Sultry Poultry Monday #4

Happy Frosted Monday Readers,

Every once in a great while, an entire writing idea falls out of the clear blue sky while I'm minding my own business. I formed a new book plot after seeing a unique last name on a headstone, for instance. Last year while plowing through yet another college semester, this idea fell out of nowhere and hit me. I wrote it and forgot about it until this morning when trying to decide what to show you lovely people. I forgot how much fun it was to put together.

Thoughts on the Stone Steps

I’m trudging up the stone steps,

Swimming in the smell of cologne and hormones.

Everyone having somewhere to be,

No one wanting to get there.

Much stronger is the allure of a boy, a girl,

A passing glance at time wasted as it flies out the open windows of their minds.

Cavernous minds that yawn open, mostly hollow,

Only a small puddle of knowledge gathered on its floor.

Have they forgotten why they have come?

The relentless pursuit to fill that cavern with glory.

Sweat, sacrifice, tears and terror brought them here.

What keeps them here?

Many choose to forget the glory.

Many are ruled by that empty space and fill it with rocks.

Or with nothing,

Proverbial pebbles in the road pulling their sights from heaven.

I think to place myself above it,

Knowing as I say it that I lie.

Glory has always been my goal,

But natural man hungers for self indulgence

In distraction.

Resistance is not in fact futile.

In the war between man and spirit, man wins only what spirit

Concedes.

Godly command of self is the curriculum of life.

All this like a bolt from the blue

As I watch time wasted

And trudge up the stone steps.

Super Sunday Scripture Commentary #4: March 30th, 2014

Enjoy the Snowstorm Readers,

We're revisiting the New Testament today. In a time when there are 1,001 different flavors of Christianity, this advice from the Savior can't be ignored. There is a Joseph Smith Translation in these verses as well. If you didn't know, Joseph Smith was directed by the Lord to correct some things in the bible that had been missed, left out, or mistranslated through the centuries it had been translated, re-translated and even intentionally altered. The JST as it is called in the LDS edition of the King James Version is a collection of the most significant corrections he made. I'll include them in brackets when I quote from the scriptures here.

Matthew 7:21-23

" 21 ¶Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven, [for the day soon cometh, that men shall come before me to judgment, to be judged according to their works].

 22 Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works?

 23 And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity."

There are those who profess to believe in Christ and claim to be doing His work in His name when in fact they really aren't. Belief is not enough; we must do something to become something. What we do then, must go down into our hearts and change our natures, made more complete and powerful by the influence by the Holy Ghost. Christ makes clear here that it is possible to act in his name in a manner against the way He would have it done.

History That Endures

It's Windy Outside Readers,

 Some local history was erased today when the Sugar City grain silo was demolished. It must have been tougher than anyone working on the demo thought. I was thinking it would crumble and sink into itself, but it went out strong, holding together long enough until it toppled onto its side. Sugar City was established in 1903, and the grain silo was built between 1906 and 1909. It stood at least 106 years, and still fell in one piece after the foundation was blown up.

I can't believe how sad I am over a century old grain silo, but I am. I have many experiences attached to that silo being there, and without it I know I won't see Sugar City the way I used to. It was one thing Sugar City had no other city could claim, a unique monument to a time few can remember now. Not many years ago, "Welcome to Sugar City" was painted on its side facing the road, which was the wall cut into to place charges in the foundation. The last time I drove by the silo still intact, only a gaping hole was there in place of the welcome sign.

The only thing constant in the world we have built is change. We are relentlessly driving forward to the next improvement or invention or policy and discarding, removing or replacing old things that get in the way of that. Much of this is good. Much of it is needed. Most of the time the past is not efficient, useful, or safe, the reasons of course that influenced the decision to get rid of this grain silo. What the past does offer is memories. Experiences. The very things that mold people and make it possible for them to move into the future in the first place. The present and future can easily outpace the past, but both our present and our future are built on our past. Remove the influence of the past, and we will topple like the grain silo did.

This has already happened in many places around the world, especially here at home; just watch any news feed or political report. The most popular ideologies of our day are constantly moving farther and faster away from what has been established for so long. Replacing and changing worn out ideas and practices for better, more efficient ones is good, but as the grain silo, time tested, enduring qualities will not crumble into themselves so easily, and won't go down without a fight. They can be removed, but only after a lot of effort.

All things considered, if I could have, I would have saved the silo. If I had the resources, I would have tried to keep it standing. One thing about this area that I love is now much of what is old is still surviving and still part of society: the Rexburg tabernacle, downtown Sugar City, downtown Teton. Just as important are values that last ever longer, values under attack today: family, morality, honesty, selflessness, and it is truly a shame when either of these is determined to not be important anymore. They have lasted this long for a reason; we should not be too hasty to disregard them whenever we have a chance.

Book Preview #2: The Academy

I Hope Taxes are Treating You Well Readers,

When I sit down to write something, unfortunately my head gets caught up in a cool scene I want to crank out instead of saying, "Hey, it might be a good idea to get a plot down first." Most of my fiction starts this way, where I have no idea where the story is going until it dawns on me at some point (maybe this is why I'm not all that confident in most of my books so far). Sooner rather than later would be preferable for that revelation, and I'm happy to say this one DOES have a plot; the bad news is there's only one chapter so far. The other bad news is this is not my main project right now, and who knows when the rest of the story will follow. The usual pitch for commenting on and sharing the post applies here, ready go! Without further ado, the first half of chapter one of The Academy (its really long first of all, and secondly I would be really sad if anyone wanted to steal this and make it their own):

The sky was piercing blue in the wake of the setting August sun as sixteen year old Jeremy Eldonea climbed a small ladder in his attic room leading to the house roof. He unlatched the small window and pushed it up and aside on its hinges, the world around him suddenly exploding on his senses as he took his usual spot on the thatched willows. The golden light danced through his crimson hair and clear green eyes as he scanned the city. The dying sun sparkled on the Yithaenian Sea as he reached for the small brass telescope at his side to get a better look at the merchant ship coming into port.

                The name of the ship was sharp and clear in the looking glass as Jeremy said the name aloud to himself; the Trade and Commerce. He trained the telescope on the swarm of sailors bustling about the ship, some going below deck to haul up supplies, others drawing in and securing the sails as they flapped limply in the breeze. His view wandered lazily until he happened upon who he assumed was the captain at the ships helm, talking with a Yithaenian customs officer.

                Seeing all there was to see at port, he spotted the landing area across the city of Vivacahn from where he now sat, and focused his attention there. Even as Jeremy did, the sound of rushing wind filled his ears; a Quadrapeller flew close by, on its way to the landing area. The strange- looking flying machines had only recently been invented. It looked somewhat like a long, narrow wooden boat attached to four mechanical arms, two on each side. On each arm there was mounted something like a large umbrella, which spun rapidly, keeping the contraption airborne. The umbrella- like propellers could be angled in any direction by the pilot, giving it extreme agility in the air.

                As if to illustrate the machine’s maneuverability to any who might be watching, the Quadrapeller pilot angled opposing arms in different directions, making it spin gracefully as it slowly descended. Upon reaching the landing area, the pilot pulled out of the spin and returned the arms to an upright position, making the Quadrapeller hover calmly for a few seconds before six landing feet popped out of its hull, and lightly landed.

                Jeremy saw the pilot exit the Quadrapeller first, exhilaration clearly visible on his face even from Jeremy’s perspective. Several frazzled looking passengers followed; one even started yelling at the pilot about the reckless maneuvers. Jeremy chuckled to himself as he witnessed the angry passenger beating the pilot with a cane before some policing forces restrained her.

                 The sound of footsteps on the ladder in his room reached his ears, and he turned to see Ila Woodthorn, his best friend and neighbor since childhood, climb out of his room and plop down on the roof beside him.

                “I’m sorry you had to see my room, “Jeremy said sheepishly, “It’s atrociously messy.”

                “I know; your father actually told me to tell you to clean it up!” they shared a laugh for some minutes, and then both began idly searching the skies for anything of interest.

                A sleek black freighter zeppelin, the Intrepid as Jeremy read in the telescope, floated over the Jawbone Mountains behind the two, and slowly made its way to a docking tower. Jeremy could smell the cargo of spices it contained from the southern desert provinces of Ryashka and Merdono. The sun had nearly completed its sinking out of sight, and twilight began to take dominance. Jeremy and Ila sat in quiet contemplation for some time until, on impulse, Jeremy asked, “Have you ever wanted to get away, Ila?”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied, genuinely interested.

                “I mean to really get away, away from everything you've known all your life, and experience something else.”

                “I don’t think so; I love Vivacahn.”

                “Are you serious?” he asked with incredulity.

                “Of course I am; have I ever not been?”

                “No, but sometimes life here is too tedious, too much… sitting. I want to DO something, Ila. All we do every day is listen to some teacher at the College babble about life and how he thinks we should live it; its tiring. You’ve never wanted to challenge the system?”

                “Isn't the system there to be followed?” Ila asked, now beginning to find this debate engaging; she always enjoyed debates with Jeremy; she usually won.

                “Sure, but that’s not always a good thing; the system has a way of beating any attempts people make at doing things their own way.”

                “but it’s a guideline!” she fired back, “some people don’t know how to make it their own way, and so they need the system there to help them!”

                “Touché!”

                “Ha, then I won!”

                “No you didn't.”

                “Oh yes I did! Whenever you say touché it means you can’t come up with anything else to add.”

                “Well, I… why are you always right?” Jeremy whined.

                “Because I’m better at this game than you are.”

                “Thanks miss high and mighty.” The two held a straight face for a total of five seconds, a new record, before bursting into hysterical laughter. Night had nearly completely fallen, the moon taking tentative glances over the high peaks of the Jawbone range.

                “Oh, I do have something to add, something that will win the debate for me,” Jeremy said with mock contempt. Leaving Ila there on the roof, he climbed back down into his room and returned quickly, carrying a heavy, red leather-bound book and a lit lantern. He sat again and thrust the book in front of Ila with gusto. The title, Yithaenia and the Surrounding Provinces of the Elder Empire, written in a faded gold ink, could be made out in the flickering light of the lantern.

                ”Where’d you get this?” she asked.

                “The library in the College. It has all the information on the Empire you could ever want to know, all the provinces, their individual histories, everything!” he finished with excitement. He grabbed the book back from her before she could say anything more, and began flipping the pages furiously until he reached the section on Ryashka. Slapping the open book back on her lap, he started briefing her on everything of interest about the arid province.

                “Did you now Ryashka is the biggest silver exporter of all the provinces and it deals with the highest crime rate and it contains the largest known desert in the world?!” he sputtered out all at once.

                Ila would have answered, but she found herself feeling something about Jeremy she never had before. She had known him and befriended him ever since they were five, yet right at that moment, she wanted to know him, to really be with him. She was continually lost when he glanced up from his description of Ryashka to ensure she was listening, though she really wasn't. When he wasn't looking, her eyes wandered over his fiery hair and slender face, and a faint smile danced around her lips.

                “Ila?” Jeremy asked, “Did you hear me?”

                “Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying attention,” she said as she furiously chided herself, “but whatever you were saying about Ryashka won’t really sway me; I still prefer not to change.”

                “Still insisting you won?” Jeremy asked, already knowing the answer.

                “Yes, technically you haven’t provided anything that could trounce my last statement.”

                 The roof crackled as Jeremy leaned back on his elbows, staring up into the void of black punctuated with stars and the huge moon, searching for some good counterpoint. His gaze soon left the sky and began scanning Vivacahn, now glowing from the light of hundreds of lampposts and open windows. His sight continued past the city and over the Yithaenian Sea, until he stopped, an idea beginning to form in his mind.

                “What if I could show you what I mean when I say ‘get away’?”

                Her face hardened, trying to keep up a stubborn attitude, “That would at least begin to provide me with some tangible proof.”               

                “Then you best keep up!” Jeremy exclaimed, running to the far edge of his roof, throwing the book and extinguished lantern back into his room as he did. He had already jumped from the roof and onto the wooden fence below before Ila could protest. Jeremy silently ran the length of the fence and dropped into the alley at its end, Ila on his heels. The alley opened directly onto a street. Jeremy poked his head out slowly; the police usually didn't look kindly on anyone breaking nightly curfew, but the street was empty. Only a lonely cat occupied its cobble- stoned surface.

                 Jeremy again took off, turning down the left side of the street while staying as short a time as possible in the islands of light the streetlamps produced. Ila could only follow as closely and quietly as she could; Jeremy would never stop long enough for her to catch up and ask where they were going. He reached the end of the street, peered down an adjacent road, and immediately grabbed Ila as she panted up behind him, throwing himself and her into the shadows of a conveniently placed alley.

                Ila was about to ask him why in the world he had just flung them to the ground when she saw a mounted Policeman emerge around the corner, and swallowed her question. He was dressed all in black; even his horse was of the same color. A black policemen’s cap sat atop his head. A long, thick trench coat covered him from his neck to below his knee, where it met a pair of heavy leather boots. A shiny black nightstick swung from a strap on his waist. He whistled a merry little tune as he guided his mount back the way the two had came and turned the corner at the other end of the street, but Jeremy dared not move until he could no longer hear the officer’s whistling. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and looked around for Ila, only to find her there underneath him.

                “Oh,” Jeremy sputtered, “well this isn't awkward at all, is it?”

                “Get off me!” Ila half hissed, half giggled, giving him a playful shove. Once they ensured no other officers were around, Jeremy continued leading the way, wondering all the while why he had enjoyed having Ila so close to him in the alley, why he wanted to hold her closer when her breath quickened with fear at being discovered. This emotion was alien to Jeremy, all the more when he realized he actually liked it, and thus it captivated him through the remainder of the journey; fortunately, Ila never asked a question or tried to say anything; Jeremy wouldn't have been able to give her a logical reply if she had anyway.

After a time of winding through the streets, ever wary for more policemen, Jeremy reached the city’s edge, scaling the sturdy stone wall around Vivacahn and taking an old and worn trail through the thick evergreen forest surrounding it. The trail he followed soon sloped downwards, and before long Jeremy and Ila reached the coast of the Yithaenian Sea, and directly in front of them, some 300 feet away from shore, was an island not much larger than Jeremy’s house. Tethered to a tree leaning out over the water was a makeshift raft, lashed together with thin strips of bark.

                Breaking the silence of their secret trip, Ila asked quietly, “Did you make this?”

                “Every piece. I come here to be alone sometimes; no one else knows about it.

                ”So you use the raft to-“

             “Get to the island?” Jeremy finished, “Of course. Get on.” After some halfhearted resistance, Ila agreed, scaled the old tree, and lightly leapt onto the raft. Though its structure looked flimsy, Ila was surprised to find it didn't give under her weight, nor Jeremy’s when he jumped onto it as well. He retrieved a long pole used to propel the raft through the shallow water, and shoved off from the shore.

Cold and Honest Thoughts on Makeup

Hey Readers,

The other day my wife started reading the fine print on one of her tubes of lip gloss. I kid you not, the text read, "We love our animal friends. We don't test our products on them." I would be fascinated to see how someone might test lip gloss on an animal in the first place. How do you know when the test was successful?

"Oh my gosh, that horse looks fabulous!"

"I know, right?"

"We better start selling that lip gloss to people!"

Thinking about the origin of makeup is mystifying. Who came up with this in the first place?

"Don't like the way your face looks? Shmear some crap on it, that'll fix it."

Bless their hearts, girls just want to look good, and that is more than commendable, but why is grinding up random stuff to paint on your face the default option? Why aren't guys expected to do the same thing? I'll be the first to say I'm forever thankful that we're not, don't get me wrong. Can you imagine marketing makeup for guys? I've got the perfect name for it:

"Man Face: When your real man face just isn't good enough."

Sultry Poultry Monday #3

Another Late Night Readers,

If I had nothing to worry about except this blog, I could say a whole lot more and post at reasonable times of the day. Oh well, I'll take what I can get. This poem is a villanelle, a fancy french term for the rhyme scheme and repeating lines throughout the poem. It was written for a poetry competition I was in once upon a time. I like how it turned out; actually I was surprised how well it turned out.

Wings of Glory

Love flies on the purest wings of glory.

Gentle in its nature; flawless in its form.

The great adventure of the human story.

Those who pursue are terrified by folly;

Believing foolish pitfalls are the norm.

Love flies on the purest wings of glory.

Brighter than a wind flung winter flurry;

Stronger than a lighthouse in a storm.

The great adventure of the human story.

A fruit desirable to make one happy;

A dark and cankered soul it can transform;

Love flies on the purest wings of glory.

Truthfully it is a sweeping journey;

When taken, imperfections will reform;

The great adventure of the human story.

As long as I may be allowed to tarry,

I’ll love the one who with me will affirm;

Love flies on the purest wings of glory;

The great adventure of the human story.

Super Sunday Scripture Commentary #3: March 23rd, 2014

Count Your Many Blessings Readers, its Sunday.

Today's commentary comes at you from the Pearl of Great Price, a small collection of writings and translations from Joseph Smith that really didn't have a place in any other book of scripture. It includes Joseph's extensive translations of St. Matthew in the New Testament and Genesis in the Old Testament, as well as a translation of Egyptian papyrus detailing Abraham's history, and some excerpts of Joseph's writing. This is from Joseph's history in the Pearl of Great Price, called Joseph Smith-History:

Joseph Smith-History 1: 1-2

  "1 Owing to the many reports which have been put in circulation by evil-disposed and designing persons, in relation to the rise and progress of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, all of which have been designed by the authors thereof to militate against its character as a Church and its progress in the world—I have been induced to write this history, to disabuse the public mind, and put all inquirers after truth in possession of the facts, as they have transpired, in relation both to myself and the Church, so far as I have such facts in my possession.

 2 In this history I shall present the various events in relation to this Church, in truth and righteousness, as they have transpired, or as they at present exist, being now [1838] the eighth year since the organization of the said Church."

Joseph Smith does not claim to win anybody over to his story with great persuasion or any flashy salesmanship on his part. The only thing he has at his disposal is his own straightforward, honest testimony. “This is what happened as I experienced it.” He tells the truth, and lets the story stand for itself.

Joseph Smith History 1:3-4:

 "3 I was born in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and five, on the twenty-third day of December, in the town of Sharon, Windsor county, State of Vermont. … My father, Joseph Smith, Sen., left the State of Vermont, and moved to Palmyra, Ontario (now Wayne) county, in the State of New York, when I was in my tenth year, or thereabouts. In about four years after my father’s arrival in Palmyra, he moved with his family into Manchester in the same county of Ontario—

 4 His family consisting of eleven souls, namely, my father, Joseph Smith; my mother, Lucy Smith (whose name, previous to her marriage, was Mack, daughter of Solomon Mack); my brothers, Alvin (who died November 19th, 1823, in the 26th year of his age), Hyrum, myself, Samuel Harrison, William, Don Carlos; and my sisters, Sophronia, Catherine, and Lucy."

Joseph Smith was a normal person. He establishes here that he was not anything unusual or spectacular. He had a family and worked for a living just like everyone else. There was nothing in his life up to the point of his First Vision that would hint to his future role as the prophet of the restoration.

Little Details

Back After Showing Life Who's Boss Readers,

My best writing trait is starting writing projects, and my worst is actually finishing them. I could tell you about ten different book ideas right now, and only three of them have any text written. Sad, I know, but at least it keeps my mind fresh when I want to (and - heaven forbid- ever have TIME to) write; if I'm stuck on one idea I can move to another until the creative juices flow back around to the right genre. I want to use the Open Mic as a sounding board for some of these ideas, comment on whether you would read this book and why or why not. If I'm going to get any of these in a Barnes and Noble near you one day, I need to get them in the public eye sometime, sooner rather than later. Here is the forward to the best developed autobiography/ life lesson book I want to finish. I love the idea:

“I finally got married. Wow, half of life’s major events are over, all I have to do now is have kids and die.”  It might not be an accurate thought, but I like to think it’s a clever thought. And by clever, I mean hopeful that it’s true. I was sure that it would take me significantly longer to find someone worth marrying, years even. I was even content with that idea. Judging by the girls that I have tried to date, I had decided figuring them out would be like finding hay in a needle stack in the middle of the night, blindfolded. It was way easier to write this whole thing off as too hard and just not take the plunge, play it extremely safe until sometime in never when I would somehow have enough guts to date someone.

             My parents saw this in me pretty quick. By the time I had been sat down and lectured about dating for the third time, even looking at a girl was stressful, let alone talking to one. At least in my own mind I was the dorky fifteen year old brother to every young woman I met. Then I ran into an old acquaintance, a sweet girl by the name of Megan. Marriage is a sobering thought; at least it was until it happened. It came and went in such a blur that it took weeks for the finality to sink in. Once it hit me that I was married to a person I really could be happy with, someone who was as excited to be with me as I was with them, I started to realize something important.

            I have seen glimpses of this life lesson before, but from my newlywed vantage point I can understand it better now. Everybody steers so much of their daily energy toward the next massive milestone in their life; graduation, moving out, the next semester, getting married, having children, a career, and all that does need some serious daily attention, I know. What I’m coming to find out though, despite the big things, is that there is never enough attention given to the little details. I’m talking about the minutes, even seconds of time where the breathtaking beauty of life can be seen, uncluttered and clear as crystal. These are moments that make you take a step out of your life to reflect, where you take a long, serious, and grateful look at what your life is, what it really is. When I say beauty I don’t mean to cut out some of the harsher times too. There is beauty in the pounding of a good rainstorm, and the world is always cleaner and brighter for it. Sometimes nothing is more valuable and more formative than adversity, in my experience I would almost say all the time nothing is more valuable or more formative.

            This brings us to why you’re reading this, and why I’m writing it. I’m blaming it on my marriage, because before then my life was really my own, and the little details of my life were mine to discover. Now I get to share all of them with another person, my wife, and sharing them has become a more appealing idea every passing day. Some of these details are too precious to keep to myself, and hopefully by hearing some of mine, you can start seeing them in your own life too. The idea is gratitude, in one word. Gratitude for every sweet, miserable, tough, hilarious, heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, joyful little detail in my life, both those behind me and those in front of me. If I haven’t scared you off yet, mission accomplished. Keep reading.

Little Details: Insights of a Newlywed.  

Cold and Honest Thoughts on Men and Women

Hope Your Day is Treating You Well Readers,

Men and women are inherently different. Political correctness says otherwise of course, but I have come across some "non-negotiable" opposing views between the sexes. These views are the rule rather than the exception, but exceptions do exist. Just to name one on a growing list:

1. Men clean until things are usable; women clean until things are not usable. while confusing on the surface, this note will make sense with a few simple examples. A man cleans something keeping in mind what it is to be used for, and cleans until usefulness is maximized and extra effort is minimized. A man-cleaned toilet will look really good upon inspection from five feet away. The toilet is sanitary and clean enough to be used, but might feature a few stray stains. No problem at all in his mind.

A woman will clean the same toilet, bathroom floor, bathroom sink, mirror, and shower keeping in mind that there are literally millions of microscopic demons living on every surface, threatening her life and the lives of all she loves. She will summon the power of cleaning chemicals a man didn't even know existed until every inch of the room gleams like a Pine-Sol commercial. She then zealously guards against the use of the bathroom until someone can sneak past her defenses.

 A man walks toward the bathroom...

Woman: "Auuuughh! I just CLEANED it!"

Man: "Could you give me some sort of idea when I could use that room? Because I need to go, now."

Somehow if these two could come to some understanding, cleaning house might become easier. Until then men will forever frustrate women and vice versa when the bathroom is a mess.

Sultry Poultry Monday #2 (that rhymed)

Make Your Monday a Fun Day Readers,

I am much better at traditional poetry than I am at any other. I have trouble understanding the new age, what-does-emotion-smell-like free verse that everyone seems to like now, but every once in a while I come across an idea that doesn't fit into a rhyme scheme. This is my favorite free verse poem.

 America is Singing

America is singing;

From the dust, from times of old, her song rolls like a distant army upon my ear.

A pounding chorus of men, drums, swords, reverberates from every alabaster city.

Revolution, democracy, enlightenment, and freedom built her walls, wrote her song.

She rides the swells of the music history provides; she glories in its marvelous crescendos and mourns with every solemn note.

America is singing.

America is crying.

She weeps for the fallen and for the living.

The sting of war pierces her, and the strength of her people bears her up on wings of joy.

She cries for beauty and triumph;

She cries for death and corruption.

Always forward she strives; always with a tear in her eye.

America is crying.

America is dying.

A grave sickness wears on her greatness from the inside.

Once glorious and sublime, her vision has blurred, her values have staled.

The bloated, tattered sails of men’s lips draw close to her in word, but not in action.

The mounting forces untrue to her plan have brought her to her knees.

Once powerful and free, shackles of oppression hang from her weakened frame.

America is dying.

America is pleading.

She hopes for the day her shackles will fall.

She prays for truth to rise from the dust.

She waits for a hero’s lauded return.

She longs for her sickness’s cure.

She looks to those who can, and implores them to act.

America is pleading.

America cries in her lowly prison,

And pleads for the day

That she may sing again.

Super Sunday Scripture Commentary #2: March 16th, 2014

A Beautiful Sunday to you Readers!

Today's commentary comes from the Book of Mormon, If you have it, wonderful, if you don't, you can look up the verses online at scriptures.lds.org.


1 Nephi 1: 19-20:  

19 And it came to pass that the Jews did mock him because of the things which he testified of them; for he truly testified of their wickedness and their abominations; and he testified that the things which he saw and heard, and also the things which he read in the book, manifested plainly of the coming of a Messiah, and also the redemption of the world.

 20 And when the Jews heard these things they were angry with him; yea, even as with the prophets of old, whom they had cast out, and stoned, and slain; and they also sought his life, that they might take it away. But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.

 This is a classic and prime example of the patterns in which the wicked react to righteousness. First they will mock it, try to undermine its importance, then they will get angry and fight back with that aggression, and finally if the righteous irritation persists they will simply try to eliminate the problem by killing the source.

Fear

This is about Frozen Readers,

Before you exit your browser and throw the computer against the wall, please hear me out. I know this is the 345,645,234,456th post you've seen about Frozen, and I hate giving in to the temptation to pipe up about it, but what I saw in my second time watching it is something I haven't seen anyone else say anything about. Mostly because the core of what I noticed is given just a passing note in the movie, which is all the more reason to write it out. But seriously, is there a cult following for this movie or something? I think Disney might have perfected audiovisual drugs in this thing.

Anyway, toward the beginning of the movie, all the world now knows that Anna and Elsa are taken to the magical trolls to reverse the damage done to Anna. The Grand-pappy Troll heals Anna, then turns to Elsa and gives her some advice. He tells her that her power is a great gift capable of great good, but also has great destructive potential. He then says five little words that defines all that is Elsa's problem: "Fear will be your enemy." the movie rushes on with the king hastily giving his idea of how to fix the problem, so we have about three seconds for the troll's advice to sink in. Easily overlooked.

What is significant about his counsel is that everyone involved in controlling Elsa's power lived in fear, exactly what he told them NOT to do. Elsa is afraid of her self and everyone else, her parents are afraid of her powers, and Anna doesn't remember anything, left completely in the dark. Granted, this approach is easier than trying to interact with others while controlling the ice powers. Instead of dealing with the problem, shut it in a little box, push it in a dusty corner, and make sure everyone forgets about it. This does not make the problem go away, though. Fear of trouble turns out to be more trouble than actual trouble most of the time.

What's more ironic is how close Elsa always was to real help in the movie, and how much she wanted that help. There are many subtle hints as to what Elsa really wants, but believes she can't have. When Anna finished singing, "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" Where was Elsa? as close as she could possibly get to her sister, just on the other side of the door. At the Coronation party, Anna and Elsa start talking and laughing like they did as kids. Anna says how much she wishes it could be like that all the time, and then Elsa agrees.

Of course she quickly realizes how dangerous that would be to her pretended security in "conceal, don't feel," and so sucks back inside her shell. And finally, when she sings that all too familiar song on the mountaintop, for just three or four seconds you see her create Olaf. Why would she do that? Because he is a representation of what real happiness she once had with her family. Anna's love for her always was the key to Elsa being able to control her powers, but she believed she could never be close to anyone she loved because of fear.

Can you imagine living with that kind of internal conflict? Wanting so much to be a part of people's lives but being afraid to because of past pain? No one has really considered the scars left on Elsa from that accident late one night when she and Anna were just little girls. Everyone at one time or another has hurt someone they love, and sometimes the wound is so huge we believe it will never be healed. It is easier to believe then that it is better for us to remove ourselves from that person's life, rather than live with the fear of hurting or disappointing them again. I know I have felt that way before.

That's what "Let it Go" is really about, people. It's not pushing a gay agenda, it's not about farting, and it's not advocating YOLO, sorry. For the first time in her life, Elsa believes she can run far and fast enough to get away from her problems, and that is truly exhilarating. Everyone believes that too at some point, just ask any college student around finals week.

Just like the swamped college student though, Elsa finds out from Anna that her problems ran with her. She can never get away from them until they are dealt with. At this point, Elsa hits Anna again with ice, this time in the heart. In trying to protect people that try to help, Elsa fulfills her own prophecy and hurts them again. When we wrong somebody and they come to us to comfort us, something in us says that is backward, so we refuse their help, hurting them again. I've been guilty of that too, almost like I want the person to be mad at me for what I did; I don't want the problem to be fixed.

Push soon comes to shove in this story, and it takes a long time for Elsa to realize it, but finally she sees Anna will never give up on her. Her love for her would never waver. Finally understanding that Anna loved her enough to give her life for her, no matter what Elsa did, helped Elsa bridge the gap between her fears and wanting to love. This gave her the ability to fix the wrongs she had done. This was an act of faith in the most straightforward way. There is security in fear, and everything but security in love. The only way to gain love is to step out of fear's comfort zone, and to do that, you have to believe enough that something on love's side of the line will be there to catch you.

I don't claim to have pinpointed the symbolic meaning of Frozen because I'm pretty sure Disney is more in the business of capturing the human experience in an imaginative and entertaining way than they are in subliminal propagandizing. There are so many good and accurate parallels to our own lives to be seen here. This story is the story of so many who try to love and feel they fail those they love, the story of everyone who has ever done wrong and struggled to forgive themselves. Anyone can draw a disturbing or alarming symbol out of this movie when taken out of context, but when the rhetoric about this movie finally settles in ten more years or so, I want people to remember this positive message: 1 John 4: 18 (King James Version) "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love."

    

Practical Perfection

First solid week, Readers!

As you know I work a part time job tutoring public speaking at BYU- Idaho. Today I tutored someone in a class taught by a man who told this poor student he would never get an A in his class. He didn't give A's. The best this student could get on any one assignment was an 80%. He went on to tell me that his speech was a subtle rebellion against such a ridiculous grading scale, and I had to agree. I was in a similar situation not too long ago with a teacher like that, and I can tell you with gusto there is nothing more infuriating.

The most shocking part of this story today is what this student told me happened when he honestly confronted his teacher about grading. In so many words he was told that only Jesus Christ could get an A from this teacher. In their class they watched videos of General Authorities of the LDS Church, absolutely flawless presenters and master speechwriters; this teacher wouldn't give even them an A for their presentations.

It is a good thing to set the bar high; that is one thing the Latter-Day Saints are known for. Setting the standard this high, however, is laughably stupid. The standard is set so high not even the standard setter can achieve it. This goes against common sense in the worst way. What value is a standard that no one can reach? Can you imagine The Savior taking a class from this teacher, and this teacher trying to give Him an A? Christ is so far beyond the teacher in every capacity that getting an A from him would be worse than useless. It would be like a self-righteous 1st grader critiquing a speech given by an Ivy League speech professor, and the toddler condescending from his high horse to give out an A.

Students come to college trying to improve themselves and earn academic high marks through their hard work to be considered for a career position. Teachers too high minded to teach only get in the way of this. Grading this way doesn't facilitate learning, it cripples it. Even your best efforts can be considered failure, so why bother? Your teacher will never be truly impressed with your work. You can never be more than a B student. You can never be more than a B employee. Teachers of this type effectively antagonize their students against themselves and selfishly, arrogantly, lock themselves away from actually being helpful. Teachers must go to where their students are and lift them to their own higher understanding, not hang an impossible ideal over them, crush them with its weight, and expect them to struggle upward to where you are intellectually.

What I'm asking for is Practical Perfection; expect your students to rise to the challenge, but understand where they are and how they are moving forward. Care more about how they improve and THAT they improve than you do about firmly establishing their inferiority. If you don't, you delude yourself as an educator. You are teaching them nothing but to hate the educational system. In short, calm down and give deserving students an A for heaven's sake!

    

Working for a Living

Happy Belated Wednesday Readers,

This day almost didn't happen for the Open Mic. Since its 11:48, that should be obvious. Happily I can't pin this on a lack of trying, because that is all I've done all day. I started at 5:45 this morning buckling up for another round of college class registration, tutored a few public speaking students, and spent almost nine hours selling candy and making Subway sandwiches in a gas station. I've been busy. Meanwhile my wife has been home buying us food, cleaning house, and going to her own college classes.

I've accepted the fact that I have to work so much at this stage in my life that I almost don't have a life, but that is more than okay. When I take stock of my life right now I can't honestly complain. I might always be afraid of impending financial or educational doom yes, but knowing I have a place to call home, food to call mine, two working (one of them semi-pretty) cars, and a miraculous woman to come home to, working day in and day out to support that isn't so bad.

Truly it is more scary for those who don't have this kind of life because they refuse to reach out and claim it. I'm not citing any extreme, unnecessary handout chasers because they are the exception rather than the rule, though they are there and their problem is very real. Instead I'm talking about the almost automatic urge we have to cut corners. Slowly but surely a job well done is becoming a job done as little as possible.

Cold and Honest Thoughts on Gum

Hello Readers,

There are really two schools of thought concerning gum; to share when asked and to share as a public service. “Share when asked” people pack their gum around like its meth and all their friends are cops. For some reason gum doesn't exist in the public mind until it’s visible. I never even think about having gum, wanting gum, needing gum, until someone starts opening a box. Then suddenly I’m asking for some without even thinking about it, along with the twenty other people who were in their own little worlds before the gum appeared. And don’t kid yourself, if you’re not outright asking for some, you’re wishing really hard that whoever has the gum would just notice how gumless you are and give you some. When we get really desperate we'll drop vague hints like,”Hey, what flavor is that?” or just playfully steal the box and run for our lives until the owner of the gum (usually someone in better shape) tackles us to the ground.

If you share gum as a public service, you’re a master of the subtle insult. This is something so completely opposite of the normal way to treat having gum that there has to be some ulterior motive. When you say, “Hey, you want some gum?” what you’re really saying is, “Hey, you just ate garlic crusted chicken and I don’t get out of this date for another two hours, eat some gum or give me a gas mask.” Public service sharing is really quite selfish if you think too long about it. You’re so concerned about the quality of air you’re breathing that you take it upon yourself to clean up the air one bad breath bomb at a time. Then again, who would ever turn down gum when it’s offered, even if it is because your breath could strip paint off a wall? No one. Ever.

Poultry?.... No, Poe-tree....Poetry! that's it.

Hope You're having a better Monday than usual Readers,

Once upon a time, I was a high school freshman who had a friend who told me I should try writing. I took her advice, one project led to another, and here we are almost six years later. I started writing poetry, more or less the morning of my oldest sister's wedding. I cranked out a little ditty for her in fifteen minutes. I really didn't think much of it. About an hour before the reception started I just walked up to her and handed it to her, folded up like a love note. To my great surprise, Jessie started crying. My mom came over, read it, then she started crying. They made me go back home, reprint the poem on card stock, frame it, and display it at the reception. I guess it wasn't just a little ditty to them. When the reception was finally over we all more or less collapsed into our living room, and my dad said something to me I haven't forgotten, "Burkley, that poem was absolutely sensational." Needless to say I've written poetry on and off ever since, just riding on responses like that as I go. This is among the first poems I wrote, more to come as long as this blog survives.

The Wanderer

The wanderer was a tall, gangly fellow

With spindly arms and teeth of pale yellow.

He traveled about on nothing but feet;

He knew the cold well, and also the heat.

A worn baseball cap adorned his round head

His face was as rough as an ugly tool shed,

And yet, as the wanderer wandered along

You could hear from his lips a slow, happy song.

The wanderer never could call one place home

The road was his calling, his calling to roam.

 And sad as it was, he had no companion

Except those that he could only imagine.

He had next to nothing to stand for his name,

He had no great mansion, and no claim to fame,

Yet as poor as the man was accustomed to be,

He was much, much richer than the plain eye could see.

As he went to and fro from city to city,

Looking for food or some stray scraps of pity,

The wanderer made sure to do good on his way,

Looking to help those he could every day.

There were those higher up on society’s pole,

who scoffed and who scorned at the wanderer’s role,

Saying, “who could dare help out the poor and the needy

When the helper himself needs the help more than any?”

The wanderer heard these rude people indeed

As he looked and he helped to serve others in need

But the wanderer cared not for what others would say

For he held to his values, and knew not to stray.

Despite persecution of what he was doing,

He knew people’s judgment wasn’t always their choosing.

‘cause feelings speak louder than rational thought,

Especially ‘gainst one with the wanderer’s plot.

So the wanderer did as he’d done so before,

Lending a hand as he’d do evermore,

Ne’er heeding the mocks and the sneers of all men,

For he felt he would need to, to see God again.

And as it is so with the living condition,

After all of his works had come to fruition,

The wanderer died, on his five thousandth mile,

Of course as he did so, he did with a smile.

The wanderer planted a seed in us all,

to give happy service to wealthy and small.

For it matters very little how rich you become,

But how much you have giv’n when this life is done.

Super Sunday Scripture Study Commentary #1: March 9th, 2014

Happy Sunday Readers,

I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. If that's the first time you heard of such a church, you might be more familiar with the name Mormons, our nickname. I have a testimony of Jesus Christ and the fact that He atoned for the sins of the world. I know that the scriptures his prophets have written are full of relevant and laser-guided specific help for my life and yours. I'll be here every Sunday, giving a thought or two about what I've learned from the scriptures or from listening to His spirit, or both. Hopefully both, preferably both. I'll have posts from the Old and New Testaments (King James Version), as well as from scripture specific to the Latter-Day Saints (The Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price). If the idea of additional scripture is new to you, its more than exciting for me to introduce you to the three I just mentioned. Great reads, I highly recommend them. Without further ado, today's scripture:

Matt. 7: 13-14:

"Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it."

 Truth is not usually obvious, popular, or widely accepted. The principles of Eternal Life run against the norm in mortality, and therefore they will be significantly hard to find. This also implies that any “Broad Gate” claiming to lead to God and be easy on us at the same time is not of God. The “Strait Gate” is demanding, strenuous, and refining. Anyone who tries to walk it without meeting the prerequisites cannot stay on it, and won’t want to.

Please Excuse My Irresponsibility

Welcome Back Readers,

I've never been a sympathizer for people who crave making excuses. That being said, I won't pretend for a minute that I've never been caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar and fired away excuses as to why. I'm seeing it more often in society around me, and more than I would like in myself. The Entitlement Culture that politics has said so much about in recent years has spawned an Excusing Culture on the side, which is effectively destroying the long standing moral duty to be personally responsible for anything.

This isn't a new idea really, but I want to believe that it hasn't made its way out of grade school until recently. Perfect example: I can't count the number of times that something would get broken or some mess would be made or something important left undone while I was still living at home with my siblings, and no one would ever 'fess up when Mom and Dad would ask about it. whoever was to blame knew exactly what had happened and who WAS to blame, but "that darn nobody" was the only one who took the fall.

Now that I'm older, married, out of the house, paying my own bills, thinking about a future and desperately working to provide for one, the stakes are significantly higher than getting out of cleaning up my own messes. I'm so much more aware of my giving in to the Excusing Culture than I was at home, and my conscience tugs at me much harder now. Just a few days ago at my part-time job, in a group meeting we talked about a recent slip up in handling appointments with clients. I knew when the group started talking about this that I was at least partly to blame, but said nothing. I had to move one of my appointments the previous week and forgot to reschedule it, leaving the poor person hanging without any help.

Our employer never asked who it was that made the mistake, and the consequence wasn't more than "don't do it again", but had I been willing to be responsible for my mistake, I would have been more at ease, and everyone else would have too. I could have left that meeting walking a little taller knowing that I had acted with integrity.

I'm defining Integrity has having the choice to do what is right or what is easy, and choosing to do right. My decision to say nothing at that meeting was certainly easy, but it wasn't right. In a more serious and professional setting my actions would have had much more serious consequences. I could have been fired for that kind of irresponsibility, especially if it got back around to the boss that I didn't own my mistakes.

What I see around me isn't quite that passive. Saying nothing in the face of your mistakes is bad enough, but it's much worse to go on the offensive, wielding excuses and accusations like a club to beat blame off your own hide and onto someone else. My life has led me to meet countless people who feel victimized, people who are quick to point a finger at anyone but themselves when it comes to trouble in their life. In genuine concern I tell them all the time that if they would just own their trouble and take some serious steps to get themselves out of trouble, life would be so much better for them.

Relief is not going to come from framing somebody else or tricking yourself into believing it's everyone else's problem, and that you've been wronged. Instead what you'll have is the burden of justifying a lie. When forced to choose between right and easy, right will always seem painful, complicated, and long lasting. Easy will always seem... easy, and so we rationalize and justify our own exempt status from consequence. This is self deception, and in our hearts we know it.

It so turns out that without exception, responsibility is better for the world than excuses. like nature, responsibility and blame have to fill a vacuum. Replacing responsibility with rationalization forces the first to go somewhere else. This leaves two moral problems on your plate; lying to yourself and others, and forcing your deferred responsibility onto someone who didn't deserve it.

When I started 8th grade my dad handed me a job working at a local cemetery. I didn't like the work, but the paychecks we're just big enough to boggle my 15 year old mind. I remember clearly one September day in my freshman year of high school, I was interring an addition to the cemetery. The project was about half finished; the concrete vault containing the casket was covered with only a few inches of soil. I still needed to finish covering the grave, watering the grave, putting sod back over the plot, and cleaning up the extra dirt and tools. It was dirty, tiring work, and there was a play rehearsal I was supposed to be getting to. I chose to leave the grave unfinished and go to play practice, telling myself I would finish it later.

The following week my dad called me into his office explaining that someone had called the cemetery manager, complaining that her loved one's grave had not been completed. I was to call that person right then and there and apologize. I only barely managed to keep my composure through that phone call. It struck me hard that day that I was dealing with real people who had real feelings and were dealing with a tremendous loss. I recommitted myself to never again treat that lightly. I decided to take real responsibility, especially after that rough call.

Even when it means harsh consequences, only those with the spine to be responsible will excel at most anything. There is not a single job that can do without it; there is not an honorable soul on earth who'll disrespect you with it. Get it. Keep it. You and I both need it.    

Be A Hero In The Strife

 “Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Well known poet of the nineteenth century, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow did much to influence the art of poetry in his time, and wrote many noteworthy poems still read and appreciated today. Henry seemed to know a lot about struggle in his time. He was born in 1807 in Portland, Maine. After graduating from college he lived in Europe for three years studying several foreign languages. He then went home to teach, married Mary Storer Potter, and published his first book. On a return trip to Europe, Mary died having a miscarriage after 4 years of marriage. Several years later Henry proposed to Frances Appleton in the United States, who turned him down. Apparently he persisted though, and Frances later agreed. 18 years and several more published books later, Frances’ dress caught fire while trying to seal an envelope. Henry tried to save her but she died the next day. Henry didn't work for two years after that. He went it alone for the next two decades, wildly successful as the most popular American poet of his day. He made it to 75 years old and died in March of 1882. He wrote many poems dealing with adversity, one such poem of his is “A Psalm of Life.” this poem in particular holds a great deal of valuable advice on the day to day struggle of living life  Its message is most clearly understood when the poem is analyzed one stanza at a time.

Tell me not in mournful numbers

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers

And things are not what they seem.

                Everywhere we look, we find the overwhelming evidence as to how dire and hopeless the world is. Economic problems, wars, murders; it is all too easy to get wrapped up in the pessimistic view of the world. In the first stanza however, we are urged to ignore that dark and sad reality; we are warned that should we become bogged down by that sad view, we become hollow and feel there is no purpose to life. In the closing line we are reassured about this ugly world; its not always as bad as it looks.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest

Was not spoken of the soul.

                Life is a tremendous gift. Every day is an opportunity, and we should actively be looking for those opportunities to better ourselves and others. In that same idea, man is not alive to merely exist until he dies. He is to thrive, dream and create. Who we are at our most basic form, our soul, is capable of so much more than just day in and day out.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each tomorrow

Find us farther than today.

Life is to be more than existing, yes, but keep in mind life will have both good times and bad; we must be able to accept and learn from each extreme; for without sadness, loss, grief, and difficulties, we cannot appreciate happiness, luck, success, and joy. Through these ups and downs, our ultimate goal is to be constantly improving ourselves with each new experience.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

                Henry interjects a piece of reality back into the poem here. We are all capable of so much here in life, but no one can escape the steady inevitability of death. Despite this, we are advised to not let this truth stop us. Why worry about what we can’t change or control?

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

                When the hardships are upon us, we must fight to overcome them with all we have. Following the crowd in these times, believing someone else will step forward to fix the problem, will not help anyone. The word ‘bivouac’ is defined as a military encampment made with tents or improvised shelters, usually without shelter or protection from enemy fire, and in the context of the stanza, it lends a very vivid mental image to complement its meaning.

Trust no Future, Howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Act- act in the living present!

Heart within and god o’erhead!

                In this life, jumping to conclusions or becoming complacent because the immediate road ahead seems easy can prove fatal. Also, those mistakes we've had in the past should not hinder us more than absolutely necessary. When the issue is resolved, forget about it and keep moving. A piece of the poems common theme appears again in this stanza; do what we can, when we can, with what we have, and do it as well as we can. The last line teaches us to always hold important aspects of our lives close to us, things like talents and relationships, while also holding faith that what we are doing with our lives is right; or taken more literally, hold faith in God to help and guide each of us.

Lives of great men all remind us,

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing leave behind us

 Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

                Heroes, role models, good examples; these leaders turn up everywhere in life, and their great achievements show others how to live a good life themselves; not only that, but their exemplary lives often live on and are emulated long after they die. whether its acknowledged or not, many of us are watched constantly by those who look up to us, and soon it will be our turn to leave our “footprints on the sands of time.”

Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart of any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

The last stanza is the last challenge Henry gives his readers. Now that he has taught us, he wants us to use this knowledge. Be optimistic, be persistent, be patient, and everything will work out for you in the end. Though not even close to the same severity as Henry, I have walked in some of the same places as him, and I know something of how hard life is. But its worth it. Its always worth it.

From Random Beginnings

Hello You Beautiful People,

  Can I call you beautiful? Beauty? Beut?... Beau? Whichever of those four you claim sounds good. I hope you're here out of curiosity, because I am too. I never had a very clear idea what a blog even was until last night. The most concrete thing I knew and assumed about blogs is summed up in "Blogging: Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few" (despair.com). Despite the odds, I'm here to give this a try, come subscribers or not. The main reason is because I have a passion for influencing an audience; making them laugh, making them cry, changing their minds about the world they live in to know or believe something more than they did before. It is a powerful feeling. Since I love to do this, I want to show it. Since I'm a relative nobody, I haven't had much of a public chance to be seen or read. This is where you come in. This is Open Mic Night in My Head, the best variety blog I can come up with! Again, I'm glad you're here, and I hope you're here to stay.