The End of the USSR

An article earlier this year about HBO's miniseries Chernobyl contained several historical gems. "The world is fortunate that the Soviet Union is gone," the opening paragraph thunderously asserted. 

"From its inception, the Soviet Union was governed by a fundamentally psychotic regime that over successive generations was unable to comprehend reality, process information, or see beyond its own fevered and paranoid outlook. Chernobyl was a shock to the global system for many reasons, but not least because it was a terrifying reminder of what life might look like if the Kremlin and its authoritarian system of bureaucrats and policemen ever succeeded in ruling the rest of the world.

"Lenin and his comrades were European intellectuals who stumbled into power after 'years of sitting in isolation and making up schemes for Communist revolution,' asserted historian Dmitri Volkogonov. Once they captured a state, however, they were determined to keep it, and a regime founded by chance and based on a lie soon began to believe in its own infallibility. 'Socialism' and 'communism' were just words; the power and survival of the Soviet Communist Party were paramount. No one life was of any particular importance."

What a Let-Down: Book Review

This book, That We May Be One: A Gay Mormon's Perspective on Faith & Family, came out [ahem] to much acclaim in the Mormon Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints community almost two years ago. I bought it from the Deseret Book store in downtown Salt Lake City during a particularly rough stretch of time in spring 2018, when I was living and working in Utah while Becky and our four kids were still in New England packing up our home and life. 

The book's author, Tom Christofferson, is a younger brother to Elder D. Todd Christofferson, one of our church's 12 Apostles. That family link has led to a lot more attention on this book than it might have received if it were written by a relative no-name. Other books on the subject of our Church and LGBTQ+ issues have hit bookshelves over the years, highlighting the growing awareness of how church policy and culture impact the personal lives of queer Saints, and how some queer Saints try to find their way in our church and culture. I have an abiding interest in that topic for several personal reasons, and I have my own perspective on this subject, some of which I've shared here over time. 

So it was with great enthusiasm that I bought this book. Also, my wife's aunt, who kindly let me stay at her home as I bounced around living with relatives so as not to overstay my welcome, had read this book and recommended it. Here's my quick take:

1) I sorely wished I had loaned this book from a library instead of buying it.

2) Tom quickly and often writes his parents onto a pedestal of hagiography, without giving much substance to the why and how they were so loving and supportive of him as he struggled to acknowledge his homosexuality, then live his life as an openly gay man with another man. It was a lot of details-be-darned "they were angels" mumbo-jumbo. 

  

3) Along those lines, Tom barely acknowledges any hard conversations or difficulties in how his parents and siblings navigated having a gay son/brother. As I remember it, Tom wrote exactly once about a brief period of time when he and his parents did not speak. Why I remember this is because it was such an anomaly: most LGBTQ+ people go through prolonged periods of familial strife as they come out. Tom did too, but you'd barely know it by his two or three lines that faintly acknowledge any trying periods in his family's life.

4) His spiritual insights - such as about how his trial has helped him realize the truth of a loving God who is aware of each of us - were interesting to read. Unfortunately, most were almost nothing that a reader would not find in a conference talk from his brother, or his brother's fellow Apostles Elder Holland and President Uchtdorf, who have spoken lovingly and movingly about our queer sisters and brothers. 

5) Items two through four, taken together, led me to the conclusion that Tom was trying too hard not to ruffle anyone's feathers. By omitting the hard truths and lived experiences whether for personal or church relations or general PR reasons, maybe for all three - Tom left me frustrated, more than enlightened or uplifted. He could have done even more service to queer Saints, whether adults or youth, by sharing some of the hardships in a level of detail that is sorely lacking in this "everything is roses" autobiography. Grrrrr!   

It's as if the theme of this book is, "Everything is just grand as an adult gay man in a church where he cannot marry his same-sex partner! And it will all work out in the end, somehow, someway! Just have faith. Just find happiness in the love and support of family members, even if you cannot get it from your partner. Trials can bring blessings." These all-too-common platitudes can only get you so far, and since they are so common in our church culture, they are plug-and-play aphorisms that are the equivalent of white bread: fluffy, nutrition-deficient filling. Bah Humbug!    

A disclaimer: Other family members have read Tom's book, including my brother- and sister-in-law. They've shared how, after reading this book, they have tried to emulate Tom's parents' efforts to be loving and supportive to their own children, my nephews and nieces. So, all is not lost, and other people have taken gems from this book that I have not, or at least did not on my first reading. 

Why? Partly because a book speaks to each person differently. And also, likely because my brother- and sister-in-law were reading it as the parents of youth who have challenges as they grow into teenage-hood and adulthood, though none of their challenges (to my knowledge) have to do with non-straight sexual identities. But I read this book as someone who does have that as part of who I am. Thus, we approached the same book from different on-ramps, and so our take-away's are different. I was looking and hoping for a lot more substance on how Tom struggled with his identity, and with reconciling it to his faith, and how he grappled with being gay and being a Latter-day Saint, because that would have been particularly interesting and hitting home for me.        

My last take-away's: I am glad that Tom chose to share, in very general terms, his life's story on such a timely and fraught and important topic. I really hope Tom writes a follow-up book about his work with LGBTQ+ youth through Encircle, or what he has learned and heard from others who have read his book. This was Tom's first book, so maybe he has learned in the time since that the need to be more forthcoming and vulnerable can be crucial to LGBTQ+ Saints and their family members, the main target-audience for his book. 

30 Days, 30 Church Talks

Confession Time: I am horrible at reading my scriptures on a daily / frequent basis. My mind just cannot get around the jumble of King's English wording. Even when I read a talk by an apostle or other speaker from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and that speaker quotes a scripture in her or his talk, my eyes glaze over the scripture references and my mind wanders until the speaker returns to contemporary language. 

Anyone else have this problem? Is it a phobia? :-) 

To marginally improve my long-shot odds of making it to the Promised Land, I have from time to time sought to read any religious materials, such as our church's Ensign magazine or Church News, but especially the aforementioned talks by apostles and general authorities and women in leadership. I've scoured the Internet and bookmarked sites like BYU-Idaho's collection of devotional addresses, Googled "favorite LDS church talks," [back when we could refer to our church by that acronym], and read or listen to talks that friends link to on Facebook.    

My pièce de résistance is an Excel spreadsheet, titled "Collected Church Talks," which I started about 4 years ago. Here is an image of this master work:

I am an Excel-phile to the -enth degree. I love tinkering with spreadsheets, adding filters and sorting and utilizing features like Conditional Formatting and Formulas to track files I've created, like one that tracks all of the books I've read in my lifetime; our family's finances; and places I would like to visit. 

So, late this summer, when my daily spiritual routine was severely lagging, I turned to this spreadsheet to identity, print out, and read a church talk each day in September 2019. It was a wonderful exercise, and aside for one day, I was consistent at this daily spiritual exercise. Most often, I would read the talk in the morning, but a few times my schedule shunted this off until late at night. A highlighter was by my side so I could mark up particular passages that resonated with my heart and mind. 

Below is the full list of talks I read, with its title and author, in order starting with September 1st's talk: 

1. God is the Gardener, by Hugh B. Brown 
2. The Love of God, by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf
3. The University and the Kingdom of God, J. Spencer Fluhman
4. Banishing All Shadows, by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland
5. Shipshape and Bristol Fashion: Be Temple Worthy in Good Times and Bad Times, by Elder Quentin L. Cook
6. You Know Enough, by Elder Neil L. Andersen
7. Loving Our Neighbors, by BYU Professor D. Carolina Nunez
8. Saving Your Life, by Elder D. Todd Christofferson
9. Continually Holding Fast to the Rod of Iron, by Daniel L. Johnson
10. Finding Peace in Imperfection, by Elizabeth Lloyd Lund
11. Spiritual Rehabilitation, by Ron Simmons
12. Worthy of Our Promised Blessings, by Linda S. Reeves
13. Zion in the Midst of Babylon, by David R. Stone
14. The Wondrous Restoration, by Neal A. Maxwell
15. The Y on the Mountain, by BYU President Kevin J. Worthen
16. Developing Good Judgment, and Not Judging Others, by Gregory Schwitzer
17. Lift Where You Stand, by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf
18. "Abide in My Love" by Elder D. Todd Christofferson
19. Father: Your Role, Your Responsibility, by Elder L. Tom Perry
20. Faith is Not By Chance, But By Choice, by Elder Neil L. Andersen
21. The Currant Bush, by Hugh B. Brown
22. Fasting With Power, by Shayne M. Bowen
23. Fathers, by Elder D. Todd Christofferson
24. Have I Received an Answer From the Spirit? by Jay E. Jensen
25. Be Not Afraid, Only Believe, by President Gordon B. Hinckley
26. The Doctrinal Foundation of the Auxiliaries, by Elder Richard G. Scott
27. Fatherhood, an Eternal Calling, by Elder L. Tom Perry
28. Always Retain a Remission of Your Sins, by Elder David A. Bednar
29a. Daddy Sunday, by Damian Idiart 
29b. Family Councils, by Elder M. Russell Ballard
30. Understanding the Importance of Scripture Study, by Elder David A. Bednar


A few parting comments: #26 was my least-favorite talk; I found it dry and struggled to see how its content could relate to my current spiritual needs. I loved talks #1, #2, #10, #14, #16, #17, #20, and #22. I read two talks (#29a and #29b) on the same day, because 29a was really an Ensign short article, but it was great! #21 was kind of a cheat, since it is a digested snippet of talk #1. 

And talk #7 is an awesome talk that resonates with my life for several important reasons. 

If I had had more time, I would have added a very brief note about my key take-away for each talk. Instead, I just encourage you to read any of these that stand out as of interest to you!

Intermountain LifeFlight tour

A few weeks ago, some people in my department took an afternoon off from work. We toured the Intermountain Healthcare LifeFlight facility, which is located near the Salt Lake City International Airport. It was fascinating! There was so much about the LifeFlight program that I was not aware of: the number of flights each year; the cost to purchase and maintain aircraft; the training involved for flight operators and on-board physicians. It really helped to connect my routine, day-to-day work with my employer's mission. For that reason alone, this was such a worthwhile visit.   

Poor Imitation of an Iconic Pose

While in Boston in June, we had only a handful of days where the weather cooperated long enough for us to be outside. Yeah, it rained all day, every day, for days on end. But toward the end of my time there - Becky and our kids stayed a week longer - we went to a mini-golf place in my parents' town. It was a great outing, and a nice venue. Ashamedly, this place has been open for years, but we simply never knew of it until after we moved away. 

On the mini-golf course, my wife jokingly instructed each of us to make silly poses. I'm trying to honor my kids' privacy in a better, more consistent way than in the past, so I won't post their silliness so as not to embarrass them online. But my pose? Here goes! With very little time wasted, I thought of the iconic stage pose of the late showman Freddie Mercury:

 

And here is my lame imitation of that legendary stance:

The angle is wrong, my right leg should be more in line with my left, my mini-golf club subbing as the mic stand is far too slanted, and my raised right arm should be straighter (tongue-in-cheek choice of words for a man who was not straight). For anyone who has read my blog the last few years, my admiration for Mercury is a long-standing thing. It felt right to immediately select his pose as my pose in this moment, a way to commemorate him and also be a fun dad participating in silly antics with my kids.  

A View on Christianity, from a former Catholic Priest

When I lived in Boston, reading The Boston Globe was a daily delight. It felt like a very New England thing to do, especially in an age when most people had turned to digital sources for their news. I refused to go whole-hog down that route. There is something grounding about holding a newspaper in your hands, flipping the pages, ruffling the sections, and getting newsprint on your fingertips.

Call me old-fashioned. I've heard it before. I don't care.

***
The Globe was the newspaper that first broke the Catholic priest sex abuse of children scandal in the early 2000's. It was sickening to read about religious figures abusing minors and higher-up church officials not only being aware of these atrocities but moving sexual abusers from parish to parish as whispers and suspicions and allegations grew louder about certain priests. 

One voice among the many who rained Armageddon flame (to quote Green Day's Holiday) on this scandal was Globe columnist and former Roman Catholic priest James Carroll. This post isn't about Carroll's coverage of the crisis. Instead, Carroll was recently in the news for writing a headline article for The Atlantic that called for a revolution from within the Catholic Church, led by lay people and ordinary congregants at the back pews, to return the institution from its current clericalism ways to its allegedly original structure.

One thing that I, myself a former Catholic, was not aware of was this wonderful passage, which Carroll cited in his essay:

"Christianity was very different at the beginning," Carroll began. "The first reference to the Jesus movement in a non-Biblical source comes from the Jewish Roman historian Flavius Josephus, writing around the same time that the Gospels were taking form. Josephus described the followers of Jesus simply as 'those that loved Him at the first and did not let go of their affection for Him.'"

***

Carroll ended his controversial call to arms by writing, "The Church, whatever else it may be, is not the organizational apparatus. It is a community of memory, keeping alive the story of Jesus Christ. The Church is an in-the-flesh connection to Him - or it is nothing. The Church is the fellowship of those who follow Him, of those who seek to imitate Him - a fellowship, to repeat the earliest words ever used about us, of those that loved Him at the first and did not let go of their affection for Him."  

I simply love that phrase! It is beautiful in its simplicity, a magnificent summation of what the first followers of Jesus felt for Him, even after He died. Their devotion to Him was so strong that not even death could break it. 

*   *   *

My oldest daughter's Girls Camp 2019 is coming up in a few weeks. The girls will each receive a woven bracelet with the acronym "HWLF" to wear. It stands for "He Will Love First." I am struck by these two vastly different episodes that both use the words "love" and "first." It's like a little act of grace.  

I believe that God and Jesus Christ knew us first before we came to earth, that they and Heavenly Mother have loved us from the eternal get-go. They love us perfectly, even though we're not perfect and return that love imperfectly. I'd like to think that, upon first hearing about Jesus as a young child, that I loved Him and loved learning that He loved me. My mom deserves all of the credit for instilling faith in God from a young age in me. 

I'd like to think that, through my decades of life, my affection for Him - while it has ebbed and flowed - has been palpable, apparent, to both me and Him. I never gave in fully to doubt, though I have had serious questions on matters of faith. I never completely abandoned or cast aside the importance of religion in my life. All that said, I am supremely conscious of the fact that I can do more to increase my love for them and my need for their guidance in my life, and my family's lives. I wish to do what I can to not let go of my affection for Him, and to teach my four little children how to have affection for Him. 

High Hope

I'm back in town and on the blog after a wonderfully relaxing, sorely needed 11-day vacation at my parents' home in Massachusetts. 

Facing New England humidity after 13 months in the dry West reminded me of a quote by T.E. Lawrence, a.k.a. "Lawrence of Arabia," who in his masterful book The Seven Pillars of Wisdom wrote, "The heat of Arabia came out like a drawn sword and struck us speechless." That's a little of how I felt. And it rained all day, every day during the week, leaving just the weekends sunny and nice. 

More on this vacation later. But to the post and title in mind: While home, I spent a lot of time helping my parents de-clutter their 110-plus-year-old home. They have lived in it for 45 years. It was their first and, so far, only home in their 49 years of marriage. And whoa boy, is there a lot of work to do! But I am up for the task, even from afar. Their home will be in good hands and in our family for decades to come. 

Toward that end, their yard needs attention from someone with the time and energy of youth to keep at it. My mom found such a person, so we thought. He is a young man, of college age, with college aspirations. Those aspirations seem to have been dashed by his family, who said they would not put him through college. So he is not in college, and works at a supermarket. He is starting a lawn care business as a side job, and hopes to attract more customers. I met him. He seems like a genuinely nice guy with an honest work ethic. 

And my heart felt for his current situation, being denied from college. So I wanted to give him the work, and hire him on to continually weed, mow, saw, cut, edge, trim, maintain, and beat back the veritable forest that surrounds my parents' half-acre of land. I wanted him to feel that people, customers, value his work, and spread his name by word of mouth. I even wanted to pay him a bit extra above and beyond what my parents pay him.

...


and then he accidentally cut the telephone wire on the outside of my parents' house, leaving them a) landline-less; b) calling Comcast for repairs; and c) spending more money on restoring their landline than what they owed him for his first day on the job.

...

I believe in second chances. I believe in overlooking honest mistakes. This young man quickly offered to not accept any pay for his three hours of work, and then some. I hope my parents consider keeping him on for their lawn care needs. I believe in helping the underdog, the one-man show, instead of the big businesses. 

I hope this young man isn't too discouraged - by this mistake, and by the larger things currently missing from his life. I'd love to do what I can to help him. 

"Take Me Home, Country Roads"

On my afternoon commute home this week, NPR aired a beautiful piece about NPR correspondent Frank Langfitt and his new book, Shanghai Free Taxi. 

Side note: If it isn't NPR, my stations of choice here in Utah are 103.1 "The Wave," which plays great '80s stuff, and - of all things - Glenn Beck in the morning and Rod Arquette in the afternoon. They are both deep-red conservatives, to whom I listen more to chuckle at their whack-job political stances but also just to hear the other side's take on societal issues, so I don't continue living - as so many people do - in echo chambers of their choosing. 

Anyhow, back to Frank Langfitt: He spoke in the interview about how he heard Chinese travelers singing John Denver's classic Take Me Home, Country Roads. If you care to listen, the full interview of eight minutes is terrific; the bit about John Denver's song transcending language and politics starts just before the 7-minute mark. Frank spoke about how, hearing these Chinese people sing an distinctly American modern folk song, made him think of his father, who was a West Virginia native. 

Hearing Frank talk about getting emotional over his dad and Take Me Home, Country Roads reminds me of the times I've gotten choked up over this very same song, thinking of my own father. Weird, but cool, to share this bond with someone I've never met. 

I can still recall the first time I heard Take Me Home, Country Roads. I was about eight years old, in the back seat of a tiny sedan. My dad was driving, and as I was sitting in the rear seat on the passenger side, I could see the right-side profile of my dad's face. This amazing song, full of jangles and snapping fingers and soft guitar picks, all sounding so clean like a rushing mountain stream...it was mesmerizing to me. And the look on my dad's face as this gem of a song continued? He was smiling as he drove. I never knew my dad to be a huge music fan, but this was a song he clearly loved.

John Denver's voice sounds ethereal at times in the song, like he's singing from the edge of a cave. The song's composers, Bill and Taffy Nivert - who sang the '70s naughty ditty "Afternoon Delight" (the song with the line "skyrockets in flight") - provided the haunting backing vocals. 

What always gets me is how the group sings the words "to the place" with such enthusiastic wavering in the second half of the all-too-short song. It's the sound of an angelic choir, made up by just a handful of very talented singer-songwriters. 

Also, I love the fact that the song is titled Take Me Home, Country Roads, but John Denver inverts the word order singing it. And most everyone inverts the word order when they speak of the song. It's not until the last fading seconds of the song that the lyrics are sung to match the song's title.

Here's an NPR article about the origin of this brilliant, mesmerizing song. 

Take Me Home, Country Roads is a song that takes me back in time, to my younger self and takes me to a time when I was a younger father's little boy. 

Of the thousands of songs one hears in a lifetime, there are precious few that resonate for deeply personal reasons.  

Libraries

It will come as little surprise that yours truly - who has posted over 1,000 times, with posts touching on reading, academia, and history - loves libraries. During my junior year abroad, I heard tell of a fellow international student whose wallet was crammed with library cards from college and public libraries across Europe. He showed them at parties like baseball cards. 

What a beautiful idea! I thought. 

I was struck by the romance of that pastime: visiting a new city, entering a library, and somehow - the details never articulated in this tale - getting a library card, then going off to a new city and new library, with the goal of getting a new card. Some people travel for new foods, new music, new vistas, new people, new languages. This guy, whomever he is, had a different objective, and I was infatuated with the idea. 

But like any harmless flirtation, I quickly lost enthusiasm of the pursuit when daydreams turned to reality. Still, books and libraries hold some of the coziest places of my soul, the parts remaining after love of my family and friends have taken their firm grasp on the territory of my heart. Someday, I will tour the libraries of Europe and the United States. I will bask in the soft golden glow of an afternoon sun's rays cascading through old windows and onto wooden floors. I will breathe in the musty smells given off by books left unopened for years. I will hold a book up to my face and impart words of affection and lamentation to the book, expressing sorrow that no one had touched it in so long but that here we are, book and bibliophile. I will shuffle through stacks as my wife waits patiently in a cafe or by a river. I will, at each place, marvel that hundreds of years of knowledge stand behind closed doors, under the cover of nightfall, during semester breaks. 

And I will hope, then as now, that heaven is a place full of libraries.

*   *   *

Which is why this Atlantic article put me in such a melancholy mood: The Books of College Libraries are Turning Into Wallpaper. The subtitle is even sadder: "University libraries around the world are seeing precipitous declines in the use of the books on their shelves." Oh my heart!

This news follows what, for me, has been a year of exile from great libraries. Our town's library is not great. In a few years, I'd like to run for a spot on its board, to see what can be done to enliven the joint. Architecturally, it leaves so much to be desired. Last year, leaving Massachusetts, I bid farewell to:

Waltham Public Library

The Harry Elkins Widener Library at Harvard University (to which I had access as a full-time Harvard employee from 2000 until April 2018):


Weston, Massachusetts Public Library (one of the wealthiest towns in Massachusetts, immediately next-door to urban Waltham - that mix was intoxicating):


And my personal favorite, the Clement C. Maxwell Library at Bridgewater State University:


The last is not much to look at, but - wow! - the hold it has on my memories and heart.

The Atlantic article talks about how students in droves "have shifted from literature, philosophy, and history to STEM disciplines - from fields centered on the book to fields that emphasize the article." The paper also noted how students today are less likely to study alone; that interdisciplinary groups are brought together; and how libraries are becoming less about the books than about convening spaces. Reading the article, I despaired for the joys that my own kids may never experience in a library, and what they are already missing out on from an architectural point of view. 

Moments before I gave in to melancholy for another of society's pillars for generations withering in the face of e-everything, the article's writer concluded: "But there is another future that these statistics and our nostalgic reaction to them might produce: the research library as a Disneyland of books, with banker's lamps and never-cracked spines providing the suggestion of - but not the true interaction with - knowledge, old and new. As beautiful as those libraries appear - and I, too, find myself unconsciously responding to such surroundings, having grown up studying in them - we should beware the peril of books as glorified wallpaper. The value of books, after all, is what lies beneath their covers, as lovely as those covers may be." 

Right about now, I would take libraries as Disneylands of books instead of the more likely scenario: the Blockbuster-ization of libraries across this county, their treasures mothballed in off-site warehouses, their interiors given over to pop-up nonsense fads like bubble tea shops or [yet another] nail salon - not that I have anything against painting nails. Wink!

Soon, I'll be back in my native land of glorious libraries. This first week-plus long vacation with my family is overdue. And it will definitely involve stops, meanderings, and pauses for reflection and admiration in some of the libraries listed above.

Boundaries and Respect

Twice this year - and sadly I didn't honor her wishes the first time - our oldest child, Our Dear Goose, has made a request of me. She is now 12, has main use of our home smartphone (theoretically for all of our kids, the home smartphone stays in our kitchen at all times and we monitor it), and has many friends who have their own phones. Goose is not yet on social media by her own volition and choice. But that day is coming soon.

But she does, like millions of other Gen Z kids, have a social media presence already. She just never asked for it or signed off on it. And I, like millions of Gen X parents, began my children's social media lives without their consent or knowledge. I've only become aware of this affront in the last year, reading about children of celebrities who are irate with their parents (cough, Gwyneth Paltrow) for posting their images online without their consent. 

Goose has seen photos of herself that I've posted on Instagram. She was not pleased, and couldn't hide her discomfort. And I'm proud of her that my oldest child spoke up and set me straight. She kindly asked, and firmly insisted, that I ask for her OK before I post any photos or snippets of her life online again. 

I'm also embarrassed that I did not respect her wishes the first time, when we first talked about it at the beginning of the year. Around Mother's Day, I posted a photo of Goose and her sister, Our Little Mouse, on Instagram; it was a cute photo of our girls, each wearing one roller blade and a sneaker, one arm thrown around each other's shoulders for support. I took the photo from behind, so you can't see their faces. But they are body-conscious, and she felt the photo was unflattering. I disagree, but kept my mouth shut. It's her body, her image, her choice.

So, I'm now vowing to respect Goose's stance. For those of you who are still checking in on this blog, thank you! I am hoping to re-up my blogging game. But that game won't include photos or commentary on Goose (or any of my other three kids) without their consent from now on. 

And if you are like me - a parent, a blogger, someone who has posted images of your kids in all stages of what to a parent feels cute but to the child will not be regarded as cute or endearing, especially as they get older and become wise to having a social media life before they could even talk - please, have age-appropriate conversations with your child(ren) about your chronicling of their lives in the digital realm over the years. 

There is so much awareness of teaching our children respect for their bodies, their ideas, their life, as well as respect for other people. But I fear that our generation has not taken that message of respecting others to heart, when it comes to the ones closest to our hearts.

Timo's Co-Workers

This is the team that I work most closely with at Intermountain Healthcare. We are all on "Foundation Nation," a team of people who do various jobs related to fundraising. From left to right: Kendra, Bryan, Mike, Melissa, Cortney, Deb, me, our boss Nancy, and - in the front row - Allison and Amy. 

Among the things I love about this group is that six of the 10 people in this photo were not born in Utah. We hail from Massachusetts, Illinois, Texas, New Mexico, and Oregon, but we've all made our way to Utah. And of the 4 Utah natives, two spent the majority of either their childhood or post-high school lives outside of Utah. 

Now, you get that geographically diverse background in most any place. It was certainly my experience with co-workers at Harvard over my 18 years at the B School. Most people there still hailed from somewhere in New England, so I shouldn't be surprised at this geographic diversity. But that gets to my point about the commentary regarding this photo:

My impression before moving to Utah, and it's been slightly proven incorrect since living here for a year, was that it was a land of uber-majority natives. And that may have been more true in the past, but it's definitely no longer such a truth. "Foundation Nation's" boss, Dave, is from New Jersey. Our first-ever Vice President of fundraising is from back East. The Beehive State is becoming less of how it demographically looked for so many years, and that's a good thing. It speaks highly for this state that it has attracted such a wide variety of people, a very small sample of which is represented to a degree in this photo. Of course it still has a ways to go to becoming more ethnically diverse, a point also made by the whiteness of nearly everyone above.

Also: I hired Amy, the woman in the front row, on the right. She joined us from Utah Valley University, where she last held the job that UVU had offered to me eight years ago! Talk about a small world! Amy is, simply said, outstanding. 

They are all great co-workers, kind people, and fun to be around. They make a very fast-paced, fire-storming work environment enjoyable. I am grateful to work with each of them, and to get to know them as individuals and learn about their lives outside of "Foundation Nation." Most of them have also, whether they know it or not, helped to fill a hole left in me by my boss leaving in February of this year for Indiana. That guy, Jason, was a terrific convener and mood-lightener, and I think we have all leaned on each other more in his absence. I am grateful to work with this team! 

Never Would I Ever

...expect me to become a blogging laggard. Writing, journaling, keeping a digital family record has been so important to me for over the last decade. While at this point in my life I can look back through the years of this blog and feel so glad to have had this outlet for a passion of mine, I also look at the number of posts submitted in 2018 and - egads! - the paltry posts count so far in 2019. How can this be?! 

2019 has been quite the year so far. I got promoted at work in January. The next day, my boss told me he was leaving. He left in late February, and it's been a frantic pace at work every day for months. We hired our very first vice president, who is terrific. He is a great fit for the role and a needed presence in what we do. He also leans on me for a lot of projects. Oh, and I've been a team of 1 for over three months. 

I can honestly say that I have never worked as hard or put in as many hours each week as I have over the last five months. Mornings before work. Nights after work. Saturdays.  

Now, I share this as someone who has long been suspicious of the cult of busyness in our society. As far back as 2012, and likely much earlier, news outlets have reported on "the Busy Trap" and "The Myth of Busyness." Harvard Business Review wrote about "Why We Humblebrag About Being Busy." So, just know that busyness - and how many of us wear our busyness like a badge of honor and importance - has been a cautionary tale of interest for me for a long time. 

As a writer and someone who seeks balance in life, being busy is a real challenge. There are many people in my personal life and at work who do like being busy, or being seen as busy. I don't strive to be seen as "busy." It's not a comfortable space. So, I don't care to humblebrag, and if others never see me as "busy," I can live with that. 

Instead, this recent recap of my life is intended to explain, not brag. Those are some of the reasons why blogging has suffered. I also posted briefly about it, without getting into too much specifics, so that one day in a future state I can look back and see how I weathered this storm. Because it will pass, and I will have learned a great deal about my work and how I handle a withering pace.

And, to end on a positive note, help is on the way at work. An awesome fundraiser from a local institution is joining our team, in my old role - the job that brought us to Utah this time last year. She starts on Tuesday. I can't wait! 

The Essence of Faith

Last month, the prophet of our church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, toured the fire-ravaged community of Paradise, California. Here is President Russell M. Nelson with his wife visiting the ruins of a chapel. By the way, he is 94 years old but looks and walks and carries himself like a man 15 years younger! He is remarkable.

Days after their visit, President Nelson penned a moving op-ed in The Arizona Republic. The full text is here. Please, go read it. Whatever your faith is, including no faith, his words are comforting and positive about the importance of belief in anyone's life. I'm including here the parts that, to me, get to the essence of faith. The first paragraph from President Nelson that I quote here is the most beautiful summation of faith and the importance of God in our lives. 

"If there is anything I've learned in my 94 years of living, it is that a life with God is far better - more filled with hope - than one without Him. Faith in God is, and always has been, the pre-eminent force for good in this world. It is the most enduring source of peace for minds and hearts.

"Nothing man-made can ever approach what God can do for His children. The most able minds cannot offer redemption from sin or heal our hearts from emotional pain. They cannot generate enduring hope or joy. They cannot promise life after death or the potential of being with our loved ones beyond the grave. They cannot guarantee peace of mind. But God can. Our spiritual DNA is His DNA. If are hearts are open to Him - if we believe in the divinity of the Father and His Son - we can rise from the ashes of our lives and become the men and women we were sent to earth to become."

All I can say is, amen!

TBT: One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, morning dawned after the last major snowstorm during my lifetime in New England. It seems like the last few winters, from about 2014 to 2018, were terrible and full of snowstorms. Unlike Utah, where snow starts falling in November but never leads to major accumulation on the valley, snowstorms in New England don't really begin until after Christmas - with most major ones striking in February and into March. 

On the right in the photo above is our condo; our unit is the one with the visible bay windows, and our front door is the one to the left of the other front door. We used our back doors much more often, because that is where we parked our vehicles. Typically only guests like friends and the full-time missionaries would trudge up the front porch and enter through the front door.

On the left in the photo is Cherry Street, a single-lane but somehow two-way street (!). A few years after our first kids were born - when I started becoming concerned about the high volume of traffic right outside our home - I seriously considered lobbying the city of Waltham to make Cherry Street one-way. Our friendly ward councilor told me that our neighborhood had too many one-way streets, and Cherry Street needed to remain two-way for the firetrucks to use as a cut-through. When I pivoted to ask if, instead, the city could install speed bumps to slow traffic, this same councilor, Stephen Rourke, kindly smiled at me as if to say, "Don't push it, Tim."   

There is the riotous mix of calm and anticipation before the storm strikes, then the ferocity and beauty of the storm in full throe, and finally the serenity and back-breaking work to be done once the storm heads out to sea. All of those stages are still fresh in my mind. I wonder if we'll ever have snowstorms in Utah like we did in Boston; probably not. The combo of the humidity and New England's proximity to the Atlantic Ocean make for heavier, wetter, and more damaging snowfall.

I don't miss the body-taxing, hours-long struggle to shovel out. I can do without the threat of black-outs caused by high winds. And snow days, when school was cancelled and work was done at home, ran their courses in my mind. 

Our kids didn't have a snow day this year, and may never experience another school snow day again. But I hope most of them will recall, as the years go by, their earlier lives in Waltham, Massachusetts, and the times when we bundled up inside our century-old condo and rode out the latest snowstorm. And if their memories are foggy, at least we have oodles of photos of these fun albeit cabin fever-inducing times as a family to look back upon!





  

The Aftermath: Goose's 12th Birthday Party

I returned home on Friday afternoon to this calamity in our sub-basement*. But the mess was all for a great cause: Goose's 12th birthday party! Our oldest child is just one year away from officially becoming a teenager. Ugh. Yikes. All the feels!

Goose invited a handful of her closest friends, and they had a really good time playing games, navigating an obstacle course that Goose designed, and just hanging out. Moving to Utah has been a blessing for Goose in terms of her friendships. She recently told us that, in her first home and schools in Waltham, Massachusetts, and in our church, she did not have consistent close friends; that the Latina girls she kind-of associated with at school were kind to her, but she always felt like an outsider in their presence; and that Goose had been hoping for virtuous girlfriends. She had one or two close friends from church over the years, but in both cases, the girls and their families moved away, a pattern we knew all too well ourselves.

Now, Goose has a best friend just two houses next to us. This girl, one year older, and Goose hit it off last summer and have only gotten closer. The girl's mother told Becky shortly after we moved in that, for five years, her daughters (she has a younger daughter who is the same age as Our Little Mouse) did not have a girlfriend in the neighborhood, and that they had been hoping for girls their ages to move in. Little did this family know that we were hoping for the same for our daughters! It feels meant to be in that sense. 

I am so glad that Goose has blossomed with friends at this important time in her life. I am sad that she felt true, lasting, close friendship-less for much of her elementary years. Believe me, I could quite nearly feel the pangs of sadness and aloneness that she felt during those times; it's not a stretch to say that I felt her emotions as my own, and my heart ached for her and Mouse to have good, stable friends. It just wasn't happening where we were living, but I had a vision that it would be different if we moved, and I stuck tenaciously to that goal, for many reasons - and yes, getting our kids to a place where virtuous friends were more of a possibility was one major reason for my pursuit of something better.  

Happy 12th Birthday, Our Dear Goose! I would selfishly ask the impossible - that time somehow stops or slows down - but it is wonderful to see you grow and thrive in your new setting, with new friends, and with a much happier, more joyful heart and a pretty chock-full social calendar!

Othello Biggest Loser

In all of the years that Othello has been our family's first go-to game, this has never happened: A forfeiture! And so early in the game, at that. I came home from work early and plunked down on the couch with Our Mighty Moose. Electronics-free time is important in our family, as it is in likely every family's home - and it's a constant struggle to carve out old-school time away from electronic devices. Sometimes we're good at it; other times, we cave and it gnaws at us parents. 

Anyhow, Moose placed the first tile (aren't I a nice dad, always letting our kids go first?!). Within two or three turns, my position went from promising to dire. On my eighth turn, I had no moves to make. I was completely skunked and hosed, out of options. And we as a whole family were stunned to see a game end in a forfeit! 

It was one for the record books. 

...until the very next night, when I again had to forfeit early, this time in a game against Our Little Mouse. Must have been something in the air. 

Crush

Our Zany Grouse, in car seat of our mini-van, as Becky and I drove him to pre-school one morning this month. Seconds before I snapped this photo from the front passenger seat, our youngest child had been so animated and funny, talking about the crush he has on a girl in his pre-school class. 

By the time I managed to fumble for my phone and document the moment, Grouse was hip to the scene. The moment is seared in my memory (well, for now at least!) but not captured for posterity. He wised-up and became embarrassed, not wanting to talk about her anymore and shutting down his comical theatrics. 

These are the waning days before Grouse goes to Kindergarten in a few months. All four of our kids have attended pre-school (three in Waltham, Massachusetts, and Grouse in Utah); each one's class was three days a week for a few hours. And crazy to think that, as quickly as pre-school arrived in our lives in 2011, it will soon exit our scene. We won't be hip to it any more, and that's a rite of passage coming to an end, for our kids and for us. 

I Miss This Place

It's funny how a place can sneak into your mind, out of the blue. This is the interior of St. Basil's/The Catholic Center at Bridgewater State University. It was my childhood parish, where Catholic people of all ages congregated, even though the chapel was founded in the 1960s primarily for the college students. I've often reflected on how interesting it is to have a church right on college grounds. At a time of life ostensibly dedicated to the pursuit of worldly knowledge in places set aside specifically for that, I find it calming and necessary to also have a place where spiritual knowledge can be gained and fortified. 

I haven't seen St. Basil's in almost one year. And today its absence from my life hit me. 

My parents, bless their hearts, took my sister and me to church here most every Sunday morning, or Saturday afternoon, or Sunday evening every weekend of my childhood. My dad isn't even Catholic, and yet he'd attend with us. That is a special and sacred example to me. 

I hope for and believe in a heaven, and part of what heaven looks like to me is a place where one can see, feel, hear, and walk through the places and times that we enjoyed when we lived on earth. If that comes to be true, then I'm excited by the prospect of experiencing those moments with a spiritually perfect mind and heart, free of mortal frailties and limitations.    

There have been longer stretches of time when I didn't step foot inside, let alone see, St. Basil's: my five years of undergraduate schooling at UMass-Amherst; my year abroad in Germany. When I graduated from college in May 1999 and moved back to my parents' home in August 1999, I didn't return to St. Basil's until spring 2000. And even then, I only went a handful of times. Yet sometimes I think that I was there a lot more often. Sometimes I wish I had been a weekly congregant. 

After moving to Boston in June 2001, for many years thereafter I'd often visit my parents on weekends. Sometimes I'd go to St. Basil's; many times, I would not make the effort to do so. Then I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and suddenly my Sundays and my social life got a lot busier! And then I got married to Becky, and we rightfully embarked on our own life together, with our own plans and places to see and be at, our own agendas and needs. Yet whenever I visited my parents, I'd make a point to go on a walk around the beautiful Bridgewater State campus.

No walk was ever complete without passing by St. Basil's. 

And then kids came along, one after another in 2007, 2008, 2011, and 2014. Life got busier by leaps and bounds! And let's just say that, in my experience, there is less tolerance of whiny kids and crying infants in the Catholic Masses I've attended than there is in services in the Church of Jesus Christ. 

On the rare times when we felt like we could handle a Mass with little kids, we'd go to St. Basil's (like on Easter Sunday) and it would be fine. It was so meaningful for me to bring my kids to a place that meant very much to me when I was their ages and older. But Sundays were always busy for us in Boston, with three hours of Mormon church services in mornings or early afternoons. That, plus the 45-minute drive to my parents' house, ruled out visits to St. Basil's on most every occasion when a Mass was scheduled. 

Still, considering that we visited my parents at least once a weekend, and given its pull on my heart, St. Basil's was always an option. There would be plenty of times to see it, step inside it, remember and reminisce. As the years went on, that felt both comforting and constricting, a stranglehold on my mind. I wasn't going to stay in New England just so I could occasionally see St. Basil's. My personal walks down memory lane were not nearly as important as doing what I needed to do, then and now, to prioritize my own family.

But I took comfort in seeing this quaint chapel, nestled on the edge of a quintessential New England college campus. And I'd fight an internal feeling, that I felt nostalgic for St. Basil's and that the chapel itself, in my mind, gave off a melancholy vibe. Was it the dwindling attendance? The sparse times of service? Recollections of people who I knew from my earlier days, but who are now passed on? 

The chapel felt lonely. It looked lonely. It's not how a church should look, right? But so many churches in our country and around the world look and feel similar in that sense nowadays, right?

I often felt like I had a chance to become part of reviving St. Basil's, somehow or some way. Maybe I'd shovel its walkways after a snowfall but before Mass started? Maybe I'd volunteer to clean it after Mass? Maybe I'd bring a bowl of spaghetti and bread for its weekly Spaghetti Dinner Night for students? Maybe my kids could become involved in youth activities, which it actually doesn't have now but did when I was little? 

Maybe I could help revive St. Basil's?

Maybe, maybe, maybe, for a place that lived on stronger in my memories than in real life.   

Those days, those chances, are long gone. 

I'm now more than 2,000 miles from St. Basil's. Days go by without me thinking of it. And that's felt healthy. But today?! 

Oh, Captain Nostalgia, I thought I had sent your bags packing! Yet here you are, rearing your melancholy head. 

We're planning to visit Boston this June. You'd better believe I'll be walking around the college campus, ducking in to St. Basil's, saying a prayer of gratitude, and, perhaps, putting this beautiful chapel's hold on my heart and mind in a more proper, healthy footing. 

Good News, Followed by Bad News

First, the good news: After just nine months on the fundraising team in my new company, I've been promoted! My new title is a friggin' mouthful, and doesn't reflect the industry standard for my position. We'll be changing that sometime. 

Interestingly, my new role is the same one I applied for at this non-profit in January 2015. I knew I was under-qualified for the job, but tried to leverage my Harvard experience and my family's ties to Utah. While they went with someone else (my boss), the hiring committee leader is a very nice woman who suggested that she and I keep in touch. I met her in July 2015, during which she recommended that I meet with the man who got the job I applied for - the same man who would, in May 2018, become my boss. 

Proof that from little steps and momentary setbacks can come amazing opportunities later.

Now, the bad news: The man that got the job in 2015, and the man I met in summer 2015, and the man who became my boss in 2018, is leaving. Boo! He shared this hard news the day after I got promoted. Ugh. He landed a new opportunity with a non-profit that closely aligns with one of his life's passions (animal welfare), and lets him work remotely full-time. That is key, since his significant other and all of his and her family members are in the Midwest. 


He was the sixth boss I've had in my full-time career to date, and by far the one I have bonded with the most. He was my first male boss. And he continued a streak where all of my bosses have been childless and in some variation of marital status that is not actually married (divorced, separated, partnered with no intention of getting married). Interesting commonalities, huh? 

We'll keep in touch, and there may be opportunities for us to work together again down the road. We had a lot in common: a love of history, Werther's Original candies, WWE pro wrestling, TV shows (Deutschland '83, among others), and music (classic rock, folk rock). It was too good to be true! And now it's too good to last. 

Bon Voyage, Oh Captain My Captain!