A while back I noticed Jo Anne studying my life insurance policy. She informed me that if I were to suffer an accidental death she would receive double the face value of the policy. Then, and this kind of disturbed me a bit, she asked me what could constitute an accidental death for someone in my condition? Without thinking, I blurted out a number of scenarios that would surely do me in and would be viewed by the authorities as "accidental death."
I didn't think much about it after that until a week ago last Sunday evening. Jo Anne was performing a medical procedure on me and inadvertently bumped the humidifier which is full of water and delivers me the moisture I need through a 6 foot long ventilator hose. One end of the hose is attached to the humidifier and the other to my throat. When the humidifier tipped, the water in the humidifier immediately drained through the ventilator hose into my lungs before Jo Anne could do anything about it. Instantly I was unable to breathe, turned purple, and was literally drowning. Jo Anne was doing everything in her power to keep me alive, which was very comforting given our life insurance policy discussion, and was able to dial 911. Within 10 minutes three police cars, a fire engine, and a paramedic vehicle arrived at the scene. They have been here before. These good folks took over from Jo Anne, got some oxygen into me, and we made a mad dash to the ER in Irvine. Once in the ER, I was stabilized; but, thinking that I might get bacterial pneumonia, they deemed it wise to keep me in ICU for a few days for observation and to pump me full of antibiotics.
Wednesday afternoon I was released to go home. Jo Anne and my son Richard got the van all loaded up with me in it and we headed for home with Rich going back to work. We had gone but a short distance when Jo Anne realized we had left behind a beautiful vase of flowers Mike and Richard had given us for our 44th wedding anniversary, which we had celebrated the previous day while in the ICU. She turned the van around and was fortunately able to find a parking spot directly in front of the large main doors of the hospital. She stopped the van; I had her turn on my favorite Robert Goulet CD, and then she made a dash for the hospital to recover the flowers.
Just as she left, I felt I was getting dizzy or lightheaded because it seemed to me like the van was moving backwards. I blinked my eyes in an attempt to clear my head, and then realized that the van was actually freewheeling backwards down the driveway toward a two-lane road that bordered the hospital. I really didn't panic but the thought occurred to me that this may be the incident that will enable Jo Anne to collect on that accidental death life insurance policy. Well, the van was picking up speed, and I guess you would have to be paralyzed from the neck down, unable to turn your head to see where you're going, and unable to do anything even if you could see, to fully appreciate my predicament. Finally, and miraculously, the van and I crossed the two lane road, jumped the curb, ran through a flower bed, and finally was gently stopped when the back bumper came into contact with a small tree. Several nurses and two security guards came running up to see what had happened. They quickly ascertained that I had nothing to do with the escapade and were puzzled as to what had happened. I was as puzzled as they were, and all we could figure is that Jo Anne had put the van in neutral instead of park as she made her run for the flowers. I pled with them to go easy on Jo Anne, no handcuffs, and that it was just simply an "accident."
As Jo Anne walked out of the hospital she couldn't see the van and thought that maybe some foolish person had "quadnapped" me. Then she saw the security guards surrounding the van which was parked some distance away. She ran up extremely concerned, as you can imagine, and the security guards assured her that all was well. They did point out to her the difference between Neutral and Park, for which I was grateful.
All the way home she pled her case -- "Jack, please believe me, it truly was just an accident!" Well, she was pretty convincing but her excuses sounded to me a bit like the excuse Aaron gave to Moses when he was confronted by his brother regarding why he made the golden calf. I can just see Moses rolling his eyes when Aaron said; "And I said unto them [the children of Israel], Whosoever hath any gold, let them break it off. So they gave it me: then I cast it into the fire, and there came out this calf." [Exodus 32: 24]
Don't you think Jo Anne is a good sport to let me write about her the way I do? On a more serious note (and very tender one to me) is that she brought her trusty air mattress into the ICU room and spent all three nights there with me. Based on many experiences in ICU, we know those wonderful nurses simply do not know how to take care of somebody with all of my issues. They just don't see that many patients like me, for which I am sure they are grateful. I was on a hospital ventilator and every time I would doze off, an alarm would go off that sounded like a calliope at an amusement park. One night, at least 20 times, Jo Anne would be getting up, leaning over the bed, checking the trachea system, and making sure I was breathing. On one occasion, as she looked at me my eyes were wide open and she thought, rolled back into my head. She knew I had died. She screamed, slapped my face, and started shaking me. I was wide awake before the slap but now I was very alert! The ICU people went ballistic thinking they had a casualty on their hands. I wonder why they were so eager to help us pack and leave the next day? Multiply what Jo Anne did for me in the ICU those three nights by 19 years of days and nights and you get a little glimpse of what charity is all about.
It was another bump in the road, a broken bow, and life goes on. Speaking of life going on, did you feel what I just felt? It's either the end of the world or an earthquake! Jo Anne just ran in and said it was an earthquake! (5.5 Chino Hills quake) Could she have caused it?
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
If it isn't one thing, its your mother!
Last week we spent a wonderful 10 days in St. George, Utah. We love our family and friends who live in that beautiful area, but as the daily temperature hovered between 105° and 110°, we could understand why J. Golden Kimball at an August stake conference held in the old St. George tabernacle many years ago, said to the saints, "If I owned a home in St. George and one in Hell I would sell the one in St. George and move!"
On this trip, and of course at other times in our lives, we came to experience first-hand the truthfulness of some time-tested adages ("an adage is a saying often in metaphorical form that embodies a common observation" -- Merriam-Webster dictionary) like: "If it isn't one thing, it's your mother!" And, "It is always darkest just before it gets totally black!" We also saw and experienced for the umpteenth time in our lives Murphy's Law in action: "Murphy's law is an adage in Western culture that broadly states that if anything can go wrong, it will... It is most often cited as "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong" (or, alternately, "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way." [Wikipedia]
I had been nursing a pressure sore on an unmentionable part of my anatomy for some time. All I can say about it is that it has been a real "bummer." In St. George, I was sitting in my wheelchair too many hours at a time, and that, coupled with the hot, dry, St. George air began to get the best of me. The sore begin to get worse and the last couple of days of our trip I spent most of the time in bed.
I was scheduled to speak at a fireside on Sunday evening, June 22, at the Sunriver Chapel. My good friend, John Nelson, had spent the better part of a month advertising the event and was expecting a large audience. I spent all that Sunday in bed and planned on getting up at about 5 p.m. to be able to speak at 7 p.m. Jo Anne and Doug Holladay, a longtime friend in whose home we were staying, got me already to be hoisted out of bed and placed in the chair and that is the exact moment when Murphy's Law manifested itself. The tilt and recline mechanism in the chair went totally dead. The back of the chair was at such an angle that I couldn't sit in it. Jo Anne and Doug and my brother-in-law, Rod Stuart did everything imaginable to solve the problem but there was no way. We tried to call a number of medical supply stores in St. George to see if we could find a wheelchair repair man but on a Sunday evening it was impossible. Jo Anne finally stood up, wiped the sweat from her brow, and said, "I'm going to go speak at that fireside!" She went! I stayed in bed! She did a great job as I knew she would, and I was very proud of her and her courage to not panic or give up as we were walloped with the bitter reality of Murphy's Law.
Monday morning our wheelchair people in Southern California were able to instruct a St. George repairman by phone how to Jerry-rig the tilt and recline on my chair so we could get me in it, into the van, and seven hours later limp into Orange County. I have been in bed ever since but I'm happy to report that the sore is much improved and I should be back to "normal" in the near future.
We all experience Murphy's Law in our lives. The unexpected always seems to happen at the most undesirable and inopportune time. I believe our challenge is to learn how to deal with these bumps in the road of life and not let them get the best of us, because they are inevitable.
Some of you have heard me talk about these kinds of events as the "broken bows" of life. I, of course, am referring to Lehi's family and their experience with Nephi's broken bow as they waded through the wilderness.
When Nephi broke his bow, the family felt this was just too much and so unfair. Even Lehi, a great prophet of God, could see no way out of this horrible predicament. Nephi recorded: "And it came to pass that Laman and Lemuel and the sons of Ishmael did begin to murmur exceedingly, because of their sufferings and afflictions in the wilderness; and also my father began to murmur against the Lord his God; yea, and they were all exceedingly sorrowful, even that they did murmur against the Lord." [1 Nephi 16:20]
Whenever I am subjected to Murphy's Law, I think of this incident from the Book of Mormon. I believe the "natural man" in us reacts far too often the way even great Lehi did when confronted with our "broken bows." We are tempted to become "exceedingly sorrowful", and at times, when we feel life has pushed us too far, we may even "murmur against the Lord."
I am able to live each day only because of electrical and mechanical devices. Over the years anything that can go wrong with these things has gone wrong. I have had more near death experiences than I can even count. In the beginning, when my equipment would fail, I would start to hyperventilate, have a panic attack, and I hate to admit it, become "exceedingly sorrowful." With the passage of time however, and as my faith has increased, I have tried to adopt Nephi's attitude and simply go make another bow, get on with the hunt, and realize this is not the end of the world. I have discovered that really everything in life that seems so challenging at the moment is simply a "broken bow." I suppose that even a terminal disease is only a "broken Bow" because, knowing the end is near, we can plan for our entrance into the spirit world and hopefully be better prepared than we would be otherwise.
I really am unable to put into words what Nephi's example has meant to me in my paralyzed state. He truly is one of my heroes because of his attitude of gratitude and faith.
After a particularly difficult experience with his brothers who had just tried to kill him, he said: "Nevertheless, I did look unto my God, and I did praise him all the day long; and I did not murmur against the Lord because of mine afflictions." [1 Nephi 18:16]
Can we be like Nephi? I don't know, but I think we must try. And yes, it is true, "If it isn't one thing it's your mother!"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
On this trip, and of course at other times in our lives, we came to experience first-hand the truthfulness of some time-tested adages ("an adage is a saying often in metaphorical form that embodies a common observation" -- Merriam-Webster dictionary) like: "If it isn't one thing, it's your mother!" And, "It is always darkest just before it gets totally black!" We also saw and experienced for the umpteenth time in our lives Murphy's Law in action: "Murphy's law is an adage in Western culture that broadly states that if anything can go wrong, it will... It is most often cited as "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong" (or, alternately, "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way." [Wikipedia]
I had been nursing a pressure sore on an unmentionable part of my anatomy for some time. All I can say about it is that it has been a real "bummer." In St. George, I was sitting in my wheelchair too many hours at a time, and that, coupled with the hot, dry, St. George air began to get the best of me. The sore begin to get worse and the last couple of days of our trip I spent most of the time in bed.
I was scheduled to speak at a fireside on Sunday evening, June 22, at the Sunriver Chapel. My good friend, John Nelson, had spent the better part of a month advertising the event and was expecting a large audience. I spent all that Sunday in bed and planned on getting up at about 5 p.m. to be able to speak at 7 p.m. Jo Anne and Doug Holladay, a longtime friend in whose home we were staying, got me already to be hoisted out of bed and placed in the chair and that is the exact moment when Murphy's Law manifested itself. The tilt and recline mechanism in the chair went totally dead. The back of the chair was at such an angle that I couldn't sit in it. Jo Anne and Doug and my brother-in-law, Rod Stuart did everything imaginable to solve the problem but there was no way. We tried to call a number of medical supply stores in St. George to see if we could find a wheelchair repair man but on a Sunday evening it was impossible. Jo Anne finally stood up, wiped the sweat from her brow, and said, "I'm going to go speak at that fireside!" She went! I stayed in bed! She did a great job as I knew she would, and I was very proud of her and her courage to not panic or give up as we were walloped with the bitter reality of Murphy's Law.
Monday morning our wheelchair people in Southern California were able to instruct a St. George repairman by phone how to Jerry-rig the tilt and recline on my chair so we could get me in it, into the van, and seven hours later limp into Orange County. I have been in bed ever since but I'm happy to report that the sore is much improved and I should be back to "normal" in the near future.
We all experience Murphy's Law in our lives. The unexpected always seems to happen at the most undesirable and inopportune time. I believe our challenge is to learn how to deal with these bumps in the road of life and not let them get the best of us, because they are inevitable.
Some of you have heard me talk about these kinds of events as the "broken bows" of life. I, of course, am referring to Lehi's family and their experience with Nephi's broken bow as they waded through the wilderness.
When Nephi broke his bow, the family felt this was just too much and so unfair. Even Lehi, a great prophet of God, could see no way out of this horrible predicament. Nephi recorded: "And it came to pass that Laman and Lemuel and the sons of Ishmael did begin to murmur exceedingly, because of their sufferings and afflictions in the wilderness; and also my father began to murmur against the Lord his God; yea, and they were all exceedingly sorrowful, even that they did murmur against the Lord." [1 Nephi 16:20]
Whenever I am subjected to Murphy's Law, I think of this incident from the Book of Mormon. I believe the "natural man" in us reacts far too often the way even great Lehi did when confronted with our "broken bows." We are tempted to become "exceedingly sorrowful", and at times, when we feel life has pushed us too far, we may even "murmur against the Lord."
I am able to live each day only because of electrical and mechanical devices. Over the years anything that can go wrong with these things has gone wrong. I have had more near death experiences than I can even count. In the beginning, when my equipment would fail, I would start to hyperventilate, have a panic attack, and I hate to admit it, become "exceedingly sorrowful." With the passage of time however, and as my faith has increased, I have tried to adopt Nephi's attitude and simply go make another bow, get on with the hunt, and realize this is not the end of the world. I have discovered that really everything in life that seems so challenging at the moment is simply a "broken bow." I suppose that even a terminal disease is only a "broken Bow" because, knowing the end is near, we can plan for our entrance into the spirit world and hopefully be better prepared than we would be otherwise.
I really am unable to put into words what Nephi's example has meant to me in my paralyzed state. He truly is one of my heroes because of his attitude of gratitude and faith.
After a particularly difficult experience with his brothers who had just tried to kill him, he said: "Nevertheless, I did look unto my God, and I did praise him all the day long; and I did not murmur against the Lord because of mine afflictions." [1 Nephi 18:16]
Can we be like Nephi? I don't know, but I think we must try. And yes, it is true, "If it isn't one thing it's your mother!"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Leaving our mark
A couple of weeks ago Jo Anne loaded me into the van and we drove over to the neighborhood car wash. I always have mixed feelings when we go to get the van all spruced up by our Hispanic brothers. I'm happy that the van is going to look so nice, but there is also a definite downside to the experience for me. When we get to the giant vacuum cleaners that emit a sound similar to that of a wild and tempestuous tornado, Jo Anne lets the ramp down, guides me carefully to earth, and then the humiliation begins. She takes the larger-than-life vacuum hose and begins vacuuming me and my wheelchair. I always hope nobody will be around to observe the spectacle, but inevitably a few curious onlookers gather around to see whether I will get sucked up into the giant vacuum tank along with the other dirt and debris. The thing that kind of bothers me the most is that they seem to enjoy watching me suffer, and I even suspect they are making bets as to whether Jo Anne is going to send me through the car wash as well.
This particular day after I had been thoroughly cleansed by the "Moby" vacuum cleaner and the van was all shiny and clean, I started driving my chair toward the van, anxious to be welcomed into its safe environs and away from public scrutiny. I was going about as fast as my chair would go when I gave it the command to stop...and it didn't stop! I was helpless, panicked, but could do nothing to save either myself, or worst of all, my shiny new van. I hit the passenger side front door full blast. There was a sickening, wrenching, noise. The right leg rest on my wheelchair was crushed and fell to the ground. Of course, my leg was all bruised up, but since I am not able to feel anything, that was the last thing I was thinking about right then. The only thought in my mind was, "What have I done to my van?"
Well, it could have been worse -- I had just left a big mark on the door that looked like the mark of Zorro. I was relieved it was not worse, but it was the first ding on the new van and, wouldn't you know, I was the one that put it there.
I suppose it was justice, however. I have left my mark on several of our beautiful and sacred temples. One day in the Los Angeles Temple I sipped when I should have puffed and ran into the wall, leaving a gaping hole, all while the Temple matron was watching. I thought they might take my recommend away; however, they were gracious and forgiving. I dinged up the gorgeous woodwork in the San Diego Temple and crashed into a wall in the brand new Newport Beach Temple. The Newport Beach Temple also left a mark on me one day as well, when I scraped my arm going through one of the doors and saturated my white shirt with blood. Thankfully we caught it before it spilled off onto the carpet. The Temple Presidencies have been very kind through it all and have assured me that I am still welcome, although I am somewhat of a liability to the well being of these sacred structures.
As I have thought about some of the marks I have left around the country by banging into things with my wheelchair I became interested in the word "mark." All of us are making a mark by which we will be remembered by the way we live, or we are aiming for a mark -- something we would like to achieve -- or we are being marked by life and the way we live it. Some dictionary definitions of this word, that can have profound meaning in our individual lives, are: "... a distinguishing trait or quality..." "...a symbol used for identification or indication of ownership..." "...a conspicuous object serving as a guide..." Some synonyms are: target and goal. [Merriam-Webster online dictionary]
The Scriptures are peppered with uses of the word "mark." For example, the Jews at the time of Christ, according to the great Book of Mormon prophet Jacob, "... were a stiffnecked people; and they despised the words of plainness, and killed the prophets, and sought for things that they could not understand. Wherefore, because of their blindness, which blindness came by looking beyond the mark, they must needs fall; for God hath taken away his plainness from them, and delivered unto them many things which they cannot understand, because they desired it. And because they desired it God hath done it, that they may stumble." [Jacob 4:14]
For me personally this verse is extremely meaningful. There is a temptation, at times, to look beyond the mark -- the plain and precious truths contained in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the testimony of a young 14-year-old boy who actually saw the Father and the Son and translated the ancient record by the gift and power of God -- desiring something more spectacular or intellectually challenging. How many have lost so much by looking beyond the "mark?"
And then, life can leave any number of marks on us. According to the Scriptures the wicked always have a mark placed upon them because of their wickedness [Moses 5:40, Genesis 4:15, Alma 3: 4, 6-7, 10, 13-16, 18]
The book of Revelation reveals many kinds of marks mankind may receive that will have eternal consequences for their ultimate salvation or damnation. Hopefully, at the conclusion of our lives, the mark we will have received from the Lord will be evident to all because we will have "... received his image in [our] countenances... having the image of God engraven upon [our] countenances..." [Alma 5:14,19]
Hopefully we will leave much more than the mark of Zorro to be remembered by when we depart mortality.
"I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. [Philippians 3:14]
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
This particular day after I had been thoroughly cleansed by the "Moby" vacuum cleaner and the van was all shiny and clean, I started driving my chair toward the van, anxious to be welcomed into its safe environs and away from public scrutiny. I was going about as fast as my chair would go when I gave it the command to stop...and it didn't stop! I was helpless, panicked, but could do nothing to save either myself, or worst of all, my shiny new van. I hit the passenger side front door full blast. There was a sickening, wrenching, noise. The right leg rest on my wheelchair was crushed and fell to the ground. Of course, my leg was all bruised up, but since I am not able to feel anything, that was the last thing I was thinking about right then. The only thought in my mind was, "What have I done to my van?"
Well, it could have been worse -- I had just left a big mark on the door that looked like the mark of Zorro. I was relieved it was not worse, but it was the first ding on the new van and, wouldn't you know, I was the one that put it there.
I suppose it was justice, however. I have left my mark on several of our beautiful and sacred temples. One day in the Los Angeles Temple I sipped when I should have puffed and ran into the wall, leaving a gaping hole, all while the Temple matron was watching. I thought they might take my recommend away; however, they were gracious and forgiving. I dinged up the gorgeous woodwork in the San Diego Temple and crashed into a wall in the brand new Newport Beach Temple. The Newport Beach Temple also left a mark on me one day as well, when I scraped my arm going through one of the doors and saturated my white shirt with blood. Thankfully we caught it before it spilled off onto the carpet. The Temple Presidencies have been very kind through it all and have assured me that I am still welcome, although I am somewhat of a liability to the well being of these sacred structures.
As I have thought about some of the marks I have left around the country by banging into things with my wheelchair I became interested in the word "mark." All of us are making a mark by which we will be remembered by the way we live, or we are aiming for a mark -- something we would like to achieve -- or we are being marked by life and the way we live it. Some dictionary definitions of this word, that can have profound meaning in our individual lives, are: "... a distinguishing trait or quality..." "...a symbol used for identification or indication of ownership..." "...a conspicuous object serving as a guide..." Some synonyms are: target and goal. [Merriam-Webster online dictionary]
The Scriptures are peppered with uses of the word "mark." For example, the Jews at the time of Christ, according to the great Book of Mormon prophet Jacob, "... were a stiffnecked people; and they despised the words of plainness, and killed the prophets, and sought for things that they could not understand. Wherefore, because of their blindness, which blindness came by looking beyond the mark, they must needs fall; for God hath taken away his plainness from them, and delivered unto them many things which they cannot understand, because they desired it. And because they desired it God hath done it, that they may stumble." [Jacob 4:14]
For me personally this verse is extremely meaningful. There is a temptation, at times, to look beyond the mark -- the plain and precious truths contained in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the testimony of a young 14-year-old boy who actually saw the Father and the Son and translated the ancient record by the gift and power of God -- desiring something more spectacular or intellectually challenging. How many have lost so much by looking beyond the "mark?"
And then, life can leave any number of marks on us. According to the Scriptures the wicked always have a mark placed upon them because of their wickedness [Moses 5:40, Genesis 4:15, Alma 3: 4, 6-7, 10, 13-16, 18]
The book of Revelation reveals many kinds of marks mankind may receive that will have eternal consequences for their ultimate salvation or damnation. Hopefully, at the conclusion of our lives, the mark we will have received from the Lord will be evident to all because we will have "... received his image in [our] countenances... having the image of God engraven upon [our] countenances..." [Alma 5:14,19]
Hopefully we will leave much more than the mark of Zorro to be remembered by when we depart mortality.
"I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. [Philippians 3:14]
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Sunday, May 25, 2008
It Was the Best of Times. It Was the Worst of Times.
I discovered the writings of Charles Dickens as a young student at BYU many years ago.
I would say my two favorite books written by Dickens are "Great Expectations," and "A Tale of Two Cities." I have felt at times like many of you I am sure, that the opening lines of Dickens', "A Tale of Two Cities," are very descriptive of most of our lives. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us..."
Life is very dynamic and ever changing. It is never static, and the best of times can quickly become the worst of times, while our spring of hope can be turned into a winter of despair. Often times these seemingly polar opposites are found operating simultaneously in our lives.
I was thinking back about the six long months I spent at Rancho Los Amigos Rehabilitation Hospital immediately following my accident 19 years ago. A season of hope had been turned into a winter of despair in a split second, and I thought at the time that the best of times had all of a sudden become the worst of times. Instead of having everything ahead of me I could see nothing ahead and light had turned into blackness. However, even during that season of darkness, there were brilliant flashes of light that dispelled the gloom and hopelessness and made the worst of times the best of times, even if for just short periods of time. Let me explain.
There was an African American nurse that worked the night shift from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. about three nights each week. She radiated a spirit of love and light that penetrated my dark world every time she was with me. Every morning before she would leave to go home, knowing that with the shift change I would probably not see another nurse for at least an hour, she would get a basin full of hot water and with a washcloth she would wash and massage my face in a most loving and caring way. It was not doctor's orders and no other nurse ever thought to do it... but she did, and she did it every morning she was there. No one can know how good that felt, especially when you can't feel anything in your entire body except your face and the top of your head. But as good as it felt physically it even felt better emotionally to have someone, really a stranger, show that kind of love and concern.
Another flash of light that always brought hope and made the worst of times a good time was the care given to me by an African-American nurse's aide. He was a big man, muscular, an Afro hairdo, ear rings, various tattoos, and a loud voice. You wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley late at night. Poor Jo Anne was afraid to leave the hospital that first night that he was to be a participant in my care. How true it is that looks can be deceiving. I was never treated with such respect, kindness, and tenderness by anyone at Rancho than by him. He couldn't do enough for me. I always rejoiced when I realized he was to be my helper during a 12 hour period. It was obvious to me that what he was doing was not being done out of a sense of duty but out of love and deep concern for me and the other young men in our spinal cord injury unit. He had a great sense of humor and made me feel good in spite of myself and the trauma I was going through.
My physical therapist at Rancho was a little, barely 5 foot tall girl, with blond hair who had the heart and spirit of a tiger. She pushed me, never showed pity for me, and worked me as hard as she could each time she came into my room. She gave me exercises I was to do to strengthen my neck muscles and would accept no lame excuse for not doing them religiously. I can still hear her footsteps in my mind marching down the corridor to my room. Had she been in the Army she would have surely been a general. She was my advocate and cut through the bureaucracy and red tape of the county facility I was in, and while my roommates and others in the spinal cord injury unit were still languishing in bed, she had me up racing through the corridors of the hospital terrorizing everyone in sight in a mega, breath control power wheelchair. When I left the hospital and sadly said goodbye to my two roommates who had been at the hospital months before I got there and wouldn't leave for months after I left, it just didn't seem fair they didn't have my same physical therapist. She kindled a light inside me through her toughness and no-nonsense approach to my care, and made me believe in myself and that maybe I could have some kind of life even in my paralyzed condition if I were willing to work hard enough.
These, and many other experiences I have had throughout my lifetime, have helped me to realize that there are going to be seasons of light and dark, hope and despair, times when we feel we have everything before us and then suddenly nothing. We can't control circumstances but we do have the power to not let our individual circumstances control us.
I believe one of the important things that helps us through the hard times and keeps us from succumbing to the circumstances life brings to all of us is what I choose to call the lovingkindness manifest to us by others -- the kind of loving kindness I experienced at Rancho.
I use the word lovingkindness because I think it is more descriptive than the words charity or love, although all these words are synonyms describing the "pure love of Christ." The word lovingkindness is used numerous times throughout the Scriptures to describe God. The vast majority of the references come from the book of Psalms. For example: "Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee." [Psalm 63:3] "How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings" [Psalms 36:7]
The lovingkindness manifest to me by so many during my lifetime has always helped to make the worst of times the best of times, and magically turned seasons of darkness into seasons of light. Perhaps the greatest gift we can give one another, given the challenges and problems we all face, is simply to treat all with whom we interact, especially family members, with lovingkindness.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Mothers
When our daughter Rachel, was in elementary school, her mother would frequently dress her in a little pink T-shirt that had three words emblazoned on the front in a feminine script made out of some kind of girlish, silvery, glittery material. The three words were: "Girls Are Smarter!" Every time I would see that message on my little daughter I would kind of wince because I knew the truth of it. Also, had she chosen to do so, Jo Anne could have dressed Rachel in a little pink T-shirt with a different message for each day of the week like: "Girls Are Kinder," "Girls Are Sweeter," "Girls Are Special," and the list could go on and on.
I know that gender was determined in the pre-earth life when we were organized from "intelligence" by God to become either men or women. I rather suspect that he took all of the high-grade intelligence -- the most intelligent, most compassionate, and most kind, from which he created "women" to be the mothers of mankind. From what was left over he created man. By the way, this is Jack Rushton doctrine and should not be mistaken for gospel truth.
The children of good mothers are blessed throughout their lives and have their characters shaped and molded because of the qualities and character traits that are an inherent and integral part of womanhood and motherhood.
The women in my life, my great grandmothers, grandmothers, mother, and the mother of my children have all had a great impact for good upon their posterity, and upon me in particular, because of the womanly qualities and character traits with which they have all been so abundantly blessed.
Of all the multitude of virtues I could mention that these great women possessed that have blessed my life I will only mention one in this observation. It is a character trait possessed by all of these women that I have grown to treasure and value as it has impacted my life for good.
Let me introduce this quality or character trait that has impacted my life so much by sharing with you a brief experience from my mother's autobiography.
"Mother was expecting her eighth child. Papa went to the cedars to get a load of wood. It was a short while before Christmas. They were both thirty seven years old at this time. It was in 19l6. When papa came home he didn't feel at all well. He had terrific cramps and became seriously ill. I remember Mama and Louisa (her oldest sister) went to Hinckley in the buggy to get our Christmas presents and I stayed home with Papa, I had an earache. He was sitting by the stove and I sat at his feet with my head on his lap. I know how he must have felt being so ill and watching for mama to come home. He had me go out and climb up in a tree to see if I could see them coming home." (He had a ruptured appendix and with no doctor available out in the country -- they lived in the little farming community of Abraham, near Delta, Utah -- Halley, his wife and my grandmother, took him to Salt Lake City to a hospital on the train on Christmas day.) "He passed away on January 12, 1917. He was buried on January 14, 1917 at Hinckley, Millard County, Utah. It was just a month to the day before my tenth birthday. What a sad, sad family. I will never forget the funeral and my papa lying there so cold and white. All seven of us sat together in frightened solemn silence. It was our first experience with death and it seemed so final."
My grandmother was resourceful, tenacious, and hard-working and was able to keep the family together. The kids all worked hard on the farm. Halley, my grandmother, was the postmistress, a midwife, and through this job and what the farm produced, was able to sustain her large family.
My mother, as well as her seven brothers and sisters, knew how to work and work hard. This character trait was and is possessed in rich abundance by all the women in my life. You may think it a strange character trait to highlight but not really.
These women were strong, resourceful, and understood the "law of the harvest" which is we reap what we sow. They didn't moan, wallow in self-pity, give up, or ever think that the state or Church should take care of them when tragedy struck unexpectedly. They only knew one way -- work hard!
My mother tried hard to pass on to her boys this work ethnic character trait by both precept and example. I believe her efforts were successful.My brothers and I all received the same message from her: "Go to college! Don't end up working in the mines!" We somehow got the message because all four of us graduated from BYU and went on to receive graduate degrees as well. We weren't very smart but our mother taught us to work hard.
Mom taught us integrity in doing our work. When we scrubbed our linoleum floors on our hands and knees under her direction, she always made sure we got the corners. We learned how to do dishes the right way -- her way! She kept me working at the piano and taking lessons until it eventually evolved from an onerous daily task to something I truly began to love. I learned much more than just music -- I learned how to work hard and stay with something challenging until I had achieved a goal.
My mom was smart. A philosopher once said that no man can ever fully recover from the ignorance of his mother. This is a negative statement but at the same time I believe it is very true. Mom put the backbone into us as well as the work ethic. Every day as I am able to sit at my computer and work for hours on end I have to thank my mother for her example of working hard and with integrity and blessing me with her work ethic.
Jo Anne, like my mother and grandmothers, has been blessed with a great work ethic and integrity in all she does. The oldest daughter in a family of 10 children she had great responsibility placed upon her shoulders as a very young girl. A visiting young cousin who didn't know the family really well observed Jo Anne -- age 12 or 13 at the time -- working around the house, cooking, cleaning, etc., and said to her, "How much do they pay you for working here?"
Jo Anne has been an incredible example to me and to her children of living the law of the harvest and of working hard and with integrity. She has encouraged me to work hard and has never tolerated me using my physical condition as an excuse for not being productive. What a blessing! She has given me many psychological kicks in an unmentionable part of my anatomy that has made me work hard and do and achieve things I never would have attempted without her encouragement and example.
Jo Anne, like all the women in my life thankfully, can be best described by two phrases: "True Grit," and "Pure Gold."Without these smart, sensitive, kind, compassionate, and hard-working women in our lives I am afraid most of us men wouldn't amount to much. How grateful I am that God created woman, and if you read the creation account carefully it was his crowning and most significant creation. How right he was in knowing "... it is not good that man should be alone."
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
"I Wish it Were Yesterday"
In the spring of 1962, I was in the Army and stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco. My Saturdays were free and one beautiful spring Saturday afternoon I was walking down a busy street in San Francisco. As I passed a large movie theater I noticed on the marquee the words: "Westside Story" by Leonard Bernstein. I had no idea what it was about; I thought maybe it was a Western. I have always been a sucker for cowboys and Indians. Having nothing better to do I bought a ticket and went in. It was an unexpected and delightful experience, and "Westside Story" has been one of my favorite Broadway musicals from 1962 to the present.In a "rumble" (gang fight) between rival gangs, the "Jets" (whites) and the "Sharks," (Puerto Ricans) the leader of the Sharks was inadvertently stabbed to death by the leader of the Jets. The police came, the gang members all scattered, and later that night two of the Jets met up with one another. They were visibly shaken by what had happened, and in the ensuing conversation one of the boys said "I wish it was yesterday!"
I have seen the movie and listened to the music more times than I would care to admit. However, it is that haunting phrase, "I wish it was yesterday," that always captures my attention.
August 1, 1989 at about 3 p.m. while body surfing at Laguna Beach, California, in one split second I was paralyzed from the neck down and would live on life support the remainder of my life, however long that would be. Around midnight the head neurosurgeon sent all of my friends
and family home so he could perform additional tests to determine the extent of my injury. I have never felt more alone than I did when my loved ones departed that night. I was strapped to a board, still in my swimming suit -- an ugly looking thing, a sick yellow color I had purchased because it was on sale -- still covered with sand, with several big hoses shoved down my mouth and throat to enable me to have the oxygen I needed to stay alive. No, the last thing I was thinking of was "West Side Story," and the phrase "I wish it was yesterday!" However, those words described my state of mind at that moment perfectly.
Yesterday had been such a beautiful day as we acted the part of tourists in Laguna Beach. Our little girls, Rachel, age nine, and Jackie, age four, were having a great time as were Jo Anne and I. life just didn't seem to be able to be any better. I was serving as stake president, loving my assignment with CES; we had just had our first two grandsons born several months before, and our second son Richard was on a mission in Columbia. There was not a cloud on the horizon of our lives, and it looked like we were going to live "happily ever after."
As I was alone in the regional Trauma center that night I absolutely could not believe what had happened to me and to my family. How would we ever come through this tragedy? How would we survive financially? How would I be able to be an effective husband and father? If I were permanently paralyzed how on earth could I ever endure living this way? Those kinds of questions continued to run through my mind at warp speed all through that tortured night. Truthfully, what was happening was that I was crying out from the depths of my soul, "I wish it was yesterday!" I am sorry to report that "I wish it was yesterday," was my cry for much longer than I ever would like to admit.
The day finally came however that I came to understand that in order to have peace and for life to be productive, meaningful, and of the highest quality possible, the phrase "I wish it was yesterday," had to be eliminated from my mind, my heart, and my vocabulary.
That kind of thinking leads our lives into a cul-de-sac or a dead end that will take us nowhere. I suppose most of us have done something we have regretted, or had something done to us, or to a beloved family member that has erupted from the depths of our souls the sentiment, if not the exact words, "I wish it was yesterday!" Oh, how we would like to go back to the "good old days" when a seemingly tragic event is perpetrated by us, or inflicted upon us by others, or by life itself. I believe it is human nature -- "the natural man" -- to have that knee-jerk reaction to the challenges life can bring our way. It has been so since the beginning of time. As Eve was giving birth to her first child I wonder if she ever had a fleeting thought, "I wish it was yesterday" back in that beautiful garden?
One of the problems Moses had leading the children of Israel out of Egypt, was to get Egypt out of them. Those folks always wanted to go back to the "good old days" which really weren't that wonderful in reality, but only in their minds now that the going was tough: [Numbers 11:5] "We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick:"
The "I wish it was yesterday" way of thinking eventually cost them dearly as none of that older generation was permitted to enter the "Promised Land" but wandered in the wilderness 40 years until their carcasses rotted in the desert wilderness with the "Promised Land" visible on the horizon, but was unapproachable by them because of their false way of looking at life and rejecting Jehovah and his desires to bless them.
Lot's wife had a similar challenge as she looked back at "Sodom" with longing eyes and was turned into a pillar of salt -- an inanimate object that could not act, but could only be acted upon. She was unable to move forward; her progress came to an abrupt end which is the same thing that happens to all of us who live in the past and can't let go of it and move forward to the "Promised Land."
I would imagine as Joseph was sold by his brothers as a slave that as he trudged behind that camel train with a rope around his neck that he couldn't help but thinking "I wish it was yesterday!" Things were so good in Jacob's tent for him as the favored son. "How on earth could this have ever happened to me" he must have thought a few times. Thankfully, our worthy and magnificent progenitor, refusing to live in the past and finally, as a 30-year-old, having been a slave and prisoner in Egypt for almost half his life could have this written about him, "... the Lord was with him, and that which he did, the Lord made it to aprosper." [Genesis 39:23]
The same can happen to each one of us as we "... press forward with a steadfastness in Christ... and endure to the end..." [2 Nephi 31:20]. Regardless of what may happen to us we simply must press forward, never looking back, refusing to say or entertain in our hearts the thought, "I wish it was yesterday!" If we do so the Lord will be with us as he was with Joseph and cause us to "prosper."
Saturday, April 19, 2008
An Ensign to the Nations
Several weeks ago I was preparing to teach the Isaiah chapters found in the Book of Mormon to our Gospel doctrine class. For some reason I was riveted on the concept of the "Ensign" that would be raised up in these last days. Of course we know this Ensign of which Isaiah spoke is the Church of Jesus Christ that would be restored to the earth in these latter days. As I read 2 Nephi 21:12, "And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth." There are 12 other references in the Scriptures regarding this "Ensign." As I read them all, I could not help but start singing to myself one of my favorite hymns, "High on the Mountain Top." I began "Googling" (my voice recognition software does not recognize it as a legitimate word but I think it's a pretty good one) on the Internet and found a beautiful account regarding how this hymn came into being. I thought I would share it with you in the hopes that it will help you to appreciate gathering of God's children in these latter days. The story of "High on the Mountain Top" by Joel H Johnson This is the story behind the writing of "HIGH ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP" by Joel Hills Johnson as told by his wife Margaret Threlkeld Johnson to her grandson Bernard A. Johnson. Joel H. Johnson established a sawmill in Mill Creek Canyon soon after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley. Sawing lumber for the "Building up of Zion" was Joel's church calling. This meant that he spent his time sawing prime lumber and delivering it to the tithing office. In lieu of wages, he would go to the storehouse and get what was needed for him and his family. As he made his wagon trips up and down the steep canyon, he often thought about the flag that had been planted on Ensign Peak.
He knew he had safely made it down the mountain with his load when he turned north and headed for the tithing office. He always breathed easier when he could look up at that peak and see Old Glory waving. In the early spring of 1850, Joel loaded up a load of prime lumber and headed for the tithing office. As he headed into the lot that housed this office, he noticed that there were several other wagon loads of tithing offerings ahead of him. He stopped his team, unhitched the horses and turned them into "Brother Brigham's" pasture, and sat down to wait his turn to unload. Being a warm spring day, Joel sought the shady side of his wagon, leaned back against the wheel and waited. As was his habit, he pulled out a piece of paper and prepared to write. He found himself thinking about the breeze and how it must be making 'Old Glory' ripple. In his mind he pictured how it must look there on the top of the peak under the clear blue sky as it waved and fluttered in the breeze. His mind painted such a wonderful picture. Almost as if written by unseen hands, words began to appear on the paper: "High on the mountain top, A banner is unfurled. Ye nations now look up;It waves to all the world." In Deseret's sweet, peaceful land-On Zion's mount behold it stand! For God remembers still His promise made of old That He on Zion's hill Truth's standard would unfold!Her light should there attract the gazeOf all the world in latter days. His house shall there be reared His glory to display And people shall be heard In distant lands to sayWe'll now go up and serve the Lord,Obey His truth, and learn His word. For there we shall be taught The law that will go forth, With truth and wisdom fraught To govern all the earth;Forever there His ways we'll treadAnd save ourselves and all our dead. Then hail to Deseret! A refuge for the good, And safety for the great, If they but understood.That God with plagues will shake the worldTill all its thrones shall down be hurled. In Deseret doth truth Rear up its royal head; Though nations may oppose, Still wider it shall spread;Yes, truth and justice, love and grace,In Deseret find ample place, He originally titled his poem "DESERET". It was later changed to HIGH ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. Joel finished his poem, folded up the paper, put it in his pocket, and went about the task of getting his lumber measured and recorded. Much later in the day, he went home. Sometime later he showed his poem to John Taylor, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. President Taylor liked the poem so much, he asked if he could keep it. In those days, words only were written down and then sung to familiar folk tunes. In just a short time it became one of the favorite songs where ever the Saints gathered This poem was only one of hundreds that Joel H. wrote. But it became one of his most recognized ones. His poetry centered around four themes: His love and devotion to the gospel, his love of the Prophet Joseph Smith, his love of his family, and his desire to enjoy life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for himself and all other human beings. Because today there is some controversy over the exact date this song was written, this account is being written. In his journal he states that at eighteen years of age "I commenced writing religious songs and hymns upon various subjects, some of which may be found in Zion's Songster, or the Songs of Joel, a work of my own, but many are lost." Throughout his journal are many examples of his poetry. * See page 2 of JHJ journal volume 1. Dad/Grandpa/Jack
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