the way the cookie crumbled

When I was a self-expressed 4 year old, Heather was my best friend. Being two of the few younger kids on the block, we played together all of the time. We read our favorite books, created art projects, and in the long summer months played outdoor games, shared lunches and explored the deep, deep gardens in the park-like backyard of her Grandma Peterson's house. Heather made me laugh, and with long blond hair, was pretty cute, to boot.

When February rolled around I asked my mom "what do you give your friends for Valentines Day?" Under her supervision we made sugar cookies and with friendly confidence I walked the plateful of heart shaped tokens, all by myself, across the street. Heather's uncle Gene answered the door.

"Are those for me?" he inquired. "Well, I suppose you could have some if Heather wants to share," I replied. "Oh," he continued, "they're for your GIRLFRIEND" he teased. "Well, no, I made them for Heather," I stammered back. "Well," he said, peering down from four feet above, "she's a GIRL isn't she?" "Yes," I agreed. "And she's your FRIEND, right? So that makes her your GIRLFRIEND!" Before I could process his logic he called out, "Heather, your BOYFRIEND is here! He has valentines for you! Maybe if you're lucky you'll get a kiss with those cookies!"

Like a deer in the headlights, first I was stunned, and then I bolted back across the road to safety. And like the crumbly cookies, I think I left my fragile heart behind. It occurs to me now, 30+ years later, when it comes to showing affection for someone first, I've never dared to cross the street again.

crashing through walls

Attending a family ward as a single male has its challenges. Over the years I've come to the conclusion that the first 10 minutes of Relief Society must be dedicated to a brain-storming session focused on my singleness and who these soul sisters could fix me up with in order to make me whole and complete. No matter what you call the process, whenever I am hit up for a line up, it usually ends up feeling like a "set-up."

I've been tapped on the shoulder from two pews behind, stopped on my way to the bathroom, and again on the way out. I've been blocked at the drinking fountain, cornered in the gym, backed up against the carpeted hallway walls, flagged down in the parking lot and followed home. One particular Sunday, after a series of such encounters, I'm afraid my reservoir of polite responses had run dry.

When the fifth clairvoyant matchmaker approached me in the overflow and offered up the contact information on the "perfect girl for me," I think I snapped. Glancing at the handwritten note placed in my hand, I said something flippant like: "Isn't that strange? Just today FOUR other people have told me they also know this person, but she seems to go by a lot of different names, and has completely different phone numbers. With all of these aliases, do you think she could be some kind of felon?"

Again, not my most gracious moment.

Recently I had an epiphany around blind dates. After years of trying to decipher who I am being that people mentally link me with girls who have pink hair, run personal cat sanctuaries or are grandmothers of eight...it occurred to me, with the help of friend, that people keep setting me up with "nice single girls" because all they know about me is that I am a "nice single guy," and so that is all they have to go on in order to connect the dots between us.

While it is a challenge for me, I now realize that I need to be more open with people. I need to share my real self with those around me if I ever hope to share my whole self with a help meet. Who knows how/when/why I constructed the cliched emotional walls, and carry a fear of intimacy, relationships and commitment. But, with the aid of my army of yentas, maybe we can figure it out.

refiner's fire

1 Peter 1:7 – That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.

Two years ago today, I was standing toe to toe with local newscaster Rod Decker trying my best to answer his question: "so, how do you feel?" as my home was burning in the background, and news helicopters circled overhead.

With 730 days of perspective, I would now have to respond, "I feel blessed." I have so much to be grateful for...the thoughts, prayers and helping hands of family friends and strangers as I begin to begin again.

Reflecting back on my personal plagues, I have come to understand the Lord's words "that your burdens may be light" differently. The Lord's promise is not necessarily to remove our burdens, or even lift them, as I had previously thought. Another definition for light is knowledge. For me, the "burdens" of recent experiences have brought additional "light" or knowledge. I understand some things differently largely due to having to carry some unusual burdens. I believe that we are privately tutored by our challenges...and we all have them. Instead of feeling weighed down by difficulty, consider burdens are a vehicle to light, knowledge and understanding.

Alma taught: "...may God grant unto you that your burdens may be light, through the joy of his Son. And even all this can ye do if ye will. Amen." (Alma 33:23)

My best to all of you who are currently being tutored by trials.

Go and roast a marshmallow as a memorial for today.

nauvooish

Lately I've been feeling a little Nauvooish. My pioneer friends understand that term–it is a longing to connect with simple truths; the need to analyze one's personal progress in God's plan; and the desire to access inspiration. Quite often when I feel the need to refocus, rededicate and renew myself, I retreat to my favorite destination, Nauvoo: The City of Joseph.

It has nothing to do with sentimental souvenirs. (I resent that a generation of merchandisers have Seagull Book and Tape and Bed and Breakfasted it to death.) What draws me there is the sanctified silence. It's the far reaching farm lands, a balanced picture of bounty and industry. It's the consecrated craftsmanship of celestial spires and handmade bricks, evidence of a generation's devotion to faith and family. It is evening light reflected at the river's edge, revealing God's providence, goodness and promise of peace at journey's end. In addition to providing a church history lesson, for me, Nauvoo is an extra-sensory Temple experience.

I am currently planning another pilgrimage for May. Depending on my travel mates, typically I fly into Kansas City and meander my way through Missouri, hitting all of the significant sites, including: Liberty Jail, Far West and Adam-Ondi-Ahman. This year I am adding a random element of sheer fun to the usually introspective experience. The other day I noticed that "Wicked" will be playing in Kansas City in May. I have heard great reviews of the show and couldn't think of a better place to experience the ride over the rainbow, than from where Dorothy was first caught up in the twisted tale.

If anyone wants to join the Wicked Church History Tour this spring, let me know...I'll save some space in my wagontrain.

the plan

jealous neighbor

With five feet of snow still piled up in the yard, it is still very much winter in Liberty. But spring is just a 20 minute commute down Ogden Canyon–so driving to work is like fast-forwarding the seasons. Pulling up to Jefferson Square, I am immediately made aware of the need to focus on it's curb appeal. Currently the only flowers on the property are displayed in the stained glass windows, and not planted in the ground.

One hundred years ago, Mr. Pingree built his home across the street from the home of his banking associate, Mr. Eccles. While I don't know the relationship the two gentlemen had "back in the day," this past weekend I entertained the idea that they shared a friendly competition of stellar yard maintenance.

Looking over from the Pingree porch to the Eccles' grand Victorian, which now serves as Ogden's community art center, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of their sculptured gardens. And so, to some degree, I had the idea of rekindling that imagined rivalry. I've been sketching plans and have consulted some landscape designers. New sidewalks, new sprinkling systems and new sod is on the way. Let the landscaping wars begin.

march 10, 1925

Happy 83, Dad.

You've handled the candles well.