Busy

Today is Monday. Monday is typically my craziest workday of the week. Crazy just occurs naturally on Monday, no matter which Monday it is. Sometimes the crazy is mild, and sometimes it's wild. Today was wild crazy.

Notwithstanding, in the midst of today's pool of crazy, a series of gently bright and soothing thoughts spontaneously bubbled in my brain. Here are the bubbles to which I refer:

Hard work is hard. Hectic busyness is hard. It all can be so gosh darn draining. Work and I are not strangers to one another; we are well-developed acquaintances, and today I've decided to consider work as not just an acquaintance, but a friend.

Today I've decided to be grateful for the opportunities I have in my life to be busy, and to be working. Today I realized that I usually feel like I'm serving someone else when I buckle down and work hard, and at the end of a session of working hard --- especially if the service recipient expresses their genuine thanks --- I feel like all my work was worthwhile.

At the end of this crazy Monday afternoon, my boss kindly thanked me for the efforts I put into the mandatory Monday duties. Upon hearing his "thank you" I immediately ricocheted that "thank you" to God for helping me land the great job I've got. I also thanked Him for blessing me with thousands of wholesome and righteous ways to stay busy in my life.

I hope I'll remember all this good stuff the NEXT time I have a crazy Monday!

Do You Love Me? Do You, Surfer Boy?

Eleven-and-a-half years ago I was a 15-year-old in Hawaii for a few days. One particular day was my last day visiting Hawaii. One particular moment on that particular day I was in the Surf n Sea store in Hale‘iwa, which is a historic surf town on the amaaaazing North Shore of Oahu.

The walls and aisles of Surf n Sea’s interior were LOADED floor-to-ceiling with surfboards of all shapes, sizes, designs, and colors, and I remember it being almost difficult to maneuver myself through the store. A little birdie, also known as my sister who lived on the island, told me I should purchase a pair a flip-flops whose position on the scale from 1 to Awesome was so off-the-charts in the affirmative, that the shoes could be found in one place and one place only on planet Earth’s globe: the store in which my feet did presently trod.

So I found the shoes, and here they are:

But actually that photo does not show the original shoes. The original shoes were bluely outlined instead of brownly, and I owned them and wore them religiously for about nine years until they broke. I think I underwent an emotional meltdown when they broke—a meltdown that was so heartwrenching that my family metaphorically picked up what I was laying down and they mail-ordered a new pair of Pyrameds for me. (Pyrameds are what the shoes are officially called, but all my friends call them the “boat shoes,” because they float like boats on water, and once I really did try walking on water while wearing them, but surprisingly it didn’t work.) I continue to wear my Pyrameds almost every chillaxingly leisure moment I can get my hands on.

Anyway, back to 2002… There I was, standing in the checkout line with my merchandise, when suddenly he appeared. I’m going to pull a Stephanie Meyer and call him brilliant, perfect, and beautiful, but he was so much better-looking than Edward Cullen. Soooo much better-looking. No boy I had ever considered cute could hold a candle to this guy. So vividly I remember this moment, which is a moment that he walked in through the store door adjacent to the cash register, turned ever so gracefully, and started talking to his friend who happened to be the cash register attendant. I don’t think it was just my imagination when that most handsome man in my world swiftly smiled at me in his process of meeting his friend.

My heart agonizingly plummeted when I realized that I had no time to dilly-dally and linger in Surf n Sea as beautiful man’s innocently adoring creeper; I had a plane to catch if I ever wanted to make it back to the mainland. Did I truly want to go back to the mainland? Back to the desert? Did I make a mistake? Should I have stayed in Hale‘iwa and learned beautiful man’s name? It was now or never, and I chose never. Ohhhh myyyy goooosh!!!!

While riding in the car that took me to the Honolulu airport, a certain song came on the radio. I remembered hearing it once when I was very young. It was on one of those “Music From The Heart” TV infomercials that advertised ginormous collections of sappy “timeless” love songs that supposedly will never get old no matter how old you get. One of the infomercial’s example songs was called “I Go Crazy” by Paul Davis.

I go crazy

When I look in your eyes

I still go crazy

That old flame comes alive

It starts burning inside

Way deep down inside

Oh baby

Now, every time I hear that song I think of him, who cannot be named (because his name is romantically unknown). When iTunes became available to consumers, I obtained it, and guess what was the first song I ever did buy from the iTunes Store? Need the question even be asked?

I went crazy

When I looked in your eyes

I still go crazy

……uhh, not really. I don’t really still go crazy, but I wanted to finally write down this fun childhood memory, for it had never previously been documented.

Peacefinding Pointer

Last night, several good friends and I attended a nice little workshop-type dealio, wherein was discussed the topic of peace—its sources, how to obtain it, and how it doesn’t always mean “the absence of war.”

Since there strangely was no opportune moment during the workshop to share a personal experience, I’d like to share it here.

February 27, 2010—Utah. ‘Twas the wee small hours of the morning on a Saturday. “Wee” means sometime between 3:00 and 4:00am. I was slumbering at my family’s house, and I was out like a light, up until the point my mom came in to gently shake me awake and tell me that an 8.8-magnitude earthquake struck right near the place where my younger brother was serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was alarmed enough to make the lickety-split decision that I had slept long enough. I hopped out of bed and followed my mom downstairs to where a TV was blaring breaking news about central Chile’s urgent state. Our TV stayed on for hours, because we wanted to keep ourselves in the loop as best we could. We waited and waited for some sort of clue that my brother and his mission companion were alright. The clue kept on not coming, and I began to feel too anxious to keep watching the tube, so I chose to escape for a tiny bit.

I drove a short ways to a local park that was endowed with dozens of big, tall trees. Upon arrival, I got out of my car, walked over to one tree on the east side, wrapped myself up in a huge cozy blanket, and sat on the dead grass with my back leaning against the tree’s trunk. No one else was in sight. No one typically goes to the park on a chilly winter afternoon. This was the perfect chance for me to strike up a conversation with God.

I told Him about the concerns of the day, and then I made myself as still as possible as I awaited His reply, which sweetly came mere seconds later by way of the Holy Ghost: “Whatever happens, everything will turn out alright.” Very few words, but it was all I needed to hear in order to find peace in the currently crazy South American situation.

Nothing in that divine reply referred to anything about the status of my brother’s physical well-being. Neither I nor anyone else definitely knew he was still healthy as a horse. All was still mysterious, and danger was still existing, but peace was still available. And peace was what my family and I had lodged pleasantly in our souls as we stayed prayerful.

The cherry atop this sundae of a peaceful situation is the phone call we received a day or two later—from my missionary brother! He called to say he and his companion were okay! In fact, I think I remember learning that all missionaries there were okay. This warranted some jollity, as well as another dose of thanks to God.

And thus endeth my personal attestation that peace isn’t the absence of turbulence, but it certainly can be found amid turbulence.

Sometimes I have a “peacemaking pointer” for you, but today I’m offering a peacefinding pointer: “Be still and know that I am God…” (Psalms 46:10)

Strength In Your Past Self

Once upon a time, not terribly long ago, in a land not far away, I sat on a northbound train in the early morning. The lovely shiny sun was rising up over the eastward mountains, and all surrounding passengers were anywhere between 75-100% asleep, but I was 100% awake, because the thing I wanted to do rather than sleep was write down the list of all boys upon whom I’d ever crushed in my younger years. Needless or needful to say, it was a very fun brain exercise to do; it took much enjoyable mental dust bunny extermination to rediscover the memory lanes of my history, and thence travel upon each.

I had a particular profound reason for the reminiscing on the train, besides the mere desire to indulge in nostalgia. I compiled the list so I could look back on all the times it was okay that a crush’s head got chopped off by the guillotine of fate. In other words, every time I had to “let him go,” the sun rose again the next day, and I still had a pulse. I now know that every time a heartache may say “hola” in my future, I’ll certainly be briefly sad, but I’ll also be able to find strength in my past self. I’ll be able to remember that my past self had the power to conquer letdown time and time again, and I’ll know that I can conquer once more.

That’s how it can be for all of us, I think, not just when crushes are concerned, but also when any other type of letdown is the subject. If you’re experiencing a hardship now, try rediscovering and travelling a memory lane that included another hardship, and remember that you overcame it. If such a memory lane is nowhere in sight, and you’re not sure how it’s possible to come off conqueror in your situation, please know that you are not condemned to weaklingism forevermore. Now can be the time that you turn to God—your Heavenly Father—who loves you. Talk with Him in calm earnest, keep your faith, maintain your communion with Him, let Him help you along your way, and you’ll see that you really can be the gladiator who doesn’t get eaten by lions.

Keepin' It Classy: One Reason Why Keeping the Arts Important in Schoolsis ... well ... Important!

(This is a freewrite from my touchscreen phone, so it may not be extremely eloquently written.)

So I'm sitting here in the Blue Lemon bistro in Salt Lake City, and they're playing classy jazzy music as I dine. I am reminded of how classy and polite I had to act as I recently sat in another musical kind of place: my first opera.

Operas, instrumental recitals, ballets, galleries, Mormon Tabernacle Choir concerts... Any performer or attender of such events are expected to be well-mannered and on their best behavior.

One reason I think it's extremely important to keep the fine arts important in schools is because it's one great way to teach kids the importance of developing decent courtesy in life. Schools can provide plentiful concerts, plays, art displays, etc., that students can either attend or supply the entertainment for.

I remember being a young junior high and high schooler. Back then I was a lover of causing mild ruckuses (all in good/non-juvenile detention ways), even as a band and choir "nerd." Even though I was a hoodlum (and let's face it, what child isn't?), participating in the arts in school instilled somewhere deep yet real in me that it's gonna be really important in my future to be a polite and as classy as possible individual.

I say let's keep opportunities to provide and attend artistic events a big deal in schools, because I fear that the art of being courteous is plummeting in society, and the fine arts can greatly help the rising generation improve their world.

God Logic

I just wrote to my younger (but not "little") brother, who currently has approximately six more months of serving a full-time LDS mission in Salta, Argentina. I wanted to share with him a spiritual thought that I just barely had today, because I figured that missionaries like spiritual thoughts. Here is an excerpt from my email to him:

Speaking of Heavenly Father, I just barely had a thought about Him. Specifically, I thought about certain logic about God. President [Dieter F.] Uchtdorf said: "Think of the purest, most all-consuming love you can imagine. Now multiply that love by an infinite amount---that is the measure of God's love for you." (I found that quote a few minutes ago magneted to my fridge, and it's from "The Love of God" talk by Pres. Uchtdorf.)

Here's my logic about the love that God has for each and all of us:

*God = perfect and omnipotent

*When a person messes up in life, regardless of the severity degree of the mess-up, and they say "How can God possibly love me now?" that person is actually implying (probably without realizing it) that God is imperfect and impotent in the sense that He no longer has power to love His child, and to say that God is powerless is clearly wrong and illogical, since it's already known and set-in-stone that "God = perfect and omnipotent"

*The statement of "How can God possibly love me now?" may also imply that God is withholding His love from His child. That implication also doesn't mesh with the true logic that "God = perfect and omnipotent" because if God withholds His love from anyone, that means He is selfish in a sense, and a selfish person is an imperfect person

So there you have it: my spiritual thought for the day. Remember that it is impossible, illogical, and against God's divine nature for Him to not love you or stop loving you. You are His eternally beloved child, and there is nothing you can do about it! ;)

Re: 117th Boston Marathon (my tribute to those who've shown lovingkindess)

I’m sure you’d agree with me if I told you that if you had a nickel for every time you heard someone call someone else rotten, you’d be a rich (wo)man. Sometimes you may be led to trust the illusion that it’s difficult to come by a decent human being, because frequent are the seasons during which you hear bad news regarding crime and cruelty.

But I believe that the “more-people-are-scoundrels-than-gentlefolk” notion is one of the fattest fallacies ever proposed, and the past few days’ occurrences support my belief.

April 15, 2013. The 117^th Boston Marathon. What was supposed to be a blissfully exciting day had been tragically flipped upside-down and inside-out by someone’s poor decision to be hurtful. Citizens of the United States and many other places across the globe are mourning and reflecting upon that day in solemnity, as they should. Star-spangled banners are waving at half-mast, as they should.

Cheer can be located in all of this, though. Have you noticed the people who, on the day of the explosions, instinctively did all in their power to aid those who are affected by the tragedy? Instinctive desires of the heart led people to leave beautiful flowers at the home of the little boy who died at the scene; to carry and wheelchair the injured to safety; to visit the hospitals and stand in long lines to donate blood; and to sign up on a certain Google document to offer rides, beds, meals, showers, and the love of pet Chihuahuas to anyone stranded at the Marathon. Instinctive desires of the heart led people totally unassociated with the Marathon and its participants to promptly pray for their aching fellowmen’s comfort and welfare. How sweet it is to know that this is what our country’s people are capable of and seek to do the moment they notice the needs of others.

Now, back to the fallacy that “more-people-are-scoundrels-than-gentlefolk.”

A segment from a superb article about the Boston situation quotes a certain man who offered service via the aforementioned Google doc:

“There's more good people out there than bad people. And it's way more. The scales aren't even close.”

This man and I both agree that more people are gentlefolk than scoundrels, in the sense that they want to be helpers in life. We see how naturally hundreds—and even thousands—of people want to be helpers, especially in the aftermaths of critical moments.

(Now, on to my concluding point.) The key is that we try to be helpers at all times. If we try to be helpful and positive at all times, including but not limited to the outwardly critical moments, surely there will be instances when we will have aided those who were in need silently, in their inner selves, unbeknownst to possibly any other soul. By way of ordinary people who have demonstrated the extraordinary practice of trying to be this type of constant helper, I have been the recipient of lovingkindness many times. Such times I have never forgotten, and such people I shall always be thankful for.