A Simple Lesson

I just recently bought another book to read and add to my collection. "Aesop's Fables" contains many very brief lesson stories, usually not more than 1-2 paragraphs in length. Here is one I particularly enjoyed. If you are not familiar with these, there is usually a moral to be taught by them.

The North Wind and the Sun:

A dispute arose between the north wind and the sun, each claiming that he was stronger than the other. at last they agreed to try their powers upon a traveler, to see which could soonest strip him of his cloak. The north wind had the first try; and, gathering up all his force for the attach, he came whirling furiously down upon the man, and caught up his cloak as though he would wrest it from him by one signle effort. But the harder the blew, the more closely the man wrapped it round himself. Then came the turn of the sun. At first he beamed gently upon the traveler, who soon unclasped his cloak and walked on with it hanging loosely about his shoulders. Then he shone forth in his full strength, and the man, before he had gone many steps, was glad to throw his cloak right off and complete his journey more lightly clad.

What's the lesson here? (Think before looking.)














































Persuasion is better than force.

Memory. . .

I was just cleaning out my room. (Yes, I do accomplish that ONCE in a while.) I was going through one of my boxes and came across some envelopes. I was opening them to see what they were and if I still needed them when I found one that brought back a memory. (I think I'll hang on to this one.)

Most people who know me know that I was studying to go into teaching, to teach high school level Spanish specifically. I was not able to accomplish that dream and will not be going back to do it at this point. In the end it would not be worth all of the work to get back to that level and most definitely I would not be able to justify the severe paycut. (A terribly sad commentary considering that I now earn more money in my semi-professional job/career that I now have and enjoy for the most part.)

College was fun and I learned a great deal. The hardest part of the whole thing were the two semesters that I spent student teaching. Student teaching at the high school level usually only lasts one semester, but for me it lasted two as I attempted to demonstrate various proficiencies that are expected of any teaching candidate. (I was not able to pass the first semester for many reasons, so I was given a second chance and took another stab at it a second semester at a different school than the first.)

Student teaching, and really teaching in general, is full of so many challenges, from the fairly obvious of grading papers to the more profound and difficult aspects: how to keep a classroom of 25 students all engaged, learning the subject that you are presenting, and meeting the needs of each of those students to the best of one's ability. Oh, yes, and don't forget that it's not just 25 students either. It's classes of 25 students, and you usually have 4-6 classes. Grading papers, all 6000 of them each week (or so it seems), certainly is a big part of it, but does not even compare with the rest of what comes with the job. Spending 3-4 hours each night planning lessons for the coming days, weekends thinking about the lessons for the coming days. An actual teacher would be able to vouch for the fact that this is not even the tip of the iceberg and not even the appetizer course of the 7 course dinner that is teaching.

Now, having said this, this blog entry is not about all of that really hard stuff, but just a simple memory of one simple occurrence during my time that I did my student teaching at Berthoud High School in the Spring of 2003.

During the course of that winter semester, the school's boy's basketball team had a great season. Tim and Dimitri and so many others played so well and worked so hard on the court and were so much fun to have in class, among so many others whose names I no longer recall and whose faces have now faded from memory.

As a result of the post-season victories and for playing so well, the boys team was able to go to the state playoffs and play at the Pepsi Center in Denver, CO. I believe the game they made it to may have been the quarterfinals before they were sadly defeated and sent packing.

Because of the job that I had while I was student teaching (even though I had the workload of a teacher, a student teacher actually pays tuition for the experience/opportunity to student teach), I was able to borrow a pretty nice SLR camera (if you don't know what SLR is, just picture those big fancy, expensive-looking cameras that the pros use) and take on the bus. I went to the game as one of the faculty chaperons. The school was given one media pass to use for taking pictures on the floor at the Pepsi center (on the sidelines of the court while the game is happening). One student used the media pass during the first half of the game while I spent that time up in the stands taking pictures of all of the students and others that were able to ride down on the bus(es). During the second half we traded and I was able to go down on the floor and take pictures. I'm not much of a photographer but it was a digital camera and a nice enough one that really all you need to worry about with the camera is getting a good composure, the camera can handle most everything else.

I don't recall how many pictures I took, of course there were some good ones and some others that were a little bit fuzzy or otherwise were just bad pictures. After the game, I downloaded the pictures to my laptop at home. A few days later one of my cooperating teachers suggested it might be a good idea to make copies of the pictures, putting them on a cd, and giving some of those to some of the teachers at the school. I think I made 5 discs and passed them out to some that I thought would like to have them, the basketball coach, principal, a couple of others, and the yearbook teacher. I gave them the discs probably during the last week few weeks of school. A few weeks went by and I hadn't given it much thought, until I got a letter in the mail one day. That brings me to the point of this blog. I copy the text of it below:


June 9, 2003



Dear Ben Echols,



Hello! I hope this letter finds you somehow. I wanted to say thank you for the fabulous digital pictures. I got them just in time!!! Yearbook staff was finishing the yearbook on Monday, June 2nd and we were having the worst time with the State pages. (State refers to the state basketball tournament of course.) We lost the State basketball pictures and we were
trying to make the best of a horrible layout. I just happened to stop by my mailbox on the way out the door that afternoon and found your CD. I almost cried tears of joy when I read the cover. So, I downloaded the horrible, lost-cause state pages and took them home to "fix" on my laptop. I almost cried again when I opened your CD and saw the amount of pictures and quality. I stayed up until midnight fixing the pages to meet our Tuesday morning deadline. I did not even get to go through all the photos on the CD-no time. I ended up putting 4 of your photos on the state pages and a smile on the sports editor's face the next morning when I told him the incredible news. YOU SAVED THOSE PAGES!!! You have made us look good and I gave you photo credit. I wanted to say a BIG thank you and let you know you have made a permanent mark on BHS forever. Anyway. . . I hope your summer is going well and good luck!!! Again, THANKS.



Sincerely,



(JQ)

BHS Yearbook Advisor



(Initials have replaced the Yearbook Advisor's name for purposes of this blog.)

I won't say that I think often about that experience, though it does cross my mind from time to time. I just thought this would be a nice different kind of story to write and add to my blog. I won't really take credit for anything. The pictures were pretty good, but I think the pictures were only a small part of it. I can't really take credit for anything else, because it was not my idea to share them with the rest of the school. (I mean that not to be impolite in any way. I just probably would not have thought to do that myself. I think that was someone else that was inspired to tell me to share them with some of the teachers.) I'm sure I still have those pictures on a disc somewhere in one of my boxes. This isn't so much about the pictures but just one of the experiences I had during my brief experience student teaching.

Excerpt from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

So I recently went to the bookstore to get some more reading material, something I'm trying to make a habit in doing (reading that is). As I was looking around, I came to a shelf and happened upon a copy of Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". It didn't have the usual additional story of "Through the Looking Glass", but I looked at the price tag and it was on $1.00. How can you pass up a book for a buck? It's the second such find I have come across at Hastings, my bookstore of choice in Greeley and one that I think needs more business. The last find was "The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde", and it was only $0.90. I don't really know what kinds of books to look for when I am there looking, so I typically just browse around 'til I find one that catches my attention, and if the price is appealing than I'm easily convinced to purchase it. Such was the case for both of the above books, although not all of my books are in the $1.00 range.

So, as I read "Alice's. . ." I started laughing REALLY hard when I got to a certain point in the end of the book. Being a big fan of puns, and dry humor in general, the following is one of the funniest pieces of writing I have ever read.

Backgrounder: In said part, Alice is speaking to the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle. They are sharing with Alice what their experiences were like going to school (or "lessons" as they call it). (I think it is best imagined in your best English accent you can muster, the puns seems to carry better that way.)

"So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.
"'This here young lady' said the Gryphon, 'she wants for to know your history, she do.'
"'I'l tell it her, ' said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone. 'Sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.'
"So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself 'I don't see how he can ever finish, if he doesn't begin.' But she waitied patiently.
"'Once, ' said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, 'I was a real Turtle.'
"These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of 'Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle, Alice was very nearly getting up and saying 'Thank you, Sir, for your interesting story,' but she could not help thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.
"'When we were little,' the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in the sea. The master was an old turtle-- we used to call him Tortoise--'
"'Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?' Alice asked.
"'We called him Tortoise because he taught us,' said the Mock Turtle angrily. 'Really you are very dull!'
"'You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question,' added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle 'Drive on, old fellow! Don't be all day about it!', and he went on in these words:--
"'Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't believe it--'
"'I never said I didn't!' interrupted Alice.
"'You did,' said the Mock Turtle.
"'Hold your tongue!' added the Gryphon, before Alice could speak again. The Mock Turtle went on.
"'We had the best of educations-- in fact, we went to school every day--'
"'I've been to a day-school, too' said Alice. 'You needn't be so proud as all that.'
"'With extras?' asked the Mock Turtle, a little anxiously.
"'Yes,' said Alce: 'we learned French and music.'
"'And washing?' said the Mock Turtle.
Certainly not!' said Alice indignantly.
"'Ah! Then yours wasn't a really good school,' said the Mock Turtle in a tone of great relief. 'Now, at ours, they had, at the end of the bill, 'French, music, and washing-- extra.'
"'You couldn't have wanted it much,' said Alice; 'living at the bottom of the sea.'
"'I couldn't afford to learn it,' said the Mock turtle with a sigh, 'I only took the regular course.'
"'What was that?' inquired Alice.
"'Reeling and writhing, of course, to begin with,' the Mock Turtle replied: 'and then the different branches of Arithmetic-- Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.'
"'I never heard of Uglification' Alice ventured to say. 'What is it?'
The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. 'Never heard of uglifying!' it exclaimed. 'You know what to beautify is, I suppose?'
"'Yes,' said Alice doubtfully: 'it means- to- make- anything- prettier.'
"'Well, then,' the Gryphon went on, 'if you don't know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton.'
"Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it: so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said, 'What else had you to learn?'
"'Well, there was Mystery,' the Mock Turtle replied, counting off the subjects on his flappers,--'Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography: then Drawling-- the Drawling-master was an old conger-eel, that used to come once a week: he taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils.'
"'What was that like?' said Alice.
"'Well, I ca'n't show it you, myself,' the Mock Turtle said: "I'm too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.'
"'Hadn't time,' said the Gryphon: 'I went to the Classical master, though. He was an old crab, he was.'
"'I never went to him,' the Mock Turtle said with a sigh. 'He taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.'
"'So he did, so he did,' said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.
(Insert narrator's request here: Drum-roll, please! This is the best, and last, part.)
"'And how many hours a day did you do lessons?' said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.
"Ten hours the first day,' said the Mock Turtle: 'nine the next, and so on.'
"'What a curious plan!' exclaimed Alice.
"'That's the reason their called lessons,' the Gryphon remarked: 'because they lessen from day to day.'
"This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark. 'Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?'
"'Of course it was,' said the Mock Turtle."

(End of section.)

I think I have not laughed so hard while reading this part as I have for any reading ever in my life. I just had to share that.

Good For A Laugh At Least. . .

It's been a little while since I've posted an entry on here and in writing to a friend thought I might recount a fairly recent experience I had. I don't often speak publicly, or even privately for that matter, about my dating life and experiences I have had. Perhaps this experience will explain why, but then again maybe it will just serve as a good laugh for those who read it.

Background:

Over the past few years, I have been attending events (dances, parties, gatherings of various sorts) put on by and for a fairly large group of single adults in the Denver and Northern Colorado area. Most people that thing of events for "single adults" probably will think "a place to meet people to date" should there be people there of an even remotely attractive nature. (Speaking generically of course.) While this is one of the purposes of said events, sometimes I find myself going to these activities not in the hope of "finding someone", but rather just because it is something to do rather than sitting at home alone on a Friday night or other awkward occasion.

This group of single adults is split up into two categories, primarily by age. In the LDS (aka "Mormon") culture, there are two larger groups of single adults. First, the "Young Single Adults" are those between the ages of 18 and 30 years old. The older single adults, most commonly known just as the "Single Adults" are those ages 30 and older and literally can include any single adults as old as 80-90 years old if there were any interested at those ages. For purposes of this story, we reference the "Single Adults", which can also be categorically divided into two groups, not so much as separate groups, but rather one being a sub-category of the other, at least partly so. Where the Single Adults refers to those in the ages of 30 and older, there is a great variation in the life experiences of everyone involved. This has led to a smaller group to be organized at least on an unofficial but recognized level. Some of us in the younger end of the spectrum are a little bit, shall we say, uncomfortable sometimes being around some of those that are well old(er). A sub-category of the Single Adults has been created and is known amongst ourselves at least as the "Middle Singles", ranging in age from 30ish to age 45, and adhering nearly exclusively to these ages. The primary reason for this distinction, at least from where I see it, is because of the differences between someone that is 30-40 years old compared to someone that is 70. Besides the obvious differences in hair color, the younger ones are obviously at a different stage in life than those in the older age range, and yes I think we can even say the "old" ones because comparatively they are.

I will not begin to attempt to explain all that goes on with the Single Adults, except that we get together on many occasions to have dances, firesides (for those unfamiliar with the term "fireside", just think large group discussion sort of), barbecues, game nights, and, well, pretty much any American thing that most anyone enjoys doing.

Even though I consider myself a pretty wretched dancer, I do enjoy dancing quite a lot so when the opportunity presents itself, I take the opportunity to "get my groove on". (Please save yourself and don't attempt to visualize that, just trust me.)

Each year there is generally a New Years Eve dance to celebrating the outgoing and incoming years. Dec 31, 2009 through Jan 1, 2010 was no exception. Not wanting to spend the night home alone, I went to the dance down in Denver, although to be quite honest I really did not feel all that much like dancing that night. I just didn't want to be at home alone.

The New Years Eve dance was scheduled to start around 8:30-9:00pm and go until sometime after we rang in the new year (usually going until 12:30-1:00am more or less). I left home to go to the dance and arrived around 9:15. As there usually are, there were probably 75-100 people there when I arrived. Having been to a few of these dances, I was not going to be terribly surprised to show up and see only a handful of people actually dancing there. In this case, it was far worse than normal, however, as I showed up and found that literally there were only what seemed like 5-10 people dancing.

This particular night I was really not very interested in dancing so much as just getting out of the house. (Quite often I go and do feel like dancing, but eventually warm up to it when the right style of music starts to play.) I went in and stood off to the side for a few minutes, probably mostly waiting to see if anyone would come that I already knew. This sometimes helps with the motivation to dance, particularly if it's someone of the nice-looking variety.

Here is where the story, and purpose of this blog entry, comes into play.

After standing off to the side for a few minutes (probably 10-15 minutes), a woman approached me who I have to admit must be at least 60 years old (no exaggeration). She immediately says to me, "You know I could give you a ticket for standing there like that and not dancing." Oh please, like that's gonna get me out there dancing when I really don't feel like it. I respond, "yeah, well good luck trying to enforce it." What I SHOULD have done was walk out at that moment and go somewhere else, but being the polite person that I am (and perhaps should not be so much) I decided to humor her a little bit. She convinced me to dance with her once, then while dancing asked me, "Will you dance with me one more time tonight?" or at least something VERY close to that effect. (I'm trying to forget this as best I can and you will see why in the end.)

Somehow that first song turned into 2-3 songs, was not particularly enjoyable on my part, but I tolerated it as best I could. Finally I got away and was able to find a group of younger people quite a bit closer to my age than the aforementioned woman (who I will also advise was NOT the most attractive person in the place, but I will leave it at that lest I come across as being more spiteful than how most know me).

I was able to evade said person for a good couple of hours, but alas eventually she found me and trapped me into another song. Ugh!!! Does she not realize how uncomfortable she's making me feel? I knew she was not just another person trying to be nice when she started trying to introduce me to her other old friends. (I normally would not refer to someone as being old when they are 60 years old, but I do so here to emphasize intentionally that compared to me, old she definitely was.) It started with "Oh, have you met so and so? Let me introduce you to her." Then, she dragged me over to introduce me to one of her friends, who was just as old as she was, if not more so. Worse than this, her friend than tried getting me to dance with her. Okay, enough of this, I've got to get out of here fast. As soon as her friend asked, "Well, do you want to dance with me?" I knew I had to come up with something.

Now, I am not one to TRY and get out of uncomfortable situations very often, I can usually tolerate just about anything, but this was one time when I really was UNcomfortable, and even down-right scared, being around them. Once the question was asked, I plainly stated, "Actually, I was just going to go out and use the restroom." Any women reading this, don't pretend like you have never had to do this with any guys. I know there has to be someone that has done the same thing, if even to me personally. That was my chance to get out of there. I walked out and intentionally walked around the building to come in another way so as to get away from them. The rest of the evening was spent doing all I could to avoid them. Terrible I know, but it just goes to show just how scary they were.

By the time I came back in, I was able to make it back to the same group of younger people that I had previously attempted to mingle with a little bit. I stood as near as I could to any 3-5 of them as I could, hoping it would discourage any of those older women to try anything again. Luckily, one person, who I shall here call "Tami", came to my rescue and asked me to dance when a slow song started. I promptly thanked her for coming to my rescue and, without mentioning any names to her, very briefly told her of my then very recent plight. It was nice to dance with Tami and talk casually, not just for her having rescued me but because she was just nice to talk to.

Now, for anyone that might be thinking, "Ooh, Ben, this Tami person seems nice. is there something going on there?" Stop that thought there. I will simply say that I go to dances to dance, not to "meet someone". Just have to add that. There are some stories I won't tell, even here with names disguised.

So that was the awkward experience. I can now say that I understand, at least on some level, the anguish some of my sisters had to go through going to some of these same "Single Adult" activities, before they were fortunate and blessed to find their soul mates and get married. I actually knew of one of those old men that used to try "hitting on" one of my sisters, and I did my best whenever possible to save her from that but couldn't always do it. Now, hopefully I don't have to endure that experience any more, because I don't know how I will react if I do. I just about shudder at the thought of it.

Of Snow. . . and Shovelling Sidewalks

Whereas I've got some time on my hand, I was thinking about things I've done over the years and thought I might post another blog to be added to my (small) random collection of entries.

Years ago, I believe it may have been in 1998 or 1999 when I first moved to Greeley, my roommates and I had the responsibility of shovelling the sidewalks around our fairly large 3 bedroom house that we rented whenever the snow fell, or risk a small fine by the city. (The city isn't very good about enforcing the ordinance that requires residents to shovel their walks within 24 hours of a snowfall event, but they generally will give a household notice if a neighbor or someone else complains. At least, that seems to be my experience.) This would not normally be exciting enough to justify a blog entry, it just happens to be on my mind right now.

Not that I would sit watching my neighbors do it, but over the course of a couple of years I noticed that my neighbors when they would shovel their walks would watch their property line, with almost laser-like acuity, and as soon as they reached THE limit of they property, they would stop shovelling and either go the other direction to finish or return inside if they were finished. (Most people probably would not even give this a second thought, but I happened to grow up in one of the largest houses in the surrounding three counties on 3 1/2 acres of land, so we never had neighbors for me/us to notice such things.) After so long shovelling our walks, eventually I changed how I looked at shovelling the sidewalk. Ours was a corner house where we had neighbors to the back of us to the east and neighbors to the south of us. Our sidewalk was considerably long, so shovelling it took a significant amount of time, and more so if it was a significantly large snow event.

On one such occasion, I had finished shovelling our sidewalk and decided it wouldn't be too much work to keep going and shovel the walk for my neighbors on the south side. They had a fairly short sidewalk and driveway, so in a few extra minutes I shoveled their walks as well. One time of shovelling their walks eventually turned into nearly a routine. I wouldn't do it every time, but sometimes I had enough time to do it without interfering with any plans I had, or just 'cause I felt like doing it.

Most of the time, this seemed to go unnoticed, or at least unacknowledged. There were, however, a few times that I was "caught" doing this.

After several times shovelling the sidewalks for my neighbors to the south, they eventually had seen me doing it and so one night, there came a knock at our door. My neighbors had come over and brought an apple pie (not homemade, but apple pie I was not about to complain about) and a fairly large tin container full of chocolates (also not something I was about to complain about).

One Christmas night, I had returned home from being with my family. All of my roommates were gone, and not having TV, movies to watch, or anything else to do, I went out to shovel the walks. (I'm pretty sure at least that it was Christmas night, as I'm sure at least some of my roommates would have been home otherwise.) It had been a particularly heavy snowfall, I think of 8-10 inches or so, so it took quite a while to finish. Still not having anything to do though, I kept going. After shoveling the walks for my house and those of my neighbors to the south, I decided to keep going and shovel the walk for the other neighbors to the east (to the back of our house).

Still not content, I continued to the house where some friends were living about a block away. While shoveling their walk, their landlord came out (as I remember it anyways) and we chatted briefly. I continued on to his house and did only part of it, mostly because he had a VERY large driveway that I did NOT want to shovel.

On I continued after those two sidewalks and went to shovel the walks at one other house. A house so kindly nicknamed "the Spade house" for the plethora of spade shapes cut out of wood panels that were on each side of every window on the house. In this house lived a gaggle of girls that I figured were away also for Christmas and I figured they might like it to return and find the walks all shoveled. (That it was a gaggle of cute girls may have been some of the motivation for me picking that house, but it wasn't the entire reason. That just seemed the next logical place for me to go.)

When I got to the "Spade house", all was vacant (or so I thought but later found out otherwise, which I'll get to). I began to shovel the walk. The walks at this house can be very treacherous as there is a sidewalk that parallels the street and from that sidewalk another walk runs from the street, up a couple of steps, then up to the front porch and front door. I shovelled the walk and went on my way. A week or two later, I was at church when one of the gaggle of girls approached me and said, "Ben, I just want to let you know that I (or maybe she said 'we') appreciate your 'secret Santa' acts of service", and proceeded to tell me that she had been sitting at home all by herself and apparently got TOTALLY FREAKED OUT when she heard the scraping sounds coming from outside. She told of how she just stayed inside, maybe nearly fearing for her life, until she got the nerve to peak out a window and see my face. I trust that after that she calmed down a little bit, but don't remember what else she said.

By the time I finished the walks at the Spade house, I had finally had enough of shovelling walks for the night. I returned home and the rest of what I did was probably as insignificant as anything I ever do, maybe watched a movie or something. (We had a TV but didn't have cable or anything so if we were going to watch anything it would usually be one of what few movies any of us owned.)

(If anyone reading this wants to steal the idea of shoveling someone else's sidewalk at random, feel free. I know that pretty much anyone will appreciate it immensely.)

Years later, and now years ago, yet again I felt the inspiration to go shovel a sidewalk. At the time, I didn't own a snow shovel, partly because I was living in an apartment complex and the apartment manager was responsible for making arrangements to have the walks and stairs all cleared by hiring a service to do it, but also because my last shovel had fallen apart (it wasn't very well made).

After acquiring the necessary hardware, I proceeded to the house of Matt and Janet (they know who they are). I figured they would be home, so I made it my goal to work as quietly as possible so as to not wake them up (if they were asleep) and hopefully keep them from finding out. After not very long, I came to decide that being quiet was making the shoveling take too long. I gave up on the keeping quiet idea, or at least to some extent, until I got closer up the stairs to the front door. Two days later after church one Sunday, Matt came to me and said, "Ben, what were you doing Friday night?" Of course I knew what he was going to talk about but still tried to act like I didn't know. (To my knowledge they hadn't found out, but like before I found out otherwise.) Matt had been gone when I was there so it was just Janet home (I think by then a certain very adorable little girl had also just been born, which prevented them from leaving in the snowstorm to go to the ward party that we had, which party was also my excuse for what I was doing that Friday night, trying to create a semi-faux alibi). Anyways, after being forced to admit my guilt in my Friday-night escapade, Matt gave his thanks for what I had done.

I tell these stories, not to boast of my own doing. The experiences over the years of doing this have brought great satisfaction to me. In some cases it just felt good to do something nice for someone, but in other cases these experiences I look at as being great ice-breakers for the relationships that I went on to have with all of those friends. (Think FRIENDships, not serious bf/gf relationships; that is after all how I saw them.)

Again, if you feel so inspired to steal this idea to use for yourself (or actually FOR someone else but to do yourself), by all means go for it. That's what I have to say about that.

"Back in the saddle???"

So two months later after my accident, I was just able to get on my bike and go riding finally this week. I didn't realize it at the time, until that night after I got home (that is was exactly two months later that is). The doctor had told me that she didn't want me trying to ride my bike until 8 weeks from the time of the accident and, before doing so, she wanted to do a second x-ray to make sure it was healing okay.

I had an appointment to visit with her at the eight week mark, but then the day of the appointment, the doctor's office called to say she was not in the office that day, for whatever reason that they did not disclose. We rescheduled for Tuesday (this past Tuesday, May 12). She ordered an x-ray, which I got done on Wednesday, the next day.

I had been a teency bit disobedient to what the doc had ordered, by starting about 3-4 weeks ago to spin on my trainer at home. (In case your not familiar with a trainer, it's a mount basically to put my bike on so that I can "spin" at home. They are a god-send for cold, wet weather or when roads are icy in the winter.) That felt great, not just because I was able to get on my bike, but actually as it pertained to my bicycling and my injury, it felt GREAT!!!! There was no pain or even discomfort in my shoulder from my broken collarbone.

I did make sure to do as the doctor said about riding outside, well mostly so, in that I waited until I had had my appointment with her Tuesday. It was feeling so good that I decided to take the shoulder out for a test ride Wednesday morning before my physical therapy session and other things for the day. (She didn't tell me that I couldn't ride still, she only ordered the x-ray.)

I was pretty nervous about getting on my bike and riding outdoors, knowing that when you introduce road bumps and vibrations with broken bones, or rather bones healing from breaks in this case, it can cause things to come loose again, agrevate injuries, etc. I didn't want to do this, but I told myself, "Self!! You know, you'll never know how it's going to be if you don't actually get out and ride." I do have enough self discipline that if it did cause too much pain or discomfort that I could have easily returned home and kept the bike stowed away for a little while longer. Luckily, I felt absolutely NO pain or discomfort as it pertained to my collarbone. In fact, the only thing I felt was my left collarbone, the side that broke of course, but not pain, only what I felt with it now being raised because of the nature of the break/injury. I was able to ride nearly 9 miles, including going over some significant enough bumps in the road that, if there were going to be problems, I WOULD have felt them. My morning ride felt so good, but was so short, that later that night, I went for a second bike ride. (Normally I would never ride twice in one day.)

I rode again Friday morning and Saturday night (May 15 and 16 respectively). I did two rides again Monday, and rested on Tuesday. While at work Tuesday, however, I got a message from the doctor. The x-ray came back and, according to her, it's not "calcifying" enough she feels for me to start riding again. Says I need to wait 6-8 weeks more. UGGHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Is that enough exclamation points to demonstrate me frustration? or can I add 600 more?)

I didn't get a chance to call her back or make an appointment to look at it with her, but i'm hoping she'll clear me to at least ride SOME, on country roads, the bike trail, out on long stretches of the highway (which is what I love to do), or SOMETHING.

Well, on a separate note, I do have an appointment with the hematologist on Wednesday afternoon (about follow up for my blood clot and blood work that he ordered, not anything related to my collarbone). Hopefully he will have some good news and say, "You know, blood work can back good, except we found this one easy thing that caused it and here's how to clear it up." I'm not really confident that he will say that, but it's a nice thought. Then I could at least come off of my meds (Coumadin, pronounced koo-mah-din). Of course, that's a totally different subject.

Accident Update (Brief)

So I've had some time to reflect over the past few weeks about the accident and it has caused a few questions to come up for me. Some of these are questions about the injuries that I had and the ramifications and/or effects of the same. I'm not sure how many of these questions will have answers, but I'll start the list with some of them.

1.) When I was taken to the ER and when they went over my diagnoses, they said I broke my collarbone in two places, had an "acute concussion", and some road rash. Well, obviously I could tell the road rash and at the time of the accident I figured my collarbone was probably broken (see my other blog posting about the accident details and how I couldn't stand up on my own after). An x-ray revealed at least one of the breaks, a very obvious one because it essentially snapped completely in two pieces, the same way a small branch or stick might break in two if you bend it too much. (Sorry if that's too visual and gross for some of you, but that's exactly what it looks like in the x-ray.) The question??? How do they diagnose an "acute concussion"? I know from having been through it and having told them that I "blacked out" after hitting the minivan and don't remember anything until I was actually on the ground in a sitting up position. Is the "blacking out" a sign/symptom of a concussion? Did they do a CT scan on my head when they did the CT scan to make sure there was no clotting where my previous blood clot had been? (That's another story if some of you don't know about my blood clot from last October.)

Well, I said several questions, but maybe it's a few questions that kind of fall under one general category. Maybe there's something else going on? Hmm. Not sure what else to say about that.

When We Make Plans and Then Someone Else Changes Them For Us

So I just had my 35th birthday. I always plan time off from work for my birthday, because let's face it, nobody wants to ever have to work on their birthday. My birthday is on St Patrick's Day (March 17 in case it's a holiday that doesn't really matter to you) and it happened to fall on a Tuesday this year. Not that that is significant in and of itself, but I figured it would be an easy excuse to take a 4 day weekend from work. I also decided this year that I would ACTUALLY do something for a change. (Normally taking time off just means vegging at home and maybe going out for a very long bicycle ride, if I can motivate myself to do so.)

Well, this year I decided I would take a trip to Utah and visit some old missionary companions and other friends or former missionaries that I served with in Costa Rica. So I made all of the necessary plans, at least as many as I ever make for any sort of a road trip. I'm really not very good about planning anything, as I've learned through various experiences, primarily my experiences student teaching, which I failed miserably. (That is a whole different story, about which I could probably write a book literally but won't here.)

I had sent messages and emails to several people and had planned to take off for my "mecca" on Saturday, March 14 early in the morning in hopes of getting to Utah in early afternoon, and maybe having a BBQ with some of my friends before going to a wedding reception for an old family friend. (Not that the friend is old, just from a very long time ago. In case she might be reading this.)

I picked up my luggage out of storage a couple of days before and was going to pack the night before I left. I decided that, since I wouldn't be back for 4-5 days and wouldn't be able to go for a bicycle ride in at least that long, I would take advantage of the later sunset and go for a quick spin of about 35 minutes here in Greeley, on a route that I typically ride at least 2-3 times a week. It was a great bike ride until I was just about finished and was approaching an intersection. I was coming down a gradual downgrade/decline in the road and approaching an intersection with a signal light. (I would say stoplight, but that would imply that it was a red light, which in fact was NOT the case.)

As I approached the intersection, I saw that the light was green and, as a matter of habit, started watching traffic closely as the road narrows and sometimes complicates car vs bicycle relationships, if you know what I mean. I made a point to look and see if there was a "walk" signal or if it was changed to a flashing hand, a sign that indicates to not cross the street or to finish crossing if one has already started. The point of this was to know whether the light was likely to change as I approached the intersection. I saw that in fact it was a "walk" signal, indicating that there was plenty of time to get through the intersection. Still approaching the intersection, I also saw a dark minivan on the opposite side of the road, meaning that it was coming from the opposite direction. This minivan was stopped in the left-hand turn lane and was waiting for traffic to clear before making a left-hand turn to go south. (The street we were on was east-bound/west-bound 16th street in Greeley.) As soon as I saw that minivan, I started saying to myself, "That minivan is not going to turn in front of me. THAT minivan is NOT going to turn in front of me! THAT MINIVAN IS NOT GOING TO TURN IN FRONT OF ME!!!!!!" I was moving with traffic and, based on my previous memories of riding the same stretch of road, figure I was probably moving at about 25 mph approaching the intersection. By this point, I was close enough to the intersection that had the light changed to yellow, I would not have been able to stop and was already committed to going through the intersection. I'm still saying to myself, "That minivan is not going to turn in front of me."

Sadly, I was wrong about the minivan and it turned in front of me, leaving me about 4-5 feet of distance to stop myself, while still moving at about 25mph into the intersection. I was of course not able to stop myself, so I crashed into the minivan, broadsided, and hit it at about the middle or towards the back of what should have been the sliding door on the passenger side. I remember hitting the van with my bicycle and I remember my upper body slamming into the side of the van, but do not remember anything after that until I was in a sitting up position in the middle of the intersection. I tried to stand up by pushing myself up with both hands. I was unable to get any leverage with my left hand so I was unable to stand on my own. I asked for someone to help me stand up so that I could get out of the road and out of traffic. When I got to the side of the road, I noticed that my bicycle had already been moved and was leaning against the SW corner light pole. I remember looking at my bicycle and noticing that the left-hand brake lever was bent severely towards the inside of the handlebar. (That's all I remember noticing about my bike at that time.) I stood at the street corner in a daze, while I heard people around me talking, not really understanding most of what people were saying. I remember hearing a woman nearby saying, "I didn't see (the bike) coming." (Parenthetical "the bike" because I don't remember if she said she didn't see the bike, the man on the bike, or other words.)

I remember a man standing nearby that seemed to have an idea of how to handle accident situations, maybe an off-duty police officer or something, but don't remember what he was saying. Within 1-2 minutes, I remember seeing the ambulance coming and someone asking me to sit down on the ground, which I didn't resist at all. The ambulance arrived and shortly I was being assisted by the paramedics in putting on a neck-brace (precautionary I am sure for all accidents with injuries) and was guided by the paramedics onto a stretcher.

I must say while this was going on, that although I was really "in a daze" I still had many of my normal mental faculties about me, at least as near as I could have told at the time. I remember being grateful when they told me that they already had the back of the ambulance heated. (I was grateful because I remember thinking I had been racing, not literally, just riding very hard, on my bike.) I knew that by riding hard by body was producing lots of heat and that now that I wasn't riding, I would begin cooling down, and likely getting very cold, although the paramedics were probably accustomed to doing this to prevent a patient/victim from going into shock. Much the same phenomenon, just different perspectives mostly I guess.

They loaded me into the ambulance, started an IV of what I think was the first painkillers, while checking vitals and doing their normal paramedic stuff.

Back up a little bit. I didn't know the extent of my injuries, but I knew there must have been a problem with my collarbone based on the fact that I had tried to stand up and couldn't get any leverage with my left hand. I remember a paramedic or police officer (don't remember which it was) asking if I had any pain anywhere. I responded that my left shoulder was sore. I don't remember any severe "pains", just soreness, probably because my body was already going into some stages of shock and, with the adrenaline and all, I figure now that it was probably just sort of shielding the pain. Before we even arrived at the hospital, I remember them asking me the normal "pain" question, "On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being mild and 10 being severe, how bad would you rate your current pain?" Well, I've never as far as I can remember ever experienced any pain that I would call a 10 and couldn't possibly be any worse, so I told them it was probably about a 7-8.

The paramedics were very kind and informative about telling me everytime that we were approaching any bumps in the road (gutters, speed bumps, etc), for which I was very thankful 'cause it would have hit a 10 had they not said anything and just taken bumps at normal speeds.

Within a few minutes of arriving at the emergency room, which luckily was only about 1 mile from the scene of the accident, everything pretty much started becoming a blur. I'll tell what I remember of it, but it will likely be in very random bits of information and not necessarily in the order that things happened.

Sometime in the ambulance or after I got into the ER observation room, they informed me that they were putting me on some morphine. As soon as they said "morphine" my mind raced back to a TV show I remembered watching growing up titled "Tour of Duty", a TV series that reenacted what it might have been like for soldiers fighting in the Vietnam War. No specific scenes, I just remember that morphine was commonly used then as a painkiller for soldiers when they received severe injuries from gun-shot wounds, land-mine explosions, and other war-related stuff. I was grateful for the morphine because by then I was pretty darn hurting and didn't really enjoy it very much.

After being moved from the stretcher to one of the ER beds, I remember people asking if I had emergency contacts in my pocket or anything. I gave them the name of my sister, Annelise, and told her she would be listed in my cell phone directory. They called my sister and she, Howard (her husband), and little Benjamin (their son, not named after me, but after Howard's middle name) were there in the ER within a few minutes. Having them there really helped things go better in the ER. I might've been miserable had nobody been there.

As normal procedure, in order to check for injuries, I was slightly saddened by the fact that the paramedics had to cut my clothes off that I was wearing from bicycling. These mainly being my bike vest, a compression jersey (think Under-Armour type shirt), another short sleeved shirt that I was wearing, and the straps of my bib-shorts. This meant of course I would have to buy new clothes to replace these. I wasn't really saddened at the time about having to replace them so much as just the fact that they had to cut them. I didn't resist though.

My sister was able to use my cell phone to call my Elders' Quorum president and he too was at the hospital seemingly very quickly. I thought of having her call my home teachers, but I didn't think that I had them both listed in my cell phone directory and I didn't want people to have to make like 3-4 calls to get my home teachers there. My EQ president also was employed at the hospital so I knew that he knew his way around and could get there more easily then anyone else. Les Adams (EQ president) was kind enough to stay there for several hours with my sister and her family and, having the medical background that he has, he was also able to explain much of what was happening, monitor the systems that were monitoring my oxygen levels, blood pressure, and so forth. Most of the time in the ER was spent just laying there in the bed. Not really very exciting.

While paramedics and ER doctors and nurses were inquiring about allergies, medications, etc, I advised them I had been in the ER before for a "portal vein thrombosis" in October 2008. As part of their checks, they carted me off for a cat scan for my portal vein, to make sure nothing had been damaged in the accident in case of issues, and I think the cat scan also checked my shoulder, neck, and other areas for other trauma that may have happened. **Background: When a person does a cat scan (it's probably actually called a CT scan, but I'm not sure), they give you an IV of some "contrast" that helps identify parts of the body and identify things that may have happened. I know that's not a very good description of it, but this again is only background info for part of the story.** When they give you the "contrast" for the cat scan, and then send you through the machine, it makes your body feel warm. Apparently in some people it ends up causing them to wet themselves, to put it mildly, but not in everyone. Luckily, I've not had this issue. It does nonetheless cause the warm feelings all over the body. Kind of weird feeling, you might say, but I told them of my experience before when I had to drink another form of the contrast and these warm feelings previously actually caused me to vomit what seemed like the entire contents of my stomach, when I previously had to do a cat scan because of my blood clot (the "portal vein thrombosis"). Among the warm feelings, the IV fluids for the cat scan also cause a weird metallic taste in your mouth. It's very gross and I don't recommend it to anyone. Luckily, this time through the cat scan I had no issues with vomiting, though it almost seemed that at one point I wanted to.

After spending about 4 hours in the ER, it came time for them to discharge me to go home. Part of this meant having me sit up in the ER bed so that somehow I could get out of the bed and get out of the hospital. I might have to have someone else tell this story though, because by this time I was so outside of my mind that I have no idea what was happening. I do know that while in the ER, I was on oxygen where I had a tube in my nose to get oxygen flowing into me and I know that when it started getting low, I started getting a little bit "loopy" and unresponsive. (This was one reason I was glad Les was there because on at least one occasion he had me specifically focus on breathing in through my nose, using the oxygen supply, and breathe out through my mouth. One of the machines was monitoring my oxygen levels and he noticed apparently that my levels were getting low. Thanks, Les.)

I remember, at what I think was between 8:00 and 9:00pm, one of my missionary companions called me. He was calling to figure out final plans of what we were going to do the next day. In fact, I was going to be staying with him for the weekend when I got out to Utah. Sadly, I had to inform him of my accident and cancel all of what we had planned. Naturally, he was very understanding and wished me well. It was just kind of odd to me to be sitting in the ER and to have him call me while I was there. We talk on the phone occasionally, but not all too frequently, so the timing was a little bit odd. I asked him to let everyone else know and apologize to them for me.

The ER observation room that they put me in had another woman in there. She seemed to be an older woman and luckily, after a couple of hours, they carted her out to do her own cat scan or something. While she was out, Les and Howard were able to give me a priesthood blessing, which I had asked them to do if we could ever get a brief moment of quiet time there. (The woman in the other bed, while sort of "masked" by a curtain that separated us, was really loud and I remember her being kind of annoying.)

I remember sitting in the bed and thinking, "My knee really hurts. Why haven't they done anything for it yet?" I asked them if they could dress it or something because it was really stinging badly. (I got some "road rash" on my left knee when I fell to the ground after hitting the minivan.) They promptly cleaned it and dressed it, but I'm still kind of surprised that they didn't do that before.

Some time later, doctors came back and informed me that, based on the cat scan and x-rays, my injuries seemed to be limited to just my collarbone, which they informed me was broken in two places, which explains why I was unable to stand up on my own, as explained previously.

Within an hour of arriving in the ER, the policeman that responded to the accident came to see me. He informed me that we (myself and the woman driving the minivan) were getting tickets. He said he was citing me for failure to dismount at a crosswalk, which he said was not a city code, but rather a state code, but that hers was "three times as bad" as she was being cited for failure to yield to a pedestrian. My impression of bicyling laws were that bicyclists were supposed to follow all of the same rules of traffic that a vehicle/driver should be following, so I asked about this. He responded, "Yes, except apparently at crosswalks." He advised me that my ticket would carry a $22 fine, but of course no points against my license because, logically, I wasn't driving. (I have since looked up the state bicycling laws, and I believe he is wrong in his interpretation of the laws, per the Colorado state website that outlines these.) He also came to the ER to get pictures of my shoulder and knee injuries for the accident report. By this time, I still don't have my glasses, so you might say it was kind of humorous because every 5 minutes someone was asking me to sign one form or another, all while I'm drugged up on morphine and can't see more than 6 inches in front of my face and can't move my whole left arm. Luckily, I'm right-handed, but that doesn't help to see the "dotted line" on everything I am supposed to sign. So for the ticket and all of the hospital forms, I just had to hold the pen and they had to hold everything literally within 4-5 inches of my face so I could see it, and even then I wasn't completely sure of where the lines were to sign.

Hours later, it came time to leave the ER. Les was still there and probably could give a better version of the stories of me trying to stand up to get into the wheelchair, but I'll do my best.

With a broken collarbone, which some people have since told me is the second-most painful bone to break in the human body, second only to the thigh-bone (whatever it's called). Because it is so painful, I could not do anything by myself, including sitting up or anything. On top of this, I'm drugged up on morphine and then to get out of the bed, they had to take my oxygen tube out of my nose, which brings me back to the point of being totally "loopy". They had me sit up in bed, which they did for me because of the motorized beds and they simply had to raise the bed enough that I was in a sitting up position. I was so uncomfortable and in so much pain from this, that I couldn't move my legs enough to sit on the side of the bed, so Les and the nurses helped with this. They grabbed my feet/legs and swung them to the left so that I was sitting up and dangling my feet off of the bed. Since I was so "loopy", they were constantly talking to me to keep my attention and keep me from nodding off. Not an easy task though. Howard tells the story and just says I was just sitting there with my eyes wide open but then when they would talk to me it was like "the lights are on but there's nobody home". I apparently wasn't responding to them at all or anything. After what was probably 5-10 minutes of my feet hanging off the side of the bed, they were finally able to get me responding enough to help me stand up, turn enough only so that my back was to the wheel chair, which allowed them to position the wheelchair, then help me to sit down, and then they lifted my feet and rotated the foot rests to set my feet carefully there. Once in the wheelchair, I think the hard work for everyone else was complete. It then just became a matter of Les pushing the wheelchair and Howard and Annelise carrying all of my stuff.

Getting out of the wheelchair and into the car was almost as difficult as getting out of the bed and into the wheelchair. It didn't take long for the morphine to seem like it was wearing off and the pain to start kicking in. The doctors gave me a prescription of Percocet for the pain but warned that I needed to take it on a full stomach or it could cause nausea. The problem with that is that when your body is hurting so much from a severe injury, it's not easy to eat and get a full stomach. I was hurting so much that I knew I wouldn't be able to eat anything solid. Howard and Annelise were kind enough to let me stay with them for the weekend. We got to their place around 11:30pm Friday night. I remember asking Annelise just to fix me some light soup. I asked her not for anything heavy, even just like some chicken noodle soup, mostly of just the broth was about all that I could handle. I had a couple of mugs full of that and that's all I could handle that night. I took the percocet and with that went to bed for the night. They were even nice enough that they offered to let me sleep in their bed and they would sleep on an air mattress.

Getting into bed, like the previous experiences of getting into and out of the wheelchair, was also very difficult. You don't realize how much your body uses certain parts, until you lose use of some of those parts due to an injury or something else. Since I was now not in the ER bed, we couldn't take advantage of just raising and lowering the bed for me. Raising and lowering had to be done either through my own power or that of someone else. By then I was so uncomfortable and in so much pain, I could not lay down by myself. Enter Howard into the picture. I was able to get up the stairs fairly well, but getting into bed was just painful. For me to lay down, I had to have Howard get behind me and, using one hand to support my whole left shoulder (because it remarkably has a lot to do with supporting your head when you're in the motion of laying down I've now learned) and using the other hand to lower me into bed, he and my sister helped me get into bed and lay down. I was still also in enough pain that I couldn't move my legs by myself. Eventually with their help, I was in bed and they helped get the blankets over me and get a body pillow under my whole left side, to support my left shoulder and keep it high enough that it wouldn't stretch the muscles on the front side of my shoulder.

The next morning worked exactly in reverse of the night before to get out of bed. I won't repeat it for fear of this getting too long and boring. I had to rely on Howard and Annelise all of Saturday and Sunday for getting in and out of bed the next two nights. I stayed with them until I was finally able to return home Monday morning to my own apartment.

Sunday I was unable to attend church, though I had hoped to do so, due to the pain of moving around and everything. My hometeachers were able to come visit me Sunday afternoon as they had just learned of the whole experience that day. (I'm glad I have the home teachers that I do. They are very entertaining, but more importantly are very caring.)

That's probably enough details of this experience, perhaps more than anyone else might wish to read. Of course, if you've read this far, then I guess that point is probably moot.

First Sacrament Meeting Talk in New Ward

So, now having given the precursory explanation, I now feel inspired to share my experience with my first time speaking in sacrament meeting in my new ward, the Glenmere Ward of the Greeley Stake. (In case someone's reading this that doesn't know what a "stake" is, it is in a nutshell, a regional collection of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, often to which we are referred as the "Mormons".)

So upon moving to the new ward, I was beginning to feel somewhat comfortable with the members of my new ward and felt that, since the bishopric really had not spoken to me on what I felt were "too many" occasions, I felt I might have been clear to not speak in the ward for a while. WHOA!!! Was I wrong about that. Never have I been able to go more than a year without speaking in any ward, from the time that I returned home from my mission in Costa Rica. In some cases I hadn't been able to even go six months without being asked to speak again. So of course by "feeling comfortable" in the new ward and thinking I wouldn't be asked to speak for a while, I was GROSSLY mistaken. At the end of February (I believe it was the last Sunday in February), the bishop approached me after sacrament meeting and asked if I would speak in two weeks and, upon my positive response (meaning that I answered in the affirmative, not necessarily that I was "positively" responding), he informed me that he would call by the end of the night that following Tuesday (two days later) to inform me of the subject on which I was to speak. Now, when I say I may not have been "positively" responding, that is not to say that I had a negative attitude about it. While I don't consider myself a great public speaker, I do actually kind of enjoy it when the opportunity presents itself to speak in sacrament meeting.

Two days later, as promised, Bishop Cocroft called to inform me the subject on which I was to speak. This is where the assignment I might say became difficult. He asked me to speak on a talk given by Elder Neal A Maxwell in general conference in 2002 and, which said talk had just been printed again in the December 2008 issue of the Ensign and was titled "Consecrate Thy Performance". Personal consecration is a great subject. As part of my instructions, Bishop was clear to point out specifically that "I don't want you to READ the talk". So, the subject is great, I was actually kind of excited to speak in sacrament meeting, but I was to give a talk about a conference talk from perhaps THE most difficult of the general authorities to understand. (Many people talk about how before he was to speak, they had to carry their own dictionaries to look up his words, because Elder Maxwell was such a powerful speaking and great orator, that he often used words that can be very difficult to understand.) What follows below is some of what I discussed in my talk, including excerpts of his talk, and quotes from other important church leaders.

"Consecrate Thy Performance" by Elder Neal A Maxwell

"Consecration" is "a solemn commitment of your life or your time to some cherished purpose (to a service or goal)", or "sanctification of something by setting it apart (usually with religious rites) as dedicated to God.

Lance Armstrong, a world-renowned bicyclist and cancer survivor consecrated his time for many years to develop an amazing ability to race bicycles. He excelled so much in his ability that he won the Tour de France an unbelievable seven times. As a cancer survivor, towards his (first) end of his bicycling career, he established the "Livestrong Foundation", a foundation that is "consecrated", or dedicated, to finding a cure for cancer. This form of consecration certainly is on a higher level of dedication then what one would say was his consecration to the sport of cycling in the pre-foundation times. Often times, a person may find great joy in an activity. The world is replete with examples of athletes that consecrate their time and talents to becoming professionals, far beyond what many of us "normal" people might achieve. Going a step above the athlete is when a person consecrates their life to a cause, such as Lance Armstrong dedicating his time to the Livestrong Foundation.

In the church, priesthood holders "consecrate" a small vial of oil, which is then used exclusively to bless the sick and afflicted according to the faith of those they serve. We go beyond this further when we consecrate our lives to becoming more like our Heavenly Father. In the early days of the church, the "saints", or early "Mormons", lived what we now know as the "law of consecration", a law/commandment wherein the members gave up all of their worldly possessions to the church and then received back from the church only according to their needs. We see examples of the same throughout the Book of Mormon and the Bible.

Elder Neal A Maxwell said, "We tend to think of consecration only as yielding up, when divinely directed, our material possessions. But ultimate consecration is the yielding up of oneself to God. Heart, soul, and mind were the encompassing words of Christ in describing the first commandment, which is constantly, not periodically, operative."

The Prophet Joseph Smith teaches the true meaning of consecration:

"When we consecrate our property to the Lord it is to administer to the wants of the poor and needy, for this is the law of God; it is not for the benefit of the rich, those who have no need. . . Now for a man to consecrate his property, wife and children, to the Lord, is nothing more nor less than to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the widow and the fatherless, the sick and affflicted, and do all he can to administer to their relief in their afflictions, and for him and his house to serve the Lord."

It's so great to have modern day prophets that are able to teach us the finer points of the gospel. Although we often find the reality of keeping this kind of commitment much more difficult than our initial thoughts may lead us to believe, we receive blessings for committing ourselves to a Christ-like life.

Elder Maxwell further teaches: "Many ignore consecration because it seems too abstract or too daunting. The conscientious among us, however, experience divine discontent because of progression mixed with procrastination. Hence, loving counsel is given with the confirmation of this direction, encouragement to continue the journey, and consolation as we experience individually the inherent degrees of difficulty."

A part of this quote that may be difficult to understand without dissecting it word for word is the part "the conscientious among us experience divine discontent because of progression mixed with procrastination." To me this says that while I'm striving to live my life better and more in line with the Savior's teachings, I experience setbacks because sometimes I put my own natural wants and desires perhaps over what I may know to be the better choice. Elder Maxwell promises us "encouragement to continue the journey". This may be blessings we receive and recognize as we are successful in living the gospel. "Consolation as we experience individually the inherent degrees of difficulty" says that I'm not perfect and as I see my shortfalls, consolation comes through repentance in my life. Making amends for what I may do wrong yields the comfort that the Spirit of God can provide. It can be feel as much as a big hug from a close friend or loved one, in fact the One who loves us most of all, or a sense of relief as we know that amends have been made and we can then resume our progression after receiving forgiveness for our (my) sins.

While I don't wish to preach doom and gloom on everyone, there are some cases where we may secretly withhold a part while we proclaim to be consecrating all that we have. In Acts 5: 1-11, we read of one such example. Peter and John had been teaching and testifying to the people and some leaders where they were at the time. The people felt the power of their words and chose to live their version of the "United Order" or "law of consecration" as we later come to know it in the early history of the current day church. At the end of Acts 4, we read "the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul: neither said any of them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things common." Translation: Those that believed were of one heart and one soul and none of them said anything he owned was his own, but they all shared everything. I'm not sure if I personally am ready for that level of consecration, I still like too many of my own things. From Acts 5: 1-11, though, we read of Ananias and Saphira who, having committed to living the law of consecration, later thought to withhold some of what they had. They sold a piece of land and, without telling anyone, kept some of the money that they earned in selling the land. When turning over the money to Peter, Peter knew through the Spirit that Ananias had withheld part of the earnings and inquired of it to Ananias. To make the long story short, both Ananias and his wife, Saphira, were struck down dead for their failure to live up to the commitment. This example may have had more to do with their level of commitment than the small portion that they may have actually withheld. There will come a time when we will each have to commit in such a way as this in our hearts. More importantly, there will come a time when I will have to commit to live this way in my heart. Currently, a large part of our now "law of consecration" is that we commit to pay a 10% tithing, an amount equal to 10% of our income to the church. The Lord certainly can get by without what each of us may contribute individually in this way, but he promises us blessings for living the law and, furthermore, we learn to give back a portion to the Lord and what he has already given us.

Elder Maxwell says, "So many of us cling tenaciously to a particular 'part,' even treating our obsessions like possessions. Thus, whatever else we may have already given, the last portion is the hardest to yield. Granted, partial surrender is still commendable, but it resembles, more than faintly, the excuse, 'I gave at the office.'

"We may, for instance, have a specific set of skills which we mistakenly come to think we somehow own. If we continue to cling to those ore than to God, we are flinching in the face of the consecrating first commandment. Since God lends us "breath . . . from one moment to another,' hyperventilating over these distractions is not recommended!

"A stumbling block appears when we serve God generously with time and checkbooks but still withhold portions of our inner selves, signifying that we are not yet fully His!"

Sometimes we may be scared or unsure of ourselves and want to shrink from our obligations in one way or another. Said Elder Maxwell: "Shrinking occurs in so many ways. The terrestrial kingdom, for example, will include the 'honorable,' clearly not bearers of false witness. Yet they were still 'not valiant in the testimony of Jesus.' The best way to valiantly testify of Jesus is to become steadily more like Him, and it is that consecration that carves out the emulative character."

Consecration Returns to God What Is His

We consecrate ourselves by accepting God's will (sometimes this seems more easily said than done) and submitting ourselves unto it.

"In striving for ultimate submission, our wills constitute all we really have to give God anyway. The usual gifts and their derivatives we give to Him could be stamped justifiably 'Return to Sender', with a capital S. Even when God receives this one gift in return, the fully faithful will receive 'all that (He) hath'. What an exchange rate!

"Meanwhile, certain realities remain: God has given us our lives, our agency, our talents, and our opportunities; He has given us our possessions; He has given us our appointed mortal spans complete with the needed breaths. Guided by such perspective, we will avoid serious errors of proportion."

The Savior is our ultimate example of consecration. We read seemingly countless examples of Christ performing miracles: He healed the sick, raised the dead, restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, multiplied fishes and loaves to feed multitudes of people. What would this have meant if he hadn't performed his ultimate act of consecration, giving his very life and taking on himself the sins, infirmities, and the pains of the world??? It might have ultimately meant nothing had he not performed that one ever-important act.

Again from Elder Maxwell: "In pondering and pursuing consecration, understandably we tremble inwardly at what may be required. Yet the Lord has said consolingly, 'My grace is sufficient for you'. Do we really believe him? He has also promised to make weak things strong (unto us). Are we really willing to submit to that process? Yet if we desire fullness, we cannot hold back part."

Ultimately by consecrating ourselves, dedicating our time, talents, minds, and hearts to God, we are promised that we will receive "all that the Father hath". Elder Maxwell continues, "Besides, how could we be entrusted with his 'all' until our wills are much more like His? Nor could his 'all' be fully appreciated by the partially committed."

As we live our lives, we need to evaluate our performance and correct any wrongs in our lives to most fully come to realize the blessings he has promised. During his mortal ministry, the Savior told his apostles that one of them would betray him. Concerned by this, one of them asked, "Lord, is it I?" Upon evaluating ourselves and our own commitment to personal consecration, we need not ask the same question. In a slightly different way, we might evaluate our own performance and, finding our shortcomings, ask the question, "Lord, is it this?"

I know that consecration is perhaps one of the most difficult of the commandments to live fully. Perhaps this is why the first commandment is to love the Lord with all our heart, might, mind, and soul. Listen to what Elder Maxwell says: "We may have known the answer for a long time and may need resolve more than we need his answer (to that question of 'Lord, is it this?'). The greatest happiness in God's generous plan is finally reserved for those who are willing to stretch and to pay the costs of journeying to His regal realm. Brothers and sisters, 'come let us anew, this journey pursue.'"

I know that as I strive and struggle to put God first in my heart, blesses come to me.

This talk is one of my favorite talks that I remember from Elder Maxwell before he passed way. I've listened to it over and over again. It's probably one I can listen to 100 times or more and continue to find ways to improve. Luckily, I've got my life ahead of me to do so.

New Ward

So it's been a while and I figure I ought to add something to this so that I can actually say that I do maintain a blog of my own. (I'm not very good about writing in/updating my blog, but I might as well take advantage of some opportunities.)

In August 2008, I was attending the University 2nd ward in Greeley. I'd been attending this ward since it was formed back in October 2004. The ward was formed when the Greeley stake was reorganized, boundaries were changed, and ward names also were changed from the former traditions of "Greeley 1st ward", "Greeley 2nd Ward", etc. University 2nd ward was formed due to a fairly high population of members of the Greeley stake that were married and one or both spouses were students. Also, the "singles ward" was getting very large and the responsibility was getting to be a little bit overwhelming for the bishop called to serve in that ward. Singles aged 24 or over were invited by the stake president to attend the new "University 2nd Ward" and the "singles ward" became the "University 1st Ward". The new ward very quickly became a "ward family" where we all became very close, close enough in fact that we all felt like family to each other. Indeed, we felt it was our own little Zion in Greeley CO.

Fast forward a few years. (Lots happened in that time, but those are subjects for other blog entries perhaps of the future.) In August 2008, the announcement was made from the stake presidency, that it was time for singles to not attend the University 2nd ward any more. According to my roommate, who seems to be constantly in the loop about EVERYTHING that happens about anything, the singles ward was having a hard time maintaining sufficient numbers of people by limiting attendance to those single members ages 18-23 only. Attempts had been made to expand the age range to 18-24 and then 18-26, so as part of the transition of taking the "singles" out of the University 2nd ward, those within the traditional age range for any singles ward, normally ages 18-30, those within that age range were invited to return to the singles ward, still to be called the "University 1st Ward". I of course was well beyond that range by then, so I was invited to attend a "normal", or "family", ward.

Beginning within the next couple of weeks, I started attending the Glenmere Ward. I must admit that I wasn't very excited or happy about having to change wards from what was my "ward family". It was in some respects my "family" because of the close friendships I had developed with so many great people, but in fact because my little sister and her husband and new baby were in that ward. I've always enjoyed being able to attend with her. Besides the fact that she's my sister and I love her to death, she's one that is very good about keeping me on the "straight and narrow". Worries starting popping up about old bad habits and practices coming back by not being in her ward anymore and I was worried I would hardly ever see her again, despite the fact that we would still be living in the same city/town and she's hardly a world apart.

Luckily for me, my "worries" were essentially just that. The Glenmere Ward is a fantastic ward and being in a "normal", or "family", ward has been a great experience. It has taken some big adjustments to accustom myself to attend a family ward again, with primary kids (more than the 6-7 kids that the old ward had) and a ward that actually has Young Men and Young Women. (One of the restrictions for the University 2nd ward is that "married students" cannot have kids over the age of 11 to qualify to attend the ward.) Since a "normal" ward is not just married students, there is also a more substantial population of "older" members, those with gray hair, and in some cases retired from there careers, and those that have just plain "been around a while". There are of course a few members of the ward that in fact are "married students", but these are of course not required to attend the University 2nd ward, that ward is just available for those that want to attend. In summary, the Glenmere Ward just has a lot more diversity in the makeup of it's members.

While it has taken a few months to do so, I am starting to really feel more a part of my new ward. I certainly miss many of my friends I made in the old ward and really wish I could see them more often, or even at all in some cases, as I now attend church meetings in a completely different building, and at a time that does not easily allow me to attend the other ward as a "visitor", which I sometimes do if possible. I do wish the new ward had more activities to attend, something that happened with fair regularity in Univ 2nd ward. (I think the last activity that I recall having was the ward Christmas party, where instead of doing a sort of traditional Christmas dinner, the ward had pie and ice cream.)

For just over a year now, I have been serving as the financial clerk for the Greeley 5th branch, a small branch formed a few years ago to serve the needs of Greeley's small membership of those speaking Spanish. Shortly after I started attending the Glenmere Ward, I was also called to serve as the "building cleaning coordinator". It's not a very demanding calling, luckily, as I feel my calling as financial clerk is fairly demanding. As building cleaning coordinator, my responsibility lies in contacting the members of the Glenmere Ward to fulfill assignments to help clean the chapel/building. We take turns cleaning the building with the Ashcroft Ward, the other ward that uses the building, so that we only clean every other month. Hence, my second calling is nice because in fact I only need to do it every other month. So far, I haven't even had to come up with the list of who is assigned to clean the building, the bishopric has taken charge of this, I just have to make phone contact with each person or family assigned a couple of days beforehand. Those assigned to clean fulfill assignments on one Saturday a month, so call based on the weekly assignments. I'm in fact not very good about calling people on the phone, no matter what it's about, so it is sometimes a little bit difficult for me to call everyone for their weekly assignments, despite the infrequency of it.

Well, this seems to have been quite the boring entry. I started this with the intent of sharing my first experience of talking in sacrament meeting in my new ward, but felt the need to give some background first of all. Now I have managed to fill an entire blog entry just on my experience transitioning from one ward to another. Hmm. Guess that I've got some work to do on the "interesting" factor of my writing, or basically making my writing somewhat more interesting. Well, since currently I'm doing this in the time that I'm not working because of a broken collarbone, I guess I've got plenty of time this week to write about many other things.

The Color Purple

No, this is not about a deep and moving film starring Oprah Winfrey. I recent experience just causes the color purple to come to mind. Not a very exciting experience, but one that makes me think, just a little bit though.

I must first start by explaining that my bedroom in my current apartment is very small and the heater/radiator in the room does not work. Because of this, I'm forced to use a (not so) portable and slightly movable heater in my room. Said heater is fairly heavy but works very well when temperatures are in a range that is not so desirable. One of the things, though, about this heater is that for the most effect, it really pretty much must be kept in the center of the room. This complicates matters of navigating the room.

While digging around for things in my room the other day, I accidentally tripped over part of the heater or the cord for the heater, I really don't know which. As a result, there was a fairly audible russle in my room as I fell to the floor, which is currently covered with many small and annoying things with no better place to put them. The result now is that four of my five toes on my right foot are currently showing a varied range of shades of purple from the resulting bruises. Somewhat uncomfortable to deal with, time will tell how long it may be before I'm able to ride my bike again. That's really the unfortunate result of the accident. After all, my life pretty much revolves around all things bike.

Language and Eloquence

Over the past 3-4 months, I've had the opportunity to share an apartment with a roommate that always leaves me jealous and envious at his ability to speak and debate. Well, debate I suppose may not be accurate, since I've never actually heard him debate, but he's been very good about speaking his mind on subjects and his manner with words fascinates me. I share many of his opinions on subjects ranging from politics to sports, exercise, music, and many other subjects, yet as I listen to him I can't help but think, "Man, how in the world can a person state so well his thoughts on a subject?" Of course, if I knew the answer to said question, I could very simply go on and improve and perhaps eventually perfect my own oratorial skills.

I've spent many years studying and learning Spanish. I am fascinated by language and linguistics, but might not be able to tell you the difference between the two. Yet, in my nearly 14 years of time learning Spanish, and even from my experiences in high school attempting to learn German, which came after a very unsuccessful attempt at learning Spanish, I do not possess the oral skills such as those possessed by my roommate. How might I develop this? Is it that I simply don't have the vocabulary? Is it Sam's experiences he's had of the very act of speaking and sharing his thoughts that has developed this ability? Is it all of these? Is there something else to it of which I am not even thinking?

This may be a very philosophical question, or I may just be moronic and naive in so many of the experiences I have had. I wonder how I build on what I have and know to grow to such a point. Is this a skill that I can still develop?

Background: I currently work for a major insurance company, in a call center environment regarding questions of insurance that very much anymore are very repetitive. I feel that I have a very well rounded background and education, that I feel allow me to relate very well to those I serve in my career. At the same time, I feel like the cliched "jack of all trades, master of none" where I understand myriad subjects, yet none of them thoroughly. For example, I understand life insurance, since in fact that is what I currently work in and can explain very well the differences between term life, whole life, and universal life insurance. I understand the policies offered, albeit now or in the past, offered by my company in how they work. Life insurance is a specific part of the "financial services" industry, but having very in depth knowledge of how my employer's policies operate in a very in depth sense is such a specific knowledge that it doesn't seem to apply to nearly anything else. Ask me why it's important to have life insurance, and I can go on for hours about the various types of policies and why each is beneficial; however, on a more broad scale, I could not even begin to discuss investments overall and what is the difference between a Roth or a Traditional IRA and why each may be more beneficial than the other. Ask me how to invest money for the best growth, and I would likely tell you to buy a universal life policy, even though such a step is clearly not the "best" investment strategy for long-term financial prosperity.

Okay, that tangent is a little bit long. The point is that I feel I have a very broad range of experiences and knowledge about many, many subjects, but much of what I have learned is so specific so as to make it feel like it is nearly pointless, at least so far as practicality is concerned. Then again, maybe I am just entirely too pensive today. Well, hey, at least I now have a blog entry that's more than one paragraph long.

Next, after the above questions comes the question, how do I answer these questions? And, once answered or at least attempted to answer, do I dare post this for all to see and then show the fallacies of my mind? Then again, what good would it be to leave this entry as private, and never to grow from the experience of sharing my thoughts with those around me?

Profile Picture

An old roommate once saw this picture of me and my (current) youngest nephew, also named Benjamin, and congratulated me 'cause he didn't know I had gotten married and was a dad. I probably ought to explain for everyone's knowledge that this is not my son. He is, as indicated above, my nephew, though I'm quite proud of my uncleness, now 13 times over. While I do look forward to the day when I have my own, as scary as that prospect at times seems, that time is not this time. Nuf said about that.


Oops, that "uncleness, 14 times over". Guess after that many it gets hard to count.

Starting Anew

Well, seeing how everyone seems to have their own blog, I figured some time ago I would jump on the cliched bandwagon as it were. I have no idea what direction this will take. I think initially I wanted to start by telling the story of MartyTardy, from a story I wrote years ago in a creative writing class in high school. I would imagine this will end up being something of a sort-of-but-not-so-personal journal of sorts. We shall see as this develops, or if it develops, depending on my writing ambitions.