Monday, January 23, 2012
"Do What You Can With What You Have, Where You Are"
Last
week, one of my good friends, Tom Judson, a 40 year teacher of
government and world history at Orange high school, knowing of my love
for reading biographies of great people, suggested that I read the book,
"Unbroken." It is the biography of Louie Zamperini, from Torrance,
California, who ran in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin as a 19-year-old,
became involved in World War II, was captured by the Japanese and
suffered incredible hardships without giving up or giving in. I have
only read the first three chapters, but have already been impressed by
the young Louie. I can hardly wait to read the remainder of the book,
and i am grateful that Tom recommended it to me.
A few
years ago I was watching BYU TV and listened to President Gordon B.
Hinckley speak to the BYU student body at their weekly devotional. It
was one of the last talks he gave before passing away. I was impressed
that at age 96 he was still able to speak with such intelligence and
clarity. It was his opening remarks that caught my attention. He said
that on one occasion, Ralph Waldo Emerson, was asked what books he had
read that had influenced him the most. Emerson replied that he could no
more remember all the books he had read than the meals he had eaten,
but they had made him what he was.
As I reflected on
what Emerson said, as quoted by President Hinckley, it struck a chord
within me as being a true statement. I suppose all of us are shaped,
not only by the meals we eat, but by the books we read, or maybe don't
read.
I have been blessed in my lifetime to have been
exposed to some of the greatest books ever written which certainly have
shaped my thinking and even my behavior I believe. As I look back over
my life, it is the Scriptures that have impacted my life the most. My
favorite reading these days is in the Scriptures – especially the Book
of Mormon. I gain vital daily spiritual strength from my reading this
Book. I could hardly get through a day without this Book of Books.
My
mother introduced me to many great books as a young boy, and then I met
Dr. Nan Grass while attending BYU, who for an entire two semesters,
five days a week, taught me to love the great literature of the English
language in her marvelous course, "Major British Authors". Through her
guidance I began to love the writings of Shakespeare, Alfred Lord
Tennyson, Browning, Lord Byron, Matthew Arnold, John Milton, John Donne,
Chaucer, and a host of others.
And then, still a
young man, I came to Southern California in 1970 to be the institute
director at the Institute of Religion at California State University at
Los Angeles. I was able to determine what I would teach and one of the
first classes I chose to teach at the Institute level was entitled
"Presidents of the Church". At that time there was a very meager lesson
manual for that course which was a great blessing because it forced me
to read a biography on each one of the presidents we would be
discussing. This began a passion that I still have to read biographies
of great people. I would read the biography of one of the Church
Presidents and then around the dinner table each evening I would tell my
little children stories from the lives of the prophets. They were a
very receptive audience and came to know a great deal about the
presidents of the Church. Little did they know how much they were
helping me to teach my Institute class by trying out stories from the
lives of the prophets on them.
The lives of these great
men, along with the great literature I had been reading, shaped my
thinking and inspired me to always want to be a better person. I am
always looking for good biographies to read. How blessed I have been to
not only read the biographies of great Church leaders, but also of men
like George Washington, John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, Abraham Lincoln,
Ulysses S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Harry S.
Truman, Douglas MacArthur, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and many others as
well.
Since my accident and loss of physical mobility I have
also come to love history, and through my reading have witnessed the
building of the Panama Canal, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Transcontinental
Railroad, been on the Lewis and Clarke expedition, circumnavigated the
globe with Magellan, experienced the incredible year of 1776 and
Washington's crossing of the Delaware, seen World War II through the
eyes of a "Band of Brothers", and on and on it goes. How dull and
boring my life could be if it were not for the magic of reading.
Through
my reading, one of my favorite historical characters has become
Theodore Roosevelt. I am just amazed at this man. I think my
subconscious self would like to be like Theodore Roosevelt. I have read
a number of books on his life.
Some time ago. I came
across a not so well known book about Theodore Roosevelt written by a
lady by the name of Candice Millard and is entitled "The River of
Doubt". Not being elected president in 1912, he accepted an invitation
to go to South America to do some speaking, on the condition that he
could also do some exploring as well. He was 55 years old at the time.
This book about his adventures and adversity in traveling down a river
("The River of Doubt") in Brazil that no one had explored and was not
even on a map is exciting and reveals so much about the character of
this great man. He suffered greatly in the vast Amazon rain forest
(1913-14) and died a few years later, much younger than he would have
had he not taken this trip.
Theodore Roosevelt had
traveled extensively in his lifetime. He led his Roughriders up San
Juan Hill in Cuba, had fought grizzly bears, had a big cattle ranch in
the Dakotas, and was tough as nails. I think his trip to Brazil
tempered him somewhat and taught him a great lesson about life, as
evidenced by a statement he made near the end of his life. "Do what you
can, with what you have, where you are." [Theodore Roosevelt, 26th
president of the United States, 1858-1919]
Having
studied his life, this statement appears to me to be so untypical of
this adventurous and vital man. However, I believe any human being who
learns to do what he can, with what he has, where he is, has discovered
one of the great keys to a happy and fulfilling life.
I believe I
have tried to adopt Roosevelt's philosophy into my own life since my
accident. I haven't always been successful in doing so, but those days
that I do all I can, with what I have, where I am, are rewarding and
fulfilling days.
Although my body is mobility
impaired, through the magic of reading, my mind knows no limits.
Through reading I have become acquainted with some of the greatest
people with the best minds that have ever lived, and have vicariously
experienced many of the world's most important events in history. Isn't
it incredible what 26 little letters in our alphabet can do?
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Monday, January 23, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Grandpas miracle
This short essay was written by my 12-year-old granddaughter, Annie Rushton. She wrote it for one of her classes in school. I think you will enjoy her take on my near death experience, last May.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Grandpa`s Miracle
In 1989, my grandfather, Jack Rushton, was body surfing at Laguna Beach and broke his neck. He has been a quadriplegic for the last twenty-two years. Despite being paralyzed, my grandfather, along with my grandmother, has been very supportive of me and my three siblings. For example, they come from Orange County to my family`s soccer games, choir events, birthday parties, or just to visit. My grandparents have been very involved in my life. I know they love me and are proud of me. I love them with all my heart.
Four months ago, I found myself sitting on my colorful be will d doing homework. My grandfather had been in the hospital for two weeks at the time, not able to talk or interact. The phone rang loudly to be heard by all. A couple of minutes after being answered, I walked into my mom`s room to see her crying.
“What`s wrong?” I asked concerned.
“That was Dad on the phone,” Mom said while wiping a tear off her cheek.
“What`d he say? Did he call from the hospital?” I asked curiously.
“Yes, and he said that the doctors did a lot of tests on Grandpa and they just found out that he has brain damage. They said he won`t ever be the same. He won`t talk. He won`t wake up and they said we should just let him die.”
I just sat there. I was in too much shock to truly believe what my mother was saying. I did not want to just stand by and wait for my grandfather`s death to pass. I wished there was something we could do. I did not want to say good bye to him. Not now. Not ever. I then cried along with my mother in disbelief.
My entire family on my dad`s side agreed we would wait a few weeks before letting my grandpa die to make sure the unthinkable was true. Since my family took shifts to care for my grandfather, my mom and I decided we should go watch him for a couple of hours. I had a soccer game all the way in Orange County, so afterwards we would go visit him in the hospital.
At 10:00a.m., we parked next to the dozens of cars already at the hospital. I could not help notice how many windows the blue and white building had. Much more than fifteen rectangular holes were neatly carved out of the boring hospital. On the front of the structure all I could see were big letters spelling out the words, “Kaiser Permanente, Irvine”. As I walked inside the building through revolving doors, in the corner I saw a tan woman with oval glasses sitting behind a desk typing on the computer in front of her. The walls were painted yellow and there were square pieces of tile implanted as the floor. My mom and I stepped inside the elevator across the room. My mom pressed the button with a three on it, the doors closed, and the elevator lifted us to the third floor. We exited the contraption and strolled to the room which my grandpa was staying in. The room was a perfect square with walls and a ceiling attached. It had a bed which my grandpa was laying in, at least five chairs, a T.V. attached to the wall, a refrigerator, and a cot on the other side of Grandpa. My uncle, John, and his girlfriend, Jessica, were both occupying two of the chairs. Grandpa was laying on the bed with many wires attached to his body, nose, and his bed. My mom and I greeted them both and then I hopped on top of the cot. My mom sat across from John and Jessica on a chair.
“How is he?” My mom questioned John.
“He`s been sleeping all morning.” He replied.
“I’m going to try to wake him up.” My mom stated. She walked toward his bed. “Hi Dad, it’s me, Kim. Annie is here with me. We just came from her soccer game in Tustin.” My grandpa opened his blue eyes like a baby opening its eyes for the very first time.
“Let`s feed him some ice chips. He`ll like that more than the I.V,” John said while pulling up a clear and small plastic bowl full of crushed ice chips. He grabbed a spoon and held up a scoop to Grandpa`s lips. His mouth quivered at the coldness. The ice chips disappeared in his mouth. He was actually eating. I`m sure he loved having the taste in his mouth.
An hour after that, John and Jessica left to go grab something to eat. I was very bored. I was not having the most fun playing on John`s lap top so I started playing around. When my mom was feeding Grandpa some ice chips, I was making silly faces, dancing and jumping behind her. Grandpa`s eyes slowly turned towards me. My mom noticed where his eyes were going and she looked behind her and saw me making a pig face. She gave me a look as if I were an alien from space. I looked back at her and sat down. Then she proceeded to feed grandpa. I couldn`t help but act silly again, but when she looked back I sat down before she noticed a second time. I stood on a chair so I could see Grandpa and so he could see me. My mom glanced back at me.
“Sing him a song.” My mom requested. Okay, I thought, I could do that. So, I sang three beautiful songs that I learned and memorized from my choir class at school to my grandpa. I could tell that he loved my performance. Before I could sing a fourth song, Grandpa started making very funny noises. He grunted and yelled the strangest sounds I have ever heard. He was trying to talk! My grandma had just arrived and entered the room during the musical performance. She was overjoyed to hear her husband make sounds and eat ice chips.
“Annie, sing some more! I want to hear you too,” my grandma exclaimed. So, I repeated a few more songs, hovering above my grandparents on the chair, which had become my stage. Again, my grandfather let out a loud garbled sound.
“I think he is trying to talk!” my mom and Grandma both said at once. “He really likes your singing, Annie.” My mom immediately called my Dad, and all of my aunts and uncles, yelling, “You won’t believe what’s happening! Dad is trying to talk! Annie was standing on a chair singing to Dad and he started making sounds. It’s a miracle!”
The nurse came in and took care of grandpa. Everyone was so happy. At about 4:00p.m Mom and I left to our home in Murrieta. The next day, the entire family returned to the hospital. My grandpa was awake and talking in full sentences. It truly was a miracle. The doctors said they have never been so happy to be wrong. They could not believe it. All the tests pointed to my grandpa’s brain being damaged. My dad even saw all the tests being done and he believed what the doctors had said. Now, my grandpa was talking and seemed to be back to himself.
Two weeks later, my grandpa was let out of the hospital. He is now alive today in Orange County in his wheel chair moving around, talking, and being the exact same person he was before the brain damage, maybe even better. It seems his brain has been rebooted like a computer and he is as sharp as a tack.
I love my grandparents so much. I am glad to say I`m seeing him once a month or more for special occasions. I know my grandpa loves me and I love him. Everyone in our family is so thankful that we wanted to wait, to pray and to have faith that God could make a miracle happen. We do not k now how exactly, but we do know that something special happened to bring my grandfather back from a brain damaged state to being my wonderful grandfather again. I am proud to be his granddaughter and I am so happy he is here today.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Grandpa`s Miracle
In 1989, my grandfather, Jack Rushton, was body surfing at Laguna Beach and broke his neck. He has been a quadriplegic for the last twenty-two years. Despite being paralyzed, my grandfather, along with my grandmother, has been very supportive of me and my three siblings. For example, they come from Orange County to my family`s soccer games, choir events, birthday parties, or just to visit. My grandparents have been very involved in my life. I know they love me and are proud of me. I love them with all my heart.
Four months ago, I found myself sitting on my colorful be will d doing homework. My grandfather had been in the hospital for two weeks at the time, not able to talk or interact. The phone rang loudly to be heard by all. A couple of minutes after being answered, I walked into my mom`s room to see her crying.
“What`s wrong?” I asked concerned.
“That was Dad on the phone,” Mom said while wiping a tear off her cheek.
“What`d he say? Did he call from the hospital?” I asked curiously.
“Yes, and he said that the doctors did a lot of tests on Grandpa and they just found out that he has brain damage. They said he won`t ever be the same. He won`t talk. He won`t wake up and they said we should just let him die.”
I just sat there. I was in too much shock to truly believe what my mother was saying. I did not want to just stand by and wait for my grandfather`s death to pass. I wished there was something we could do. I did not want to say good bye to him. Not now. Not ever. I then cried along with my mother in disbelief.
My entire family on my dad`s side agreed we would wait a few weeks before letting my grandpa die to make sure the unthinkable was true. Since my family took shifts to care for my grandfather, my mom and I decided we should go watch him for a couple of hours. I had a soccer game all the way in Orange County, so afterwards we would go visit him in the hospital.
At 10:00a.m., we parked next to the dozens of cars already at the hospital. I could not help notice how many windows the blue and white building had. Much more than fifteen rectangular holes were neatly carved out of the boring hospital. On the front of the structure all I could see were big letters spelling out the words, “Kaiser Permanente, Irvine”. As I walked inside the building through revolving doors, in the corner I saw a tan woman with oval glasses sitting behind a desk typing on the computer in front of her. The walls were painted yellow and there were square pieces of tile implanted as the floor. My mom and I stepped inside the elevator across the room. My mom pressed the button with a three on it, the doors closed, and the elevator lifted us to the third floor. We exited the contraption and strolled to the room which my grandpa was staying in. The room was a perfect square with walls and a ceiling attached. It had a bed which my grandpa was laying in, at least five chairs, a T.V. attached to the wall, a refrigerator, and a cot on the other side of Grandpa. My uncle, John, and his girlfriend, Jessica, were both occupying two of the chairs. Grandpa was laying on the bed with many wires attached to his body, nose, and his bed. My mom and I greeted them both and then I hopped on top of the cot. My mom sat across from John and Jessica on a chair.
“How is he?” My mom questioned John.
“He`s been sleeping all morning.” He replied.
“I’m going to try to wake him up.” My mom stated. She walked toward his bed. “Hi Dad, it’s me, Kim. Annie is here with me. We just came from her soccer game in Tustin.” My grandpa opened his blue eyes like a baby opening its eyes for the very first time.
“Let`s feed him some ice chips. He`ll like that more than the I.V,” John said while pulling up a clear and small plastic bowl full of crushed ice chips. He grabbed a spoon and held up a scoop to Grandpa`s lips. His mouth quivered at the coldness. The ice chips disappeared in his mouth. He was actually eating. I`m sure he loved having the taste in his mouth.
An hour after that, John and Jessica left to go grab something to eat. I was very bored. I was not having the most fun playing on John`s lap top so I started playing around. When my mom was feeding Grandpa some ice chips, I was making silly faces, dancing and jumping behind her. Grandpa`s eyes slowly turned towards me. My mom noticed where his eyes were going and she looked behind her and saw me making a pig face. She gave me a look as if I were an alien from space. I looked back at her and sat down. Then she proceeded to feed grandpa. I couldn`t help but act silly again, but when she looked back I sat down before she noticed a second time. I stood on a chair so I could see Grandpa and so he could see me. My mom glanced back at me.
“Sing him a song.” My mom requested. Okay, I thought, I could do that. So, I sang three beautiful songs that I learned and memorized from my choir class at school to my grandpa. I could tell that he loved my performance. Before I could sing a fourth song, Grandpa started making very funny noises. He grunted and yelled the strangest sounds I have ever heard. He was trying to talk! My grandma had just arrived and entered the room during the musical performance. She was overjoyed to hear her husband make sounds and eat ice chips.
“Annie, sing some more! I want to hear you too,” my grandma exclaimed. So, I repeated a few more songs, hovering above my grandparents on the chair, which had become my stage. Again, my grandfather let out a loud garbled sound.
“I think he is trying to talk!” my mom and Grandma both said at once. “He really likes your singing, Annie.” My mom immediately called my Dad, and all of my aunts and uncles, yelling, “You won’t believe what’s happening! Dad is trying to talk! Annie was standing on a chair singing to Dad and he started making sounds. It’s a miracle!”
The nurse came in and took care of grandpa. Everyone was so happy. At about 4:00p.m Mom and I left to our home in Murrieta. The next day, the entire family returned to the hospital. My grandpa was awake and talking in full sentences. It truly was a miracle. The doctors said they have never been so happy to be wrong. They could not believe it. All the tests pointed to my grandpa’s brain being damaged. My dad even saw all the tests being done and he believed what the doctors had said. Now, my grandpa was talking and seemed to be back to himself.
Two weeks later, my grandpa was let out of the hospital. He is now alive today in Orange County in his wheel chair moving around, talking, and being the exact same person he was before the brain damage, maybe even better. It seems his brain has been rebooted like a computer and he is as sharp as a tack.
I love my grandparents so much. I am glad to say I`m seeing him once a month or more for special occasions. I know my grandpa loves me and I love him. Everyone in our family is so thankful that we wanted to wait, to pray and to have faith that God could make a miracle happen. We do not k now how exactly, but we do know that something special happened to bring my grandfather back from a brain damaged state to being my wonderful grandfather again. I am proud to be his granddaughter and I am so happy he is here today.
I May Never Pass This Way Again
I have a number of friends still alive, I am happy to report, who were born approximately when I was. When I write them and wish them a happy birthday, I always tell them that I am one person they will never hear complaining about getting older. I believe getting older is better than the alternative! I always say it's better to be "seen" than to be "viewed."
I definitely feel, not in a morbid way, that I am quickly and inevitably rolling down the home stretch of life approaching the finish line of mortality. It causes me to reflect on my life and what good I may or may not have done.
Many years ago, when I was the Institute director at the Cerritos, California, Institute of Religion, part of my duties included being the general manager of a patriotic singing group, sponsored by the Institute, called "The Grand Land Singers." They performed all over the United States, and I truly enjoyed the four years I spent with them. I left that assignment in the late 70s, but I can still remember several of the songs the group sang at almost every performance. One that I think a great deal about as I grow older is: "I May Never Pass This Way Again." It was written by Murray Wizel and Irving Melcher. The artist who made it famous was Perry Como. Some of you old guys may remember it. The lyrics are as follows:
"I'll give my hand to those who cannot see the sunshine or the fallin' rain.
I'll sing my song to cheer the weary along,
For I may never pass this way again!
I'll share my faith with every troubled heart, so I shall not have lived in vain.
I'll give my hand, I'll sing my song,
I'll share my faith, because I know, that the time is now to fulfill each vow,
For I may never pass this way again!"
Those beautiful lyrics, to me anyway, penetrate my heart as I ponder what I have done with these precious years I have spent on this earth. I know that as we finally cross the finish line of mortality and enter the Spirit World, all of the worldly possessions, high profile positions in the world and the Church, degrees, and the honors of men, won't amount to anything!
The Savior passed "this way" of mortality but once, and demonstrated to us what our priorities should be. I believe Christ's mission was twofold: (1) to fulfill the Law of Moses, to work out the infinite atonement, and to teach his Gospel. (2) But also to bless the lives of his brothers and sisters during the brief time he was with them by healing their souls – body and spirit. [
88:15].
In my study of the four Gospels, I have discovered, as many others have as well, I am sure, that much of Christ's ministry was not spent just in teaching but in healing the sick and afflicted. I have discovered there are 53 references which use the word heal, or a derivative thereof such as healing or healed when referring to the Savior's blessing the sick. There are also an additional three references using the words cure or cured. These references do not include the times he raised the dead, or gave sight to the blind. I am sure what we have recorded in the Gospels is but the tip of the iceberg, with regard the healing part of his ministry.
In reading these accounts, I have been impressed by two things: (1) what a large part of the Savior's ministry was spent in healing the souls of his brothers and sisters; and (2) the great compassion he had for them.
I love Dr. Elaine Marshall’s (former Dean of the BYU College of Nursing) summary from the scriptures of this aspect of the Savior’s ministry.
“As Jesus healed, the scriptures say, "All the people were amazed" (Matthew 12:23). They brought their sick, their "blind, and dumb" (Matthew 12:22), those that were "possessed with a devil" (Matthew 12:22; also Mark 1:32), and their dead. They sought Him every day and into the evening. So great was His reputation and His healing power that they sought to "only touch the hem of his garment; and as many as touched were made perfectly whole" (Matthew 14:36). "And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching . . . and preaching the gospel . . . , and healing every sickness and every disease among the people" (Matthew9:35).”(April, 2004 Ensign, 57.)
It is a daunting task to seek to follow Christ's example of love and compassion to those with special needs who are all about us. Knowing "we will never pass this way again," however, what better way can we, or should we, use these few fleeting and fragile hours of mortality than to try to emulate the example of the Master Healer?
Believe it or not this is a Christmas letter. Truly celebrating the birth of Christ and his subsequent mortal mission, it seems to me can best be done by committing ourselves to follow His example of compassion, love, and desire to bless even "the least of these our brethren" who surround us on every side.
At the final judgment day, when the sheep are gathered together by the Good Shepherd on His right hand, He will say to them, "…Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison ,and ye came unto me… 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." [Matthew 25:31-46 – Emphasis added]
Merry Christmas!
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
I definitely feel, not in a morbid way, that I am quickly and inevitably rolling down the home stretch of life approaching the finish line of mortality. It causes me to reflect on my life and what good I may or may not have done.
Many years ago, when I was the Institute director at the Cerritos, California, Institute of Religion, part of my duties included being the general manager of a patriotic singing group, sponsored by the Institute, called "The Grand Land Singers." They performed all over the United States, and I truly enjoyed the four years I spent with them. I left that assignment in the late 70s, but I can still remember several of the songs the group sang at almost every performance. One that I think a great deal about as I grow older is: "I May Never Pass This Way Again." It was written by Murray Wizel and Irving Melcher. The artist who made it famous was Perry Como. Some of you old guys may remember it. The lyrics are as follows:
"I'll give my hand to those who cannot see the sunshine or the fallin' rain.
I'll sing my song to cheer the weary along,
For I may never pass this way again!
I'll share my faith with every troubled heart, so I shall not have lived in vain.
I'll give my hand, I'll sing my song,
I'll share my faith, because I know, that the time is now to fulfill each vow,
For I may never pass this way again!"
Those beautiful lyrics, to me anyway, penetrate my heart as I ponder what I have done with these precious years I have spent on this earth. I know that as we finally cross the finish line of mortality and enter the Spirit World, all of the worldly possessions, high profile positions in the world and the Church, degrees, and the honors of men, won't amount to anything!
The Savior passed "this way" of mortality but once, and demonstrated to us what our priorities should be. I believe Christ's mission was twofold: (1) to fulfill the Law of Moses, to work out the infinite atonement, and to teach his Gospel. (2) But also to bless the lives of his brothers and sisters during the brief time he was with them by healing their souls – body and spirit. [
88:15].
In my study of the four Gospels, I have discovered, as many others have as well, I am sure, that much of Christ's ministry was not spent just in teaching but in healing the sick and afflicted. I have discovered there are 53 references which use the word heal, or a derivative thereof such as healing or healed when referring to the Savior's blessing the sick. There are also an additional three references using the words cure or cured. These references do not include the times he raised the dead, or gave sight to the blind. I am sure what we have recorded in the Gospels is but the tip of the iceberg, with regard the healing part of his ministry.
In reading these accounts, I have been impressed by two things: (1) what a large part of the Savior's ministry was spent in healing the souls of his brothers and sisters; and (2) the great compassion he had for them.
I love Dr. Elaine Marshall’s (former Dean of the BYU College of Nursing) summary from the scriptures of this aspect of the Savior’s ministry.
“As Jesus healed, the scriptures say, "All the people were amazed" (Matthew 12:23). They brought their sick, their "blind, and dumb" (Matthew 12:22), those that were "possessed with a devil" (Matthew 12:22; also Mark 1:32), and their dead. They sought Him every day and into the evening. So great was His reputation and His healing power that they sought to "only touch the hem of his garment; and as many as touched were made perfectly whole" (Matthew 14:36). "And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching . . . and preaching the gospel . . . , and healing every sickness and every disease among the people" (Matthew9:35).”(April, 2004 Ensign, 57.)
It is a daunting task to seek to follow Christ's example of love and compassion to those with special needs who are all about us. Knowing "we will never pass this way again," however, what better way can we, or should we, use these few fleeting and fragile hours of mortality than to try to emulate the example of the Master Healer?
Believe it or not this is a Christmas letter. Truly celebrating the birth of Christ and his subsequent mortal mission, it seems to me can best be done by committing ourselves to follow His example of compassion, love, and desire to bless even "the least of these our brethren" who surround us on every side.
At the final judgment day, when the sheep are gathered together by the Good Shepherd on His right hand, He will say to them, "…Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison ,and ye came unto me… 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." [Matthew 25:31-46 – Emphasis added]
Merry Christmas!
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
What Lack I yet?
We are very fortunate indeed if we, in our lifetimes, have a good friend or family member, who will be perfectly honest with us when we solicit their feedback. My dear wife, Joanne, is one of those people. I can always count on her to tell me the truth when I ask her opinion regarding a talk I have prepared, or something I have written, or a lesson I have given. Many times over the years, I have had to swallow my male ego and pride as I have asked for her opinion – and have received it!
For example, one Christmas I was asked to speak at a Ward in our stake. I prepared what I thought was a wonderful talk, and had felt great inspiration as I did so. I then had Joanne read what I had prepared and asked her what she thought of it. She was silent for some time, which is always a bad sign, and then said, "Do you really want to know?" I gulped and said, "Go ahead." She then proceeded to tell me that my talk was a very good Education Week talk at BYU, but was just not going to cut it in a sacrament meeting. She told me that I would lose the children and teenagers who would be attending, in about one minute. My first human and male response to such feedback is to get defensive and almost angry. How could anyone find fault with my inspired and well-crafted message? Thankfully, I had the good sense to swallow my pride, and told her I would think about what she had said. As I thought about it, I realized that she was right – and that is what is so infuriating – she always seems to be right. It reminded me of the little pink T-shirt she bought for our daughter Rachel when she was in about the third or fourth grade that had emblazoned on the front in silvery script letters, "Girls Are Smarter!" I have lived long enough to sadly come to realize the truthfulness of that statement.
Well, I went to work and spent hours preparing an acceptable talk. I finally presented it to Joanne, who quickly read through it and said, "This is better, but you are not quite there yet." I began to defend myself and my precious work, but fortunately thought better of it and humbly went back to the drawing board. Finally, because of Joanne's reaction to my work, I did a lot of pondering and praying about what would be more appropriate than I had already prepared. New ideas came flooding into my mind, and writing another draft that I felt good about, and with great trepidation I might add, asked Joanne to read it once again. With me holding my breath while she silently perused the document, finally, and with a smile on her face, she said, "I think you have really got it!" That statement made me happier than when I passed my oral examination defending my doctoral dissertation before a group of learned professors at USC.
I have told Joanne that Adams, Jefferson, and Lincoln's Declaration of Independence, the Preamble to the Constitution, and Gettysburg Address, would have been so much better if they could have passed them by her before going public. Truthfully, however, she is a very gifted editor and has a finely tuned sense of what is good or bad in the written word or a talk.
This time of the year, the beginning of January, I often think of the incident in the Savior's ministry, recorded by Matthew, when the rich young man came to Him and asked Him a searching question – he wanted Jesus' feedback. Matthew recorded: "And, behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life? And he said unto him…if thou wilt enter into life, keep the Commandments. He saith unto him, Which? [Jesus then told the young man to keep the 10 Commandments] The young man saith unto him, All these things have I kept from my youth up: WHAT LACK I YET? Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me. But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions." [Matthew 19:16-22]
I believe the young man's question, "What lack I yet?" is a question for the ages, and one we could all benefit from asking ourselves, a trusted spouse or friend, but especially to ask it of our Heavenly Father frequently. I am convinced if we ask that question of the Lord, and then take the time to listen, through the whisperings of the Spirit to our minds and the feelings that come into our hearts, we will receive an answer to our prayer and question. It of course, may take more than just one prayer.
There is a danger in asking that question, because we may not like the answer, as was the case with the rich young man. I don't know that the Savior would give all of us the same answer he gave to this young man. We are all lacking in different ways, I believe. The rich young man was more attached to his material things than he should have been which kept him from becoming a true disciple of Jesus. All of us, however, are lacking in something which is keeping us from following the Savior with more devotion, putting Him first in our lives, and being his true disciple.
Growth will only come to us as we recognize and honestly admit to ourselves, however hard it may be, what we lack and take the steps to overcome and deal with that weakness.
As Moroni so truthfully and beautifully wrote: "… And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make week things become strong unto them." [Ether 1 phase out 2:27]
The keywords in this teaching of Moroni, I believe, are (1) ",Come unto me," (2) "Humble themselves before me," and (3) "have faith in me." The promise to those who do so is that weak things will become strong unto them.
As I reflect back on my life, as I am sure is the case with all of you as you do likewise, you will see how this true principle has been operative in all our lives.
Especially at the beginning of this new year, I can't think of a more worthwhile question to ask the Lord than, "What lack I yet?"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
For example, one Christmas I was asked to speak at a Ward in our stake. I prepared what I thought was a wonderful talk, and had felt great inspiration as I did so. I then had Joanne read what I had prepared and asked her what she thought of it. She was silent for some time, which is always a bad sign, and then said, "Do you really want to know?" I gulped and said, "Go ahead." She then proceeded to tell me that my talk was a very good Education Week talk at BYU, but was just not going to cut it in a sacrament meeting. She told me that I would lose the children and teenagers who would be attending, in about one minute. My first human and male response to such feedback is to get defensive and almost angry. How could anyone find fault with my inspired and well-crafted message? Thankfully, I had the good sense to swallow my pride, and told her I would think about what she had said. As I thought about it, I realized that she was right – and that is what is so infuriating – she always seems to be right. It reminded me of the little pink T-shirt she bought for our daughter Rachel when she was in about the third or fourth grade that had emblazoned on the front in silvery script letters, "Girls Are Smarter!" I have lived long enough to sadly come to realize the truthfulness of that statement.
Well, I went to work and spent hours preparing an acceptable talk. I finally presented it to Joanne, who quickly read through it and said, "This is better, but you are not quite there yet." I began to defend myself and my precious work, but fortunately thought better of it and humbly went back to the drawing board. Finally, because of Joanne's reaction to my work, I did a lot of pondering and praying about what would be more appropriate than I had already prepared. New ideas came flooding into my mind, and writing another draft that I felt good about, and with great trepidation I might add, asked Joanne to read it once again. With me holding my breath while she silently perused the document, finally, and with a smile on her face, she said, "I think you have really got it!" That statement made me happier than when I passed my oral examination defending my doctoral dissertation before a group of learned professors at USC.
I have told Joanne that Adams, Jefferson, and Lincoln's Declaration of Independence, the Preamble to the Constitution, and Gettysburg Address, would have been so much better if they could have passed them by her before going public. Truthfully, however, she is a very gifted editor and has a finely tuned sense of what is good or bad in the written word or a talk.
This time of the year, the beginning of January, I often think of the incident in the Savior's ministry, recorded by Matthew, when the rich young man came to Him and asked Him a searching question – he wanted Jesus' feedback. Matthew recorded: "And, behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life? And he said unto him…if thou wilt enter into life, keep the Commandments. He saith unto him, Which? [Jesus then told the young man to keep the 10 Commandments] The young man saith unto him, All these things have I kept from my youth up: WHAT LACK I YET? Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me. But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions." [Matthew 19:16-22]
I believe the young man's question, "What lack I yet?" is a question for the ages, and one we could all benefit from asking ourselves, a trusted spouse or friend, but especially to ask it of our Heavenly Father frequently. I am convinced if we ask that question of the Lord, and then take the time to listen, through the whisperings of the Spirit to our minds and the feelings that come into our hearts, we will receive an answer to our prayer and question. It of course, may take more than just one prayer.
There is a danger in asking that question, because we may not like the answer, as was the case with the rich young man. I don't know that the Savior would give all of us the same answer he gave to this young man. We are all lacking in different ways, I believe. The rich young man was more attached to his material things than he should have been which kept him from becoming a true disciple of Jesus. All of us, however, are lacking in something which is keeping us from following the Savior with more devotion, putting Him first in our lives, and being his true disciple.
Growth will only come to us as we recognize and honestly admit to ourselves, however hard it may be, what we lack and take the steps to overcome and deal with that weakness.
As Moroni so truthfully and beautifully wrote: "… And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make week things become strong unto them." [Ether 1 phase out 2:27]
The keywords in this teaching of Moroni, I believe, are (1) ",Come unto me," (2) "Humble themselves before me," and (3) "have faith in me." The promise to those who do so is that weak things will become strong unto them.
As I reflect back on my life, as I am sure is the case with all of you as you do likewise, you will see how this true principle has been operative in all our lives.
Especially at the beginning of this new year, I can't think of a more worthwhile question to ask the Lord than, "What lack I yet?"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
He Really Likes Me
A couple of nights ago I was watching one of my favorite Broadway musicals on Turner Classic Movies, "Man of La Mancha."
The next day, I was telling Joanne how much I had enjoyed watching "Man of the Mancha" once again. She reminded me of the day, 23 years ago, when I was able to come home from the rehabilitation Hospital, where I had spent the last six months of my life. Our street was lined with friends and family cheering me on, and welcoming me home. Through my tears I could see my good friend, Murl Nelson, playing his drums on my front lawn – he had played the drums for some of the major big bands, including Elvis Presley, during the 50s – with my mother-in-law, Evelyn Stuart, singing at the top of her lungs, "To Dream the Impossible Dream," the most well-known and popular number from " Man of La Mancha." My mother-in-law loved life and loved to sing. She even enjoyed my repertoire of dumb mother-in-law jokes. I was grateful. Joanne had brought this memory back into my mind.
In case you are not familiar with the musical, it was written by Dale Wasserman, with music by Mitch Leigh and lyrics by Joe Danon. The musical was suggested by the classic novel Don Quixote de La Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.
The main thrust of the play is that Cervantes and his manservant have been imprisoned by the Spanish Inquisition and a manuscript by Cervantes is seized by his fellow inmates, who subject him to a mock trial in order to determine whether the manuscript should be returned. Cervantes' defense is in the form of a play, in which Cervantes takes the role of Alonso Quijana, an old gentleman who has lost his mind and now believes that he should go forth as a knight-errant. Quijana renames himself Don Quixote de La Mancha, and sets out to find adventures with his "squire", Sancho Panza. [Wikipedia]
This time as I watched the movie, one of the lesser-known numbers struck a chord with me. It is a musical exchange between Sancho and Aldonza, a scullery maid with loose morals whom Don Quixote treats as though she is a princess. She has watched in amazement how Sancho has taken care of Don Quixote and catered to his every whim. She wants to know why Sancho does what he does for him, and why he is so kind and loyal to such an obviously crazy man. The following musical conversation takes place between Sancho and Aldonza.
SANCHO
"I like him… I really like him! I don't have a very good reason,
Since I've been with him,
Cuckoo-nuts have been in season... But there's nothing I can do, Chop me up for onion stew, Still I'll yell to the sky
I can't tell you why, That I like him!"
ALDONZA
"It doesn't make any sense! "
SANCHO
"That's because you're not a squire."
ALDONZA
" All right, I'm not a squire. How does a squire, squire?"
SANCHO
"Well, I ride behind him... and he fights. Then I pick him up off the ground, and..."
ALDONZA
"But, what do you get out of it?"
SANCHO
"What do I get? Oh! Why, already I've gotten..."
ALDONZA
"You've got nothing! Why do you do it?"
SANCHO
"I like him, I really like him.
Pluck me naked as a scalded chicken, I like him! Don't ask me for why or wherefore, 'Cause I don't have a single good
" because" or "therefore!"
You can barbecue my nose.
Make a giblet of my toes,
Make me freeze, make me fry.
Make me sigh, make me cry.
Still I'll yell to the sky, I can't tell you why. That I like him!"
Aren't we fortunate, if in our lifetimes, besides our parents who are stuck with us, we find one or two people, like Sancho, who, in spite of our faults, failings, idiosyncrasies, warts, barnacles, and most nauseating characteristics, still really like us, for apparently no good reason.
I have thought about my relationship with Joanne over the past 23 years since my accident. As Sancho said about the time he had spent as the squire of Don Quixote -- "cuckoo nuts have been in season”-- for Joanne all these years as she has acted as my squire. She does, and has done for me, all these years what Sancho did for Don Quixote. She rides behind me, and I fight, then she picks me up off the ground.
I don't think anyone has ever asked Joanne the question Aldonza put to Sancho, "But what do you get out of it?" However, perhaps they have thought it.
You would have to know Joanne's dad, Joe Stuart, to appreciate what I am going to write next. One morning he was helping Joanne get me dressed and into my wheelchair for the day. As he was leaning over me, he looked at Joanne, who was on the other side of the bed, and said, "Boy your life sure went down the tubes when Jack had his accident!" He then got a sickly grin on his face when he realized what he had just said and we all burst out laughing.
Joanne has always made me feel over the years, since my accident, though she, like Sancho, may be hard pressed to say why, that she likes me. At least she always makes me feel like she really likes me. Even I can't figure out why, but it surely does make me feel good.
I am sure there must be times when she, like Sancho, might say to herself, "Don't ask me for why or wherefore, 'cause I don't have a single good " because" or "therefore."
What I write next would probably never make it through church correlation, but here goes. The Savior, the Scriptures teach, [See the numerous references in the topical guide], is our advocate with the Father. For example –"Lift up your hearts and be glad, for I am in your midst, and am your advocate with the Father; and it is his good will to give you the Kingdom. " [D&C 29:5]
I can just picture the Savior pleading our case before the Father. "I know they are "unprofitable servants" and "less than the dust of the earth. They are so very imperfect in many ways, but I like them – I really like them, I like them so much I have given my life for them. Please have mercy on them, Father."
And so when we get discouraged and may think that not even one other mortal being really likes us and can overlook some of our imperfections, we can take comfort in knowing there is ONE who does.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
As a
will
The next day, I was telling Joanne how much I had enjoyed watching "Man of the Mancha" once again. She reminded me of the day, 23 years ago, when I was able to come home from the rehabilitation Hospital, where I had spent the last six months of my life. Our street was lined with friends and family cheering me on, and welcoming me home. Through my tears I could see my good friend, Murl Nelson, playing his drums on my front lawn – he had played the drums for some of the major big bands, including Elvis Presley, during the 50s – with my mother-in-law, Evelyn Stuart, singing at the top of her lungs, "To Dream the Impossible Dream," the most well-known and popular number from " Man of La Mancha." My mother-in-law loved life and loved to sing. She even enjoyed my repertoire of dumb mother-in-law jokes. I was grateful. Joanne had brought this memory back into my mind.
In case you are not familiar with the musical, it was written by Dale Wasserman, with music by Mitch Leigh and lyrics by Joe Danon. The musical was suggested by the classic novel Don Quixote de La Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.
The main thrust of the play is that Cervantes and his manservant have been imprisoned by the Spanish Inquisition and a manuscript by Cervantes is seized by his fellow inmates, who subject him to a mock trial in order to determine whether the manuscript should be returned. Cervantes' defense is in the form of a play, in which Cervantes takes the role of Alonso Quijana, an old gentleman who has lost his mind and now believes that he should go forth as a knight-errant. Quijana renames himself Don Quixote de La Mancha, and sets out to find adventures with his "squire", Sancho Panza. [Wikipedia]
This time as I watched the movie, one of the lesser-known numbers struck a chord with me. It is a musical exchange between Sancho and Aldonza, a scullery maid with loose morals whom Don Quixote treats as though she is a princess. She has watched in amazement how Sancho has taken care of Don Quixote and catered to his every whim. She wants to know why Sancho does what he does for him, and why he is so kind and loyal to such an obviously crazy man. The following musical conversation takes place between Sancho and Aldonza.
SANCHO
"I like him… I really like him! I don't have a very good reason,
Since I've been with him,
Cuckoo-nuts have been in season... But there's nothing I can do, Chop me up for onion stew, Still I'll yell to the sky
I can't tell you why, That I like him!"
ALDONZA
"It doesn't make any sense! "
SANCHO
"That's because you're not a squire."
ALDONZA
" All right, I'm not a squire. How does a squire, squire?"
SANCHO
"Well, I ride behind him... and he fights. Then I pick him up off the ground, and..."
ALDONZA
"But, what do you get out of it?"
SANCHO
"What do I get? Oh! Why, already I've gotten..."
ALDONZA
"You've got nothing! Why do you do it?"
SANCHO
"I like him, I really like him.
Pluck me naked as a scalded chicken, I like him! Don't ask me for why or wherefore, 'Cause I don't have a single good
" because" or "therefore!"
You can barbecue my nose.
Make a giblet of my toes,
Make me freeze, make me fry.
Make me sigh, make me cry.
Still I'll yell to the sky, I can't tell you why. That I like him!"
Aren't we fortunate, if in our lifetimes, besides our parents who are stuck with us, we find one or two people, like Sancho, who, in spite of our faults, failings, idiosyncrasies, warts, barnacles, and most nauseating characteristics, still really like us, for apparently no good reason.
I have thought about my relationship with Joanne over the past 23 years since my accident. As Sancho said about the time he had spent as the squire of Don Quixote -- "cuckoo nuts have been in season”-- for Joanne all these years as she has acted as my squire. She does, and has done for me, all these years what Sancho did for Don Quixote. She rides behind me, and I fight, then she picks me up off the ground.
I don't think anyone has ever asked Joanne the question Aldonza put to Sancho, "But what do you get out of it?" However, perhaps they have thought it.
You would have to know Joanne's dad, Joe Stuart, to appreciate what I am going to write next. One morning he was helping Joanne get me dressed and into my wheelchair for the day. As he was leaning over me, he looked at Joanne, who was on the other side of the bed, and said, "Boy your life sure went down the tubes when Jack had his accident!" He then got a sickly grin on his face when he realized what he had just said and we all burst out laughing.
Joanne has always made me feel over the years, since my accident, though she, like Sancho, may be hard pressed to say why, that she likes me. At least she always makes me feel like she really likes me. Even I can't figure out why, but it surely does make me feel good.
I am sure there must be times when she, like Sancho, might say to herself, "Don't ask me for why or wherefore, 'cause I don't have a single good " because" or "therefore."
What I write next would probably never make it through church correlation, but here goes. The Savior, the Scriptures teach, [See the numerous references in the topical guide], is our advocate with the Father. For example –"Lift up your hearts and be glad, for I am in your midst, and am your advocate with the Father; and it is his good will to give you the Kingdom. " [D&C 29:5]
I can just picture the Savior pleading our case before the Father. "I know they are "unprofitable servants" and "less than the dust of the earth. They are so very imperfect in many ways, but I like them – I really like them, I like them so much I have given my life for them. Please have mercy on them, Father."
And so when we get discouraged and may think that not even one other mortal being really likes us and can overlook some of our imperfections, we can take comfort in knowing there is ONE who does.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
As a
will
Monday, November 14, 2011
"I Saw That All I Had Made Was Good."
My life, like yours, has been an exciting adventure, but especially since my accident 23 years ago. I really have no idea from day to day what new and exciting challenge and opportunity for growth is lurking just around the corner.
For one thing, I have become better acquainted with the medical profession than I ever wanted to. I have been privileged to come to know a wide variety of medical doctors, including a psychiatrist Joanne insisted I visit. I really never could figure out why! I have seen dentists, dermatologists, ER doctors, internists, pulmonologists, urologists, various surgeons, family doctors, doctors of infectious diseases, neurologists, ophthalmologists , cardiologists, and I'm sure some other "… ologists " that I can't think of right now. I appreciate the training and expertise of these doctors who over the years have saved my life and made it possible for me to keep coming back to them for more punishment.
Paid staff will
It stands to reason that someone in my condition would need the expertise and professional training of many doctors to keep them going. I never thought though, that I would have to employ the services of a blacksmith to keep me rolling along down the highway of life.
At a restaurant, anxiously wanting to position my wheelchair under the table so as not to be conspicuous in any way, I was going faster than I should have been, and inadvertently broke my right leg rest on the wheelchair when I rammed it into the table leg.
You would think that a broken leg rest on a wheelchair would not be a big deal. After dinner, though, I found it almost impossible to drive the chair to the van because my foot would drag along in a dangerous way. We finally got me home and figured we could get it easily fixed in the morning.
As a new day dawned, Joanne drove the broken leg rest to our wheelchair repair facility near our home. My chair is very high tech and the technicians are good at diagnosing and repairing electronic computerized problems. They took one dazed and puzzled look at the broken leg rest, however, and told Joanne they couldn't fix something like that. I guess it was too low-tech! They admitted they didn't have the equipment or expertise to do the job. The best they could do they said would be to order a new leg rest for a couple of hundred dollars, and that it would take several weeks for it to come.
There is no way Joanne was going to spend $200 on a broken leg rest without a coupon or some kind of discount. When she returned home with the broken leg rest and bad news, I had her go to the Yellow Pages and look under "Blacksmith." In all of Orange County, with a population of several million people there was only one listing for a blacksmith shop. Believe it or not it was located near our home in old town, Tustin. She copied down the address, got me into the van, and we headed out to find the blacksmith shop.
No more than 2 miles from our home we spotted an old barn that looked like it had been there forever. Sure enough, this was the blacksmith shop, and it had been there forever. With some trepidation Joanne got me out of the van and we somehow were able to cross the street to the open door of the old barn. Standing in the open door an elderly gentleman and his elderly friend – both about my age, I hate to admit – were standing there chatting. This was Andy Griffith's "Mayberry RFD" revisited. We showed them the problem and asked if it could be fixed. The blacksmith took a good hard look at it and said he thought maybe he could do something for us.
The shop was filled with junk metal, other non-discernible debris from a galaxy long ago and far away, welding equipment, discarded oxygen tanks, and a small forge. As we chatted with the blacksmith and his friend we learned that the blacksmith's father had begun the business in that very barn about 1915. The current blacksmith had inherited the business from his father when he passed away. The blacksmith had been taught the trade by his father, came to love it, and never wanted to do anything else. He said that many years ago, his father had taught him how to make customized tools, plows, and etc. that the local farmers needed. In its day, Tustin was quite a farming community. The local high school athletic teams are known as the "Tustin Tillers." He said he wasn't nearly as busy as he used to be but that he still enjoyed working as a blacksmith. About that time a young man came into the barn and took an interest in helping his older friends fix the leg rest. He had come to the blacksmith shop, to work with his friends in the passion and hobby they shared, regardless of the age differential – restoring an old automobile to its pristine state.
It turned out that fixing the leg rest was not so easy after all. It had levers and springs associated with it, but these three wonderful men worked on it as though it were the most important project they had ever tackled. I think there was some pride involved as well. Finally after about two hours, they got it welded together and attached as it should be to the wheelchair. During the procedure I made many helpful and encouraging comments – at least I felt they added an important dimension to the work at hand – a view not shared by all present. Finally, Joanne asked the blacksmith what she owed him, and with an embarrassed look on his face, he said, "Would $20 be too much? Over the years I have never had a doctor ask me a similar question – have you?
Interestingly enough, just the other day Joanne was watching our local PBS TV channel and they were doing a piece on Old town Tustin, California. One of the stops they made was at the blacksmith shop, which included an interview with our friend, the blacksmith. He and his barn truly are the subject matter of a great human interest story.
My recent encounter with the blacksmith and his friends triggered a feeling I have felt many times over the years. I am just in awe of, and appreciate so much people who can create, produce, and repair concrete physical things that bless others. If all we had in the world were lawyers, teachers, computer programmers, and insurance salesmen, for example, we would all be in a "world of hurt."
Some years ago I stumbled on to Rudyard Kipling's poem and tribute to engineers and all men who get things done through hard work, sweat, and getting their hands dirty. Kipling wrote the poem in 1907 and entitled It "The Sons of Martha!" It is based on Luke's account of Jesus' visit to the home of Martha and Mary recorded in Luke 10:38-42.
"The sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part; But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart… Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons worlds without end….It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.… It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.… Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.… And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed – they know the Angels are on their side.… They sit at the Feet - they hear the Word - they see how truly the Promise runs. They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons!"
I'm afraid during my lifetime I have been much more a "Son of Mary" than a "Son of Martha." Thankfully, however, over the years I have had many friends who have been "Sons of Martha." They have bailed me out of more difficult and challenging situations than I could ever mention. As the years have gone by my appreciation for blacksmiths, and others our society labels as "blue-collar workers," has increased dramatically.
Ogden Nash, I believe, truthfully and yet sadly said that "People who sit to do their work make a lot more money than people who stand to do their work." I certainly have nothing against people who sit to do their work -- that is my modus operandi for sure -- but we certainly have missed out on something important which is also a great source of joy and fulfillment, if we haven't learned how to create something concrete and of lasting value with our hands.
Our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jehovah rejoice and have joy in the creations of their hands. In speaking to Moses the Lord said: "… I am the Beginning and the End, the Almighty God. By mine only begotten. I created all things; yea, in the beginning I created the heaven, and the earth upon which thou standest… And I God, saw that all things which I had made were good." [Moses 3:1, 10].
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
For one thing, I have become better acquainted with the medical profession than I ever wanted to. I have been privileged to come to know a wide variety of medical doctors, including a psychiatrist Joanne insisted I visit. I really never could figure out why! I have seen dentists, dermatologists, ER doctors, internists, pulmonologists, urologists, various surgeons, family doctors, doctors of infectious diseases, neurologists, ophthalmologists , cardiologists, and I'm sure some other "… ologists " that I can't think of right now. I appreciate the training and expertise of these doctors who over the years have saved my life and made it possible for me to keep coming back to them for more punishment.
Paid staff will
It stands to reason that someone in my condition would need the expertise and professional training of many doctors to keep them going. I never thought though, that I would have to employ the services of a blacksmith to keep me rolling along down the highway of life.
At a restaurant, anxiously wanting to position my wheelchair under the table so as not to be conspicuous in any way, I was going faster than I should have been, and inadvertently broke my right leg rest on the wheelchair when I rammed it into the table leg.
You would think that a broken leg rest on a wheelchair would not be a big deal. After dinner, though, I found it almost impossible to drive the chair to the van because my foot would drag along in a dangerous way. We finally got me home and figured we could get it easily fixed in the morning.
As a new day dawned, Joanne drove the broken leg rest to our wheelchair repair facility near our home. My chair is very high tech and the technicians are good at diagnosing and repairing electronic computerized problems. They took one dazed and puzzled look at the broken leg rest, however, and told Joanne they couldn't fix something like that. I guess it was too low-tech! They admitted they didn't have the equipment or expertise to do the job. The best they could do they said would be to order a new leg rest for a couple of hundred dollars, and that it would take several weeks for it to come.
There is no way Joanne was going to spend $200 on a broken leg rest without a coupon or some kind of discount. When she returned home with the broken leg rest and bad news, I had her go to the Yellow Pages and look under "Blacksmith." In all of Orange County, with a population of several million people there was only one listing for a blacksmith shop. Believe it or not it was located near our home in old town, Tustin. She copied down the address, got me into the van, and we headed out to find the blacksmith shop.
No more than 2 miles from our home we spotted an old barn that looked like it had been there forever. Sure enough, this was the blacksmith shop, and it had been there forever. With some trepidation Joanne got me out of the van and we somehow were able to cross the street to the open door of the old barn. Standing in the open door an elderly gentleman and his elderly friend – both about my age, I hate to admit – were standing there chatting. This was Andy Griffith's "Mayberry RFD" revisited. We showed them the problem and asked if it could be fixed. The blacksmith took a good hard look at it and said he thought maybe he could do something for us.
The shop was filled with junk metal, other non-discernible debris from a galaxy long ago and far away, welding equipment, discarded oxygen tanks, and a small forge. As we chatted with the blacksmith and his friend we learned that the blacksmith's father had begun the business in that very barn about 1915. The current blacksmith had inherited the business from his father when he passed away. The blacksmith had been taught the trade by his father, came to love it, and never wanted to do anything else. He said that many years ago, his father had taught him how to make customized tools, plows, and etc. that the local farmers needed. In its day, Tustin was quite a farming community. The local high school athletic teams are known as the "Tustin Tillers." He said he wasn't nearly as busy as he used to be but that he still enjoyed working as a blacksmith. About that time a young man came into the barn and took an interest in helping his older friends fix the leg rest. He had come to the blacksmith shop, to work with his friends in the passion and hobby they shared, regardless of the age differential – restoring an old automobile to its pristine state.
It turned out that fixing the leg rest was not so easy after all. It had levers and springs associated with it, but these three wonderful men worked on it as though it were the most important project they had ever tackled. I think there was some pride involved as well. Finally after about two hours, they got it welded together and attached as it should be to the wheelchair. During the procedure I made many helpful and encouraging comments – at least I felt they added an important dimension to the work at hand – a view not shared by all present. Finally, Joanne asked the blacksmith what she owed him, and with an embarrassed look on his face, he said, "Would $20 be too much? Over the years I have never had a doctor ask me a similar question – have you?
Interestingly enough, just the other day Joanne was watching our local PBS TV channel and they were doing a piece on Old town Tustin, California. One of the stops they made was at the blacksmith shop, which included an interview with our friend, the blacksmith. He and his barn truly are the subject matter of a great human interest story.
My recent encounter with the blacksmith and his friends triggered a feeling I have felt many times over the years. I am just in awe of, and appreciate so much people who can create, produce, and repair concrete physical things that bless others. If all we had in the world were lawyers, teachers, computer programmers, and insurance salesmen, for example, we would all be in a "world of hurt."
Some years ago I stumbled on to Rudyard Kipling's poem and tribute to engineers and all men who get things done through hard work, sweat, and getting their hands dirty. Kipling wrote the poem in 1907 and entitled It "The Sons of Martha!" It is based on Luke's account of Jesus' visit to the home of Martha and Mary recorded in Luke 10:38-42.
"The sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part; But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart… Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons worlds without end….It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.… It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.… Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.… And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed – they know the Angels are on their side.… They sit at the Feet - they hear the Word - they see how truly the Promise runs. They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons!"
I'm afraid during my lifetime I have been much more a "Son of Mary" than a "Son of Martha." Thankfully, however, over the years I have had many friends who have been "Sons of Martha." They have bailed me out of more difficult and challenging situations than I could ever mention. As the years have gone by my appreciation for blacksmiths, and others our society labels as "blue-collar workers," has increased dramatically.
Ogden Nash, I believe, truthfully and yet sadly said that "People who sit to do their work make a lot more money than people who stand to do their work." I certainly have nothing against people who sit to do their work -- that is my modus operandi for sure -- but we certainly have missed out on something important which is also a great source of joy and fulfillment, if we haven't learned how to create something concrete and of lasting value with our hands.
Our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jehovah rejoice and have joy in the creations of their hands. In speaking to Moses the Lord said: "… I am the Beginning and the End, the Almighty God. By mine only begotten. I created all things; yea, in the beginning I created the heaven, and the earth upon which thou standest… And I God, saw that all things which I had made were good." [Moses 3:1, 10].
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Defiant Power of the Human Spirit
Many years ago, when my oldest son, Mike, was about four or five years old, I came home from work late one afternoon to find Joanne, almost in tears. Mike was sick and the doctor had given her some pills for him to take to make him feel better. She said, "Jack, he just won't swallow the pill." I responded, "He won't will he – well, we shall see about that!" With that, I told him he had to take the pill and that he could and would swallow it with no trouble. However, you could see in his eyes that he didn't believe me and that he was not about to cave in. One thing led to another and I hate to report the outcome, but I finally was sitting on the chest of this five-year-old, holding his nose, shoving the pill in his mouth, and then pouring in the water. Today I'm sure I would have been jailed for child abuse. He gagged and I knew I had won the battle, but as I looked at him in shocked disbelief, with a little smirky smile on his face, he spit the pill out. Joanne and I and Mike began to laugh – he never did take that pill, but he is still alive today, so I guess it was okay. That was our introduction to a boy, a young man, and a man, who has what I call an indomitable spirit which has served him well as a Deputy Dist. Atty. and now as a judge.
Victor Frankl, in his book "Man's Search for Meaning," called this trait that many human beings you all have known or read about seem to possess, "… the defiant power of the human spirit," [page 171]
I have known a number of individuals who are my heroes, because they possess in rich abundance this "defiant power" to not let life's circumstances limit or control their behavior, and keep them from striving to achieve their true potential as sons and daughters of God.
A number of years ago now, I met through the Internet, a young married woman by the name of Jenny Lynn. She lives in Texas and somehow received one of my observations, I think from a friend. She responded to it, and periodically over the years, we have written back and forth.
Jenny Lynn and her husband are the parents of four beautiful children. One night while asleep, she suffered a massive stroke that made it impossible for her to move more than just one finger, and yet, although paralyzed, she has severe pain in one side of her body. While attending BYU, she was part of the dance program – I believe it was the folk dancers, but Jenny will forgive me if I am wrong. I have seen a picture of her, her husband and her children taken prior to the stroke and they are a picture perfect, wholesome, and happy family.
I am sure the last thing they ever could have contemplated is what happened to Jenny. I know when I had my body surfing accident at Laguna Beach, my oldest daughter, Jolene, said to her mother, "Mom, if somebody had told us that something like this would happen to daddy, we never could have imagined it or believed it." I am sure Jenny and her family, undoubtedly felt the same way.
A month or so ago, or maybe longer, I sent out an observation about Job. Some of us who have very visible afflictions to deal with at times, are compared to Job. We who are in these situations would hasten to say that we are not even in the same league with him, because of one important reason that the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith: "Thy friends do stand by thee… Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee…" [Doctrine & Covenants 121:9-10].
Jenny received this observation and it struck a chord with her. I would like to share with you her e-mail response as it came to me.
"HOW FUNNY! I WAS JUST THINKING (EVER SINCE SUNDAY) EXACTLY ABOUT WHAT U SAID ABOUT JOB, BUT DIDN'T READ YOUR EMAIL UNTIL TODAY!
I CAN'T TELL U HOW WEIRD IT WAS 2 READ YOUR EMAIL! I'M AN AVID JOURNALLER, & SUNDAY I HAD A FLOOD OF THINGS COME INTO MY MIND, & THEY WERE ALL "JOURNAL WORTHY." THE THOUGHT CAME 2 ME, HOW THIS MUST BE PART OF A "MEAN GAME", BECAUSE I TYPE WITH 1 FINGER, & CAN'T SPEAK, SO THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I CAN WRITE DOWN ALL THAT THE SPIRIT TEACHES ME! I BRIEFLY WAS FRUSTRATED, WONDERING WHY I LEARNED ALL THESE THINGS THAT I CAN'T SHARE, & THEN MY THOUGHTS TURNED 2 JOB.
I'M OFTEN COMPARED 2 JOB, BUT I THINK THE ONLY SIMILARITY WE HAVE IS: WHEN I HAD MY STROKE, I ACTUALLY FEEL THAT SATAN PLAYED THAT SAME "GAME" WITH GOD, TAKING THINGS AWAY (MAKING MY LEFT SIDE FEEL, BUT BE PARALYZED, GIVING ME DOUBLE VISION, GIVING ME PBA/MY "EMOTIONAL INCONTINANCE", MAKING MY EYES LIGHT SENSITIVE, TAKING AWAY MY SPEECH & MOBILITY, ETC.), BUT THAT'S AS FAR AS OUR SIMILARITIES GO! & I, TOO, FEEL THAT I'M NOT IN THE SAME LEAGUE--NOTHING CAN BE WORSE THAN THE LOSS OF FRIENDS & FAMILY! & WHATEVER I'VE REGAINED IS BECUZ OF HIM! (ISN'T IT INTERESTING THAT I'VE REGAINED JUST ENOUGH SO I CAN TAKE THE SACRAMENT, & ATTEND THE TEMPLE?) I FEEL LIKE WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN UNIQUE MISSIONS, & GOD MAKES THEM POSSIBLE, EACH IN UNIQUE WAYS.
THERE IS NO WAY I CAN WRITE ALL THAT, OR BE AS ELOQUENT AS U WERE! IT'S AS THOUGH U SAID ALL I THOUGHT IN THAT EMAIL (I WAS EVEN SUPPOSED 2 DIE, & I BELIEVE I'M ONLY HERE 4 THE SAME REASONS AS U), SO WOULD U MIND IF I CUT & PASTE YOUR EMAIL, ALONG WITH MY RESPONSE, IN MY JOURNAL?
LOVE,
JENNY"
Jenny then concluded by writing, "Courage does not always roar. Sometimes, it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow".
- Mary Anne Radmacher
I was touched by what Jenny had to say. I am always very humbled when I compare my situation to hers, and am reminded of the great truth I learned 23 years ago now in a rehabilitation hospital by observing my two young roommates who I felt were much worse off than me. That truth – "No matter how bad you think your life is, there is always someone who has it worse than you, and because of that, we should count our many blessings and be content with our lot in life, whatever it may be.
However, I do disagree with Jenny about me being more eloquent than her. I personally have never read anything more eloquent than what she has written, and I'm sure you all would agree.
Thank you, Jenny, for your COURAGE, and your great example of reminding all of us of the "defiant power of the human spirit!"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Victor Frankl, in his book "Man's Search for Meaning," called this trait that many human beings you all have known or read about seem to possess, "… the defiant power of the human spirit," [page 171]
I have known a number of individuals who are my heroes, because they possess in rich abundance this "defiant power" to not let life's circumstances limit or control their behavior, and keep them from striving to achieve their true potential as sons and daughters of God.
A number of years ago now, I met through the Internet, a young married woman by the name of Jenny Lynn. She lives in Texas and somehow received one of my observations, I think from a friend. She responded to it, and periodically over the years, we have written back and forth.
Jenny Lynn and her husband are the parents of four beautiful children. One night while asleep, she suffered a massive stroke that made it impossible for her to move more than just one finger, and yet, although paralyzed, she has severe pain in one side of her body. While attending BYU, she was part of the dance program – I believe it was the folk dancers, but Jenny will forgive me if I am wrong. I have seen a picture of her, her husband and her children taken prior to the stroke and they are a picture perfect, wholesome, and happy family.
I am sure the last thing they ever could have contemplated is what happened to Jenny. I know when I had my body surfing accident at Laguna Beach, my oldest daughter, Jolene, said to her mother, "Mom, if somebody had told us that something like this would happen to daddy, we never could have imagined it or believed it." I am sure Jenny and her family, undoubtedly felt the same way.
A month or so ago, or maybe longer, I sent out an observation about Job. Some of us who have very visible afflictions to deal with at times, are compared to Job. We who are in these situations would hasten to say that we are not even in the same league with him, because of one important reason that the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith: "Thy friends do stand by thee… Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee…" [Doctrine & Covenants 121:9-10].
Jenny received this observation and it struck a chord with her. I would like to share with you her e-mail response as it came to me.
"HOW FUNNY! I WAS JUST THINKING (EVER SINCE SUNDAY) EXACTLY ABOUT WHAT U SAID ABOUT JOB, BUT DIDN'T READ YOUR EMAIL UNTIL TODAY!
I CAN'T TELL U HOW WEIRD IT WAS 2 READ YOUR EMAIL! I'M AN AVID JOURNALLER, & SUNDAY I HAD A FLOOD OF THINGS COME INTO MY MIND, & THEY WERE ALL "JOURNAL WORTHY." THE THOUGHT CAME 2 ME, HOW THIS MUST BE PART OF A "MEAN GAME", BECAUSE I TYPE WITH 1 FINGER, & CAN'T SPEAK, SO THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I CAN WRITE DOWN ALL THAT THE SPIRIT TEACHES ME! I BRIEFLY WAS FRUSTRATED, WONDERING WHY I LEARNED ALL THESE THINGS THAT I CAN'T SHARE, & THEN MY THOUGHTS TURNED 2 JOB.
I'M OFTEN COMPARED 2 JOB, BUT I THINK THE ONLY SIMILARITY WE HAVE IS: WHEN I HAD MY STROKE, I ACTUALLY FEEL THAT SATAN PLAYED THAT SAME "GAME" WITH GOD, TAKING THINGS AWAY (MAKING MY LEFT SIDE FEEL, BUT BE PARALYZED, GIVING ME DOUBLE VISION, GIVING ME PBA/MY "EMOTIONAL INCONTINANCE", MAKING MY EYES LIGHT SENSITIVE, TAKING AWAY MY SPEECH & MOBILITY, ETC.), BUT THAT'S AS FAR AS OUR SIMILARITIES GO! & I, TOO, FEEL THAT I'M NOT IN THE SAME LEAGUE--NOTHING CAN BE WORSE THAN THE LOSS OF FRIENDS & FAMILY! & WHATEVER I'VE REGAINED IS BECUZ OF HIM! (ISN'T IT INTERESTING THAT I'VE REGAINED JUST ENOUGH SO I CAN TAKE THE SACRAMENT, & ATTEND THE TEMPLE?) I FEEL LIKE WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN UNIQUE MISSIONS, & GOD MAKES THEM POSSIBLE, EACH IN UNIQUE WAYS.
THERE IS NO WAY I CAN WRITE ALL THAT, OR BE AS ELOQUENT AS U WERE! IT'S AS THOUGH U SAID ALL I THOUGHT IN THAT EMAIL (I WAS EVEN SUPPOSED 2 DIE, & I BELIEVE I'M ONLY HERE 4 THE SAME REASONS AS U), SO WOULD U MIND IF I CUT & PASTE YOUR EMAIL, ALONG WITH MY RESPONSE, IN MY JOURNAL?
LOVE,
JENNY"
Jenny then concluded by writing, "Courage does not always roar. Sometimes, it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow".
- Mary Anne Radmacher
I was touched by what Jenny had to say. I am always very humbled when I compare my situation to hers, and am reminded of the great truth I learned 23 years ago now in a rehabilitation hospital by observing my two young roommates who I felt were much worse off than me. That truth – "No matter how bad you think your life is, there is always someone who has it worse than you, and because of that, we should count our many blessings and be content with our lot in life, whatever it may be.
However, I do disagree with Jenny about me being more eloquent than her. I personally have never read anything more eloquent than what she has written, and I'm sure you all would agree.
Thank you, Jenny, for your COURAGE, and your great example of reminding all of us of the "defiant power of the human spirit!"
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
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