On the subject of tolerance

After some recent discussions I've had with family and friends, I've felt the need to jot down and share some thoughts I've had with regard to the term "tolerance" and its application in today's society.

There are many today who, espousing a particular viewpoint or belief, will declare that those who disagree with them are "intolerant," quickly followed by accusations of hatred. Yet, by what definition is a person declared to be "intolerant?"

I must suppose, to begin, with the assumption that everyone believes that their personal beliefs have some degree of merit or, in other words, that they are in some way "right" in feeling or thinking the way that they do. Drawing upon an easy example, conservatives feel that conservative ideas have merit and liberals believe that liberal ideas have merit and each one feels that they are right and that the other is, by default, wrong.

Does this inherently imply that one side is intolerant of the other? While I do my best to try and see the logical basis behind any argument no matter how much I may disagree with it and while I am familiar with the idea that "A is right for me and B is right for you," many such ideas and beliefs are directly contradictory and I cannot conceive of a rational human being accepting all ideas presented to him/her as being correct and incorporating them into their philosophy.

I am, for example, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, more commonly known as Mormon. As such, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the Savior of mankind. I also believe that God still speaks to mankind through a prophet, just as in ancient times. I believe the Holy Bible to be the word of God inasmuch as it is translated and preserved correctly. I also believe the Book of Mormon, written by ancient prophets on the American continent and revealed to a modern-day prophet, Joseph Smith, to be the word of God. These beliefs separate me ideologically from all but about 14 million of Earth's inhabitants which, compared with a little under 7 billion or so people on earth, is a fairly small group.

I am hardly immune from the right vs. wrong paradigm. Yes, I believe that I'm right. This implies that, while I believe that a lot of other faiths have valuable truths in their creeds, I believe that everyone else, at some point, is wrong. Does this make me intolerant? If so, does that automatically make me a hater and, thus, mean that I hate nearly 7 billion people?

By no means! One of the basic foundations of Christ's gospel, as I've discussed elsewhere in this blog, is to love everyone. EVERYONE. Think about that for a moment. I can wait.

While I cannot honestly state that I have achieved this perfect love of all mankind, I think I can honestly state that I don't currently hate anyone. Thus, in my case at the very least (and I believe that this extends to the rest of humanity as well), disagreeing with someone does not mean hating them, nor does it mean that one is "intolerant."

After all this, how do I define tolerance and, by extension, intolerance? To my way of thinking, it boils down to how we feel about and treat those who disagree with us. Do we attach a derogatory label to them by default, like one of my professors at BYU who, when it comes to politics, seems to automatically assume that anyone who disagrees with him is an idiot and, ergo, not worth his time nor a shred of politeness? This, to me, seems the very height of intolerance. As another real-life example, I recently heard of a friend of mine who had been labelled intolerant by a group of his peers because he disagreed with them on a particularly touchy political subject. A member of this group decided to buy cupcakes for everyone except my friend. Remind me, who's being intolerant here?

By contrast, getting back to the principle of loving all mankind, I believe that tolerance means loving and respecting everyone, whether they agree with you or not. As I once told a friend of mine while discussing another friend who had made what I believed to be a less-than-appropriate life choice, if I limited my circle of friends to those who strictly follow God's law according to *my* interpretation of it, I couldn't even be my own friend. The same applies for politics: If I only made friends with those who think the same way I do, I would have had VERY few friends in Connecticut. Thus, I still consider that previously mentioned BYU professor my friend (which is why he remains nameless here).

I leave you tonight with a scripture taken from the words of Christ which, while it never uses the word "tolerance," demonstrates my point well.

Matthew 5:43-48

⁴³Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.

⁴⁴But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

⁴⁵That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

⁴⁶For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?

⁴⁷And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?

⁴⁸Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.

Heroes in a Colorful World

Hi, everyone. It's been an exceptionally long time since my last post but I felt as though I had to stand up and say something today about racism. In a recent discussion, one of my colleagues, believing himself to be surrounded by fellow liberals (I am beginning to believe that I am the only conservative in the state of Connecticut) declared that those from the Right ignore racism and pretend that it no longer exists in our society.

At least in my case, this is most definitely a false perception of conservatives. I think the problem here, though, is one of how we define success in this area. Liberals, in general, seem to be very concerned with tracking numbers and percentages. "This percentage of CEOs are white males," they declare, for example, or "This percentage of black kids drop out of school compared to this percentage of white kids. And let's not forget the Hispanic kids, Asian kids and (more recently) homosexual kids," stating that this must change. The way they decide to change it is by fiat - the government declares, "thou shalt have no fewer than X percentage of employees be of Y racial background or thou shalt lose much money." Colleges are praised for their ethnic diversity and racially-based scholarships abound. If you can prove that you have Native American ancestry, even if your family is otherwise like every other family in your local corner of suburbia, you are presented with a cornucopia of opportunities unavailable to your Caucasian neighbor. Thus, for the liberal idealist, a perfectly racism-free society would have those numbers balance perfectly - if 15% of the population is *fill-in-ethnic-backgound* then they'll be happy when they count that at least 15% of CEOs, managers, politicians and major league baseball team owners are *fill-in-ethnic-background.*

I remember a time when I was blissfully unaware of the issue of race or racism. I was a middle-class kid attending a private school in Los Angeles. One day, I noticed a girl in my 1st grade class who I thought was cute which, predictably, instantly made me uncomfortable talking to her. Noticing my discomfort, she declared, "Well, you just don't like me because I'm black." My mind was completely blown. First off, I *did* like her - that was precisely my problem. Secondly, and this is the part I expressed, "What does that [being black] have to do with anything?"

That day, this girl taught me 2 lessons I wished I had never learned with that simple statement. First, she taught me that there was some sort of fundamental difference between black people and white people. I hadn't even considered breaking people up by their skin tone before that moment. People were people, end of story, right? Apparently, this little girl thought otherwise.

The second lesson of that brief exchange, even more damning than the first, was that being black was a reason to not like someone. Now, it's important to note here that this message was not being touted by a white supremacist or a redneck but by a 7 year old black girl. Obviously, our social programming starts very early and happens on both sides of the "tolerance" line.

The next year, we moved to Santa Barbara. A new school brought new friends and new, interesting social situations. My first best friend in Santa Barbara was a kid by the name of Paul Gosh (I apologize for not remembering how to spell that last name). I would come home and tell my parents about what I had done with Paul today at recess or what have you. Then one day he came over. My parents were somewhat surprised to find that my friend was quite dark-skinned, a fact which I had never once mentioned even though I spoke of him frequently. Despite my paradigm shift from the year before, I was still pretty darn colorblind with regards to race.

Over the next couple of years, though, a particular ethnic group started getting my attention. While I should stress that this is a viewpoint I no longer hold, I decided at that time that I had a problem with Mexicans (to use the overly generalized concept graspable by a 9-10 year old). Why, you may ask, would I develop that kind of prejudice? The answer is quite simple. While I tried to be a friend to as many people as were willing to be my friend (which were, admittedly, not very many people), they consistently traveled together as an exclusive and unapproachable gang around the playground. They set themselves apart from everyone else and made it clear in no uncertain terms that they really didn't want or need anyone from outside of their racial profile. This was my first encounter with "*Fill-in-the-minority-or-ethnic-group* Pride" and I. Really. Didn't. Get it. I still don't! Why, I thought, would you ONLY want to make friends with people with the same racial background and exclude everyone else? I was being taught segregation in reverse - rather than keeping *them* separate from *us,* they kept their *us* separate from all of *them* (their Them being our Us - if that makes any sense which it probably doesn't).

Fast-forward through the years a bit and you'll find all of the race-specific clubs, assorted "Pride" groups and a really frustrated/frustrating Mexican Spanish teacher who hated white guys (it's documented, folks!) reinforcing this idea that we are not all the same and that the difference between races is more than skin-deep.

Even as a missionary in Guatemala, I found various kinds of racism all around me. Among them, while the way the Ladino was viewed by Latino society was a shock, the most striking to me was that same paradigm I had encountered in elementary school being repeated among my fellow missionaries. While we were often placed in multi-racial companionships (I actually had more Latino companions than Gringos), there were always the zone meetings where all the missionaries from a large area got together for training and, usually, pizza. During the social pizza-consumption portion of the program, I realized to my dismay that, every time, all the Gringos would gather together in one room and all the Latinos would gather in another room, usually with the Gringos staying in the room with the pizza and the Latinos filtering out. It's obviously hard to point fingers in this situation as to who is at fault - I really felt as though this minor xenophobia was some kind of "natural" (in the sense that the natural man is an enemy to God) process that I had somehow missed out on. Of course the English speakers want to hang out with English speakers if only so they can get a break from Spanish, right?

I made my choice then. When groups started separating, I always followed the Latinos. Even if I stuck out, even if I maybe even made someone uncomfortable by my presence, even though my grasp of the language wasn't all that great, I refused to be party to segregation, no matter how voluntary. I believe that any advantage I have/had in Spanish over my fellow Gringos is due, at least in part, to that choice. While I once hated the Spanish language because I associated it with those kids who ganged up on me in dodgeball and that Señora with her issues, I came to embrace it as a means of bridging the gap, of crossing into the space of "the other" and becoming one with them. While I have instructors here at UConn who dismissively decline to so much as comment on the idea (raised by my classmates) that we Gringos in the masters' program might be part of Latinoamerica, by choice rather than by birth, I truly feel that part of my heart is Latino. Okay, specifically Chapín but that's another story.

Boiling all this back down and bringing it back to my original point, my experiences have led me to a quite different conclusion regarding how we can measure success in combating racism. Instead of changing numbers it involves a change of heart - truly loving all people equally as God has commanded us. If you love your neighbor as yourself, you won't care what color they are, what their ethnic background is. You'll support them, share with them, raise your children together in harmony, not "in spite of" racial differences but because they really, honestly don't matter to either of you. If you truly love all of God's children the way we should, there will be no *us* and *them.*

It involves parents not teaching their children hate, but love, and I'm talking about both ends of the equation here. While I know that there are many white supremacist groups out there teaching their kids a gospel of hate - and that clearly needs to come to an end - I have to ask where that 7-year old girl learned that white people wouldn't like her because she was black? She certainly didn't learn it in school and she didn't learn it from me. Combating racism is a struggle for every home, every parent and every child. Once a parent has taught their child to hate or that they will be a victim of hate at the hands of white oppressors, as soon as a parent teaches their child a dichotomy between *us* and *them* along those lines no governmental edict or fiat will change their heart. Teach the parents to teach their children that love.

This change of heart won't be something you can measure, count or calculate percentages on precisely because that would defeat the purpose. As soon as you start thinking in terms of race, of comparing and contrasting along racial or ethnic lines, you are perpetuating the problem.

In my heart, I stand together tonight with Dr. King: I have a dream that one day all of God's children will be as equal in each others' sight as we are in His. I have a dream that every man will love his neighbor. I have a dream that we can start working towards that today. To quote Dr. King:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that my . . . children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

Semi-practical applications of what I'm studying!

One of the most crucial facets of the evolution of current literary criticism is the search for Meaning. During the study of it, the image comes to mind of a child asking, "Mommy, where does Meaning come from?" Not too very long ago, Meaning was thought to be tied in to the author's "intent." What the author meant to say with the text was what the text said.

Then came Barthes and said, similar to the declaration of Nietzsche, "The author is dead." According to Barthes and his contemporaries, a text, once written, is a separate entity from its author and the Meaning of the text must lie there, within the text itself, divorced from the author. While the author is alive, of course, they may write commentaries in an attempt to clarify the matter, but the text itself remains apart, as do each of the commentaries. This gave rise to the idea of the indeterminacy of Meaning, that a text can have many different Meanings embedded therein.

Following along those lines, in more recent years, the source of Meaning has been again transferred, this time to the reader. Reader Response Criticism (and other related schools of thought) state that it is the responsibility of the individual reader to, not simply find Meaning within a text but, rather, to place Meaning into the text in the process of reading it. The Meaning they find, of course, will depend upon their prejudices - not prejudices in the currently common negative sense, but with the idea of that which we are preconditioned to receive through our life experiences and the kind of person we are as a result of them.

With that out of the way, we get to the practical part of this blog entry. On a light-hearted note, Reader Response Criticism applies just as well to films and television as it does to printed media and Burton's production of Alice in Wonderland is a perfect example. Each of us comes into a theatre with certain prejudices - again, in the sense of a predisposition rather than one of bigotry, though such may be part of our prejudices - which color our viewing of the film. A person with a strong bias against fantasy films, Tim Burton, Disney or Johnny Depp is likely to find themselves disappointed. Some reviewers look to what they believe the author's intent to be, one saying "Lewis Carroll himself was not a writer but a mathematician [. . .] who liked the illogical, if that's how you wanted to approach the story then add in some of the illogical." One reviewer referred to it as "something like a post-modern tale of self-discovery." It could be interpreted as a feminist discourse as Alice becomes an independent woman freed from the shackles of her society. Emilee responded to it as a tale of courage as Alice finds the strength to be what she needs to be.

Personally, I discovered in Burton's rendition a striking lesson on the relationship between free will and divine foreordination. Alice arrives in Wonderland to find that her role has been foretold by a mystic scroll (I like that line - quite poetic, I think), an idea which she finds quite distasteful. She at first attempts to deny that role, stating, "This is my dream," and expresses a determination to reshape her destiny according to her own will. As the film progresses, however, through the guidance of the Mad Hatter and Absalom, the blue caterpillar, her determination to bend the world to her whims lessens. The White Queen's advice to her is, to my mind, the cornerstone of the message - she tells Alice that, if she is to serve in her role as the predestined hero of Underland, it must be her own choice to do so. A final push from Absalom commenting on metamorphosis and change brings her around to choose her predestined course.

We have been foreordained - predestined, if you wish - to that which God would have us do, but we always have a choice. We may choose to say, as Alice, "This is my life, and I'll do with it as I please." God's knowledge, however, is far greater than our own - His ways are higher than our ways, and His thoughts than our thoughts, as Isaiah reveals. We must not seek to bend divine will to suit our own desires. We will find ourselves far happier if we learn to say, as Christ, "Not my will, but thine be done." Conforming our will to the will of the Father - making His path not only our foreordained one but also our chosen one - is the key to happiness, both in this life and in the world to come.

On that note, the Bible was a text (or, rather, a set of texts which were later compiled) which was/were written with a very specific intent, to lead people in a righteous path which would bring them back to our Father. The writings and actions of prophets and apostles contained therein demonstrated that the people, left to their own devices, found all sorts of Meanings in the text which strayed from the greater Author's intent. The leaders of God's flocks worked to give course correction through further correspondence and discourse and throughout their assorted journeys, all guided by the great Author.

But, just as Barthes said, the mortal authors of these texts are dead. Their works have been left open to interpretation and the proliferation of Christian churches and creeds which we see today are evidence of how many different Meanings can be found within that sacred text. People are ideologically tossed about by differing viewpoints and interpretations, all based on different individual understandings of the Bible. Reader Response Criticism put into practice produces a world of confusion about the Author's intent which, in the case of holy writ, is quite important, as stressed by its mortal authors.

Thus we may see the critical need, in today's world, for continued input from the Author of our souls to clarify the true Meaning of the sacred text. Thus the need for continuing revelation, of prophets and apostles "to guide us in these latter days." They provide, through their intimate revelatory connection with the Author, not simply *an* interpretation of scripture but *the* interpretation, the only one of divine origin.

Relating to my earlier point, God as our Author must be allowed to give continual input if we are to find true Meaning in our own lives. Through the guidance of the Holy Ghost, God can be not only our Author but our Authority, directing us in all things to our good. We must not simply rely on our own interpretation of the text of our lives but turn to Him and allow our story to unfold.

Mental Meanderings in the Morning

It has long been said that when you can't sleep because you've got too much running through your head, the best thing to do is write it down to get it out of your head. So, here goes:

I'll be administering another quiz on Monday and I keep going over the quiz in my head: Is this question fair? Did I phrase that clearly? Did I make an embarrassing mistake?

Before the quiz, there's a review activity: Did I set it up right? Will it run smoothly? Will they enjoy it as much as I hope they do? Will it really be a good enough review to be worth it?

Then I get to more general worries about teaching: How am I going to cover All This material before Spring Break? I'm SO sick of giving instructions for an activity and hearing, "So, what are we doing?" or "So, we're doing X?" in English. When they work in pairs or groups, I hear a bunch of them asking their partners, in English, what they're supposed to be doing. PAY ATTENTION! I honestly do make the instructions clear if you'll just listen up!

My thoughts about teaching wouldn't be complete without my Sunday School class tomorrow (or, every other week, leading the music for Primary). Did I plan well enough? Will the students/kids get what they need to out of the lesson? Will I make some colossal blunder and lose the respect of student/kids and teachers/parents alike?

Of course, I've got my own schoolwork to worry about. I've got a short paper due on Tuesday for which I haven't gotten beyond the planning phase. There's ALWAYS more reading to do.

Then, to top it all off, one of my friends posted a Spanish (technically Castellano, but whatever) version of Hakuna Matata on Facebook and I've got the tune stuck in my head.

Finances play a part in there too, of course, but that's more of a consistent back-of-the-head concern.

So, there's my report. Wish me luck getting back to sleep!

Of vehicles, forgiveness and the Atonement

Sunday, particularly Fast Sunday, is a time for reflection, for pondering the things of God and the blessing he has given us. Today, my mind turned to a recent tremendous blessing we received at the hands of a kind and honest man. Kind and honest are not words one usually associates with mechanics, but in Ray's case, they fit.
He offers a special "student discount," the amount of which is rarely expressly stated but which has always saved us a bit when we've taken our car, Virginia (named for a kind and generous aunt from whom we received the car), in for routine check-ups and oil changes.

Recently, Virginia's cruise control stopped working. This is an annoyance for Emilee, whose hour-long daily commute is made somewhat harder because of it. It was somewhat more of an annoyance during our recent trip to California. Considering our impending journey to Connecticut, we realized that we would really like to have it working. Since we were taking Virginia in for Safety and Emissions inspections (and the new tires and oxygen sensor needed to pass those inspections), we figured it would be a good time to have Ray's people look at the cruise control.

We had the misfortune to be placed under the management of Randy, Ray's number two in command. Randy has a politician's smile, a salesman's smooth talk, a coal miner's handshake and an unfortunate tendency to neglect to call you when he says he will. After several hours of examination Randy told us that we needed a whole new engine computer and that we could either find one ourselves or he could procure one for about $200.

A quick search on eBay revealed an appropriate part for $45. We ordered it, got it in and handed it to Randy. Blake, the beleaguered mechanic who actually did the work, spent a couple of hours prying open our car to get at the engine computer and said, "This isn't the right engine computer - the color coding doesn't match!"

The person from whom we acquired the part refunded our payment without any hassle. I quickly found (using part numbers this time instead of just a description) a correct computer, ordered it and presented it to Randy. Blake confirmed that it was the right part and proceeded to spend a few hours installing it.

It didn't fix the cruise control.

Randy said, at this point, "Well, we've only been able to have a few hours at a time with your car so far - if you let me have it for an entire day, we'll be able to get it fixed." Accordingly, we left Virginia in Randy and Blake's care for over 8 hours on the following Monday, which Emilee happened to have off of work. The word now was that we needed a new Cruise Control Module (Question here: Why skip the Cruise Control Module and go straight for the Engine Computer when you're trying to fix the Cruise Control? Maybe it's because I'm not a mechanic, but that doesn't make much sense to me . . .), with similar options for acquiring one.

At this point, Emilee and I decided to cut our losses. As a friend took me to Ray's, I began a fretful calculation in my head of the number of hours of labor for which we would be charged and the hundreds of dollars we would have sunk into a wild goose chase. When I arrived, I found Ray behind the counter - Monday is Randy's day off. Ray had familiarized himself with our situation and said, "After everything Randy's had you do to try and fix this problem, making you find your own parts and everything . . . I'm not gonna charge you for the labor."

Now THAT'S what I call a Student Discount! Instantly, through nothing I had done, just the simple kindness and generosity of one man, my debt was forgiven. I was elated as I brought Virginia home, feeling truly blessed.

I reflected today that we, as a human race, spend much of our time broken in a spiritual sense. We stumble about through life, looking for help to get fixed but, in the end, no earthly power can truly fix us. The worst of it is that, the longer we're broken, the more spiritual debt we rack up. In the end, though, after all we can do, the great Mechanic of our souls says to us, "After all you've done, I forgive your debt - you owe me nothing. Welcome home." And then He fixes our cruise control anyway.

Hot times in the old home town

When Emie and I planned our trip to Disneyland for our anniversary, we didn't even know the half of what we were going to get!My mother was the first from our group to hear about the Jesusita fire. In her words:

So, there we were at Disneyland, in line for the Toy Story ride, and I was checking Facebook on my PDA when I saw that a couple of friends here in SB had posted notes about a new fire in the SB foothills. I wanted to know more about it!! So, I checked a couple of usually reliable sources, and really couldn't find anything much - - - the fire was only a couple of hours old. When we finally located it on a Google map, it was just a tiny spot somewhere in Southern California.

What began as a small spot many miles away from home became a cause of much fear and alarm in the coming days. It was our actual anniversary, May 6, and we were visiting the Santa Barbara Zoo. We had debated between the Zoo and the Botanic Gardens, but I decided the Zoo would be better, since it's right next to the ocean. I had it all planned - A romantic walk on the beach to watch the sunset on the ocean followed by dinner at the Beachside Cafe.

It was as we got up from eating our lunch that we noticed the massive plume of smoke rising to the north. Having lived through the painted cave fire when I was a kid, my panic instincts started to kick in - this actually looked WORSE than the clouds that were gathering over the T-ball field those many years ago. Calling Mom (with interference from the smoke making the call cut out constantly), she told us that a mobile home had just gone up in the blaze, but it was nothing to worry about.

A few minutes later, we heard a zoo employee on his cell phone telling his family "I don't care what the police say, it's getting worse fast and I want you out of there! I'm coming to meet you at . . ." My panic rose. With my body on fight-or-flight mode (Emie, meanwhile, calmly wandered through the zoo's snake house), a romantic walk was out of the question, so I decided it would be better to just head back to my parents' house before things got any worse instead of our beach walk.

We checked in on the fire and didn't seem to be in immediate danger, so we went to the Elephant Bar instead. We returned hours later after some less-than-stellar service and realized that the fire could now be seen from our front door. It was on a distant hillside, true, but it was a frightening sight. We knelt together in family prayer and I called upon God to send His angels to fight the blaze, asking Him to use his power over the winds and elements to fight the flames. We felt somewhat better but the fire was still too close for comfort.

Emie went to bed and was sleeping soundly while my mother and I stayed glued to the news watching the blaze spread and destroy people's homes and lives. The Botanical Gardens were burned, striking a personal sorrowful note - I was glad we hadn't been closer to the fire, but sorry Emie never got to see the Gardens in their splendor. Mandatory evacuation zones expanded and multiplied quickly - the sundowner winds were taking their toll. Dad was out-of-state on business, but assured us that he had, while praying, gotten the distinct impression from the Spirit that we would not have to evacuate.

I tried to get back to sleep, but couldn't - it can be tough to share in that same Spirit of safety when you're scared to death. When I next emerged, Mom told me to get my shoes on - we had just been placed in an "Evacuation Warning zone." Essentially, we were being told that, while we didn't have to get out right now, we should be prepared for that order to come within the next hours. Much as we do our best to be faithful and trust what the Spirit says, God rarely favors an unprepared fool. We decided to start packing things into the van.

Mom and I had been through this sort of thing before, but only when I was a little boy. Mom said that, during the painted cave fire, she mainly held me while Dad took command of the evacuation. Without Dad there, our psyches took a heavy hit, but it was time to dawn the Superhero mindset again and set to work. Between the two of us, we managed to keep each other sane, though, sufficient to start working on top priority items to load into the van.

Our top priority thing to save - the cats. From the 6 cats I grew up with, Mom and Dad are now down to three. Two of them, Tribble and Q (am I from a family of Trekkies or what?) are wonderfully placid, docile creatures, easy to pick up and toss into the van. The third, Molly, is half feral, so we knew we'd have to get her caged. Molly was already on alert (probably smelled the smoke from the fire) and was difficult to catch, to say the least. I finally pinned her against the bed with my knee, then grabbed the nape of her neck and her tail while she dug her claws into the knee of my pants. I slowly rose from the behind the bed with Molly forming an obtuse triangle then got her into her cage. First task: Accomplished.

Mom was taking care of clothes, pills, money, checkbook, etc., so my task was to load the van with other "precious things." For Mom, this means her needlework, crocheted afghans, tatted doilies and her grandmother's quilts. I spent an hour or so wandering the house, collecting the symbols of Mom's hard work and loading them into the back of the van. They may not be worth much monetarily, but they have enormous sentimental value and represent many hours of Mom's labor.

We decided to let Emilee sleep (a fact about which she laughs) for several reasons - we didn't want to worry her, but we also wanted someone to get a few hours sleep in case we needed to drive for a long time in a car full of nervous cats. About 2:00 AM, having done just about all we could to prepare and observing that we could no longer see the fire on the hill, Mom and I decided to try to get some sleep ourselves. I awoke frequently to the sound of sirens in the distance, so I think I got about 2 good hours in preparation for our long trip home.

It's now several days later and we see our prayers being answered. The winds died down miraculously, the humidity rose enough to create mist, the fire is mostly contained and people are returning to their homes. As my father prophesied, Mom and Dad never did have to evacuate, despite being only a few blocks from a mandatory evacuation area. As my mother said, "There were angels on the fireline." God's promise came through for us again - no great surprise, but a wonderful reinforcer for faith.

Diversion from Disney

We'll be back to more Disney adventures soon, but a friend of mine just passed this along to me and I need to share.

During my missionary service in Guatemala, a few other missionaries and I were put together into a singing group - and quite an eclectic group we were. Our original trio consisted of an opera singer (Seth Gruber), a rocker (Matt Digiordanno) and a barbershopper (me), to which was then added a choral singer (Saul Howard). We put together a collection of songs with which we toured central Guatemala, seeing old friends in the capital and the coast. I have often reflected that those were some of the happiest times of my missionary service and wished that I had more than memories from those times.


Little did I know that, at one of our performances, someone in the congregation was bootlegging it. Or, rather, suitcoating it, as their camera was concealed beneath a suitcoat. In addition to the photo above, they also videotaped our performance. The video quality ain't great and, admittedly, we were sometimes out of tune, but I wanted to share with you a few examples of our work.

Shattering the Fourth Wall - What is a hero?

Okay, I admit it - I'm not a superhero. I can't fly, I can't shoot radiation bursts from my fingertips and I would look horrible in blue spandex. Ever since Sapphire Sting left Paragon City, I've been losing touch with him. It's been several months now since I stopped playing City of Heroes - after 3 years, it was definitely an addiction. Sapphire Sting, Alba Caliente, Graham and Envinyatar, along with literally dozens of other lesser-used characters, are slowly slipping away. Perhaps more importantly, my friends like Nickarr, Kick Back and Trick Tracy are no longer a significant presence in my daily life. I miss them, but I cannot go back. The characters I created, the bases I designed, the friendships I forged - all are, sadly, part of the past now.

Yet part of it lives on in me - the ideals, the dream of saving the world, one day at a time. Most days, it's little things like going to work and school when I don't feel like it. Another day it may be a vote, or a blog entry supporting Proposition 8.

What makes a hero? Is it super powers and spandex, cool catch phrases and bullet-proof hair? The villains have those, too. How do we know the difference? Where does the shallow veneer end and true devotion begin? Where can we turn in such troubled times?

There is one source we can always trust, a perfect hero to us all: Jesus Christ. The gospel of Jesus Christ is the surest and only true guide to happiness, safety and truth. Every day, if we strive to be as He is, we will become the heroes our world needs.

To help and to heal without hurting another.

To love and forgive your enemies no matter what.

To be both just and merciful in all your dealings.

To boldly stand for what's right, no matter the cost.

To gently guide all those who are lost and will follow.

To share the light of the gospel with all who will listen.

To be a brother to all even as they smite you.

To be true to your own divine heritage.

We are all sons and daughters of God, brothers of Christ, and are all eligible to feel the promptings of the Holy Ghost if we will but listen. The days ahead - the last days, it seems - are times when we will all need to stand and be counted among the heroes who follow with faith the divine light of truth, even Jesus Christ, our Redeemer.

The battle lines have been drawn. Let the last crusade for Christ begin - not a crusade of blood or of worldly conquest, but a crusade against the evils of this world. Let us defeat the villains, the destroyers, the haters, the hypocrites. Let us stand and wave the banner of truth!

Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?

Beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?

Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!

Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance?
Some will fall and some will live, will you stand up and take your chance?

Mixed Feelings

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout . . .

Which, after everything is said and done, describes America, even if the election didn't go the way we each may have wanted.

Congratulations to everyone out there who likes Obama. I hope you continue to like him, since I hope he does a good enough job that we can get to like him. I recognize that he's in charge now (or will be once he hits office), and I plan to uphold him and pray for him so he can be the best leader he can be, the duty of any true American hero. While I don't expect much good out of him, I look forward to being proved wrong.

On what is, for me, a much more cheerful note, the votes are in from across the nation:

Arizona's proposition 102:

Yes	56%	1,039,606
No	44%	801,279

Florida's Proposition 2:

Yes	62%	4,662,558
No	38%	2,851,598

California's Proposition 8:

Yes	52%	5,163,908
No	48%	4,760,336

Ameican voters have chosen, once again, to defend the family, our rights as parents, our rights as voters and our religious rights. And, in small small measure, my faith in America is restored. God bless America, and may we continue to live so that He may continue to do so.

Props to my friend

For those of you interested in the Prop 8 debate, my buddy Stu Beck (the High Trail blog I've recently added to my list) has an excellent summary of the issues at hand. Check it out!

And another thing . . .

Note: This is part two of a longer blog entry - the first half is here.

While we're on the subject, Senator Obama, Let's talk about your use of the word mistake. A mistake, when you boil it down, is something done in ignorance. If, for example, I write down a formula wrong on a math test and get the wrong answer, I made a mistake. The word "mistake" cannot be appropriately applied to pregnancy in our era - is it possible to grow up in America today without knowing that sex generally results in pregnancy? If I'm not too mistaken, it's that same leftist regime that's gotten that put into the school curriculum so strongly. And, of course, being a leftist invention, the main purpose of sex education is to teach kids ways to escape the consequences of having sex.

But I'm getting off topic. I believe, Senator, there is a word which far better applies to what Ms. Palin has done which fits quite well with your vocabulary. I believe the pro-abortion crowd is quite fond of it, in fact: she has made a choice. She and Levi chose to engage in sexual activity, knowing full well the consequences. Thus far, they appear to have chosen to accept the consequences of their choice. Your offer to pay for the murder their unborn child, in addition to being a slap in the face to her mother, is an offer to allow her to escape not only the consequences of her actions, but the price of it as well. I cannot, in good conscience, support anyone who believes that a government's duty - or that of its governing bodies - is to throw money to people so that they can escape the consequences of their choices. Who was it, in the great war in heaven, who offered a plan to escape all consequence which won the hearts of a third of the host of heaven? That's certainly not God's plan.

Since we're getting into details of vocabulary, let's discuss some more words which are applicable. A villain is defined as a "wicked or evil person." The definition of wicked simply states "Evil by nature and in practice." The applicable definition of evil states "Causing ruin, injury, or pain." Is not that an apt description of what would happen to Ms. Palin's unborn child if she took you up on your offer? The medically documented screams of the unborn as they die will tell you exactly the kind of ruin, injury and pain it causes. Congratulations, Senator - you've shown your true colors as a villain, and you have gained at least one enemy.

In defense of the defenseless

This is extremely out of character for me, but I'm about to get political. You have been warned.

As the tabloid mongers (by which I mean the mainstream media) have eaten up the scandal about Bristol Palin's teenage pregnancy, the true character of the media is clearly shown. But this is not the only revelation which has come out of this situation. Assuming that my source is accurate, Senator Obama, presumably in an attempt to show himself as nurturing and caring while, at the same time, slinging some mud at Governor Palin, said the following: “Governor Palin . . . you tried to teach your daughter about morals and values, but she made a mistake, and she shouldn’t be punished with a baby.” He then offered to pay for young Bristol's abortion “at any time between now and the scheduled moment of birth.”

As a defender of the defenseless, as any true hero should be, I find myself compelled to speak. This sums up everything I have ever seen from the political left: A refusal to recognize that there are certain things in life which have natural consequences. These consequences are not a punishment, something placed by a 3rd party as a penalty imposed for wrongdoing. A consequence is something which naturally arises from a situation. If a student fails to study for a test, a low grade is a consequence, not a punishment. If you choose not to go to college or otherwise fail to get a good education, difficulty in getting a high paying job is not a punishment, it is a natural consequence.

Who would be doing the punishing, Senator Obama? Who has decided that this fetus and future baby should be placed within Bristol Palin? 3 people are involved in such a choice - the mother, the father, and our Eternal Father, the father of the soul which she will bear. Do you propose, Senator Obama, that God is punishing her? Of course not - your implication is that her mother is punishing her by forcing her to accept the consequences of her actions and is an insult to Gov. Palin, Bristol and God. God has given us consequences as a system to learn from our mistakes and our poor choices, not as a penalty. If we ever hope to grow into the divine destiny we share as sons and daughters of God, we must be willing to accept, deal with and learn from consequences. This is, perhaps, one of the most important lessons about morality which her mother could teach, and certainly one which Senator Obama, as well as other Pro-Choice (choice-to-murder-the-unborn) have failed to learn: Consequences make us better people and better citizens. We must learn, as a nation, to face and deal with the consequences of our actions, rather than seeking ways to be bailed out of them, or we will lose the blessing of a "firm reliance on divine providence," that upon which the founding fathers built this nation.