Changing Commerce

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Last night, I went shopping on Thanksgiving Day for the first time since I was married, and I felt like I was committing a cardinal sin. Truthfully, I felt like I was breaking the Sabbath. An hour or so ago, I spoke with my paternal grandmother who told me that when she was my age there was no Black Friday. They lived in a simpler time, a time that was superior to ours in many ways I feel, because it was about different things.

America is old enough and changed enough that we're starting to break with the foundations of our past. In the four hundred years since the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, our culture, our values, and our demographics have changed dramatically. What interest do immigrants from the Baltic States or Latin America or the Caucuases have in the plight and principles of religious pilgrims? As our people change and their interests shift accordingly, the old ideas and traditions we once knew give way to new ones. This is the nature of history, and truthfully and to our blessing we have kept ours longer than Rome kept hers and longer than any other nation kept anything other than the Windsor branch has kept the Monarchy.

Things have changed. I understand that companies wanted to get started early because Thanksgiving comes later this year than in outer years. I understand that in a struggling "economic recovery" businesses are desperate to garner whatever they can to make ends meet. I understand their interest in bringing in customers. I hope other people understand that for my part Thanksgiving sounds and feels different than it did when I was a child.

Although I'm not that old, I remember when Thanksgiving involved things far afield from making lists of how to tackle Black Friday shopping. I remember eating and playing and discussions with family. Partly, our traditions changed because we moved around, and although I moved away first, I'm the only one who lives proximal to my parents. By the time I arrived, my parents had already done their shopping online, and since I live simply and alone, I don't really have much that interests me. My toaster, which lasted ten years since my wedding, died this week, and I always buy new jeans because they're on sale and never sell out in my size, but most of what I buy this time of year is stuff I buy anyway because I need new clothes for work or tools for projects. I look at the ads and proclaim aloud, "look at all this stuff I don't need". That's the point.

Our commerce and our culture have changed to include things we don't need. We spend money we don't have to buy things we don't need to impress people we don't like. We are no longer satisfied with simple. Although I met a woman and saw her for a time who insisted she was satisfied with and interested in simple, she chose another path. I understand the draw. I was saved from it by God who sent me out as a missionary. During that time, when I was supposed to concentrate on serving Him, I missed the technological explosion that suckered in most of my compatriots, and so because I knew I could deny myself of them for two years, I knew I could do it longer. We are all about things that are not necessary like fame and fortune and felicitation. We need to be popular and important and influential, but we often care only to be seen that way with strangers and friends rather than with our own families. What we need isn't more economic activity. What we need is more community.

I tried to visit both of my neighbors today. The southern one was home, and I knew it, because I watched them drive into their garage and shut the door. I was out cleaning leaves out of my yard. They didn't answer. The other neighbor was recently divorced, and so I know he might be away, but I'll persist, because I have been there and know what it can be like to be alone this time of year. I've been doing it far longer than I ever thought would be true. What I do know is that my neighbors know me. People wave at me when they see me out running or cycling. People call my name when they see me in the stores. Metro Police know about me because I'm the guy who jogs around in my zip code carrying two wrenches. People know me.

The transactions that matter most this time of year do not happen at the register. They happen between the people. Although the movies of the 90s talk about toys and games, they show how rifts are created by the commercial culture between people in our community. Most people are as overdrawn in their emotional bank accounts as they are in their physical banks. These are the transactions that matter most.

I am pleased that I went out last night and spent some time with my kid sister. It will not be long before that will not frequent even if it's possible. I spent time and money on what matters most, and it was well spent. That's the change in commerce we need.

Rules and Absolute Truth

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I try to be careful with absolutes because "always" and "never" are difficult standards to maintain. One of my favorite phrases on this subject to tell students is that "there's an exception to every rule except for this one" because it's usually true. As scientists, we learn that things are only true in certain conditions or within a system, but other rules govern forces outside of that context, and so frequently the rules are more like guidelines.

Imagine then my surprise to hear a prominent national figure on the radio say today "There's always a caveat". Is there a caveat to the notion that there's always a caveat? If not, then this absolute is like a cracked pot and holds very little water, but I digress. If there's an exception to every rule, then why even have rules? As mortals, we like to bend the rules and break them whenever we can, and we are the only organism in all of creation that is allowed to whilly-nilly violate the rules for any length of time without immediate and deadly repercussions. Even when we do, eventually we usually find that we reap what we sow and that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction".

Newton was careful to correctly phrase his laws. Most scientific laws come from a long period of careful observation coupled with correction. There are a few that were set as laws with regular exceptions, and we refer to those as rules. These laws and rules were not disseminated helter-skelter like bad memes; they were studied and analyzed and tested rather than passed on as glib cliches from the mouth of incompetent boobs. In this way, we are able to give factual and useful answers rather than a series of asinine banalities that offend the mind and ensnare the senses.

One major reason that we find exceptions to the rules is because there is usually a larger rule that governs it. Things are appropriate when they are appropriate and that's about all there is to it. To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. There is a purpose for every thing. The adversary tries to persuade us to avail ourselves of things at times forbidden by the Ruler of the Universe. It is not that those things in themselves are evil. It is that they are good for us and to us only under certain conditions.

Even moderation must be taken in moderation. In Revelations we read that "I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth." We need to make decisions and stand for something, but not stand for everything. If we're always moderate, that's an excess as well. (How's that for an oblong paradox?!)

We don't know all the rules or all the points. It's difficult to determine what all the rules are, because we aren't smart enough to ask all the right questions or consider all the possibilities or design things to test them. For this reason, I am apt to quote myself that "Science never proves anything. It removes all other possibilities until only the truth remains." Perhaps for this reason, Spielberg has Professor Henry "Indiana" Jones, Jr. say that science is the search for fact and not truth. It helps us build the picture, but it is not a blueprint. It's a snapshot of what is true under certain conditions, because there's an exception to every rule except for this one. When we know the Absolute Truth we will understand why and how they work.

Crackpots and Cracked Pots

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I'm a very nutty professor. Some people like that I'm different, but I know that it sets me apart. One of my companions on the river Saturday made some disparaging remarks about how chemists are crackpots, and she was kind of right. We chose chemicals because we're not that good at interacting with people. In truth, we recognize that we have a narrow skill set that we are comfortable exercising and consequently come across as crass and rude because we don't really invest much time into learning the social graces. For many years I have wondered if this would lead ultimately to my ostracism and to eternal bachelorhood because I know my flaws and don't know if there's anyone who really would choose to live with them. I guess time will tell.

One thing that helped is that I came across a story Sunday that gave me some hope. The story is told of a water bearer in India who made daily trips from the stream to his Master's house carrying water in two large pots. One of the pots had a crack in it, and so usually the cracked pot arrived at the house only half full. For years, this went on daily, and the perfect pot proudly performed admirably, but the cracked pot felt ashamed because it was only able to do half as much useful work. Feeling itself a bitter failure, it spoke to the Bearer one day and apologized that the Bearer had to do extra work because of his flaws. The Bearer asked the pot to pay attention to the flowers growing along the path as they walked back to the Master's house. As they went up the hill, sure enough beautiful wildflowers grew along the side of the path. The Bearer pointed out that the flowers only grew on one side of the path because the Bearer always knew about the flaw. Early on, he took advantage of it and planted seeds on that side of the path, which the cracked pot watered daily. For two years, the Bearer had been able to pick the flowers as decorations for the Master's table. Without the cracked pot, there would be no beautiful flowers with which to grace the House.

Recently more than before, I have felt myself a failure, that I sow and dung and nurture to no avail. I feel sometimes like either there is no fruit to harvest or that I can't tell the wheat from the chaff. In some rare cases, I have arrived at the field to find it already cleared either by harvest or fire and found nothing to glean when I arrived. Like the pot, I have felt that I have failed. Like the pot, I realized that God planted seeds along my path for me to water as I passed, knowing that a crackpot chemist was coming, so that as I went by I would water them. Although my life has not turned out how I liked or hoped or imagined, Christ has made, I am sure, of my efforts useful work with which to adorn the Master's table. Indeed we learn in D&C 6 that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but only the work of man. For many years, I have maintained that God's work will be done, that it will be done well, and that it will be done on time, even if He must raise up replacements to take our place. No unhallowed hand can stop the work. For all our hubris and vanity, as well might man put forth his puny arm to stop the mighty Mississippi as to try to stem the work of God. Daniel recorded that he saw the stone cut out of the mountain without hands that rolled forth to fill the entire earth.

I was told that I would be called by inspiration and revelation to where I was needed most. I don't know that God called me to live perpetually alone in my house and attend a congregation where the members largely treat me like a stranger or an ailing pet that's annoying them during family time. I don't know that I was born to be alone all of my life or to never have many close interactions. What I do know is that my circumstances have made me available to do His work and help His children. I tell people frequently when they thank me for my contributions to their lives to thank God, because if my life had turned out as I planned, we might never have met. I would certainly not befriend young ladies and take them on hikes or the river, because I'd be with a specific one whom I took to wife doing things with our family. I would certainly not disappear to hike or kayak or boat every weekend and leave my family alone at home to cope while I gallivanted around with guy pals completing my bucket list. I could name a half dozen or so people for whom I was a positive albeit fleeting influence and who might not have been reached if I were not there in the moment ready and able and willing to do my poor part. Maybe I am a crackpot or a cracked pot, but God knew what path on which I should be drawn so that I could water by the way and bring forth fruit for His table.

God knew that when I was divorced that would break me and keep me from carrying as much water as far as I would like. He knew it would hurt me and make me hesitant and bitter and angry and distant. Accordingly, He planted seeds along my way for me to water as I passed by that after the season of my passing He could harvest the fruit or flowers with which to adorn His table. In His hands I am still a useful and profitable tool because He knows where I will drip and planted accordingly. God knew that I would love chemistry and love teaching but be super awkward. He knew that I would start speaking my mind even when silence would benefit me more. He knew that I would be honest and available and inclined to attempt and called me to do things other people would not in places other people dare not go. Like the cracked pot, Christ has a purpose for this particular crackpot.

Neal A Maxwell wrote in "Deposition of a Disciple" that God gives the picks and shovels to the chosen, not because they are the most capable, but because they are the most available. I resolved many years ago to be available so that God could use me whenever it felt like a good idea. Maybe I'm that cracked pot and drop the ball a lot more than some other pot might, but He also knows that I will drip where He needs water to drop. He knows where you are and what you are doing, and if He brought us together for a season, it's because we are supposed to help one another grow.

This time of year, they'll show the classic movie "It's a Wonderful Life" and for good reason. George Bailey sees something precious in that movie, because he gets to see what impact his mediocre life (according to him) really had on the world. For the most part I don't really know why I do what I do, know what I know, am what I am or go where I go. I trust that there is a reason for things and that they will remain in my life as long as it is wise and good that they do so. I hope some day He shows me what the season of the harvest brought to His table and that I can find peace as the crackpot that I am in knowing that He harvested where I walked and converted my weaknesses into useful work.

Ignore the Weather

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Yesterday, I spent seven hours traveling 11 miles on the Colorado river by kayak. Most people who booked trips or spots on our trip actually bailed due to inclement weather. Although weather reports earlier in the week indicated that the day would be clear, it rained for almost 72 hours in the Las Vegas valley, and many people decided to stay home. Consequently they missed the opportunity and experience for something very rare.

Our guide told us that he can count the number of times he has made this trip in the rain on one hand and have fingers remaining. The rain is a rarity in the desert of the great basin, and so we saw things other people do not. The cacti are more vibrant. The rocks reveal things when wet that you don't notice otherwise. The river was almost completely empty because people decided to stay dry.

We were not so inclined or expectant. As kayakers, we expected it was possible to get wet. Each time you debark your kayak, you end up with one foot usually in the water, and even when you launch that is frequently the case unless someone else pushes you off from dry land. Surprisingly, it was actually very calm on the river. While it sheeted rain in town under whistling winds at the meeting point, the winds were calm and the rain just a light drizzle on the river. It was calm and beautiful and not all that much colder than it is at other times of year on sunny days.

Ignore the weather report and the weather men who give them. There will come times in your life when you will feel impressed to go and do things that make no sense or that run contrary to your senses. At those times, you must learn like Albert Mondego in "The Count of Monte Cristo" to dare the storm to do its worst. Only those who set sail in troubled waters can see the might of the sea. Revelation, like weather, depends on where you are. Just like it was raining in town but calm on the water, some things will apply to you depending on where you are that do not apply to other people. Revelation from God is personalized, localized, and specialized depending on your preparedness and the needs of the Master. Although there are general patterns, there are also specific circumstances. Remember that it wasn't raining when Noah built the ark. You will probably never be asked to build one, but if you need one and listened, you will be forever grateful you hearkened to the message.

Over the past few months, I have received many impressions that were contrary to information and deliberation. Sometimes, I have gone anyway and known why. Other times, I went and did and still have no idea why. The weather is only part of the story, and even bad weather passes like the storm did today to reveal the warmth of the sun. You never know what might be coming, so learn to listen to the whisperings of the Spirit. He always attempts to speak to you. As you learn to listen to his voice and follow the uncomfortable suggestions that he makes, you too will go where others dare not and see what others consequently cannot because you ignored the weather and followed inspiration.

Others will attempt to dissuade you. Sometimes they will do so because they "care" about you. All too often we hearken to the interested albeit uninspired opinions of others and miss what God would show us and give us and have us become. Those people do not love you as they claim. Someone who truly loves you will turn you to the Lord, who is a God of Truth and the only being of which I am aware who has no ulterior motives. Ignore the weather and the weather men. Weather Men are usually wrong. Trust in God and His Christ, who is able to still the storm and bring peace when you quake in your boats on the Galilee of life and worry you may die. He is leading you to a land of promise where only those who weather the weather may enjoy perfect weather.

Calling the Kettle Black

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I just received my first negative review on the internet from a student, and I’m pretty sure that I know exactly who wrote it. It’s also very scathing, but that doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that it’s neither factual nor objective and because it’s cowardly. Notwithstanding my suspicions, I will keep in mind that when this student first showed up, this student also believed most previous professors to be slack-jawed idiots, and so I won’t take it personally. The complaints basically come down to the notion that I don’t believe in the Gerber Theorem of Education and make it easy for the students, but then that’s not my job.

Facts are sometimes stubborn things, and this review is longer on emotion than on fact. The fact of the matter is that you will never make everyone happy. The other funny fact is that sometimes you are subject to judgment by people who will either never be interested or never be required to prove that they are better. I have always found it somewhat odd to evaluate instructors based on the opinions of students, especially when those people are young and inexperienced, and so I take their opinions as more of a guideline. If this student feels like they are being treated unfairly or that I suck, I invite you to consider how they feel about their instructor for next semester, because I don’t think they’ll like that person any better.

As I write this, I find it ironically timed. Just last Tuesday, I had a different experience. One of my former students sent me a letter thanking me for some of the things mentioned as deleterious in this complaint. It's often difficult to understand why organic chemistry matters to people, but because I have some actual experience with this from graduate school and in my personal extracurricular interests, I try to help them see where it matters to them. In this particular note, a student thanked me for the personal experiences and for "going above and beyond what I am required as a professor". The tone denoted by these two could not be more paradoxically timed or timed any better to illustrate that today's complaint is not necessarily based on truth or fact. Both of these messages cannot possibly be true because they are mutually exclusive.

When a member of the class first mentioned to me last Thursday night that this student was slandering me in public, I realized that it was because this student wants to be spoon fed. The criticisms amount to the fact that “I’m not helpful”, and yet this person talks incessantly during class, rarely asks questions, and frequently leaves half-way through the lecture to go get sushi.  Rather than accepting responsibility like an adult, it's easier for this student to cast aspersions and blame on me, because blaming is easier than changing.  How do you expect to know what to expect when you don’t come? How do you expect to be treated fairly when you show a blatant disregard for the teacher? Like Luke Skywalker, it’s difficult to teach someone whose mind is never where they are and on what they are doing and who believes that they already know all this stuff and hate having to repeat a class. This person has taken it personally that I don’t like them or teach to their expectations. Get used to it.

Some of their complaints are emotionally contrived to provide half of the facts without the other half to corroborate the truth. Do I tell stories from my personal life? Yes, because they illustrate concepts. Do I have students I favor? Yes if by favoring you mean that I talk to some more than others, because they are actively engaged in learning, participating, and facilitating class discussion. Do I refuse to answer questions? Not that I remember, but if you have some examples, I would like to hear them rather than accept your premise that I won’t explain things. Are my review sessions vague? Yes, and they should be grateful I even do them because I am not required to do it at all. Do I change from the review so that “none of it is on there”? No, because I usually have the test in front of me while I list the topics, and it’s not my fault you misinterpreted what I said in the review. Do I talk over the level of the students? Maybe, and what do you really expect since I am not at your level. This is childish and whiney, but it’s about time it happened. No teacher is too good to be true. What interests me is that this particular review saw absolutely nothing good in me, which is how I know that I can dismiss it as an irrational outlier. It rated me as low as humanly possible, and that’s unlikely and not useful.

My final observation about complaints is that too frequently they are vague. They contain absolutes like “always” and “never” or “none” and “just” as if nothing good happens in the class at all. When I consider that several of the members of the class are disappointed that I won’t be teaching them the second half of the course, it can’t possibly be the case. You can’t suck completely and have some people like you as a teacher, unless by “suck” you mean that the teacher is too easy and everyone gets an “A” or because the teacher is so bad that everyone fails. People who are upset with something often paint with a broad brush. I try to be careful with absolutes because they are difficult standards to maintain.

I will confess that I have many faults. If they find a better person and decide to replace me, even if I am disappointed, it won’t really hurt my ego. If they can find someone better, they should, because that will contribute to better education for the students and better opportunities for the institution. Rather than complaining sideways behind my back, which doesn’t make anything better, or anonymously roasting me on the internet, if this person feels that way about it, perhaps they should man up and tell me to my face. I detest passive-aggressive problem solving, because it is all too frequently counterproductive and adversarial and all too infrequently creates positive change. Don’t pussy foot around it and slander me to students or libel me on the internet. Tell me to my face. This kind of behavior is very unprofessional. It’s exceptionally cowardly for a person to criticize me for an inability to perfectly do something they cannot or will not prove they can do better than I do. Back it up, or back it off.

My House, My Refuge

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Someone once said that a man's home is his castle. I can understand more and more what that can be taken to mean. In a feudal sense, the home contains his belongings and all the people loyal to him in the terms of his household, and it is the place to which he retreats when beset because it is a place of strength from which to mount a defense. During times of trial, it becomes a place where he is in control and where what he says holds sway.

Many people question why I live here. I felt very impressed that this is where I was supposed to live. I can think of a few reasons, but none of them are concrete and most of them are speculative, so I can understand all of those who suggest that I move elsewhere or at least move in with my friend. I could rent out this house for a goodly sum and hold it in reserve in case something changed and I needed my own place again. This house is after all not really a home. You buy a house, but you must make it a home, and home is made by the family that lives there.

What my house is for me is my freedom and my refuge. It is the only place on the planet where I am in control. Since there is nobody else here, everything that happens here is either confluence of forces that converge here or something that I dictated. I am the captain of this household, and everything is up to me and pleasing to me because there is nobody else here to muck it up. My house affords me the opportunity to do whatever I like. Here, if it is to be, it is up to me. I pay the price with either time or treasure. My decor is very masculine and looks more like a museum than a house. I leave a mess where I like and buy what I like and grow what I like. I'm transforming the back yard into a garden where I plan to beautify my own small spit of earth, that tiny feifdom God granted me in which to be king.

One of the reasons that I don't invite many people over or allow women in whom I am interested to hobnob with me unchaperoned here is to maintain this place as my own. An acquaintance of mine told me that he bought completely new furniture when his fiancee left him because he wanted furniture that had no memory ghosts of the woman he once loved. I don't have that issue; there are no shared memories or memory ghosts of people who no longer speak to me here because those people never crossed my threshold. Some of their things are here, but I have a closet and spare room in which to stow that swag until such time as I know what precisely to do with it.

At the end of a rough day, I retreat here. It lies far enough from my parents that they don't bother me but close enough that if I need help or vice versa we are available. It lies far enough from work that I can leave work behind and such that I have seen only two students while out shopping ever, and none of them bother me or stalk me or even suggest visiting me. It's my place, where I go and if need be drop right into bed without doing anything else when I get here because there's nobody here to demand my attention or action when I get home.

When the worries of the world mount, in my house, I am safe and free. My house is the place where I may do as I like when I like for no other reason than that I like. It is a place to which I may repair to recuperate and remonstrate. This is for me the real interpretation of the American dream- to have a place where I am free to be me all the time. This is my house. This is my castle. Here I am king. I have decided to stay as long as God tells me that it is prescient because everything that I control is under control here. In that way, I am living the dream. It isn't much, but it is mine, and I thank God for what I have.

Day of My Salvation

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Most of my Christian friends know full well in great detail the day on which they were "saved". For a long time, I was reticent to use this term because I don't think it means what they think it means. However, I remember full well the day I first came to Christ, when I knew there was a God, and the day I fully surrendered to His will. For your benefit, I recount those defining moments to you today.

I awoke many years ago to God in a small Idaho town on an inauspicious afternoon. For some reason that day in my eighth year of age, I felt dejected and alone. At length, I retired to the "basement" of our split-level home where there was a concrete cubby under the stairs that my brother and I often used as a fort. I knelt and prayed as I was taught, and it was there that God first made Himself known to me when I was certain it wasn't some other influence.

Unless you have experienced it, it's hard to describe. I felt like I do when my mother hugs me after I come home from a long journey. I felt lighter, not like I lost weight, but like I would if I could float, and like I do when I'm in a better mood. My concerns and troubles melted away from my mind and were replaced by a peace, no, by a serenity. Somehow I knew that I mattered and that what was on my mind mattered. That was the day I was "saved", not because I did anything special but because recognition is the first step to reformation. On that day, I realized for the first time that there was a God, and that made me willing to avail myself of His power to save me from death. The day I surrendered came a bit later.

Although I relied heavily on my relationship with God and His spirit through my school years, I didn't immediately declare myself as a member of His team. Over the years, I referred to the spirit as my friend Hal, Hal E Ghost (Holy Ghost) when people would ask me about what I was doing or who my friends were. When invited to something uncomfortable, I told people I was going to hang out with Hal. For some reason, nobody ever questioned that I had a friend with that name in my age bracket. For many years, He was my only companion when I was away from family, and I learned a lot from His tutelage.

After I started High School and had my conversations with my friend "Richard", I knew I needed to decide if I was on the Lord's side. One of my years at Youth Conference, the speakers encouraged us to submit ourselves to God. I remember hearing Larry Johnson talk about a boy named Kent Williams who, at my age then, had declared an all out war against satan, and I still own the journal where I did the same thing. I remember feeling when I did so that I had made a choice I could not take back and that satan knew who I was and that I had done this. It was on that day that I surrendered to God and started to become the man I am.

Salvation is very important. It is also only part of God's plan for us. It is not enough to save us from sin and death. He intends for us to return to His presence and partake of exaltation. In order to be exalted, we must not just say some trite phrases or offer up a prayer and assume all is done. After we allow the atonement of Christ to purify us, we continue to live like disciples of Christ and discipline ourselves to live as He taught. It does not get us in; it shows that we appreciate what Christ did that we show Him that we still love Him by following His commandments.

Salvation is a gift of grace. It is given to any who will accept it. Exaltation is also a gift, a gift made possible by the suffering of Christ in Gethsemane. It is given to all who allow it. All too often we do not allow Christ to save us, because we don't really want Him to. We want to continue to sin and have Him take the consequences, but that's not how it works. By this you shall know if a man repents of his sins- behold he will confess them and forsake them.

That day in the basement, I forsook the normal life or mortality for that of another world. I cannot say that it has always been easy or that I have done it as well as I would like. I confess that I am less of a man and a disciple than I ought to be. When I have made errors, I have forsaken those too and changed my way. For a long time, I have been telling people to improve when they can and hold their ground when they get there. That's how we secure salvation and make it mean something.

Halloween Town

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Las Vegas is a Halloween Town, which is probably why I detest it. This is one of the only places of which I am aware where people act as if it's Halloween every day. People here regularly dress up as something they are not in order to please visitors and bilk them of as much money as possible. Consequently, it's difficult to tell who means what they say and who they are in this town when you meet them.

There are two ways to discern people's true character- by observation or by inspiration. The trouble with observation is that some of the people wear masks so often that they can convince people that they really are what they pretend to be. They sometimes forget who they were without the mask, and in reality they tend to become different people in each of the circles they happen to inhabit. Information and observation work only so far, because even if the information we obtain substantiates our conclusions, frequently information that is also true remains unknown to us. For this reason, I also turn to inspiration as a guide. It's not always easy to understand, but it also guides how I decide with whom to interact.

My students spend enough time with me to learn that I am me. Perhaps the most valuable lesson for mortality that I learned from my ex-wife was that it was better for me to be me. Sometimes it drives away people who might otherwise want to get to know me. Sometimes it gets me in trouble. Always, I sleep well knowing that I was true to myself. It allows me to make real reformations because I don't pretend to be something I am not, and that means that efforts I make to change myself are based on a true starting point.

Even when people appear to be what they claim to be, sometimes they find out that it was something they were pretending to be. Humans tend to become what they pretend to be, and sometimes we choose to pretend to be something hoping that it will stick. Eventually, something arises that asks us to prove whether we really mean it, and then we find out who the pretenders are, who the portenders are, and who the real people are.

I am disappointed sometimes to find out that people I know are fake. I am also disappointed to discover that some of them are fake but didn't know it. Some people I know in Vegas honestly and earnestly hoped to be the kind of people consistent with their actions. Even I sometimes discover that I'm less than I ought to be.

Shakespeare taught us that all of us are players. He was right. We are all playing parts, pretending to be things we cannot possibly be. The fact of the matter is that even the best of us are not good enough. This is why good men avoid bad situations and activities, not because we are too good for people who are there, but because we are not good enough. Each of us needs the Savior to tell God that He has taken responsibility for our pretenses and rebellions. Only Christ walks around without a mask, without a secret agenda, without an ulterior motive. Even in a Halloween town, He is the only one without any kind of mask.

People who know me well know that I detest Halloween. I see very little point in dressing up our children as servants of the adversary and then sending them out to extort candy from strangers under veiled threats of vandalism. I know that sometimes I don't live up to my vestments or my high-browed ideals. In those times, I feel like a hypocrite. In those times, I am tested to discover whether I will let Christ dress up as me and take credit for my weaknesses. At that point, I am glad someone is willing to dress up my life and make me seem like something I am not. He is my hope. He is what I aspire to be. He is my superhero. He is the only way I know to be something better than I am, and this year I thank God for teaching me to see Halloween from this point of view. As others around me pretend to things they don't mean, I get to prove that I portend to things that I do mean, and that gives me hope.

Waist Loss and Waste Loss

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I read an article last night about how 80% of gym passes go unused and felt supremely confident in myself. I don't actually have a gym membership, having decided instead that I could work out outside instead for free and not have to be seen by people on a regular basis who were judging my progress. This week, I remember thinking one day while working out how happy I am with my progress this year. Back in February at my annual physical, the doctor asked if I had a weight loss goal; I told her that I have a waist loss goal instead.

Except for two weeks this year, I have stuck to my schedule of seven to eight workouts per week. In spring, when I didn't get as many classes as I hoped, I used Tuesday and Thursday nights religiously to racquetball and cycle after work since I wasn't teaching. Even during the hot months of summer, I kept up with my exercise regimen. The week I spent in Alaska and the week I spent doing local camping, I didn't meet the lofty benchmarks, but I have also watched what I eat and upgraded some of the junk for more fresh fruits and vegetables. Tomorrow's hike will be the seventh workout this week.

Consequently, I am down to a 33" waist. I can hike some of the trails I do with a friend without being as winded as he is, and I can haul tons of stuff up stairs at work without being out of breath. Sometimes I go out for a milkshake or eat a slice of pie, but because of this normal behavior eating and doing healthy things, my body is probably better able to handle the occasional indulgence. I feel better most days, look better than many of my contemporaries, and fit into a suit I last wore when I was 21. At least in this way, my workouts work out for me, and I like it.  In my mid 30s, I really am in my prime.

One of the occasional hiking companions told me that I looked good even though I argue he looks better. He reminded me that we went out with one of his nephews who was skinny and admitted that being skinny doesn't make you fit. Another article I saw this week showed that the body building for showmanship creates muscle mass whose only goal is to look good. Men achieve by starving and dehydrating themselves the "attractive" crotch V, but these men can't do what I can despite their toned bodies. Real achievement comes from the guys who heft lumber or lay bricks, and they're muscular, but they're not considered "sexy" by those who go for the modern bodybuilder. I wish I could get rid of some more stubborn belly fat, but there are other perceptible benefits I can see, and I don't think it goes unnoticed. I may not be the most attractive male, but I can probably outrun or outlast them in any of the variegated activities for which I train.

My workouts are mostly strictly constructed, but I do an array of things. I hike, I lift weights, I bicycle, I run, I kayak, I do yard work, I scrub the toilet, and I play racquetball. Everything I decide to do is at least partly up to me, and so every part I do enhances a part of who I am. I am fit across an array of activities, and so I'll never look as skinny as some people, but I really wonder sometimes how fit marathon runners and cyclists really are when they dedicate every moment to a single-minded venue of personal fitness when there are eight categories.

Our world contains so many options and opportunities, and I really feel that it works out best only when we are well rounded. Even at a time when so many Americans are "well rounded" due to sloth and overindulgence that makes them corpulent and bulbous, there are myriad opportunities to go and do and see and experience so many things. I cry sometimes when I see that we have, without ever leaving earth, come to resemble the spaceship people depicted in Wall-E who "experience" in silico things that only round us out when done in vivo. Get out of your car, get out of your house, get out on the streets and see and do some of the things God made possible in this life. Even if they are only there to "please the eye and gladden the heart", He made those too, and sometimes I wonder if I'm the only person who notices the amazing sunset or lightning storm and sees the hand of the Master in those things.

So maybe my life isn't working out as I thought and hoped and planned. I am not convinced that many people experience all their plans and goals coming true. Since getting into Shakespeare the last five years, I am convinced more and more that most of what I see is a play, carefully worked out to make me think as a casual observer that far more works out in their life than is true. The trouble with that is that even if they manage to cut back on their waist, so much more goes to waste. My activities both as exercise as well as on weekends are part of the same mission- I have a waist loss goal AND a waste loss goal, because my life will end some day, and I choose to avail myself of opportunities to really live. Rather than sit around surrounded by people who lie about how they live, I am out there trying to really live. That's what this blog, and the life it chronicles, are all about- Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit. I don't always know what I'm pursuing or what I should pursue. For now, it's a better life, one where I don't feel at a loss because of my waist or my waste and where I made something even if it's just an experiment that tells me what I really am. After all, if you discover that, I think that's a huge victory, and a rare one besides.

Seven and Wait

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This summer, I came as close as I think I ever have to a real shot at having everything I ever wanted in life. I have previously mentioned how grateful I am for what I have and what the eight categories of wellness in life are, and this summer, I really felt like I was about to have what felt too good to be true. My best friend has confirmed that he doesn't think it fell apart because it was "too good to be true", and he is the source of the title of today's article. While discussing Seven of Eight, he played with some rhymes and came up with "Seven, and Wait."

Years ago, while driving through a particularly empty part of Nevada, I was stranded in the snow. After attempting to do everything I could think to do to free myself, at length I determined to add prayer to the checklist of things I had done to find a solution. After it was over, I sat there, not really sure what I expected, wondering if there would be any answer at all. Turns out, I didn't have to wait. No more than a few minutes later, a truck rolled around the corner and the driver came to my rescue.

Not all of our prayers are answered as quickly or in the way we might hope. Sometimes, we are told what is right, but it's not the right timing. Sometimes, even though we do what is right, the timing of other people is off. Several years ago, due to unsubstantiated allegations by a coworker in a vain attempt to divert attention to someone else for her miscreantism, I came under investigation by a federal agency. Many of my friends advised me to retain an attorney and protect myself. I knew that I would probably prevail, but in so doing I feared losing my position as well as any other future comparable prospects if I sued the state for wrongful persecution and won. After many months of prayer, I decided to follow the counsel to "seek only as much remedy as will alleviate the current distress" and waited. This does not mean I sat idle; I had many conversations with the Department Chair inviting him to act before I hired an attorney and took the matter out of his hands. In the end, waiting took me to a better place with better prospects, and I know that it was wisdom to follow that counsel.

Consequently, I wait. I still have the seven I have had ever since I was divorced. By and large, all of them are looking up even after perturbations to my investments. The final one isn't really even up to me entirely. I enjoyed some good company and got excited about good prospects, and in the end I console myself that I did the best I knew with what I had, and that must be enough. I still have seven, so I wait.

I'm not entirely sure what my friend meant by this, but it's on my mind today. I know that family is not a panacea and that children take a lot more work than I can imagine. One of my cousins is coming to stay with me in a few weeks, and he has several young boys, and that may be enough to make me grateful that when they leave I can have peace and quiet once more. Not many people I know can say they accomplished everything they wanted to do with their lives that was theirs to control by the age of 30. I have. Meanwhile, I can wait on other people in a different way and reach out and serve. I know full well that it would not be wise or advisable for me to be out every night with young ladies in my class if I were married or to counsel with single female friends. I would be true to my first priority- my own family.

I realized that I am able to do things today that others can't because I am not obligated the same way they are. I am free to go help, to go work, to go teach, to go hike, to do whatever I like or whatever God needs because I am not otherwise occupied in my open hours. Last night, I again lingered at the store where the gentleman works whose dog recently died because I felt like he might appreciate the company as much as I would. The only place I have to be is where God would send me. So, as I wait on God's promises, I also wait on His children and help them in little ways until I have someone specific of my own for whom to care. Today, that will be enough.

Little Kindnesses

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Like most people, I find myself pulled by the allure of doing something great, grandiose, and meaningful with my life. Perhaps it is common for people to desire to do great and be great and leave something great. I am practical enough however to know that no matter how good I may be at teaching, there are probably better people, and I know enough to know that I'm unlikely to be the person who makes the difference and cures cancer, ends poverty, or brings peace to the Middle East. I am not vain enough to think myself that important. Life is mostly however made up of little things, little kindnesses, that elevate for a few people their brief episode in the drama of mortality.

You may notice that I talk a lot about the little things that make my life amazing and wonderful. My students were quite aghast to know that last weekend I accomplished more than they do, that I have a life outside work and class. I hiked six miles at Mt. Charleston, did laundry and dishes, went waterskiing with my sister, went to work for five hours on a Saturday, graded quizes, and went to church. It was a busy and accomplished time. Along the way, I saw caterpillars and heard bird song and paused to notice the phases of the moon. I wrote about things that matter to me, called a few old friends, and planned my visits in Spring to the opera and theater. I ate good food and thanked God for my blessings, including you, my readers. They are all small things, but they mean a great deal to me.

God also works through small and simple things. He confounds mighty armies with a sling from a shepherd boy, David. He defeated Pharaoh with a wooden stick held up by another herdsman, Moses. He brought forth the Book of Mormon through an uneducated farm boy. His work IS the small and simple things, because His work is about how most of us live- simply and quietly. We don't always like that and aspire to do some great thing or bear some lofty title when we ought to remember that like Naaman of Syria sometimes the right thing is to wash in the Jordan.

This weekend, a poem has been reverberating in my brain. With your indulgence, I refer to literature parenthetically once again. I remember it from attending Religious Seminary in my youth:

I asked the Lord, “What shall I do?” / And my love flowed warm and free. / Then He pointed me out a tiny spot / And said, “Tend that for me.”

I quickly relied, “Oh no, not that. / “Why no one would ever see. / “No matter how well my work was done; / “Not that little place for me.”

The word He spoke, It was not stern, / He answered me tenderly; / “Ah, little one, search that heart of thine. / “Are you working for them or me? / “Nazareth was a little place, and so was Galilee.”

Early last week, I made one of my usual stops on the way home. I had no special plan in mind when I arrived, as this is part of my routine. However, the clerk in the store informed me that it was a particularly difficult day for him. In the last month, his wife has filed for divorce, and he had to put down his dog. The first thing that came to my mind was to tell him an unrelated joke. When I left after conversing with him for half an hour or so, he told me, "Thank you, Doug. You made my day today." I made his day a little lighter.

It need not be great things that make a difference. I have seen mighty mountains worn by continual small breezes and low rainfall. I have seen small children teach greater sermons from the pulpit than any other adult. A few kind words or just a little attention often is enough to make someone's day. I know for my part, when someone pays attention to me and makes me feel like I matter, that's enough sometimes to carry me through a quiet and lonely weekend. I lean heavily on small whisperings of the Spirit of God to comfort me through difficult and confusing times.

A continual accumulation of little kindnesses evinces true care and concern for people around us. Little notes my mom left in my lunch as a child, however embarrassing, reinforced that she cared. Continued reminders of my contributions help me keep my head high when I tilt at windmills at work after students complain. Asides sent via text in reference to shared pleasant experiences help me remember that I know joy when darkness seems to be my only outlook. Today, it was just the little things, but these little kindnesses will help me be strong this week as I go back into the trenches hoping to make a positive difference in the lives of my students. I calculated it out, and I spend no more than 6% of the time any student I have spends getting a degree with that particular student in class. It is small, but in that minute fraction, we may make the difference.

Resolve to be the difference by making small changes in your life. Phone calls, banana bread loaves, anonymous notes, and passing smiles all make huge differences in lives around us. I think more people are lonely and sad than we realize. I know that more people are struggling than will let on about it for fear of showing themselves weak. We may be one, but we are one. We may not be able to do all, but we can do all that we are able. If everyone picked up one piece of trash outside every day, the world would soon be much cleaner. If we all picked up one person around us with a good turn daily, I know we would see a difference for good. Be the miracle with little kindnesses and recognize those done to you. I testify that it will bring you peace in time of trial and happiness when you feel unsure to know that someone else had a good day because you were part of it.