Fourth of July

I've been thinking this morning, about the Fourth of July.  What it means to me, is my experience different than yours?  This morning the ward (parish) put on a 4th of July breakfast.  It's kind of a tradition now, seeing as how this is probably the fourth or fifth iteration.  I'm glad they do it.  To be honest, it's a little hokey, because the Cub and Boyscouts are in charge of a flag ceremony that kicks off the event.  The first couple of years I was a little too focused on the protocol of how the boys and the leaders were conducting the ceremony.  I'll be perfectly honest with you, watching people salute with only one or two fingers really makes my skin crawl.  But, to be honest again, I understand that's the method which has been approved by the Cub and Boyscout organizations.  Additionally, the boys aren't always so reverent, but they're getting better. 

Today we were running a little late.  I sent Josh on ahead in his bike. He had his scout uniform on.   It was even tucked into his pants.  Which, considering he rarely comes his hair, or ever wears anything but basketball shorts of late is quite a feat.  Josh is really growing up by the way.  I wrestled with him, his mom, and the other kids last night in the family room.  He's not as easy to throw around as he once was.  In fact, I tried to lift him over my head a couple of times, and I'm thinking that those days are numbered down into less than triple digits at this point.  He's solid and muscled that kid.  Anyhow, you slap his scout shirt on him and splash his face off with water and he almost looks like a young man.  So Josh let out on his bike, and pretty soon Lexi was there asking me if Hallee could go with us.  To which, in a moment of sheer inspiration, I suggested they take Isabelle and start walking over.  I did that, because, I knew we would be at least twenty minutes late waiting on Stacey.  I love that girl, but I swear to all that's holy I'm gonna start her funeral 28 minutes late just to complete the circuit.  Anyhow, I guess beautiful has a price, and in this case it's punctuality.

So, where were we? Ah yes, so Stacey, and Olivia and Sam and I piled into the Pilot and make the two blocks over to the church.  On our way, immediately outside of our circle, almost in sepia tone, was an old 1970's Ford pickup.  It was at one time red and white, but now was closer to orange and rust.  As soon as I saw the truck, from behind it appeared two or three scouts.  They were putting the flags out into the park strips in front of every house.  In the back of this pickup, like a bouquet of Freedom, the Stars and Stripes where draped over the upright tail gate.  It was surreal.  I really got choked up to be honest.  It was a beautiful moment I tell you.  The sun had been up about an hour and a half, and the smoke from the recent fires along the Wasatch Front were casting a haze across the highest peaks.  It looked like the mists on Mount Olympus would if you were some sort of demi-god come to pick a fight with Zeus.  Anyhow, so the splashes of intense colors were almost too much for me.  The filtered sunlight, and the dramatic slow motion movement of these young men and one adult paying respects to our Nation were incredible.  Where else are you going to see this?  Where, other than your home town, are you going to see a beloved pickup truck which I betcha ten bucks smells like hay, is going to transport the beloved symbol of our America?  I've seen the flag fly over American Embassies in Turkey and Morocco.  I've walked past a flag on Naval Airstation Atsugi Japan every day on my way to work as a young sailor.  I've saluted the Ensign and requested permission to come aboard an American aircraft carrier, aptly named the U.S.S. Independence.  I've seen a flag flown for my own father and one for my inlaws flown over Camp Victory, Iraq and presented them with a certificate signed by General George Casey.  I have even seen and visited the very Fort where Francis Scott Key penned the Star Spangled Banner.  It took place at Fort McHenry, Baltimore Maryland if you didnt know.  I was there during a National Guard Conference where they had period dress Soldiers, and ships in the harbor and dramatic and moving recreations of that fateful event.  But I have NEVER seen the flag so vibrant, so beautiful, so incredibly alive with color and promise, as I did today.

I know, it's a bit much to swallow for you.  But I mean it all.  I guess I got thinking, why does Old Glory affect me this way.  To be honest, a lot of people would suggest it has to do with military service.  Which, is part of the equation to be sure.  But that's not all it is to me.  I think this celebration is more than another Veteran's Day.  It's more than Memorial Day.  This is the day we celebrate the personal courage and sacrifice of men who were willing to lay their entire fortune, and sacred honor on the line.  This is the day we celebrate common rabble, who dared to defy their king, in order to provide a venue and land free of tyranny, where men and women could pursue their own happiness.  I mean, that's it isn't it? In a nutshell?  That men, who held, 'these truths to be self evident. That ALL men, are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.'  How powerful a declaration.  In the truest sense of the word.  That these men would, knowing they faced financial ruin, charges of treason, would pledge their sacred honor to defend this premise.  Almost too much to bear to think about.  How is it, that these men would have the personal courage and the foresight to dare to make these claims. That their vision, of separate States and colonies could possibly form a representative democracy.  The Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence are in the truest sense American scripture.  They both refer to a Creator, they both refer to and invoke in their charter.  I'm not sure that a case can really be made against it.

So, today, is not about Soldiers.  It's not about the Founding Fathers.  It's not about George Washington, Ma, Apple Pie and Norman Rockwell images.  America is, has been, and with maintenance and selflessness, will continue to be a land of vast opportunity.  The 4th of July is about opportunity, about promise.  About safety, about intellectual promises and virtues that extend beyond a single day.  I guess, when someone shook my hand today, and thanked me for my service, while I waited in line for pancakes, I was a little resistant.  I appreciate the sentiment, believe me, I do.  But to me, the 4th of July isn't just for Soldiers, Airmen, Marines or the Coast Guard.  It's more than firetrucks and volunteer firemen.  It's bigger than 17 year old girls who are crowned royalty for their little city for a year.  It's bigger than the Patriot Riders in the parade, bigger than the Allstate float.  It's about the promise.  America's promise.  I'll go you one further, America has made a covenant between this sacred land, it's Creator, and it's people.  All of which hinge on our continued realization of that fact. 

I have had a wonderful holiday thus far today.  I've felt my heart of hearts swell with the beauty and majesty of our great nation.  I guess all I want to say, is thanks America.  Thank you for those that have set the bar almost impossibly high.  Thanks for my grandad who was a Merchant Marine in WWII. Thanks for my dad for being a volunteer fireman, an EMT, and a Sailor.  Thank you for a small town, where I had 80 acres of alfalfa, a dog and a pellet gun   Thank you for hot dogs and the horrible way they can affect health.  Thanks for making it my choice, and not my governments.  Thank you for smokers.  Thank you for drinkers.  Thank you for priests and little old blind Italian ladies that can't wait to feed you spagetti.  Thanks for the double decker buses in New York, for the faces on Mount Rushmore and the gum on the railing as I look across San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge.  Thank you for Ellis Island, and the racial epitaths that have resulted from your shorthand.  America, thank you for the lessons I have personally learned.  For the opportunity inherent and too often dormant.  You truly are, a land of milk and honey.

I gotta go now.  I just wanted to share that with you.  I hope you stand a little taller this evening.  If you're going to the park, to watch the fireworks, pay attention.  I'll bet you a dozen donut holes that a group of Veteran's are conducting a flag ceremony while you're busy gabbing.  Please quell your conversations for those few fleeting moments. Please dont miss this sacred opportunity for reverence.  Please internalize and renew your own promise to be a more active participant in this representative democracy.  Whatever this day means to you, please take a moment to share that with your children, your neighbors, and let you're own love of country continue to expand the hope and promise of this day.

All the best to you and yours,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru40GiejGDg&feature=related

J

Nothing...

Oh hey! It's you again.  Yeah, been about a week.  Things are wrapping up with an exercise we've been working. I'd like to tell you about it, but of course I'd have to kill ya.  Anyhow, I've been waking up at 0430 and getting home around 7-ish. Which, for a guy like me who loves his 4 10's, sucks.  Anyhow, I've had stuff going, so dont think I left you hangin' on purpose.

So not much to report here. Things are running smoothly on all eight cylinders.  I'm forking out 3 Grrr for the priviledge of connecting to the water at our lot this weekend, and then another 800 or so to connect.  Anyhow, I've got a 4K cashiers check in my pocket just burnin' a hole you know?  I could buy something fun for the family, but since I'm selfish, I figured we could shower at our trailer. 

What else? Hmm. Ah, anyhow, just been busy. No rest for the wicked and the righteous dont need it.  Anyhow life is good, things are well, and we're livin' the American Dream.

I better go load the truck. We're leaving soon after Stacey gets her nails done and Maggie gets a haircut. I even wa(r)shed Big Green.  Well the outside of her anyhow.  You've gotta look good to get dirty.  Anyhow, I gotta rock and roll now.  So, we'll see you around. You take care and enjoy your week(end).

All the best.
Side Arm Church Hugs,

J

Daddy's Hands...

So, Derek asked me a few days ago to give a spiritual thought today in Elder's Quorum. I'll be honest with you though, a few years ago, that would have really been a no-brainer. But since that time I've really decided to mete out what I say spiritually to be only exactly what I feel and no more. It's been tough, I wont lie to you. Some of life's challenges and hiccups have really precluded me from being too social in church the past little while. Anyhow, I've been unsure of what to talk about all week. You may laugh, because it was just a simple five minute thought about life, the atonement, the Savior, and a simple testimoney. Pretty much too easy. But like I said, anytime I speak anywhere in class or bearing my testimoney, it's all business and no fluff with me now. There are reasons for that, which I wont really go into here, but suffice it to say, I have a testimoney of the Gospel and the Atonement that is far more deep and rich than before. Not without price of course, but now I feel that it's too important to just throw out there. I think it would best be stated that I no longer throw pearls before swine.

Anyhow, so, as I was sitting there in the over-flow of the chapel today, I was looking down at Olivia's hands. She sat on my lap...well, more balanced back and forth on my lap, stood on my legs, grabbed me around the neck, and really just jungle-gymned all over her daddy. There were some real genuine hugs from her and I felt terribly blessed. Next to me was Stacey, and she was holding Samuel. He's a doll that kid. Engaging bright eyes and a smile that melts your heart effortlessly. He's a real character too. He knows you think he's funny but his smile is so very soft and genuine. I love that little boy. I love all my children. But I love their mother too. Not just because she's given me these five beautiful children, but because they are the little personalities they are because of her. Each of our children shares elements of each of us. Josh has a mischeivious grin and a quick wit. He's smart, but insightful. Alexia is bright and cheery, but passionate to the point of anger when she feels an injustice. Isabelle is quiet and reserved. She always lets everyone else have their way, and when she's injured, her giant near-black eyes well up with tears which she refuses to let drop. She's so very tender. Olivia, the terrible. With her demanding insolence coupled with the soothing beauty she radiates at the final fleeting moments of the day.

Each of these children have their own needs, desires, fears and they all share parts of their parents that shine through readily. I was looking at Samuel's hands today. His hands are strong. He's a very powerful looking little boy. Which is interesting, because his expressions have no guile, no pretense, and he just melts you with a single look. But he's strong, and you can tell that he's going to be blessed with a frame that is more adapted to being a full-back, or linebacker, than that of a receiver. In chick terms, he's going to be full of muscles but not too tall. Anyhow, I was looking at Sam's hands. I have been noticing that the majority of our children have my hands. Stacey's hands are slender and elegant. They're made for playing the piano. I watch her sometimes playing and am in awe of how she deftly navigates the keys, her touch landing with varying pressures to create something inspirational and beautiful.

So, as I sat there, I started thinking about my own father's hands. My dad has hands that always impressed me as a child. They're strong his hands. My dad's hand are riddled with the impressive strength of his veins and the thickness of his hands denotes their inherent strength and power. My dad's hands are not terribly large, but they always impressed me at how he could open jars and turn wrenches and fix things that I just could not do. My dad's hands were often split and cracked from working out in the elements. For many years he was a telephone lineman and repairman. He'd have to work in the extreme heat and cold and repair and splice the intricate wires while hanging from a pole, or hunched over at the roadside inside a box. I remember him getting stung from wasps, and bees when he kept them. My dad's hands were always full of character, and I knew that if anyone ever tried to enter our home, my dad could fix their little wagon in a short hurry.

You know, from there, I started thinking about my grandpa's hands. My grandpa Kenworthy, as I've already talked about, was the nicest and kindest person I've ever met. But he was never weak, he was humble and gracious with everything he had. I may have talked about this before, but my grandpa always had a fingernail or two that were blackened from his work as a carpenter. He was a framing contractor for homes and later on in his life focused on trim and finish carpentry. In my mind he was not a carpenter, but a craftsman, as he took great pains to exact the finest detail on his work. At his funeral, many commented on what a perfectionist he was at his craft. My grandpa could do more than hang a pre-hung door, he could make a door, drill and tap for hinges, hang in on a frame, shim it, plum it, and fit it to precise and exact proportions. I imagine that my grandpa, who was not active in the churcy, would have been the perfect candidate to work on the Lord's Temples, should he have been presented the opportunity. His work was not grandios, nor overly ornate, but was solid and steadfast and built to last well into the next generations. His hands were like my dad's. They both showed the wear of years of work and effort on behalf of their own family whom they provided for. My grandfathers with his blackened nails, and my father with the burn marks, scars and character which brought me such comfort and faith in him as a protector and provider.

But as I stated, this wasn't supposed to be about fathers, and especially not about their hands or my hands, or my sons' and daughters' hands. Then it just came to me, a recollection of a scriptural passage wherein the risen Savior showed his deciples the prints in His hands. Immediately I thought of what it must have been like, to see our Savior so soon after His resurrection. The amazement that it must have been to see a body of flesh and bones. To see His love for you and me, as demonstrated their by the marks that he now carried that exhibit His undying willingness to atone for us. I thought about His hands, and how they will forever show and attest to His personal sacrifice for mankind. I thought about my father. The strength in his own hands that I had aspired to as a boy. How his knuckles were scarred as a testiment to his own willingness to face the challenges of his profession and how much that meant to me. I thought of my grandfather, and his blackened nails, and how he continued to work though it must have been painful to do so. I guess I realized that I have my father's hands. That my father has his father's hands. It's not too much to believe that the pattern holds true, and that as a line of men and sons of an Almighty and loving Heavenly Father, that our hands might more closely resemble His.

I shared that today at the beginning of quorum meeting. I thought it was fitting. That here we are celebrating our own Earthly fathers and their personal sacrifice for us. The long hours, and the fitful nights. Some fathers travel, some work night shift, swing shift, some are deployed on ships for months at a time. Some fathers work oil rigs and some fathers run board meetings. But the one thing that our fathers will always show us is the love for us they have in their hands. Some will place their hands upon our heads in a blessing of comfort when we are ashamed, or afraid, or uncertain. Some of us will watch our fathers give blessings to a family with no Priesthood holder in the home. A certain action which they cannot do for themselves. Some of us will see our fathers help lift a piano, or mend a fence, or any number of manual requirements which cannot be done by their own. Each and every day, through the marks of their profession, these fathers through their experiences and challenges mark themselves and create a lasting impression upon others as to their willingness to exercise through either the Priesthood, or through the simple self-sacrifice to help lift another.

I was thinking since I got home, how thankful I am. How when I might meet the Savior, I may fall at His feet and weep and rejoice in all that He has done for me. How personal His sacrifice has become for me. How the marks in His hands are not without merit, or praise, and how thankful I am that He extends that infinite atonement to me. I hope that He takes my hand, and that as He brings me to my feet, that I can feel the marks in His hands and be counted as one who is thankful and speachless at the breadth and encompassing nature of what He has done.

I hope you have a wonderful Father's Day today. I hope you had a beautiful Sunday. I'm thankful that Derek asked me today, and I'm thankful it wasn't just a simple and easy statement pulled out at random as a scriptural thought. The Atonement and the promises have become so very real to me. They are so very personal, so appreciated, and I am forever in His debt for what I have come to know. Moreover, that He should trust me to teach and watch over His spirit children in my home, together with my lovely spouse is almost too much to fathom.

Well, I better go now, like I said, have a beautiful day, and call your Earthly father today. Then, later on, and throughout the remainder of your week, make sure you thank our Heavenly Father and His son, for the marks in His hands and the extension of His plan to us all.

I gotta go be a dad now. You take care.

All the best,

J