HapPy 94tH BriTHdaY

As part of working custodial for the Joseph Smith building, (my new second job) we are required to work one Sunday in 16. My first Sunday assignment was September 9th. My assignment was the bathrooms in both visitor centers on temple square, 7 bathrooms at the conference center across the street and the public restroom in the south west corner of temple square. Basically, I just made a circle from one restroom to the next for almost the entire 8 hour shift. (1:30-10pm) (my feet were killing me)

HOWEVER - they told us that the four of us working yesterday needed to meet at the break room under temple square at 8:40 because we had to go over to the church office building at 9 to clean up after Pres. Nelson's 94th birthday party with his family. Pres. As we were walking over there at the assigned time, I wondered out loud if the birthday boy might still be there. The others said, "most likely not. He would probably be there for 30 minutes or so and then leave."  I was disappointed but I understood. When we got to the lobby, there were still 10-20 people milling about so we couldn't start vacuuming. The lead asked if I would start gathering up the garbage. One of the security guards came up and said, "I know you will, but make sure you check the bathrooms. There were a LOT of poopy diapers changed here tonight. You may want some Vicks in your nostrils. A LOT, of poopy diapers." I chuckled and said we'd take care of it and thanked him for the heads up.

As I got to the second trash can, I looked to my left, and standing NOT THREE FEET AWAY FROM ME was Pres. Nelson. I looked away quickly and then did a discreet second look. He was just standing there visiting. I was very bummed because there is a "don't speak unless spoken to" rule as part of the janitorial team, so I couldn't even wish him Happy Birthday. However, in coming years I plan on telling my grand kids that I attended Pres. Nelson's 94th birthday party and that I was just over arm's reach away from him at one point. 

No reason to tell them I was taking out the trash. 😉 

One other note - He was the very last one to leave. I'm assuming that he wanted to make sure that whatever family member wanted to talk to him, could.  Not a simple task as he has 10 children plus spouses, 57 grandchildren plus spouses, and 119 Great-grandchildren. 

 

leSSonS THRougH tHe WinDOw smuDGe

                The last entry I wrote involved something I had learned or noticed on my way TO work. This one involves something I learned while AT work.

                My assignment for General Conference weekend at Temple Square was still at the Joseph Smith Building. It was my assignment to keep the glass doors as well as the observation windows on the 10^th floor clean and clear. I would start on the lobby level, then move to the theater level and then up to the 10^th floor.  There are multiple glass entry doors on both the lobby and theater levels. By the time I would get up to the observation windows on 10 and clean them, it would be time to check the doors in the lobby level once again. Each time, I would find new smudges somewhere on the doors. Usually the smudges were below the door push bar and were those of smaller hands, but there were a great number of larger prints and smudges above the push bar. Sometimes I would watch people walk through a door, putting their hands on the glass I had JUST finished cleaning.

Early in the shift, I had just finished cleaning a door and was cleaning the one next to it. A little girl and her father walked up to my freshly cleaned door and the little girl put her hand on the door to push it open. (keep in mind that I was still standing right there, holding the tool I use for cleaning, and wearing a vest that clearly identified me as a custodian) While the girl was pushing the door, her dad said, “Why don’t you push it with both hands.” His daughter put her second hand on the door. She was doing fine with the door and then the father said, “Put your forehead on the door and that will help you too.” Which she did. I’m pretty sure he did that because he saw me standing there. (I have never told ANYONE to use their forehead to help open a door and can only guess he knew the resulting smudge that would ensue.) The daughter dutifully did as counseled and a nice big smudge appeared above the two smaller ones. The two walked through and I stepped over back to a door that I had cleaned less than a minute before which was now dirty again. I was a little put out because of the seemingly deliberate effort the dad put into getting his daughter to mess up the door, but I cleaned it again. It took maybe 5-10 seconds and the door was clear and spotless again.

                Later in the evening, I was cleaning another door and I stepped outside to clean that side of the door. A security person was walking by and he stopped and said, “I just wanted to tell you how great a job you guys do on keeping those doors clean and clear. I always try to remember to use the door push rather than put my hands on the glass, but I know that sometimes I forget. Then I will walk by a door a little later and see someone cleaning it and I think to myself, ‘I hope I didn’t make one of those smudges.’”  I told him thanks for the kind words about the good work we do and then told him not to worry about the smudges he may cause, because that’s what we’re here for. We both then went back to our respective duties.

                A bit later in the night I found myself thinking back on both of those experiences with a different perspective. In our lives, we, hopefully, try to not get smudges on our souls and our lives. We use the “door push” and all is fine. Unfortunately, there are times where outside sources will say, “Why not put both hands AND your forehead on that glass.” Other time we may add a smudge by accident or simply by being careless or thoughtless. The difference for me was how one person was genuinely sorry for any small smudge and the other (the little girl) didn’t even realize what she had done, but in either case, the door was cleaned.  In our lives, our Savior is standing there with the tool he used (the atonement) to simply wipe away the smudges we make. When we say, “I hope I haven’t added to the problem.” He simply says, “Don’t worry. That’s why I’m hear.”

WHerE yoU wanT TO EnD uP

     I've recently started a new second job. I work from 9:30pm-1:30am, Monday through Friday, doing custodial work at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. As I've been driving there every night, I've had something impressed on my mind. Between the time when I get off the freeway and when I arrive at Temple Square, I pass a couple of bars and a strip club. There are cars in all the parking lots every night, and sometimes lined up up and down the street. One of the bars is right next to the oil refinery and the smell coming off of there can be bad, to say the least. Yet people flock there. Night after night, they flock there. Taco Tuesday. Fajita Friday. Other specials each day. The horrid smell does nothing to keep them away. The strip club is at the darkest spot on the road with lane line SO faint, that they are almost invisible, and I find THAT telling in its own way. There are still cars there when I leave.
     The thing that has been impressed on me is how much that is a metaphor for this life. Every night there is nothing to stop me from going in to ANY of those buildings. No one would know me. No one would care. No one, but ME and God would have any idea where I was. However, if I truly want to reach my goal every night. If I want to walk into a building filled with beautiful artwork, amazing statues, and decor and views that are absolutely stunning, then I have to stay on the road. I have to keep going. I have to have my goal in mind EVERY SINGLE DAY.
     We are on the road we call mortality. Along the way there are many places to stop that we can choose from. Our goal is being with our Father in Heaven again. We can stop anywhere along that road. We can take back roads or detours, but if we want to reach the destination we want to end up in, then we need to stay on the road. We need to have that goal in our minds.
     It may seem odd, but I make a point of looking at all three of those buildings every night to remind me of where it is that I truly want to be.

I look.

I smile to myself.

I keep driving on the road.

pAyiNg HomAGe

     I've said before that there's not much in nature that I love as much as a river. The main reason for that stems to my teens and early 20s. My friends and I would go up to South Fork Campground and nearby campgrounds and tube nearly all day every day for days on end. We had the river memorized. We knew when to paddle to each side of the river to stay in the current and in the deeper areas. We knew the danger zones where tubes went to die. We knew which trees were safe to float under and which needed to be avoided at all costs. We could almost do the run with our eyes closed. We would get in the river at different spots in the river, but more often than not, we would float down to my best friend's (Duane) granny's land right on the river. Get out and walk back. We even knew short cuts through certain camp grounds to shave time off the walk back. We would play our tubes like a drum line while walking. We survived cases of sunburn, or worse, tube rub. Tube rub is what you get on your inner bicep when you DON'T wear a 3/4 or long sleeve shirt and then paddle while on an old rubber inner tube. It's a rash that KILLS! We would warn greenies, and then watch with amusement when they would think we were joking about wearing longer sleeves. We always say YOU ONLY GET TUBE RUB ONCE!!!  (Current plastic tubes don't afflict you thus) With all the things that changed over the years, there was one thing that never changed. At the start of EACH run, we would "pay homage to the river gods."  This was our little ritual where we would place the tube in the river, flip it over so the top would get wet, and then flip it back over. We were very superstitious about this. If we failed to do it, we lost tubes, shoes, or other items. Something bad would happen. Always. Without fail.

     As the years have passed, I haven't been able to tube much as all.  Most of the time I'm working when my family goes back up there. This year however, I was in town and I went up. At the start of each run, I paid proper homage and tried to teach my family the importance of the act. They weren't open to this necessity, but I still persisted. During one run on Friday (28th) I decided that I was feeling very nostalgic and was going to float down to my Duane's granny's place for old time sake. I took about 5 nieces and nephews with me and down we floated. As we approached the camp sight, I stood up and walked out of the river to see my friend and his wife sitting by their camper. We had a great visit and planned to run the river together like old times, the next day.

     Saturday we drove 4 pickups full of people up to the starting point and we all got in. My friend, his two kids, and I were the last to start. Duane pointed out that no one else had paid homage. I told him my preaching had been falling on non believing ears. I looked over and saw his kids flipping their tubes. Good kids. So down we floated. The waves of nostalgia were washing over me more than the river waves. The day was hot and the river was cold and it felt wonderful. When we got to the halfway point, most of the people got out, but about 6 of us continued on.

     About half way from there to the end location I heard the unmistakable raspberry sound that signaled that my tube had just become a sacrificial offering to the river gods. I finally got my footing and Duane walked the short way back to where I was. I frustratedly said, "Man, I even paid homage and everything. What the heck?!" His reply was, "Well, you wanted nostalgia. The river gods gave you nostalgia. We have to double up."  I stared at him for a minute and said, "Dude, the last time we had to double up on a single tube we were both nearly 20 years younger and 100-150lbs lighter EACH!" He reasoned that I got what I wanted and we had to do it.

     So gentle reader, imagine if you will, two nearly 50 year old men, with a combined weight of over 500 lbs, sitting back to back on a single tube, floating down the river. I can't imagine what people on the river bank must have been thinking. As we approached their property, Duane yelled to his wife to bring the camera. Thanks to that, we have photographic proof that we actually made it the rest of the way down the river in one of the most ridiculous ways possible. As much as I morn the loss of a tube, I have to admit that it was such a silly situation that I can't help but smile and laugh about it.

     Thanks, river gods. You done good, and I pay you homage.

*flip. flip. flip*

HeLp me waLk

This happened over 8 years ago. The 4 year old son mentioned is now nearly 13. I had forgotten I wrote this down until I found it in a seldom looked in folder on my laptop  He still teaches me.

HELP ME WALK

            Like most parents, I’ve had many days at Church where I sat and wondered to myself “why do I even bother coming?” Between kids fussing during meetings or being so bad that you end up sitting out in the foyer with the other parents of noisy children, I often thought I was getting nothing out of Sacrament Meeting.  Each week my wife and I would pack up the kids and get them to church, only to spend the next 70 minutes pulling out books, or snacks, or holding kids to keep them from running and bothering other members as well.  I always hold our youngest son on my lap so I can better control him.  There are weeks where I couldn’t even tell you WHO spoke, let alone what they spoke on. I was sure that if I wasn’t getting anything from the meeting then what could our children be getting. But, we kept up the routine.

Then one day I was holding my son as usual. My wife had already made the trip to the foyer with our two year-old daughter so I was left in the chapel with our two boys (8 and 4).  It was Fast Sunday and I was wondering how long it would be before I joined my wife. Tanner seemed so squirmy that day.  Then it happened. Tanner said “I want to go up.” I was sure he didn’t mean go up to the podium at say something, as that would be very out of character for him, and besides, what could my little 4 year-old possible have to say.  However, if he really DID want to go up and say something then who was I to stop him.  I made sure that that’s what he had meant and then put him down. It was then that my little son taught me a lesson that I will never forget. He put out his hand and said simply, “You have to help me walk.” 

How many times have we in our lives sat there and thought about going up to bare our testimonies but fear keeps us rooted to our seats?  This little one knew what he wanted to do but his fear didn’t stop him from doing it.  All he needed was his father to help him walk up there.  I took his hand and together we walked up to the stand.  He stood and just said a couple of lines, that I realized later, were his talk from an upcoming primary program and then came back to me. I got up and bore my testimony, but what I said wasn’t as important as what I’d just learned. We walked back to our seat hand in hand. As I lifted him onto my lap, a myriad of thoughts and emotions flooded over me. I thought of the many times that I’ve been afraid to do or try something or just needed help with something in my life and it was brought home that I too have a father just waiting for me to simply put out my hand and say “You have to help me walk.”  Tears filled my eyes as I realized that my son had just taught me a valuable lesson in faith.  I kissed his forehead and I felt his little body quiver like he often does when he’s excited. Suddenly I knew exactly why we bother coming.

An unSuNg ChriSTmaS hERo

My mind has been wandering again. Reminiscing on Christmases past (particularly one from about 25 years ago. More on that in a later entry) and other holiday thoughts. As I drive at night, I look at all the lights and I've been listening to music and talks and articles all to get me in the holiday spirit. Believe it or not, I really struggle with that. Getting in, and keeping the Christmas spirit, I mean. I love Christmas. I really do. But for some reason I also have a hard time. I love the lights especially. I love those people who go MORE than all out. Once upon a time I wanted to be one of those people. At our house we have lights up. Modest, but they're there. We have a ton of decorations up inside the house though. There are reindeer, snowmen, Santas, elves, and a tree loaded with everything from Raggedy Ann to Derek Jeter, Rapunzel to Captain America, and Tigger to Tron.

One thing that Ann has insisted on though is that there is one room in our house where Santa, Frosty, Rudolph, and the Grinch are not permitted. In this room there are mangers, stars, and wise men. There is also a small Charlie Brown tree with a single red bulb.  Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. “Hey, Charlie Brown is the same as Frosty or the Grinch.”  But this tree is an unsung hero of the Christmas season in my humble opinion, and there is a great message to be learned from it. Charlie Brown is depressed because he can't seem to feel the spirit of the season. (remind you of anyone?)  He knows where it's NOT, but not where it IS. His friends all seen to have the answers and even his dog Snoopy know what Christmas time is for. Jingle Bells, lights, pageants, “win[ing] money, money, money” and beautiful metal Christmas trees. Nothing seems to be working for him (as usual) and so he goes to buy a nice tree to help set the mood. And he comes back with the tree you all know. 

Do you remember WHY he picks the tree he does?? "This little tree needs me." He also says that it seems to need a home. So he buys the little tree and brings it back to his friends and they immediately call him stupid, and tell him what a blockhead he is for buying THAT tree. Charlie Brown still thinks it can be a great tree. He sees what the tree can become. He sees what no one else seems to be able to. He still doesn't know what that tree needs, but he knows it needs something and he's going to do whatever he can for it. He walks off with the tree and decides to decorate it. He decorates it with a single red bulb and as soon as he does, it “dies”. Charlie Brown is crushed.

Then the story with the tree switches to Linus. Earlier in the show his sister, Lucy, threatens to hit him if he doesn't get rid of his blanket, but even under threat of bodily harm, he won't give it up. Now, when he sees the little tree needs love, he gives up the one thing in the world that means the very most to him. The thing he loves above all other things. And he does it almost instantly and without any thought or prodding. When he gives the tree THAT kind of love, it's able to not only support the one red bulb, but it truly becomes what it's meant to be. All of a sudden, everyone sees the tree as it is truly meant to be. I think there is a great deal of symbolism in that little moment. Because of that little tree, not only does Charlie Brown find the meaning of Christmas, but all his friends do as well.

Instead of focusing on what they WANTED, Charlie Brown and Linus focused on someone's [the tree’s] NEEDS. Charlie Brown sees that the tree can be beautiful and Linus realizes what it needs to become that way. Maybe we should celebrate Christ’s birth the way he LIVED his life. Find someone that has a need. Find someone that needs a little extra love. Find your own little tree.

ResT IN PeaCe

My mind is been going all over the place today. The death of a friend will do that. It wasn't a close friend, in fact I had never met him. He was part of the Comic Geek Speak crew and community.  His name is Jamie D. His name is adorning my Facebook wall like no other name has. I think that says a lot about the man. Most of these have the term "rest in peace," or RIP for short. We've all seen or wrote those letters hundreds of times. Today however, I've been thinking about the words that they represent. Unfortunately, Jamie's story is not unique. Jamie passed away today after a five-year battle with cancer. The type of cancer doesn't matter, the treatment he sought doesn't matter, the results are still the same. He wasn't the first to die from cancer, nor, sadly, will he be the last. People die from it every day. When you hear people talk about loved ones who have passed away from this disease, it's usually with words like, "he lost his battle" those words are usually very very accurate. And that brings me to the letters.

R I P

As I said before, we see those letters all the time, and we know the words they represent. Today though, I guess I have a deeper understanding of their meaning.

REST - I think of times that I have done anything strenuous. Whether it be hiking, swimming, working in the yard, playing sports, or anything else that wears you out. There's nothing like sitting down to rest. It's amazing how good it makes your body feel. Even just after a long day, there's something special about flopping on the couch or crawling in bed, and resting. I don't think however, that Jamie, or anyone else who happens to be suffering from that horrible disease, especially those in the final stages, did much resting. He may have been in bed, but I doubt he was getting a good rest. There's that "battle," remember. It doesn't call a "cease fire" when someone is laying there in bed. In fact, by then it's raging more fiercely than ever.

IN PEACE - A few days ago I was in a hotel. I was lying in bed. I was "resting" but it was not very peaceful. The people in the next room were noisy. Like, really noisy. The television was loud, the talking was loud, all of that. It's hard not to hear it in hotels. I also think about times when I wasn't feeling good. Like when you lay down when you're having an upset stomach. You're trying to rest, but if anything but peaceful. And there are times I've been in the most peaceful of surroundings, such as in the mountains, and sweating and breathing heavy because of how hard I'm working. It's very hard to really rest in a non peaceful environment.

REST IN PEACE - I guess maybe that's why this is the sendoff we give to people who passed away. They have, as Paul said, fought the good fight. They deserve rest… In peace. No more battles to fight. No more mountains to climb. No more struggles to overcome. Those are the things left to us, left to the living. What we wish for a loved one when they pass, is a rest, and peace. So to you, Jamie D, to all those whose race is over, to all whose battle is finished, to all whose time has come, I say simply rest in peace.

Rest ... In Peace.