This afternoon I came home on time. Stacey was teaching Alexia piano and Isabelle met me on her scooter as soon as I pulled in. She was with the neighbor girl, Chloe Stroup, whom you would SWEAR is her sister. Well my girl, the subject of this particular post, is six. She has black hair, eyes so dark you loose the edges of her pupils and a big, beautiful, albeit measured smile.
Isabelle is special to me. Of course all my children are special. But Isabelle, as number three in sequence, stole my heart early on. I think this stems from the fact that with Josh and Lexi I was just plain busting my hump trying to keep it all together. I missed the first year of Josh's life shuttling him to and from day-care, driving an hour to and from work each day as bookends to an already ten-hour day. Couple that with the fact that we started my dad's cabin around the time he was born, and we were busy little beavers to say the least. Anyhow, I think during Josh's first year and half, and the birth of Lexi, building my dad's cabin three weekends out of four and coming to bed exhausted, I missed out on a great deal of what I just assumed was non-functional baby time. I think I was waiting for Josh to, "Get Big" so I could take him for rides in the truck, take him camping, do all the things that dads want to do with boys, that babies just...dont do. Well, Lexi came along so unexpectedly, that we then had two of them, 18 months apart and the cycle again repeated.
We found out we were expecting Isabelle when I was in my Officer Basic Course in Fort Leonardwood, Missouri. It was a four month long course and when I received the news from Stacey over the phone I was pretty exited, but wondering how we were ever going to do it with three. I think something happened that day to me. I was sitting in the Officer's Club, swilling down Diet Cokes while my boys were emptying pitchers, singing Karaoke and playing darts. Of course I bought them all a round and I again resumed my post as one of five or six, "Old Men" at around 30.
Most of the kids in my Basic Course were recently commissioned Active-Duty types and were maybe 22 on average. There were about fifteen of us "Guard Guys" who were on average five to seven years older than them. In fact I distinctly remember one afternoon we were headed to some event, and I went to pick up Heath Abraham and Josh Grey. Both awesome dudes from South Dakota. So, I'm waiting for them at the bottom of their building, and Heath actually says to me, "Wow, Jon you're....dressed..like a dad." To which I replied, "Abe, I...AM a dad." It really struck me how mentally different we were though just a few years apart. He was living the dream, a young stallion in his prime, and I was...well, OBVIOUSLY at thirty way too damned old to do anything of any real significance at my advancing age and declining stature.
Where were we? Oh, the subject of my beautiful daughter. Well of course I returned home, finished a couple of rooms in the basement (we lived in a little 2 bedroom home we had purchased new in Tooele, Utah) and prepared for her arrival. From the moment she was born I vowed to always appreciate EVERY second with her. By that time Josh almost four, Lexi was three and they were burning up the bearings of tricycles and driving their mom insane while I worked as much as I could to get the hours I needed. So, Isabelle, for whatever reason...well she was enjoyed from day one. I think because I really didnt take it for granted. She's been a joy to me since the day she was born I have tried to openly enjoy every second. I spanked her a lot less than the others, I had more patience with her, and yet, she's the most defiant of them all. See, Isabelle, whom I really had intended on naming, "Maria Isabella" is every bit the latina stereotype. She's passionate, she's willed, she's intelligent, and she's sensitive but guarded.
My little girl has a smile that will melt your heart. She has incredible stunning exotic looks and I fear for the safety of any young man that dares take advantage of her. Dont get me wrong, Lexi is a gorgeous girl. Lexi is the classic, all-American beauty. But Isabelle, is going to be heart-stopping jaw-dropping gorgeous. She has attitude, but she's introverted until she knows someone has her best interests at heart. She's easily hurt emotionally, but extremely resilient. The other day she went to a party. I would say it's in excess of three weeks ago. She had a run-in with a little girl who was giving her dirty looks. She never said a word to us, but in a quiet moment with Stacey asked her quiet way what "this" means *pulling the same face* obviously she had been reviewing this moment over and over for weeks in her mind and never said a word. She processes things behind those dark eyes that you never have a clue are going on.
Well, my little girl is of course beautiful, intelligent beyond measure, tiny, but never intimidated. She's a wonderful girl. She loves her mommy and daddy.
I guess why I'm telling you this is so you know how much I care about her. How you unique she is. How much flavor and spice she adds to our family. I think most people refer to Isabelle as, "Mini Jon". But she's so much more than a look-a-like to me. She really represents to me the first time I took my role as a father and husband in with gusto. I loved being a dad for Josh and Lexi. But after our separation for Officer Basic, and the impending deployment I knew that ever second counted. Every minute needed to be seeped in appreciation.
I love all my kids. All four of them now. You know of course we're expecting our fifth. I used to wonder if I had the capacity, the time, the mental deftness to deal with that many kids and give them all the love, time and affection that children deserve. It's not easy. Each child presents their own issues, their own internal fears and worries. They each have talents that the others are jealous of. They each secretly think we love the other more. Guess what? Whenever I get the chance, I tell them each individually they are my favorite. You know what else? I'm not lying either. Each child, each gift from our Heavenly Father, brings such joy into our hearts. Josh is my hunter. He's nervous, he's intelligent, he loves the outdoors and he's unaware of his laten brillance. Alexia is smart, funny, quick witted, but has challenges when she's tired. Isabelle sits back and watches it all unfold, and quietly does what we ask. She's insanely passionate, and will love you like a tornado if you just love her back. Finally (to date) Olivia is hell on wheels at 19 months.
I am so thankful of course for all my children. For their beautiful mother who has blessed me with the opportunity to share them in our home. I'm humbled by the outpouring of love involved in trusting us with them from our Heavenly Father. I'm thankful for the daily gifts they extend to us in opportunities to learn what it truly means to become Godly parents. they are my entire reason for living. They are everything to me. What I learned this last year however is even more important; their beautiful mother, my Eternal Companion and friend, trumps them all.
Well I just wanted to take a moment while it was less-than-quiet in our home and share with you a little about my girl. Really about all my kids, but to help round-out the picture of what I feel it is to truly be blessed. Homes come and go. Cars rust and friends move away. But these memories and these children will only be here so long. I love them so very much. My desire is that some day my little girl, now grown, will read these words and know I loved her with all my heart. She was my favorite, just as her brother and sisters were as well. She means so much to me and I'm proud that she still calls me "Papa Bear".
Well I better go now, so much to do, and so little quality time.
You kids have a great night.
See you there,
Jon
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
A Day with Lexi
So I've not written in a while. Yesterday I had one of those days you know? It started out sucky, got a little suckier, ended up happy and then Phase IV happened which is really not part and parcel to what I wish to convey here.
So on or around Wednesday, I got a phone call from Lexi my nine year old daughter from up at 7200 feet with her Grandpa Bill and a burried snowmobile. Lexi was of course concerned and after I surmised they were within easy walk of Grandpa's cabin I told her that I could come up either Thursday or Friday to help them get it out. Anyhow, Friday rolled around, and after I'd purchased a couple of spark plugs and some "Heat" gas-line water remover I headed up.
Well I got to the end of the turn-off to Grandpa Bill's cabin. It's about a mile and 3/4 into the cabin and another 800 yards or so on to where the machine was buried off the side hill. Well I suited up, donned my snowshoes, which I've used ONCE in 7 years (for good reason) and moved in. Some guy came along on a snowmachine and took pity and delivered me to the incident site.
Well about that same time, I commenced quite unsuccessfully to start the machine. Blah Blah Blah, yada yada yada, it didnt start. So, dad talked the Geriatric up the hill into charging us $20USD to fire up his machine and pull us out and the 1/4 mile back to the cabin. So, I was a little disturbed that this guy figured his tracked vehicle was buring 1/2 gallon of gas ever six minutes, but whatever. You know, it's worth the segue to report my dad had always taught me to help someone out just out of sheer possibility that those roles will be reversed some day and you'd want them to do the same for you. In fact, that is so deeply embedded that a few years back, maybe 9 or so, in the same area Troy Hall (Salazar) and I found a really expensive foreign make rifle. After considerable effort we located the owner and delivered it back to him. He offered a reward to which I could only reply, "No, if it was my rifle, I'd want someone to do the right thing and give it back to me." Come to find out later that this particular rifle, a "Sitka" .223 left-handed match-grade rifle with a laminated thumb-hole stock and a variable 3x39 Leopold scope was probably in excess of a $6,000 rifle. But I felt good about it, because it was a left-handed rifle and I just plain refuse to shoot left-handed. ;) I'm kidding, I just knew it was the right thing. So, I digress. Anyhow, this old beggar makes arrangements for dad to mail him $20 bucks for $3.00 in gas. In my mind the guy went down a few notches in my columnar mental pad.
Anyhow. So that afternoon, we tried again unsuccessfully to fire-up the machine and finally ended up having breakfast-lunch and playing "Craps" with my kids in Grandpa's cabin using an amalgamation of Connect Four tokens, poker chips, and Backgammon wooden pellet thingies. Anyhow, we all laughed and had a great time, though I'm quite worried that my children had actually been playing craps for the previous four days and were down-right good at it. At one point I had two black Connect Fours and Josh had a pile of pennies, quarters, Connect Fours and Backgammons. As well as Lexi whom doesnt play smart but has fits of intermittent gambling genius coupled with boughts of buyer's remorse at over-extention of one's backgammon standings.
So. At that point, we pulled chocks, and suited up. Winterized the cabin again and then beat feet, (quite literally) to the truck in snowshoes. A good time, was indeed had by all.
Where were we? Oh, at that point we parcelled out into vehicles, Josh with Gramps, Lex with me. We visited our little five-acre 300x600' slice of Heaven in Fruitland and headed back.
Well, here's where it gets good. Lexi and I, (once the radio again kicked on at the bottom of Provo Canyon) listened to my classic country station. I just want to tell you. One-on-one, Lexi is the most complimentary, kind, most wonderful kid to be with. That girl showered me with compliments as to my aesthetics, the sound of my voice, and just plain made me feel like the king of the world driving that little Toyota P.O.S. Pickup. We sang together all the way home. I even taught her how to stare down jerks that change lanes impatiently and even some select colorful phrases I'd learned from my very own pappy. Anyhow, I just had a wonderful time with Lexi. The song that comes to mind most is, "You Should have Seeen it In Color". Which, as it turns out, really reminded me of my Grandpa Kenworthy I wrote about last time. She kept asking me to sing, which I really couldnt because if I did I might break down. There are some songs I love to sing along with, and a few, very select others that are so incredible to me, that I just let the artist do their thing, because if I tried to keep up, I would just plain ruin it.
I was thinking on that drive home. About life. About, what talents and tendencies I've been given (or strapped with depending on your angle). I really feel like I've been given an in-depth capacity for soaking in emotions sympathetically. I can really identify with some of the less-than-common emotions that bombard us. I've had a doosey of a year to say the least. But what's plagued me the most is really, "What's this all for?" I like to ask the hard, in-depth soul searching questions, because I really want to know. "Lord, what's this all for? Why do these things affect me? What is the lesson I'm supposed to get from this? Why must I feel compelled to know more than the surface answers? How does this all inter-relate? Why am I the way I am? Should I shut these thoughts out? Or are they blessings given to me from you that help me understand your infinite capacity to love me?" I have all these thoughts roll around and around in my head. I wonder sometimes, "Why can't I just be like everyone else? Certainly there is some reason why I have this clarity of thought. There must be some reason why I see patterns out of chaos. There must be some venue for this empathy I've been 'cursed' with?" You know, I'm not entirely sure if you even get what I'm talking about. Have you ever felt like you have some special talents? I've actually found I do, but they are very sacred to me. So much so, that to list them here would fly in the face of the true purpose of what they're really for.
I guess over this past year, I've learned so very much. But most of all, I've confirmed what I'd always imagined. That these talents, these aspirations, these vistas that open to me...well they need to be used for good. There can be no personal vendettas. There can be no side-ways effort to make money or capitalize emotionally, financially or personally in any way for them. I believe one of my talents is true empathy. To really be able to hear what someone's saying, without them saying it. I can see from a thousand yards away, someone hurting. Someone in need. But I can also see malintent and maliciousness from others. I think I'm finally learning what to do with what once seemed to be a curse. I'm going to use them only for good. Only to help, and never to self-promote or capitalize.
My daughter Lexi, whom I alluded to earlier, well she has these same talents. I recognize them in her. That little girl will put herself out there so freely. So trusting, so openly. Then she's shocked when she's taken advantage of. She's so very beautiful to me. I worry about her. I pray that she will find that same peace and without becoming calloused, use her own similar, and quite frankly, brighter talents to bless others.
My hope for you today, is that you recognize these same talents in yourself. That instead of hiding your talents, that you will, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."-MATT 5:16. Please dont allow past hurts, prsonal insecurities, or worse, fear of being judged keep you from using those talents. You have the capacity to bless others immeasurably. You cannot possibly fathom how your honest and sincere helping-hand might lift another. How it may bouy their spirits, give them hope and the faith requisite to truly be themselves. These talents have a funny way of compounding on each other. What comes to mind for me, is the parable of the talents found in Matthew:
14 For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods.
15 And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.
16 Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents.
17 And likewise he that had received two, he also gained other two.
18 But he that had received one went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money.
19 After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them.
20 And so he that had received five talents came and brought other five talents, saying, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I have gained beside them five talents more.
21 His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
22 He also that had received two talents came and said, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents beside them.
23 His lord said unto him, Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
Of course the parable goes on, and there is a slothful servant who buries his own talent, to keep it safe. My hope for you today, is that you will recognize your own opportunities. That you will see them for what they are, a belief in you as a Heavenly Son or Daughter of an Eternal Father whom loves you. So much so that he would entrust you with talents and abilities which far exceed your own base understanding. I hope you use those talents to bless others. I hope you do those things without remorse, and without exception. I want you to use those things you've been given for good, clean and honest dealings with others. If you're reading this I truly consider you a friend. I hope you understand the intent of my heart. That you feel the compassion of our Heavenly Father who's entrusted us with so much opportunity that we take it for granted.
Do not take it for granted. Use them ever so wisely. Share them with your neighbor. Do not continue to hide them from the world.
Well I have to close for now. Family time and I'm slowing up progress. You guys all have a wonderful day. Continue pressing forward, ever mindful of a greater plan and purpose.
I'll catch you later, but for now, adios.
See ya again real soon,
Jon
So on or around Wednesday, I got a phone call from Lexi my nine year old daughter from up at 7200 feet with her Grandpa Bill and a burried snowmobile. Lexi was of course concerned and after I surmised they were within easy walk of Grandpa's cabin I told her that I could come up either Thursday or Friday to help them get it out. Anyhow, Friday rolled around, and after I'd purchased a couple of spark plugs and some "Heat" gas-line water remover I headed up.
Well I got to the end of the turn-off to Grandpa Bill's cabin. It's about a mile and 3/4 into the cabin and another 800 yards or so on to where the machine was buried off the side hill. Well I suited up, donned my snowshoes, which I've used ONCE in 7 years (for good reason) and moved in. Some guy came along on a snowmachine and took pity and delivered me to the incident site.
Well about that same time, I commenced quite unsuccessfully to start the machine. Blah Blah Blah, yada yada yada, it didnt start. So, dad talked the Geriatric up the hill into charging us $20USD to fire up his machine and pull us out and the 1/4 mile back to the cabin. So, I was a little disturbed that this guy figured his tracked vehicle was buring 1/2 gallon of gas ever six minutes, but whatever. You know, it's worth the segue to report my dad had always taught me to help someone out just out of sheer possibility that those roles will be reversed some day and you'd want them to do the same for you. In fact, that is so deeply embedded that a few years back, maybe 9 or so, in the same area Troy Hall (Salazar) and I found a really expensive foreign make rifle. After considerable effort we located the owner and delivered it back to him. He offered a reward to which I could only reply, "No, if it was my rifle, I'd want someone to do the right thing and give it back to me." Come to find out later that this particular rifle, a "Sitka" .223 left-handed match-grade rifle with a laminated thumb-hole stock and a variable 3x39 Leopold scope was probably in excess of a $6,000 rifle. But I felt good about it, because it was a left-handed rifle and I just plain refuse to shoot left-handed. ;) I'm kidding, I just knew it was the right thing. So, I digress. Anyhow, this old beggar makes arrangements for dad to mail him $20 bucks for $3.00 in gas. In my mind the guy went down a few notches in my columnar mental pad.
Anyhow. So that afternoon, we tried again unsuccessfully to fire-up the machine and finally ended up having breakfast-lunch and playing "Craps" with my kids in Grandpa's cabin using an amalgamation of Connect Four tokens, poker chips, and Backgammon wooden pellet thingies. Anyhow, we all laughed and had a great time, though I'm quite worried that my children had actually been playing craps for the previous four days and were down-right good at it. At one point I had two black Connect Fours and Josh had a pile of pennies, quarters, Connect Fours and Backgammons. As well as Lexi whom doesnt play smart but has fits of intermittent gambling genius coupled with boughts of buyer's remorse at over-extention of one's backgammon standings.
So. At that point, we pulled chocks, and suited up. Winterized the cabin again and then beat feet, (quite literally) to the truck in snowshoes. A good time, was indeed had by all.
Where were we? Oh, at that point we parcelled out into vehicles, Josh with Gramps, Lex with me. We visited our little five-acre 300x600' slice of Heaven in Fruitland and headed back.
Well, here's where it gets good. Lexi and I, (once the radio again kicked on at the bottom of Provo Canyon) listened to my classic country station. I just want to tell you. One-on-one, Lexi is the most complimentary, kind, most wonderful kid to be with. That girl showered me with compliments as to my aesthetics, the sound of my voice, and just plain made me feel like the king of the world driving that little Toyota P.O.S. Pickup. We sang together all the way home. I even taught her how to stare down jerks that change lanes impatiently and even some select colorful phrases I'd learned from my very own pappy. Anyhow, I just had a wonderful time with Lexi. The song that comes to mind most is, "You Should have Seeen it In Color". Which, as it turns out, really reminded me of my Grandpa Kenworthy I wrote about last time. She kept asking me to sing, which I really couldnt because if I did I might break down. There are some songs I love to sing along with, and a few, very select others that are so incredible to me, that I just let the artist do their thing, because if I tried to keep up, I would just plain ruin it.
I was thinking on that drive home. About life. About, what talents and tendencies I've been given (or strapped with depending on your angle). I really feel like I've been given an in-depth capacity for soaking in emotions sympathetically. I can really identify with some of the less-than-common emotions that bombard us. I've had a doosey of a year to say the least. But what's plagued me the most is really, "What's this all for?" I like to ask the hard, in-depth soul searching questions, because I really want to know. "Lord, what's this all for? Why do these things affect me? What is the lesson I'm supposed to get from this? Why must I feel compelled to know more than the surface answers? How does this all inter-relate? Why am I the way I am? Should I shut these thoughts out? Or are they blessings given to me from you that help me understand your infinite capacity to love me?" I have all these thoughts roll around and around in my head. I wonder sometimes, "Why can't I just be like everyone else? Certainly there is some reason why I have this clarity of thought. There must be some reason why I see patterns out of chaos. There must be some venue for this empathy I've been 'cursed' with?" You know, I'm not entirely sure if you even get what I'm talking about. Have you ever felt like you have some special talents? I've actually found I do, but they are very sacred to me. So much so, that to list them here would fly in the face of the true purpose of what they're really for.
I guess over this past year, I've learned so very much. But most of all, I've confirmed what I'd always imagined. That these talents, these aspirations, these vistas that open to me...well they need to be used for good. There can be no personal vendettas. There can be no side-ways effort to make money or capitalize emotionally, financially or personally in any way for them. I believe one of my talents is true empathy. To really be able to hear what someone's saying, without them saying it. I can see from a thousand yards away, someone hurting. Someone in need. But I can also see malintent and maliciousness from others. I think I'm finally learning what to do with what once seemed to be a curse. I'm going to use them only for good. Only to help, and never to self-promote or capitalize.
My daughter Lexi, whom I alluded to earlier, well she has these same talents. I recognize them in her. That little girl will put herself out there so freely. So trusting, so openly. Then she's shocked when she's taken advantage of. She's so very beautiful to me. I worry about her. I pray that she will find that same peace and without becoming calloused, use her own similar, and quite frankly, brighter talents to bless others.
My hope for you today, is that you recognize these same talents in yourself. That instead of hiding your talents, that you will, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."-MATT 5:16. Please dont allow past hurts, prsonal insecurities, or worse, fear of being judged keep you from using those talents. You have the capacity to bless others immeasurably. You cannot possibly fathom how your honest and sincere helping-hand might lift another. How it may bouy their spirits, give them hope and the faith requisite to truly be themselves. These talents have a funny way of compounding on each other. What comes to mind for me, is the parable of the talents found in Matthew:
14 For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods.
15 And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.
16 Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents.
17 And likewise he that had received two, he also gained other two.
18 But he that had received one went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money.
19 After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them.
20 And so he that had received five talents came and brought other five talents, saying, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I have gained beside them five talents more.
21 His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
22 He also that had received two talents came and said, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents beside them.
23 His lord said unto him, Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
Of course the parable goes on, and there is a slothful servant who buries his own talent, to keep it safe. My hope for you today, is that you will recognize your own opportunities. That you will see them for what they are, a belief in you as a Heavenly Son or Daughter of an Eternal Father whom loves you. So much so that he would entrust you with talents and abilities which far exceed your own base understanding. I hope you use those talents to bless others. I hope you do those things without remorse, and without exception. I want you to use those things you've been given for good, clean and honest dealings with others. If you're reading this I truly consider you a friend. I hope you understand the intent of my heart. That you feel the compassion of our Heavenly Father who's entrusted us with so much opportunity that we take it for granted.
Do not take it for granted. Use them ever so wisely. Share them with your neighbor. Do not continue to hide them from the world.
Well I have to close for now. Family time and I'm slowing up progress. You guys all have a wonderful day. Continue pressing forward, ever mindful of a greater plan and purpose.
I'll catch you later, but for now, adios.
See ya again real soon,
Jon
Sunday, March 6, 2011
My Grandpa Kenworthy
So today I'd like to tell you about my Grandpa Kenworthy. Today is Sunday, and as I explained to Stacey, the majority of my posts on this blog that are contemplative really come to me on either Friday or Sunday. I think the reason is obvious. I have time off of work. But I think Sundays in particular I have time to reflect and just take it easy.
Well today I had an, "opportunity" to go to drill. Drill for me consists of the same thing I do normally Monday through Thursday, but for an additional two more days of the month. I am a commander of the State Headquarters Unit and I get my fair share of second-guessing and senior-level problems to say the least. Well more often than not, I have day-to-day questions about moving Soldiers and officers, working issues for the unit and then when I have time my actual real-life job that they actually hired me to do. Once in a while, I have an opportunity to sit and counsel with a couple of those good people that keep my faith being renewed in not just the military, but in humanity. One of which was my good friend who has provided well-timed and incredibly insightful advice about life and the pursuit of happiness we've all been promised. The other, was a senior Non Commissioned Officer whom has been having challenges with his father who is now in his mid-eighties. As we talked it brought back memories of my grandfather, William Earl Kenworthy Sr.
My grandfather died in April of 2006. I was serving in Iraq when my grandpa passed. I came home on Emergency Leave and endured a great deal of stress during a marathon three-day trip. Time has a way of slowing down when you cant get where you want to be. Of course my concerns as I left Baghdad were that I would miss the funeral entirely and the opportunity to really grieve him in his passing. My brother passed away as I have written in an earlier post, and I dont feel I really took the opportunity while everyone else did to say goodbye properly. Well I finally left BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) and flew into Bahrain. Which, if you've never been a Soldier traveling alone through a Muslim Neighborhood under duress and just coming out of a war-zone it can be as you can imagine, stressful.
I left Bahrain, after witnessing quarreling at the front desk of the airline and wondering if these folks could just shut up long enough to get my little ticket and get the hell out of Dodge. Well, I made it out of Bahrain, flew into Scottland, and I think I stopped in Amsterdam, or maybe Greece and made a sixty dollar 4 minute phone call to Stacey, and then jetted to the U.S.
I made it in time, and Stacey and I spent a couple of days together and then made the trip down to Saint George from Riverton to attend the funeral. Well before I left, my grandmother via my father had asked me to give the eulogy. I thought this was a little out of place and to be honest, when I saw the funeral program I was really feeling very self-concious at how many times, "1LT Jonathan E. Kenworthy, Grandson" appeared on it. I'll be perectly honest here, I felt like the fact that I had come from Iraq was simply over-publicized, and I felt embarassed that such a big deal was made about my arrival. My cousins and my brother, as well as everyone else that traveled to be in attendence were there as well and if I had it to do over again, I dont think I'd wear my Class A's, because it only added to the spector and detracted I felt from the real reason we were there, to honor my granddad.
I will say that I thought the send-off for my grandpa Earl really was fitting. He had former fire-fighters, neighbors, home-teachers, family friends and even a childhood friend come from parts unknown to pay tribute to his humble life. Wait, it gets better from here, I promise.
I got up to give the beginnings of the eulogy. Long since somewhere over the Atlantic I realized how woefully inadequate my efforts where going to be. So instead of trying to give the perfect rendition of his life story befitting the entire strata of his existence, I decided instead to focus on the man I knew.
I am not going to regurgetate the exact words I'd used, but I want at this point to capture what I really felt about him, now five years later. First of all, my grandpa was kind. He was so unbelievably kind. He was around 6'2" and had sideburns and dark hair, normally in a flat-top 1960's style the most of his life. He had a salt and pepper mustache and was thin, but wiry. My grandpa was contemplative, intelligent, if not under-educated by worldly standards, he was a giant when it came to loving a family, providing for them and doing exactly what the Lord expected a man to do. Even now as I begin to write, my eyes are filled with tears at how much I really miss him. I loved him so very much.
My grandpa was soft-spoken but insightful. He would have discussions with you, and never criticize your thoughts, but instead add his own life experience and validate whatever good parts you were covering. I dont know that I ever once heard him say something bad about someone, though he was passionate about responsibilities and duty. My grandpa had a cough for over forty years and carried a little plastic spitoon throughout the house and in all his vehicles to catch his frequent boughts of coughing that would result from his years of smoking and construction work. I remember distinctly as a child staying at their home in South Jordan, hearing him cough from the opposite end of the very large house (which he built with his own hands) and thinking he was going to die and wondering how he could possibly breathe.
My grandpa was the father of two. One William Earl Kenworthy Jr. and Dianne Kenworthy. He was a merchant marine during World War II and inspired my father to join the Navy and if you want to know the truth was a huge factor in my election to join the Armed Forces as well. My grandpa loved to garden, had fruit trees, beehives, and was industrius and self-sufficient. I think one of the things that touched me most about his funeral, were the number of people who came up to the pulpit, to describe his willingness to help ANYONE at ANYTIME with whatever they needed. Hanging a door, stripping paint, whatever skills he possessed my grandpa was never ever selfish with.
As I alluded to earlier, my grandpa did not possess a degree. In fact, he dropped out of high school, one semester before graduation, to join the war effort and do his part. He never returned for his diploma, but instead learned to become a carpenter. He attended a vocational school to do so and even opened his own contracting business. I once asked my dad why grandpa still didnt own his own business, to which my dad replied he couldnt compete, because he was a perfectionist. Where good-enough turns profit and perfect leaves your bid too high, grandpa couldnt make much of a go of it. However, from the time my own dad could swing a hammer, my granddad would take him to jobsites, and promise him around $2 a day to work toward his first vehicle. I'll let my dad tell that story someday, however the due-out is really that he taught my father the value of work, which I feel I have gleaned from him as a result.
I said earlier my grandfather was kind beyond comparison. He was not however an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints. He was ordained an Elder, but sometime when my dad was of scouting age, was offended by a well-meaning bishop, over the issue of his smoking and that of being a scout master simultaneously. I will not attempt to validate either position here, but I believe it drove a wedge between my grandparents, their children, and most of the grandchildren as a result. I believe I have always kept that in mind during my short tenure as any particular calling or officer in the local ward. Realizing that your actions as an eclesiastical leader affect generations is the toughest line to walk while still upholding the Lord's expectations.
My grandfather loved the outdoors. He loved elk hunting, fishing, camping and most of all sharing those experiences with his sons, grandsons and anyone else who'd come along. He was a good shot and I will always picture him *choked-up* wearing camo-orange wearing a straight brimmed orange hat, with a little license carrier affixed to the side of the hat. It is my firm belief that when I meet him again, he just might be dressed exactly so, as that's the grandpa I will always remember.
I loved him so dearly. He wasn't just my grandpa, he was a fill-in father for my cousins, he was a husband of one, he was a hard worker, and he was a true example of how a man should love his family.
As I write these things today I am touched. I am anxious to see him again. I know he would be proud of our efforts in our home and with our families. I imagine he would have such a tremendous outpouring of sage advice for us if he were able to do so from beyond this sphere.
I think one of the things I will be most impressed by, is when I went to bless my son Josh. My father could not stand in the circle, and we had just assumed my grandfather would not either. In fact, we had let on tha the wasn't expected to. However, the morning of the blessing, when the Elders were called forward, he stood up and said, "I still hold the Priesthood, and it's my right to help bless my grandson". I almost trembled at his straightforward insistance, and opened a space in the circle. It was at that moment I realized that he absolutely believed in the Gospel of our Savior, but due to the challenges of life, hurt feelings and that of apathy growing into distance, he hadn't ever fully returned. I will always remember his resolute insistance and am honored to know that he felt so strongly that it has strengthened my own testimony as a result.
I miss my grandpa today. It's over-cast outside. It's been drizzling most of the day. I've had to work and make myself focus. As I sit here on the couch and type this today to share it with you, it reminds me of why we are all really here. It reminds me of his kindness. It reminds me of those eternal promises that we all will be resurrected regardless of our choices. That is Christ's promise. That through his own resurrection we will all enjoy that same reward at a minimum. I am not really concerned at this point as to my granddad's station once he is called forth. I believe that all will be known, and that he will, just as we all will, account for his stewarship while here on the Earth. My great hope is that as Stacey and I prepare to return to the Temple together, we can seal my grandma and grandpa by proxy. I believe that my grandfather's long-dormant testimony will be renewed and that he even now waits for those blessings which he did not take advantage of while here in the flesh.
I love my grandpa. I love his example to me, my father, my son. I love the lessons I learned at his hand. I love his shining example of service to others. To his kindness to strangers. I miss him today, but I am fully confident we will see each other again. I think my only hope is now that we again have the opportunity to bait a hook, or enjoy a meadow as the first rays of the sun light the trees. I love him and look forward to that day again in thanks and humble appreciation for the efforts of our Savior.
I hope you have a wonderful day and that, if your grandfather is alive today, you call him just because and make an appointment at nearest opportunity to spend as much time as you can with him.
Have a great day and we'll see you when the mood hits again.
Jon
Well today I had an, "opportunity" to go to drill. Drill for me consists of the same thing I do normally Monday through Thursday, but for an additional two more days of the month. I am a commander of the State Headquarters Unit and I get my fair share of second-guessing and senior-level problems to say the least. Well more often than not, I have day-to-day questions about moving Soldiers and officers, working issues for the unit and then when I have time my actual real-life job that they actually hired me to do. Once in a while, I have an opportunity to sit and counsel with a couple of those good people that keep my faith being renewed in not just the military, but in humanity. One of which was my good friend who has provided well-timed and incredibly insightful advice about life and the pursuit of happiness we've all been promised. The other, was a senior Non Commissioned Officer whom has been having challenges with his father who is now in his mid-eighties. As we talked it brought back memories of my grandfather, William Earl Kenworthy Sr.
My grandfather died in April of 2006. I was serving in Iraq when my grandpa passed. I came home on Emergency Leave and endured a great deal of stress during a marathon three-day trip. Time has a way of slowing down when you cant get where you want to be. Of course my concerns as I left Baghdad were that I would miss the funeral entirely and the opportunity to really grieve him in his passing. My brother passed away as I have written in an earlier post, and I dont feel I really took the opportunity while everyone else did to say goodbye properly. Well I finally left BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) and flew into Bahrain. Which, if you've never been a Soldier traveling alone through a Muslim Neighborhood under duress and just coming out of a war-zone it can be as you can imagine, stressful.
I left Bahrain, after witnessing quarreling at the front desk of the airline and wondering if these folks could just shut up long enough to get my little ticket and get the hell out of Dodge. Well, I made it out of Bahrain, flew into Scottland, and I think I stopped in Amsterdam, or maybe Greece and made a sixty dollar 4 minute phone call to Stacey, and then jetted to the U.S.
I made it in time, and Stacey and I spent a couple of days together and then made the trip down to Saint George from Riverton to attend the funeral. Well before I left, my grandmother via my father had asked me to give the eulogy. I thought this was a little out of place and to be honest, when I saw the funeral program I was really feeling very self-concious at how many times, "1LT Jonathan E. Kenworthy, Grandson" appeared on it. I'll be perectly honest here, I felt like the fact that I had come from Iraq was simply over-publicized, and I felt embarassed that such a big deal was made about my arrival. My cousins and my brother, as well as everyone else that traveled to be in attendence were there as well and if I had it to do over again, I dont think I'd wear my Class A's, because it only added to the spector and detracted I felt from the real reason we were there, to honor my granddad.
I will say that I thought the send-off for my grandpa Earl really was fitting. He had former fire-fighters, neighbors, home-teachers, family friends and even a childhood friend come from parts unknown to pay tribute to his humble life. Wait, it gets better from here, I promise.
I got up to give the beginnings of the eulogy. Long since somewhere over the Atlantic I realized how woefully inadequate my efforts where going to be. So instead of trying to give the perfect rendition of his life story befitting the entire strata of his existence, I decided instead to focus on the man I knew.
I am not going to regurgetate the exact words I'd used, but I want at this point to capture what I really felt about him, now five years later. First of all, my grandpa was kind. He was so unbelievably kind. He was around 6'2" and had sideburns and dark hair, normally in a flat-top 1960's style the most of his life. He had a salt and pepper mustache and was thin, but wiry. My grandpa was contemplative, intelligent, if not under-educated by worldly standards, he was a giant when it came to loving a family, providing for them and doing exactly what the Lord expected a man to do. Even now as I begin to write, my eyes are filled with tears at how much I really miss him. I loved him so very much.
My grandpa was soft-spoken but insightful. He would have discussions with you, and never criticize your thoughts, but instead add his own life experience and validate whatever good parts you were covering. I dont know that I ever once heard him say something bad about someone, though he was passionate about responsibilities and duty. My grandpa had a cough for over forty years and carried a little plastic spitoon throughout the house and in all his vehicles to catch his frequent boughts of coughing that would result from his years of smoking and construction work. I remember distinctly as a child staying at their home in South Jordan, hearing him cough from the opposite end of the very large house (which he built with his own hands) and thinking he was going to die and wondering how he could possibly breathe.
My grandpa was the father of two. One William Earl Kenworthy Jr. and Dianne Kenworthy. He was a merchant marine during World War II and inspired my father to join the Navy and if you want to know the truth was a huge factor in my election to join the Armed Forces as well. My grandpa loved to garden, had fruit trees, beehives, and was industrius and self-sufficient. I think one of the things that touched me most about his funeral, were the number of people who came up to the pulpit, to describe his willingness to help ANYONE at ANYTIME with whatever they needed. Hanging a door, stripping paint, whatever skills he possessed my grandpa was never ever selfish with.
As I alluded to earlier, my grandpa did not possess a degree. In fact, he dropped out of high school, one semester before graduation, to join the war effort and do his part. He never returned for his diploma, but instead learned to become a carpenter. He attended a vocational school to do so and even opened his own contracting business. I once asked my dad why grandpa still didnt own his own business, to which my dad replied he couldnt compete, because he was a perfectionist. Where good-enough turns profit and perfect leaves your bid too high, grandpa couldnt make much of a go of it. However, from the time my own dad could swing a hammer, my granddad would take him to jobsites, and promise him around $2 a day to work toward his first vehicle. I'll let my dad tell that story someday, however the due-out is really that he taught my father the value of work, which I feel I have gleaned from him as a result.
I said earlier my grandfather was kind beyond comparison. He was not however an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints. He was ordained an Elder, but sometime when my dad was of scouting age, was offended by a well-meaning bishop, over the issue of his smoking and that of being a scout master simultaneously. I will not attempt to validate either position here, but I believe it drove a wedge between my grandparents, their children, and most of the grandchildren as a result. I believe I have always kept that in mind during my short tenure as any particular calling or officer in the local ward. Realizing that your actions as an eclesiastical leader affect generations is the toughest line to walk while still upholding the Lord's expectations.
My grandfather loved the outdoors. He loved elk hunting, fishing, camping and most of all sharing those experiences with his sons, grandsons and anyone else who'd come along. He was a good shot and I will always picture him *choked-up* wearing camo-orange wearing a straight brimmed orange hat, with a little license carrier affixed to the side of the hat. It is my firm belief that when I meet him again, he just might be dressed exactly so, as that's the grandpa I will always remember.
I loved him so dearly. He wasn't just my grandpa, he was a fill-in father for my cousins, he was a husband of one, he was a hard worker, and he was a true example of how a man should love his family.
As I write these things today I am touched. I am anxious to see him again. I know he would be proud of our efforts in our home and with our families. I imagine he would have such a tremendous outpouring of sage advice for us if he were able to do so from beyond this sphere.
I think one of the things I will be most impressed by, is when I went to bless my son Josh. My father could not stand in the circle, and we had just assumed my grandfather would not either. In fact, we had let on tha the wasn't expected to. However, the morning of the blessing, when the Elders were called forward, he stood up and said, "I still hold the Priesthood, and it's my right to help bless my grandson". I almost trembled at his straightforward insistance, and opened a space in the circle. It was at that moment I realized that he absolutely believed in the Gospel of our Savior, but due to the challenges of life, hurt feelings and that of apathy growing into distance, he hadn't ever fully returned. I will always remember his resolute insistance and am honored to know that he felt so strongly that it has strengthened my own testimony as a result.
I miss my grandpa today. It's over-cast outside. It's been drizzling most of the day. I've had to work and make myself focus. As I sit here on the couch and type this today to share it with you, it reminds me of why we are all really here. It reminds me of his kindness. It reminds me of those eternal promises that we all will be resurrected regardless of our choices. That is Christ's promise. That through his own resurrection we will all enjoy that same reward at a minimum. I am not really concerned at this point as to my granddad's station once he is called forth. I believe that all will be known, and that he will, just as we all will, account for his stewarship while here on the Earth. My great hope is that as Stacey and I prepare to return to the Temple together, we can seal my grandma and grandpa by proxy. I believe that my grandfather's long-dormant testimony will be renewed and that he even now waits for those blessings which he did not take advantage of while here in the flesh.
I love my grandpa. I love his example to me, my father, my son. I love the lessons I learned at his hand. I love his shining example of service to others. To his kindness to strangers. I miss him today, but I am fully confident we will see each other again. I think my only hope is now that we again have the opportunity to bait a hook, or enjoy a meadow as the first rays of the sun light the trees. I love him and look forward to that day again in thanks and humble appreciation for the efforts of our Savior.
I hope you have a wonderful day and that, if your grandfather is alive today, you call him just because and make an appointment at nearest opportunity to spend as much time as you can with him.
Have a great day and we'll see you when the mood hits again.
Jon
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Words...
You know what I love? Well besides my wife and children (extended family good friends, pasta and medium rare porterhouse steaks, etc.)? I love words. I love the subtle nuances and the contemplative depths and various levels that a gifted writer can evoke in a reader's thoughts. I love comedy for that reason. Good, well thought-out comedic genius just fuels me. But erstwhile what really fuels me, is prose that speaks to the very heart and mind of the reader. I love finding the ability to connect with someone as they read what has just naturally evolved. I was explaining to Stacey that sometimes ninety percent of what I actually write is almost given to me the very moment I say it. It's really a profound thing to be a part of. Now, dont get me wrong, I'm not claiming divine intervention here, but I am saying there is something that happens while I'm telling a story, recounting an event. Something that transcends what I feel are given to my actual capacities alone.
My favorite things to write involve the human condition. What it really is that speaks to a person's heart. Those things that are unspoken, that most people are afraid to feel, and more often than not, afraid to admit. The best books I've read in a very long time were, "The Kite Runner" and, "A Thousand Splendid Suns". Both of which I realize I identify with. Not because of an individualized understanding of the subject, but by virtue of how the author left his guts out on the table. As I read, "Kite Runner", I was amazed at the personal angst that the author left bare. It was as though he was really giving an account of his personal weaknesses. Instead of apologizing or making excuses, he just left them there hanging. Not for judgement purposes, but as an oblation to what it means to be frightened, what it means to be humiliated by one's own actions, take accountability for them, and then move forward honestly despite that personal failing. It was as though this was not a novel of fiction, but one of personal confession.
Other things I bask in besides cerebral comedy and honest tragedy, are descriptive texts about beauty. I mean real true and honest beauty. I think the greatest gift for an author is to ignore the obvious and tie beauty to tragedy, accountability to growth, and growth to cathartic understanding and ultimately to personal acceptance.
So beauty, there's something right there. When I think of beautiful words I think of certain authors that have given snap-shots of the Hand of God in all things. I think I really strive to find those things in authors of today and yesterday. I believe you can find that in Poe, you can find that in a poem by Frost, in a quip by Dickinson. But it's really difficult to find those things throughout a particular author's total works.
I get frustrated at times to be honest. I travel quite a bit and often buy two or three books in the airport and digest them in transit and while sequestered in my off-time. More often than not I'm dazzled by the standing in the New York Times List, but left shaken and weak at the authors' lack of personal integrity of their work. I think when you do find those books, they are priceless. They change you. Dont laugh but I think the one before that that got me was, "Marley and Me". A story about a stupid dog. However it was honest in the range of emotive requirements in owning a 100 lbs of kinetic power in the form of a tail and a tongue which brought them to the very brink of insanity. But at the end, as you may have surmised, over the life of that animal you can see that the line between love and hate, the dichotomy between expectations and reality weren't really all that distinct.
All good writing has an element of tragedy. All good tragedy has multiple levels of irony contained therein. All good love turns to hate, and back again. Without which, we really can't see the world through the eyes of our Creator.
See, I think the entire reason we're here can be boiled down (in addition to the religious requirements of any particular religion) to learning about the condescention of God. We learn as parents what it is to have love of others more than self. We learn as neighbors to care for those in need. We learn from spouses what ultimate hurt is. We learn shame from realizing that all these things we've been a part of are not necessarily clean, sharp and in focus but the best we could do but not quite enough.
I guess what I'm trying to say, is I love being alive. I love this grand experiment we've all qualified to be part of. I love the very tops of ice-capped peaks. I love to smell the rich dirt of a garden. I adore baby ducks, and I just plain hate to love things I should have never been a part of but cant have become who I am without.
Most of this rambling none of you will understand. The minute group of you that do in fact care, will understand and commiserate with my plight. A search for words, that are tragicly beautiful, horribly profound and intestinally motivated and exhibits a higher purpose than self is really a life-long quest.
I hope you find your snap-shot of beauty today. I hope you find it in the way you can conceive best. For some it's visual. It's the sun setting over the Great Salt Lake as you exit off at Lake Point Utah. The icy water which never freezes lying still and the reflection of a range of mountains touched by the warm glow of the Hand of God. I hope you see it in a mother duck crossing the road in Spring. Her efforts to get them beset by all nature of dangers and traverses necessary to the survival of her down-covered chicks. I hope you've taken the time to smell those same dirty little ducklings and know exactly what they smell like as you wait stopped in your car for them to cross. I hope you see a picture of your children, frozen in time on a swing-set with the genuine thrill of the moment captured therein.
I hope that you can find these things which I too have seen, and capture them yourselves. I trust that if you did so, maybe the most beatiful prose that you can ever see, will be that of your own, read years later by your children and grandchildren. That they can know, hear, feel and smell the dramatic way in which you lived. I hope that my thoughts here today can inspire you to start seeing those beautiful things. That you can perhaps capture them in your own way and provide them to someone else, through your own eyes.
Anyhow, it's time for me to close. Have a great day and we'll see you again real soon.
Love ya all and color outside the lines,
Jon
My favorite things to write involve the human condition. What it really is that speaks to a person's heart. Those things that are unspoken, that most people are afraid to feel, and more often than not, afraid to admit. The best books I've read in a very long time were, "The Kite Runner" and, "A Thousand Splendid Suns". Both of which I realize I identify with. Not because of an individualized understanding of the subject, but by virtue of how the author left his guts out on the table. As I read, "Kite Runner", I was amazed at the personal angst that the author left bare. It was as though he was really giving an account of his personal weaknesses. Instead of apologizing or making excuses, he just left them there hanging. Not for judgement purposes, but as an oblation to what it means to be frightened, what it means to be humiliated by one's own actions, take accountability for them, and then move forward honestly despite that personal failing. It was as though this was not a novel of fiction, but one of personal confession.
Other things I bask in besides cerebral comedy and honest tragedy, are descriptive texts about beauty. I mean real true and honest beauty. I think the greatest gift for an author is to ignore the obvious and tie beauty to tragedy, accountability to growth, and growth to cathartic understanding and ultimately to personal acceptance.
So beauty, there's something right there. When I think of beautiful words I think of certain authors that have given snap-shots of the Hand of God in all things. I think I really strive to find those things in authors of today and yesterday. I believe you can find that in Poe, you can find that in a poem by Frost, in a quip by Dickinson. But it's really difficult to find those things throughout a particular author's total works.
I get frustrated at times to be honest. I travel quite a bit and often buy two or three books in the airport and digest them in transit and while sequestered in my off-time. More often than not I'm dazzled by the standing in the New York Times List, but left shaken and weak at the authors' lack of personal integrity of their work. I think when you do find those books, they are priceless. They change you. Dont laugh but I think the one before that that got me was, "Marley and Me". A story about a stupid dog. However it was honest in the range of emotive requirements in owning a 100 lbs of kinetic power in the form of a tail and a tongue which brought them to the very brink of insanity. But at the end, as you may have surmised, over the life of that animal you can see that the line between love and hate, the dichotomy between expectations and reality weren't really all that distinct.
All good writing has an element of tragedy. All good tragedy has multiple levels of irony contained therein. All good love turns to hate, and back again. Without which, we really can't see the world through the eyes of our Creator.
See, I think the entire reason we're here can be boiled down (in addition to the religious requirements of any particular religion) to learning about the condescention of God. We learn as parents what it is to have love of others more than self. We learn as neighbors to care for those in need. We learn from spouses what ultimate hurt is. We learn shame from realizing that all these things we've been a part of are not necessarily clean, sharp and in focus but the best we could do but not quite enough.
I guess what I'm trying to say, is I love being alive. I love this grand experiment we've all qualified to be part of. I love the very tops of ice-capped peaks. I love to smell the rich dirt of a garden. I adore baby ducks, and I just plain hate to love things I should have never been a part of but cant have become who I am without.
Most of this rambling none of you will understand. The minute group of you that do in fact care, will understand and commiserate with my plight. A search for words, that are tragicly beautiful, horribly profound and intestinally motivated and exhibits a higher purpose than self is really a life-long quest.
I hope you find your snap-shot of beauty today. I hope you find it in the way you can conceive best. For some it's visual. It's the sun setting over the Great Salt Lake as you exit off at Lake Point Utah. The icy water which never freezes lying still and the reflection of a range of mountains touched by the warm glow of the Hand of God. I hope you see it in a mother duck crossing the road in Spring. Her efforts to get them beset by all nature of dangers and traverses necessary to the survival of her down-covered chicks. I hope you've taken the time to smell those same dirty little ducklings and know exactly what they smell like as you wait stopped in your car for them to cross. I hope you see a picture of your children, frozen in time on a swing-set with the genuine thrill of the moment captured therein.
I hope that you can find these things which I too have seen, and capture them yourselves. I trust that if you did so, maybe the most beatiful prose that you can ever see, will be that of your own, read years later by your children and grandchildren. That they can know, hear, feel and smell the dramatic way in which you lived. I hope that my thoughts here today can inspire you to start seeing those beautiful things. That you can perhaps capture them in your own way and provide them to someone else, through your own eyes.
Anyhow, it's time for me to close. Have a great day and we'll see you again real soon.
Love ya all and color outside the lines,
Jon
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