Thanksgiving of Thanksfeeling

 

Beep. Beep.

My wristwatch marks the hour and my eyes snap open. Prior to today, I didn't know it was possible to sleep while standing up. I guess I wouldn't call that sleeping. Dozing? Yes. Who wouldn't be dozing at 4 AM? Why am I not at home in my warm, soft bed?

Good question. My wife, who is across the store trying to land some Christmas PJ's and a train set, knows the answer. And so do the 50 others crowded around me. 4:01. My watch is three minutes fast. But the feeling of anticipation is thick in the air. It's so palpable, it's impossible not to feel.

I shrug off the drowsiness that I've been fighting for two hours. This is it. Game time. My rivals are just as focused now. All eyes are on the prize--a giant cardboard box in the middle of a crowd of 50 wild-eyed shoppers. There's no turning back now. Bodies are pressed up against me on all sides. There's barely room to shift. I have good position. Only five people stand between me and The Box. The guy on my left starts to jockey for position, looking to box me out with his elbow. I hold my ground, which is no easy task, as a wave of the other guy's body odor hits me like a brick wall. He obviously didn't shower this morning. Then again, neither did I. I steel myself and try to tune out my overwhelmed sense of smell. I will my own BO in his direction in an attempt to fight back.

All of a sudden the store's chime sounds the hour, and complete chaos ensues. I get violently shoved from three different directions at once as I see the store clerk cut the ties on The Box and hit the ground as if in a fire drill. The lid of the box is hurled 20 feet into the air as $2.50 DVDs are grabbed by the handful and shoved into overcoats, pockets, and handbags. I don't want to imagine where some people are stashing the DVDs they get their hands on. There certainly aren't any shopping carts here. Only cheerful holiday shoppers, who are probably a little more full of donuts and caffeine than cheer.
 

As I desperately reach out to try to grab a DVD from The Box, I'm pushed back by the same odorous, elbowing guy who has somehow gotten past me and is grabbing handfuls of DVDs. Apparently there is no picking and choosing at The Box. Black Friday shoppers, more experienced than myself, know to grab what you can and to later find a corner of the store to sort through your booty to determine what you will actually buy. I wonder if I'll get my hands on a single DVD. Watching the old lady behind me swing her cane about aggressively, I doubt it. I wonder if there's a Black Friday Black Market located down some obscure aisle of the store for those who end up with excess doorbuster goods in their carts. I wonder what the donut to DVD exchange ratio is. I guess it doesn't matter as I have neither in hand at present.
 

My reeking rival finally shoves away from The Box box, retreating with his loot, and I see an opening to The Box. I take it. I scan The Box in an instant; it's almost empty. I see one of the five titles I was looking for. I grab it and decide to retreat for safety, clutching that DVD as tightly as I would a fumbled pigskin on a desperate game winning dash into the end zone. As I fight the crowd that's still pressing in and rush forward to the goal line, I see the store clerk curled up on the floor in the fetal position. I know exactly how she feels.
 

I juke one defender and stiffarm another defensive lineman and break free, crossing the pylons in a burst of energy as the crowd roars! Only then do I look back at the pile of players behind me; the angry mob is now ripping the cardboard box apart in a desperate attempt to find any lingering digital doorbusters. Ducking down another aisle, I run into my pushy friend from earlier. As a peace offering, he hands me two more of the titles I was looking for from his stash without requesting a single donut in exchange.

Eventually, I meet up with Lindsey. She had more success than me, scoring everything off her list.  But as for me? Seven dollars and fifty cents and three movies summed up an experience I hope to never repeat again.

*****

Black Friday. I'm not sure what the color black means to every other holiday shopper. I know what it meant to me several years ago when I braved the wilds of Wal-Mart on that adventurous Friday. In the years since, that blackness has crept into Thursday as well. No longer do the Black Friday doorbuster sales begin at 6 AM, 4 AM, or even at the chime of midnight. I heard that many stores will begin their shopping madness this year at 10 PM on Thanksgiving Day. The truly zealous Black Friday'ers are already camping out. I imagine they're settling for turkey sandwiches rather than the full turkey and stuffing feast. I don't think any shopping deal in the world could be good enough to make me miss out on my wife's pumpkin pie!

I'm afraid that over the next few years the Thanksgiving holiday may disappear altogether in the eyes of the retail industry. As it is, we see Christmas decorations and merchandise decking the halls of many major retailers as fast as store managers can relocate all of the unsold Halloween paraphernalia to the clearance racks. But the merchandisers are not alone in their holly, jolly rush to Christmas. More than one local radio station began its Christmas season merry music marathon just one week into November.

Now I love the Christmas holiday. And I was really frustrated when I was in school at BYU and final projects and exams ran my academic stress right up until only a few days before Christmas. I found it very difficult to catch the spirit of Christmas as strongly as I would have liked those years. Since graduation, I've fully enjoyed the entire month of music, lights, decorations, devotionals, holiday baking, and gift shopping and making. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

But as much as I love this season, I find the earlier and earlier beginning of the season in the eyes of retailers, broadcasters, and the populace as a whole a little bothersome. What's happened to turkey and stuffing, turkey bowls and gridiron grapples, pilgrims and cornucopias, and, of course, prize-winning pumpkin pies? I think the answer lies in the pocket books of retailers and consumers. There's little doubt that money makes the world go round. And, truth be told, there's not a lot of money in Thanksgiving outside of the grocery and fowl-farming industries. I imagine there's enough money in Halloween to keep Christmas retailing from creeping too much into October, but there may come a day when Thanksgiving all but disappears in the eyes of most Americans. Wouldn't Ben Franklin be sorely disappointed in that truly-noble-bird-barren nation?

Because of all of this, I was truly impressed when I learned about Nordstrom's Thanksgiving policy. Posted throughout their stores last year were signs that read, "We won't be decking our halls until Friday, November 25. Why? Well, we just like the idea of celebrating one holiday at a time. From our family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving." This year is no different at Nordstrom. Now isn't that wonderful? Not only is the store closed on Thanksgiving, but no Christmas decorations or merchandise will be seen until the day after Thanksgiving. How's that for a celebration of Black Friday that allows for a truly Brown, Orange, and Gold Thursday?

Of gratitude, Cicero, a Roman orator, said, "Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others." Gordon B. Hinckley seems to agree with Cicero in his book on the ten most neglected virtues, gratitude being one of these ten--a virtue which he labels as a sign of maturity:

"Although we acknowledge that far too many people live at the edge of survival, still we must admit that never before in the history of the world has a nation or a people enjoyed such riches and liberties.

"For all this and much more, we should be grateful. And we ought to express our gratitude daily in countless ways--to each other, to our parents and other family members who have contributed so dramatically to our lives, to friends who have given us the benefit of the doubt again and again, to colleagues and associates who motivate and inspire us to reach higher and do better, to prudent leaders who serve selflessly, and, particularly, to a Higher Power from Whom all ultimate blessings and goodness flow."

I've been married for over eight years now. And there are two lessons I've learned more strongly than any of the other many, many lessons I've been obliged to learn. Lesson one: you can't say "I love you" too many times. I repeat this lesson with a caution. The words "I love you" don't carry as much power as the words "I love you because..." Sometimes "just because" may be acceptable, but specificity rarely goes amiss in sharing our feelings of caring for those we love.

Lesson two: you can't say the words "Thank you" too many times. Again, specificity carries added value. Thank you for... "Thank you for dinner darling. I appreciate all the effort you make to have dinner ready when I get home from work. I know how stressful your day can be with the kids, the house, and everything else you juggle. Thank you for helping me feel so special by doing everything you do for me." We all probably feel gratitude more often than we express it. But the holiday is called Thanksgiving, not Thanksfeeling. You can't express gratitude too many times when it is heartfelt, sincere, and specific.

Easier said than done, we must learn to share the feelings of our hearts. Yes, God knows our hearts. He knows of my gratitude to Him. But the Psalmist urged, "Sing unto the Lord with thanksgiving [not thanksfeeling]; sing praise upon the harp unto our God: who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who maketh grass to grow upon the mountains."

King Benjamin also spoke on gratitude, intoning, "If ye should render all the thanks and praise which your whole soul has power to possess, to that God who has created you, and has kept and preserved you, and has caused that ye should rejoice, and has granted that ye should live in peace one with another--I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another--I say, if ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants."

In other words, we cannot repay or earn the grace and blessings that are our rich inheritance from a loving Father in Heaven. No amount of thanksgiving can merit that cornucopia of kindness. But it is a good start.
 

Gordon B. Hinckley continued his thoughts on thankfulness:

"Gratitude is a sign of maturity. It is an indication of sincere humility. It is a hallmark of civility. And most of all, it is a divine principle. I doubt there is anything in which we more offend the Almighty than in our tendency to forget His mercies and to be ungrateful for that which He has given us."

As a child, I was taught how to pray in four simple steps, which were reinforced through a well-known primary song: I begin by saying Dear Heavenly Father. I thank Him for blessings He sends; Then humbly I ask Him for things that I need, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen. In my childhood, I was probably better about spending time on step two in my prayers. As I've grown older and feel more worries and pressures in life, I have to admit that my prayers are more focused on asking than thanking.

I began by sharing my feelings about Christmas and Thanksgiving. I love Christmas. In many ways, Christmas traditions stand out so much more prominently in my memories than Thanksgiving traditions. But I wish to share one Thanksgiving tradition that I've enjoyed since I was a teenager. A New Testament seminary teacher gave my class a challenge one day to go home that night and completely omit step three from our bedtime prayers--in other words to make our prayers one of gratitude only, not asking for a single thing. That seemed simple enough. I determined to try it, though I wondered how short that prayer might be.

Beside my bed, I fell to my knees and began to pray. I prayed out loud to deviate from the norm and to add to the special feeling I was seeking this night. It was easy at first but quickly became more difficult. Thank you for my family, our house, our abundance of food and other necessities, the gospel, Christ's Atonement... After about 30 seconds, I ran out of things to say--the standard set of thanked for blessings from which I usually pull was all used up.

But I didn't want to end my prayer that quickly, especially since this was supposed to be a special prayer of gratitude. I paused for a full minute to gather my thoughts and to truly think about my blessings. During this minute, I broke the rules and asked for one solitary thing--I asked for an open heart and mind so that I could be more mindful of my blessings, those things for which I could offer thanks. Then words began to flow. The more I spoke, the more thoughts came to my mind and my heart. I remained on my knees for almost an hour, and tears filled my eyes before I was done. It felt a little strange to end my prayer, thanking my God for one final blessing and then skipping straight to my standard closing, In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

I remained on my knees for a minute or two more, something I often neglect to do, hearing the call of my pillow more loudly than any still, small voice. I don't know what revelatory response I might have anticipated since I was not asking for one this time. But I did receive a response, a gentle and warm outpouring of the Spirit which conveyed two words very clearly, "You're welcome."

Every Thanksgiving since that night as a teenager, I've made this prayer of only thanksgiving part of my personal traditions for this holiday of gratitude. With a little help from the Spirit, it is still easy to find words to speak. Though my prayers have never rivaled that of Enos, time seems to stand still and lose its importance as I spend an hour in true gratitude of Him who has blessed me beyond measure.

And so, this Thanksgiving, regardless of when you begin to listen to your holiday music collection, when you plan to do your holiday shopping and baking, and when you see your first magical snow, I invite you to join me in rising above your thanksfeeling and spending a few minutes on your knees in pure thanksgiving, asking for nothing in return and simply enjoying a moment of true gratitude to your Maker.

There are not many Thanksgiving carols or songs. But one sung by Josh Groban sums up my feelings: there truly is so much to be thankful for. (You may listen by clicking here.)

Some days we forget to look around us.

Some days we can't see the joy that surrounds us.

So caught up inside ourselves,

We take when we should give.

Look beyond ourselves, there's so much sorrow.

It's way too late to say, “I'll cry tomorrow.”

Each of us must find our truth,

We're so long overdue.

Even with our differences,

There is a place we're all connected.

Each of us can find each others love.

So for tonight we pray for

What we know can be.

And on this day we hope for

What we still can't see.
It's up to us to be the change.

And even though this world needs so much more,

There's so much to be thankful for. 

A Day in the Shoes of a Shepherd

 I hope they call me on a mission when I have grown a foot or two…

Unlike most teenagers, I was still singing this classic primary song when I was in high school. Why? I was a shorty. I still harbored secret hopes that I might grow to be as tall as Shawn Bradley. I didn’t expect my 7 foot 6 height to make me any better of a basketball player than I then was, but I imagined that with such height my technical balling skills would be far less important than my ability on the defensive end to keep track of the three second window in the paint, to step in to take a charge, and to simply keep my arms up, since no shot would be able to get past my massive reach. In fact, the only problem I’d face on the court would be to make sure my underarm hair wasn’t too horrendous and to remember to use clear deodorant rather than the powdery white, clumpy stuff.

Unfortunately, as a junior in high school, I was still waiting for the two and a half foot growth spurt I would need to get the pro scouts to start lining up at my door. Even as my professional basketball hopes waned, I was still determined to hit six feet. But no amount of Wheaties seemed to help. It seemed that I was destined to a life of looking up at the rest of the world. Still I hoped that I might be called on a mission having grown a foot or two. I even made a bet with a friend that I’d hit six feet. And I’m happy to say that I did enjoy a steak dinner at the expense of this friend a year or two later. I outgrew three or four pairs of jeans over the course of six months, but grow I did.

And serve a mission I did, too. But of the two accomplishments, I am far more proud of one than the other—although I think that the delayed Wheaties-inspired growth spurt was quite the feat. I had the privilege and opportunity to spend two years among the quiet-natured, but faithful people of Estonia and will always look back fondly on the experiences and relationships that were forged in that distant land.

Yesterday, in the opening session of General Conference, President Thomas S. Monson announced that young men will have a little less time to grow a foot or two before they set off for distant lands to serve in the ranks of God’s army. Young men may now leave for missions at the age of 18 rather than 19, and young women may leave as early as age 19.

The announcement came as a huge surprise to me and perhaps many other members of my church. It remains to be seen how the new age standard might change expectations and patterns in mission preparation. As the well-known song continues, I hope by then I will be ready to teach and preach and work as missionaries do. Will most young men plan to begin their missions shortly after high school, shifting the norm from the 19^th birthday to graduation? Will only some young men leave that early and others leave sometime in the year afterward as they feel sufficiently ready and mature? Will priesthood leaders look more closely at spiritual readiness and maturity in each young man individually, helping to raise the bar even further?

Personally, I feel that I gained a great deal from my freshman year at BYU. Academically, I learned to study and work harder than ever before. I believe this helped me with the language learning I received in the MTC. By moving away from home, I learned how to care for myself, wash my own clothes, and cook for myself—if you can call Ramen and “Yellow Death” cooking. I learned to interact socially with roommates and handle conflicts. Finally, I simply had the experience to survive emotionally, away from the safety and familiar environs of the home I had lived in for the past 18 years. I strongly believe that all of this prepared me to board a plane and fly to a land 9 time zones and over 5000 miles away. But was it necessary?

My birthday falls in late January. And I was faced with a decision to either finish my freshman year at BYU, leaving on my mission in late spring, or to put my available date as my actual birthday. My mother felt that I would benefit from the additional semester at school, perhaps for many of the same reasons I’ve already mentioned. My older brother was to get home from his mission in May, and I know Mom liked the idea of having her whole family together again for a short period, perhaps a family photo or two. Regardless of her reasons, she encouraged me to choose the latter. I, however, felt excited about suiting up and serving and wanted to go as soon as I could. Ultimately, I decided to put my mission available date as my birthday. My mission call, however, assigned me to enter the MTC the following June, so I went ahead and registered for spring classes and took advantage of the time to further prepare myself to serve.

I hope that I can share the gospel with those who want to know the truth.

I want to be a missionary and serve and help the Lord while I am in my youth.

While maturity is very important, it is the desire to serve that qualifies a missionary for the work. Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work; for behold the field is white already to harvest. The greatest readiness is found in the desires of a young man’s heart. But, ultimately, hoping to be ready to serve when the call comes is not enough. I believe this momentous announcement will put the fire under priesthood leaders and priest quorums to further raise the bar and prepare young men to serve, helping them to mature and grow, increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.

Even with a full year of growth and maturity following high school under my belt, was I ready? Not really. I certainly wasn’t as ready as I could have been. But I did have a desire to serve. And that desire to serve never waivered. Was I scared at times? Did I feel homesick? Were there difficult days? Yes, yes, and yes. Did I have the best experience of my life up to that point? One that I look back to even now with some longing to return to those distant shores? Yes and yes!

On one of my preparation days—the day each week set aside for laundry, shopping, some physical activity and sightseeing, and letters home—I sat down and penned a story that captured some feelings I’d been facing about the difficulties and joys of service and the vision that I tried to carry as my banner and Title of Liberty each day as I rose from my knees with my companion and left the apartment to go about doing good. My thoughts about the announcement yesterday and the missionary-themed talks made me think back to this story, one that I would like to share with you. I entitled my story A Day in the Shoes of a Shepherd.

*    *    *

Beep… Beep… Beep… The alarm cut through the chilly morning air. Elder Samson reached over, switched it off, and wrapped up tightly in his blanket. Allowing a frustrated grumble, he slowly sat up in bed. He peered through the darkness toward his companion, Elder Brown’s bed. Like usual, it was empty.

From the other room, he could hear a faint, “One… two… three…” His companion was doing his daily morning exercise routine.

Why can’t I be more like Elder Brown, the young missionary wondered as he had done many times before. Energetic, happy, positive… He let out a sigh, threw his pillow across the room, and stood up out of bed. Trudging to the small window, he glanced out indifferently. Across the already dark sky stretched an even darker line of clouds. Rain… miserable rain again. If only the sun might come out today, he prayerfully thought.

Elder Samson saw the clock. 6:35: Time for companionship study. ‘Oh Boy!’ he thought sarcastically. In the other room, he found Elder Brown covered in sweat, reading from the Book of Mormon.

Elder Brown glanced up, smiled, and exclaimed, “Good morning, Elder! You ready for an awesome day?”

Awesome day?!? Today would be just like yesterday and the day before and the one before that. Tracting. They hadn’t taught a discussion in over three weeks. This area had been pronounced “dead” by every missionary who had ever served here, excepting Elder Brown. The members weren’t very friendly or supportive, there weren’t any investigators, and the only new member was the 10-year old daughter of an inactive couple. Already she had joined her parents in the ranks of inactivity. Elder Samson had been a little less than thrilled to be transferred to this area a month back. And he was looking forward to the next transfers.

“Yeah,” he answered his companion with as little energy as he could muster.

“All right,” Elder Brown responded. “Let’s get started. We’re on page 118: Charity.”

As Elder Brown began reading, Elder Samson’s thoughts wandered off again. Just great! Preach My Gospel always seems to mention the topics that I’m struggling with the most. When was the last time I felt charity for these people? I pray for it; I want to love these people; but I just can’t show it. Elder Brown can. You can see it in his smile and his friendly countenance. I try to do these things too, but it all seems fake, like I don’t really mean it. Maybe I don’t…

Elder Brown finished reading the section and asked, “So what is charity, and why is it important to us as missionaries?”

Elder Samson mumbled a reply. Elder Brown jumped in, “You’re right, Elder! Charity is…” Great, thought Elder Samson. Here goes Elder Brown into one of his great sermons. Elder Samson began staring at the clock. Fifteen minutes left… His eyes felt heavy, and he started drifting off. Elder Brown noticed and said, “Let’s turn to Moroni 7. Would you read?”

Elder Samson jerked awake, grabbed his scriptures, and fumbled through the pages. The end of companionship study came none too soon for Elder Samson. They offered the morning prayer, and then he sped off to the bathroom. Maybe a nice shower would help to wake him up. The water came out brown and rusty as usual, but at least it was hot. That was one advantage to this apartment… a personal water heater. A few weeks earlier, the temperature was hovering around zero Fahrenheit. Snow had piled up everywhere. Elder Samson’s prayers for warmer weather so they could more effectively do the work had been answered. The temperature warmed up to the freezing point, and the snow turned into slush, mud, and rain. This weather was worse, and Elder Samson found himself now praying for the drier snow again. It was early February, and there was still a lot of winter left.

Why was I called to Estonia, he thought. Why not somewhere warmer like Florida or California? Then I wouldn’t have to learn this crazy language, be in this crazy weather, and try to teach these hard-hearted people. Estonia… Who’s ever heard of Estonia? I certainly hadn’t when I opened up my call. I must have slept through that geography lesson. And this language has to be the hardest one in the world… They say Finnish is harder, but I’m not sure if any language could be harder than this one. Maybe I’ll know enough by the time I go home so that I can bear my testimony in Estonian at my homecoming.

Suddenly the water began coming out cold. That brought a quick end to his shower as Elder Samson shut off the water and grabbed his towel. The pilot light must have gone off on the heater, he muttered angrily. He grabbed a tie and his shirt and began to dress, huddled close to the floor heater in the bedroom. He glanced out the window. It was still just as dark as it had been earlier. The sun usually didn’t come up, if at all, before 10:30 and would set by 3:00 in the afternoon. Just one more thing he had added to his list of complaints.

As he cinched up his favorite tie, he noticed a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen. Elder Brown must have fixed himself a nice breakfast today. As he walked in, Elder Brown asked, “Is the water warm today?”

“The pilot light went out,” Elder Samson replied.

“I’ll go start it up again,” Elder Brown said. As he left, he remembered, “Oh… Your plate is there on the counter. Sorry, but it’s probably a little cold now.”

My plate? Sure enough, there it was. He grabbed it and saw pancakes, bacon, and eggs, just the way he liked them. “Uh… Thanks!” he called down the hallway. Elder Brown was always doing things like that. Shining his shoes, making his bed, doing the dishes… And he never complained. Why can’t I be more like Elder Brown? He was loving, charitable, and happy. This was the second time today that this thought had crossed Elder Samson’s mind. Only this time his question was answered by a thought that came to mind. Why not? You could be if you wanted.

He pondered that thought for a few minutes as he forked the delicious food into his mouth. But that would be so difficult… to smile after rejections, to find good in the bad, to be charitable… Charity. The word rang in his head. He grabbed the Book of Mormon he had left on the table after companionship study, and he flipped back open to Moroni 7. “But charity is the pure love of Christ,” he read softly, “and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.” It was obvious that charity was necessary for the work. That much he had learned. Racking his memory, he’d never once had a success in times of frustration, complaint, or anger. But one phrase struck him: the pure love of Christ. To be charitable, he must simply see people and love them through the eyes of the Savior… like he should be doing anyway… like Elder Brown already did every day.

For so long, he’d been jealous, even angry, with his “perfect” companion. His companion’s warm smile always irritated him because he knew it was so hard for he himself to smile. But the question puzzled him. If my companion’s so righteous, faithful, obedient, and charitable, why aren’t we having more success? Shouldn’t his faith and love make up for my weaker faith and love? The gentle prompting of the Spirit once again brought to his mind the thought, Maybe he is ready to experience success, but maybe you aren’t yet… but if you would both prove to me that you have faith enough to succeed and to show true love for these precious children of mine, who I truly want to lead to the truth, then your success would meet no bounds.

This powerful thought brought tears to Elder Samson’s eyes. It had never occurred to him before that he was not ready to succeed. He didn’t believe they could find investigators. Even if they did, he wouldn’t teach them out of true love. Am I an instrument in the Lord’s hands? Or is the Lord waiting for someone with more faith and charity to teach his chosen children?

His last few bites of pancake sat uneaten. Elder Samson could hear the shower starting. How could he be filled with love like Elder Brown has… like Christ has? He truly desired it for the first time in such a long time. If he could be like Elder Brown, they’d be an unstoppable team. But he’d have to first humble himself and find some way or other to develop charity. His eyes wandered back to that blue book in front of him. One phrase seemed to be bolded and bright… “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.” He had read this same spot earlier that morning. But now the meaning took on new significance.

Elder Samson fell to his knees. And he began to plead with his Father in Heaven in a sincere way that he hadn’t before done. Heavenly Father, I have sinned by being stubborn, prideful, hard-hearted… At least I understand that now. I think that’s the first step to humility, Father. I truly want to love these, thy children. They are precious. Help me to love them and see them with new eyes and a new understanding. Help me to be more like my older brother, Jesus Christ. His eyes watered as he literally pled his Heavenly Father’s mercy and help. He’d wasted so much time… The time of change was at hand, he promised himself and the Lord. One gentle thought touched him, My son… I am well pleased in your confession and change of heart.

As Elder Samson cried in joy, a clear picture came into his mind. He recognized two of the seven individuals. He and his good friend and companion, Elder Brown, stood with a family of five. And all were beautifully dressed in white. Elder Samson’s heart was filled with excitement and an overwhelming love for those people he momentarily saw. Who were those people? He didn’t recognize them. And was there such a thing as a family of five in Estonia who’d accept the gospel? Earlier today, he might have laughed at the thought. But now… His faith had taken root. He’d had a change of heart. He wouldn’t be surprised if Elder Brown had this vision every morning to give him such a drive. Elder Samson didn’t know these people, but one thing he did know. They were waiting for him to bless their lives with the gospel message. And if he didn’t have the faith to find them, another missionary would. The Lord had chosen these people. And how much of an advantage would it be to find them today and not to delay?

His companion walked into the kitchen as he climbed from his knees. Elder Brown shot him a flashy smile, not cheesy or fake, but sincere. “Elder Brown…” Elder Samson stammered. “What makes you so happy every day?”

Elder Brown looked puzzled, “With such great people as these Estonians are, what’s not to be happy about?”

Elder Samson tried to test him, “But really… Most people don’t keep their meetings, most don’t want to even say hi to us, they smoke they drink…” Elder Brown’s loving gaze stopped him.

After a moment of silence, he gently replied, “But they are children of our Heavenly Father. And I truly love them as such. They are the greatest people on Earth, and there’s some great family out there waiting to hear the gospel message… We are going to find them.” He smiled again and slipped out of the room.

So it was true. His companion’s motivation was sincere love. And just from his companion’s example, his own love was growing. He no longer looked at Elder Brown in jealousy or anger, but in admiration and respect. He actually loved his companion. Now that was a start, a beginning to this change of heart. He looked at his watch. 8:30… There was a full day ahead of him… still time to change… time to find that family in white. He felt ashamed for wasted time, but still he felt grateful for the opportunity to change. He pledged to himself that today would be different. Today, Elder Samson would spend a day in the shoes of Elder Brown… a day in the shoes of a shepherd.

But how should I start? He looked around, and his companion’s black rainy-weather boots caught his eye. He grabbed them and began to polish while practicing his discussion memorization, something he had not done for some time. He paused to look out the window into the dark morning air. Yes it was still dim, but he noticed something. There wasn’t a cloud in the darkened sky. And that meant that in about two hours he would be seeing sun. Yes! His heart rejoiced! Today would be quite the day. Hopefully it would be so good that he’d try it again tomorrow.

*   *   *

In one of my prior sermons where I shared a story I’d written, I went to the mailbag for a brief Q&A with my fans—yes I do have fans, pretend and otherwise. I thought I might try that again here. Let’s see what we have here…

Are you Elder Samson? No.

Are you Elder Brown? No.

Are these missionaries based on real people? Yes.

Companions of yours? Not exactly… You see, there’s a little bit of Elder Samson and a little bit of Elder Brown in every missionary. In some missionaries, there’s a lot of Elder Samson; and, in others, there’s a lot of Elder Brown. For me, it wasn’t just during my adjustment to a strange land, language, and people when I felt like Elder Samson. Throughout my entire mission, I experienced days when I was an Elder Samson, struggling to maintain a higher and more divine perspective on my service and struggling to rekindle a Christlike view of those I served. On days like this, it was easy to feel rejected and focus negatively on external frustrations. On the other hand, there were many days when I was able to lose myself in hard work and Christlike service, seeing my brothers and sisters of Estonia perhaps the way my Father in Heaven and my Savior see them. Those were wonderful days, the kind of days that made my mission.

I’ll take one more question… Do the names have any significance? Indeed they do. I couldn’t think of a more common, ordinary last name than Brown. I purposefully didn’t pick a notable church name, like Kimball, Young, Smith, or Edwards, that might just be perceived as a little more spiritual and righteous than another. Elder Brown could be a simple farmer from Idaho, the son of a truck driver from Wyoming, a seminary class president from Vernal, or any of 60,000 other missionary profiles. There is nothing special about this young man other than his unrelenting zeal to serve as Christ would serve, to follow in the footprints of a shepherd.

As for Elder Samson? Perhaps we all remember the jawbone-swinging, long-haired, muscle-massed judge of Israel who had a weakness for pretty eyes. With his God-given strength, Samson had such great potential! What a mighty hero he should have been! But Samson, like his gospel-preaching namesake, struggled to live up to his promise by getting caught up in the world around him and failing to appreciate his divine call. Elder Samson also had a lot of pent up strength, just waiting to be unleashed in a righteous cause. But unlike his Biblical namesake, he experienced a life-changing glimpse of his righteous potential. I hope that he made this day the pattern and the norm for those that were to follow through the duration of his two-year service.

Last night, President Monson pleaded with every man of the priesthood to suit up and lace up the shoes of the shepherd. He said, “There are countless individuals, who have little or no testimony right now, who could and would receive such a testimony if we would be willing to make the effort to share ours and to help them change. We must develop the capacity to see men, not as they are at present, but as they may become when they receive testimonies of the gospel of Christ.”

I believe that Elder Brown has to place a special order for his unique eyeglasses prescription that allows him to see men in this way. Although Elder Brown may be a fictional character from my mind, he is based upon the lives of many who have suited up and placed the black name tag over their left breast. President Monson shared the following story in his talk last night.

“Back in the year 1961… N. Eldon Tanner, who was then an assistant to the quorum of the twelve, had just returned from his initial experience presiding over the missions of Great Britain and Western Europe. He told of a missionary who had been the most successful missionary whom he met in all of the interviews he conducted. He said that, as he interviewed that missionary, he said to him, “I suppose that all of the people whom you have baptized came into the church by way of referrals.” The young man answered, “No. We found them all by tracting.”

Brother Tanner asked him what was different about his approach, why he had such phenomenal success when others didn’t. The young man said that he had attempted to baptize every person whom he met. He said if he knocked on the door and saw a man smoking a cigar and dressed in old clothes and seemingly disinterested in anything, particularly religion, the missionary would picture in his own mind what that man would look like under a different set of circumstances. In his mind, he would look at him as clean-shaven, wearing a white shirt and white trousers, and the missionary could see himself leading that man into the waters of baptism. He said, “When I look at someone that way, I have the capacity to bear my testimony to him in a way that can touch his heart.”

We have the responsibility to look at our friends, our associates, our neighbors, this way. Again, we have the responsibility to see individuals, not as they are, but rather as they can become. I would plead with you to think of them in this way.”

Given Laudie genes, my younger brothers might need till their nineteenth birthdays—like I did—to grow that foot or two before there time to serve comes. But if they choose, and their bishop feels they are ready and worthy, to serve when they are still eighteen, I have every confidence that they will be like Elder Brown and this baptizing missionary from 1961. They will be able to serve as Christ would serve, to proudly wear His wonderful name upon their chests, and to proudly don those shiny, black shoes of the shepherd as they walk those spiritual paths that He trod during His mortal ministry and after, doing His work in His way.

But President Monson’s call came to each and every one of us who bear the Holy Priesthood of our God.

“Brethren, to each of us comes the mandate to share the gospel of Christ. When one lives in compliance with God’s own standard, those in our sphere of influence will never speak a lament. The harvest is vast. The summer is ended. We are not safe. The perfect shepherd of souls, the missionary who redeemed mankind, gave us his divine assurance. ‘If it so be that ye should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people and bring but one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my father…’

I pray that we will have the courage to extend the hand of fellowship; the tenacity to try, and try, and try again; and the humility needed to seek guidance from our father as we fulfill our mandate to share the gospel. The responsibility is upon us brethren.”

President Monson, I hear your call. I understand the powerful lesson you are teaching. It applies to each of us, not only in our missionary efforts but also in our gospel service as home teachers, fathers, husbands, and brothers of our fellow men. We need to do a little less judging of our brothers and sisters and a little more loving of them regardless of their outward or inward appearance. We may not wear shiny, black shoes each day as we go to school, to work, to the store, or to the gym. But whether we wear Doc Martens, Sketchers, red polka-dot stilettos, Old Navy flip-flops, slippers, ratty sneakers from DI, or even go barefoot, ours is the opportunity to walk a day in the shoes of the shepherd, doing His work in His way, loving His children in His way.

And those, whose lives we influence for good, will look upon our feet as they would Christ’s in joyous gratitude, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!”

God bless you as you join me in lacing up and answering the call. Shall we not go on in so great a cause? Come, help the good work move along; put your shoulder to the wheel! We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er; happy are we! Happy are we! Who’s on the Lord’s side? Who? Now is the time to show! Hope of Israel, rise in might with the sword of truth and right. O youth of the noble birthright, carry on, carry on, carry on! Go forth with hope and courage strong to spread the word abroad that people of all nations are children of our God! God our strength will be; press forward ever, called to serve our King!

Hero of Heroes (Special Extended Edition)

This is a re-release of one of my favorite posts. And truth be told, there is actually nothing extended about this edition. In fact, this is a condensed version of the original. My posts have varied in length. The podcast audio versions range anywhere from 22 minutes (this one--my shortest) to almost 50 minutes (Surgeon of Surgeons--although that one is also one of my favorites, the sheer length has scared away most would-be listeners).

But this re-release truly is a special edition. Why? Because this edition captures the essence of what I was trying to communicate better than any other medium. Why? Because it incorporates not only the audio from the movies that inspired me but the video as well. True, I had to cut down the length a bit to make a video people would actually sit through--that and YouTube has a 15 minute limit on uploaded videos. As I tried to get my message down to bare bones, I was still sitting at about 16 minutes without seeing anywhere else I could cut without robbing my message of its core. Lucky for me, I found out that YouTube accounts in good standing can apply for a time limit increase which let me keep this version intact.

I hope you enjoy watching this as much as I enjoyed making it. Jesus Christ truly is my Superman. I know that it is only through Him that I can return to my Heavenly home once more. Yes, he expects me to do my part; but without Him I might never get more than ten feet off the ground. And so I again thank my Hero for His endless patience, His matchless mercy, and His infinite goodness in carrying me when I cannot carry myself and for taking me where I cannot take myself. Here is one natural man who knows that he needs saving and hopes that He can be worthy of that saving but ultimately knows that nothing he can do will ever be able to earn or serve as repayment for that amazing act of grace. How sweet the sound!

Of You it is Required

This is the country: The United States of America. It’s a country of crime. Nearly three hundred and twelve million people live here. Eighteen percent of them are between the ages of five and sixteen. Sometimes one of these children is hurt and offended. That’s when I go to work. I carry a grudge.

My name is Laudie—I’m not a cop. The stories you are about to hear are true. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

October 3, 1986, Blue Springs, Missouri – Marcus O’Mally, otherwise known as “The Totter Trotter”, struck again at the local school playground. His unwitting victim? Little Michael Laudie, a newcomer onto the playground scene. Adolescent eyewitnesses, who had already taken turns being conned by the Totter Trot, anxiously stood by watching as little Michael climbed aboard the teeter-totter opposite The Trotter. Michael pushed high, The Trotter went low. The Trotter held low for a moment before his infamous Trot. Michael came crashing down on that wooden seat and the iron bar underneath. As the other children snickered, Michael rubbed his bruised tailbone and ran off in shame. The Trotter has yet to be brought into custody where it is anticipated that he will repay his debt to the kindergarten society.

November 3, 1987, Olathe, Kansas – After 10 minutes of wrongful incarceration along “The Wall” during 2nd recess, Michael Laudie, 1st grade, Mrs. Young’s class, tearfully asserted once more his innocence in the incident at the spiral slide. Miss Wilhelm, the head of the Black Bob playground police, provided the following statement: “We are deeply troubled by today’s misunderstanding at the slide. We pride ourselves with our impartial execution of justice in maintaining peace and order during recess. Our attendant on duty witnessed a skirmish on the slide stairs, approximately 10 steps up. To her, it appeared that Michael, in an attempt to cut in line, was elbowing past Andrew Chipman. A whistle was blown, the punishment was carried out, and Michael, a first-time offender, was sentenced to spend the duration of recess at The Wall. The boy was mortified with shame and refused to speak with anyone about the incident. A classmate, who wishes to remain anonymous, blew the whistle on the other boy, who as it turns out had been the one guilty of the line-cutting. Incidentally, Andrew had scaled the outer side of the staircase, passing 3 other protesting children, including the eventual whistleblower, and hopped over the railing in front of the wrongly accused boy, who attempted to defend his position in line with an elbow or two. Though we are upset about today’s wrongful incarceration, we will continue to prosecute playground misconduct and uphold a standard of order fitting of our recreational facilities.” Independent reporters have confirmed that Michael and Andrew were friends prior to the slide squabble. Eyewitnesses report seeing Michael tearfully remove a friendship bracelet from his wrist as he returned to the classroom following recess.

February 15, 1989, Olathe, Kansas – Ms. Higgins, 3rd grade, filed an inquiry today with the Briarwood administration regarding a lunchroom incident involving two of her students, including Michael, who reportedly failed to observe the mandatory quiet time after eating lunch, prior to lining up for recess. Excessive lunchtime rowdiness and other infractions such as this, when the lunchroom lights are dimmed and children are required to silently put their heads down on folded arms, are punished by sending the offender to the “Quiet Table” where the child will be isolated from all other students and inmates for both the remainder of lunch and the following recess break. The offender is required to return to the Quiet Table the following day to complete his or her sentence. Where there are several regulars at the Quiet Table, Michael was a first-time visitor who pulled up his jacket hood in shame so that none of his peers would recognize him. Ms. Higgins’ inquiry provided further details that were unnoticed by the lunchroom attendant on duty who had caught the boy frantically whispering to another boy sitting across from him. Higgins claims that the other boy, Jason Whistler, also one of her students, had goaded Michael out of silence by stealing his lunch box when the lights were dimmed and taunting Michael with the stolen goods. Michael purportedly demanded it back through upset whispers and was caught “red lipped” in the act. Higgens’ petition does not propose any punitive action against Whistler but requests relief for the shamed boy who, she feels, does not need to spend a second day at the Quiet Table. Her petition notes that these boys are close friends who associate with each other both in and out of the classroom, and she fears that this friendship may be damaged by today’s misunderstanding. She hopes that a reduced sentence might help to preserve the relationship. The principal, who will have the ultimate privilege of granting a stay of the sentence should the appeal fail, was unavailable for comment.

July 10, 2002, Provo, UT – An adult, male truck driver, age 42, who was driving south on University Avenue near Lavell Edwards Stadium…

**********

Actually, we better stop now before I share too many of these experiences and lose my resolve to do what I’m about to do. My name is Laudie… As I said before, I carry a grudge. The stories you’ve just heard are true. And, though the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, I have not forgotten the real names of those individuals. And, until now, I’ve refused to let go of those names and the slighted feelings and grudges I’ve harbored against them for upwards of twenty-five years.

Though I’ve only shared three stories, I could have continued to finish a 4th, and a 5th, and probably many others. These cases are not “unsolved mysteries”, but rather are “unresolved mysteries”. For years, I’ve hung onto these memories. But today I find myself asking, why? If I were to run into one of these boys from my distant past tomorrow, what would I say? I have not thought on these memories every day since thy occurred, but I’ve thought on them enough to remember names, places, and other details. I’ve used these memories to illustrate, though in jest, my long memory and my begrudging vindictiveness to others when reminiscing about the past. But, again I ask myself, why? If these mysteries are “unresolved”, what resolution do I hope for? Though I bear a few small emotional scars, no lasting damage was done. The shame I felt was not lasting. Those experiences did not define or shape me for the worse. So why hang on?

I’d like to believe that I’m not the only man in history who has ever held onto a petty grudge or felt victimized when no heart-felt offense was truly intended. In fact, I have it on pretty good scriptural authority that I’m not the only one. That is, unless the Lord saw fit to inspire countless verses of holy writ related to the doctrine of forgiveness solely for my benefit. I guess I’m also pretty good at teaching the principle of forgiveness to others by giving plenty of cause for it, so perhaps these scriptures were inspired primarily thanks to me after all.

In our dispensation, Christ gave us a glimpse into the sufferings he endured for us as a part of His atoning sacrifice, “…how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, how hard to bear you know not. For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent. But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I; which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit – and would that I might not drink the bitter cup…” During his mortal ministry, Christ gave a powerful sermon from a mount where he taught, “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.” In that same sermon, Christ provided an example of prayer with the following, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”

Can you see the pattern in these three gems? In effect, Christ is teaching us the Law of the Harvest as it applies to His Atonement. We sow what we reap… or we grow what we plant. Plant an apple seed and grow an apple tree. Sow lettuce plants and reap salad. Show mercy and be shown mercy. Forgive others and be forgiven of God. Repent of your sins and have them removed… or don’t repent and suffer as Christ suffered.

The principle is simple. You might say it’s “golden”. Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you… or more importantly: do unto others as you’d have Christ do unto you. Now contrast that with Christ’s parable of a servant who was forgiven his debt of 10,000 talents but turned around and had another man thrown into debtors’ prison for failing to repay a loan of 100 pence to this forgiven debtor. Now I don’t know the monetary relationship between one talent and one pence, but whether the two sums might relate as $10,000 to $1 or $10,000 to $100, the hypocrisy remains and Christ’s teaching is clear. If we wish to be forgiven, we must be willing to forgive others.

Now this parable implies a conditional relationship between our willingness to forgive others and Christ’s promise to forgive us. However, Christ made our obligation with respect to forgiving others a little more clear in both ancient scripture and modern revelation. In response to Peter’s question Christ replied that we should forgive our brothers till seventy times seven times. In another one of my Sermons of the Heart, I explored scriptural symbols including numbers and found that the number seven represented perfection or completeness. So Christ’s answer implies that we must completely forgive our brothers their trespasses against us each and every time we find ourselves the victim of injustice or any other form of sin. To this end, Christ directed through the prophet Joseph Smith, “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” In other words, the conditional aspect of forgiveness remains with Christ in regards to our trespasses against Him. We, however, are commanded and required to forgive all men.

I’ll be honest. There are times where that just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t I be able to take some time before being willing to forgive someone who has greatly wronged me? Even more so than the playground and lunchroom bullies of my past? Eventually I will need to become more like Christ and forgive all men their trespasses against me, but that should be between them and me, right? And shouldn’t they have to earn my forgiveness rather than have it freely given without any merit because of Christ’s command to me?

According to Christ? No. And according to many saints living today and in the past who are much more Christ like than me? No. Take for example a humble and devout group of Amish men and women whose community was ravaged by a violent unprovoked shooting of 10 schoolgirls. The gunman, a quiet milkman who had suddenly lost all reason and control, took his own life in the act. Rather than harboring bitterness toward God or toward the man who had violated their peaceful lives, these humble men and women rallied to the family of the milkman. Not only did this people extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love to this family, but over half of the mourners at the shooter’s funeral were Amish and the milkman’s family in turn was invited to the funeral services of the victimized girls. One of the Amish mourners said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” The family of the milkman, in response, said the following, "To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community: Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you've extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.”

Take for another example a 44-year old woman who was more interested in salvaging the life of her 19-year-old assailant than in seeking revenge. This young aggressor, along with his buddies, had stolen a credit card for entertainment one evening, purchased a frozen turkey, and thrown the 20-pound fowl from a speeding car into the windshield of an oncoming car. The victim underwent hours of surgery to reconstruct her face and still faced years of ongoing therapy before fully recovering from the senseless act. The woman’s response? She pestered prosecutors for information about the boy and his background. She insisted that the boy be offered a plea deal, turning a probable 25 year prison sentence into 6 months and several years probation allowing the boy the prospect of a real and reformed future. In the courtroom, tears and a heartfelt hug were exchanged between the victim and the accused. The woman was heard to say, “It’s OK. I just want you to make your life the best it can be.”

This brings to mind and to heart the Christ like mercy and kindness shown by a man of God to a dirty thief and fugitive in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. After being caught with stolen candlesticks and promptly being forgiven and gifted the valuable goods, the escaped prisoner asks, “Why are you doing this?” The priest answers, “Jean Valjean my brother you no longer belong to evil. With this silver, I have bought your soul. I've ransomed you from fear and hatred, and now I give you back to God.”

What is the power of forgiveness in the lives of those that stand accused? And what is the power of forgiveness in the life of him who would accuse? I recently heard that forgiveness is choosing to not hold something against someone to their detriment. In other words, forgiveness enables the victim to let go of any feelings of bitterness or need for vengeance. This does not mean that justice is not sought. Justice is a necessary eternal principle, as is mercy. The victim, however, chooses to leave the question of justice or mercy in the hands of the judge. Our Eternal Judge will forgive whom He will forgive. We are simply asked to forgive and leave the eternal forgiving to Him. And what freedom can we, as a forgiver, feel when we unload our backpacks of those heavy rocks, those grudges and bitter feelings? What freedom can we, as one forgiven, feel when Christ unloads our backpacks of those sins and misdeeds that require His loving forgiveness?

I believe that there are those who would follow Christ’s counsel and injunction regarding forgiveness who often confuse forgiveness and trust. Forgiving another is not the same as restoring trust in another.

Take a simple scenario for example: A neighbor is asked to babysit my child. The neighbor is distracted by a television program. My son wanders off and gets lost outside. The neighborhood searches for my boy for some time before finding him. My wife is shaken up by the whole incident. I choose not to press charges or file a report. I hug my neighbor and assure her that she is completely forgiven. I also choose to not employ her services as a babysitter anymore. She is confused. But you forgave me! Why won’t you let me babysit your child again?

The reason? This neighbor has not regained my trust. She does not have to earn my forgiveness. I chose to no longer harbor any bitterness or hostility toward her for her negligence. But I did not forget her negligence. I remember this and don’t trust her with my child. She may regain my trust in the future, but she will have to earn this. And my lack of trust in her does not make me any less Christ like.

In my case, I can choose to not get on the teeter-totter with the Trotter again. I can choose to sit by someone else at lunch who might not take my lunchbox. But I can still be friends with those boys by letting go of the bitterness, the need for retaliation or justice, and the feelings of victimization. The oft-used expression forgive and forget carries both truth and fallacy. In forgiving and letting go, we forget these feelings of bitterness. But we don’t have to forget the lessons learned that might enable us to create boundaries, protecting us and our families from future hurt until trust is restored. These boundaries should not be walls distancing ourselves from those we’ve “forgiven”. But healthy boundaries are those guidelines and standards we employ to allow us to maintain friendships and associations with those we’ve forgiven while creating an environment where trust can be fostered once more.

The Lord, however, will truly forget our trespasses against Him. We may need to regain His trust. But His perfect forgiveness carries the promise that “he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.” Where Christ may forget our misdeeds, we, for good cause, do not always forget them. We remember the pain we have caused Christ, those we’ve hurt, and our very own selves so that we can strive to not repeat our misdeeds.

But where forgiveness does not require forgetting, where forgiveness does not require future trust, forgiveness does require letting go, not holding anything against anyone to their detriment, and not dredging up past sins at some future point when being victimized again.

Forgiveness is a language of love. It is the language of Christ. Some argue that Mandarin Chinese, Finish, Navajo, Russian, and many others are among the most difficult languages of this world to learn. I learned to speak and write Estonian. And it was difficult. But the language of forgiveness is both the most difficult and the easiest to learn of all languages. I’m not close to being fluent. But they say the best way to learn a language is to open up your mouth and speak it.

And so, to Marcus, to Andrew, to Jason, and to many other name-changed, not-so-innocent brothers and sisters from my past with whom I carry grudges today, no matter how petty or small, I want to say that I’m ready to hand in my badge and retire from the force. I have learned from my past. I will continue to learn from my experiences, both positive and negative. But I will let go of grudges and be more forgiving, more like my elder brother. I love you. I hope the best for you both in this life and in the next. Just don’t ask me to sit on a teeter-totter with you unless you really want to ride.

My name is Laudie – I’m a son of God and a striving exemplar of my Savior. I no longer carry a grudge.