Give Thanks...For Forty Blessed Years

 The text message came on Friday. It was from a friend, a friend I've known longer than I didn't know him. He reminded me via text that it was forty years ago--to the day--that we first met.

That day was one of the most important and influential in my life.

January, 24, 1985.

That morning I woke up, dressed, collected my suitcases (that I packed the day before...), loaded them in the car with the rest of my family and we drove sixty miles to the south, ending up in Provo, Utah, within walking distance of the great and spacious university campus of BYU.

That's where I met Brian, Mark, Michael, Jeff, and Linda...the newest missionary district in the Missionary Training Center (or, MTC...) assigned to the Denmark Copenhagen Mission for the LDS church. 

Because I'm old, I thought the anniversary was on the 25th, not the 24th, so on the 25th I dug out my old missionary journal and checked out the first entry. 1-24-85. I missed writing an entry the next day and I've missed I think one other day since 1-24-85, but every other day for those forty years, I've written in a journal.

Look at us...so different, yet in many ways, the same. Back then we were young, healthy, ambitious, somewhat cocky, a little scared, definitely naive, and we all had our hair. Now, with the life experience of two-hundred and forty years, we're not young, not as healthy, ambitious in different things, scared of different things, humbled, and lacking things (literally...) that we once had.

Growing up in a predominant religion serving a mission was something talked about every week at church, and many times throughout the week at home or with friends at school. To call it "pressure to go" would be an understatement. I always thought I was going to go. I don't think I ever considered not going. And when I turned nineteen (the age at the time...), I submitted my papers and a few weeks later my call came...Denmark Copenhagen.

The only thing I knew about Denmark was that it was small and situated above Germany. I was taking German at USU when my call came and the textbook showed what I thought was just a small map of the country. Turns out, it showed much more--almost all of Denmark.

I wrote in my journal forty years and two days ago that I arrived at the MTC and spent much of the morning walking around with Dan Scott, a fellow Davis High School graduate. We were both confused. I eventually found Brian and Mark, my two MTC companions. I skipped lunch, but ate dinner. 

That was pretty much my first entry. 

I'm glad I wrote it. I'm glad I wrote every day after that.

Rarely, do I read those old entries. Friday's text message brought me back, back to that first day, a day that changed my life. Looking back there have been several days--a dozen, maybe two--that were life-changing. This was one of them. Since that day, we all served, all came back, lived our lives, and thanks to social media, have stayed in touch. When we gather, we're family, brothers and a sister who shared those days and weeks at the MTC cooped up in the classrooms, gyms, and cafeterias. We then shared the joy and frustration of learning a foreign language, speaking with strangers (many who became friends...), and surviving that cultural experience of an LDS mission.

I cannot express in words just how impactful those days, weeks, months, and years were to me, and how my mission's affected my life ever since. I'm thankful for those memories and those people and that decision, especially those who supported me and my friends...my family.

Forty years...forty blessed years.

Give Thanks...For Ward Choirs

 Last year (at least, I think it was last year...), I was asked to serve as a choir leader for our local LDS congregation. I believe you don't have to be a member of my religion to understand what this calling entails. Choirs in local congregations are often times the butt of jokes in music circles...and in other circles, too. They're an easy target. We invite anyone wishing to sing to join. Heck, I'm sure I've made jokes about these choirs over the years.

I don't think I'll ever do that again.

Our ward choir sang in church today. We had one rehearsal two weeks ago and went through the song one and one-half times this morning before our services began. They sounded wonderful. I'm not saying they were "world-class" in their presentation of the hymn, but boy, they sounded great--just ordinary church goers who enjoy singing.

When I was called, I felt inadequate, even though I've been singing in choirs--amateur and professional--for the past forty years. I've sung in regular choirs and I've sung with talent that's second to none. I was afraid I would be expected to get the singers to sound like a choir that blew people away. I quickly realized that's not my job...not my calling. I'm there to help the singers and the congregation feel something, to bring a spirit to the meeting.

I'm far from doing the best job with this calling. I have a long way to go--there's so much more I can do for the ward. That's the thing about callings. They're not not given to those who have mastered the skill...more like given to those who need to learn something.

I'm thankful for my neighbors who stay late and rehearse, who come early--small kids in tow--to support me and the program. I'm thankful I can stand before them and hear the music we create before anyone else. I'm thankful for ward choirs.

Give Thanks...For The Primary Program

 Today, I almost stayed home from Sacrament Meeting because we have a few family members recuperating from various issues. When I checked the chorister schedule this morning, I forgot that I was scheduled to conduct the music today. 

I'm glad I decided to go.

It was the annual Primary program.

If you're unfamiliar with the our religion, we have an organization that focuses on children ages three to twelve. It's call the Primary. Around this time of year the congregations have one meeting dedicated to the kids. They give short (very short...) talks--sometimes only a sentence or even less--and they sing their little hearts out. I sat on the front row and got to see the program close up. Since my children graduated from Primary, I haven't been as interested in the program. Today, it was just magical.

I'll bet I could be in any Primary program across the world and feel the same thing. I might not understand the words, but I would definitely recognize the spirit that surrounds those children. I'm sure every Primary program would have the embarrassed few, the children searching for their parents/grandparents/siblings, and those amazing souls who stand as tall as possible and belt out the songs regardless of whether or not they can hit the note. 

Pure wonder.

Pure innocence.

Perfection.

The picture above is a visual depiction of the First Primary founded in Farmington, Utah in 1878. The mural is in the Memorial Rock Church in the building where I grew up. Every Sunday I saw that painting, memorized faces, studied the poses and the expressions on that wall. Just seeing it brings back a flood of memories.

Today, I along with everyone else in the hall, felt that special feeling that can only come from children. I'm thankful I decided to go this morning. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be a part of the program...part of the congregation. I'm thankful for the Primary program.

The Organist...

I entered the chapel, the previous congregation leaving and a few of us early birds passing them as they left. I know almost none of them, friendly faces pass me, we share a smile and perhaps, a nod. I find the pew--my pew--the same pew an hour earlier another family also claimed as their own--and put down my iPad. After getting ready, showering, dressing, driving to the church, parking, and walking inside, I finally sit and let out a well-deserved sigh.

Not all worshipers have left, or are leaving. Groups of people stay and talk. I look around and notice a lone figure sitting at the century-old organ, his fingers and feet in tandem providing music, atmosphere, a spiritual farewell to the meeting and the room.

I've met the man on occasion. He lives close, but since the boundary separating our group of church-goers from the other group of church-goers to the east separates us spiritually, I have few opportunities to interact with him or his family. It's a shame...a culturally-imposed shame we don't talk more. Oh, I suppose I could go to his house and get to know them better, but that would be...in a word...weird.

His talent evident, the organist finishes the song he played as I came into the chapel. I'd be hard pressed to name it...after attending over three thousand of such meetings in my life, the music can blend together. Even though a dozen or so people remained in the room, mostly chatting with friends, neighbors, I feel I alone noticed the man and his music. I could be wrong--I often am--but I don't think so. How many times have I been in a chapel, an organist playing either prelude or postlude music, and I haven't even noticed, haven't even looked at who was playing, haven't acknowledged the miracle that is music?

Too often to count.

I watch him finish the song...the music, once a living thing surrounding us, comforting and uplifting us, stopped, replaced by the dim of humans in a space built by pioneer ancestors. I watched him humbly gather the music and his personal belongings and leave the stand to join others and continue his sabbath day.

The organist left the room.

Happy Birthday...President Nelson

 In the section of the country where I live, many are celebrating a man who turns one-hundred years old today, the leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, President Russell M. Nelson. I've never met him personally, but I join many of my friends, family, neighbors, and others around the world wishing him a happy birthday.

President Nelson was born the same year as my father, who would have turned one-hundred in November, also. Like any leader, some do not like the man, or the organization he steers. He's an easy target, someone who has his beliefs that may not align with others. I'm sure many are doing the opposite of wishing him a happy birthday.

Reaching one-hundred years is a milestone. Heck, I'm closer to one-hundred than I am to zero. I have no idea if I'll make it or not. I can say that the changes I've experienced in the past decade were more than I expected. Another four decades...who knows?

So, on this day, the 9th of September, 2024, I raise a toast of root beer (or original Coca-Cola, if the mood strikes me...) to President Nelson. Happy birthday, President. Here's to even more.

If You're Like Me...You Can Feel This Photo

 I turned the corner in an abandoned hallway as loved ones gathered in another room. I loved the scene before me so I snapped a photo. Today, I reviewed the pictures I took yesterday and the hallway returned to me.

I can feel this photo.

I can almost smell it, too.

I grew up in the Intermountain West, a peculiar place, both in geography and culture...especially culture. If you're like me, you've stood where I did, even if it were in a completely different building. You've seen this shot, you've walked on the carpet, passed the coat rack complete with wooden hangers, glanced at the bulletin board at the calendar of events. You also know what's inside in the empty rooms and what you'll find at the end of the hall.

It's as if you're home, even if you don't particularly like the home.

I can't tell you how many times I've seen this view, at different times, in hundreds of buildings. And if you've experienced a childhood like me, or spend much time in these buildings, you have, too.

Even looking at the shot now, I'm back in the smallish hall surrounded by memories. 

Give Thanks...For Change

 I wasn't supposed to lead the music in church today, but I was called upon, and so I did. I'm glad I did because I was able to lead the congregation in a new hymn, as indicated by the extra-long hymn number on a board which was not made for such long numbers.

The song's not new, of course. It's an old hymn, written by a sinner in the mid-1700s. 

If you're LDS and interested in the new hymns recently announced, hymn #1001 is Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. I thought I'd do a little research and I found a website that gave me some knowledge about the song's history, information I did not know. You can click: HERE to access the site.

If you're unfamiliar with the song, please click the link. In addition to some history, it also includes a link to the Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra at Temple Square performing an incredible rendition of the show. I urge you to click the video and turn up the volume. It's powerful, it's moving, it brings the spirt, and it includes close-ups of several people I know.

Today, I led a congregation singing the same song. It's one of my favorite songs and I'm so glad it's now included as an "official" LDS hymn. I'm thankful for the change to include it and other songs in the collection of song...some I know, some I don't. I look forward to learning and hearing them all.

With change, results can be positive or negative, depending on the results, or even more importantly, depending on how people react to those changes. Leading the music to this song was fun. I'm glad I was called upon this morning.

Talte Dansk I Kirken...Oh, How Long It's Been

 In our church we have a monthly meeting where there are no (not supposed to be...) prepared talks. It's a time when regular members of the congregation stand and tell everyone what they believe. It's a chance for those listening to be encouraged and uplifted, and those speaking to strengthen their faith.

It's called a Fast and Testimony meeting.

And it can either be one of the most spiritual meetings, or it can go off the rails fast.

These meetings are usually held on the first Sunday of each month. Last Sunday we had our usual meeting and I sat and prepared to hear everyone else--not me--stand and bear their testimonies. As most people who attend know, there are some who are "regulars" and some--like me--that hardly ever stand.

Last week something unusual happened. Our bishop stood and invited us all up, as usual, then he said he'd like to hear from those of us who spoke a different language. It's not uncommon for members to have traveled out of the country on LDS missions, or be assigned a mission inside the United States but learn to speak a different language to communicate with people in the USA from other countries.

In my life I've never had a bishop ask for that specific thing.

The first person who rose spoke French and expressed his beliefs in French. Another person stood and spoke in English. Then, I did something I almost never do. I stood and walked toward the podium. I looked at the bishop as I approached and whispered, "Really?" He nodded.

I spoke Danish at a podium in a LDS church for the first time in many years.

It was an amazing experience. 

Funny thing about missionaries who learn different languages. When they learn the language, they learn a spiritual vocabulary. It's not that the words are holy, but you become efficient at speaking about the church. Even when I had the best understanding of the language, I probably would have trouble speaking to a native Dane about auto repair or government or the law. But, have me talk about religion...I'm good.

I served with a man who told me that his understanding of the church was in Danish. He wasn't as active before and became so when he chose to serve a mission. Bearing my testimony in Danish was special.

Others stood--a lot of Spanish speakers, one who spoke Italian, another Portuguese, and several other French speakers. Then a woman stood and said nothing, at least vocally. She taught others using Sign Language. I loved it.

I said before that these meetings can either be the most spiritual or go off the rails. 

This meeting was one of the former.

Yesterday...I Was One Of "The Waiting"

I had time to kill yesterday morning...

Apparently, I was not the only one.

I became a member of what I call, "The Waiting."

If you're wondering what "The Waiting" is, I see it this way. The Waiting are any group of people waiting outside an establishment until the doors of that establishment open. There used to be many Waiting groups on Black Friday when the only real way of scoring great deals was to go to the store, joint The Waiting, then rush in and grab the good stuff before others have a chance to get theirs.

Groups of The Waiting have dwindled in recent years. I don't usually need to be at businesses before they open anymore, so I haven't seen a lot of The Waiting groups. There is one place, however, that The Waiting seems to show up everyday...

Thrift stores.

Or, a certain chain of thrift stores found in the Intermountain West. They're called Deseret Industries, or D.I. for short. They're run by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and, as thrift stores go, they're pretty good. They're clean (for the most part...) and have a good selection (for the most part...). Because they're successful, they seem to get all the excellent donations. 

After all, donations are key to a successful thrift store--part of the reason, anyway. 

Because the stores are clean and well-stocked, it attracts both the collector and those a little short on cash. Yesterday I pulled up to the store about ten minutes early. A few members of The Waiting were already doing their part. As the seconds ticked down, more and more people parked and got out of their cars. I watched The Waiting grow in numbers. 

Soon, I joined them. 

Soon after that, we were The Waiting no more.

Admiring The Old Buildings...They Don't Make Them Like That Anymore

Yesterday, while doing a little web surfing, I came across a social media post on X that intrigued me. The thread asked the question about LDS meetinghouses. Many posted pictures of amazing and unusual Latter-Day Saint chapels throughout the country and in other parts of the world.

They were beautiful.

So much so, I'd love to see them all. I know, of course, that these were but a drop in the bucket of LDS chapels across the globe. I decided to add a couple of photos of the meetinghouse I attend--one indoor, one outdoor--for I believe it belongs in the discussion of amazing and unusual. 

Last week I attended a church in Brigham City where my son, daughter-in-law, and new baby call their own. It's not one of the newer, utilitarian models. It's actually a split-level.

Cool.

Many people enjoy visiting old churches. I think my appreciation comes from the fact that I attended for almost all my life a church that has great historical significance in our religion. It's the Old Rock Church in Farmington. If you know, you know. I loved that old building that had several additions over the decades.

When I see an old church, it's a testament to those who built it. It's a physical representation of their faith, and us attending is a physical representation of ours.

I'd love to visit them all.

Give Thanks...Share Your Talents

 Today, as I waited for the second hour of church to end and choir practice to start, I circled the Relief Society room that doubles as the Stake Center's baptismal room. The room is similar to others with framed artwork lining the walls.

I noticed a piece on one wall, on the north side. It wasn't the subject of colorful flowers in a vase that caught my attention, but the plague underneath. A plaque is there to draw attention to something. It tells the viewer there is something special with this specific work of art.

I walked over, read the engraved plaque.

The plaque worked. It caught my attention, drew me in, and gave me information that I would otherwise not have known.

This particular piece was created and donated by Hazel Rogers Call to the Relief Society of the Garland II Ward. Since I'm relatively new to the area, I have no idea who Hazel Rogers Call is, but the beauty of the situation is I don't need to know anything about her to have the artwork tell its story.

What I do know about her is that she was a giving person. The plaque doesn't tell me if Hazel actually created the artwork...I'm guessing she did. If she's the artist, then it's even more personal. If she didn't, well, she at least gave something to the building she didn't have to give. A selfless act.

Through the large church original paintings and copies of famous artwork hang in rooms and along hallways. They're all special, but for a certain piece hanging in the Garland Stake Center Relief Society, Sister Call's donation means a little bit more.

I'm grateful for Hazel for sharing her talents, be it creating or donating or both. Thanks, Hazel, for the gift.

Give Thanks...Less Contention

 The leader of the religion of which I am a part spoke to us two weeks ago. During the two-day event leaders of the church give talks with instruction and encouragement. One talk hit close to home.

Be a peacemaker.

The world needs less contention.

In the talk President Nelson asked us to be less contentious with our social media interactions and other interactions as well. He stressed the importance of being a peacemaker. As I listened I thought of a few people I know who could be a little less contentious online. President Nelson then said that as we listened to his counsel, we might be thinking of others who would benefit from his words. That caused the audience to laugh...

Myself included.

No way he was talking to me because I go out of my way to avoid contention online. My posts are "vanilla" at best. 

But then, I re-thought his message. He was dead-on talking to me, because even though I don't post things, boy do I feel them. I'll read a post on Twitter or Facebook and the fuming begins. I think of many things to post--total destructive zingers guaranteed to render all other opinions obsolete. I think them, and sometimes I've even gone so far as to write them out, but when it's time to hit the "Post" button, I chicken out--mostly because I know it will do absolutely no good. My opinions have never been changed because someone basically yelled at me their opinion. Why should I think my opinions would do anything different?

I need to be less contentious in my life. I need to not think of argumentative things. If that means abandoning social medial all together, then that's what I should do. I'm grateful for the advice. Now, all I have to do is follow it.

A New Calling...I'm A Little Nervous

It's strange, in a way, that for the first time in my life I'm going to be responsible for how a group of singers sounds. Yes, the owl bag full of musical folders means I'm a newly called LDS ward choir director...

And I'm a little nervous.

The strange part is I've been involved in choirs for more than four decades. I started singing in high school, just one year, but I had a blast. After my LDS mission, I joined a couple of choirs, first the Mormon Youth Symphony Chorus and the University of Utah A'cappella Choir.

Those were amazing choirs...the latter better than the former, but both were wonderful.

After graduating, I sang a couple of years in the Utah Symphony Choir...kind of amazing backing up the Utah Symphony. Then, in my home ward, we were blessed with an abundance of musical talent. Not to brag (too much...), but our Christmas programs were legendary. 

Now, it's my turn.

I've never led a choir, or at least, never led one more than once. Will I be able to hear the issues? Will I be able to help the choir members adjust and hit the right notes, use the correct intonation, start and stop correctly?

Only time will tell.

 

Missed One Of My Favorite Programs...The Primary Program

 A week ago, our congregation turned the program over to the children. The children's organization within the church is called Primary. So, last Sunday was the Primary Program. 

It's one of my favorite programs of the year.

Too bad I missed it.

Because of a Halloween gig I'm currently involved in, I am missing church, even though I get to watch part of the broadcast from home. I'll be able to go back after October. They usually do the Primary Program in the fall...just my luck.

So, what is a Primary Program?

Basically, the children in the congregation sing and give short talks--some, only a few words long. If you can't enjoy watching the most precious among us stand in front of parents, friends, and extended family, then, something's wrong.

All our children participated in Primary Programs over the years. They're all long removed from the days when they filled the choir seats and looked at us all the while we looked at them. Memories of watching our own kids came back. I remember one program looking up and seeing not my son's face, but his feet as he was inverted in his chair.

Good times.

Of course, as parents, friends, and extended family, it's fun to watch. For the adults in charge of the program, I'm sure they love it, too, and I'm sure they love having it be over for another year. It's one of the best and most spiritual meetings we have. Glad I was able to watch.

Looking For Beta Readers...Anyone Wanting To Have Some Fun

I'm looking for people who might be interested in reading an as of yet unpublished original work. I started it probably a decade ago and finished it last year. Since then, it's been doing nothing but sit in my computer, and I'm sick of having projects just sit when they should be worked on and released to the public.

A little about the story--it's about a newly-called Relief Society President, a mother of small children, a Canadian now living in the United States. The title of the story is, The Ward Witch. If you're familiar with my religion, the calling and the title of the book mean something to you.

Yes, it's about a witch.

Yes, she's in a ward.

Hopefully, I have piqued your interest. If so, and you'd like to read it and give constructive feedback, please let me know, either as a comment, or as a direct message from the various social media sites where I link my blog posts. As far as timelines, I'd love to get your feedback as soon as possible, but I understand we all have lives and responsibilities that take priority.

Be ye warned--the story has not been professionally edited, plus, I have grammar and spelling issues (this may not be new information if you've read my posts on this blog...). Add to the fact that the subject matter may be a tad, shall we say...controversial--this may not be something you'd like so I can understanding on passing.

But, if all those things sound fun and you enjoy a challenge, please let me know. I hope to get you the story out in a few weeks for your reading--and critiquing--enjoyment.

The Ward Witch...a grand adventure.

 

Our Church Building Has Dressing Rooms...Does Yours?

 One cool things about older buildings (actually, there are many cool things about older buildings...), is that they are unique. In our quest for efficiency, we've sacrificed many of the things that unique buildings possess. In our religion, we have a lot of buildings...fewer and fewer of the old ones still exist. That's a shame. Of course, I can understand the need to upgrade, to build the new ones in a like manner--it's cost-effective. I imagine that's the biggest reason. But there's something about the old churches, the new ones just can't touch.

We attend church in a century-old building on Factory Road in Garland, Utah. It is beautiful. There's a balcony in the main hall, and doors to the outside everywhere...I can't recall another church with so many exterior doors. It's also got something I've never seen in any other LDS church building...

Men's and women's dressing rooms.

You may be thinking, "That's not unusual...our church as rooms where men and women change after, for example, baptisms. But no, dear reader. This is not that. These dressing rooms are nowhere near the baptismal font. No, these rooms are near the stage. Therefore, they're dressing rooms for theatrical productions.

As a actor, I love that there are dressing rooms for performers in the church. It means that when they designed the building, they felt performances were worthy enough to dedicate floor space to the craft.

I've not been in the rooms. I wonder how often they're even used...for the past couple of years, lots of things have been shelved, including theatrical productions. Hopefully, that changes. Hopefully, the dressing rooms will be used again soon.