Beach Haven

I find the psychology of what things stand firm in my mind from my time growing up as a kid puzzling some days. Back in early February I was particularly reminded of the classic Bugs Bunny episode when Elmer Fudd was out hunting. Bugs and Daffy Duck tried to point Elmer toward each other. Over and over Daffy would claim it was ‘wabbit season’, then Bugs would say ‘duck season’. As the pace of the argument grew, Bugs would shift sides. Daffy would follow suit yelling “Duck season! Fire!” Then Elmer would give Daffy a face full of buckshot. Daffy then looked at Bugs, and with his classic lisp would say, “You’re despicable!”

Why did this silly Saturday morning cartoon come to mind? In February we celebrated the birthday of our son, Matt. We also celebrated Groundhog’s Day when Punxsutawney Phil decided spring was just around the corner. After Phil made his annual prediction another season showed up… TAX season! I sort of see this season much like Daffy sees duck season. I spent much of an entire Saturday filling out forms online, digging out the pertinent documents, and sifting through a full year’s worth of receipts. All that effort left me with about half-a-trash-bag-full of paper that required shredding. The shredding effort took several weeks here and there.

Aside from tax season, February is the time of year when it’s still too cold to get much enjoyment outside without snow to play in. I was quite ready to get going on yard work, jogging on the ground instead of the treadmill, getting back into a boat of some kind, and riding on bike paths. Don’t get me wrong. Winter is a good reading season, but I’d much rather read next to a fire in our fire pit in the yard than be sitting on the couch inside. I also ride my motorcycle to DC once a week because of an evening class I’m taking. I have the right gear to stay warm as I ride, but it’s just extra work to put it all on before leaving, then taking it all off when arriving that makes the experience less enticing.

I do have some saving graces in late winter. As I mentioned it was Matt’s birthday in Feb. It was also the birthday of our twins, Jake and Emily. Our son-in-law Ryan is also a birthday boy this month. I’m likely missing someone else. I haven’t gotten them all on my calendar. In addition, I’m in charge of the stake Aaronic Priesthood (young men age 11-18) encampment this summer, so worked with others as we planned (and continue to) for a week-long fun time in June for about 200 people. It’s got me thinking about (and buying gear for) summer activities. My faithful old .22 rifle is laying on the floor next to me in our home office, even as I am typing this. I got it out recently to check out its condition for use in June.

One Sunday in mid-February I noticed a few of the earliest forest wildflowers beginning to poke out of the ground, and there were small green buds forming on the lilac bushes on either side of our driveway. Although it was chilly outside, the sun was bright, and the sky was blue after a week of mostly gray and rain.

Although my nature in late winter is to be a little gloomy, I decided to actively push myself to look for the positives. Even if spring had not yet sprung, the warm months were just around the corner. As much as I don’t like tax season, I do look forward to the tax return that eventually came our way in just a few weeks after the pain was over.
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I suppose a little pain, some negativity, in life is required to make the sweet that much better. Just as Adam and Eve gained understanding through transgression and expulsion from Eden, we all need to recognize and appreciate our own Edens by feeling some distance from them at times. 
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I just wanted to make a quick capture of a small moment from this morning. I’ve been dealing with my fair share of stress the past few weeks, some self-imposed. I believe in and have often experienced little nods from Deity to remind me I am known and loved. After stepping off the train I finished listening to some content then opened up Facebook. I’m not necessarily all that big of a fan of the app, but when I looked earlier someone had posted a video from back in 2016, though it seems there are versions as early as 2012. It is of an orchestra staging a ‘flash mob’ playing the Ode de Joy theme in Beethoven Symphony No. 9.

It struck just the right message for me. The specific music was a piece I used to listen too often while training for ultra-marathons back in my 30s. The tempo made just the right pace for my style of running back then. Also, the video showed all these people in the street watching with surprise and appreciation. Children in the video seemed mesmerized by the whole spectacle.

I felt better, even renewed, and able to face what turned out to be a very hectic morning at work. On the train this morning I had been reading about Soren Kierkegaard’s concepts of ‘indirect communication’ noting how some things can be said, but other things can only be shown. Music (whatever sort one chooses to listen to) certainly communicates something that cannot really be spoken. It inspired those in the video to smile, and dance joyously. For me it may have momentarily brought out a small tear of gratitude.
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This year my wife and I traveled to Utah to spend time with family for Christmas. It was fun opening presents, eating too much food, playing games, and getting in a ski day with our son Jacob. We also saw two movies, the next installments of Star Wars and Jumanji.

Before we left for Utah the wonderful missionaries serving in our congregation here in Virginia shared this year’s nativity video. This is a powerful tool to convey the Spirit. I was particularly peaked by the Spirit at the moment of His birth, again as the shepherds saw the angels, and one last time as one of the wise men first sees the star appearing in the sky. I shared the link to the video on my Facebook page. I hope it helped someone.

An interesting note, I have a particular interest in navigation. In the video the wise men use a specific tool to check their position relative to the north star. At first I erroneously thought they were using the device in reference to the new star. I didn’t recognize it so I consulted Google. The device is called a Kamal. In the video the Magi put one end of the chain in his mouth. He held up a rectangular card attached to the other end of the chain to gain a position. How it is used is explained on the website Online Star Register:

The Kamal was composed of a wood or horn parallelogram one inch by two inches long. Strings were inserted through the center. The string composed of knots at different points along its length. Each knot, called an isba, equaled one degree 36 minutes. The knots ranged from 1 to 16 isba. The navigator would put one of the knots between his teeth and hold the Kamal at arm’s length. When the upper and lower edges of the device became coincident with the pole star and the horizon, the navigator knew his latitude was correct. The latitude of different ports corresponded to the position of particular knots on the string.

One other point that came out as my wife and I discussed the Come, Follow Me topic in the car on the way to Utah. Although the star was a sign the Messiah was born and helped guide them to Jerusalem, it did not light directly over the manger in Bethlehem (contrary to popular depictions). The wise men had to seek out Harod’s scholars who in turn had to dig around through the records to find the name of the town. The video points out that their visit was much later, after Christ was more of a toddler than a baby. By that point they were no longer living in a barn. So the wise men first had to have studied over years to know the sign and to understand basic astronomy. Then they had to be diligent in watching for the sign. Then they had to be willing to follow the sign. Despite that, they still had to consult scripture to know of his location. Then once close they had to ask the townspeople to point to the specific house. Is that not unlike our efforts to seek Him as well?

One final note. This year was the first we celebrated Christmas without our mothers. They both passed away last year within three weeks of each other. As we were traveling home we noted how this year just didn’t feel like Christmas. Not all of our family could be there, but that is always true. However, of our parents, only her father is still with us. Despite the games, presents, family and all the rest, without our mothers it just wasn’t the same.
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For Christmas we visited family in Utah. Our daughter Kyra and her family weren’t able to be there so we took the time at Thanksgiving to visit them.

The weather in Georgia was much nicer than here in Virginia, a good ten degrees warmer. We did all the normal holiday things. We all ate too much. The grandchildren played in the fallen leaves. Friday night we put up a tent, sat around the large fire pit and camped out for the night. I brought along some fireworks like I sometimes do. The kids always like the racket that makes. There were some minor home repairs to take care of. It’s an old house so there is always something to do to it. Watching the Macy’s parade was fun too. It was apparently windy in New York City so they were not sure if the big character balloons would fly. In the end they just held the balloons closer to the ground to better keep them under control.

On Sunday we were able to attend church in our old ward, the Stockbridge Ward. It was fun to see some of our friends who we’ve known for years. We lived in Georgia for eight years. We’ve now been in Virginia for five and a half years. Every time we visit we get the question about when we are moving back to Georgia. I suppose they ask because we still own our home there. That will only be true for another three years or so. Our plan is to retire when I turn 60, then go serve a church mission as a couple. We’ll see how that all works out. For us to do that we will need to sell our Georgia home.

Earlier in November I had an unusual church assignment. I was the High Council speaker at the Stafford Branch. What is unusual about it is that it is an all-Spanish unit. I was able to meet with branch leaders before church, then speak and attend meetings using my Spanish. I hope the members were able to understand my message, and more importantly, feel the Spirit.

The theme, of course, was about being thankful. One of the references was a talk by President Monson in the October 2010 conference, The Devine Gift of Gratitude. The other reference was Luke 17 and the story of the ten lepers. I thought about what to say all week. The main ideas finally came on Saturday, while I was jogging on the treadmill in our basement. The word “distance” was front and center.

You may remember the story. There were ten lepers who approached Jesus and from a distance they cried to him asking to be healed. Keeping distance was the traditional requirement for lepers in that part of the world at that time, a reasonable approach to allay fear and spreading disease. They were healed. He told them to go to the priests to follow the Law of Moses and be “cleansed”. There was one, however who approached him giving thanks, even falling at his feet.

Here are the two thoughts. The nine were about doing their traditional life, their routine. Seeking help, they left their tradition in part and approached Jesus in part. Once they received their help they followed his council and returned to their tradition, their routine. The one who gave thanks did not just immediately slip back into a routine, but cried and gave thanks.

How often do we tend to approach God when we need help, but upon finding relief from whatever pains us, fall back into our normal life, even our normal church life? He who returned and gave thanks was told to go his way, “Thy faith hath made thee whole.” He did not just blindly follow tradition by keeping distance and seeking ritual cleansing.

The other idea, the distance idea also felt important to me. All ten drew somewhat nearer to Jesus while asking for help. The one got even closer when praising and giving thanks. I would submit that seeking guidance or help from God will bring us to a point close to him. However, thanking God for what he has already given will bring us closer still. As we recognize his hand we are acknowledging what he has already done. When we seek a blessing we are asking for something yet to be done. Both require faith, yet recognizing builds a stronger recognition. I hope that I am able to show more gratitude for things both asked for, and not asked for, but yet are expressions of his love for me.

I hope you had a great Christmas season, wherever you are. Like many, I have been away from family over the holidays in past years as a missionary, in the military, and because of work. I encourage each of us to consider what he has done perhaps you will miss your loved ones a little less, and in the years to come, when we are with them, will be that much sweeter.

In November, I had the assignment to speak in the Garrisonville, Virginia Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as part of my assignment as a member of the Stafford, Virginia  Stake High Council. The theme was “Be still and know I am God”. Among the ideas and stories I shared there were two that was the focus. I spoke of the peace that comes from serving in the temple.

I also shared a story about one of our family spring-break trips when we visited Mount Rushmore. When you go, there are two highways approaching from the south. The first is a modern multi-lane nearly straight freeway. We used that one to visit the giant stone sculpture. Once there we were all impressed with the scale of the work, and we gained some appreciation for how much effort it must have taken. We saw many people there from different states and countries. I’d say that part of the visit was worth the effort.

It was after we left, though, that we had a unique Black Hills experience. The other highway is not modern. It is two-lane, twisty-turny, and sometimes passes through drilled out portions of rock. As we left Mount Rushmore and headed south on this road, a few miles south of the monument we found a little turn-off, so we stopped and got out of the car to stretch our legs. Unlike at the monument, there were no other people but us. We found a set of boulders that rimmed a small cliff-edge from where we could look back the few miles we had traversed and see the sculptures from afar.

We decided to just be silent for five minutes and see what we noticed. You might note, this is no small task when you have small children in the mix. As we talked after, there were some common themes. Looking back at the sculpture that seems so impressive up close, now was sort of like a scratching on the side of one mountain. At the same time we were surrounded by many mountains of various shapes, sizes and colors. It was a sunny day with light puffy clouds that moved with the cool breeze. As the clouds moved the colors around us shifted. We could hear small birds and other animals, and see a few of them flying or scurrying about. There was a heavy scent of pine in the air. We could hear the blowing of the breezes at different volumes as it sifted through the trees. We could feel the changing flow of the air on our faces as it passed by us.

The message we all seemed to get in our discussion was how great man’s artistic talent is, but that talent comes from God. Then when one contrasts man’s art with the art of God’s creation, man’s effort pales in comparison.

Over the few weeks following my talk to the Garrisonville Ward, I took my own advice and made some time. My wife and I drove to Philadelphia on a Friday after work. We spent the night in a hotel and on Saturday morning we put in a few hours of service in the temple. As always, we were both uplifted and inspired. The next Saturday morning we helped clean the Courthouse chapel. When we were done I took my camera and went for a hike in The Crow’s Nest nature preserve near our home in Stafford. I walked down to a backwater bog known as The Birding Pond. I only sat there for 30 minutes. With the hike on either side it took me just over an hour. It was worth the effort. I’ll share a few pictures with you that resulted.

I hope each of us will make time to be still. In those moments of stillness, look for the comfort that reminds us of our loving Heavenly Father.

Below are a few pictures I took at The Birding Pond that Saturday.
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This past October our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, held its semi-annual general conference. It was also a weekend full of experience. Over the past few years of conference there has been continued change happening throughout the church. These changes are usually announced and discussed in general conference. I was actually able to attend the Saturday morning session with our son Nathan and son-in-law Kevin. Another son-in-law, Ryan, works for the church and was there for a very long day helping with the cameras. I want to share one experience from the session that reminded me of when I was attending the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo many years ago.

The conference center is large and accommodates many thousands. As you might guess, as more and more people began to fill the venue the noise volume also rose as we all engaged in our small conversations awaiting the beginning of the session. The choir and general authorities eventually were all also seated. Then the entire room hushed. Everyone stood up. There was complete silence. About 30 seconds later the First Presidency entered the room. There had been no signal given. No messages projected on the screens in the room. The prelude had continued as normal. Despite that, we all stood up and stopped talking. It was clear the Spirit we directing.

The reason I was in Utah had nothing to do with conference. Because of some of my national and international association work, BYU Radio had invited me to make two presentations on campus the Monday after conference. One of these they called a ‘masters class’ about radio industry trends, and what they might consider implementing in their station roadmap. The discussion was to be tailored for members of their station leadership.

The other was to be a presentation about my career. This one was odd to me. I often present in public settings about various industry or technology topics, but not about my own career. When I balked at the initial invitation some months before, their staff assured me it would be helpful. They said they look for people with a northern Utah background who have gone out into different industries and managed to be successful. The incentive of these sorts of invitations (they assured me others have been invited over the years) was to encourage students and staff to consider career options that takes them away from the immediate Utah geographic region. It seems they have many students who graduate with some sort of degree but don’t think to move from the area. This can make it difficult for many of them to find good work in their respective chosen fields of study. 

Since I was going to be there anyway, I went early and spent the weekend with some of our children and grandchildren. It was fun. One other unique aspect of General Conference this time was that a number of us had a calling change from the pulpit with no idea it was happening. In my particular case I will still serve on the Stake High Counsel in our stake, but since I have been assigned to support the Young Men program, as announced, that means I will now serve as the Stake Young Men (YM) President in my role on the Stake High Council. I have been involved with the YM program in one way or another since 1988. My wife was still here in Virginia. She immediately texted me that she couldn’t stop laughing, because here I was again coming back into the YM program after my recent release as our ward YM President. We’ll see how this all works out. The new approach seems to have a great deal of potential if families will buy in and make it happen.

Articles of Faith
9 We believe all that God has revealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God.

Memorial Day is when we remember those who died in the service of our country. This year, Michelle and I decided to use the three-day weekend to go sailing. We sailed on our boat from Solomons Island, MD to St. Michaels, MD, a distance of around 50 miles or so each way.

On the way there we had heavier than expected wind and swells. To make it more challenging we had to sail straight down wind. Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, straight down wind (referred to as running) is actually the most difficult point of sail. We got to the anchorage after a long day of sailing, dropped the hook, and had a nice dinner. About dark the winds picked up again and the water was choppy, even in the protected anchorage. About the time we were thinking of going to bed we noticed the anchor was not holding against the wind and waves. We were drifting out into the open waters of Eastern Bay. Michelle took over the helm and motor. I pulled up the anchor. In the dark we went through the process of anchoring all over again. By the time the work was done, and we sat at anchor long enough to have confidence in the hold, it was into the early hours of the morning. Thankfully the rest of that night was uneventful.

The next day was relaxing. We rode the water taxi into town for an enjoyable time together visiting the museum and food venues St. Michaels has to offer. Another water taxi ride back out to our boat finished the visit. Next, we pulled up anchor again. This time to motor into the harbor marina in order to refill our fuel tank in case the wind would not cooperate back to Solomons. Once again we went back out of the harbor and anchored for the third time in two days.

Unfortunately the peace did not last. Around 11pm that evening as we were comfortably dozing I was awoken to a noise I didn’t recognize. Looking everything over inside and out there seemed to be nothing wrong. I laid back down. Michelle was now awake too. Suddenly the calmness of the night changed to very blustery winds. A storm front had clearly arrived. We got up, looked at our relative position to the houses on the shore and other boats. We also watched our position on the GPS system. Thankfully the anchor was holding this time. We never did figure out what the original noise was that woke me up, but because we were awake when the storm blew in we were able to watch over our position. We didn’t hear that sound after the storm was over.

Despite our anchor holding we noticed another boat that was anchored up wind of us was slowly getting closer to us in the dark. The slowness of the movement meant the anchor was not loose, but was dragging. The boat showed only its anchor light, and it seemed like everyone on board was asleep. When it moved to a position alongside us it was close enough that I could have thrown a rock at it and hit it. Worried, we blew our horn several times until someone onboard stumbled to the open and asked if we were honking at them. We pointed out they were dragging anchor. For the next half-hour we watched them moving around in the dark, but ultimately they took no action to change the situation. They eventually drifted a little behind us. It seemed less likely they might bump into us, but we worried our respective anchors might entangle. The winds calmed and the night grew late again so we left them to their decision to take no action. We went to sleep.

We got up early the next morning to get a good start back. The dragging boat had continued to drag and was now further behind us. Luckily for them they were not grounded or close to another boat. Our trip home had the opposite weather than the first leg. The wind calmed a few short hours into the sail and we had to motor much of the trip home.

The experience caused me to think about the idea of watchfulness. On that first night, had we just gone to sleep we would likely have been woken up to the sounds of our boat grounding on the other side of the bay, or worse. On the second night, we were diligent in case a change was needed. Our neighbors were not. Even when it was clear they had moved more than 100 yards in the dark, they chose to take no action. I ask myself, do I take diligent action to ensure I stay anchored in truth? Do I warn others when I see them adrift and moving away from safety? If I drift, am I willing to do the work to reset my gospel anchor, or like those temporary neighbors we had in the anchorage, am I more likely to doze and hope for the best?

One other learning point. I have been a long time afloat before, but Michelle had never been more than on a day sail. She was worried when we wrestled with bad weather and with a loose anchorage. On our way home after mooring back at our home marina, she mentioned to me that having the difficulty instead of an easy sailing day was a good thing for her. She was able to see how we could actually handle the difficult situation even in bad weather and the dark of night. She said she feels more confident for potential future trips. Similarly, when we face life trials and learn to lean on Heavenly Father, we gain confidence (faith) in Him and our assurances from Him.
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My wife and I spent a chunk of the Friday before Mothers Day north of DC in Maryland. An older couple that I minister to lost their grandson Michael to Cerebral Palsy. He was 24 years old and suffered of the disease since his childhood. We got to meet some of the extended family.

The bishop up there actually knew Michael as a child along with his mother. The mother died years ago from cancer and Michael had been in a care facility ever since. When this bishop knew the family he had a daughter who also had special needs. He was not the bishop then, and they were all together in a completely different ward (congregation of our church) than the one they are in now. Several years ago Michael’s church record was transferred from our ward to the ward in Maryland. At the time this brother was not yet the bishop.
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I find it amazing all the things that had to line up. This particular brother had to be the bishop at this particular moment, and Michael’s care facility had to be within the particular ward boundaries for this bishop to have been able to officiate at this funeral.  

You may or may not be aware that I’m foolish enough to be embarked on another post-graduate program. I’m not sure why I’m doing this as an old guy at the end of my working career, but it’s what happening. The degree is in Science, Technology and Society. Fall semester was about the history of technology. Spring semester is about sociological issues in science. In both semesters there was reference to a period in American history when industrial machinery moved from human or animal power, to water power, to steam power, then to electrical and petroleum-based power. There was a lot more on this during the technology class, but still some interesting effects in the look at social issues.

Why this is coming up is that while sitting in the temple, listening to general conference, and during down times in my work travel I was thinking about Beach Haven. It’s a town in Pennsylvania that was founded by one of our ancestors who we named our son Nathan after. I grew up in Berwick, a small blue collar town along the Susquehanna River. Beach Haven is just a few miles upstream from Berwick on the same side of the river, and is more like a small village, a sort of hamlet.

Growing up I remembered Beach Haven for two things. Fishing, and the steam-powered laundry that belonged to “Uncle Morris”. His actual name was Morris Kemmerer. By the time I had any sort of understanding he would have been in his 80s. I looked him up in the Family Tree software. I get these notes from them on occasion letting me know about one relative or other that could have temple work done. Now that my mother has passed away I’m paying a little more attention to family history. I had always thought Morris was my dad’s uncle (a sibling to my Grammy Beach – Violet Kemmerer Beach), but as it turns out he was his great uncle (sibling to my Grammy Beach’s father - Alfred).

Fishing in Beach Haven in those days was either done in one of many eddies that form along the bank, or in the remnants of the old 19th century canal system that still existed in pieces. When the water was high there was good fishing in the canals. When it was low there was not. That’s when we’d fish the main river.

The steam laundry was another thing altogether. For a young boy like me at the time it was an enticing maze of machinery, large conveyor belts driving the machinery, and the sound of hissing steam everywhere in the hot damp atmosphere. My dad told me how he used to help work there when he was a kid. I learned through my academic work that such businesses were common in the days when laundry machinery in homes was uncommon. By the time I came along they were not really doing laundry for families anymore, but were doing more industrial cleaning like for restaurants, hospitals and hotels.

In Beach Haven there really was nothing else. You could count the total number of homes on your fingers and toes, and there were no other businesses but Uncle Morris’ laundry. Today the landscape has drastically changed. The laundry closed after Morris died. Just before we moved away in the mid-1970s construction was started on a nuclear power plant that now stands on a hill overlooking (overshadowing) the town. The last time we visited there were still a few homes and an old cemetery where some of our ancestors are buried. We couldn’t see any remnants of the old canals anymore.

What was the same was the river. It flows continuously at varying heights depending on the time of the year. The water still looks the same as it did when I was young, as does the countryside of rolling, tree-covered Appalachia. Looking closely the downstream pointing ‘V’ shape of the old eel walls are visible just under the surface of the water. From Beach Haven you can look across the river and see the cliff face of Council Cup. It’s a promontory that gets its name from the fact that it served as a place where the old Indian tribes that lived in the area held their councils before the whites moved in, or at least that’s the story I heard back in the day. When I was young we used to go up to the back side of the cliffs at Council Cup and pick wild blackberries in the summer.

I felt inspired to consider how in some ways our times are changing. Like the town, human society shifts with successive generations, but only within limits. There really are no new ideas at the macro level of society. We humans just keep rotating and combining ideas that have been around throughout history. Some ideas are adopted to the detriment and suffering of millions of people. Others bring more or less stability.

What stays constant are the basic principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We can choose to align ourselves with them and find more joy in life, or not and find less of it. 
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His name is Clayton. He sells flowers on the sidewalk next to Union Station in Washington DC. He and I have been chit-chatting for nearly five years. I'm not special in this way. Clayton talks to many people. He knows many of us by name. He is a consummate salesman. Never pushy, his approach has gotten me to pickup up flowers for my wife randomly for a long time. I'd say he's in his mid-seventies.

He tells interesting stories. He also has a street-vendor call that reminds me of similar folks I first encountered in Spain many years ago. I added a quick recording of it below. 

Clayton is at his business regardless of the weather. When it's rainy he also sells umbrellas. Sometimes he adds socks, or gloves, or scarfs, or some other seasonal wares. About two years ago Clayton was not at his usual station. This went on for about two weeks. Another person filled in for him a couple of those days, but his cart generally sat empty. When he came back he shared with me that he had a heart attack. They put a stint in his heart and he was doing better. 

My wife sometimes makes a to do about me bringing home some flowers for her on occasion. I think Clayton is selling a little bit of joy. I enjoy chatting with him. He enjoys chatting with everybody and selling me a few flowers. Michelle enjoys me bringing them home to her. I enjoy seeing the happiness it brings her. So Clayton doesn't just make somebody happy. He makes everybody happy. Seems like it's worth the $5.

Over the week of July 4th last year Michelle and I visited our son Matthew in Italy. One of the cities we visited was Trieste. It is very close to Croatia. The area around Trieste is very beautiful. The water in the Adriatic Sea is crystal clear and a deep azure in color. 

This week I was thinking of our trip with Matthew. Each day we would venture out to visit a different city. A few days we hit more than one. We were on the go constantly with the help of our local tour guide, our son. It was lots of fun. We saw all sorts of castles, cathedrals, museums, cobble stone streets, and ocean views. That part of the trip was memorable, and we have the pictures, and the sore feet to remember it by. We did have three specific experiences that I think were the best. They involved getting to visit with some locals.

While in Padua, one of Matt’s friends who lives there joined us for a nice evening meal and stroll. Her name is Eleonora Russo, and she is working on a degree in education in Padua. It was refreshing to hang out with two young people and take in their enthusiasm for Italy and life.

Later in the week we had dinner in the home of another of Matt’s friends and her parents. Her name is Valentina Mazzoni, and she just completed a degree in education. I’m trying to remember the names of her parents. I think it was Eduardo and Anna. You can see how old I’m getting, in particular when it comes to remembering names. The dinner they treated us to in their home was terrific! When we got there it was raining like crazy. By the time we left the rain had passed and the evening was cool.

The other main interaction we had with locals was Sunday morning. Matt was nice enough to take us to the little branch of our church that was closest to his home. It is in the city of Treviso. He had planned on us touring the city anyway with its old walls and interesting streets. The town itself has multiple streams running through it that are channeled through some of the most picturesque scenes. In some places we saw actively used water wheels.

On the Sunday we visited there were about a dozen people in Sacrament. Three of the dozen were us. It was fast and testimony Sunday. I remember how those go in a small branch. After most had shared a few thoughts it looked like the Branch President would conclude the meeting early. So I brought Matthew to the front with me. The sister missionaries offered to translate, but I asked Matt to.

What I shared with them, and what I want to share with you, was my experience in small branches. My first church experience was in a small branch in Sunbury, PA. It was about a 45 minute drive from where we lived in Berwick, PA. Not long after we joined the church a new branch was formed in Berwick. We were about four families and a few single adults. I also attended several small branches as I served my mission in Spain. For example in Algeciras we met in a three bedroom apartment rented by the church. Our children also remember the seven years we lived in Leadville, CO where at times our family made up about 1/3 of the active branch members. Our youngest, Jacob and Emily, were born there.

Today we attend a ward of about 150 to 200 active members. What each of these congregations has in common, as I mentioned that day in Treviso, are humble people, doing their best to serve God and their neighbors. I could feel the same Spirit in that little branch in Italy as I have felt in the larger metropolitan wards we have attended in Salt Lake City, UT, San Diego, CA, Lincoln, NE, Atlanta, GA, and now near Washington DC. The number of members in a unit does not change the amount of the blessings that come from the presence of the Holy Ghost.

One note, I learned later that one of the sisters (not a missionary sister) was from Spain. I wish I’d have known that before we left so I could have chatted with her. One of the sister missionaries serving there came from Australia and the other from Virginia. She lives near Lynchburg, and was close to finishing her mission. I'm sure she has finished by now. Whether one serves in a large or small ward, or a tiny branch of the church, we are about the Lord’s errand. 
​

I know there is a posted headline version of this story on the BHP page, but I wanted to make some additional comment here.

After attending Mom's funeral, we returned to Utah a few weeks later. This time there were two reasons for our visit. The first and most important was to attend the wedding of our oldest son, Nathan, to Vicky Summerville. They were sealed in the Ogden, Utah temple. The weekend included all sorts of family activities. After the wedding, the happy couple took advantage of the week of Nate’s college spring break for their honeymoon to Portland, Oregon. We are so pleased to see them both happy, and to see them start their life together under the strength of eternal covenants.
 
The other reason for the trip was to help finalize the closing of my mother’s home after her passing. There were some larger items that needed to come back to Virginia with us. My wife, Michelle, took a friend from our church with her, and the two of them drove to Utah pulling a near-empty trailer. I flew out for the wedding. After all the wedding festivities, Michelle and I drove the car and full trailer back to Virginia. There are still a few items awaiting us in Utah to haul back, but they will wait where they are until summer time when we will go back out due to the impending birth of our ninth grandchild, John Coates.
 
In clearing out all my mother’s things there was one in particular that had some real monetary value. It was one of those high-end motorized wheelchairs. When we looked online it seemed to be worth several thousand dollars. We posted it online for sale and waited to see what would happen.

What actually happened? In a word, nothing. Despite the need and the value it was clear the two were not matching up. It became obvious that those who could afford to buy one likely already had, and were not in the market for another. Those who needed but could not afford it, continued to make do with whatever arrangement they already had. Basically, we had nobody interested in buying it.

So my sister, Lisa, asked around. The last few years of her life, my mother lived in a neighborhood where many other older folks lived. After asking around, Lisa was able to get a referral of a Vietnam veteran in the neighborhood, Leon Snow, that could really use the chair, but had no way to pay for it. We decided to donate the chair to him. Mom would have liked that. As it turns out, the fellow is a member of my other sister Crystal's church, and is good friends with Jerry, my brother-in-law.
 
It makes me think about how although life can be unfair at times, and it’s not intended to be, that there are little things here and there we can do to help in very specific positive ways. Although Christ taught to the multitudes, his miracles were almost always in service of the one.

As we see all the need around us, or have needs in our own lives, it can be easy to feel overwhelmed and discouraged. I see it every day on the street as I walk from Union Station in Washington DC, to my office only a few blocks away. Good news! We don’t have to help everyone we see with everything they need. We do what we can and have faith that God can have others help where we can’t. We also need faith enough to know that some won’t be helped in this life to the level that we (or they) believe they ‘ought to be’. We act in the present, as ineffective as our efforts may seem. We make a difference where we can. We do our best to try to keep an eternal view that this life is not meant to be fair. It’s meant to give us opportunity to learn and to help.
 
I know these ideas can sometimes sound like platitudes. I have seen firsthand when people have used the idea that they can’t do enough so they won’t do anything. They don’t even know what they are giving up when they focus on themselves, or only on the here-and-now. So with that here are a few phrases that have come to be my personal guiding thoughts:
 
“Wisdom through knowledge, integrity and service.”
A family motto we developed with our children when they were still young.
 
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded”
1 Ne. 3:7
 
“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work”
John 5:17
 
“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity”
1 Cor. 13:13

​Protests seem to be a regular event here in DC. The issues that inspire people to take to the streets are many and varied. Some of the protests involve people with a specific perspective, some involve multiple groups with opposing perspectives. Recently I noticed a picture on the web of a person holding a protest sign. The sign says, “the [sic] most violent element in society is IGNORANCE.”

This sign struck me as a reminder of many conversations I’ve either heard or participated in. The topic could be political, religious, cultural, or any other hot button. The sentiment might be stated in any number of ways. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “If you had to put up with what I do you’d understand.” “You’ve never had to deal with this.” “You are narrow minded.” I could keep going, but what seems to me is behind any of these variations on a theme is an idea that “I have information that you don’t. If you only knew what I do, you’d agree with me.”

I often hear the same sentiment being expressed by people holding opposing views on the same topic. It really doesn’t seem to strike me that either person in such a conversation has not heard what the other person has to say, meaning they both probably do have access to the same information. If ignorance is a lack of information, and presumably not a lack of intelligence, then neither side of such a debate is ignorant. They just genuinely disagree.

Any number of factors could cause disputing parties to stress some information and down play other information. There may be agendas involved. Either or both sides could be looking for a specific outcome so they argue the facts that support their goal. Values could differ. Depending on the atmosphere a person has lived in, words or ideals could be defined very differently from one person or group to another. For example if the disputants are considering some issue involving the word “freedom”, one side may be speaking of their freedom to… while the other may be speaking of their freedom from…

I take issue with people who take the stance that if someone does not agree with them it’s only because of their lack of information, their ignorance. It is just as likely that the person making such a claim has themselves an information shortage. It’s also just a likely that neither are making a decision in ignorance. The anger seems to well up when either or all sides of an issue begin to assume something even more sinister in a person’s motivation, or because either or all actually do have sinister motivations. Unfortunately, we humans don’t really know what a person is actually thinking or why they choose to do what they do. Likewise, to me, if a person assumes they know more than their opposition they may be part of a different destructive “element in society”; arrogance.

As I write, it’s Monday evening, Memorial Day, and I’m sitting in the DCA airport getting something to eat before a flight to Atlanta. Michelle dropped me off on her way home after we had an enjoyable day in and around Baltimore.

I was struck by two things in particular as we toured a few sites.
 
The first happened while we were at Fort McHenry. I’m sure you will remember that this is the site where a battle of the War of 1812 took place that inspired Francis Scott Key to pen the words to The Star-Spangled Banner, our national anthem. Before walking out to the fort, there is a small museum where you pay to enter the park. Aside from some artifacts and murals to look at, there is a small theater where visitors are encouraged to watch a short historical film about the battle and anthem author that makes the fort so famous. As you might guess, the film ends with a stirring rendition of the national anthem. Per tradition, all 40 or so of us who were in attendance stood and put our hand over our heart. About half way through the music, the screen we were watching the video on rose to expose the actual fort through the glass behind the screen. In that moment the work had its effect. I felt a patriotic chill on the back of my neck, and my eyes watered. I then noticed that Michelle was similarly affected. She even reached into her purse for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

I had heard the story of Francis Scott Key before, but reviewing the history of the full battle made more sense of his experience. It feels clear to me that the man was inspired of Providence, stated in the vernacular of his day. Here we are, more than two centuries later, and his words set to music still inspire the rest of us. Though the rendition played in the film only shared the first verse, the one we are all most familiar with, I couldn’t help but think of a phrase from one of the later verses, “Let this be our motto, in God is our trust.” That phrase stuck in my head and heart as I walked around the battlements.
 
The second experience that struck me was when we were walking around on the USS Constellation. It was the last American Navy ship commissioned that used sail as it’s only propulsion. It is still a commissioned ship in the US Navy today. As Michelle and I walked around the different decks of the vessel we noted to each other some of the set up of the rigging, navigation systems, anchor and mooring systems, etc., that were similar to our own little sailboat. Of course the scale is hugely different. Michelle also asked me occasionally about how things worked as compared to the ship I was stationed on in the Navy back in the late 1980’s.

What stood out to me was how much of the human set up was the same. It was clear that the traditions of my days at sea were very similar to the traditions of those who sailed on the Constellation. Much of the equipment had the same names and uses. That is true. I was thinking more about how the ranks of men and the division of authority were real from both a responsibility perspective, and also in the physical layout of quarters, mess facilities, watch positions, battle positions and the like. It is clear that there is both a separation and an interdependence between the officer corps and enlisted ranks necessary to keep groups of people working together in a self-reliant and disciplined way. Without that organization and team approach to warfare, a ship like the Constellation, and later my ship the Duluth (LPD-6) could never successfully complete assigned missions.
 
On Memorial Day we remember those who died in war, who gave their life in service of our country. I never lost anyone I was personally close to during my short four years of service. I did participate in several operations where lives were lost. I did experience some of the fallout that comes in the immediate aftermath, and to a small degree the fallout that comes years after the fact.
 
When I think of these two experiences we had today, I hope that we can remember to keep God in our lives. I firmly believe that when we do personally, He will involve Himself with our personal lives. Likewise, so long as we in general stay close to our core values as a people, the same will be true for our nation. I also believe firmly if we distance ourselves from Him we are left more to our own recourses and the buffeting of an adversary that is firmly in our opposition regardless if we recognize it or not.
 
“He that seeketh his life shall lose it, but he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Whew! After a week of conferences in Seattle and Chicago, there was light at the end of the travel tunnel. Along with a few coworkers, I got out of the car in front of the Southwest Airline baggage curb check station. Awkwardly, I stepped forward with my check bag, carry-on backpack, and the box lunch the conference organizers had given us as we left the hotel.

“Your ID please, sir,” was the standard greeting I heard as I approached the baggage handler. “Where are you going today?”

I simply answered, “DC.”

“How many bags are you checking?” he asked.

“Just one.”

We then went through the standard dance as he handed me back my ID, typed in his terminal, printed the bag tag and boarding pass, then handed me my part of the paperwork. After he explained to me my gate number and the directions to the security check point, I handed him a simple $1 tip and said “Thank you.”

Next came the part of the standard dance that was new to me. In a loud deep voice he shouted, “Thank you for the tip, sir!”

I smiled, normal for me in most situations that feel awkward. I noticed as he shouted the thanks that he didn’t really look at me, but looked around, moving his head back and forth, projecting to the others in line behind me and at neighboring stations. At first I wondered if he was shaming me for the meager $1 tip. I noticed he had looked at it as I handed it to him. He was obviously checking out the denomination of the bill. It was only after looking the dollar over that he let out with his amplitudinous message of gratitude.

Was he shaming me for such a small tip? No, it quickly became clear he was future shaming the others approaching his station. He was using me as the example of the “good behavior” he wanted all the others to emulate.  These workers move hundreds of bags a shift, I’m sure. If everyone dropped them a buck per bag, that would add to their wages nicely.

I confess, when I take my bag inside to check I don’t give a tip. When I do check bags inside it seems I am doing most of the work. I move my bag to a kiosk. I enter all the data into the screen. In some cases I even print and attach the tag to the bag as well. After all that, I roll it to an attendant at an indoor station who looks at my ID, moves the bag about 3 feet to a conveyor belt, then sends me on my way. By comparison, the curb check people do everything for me. That’s how I justify giving a tip outside, but not inside. Likewise, I have never seen anybody else tip the inside people, even back in the day before the kiosks. From that perspective, I guess I’m culturally a conformist.

Commuting in and out of a busy city on the train every day, it seems like maybe I can become complacent when it comes to the interactions of humanity. It’s easy some days to think I’ve seen it all. Today I was reminded how wrong that sentiment can be. 

After an hour on the train, like any other day I made my way into and through Union Station in downtown DC. Amid the thronging crowds headed in every direction I passed a truly unique scene. Two men were communicating with each other. Of course there is nothing all that unusual in that statement. 

The two men might be unusual in some circumstances, but not for Union Station. The first was a policeman. He was fairly tall, muscly, white, probably approaching forty years old. He had a short haircut, Marine Corps style. He was a dog cop. The leash to his working dog was looped over his wrist as the dog laid lazily on the floor at his feet.

The other man looked to be pushing seventy. In his hand he carried the long white cane that marked him as blind. He was black, as was the companion next to him who was clearly acting in the role of a guide for him. He was short and thin. He was also clearly deaf.

“Now wait a minute,” you say. “How can you know he was deaf just by looking?” Well that gets to the heart of what made this interaction so noticeable to me. When the blind man spoke, he used his hands in the unmistakable motions of sigh language. When he finished, the police officer would take his hands by the wrist and move them to his own right hand. The blind man was then able to feel the hand motion as the policeman spoke in sign language back to him. The blind man’s companion stood near. All three men were smiling and laughing in a way that made you think the conversation was very jovial.

Part of me wished to take a photo of the interaction. What a lovely moment the view made for me as a simple passer-by. I thought about it for just a moment until my judgement got the better of me. It felt like that would be inappropriate in such a moment, so I’ll just have to keep this picture of real human communication in my head. Hopefully this poor little written attempt will give the reader a little glimpse too.

I think perhaps why I marked the positive of this small occurrence so well is it came just as I needed it. I read some news on the train that brought me some heaviness of heart. I expressed that sadness in prayer just before stepping off the train to enter the station. About a minute later I walked by the two speaking with each other in the way I described. I felt a renewal of my faith in people. Perhaps as these two were quietly communicating with each other, Heavenly Father was quietly communicating with me, and answering my prayer.

His name is John. The sign in the open guitar case where passers-by can drop him some cash gives him the title of Authentic Starving Artist. I see him most days on the sidewalk that runs along the wall marking the west boundary of Union Station in downtown Washington DC.

He plays and sings. His voice is a little gruff, but his fingers are very nimble. His repertoire consists mostly of popular rock tunes from the ‘60s and ‘70s. For you younger readers, that’s music from a time before cell phones, video games, or the ‘net. Back then our year didn’t start with a two.

I generally drop a buck or two into his guitar case maybe once a week. I finally took a minute to chat with John. I mentioned how I’ve noticed he is out there playing his songs even in the harshest heat or cold. A grin came across his face. His reply, “I’m just crazy that way.” He told me it’s important for him to keep his fingers in good shape. He looks to me to be a man in his late 60s. When it’s cold I notice he wears knit gloves with the finger tips cut out so he can play.

He said, “People tell me I make them smile.” I agree. Every time I pass by him, as so many do every morning, my steps feel a little lighter for his music and dedication. I told him so. “Then my job is done,” he quipped with an open smile. It’s his version of an honest day’s work. His rewards are a few dollars cast into his guitar case, and the smile people give him as they walk to their own work.

We shook hands and bid good day. I went on my way to my work. I doubt anyone’s steps feel any lighter while I’m in the office doing my version of an honest day’s work.
​

Last weekend about 10 Boy Scouts and 5 adult leaders from our church had a campout that culminated in a four-mile hike on Saturday. I would normally have been with them, but unfortunately I was traveling for work last weekend. The hike was at a nature reserve near our house called The Crow’s Nest.

Based on my experience and some debriefing with some of the adult leaders, the hike went something like this. They reached the trail-head by car. Then they all got out and checked that everyone had their gear, some water, and a little food for the trail. Next they opened up the topo maps and used a compass to figure out where they were and which of the various trails they were supposed to hike. Once they got all that out of the way then the head adult leader turned his face to the trail, said something like, “Let’s get going boys!” Then off they went down the trail.

Not long the head scout leader looked back. The 12- and 13-year-olds were headed more or less along the path, but were often swayed by nature’s distractions along the trail. “Oh! Look at that cool rock!” “Hey guys! There’s a funky looking mushroom!” At other times there was a line like, “I’m tired. I need to take a break. Can we stop?” Still another would say something like, “This is boring. I want to go home.” The other adult leaders would walk alongside the boys at different intervals and encourage them. Sometimes they might tease the boys, or cajole them, or commiserate. Other times they’d joke along with them. These adults made it easier for the main leader to concentrate on making sure the group as a whole didn’t get misdirected when different trails diverged from the path of choice.

How this is like us. We arrive at the trail-head when we join the church at baptism. We are given our map (the scriptures) to understand where we are and where we need to go to follow the path to our ultimate destination. The path is clear enough. The leader (the Savior) steps out in front and leads the way. As we walk, the Holy Ghost walks alongside us encouraging us to keep moving and get back on the path whenever we stray. We are distracted by the things of the world and occasionally wonder off the path and need to repent. These wanderings could represent sins of commission. Sometimes we tire of doing good and want to take a rest. This could be like sins of omission. Still Christ is ahead and calls us to keep moving. The Comforter is beside us and offers us encouragement.

​As the hike goes on, slowly but surely the Scouts become ever more focused on the path, especially on the return portion of the hike as they become more fixated on finishing the trek and getting home. We too get more and more likely to stay on the way as we learn from our mistakes from straying off the path. Like a funnel we continue in the right direction in general, but our trajectory narrows as we progress.

Eventually the boys arrived safely back at the trail-head where a warm car was awaiting them to return home to their parents and a nice warm home. As we work to be ever more true to the path the Savior leads us on, we too will more steadily approach our heavenly parents and home.

At work there has been some shakeup in upper management. One person exhibited bad behavior by apparently using his authority to sexually harass women in the workplace. Given these events involving the poor judgment of a single individual, I'm reminded how one person can cause so much affect, for the negative or the positive. We should all probably take a collective individual pause and consider how each of us help or implead people we interact with. A little personal introspection can be healthy now and then.

The news called to mind a very specific experience I had on a much smaller scale. One holiday season while serving in the Navy, my ship was in Subic Bay in the Philippines for one of many stops at that location. Back then it was a common place for Navy ships to get work done and prep up for the next portion of a western pacific deployment. At the mouth of Subic is a little island ironically called Grande Island. Back then it was owned by the Navy and used exclusively for R&R.

That Christmas day I spent my time with a few shipmates night diving on the channel side of the island. When it was time to head back to the ship, we joined others cramming into a gig to motor back from Grande Island to the main pier on the base. It was a pitch black night. We were sitting on benches that ringed the after portion of the gig, covered over by a canvas shade. I was sitting on the forward most seat looking aft. All I could see in the dark were the vague shapes of people sitting along either side of the boat. On the stern bench directly in front of me facing forward was a young sailor and a local girl. They were outlined by the dim starlight.

Everyone except the sailor seated astern was happily chit chatting about the day, Christmas, their families far away, the fun they had; that sort of stuff. All of a sudden the guy at the back of the boat started yelling epithets in colorful language euphemistically called "sailor's tongue." His speech was slurred slightly from the day's "grog." He was deriding everything and everyone associated with Christmas specifically, and the holidays in general. This went on for a minute or so before he seemed to run out of steam.

We all fell dead silent. Our silence went on for about the same amount of time as his tirade had. Finally, someone to my right shouted sarcastically, "Bah Humbug!" Everyone laughed, and the conversation turned back to the happy chattering it had been before the outburst.

I felt sad for the sailor on the stern. I felt sad for how easily we all allowed him to have a negative effect on us. I felt grateful to the one person brave enough to verbally dismiss the blowhard. I wished it had been me that had thought to do it. Then as now I was struck at just how much one person can turn a good moment into an ill one, and vice-versa.

​Here in Virginia our church has been participating in a food drive for S.E.R.V.E. It’s a local food pantry for Stafford County. The food drive has been going on this time of the year for a number of years, and it is part of our “day of service”. We do other things too. This year the goal was to raise 3000 pounds of food. We gathered close to 4000. This is all good for Stafford County families in need.

As part of the process I was able to witness an example of “the widow’s mites” in action. One version of the original story is in Mark 12:

41 ¶ And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
42 And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
43 And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
44 For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.

Here is how my experience went. As a part of the food drive, we reached out to our neighborhood through the app that virtually every person living here is a member of. Our neighborhood is somewhat affluent. We sent the message to them asking them to put items from a specific list into a bag and leave it on their doorstep. We let them know that we’d go around the neighborhood that Saturday at a specific time to gather the bags and get them to S.H.A.R.E. There are about 30 homes in this subdivision. Only one of them (aside from us) left food out for us to pick up.

A few days later I got a note from Sister Shirley from our ward. The high school that her children attend had a food drive where they asked the kids to bring in food from a list. The school intended to share the food with students in need, but didn’t have a plan on how to distribute the food. The kids were not interested in carrying food home on the bus for other kids to see. Sister Shirley mentioned what our church was doing and asked me if the scouts could pick up the food at the school and drop it off at S.H.A.R.E. There really was no way to do that so my wife went and got it. She and I put it into bags, and put the bags into the collection box at our church building.

Here is where the widow’s mite comes in. As we were bagging things up I noticed that some young high schooler had added two individual packets of instant oatmeal. Think about that for a minute. Among all the cans and boxes of food there were these two individual packets. I could easily imagine that here was a kid who wanted to be part of the food drive, but probably had little enough food in their own family. Despite the tight family circumstance they did the one thing they could see to do, add this small amount to the collection.

I hope those in our neighborhood who are comfortable will be more open in the future. I’m sure that Heavenly Father is mindful of this meager donation given out of want. Our lesson this past Sunday in the Priest Quorum was about service. We read from Matthew 25:

34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

One of the things we noted in class was that the King didn’t focus on just that they were keeping the commandments, or that they prayed often. Rather he focused on the service they did. In other words it’s not enough to refrain from doing negatives, we must also actively do positives if we seek to be like him.