Fast & Testimony Meeting. Sunday, Feb 14, 2016

This was my first Fast & Testimony Meeting in my new ward, so I took careful anthropological notes of the entire proceeding for the benefit of posterity.

Plus writing about it gives me something to do to fill up those long Sunday hours when my eyes start to burn from reading too much and I've already taken a long nap.

The weather continued gloomy and cold today. Haven't really seen the sun since last Tuesday. Most of the sidewalks are finally clear of snow, and the snowbanks are full of ice lace as the muffled rays still manage to melt the dirtier snow and leave the cleaner flakes in arcs and fluted cups like spun glass. It's quite enchanting, but no one seems to take notice of it except me. 

I've noticed that most of the people I meet walking like myself have their heads bowed down, are unshaven, and sort of shuffle instead of stride. In Provo, at least, walkers are losers -- every normal person drives a car. But that may change sooner than people expect; we've had bad smog for the past 3 days and the papers report that old folk and infants are showing up in the ER in alarming numbers with lung complaints. You can no longer burn wood in your fireplace in Provo -- soon they're going to start banning cars as well. I won't be sorry.

But back to Church.

Behind me sat a little boy who was fed Honey Nut Cheerios by his mother during the entire meeting --- he sounded like a horse with the feed bag on.

In front of me was an older gentleman in a dark suit who had the worst case of dandruff I've ever seen. It reminded me of an old gag invention I used to tell friends about for a laugh -- a comb for people with dandruff that plays Jingle Bells every time they use it.

 There were 9 testimonies during the 41 minutes available. 7 men. 1 woman. And 1 little girl. The little girl gave the most cogent testimony; the rest rambled quite a bit. One of the men was from Haiti; his French accent was inpenetrable although he smiled a lot. 

I'm afraid that I got a bit sleepy and dozed off for a moment during the meeting. I was up at 4 this morning with a charley horse and never got back to dreamland again.

In Sunday School we went over Lehi's final words to his sons in 2 Nephi, chapters 1 & 2.  The teacher wanted to know what Lehi meant when he talks about the "deep sleep" of Laman and Lemuel. I spoke up and said that it means we should pray for insomnia. The class giggled but the teacher (who wore brown shoes with his black suit -- who does that?) never cracked a smile, and refused to call on me whenever I would raise my hand to make a comment. Oh well, some people feel threatened by humor. I still managed to get the last word in at the end of class by saying, without being called on, "When you reach a certain age anything you say might be your final words -- so be careful of each word!" 

Priesthood was about how adversity is our friend, helping us to appreciate things more. But by then my stomach was nibbling on my spine so I didn't pay close attention to all that was said. Instead, I scribbled some random thoughts to make it look like I was taking fervent notes:

"Resistance is futile -- when a woman is involved."

"Some people ask for more mountains to climb -- I'll settle for molehills."

"When one door closes . . . it's usually on your fingers."

"My paranoia keeps me from being anxious."

And there you have it. When I came home at 3: 45 I made myself a baloney sandwich and warmed up some Bush's Baked Beans for a hearty repast to break my fast. Now I have to wait an hour before taking my Flomax capsule for my enlarged prostate -- then battle the rest of the evening to stay awake while the medication makes me nod off every ten minutes or so.

I lead such an exciting life . . . 

P.S.  I did call my ex today -- got her voicemail, so left a message. Haven't heard back from her, and am kinda hoping I don't. Is that cowardliness or prudence?

Stake Conference. Saturday, February 6. 2016.

What happened to all the furniture in the Stake building's foyers? The chairs and couches are disappeared -- where will the young mothers and fathers sit with their yowling kiddies during meetings? I could read nefarious portents into this event -- but instead choose to think of my irritable curiosity as just another symptom of my advancing Cranky Old Man Syndrome.

I sat on the very last padded pew in the Stake Center for the evening session of stake conference. And wouldn't you know it -- a newly-wed couple (at least I HOPE they were newlyweds) sat right in front of me. She nibbled his ear as the meeting started, and then sat on his lap . . .
This initially annoyed the potash out of me, especially since I couldn't see the speakers -- but then I thought to myself wistfully "Was I ever that young and so much in love? Yeah, I guess I was." So blessings on that young couple -- may they feel that same passion 20 years from now . . .

I got there early so I could get the seat I wanted, and as I gazed repeatedly at the clock on the chapel wall I was suddenly struck with the question: Why do we have clocks in our chapels?  Do other denominations have wall clocks in their chapels as prominent as ours? I bet not. I know that the Roman Catholic church I went to as a child did not have a timepiece anywhere in the church that I could ever see -- and I looked assiduously for one, since the priest said the whole Mass in Latin and time seemed to stand still for a little boy who hated cold wooden seats . . .

Howsomever, the first hour of the meeting was refreshingly different from any I have attended before. Instead of a string of speakers, one of the Ward Councils got up in front of everyone and we were allowed to ask them questions about what they did. And then a family, mother, father, and kids, were lined up in front of the congregation, and talked about their experiences holding family scripture study, and again the audience was allowed to toss questions at them about their experiences.

I couldn't help wondering how something like that would go over in Thailand. Would a Thai Ward Council be willing to stand in front of others, almost like a military review, and answer questions that might be construed as a veiled criticism or a questioning of their actions? It would be so easy for them to feel like they had 'lost face'. I also wonder if any Thai family would be willing to stand in front of a church audience and get the third degree about how they conducted their affairs. I think not. The father would remain silent; the mother would cry; and the kids would silently grin and shuffle their feet like idiots.  But maybe they are already doing these things there now -- it seems to be a Church-wide policy to have Q & A sessions and group discussions at bigger meetings nowadays.


The General Authority presiding ended the meeting by stating that if each individual didn't come away from the meeting determined to start doing something, or stop doing something, then we had wasted out time attending. Those kinds of dogmatic statements always make me irritable and depressed, because most of the time I do not get much of a spiritual charge from meetings -- especially  Stake meetings. This particular meeting did not inspire me to change anything, so I must be spiritually anemic . . .

I may have mentioned it before, but I really try to rein in my urgent sense of having to change things RIGHT NOW.  I used to get that feeling all the time, especially on my mission -- and it usually led to problems.
I recall once being on a visa run with my companion Elder Heier -- we and about half of all the missionaries had to take the train from Bangkok down to Butterworth in Malaysia. It was a long boring trip, and I got one of my anxiety attacks and felt we HAD TO DO SOMETHING instead of just sitting there enjoying the scenery. So I proposed to Elder Heier that we go into the private train cars and knock on each door to do a little proselyting. We managed to go through one whole train car, getting the doors slammed in our faces by mostly very drunk and annoyed Australians, until one of them finally complained to the conductor about us. They stopped the train and were going to throw all of us missionaries off, but the AP's did some fast talking and convinced the train staff we would behave ourselves for the rest of the trip -- and Elder Heier and I were given strict orders to MIND OUR OWN BUSINESS from then on. Which we did.

So as I walked home from Stake Conference, revolving in my mind, what I could do differently, it suddenly came to me that, yes, my daughter Sarah had called me earlier in the day to say that my ex-wife's father had just passed away, and then she gave me Amy's phone number and said I could call her sometime. Hah! I would call her tonight -- that would be what I would change -- I would resume communications with the ex!

But now as I write this I realize that it is another one of my famous bad ideas. She doesn't want to hear from me right now -- her dad grew to HATE me, even before the divorce. So I'll let her bury him next to his wife up in Tioga, North Dakota this coming week, and then in another week or so I'll give her a call to say I'm sorry about her dad and ask if there is anything I can do for her and leave it at that. Not romantic; not exciting; not extraordinary. Just cautious common sense -- something I have so little of still that I am amazed when I can conjure it up at all . . . .

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RESPONSE FROM A FRIEND IN TAIWAN:

Tim Tim Tim

You make excellent observations. I especially like the one about clocks!

It makes me wonder if the Savior had a stop watch going during his sermon on the mount! Must finish on time to make it to the next teaching appointment!

I am finding that the HASTENING THE WORK  means RUSHING OFF TO THE NEXT MEETING which is beginning to drive me nuts!

I fear that the church management is so busy hastening the work that the work is being forgotten! Something better be done about this if they want to keep good people around. Men are that they might have joy!? Sorry, no time for joy! That would require time to enjoy God's creations and actually get to know other people, and if we did that here, you would miss the next meeting which you're already late for!!!! Don't stop to smell the roses! No time for that!

Just last night the first My Path fireside was held in Taiwan. Excellent material and all. However, it became clear that rushing thru the material leaves 50% of the people lost! Much of it is beyond their ability to comprehend! And it doesn't help when the Stake President, a veteran CES guy does not follow the plan but shoots from the hip and embellishes reality to make it appear that Steve Jobs and Jack Ma were working with the Prophet to develop the initiative for use with the church. I was a bit depressed after the 105 minute workshop ended. But hey! It's priesthood led so it must have been inspired! Pffff!

I'm off to Ching Foo for a night to give this fireside on Tuesday. Smaller group but hope it goes better.

I enjoy hearing your experiences in Mormon Mecca. It tells me a lot about how many worlds apart we are when it comes to Church experiences. The Western mind is in full control and it's layed on thick and rich here. And they'll continue to wonder why retention is so poor and home teaching almost non-extant here. Someday someone will realize that Taipei is not Provo. Until then, we prepare to hear the Apostles voice in two weeks! Should be interesting!

Good luck with Amy!

Adversity

The scriptures say adversity
is like a university;
it teaches us to trust the Lord
when life has got us really floored.

But I would rather have affliction
stay a warning and prediction.
Just like a stop sign I obey,
for keeping trouble far away.

But if I must be schooled by sorrow,
can't it wait until tomorrow?
I'd rather get my Ph.D
sometime in far eternity!

Sunday. January 31. 2016.

Another large snowfall yesterday and last night left about 4 inches of snow on the ground. But for some reason, I didn't feel like going to the Sacrament Meeting here in the building, but wanted to take my chances walking the four blocks to Church.
Hungry, I guess, for human companionship -- or at least the similitude of it. Also I was supposed to sing in the ward choir.
I'd forgotten that I had a pair of crampons that I bought last winter for snowy, slippery conditions. I always had a pair of them growing up in Minnesota. Even the toughest boots with waffle soles are no match for a sneaky bit of ice that looks like an innocent patch of light snow. Crampons dig right in with their spikes, which is hell on carpets -- I left some nice gopher holes in the hallway outside my apartment door.

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Oh, before I forget -- I did apply for both EBT and state Medicaid. I got the Food stamps, hands down, no problem. I was turned down for any state Medicaid insurance, because, I was told, it's only for single mothers on welfare. Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me for being a guy! So I'll just have to take a gamble that my health will stay good enough to keep me out of the hospital for the next 2.5 years until I turn 65 and can get Medicare.

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I was the only bass in the ward choir, so I stood out like a sore thumb -- because I do not believe in hiding my candle under a bushel. I don't call my voice good, but it is loud & piercing -- from my days as Ringmaster with the Carson & Barnes Circus. I was expected to sing the Star Spangled Banner before the start of each performance, even when my voice was as raw as an open wound. Luckily I remembered a trick from my old pal, Tim Holst, the guy who baptized me when I joined Ringling Brothers. We started out as clowns together, but then he got promoted to Ringmaster -- and he always drank hot water with honey & lemon in it before each performance. That's what I did, and it kept my voice alive even when the rest of me felt dead.
The Bishop got up at the start of the meeting to remind everyone that building security was of paramount importance. The night before his office had been broken into, along with the clerk's office. Just what thieves could expect to find in a Bishops or clerks office is more than I can figure out. Phony temple recommends or bogus Bishop's Storehouse orders? I dunno . . .
The Sacrament passed off without incident -- no cell phones ringing this time. But a little boy in a bright green turtleneck sweater was in the pew in front of me -- and when the Sacrament came to me I looked up to find him staring at me with a knowing leer -- as if he could see what a wretch I really am. I stuck my tongue out at him.
As the meeting progressed he took off his shoes and socks and clambered over his beleaguered parents like a monkey in a tree. But at least he didn't look at me again.

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We had three speakers on the subject of  making the Sabbath a day of rest and a day of joy. The first speaker was a young mother in a white blouse with black polka dots. I pay particular attention to blouses -- not because I'm a pervert, but because in my salad days as a clown I used to wear pregnant women's blouses for my shirts -- they were roomy and very colorful.
The second speaker was a single guy in his 20's, wearing a light brown fleece coat and dark rectangular glasses that said "I'm either a techie or an unemployed English major."
The third speaker was a newlywed guy; both he and his wife are going to BYU.
All three talks reinforced the idea that has been growing on me lately that ALL my days are now a day of rest -- there's nothing I have to do, nowhere I have to go. I go to the Rec Center each morning for a swim workout and eat my lunch there at the Senior Center cuz it's free -- but I don't HAVE  to do that. I could stay home in bed for the whole week. So I guess all my days are now Sabbath days.
As for a day of joy . . . I gave that a lot of thought during the 3 hour block.
How much joy do I have now?
Not as much as when I was young, with a desirable wife and making people laugh as a clown.
Not as much joy as when I was in Thailand with Joom (some of the time, at least -- she could be a real pain in the ***, but love is blind).
I came to the conclusion that my real, true joy nowadays is in my writing, my poetry and narrative like this one. Plus cooking for my kids & grandkids. Which reminds me -- don't buy Red Baron frozen pizza -- it tastes like cardboard.

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In Gospel Doctrine class the teacher had us break up into discussion groups to talk about 1 Nephi Chapters 16, 17, and 18 -- those are the ones about Nephi breaking his steel bow, finding the Liahona, and building the ship. I have the worst luck when it comes to discussion groups because I always seem to get put in with the "special" people. This time around I was with a guy with Asperger's Syndrome and a lady with a hare lip that I could not understand. I guess I'm going to hell for not being more loving about the whole thing, but I let those two talk to each other while I daydreamed about the beach in Thailand and eating fried dried squid with sticky rice the way Joom used to make it.

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What hit me, and hit me big, in Gospel Doctrine was the question Why was Lehi commanded to flee Jerusalem while Jeremiah was commanded to stay? This led me to think about living in today's world -- is there ever a time when we should flee from our place into the wilderness, or should we always now stay put where we are? I thought about Pattaya -- when I went there I was always amazed at the Sodom and Gomorrah atmosphere of the whole town -- not just parts of it, but ALL of it. What if I lived there? Should I get out or try to set a better example?  Again, I dunno -- but it kept my mind occupied during most of the class.
I did manage to get in one zinger. The teacher mentioned how they ate their meat raw, and I asked what that whole episode meant to modern day LDS vegans (since I knew we had a couple in the class). The teacher obviously didn't want to open up that can of worms (or tofu), so he glossed over it by saying he was nearly out of time and wanted to cover some other subjects -- so I went back to daydreaming about khanom jiin and som tum.
Oh, wait, wait -- there was one other zinger I was nearly forgetting. When the teacher covering the discovery of the Liahona, and how it acted like our conscience telling us if our actions are right and wrong, I couldn't resist asking if our conscience can tell us who to vote for. "I certainly hope so!" replied the teacher, and the class all nodded in agreement. I'm still chewing that one over . . .

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We all met together in the Cultural Hall for a fifth Sunday lesson, instead of breaking up into Priesthood and Relief Society.
I liked how the meeting started out --- a clip of Elder Cook speaking about the Sabbath and saying "We must avoid regimentation at all costs -- no lists or requirements! Each individual must decide for themselves how to keep the Sabbath."  
But then my mind wandered again as I looked around me at the Cultural Hall -- these wonderful spaces that don't get used very much except for ward basketball, wedding receptions, and an occasional funeral lunch or ward talent show.
Sitting there recalled to my mind a wonderful experiment, which ultimately failed, I attempted when we lived in Provo back in the late 80's.  Tired of part-time and temp jobs, I blew our whole savings account on  advertisements in Deseret News and the Salt Lake Tribune for "RENT A CLOWN".
I directed the ad to Activity Committees; how they could get a professional Ringling clown to come entertain at their next ward or stake activity.  I actually got inundated with calls hiring me all through Utah Valley for all sorts of ward and stake events in the cultural hall up on the stage. I did a little monologue, demonstrated how I put on my clown makeup, and then did about 15 minutes of old clown schtick.  I got standing ovations for it -- but when I stopped advertising in the newspapers (it was darn expensive) I stopped getting any phone calls, so I had to go back to temp work. I thought word of mouth would keep me going -- but it didn't.
I had some hard feelings against the Lord for a while over that failure, but now I can barely remember anything about it -- except what a pleasure it was to do. I'm just grateful I had the chance to do a couple dozen shows like that.
Well, it's time to get ready to walk back to Church for Stake choir practice. It takes a while to put those crampons on over my shoes -- I'm still too fat to bend over so much. I begin huffing and blowing like a spouting whale.

Trumpocracy: A Vision of the Future.

On January 20th, Inauguration Day,

Trump took the Oath of Office while he sipped a Dubonnet.

His victory a landslide, he was carried by a flood

of voters who were fed up and were out to shed some blood.

With ceremonies over, he pushed back his wavy hair,

and had the White House staff start counting all the silverware.

He emptied out the closets and made Washington turn pale

by holding an enormous Oval Office rummage sale.

"We'll put this country on its feet!" he told the correspondents,

"even if we have to sell the Smithsonian's fine contents!"

Suiting word to deed, turnstiles were installed about toot suite;

each congressman must pay a buck each time they take a seat.

He changed the brand on lots of things, which didn't make him nervous;

the Post Office he christened as The Trump Delivery Service.

He treated his Vice President as someone not momentous;

in fact he just might fire him, as he used to on Apprentice.

He made the military dress itself in lowly chino

and turned each mess hall on each base into a grand casino.

He sold the state of Maine to some investors for a billion.

(Some say they were Korean, but I think they were Brazilian.)

Next he turned his baleful eye, just like the basilisk,

upon the Muslim question and its terrifying risk.

He chartered lots of boats and sent 'em packing off to Cuba.

(Since the boats were leaky, let's hope they knew some scuba.)

And anyone on welfare was ignored as long as they

didn't rent where Donald held a landlord's ruthless sway.

But if they tried to live in territory he had marked,

they'd find that their belongings on the street were rudely parked.

His views on marriage are unique; he isn't any prude.

He isn't what you'd want to call a fan of rectitude.

He overturned the old laws and put in some laissez faire:

"Go marry often as you want if you can pay the fare".

In terms of law and order, Trump has done a splendid job;

he's turned the matter over to his friends within the Mob.

They run it like a bizness; profit margins are immense.

The crooks say 'please' and 'thank you' while the cops collect the cents.

He's making deals with China, telling them Taiwan's for sale.

He's drilled the oil out from Iran to make the mullahs fail.

He's told all South America to pay their legal debts

or our Marines go marching in, with lots of crippled vets.

No tax for corporations, and the IRS is hobbled

so all their audits on the rich are suddenly quite bobbled.

With so little coming in and great monies going out,

our infrastructure wilts amid the tumult and the shout.

"We like this new America" say voters stubbornly.

"The Donald will go down as savior in our history!"

"He's got the common touch, and has been bankrupt just like us."

"So we will put up with his foibles and unholy fuss . . . "

And somewhere in the heavens, there's another businessman

from early times who relishes Trump's preposterous game plan.

Yes, P.T. Barnum looks upon our President and smiles --

since his administration is using all of Barnum's wiles.

Luke 6:28

"Bless them that curse you, and pray for them who despitefully use you."

My enemy pressed hard upon my life in many ways;
he made my nights go sleepless and destroyed my happy days.
I hated him for murdering my hopes and dreams and prayers,
for all the stumbling blocks he added to my daily cares.

But then, by invitation of the spirit, I invoked
the blessings of Jehovah on this traitor so provoked.
In time, I came to find that all my anger was mislaid --
my enemy is gone because for him I daily prayed.

Mormon 1: 15

"And I, being fifteen years of age and being somewhat of a sober mind, therefore I was visited of the Lord, and tasted and knew of the goodness of Jesus."

The sweetness that the Lord provides, the taste of his great love,
is as a rainbow on the tongue, as mild as sage and dove.
Tis fruit so white it warms the soul without the use of heat;
from vineyard and from olive tree -- the most sustaining meat.
Come sup with him and goodness find that fills with but delight;
your fast is o'er and you will find a treasure in each bite!