06-07T21:24:00.000-07:00

I arrived home from Kenya last night. I spent most of the day sleeping, unpacking, doing laundry, and doing my initial editing of photos. I really want to write about my experiences in Kenya on a daily basis -- rather than just adding one ginormous post that blends the whole experience into a nearly undigestible mass. I will try to post one each day until I've covered the whole trip. Here goes...

I arrived in Mombasa, Kenya on May 20th. It took us about 36 hours to get there. I usually travel very well, but this trip had its first "bump" (of many, as you'll see) on the flight from Addis Ababa (Ethiopia) to Mombasa. I was walking down the aisle of the plane and the next thing I knew I woke up on the floor with six faces hovering over me. I could tell someone slapped me (turns out that one of my fellow interns was gently hitting my face when a British guy pushed her aside and gave me a good, hard slap), I could hear them asking me if I was alright, I knew what had happened -- but I couldn't get any words to form for a while. It was pretty funny. I bet it was fun to watch (I always miss the funniest things I do). I was quite embarrassed, but we all got through it. I did learn that passing out is the quickest way to get a whole row to yourself on a plane. : )
We spent that first day in Mombasa. It is the second-largest city in Kenya. The city has a very interesting history -- but I'll mention that in tomorrow's post. The highlight of our night in Mombasa was going to the beach and meeting several members of the Maasai Tribe. They talked to us about their culture and traditions. They also showed us a few traditional chants / dances. These consisted mostly of a low humming and each member of the group taking turns jumping as high as they could (pretty high).

LDS General Conference Highlights

2011-04-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

I always love the General Conference held by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. But this conference was an absolute miracle for me. I don't think I have ever had such a beautiful, inspiring conference. Watching it was a bit crazy -- I watched each session in a different location, and I missed several talks (two on Saturday and four on Sunday) and had to watch them later in the week. But the messages, nearly all of them, seemed written just for me. (I know that I've been joking lately about "stalking" the general authorities, but I promise I didn't actually ask any of them to address topics that were perfect for me.)

President Uchtdorf's talk on Sunday morning taught that sometimes our answers don't come all at once and it feels at times that we are alone and that we aren't getting answers at all. But eventually we will see the whole picture emerge and recognize how the Savior has been with us--guiding us and providing answers one piece at a time--all along. That talk is a good summary of my whole conference experience. I listened to President Packer's talk and wrote in the margin of my notebook: "this is my answer." Then I listened to Elder Nelson's talk and wrote: "this is also my answer." And then Elder Samuelson's talk, and then Elder Scott's talk, and then... well, you get the picture.

I've certainly had conferences in the past where I received multiple answers, but in those cases I always came with multiple questions. In this case, I had one question and really, one answer -- it just came in several separate talks. It was really interesting, and beautiful. I loved how the answer included fairly concrete direction as well as comfort and reassurance. Very cool. I'm still amazed, actually, at how perfect it was. I'm going to go ahead and say that this was about my best conference experience ever (of course, I may say that again in six months...). :)

I love belonging to a church that is led by revelation and that teaches the principle of personal revelation and a direct relationship with our Father in Heaven. I am so grateful for the leaders of the LDS Church and their love for us. I know they are inspired and that we are so blessed by their guidance. Most of all, I love the Lord and am so grateful for His countless tender mercies.

The reason we sing

2011-03-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

It usually takes at least a month or more for me to work up a good blog post. It's an exhausting process: observing, sifting, pondering, then selecting and writing up some little gem to share... :) So ordinarily, having published my Vancouver post a mere week and a half ago, it would be at least another month before I wandered into my blog again. But I heard something today and just had to share it with someone.

It's not that profound, but it touched me. I think we've all had times when what we feel is so poignant, so intense (be it good or bad), that words are not only inadequate, but would actually cheapen the feeling. This is the reason for my two most listened-to iPod playlists: "Hope" (music for intensely good feelings) and "Greek Tragedy" (music for intensely hard feelings, I named it that based on the Greek belief that watching tragedy would fool the gods into thinking you had already suffered, thereby averting an actual personal tragedy).

So this is what I heard, and it was from Kristin Chenoweth: "The reason we sing is that we can no longer speak." So true. Now I know why I sing so often. :)

Canada, eh?

2011-03-16T01:22:00.000-07:00

My friend and I went to Vancouver, British Columbia last weekend. I've never been and we thought it would be a fun, quick, spontaneous adventure. Our primary objective was to visit the Latter-day Saint temple in Vancouver (I try to visit a new temple each year, and it's always nice to check off an annual personal goal so early in the year). It is a beautiful temple and I had fun snapping a few pictures as quickly as possible to avoid a water-logged camera. Here's one:

Our plan for the next day was a bit, well, unplanned. First, we thought we'd take a ferry over to one of the islands, but then we discovered that the only real attractions on the island were shopping centers (not really our cup of tea). Then we decided it would be fun to take a ferry to Victoria, with the goal of visiting either their castle or their lighthouse. But we realized that, with having to ferry over our vehicle as well as ourselves, it would cost a lot of money and only give us about two hours on the island -- not really worth it. Then we considered driving the coast and stopping to see a few lighthouses and/or beaches along the north coast of Oregon, or, driving east to Mt. Rainier National Park and enjoying the scenery there. Well, we looked up the weather (just to be sure) and it was raining all along the coast and the roads to Mt. Rainier National Park were closed or required snow chains. Bummer. So, we finally settled on exploring the historic Gastown district of Vancouver and the Chinese Scholar Garden. Both were really great. The garden was beautiful and I loved taking pictures there! (See below.) Gastown was a charming old place with cobbled streets, a steam engine-powered clock, great architecture, and good food. Also, we found pajama pants (my one "shopping" weakness -- can't seem to get enough PJs) that said: "Canada, eh?" and had maple leaves on them. A great find. Here are some of my favorite pics of the trip:

He'll never fly, but he won't fall over!

2011-01-24T16:01:00.000-08:00

My friends hosted an art-themed dinner last night. M. is taking an art class at PCC (Portland Community College), so she gave a tutorial in using vine charcoals and then we played around with that for a while. I mostly made a mess of my paper, trying to draw a scene I remember from a camping trip at the Coral Pink Sand Dunes when I was a kid. I'll have to give that another try later -- she taught us a few cool tricks that I'd like to use, even if just for a bit of artistic therapy.

Then B. taught us how to make birds out of polymer clay. Wow. What fun! I have grand plans to get some clay of my own and make elephants. Lots of elephants (anyone surprised?). Now you know what you'll be getting from me for future birthdays, Christmas, etc. : )

So, this is my bird. I named him Romeo because, from the right angle, which this picture doesn't show, he has a "how you doin'?" look on his face. He's probably just trying to compensate for his HUGE feet. (Side note: there was an extensive discussion last night about whether or not our birds were an extension of us. I don't think I'm overly sensitive about the size of my feet, but that could be why the big feet showed up on my bird. If that's true, I don't even want to think about what's going on with my eyes or eyebrows.)

More than dinner

2011-01-20T12:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I had dinner with a group of remarkable women, most of whom I had never met. We shared a pretty typical potluck dinner and pretty typical dinner conversation, but the women in the room shared so much more. We shared our interest in the cultures and needs of women throughout the world. We shared our desire to do something to improve circumstances for women and children who battle so many obstacles we cannot comprehend and have never faced. Last night we shared a discussion of how to improve literacy for women in India. Two months ago these same women were sharing a meal while discussing providing training in marketable skills for women in Afghanistan. Next month we will meet again and our conversation will find a new focal point.

My friend in Portland introduced me to this fabulous organization called Dining for Women (http://www.diningforwomen.org/). It is a national organization with local chapters that meet once each month for a potluck dinner. Each woman brings a dish to share; they are encouraged to bring ethnic dishes that relate to the charity that is being highlighted for the night. The national Board of Directors selects the charity for each month. The charity is always international -- a group that is serving women and children in developing countries. The women donate whatever amount they can -- generally the amount they would have spent on a dinner out. And that money is donated to the charity being sponsored at the time.

I think it's a brilliant idea. And I wanted to tell you about it so that any of you who are interested could find or start a local chapter where you are. It is always a fun evening. The women I have met are delightful and it is a great opportunity to learn about the needs of people in developing countries and to do something to help. I love that my small donation, which wouldn't do much good for anyone on its own, is combined with the donations of women across the country -- and thereby becomes enough to make a real difference. And I love the symbolism of my care and concern for others combining with others' care and concern -- an emotional outpouring to match the money that is sent.

Let nothing you dismay

2010-11-30T11:26:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me very well will not be surprised that I have been listening to Christmas music for several weeks already. My usual rule (borrowed from my friend Marie, that you can break out Christmas music once it has snowed) had to be suspended this year (snow in Portland isn't nearly as early or as guaranteed as it is in Logan). Anyway, I was driving along South Shore Road the other day, singing along to "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and I noticed the words in a way I never had before and it reminded me of a recent conversation I had with my cousin.

The words are: "...let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ, our Savior, was born on Christmas Day." I don't know if that seems remarkable to you, but it struck me as a very definitive, beautiful reminder that all the things we worry about just don't matter if we remember the Savior (and that's a big IF for me at times).

My cousin and I were talking about a unique perspective on our problems (this idea came from her brother, through their mom, so it's been handed around a lot). The thought is essentially that we can be grateful when we are worrying about little things in our lives since we can only worry about the little things when the big things are all OK. We can only be upset about not having hot water in the shower (one of my current issues) because we have a comfortable home. We can only be annoyed by some little idiosyncrasy that drives us crazy in our spouse because we have an otherwise good, loving, and faithful spouse. We can only worry about the inevitable problems and annoyances with our families because we have (generally) healthy, loving families. We can only get frustrated about the demands of our jobs because we are gainfully employed.

I think that's a pretty remarkable way to look at things (I'll have to remember to tell my cousin how impressed I am with his thoughts on this). And, if you stretch that thought the way the words of the song invited me to do, everything else in life is a little thing. Even the truly heart-wrenching challenges we sometimes face in life shrink if we just have the faith and courage to hold them up to the truth about Jesus Christ and what He has done for us. If we can do that, then we can really, joyfully sing "let nothing you dismay."

Pictures of my new place

2010-10-21T22:02:00.000-07:00

It took me a while, but here are a few pictures of my house in Portland.

Why living alone stinks...

2010-10-01T16:20:00.001-07:00

Most of you who read this blog are married and raising families. You probably have many days when you (understandably) feel like living in a separate house from your family is the only way to save your sanity and preserve your love for them. And those of you who have roommates probably have blissful thoughts of no longer having to put your name on all your food and of having more control over your living space and its cleanliness.

I've been in Portland for three weeks now and it's my first experience living alone. And I can't tell you how many times I've thought (or sometimes said out loud... anything to break the silence), "living alone really stinks." At first I was thinking mostly of the garbage (which will come as no surprise to those who know me). Living alone stinks because it takes way too long to fill up the garbage can, thereby increasing the risk of a stinky house. And, if you live alone, no one else is going to take out the garbage. Ever. It's always your turn.

There are many other reasons it stinks to live alone (all that silence, increased risk of talking to yourself, can't get through a gallon of milk before it goes sour, etc.). Today I had a fun experience that illustrates my point. It starts with a repaired (yet broken) dishwasher...

When you live alone, you're the only one who will notice when something isn't working. And it follows that you are also the only one who will do anything about. So, after the plumber leaves from fixing the dishwasher, you are the one who notices that he put the door together in such a way that eliminates the option of opening the door more than about three inches.

When you live alone, there is no one around to remind you that you don't know the first thing about dishwasher repair and that you are very likely to do more harm than good if you remove so much as a screw from the dishwasher door.

When you live alone and have taken the dishwasher door apart, there is no one to take a picture of you lying on your stomach on the kitchen floor while trying to put the door back together. Though we may feign anger over the pictures taken of us in moments like these, they do serve an important function (they may remind one NOT to take the door apart next time).

And (most importantly), when you live alone and have taken the dishwasher door apart, there is no one around to celebrate with you when you get it put back together correctly. (Please, hold your applause, it was really a very simple dishwasher repair job.) ;-)

1935

2010-07-24T20:24:00.000-07:00

Scott Kelby, a photographer and author, organizes a worldwide photo walk and contest each year. He picks a day (July 24, this year) and time. Groups of photographers register for the walk in their city and walk around taking pictures together. So this morning I walked around with about 20 Logan photographers. I can submit one picture to the contest. I think this is the one I like best. This theater originally opened in 1935 as the Roxy Theater (hence the title). In 1956 it became the Utah Theater. It is currently closed for renovation.

In search of a name

2010-07-05T21:15:00.000-07:00

As anyone who reads this blog knows, I've been playing around with photography. Logan has a gallery walk coming up on July 9 (see details here (if you live in Cache Valley, I hope you'll come by): http://www.centerforthearts.us/gallery.html). I'm planning to submit several pictures, and I am supposed to have business cards... since I'm planning to pursue photography (officially, as a business), I decided it's time to find a name for it and start putting things together.

I want a name that will stand out (so nothing about 'in focus' or 'shutter' or 'memories' and the like) and be a bit quirky / original; but I also want it to have some meaning (so no nonsensical names like 'Fat Turtle Photography' -- unless you can also provide the hidden depth and significance of such a name).

The poll is located on the right-hand side of the blog, down a little ways from this post. I've come up with two names. They both have stories / reasons behind them, but I want you to vote without knowing the stories (since potential customers won't know them). You can choose one of those or suggest one of your own (I'm not sure how this blogger poll works, if you want to suggest your own you may have to vote for that and then leave the name as a comment on the blog). Thanks for helping out!

Perfectly Imperfect

2010-07-01T20:43:00.001-07:00

I was at the photography studio tonight (we're printing pictures for next week's gallery walk -- my next post will give more information about that) and one of the guys printed a picture he had taken of a pelican. The picture is stunning (and I don't usually get too excited about birds). After printing it he remembered a flaw he meant to correct before printing, but didn't. The flaw was not in the picture, it was in the bird. There was some discoloration on one feather that was something of a distraction. His desire to photoshop the flaw out of the feather led to a conversation (in jest) about how obsessed we are with perfection and that if he made that change, all the other birds would develop inferiority complexes and would spend all their expendable income on having their flaws corrected.

That got me thinking about how we plan for perfect things and moments in our lives: the perfect haircut, the perfect picture, the perfect house, the perfect job, the perfect dress, the perfect vacation...

Don't worry, this post is not about those pursuits (not really) or the internal and/or external damage we inflict in the pursuit -- there is no way I could do justice to those themes in a blog post. It is about my most recent experience with the only thing that ever seems to be perfect -- imperfection.

This past week, I had a perfect opportunity to enjoy several of my favorite hobbies: travel, snorkeling, and photography. I had a business trip to the Virgin Islands (considered by many to be a "perfect" vacation spot). Our business trips there always allow plenty of time for enjoying the islands, which is very nice. This time, my third trip to the islands, I convinced my friend to come along and we were both looking forward to a perfect getaway.

I'm sure you're not surprised to find out that things went a bit off the rails (enough to justify my setup for the story). No one thing that happened was that bad, but the cumulative effect left us wondering what atrocities we might have committed in a former life (speaking of karma, if you're ever on an airplane and you overhear that a married couple wasn't able to get seats together and it just so happens that if you are willing to give up your window seat and take the much-avoided middle seat they will be able to sit together on the long flight and you don't really want to give up your more comfortable seat but then you remember the whole karma theory... don't give up the seat for the karma alone, it doesn't always work out in your favor). Sorry, back to the story.

The first bump in our perfect trip was our first hotel on St. Thomas (I'm just going to say that I haven't seen anything that dirty and broken since I was in Siberia). Then we had two days of nonstop, torrential rain. (I feel bound to state at this point that I LOVED the rain. Wow! I love rain under any circumstances, but rain while snorkeling and even while walking on a beach is very cool. I love how it feels to be in the water and have rain pounding down on you. And it kept the beaches clear for us. And it kept the temperature down, which helped me to avoid swelling up like boiled raisin. So I regretted the rain mostly on behalf of my traveling companions who did not think they came to a tropical paradise in order to look and feel like drowned rats.)

Let's see, the next bump was being burgled. It happened while we were all snorkeling. We've never had any problem before (with leaving our things on the beach while we were snorkeling), but this time our things were taken. Everything that was taken will be fairly easy to replace, but still it was a bummer. (Although, I have to admit, it was funny to spend the rest of the trip "looking" for someone wearing our clothes, or using our beach towels, or reading the book that was in the bag, etc. And, seriously, they didn't take my coworker's bag and it had his wallet and the keys to our rental car. And if they had stolen the rental car, they would have gotten my purse and my friend's, since they were both in the trunk. So, as terrible as it was, we felt really blessed and protected.)

Next bump: we saved the "perfect" snorkeling spot on St. Croix for our last day there. Everyone we talked to was in agreement: Fredericksted Pier was the best snorkeling to be had on St. Croix. So we drove there in great anticipation. We arrived there and started asking around to find out where precisely one should go to achieve this snorkeling nirvana. Turns out that you can't snorkel at the pier when there is a cruise ship in port due to some new regulation out of the Department of Homeland Security. Amazing, isn't it, how effortlessly perfection slips out of your grasp?

We headed back to St. Thomas. We sought out new hotel accommodations. : ) We got settled in. My friend and I went to church at the St. Thomas branch -- and it was a genuinely perfect church meeting. I love the members there and it was so fun to see them again. Our plan for the rest of the day was to drive around the island to the many scenic overlooks (clearly marked on the tourist map) and take pictures, enjoy the views, etc. Let me now quote from the map: "Do not use this map for navigational purposes." Huh??? This begs the question of what, exactly, the map should be used for. But the map, as it turns out, while being horribly flawed was also completely trustworthy -- it should not have been used for navigational purposes. I think we found one of the marked scenic overlook points (out of a possible ten).

Our last full day on St. Thomas went well. Our meeting with our client went as well as we could reasonably hope. We completed the governmental paperwork that needed to be turned in before we left (no small accomplishment, I assure you). We were able to find great gifts at my favorite USVI tourist shop. We spent a few hours snorkeling at Coki Beach and had great weather for it (the sun was shining and the water was still, which makes visibility SO much better), and we ate at a great restaurant that night (actually, we found several great eateries on the trip, but this last meal on the island was one of the best). We kept commenting on how the island was trying to make a great last impression. If this is true, then the island must have hoped we wouldn't be paying much attention at the airport the next morning. My coworker unintentionally but quite thoroughly angered a customs agent and very nearly didn't get cleared to leave. And then, as I was trying to board the plane I was pulled out of the line and sent back to security for the complete "you-may-be-a-terrorist" screening. Wow, they are thorough. : ) Finding no explosives on my person, they allowed me to board the plane. A few long layovers and/or delays (and therefore about 24 hours later) and we were home.

Thank goodness for imperfection; without it, I would never know what perfection is. : )

Summerfest Photo Contest

2010-07-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

Cache Valley holds an annual Summerfest fair at the Logan Tabernacle. This year, as part of the fair, they hosted a photography contest. Photographers could enter two pictures and they had to be taken within a specified two-day period.

I was reluctant to enter, but was talked into it. I'm glad I did; it was a really good experience. I didn't win anything in the contest, but all the pictures were displayed in a booth at the fair and there was a silent auction. One of my pictures sold and it was very gratifying and exciting to sell a picture. These are the pictures I entered (the temple picture was the one that was purchased in the auction).

Great subjects!

2010-05-31T17:22:00.000-07:00

I spent a good part of the day taking and editing pictures. With photographic subjects like these, it's easy to get absorbed in the job. : )

Addiction

2010-05-13T15:52:00.001-07:00

Don't you just love new addictions?

My friend's eye... and the trees outside the studio.

I stopped at a flower stand on Highway 89 (near Willard Bay) to take some photos.

Shooting people

2010-05-04T13:20:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure it was wise for me to move on to portraits yet, but my friend was a good sport. : )

Dots

2010-04-23T17:56:00.000-07:00

The photo club is hosting a photo scavenger hunt this month -- one of the themes was 'dots.' So these are my two attempts at taking pictures of dots.

Picture this

2010-04-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that I've started playing around with photography -- it's a hobby that I've always wanted to pursue. So I joined a photography club in Logan and arranged to take some private lessons. These pictures are some very early first attempts and I'm only showing them here so that much later we can all be impressed by how much I have improved. : )

These are the first apricot blossoms at my parents' house.

Birthday validation (sort of)...from the Wii

2010-02-24T06:50:00.000-08:00

True to form, my body decided it would be cool to celebrate my birthday nearly all day...so I was up a lot earlier than I wanted to be (should have seen that coming). I went downstairs to exercise, and felt some validation when I turned on the Wii Fit. The animated Wii balance board was still sleeping when I turned it on and then it woke up, looking shocked and said, 'Wow! Is that really the time?!?' 'Yes,' I said aloud (I do talk back to the Wii, I know that will scare a lot of you... sorry). It was wearing a birthday hat and, while throwing confetti, acknowledged my 'important day' and wished me a happy birthday. So, obviously I'm feeling pretty good at this point. All too soon the good feeling came to an end... the next message was, 'According to my calculations you are 34, but don't let that stop you.' Huh??!? First of all, according to the Wii itself, my 'Wii fit age' is 23 (which is the number I'm officially celebrating today). Secondly, who stops at 34??? And lastly, you just don't hit a girl with a 'don't let your old age stop you' message at 3:20 in the morning... not cool. : )

After doing a few other exercises I moved on to yoga. The Wii yoga 'trainer' looked rather disgruntled at the early hour and said, 'I must have stayed up too late last night, I'm tired.' Then he gave me a lecture on getting enough sleep. For those of you who worry about technology becoming autonomously intelligent and taking over the planet... DON'T get a Wii. : )

Wrestling for Blessings

2010-01-08T18:18:00.000-08:00

I was reading Enos about a week ago and I looked up the scriptures listed in the footnotes for verse 2 (footnote ‘a’: wrestle). The first scripture I looked up was Alma 8:10, which talks about Alma laboring much in the spirit. From that scripture, I looked up a footnote that led me to Alma 17:5. This verse talks about the sons of Mosiah and it describes the ‘suffering’ they experienced while preaching the gospel. It lists things you would expect (‘in body and in mind, hunger, thirst, and fatigue’) and then it mentions, as part of their suffering (or so it seems to me): ‘much labor in the spirit.’ I thought it was interesting that laboring in the spirit would be associated with physical suffering. This reminded me of a question Sister Patricia Holland asked in a talk / book chapter. She was speaking to women and she asked if we labor in the spirit in any way that can be compared to the labor of childbirth ⎯ suggesting that prayer can be very hard, painful, physical work. I think we sometimes focus on the ‘sweet hour of prayer’ aspect of communing with the Lord and do ourselves and others an injustice by not talking about the ‘labor’ part of prayer. I don’t diminish or discount the peace of prayer, but sometimes that peace is very hard-won, and if we think prayer is an easy path to peace we will often be confused and discouraged by having to work for the peace of prayer. I also do not want to suggest that I think we ‘earn’ peace ⎯ I know it is a gift from the Lord, but I echo what Elder Hafen once said in a conference talk, ‘May we not shrink when we discover, paradoxically, how dear a price we must pay to receive what is, finally, a gift from Him.’

A few days later I finished reading Enos and noticed these additional descriptions of prayer: ‘cried unto him in mighty prayer’ (v.4), ‘I did pour out my whole soul’ (v.9), ‘struggling in the spirit’ (v.10), ‘many long strugglings’ (v.11), and ‘I had prayed and labored with all diligence’ (v.12). This seemed to reinforce the idea of prayer as (sometimes very hard) work.

The other scripture listed under footnote 2a (wrestle) was for Genesis 32:24, and I recognized it as the story of Jacob wrestling with a man (angel) all night. I almost didn’t even turn to the scripture because I ‘knew’ what it was. But I decided to go there anyway and I was surprised by what I learned. The whole chapter was very interesting and applicable to my circumstances and feelings right now. Here’s the summary: Jacob has been living with his Father-in-law and is guided by the Lord to return to ‘his country.’ He is obedient to the counsel of the Lord and sends messengers to tell Esau he has returned (I can just imagine how their first conversation might go: ‘Hey Jacob, do you remember that time I was really hungry and you sold me a mess of pottage? ). The messengers come back and report that Esau is coming to ‘meet’ Jacob with 400 men (quite a welcoming party). Jacob is, understandably, pretty scared. So he prays. I love what he says… essentially, he tells the Lord, ‘You told me to come here, now what?’ What he actually says is, ‘O God of my father Abraham…which saidst unto me, Return unto thy country and to thy kindred, and I will deal well with thee...Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother…’ (v.9-12). I feel that way right now, and I’m sure many of you have as well ⎯ the idea that we are just trying to do what the Lord has prompted us to do and by all appearances we are about to be destroyed. I love it when I catch glimpses of myself in the people in the scriptures ⎯ some little evidence that they freaked out too. : )

Everything turns out alright with Esau of course, and at the end of the chapter comes the wrestling bit of the story. I’ve wondered every once in a while whether Jacob’s wrestle was literal or figurative. It sounds like it was a literal, physical struggle. Sometimes I wonder if I can switch to that program ⎯ one rough night of wrestling an angel and in the morning you get the blessing, instead of this ongoing, year-after-year sort of metaphorical wrestling. But then, I don’t know how hard it is to wrestle an angel, so I better stick with what I’ve got. : ) At the end of that night, as morning is coming, Jacob receives a blessing and I love the message here: ‘for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.’ The footnote suggests this alternate for the first part of the sentence: for thou hast persevered with God. That is so interesting to me ⎯ the idea of prevailing, of outlasting the Lord ⎯ as Jacob did in the wrestling match.

All of this reminds me of other scriptural stories and teachings that suggest the same truth, such as the parable of the importuning widow, the stories of Hannah and Rachel (in Rachel’s story there is a verse that says, ‘And God remembered Rachel, and God hearkened to her…’ (Gen 30:22). I love that! I don’t know if I have ever thought of it in quite this way before. But the feeling I had when I read these scriptures was that we are to work, fight, hope, pray, wrestle, struggle ⎯ anything and everything we can do in supplicating the Lord for the righteous desires of our hearts. I think we must learn that our desires are righteous and then, when we know they are, we fight for them ⎯ and sometimes it might feel like we are wrestling with God for that blessing, not because He doesn’t want to give it to us, but because He has a purpose for us in the struggle. Perhaps we need to prove how much we want something, how hard we are willing to work for the blessing we seek. Especially when the blessing we seek is of eternal importance, it matters very much how committed we are to that blessing.

Reflecting on Portraits

2010-01-05T14:28:00.001-08:00

My roommate shared an article with me (“Portraits of Power,” by Platon, in The New Yorker -- link below). I think it is a fascinating narrative (almost entirely in pictures, for those of us who don’t have time to read) about power, people ⎯ and the mix of the two. Platon set up a booth at a United Nations meeting in New York last Fall. He sought out the leaders of the world and tried to take pictures of as many of them as he could. The article fascinates me in many ways. For instance, I chuckled when I read that Benjamin Netanyahu (Prime Minister of Israel) asked Platon to ‘make [him] look good.’ That’s funny ⎯ that a powerful and seemingly (considering what he has accomplished) confident man, a leader of his nation, is concerned about his physical appearance. The fact that he actually returned to the photo booth several times during the conference for retakes (repeating his request to make him look good) ⎯ that is very funny, and fascinating (sorry, I’ll try to find another word).

The faces are magnetic ⎯ it is amazing what they portray. For instance, I think it is uncanny how the picture of Berlusconi so perfectly matches his persona as portrayed by the media. And I was shocked to see Jacob Zuma ⎯ in the few months I spent in South Africa I never saw a picture of him, but I heard a lot of stories and not one of them was favorable. I was not expecting so jovial a face. And Cristina Fernandez ⎯ just wow.

Anyway, all of that reminded me just how intricate and complex we are. Many of these leaders are fairly renowned for their villainy, yet none of them looks an out-an-out villain. I don’t mean this as a ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ statement ⎯ just an observation that there is good in everyone and that individuals’ choices and actions are seldom simple or easy to evaluate (especially from a distance).

http://www.newyorker.com/online/multimedia/2009/12/07/091207_audioslideshow_platon

Merry & Bright

2009-12-22T11:26:00.000-08:00

Megan (my roommate, I'm not talking about myself in the third person) calls this our champagne and chocolate tree. After two weeks of having an undecorated tree we finally took the time to put it together. We didn't think we had enough lights or ornaments to make it a credible effort, so we were pleasantly surprised that it turned out so well. I especially love our improvised tree skirt -- a long piece of sari fabric Megan bought (hoping it would match our other decorations).

Wise giving

2009-12-12T10:26:00.000-08:00

I love (LOVE) giving gifts. And, I'm not ashamed to say, I love getting gifts. I love choosing gifts, I love surprising people with the 'perfect' gift, I love being surprised (especially that priceless surprise of having someone remember something that is important to you and finding a gift that corresponds to it).

I bought a beautifully-illustrated picture book to give to my brother's family this year for Christmas. It is O. Henry's Gift of the Magi. I confess (sorry Jared's family!) that I read the book today before wrapping it up for them. If memory serves (and who knows, these days, if it does or not?), I first read that story in junior high. I remember reading it for one of my English classes -- 8th grade, perhaps. And maybe I knew of it before that time. Anyway, I'm glad I read it when I was young and have carried the story with me all these years. I'm sure I understood and appreciated the story as much as my English teacher hoped we would. Not surprisingly though, I didn't really understand the story then. I was struck anew by the simple and profound power and beauty of the story when I read it again this morning. I cried through most of it.

I remembered, from my first reading of the story years ago, the story line and the characters. I knew, even then, in a small way at least, why O. Henry chose the title he did. But this time I really thought about it because I hadn't remembered how O. Henry closes the story. This is the last paragraph of the story:

"The magi, as you know, were wise men -- wonderfully wise men -- who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi"

I guess I had never really thought of the wisdom of their giving -- though I should have, given the title of the story. I had always thought of their selflessness, their material sacrifice, and the sad yet beautiful irony of one gift negating the other. So I wondered, after I read the story today, why were these two the wisest of all who give gifts? And the first answer that came is simply this: it is profoundly wise to love with all one's heart, to hold nothing back.

The story that I noticed this time was not about giving up a material possession -- it was about the willingness of both to be utterly vulnerable in order to give something to the one they loved. I noticed this time how each gave up the one thing they had that could be relied upon to make them feel important and/or worthy of recognition. I noticed how their own sense of worth was on the line. And each loved perfectly and (maybe even more impressive) trusted perfectly in the love of the other. And in being that vulnerable, in trusting that much, they found how strong their love was. That, I think, is what made them so wise.

It reminded me of a beautiful story in December's Ensign: "Dad's Lesson in Love" (if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it -- I cried through most of it too... must be um, allergies...). :) This quotation was in the margin of the story, I assume it was written by the man in the story:

"I'm just a common man with common thoughts, and I feel I've lived a pretty common life; there will never be any monuments dedicated to me, and undoubtedly my name will soon be forgotten; but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough."

I hope that I (and you) will be able to give wise gifts and that whatever we do this Christmas, we will do it with all our hearts (Col 3:23).

More pics from Michigan

2009-12-03T08:58:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving in Michigan

2009-12-02T14:46:00.000-08:00

I spent most of last week in Michigan with Ammon and his family. It was a quiet and happy holiday. Ammon, Jesica, and I got to do a lot of visiting, which just doesn’t happen often enough. I always love our discussions. Miriam and little Ammon are DARLING! I had so much fun reading to them, playing with them, and just watching all the cute things they do. Ammon loves saying ‘I big man’ whenever he does anything manly -- very cute. He loves matching others (same color shirt, same kind of bowl, etc.) and plays with balls and tools a lot (hammering balls then, is a clear favorite). Miriam is so beautiful and SO smart. We worked on memorizing Come Thou Fount while we were driving from place to place. I loved seeing how her personality is developing.

Here are the descriptions of the photos (not in any particular order, because if there is a good, easy way to add photos to a post the way you want to, I have yet to figure it out...so you'll just have to apply your sleuthing abilities).

Ammon and I are looking a bit blurry in this pic -- but it's a fun one anyway.

Ammon and Miriam were great roll makers; I couldn’t have made them without them.

This is Ammon's family on Michigan Ave. in Lansing -- with Christmas decorations in the background.

Ammon (big) surprised us by sneaking in to take this picture while Ammon (little), Miriam, and I were playing.

The 'volume Megan'

2009-11-09T20:18:00.000-08:00

I've long believed that my computer is actually an extension of me. I think it senses my moods and challenges and reflects them. Last week, my computer wouldn't boot up. My coworker and I tried the disk repair option in the utilities menu. After spinning a bit, this message popped up: 'The volume Megan (the label / name of my hard drive) needs to be repaired.' Truer words have never been spoken. : )

I took it to the computer doc and they replaced the hard drive and attempted basic data recovery. They were able to save all the files I didn't need -- all the music and pictures that I already had backed up and none of the pictures, files (mostly journals), or music I didn't have backed up.

I bet Wilford Woodruff never had this problem. I wonder if our current LDS lesson manuals include lessons on backing up your journal files so that if your hard drive crashes you won't lose everything? If not, they should.

Which came first? Democracy or war?

2009-10-28T14:56:00.000-07:00

My friend sent me a link to a story about a woman in Afghanistan. Her name is Malalai Joya. She recently published a book called “A Woman Among Warlords.” Here is the link to the NPR story: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=114207995

I listened to it twice—it is a compelling and moving story. She has overcome so much and is intelligent, articulate, and very brave. From the little I have learned of her, I admire her very much. She has seen hardship and challenges I cannot even begin to imagine. She loves her country and the people she serves. That is obvious by her words and actions. She ran an underground school for girls (often smuggling books in her burqa) and is now the youngest member of the parliament in Afghanistan. She has survived multiple assassination attempts. She is in danger because she speaks out against the corrupt members and practices of the Afghan government.

In the interview, along with telling her remarkable story, she asks the United States to leave her country. She claims that the U.S. government supports the warlords and criminals in the Afghan government. There is certainly evidence (debatable, but present) that she is right. Here is a link to a NY Times story that claims that the brother of the Afghan president has been on the payroll of the CIA for most of the last eight years (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/28/world/asia/28intel.html?_r=1). He is accused of being involved in the illegal drug trade—which is a source of income to the Taliban. U.S. officials claim that the transactions are all legitimate and above board—but it’s murky and complicated, at best. So I can understand why she would want U.S. involvement in Afghanistan to end.

However, one of her arguments for the removal of the U.S. security forces surprised me. At the very end of the interview she said, “Democracy never came by war.” It’s interesting that she would say that to a U.S. audience, since our democracy definitely came by war. And many (if not most) democracies were born out of war of some kind. It’s true that not all war leads to democracy. But not many democracies came into existence without it. At least not in the last couple of centuries.

This made me think of a few things. First of all, a statement made by Elder Bruce R. McConkie (Ensign, May 1979, 92): “It is one of the sad heresies of our time that peace will be gained by weary diplomats as they prepare treaties of compromise, or that the Millennium will be ushered in because men will learn to live in peace...We must do all we can to proclaim peace, to avoid war, to heal disease, to prepare for natural disasters—but with it all, that which is to be shall be.”

It also brought to mind a thought I had years ago when a friend told me he realized he was doing something for the wrong reason, so he stopped doing it. When something is being done for the wrong reason or is being done badly (as may be the case with the U.S. work in Afghanistan) that doesn’t mean it should be stopped—the thing being done may be a very good thing if it can be done for the right reason and in the right way. I don’t presume to know all that is going on in Afghanistan, and I certainly don’t know how to fix it. These are just my thoughts about what I heard.

Lastly, it made me think of Greg Mortenson and his work in the region to build schools (especially schools for girls). He hires local teachers and each school’s leaders have complete autonomy. He also laments that the U.S. government has not done more for the Afghan people in the midst of a war against the Taliban. Here is a link to his website: http://www.threecupsoftea.com/ I highly recommend the book (“Three Cups of Tea”). I greatly admire what he is doing. Check out his Pennies for Peace program (http://www.penniesforpeace.org/)—designed to teach children about the culture of the region and to raise money for the schools in Central Asia through the donation of pennies from school children. I think it looks like a cool program.

Caroling to Carol

2009-10-26T11:56:00.001-07:00

This picture was taken last Christmas at the Parowan Rest Home. We went to sing "Happy Birthday" and our Christmas favorites to Carol Wright. I can't remember (does anyone else know?) whether it was Carol's 100th birthday or if she was older. As far as I know this is the only picture we have from all the years we have been singing to Carol. I'm glad we got this one (I'm sorry that not all of our family was there). She passed away about a week and a half ago. We will really miss her.

So now what?

2009-10-26T11:52:00.000-07:00

Hello all. I've been wondering about starting a blog (and already the title of my blog is validated!) but wasn't sure I really had enough to say (please, no laughing at me in my first post). I know this will sound weird, but for me, a blog is akin to a bumper sticker -- a permanent (or at least difficult to remove) declaration. There are a lot of things to say, but are they worthy of display? We'll have to see... : )

But I have a picture I wanted to share with everyone in the family, and, for whatever reason, that was enough to get me here. And (I hope) I will have many fascinating things to say in the future. : ) Keep breathing in the meantime. ; )