See John write

The rain had slowed some by the time I reached her house. I fumbled with the rusty latch on the chainlink gate and walked up to the door. I pushed the doorbell, but heard nothing. So I rapped on the door. Shoving my hands back in my pockets, I stepped back and waited for her to answer the door.

Nothing. Not a sound inside the house. I glanced at the front window. No lights on. No rustling of the curtains. I knocked again, louder. She must be home. Where would she have gone?

The sound of a passing car caused me to look over my shoulder. A police cruiser rolled slowly by the house. The officer was obviously looking me up and down. I tried to act natural. I reached to knock again, but slowly the knob started to turn. The door opened just a crack. I could see the faintest glimpse of her pale blue eyes.

“I don’t know why you’ve come,” she said with no emotion.

I shrugged my shoulders. “You asked,” I answered.

“I suppose you want to come in.”

“No. I walked twelve blocks in the freezing rain for my freakin’ health.” I was already losing my patience.

“Did anyone follow you?” she asked.

“What? No, nobody even knew I was coming here—except you!”

With that she swung the door open. I wiped my feet on the mat and stepped into the darkness of her home.

Last week, Janet and I went to see Breach starring Chris Cooper and Ryan Phillippe.

If you like intelligent, tense intrigue with understated heroics, you’ll like this movie. It is the story of the biggest intelligence breach in the history of the US. A veteran FBI agent has been spying for the Russians for 20 years. This is the story of how he is finally caught. Even though you know how the whole thing ends from the opening scene, the “how” of it all is absolutely captivating. And the performances turned in by Cooper and Phillippe are mesmerizing.

A surprising twist at the end leaves you with the feeling that even though it is a bad world full of evil, there are still men and women of integrity out there who can triumph over it all.

I wonder if Ebert and Roper ever need a substitute?

Last night, Josh’s teacher’s quorum played in the stake championship basketball game. Their 6′ 5″ center was injured and they were going up against a pretty good team. But they had won games without their center before and honestly, had the better all-around team last night. But the game was tight in the early going and the longer the game stayed tight, the more anxious Josh and his teammates got.

And the tighter they got, the fewer shots they made. In the end, they lost by 6 points. They were good sports about the whole thing, and we couldn’t have been prouder about the effort they gave and the way they conducted themselves.

Then after the game, the stake athletic director announced it was time to start the three point shooting competition. Each boy that wanted to, took a turn making as many three point shots in 30 seconds as they could. Josh is a good outside shooter but I could tell he was pretty bummed about the game. It wasn’t until the man in charge called one last time for anyone else who wanted to try that Josh reluctantly got up and said he’d try.

He made three shots in 30 seconds. It was barely enough to move to the second round, where players would go head-to-head, one at each end of the court.

So, up first in the second round was Josh vs. last year’s champion. Josh found his rhythm and started nailing shots. Last year’s champion struggled. When the buzzer sounded, Josh had advanced.

Next, Josh had to go up against his good friend, Ethan, who plays comp basketball. They both were stroking the ball well. Tied at 1 shot. Tied at 2. Then Ethan pulled ahead by one. Then Josh caught up. Tied at 6. Then just as the buzzer was about to expire, Josh let his last shot go. Swoosh. He was now in the final.

We watched as Kenny, a non-member from our old ward, easily advanced. Kenny is a deadly 3-point specialist. Josh laughed and told me there’s no way he could beat Kenny. I laughed with him and shrugged and told him he’d do just fine.

The final began with Josh and Kenny making their first shots. It stayed very tight. Make on this end. Make on that end. Tied at 4, at 5. Then Kenny pulled ahead, 7-6. Just as Josh made his seventh shot, Kenny made his eighth. Hope was running out. But again, right at the buzzer, boom! Josh hit the tying shot.

So it was on to an overtime period. The clock was set and they were off again. Both missed their first and second shots. But then Josh’s third shot went in. He moved to the next spot and hit it on his first try, then the next, BOOM! Another make. I glanced over and Kenny was still in his first spot, missing shot after shot. Josh was ahead 3-0. Then 4-0, then 5-1. And the buzzer sounded!

He’d done it! But he had no idea. I threw my arms out and said, “You did it!”

Josh smiled and said, “I did?”

It turned out to be a championship night after all.

On Sunday, I spoke in Sacrament meeting. As I was preparing my talk, I was reminded of this C.S. Lewis quote about the difference between kindness and love:

“There is kindness in love: but Love and kindness are not coterminous, and when kindness (in the sense given above) is separated from the other elements of Love, it involves a certain fundamental indifference to its object, and even something like contempt of it. Kindness consents very readily to the removal of its object — we have all met people whose kindness to animals is constantly leading them to kill animals lest they should suffer. Kindness, merely as such, cares not whether its object becomes good or bad, provided only that it escapes suffering. As Scripture points out, it is bastards who are spoiled: the legitimate sons, who are to carry on the family tradition, are punished [Hebrews 12:8]. It is for people whom we care nothing about that we demand happiness on any terms: with our friends, our lovers, our children, we are exacting and would rather see them suffer much than be happy in contemptible and estranging modes. If God is Love, He is, by definition, something more than mere kindness. And it appears, from all the records, that though he has often rebuked us and condemned us, He has never regarded us with contempt. He has paid us the intolerable compliment of loving us, in the deepest, most tragic, most inexorable sense.”

Makes you think, doesn’t it? But you probably didn’t come here for some heavy thought. So here’s something a little lighter:

If I lived back in the wild west days, instead of carrying a six-gun in my holster, I’d carry a soldering iron. That way, if some smart-aleck cowboy said something like “Hey, look. He’s carrying a soldering iron!” and started laughing, and everybody else started laughing, I could just say, “That’s right, it’s a soldering iron. The soldering iron of justice.” Then everybody would get real quiet and ashamed, because they had made fun of the soldering iron of justice, and I could probably hit them up for a free drink.
–Jack Handy

When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it’s not, mmmmmmm, boy. –Jack Handy

Central Control: “Digestive tract, come in, over.”

Digestive Tract: “This is digestive tract, over.”

Central Control: “What in the crap (excuse the pun) is going on down there?”

Digestive Tract: “Sir, I wish I knew. All the inputs and outputs are really a mess.”

Central Control: “No kidding.”

Digestive Tract: (Attempts to answer are drowned out by disgusting gurgling noises in background.)

Central Control: “Listen up down there, you get things straightened out or I’ll be forced to come down there myself!”

Digestive Tract: “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think you really want to do that.”

Based on the fact that no one commented about the new music group I discovered, I am forced to accept that no one else liked the group and therefore didn’t want to hurt my feelings or that, even worse, many of you have not yet discovered the wonders of iTunes.

As there is nothing I can do about your taste in music , I will at least share a little about iTunes. iTunes is a great little application for both Macs and PCs for managing all your music. You can load all your CD music onto your computer (downloading is literally as simple as clicking a button), where you can then build your own playlists, burn custom music mixes, and listen to music while you work at the computer.

But one of my very favorite features of iTunes is the connection to the iTunes music store. It is much cheaper to download songs over the internet than it is to buy CDs at the music store. The store features thousands of artists in every imaginable genre. You can listen to 30 second samples of any song in the store to see if you like it. Plus, if there is just a song or two on one album that you like, you can buy the songs individually for only $.99. You never have to pay for a crappy song again. BUT WAIT, there’s more! Every Tuesday, you can download a free song from iTunes. They strategically rotate through all the genres, so chances are you aren’t going to love the song every week. But I have loved discovering new artists and loading some great songs into my music library for FREE.

So here’s your chance to discover a new useful application (oh, did I forget to mention that iTunes is FREE to download) and discover a new music artist. So go ahead, visit iTunes right now.

There was something sticky in the sound of the tires rolling down the wet asphalt. I pulled my coat collar up against the wind and driving rain. Blowing on my fingers, I looked up the grey sidewalk and squinted. Several blocks up ahead, I could see the lights of the grungy Holiday Oil gas station through the dark, wet afternoon.

I shoved my hands back in my pockets and bent my head forward to keep the rain out of my eyes. Three doors around the corner from the gas station was a tiny green house with a red roof. The paint was chipped and peeling; the yard full of weeds and abandoned toys. That was where she lived. Behind windows covered with wraught iron bars and a door with two dead bolt locks.

She had been in my dreams for days. I could see her frazzled red hair and her piercing pale blue eyes. Her skin bore the telltale signs of a smoker. Little wrinkle lines around her lips and eyes, a tinge of yellow in the whites of her eyes. Her once feminine voice, now rough and groveled.

It was as if I couldn’t escape the memory of her. In my sleep, I kept bumping into her. So real. She spoke to me, but always in phrases that had no meaning.

A red Nissan sloshed through a deep pot hole, splashing water across the sidewalk in front of me. I jumped back slightly to avoid getting soaked. Then I chuckled at myself. The rain had long since penetrated my jacket and pants.

“Why am I walking 12 blocks to see this woman?” I asked myself. But I kept walking, trudging on through the freezing rain.

Her voice on the phone had startled me. Almost as if I were still dreaming. But she said she needed help. And she sounded so hopeless and depressed, I found myself saying yes before she’d even finished.

53. Discovering a new music group or artist that I like is one of my favorite things.

Thank you, Apple and iTunes. The free song of the week yesterday was called The Guide by an Australian group called Borne. AWESOME. And then I discoved that their whole album is on iTunes for only $5.99. Somebody slap me, I must be dreaming.

Their lyrics are thoughtful and clever. The guitars are crunchy and the melodies smooth. It feels a little like Coldplay, a little like U2, a little like Billy Joel—well, not really like Billy. That was just a nod to the Crowley family.

You should all check it out and let me know what you think.

There have been two tragic stories in Salt Lake in the past few days. Over the weekend, a Bishop and his family were hit by a drunk 17-year-old. The pregnant wife and two children were killed. Another child left with swelling on his brain.

Then last night, an 18-year-old boy takes a shotgun and a hand gun into a crowded mall and opens fire.

Horrible. Disturbing. Shocking.

Someone went out to dinner last night and never came home. Over the weekend, a 14-year-old boy went to play at a friend’s house and will never see his mom in this life again. Or his brother or sister.

Bless the good bishop, who in the midst of his heartbreaking tragedy took time to go to church and ask his ward to pray for the young man who caused the accident. And there were those who live across the street from Trolley Square Mall who opened their homes to those who had fled the mall and needed somewhere to feel safe and warm.

My patriarchal blessing tells me that the conditions of this world will get worse than we can imagine. I don’t want to imagine anymore.

May I never take a single day for granted. May I do my part to help those who suffer. May I do my part to prepare the earth for the day the Lord of Lords will return and peace will once again reign on earth.

I know not everyone who comes here to read shares my love of the BYU Cougars. But that’s what I feel like writing about today. And it is my blog afterall.

I am so excited for the Cougars right now. After suffering through painful defeats and disappointing seasons (made all the more painful by the success of the dreaded utes during the same period), it seems that the BYU magic is back. It was a football season to be treasured for years to come. And now for an encore … the Cougar basketball team.
Even after suffering the unexpected suspension of the starting point guard, the basketball team has flourished. They are playing with an incredible confidence. And so many different players are making key contributions. Someone might get into foul trouble but then someone else steps up or steps in and they hardly miss a beat.

I love March Madness, the NCAA basketball tournament. I love it even when I don’t have any passion for any of the teams involved. But this year, this year, I believe my Cougars will not only be in the tournament. They are going to be tough to get rid of. If I were an opposing coach, I’d hate to face the clean-cut boys from Provo. And it’s been a long, long time since we could say that.

Rah, rah, rah, rah, rah. Goooooooooo Cougars!

In my job, I edit other people’s writing all day. I have three employees who write various marketing materials, all of which cross my desk for evaluation, revisions, and approval. I have become quite proficient at it. I can edit while hardly even thinking. I can do it while surfing the web, eating a PB&J, and talking on the phone.

So a few weeks ago, just before Elizabeth was going to bed, she brought me an essay she had written and asked me to edit it. No problem. I whipped out my red pencil and went to work. I corrected punctuation, removed superfluous words and phrases, and rewrote awkward sentences. When I was finished I was quite pleased. Elizabeth’s point was much clearer and easier to understand. I gave myself a gold daddy star and went to bed.

At breakfast the next morning, Elizabeth saw her essay. With tears welling up in her eyes, she asked, “Dad, why did you do this?”

“You asked me to edit it,” I said incredulously.

Now the tears really started to flow. “I just wanted you to, you know, fix the commas and stuff.”

I was sure if she could only see how much better the essay was now she would stop being so upset. I tried to explain, but she just cried more. I felt my pride begin to prickle up my spine. I was the expert here. So I began to explain more loudly. Nothing helped. And before it got any better, I had to leave for work.

I’m sure someday a therapist is going to make this note on his little yellow pad, “Insensitive, bully father figure.”

So last night, I was given a re-test. Elizabeth was on her way to bed when she ran into our room and handed me an essay she had written, complete with a score sheet I was supposed to use to grade her writing and then sign in blood when I was finished.

Gulp.

I couldn’t even read the essay for probably half an hour. Finally, I read through it. The assignment was to write a persuasive essay. Elizabeth had the basis of a well-thought-out argument. But the opening paragraph needed some work. I picked up my pencil and had a sudden flash of my little girl whimpering as she looked at her marked up essay. I set my pencil down again. Oh, how I wanted to “fix” it. Her argument would be so much more persuasive if it were simply set up properly. An hour later I hadn’t made a single mark on the paper. I gave up and went to bed.

This morning before breakfast, Elizabeth and I sat down with her essay. We talked about what the opening paragraph needed to do. I offered some suggestions. We planned changes she could make and made notes on the page. We went through each paragraph, making adjustments and deciding together how it could be better. Then we went through all 11 categories on the score sheet and decided together what score was appropriate.

“Thanks, dad,” she said as she bounced off to eat breakfast.

Whew.

I guess gold daddy stars are a little harder to come by than I thought.

I have a confession. I love alliteration.

Anything can be more fun if you use alliteration.

Dreadfully doleful deceptions. Many manic monkeys. Heavy heartfelt halucinations.

See? They’re just fun.

Go ahead. Give it a try.

It was 4 or 5 summers ago. I had been called to be the Scoutmaster. A fate I still blame on my foolish decision to buy a truck. Anyway, there are plenty of things about scouting that I feel very unsure about. To this day, I still have a hard time keeping things like Board of Reviews and assignments for quartermaster well organized.

But this story is about something I felt supremely confident in. I wanted to take my boys water skiing. It was such a relief to be planning an outing that didn’t give me a pit in my stomach and make me secretly wish to be called into the nursery. I’ve been skiing hundreds of times. I’ve owned my own boat for over a decade. I was in my element.

The day came and I zipped over to the church, threw in the tents and the cooking box. I loaded the camp stove. Then the boys arrived and we threw all their gear in. They were excited. I was excited.

The drive up to East Canyon was pleasant and the weather, though a little overcast, seemed calm and plenty warm. We pulled into our campsite and began unloading gear. I wanted the boys to get the tents set up right away so that once we were out on the water, we could stay as long as the light lasted and not worry about having to set up tents in the dark.

Everything was going great. I took pride in the way the boys needed so little supervision to set things up. My assistant scoutmaster, Rusty, and I started unloading the cooking gear. We got out the camp stove and set it by the picnic table. As I turned back to the truck, I felt all the blood rush out of my head. My knees felt a little weak. In an instant, I realized that in my supreme confidence I had left the propane tank sitting in the scout closet at the church.

The vision opened to my view of eight hungry boys and two hungry assistants forcefully strapping one embarassed scoutmaster to a spit and roasting him over an open fire of sage brush.

So do you have a story? When did you blow it? Or what embarassing thing have you done? I used to work with a lady whose young daughter once walked up to the podium in fast and testimony meeting, grabbed the mic with one hand and began singing “Video Killed the Radio Star” at the top of her lungs—true story. Can you top that one?