"Who is this?"

 Yesterday, Palm Sunday, Jesus made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  The multitudes recognized him as a "Son of David" and shouted "Hosanna" as he entered.  "Hosanna" means "God save us".  

After He entered Jerusalem Mathew wrote "...and all the city was moved, saying, Who is this?"

And just Who was it that they were expecting?  Moses had delivered their people, long ago, from the slavery of the Egyptians.  Would Jesus go to the Fortress Antonia and rid the city of the Roman soldiers, starting their long-awaited delivery from the Romans? 

No.  He went instead to His Father's house-the temple-and cleansed it of those who sold animals and coin for sacrifice and payment.  Matthew tells us that Jesus said  "It is written, My house shall be called a house of prayer; but you have made it a den of thieves".  The next verse reads "And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple; and he healed them."

I love the next verse-"And when the chief priests and scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying in the temple, and saying, Hosanna to the Son of David; they were sore displeased."  How could one be "sore displeased" in the midst of healings, wonderful works and shouts of Hosanna?

Who is this?  It sounds as if the children knew who He was more than most of the leaders.  "Out of the mouth of babes...thou has perfected praise".

The temple is a liminal place.  A kind of in-between place.  It is where Heaven and Earth can meet.  It is His house.  Jesus went "home" to his house and found things happening there that ought not to have been.  So he drove those out who shouldn't have been there.  Then the blind and the lame came to Him-they knew where to find Him-at His house-and He healed them.  He did "wonderful things".  And there were children in the temple praising Him and shouting Hosanna-"God save us"!

I'm not sure what those around him were expecting-"Who is this?"  But I know He often told them that he came to do His Father's will.  This is the beginning of His last week of mortal work. Doing His Father's will.  Cleanse his house.  Heal. Do wonderful things. Be recognized and praised by the children.  The story continues tomorrow.

This brings up a few questions for me.  "Who is this" Jesus for me?

Do I spend time in liminal places, like the temple, where I can sense the presence of  Heaven better?  Have you been overwhelmed by awe and peace when out in the wilds, on a mountain, in a desert place?  Can I better make my home a place where Heavenly influence is welcome?  How can I help make these places more liminal?

"Who is this?" that I worship, want to emulate, try to follow, and declare to others as our Savior, Older Brother, and Son of Man of Holiness? 

I will keep following Him as best I can, knowing that I will fall short, but He will lift me up and He will cause me to shout "Hosanna" with the multitudes seeking peace and safety. 

He came, riding a donkey.

They had waited a long time. Longer than you or your parents or your grandparents or even their grandparents were alive. They had waited and watched for millennia. During that time they had seen kingdoms come and go. They had had wonderful prophets of God and kings who built temples for them. They had wandered for decades and been sustained by bread from heaven and water from rocks. They had conquered, been conquered, enslaved and been enslaved. They had seen fire from heaven, plagues of frogs, and divided seas. They had been obedient to their God and they had foolishly followed after graven images. They had been scattered and partially gathered. And they were still waiting. And watching. They knew what they were waiting for. Their Mesiah. He would teach them, heal them and deliver them. 

 And then He came. At first they didn't know it.  At least most of them.  Some shepherds knew.  And some old people at the temple.  A few more probably.  Some Magi from far away found him and told a "king" about the baby.  Stories from another season.

He grew up.  Some saw Different in Him.  Most saw the son of Mary and Joseph.  Until he started dong miracles.  Water became wine.  Withered became whole.  The Way walked on water.  People with chronic infirmities were made well and whole-and more. The blind saw, the deaf heard.  The unclean were cleansed.  The dead were restored to life.

At first, a few listened and heard.  A few looked and saw.  More, even multitudes, saw the miracles and started following to be fed.  A few small loaves and fishes fed thousands.  They had found Him-their king! They would be delivered from the oppression of their current rulers and their earthly kingdom restored!  Hallelujah!  But not now.  He was here for a much more marvelous mission than deliverance from earthly oppression.

He knew His mortal mission was near its completion.  He arranged to make his final entry into Jerusalem as a prophesized King-riding on a donkey.  The people thronged him and laid down palm fronds and even their cloaks for him to ride on into the city.  Surely this was their King, Deliverer, the Messiah.  Hosanna to God and sing His praises.  Deliverance was nigh at long last! No longer would they be yoked by political oppression.  They had their God with them.  They would surely be saved!

And so they, we, were truly saved.  But not yet in the way many of His time thought or maybe even knew was possible.  By the end of that week which started with His triumphal entry into their holy city, we would all be granted blessings unimagined by most.  We would all be delivered from those monsters of death and hell. 

We still live in a fallen world and await His next coming.  What will we be expecting and hoping for?  Will we be there laying down our hearts for him to enter? Are we even now listening and hearing, looking and seeing and feeling?

Blessed Palm Sunday to you all.  I understand that next time He'll be in His chariot of fire.

Once There Was a Cottonwood Tree in Our Backyard

OK-I am not sure that is the best title for this post.  I'm quite sure, in fact, that no posts were ever made out of the cottonwood tree that is no longer growing in our back yard.  Yes, there are pieces of it here and there.  I am sure that some of the stars we see came from her branches,  but the tree itself has been down for a good number of years. Also, the cottonwood is not the primary subject of this bit of prose, but she does play a significant roll.

What's that?  Oh, you'd like for me to get on with the real story?  Ok!  Why didn't you say so?

Well, when the cottonwood was planted (by Grandma, of course) she thought it would grow up to be a quaking aspen-scientific name Populus tremuloides (that sounds like something quaking don't you think?) or perhaps a plain old poplar tree.  However, any tree named "poplar" (not to be confused with "popular" which is an entirely different subject) means it is just part of the family of trees to which cottonwoods (Populus deltoides) and quakies belong.  So, she was correct-it did grow up to be a type of poplar.  But not a quakie.  Quakies are actually popular poplars.   It grew and grew and grew!  It provided wonderful shade in a relative short time.  We hung a swing on one of its branches.  Kids climbed the branches as high as they could handle, but the trunks-she had three major ones if I remember correctly-were soon too large to get your arms around to help climb.

She was a wonderful tree.  Most of the time.  She had a couple of quirks.  Every early June our neighborhood would have a couple weeks of snow!  Well, not real snow.  But it looked like snow on all the lawns as our cottonwood would shed her cotton-swathed seeds as far as the wind would take them.  I always thought it looked lovely, but I didn't suffer from allergies to such things.  Some of our neighbors didn't like cleaning it up off their lawns.  We didn't mind that very much.  Her real challenge is that she kept growing.  And growing!  Someone had planted her a bit close to our house-thinking she would be a cute little popular poplar like a quakie, but she did grow true to her roots into an ever-increasingly large Tree!  She also started developing a stinky-tree problem.  There were places in her trunk that just didn't smell right.  We realized that she had a type of slime flux-a bacterial wetwood infection-that would continue to progress deep inside of her.  Now don't worry if you remember playing in the tree or on her trunks that served as a pirate ship for a number of years.  Slime flux is not contagious to people.

We ended up needing to have her cut down.  Here is a lesson for you.  It is always hard on one's heart to cut down a living tree, even if she is ill.  Sometimes one doesn't plant a tree in the best location and needs to cut it down in its prime for that reason.  Plan ahead, young people.  We all need enough space to grow and thrive.

OK-enough about the cottonwood in our backyard.

One day about fifteen or sixteen years ago I was pushing our little mower over the grass under our cottonwood tree.  I must not have been paying close attention.  As I started pushing through some long grass in the shade of the tree I noticed a small ball of feathers.  "Stop!", my brain said.  "Maybe Baby Bird!" it said.  But, you all know how difficult it is to get your arms and legs to listen when you are already moving and your brain yells at you to "Stop!".  I did my best!  I pushed down on the handle so the deadly spinning blade might not hit the little feather ball, sure that I was too late.  I released the lever so the mower stopped running and pulled it back to reveal a fledging robin hunkered down in the long grass.  Oh no!  I was sure I had just decapitated a baby robin (scientific name Turdus migratorius).

I knelt down and gently picked up the little fluff ball-and it peeped at me.  Hooray!  I was not a baby robin killer!

I did what you would do.  As I held the little spotted guy in my hands I looked up in the cottonwood trying to locate a nest, a mom robin, a dad robin,  heck, even a grandma robin.  No luck.  Not knowing what to do I consulted that being with the most wisdom and knowledge I know-Grandma-and she told me to look on the interweb.  There I learned that fledging robins often end up on the ground and that you should leave them alone.  Their parents are almost certainly nearby and will take care of the little bird when you leave.

I was not that smart.  We ended up caring for the little thing for a few days, getting up in the night to feed it worms and cat food (ironic, eh?) and having it stay under a light to keep warm.  Oscar helped with all this.  We did let him (the bird, not Oscar) go after a day or two and he found his way back to his feathered family.

Wait-do you know what "fledgling" means?  OK, how about "fletching", as in arrows?  Ok, I see by your knowing smile that you get the connection.

OK, at this point in our journey it is time for you to look back in this blog and find a story titled "Rescued".  I think it was told in May 2015- a long time ago.  Another story about another bird.  No populus deltoides involved, but it happened at our cabin where we do have an abundance of populus tremuloides.  

I'll wait.  Did you take a look?  OK.  The score is now two rescued birds.  Yay team!

Now for a more recent bird encounter.  I was sitting right here.  No, not "here" where you are, but "here" where I am.  You are currently "there".  Unless you are reading this on my computer.  Then you are indeed "here".  Congratulations!  We'll have dessert in a few minutes after we finish this story.

The story-I was sitting at the computer ("here") working on something or the other when I heard that distinctive "thump" of a small bird flying into our back door, which is mostly window.  I don't hear that often, but it always makes me worried/sad that a little bird has broken its neck flying into the glass.

Why do they do that?  I'm sure it's not to make me worried/sad.  It has nothing to do with me.  Often it happens when one of the local hawks soars by.  I think they do that trying to catch a meal, which is just fine, but maybe they do it sometimes just to watch the little birdies scatter.  Either for hunting or humor, this little bird was startled and tried to find the fastest way to safety and flew into what looked like a good escape route but ended up floppy on my back step.

I went out, still sad/worried, and picked the little feathered being up.  I wondered at the miracle that we have such creatures-flying, acrobatic animals!  My sadness deepened as I felt that her little body was limp and her eyes closed.  It was a cold day.  I couldn't think of putting the small thing in the trash.  I thought of placing her in a warm, sunny spot, but there was a North wind chilling even the brighter spots. So I held her gently in my hands.  I thought I could detect the speedy beating of her little courageous heart, but wasn't sure.  So I sat there thinking about Jesus teaching about a sparrow not falling to the ground without God knowing.  I did say a bit of a plea to Father.  I didn't want the little bird to suffer or to be cold. 

As she rested in my hands I saw her eyes flutter an open.  She wasn't moving anything else yet, but it gave me great hope to see her bright little eyes.  She was definitely  breathing now.  After a few minutes I gently extended her wing and she was able to pull it back in place.  Eventually she found her way to being on her feet and fluttered from my hands.  She flew toward the glass door!  But no head bonking this time.  I let her sit and rest a short spell then opened the door.  Off she flew!  She headed for the the thick base of the honeysuckle plant and took with her my wishes for many more days of being a bird.  What kind of bird was she?  Well, she was a lucky, brave, happy and probably headachy bird.  Oh, I believe she was a house finch-scientific name Carpodacus mexicanus.  Oh, I just realized that "she" was likely a "he".

Ok-final tally for this story-Three rescued little birds, one cottonwood tree that blessed us for many years, many quakies still standing and quaking, one hawk that is either hungry or amused at scattering the little birds and one contented grandpa.

"Why are you a content grandpa?" you may ask.  Whenever we try to do good, to listen and feel what we should be doing, whether it is trying to rescue a little bird or being nice to a sibling, especially when it would be so easy to be snarky!, or when we just try to be good and kind and build up the people near us, we make the whole universe better.  We really do.  Any good we do builds and strengthens God's kingdom.

Sometimes we need to be strong enough to not take the easy path of belittling and discouraging and instead try to encourage and build up. It's easy for most of us to want to help small cute critters, but that doesn't always include your siblings!  But they are who often need us to be strong and kind and encouraging!  In the past few weeks I have been blessed to watch as several of you grandkiddos have watched out for, helped and praised the efforts of some of you siblings.  That always makes my heart happy.

 I was reminded this morning as I walked with Sadie that this applies to ourselves as well.  It is easy to find faults and weaknesses that we suppose we have and focus on those.  Just today Grandma and Letty were out in the cold rain moving the broken concrete chunks we use as a wall around our compost.  I couldn't help because I recently had a new shoulder put in and can't do heavy work.  That was my work they were doing in my compost pile!  (don't you wish you had a compost pile?)  As I started to feel a healthy dose of "poor me" because I couldn't go play with them in the rain I remembered that I can do what I can do.  In time my shoulder will heal and I can get back to shovel work, but, for now, I will do what I can and be happy with that!  And you should too!

A Kid, a Dog Named Tiger, and Some Thoughts About Christmas

This little reminiscence (another word to ask your parents about-if they can remember...) will probably be a short tale  Kind of like Hairy's (BDE).

When I was younger--now, wait, what does that mean?  It wouldn't make any sense to start a story with "When I was older"!  Because I couldn't have been older when I "was", now could I?  "When I was", relating to my age, already means when I was younger-It couldn't mean anything else.  Hmm, how to better start?...  OK, try this: (and ignore all of the preceding paragraph, if you don't mind).

When I was a lad of 5 or 6, or I could have been 7 or 8, I'm sure I wasn't over 9-anyway, it was quite some time ago and I was much younger than I am now (I think you can figure out that I was definitely not older than I am now-that would be quite Merlin-esque of me, don't you think).  OK, now that we have established that this happened when I was a young boy, we can get on with the tale.

 At this time of my life, I was lucky to have a dog named Tiger.  I'm not sure how he became my dog, and not one of my two brothers'.  Maybe it was because I fed him and played with him.  We shared many good things in life.  Including Tiger letting me sample his canned Horsemeat and Gravy (tasty!) that I bought for him at Farrer's market on the corner of 3rd East and 2700 South.
Tiger was good to me, he was able to listen, he would run around with me in the yard and follow me on my trusty Schwinn mega-bicycle.  Yes, this is the same bike that somehow attacked my little brother Steve and almost broke the poor kid.  Yes, I was riding the bike, but I promise-that bike had a mind of its own!  And Steve zigged when he should have zagged.

OK, where was I?  I was younger (OK, we discussed that), I had a dog named Tiger, (now, why do we name dogs after types of cats?), and...hmm-Oh yeah-Tiger was my best friend most of the time.  My brothers were-well, they were my brothers.  All of you with siblings understand what I mean, don't you?  Brothers (or sisters-but we didn't have one of those yet-Tammy comes in years later) are special and wonderful and can be your friends.  But sometimes they aren't.  A good dog can always be your friend.  But the dog can't be your brother.  And I wouldn't have traded either of my brothers for my dog.  Most of the time.  OK-we will return to Tiger and his part of this tale in a couple of minutes.  The next question will seem totally unrelated, but I guarantee this tale will make sense at the tail end.  I hope.  Ready?

Why did Jesus come to Earth?  Why was he born?  Why did he live a perfect life and then carry out the atonement?  I'll wait until you give your answers.  OK, Ready?

I think many of us would say that He came atoned for us so we could be forgiven of our sins and be able to live again after this life.  And that would be correct-but not the full answer.  I know this is an infinite blessing for us-to be cleansed of our sins-and to be able to live after this life, but there is more!

We have been taught the following in the scriptures (this is from Alma Chapter 7)-

10 And behold, he shall be born of Mary, at Jerusalem which is the land of our forefathers, she being a virgin, a precious and chosen vessel, who shall be overshadowed and conceive by the power of the Holy Ghost, and bring forth a son, yea, even the Son of God.

 11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

 12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.

 13 Now the Spirit knoweth all things; nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance; and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me.

Now, if you read all of that above, you can tell your parents you did your scripture reading today.  

As you read these verses, try to find all of the reasons that Jesus came to earth.  I'll list some I see, in the order I see them-

He shall go forth, suffering-
    pains
    afflictions
    temptations of every kind
Why?-"that he might know how to succor (look up what this word means-or ask your folks, if you think they are feeling particularly smart tonight) his people according to their infirmities.

Also--"And he will take upon him death..."  Why?  "...that he may loose the bands of death"
Then-"...he will take upon him their infirmities..."  Why?  "..that he might know how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

Now, you might need to talk with your parents about what "infirmities"means.  It means mostly what it sounds like, but feel free to ask them so they can feel good about helping you learn something.  I'll wait.  OK, done?-Good.

What does all that mean?  It means that our Savior experienced life-including, somehow, all the pains, afflictions, temptations (of every kind!), death and infirmities-that we could ever experience in life.  And Why?  .
So that He could "succor his people".  (did you ask your parents what that word means?  If they didn't know, then look it up.)  It was so He could "rush to our aid".  It was so, when we have times when we know no one could possibly understand what we are going through, how bad, difficult, stinky, rotten life is for us, how there is absolutely no hope-if we can remember and lean and trust on Him, we can find relief.  For anything that troubles, hurts, saddens us or strips us of happiness and hope.  We can find in our Savior-that Babe born in Bethlehem-absolute empathy and Hope.  He knows how to succor us!

Now, what does this have to do with Tiger the dog?  There were times in my young life, just like in yours, when I felt abandoned by friends, scorned by brothers (or sisters, if I had had some then), ignored by parents, and basically wronged by the world.  I felt, in those times, that no one could possibly understand what I was feeling or going through, or how rotten my life was.  Except Tiger the dog.  I remember several times when Tiger and I would hide in our room (the room I shared with my 2 brothers-sound familiar Tanners?) or out behind the willows in our back yard and I would cry and tell Tiger all my troubles.  He would lay his head on my lap, watch me with his dark eyes and give me a little lick.  And my 6 year old troubles would start to become manageable.

Now, imagine that you had a Tiger the dog, only infinitely more able to understand and help you when you need it.  Now matter what  help you need.  Remember the list?  Pains, afflictions, temptations, infirmities?  That covers about everything, don't you think?  Tiger the dog could lick my face and help my heart feel a bit better.
The Savior can heal my heart and help me be a better person.  So I can help His other children.  That's when we best feel that our hearts have been healed.  (That's what happened to that old Grinch fellow.) We can talk about that another time.

What wonderful blessing from that Babe in a manger!  Oh, yes, if you look in verse 13 above it also tells us that He came to take upon Him our transgressions so our sins can be blotted out.  But you already knew that.

I hope that all of your hearts are happy and growing this Christmas time.  But I know we will all have times of trouble, despair, sadness and wo.  I really hope when those tough times hit us that we can remember to ask the Savior for relief and let Him rush to our aid.  Maybe some of his aid will come through your Mom or Dad or a sibling.  Or even your dog!

Then we can help others, our hearts will grow and hope will blossom in us and we can find Joy again.  Like Tiny Tim said-"God bless us, every one!"  And He can and does!

" I Really, Really Hope You Like It!"

OK-no old tales of Christmases Past today.  Maybe some will end up here later this season.
Today, I want to tell a tale of Christmas Present.  And Christmas Presents.
First, a thought on keeping Christmas.  Old E Scrooge found out about "keeping Christmas" from the visits he had on that night long ago. "...he knew how to keep Christmas well...".  I think you all should take time to read Scrooge's story this year.  It is short, so try to pay attention while your mom or dad reads it to you.  At least, or, even better, watch the Muppet Christmas Carol after you've read the book.
We have so much distraction during Christmas by the noise, noise noise of the world telling us what we don't have and really, really should have-or we can't be happy!  And then we tend to think about what we are getting for Christmas.  And we worry that we won't get what we want.  What a disaster that would be!  
Hmm...not really the Christmas spirit, is it?

We just got to spend a couple days at the cabin with some of the grandkids.  No stores, trips, practices, phones, internet.  Just the kids and the fortunate few adults and the woods around the cabin and, if we're fortunate, some snow.  We did have snow, and there was some awesome sledding and sliding done by the kiddos.  We can talk about that later.

Last year we took some of the older kids up to the cabin after Thanksgiving.  We didn't take the younger ones since the boys had to walk in a couple miles in the snow.  Grandma had the boys draw names and make presents for each other from what they could find around the cabin.  It was so fun, we thought we should do it again, so we did!

This year, even the shorter kiddos came, and it was wonderful!  Let me tell you what I saw.

After a busy day of sliding and sledding, we took a walk and found our Christmas branch and some dried grass and stems and things to decorate with.  Then we came home and the kids put lights and homemade decorations on the Branch.  It was beautiful.  Then Grandma had them draw names to see who they would make a Christmas present for the next day.  No one was allowed to tell the others whose name he had!  Then to bed.  There was a bit of fussing and figuring out how to smile before bedtime, but I think that is because we were all pretty tired after such a busy day.

The next day we got out whatever stuff we had around the cabin.  The kids had wood, sticks, paint, hammers, nails, drills, chunks of logs, and their imagination.  They also had a desire to make a Christmas present that the person they were giving to would like.

And so Christmas Present building commenced!  There was much hammering, painting, drilling, cutting and figuring what do to.  Maybe the figuring came first.  Some of the time.
As the presents came to life, the kids would quietly tell the adults supervising (we did not have any serious injuries or blood loss) that they "Really, really" hoped that the person for whom the gift was intended would like the gift being crafted.  There was much effort and love put in these presents.

After lunch, it was time for the presentation of the presents!  There was some nervousness that the recipients would like the presents made for them.  I remember these presents being made-

 -A beautiful, firm bed for a kitty
-A very fast looking broom for playing quidditch
-A handcrafted split log with nails strategically placed for making designs with rubber bands
-Another quick, maneuverable quidditch broom
-A springy bow for shooting arrows
-A solid wood checker board and wooden checkers
-A fresco created with snail shells and vibrant colors

There were also individualized name tags and notes and other little personal touches.
(If I have forgotten anything, it is just because I am getting old and don't remember things like I used to-not because whatever you made wasn't just wonderful!)

Then the time came for exchanging presents.  It was wondrous (yes, that is a real word) to see the reactions of the gift-givers as appreciation was shown for each present presented!  I saw hugs and heard "thank-you" and "I love it".
Even today, I asked a couple of the kiddos if they were more worried about the presents being appreciated by the person they gave it to or about what they may get.  I heard, without hesitation, that they were "way more" worried about how the gifts they gave would be received.  They were much more concerned about giving then getting!

How I hope we can keep this attitude as we go though Christmas time.
.
Let me tell you about two Christmas Presents for just a couple more minutes.

First-the Present we've all been given.  That Gift heralded by the angles.  That Gift that is the Good News for all of us.  Heavenly Father loves us so much that He gave us His Son.  So we can learn and grow and change and love and return with our families to Him.  And I think that Heavenly Father "really, really" hopes that we like his Gift to us.

Next, the present we get to give back to Heavenly Father.  He just wants----us.  More specifically, he wants our hearts.  No, not the organ that pumps blood and keeps us alive, but that part of us that is our core-our "essence".   The part of us that is our desires, hopes and motivations.  And we should hope that our hearts are crafted so Heavenly Father really, really likes them.

He wants us to want to do what we should to return to Him.  Having our hearts turned to him makes this possible.  But only because of His Gift to us.

And how do we know when are hearts are turned to Him?  It's when we want to do good-to be nice and kind and do what is good and right.  To help those around us to be better.  When we are "way more" concerned about the giving than the getting.

Remember how you felt when you wanted the person you were giving the gift to to really, really like it?  Heavenly Father really really likes it when we give Him our hearts.  And we give Him our hearts when our hearts have us help, serve and give to His children-everyone around us.  And we don't have to give snails and checkerboards and boards and brooms.  We can give smiles, good words, pats on the back, hugs, "atta boys", and...well, you get the idea.

OK-end of this story without old stories.  Remember to read (or at least watch) "Christmas Carol" this year.  I try to read this story every year to help me remember some important things.  There may be a test when we see each other during Christmas.  Maybe with prizes.

And remember to keep crafting our hearts, because we should "really really" want Heavenly Father to like them as we give them as gifts to Him.
And he does "really really" like them.  And you.

"I Didn't Think I'd Miss That Little Finger So Much!"

OK-before we get too far, let me put your minds to ease-I have not lost any fingers, little or large.

 The Tale of the Missing Little Finger comes later in this brief blog.  (No, not the loss of one of my digits, nor the loss of my tail.  Which I never had to begin with-at least that you could see.  Of course, if I don't soon get going with this story, I might just lose my tale.)

I heard a lot about gratitude today.  I bet you did too, especially if you spent any time at church.  After all, Thanksgiving happens this week-on Grandma's birthday!  Isn't it wonderful that our nation takes time to recognize Grandma with a Day of Thanks ?!  Anyway, we get to have a wonderful holiday-one of my favorites-to reflect on all the wonderful things for which we should be thankful.  I heard inspiring messages about how we should have gratitude to our Heavenly Father for all that we have, including our trials and challenges.  I enjoyed all the messages.

I got to teach the lesson in Nursery today.  Yes, it was on "Being Thankful".  We made hand-print turkeys, apple turkeys, sang songs (not about turkeys) and had treats.  We also had a lesson prepared by Grandma.  You may ask why I taught this lesson instead of Grandma-go ahead-ask.  I'll wait...
What's that?  Did you ask why I got to teach the lesson Grandma prepared?  Well, I'll tell you.  I got up early this morning thinking I had a pretty sweet, easy day.  Grandma was home and said she would fix dinner and I knew she had planned a wonderful nursery experience.  Just as I was anticipating a day of rest and renewal, Grandma got a phone call from the hospital.  Now, most of the calls we get from a hospital come from one of our families as they visit their own dedicated room in their hospital's emergency department.  We even got one last night!  But this call was from Grandma's work.  She had forgotten that she had to work today!  She gave me the 5 minute mentoring of what was supposed to happen in nursery today, as I was now in charge!  What a scary thought!  And I would get to take care of all the dinner preparation-something I can do-no complaints.  Where was I?  Oh yes-I was handed the nursery stuff and told to do my best.  Which I did!
The lesson was on being thankful.  (Notice how I just now jumped right back to the point of all this? Sweet!).  Grandma had made a shoe box TV with pictures of things the little tykes could recognize as things for which they should be thankful.  Jesus, the sun, food, pets, family, eyes, ears, home-you get the idea.

One of the pictures was of hands.  As I showed this one to the little ones, I realized how thankful I am for my hands and for all of my fingers and thumbs.  I also realized that, as my hands get older, they have started to be a bit cranky at times (kind of like me!)-especially in the middle of the night and when I first get up in the morning.  Also, I had my right thumb touch a (running) table saw blade a couple of years ago.  It did filet my poor thumb (ask your folks what that word means if you need to).  I am very grateful that it did not remove my poor thumb, as those opposable digits come in quite handy a lot of the time.  ("handy", as used in the previous sentence was a little witty, eh?).  However, as a result of the injury, I don't have feeling on about 70% of my thumb.  It does interfere with some of my daily activities.  I have learned to live with it, but I realize how much nicer it was with a fully functioning thumb!

Which brings me to the point of this post-not the pointy finger, but the little finger.
My father-your mom or dad's grandfather (like I am to you)-could fix anything mechanical.  No, really-he could.  As a kid, I spent hours fetching tools and parts, cleaning stuff and being a gopher-well, not the rodent "gopher"-I guess I could write it as "go-for", as in "Ricky-go-for another wrench for me".  He was always fixing something.  As he got older and we kids grew up and moved out of our family home-just like you will all do some day-but not soon, so don't fret about it-it will be fine-Dad continued to fix things.  I don't know who fetched his tools, parts and coffee after I left home.  I don't think my Mom would be a gopher. (no, you don't have any rodent family lines, at least that I am aware of.  I have noticed that some of you act a bit squirrely sometimes, but I think that is nurture more than nature).

Anyway, one day my dad (your great grandpa) was fixing his lawn mower.  He needed to move the lawn mower to see something under it.  The lawnmower was running at the time.  Your great grandpa was always working on things when they were running or had power to them.  It is never a good idea.  I saw him get jolted several times when he worked on live wiring.  Maybe those electrical jolts were the reason that he tried to carefully pick up a running lawn mower.  As he gingerly put his hands under the deck of the mower-where there is picture on your lawn mower that shows you that this is a dumb thing to do because you could have fingers cut off-he felt the blade hit his little finger.
Well, he did drop the mower (not on his toes, or we could have some symmetry to this tale) and grabbed his finger.  And he picked up the end of his little finger from the ground, as it was no longer attached to the rest of his little finger.

Grandma drove him to the hospital where they had Special Doctors take x-rays and look at his finger.  They decided that it would be a big,expensive surgery with little chance of success to try to put the end of his little finger back where it was a little while before.  So they cleaned up the stump, sewed it closed, and sent him home.
In time, as with all wounds, the finger healed.  But, since your great grandpa was neither lizard nor sea star (and your great grandma was NOT a gopher-let's be clear) the finger did not grow back.  So he had two thirds of his little finger.

You would think, looking at your little fingers, that that would be just fine.  I mean, what do we really use the end of our little finger for anyway?  That is what your great grandpa thought as well-until he went to itch his left ear.  And he couldn't!  So his left ear went on itching!  You see, the end of great grandpa's (my dad's) left little finger fit precisely into the itching spot of his left ear!  And he didn't think much about that until he no longer had a longer pinky!

OK-what does this have to do with gratitude?  With being thankful?  What I am learning is that sometimes we don't think of all the things-little and big- that we could be thankful for.  So we don't really know how much they mean to us, how grateful we should be for them, until they're gone.
This is true for ends of little fingers, sunny days, gentle winds, good dogs, hot water, flexible parts, grandmas and great grandpas and everything else we may take for granted.

So-take a little-or more-time this week to reflect on those things and people for which you are thankful.  Don't forget to consider the challenges of life as well, as they are especially important in shaping our character.  As you consider these blessing, find a way to express  your gratitude.  It will help your heart grow several sizes!  But it won't grow back the end of a finger.  So be sure to shut down the lawn mower before working on it!
I am so thankful for all of you!

Here There Be Badgers

Vickie (Grandma) and I were invited to go on the Trek with the youth in our LDS stake early this summer.  "Trek" is where a bunch of youth, and their leaders, go on a multi-day walk, pulling handcarts, in the wilderness.  We do this for a number of reasons.  We want to have the youth experience, to a degree, what our pioneer fore-bearers did in pulling all of their possessions across the country in small handcarts.  It gives them time and experience with each other in random "families", so they have to learn to get to know and work with those outside their normal groups. And other stuff.

Well, enough background about Treks.  I'd just like to say that I am glad that Grandma went on the Trek, since that made it so I was not the oldest trekker...

The theme for this trek was to "Look In, Look Out, Look Up".  Each day emphasized one of these.  "Look In" was for introspection and to help figure out who you are.  "Look Out" was to help us remember to look at opportunities to serve those around us.  And "Look Up" was a reminder to look to the Savior for help, strength, guidance and peace as we go through life.

Each of these merits much thought and discussion.  But I will leave that for others or another time.  I want to share a few thoughts about one "Look" that was not officially part of the Trek Theme, but was a practical and necessary "Look" for this trek.

Which brings me to the topic of badgers.  Prior to this trek, I had only seen 1 badger in the wild in my many years of looking for badgers.  I am getting old enough, and said badger sighting was long enough ago  that it might have been just some random neurons firing in my brain, making me think I had actually seen one of these mythical creatures in their natural habitat.  Think about it--Have YOU ever actually seen a real-life badger?  I mean other than in the zoo, as we all know most of the animals in zoos would never make it in the wild.  That is why they are living the cushy life in the zoo.  The "badgers" in the zoo are not Real Badgers.  No-Real Badgers live outside of those places.  In other places.  Where Real Badgers live.

Well, on the trek, there were badgers.  Real Badgers.  How did I know this?  Did I actually see any Real Badgers?  I'll answer that later.  Meaning, no, I did not see any badgers, real or zoo-type, for the first 3 days of this trek.  However, I was sure that there were Badgers right from the first hour of the trek.  You may ask "How did you know there were Badgers-Real Badgers-if you didn't see them?
Well, I'll tell you how.  One of the smaller trekkers, pushing her family handcart from behind (now, that is a bit redundant, don't you think?  If she had been pushing from the front, she would have been trying to get said handcart to go backwards.  I guess she could have been pushing from the side... If the angle had been right...)  Where were we?  Oh yes, on Trek, with the Badgers (the Badgers were not officially Trekking).  That we hadn't seen--Oh, right, the small sister was pushing the handcart (you can figure out where she was in relation to the handcart, right?), Sister Edge and I were walking along the side, slightly behind, and this little Sister disappeared!  It was like she had been swallowed by the Earth!   And she sort of had!

Badgers, you see, make holes.  Big holes.  And the larger the badger, the larger the hole.  They seemed to have a penchant for digging these holes right along the route the Trekkers were Trekking.  Those pulling the handcart (I'm sure you have already figured out that these Trekkers would be in front of the handcart-in order to "pull"-right?) had a clear view of the hazards of the holes  and would nimbly step over or around them, being, for the most part, young and clever trekkers.  Those pushing (remember-they would be behind the cart... oh, I'm sure you have all this straight in your mind by now.  At least I hope you do) did not have such vision.  their gaze was fixed on the back of the cart, the contents of the cart, or the back of the cute young man/young woman in front of them pulling the cart.  As a result, they were prone to step into the Badger holes.  Some of which were made by exceptionally large Badgers!  Real Badgers!

And this small sister found an exceptionally large Badger hole.  She wasn't even looking for it.  It just appeared all of a sudden from under the moving handcart, and her first inkling of its (note the proper un-use of an apostrophe in the preceding word-ask your parents if you need to learn when to use "its" and when to use "it's"--if they don't know, then ask Grandpa-he'll make something up that sounds good) existence was when she disappeared into it's black interior.

We thought we had lost our first Trekker!  Grandma and I were a bit worried because our job was to tend to the health and first aid needs of these young people.  We were prepared for cuts, scrapes, allergies, sprained ankles, headaches, stinky feet and silly ears, but we had no first aid for Acute Badger Hole Disappearance Syndrome!  We started to get a bit worried until someone shone her flashlight down the Badger hole and we saw the reflection off this small trekker's glasses.  Whew!  What relief we felt.  After we fished her out (have you ever been fishing in a Badger hole?  We have.  For Trekkers-not Trout) with a length of strong rope, made sure that she hadn't been attacked by the exceptionally large Badger, and that she had no other injuries that needed attention, we put her in front of the handcart (where she would pull, correct?) and where she had a great view of the badger holes before she stepped into them.

Clever little trekker that she was, she immediately starting warning those behind the cart (the pushers) of upcoming badger holes.  She would sing out "Hole Right!" or "Hole Left!" or "Hole Middle!" and those pushing (behind the cart--I'm sure you have this "pushing" and "pulling" and the relative positions firmly in mind by now, don't you?) would then pay attention and not step into the Badger holes.  One difficulty was with Grandma.  Next time you see her ask her to quickly raise her left hand (or her right) sometime.  Not a pretty sight seeing a 60-something professionally educated, very intelligent, well-married and attractive woman struggle to remember which is left and which is right.  She was better off pulling than pushing.  But most everyone else, when they were paying attention (don't we end up paying more when we don't pay attention?...), were able to alert, or be alerted, to the existence of the terrors of the Badger holes.  Made by Real Badgers.

OK-the lesson here?  Yes, Look In,  Look Out and always Look Up, but also Look Down, or wherever there may be trouble coming-sometimes in the form of badger holes, sometimes in other forms that aren't so obvious, and warn your friends, siblings and those around you of the dangers you might recognize.  Don't be surprised if you have some friends that seem to want to find the Badger holes to step in, just to see how it feels. Or if they don't pay attention to your warnings.  This happens sometimes-especially with adolescents.   We did treat a good number of sprained ankles on this trek.  Those trekkers did not do so well.

As for You-You pay attention (so you don't have to pay even more when you don't) to those trying to warn you of holes and dangers they may see that you can't, since you are being so diligent with your pushing of the cart.  Your parents, grandparents, some of your teachers and your friends who are True Friends (I may tell you about some of my True Friends sometime)  are good warners.  Listen and respond like the un-knuckle heads you are.  Life goes better, and we are able to do more and find more joy when we aren't always stepping into stinkin' Badger holes, made by Real Badgers.  And before you ask, yes, Badger holes do stink.  I mean, just imagine what one would find in a Badger hole-ends of worms, remnants of Badger meals, rotting badger fur, Badger, uh, "leavings"-what becomes of the Badger meals in the end.  Or from the end. Well, you get the idea.  You should have caught a whiff of our small Trekker after her dive into the Badger hole!

And, yes, on the last day of Trek, we saw a Real Badger.  He-or it may well have been She-I don't pretend to have expertise in distinguishing Badger gender from 50 yards-was poking its badger head up out of its Badger Hole to watch us go by.  White stripes on its cheeks.  Looked kind of cute.  But I understand you wouldn't want one for a pet.  So, yes, Real Badgers do exist.  They are not mythical.  Neither are their holes.

It's been fun talking Badgers with you.  Now go kiss you Mom and Dad, tell them you love them and go to bed!  Oh yes, remember that Ratty is distantly related to Real Badgers....