Sergeant Kent

It’s Monday afternoon, I’m at work and my front office gets a phone call claiming to be from the Davis County Sheriff’s Department and that it was urgent that he talk to me.  Tana who received the phone call gave me the message assuming it was with the Anti-drug abuse publication I donate to every year which they sponsor, so without much concern I called him back.  I introduced myself and the dispatcher person connected me to 'Sergeant Kent'.  He then informed me that there was an arrest warrant out for my arrest--WAIT--WHAT??? My heart sinks, immediately my mind franticly begins swimming, what could I have possibly done to get arrested!?  Snapping back to the conversation, He went on, the warrant is due to my failure to appear for a Jury Duty summons on December 05, 2017.  He then asked, “Did you knowingly or willingly not appear for your legally mandated Jury Summons?  I replied, “This is the first I’ve heard of this”.  “I never received any notice for Jury Duty”!

He replied, “I understand and I am sorry if that is the case”.  He then went on to validate the correctness of my home address (which he then read off, which was correct).  “Unfortunately, it appears that the County’s database is correct and you, therefore, were in violation of the summons.  Furthermore, the Honorable (So and So - I don’t remember) subsequently issued two violations against you (failure to appear for Jury Duty and Contempt of Court) and has since issued a warrant for my arrest. However, due to my lack of previous criminal record, they are able to extend a courtesy call making it possible for me to avoid any arrest and possible subsequent incarceration.  In order to do this, I would have to immediately leave work and post bond at the David County Sheriff’s office, otherwise the warrant would stand and an officer would be dispatched to bring me in.  Of course, my heart was racing.  “What was happening!??  Seriously???  I never got any summons??  This can’t be right!", continued to scream in my mind.  Sergeant Kent went on to explain, that after posting bond, I would be given a court date where I would be arraigned before the Honorable (So and So) and I could be heard concerning my failure to appear to jury duty.  After such appearance and any potential consequences I would receive my posted bail back in full.  He then asked me to write down my citation numbers with their corresponding bail fees.  They were both close to $1,500 each, totaling $2,994.97

Seemingly without any other option, I agreed to post bail at the Sheriff’s office.  I was told I had to leave immediately and that he would stay on the line tracking me by the movements of my phone ('Mobile Arrest'--like a portable ankle bracelet!).  I asked the front desk to clear out the rest of my day.  As I was fairly disturbed and resultantly loud on the phone everyone in the office, staff and patients, were all riveted to what was going on with Dr Flynn getting arrested!!!  

I went out to my car with Sargent Kent still on speaker.  He asked for my odometer reading.  I then waited for several minutes as he was doing something in the background.  Meanwhile I sent out a text to Sandra, Zack and Kristen stating what was going on.  He then returned to the phone and stated that the Davis County Sheriff’s department no longer took personal checks or credit card payments and that I would have to go through an authorized third party to purchase the required bond vouchers that I would turn in to the Sheriff’s department.  This took me as odd, but I remember watching the reality show years ago, ’Dog the Bounty Hunter’ who was a jail bondman, who financed jail bonds or something, so I figured this must be something like that.  He then confirmed that the grocery store Smiths by my house was an authorized third party.  He then said, Smiths doesn’t accept credit cards for vouchers and that I would have to go to my credit union or bank to get cash to pay for the vouchers.  Before I began driving, he then informed me that it was crucial that we do not get disconnect as this form of detainment was only valid as long as we were connected together through my phone.  Therefore, I was instructed to not accept or make any phone calls or texts while he was connected as any interference could jeopardize this connection, which would result in my physical arrest.  

I proceeded to drive to Utah First Credit Union and withdrew $3000 cash.  While I was waiting for the lady to count out the money, I put my phone & Sergeant Kent on mute and asked if I could use their phone to call my wife.  Before leaving the office I asked my staff to get a hold of Sandra and let her know what was going on, just in case I did get arrested and don’t come home.  I started feeling uneasy about this situation, more than an uneasy getting arrested feeling, more like, ‘What if he wasn’t who he says he was?  What if this is a scam?  I have no way of verifying the legitimacy of his claim or who he is--he has me hostage?”  I got a hold of Sandra and asked her to rush over to Smiths to meet me.  I got the cash and headed over there myself, although I drove slow and parked without informing him I had arrived to stall for time.  When I told him I had arrived, he then went on to explain the voucher process.  He said, I would go into Smiths and purchase the said total bail amount onto these green ‘Money PAX' voucher cards and that I would take these vouchers (which were like a portable money order) to the Sheriff’s Department to my post bail.  This process seamed completely unnecessary and redundant, but if I had the money vouchers and I was going to the sheriff’s office to turn them in, I couldn’t see a way I could lose the money if this was a scam?  Then he further explained, that the vouchers could only be made up to $500 each and so I would actually have to get six separate vouchers to be able to fund the total amount of bail required at the Sheriff’s department.  Red flags going off all over the place now—Really? This is how the Sheriff’s Department works, through this convoluted run around with six different money vouchers each with their own card numbers and authorization pins!?  It was all getting too phony.  

Sandra pulled up.  I got out and put the phone back on mute.  I took Sandra’s phone and immediately called my good friend, Scott Manookin, who works for the Clearfield Police Department.  I quickly gave him the rundown of what was happening to me, to which he replied, ‘This is Fraud—it’s a scam!’  Verifying what I’ve been thinking, I continued to question him, "Do the police ever do these type of ‘mobile arrests’? “No”, he replied.  “Is there a warrant for my arrest?”, I then asked.  He told me, it would take a minute to look it up, but "I highly doubt it”.  I then gave him the number I called to get a hold of Sergeant Kent.  He promised to call me right back.  I was nervous, is this real, is it a scam?  If it’s legit and I’m jerking this guy around or lose contact with him and have to go to jail that would really suck.  If it was a scam and I canceled the end of my day, lost a lot of money, embarrassed myself in front of my staff and patients that I was getting arrested, I’d be so pissed.  Scott called me back and informed me that the number I gave him was not a government number and it went straight to voicemail and that there was not a warrant out for my arrest—it was totally a scam!

I was so mad and relieved at the same time.  I turned off mute and told him I was back.  He replied, "Did everything go ok?”  I said "Actually, YES, everything is fine, especially since I have learned that there is NOT a warrant out for my arrest and that everything about this phone call is a scam!  He stated, “Why do you believe that?”  I informed him of my friend in the Clearfield police department who looked it up and it wasn’t there and that your phone number is not a government phone number!  Angrily I then chastised him for being "a lowlife preying on good hard working people, exploiting their vulnerabilities and ignorance and stealing their money.  Get a real job and actually work for a living!", I yelled, then hung up on him.

Glad it was over and it wasn’t real and I didn’t have to go through any more of this nightmare, but so utterly pissed that Mother F-er’s like this douche pile of dog turds is out there scamming people like me.  The world is mostly filled with beauty and kindness, but dang it all if it is also sprinkled with it’s fair share of vial Sergeant Kents!  

I once was given good advice: if anyone ever calls you and asked anything of you, never give it to them.  Find out who they claim to be and tell them you will call them back.  Look up a legitimate phone number (not the number they gave you) and ask for that person.  If they do not connect you back to the same person—they were not who they said they were and were probably fraudulent and just trying to get your information.  Unfortunately in today's world, you have to be skeptical of everyone.

Luckily, at the end of the day, I didn’t really lose anything.  I returned the money to the bank, with puzzled looks from the bank teller and went home safely to my family.  No cops ever showed up to arrest me.


Ironically, the very next day after dropping off a heavenly soft body pillow to my sister Christine for her birthday I was pulled over for speeding, 42 in a 30 mph zone.  Of course, at first my heart dropped again, “what if…”, but he was really nice and ended up giving me a warning—probably because I was also traveling with our sweet little teacup Yorkie-Chihuahua mix, Penny, sitting on my lap wearing her new princess pink dog dress and looking adorable!

Passports, Bloody Knuckles and the Parisian Ice Queen

Remember that time when Sandra got kicked off of the airplane?!  Or the time that Robert with bloodied knuckles franticly scavenged the floor of the plane looking for her lost passport and in the nick of time found it, then immediately screamed throughout the plan that he found her passport and had to convince the pilot to let her back on to the plane?!  Well this is a fine beginning to our European adventure!

Sandra just graduated from Nursing school, Madison just graduated from Viewmont High School, Spencer (Madi’s boyfriend and all around awesome guy) just celebrated his one year anniversary from coming home from his LDS mission to Belgium and the Netherlands, and I am just Robert tagging along, but I do have a birthday coming up next week!  To celebrate all this, the four of us are taking a trip to Europe: Paris, France, Belgium and the Netherlands to be specific.

Because of work/school schedules, we didn’t leave on our trip till mid August.  This is one of the latest summer vacations we have ever taken.  If fact, the kids start school the day after we return.  Suddenly the day arrives to go.  Madi and I worked in the morning constantly looking at our watching in excited anticipating to leave.  Christian and Madeline had volunteered to watch the younger kids while we were away and Christian drove us to the airport.

(Sandra's Instagram Post at the airport ready almost ready to board)

Delta has a direct flight to Paris, which is wonderful.  As usual we were in the last 'Zone' to board and thus among the last 'nobodies' to load the plane.  As we get on they insist on seeing our passports again.  I already put them away.  So to the perturbment of the the stewardess lady checking us onto the plane I had to stop the line, get back into my bag and pull them all out again.  Then she wouldn't take the lot of our four passports together, but insisted that we each hold our own passport and boarding ticket.  She had a bad case of 'RBF' and as fate had planed it, this wouldn't be our last interaction with the delightful human-like stewardess.  We are now dangling our carry on luggage while pinching our boarding passes and passports in our fingers as we shuffle down the tight aisles onto the plane.  We sink as we realize that our seats are literally at the back of the plane, well to be honest, second to last row of the plane (poor bastards behind us!).  All the overhead bins, which are ridiculously smaller than normal, were already full.  So then we had to fight the incoming current of passengers and backtrack the plane looking for available bin space.  Our bags were now scattered throughout the back half of the plane.  We finally sit down when a young bearded guy with a trucker hat announces were in his seat.  We then realize that we had read the overhead seat numbers incorrectly and so everyone had to then shift over one seat to the left to accommodate Mr Trucker hat.  Already exhausted we begin tossing down pillows and blankets from the linen bin and slump in our seats to settle in.

As the self-proclaimed guardian and protector of the passports, I ask everyone to return them to me for safe guarding.  Madi and Spencer hand me theirs while Sandra continues to search through her things.  Several minutes later, I look over to Sandra and with imploring eyes which say, "um, you going to give me your passport?"  Sometimes Sandra likes to exercise her independence and not be 'controlled' so I wasn't going to push, but I see she is still looking.  Sandra’s tired and frustrated with all this last minute scurrying—“it’s somewhere here,  I just had it”.  I then ask Madi and Spence to check around their seats and front pockets to see if it’s over there (where Sandra first was sitting before we had to rearrange seats for that other guy).  We can't find it.  I start thinking, "come on guys, really start looking, this could be go so bad , what if it was dropped on the way onto the plane and it's sitting on the ramp or something?  Spencer then gets up and starts walking and looking up the aisles.  We have been all over the place trying to board and Sandra has no memory of what happened to her passport past the memory of checkin in with that grumpy gate stewardess.  We each take turns looking through the same bags and airplane pockets.  I then retrace my steps and being to search the pockets of our scattered luggage throughout the pins.  Spencer has now talked to a stewardess informing them of our situation.An announcement goes out over the intercom announcing ‘a passenger has misplaced her passport, could everyone please look around to see if it was dropped near them?”  Surprisingly, I see lots of action as passengers throughout the plane began searching around them.  Around our seats, there was so much clutter, carryon bags, blankets, pillows, snack bags.  Everyone was looking but there was so much stuff all over.  I said, "Lets clear out everything".  So we took Sandra’s things toward the back of the plane, that little recess waiting area by the restrooms (which were literally five steps away due to our stellar seat assignments) and I began dissecting the seats one by one, while Sandra for the tenth time again searched through her bags.  

The plane was already supposed to have began taxing toward the runway and now the flight crew was getting agitated.  That same prissy thin nosed stewardess who started all this passport mess in the first place started in on us, “We can’t wait anymore, I’m sorry, she will have to get off the plane!”  In horror, the devastation of our circumstance began to dawn on us--get off the plane!  “Just a minute, we’ll find it”, I frenziedly retorted.  We are all looking over the same places over and over, it has to be here.  Spencer have just talked to another, and helpful, Stewardesses relayed to us that the staff outside of the airplane have already looked up and down the plane ramp and they did not seen it—I then stubbornly declared to the icy pin-nosed stewardess that was scowling at me, "That means her passport has to be on this plane!  Unfazed by my logic and without any degree of sympathy or emotion persisted,   “We really can’t wait any longer, She has to get off the plane!” and began to start pushing Sandra down the aisle.  In incongruity and panic, I pleaded to Sandra, “What are we supposed to do?  Do we all get off, is the trip already over? What happens now?”  Sandra, now consigned to helplessness, said, no you guys stay, we’ll figure something out.”  I numbly watch as our long anticipate celebration adventure was ending before it was ever allowed to begin.  

As Sandra began fading away into the distance, my heart sank.  I was without words, stunned and helpless.  Then with a wild fury, assuming that everyone else who tried to helped search this plane was clearly was incompetent, acknowledging that only I could find this damn passport—I began kicking out everyone from their sears and threw myself into a whirlwind stuffing my hands down deep between seat cushions and front seat pockets.  I then dove onto the floor with my legs flailing and kicking anyone or anything that got in my way.  My hands invasively searching, literally intimately strip searching the bottom of each chairs and floor—feeling them up, down and every which way--around every bolt, crack and bar holding these seats to the plane, “Where the Hell are you,” I pleaded in a sacrilegious prayer! Then in divine response, the proverbial clouds broke and a ray of sunshine shone through as my now bloodied knuckles bumped into a small flat blue book wedged under the seat in front and diagonal to where Sandra was originally was sitting.  It was her passport!!!  It must have fallen to the ground and then got kicked forward and stuffed under the mounting bar fixing the seat to the plane.  I triumphantly stood up screaming, “I found it!”, “I found her passport!”.  The passengers around began to clap with relief and excitement for us!  I ran up the aisles to the front, “I Found It—I found her passport!—Get her back!”  

I then looked and saw that the plane door was already closed.  Sandra was already gone, off the plane.  The boarding ramp was already retracted away from the plane and that same ice bitch, declared, “Sorry, it’s too late, the plane is already closed, she will have to catch another flight!”  “But her passport is right here, it's right here on this plane—she can’t catch another flight to Paris with out her passport and it is here, in my hands, right here on this plane!  She has already checked in and was already on this plane before you kicked her off!  Open the doors and let her back on!!!”  Hearing the commotion, the pilot came out, initially siding with the stern stewardess, then to our saving blessings, another kind stewardess came to my rescue.  She was the one who had been talking to Madi and Spencer while helping us search in the back of the plane and had heard about how we are celebrating as a family Sandra’s graduation from Nursing School and how her whole family was here on board.  Ignoring the glares from the Ice-Queen, she began to soften the pilot, building an emotional and intellectual argument for letting her simple come back on.  The pilot conceded and informed the staff at the gate to send her back.  We all waited what felt like forever, not sure what was happening out there or if they had gotten a hold of her.  Spencer and Madi were frantically calling and texting but she never picked up.  No one on the plane knew what was going on there we just waited in silence. Finally, we see an old man peeping thorough the door’s 3 inch round window, the nice stewardess gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up and the plane door reopens.  Standing next to him in a heap of tears is my poor Sandra.  She comes back on and we embrace—the whole place breaks out in cheers and clapping.  Shaking with adrenaline and relief, I walked back to our seats with Sandra and all four passports in hand.

Periodically over the next nine and a half hours of flight, I would turn toward Sandra and stroking her arm or kissing her cheek, I think, she almost wasn’t.  I can’t believe how close we came from total vacation devastation.  In moments like this, you discover how deep you truly feel.  It wasn't about potentially missing Europe or the inconvenience of sorting out this mess, it was the fact that some wretched callus wench took my Sandra away from me.  That for just the briefest of moments we were forcefully separated from each other.

I know that I don't know what I believe anymore.  But this much I do know.  If we continue to exist after this life, I will be there kicking and wailing and thrashing my legs and bloody knuckles in Hell and through demonic Stewardesses searching for Sandra because I am not living life here or there without her by my side.  Until then, we're excited to enjoy Paris together.

A Most Memorable Day

Memorial Day, my parents invited everyone over to their house for a BBQ.  After dinner, my brothers David and John set up a croquet tournament in the backyard (a typical Flynn summer event—Ultimate Croquet!).  However, this time my sister Christine wanted to play.  Christine has severe degenerative Muscular Dystrophy and has all but dropped out of society due to her immobility and subsequent depression.  Several months ago the state finally granted her a high end electric wheelchair, thus allowing her options of mobility again.  Her debut event was Christian and Madeline’s wedding last October.  Now she is going places.  It’s quite an endeavor loading/unloading/transporting/setting up the 400+ lb beast, but when we do, Christine is able to travel and participate.  Christine hasn’t played croquet for at least 12 or more years.  So this was a big deal, that she was able to play with the family again.

We all started playing, David, then me, then my Dad, then Jessica (John’s wife), then my sister Ashley, then Christine and finally John.  David and I shot off taking an early lead, till I got stuck on a screwy hill and was surpassed by Dad and Jessica.  Ashley, Christine and John continued to trail.  I made a few sweet plays and shoot past Jessica and Dad and back up to second place.  David gets to the end first goes through the last hoop but misses the poison stick.  When attempting to hit the stick he hits it becoming poison but inadvertently his ball continues on goes back through the last hoop instantly killing himself!  I cheer and then hit my shot through the last two hoops to get poison only to have my ball ricochet off the stick and rebound back through the hoops also committing suicide! Were both out.  

Jessica goes through the last hopes but with Dad on her tail, she strategically elects to not get poison so Dad who will become poison on his next turn can't go after her out (rule that once poison you have to go after other poison players or those the furthest back to prevent just guarding the poison stick).  Dad becomes poison.  Jessica tentatively plays cat and mouse around my Dad waiting for her chance to get poison when he is a safe distance from her.  

Meanwhile, Ashley and John progress towards the final hoops.  Regardless of the danger Ashley sets herself up for an opportunity to get poison.  Dad goes after Ashley and takes her out of the game.  Christine in the far back continues her slow but stead progress through the course, because of her arm strength she gets two hits each turn, but still lags behind.  John now tries to get into position but misses the hoops (the story of his game!) trapping himself into a corner.  Dad takes him out.  Jessica meanwhile becomes poison and the two dual, Dad soon eliminates his only threat--victory is in his grasp, only to discover that Christine has since creeped up on him and now sits in front of the last two hoops!  

Dad goes for the final kill, but misses.  Christine takes a steady shot and becomes poison.  She positions herself on the other side of the hoops trying to block Dad’s ability to strike.  Determined to win at all costs Dad attacks again and misses again.  His ball is now about five feet away from Christine’s.  She has a chance, she aims but doesn’t quite get there.  She gets a second shot, she swings her ballot and the earth stands still as the sweet clank of two croquet balls collide—Christine wins the day!!!  We all jumped in air screaming and cheering, as Dad drops  in defeat into a patio chair pouting his loss.  I have never seen Christine more filled with life and joy that I have watching her in that triumphant moment!  I know it is just croquet, but this was about much more than croquet--it's about freedom and the ability to live and enjoy life.  This was a moment when Christine was able to break the restrictive bands on her body and live again!  This will truly be a most memorable Memorial Day—Go Christine—I love you!

Watch the win: https://www.facebook.com/robert.flynn.90/videos/1800816479935184/

My Name is Nathaniel

About a week ago Sandra, Madison, her boyfriend Spencer Cook and I went on a double date to the Pie Pizzeria in Salt Lake near the U.  It's one of our favorites.  Anyway after dinner we had about a half of pizza in left overs, we out it in a to go box and started home.  As we were driving to the freeway, Spencer said that he had a tradition after eating at the Pie with friends to give their left overs to the homeless or needy that blanket the downtown streets and parks.  "What a great idea", I said, "lets do it"! As we were driving we saw these three people bundled together in blankets near the park corner.  We pulled over and Spencer got out and handed them the pizza box.  Their faces lit up with smiles and as the lady opened the box and seeing the delicious Pie Pizza inside she literally began jumping up and down with excitement!  This totally made our night & apparently theirs as well.

Today is Sunday morning and we wanted to do a service project.  We discussed several ideas, then I combined a lot of their ideas and said, "How about we make sack lunches and give them out to the homeless"?  They were all excited, Ashton & I quickly ran to the store to get supplies and then put together snack bags while Elisabeth began baking cookies (her specialty), Madison started writing personal notes on the outsides of all the lunch sacks, Spencer laid out a long row of great harvest wheat bread and made sandwiches and Hunter put all the bags together: Peanut butter Sandwich, Apple juice, a baggie full of Annie's Boom-Chika-Pop Sweet Popcorn or Ritz Toasted Chips, a granola bar and a baggie with two amazing chocolate cookies all with a sweet individual handwritten message to brighten their day.  We also got several boxes of large muffins to give out to areas with lots of people as we might encounter.

We drove into Salt Lake and stopped at a small park right off the 4th street exit.  This park had several homeless scattered around.  Each of the kids took one of their two filled lunch sacks with them.  They were each responsible for choosing and giving away their own sacks.  The first person we came across was sleeping with a cheap thin blue blanket covering his face and body.  Spencer quietly set the lunch, message facing toward him and respectfully moved on.  Ashton met a sweet old man with white hair and long wild beard.  His face immediately turned into a smile as he graciously took his gift.  Within minutes he had found himself a comfortable spot and began enjoy his unexpected fortune.  Elisabeth gave her first lunch sack to an emaciated old man looking through a garbage can for food and supplies.  Hunter found another person sleeping near a wall at the public restrooms, he too quietly left it near him to be found when he woke up.  Madison gave her's to a red-faced forty year old lady wrapped in several blankets to keep warm.  We came across a small play ground where we gave away several large muffins to a group sitting on park benches and wheel chairs.  There was also a younger lady, maybe upper thirties, clearly homeless and destitute sitting alone in a swing with the saddest lost expression on her face.  We offered her our food, to which she declined and turned her head to look away from us ending our conversation.  We walked away saddened by the pain, loss, depression that she was dealing with all alone.  So many hurt and suffer in this world, sometimes because of the choices they've made, but more often due to poor circumstances, luck, mental health challenges or lack of love and support.  Our hearts broke at how much need we saw and truthfully how little even our best intensions were actually going to help anyone?

On our way to give out our last sack to a young man sleeping in a old tennis court his crack head of a girlfriend came running toward us swearing and cussing, "We don't want your bag, get that out of here!" Then this other old guy began swearing and yelling at her for stealing his blanket and taking his crack!!  Then the two of them just went off on each other saying the foulest things at the top of their lungs.  Through this the boyfriend rose up eyeing the lunch sack and wishing he could have it but didn't want to risk the wrath of his controlling girlfriend.  We quickly made some distance.  On our way back to the car Spencer decided to go back to where he had left his sack.  He gently woke him and told him what he had brought him.  The man sat up, bewildered by the kind gesture and began to tell us about his life.  He was a refugee from the Sudan.  He missed his family and has not had a lot of luck here in our country.  As he talked to Spencer tears welled up in his eyes.  He concluded the conversation by saying, "My name is Nathaniel".

We returned to our car touched by this experience and drove out looking for more to serve.  We quickly saw the difficulty of knowing who was in need, who was homeless or hungry?  We didn't want to offend by assuming or judging others on the basis of their clothes or cleanliness.  Passing by Temple Square we saw a lady begging for money.  Spencer jumped out and took her a meal.  They talked for a long time, but ultimately she refused our food due to food allergies and medical conditions.  She came up to our window after and profusely thank us for thinking of her and offering her a gift and wished us well. 

We continued up the street toward Memory Grove park when we saw an older couple sitting on a park bench with a tell-tale homeless shopping cart filled with all their earthly possessions, so Madison and Elisabeth got out and brought them both a lunch sack.  They couldn't have been more thrilled and sweet.  The four of them talked for several minutes and out to the blue the old man resembling Santa Clause wearing a multi-colored turban pulled out a trumpet and began just tooting his horn.  No music, just loud blasts of noise, like he was calling in the infantry.  He just laughed and was taken away by the sweetness of these two girls.

After a little more driving we ended up at the frontrunner downtown station.  We met a guy searching through the rocks near the curb and asked if he wanted some food.  He was really excited to talk to us and gladly took our food.  He then became transfixed on my car's navigation screen.  He declared, "that's like the world on there!  I get it, you can see the circumference of the angles as they traverse the poles, yeah like there (pointing at something on the map) the north pole and over there, yeah I get it!"  He again thanked us and we continued on.

We drove all the way to liberty park, but there wasn't anyone there (probably because it was so cold). Thinking we should probably head back as we were about to get on the freeway entrance we saw two younger men, probably in their twenties begging for change.  Ashton and Spencer got out and brought them their last two sacks.  Their teeth were rotted and one looked like he had been blitzed the night before, but they both graciously accepted out lunches with warm smiles and a handshake.  Hunter gave our last lunch sack away to a forty something lady without teeth wearing all pink sweats and probably weighing under 100 pounds.  She too gratefully took our gift.  We were out of lunch sacks, but still have about a dozen muffins, so we drove toward the homeless shelter where Madison and Spencer quickly handed them all out.  They met one small group who were so nice to them.  It was one of their birthdays and he was so grateful for the birthday visit.  He said, "How about a birthday kiss!"  Madison replied with a big smile, "How about a birthday muffin instead?!"

We all returned to the car uplifted to have made a small difference in the life of others today.  I am sure the city has sources that provide shelter and food and that our small act probably won't change or save anyone's life, but at least for one small moment, they might have felt noticed and loved and if nothing else, we are all better today for trying to love and serve others.

The perfect night--Engaged!

It was the perfect night--Christian and Madeline are engaged!, but let's not get ahead of the story.

Christian and Madeline Ihrig first started dating in high school.  It was young puppy dog love.  There was an instant connection.  Thy dated for a while but being young eventually went their separate ways.  After Madeline returned from her mission the two of them connected up again and immediately they were back together.  The two of them have been dating exclusively since.  Several months back they began discussing marriage.  They began picking potential dates.  The dates kept creeping sooner and sooner, settling on October 8th of this year (Fall break at the 'U').  Now all they needed was a proposal.

Madeline loves watching soccer.  Her father and her have a special love of the game and the two of them have shared countless hours cheering, supporting (often crying) and celebrating with their favorite teams.  Locally, they love our own Salt Lake Real Futbol Club.  Some months ago we were all brainstorming ideas with Christian of how he could propose and Hunter (who is also obsessed with soccer) threw out the idea of getting engaged at a Real soccer game.  Christian loved the idea.  Soon after we learned that Sandra’s brother was next door neighbors with the daughter of the owner of Salt Lake Real.  Through that connection he began to set things in motion.  Now that he had the idea, Christian’s main concern was keeping everything a secret until he could propose.

A few weeks later during a weekend getaway at a cabin rental at Sundance over Memorial Day (to which we invited Madeline to join us) we were all around the fire pit one evening and I innocently threw out the idea of our two families getting together—kind of a get to know each other’s family event.  I then said, “Doesn’t your family loves soccer?  Why don’t we go to a game together?  It would be a perfect casual event to blend our families”.  Madeline seemed genuinely thrilled at the idea.  A few days later while Madeline was at school, Christian went over to the Ihrig’s and under the guise of “Hey Henry, could you come out and help me with my car", he then he asked him for his blessing and intention to ask Madeline to marry him.  Henry immediately brought Christian inside where he spilled the exciting news to Tatiana (who I assume immediately began crying with elation and hugged her future son-n-law).  He then shared his general plan for proposing and how he wanted to keep it a secret.

Although, not yet engaged, the two of them had already purchased their rings, planned the wedding venue & reception, purchased their honeymoon tickets and started the invitations—She was just waiting to be asked!  One week before the big game Christian went to pick up the rings and to his horror he didn’t like her ring.  It didn’t turn out anything like the photo they had given them to custom make for her.  With no time to start over he had to improvise.  He bought a cool antiqued inexpensive ring that looked somewhat similar to the style she wanted, temporarily filling in until a new ring could be chosen.

We purchased tickets and Christian continued to correspond with Real setting up the moment.  There were all sorts of ideas being passed back and forth, but Christian was adamant that he wanted to do it on the field.  To keep it cloaked is secrecy they decided to make it like he spontaneously won a contest.  So the plan was to go to a specific booth at a specific time and order a Salt Lake Real soccer license plate thing, they in turn they would announce that he was the 300th customer and won a chance to go down onto the field at the end of the game and meet the players.  At which time he would then be allowed to go out onto the field and propose.

Several hours before the game our two families met at Cafe Rio and ate and mingled then drove over to the stadium.  On the way to the gate Christian noticed the metal detectors and concerned that the ring in his pocket would trigger an alarm and draw Madeline's attention he quickly gave it to me as to not be discovered.  Not sure what I was supposed to do with it so I pawned it off on Madison telling her to just put it on till we get through security.  Madi replied, “this ring is super small and I have thin fingers” (having to put it on her smallest pinky finger), “this will never fit her!”  My heart dropped at the implications of another ring problem.  Once through, Madi gave me back his ring and then took off her own thin silver ring with a small inlayed white stone and said, “He should give her this one, it’s way nicer and would fit her finger—but he is going to owe me, that’s real silver!”  Grateful, I gave them both to Christian and explained the situation.

Our tickets were in the general admission support section on the far south side of the stadium.  This is where the Ihrig's always sit.  It is where the rowdy fans sit and there is a lot of energy there.  They always watch from the very top row.  Having arrived early, all twelve of us spanned the back center row.  Christian was lost for what seemed like forever ‘doing reconnaissance’, meanwhile the game started.  Not five minutes into the game and Ashton began to incessantly chirp in my ear, “I want Almonds, I want Almonds...!”  Last game we went to we discovered the nut booth, where they make candied almonds, pecans and cashews.  I got the cashews, to which Hunter informed me I got the wrong kind, “you always get the almonds, they are the best”.  So Ashton has been waiting to come back and get the ‘right ones’ this time.  We all enjoyed the game eating candied almonds and cold bottle of waters.  It was Real Salt Lake verse the Portland Timbers (apparently they are huge rivals) and also one of Madeline’s other favorite teams.  It was an intense game, a lot of fouling and heated feelings.  It was a good game.

With about ten minutes left of the game, Christian suddenly ‘remembered’ that he wanted to order a custom Real Salt Lake license plate thing and needed to get there before the game ended and asked Madeline if she wanted to come with him (luckily she did).  The two of them disappeared and the game went on.  We were trailing 1-2.  With the two of them gone we were on pins and needles.  We weren’t sure how it was all going to play out.  Where they would be coming out and if it was even going to work?!  I asked Henry if she knew he was proposing tonight.  He said, “She doesn’t have a clue, however at this point she’s been hoping and anticipating at everything they do”.  With a minute or two left in the game we tied it back up 2-2.  Then Hillary Ihrig exclaimed, "there they are!" pointing down at the players tunnel, we all watched as the two of them emerged and were escorted behind the players bench.  We are all going crazy with excitement.  It’s really going to happen!  The game ended, still tied.  The crowds start making their way to the exits.  We head down to the bottom row seats near the edge of the field.  Slowly the players and officials come off the field and we see Christian and Madeline walking out to the center of the field.  They are holding hands.  They stop in the center circle and Christian drops to one knee.  Then suddenly he springs up off the ground and they embrace spinning in circles and kissing and hugging and staring into each others eyes.  Although thousands were watched and cheering from the stands for that one brief moment in time only the two of them existed.  Meanwhile, we were all beside ourselves—cheering and hollering and crying, seriously, one of the best moments of my life.  As the stadium began shutting down the lights they walked back off the field.  We found them and all hugged and cried and smiled and made them pose for photos and kiss and pose and kiss some more!

Happiness is family and our family just got a whole lot larger and happier.

Dangling Lumberjack

We live in a beautiful home that no one can see. When we first purchased our home nine years ago the landscaping was beautiful and appropriate, however as everything continued to grow and enlarge the landscaping through time has nearly completely engulfed our home. At first we enjoyed the added privacy and seclusion that it brought, but now it is too much, too overgrown and just looks bad.

Well the other night our home was hit by another Farmington wind storm that thrashed the tree branches back and forth into our home and windows, keeping us up all night. This is a common experience as Farmington is always having wind storms. Sandra and I went out side and for the first time really looked at how overgrown our trees have become, many of which were inexplicably planted too close to the house and have since grown into tower monsters extending far past our roof line with no signs of stopping their ascent. We knew someday we were going to be in trouble, that these trees will eventually come crashing down on the house, break through a window or cause significant damage some other way to our home, not to mention they have visually grown completely out of control. So Sandra gave me the go ahead and I pulled out the chainsaw and tree clippers and began playing the part of Paul Bunyan. Little by little I removed trees and thinned the rest until we began seeing our home again. Christian was in town for the Labor Day weekend and helped me cut and pile up the branches and logs along the curb. Hours and hours of work and piles and piles of trees were made all the way along the entire front curb of our property. Exhausted and covered in wood chips we cringed at the thought of having to slowly load this downed forrest of trees load after load into our little Tacoma truck and haul it all to the dump. In passing conversation with our neighbor Paul Underwood he told us that we could hire a giant scrap bin dumpster to be delivered to our home, we would fill the bin and then they would return to pick it back up and haul it away. Sold, so worth it. We called and ordered a bin and they said they would drop it off Monday. We all rested Sunday. 

Monday morning (Labor Day) we all woke up ready for more work. Christian and Hunter left to do Krissy and Zack’s yard (Hunter’s summer job) and Sandra went exercising while the younger two watched TV and Madison slept. Knowing that we didn’t have to haul away the piles ourselves and with the dumpster being dropped off this morning, I decided to go after additional trees that I planned on doing in the future. In other words, I got even more chain saw happy and began cutting and trimming back additional trees. Soon I finished all the trees in the yard with new piles now extending covering our driveway. I now ventured to trim back the two enormous cottonwood trees in our backyard which large branches extended and overlooked the swampy wetlands and trampoline below (we previously already moved the trampoline in anticipation of me trimming these trees).

I climbed up my tall extended ladder and little by little I began trimming back the overgrowth. Higher and higher I ascended determined to cut down everything within reach. Finally, now at the very top of the extended ladder, some thirty feet or so from the ground, I began cutting the last reachable branch. All was going as usual when suddenly the weight of the branch shifted sideways pinning and staling out the blade. The chainsaw was stuck and I was twenty five feet off the ground with no way to get the chainsaw free. With one hand supporting the chainsaw I used my other hand to pull downward on the large branch while my legs were pressed in a wide stance supporting me on the ladder. Then it all happened all at once, the branch broke free, but it didn't fall straight down, it swung down and towards me colliding into my ladder. The heavy weight of this large branch easily pushed the ladder and me out of it’s way. I bear hugged the thick tortuous cottonwood bark for dear life as the base of my ladder was pushed out from under me. My legs continued to press firmly against the side walls keeping me attached to the ladder. When the tree limb finally settled far below me I was left dangling precariously balancing on one ladder leg with the ladder no longer directly below me but to the side of me and rotated away from the tree. I was no longer supported by the ladder. In fact it was only my death grip that was holding me and the ladder up. I assessed my situation. My arms were bleeding. My brow in a cold sweat. I had no way down. If I let go of the tree I would fall. If I tried to descend the ladder I would fall. Simply put, I was stuck. I began sweating and fearing there may not be a way to avoid falling. I begin thinking, maybe a graceful fall wouldn’t be so bad. Then I looked down at the tortuous pile of jagged and fractured limbs below realizing that would hardly be a cushioned, if not impaling experience to land in.

Trapped, I began to yell for help. No one could hear me. Nobody was coming to rescue me. I looked down and again considered my predicament. I’m in a bit of trouble. It was about this time that I realized I was still holding the freed chainsaw and thought to myself, “what on earth am I doing still holding this” and I let it drop, the handle breaking on impact—not unlike my bones might do if I similarly fell. I then had a thought, with my now freed hand I begin patting my pockets hoping I had my phone on me while my other hand continued holding me fixed to the tree. In a spot of good luck, I did have my phone with me. I then carefully retrieved it from my front pocket and dialed my next door neighbors the Erickson's. To my total frustration, the phone kept disconnecting! Apparently I was hitting the ‘facetime’ icon instead of the phone icon—Seriously! Finally it went through, Jeff answered, to which I replied, “I’m in a bit of trouble, could you come outside quickly, I’m about to fall off of a tree!” Bewildered, he rushed out and saw me precariously dangling high a top my twisted ladder. Quickly he began pulling the large branches off the ladder, then he supported the ladder and me as I twisted it back onto two legs then shimmied it back around the tree until I was actual being supported again. With great relief I descended with trembling arms down to the sweet safety of mother earth. I’m alive! I can’t believe I didn’t fall! My arms were all scraped up, but other than that I was ok. I was safe and I didn’t have to fall. I profusely thanked Jeff for coming to my rescue.

Now safely on ground and my pulse having returned to normal, I had to get back to work. I spent the next while hauling off the remaining piles of branches and leaves to our front side curb. The sanitation guy finally dropped off the large dumpster which as a family we quickly filled to overflowing. Instead of moving our trampoline back under the large cottonwood trees as before, we moved it back down into the wetland swap where the kids could jump off the retaining wall rocks down to the trampoline below. The trees surrounding the wetlands have grown in deep and thick so you feel like your in your own secluded forrest when your down on the trampoline. The kids now jump with a renewed interest, already loving playing down there. We are not sure what we will do under the old cottonwoods trees, maybe build a gazebo? The next day they picked up the gigantic bin of trees and it was gone. Our house and property look amazing and my body will heal, so all ends well.

Morals of the story:
* Always be friendly with your neighbors, you never know when you may need them to save your life.
* Priorities: Don't be caught holding a chainsaw when much more precious things hang in the balance.
* Always listen to your wife who said from the beginning--we should hire this out!

The Broken Traveler

It is easy to get overwhelmed and downtrodden in this life.  It is hard.  It is often unrelenting and unmerciful.  Many fight just to live day to day and paycheck to paycheck hoping and praying for a miracle, a light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel of struggle and despair.  Some suffer physically, some emotionally, some financially, some even religiously.  Some ache in unbeknownst silence, while others feel humiliated as their failings and trials are displayed in jumbo-tron fashion before their world.  The attrition of hardship, personal insecurity and harsh often self-inflicted judgement ultimately leads to an emotional collapse—a breakdown of spirit and hope.  Overwhelmed at times of our lives we find ourselves pleading and screaming for sanctuary that we may escape the fury of the storms of our lives.

Occasionally, like the hungry Israelites who wandered aimlessly in the wilderness were blessed to receive miraculous manna from heaven, we too at times receive our own necessitated manna from heaven to sooth our tried and tired souls. This weeks manna came from my sweet and humble bishop—Bishop Doug Wood.  Today in sacrament meeting he shared the story of the good Samaritan, how two people who had planned their day, but found themselves completely off script as one was beaten, robbed and left for dead and the other who came upon the first, who then offered all he had to help the afflicted stranger.  Neither anticipated the day’s events, but nevertheless it crossed their paths.  All they could do was to decide how to react to the storm that confronted them.  One rose to the occasion and with available strength gave help to another.  The other was left devastated,  distraught without strength or finances, all he could do was lay helplessly in bed and wait to be healed.

The bishop then went on to say that life is messy.  It doesn’t always follow the plan we lay out for it, but, that is the way life is supposed to be.  We are not expected to be perfect.  We are not expected to have perfect lives.  We are all broken.  We are all in need of repairing.  This life is not about the outcome, it is about the journey and struggle through the messiness of life that makes the outcome of life worth it.  Then my favorite part, “It is ok to not be ok!”  Wait, let that sink in: “It is ok to not be ok!”.  It is ok to be broken.  It is ok to not be perfect, to not have everything figured out or not have unwavering faith, conviction or understanding.  It’s ok to be tired. It’s ok to want answers.  It’s ok to think differently.  It’s ok to fail.  It is ok to not be ok!  This is part of life.  This is how we grow.  At various times of our lives each of us are broken and need to be repaired.  All we can do in life is try to do the right thing with our next decision.  Sometimes we are the Samaritan, sometimes we are the broken traveler.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Don't define me

Don't define me or Equal but different

(As long as different doesn’t mean equal in any way at all)

A few days ago I went to the doctor and as I waited for my turn the receptionist felt compelled to break the silence with a little small talk (frankly, I prefer silence).  She soon asked, "So are you ready for Thanksgiving?”  I thought to myself, "What's to get ready for? We bought a turkey, I'll cook it the morning of and my wife will make a pumpkin pie and the rest of the attending family members will bring their assigned items and magically an entire feast will be assembled".  So I simply responded, "Sure".  To which she replied with a grin on her face, "Oh I guess I should have asked if your wife is ready, you probably get to watch football all day".  I thought to myself, how offensive, how presumptuous of her to assume that because I am a man I probably will not only not cook, I will not even help out at all!  Worse, based solely on my gender it is assumed that I will sit lazily on a couch scratching myself as I watch overpaid fat athletes bang into each other while all the hard working women in my life frantically scurry around preparing a thanksgiving banquet for me!  In response and to be polite,  I gave an understanding smile and quickly immersed myself back into my outdated reception room magazine hoping to avoid any further condescending small talk.

Internally, this conversation just bugged.  I sat there stewing about it.  The ignorance and casual presumptive assumption of it all--Don't judge me because I'm male.  My body parts do not define who I am.  Neither do they dictate what I enjoy or what one should expect from me.  Do not presume, to know me because the other men in your life are losers and therefore by gender default I must be a loser too!

Somewhat related to this experience a week or so earlier I was asked to attend a regional Priesthood leadership training meeting and was asked to bring the young men from the quorum presidencies with me.  There we sat shoulder to shoulder in a musty chapel full of boys and men crammed into uncomfortable benches for yet another priesthood training meeting.  There is rarely a month or two that passes that we do not have some form of leadership training whether it is the occasional World-wide leadership training, Semi-annual General priesthood meetings, Regional Priesthood leadership training,  Semi-annual Stake Priesthood training (Saturday session of Stake Conference), Semi-annual Ward Conference Priesthood training as well as the plethora of weekly local priesthood quorum trainings, meetings and activities.  When the young men are not at one of these training meetings they are participating in the scouting, varsity or venture programs where they also learn and implement leadership skills.  In whole if the boys are awake even half of the time, they will have been given countless hours of leadership training and opportunities by the time they leave home and enter the real world.  Most begin this transition by serving a full time mission.  As missionaries they will be hurled far from home and be expected to be valiant ambassadors of Jesus Christ.  They will not only be there to teach the gospel, but to be representatives of the Church--they will be expected to not only have answers to questions but to have the necessary leadership skills to implement and train new members and budding new church leaders in the programs of the church.

A few minutes into the first talk the General Young Men’s President announced how the number of missionaries around the world has skyrocketed in the last year as the mission age requirement has lowered.  This is especially true, he commented, for the number of sister missionaries that now account for up to 40% of missionaries in some missions!  He then went on to confirm how vital leadership training, like the training we are receiving tonight, is in preparing these young men for the challenges they will be facing in the short years ahead.

I looked around at a sea of boys and men packed wall to wall to over-capacity and not a single female in sight.  As the president reported, 40% of some missions are female and yet there was not one female invited to attend this regional leadership and future missionary training meeting!  One might argue, that this was a meeting just for young men sponsored by the young men leaders, so young women were not invited.  Very well, then should there not be a parallel training meeting hosted by the general Young Women's presidency to benefit those future female missionaries and leaders?  But there is not one scheduled, nor will there be, for when the young women's leaders teach they do not teach about missionary work and leadership skills, regardless of the fact that so many of those under their stewardship do in fact serve missions and carry the weight of presiding over others.  They instead lopsidedly and gender specifically preach about virtue, modesty, marriage and homemaking skills or merely how to support the priesthood and leaders in their lives.  That means that 40% of the missionaries who will be knocking on doors, preaching the gospel, committing prospective investigators to baptism, reactivating inactive members, implementing church programs and yes, even training others in their respective callings will not have been given the same preparatory training as their counterpart male missionaries have received.  Are they not called by a prophet of God and similarly ordained to be ambassadors and representatives of Jesus Christ?  Yet they are singled out and excluded based solely on gender role assignment and assumptions.  Worse, if pressed, these same male leaders which amply supply young men with opportunities would look blankly in response having never even considered to offer females the same opportunity to sup at the preparatory feast of training!  

When women raise their voices to be heard, to express their desire to be treated the same as their equal male counter-parts, the response is an underwhelming, “Equal doesn’t mean same” or more destructively, “Know your place!”  These clichés are so demeaning.  It states that we know that you are equal, but we choose to not treat you as such.  It states that although we are equal, we (as men) alone will define who you should be and what you should do, think, and feel.  Or there is it’s ugly cousin expression to consider, “Equal but different”, meaning we are equal but we will treat you differently, have different expectations for you, different qualifications and considerations for your capacity, purposes and roles in life.

So amongst the throngs of accolades heralding the triumphs of this modern day missionary miracle, we are left to wonder with awe that the bulk of this insurgence has come from a heroic band of females who serve and thrive valiantly in spite of being largely overlooked and disproportionately sheltered from preparation. 

I do not believe that we can paint gender in such broad strokes as if all boys and girls have the same desires, tendencies, capacities, interests or strengths.  I like to cook and women serve missions.  Neither of us should be judged or inhibited because we differ from the traditional roles that society or religion may have assigned to us.  Life with all it's possibilities and opportunities should be available and encouraged for everyone regardless of gender.  Those who impose restrictions or favoritism based on gender are guilty of nothing less than gender bigotry.  Forcing the conformity of traits and expectations based solely on gender "contradicts the genius of God, who created every man different from his brother, every son different from his father" and every women different from her sister, every daughter different from her mother and every person different from each other (Uchtdorf, 'Four titles', G.C. April 2013).  Forcing gender traits upon men and women, creates shame in those who try as they may, cannot conform to what is expected.  Shame drains a person of their power to act effectively in their life.

It is a completely outdated notion that men are innately designed or born with tendencies to excel in certain traits and positions while women are in opposing ones.  Yet society and often religion is based largely on these traditional roles as if they were divinely inspired gender birthrights.  I have met fantastic and inspirational women in business and leadership positions as well as horrible and incompetent men in similar positions.  I served with male missionaries that were beyond stellar, but many others that were spiritually pathetic, personally disgusting and often down right lazy and useless.  At the same time, I was inspired by several female missionaries whose testimonies burned with fire and whose faith could convert entire villages.  I have likewise seen tender, empathetic fully engaged men who cared for their children and the children of others.  Contrastingly, I have encountered women who were negligent and abusive to their children and horrible homemakers.  I know men who are incredible chefs and women who couldn't boil water if their life depended on it.  I know women who like to hunt and watch football and men who do ballet and tap dancing.  Yet we inexplicably and preemptively dismiss and sideline both boys and girls respectfully due to gender biased roles and activities regardless of the fact that reality paints a conflicting picture of gender neutrality to all aspects of life.  

As a society, religion, or individual we must aware of and remove these imaginary walls of gender predispositions.  We must encourage others, especially our children, to seek internally, rather than externally to validate and define themselves.  Each must learn to develop their own divinely given strengths and interests.  Individual success should be measured in happiness and self-awareness, rather than our current failed and meaningless measuring stick of outward recognition of traditional gender role check off boxes. 

Reverse Backwards, A few out of the box unsolicited opinions

As I have been reading some of my other favorites Bloggers out there I had a few out of the box thought reactions to their posts and felt it good to share something not so deep for a change.  So here are a few snippets of my aberrant after-thought perspectives on Marriage, Eternity, Babies, and the After Life:


On Marriage and Eternity:
If the definition of Eternal is no beginning and no end, thus, forever forward, but also forever back, then what does Eternal Marriage or Eternal Families really mean?  Does it mean that our families have always been our families?  My spouse has always been my spouse?  That we have always existed together like a family cluster of grapes on the vine of eternity?  When we got married here, was that just an earthly formality of a forever previous relationship we have always had together?  Was the birth of our children really just an family reunion, rather than a first introduction?


On Getting Remarried and Eternity:

In the spirit of eternal existence and eternal marriage I can not for the life of me understand getting remarried if a spouse dies, more especially sealed to another spouse.  Does our wife/husband somehow stop existing just because we can no longer see them?  Does our marriage evaporate or get put on hold when death temporarily separates us?  Are they not just on the other side of a very thin veil patiently waiting for us to join them?  I see death like moving from one room in the house to another.  We both still exist just living in different rooms. Would any of us feel justified getting remarried just because our spouse leaves the family room to temporarily be in the kitchen?  Wouldn't that be absurd?  Yet in reality that is what so many feel they need to do or are counseled to do.

Will it not be an awkward reunion if we remarry and then when we too pass over, leaving the arms of our backup spouse and suddenly be expected to spring back into the waiting arms of our first?  Will we not by this time feel a bit emotionally estranged from our former love?  Would we not feel like in someway or form that we have been unfaithful to our original spouse and marriage?  How would we cope with the emotional whiplash hopping from one relationship to another and then suddenly be thrown back into the first?  How would that conversation go, "Oh while you were away...".  Then assuming you could be forgiven and a relationship salvaged, one must know that the dreadful day will eventually come when the second spouse will also pass over and then what?  Yet another, even more awkward and inevitably uncomfortable reunion, like asking two different dates to the prom--it can't end well!  Either the three of them will have to come together in some awkward unconsented polygamistic union or one, if not all three, will have their hearts broken and their marriage and anticipated eternity disassembled! The horrors!! What lack of foresight and faith in your partner and Eternal Marriage.

Now I am not judging, I'm sure every possible scenario and situation exists out there and decisions, happiness and circumstances may very well necessitate or validate getting remarried.  To all of which, marriage is a thing of beauty and happiness and foreverness--and everyone deserves to receive this in abundance and should seek after this.  But to those who already have it and are unfortunately or inconveniently, but temporarily, robbed of this joy in this life, I say again in the vast general picture of forever, I don't understand the need to immediately replace something that is still intact, but just unseen. You may not see your spouse, but they still exist and so does your marriage. When the sun sets we know it will rise again in the morning, so we wait patiently and anticipate it's return and sure enough it does.

Interestingly and at quite a contrast in theology there are those who live their life without the opportunity to marry for whatever reason and we council them to be patient and endure faithfully and all blessings and happiness of eternal marriage will eventually be theirs, why can't we say the same to those whose spouses prematurely die?  Instead they are encouraged to immediately fill their bed with a new companion.  Wouldn't it be more respectful and honorable to our marriage covenants and our spouses themselves if instead we could endure this trial quietly and faithfully, anxiously anticipating the glorious future reunion of our eternal spouses?  Isn't that a more beautiful and valiant love story than the inevitable awkward hodgepodge of marital collisions that awaits those who just couldn't wait for eternity?!



On Babies in Bellies:
We often praise the majesty and beauty of pregnancy.  The awesome wonder of creating life, but seriously if it wasn't for the fact that we all came to earth this way wouldn't this be stuff you'd expect from a SiFi horror film?  Scenes from famous films pop into mind having a living creature swimming and moving about inside of you, like a parasitic worm or alien with sharp teeth ready to burst through your stomach at any given moment!

Also if the tables were turned and we in our matured conscience were now stuck inside of another human being (assuming we could fit) how gross would that be?  To have our head cuddled up somewhere between a pancreas and a beating heart? Our constricted feet bouncing up and down all day on someone else's bladder?  Our elbows continually jamming into ribs or the occasional kidney or spleen as we attempt to stretch or move? Or how about being completely surrounded by the nauseating gurgling, expanding and contracting intestines with their rhythmic gastric fluctuations and bowel movements?  And then to be stuffed inside of a sack of corn syrup-like fluid, left in total darkness and silence, with a food spick-it jammed into your belly button and a tar-like plug stuffed up your back side!?  Seriously, how could that ever be ok?

But since that's how we all came to earth, it's beautiful.



On Death and After Life:
My parents are really into genealogy.  They often blog about their ancestors and include photos and stories about their lives and accomplishments.  I wonder what the conversations are with those who have already past on, you know these same ancestors on the other side of the veil?  Do they write blogs about their great-great....grandchildren who are alive today?  Do those who most recently die share our stories with them so as for them to pine toward us?  Will they know or anticipate us joining them when we die?

Also, do you think that those who have died are stuck in their time era or will we find Pre-magnum-man, Noah, Mozart, Abraham Lincoln, and Martin Luther King all sporting skinny jeans, flat brimmed hats, non-prescription glasses and Toms?

How cool must the entertainment be in Spirit Prison?  Seriously, think about whose probably there? The music concerts, plays, movies and comedy shows must be off the hook!  I might just sign up to do missionary work there just to get tickets to see their performances!  On the other hand if the only option in Paradise are Tabernacle Choir revivals I may kill myself if I wasn't already dead.