A New Way of Ranting

For some time I have felt that my personal scripture study has been stagnant, and none of my efforts have made a significant difference. At our ward conference in January, our bishop specifically asked us to make daily scripture study a priority in our lives, and he promised that doing so would have positive effects in our lives and families. So, when my brother-in-law emailed me last week with some thoughts on 2 Nephi chapters 31 and 32. After some back and forth discussion via email, Stew proposed that we move the conversation to the blogosphere, and, since I'm not ranting very much these days, this seemed a good venue for the dialogue.

So here's an opening salvo, drawn directly from this past weekend's stake conference. The one message from the six hours of meetings I attended over the weekend that stands out to me the most was the first one, from our stake president. He emphasized the importance of each member of the stake making a concerted effort to share the gospel with others, and he reminded us of the challenge he gave at the last stake conference for each family to share the Book of Mormon with a friend or neighbor.

Then he spoke of how using Preach My Gospel as part of daily scripture study will help us be more capable of and committed to sharing the gospel. In particular, he promised us that studying chapter 6, which focuses on developing Christlike attributes, will help us be more holy, more prone to receiving promptings that will bless the lives of others.

(As a sidenote, last week a member of our ward sent me the network access key to the wireless network in our stake center, so as our stake president spoke, I accessed PMG online, saved a PDF version of the book, and began to download audio files of the missionary manual (I'm listening to chapter 1 while I write this).)

So, in reading through chapter 6, I found a scripture reference that has great meaning for me, and which takes on a new significance to me as I think of it in terms of becoming more like Christ and thereby being more able to share the gospel. Moroni 8:25-26 come at the end of Mormon's epistle to Moroni regarding infant baptism. Here's the text:

"25 And the first fruits of repentance is baptism; and baptism cometh by faith unto the fulfilling the commandments; and the fulfilling the commandments bringeth remission of sins; 26 And the remission of sins bringeth meekness, and lowliness of heart; and because of meekness and lowliness of heart cometh the visitation of the Holy Ghost, which Comforter filleth with hope and perfect love, which love endureth by diligence unto prayer, until the end shall come, when all the saints shall dwell with God."

As I came to the end of my mission, I had a profound experience with this scripture. Elder Neil Anderson, then of the seventy, was touring our mission, and at a zone conference in Verona, he ran us through an exegesis of this chapter. His argument went something like this: Moroni 8 is not just about one particular doctrinal issue (baptism and accountability--does a child need baptism?), but the more broad principles of repentance and salvation.

These two verses form the core of this argument: baptism is a result of faith and repentance, and through it, we begin the process of becoming meek, which ultimately allows us to learn and develop Christlike attributes. As we develop faith and desire to change, we come to the moment of truth, when we must decide to act on that new-found faith; baptism becomes the key choice, and through baptism we become eligible to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, whose guidance gives us hope, an assurance of the truth.

But even more meaningful to me, both as a result of where I am in my life and building on the email dialogue with Stew last week (I'd like to see you post a continuation of your insights into Nephi's discussion of enduring to the end), is the very end of verse 26. Our hope fills us with divine love—for God and for His children—and it is this love that allows us to overcome the challenges of life. Enduring through the power of prayer—a reliance on the higher power that first filled our souls as we began the process of conversion—is therefore the key element of our long-term efforts to become more like the Savior.

As I sat there that June day in 1997, I was feeling a turbulent mix of emotions. I knew that within weeks I would return home, take off the name tag, go back to college, and have to reinvent myself. I was grateful for the great experiences I had been privileged to have as a missionary, and I felt unworthy of those blessings. More poignantly, I felt a sense of sorrow, questioning if I had done enough with the two years I had been given. My mission was not wildly successful by most of our criteria—baptisms, growth of wards and branches—and a sense of regret, mingled with the joyful feelings I had in light of the life-alteringly good experiences I had enjoyed, left me feeling confused.

And then Elder Anderson read the final words of the passage: “ until the end shall come, when all the saints shall dwell with God.” In the margins of my English-language scriptures I wrote “even little old me.” In that moment I saw something of my place in the great plan; in the world of the mission I was a mid-level manager, a career district leader who never served in the upper echelon of zone leader or assistant to the mission president, but this passage spoke to me. I do not expect a life of fame, wealth, or renown, and in that moment, I realized that doesn't matter. If I am to endure, to work through the struggles of life, finding joy in the work I do and in the relationships I form (I had no idea on that day 13 years ago that less than one year later I would married, let alone to a woman as wonderful as Summer), I am just as eligible of the great gift of eternal life as any other.

Looking back on this experience, I recognize how the promise given by Mormon has been fulfilled in my life: I have been blessed with a happy marriage, wonderful children, and a life that, while not easy, is full of joy. I have learned to love my wife and children and those I serve in ways that I would not have expected in 1997. And the realization of that promise gives me greater faith that the ultimate promise,a surety that even I can “dwell with God.”

On Hate and Ignorance

Recently I did something very out of the ordinary: I joined a Facebook group. And not just any group, but a petition group with a political bent to it. Last week I started to see friends joining a Facebook group that not-so-subtly hinted that the death of the President of the United States would be an answer to their prayers. Beside the absolute lack of class this demonstrates, the fact that this would make Joe Biden the leader of the free world ought to trouble anyone.

So I joined a group petitioning to have this removed. I don't really want it removed; I really don't care what foolish and hateful things exist online, as long as I am seeking out and finding things that make my life better. Nor am I unfriending the people who joined the aforementioned tasteless group; petty and childish behavior is best left to the kinds of people who join these groups. But I found joining the petition group a good way to voice my disapproval and disgust. (Ranting, I have found, also helps.)

In addition to the hypocrisy of folks who a few years back were saying that calling into question the judgment and executive power of the President is tantamount to treason now praying for the death of the Commander in Chief, I find the idea of thinking you're clever for following the lead of someone who formed a group of hateful people disturbing. The herd mentality at its worst, really.

But it's not at all out of character among the hate-mongers and demagogues who rally against government spending, taxation, and regulation. I read the other day a spot-on analysis of the historical illiteracy and dangerous rhetoric of the Tea Party protesters who shout out epithets and threats aimed at anyone they consider to be too liberal. We're in a historical moment in which the shrillness of one's crying is equated with the quality of one's argument, the hyperbole of mislabeling one's foes is considered clever and intelligent.

It's especially disgusting to see people with whom I worship getting caught up in this. Elder Cook's message from General Conference--"We can disagree without being disagreeable"--and President Uchtdorf's--with the emphasis on compassion, love, and mercy--seem completely at odds with the loud and caustic voices that would render illegitimate an administration that won a hefty majority of the popular vote and an overwhelming majority of the electoral vote. To call President Obama or a democratically elected Congress "dangerous" or "rouge" is to fundamentally misunderstand what the Constitution puts forth as the means of establishing a government.

It also shows an utter lack of faith, hope, or charity. If you believe, as the Church clearly teaches, that this nation has a divine mandate and role, that the founding documents thereof are divinely inspired, and that freedom is a central part of God's plan for humanity, then demonizing, dehumanizing, and disrespecting that government carte blanche demonstrates a lack of vision, a perspective so clouded by the talking heads on television, talk radio, and the web that reason and discourse have no place in your heart or mind. And that's a truly sad state. If the current administration is in the wrong, then time will right those wrongs--exactly the thought that kept my head held high from late 2000 until November 4, 2008.

One final note to hopefully show that this is not just a bleeding heart liberal getting his feelings hurt. This is something I believe deeply. On a sunny Tuesday morning nearly nine years ago I watched, at the end of a terrible day for our country, as the President--a man I did not vote for, did not like, and never did think highly of--returned to the White House. I sat in front of the television with my wife and two young children, praying for his safety. None of us truly understood what had happened that day, but we knew we couldn't stand another tragedy, and it was a relief to see the leader of the nation safe. And even when that administration engaged in policies and acts that I considered wrong and wrong-headed, I still insisted on saying "amen" when prayers for the leaders of our nation were offered. I don't think it's too much to ask even the most politically conservative among us to give an elected leader who has sworn to protect and defend the Constitution that kind of prayerful support, regardless of who that person is.

On Being Messy

As part of my new gig as department chair I am required to participate in a year-long training, a portion of which entails setting a series of goals for developing my leadership skills. As anyone who has known me for longer than a few minutes is aware, I despise this sort of thing--setting goals as part of a tightly-crafted system for self-improvement is a chief reason why I dropped out of Boy Scouts.

So I really struggled to set some good goals, winding up with vague things like “improve my conflict-resolution skills” and “raise my QDLRS scores”--rubbish all of it. But after getting some feedback on these ideas, I was convinced that the best thing I could do was to study, to read some leadership books and get some ideas.

This appealed to me because a) I wouldn’t have to do anything, just read about people who do things, and b) it would be a great excuse to read more books.

After looking through some suggested reading lists, I decided to hit the library and browse. I found myself wandering more or less aimlessly through the 600s, where I picked up a handful of volumes. One of these--easily the most interesting--is my current read: A Perfect Mess.

The basic idea of the book is that people and organizations have a tendency to overemphasize order and structure, when, in reality, randomness and certain degree of messiness are much more fruitful.

This is a fascinating--if dangerous--idea (Summer has a habit of looking at me sideways when I’m reading as if to say that 12 years of work may be going down the drain). I am an inherently sloppy man, and if anything, assuming a new responsibility would require that I get my act together more, not less.

But that’s the whole point of the book. We have been trained to believe that the only way to accomplish anything meaningful is to be more organized, to spend more time and energy scheduling, planning, sorting, and controlling. The reality, however, is often the opposite: in accepting and even fostering a moderate amount of randomness in our lives, we can be more efficient and effective.

There are some interesting applications of this theory to organizational leadership and everyday life (my favorite, from the chapter on accepting messiness in our homes: “Making a bed after getting up in the morning is a bit like tying your shoes after you take them off.”), but here’s one I did not expect: church administration.

This seems incredibly counterintuitive; we typically laud the church for its administrative organization. Wards run smoothly even with a lay--or as I like to put it, amateur--clergy, General Conference is a tightly-orchestrated affair, humanitarian aid is shipped off in a matter of hours after a crisis occurs.

However, at our stake conference this pat weekend, I was reminded of something that resonated all the louder because of reading A Perfect Mess. In the priesthood leadership session, our stake president made the distinction between being ministers and administers. His point was this: priesthood leaders are not called simply to deal with paperwork and processes, but also--and more importantly--to serve people individually.

To me this means we have to be willing to let go of the agenda, to drop the schedule. In the end, the most important form of messiness we can accept--and perhaps seek out--it to listen to the Spirit and be willing to heed inspiration when it comes.

To me this speaks volumes of the need to allow some messiness in our meetings and into our organizations. I am reminded that the most precious experiences I have had in my life have come when I have dropped my plans and improvised. It has been true of my church service, my teaching, my parenting. It’s a hard truth to accept, as I have fought to be more structured, but nevertheless, it’s a truth, one that I really need to remember.

Bibliophilia

I'm about halfway through my winter break, and I'm really enjoy the unadulterated sloth in which I currently exist. I wake up when I hear Evan yelling that he needs to use the bathroom, I play tons of games throughout the day, I cook and clean as needed, and I read. I've gotten some serious reading done these past few weeks, and it's made me a bit contemplative. So, here is a review of some of my 2009 reading accomplishments:

• I've read several dry tomes related to my dissertations--titles like Mixing Race, Mixing Culture: Inter-American Literary Dialogues. And I suppose "read" is a bit inaccurate and should be replaced by "skimmed as quickly as possible while taking notes and eating Doritos."
• I'm reading Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson, a Christmas gift from Summer, who, realizing how excited I get about what I'm reading, hopes this will convince me to go to England. This comes on the heels of reading A Walk in the Woods, in which Bryson recounts his summer along the Appalachian Trail (I spent several days picturing myself strolling along some lonely trail). I also read The Mother Tongue and In a Sunburned Country by Bryson. I've decided that I like this man for several reasons: he's wry and witty, he writes in an erudite style that is nonetheless accessible and self-deprecating, he travels widely and thoughtfully (both in space and in themes), and, as I just learned in chapter 2 of Small Island, he's left-handed, all of which is meant to say that he's me.
• Late last winter I read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, which I discussed here. It was inspiring, but it didn't make me much of a gardener. Maybe I'll read it again soon. I'd also like to dive into some Michael Pollan this year (Summer's reading In Defense of Food right now).
• I also read Jack Turner's Travels in the Greater Yellowstone last winter, an experience I reviewed here. He's also got a book on the history of spices, which I somehow haven't gotten to yet.
• Toward spring I read The Hobbit again, followed by working through The Lord of the Rings over my May break. For what it's worth, I also watched the movies a few times. (I had vowed to wait until finishing my dissertation to read the latter, but I decided that if I put off living for my PhD I might be pretty miserable.)
• In early March I finally tackled In the Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco. I've read several collections of Eco's essays, so this was fun, even if the unraveling of the plot was a bit clumsy. I also got to lend this to Dad, which is always nice.
• Over the first few months of the year I read a few pieces of non-fiction: Speaking of Faith by Krista Tippett, a volume each of The Best American Travel Writing and The Best American Non-Required Reading (I thoroughly enjoy the Best American series). These are good volumes that I can readily pick up again at a moment's notice.
• This fall-winter, I read The New Kings of Non-Fiction, edited by Ira Glass, and two Malcolm Gladwell titles: Blink and The Tipping Point. I also read Freakonomics. The last three were interesting--thought-provoking and well-written, but after each one I couldn't quite decide what the point was. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but I couldn't help shaking the notion that these were more style than substance.

I'm sure there's more, but this is enough to make me feel good about myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to get to...

A Real Man

Today was a very relaxed day...until we woke up. Unlike most of the past week, we had no plans or specific obligations, so we began by cleaning the house. While working on our bathroom, Summer asked me to see if I could redo some of the caulking in the kids' bath, which is where the fun began.

Pulling up the faulty caulk I had put in several years ago quickly led to the discovery of water intrusion into some of the drywall. Within an hour I had a pile of dirty caulk bits and a small hole in the wall.

After several hours of work and two trips to Home Depot, I had patched the hole, spackled the other gaps, and cleaned up my mess. We'll now need to repaint, but that was in the cards anyhow.

On one trip to the store I also picked up a rake for all the leaves that fell yesterday. Seven years in New Mexico and we had never had to rake leaves. But this year the trees were big enough to warrant it. So here are some shots of the kids jumping and playing in the leaves:



While I was transferring the leaves to a bag, Summer comments, "You're like a real man today." I suppose it was about time...

Not Even a Real Rant

More of a thought that occurred to me last week at the Priesthood session of General Conference. Elder Ballard's talk on fathers and sons was touching, and it made me realize the following: in 10 years I can go to the Priesthood session with all three of my sons. Ryan will be 18, in his first semester of college, and quite possibly an elder already; Isaac will be a 15-year-old teacher, and Evan will be a freshly-minted deacon. (We needn't mention how old I shall be.) We should go to Salt Lake and go to the Conference Center that October. Anyone who wants to join is invited...

A (Kind of) Conservative Rant For a Change

I'm taking a brief break from my occasional series on why I'm not politically conservative to write a piece that may undermine that entire project. I listen sporadically to a podcast called The Story (kind of a conceited title, I think, but it generally makes me think, which is good). Some of the episodes are poignant and touching, while others feel a bit flat, so I don't listen religiously, but I try to catch a few episodes a week.

Yesterday I listened to an episode from last week with two very different stories. The first was about an American couple who retired and moved to Mexico to enjoy better and less expensive health care. I wanted to get behind their story, as it highlights much of what is wrong with the health care industry in America today. But in the end I found the husband, who is at the center of the story, a completely unsympathetic figure.

In part this is a result of the phrase the host kept using to describe why Steve Minnick and his wife moved to Mexico: "to take advantage of that country's health care system." I know what he means, but "taking advantage" of something is a messy phrase that implies something that was, I believe unintended but telling. The idea of exploiting a system to which you have no real connection is troubling.

I also find it hard to be sympathetic for someone who's complaint is that he has to return to work because the recession harmed his retirement savings. When the poor are losing jobs and homes, it's hard to feel for someone who lost (which means he had) $300,000 in retirement and had to sell his home in Mexico, move back to America, and return to work so he could save enough in his retirement account to live quite comfortably seven years from now.

And I contrast this with the other story in the episode, in which Robert Johnson recalls his father's sacrifice to support his family during the Great Depression. This man fought six rounds at a county fair against a professional boxer, nearly dying in front of his son, to earn $25 to pay rent. It makes unretiring look pretty pedestrian a sacrifice, I think.

This gets at something that has bothered me throughout this recession. People complain about decreased or lost income, but still get cable TV and drive SUVs. We talk about scrimping and saving, but still rack up credit card debt. And the federal response has been to spend more and bail out failing companies while cutting services for the poor.

I contrast this with the New Deal approach. Instead of bailing out banks, the federal government put people to work. Instead of encouraging us to spend more, it provided a safety net for individuals and families. A welfare system that focuses on people, not corporation, is far superior. The New Deal was no a panacea, but it seems better than the way this recession has been addressed.

And I think this says something ugly about who we are, that our response to tragedy is to amass material things, to spend, to stimulate our way out of a crisis rather than to make real sacrifices. I makes me a bit sad and ashamed.