Longmire

I have been watching the first couple of seasons of a Netflix series called Longmire.  Walt Longmire is the sheriff of a Wyoming county that apparently includes a Cheyenne Indian Reservation.  The relationship between Longmire and the residents of the reservation is not good.  The relationship is especially troubling between the sheriff and the chief of the tribal police or BIA.  It isn’t exactly clear what tribal jurisdiction is in play here.  Regardless, the relationship is sour.

Though set in Wyoming, much of the filming is done in Northern New Mexico.  In fact, the filming of Longmire’s home is located just outside of Los Alamos in the Valle Grande.  The Valle, as it is known by the locals, is a huge extinct caldera.  I recognize the landscape and the buildings that are in the Valle.  (The Valle Grande is also the setting for some of the story lines in my first book, Desperado.)

I have to admit that I cringe everytime I watch an episode of Longmire.  Evidence collection techniques and proper crime scene investigation is sloppy and do not remotely approximate real life investigations.  I have yet to see an admissible confession.  In fact, many,  if not most confessions would thrown out of court.  Jurisdictional matters are meaningless to the sheriff and his three deputies.  They go about investigating crimes and enforcing the law everywhere they go, including other counties and states.  Still, Sheriff Longmire seems to be able to read people’s minds and fill in the blanks with information that the viewer does not have and solve all the crimes.

For a county the size of his, he seems to have an unusual amount of crime.  The show never tells us how many square miles constitute the county or what the county’s population is, but with a staff of a sheriff, three deputies, and a secretary/dispatcher, there cannot be an awful lot of people in his county.  Still, there is an awful lot of crime going on in his county.  There is an average of more than one murder per week.  During the first two seasons he has uncovered a cult, a prostitution ring, a business hiring scores of illegal immigrants, and discovered that a law enforcement forest ranger and a law enforcement livestock officer were not only criminals, but murderers - in separate episodes.

On top of all the drama, Longmire’s wife was a terminal cancer patient who was murdered.  Longmire and his close friend are suspected by a Denver police detective of murdering Longmire’s wife killer.  Both are innocent, but the world doesn’t know that yet.

In spite of all of this, the entertainment value is tops.  I look forward to each episode, and since we have it on Netflix, I may be guilty of watching a couple of episodes in one sitting.

I’m drawn to Sheriff Longmire.  In spite of all our differences, I see a lot of me in his character.  He is often distant.  He doesn’t generally answer questions, but asks questions when a question is put to him.  He tries to do everything for everyone he can.  He has the answer to everyone’s problems.  His life is wrapped up in his job to the point that it adversely affects his relationship with his adult daughter.  He acknowledges this but doesn’t know how to turn it around.  As you look at him, you see that he is conflicted over something.  At times you know what it is that causes him this stress.  It’s fairly easy to discern and you can predict where he is going and how he will handle a particular situation.  But, a good deal of the time you can tell that he is a troubled spirit.

These attributes that I see in Longmire are in many ways a reflection of my life - distant, always questioning but never answering.  Just as he acknowledges that he has failed as a parent I see that same failure in my life.  And this is what makes watching Longmire hard to watch.

Park Benches

I understand why we see old men sitting alone on park benches.

There is a lot of history sitting on those benches. 

Not all of them sit on park benches feeding pigeons.  Some are alone.  Occasionally you see them sitting in pairs.  There are others like those sitting in pairs.  They sit in coffee shops or at McDonald’s occupying tables for hours and sipping their coffee, black.  Those sitting in pairs on park benches or at restaurant tables talk about the sorry state of politics, their grandkids that they see occasionally, sports scores, their last prostate exam, and whose names they recognize in the obituaries.  Mostly they talk about the past.  Like their counterparts sitting in pairs or in the coffee shops, those sitting alone think about the past.  They think about the good times.  They think about the not-so-good times and when they do, they think about the would have, could have, and should have things that they never did.

You can only sit with your buddies at the coffee shop table so long before you move on to your individual life, then you are in a solo act, like the other old men sitting alone on park benches.

But they also think of where they had been, their successes, and their triumphs.  Some think of the respect they had among peers and the need they filled.  It’s nice to be needed.  Everybody is the best at something no matter how big or insignificant it may be.  It is nice to fill a role, a gap, and to think that when you walked out a door for the last time that you left a void.  But, they know it isn’t true.  No one is irreplaceable.  Not having a place in the world, the world you lived in is hard.  Being valued for who you were and what you were is nice, but that value is worth nothing in the present.  “Thank you for your service.  It’s over now.  Please step aside.  You aren’t needed now.  Someone else has taken your place.”

The title of the book and subsequent movie was No Country for Old Men.  But, there are park benches.

Me Too Campaign

Over the past few days I’ve seen several Facebook posts that included the simple words “Me Too”, either embedded in the post or simply posted as those two words. How sad I thought, but not at all unsurprising. My own personal research shows that it is much more widespread than what we care to imagine. Even one “Me Too” is one too many. Well over half of all women have experienced sexual abuse and exploitation. Rest assured; however, that it happens to men as well.

As I said, some of the posts simply said “Me Too” while others added a few details. I think I saw the greatest pain among those who simply posted those two simple words. They are two words composed of five simple letters. They are insignificant in the eyes of the offender, yet a powerful testimony of devastated lives on one side of the equation and lives gone terribly wrong on the other side. There can be no excuse. Offenders, no matter their biology, economic background, or psychology still have choice.

One person wrote a two-page description of the continuing torment by the offender. I wanted to stand up and cheer when she wrote of stabbing her tormenter in the foot with a pencil. As she began revealing the process of pulling out her pencil and stabbing, I briefly waited to see where she stabbed him and frankly was surprised that it was his foot and not his crotch or heart. I think she showed great restraint. I think I would have gone for the heart after stabbing the guy’s groin a few times.

I studied sex crimes under the guidance of FBI Special Agent Roy Hazelwood (1938-2016). He was a leading pioneer in identifying and labeling various forms of murder and sex crimes. He called it deviant sexual behavior. He had this country boy’s head spinning after the first hour of instruction. After a week of instruction, I walked away fully armed and prepared for conducting sex crime investigations and completely repulsed by what I had learned. There were times I wanted to vomit in his class. I don’t talk much about the years that followed as they led me to investigating such atrocities in my own community and led me through a maze of sleaze and horror from coast to coast. You don’t need to know who or how.

As I left my investigative role and moved into administrative positions I focused my attention on domestic violence. The papers I had written and presented at conferences and interested groups gave me little comfort in realizing that there most likely were victims and offenders sitting side-by-side in those gatherings. Most troubling was the fact that many of those victims of domestic violence could easily say “Me Too” in addition to everything else they had suffered. How, I wondered, could any person violate such a sacred union and trust with such violent, self-serving, demeaning, degrading filthy conduct?

Those years of investigating sex crimes and speaking out against domestic violence in an official capacity are gone. That does not lessen the impact those experiences have had on my life, nor does it mean that I can rest comfortably in the false hope that things are better. They are not. And as I read your “Me Too” a little light came on. So often our past defines our present, and so it has been this week that I have been able to see your beginning from the end. “Me Too” says a lot. I may not know the exact details, but I have a fair idea. Perhaps I should say “unfair” idea.

There is another growing evil out there that is just as sickening as sexual abuse (they are criminal for a reason) and domestic violence. It is just as prevalent now in the United States as it was prior to the American Civil War and we as a nation have turned a blind eye to it. There are no racial or ethnic barriers to this ancient atrocity. Victims come in both genders, of national origins, racial and ethnic origins. It is called slavery. Its victims are scarfed up from our roads and streets along the beautiful country sides and city slums. They arrive daily, generally under cover of darkness, to our shores by the boatload. Some actually arrive to our shores alive. If you breathe at all you have seen them. If you live or work in densely populated areas you have probably seen them on a daily basis. You will find them in the smallest villages and hamlets to the largest metropolitan areas. You may well think that they are sex slaves, and they are, but they are also among the heavy lifters you see working in lawns and gardens and fields, serving in homes and even businesses, and running drugs often concealed within their bodies. They are disposable. Many come under the promise of hope and change but what they find is hell and below. Others are just snatched up and carted off. They are given enough to survive and live under constant threat of not only their death, but the execution of their entire families. To many, death is preferable to the lives they lead. And it is taken.

Too many have said “Me Too” out there. These are the things that tend to keep me awake at night. I so wish I could change the past.

Me Too Campaign

Over the past few days I’ve seen several Facebook posts that included the simple words “Me Too”, either embedded in the post or simply posted as those two words. How sad I thought, but not at all unsurprising. My own personal research shows that it is much more widespread than what we care to imagine. Even one “Me Too” is one too many. Well over half of all women have experienced sexual abuse and exploitation. Rest assured; however, that it happens to men as well.

As I said, some of the posts simply said “Me Too” while others added a few details. I think I saw the greatest pain among those who simply posted those two simple words. They are two words composed of five simple letters. They are insignificant in the eyes of the offender, yet a powerful testimony of devastated lives on one side of the equation and lives gone terribly wrong on the other side. There can be no excuse. Offenders, no matter their biology, economic background, or psychology still have choice.

One person wrote a two-page description of the continuing torment by the offender. I wanted to stand up and cheer when she wrote of stabbing her tormenter in the foot with a pencil. As she began revealing the process of pulling out her pencil and stabbing, I briefly waited to see where she stabbed him and frankly was surprised that it was his foot and not his crotch or heart. I think she showed great restraint. I think I would have gone for the heart after stabbing the guy’s groin a few times.

I studied sex crimes under the guidance of FBI Special Agent Roy Hazelwood (1938-2016). He was a leading pioneer in identifying and labeling various forms of murder and sex crimes. He called it deviant sexual behavior. He had this country boy’s head spinning after the first hour of instruction. After a week of instruction, I walked away fully armed and prepared for conducting sex crime investigations and completely repulsed by what I had learned. There were times I wanted to vomit in his class. I don’t talk much about the years that followed as they led me to investigating such atrocities in my own community and led me through a maze of sleaze and horror from coast to coast. You don’t need to know who or how.

As I left my investigative role and moved into administrative positions I focused my attention on domestic violence. The papers I had written and presented at conferences and interested groups gave me little comfort in realizing that there most likely were victims and offenders sitting side-by-side in those gatherings. Most troubling was the fact that many of those victims of domestic violence could easily say “Me Too” in addition to everything else they had suffered. How, I wondered, could any person violate such a sacred union and trust with such violent, self-serving, demeaning, degrading filthy conduct?

Those years of investigating sex crimes and speaking out against domestic violence in an official capacity are gone. That does not lessen the impact those experiences have had on my life, nor does it mean that I can rest comfortably in the false hope that things are better. They are not. And as I read your “Me Too” a little light came on. So often our past defines our present, and so it has been this week that I have been able to see your beginning from the end. “Me Too” says a lot. I may not know the exact details, but I have a fair idea. Perhaps I should say “unfair” idea.

There is another growing evil out there that is just as sickening as sexual abuse (they are criminal for a reason) and domestic violence. It is just as prevalent now in the United States as it was prior to the American Civil War and we as a nation have turned a blind eye to it. There are no racial or ethnic barriers to this ancient atrocity. Victims come in both genders, of national origins, racial and ethnic origins. It is called slavery. Its victims are scarfed up from our roads and streets along the beautiful country sides and city slums. They arrive daily, generally under cover of darkness, to our shores by the boatload. Some actually arrive to our shores alive. If you breathe at all you have seen them. If you live or work in densely populated areas you have probably seen them on a daily basis. You will find them in the smallest villages and hamlets to the largest metropolitan areas. You may well think that they are sex slaves, and they are, but they are also among the heavy lifters you see working in lawns and gardens and fields, serving in homes and even businesses, and running drugs often concealed within their bodies. They are disposable. Many come under the promise of hope and change but what they find is hell and below. Others are just snatched up and carted off. They are given enough to survive and live under constant threat of not only their death, but the execution of their entire families. To many, death is preferable to the lives they lead. And it is taken.

Too many have said “Me Too” out there. These are the things that tend to keep me awake at night. I so wish I could change the past.

Men and Mass Murders

As your resident Facebook Friends Criminologist, I would like to weigh in (with a little fear and trepidation) on the ongoing debate about guns and violence in America.  Some of you will want to rip me apart for my comments.  Get over it.  I admit up front that I don’t have all the answers, but I know a lot about mass murderers, spree killers, and serial killers.  I’ve spent years studying them.  Just ask my former students.

I want to specifically discuss the profile of the mass murderer and conclude with a suggested possible explanation for the increase of these types of killings that are taking place in America.

I.    Definitions

a.   Mass murder: the killing of two or more people at the same location by the same person or persons acting in concert at approximately the same time and is done in a violent outburst.

b.   Spree killing: the killing of two or more people at the same location by the same person or persons acting in concert within a short period of time, as in several hours or perhaps as much as three or four days, or the killing of two or more people at different locations by the same person or persons acting in concert within a short period of time, as in several hours or perhaps as much as three or four days.  Spree killings are also generally done as a violent outburst.

c.   Serial killing: the killing of multiple individuals, generally of the same background as perceived by the murderer (often prostitutes or homosexuals, but not always), by a single individual and generally over a long period of time, sometimes with as much as years between killing.  Of serial killers, there are four primary types: visionary killers, power and control killers, mission-oriented killers, and hedonistic killers

Another classification of mass murderer(s) could easily include terrorists.  Their motivation is typically political or religious-political in nature and may be state sponsored.

None of the above types of killing should be confused with thrill killing, cult killing, or gang killing.

II.    Profile of Mass Murderers

While a common profile can be identified amongst mass murderers, it is important to note that not all mass murderers will have each of the following characteristics.  So, when I say that “most” mass murderers are (fill in the blank), that is exactly what I mean.  It does not mean “all” mass murderers are (fill in the blank).  However, you can probably rest assured that if you have a mass murderer that the individual will have many of the following characteristics.

Most are:

1.     Male

2.     Single, separated, or divorced

3.     White

4.     In their 30s or 40s

5.     Purchasers of firearms through legal means

6.     Depressed, but not mentally ill nor are they out of touch with reality

7.     Frustrated with their situation and tend to blame others for their situation

8.     Socially isolated, feeling most comfortable in the company of themselves

Additionally, they may target specific people for a specific reason.  Their killing is indiscriminate in that if you happen to be among those specifically targeted the likelihood of you being killed is a good as the targeted people.  Finally, mass murderers seldom live to tell their story.  They either kill themselves or are killed by police.

III.  Tongue-in-Cheek Observation

If the object is to eliminate (or at least reduce) mass murders, instead of taking away everyone’s guns, we should eliminate all single white males between the ages of 30 and 50.

IV.  Possible Explanation for Increased Mass Murder Incidents

You have probably seen various theories for mass murders either here on Facebook or in other places.  I will not review them here.  You can seek them out on your own.  I believe there is an elephant in the room that no one really wants to acknowledge that probably plays a role in the increase number of mass murders.  That elephant in the room is the marginalization of men in society, especially white men.  This marginalization has come in the form of everything from the use of gender-neutral vocabulary to using the term “breaking the glass ceiling” to promotion of women and minorities (especially female minorities) to break that glass ceiling and parallels the civil rights movement and the women’s movement.

While there had been occasional mass murders before the women’s and civil rights movement, they were relatively unheard of.  As the women’s movement has become more militant and aggressive, many men have felt the effects of being pushed aside, ignored, and passed over.  It occurs in business and social settings alike as white males in particular become more and more isolated and excluded from their former gender roles as protector, provider, and authority.  In the move for “equal rights”, white males are feeling that others’ rights are now more equal than their own.  Such alienation of some (please, not all) white males results in their feelings of insecurity and anxiety.  This threat is especially dangerous to white supremacist groups who see minorities not only as inferiors, but now as inferiors who are gaining power.  They now have additional reason to be angry and to kill minorities.

V.    Conclusion

I would love to be able to test my hypothesis.  While I have the available time to do so, I no longer have the resources to do it.

I suppose you could question, even challenge my hypothesis.  Call me a crazy lunatic or accuse me of reaching too far, but before you accuse me of being a sexist, misogynist, racist bigot, please consider that the profile in Section II above is real.

If my hypothesis is correct, then it calls for a serious re-thinking of the role of men in society.  We have certainly made strides in equality, but perhaps it is time to work on recognizing the legitimate role of men, and not as warm touchy-feely beings, but something consistent with their traditional gender role.

Borrowing somewhat from an HBO show, the first thing we need to do in solving a problem is recognizing that we have one.  Well, “Houston (and the rest of America), we have a problem.”  I think we know that.  Now we need to be honest with ourselves and determine what the problem is and why we have it.  The fact is, and many of you will not agree with this – too bad, the fact is, confiscating guns or restricting further gun ownerships is not going to solve the problem but will merely exacerbate it.  If you think there are angry white males out there now, just try and fix it with that kind of solution.

Enough?

Protesting the Flag

Let’s get something straight here.  Kaepernick began his kneeling protest as a statement against police.  While it is nice to remember that kneeling is a sign of respect, devotion, humility, and subjection, Kaepernick had no intention of demonstrating any of those.  It was a protest statement.  In the process, he showed disrespect to the men and women who have bravely and valiantly served this nation in the armed forces, to the republic for which the flag stands as one nation, under God, and is indivisible, as well as to my fellow brothers and sisters who dutifully and honorably strap on a gun and pin on a badge each day of the week.  He started a rift in a nation that was supposed to be united and indivisible.  If he and others cannot pledge their allegiance to this nation by taking a back seat to their own agendas, and stand in unity with others for the few minutes of a song, then just exactly to what do they pledge their allegiance?  

This is not to say that there are not problems.  This is not saying that there are no injustices.  This is not saying that there are police who need to be reined in.  There are problems, injustices, and police who need reined in.  Also, just because our “system” here in the United States is better than anywhere else in the world (in my humble opinion) it does not mean that it cannot be better.

I note with a certain amount of interest that when traveling to a foreign nation, when that nation’s anthem is played, you stand out of respect for that nation, its people, and their government.  One does not engage in salutatory gestures, but you stand as a sign of respect as a guest to the host.  It does not mean that you agree with that form of government.

Do “people of color” think they are the only ones who have run-ins with the police?  Are they the only ones who feel singled out?  Are they the only ones who feel their civil rights have been violated?  Are they they only ones who feel intimidated when a police officer walks up to their car on a traffic stop, while the officer has hands on the pistol grip?  Are they the only ones who feel singled out, seemingly without justification, for a temporary detention, a pat-down, or even a full-blown search?  Well, no.  Don’t tell me that the system is rife with corruption because you don’t have a clue what you are talking about.

I have repeatedly stated that I would not go back into law enforcement again for anything.  Things have changed, especially within the last decade.  It has been open season on police, especially in the past five years.  I would like to think that I was fairly easy-going as a police officer over two decades ago.  If I was on the street today you can best believe I would wear body armor and have my hand on my weapon as I approached a car, especially at night when I have absolutely no idea as to who is in the car.  I wanted to go home at the end of my shift way back then and I can’t help but think that I would have that same goal today.

So, are there problems today?  You bet there are, and it isn’t just a systemic problem.  It’s also a people problem, and if I dare say, it’s an entitlement problem.

So, those of you who want to kneel during the National Anthem, go right on ahead.  Those of you who want to support that right, knock yourselves out.  You have your First Amendment right.  I also have my First Amendment right to say what you are doing is wrong and disrespectful on so many levels.  And I have a right to be offended.  Go ahead and publicly pronounce that we are not one nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all, because when you do that you are saying is that you have stopped trying.  You are abdicating your responsibility to make this a better place.  To those who take a knee or lock arms, put your hands to work instead of putting your knees on the ground.  There are better ways to protest, and there are better things to accomplish other than protest.  Assume a little responsibility and make this country a better place for everyone.

As for me, I’ll remain steadfast and immovable with my fellow citizens who “get it” along with my brothers and sisters whose manner of dress include a badge and a gun or army khakis or camoes or navy white or marine blue or air force blue, and all the vets who sacrificed their comfort for a foxhole.  I will stand with pride and render my salute to our Title of Liberty in spite of the problems.

Free Speech is Not Free

Free Speech is Not Free

We in the United States of America enjoy the blessing of free speech, along with a few other First Amendment protections that include the freedom to peaceably assemble, the free exercise of religion (along with a guarantee that the government will not establish a religion), the right to petition for a governmental redress of grievances, and of course a protection from infringement on the freedom of the press.  These freedoms were guaranteed as a result of oppressive practices by British occupational forces.  It is not at all improbable that these protections were listed first as an in-your-face statement to the King of England.

A lot of freedoms are covered in that First Amendment to the United States Constitution.  However, I am not convinced that those freedoms are free.  To the contrary, I believe that each comes at a cost.  The following is a list of a few of my thoughts about those rights.

One.  A significant amount of blood was spilled on this continent to put those freedoms, those founding principles into effect.  We had a longstanding disagreement with Mother England over these guarantees that ultimately led to the American Revolution.  Even after independence was won, it was not exactly secure as succeeding battles were fought to show that we as a nation would stand our ground against British rule.  When the dust settled, Great Britain became our closest ally in conflicts that, if lost, would take those freedoms away.

Two.  The limits of these freedoms have been tested and tried multiple times at great cost within our own court system.  Those freedoms have been defined and refined and are held sacred.  The area of speech has been particularly tested and as a result we know that we cannot yell “fire” in a crowded theater and fighting words are not protected (see Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire, 1942) nor can we use slanderous words against another person.  (Chaplinsky has been watered down some and more narrowly defined, but the basic principles in that case still apply.)

Three.  Free speech applies to government protection.  While you are generally free to say what you want in the public arena, there is no guarantee that you will be free to say what you want in my home, in a private assembly, or for that matter on my Facebook Timeline.  A family may establish a rule against profanity within the walls of the home, a church may require speaking in hushed tones within its sacred sanctuaries, and you or I can delete comments we find offensive that are posted by someone else on our timelines.

Four.  There are limits on speech in the public schools.  For example, school administrators may control what is advertised on bulletin boards and may direct that certain clothing be worn or not worn.  For example, school administrators may direct that T-shirts with writing or pictures on them may not be worn.  This is partially due to a principle known as en loco parentis, a concept that says that schools act in the stead or place of parents while the child is at school. Many of the limitations on speech are extended to private universities, not because of en loco parentis, but because of the nature of the institution.

Five.  Certain obscenity laws are consistently upheld as constitutional, in particular as these laws pertain to child pornography.

For many years police could arrest people for uttering the f-word in their presence or referring to them with that term or a term that would relate to the officer’s parentage.  Unfortunately, this is no longer the case.  Police are supposed to be able to take the heat.  I still wouldn’t recommend showing this kind of disrespect in some parts of the country.  “Curbside Justice” still rules in some jurisdictions.  There are exceptions to this general rule, but those are rare as is evidenced by the prolific use of that language in public.

Six.  Perhaps the greatest cost of free speech is the consequences of the exercise of that speech.  While we may be free to say what we wish, we are never free of its civil and social consequences.  Indeed, you may shout fire in the crowded theater, but you will be arrested.  If someone is maimed or killed in the panic that follows other prosecution may result.  Threatening the life of the President of the United States is a specific federal crime.  Additionally, there are social consequences.  Overt actions toward the commission of a crime such as battery will serve as grounds for arrest.  Saying something controversial or inflammatory may not lead to arrest, buy most likely will lead to criticism, verbal attack, and even shunning.  It may lead to exclusion to employment, reprimand and termination from employment, lack of invitations to participate in social events, and exclusion in certain social circles.  In sum, it can lead a person to feeling very alone, even ostracized.  While a person is free to speak out on any given topic, that person will never be free from the way others feel about that person.

Closely related to the freedom of speech is the freedom to peaceably assemble.  There are restrictions on assembly.  For example, anti-abortionists are free to picket abortion clinics, but cannot block the entry of others into that clinic nor can they destroy property.  Klansmen cannot interrupt the worship services of a black congregation.  Protestors cannot riot, break business windows, destroy private property, light buildings and cars on fire, jump up and down on police cars, block traffic, tear down statues and monuments, throw rocks at police or the focus of a protest and so forth, though it appears that protestors these days are able to get away with it.

The point is that referring to the First Amendment as freedom of speech may be a misnomer and misleading as there are indeed costs associated with speech and speaking freely may well land a person in civil and social trouble.  For those who don’t care, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

A Little About Me

I feel compelled to explain to you a little about me.  This is not a big reveal, but may put into context who I am, where I am in life, and maybe even the reasons for the things I say and do.

My parents came from small coal mining and farming communities in southwest central Indiana.  Mom graduated from high school with honors.  Dad has pretty much kept his high school record to himself.  If I am a reflection of his high school achievement I can understand why.  I know he was shy.  Both were Depression Era poor, but since they lived on farms and had work, they were better off than most during that period of time.

After high school, like so many of the Greatest Generation, Dad joined the Army prior to the United States full involvement in World War II.  He was in the Signal Corps, received the Purple Heart, and was honorably discharged as a sergeant.  Following the war in Europe he returned home on leave and married my mother before his departure to the South Pacific.  However, the war ended with Japan before he shipped out and he was then discharged.

Mom took on jobs with J.C. Penny and later at Sears and Roebuck, where she worked in their catalog department.  Dad first went to work at Camp Benjamin Harrison as a civilian attached to payroll and the VA Office.  They lived in a small apartment in Indianapolis and subsided on five-cent hamburgers from White Castle.  They were poor.

In time Dad took a job with the Chevrolet Truck Division where he worked until his retirement in 1975.  Mom did clerical work for Danner Brothers, a five and dime store chain in Indiana, and later with Huber, Hunt and Nichols, a large construction company, where she did clerical work there as well.

I was the oldest of three children.  A brother was born who lived less than a week.  My baby sister died at the age of two following surgery to correct a congenital heart defect.  Their world was devastated with the loss of both children.

I grew up eating ham and bean soup with cornbread and potato soup.  Dad worked part-time as a janitor in a doctor’s office to help pay off mounting medical bills.  Dad bought our first brand new assembly line car in 1960, a 1960 Chevrolet Biscayne.  A Biscayne was the lowest entry level vehicle into the Chevrolet family of cars.

Most people buy a home already constructed.  Many enter into 30-year mortgages and anchor themselves to payments for what may seem an eternity.  Those with a little better cash flow contract out the building of their homes.  Both Mom and Dad wanted a new home in a good area away from the influences of the city.  Dad purchased a parcel of land in White River Township in Johnson County, Indiana, where he built a three bedroom, single bath house by himself with occasional help from Mom and two brothers-in-law.  The plans for the single-story ranch style house came from a magazine.  While he built the house, we lived in trailer that today would be considered too small as a camping trailer.  It had a single bedroom for my parents and a fold-down couch for my bed.  The gas heater worked on occasion.

Though Mom worked at Sears at the time and had access to nice discounts, she hand-sewed many of my clothes in order to save money.

In short, as the saying goes, a penny never passed through my parents’ fingers without it crying for mercy.

My dad figured that when I graduated from high school that I would take a job with him at the factory or perhaps with my uncle on the railroad.  With my high school grades the way they were there was never hope for a scholarship.  I have a copy of my high school transcript and I wonder each time I look at it how I actually managed to graduate.  It was only natural for my father to conclude that I would join him on the assembly line…if I could get smart enough to find the front door.  I chose otherwise.

My life has been all about choices.  Some choices had to be made between the head and the heart.  Knowing the full well the consequences of those choices I often chose the heart first and returned to the heart later.

We have never been financially rich.  I could have gone to law school, but I chose another track.  We could have stopped having children after the first or second or third child, but we chose five.  I have been unemployed.  We have been penniless.  We were so poor that I did my own auto repair work on our kitchen table.  I built our first sofa, which promptly broke when three friends sat on it.  I was embarrassed to tears.  We ate a lot of tuna casserole.  If I never see another tuna casserole again in my life it will be too soon.  There were times when we did not know where the next meal would come from or how we would pay the next bill.  When I once got a hundred dollar a year raise I rejoiced with thankfulness and humility.

While this passed through our lives we looked for opportunities to change our situation a little at a time.  That was all we could afford.  Susan came from a large family and also learned early in life the value of a dollar.  We both applied the lessons learned from our parents.  There were two lessons in particular we learned.  First, don’t spend more than you earn and second, do not go into debt except for a house and maybe a car and possibly an education.  The second lesson was very much contingent upon the first lesson.

I returned to school and finished my undergraduate degree on the 14-year plan and debt free.  I should mention here that my first two years of college were as spectacular as my high school career.  I changed after that and graduated with my B.A. with honors and then graduated with a 4.0 in my graduate education.  I took on part-time work, overtime, and prepared to qualify for advancements.  Penny by penny we saved every dollar we could.  Those dollars frequently went to pay children’s medical bills, new tires, batteries, alternators, and such for the junk heaps we drove, and an occasional expedition to McDonald’s.  Like our parents, a penny never passed through our fingers without it crying for mercy.

So much of our lives are the consequence of circumstances.  We sometimes live in the wrong place, find ourselves trapped in a never-ending cycle of unfortunate tragedies and bad friends who take advantage of us, or ill health.  To suggest that our lives are controlled by our choices is an oversimplification.  The reality is that there are millions of people who are in poverty and will never get out no matter how hard they try.  Education is not the only answer.  I firmly believe, however, that we can all improve our lives.

We have tried to be frugal while at the same time sharing what we have with others.  Case in point, we did not buy our first home until we had been married over 25 years.  We saved and saved until we could make a substantial down payment so we could handle the monthly mortgage payments without abandoning other financial and personal commitments.  We will drive on a vacation rather than fly if we can save a hundred dollars by doing so.  Besides, we like the scenery much better at ground level than we do at 30,000 feet.

As far as careers go, I never made a whole lot of money.  We had sufficient for our needs.  What may have looked like pampering to others came as a result of years of saving, sacrificing, planning, and preparing.  We’ve been blessed by good health, honest friends, and many favorable circumstances, but after learning the hard lesson of what debt can do to a person, we avoided it at all costs.  Like my father before me, I buy low-end new cars and save money for years and years to buy a new living room suit.  (I’ve lost count of all the used clunkers we have owned.)  We are not wealthy.  We chose a different path.  We have sufficient for our needs and occasionally we have sufficient to share.

So, if you look at us and see financial wealth, don’t. What we have came at a painful price.  If you look at us and see poor circumstances, don’t.  We have sufficient for our needs and it also came at a painful price.

The wealth we have does not come with a price tag.

Summer Days

I never really did understand how it worked.  As the daylight hours get shorter the days get hotter.  It’s just the opposite of winter when the daylight hours get longer but the days get colder.  I guess it has something to do with the length of time that it takes the sun’s rays to come to the earth and the time that it takes for the earth to actually heat up or cool down.  Regardless, it’s this time of year that my mind drifts back to the days of my childhood in Indiana.

The water seemed to crawl at a snail’s pace through the roots of the old sycamore tree down at the creek.  The mosquitoes even lost interest except at night when they competed for attention with the lightening bugs in the evening hours.  We’d catch the lightening bugs and put them in a Mason jar and watch them through the night.  They never seemed to make it to daylight when we kept them in those jars.  About the only way to keep cool during those summer days was to wait for night time.  Sometimes that didn’t help any.  There was one other way.  That was to get onto our bikes and ride as fast as we could and let the wind whisk the sweat away.  The only problem with that was we’d work up a sweat while we were trying to get rid of it.

The best part of summer was spending time with friends.  We could never do that in school.  At least we couldn’t do that and not get into trouble.  My summers were often filled in the company of Richard Miller, Jerry Smith, Steve Watkins, Billy Paris, or Tommy Perkins.  Sometimes the days were filled with all of them and more.  There were pickup baseball games and trips to the fishing hole.  On occasion Richard’s mother would take pity on us and drive us to one of the nearby lakes to go swimming.  She would pile a bunch of us into the back of their station wagon and we’d have an afternoon of cool, refreshing lake water.

And there were camping trips without adult supervision.  I’ll not forget the time we went camping by a nearby creek when someone brought a rubber snake and stuck it on somebody’s sleeping bag.  Everyone was in on it except for the poor victim.  I waited with a certain amount of anticipation for the expected reaction.  The reaction happened and we all got a good laugh out of it.  I never thought for a minute that my good friends who I trusted with my very life would pull the same prank on me.  I bolted from the tent at the speed of summer’s lightening and practically jumped across the creek to get away from the rubber snake that didn’t look at all like rubber in the dimly lit tent.  If I remember correctly, Jerry got sick on that little camping trip.  I don’t know if the rare chicken he ate had anything to do with his appendicitis.  

Sleeping outside under the stars always helped us cool down.  Aside from watching for fireflies, we’d lay awake and watch for passing satellites.  We’d often spot them as they traversed the Milky Way, but more often than not we’d fall asleep as we gazed into the heavens.  On occasion, the heavens opened up and we got wet.  Sometimes Richard Miller and I would make clothesline tents.  We’d drape sheets and blankets over the clotheslines and spend hours talking about our futures and who we were going to marry.

As we got older our cooling off attempts matured a little.  We drove ourselves to swimming sites or to Brown County where there were tons of shade trees to cool our lives down to a tolerable level.  Evenings were spent at one of two restaurants in Greenwood, sometimes both.  Jerry’s was a favorite hangout as was the Kitchen, a drive-in restaurant.  You could get Kentucky Fried Chicken at the Kitchen.  There was a Dairy Queen not too far away from Jerry’s and the Kitchen, but we didn’t spend a lot of time there.  Darn.

Then of course there were the two drive-in movie theaters, the Meridian Drive-in and the Greenwood Drive-in.  Most of the time we just went as friends.  Or, as friends, we’d go watch a softball game in Smith’s Valley and maybe visit the Beehive Restaurant after the games.  Sometimes we’d get our little Dixieland band (Richard Miller, Rick Daniel, Mike Shaddy, Gary Bruce, Jerry Smith, and me) and just jam.

Life was much simpler then.  We didn’t have smartphones and i-Pads to keep us occupied.  We spent most of our time looking up instead of into our laps and actually talking to each other face-to-face instead of sending cryptic messages by tapping our thumbs against a little glass plate.  We splashed in the water and rode our bikes in spite of the heat - or because of it.  As much as we didn’t look forward to school in the fall, we looked forward to being with our friends who lived on the other side of the township.  Most of all, we didn’t complain about the heat.  We tried to do something about it.  We knew we couldn’t do anything about the heat itself, but we knew we could choose our reaction to it.

Things are different today.  We walk from an air-conditioned house to an attached garage and step into our air-conditioned cars and drive to the air-conditioned mall where we shop in air-conditioned stores.  Then we reverse the process.  Our vacations consist of travel in an air-conditioned steel tube traveling at 34,000 feet and two-thirds the speed of sound.  We move into an air-conditioned terminal where we travel in an air-conditioned bus to the air-conditioned car rental facility.  We drive to the air-conditioned motel where we go outside to swim under the sun and complain about the heat and get sunburned.  When the vacation is over we reverse that process again and return to work in our air-conditioned offices or businesses.

I miss the summer days of yesteryear.  I miss the sweet smell of newly mowed lawns and the sound of pebbles plopping into the pooled water in the creek.  I miss counting the number of skips I can get a flat rock to make across the water.  I miss seeing the chicken hawks circling overhead and the crack of a baseball bat against a burning pitched baseball.  I miss the sweat dripping down my forehead and into my eyes.  I miss telling Mom that I’m headed over to Richard’s house.  I miss pulling weeds in the driveway and flower bed in the early hours of the morning.  I miss getting together with my high school friends to do nothing of import together.  I miss accidentally falling into the creek on those hot summer days when I was supposed to be dipping a fishing line in the water.  I miss roasting hot dogs over a campfire (followed by flaming marshmallows).  I miss the baseball cards packed in with the bubble gum.  I miss attaching a clipped piece of cardboard to the front wheel of my bicycle so it would make a motor sound as it slapped against the spokes of the wheel.  I miss riding facing backwards in Richard’s parents’ station wagon.  I miss all the cool things we did to distract our minds from the warming days of summer.  I think I must be getting old.  I’m starting to sound like my father.

It's funny how as a child and a teenager you look forward to the day when you are an adult and can do all the things you dream about doing and as an adult you look back to the days when you enjoyed doing what you did.  It doesn’t much matter.  Things remain the same with a few exceptions.  Kids today still look forward to being an adult and we old timers look back on those summer days with fondness.

Except for a week, I wouldn’t want to be a teenager again for anything.  I’d spend the morning pulling weeds out of the flower garden then just be lazy in the afternoon.  I’d go with my friends to Jerry’s or the Kitchen for dinner then we’d go jamming to some Dixieland music until it was time to head off to the drive-in theater.  Afterwards it would be fun to build a campfire and roast hotdogs and make s’mores until three in the morning.  I’d go home and lay out in the back yard and watch for satellites and shooting stars until I drifted off to sleep. 

I wonder if I would complain if I went back to those days.

Father's Day

We just experienced Father’s Day last week- another creation compliments of the Hallmark Greeting Card Company.  I guess it is supposed to mean something.  Stores promoted sales around it, preachers preached it, and cookies were baked in recognition of it.

In a way it is rather sad.  It shares celebratory acclaim with the likes of Easter and Christmas.  Both of those celebrations occur on one day out of the year and there is considerable build-up to them.  I’m not sure though that Father’s Day is at the same level as Christmas or Easter, but it sure gets it share of commercialization.

Dads have been given a bad rap over the past.  Unlike the old television days of “Father Knows Best”, dads are pretty much portrayed as bumbling idiots, capable of success only by accident.  Even Tim Allen, who always seems to come up with the right answer seems to stumble onto solutions.  I could go into some political explanation here, but I’d prefer to not stir the political pot today.  It would just add to the justification of how men, dads in particular, are incompetent.  

Christmas and Easter aside, I guess dads are supposed to feel special on that day.  I suppose those of us who were recognized for contributing to the gene pool may have felt a moment of pride when someone wished us a Happy Father’s Day, but I think for the most part dads went on like it is just another day.

Don’t get me wrong.  Though my kids are all grown up they still call and send me their best wishes on this day, and I love it.  (We talk on other days, too.)  Unlike the last 20 years, I’ve seen each of my children in the last three weeks, some of them multiple times.  I enjoy the visits with my children.  This year on Father’s Day I got to spend time with some of my grandchildren as well.  That was special for me.  Oh, and don’t forget the chocolate chip cookies.  Father’s Day this year came with nice warm chocolate chip cookies and cookie dough for future consumption.  (Hmmmm.  Consumption.  Didn’t that used to be a disease?)  It is nice to be loved by your children.

And while Father’s Day is a Hallmark creation, I think the hallmark of Father’s Day is guilt.  I have never lived up to the ideal father standard.  I won’t go into any grand explanation.  Suffice it to say that as far as dads go I’m an 80 percenter at best.  I am betting that most dads who are honest with themselves feel pretty much the same way.  I think that most of us can look back and see where we failed.  As for me, I didn’t change very many diapers.  I played catch only a few times.  I missed most of the track meets, wrestling matches, and band concerts.  I wasn’t around to help with homework.  I didn’t go to the parent-teacher conferences.  Though I started out helping with the driving lessons I think I only hit about 50% on that one.  I learned after the fact about first dates.  The deep heart-to-heart conversations only took place when they were in trouble.  Those conversations began with, “Let’s take a walk” or “Let’s go for a walk.”

Let’s take a walk.  Let me share with you the impact that statement had on my kids.  I was with one our daughters the other day with lots of people stirring around.  I just wanted some alone time with her.  I just wanted to be with her and walk around a building with her like a father and daughter.  I wanted her to know that I love her.  HER.  So, I began the invitation with, “Let’s take a walk.”  She immediately thought she was in trouble and sent up those defense antennae.  She’s been on her own for over 20 years now.  I felt like crap.

Most of our children manage to compensate for our failures and succeed in spite of our meager efforts - well, I can only speak for myself; you know, I’m talking about my failures.  My children have managed to succeed in spite of me.  They could not have done better if I had named each of my boys Sue (You know the song by Johnny Cash, “My name is Sue.  How do you do?”).  As I pondered on Father’s Day I couldn’t help but think that perhaps a name change for that day would be appropriate.  I’m thinking it should be Fathers are Proud of their Children’s Day.  We may not measure up to the ideal father, at least I don’t, but our kids certainly live up to my expectation of them.

I’m painfully aware of the fact that there are men out there who have donated their DNA to the creation of a child and that is all they have done.  They do not deserve the title of Father, or even better: Dad.  In fact, some of those men belong in prison for what they have done to their children.  I’ve met many of the fathers and tons of their offspring.  The story is the same.  Their children all believe that no one could have suffered at the hands of a father more than they have.  While their story lines are different, the tortuous outcomes are the same: mental and emotional difficulties, depression, anxiety, PTSD, guilt, shame, years of therapy, and on and on.  These fathers would have done their children a favor by abandoning them.  Enough.

I’m happy to be a father.  But, I don’t need a day of recognition to remind me of my failures as a dad.  I’m happy to have my children tell me that they love me.  I take that to mean that they love me as I am, successes and failures as a father all wrapped up together in a single package.  How about we skip Father’s Day.  Except for the chocolate chip cookies.  Those can come any day.

Seeking the Spirit through Daily Gospel Habits

Seeking the Spirit through Daily Gospel Habits

In the various callings I’ve had in my gospel experience I’ve sometimes asked myself how it is possible for those who have had the blessings of the gospel can lose their faith and testimony.  I suppose the prophet Lehi considered the same question when he lamented the fate of his posterity when they would reject the Savior.  “But behold, when the time cometh that they shall dwindle in unbelief, after they have received so great blessings from the hand of the Lord—having a knowledge of the creation of the earth, and all men, knowing the great and marvelous works of the Lord from the creation of the world; having power given them to do all things by faith; having all the commandments from the beginning, and having been brought by his infinite goodness into this precious land of promise—behold, I say, if the day shall come that they will reject the Holy One of Israel, the true Messiah, their Redeemer and their God, behold, the judgments of him that is just shall rest upon them” (2 Nephi 1: 10).

While there were many factors that led to the destruction of the Nephite civilization, the root cause of the Nephites’ decline was their loss of faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel.  It was for this very reason that the Book of Mormon writers specifically and repeatedly warned of behaviors and attitudes that weaken faith in the Lord.  Additionally, they continually taught us how to build and strengthen our own testimonies.

Like many bishops and branch presidents, I’ve spent a fair amount of time sitting with members of the Church who are in spiritual danger.  Some have strayed a little while others have managed to pretty much disassociate themselves from the Church.  When addressed early, course corrections are easily made, but when caught in the quicksand of doubt, sin, and indifference many are left alone to face the buffetings of Satan.  So often they don’t recognize that they have lost hope because they simply do not care.  Yet, Hope stands on firm ground reaching out a saving hand to pull them to the safety of the gospel.

Not everyone who comes into the office of the bishop or branch president has given up hope.  Often there are tears and sobs as mistakes are confessed and a path is laid out that will help the repentant person return to full faith and fellowship in the Church and that will open the door for the Holy Ghost to once again be a member’s constant companion.

Dale, however, was a different case for me.  My heart nearly broke when I saw his name appearing on my interview list one evening.  He had recently received a temple recommend so I knew that he was not visiting me for a worthiness interview.  He came from a home where the gospel was taught.  He was a returned missionary and by all accounts, happily married and sealed in the temple.  Expecting the worst, I held my breath when he walked into my office and sat down.  After we exchanged greetings and visited for a minute or two I approached the purpose of his visit.  He could have knocked me over with a feather when he asked what more he could do to improve his spirituality.

I’m sure that you can imagine that I was relieved by his question, yet at the same time my mind raced to give him an answer to his question.  He was already a full tithe payer, lived the Word of Wisdom, attended all his church meetings, sustained his church leaders, lived the law of chastity, and all the other things we ask in the temple recommend interview.  My mind went through the mental checklist of things that we as members of the Church should do.

I cannot tell you how many times I wished as a bishop that I had a Worthiness and Spirituality Prescription Pad that had certain behaviors pre-printed on it so all that I would have to do was to check the appropriate box and sign my name to it.  Such a list would include what seminary students refer to as Standard Mormon Answers – fast, pray, read the scriptures, pay your tithing, attend church, live the Word of Wisdom, render service, attend the temple, and so forth.  Dale was already doing all these things.  But, isn’t it nice to know that these are the things that lead to exaltation in the Celestial Kingdom.

Before we talk about the things we should do to improve our spirituality, it is instructive to know the pitfalls that keep us from achieving the full blessings of the gospel.

King Mosiah pointed to some of the attitudes and behaviors that undermined the faith of his people and can do the same for us.  “NOW it came to pass that there were many of the rising generation that could not understand the words of king Benjamin, being little children at the time he spake unto his people; and they did not believe the tradition of their fathers.  They did not believe what had been said concerning the resurrection of the dead, neither did they believe concerning the coming of Christ.   And now because of their unbelief they could not understand the word of God; and their hearts were hardened.  And they would not be baptized; neither would they join the church.  And they were a separate people as to their faith, and remained so ever after, even in their carnal and sinful state; for they would not call upon the Lord their God” (Mosiah 26:1 - 4).  What we see here is that when people choose not to believe and act on the truths they are taught, their hearts become hardened and therefore they cannot enjoy the blessings of faith and testimony.

There are other attitudes and behaviors that we see among those who choose to not believe.  From the Book of Mormon we learn that some who think they are learned and wise set aside the teachings of the prophets (2 Nephi 9: 28).   Others simply choose to go contrary to the commandments in spite of what they have been taught, thus they lose the Sprit (Mosiah 2: 36-37).  Those who choose this path are given less and less light and knowledge until they know nothing of the mysteries of God.  Consequently, their hearts become hardened, and in the words of Alma, “are taken captive of the devil” (Alma 12: 9-11).  Alma describes other things that people do that lead them away from the truth of the gospel.  They fail to keep the commandments and to pray.  He also says that they fail to “observe the performances of the church” (Alma 31: 8-11).  I find it interesting that Alma identified a difference between the truth of the gospel and the performances of the church and how it is important that we adhere to both.

I have pondered upon those “performances of the church” and just how important they are.  Those performances amount to much more than simply coming to church on Sunday and partaking of the Sacrament, singing a few hymns, and nodding off during Sunday school.  It means saying yes to callings and requests to pray or substitute in a class.  It means getting your teacher-aged son to church 15 or 20 minutes early so he can help prepare the Sacrament.  It means yes to Family Home Evening, personal scripture study, and personal prayers.  It means yes to watching General Conference and participating in stake conference instead of taking the day off.  It means yes to attending and participating in seminary.  It means yes to preparing for and accepting a mission call.  It means yes to sharing the gospel with others on both sides of the veil.  It means yes to sustaining our general, area, and local leaders of the Church, not just by the raising of the hand, but also by saying, “Yes, I will,” then doing it. 

Mormon in his commentary on Amalickiah’s conspiracy to be made king notes how people will succumb to flattering words before they leave the church (Alma 46: 7-8).  We see this pattern several times in the Book of Mormon when flattery is used to draw people away from the gospel and the church.  We see frequent occasions in the Book of Mormon where pride leads to the fall of a chosen people.  We read specifically in Helaman where prideful people withheld their food from the hungry and mocked that which was sacred which led to murder, lying, stealing, plundering, and rising up in great contentions (Helaman 4: 11-13).  Such behavior is evidence of greed and selfishness.  As if to add a capstone to his record, Mormon tells us that those who deny the faith simply do not read the scriptures (Mormon 9: 7-8).

President Henry B. Eyring of the First Presidency of the Church tells a story that relates to the sort of holy habits and righteous routines we should be engaged in.

“Just as truth is given to us line upon line and the light brightens slowly as we obey, even so, as we disobey, our testimony of truth lessens almost imperceptibly, little by little, and darkness descends so slowly that the proud may easily deny that anything is changing.

“I have heard the boast of a man who walked away from the Church slowly. At first he just stopped teaching his Sunday School class, then he stayed away from Church, and then he forgot to pay tithing now and then. … He could not sense the difference, but I could. The light in his eyes and even the shine in his countenance was dimming. He could not tell, since one of the effects of disobeying God seems to be the creation of just enough spiritual anesthetic to block any sensation as the ties to God are being cut. Not only did the testimony of the truth slowly erode, but even the memories of what it was like to be in the light began to seem to him like a delusion” (“A Life Founded in Light and Truth” [Brigham Young University devotional, Aug. 15, 2000], 3, speeches.byu.edu).

So, what can we do to gain spiritual strength and withstand challenges to our faith and testimony?  The Book of Mormon contains gospel principles that can guide individuals who seek to have stronger faith and a stronger testimony.  Nephi gave his people and us a guidepost to follow in maintaining strong faith and testimonies.  “And now behold, I say unto you that the right way is to believe in Christ, and deny him not; and Christ is the Holy One of Israel; wherefore ye must bow down before him, and worship him with all your might, mind, and strength, and your whole soul; and if ye do this ye shall in nowise be cast out” (2 Nephi 25:29).  Simply stated, if we choose to believe in Jesus Christ and worship Him with all our might, mind, and strength, then we will remain spiritually strong and not be cast out.

In answering my question to you about what we can do to gain spiritual strength and withstand the challenges that may assail our faith, the Savior has already given us direction.  “Verily, verily, I say unto you, this is my gospel; and ye know the things that ye must do in my church; for the works which ye have seen me do that shall ye also do; for that which ye have seen me do even that shall ye do; Therefore, if ye do these things blessed are ye, for ye shall be lifted up at the last day.  Therefore, what manner of men ought ye to be?  Verily I say unto you, even as I am” (3 Nephi 27: 21-22, 27).

I would like to return for a moment to my young friend Dale who asked me what more he could do to improve his spirituality.

Elder Lynn G.  Robbins of the Presidency of the Seventy made the following observation.  “Many of us create to do lists to remind us of things we want to accomplish. But people rarely have to be lists. Why? To do’s are activities or events that can be checked off the list when done. To be, however, is never done. You can’t earn checkmarks with to be’s. I can take my wife out for a lovely evening this Friday, which is a to do. But being a good husband is not an event; it needs to be part of my nature—my character, or who I am” (“What Manner of Men and Women Ought Ye to Be?” Ensign or Liahona, May 2011).  So, if we want to improve our spirituality we need to be Christlike in everything we do.

The Savior had prayed to the Father that we would be one with them (John 17: 9-11, 20-23; 3 Nephi 19: 19-23, 28-29).  Not only did He pray for us, but He also taught us how we may be one with Him.

While in Bountiful, the Savior delivered a sermon that was similar to his biblical Sermon on the Mount.  We often refer to the principles he taught as the beatitudes.  You may be interested in knowing that the word beatitude comes from the Latin meaning supreme happiness and is a declaration of blessedness.  Thus, by being poor in spirit, meek, humble, merciful, and having a pure heart, thirsting for justice, being a peacemaker, and standing steadfast in the face of persecution we receive the blessings of heaven (3 Nephi 12 and 13).

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Jesus achieved perfect unity with the Father by submitting Himself, both flesh and spirit, to the will of the Father. His ministry was always clearly focused because there was no debilitating or distracting double-mindedness in Him. Referring to His Father, Jesus said, ‘I do always those things that please him’ (John 8:29). …

“Surely we will not be one with God and Christ until we make Their will and interest our greatest desire. Such submissiveness is not reached in a day, but through the Holy Spirit, the Lord will tutor us if we are willing until, in process of time, it may accurately be said that He is in us as the Father is in Him” (“That They May Be One in Us,” Ensign, Nov. 2002, 72–73).

Indeed, there are things we can do on a daily basis that will keep us close to the gospel and to the Church, but perhaps a more important question to ask ourselves is what more can we be on a daily basis in order to be one with the Savior and the Father.  After we have kept the commandments; after we have paid our tithing and attended our church meetings and all those other Standard Mormon Answers, might we not want to add to the prescription a list of “be’s”?  Might we not want to be honest, true, chaste, benevolent, kind, peacemakers, meek, humble, forgiving, faithful, and virtuous?  Might we not want to be witnesses of God at all times, and in all things, and in all places?  Compared to keeping the commandments on a daily basis, these are the tough things to be.  These are the life-long attributes that guarantee that the Spirit will be with us always.

I suppose that in a way that it is a matter of obedience for the right reasons, and in this case it truly is a matter of attitude as the Lord “Looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16: 7).  I have often spoken of levels of obedience.  When I speak of levels of obedience I like to compare those levels to degrees of glory that we can attain in the next life.

The first level of obedience is a telestial level.  At this stage we obey because we are afraid of the punishment for doing otherwise.  Its root is fear, which is contrary to what the Savior wants.

The second level is a terrestrial level.  Here we obey because we want the reward.  Living in the Celestial Kingdom is appealing to us and we put our whole heart and soul into working for this glory because that is what we want.  We seek the reward.  While working for the reward is good motivation, there is still something better.

The third level of obedience is the celestial level.  It is at this level of obedience that we see a maturation of the human spirit take place.  It is here that we obey simply because we love the Savior and want to please Him.  But there is more, which brings me to the fourth and highest level of obedience.

I refer to this highest level of obedience as an exalted level of obedience.  It is an outgrowth of love for the Savior and is therefore celestial in nature.  And while it is an outgrowth of love for the Savior, there is more.  This level of obedience comes as a result of being one with the Savior and Heavenly Father.  This level is who we are.  It comes to us naturally, not because we are motivated by fear or by reward.  By this I mean to say that we obey because that is who we are.  There is no need to think about doing the right thing because doing the right thing is our true nature and disposition.  As I said, it is who we are, and as others look at you they cannot perceive you doing anything other than the right thing because they trust your actions.  They know you will say yes to the Lord because you are so closely linked to Him that they can nearly see His countenance in your face.

Must we achieve this exalted level of obedience to receive exaltation in the Celestial Kingdom?  I don’t think so, but wouldn’t it be nice if all of us obeyed because that is who we are?  What would our world be like?  What would our communities be like?  What would our families look like?  There would be no disposition to do wrong or harm.  Our thoughts would always turn first to the needs of others.  In this we could literally be one with the Father and the Son.

May we strive for this exalted level of obedience is my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Greene Branch, May 21, 2017

© Gregory B. Talley 2017