The Glass is Half Full

Round Two: FIGHT!

2012-02-03T01:57:00.000-07:00

You don't have to watch any more of the video after you're four seconds into it. It was just the only one I could find that had the right sound bite.

For some reason this is my favorite thing to say after my break at work. Just about every day, after I've eaten my granola bars and refilled my water bottle, and as the buzzers are sounding to get moving again, someone will hear from me, "Round Two: FIGHT!"

Not sure why I like it so much; I'm not even a Mortal Kombat person. But it's one of those little things that gets me through the shift.

Well, it's time for Round Two on this here blog. I've had a few people ask whether I would post again. I kind of let it die, mostly on purpose. This was for a number of reasons, but among the greatest was simply that I felt I had reached my goal in running the blog, and didn't have much else to add to it that wasn't already there.

Which brings up another work analogy (don't you just love them? I'm there every day, so I could come up with more!). Most of my job involves building walls of packages inside trailers. Each wall must be built to certain specifications: not too narrow, not too wide, tight from one side of the trailer to the other, reaching the ceiling, with the weight of the boxes and bags distributed in such a way as to prevent content damage or wall collapse. It sounds more complicated than it really is, but there is a learning curve.

The most difficult part of the wall for me to build is the very top. It's not a matter of reach; I have a stool that solves that problem just fine. Nor is it a matter of weight; heavy boxes don't go up there. No, my problem comes from being too close. When I'm on that stool placing things as high as I think they'll go, my perspective changes. Eventually, because I'm essentially hugging it, all I can see is the surface of the wall. More often than not, there's a little bit of space left just before hitting the ceiling, but I can't see it until I've gotten off the stool and backed up some distance. So, sometimes I end up leaving a gap.

Life can be like that. Many of us just get too close. We get passionate about something, we get involved, we get in deep, and that's okay--but there is value in getting off the stool and backing up every once in a while, lest we leave gaps in important places.

I think this blog has been one example. My purpose at the outset was to highlight the positive things in life: the reasons why the glass truly is half full. Over time, however, it became crowded with things--good things--that didn't necessarily work toward what I wanted the blog to accomplish. Blogging turned into "blogging for the sake of blogging." I became a wall-hugger.

So I put it away for a while.

Well, some have shown interest in a blog revival, and I'm stuck waiting for my laundry to finish because I really need something clean to wear after work tomorrow. At 1:30 in the morning, I'm sure there are lots of people blogging. It just seems like the thing to do.

Of course, the same impulsive mind that kept finding things to do other than laundry is also the one that suddenly decided to write something tonight. In other words, I had no idea until maybe an hour ago that I would be doing this. So, I haven't had a chance to consider what changes will be made to the blog, other than the fact that they should be made.

Thus far, however, it's safe to assume I won't be posting more than once, maybe twice a week. I'm thinking a once-a-week type of deal would be best, so that I'm not exhausting my supply of meaningful thoughts and falling into redundancy. Yeah . . . I like the idea of just writing about what my general theme was for the week, or something. Those kinds of thoughts would have some real meat.

But I'll think about that later, because the spin cycle is done.

The important questions

2011-11-20T22:03:00.000-07:00

Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: "What does his voice sound like?" "What games does he like best?" "Does he collect butterflies?" They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him. If you tell grown-ups, "I saw a beautiful red brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof . . . ," they won't be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell them, "I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs." Then they exclaim, "What a pretty house!"

--Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Zoram: Chapter One, Part Three

2011-11-18T22:00:00.004-07:00

With each new onlooker who entered, the heat Laman felt on his forehead seemed to intensify. He had hoped, unrealistically, to not be confronted with such questions concerning him and his father. "That is what my father claims," he answered, choosing his words so very carefully that his speech became clumsy. "And I, and my family, have left everything we--"

"You avoid my question," interrupted Laban, who left his scroll behind and glided toward Laman, the red fringes of his robes grazing the floor. He came close and the two men's eyes locked, and he repeated in a hiss, "Do you believe it?"

Time froze as Laman put together an answer. "I . . . Lehi is . . . no . . . no, I don't," he confessed. ". . . I have lost everything to my father's stories."

Victorious whispers rose from the scene of spectators. With another, fleeting smirk, Laban turned to face his supporters as he continued addressing his embarrassed guest. "Then surely you have not come by him sending you here," he reasoned. "Tell me, Laman,"--one eye began to watch his prey from over his shoulder--"Why have you come, truly?"

Laman would have traded almost anything to find an answer even he could believe just then; obtaining the plates meant nothing to him but returning to his tent in the wilderness, which for the first time seemed attractive. "You have judged me right," he attempted. "I may be weary of many stories . . . but I do treasure the Word of God, and I come to hear nothing more than the lineage of my fathers."

It was a weak, obvious lie, which only lit a flame within that watching eye; the game no longer amused Laban, who turned again as if to attack. "I am not blind to you, Laman ben Lehi. You are a poor man, and my plates are of great worth. . . . You dare to rob me!"

"I give you my word, that is not--"

But nothing pleasing could be said. In a rage, Laban lunged forward to thrust the intruder away. "Out! You are a robber, and I will slay you!"

Laman tripped over his own feet more than once as he made a frantic escape. The echoes of the master's fury trailed him as he fled, but he never looked back until they had faded completely in the distance.

_________________________
<<Part Two

How one person can make a difference

2011-11-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise. --Alma 37:6

I have written before about the major impact seemingly small choices and experiences can make on one's life. Likewise also is the impact of one person. Though years and distance may separate us, I firmly believe that God has a purpose for every acquaintanceship we make.

With that said, I want you to click on this link right now. Just do it. Take a look around, then come back.

Who is that?

I will tell you who he is.

Once upon a time, there were no piano videos to blog. There was no dream of a music career. There was just a very young Nathan, who, despite having a piano teacher sent from Heaven itself, struggled to find the spark and considered too many things more enjoyable than practicing.

But that young Nathan went to elementary school with a young Kevin Bluemel. And Kevin was the piano guy. At all the talent shows, he was the one to watch. If it had anything to do with music, you just knew to go to him. Like the rest of the school, I knew who he was. And, as it did everyone else, it amazed me that someone as young as he could play the piano so well.

Fate stepped in when Kevin and I were put in the same class my fifth grade year. We quickly became the best of friends, and as I got to know him better, so too did I get to know his music. So, when I broke my leg later that winter, I recognized a song from Kevin's repertoire as it played on the radio during my ride to the hospital. It was David Lanz's Spiral Dance (appropriate, considering I had just suffered a spiral fracture), and it brought me some comfort because it reminded me of my friend.

I told him this, and during the first few days of my recovery, Kevin brought a couple of "get well" gifts--including a tape on which he had recorded himself playing Spiral Dance and about a dozen other songs by the same composer. That music inspired me while I learned to walk again. It inspired me after I healed. And, it continued to inspire me even after Kevin and I went our separate ways in junior high.

Then, just before the start of ninth grade, I finally decided to do something about that inspiration . . . and I bought a piano book that contained several of the songs that were on that tape. That's when the addiction began: that's when the piano became as much of a need for me as food or air. All of a sudden I was practicing several hours each and every day--nothing was more enjoyable. My piano lessons became jam sessions. I sought out more opportunities to perform. As time passed, confidence grew, and music became my life. That book still sits in a high place among my most prized possessions; it is worn from much use, some pages torn, and other pages even stained with blood.

Those who know me, or have read my blog very much at all, will know where that passion has gone. It is still very much alive. I consider music to be my identity; to take it away would be like erasing my face, or removing my limbs. I would be much different. My life would lack so much color, so much feeling.

And I doubt I would have ever discovered that passion for music--that identity--had I never known Kevin Bluemel. I couldn't tell him until just recently what his talent meant to me; he didn't know it, but something so simple as just being himself and sharing his gift made such an impact on my life that my very identity was shaped for years to come. I can never repay him.

Thus it is for all of us. We will never know in this life who all we have touched, nor how deeply. Sometimes, it's even the person we least expect. There's no such thing as "nobody's watching"; there will always be someone who notices who you are, or how you act, or what you say. Your talents and your personality are among the most powerful gifts you have, and very often without even being aware of them, you make a difference to somebody simply because you're there, doing what you do. That's the point I'm trying to make with this post: one person can make a difference, and more often than not, that person is you. I have named just one example here--but an example he most certainly is!

So, where is Kevin now? I mentioned that we went our separate ways in junior high. It wasn't like we meant for that, or anything; life just happened, and we both had our own paths to follow.

But I never forgot my old friend. Years have passed, and I have often wondered where his music career was--not if it had taken off, because I always knew he would be successful. Finally tired of wondering, I went on the search a few weeks ago.

And I'm pleased to say my friend is doing very well:

If you liked that, there's a newly remastered download of it available for free on Kevin's website. While you're at it, check out his album, and keep an eye out for the release of his next album in 2012!

Zoram: Chapter One, Part Two

2011-11-13T22:24:00.004-07:00

"I am Laman," he announced above the light traffic of the sitting room. He hesitated, as if swallowing something bitter, then continued, "of the house of Lehi."

All who heard the declaration halted. Laban himself lowered his scroll slightly and glanced up at his guest, a knowing smirk spreading slowly across his face. Any mention of Lehi's name had become a novelty in recent days; the man's so-called prophecies inspired a profane curiosity among the people, and the idea to silence him was growing in favor.

"Laman. . . ." answered the rich man thoughtfully. "And to what do I owe your . . . being here?"

Laman took an anxious breath. "There is--I am told there is--a record of our people engraved upon plates within your house."

"There are many things within my house!" Laban gave a proud wave of both his hands, as if everything he owned were to appear and boast of itself. "But I am a generous man. I see you treasure the Word of God; what would you have me read from the record?"

It was a habitual impulse, as well as the cumulative pressure of recent sacrifices, that drove the visitor's response. "I have heard enough stories."

The answer satisfied the ruler of the house, who had somehow expected it, and a slight pause gave way to opportune spite and Laban's cutting reply. "As have we all. . . ." he said smugly. "My plates were a story of your father's, no doubt? It was he who told you of them?" Laban then opened his remarks to the remainder of the room, mocking, "You know, this Lehi claims our city shall be destroyed! Can you imagine it? Jerusalem!"

A scattered grunt sounded from the growing audience. Laban enjoyed an extra moment to let the shame sink into the prophet's son, who himself would have abandoned the place for humiliation had his accuser not continued their conversation.

"Do you believe it?"

_________________________
<<Part One Part Three>>

Of queens and talking flowers

2011-11-13T00:25:00.002-07:00

The reading challenge is going well so far, and I'm pleased to report that I finished Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass this past week. I know I quoted Lewis Carroll in last weekend's post, but I love his work so much that I'm going to quote him again. And perhaps yet even more in the near future. I find it no wonder anymore that even Thomas S. Monson quoted him in General Conference last year; Carroll's writing is just that good.

What I love so much about Carroll is all the morals he slips into his stories and dialogue. As one character, the Duchess, explains in Chapter Nine of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it."

Indeed, it does. And one particularly significant moral--an eternal truth--can be found in the second chapter of Through the Looking-Glass. This book is loosely based on a game of chess, in which Alice desires to become a queen. But it's not a short or an easy process:

For some minutes Alice stood without speaking, looking out in all directions over the country -- and a most curious country it was. There were a number of tiny little brooks running straight across it from side to side, and the ground between was divided up into squares by a number of little green hedges, that reached from brook to brook.

`I declare it's marked out just like a large chessboard!' Alice said at last. `There ought to be some men moving about somewhere -- and so there are!' She added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on. `It's a great huge game of chess that's being played -- all over the world -- if this is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only I might join -- though of course I should like to be a Queen, best.'

. . .

At the two-yard peg [the Red Queen] faced round, and said, `A pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know. So you'll go very quickly through the Third Square -- by railway, I should think -- and you'll find yourself in the Fourth Square in no time. Well, that square belongs to Tweedledum and Tweedledee -- the Fifth is mostly water -- the Sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty -- But you make no remark?'

`I -- I didn't know I had to make one -- just then,' Alice faltered out.

`You should have said,' `"It's extremely kind of you to tell me all this" -- however, we'll suppose it said -- the Seventh Square is all forest -- however, one of the Knights will show you the way -- and in the Eighth Square we shall be Queens together, and it's all feasting and fun!' Alice got up and curtseyed, and sat down again.

At the next peg the Queen turned again, and this time she said, `Speak in French when you can't think of the English for a thing -- turn out your toes as you walk -- and remember who you are!' She did not wait for Alice to curtsey this time, but walked on quickly to the next peg, where she turned for a moment to say `good-bye,' and then hurried on to the last.

How it happened, Alice never knew, but exactly as she came to the last peg, she was gone. Whether she vanished into the air, or whether she ran quickly into the wood (`and she can run very fast!' thought Alice), there was no way of guessing, but she was gone, and Alice began to remember that she was a Pawn, and that it would soon be time for her to move.

Also from Chapter Two:

`How is it you can all talk so nicely?' Alice said, hoping to get it into a better temper by a compliment. `I've been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk.'

`Put your hand down, and feel the ground,' said the Tiger-lily. `Then you'll know why.'

Alice did so. `It's very hard,' she said, `but I don't see what that has to do with it.'

`In most gardens,' the Tiger-lily said, `they make the beds too soft -- so that the flowers are always asleep.'

We have to move to get to the Eighth Square. Remember who you are, and don't be afraid of the hard ground; we're not alone in this game.

Zoram: Chapter One, Part One

2011-11-07T23:36:00.004-07:00

I want to get back into creative writing. Problem is, I never sit down to do it, even though I have a reasonable amount of time available. I want to do it, but it never gets done.

So it's time to make a change:

I've decided to start blogging stories in short, manageable installments.

I've wanted to just do something fun like this for a while now, and I'm looking forward to it because the whole blogging thing gives me some accountability. If there are readers waiting for the next part of the story, I'm more likely to sit down and actually write it. Otherwise, it would never happen.

So, here I go. I'm telling a story, and you're all invited to listen. Without further ado:

ZORAM

by Nathan Cunningham

CHAPTER ONE

THE SONS OF LEHI

PART ONE

A shaft of morning sunlight split the shadows of the sitting room. The single high window overlooked an arrangement of luxurious pillows and low, wooden tables, from under which peeked the finest rugs of many different colors. Clinging to the imposing stone walls were torches whose flames had retired during some quiet moment of the dark hours before--a quiet moment long in waiting for the surrender of the previous evening's revelers.

Scattered goblets remained as evidence of the gathering, sticky with the traces of spilled wine, while here and there a plate of food was left out, some meat still hanging on the bone. A servant girl appeared in one of the wide entryways. Pausing only to survey the scene before her, she commenced her labor with a tired sigh. It never occurred to her how futile it was to clean away the mess that would find its way back again so soon; for as far as she knew, this was all she had ever been born to do.

Nor was Master Laban one to notice the menial comforts bought with his servants. A hypocrite of masterful cunning, he busied himself both with the company of merchant thieves and the elders of the Jews. Claiming piety he adorned himself in costly apparel, yet ignored the pleas of the naked around him while his long nose loomed over every sparkling treasure.

That long nose would return to the tidied sitting room late in the morning, forgetful of its irreverence the night before. Laban carefully scanned a scroll from his collection as guests and servants trickled in and out. They did not distract him, though he was obliged to make conversation with those few who interested him enough. Yet none could identify the stranger among them, nor the reason for his appearing.

The bearded traveler wore a rough tunic and smelled of sweat. A dusty keffiyeh flowed from the top of his head down and across his neck and shoulder, where the end dangled and swayed as he moved. Desert sand caked his sandaled feet; he had not stopped to rest from his journey before approaching the house of Laban.

____________________
Part Two>>

Happy thoughts as the snow begins to fall

2011-11-05T17:23:00.000-06:00

"Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.' And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about--whenever the wind blows--oh, that's very pretty!" cried Alice, dropping the ball of worsted to clap her hands.

--Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There

Bucket list report: October 2011

2011-10-29T21:57:00.000-06:00

Goal:

Dress as the Phantom of the Opera and play the organ/piano part with an orchestra.

Status:

(Special thanks to my brother for shooting the video. The cutoffs at the beginning and end weren't his fault, though; my camera went on the fritz in the moments leading to its battery's death. To make it up to you, here's my favorite song about unfortunate situations in photography.)

Accomplished.

The Christmas Spirit

2011-10-24T23:36:00.000-06:00

For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads. --D&C 25:12

Halloween is still a week away, but I'm feeling the Christmas Spirit right now.

A common complaint I have heard in previous years is that someone hears Christmas music on the radio when the Christmas Season hasn't even arrived yet. Heck, even in seminary back in the day, there were protests at the very suggestion of cracking open Hymns 201-215 before Thanksgiving.

Today I ask, "Why?"

I can understand the argument that playing Christmas music year-round might somehow make it less "special" when December finally comes along. It's a Christmas thing--I get that. Fireworks are for the Fourth of July, hearts are for Valentine's Day. But let's look at it this way: do we only think about the Savior at Christmas or Easter? Does the Atonement become "less special" if we only apply it when taking the sacrament on Sunday?

Of course, any of us could answer that; as followers of Christ, we praise and celebrate Him always. We have covenanted to "always remember Him" (Moroni 4:3). "Always" means all the time.

And when we get right down to it, the Spirit of Christmas is, indeed, the Spirit of Christ.

I have to give credit to those people I know who do listen to Christmas music year-round, for whatever reason (for the longest time, I thought that was weird, but I turned out being wrong. Way to be!). Likewise, I also have to point out that it's okay if we're not singing Christmas hymns in church every Sunday (please, no). I'm just expressing a thought I didn't really have until this weekend. Up till now, I was always one who stubbornly locked away the carols on December 26th, and didn't let them out again until the day after Thanksgiving. But I'm realizing now that maybe it's not such a terrible offense to go caroling when everyone else is Trick-or-Treating.

My stake had its first choir rehearsal last night for our Christmas program in December. It was a beautiful evening, filled with uplifting music about the Savior. And I finally understood then what a great idea it was to pull this choir together even before Halloween; by inviting the Spirit of Christmas into our hearts, what we were really doing was inviting the Spirit of Christ. And that's something we need all year.

I like to sing hymns while I work. It doesn't make the boxes I have to lift any lighter, or fewer in number, but I feel a difference in my own capacity because the hymns invite the Spirit and strengthen me, reminding me of the things that bring me the most joy. Today I sang Christmas carols during my shift, and they had the same effect. The song of my heart was a prayer unto God, and I received the blessing even as I labored.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The Sacrifice

2011-10-06T23:42:00.000-06:00

It's not my habit to regurgitate piano videos the same way I re-post pictures, but I've been digging up a bunch of old stuff recently and remembered how much I liked this video from clear back in high school. I feel somewhat nostalgic with the turning of the seasons, and this song is one of those that perhaps best illustrates the feeling. It's fall now, and there's a lot I like about this season. Maybe I'll explore that theme sometime on the blog, but for now I'll let the music speak for me.

The Sacrifice
Michael Nyman

Friday

2011-09-30T22:22:00.000-06:00

Hello, Blogosphere! It's been a while since we've talked. Don't expect to get much out of me tonight, though; I'm just here to say hi, let you know I'm still around . . . that sort of stuff. Life's been busy. Life's been good. I hope to share some more thoughts with y'all soon.

For now I'm content to note that it's a lovely Friday night here in my corner of the Internet. It's been a productive week. I've worked hard, and now I'm enjoying a peaceful evening at home listening to the crickets chirp outside. It feels good to relax, and one thing of which I've been reminded this week is that relaxing is best done after a longer period of not relaxing.

At least three years have passed since Friday has meant anything significant to me. For two of those years, there technically was no actual "weekend." Much of the day was available on Mondays to do reasonable weekend-y things (like shopping and playing), but anyone who's been on a mission might know that those aren't necessarily the most relaxing hours of the week (quite the opposite!). Then for the third year, life was basically stuck in "weekend mode" all the time. Granted, there were classes and plenty of other responsibilities that needed my care, but no such structure as would put too much difference between Saturday and, say, Wednesday.

Finally re-joining the ranks of the employed recently has given me a lot of fresh insights, but perhaps the simplest is just how much I've come to appreciate there being a true difference between weekday and weekend. It adds a new degree of color to my life that has been missing for a while, and I feel really good about it. Being able to relax is something that came too easily for too long, so I love working hard and knowing I've earned a little bit of rest when that break comes. Sounds like God had it right all along:

Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work:

But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates:

For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it. (Exodus 20:9-11; emphasis mine)

Here's to Fridays, and the weekends they represent.

Baconnnnnnn!!!

2011-09-19T14:59:00.002-06:00

Breakfast was already being cooked when I got up Saturday morning at Scout camp. Some pieces of bacon had been dropped on the ground, but that test turned out to be one of the greatest moments of the campout as the boys remembered the eleventh commandment:

THOU SHALT NOT WASTE BACON.

I wish there was a Scout badge for this. One of the boys took those strips of bacon and cooked them over the fire... on rebar. Coolest. Thing. Ever.

A little gritty, but you can't beat that smoky flavor!

Yes, I'm proud to say these boys are champions. Even when I was concerned about doing stuff like going down the zip line because of my weight (I was just five pounds short of the limit), they sent me down anyway and took video... just in case. Yee-haw!

Past Blast: Expired

2011-09-14T18:16:00.000-06:00

Final Fantasy: Red Mage and White Mage

2011-09-01T16:22:00.002-06:00

Singing in the shower

2011-08-24T23:33:00.006-06:00

Sometimes the answers we need the most are the ones we don't want to hear.

I wrote before about how a mission was like an entire, miniature lifespan. An elder is "born" in his first area, forms relationships, gains experiences, and "dies" in his last area when it's time to go home. But when you think about it, that missionary can also build something of a "career" in that mini life, much like an actual career in the real world. Some are leaders. Some are athletes. Some are professional movers. Some work in an office. The list goes on, and each one of those jobs plays an important role in the healthy functioning of the mission as a whole--because, just as those years of missionary service form a parallel to the complete life cycle, so too does the whole group of missionaries become a complete society in and of itself.

As for me, my career in that society--the identity by which I was known throughout the mission--was music. On Preparation Day, when everyone else was in the gym playing basketball, I was practicing on the chapel piano. I played for all sorts of meetings, and never did keep track of all the special numbers I had the opportunity to accompany. Whenever my sister (who also lived in my mission field) had the elders over for dinner, if they didn't recognize my name she would simply tell them I played the piano, and they knew who she was talking about. What's more, in order to teach those elders who expressed a desire for piano lessons, rather than take away from our proselyting time, I spent a number of nights before bed writing a guide on basic piano methods and how to read music, then distributed copies.

A sample page

So, yeah, without bragging . . . it was kind of my thing. If only I had been paying attention!

I like to joke around with my Sunday School teachers. A couple weeks ago I walked into class as everyone was making small talk about the coming semester, and I told them I had changed my major again. "Oh!" they replied with playful grins. "And what is it this week?"

There was truth in the joke, of course. My habit had been to get excited about something, try it out, then discard it and start all over again. Discovery by trial and error--just a bit more drawn out than I might have liked. And that process led to somewhat of a crisis for me over the summer: one of those "swim or drown" moments that either defines someone's life or smothers it.

After spring semester I decided I wanted to go into public relations. I thought it fit me well, and it encompassed some beliefs I held and activities I was already interested in anyway. It just felt right; and after all the other fields of study I had tried, I thought for sure I had found my niche. I was excited, and got started right away.

Everything was going well, but about halfway through the semester I started realizing something: I didn't belong in public relations. It wasn't that I wasn't understanding what was being taught. Actually, my teachers thought I had a real talent for this stuff. But I noticed myself feeling a little more gloomy every day, and I didn't like what that spelled for my future in such a career.

Well, this was a problem. I had already tried every major that really interested me, and now that I was second-guessing public relations, nothing was left. There was no career that didn't absolutely depress me just by thinking about it. It was time to swallow my pride and be honest with myself: I didn't have even the faintest idea what I wanted to do with my life.

This was a devastating revelation, and I was scared. Sure, I might have been a good translator. I probably could have done well in public relations or accounting, even. I could have done it . . . but I wouldn't have been happy. Yet at this point, what else could I do? It seemed I would have to settle for misery. I would certainly work a job I hated in order to support my family if it ever came to that, but would my depression at work rub off on those I loved? What kind of man would that make me? What would my family have to live with? I was haunted by every dark question, and each one weighed more heavily on me than the one before it.

Let me put in a plug here for a wonderful book: Major Decisions, by Henry J. Eyring. Please, if you have any doubts as to what you want to do with your life, read this one; it's well worth your time (and as far as educational advice goes, I can't think of anyone better to give it than an Eyring). I am thoroughly convinced that God worked through this book to change my life, the exact same way He works through the scriptures. I was looking for answers and not getting any, and then I remembered this book that I had bought during the final days of my mission. So I popped it open one night and just sat on my bed with it until I couldn't read anymore.

That's when I found it: the insight that led to the game-changing play. It essentially said (and forgive my sloppy paraphrase; it's much better in the book), "Consider what you think about in the shower--what you think about when you don't have to think about anything else. That thought might be a good thing for you to pursue."

Well, okay, I thought. I didn't really take it too seriously at first, but I started pondering. And nothing really came for a few moments. What do I think about when there's nothing else to think about?

When the answer finally came, I didn't like it. It scared me about as much as had my original ignorance of what to do. At first I was sure the exercise had backfired; that's almost what I really wanted to have happened. Music?! I thought. I'm pretty sure everybody sings in the shower. If they don't sing, they hum. If they don't hum, they think the song. No one escapes music when they're in the shower.

But I quickly remembered the things that made the answer completely valid: I live for music. I can count all my true passions on one hand, and that's one of them. I don't just sing in the shower--I analyze. I plan. I compose. I conduct. I dissect and augment. There's an air piano in there with me, and I know where the keys are. There's an orchestra, and sometimes I'm in the violin section, sometimes I'm at the piano, and sometimes I've got the baton. The audience has the printed program in their hands, and I know what songs are on it and in which order. I know who's playing the solo and when, I'm preparing to signal the drums to fade out, I'm waving the cello section into their melody. . . .

Music was the answer! . . . But I didn't want it to be. Throughout my life I had heard all about the downfalls of a music career, and I promised myself that I would never, ever, major in music. If ever there was a time I wrestled with God, it would have been that night in July. I was stuck in a corner, determined to get out. And here I was, going back and forth with the Almighty. I was not going to major in music. But you see, the thing about God is He's a better wrestler than I am. We stayed up together almost all that night playing our game, and in the end, He beat me. He beat me good.

But that's another thing about God: He's a good sport. He shares His victories; when He wins, I win. By the following morning, I was excited about majoring in music. I was finally at peace. I knew God was backing me up (because, after all, He did put me there in the first place). And since then, He's just been teaching me more and more about what I'm getting into. I do not regret the choices I made on the way here. I'm grateful for what I've learned about business, finance, customer service, life insurance, and a myriad of other things in which I've dabbled. Heck, even my (very) basic knowledge of the concepts of Arabic has helped me somewhat in my Gospel study and in my understanding of the other two languages I already speak. All these things have been, and will continue to be, for my good.

But my dream now is to be a high school music teacher, and it feels amazing. It's something I can think about and actually look forward to doing. It fits so well; and when I tell people what I'm studying, they finally agree. I definitely agree. In other words . . . it's a real dream.

So here I am now. The new semester has started, and so has my new path. All my classes are wonderful; I love being there, and I feel revitalized with every new lesson. I love sitting in the front and trying everything. My homework doesn't feel like homework, and I'm finally doing it because I actually want to. In so many words, I'm right where I need to be, and I'm happy.

Sometimes it's the answers we don't want to hear.

The Living Room

2011-08-19T22:45:00.002-06:00

And why do they call this the Living Room? It's the furniture:

Absolutely brilliant spot to hike up, find a seat, and watch the sunset. Do it sometime!

Dinosaurs and other weekend-y things

2011-08-15T15:29:00.000-06:00

A weekend at Vernal, Dinosaur National Monument, Flaming Gorge, and the Hogle Zoo is a weekend well spent.

Recent observations

2011-08-13T14:18:00.004-06:00

When drinking lemonade from a can or a bottle, I always check for the little thing that says "Shake well before enjoying." If I can't find it, I give the drink a light jiggle anyway and open it very cautiously.

The Swiss milk chocolate ice cream at Leatherby's took far too long to enter my life.

The washing machine never takes as long as I plan for it to.

The Spanish and Arabic names for Germany come from the fact that the "Alamanni" were an actual Germanic people. Lightbulb!

I feel out of place in my age group.

The Uinta Mountains look better from Wyoming southward than they do from rural Utah northward. I think Utah is just gloating to the neighbors, and I approve.

Throughout my life I have had more close female friends than males, but I still get kind of nervous talking to girls.

I have been to the movie theater at least once every single week this summer.

As long as I am in Utah, I will have to accept the fact that Texas barbecue and Tennessee barbecue are going to appear on the same menu (and sometimes on the same plate).

I want Blogger to notify me when somebody has left a comment after me on someone else's blog.

I don't want Facebook to notify me when someone makes a post in a group of which I am not a member.

Homestar Runner has an appropriate quote for every one of life's situations.

"There are two motives for reading a book; one, that you enjoy it; the other, that you can boast about it." --Bertrand Russell

The mail seems to come earlier these days.

My car is never ready to go back into first gear.

A lot of people in Texas come to Utah at some point during the summer.

I have as much fun conducting music as I do playing music.

I don't look forward to Saturdays like I used to. I'm more of a Thursday and Friday sort of person.

One would think Target keeps their collectible Lego minifigures in the Lego aisle, but they're actually tucked away in the seasonal aisles--perhaps to be used as stocking stuffers, Halloween treats, Valentines, or whatever. It's back-to-school season now. I can't find the collectible minifigures.

Smile for the storm clouds!

2011-08-06T23:27:00.000-06:00

In light of the way things are going in the world, some thoughts from Elder Neal A. Maxwell:

Within the swirling global events—events from which we are not totally immune—is humanity’s real and continuing struggle: whether or not, amid the cares of the world, we will really choose, in the words of the Lord, to “care … for the life of the soul” (D&C 101:37). Whatever our anxious involvements with outward events, this inner struggle proceeds in both tranquil and turbulent times. Whether understood or recognized, this is the unchanging mortal agendum from generation to generation.

When we strive to keep God’s commandments, “the inward man is renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16). Then, even on bad days, we will still “keep our own soul” regardless of external conditions (see Prov. 19:16).

. . . Therefore, though ours is a time of conflict, quietly caring for “the life of the soul” is still what matters most. Though events set up the defining moments which can evoke profiles in righteousness, outward commotions cannot excuse any failure of inward resolve, even if some seem to unravel so easily. If hostilities break out here and there, we still need not break our covenants!

. . . Uncertainty as to world conditions does not justify moral uncertainty, and distracting churn will not cover our sins nor dim God’s all-seeing eye. Furthermore, military victories are no substitute for winning our individual wars for self-control. Nor do the raging human hatreds lessen God’s perfect and redeeming love for all His children. Likewise, the obscuring mists of the moment cannot change the reality that Christ is the Light of the World!

Let us, therefore, be like the young man with Elisha on the mount. At first intimidated by the surrounding enemy chariots, the young man’s eyes were mercifully opened, and he saw “horses and chariots of fire,” verifying “they that be with us are more than they that be with them” (2 Kgs. 6:17, 16). Brothers and sisters, the spiritual arithmetic has not changed!

. . . Meanwhile, the defining moments in the “life of the soul” continue to turn on whether we respond with self-indulgence or self-denial in our daily, individual decisions, as between kindness and anger, mercy and injustice, generosity and meanness.

Wars do not repeal the second commandment. It knows no borders. Its adherents wear no national insignia, nor do they have skin of a particular color.

We may experience hunger, for instance, but if so, we can still respond as did the widow who used the last of her meal to feed Elijah (see 1 Kgs. 17:8–16). Such sharing amid real deprivation and poverty is always touching. Earlier in his life, a wonderful bishop of my youth, M. Thirl Marsh, repeatedly tried to be hired at the mines during the Depression. Being underage but large of stature, he persisted and was hired, but several friends were not. Apparently, on more than one occasion after his hard day’s work, generous young Thirl shared his earnings equally with these friends until they, too, were hired. No wonder he was such a caring shepherd of the flock later on.

. . . The outcomes of this ongoing process include having “no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2). No wonder, therefore, this process enables those so converted to “strengthen [their] brethren” (Luke 22:32) and so lift others by being “ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Pet. 3:15). Such righteous individuals perform another vital but quiet service to mankind: they become part of the critical mass which can evoke God’s much-needed blessings on all humanity.

Truly converted disciples, though still imperfect, will pursue “the life of the soul” on any day, in any decade, amid any decadence and destruction. This process constitutes being about our “Father’s business” (Luke 2:49; see also Moses 1:39).

Since this full conversion is what is supposed to be happening anyway, stern events and turbulence may actually even help us by causing a resumption of the journey or an acceleration.

Brothers and sisters, amid the volatile and vexing cares of the world, let us, as instructed, care for the “life of the soul.” Thanks to Jesus’ glorious Atonement, the life of that immortal soul outlasts the stretching longevity of any star and hence the short span of passing mortal events, even if grim!

(Neal A. Maxwell, Care for the Life of the Soul, April 2003 General Conference)

The glass truly is half full, my friends. Yee-haw!

Sweet Remembrance of You

2011-07-29T16:59:00.000-06:00

It's been a while since I've posted any piano music, so here's something I've been working on over the summer. Enjoy!

Sweet Remembrance of You
William Joseph

22 books I want to read before I'm 23

2011-07-23T19:55:00.001-06:00

Well, I turned 22 yesterday. 22 on the 22nd--pretty cool. It doesn't really feel much different from when I was 21, but at the same time I feel like I've crossed an important threshold. Growing up, 21 was the age I considered to be the biggest milestone, because it would close so many chapters of my life and open so many new ones (most notably, it would mark the close of my mission and the beginning of the post-mission life that always seemed so far away before). But 22 is kind of important, too, when I think about it . . . not so much because of what's happening, but what's not happening, or what's already started and is just continuing. There's not really any pressure on 22 to be a special year, and that in turn makes it extra special because it's been so long since I've reached such a laid back age. I'm another year older now--okay, now back to work. I like that.

But big or small, goals are always good to have. Life is a forward motion, but if you drift you'll still be as weak at the end as when you started. Recently I've seen a few of my friends make lists of 22 things they want to do before they turn 23 (or some similar variation), and I think that's such an awesome idea. I'd like to do something like it.

Mine is going to be a little different, though. I love trying new things and having a good adventure, and I continually strive to improve myself, too. Of course I have a few goals that I'd like to work on: actively participating in an orchestra and practicing my violin, attending the temple more diligently, taking more walks, fixing my bike so I can ride it again, selling some old stuff on eBay . . . and so on. I'm not going to ignore those, because they are goals I have. But for this list, I'd like to focus on just one goal: becoming more well read.

This is a lifetime pursuit, of course; even the most well read person in the world can read new things and learn from them. There's always room for improvement, and there's no ceiling to reach. That's part of the appeal for me. I love learning, and the thought that it never ends is to me what a bottomless chest of buried treasure is to a pirate.

Credit for this love of learning might appropriately be given to my parents, who among everything else especially made sure their children grew up literate. I remember as a kid, when school was out for the summer, the rule in our house was this: no TV, no video games, no computer, no friends--nothing--until we had spent a certain amount of time (according to our age) studying the scriptures, and an equal amount of time reading any other book of our choosing. It was one of the greatest things my parents could have done for me.

And that's what I hope to instill in my children someday. They can be whoever they want to be. They can play football, or dance, or make music, or garden, or paint, or any other thing under Heaven. But whatever they become, I at least want them to have a love for (or at least experience with) books and learning. I want them to know the scriptures, but I also want them to be familiar with fiction and history and science.

Well, that starts with me. It seems like whenever I talk about the goals I have for when I'm a father, there's always someone who comes out and says something to the effect of "You've got a long way to go; just enjoy single life while it lasts, because it's not coming back." I hate when they say that. I'm enjoying single life, believe me. I'm living in the present and taking quite enough advantage of where I'm at. Yet is it not wise also to prepare for the future? As missionaries, we had to find people to teach before we could teach them. Sometimes, even though we worked hard, we'd go days at a time without anyone to teach, and any lesson felt very far away. But when we found them, we couldn't sit in their living room and have our companionship study session right there. That was something we did in the morning, before we went out. That was when we prepared to teach. And so it is with this. Granted, I'm sure nothing can truly prepare me for fatherhood; but that doesn't mean there's nothing I can do to get ready for it. More than likely it's going to be nothing like I expect, but I can at least get a general idea of what kind of dad I want to be.

And so, I want to be the kind of dad who tells and reads stories to his children. I want to know enough stories that my supply will never run out, and I can always have an appropriate one for the occasion. I want to have wise quotes on my tongue passed down from good men in history. I want to know all sorts of little facts about plants and animals and the world in general to appease the curiosity of young minds.

With that in mind, you may see a bit of a theme in this list of books I want to read in the coming year. But don't think it's just for my kids; the beautiful thing about it is that these are books I've wanted to read anyway, on topics in which I'm already interested. Their future application is simply the icing on the cake, and adds a greater purpose to my goal.

But enough talk. In no particular order:

1--Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson

2--Race Rider, by Scott Hail (a friend of mine!)

3--The Fate of the Mammoth: Fossils, Myth, and History, by Claudine Cohen

4--Grimm's Fairy Tales, by the Brothers Grimm (of course!)

5--Early Masterpieces of Latter-day Saint Leaders, compiled by N.B. Lundwall

6--Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll

7--The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

8--Fairy Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen

9--Aesop's Fables

10--Ten Great Mysteries by Edgar Allen Poe (I'm not sure who compiled it, but it's the stories that count, right?)

11--The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain

12--Gulliver's Travels, by Jonathan Swift

13--Ancient America Rediscovered, by Mariano Veytia (translated by my mom, so it's extra cool)

14--The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln, compiled by James C. Humes

15--The Princess Bride, by William Goldman

16--Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne

17--The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Writings, by Washington Irving

18--To the Rescue: The Biography of Thomas S. Monson, by Heidi S. Swinton

19--Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear: Three Tragedies (another one whose compiler I don't know, but Shakespeare is awesome regardless)

20--The Eye of the World, by Robert Jordan

21--The Jungle Books, by Rudyard Kipling

22--Phantastes, by George MacDonald

Gettysburg

2011-07-21T22:33:00.001-06:00

As a bonus, on the way back to the airport we took a brief detour through Washington, D.C. There wasn't a whole lot of time, so we didn't park the car for anything and just saw what we could from the road. But it was actually really fun doing even a quick run-through!

Well, we did stop once . . . for the very best part.

More pictures can be seen here.

A letter from the past

2011-07-18T23:49:00.001-06:00

When the mail came today I was pleased, like anyone else, to find something for me. It was a simple envelope--no return information, just my name and address and nothing more. I was slightly perplexed at first, because the handwriting looked to be that of someone I knew, but I had no idea who.

And then came that exciting lightbulb . . . when I realized the handwriting was mine!

I can understand why it wasn't immediately familiar. I use dark ink--normally a gel--and bend my letters a little. This writing was in pencil, in a very careful, straight up-and-down fashion--the way I wrote in high school. This letter had come to me from another version of myself living five years in the past!

This was one of my last assignments in school my junior year. My psychology teacher had each of us in the class write ourselves a letter, then address an envelope and leave it with her. She promised to send those letters at the end of five years--and so, at the end of five years, my letter came!

I haven't really taken the younger me as seriously as I probably should, but it was so good to hear from him today, and it's given me a lot to think about. I won't share everything, but here is a little of what sixteen-year-old Nathan had to say:

Nathan,

You're probably getting off your mission right about now. I'm glad you chose to go. God blesses those who serve Him, and even though hard times are ahead, He will always be there.

I write this on Wednesday, May 31st, 2006. It's the end of your junior year in high school, and you've been ready for the summer for months. Is your nickname still Sly Pig?

....

There are so many things I want to ask you, but I wish to encourage you, as well.

....

Keep writing. Are you published yet? .... You'll do fine.

Finally, continue in your faithful service to the Lord God. He loves you and is pleased with your progress. Never forget Him. Never forget who you are.

Sincerely,

~Nathan Cunningham--The Great Sly Pig

P.S. Doc said to never let your violin gather dust. Please heed that charge.

Short and sweet . . . but exactly what I needed to hear today. Young Nathan, you've earned yourself a cookie.

Favorite movie characters

2011-07-14T23:32:00.003-06:00

The Warrior is at it again, this time challenging his fellow bloggers to list their favorite movie characters. This one's a little harder than choosing favorite movies, because there's a heck of a lot more characters running around, and the awesome ones sometimes show up in movies about which I would have otherwise forgotten. So for my list, I'm not going to determine a number of characters to feature or promise any form of order or completeness, because no matter what I do I'm bound to forget someone. But as far as this post is concerned, you'll get at least a general sampling of my tastes. Here we go!

Edward Bloom
Big Fish

Edward Bloom is just one heck of a guy, and the kind of person I want to be more like--not the town hero, like he is, but simply someone who treats every problem like an opportunity, and approaches everything with an idea, no matter how well it might work out in the long run. Because of his attitude, Edward lives a life rich in unique experiences and lasting friendships with the most unlikely people.

Ashitaka
Princess Mononoke

I can count on one hand how many people I've actually gotten to watch this movie with me, and none of them expressed any desire to see it again (haha) . . . which is really a shame because of how cool Ashitaka is. This guy is suffering from a demonic curse that is set to kill him, and yet all his efforts throughout the movie remain selfless. He gets caught in the middle of a war between industrious humans and the gods of the forest, and rather than seek healing and immortality through the disembodied head of the Forest Spirit (or so is the humans' belief regarding the creature), he instead fights to bring peace to the opposing factions, using his curse to demonstrate to them how very dangerous hatred truly is.

Lemuel Siddons
Follow Me, Boys!

I've got nothing but respect for Lemuel. The new guy in a small town, he organizes a Boy Scout troop and leads the boys for many years, becoming a hero to them and the rest of the town. He reminds me very much of my own Scoutmaster, who led our troop for more than forty years and to me embodies everything Scouting is about. These are the kind of people who truly make a difference both in the world and in one's own life.

Elder Calhoun
The Best Two Years

Elder Calhoun is the quintessential green missionary, and I think it's safe to say that anyone who's ever been on a mission could relate to him at some point. At least, I sure had my fair share of Elder Calhoun moments on my mission. As far as movie characters go, this guy's as true to life as they come.

Corbin
Return With Honor

While we're on the subject of missionary movies, I've got to mention Corbin--the best friend of a newly-returned missionary. It's been said that a missionary's third year is his hardest, and for me that's quite true. Coming home after two years isn't easy, and good friends are what have gotten me through. Life kept moving while I was away from it, and with it, so did the people I care about. But those who have had the patience to let me try to catch up have no idea what huge difference they have made. That's what Corbin does for his friend in this movie, and I have to really appreciate a character like that.

Vincent Valentine
Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

I've got to be honest: Vincent makes this list simply because of one line. This movie is a sequel to the Final Fantasy VII video game. The game's characters have mostly gone their own ways, but they keep in touch via cell phones--well, except for Vincent, who doesn't have a phone. As the movie approaches its climax, the old team comes together again to fight off a gigantic demon beast thing that's attacking the city Midgar, and the whole scene is packed with action as one-by-one the crew joins the fight. One rides in on a motorcycle, some drop down from an airship . . . and then there's Vincent, who walks in coolly like it's just another day. His gun isn't even out yet, and before he starts kicking butt he has only one thing to say.

"Where can I buy a phone?"

Luigi
Super Mario Bros.

Wait . . . what? Okay, Luigi's on here pretty much for the same reason Vincent is: he does something so crazy awesome in one scene that I have to love him. Mario and Luigi are in an elevator when all of a sudden it fills up with a bunch of bad guys. How are they gonna get out of this one? Watch the video on YouTube and skip ahead to 1:32 to find out! You may feel dumber after watching it . . . but it's so worth it.

In addition to the awesome dance party, Luigi's attitude also wins him some points as a character. Throughout the movie he reminds Mario that things may be improbable, but never impossible, and that rings well with me.

Mater
Cars

I like Mater because he's so relatable. I believe everyone has a little bit of Mater in them, and I can see quite a bit of myself in him. And there's so much we can learn from him, really--namely his positive, energetic attitude about life. Perhaps one of the best Mater lessons comes from Cars 2 (don't worry, I'm not giving away any sensitive plot points here), when someone tries to "fix" his dents. Mater protests, claiming that each of his dents is important to him, because he got them with his best friend. I think that's a very relevant point for us, too. It's the hard times, our mistakes, our scars and our bruises, in addition to the people we care about, that give so much meaning to our lives.

Heimdall
Thor

Heimdall was always my favorite character in Norse mythology, and I was pleased to see an adaptation of him in this movie. In Marvel's Thor, Heimdall is kind of like the cool waiter who gives you free drink refills when other customers have to pay, and says with a wink, "I won't tell if you won't tell!" Of course, with that statement also comes the waiter's unspoken caveat: "If my manager finds out, I'll spit in your food next time." To be clear, Heimdall's not in the business of keeping secrets or serving food--but he would sure be good at it considering his awesome performance as watchman of the Rainbow Bridge.

Davy Crockett
The Alamo

So far I've steered clear of historical figures, but I just couldn't pass this one up. Facts aside, I really like what Hollywood did with Davy Crockett here, and I feel that Billy Bob Thornton gives a masterful performance. His Crockett always keeps a cool, level head, and because of that he's one of those people I wouldn't mind having with me in the heat of battle (or anytime, for that matter). I feel emotionally invested in the story every time I watch this movie . . . though of course I think most of the credit for that would go to my mission in San Antonio. But you can't argue with good acting, either, and I'm pleased to feature Davy Crockett on my list of favorite movie characters.

Review: "The Phantom of the Opera," by Gaston Leroux

2011-07-11T15:38:00.001-06:00

Well, I suppose "review" is the best word for it, but really I'm just going to share some thoughts about the book (and from now on if you see that word in a title of a post, that's what it will mean, so I'm not committed to any degree of thoroughness--haha). Let's begin, shall we?

The Phantom of the Opera
by Gaston Leroux
Signet Classics Centennial Edition
271 pages
Back cover synopsis:

Filled with the spectacle of the Paris Opera House in the nineteenth century, this classic work of suspense remains a riveting journey into the dark regions of the human heart. The tale begins as an investigation into the strange stories of an "Opera ghost," legendary for scaring performers as they sit alone in their dressing rooms or walk along the building's labyrinthine corridors. Some even think they've seen the ghost in evening clothes moving in the shadows. But it isn't until the triumphant performance of beautiful soprano Christine Daaé that the Phantom begins his attacks--striking terror in the hearts of everyone in the theater. A story that has captured the imagination for a century, The Phantom of the Opera continues to this day to be an unparalleled work of sheer entertainment.

My thoughts:

I've always liked Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical based on this story, and with that and the many other film adaptations and pop cultural references to Leroux's classic, I have for some time wanted to read and get to know the original work. That opportunity came earlier this spring when a friend and fellow Phantom fan spotted the book and bought me a copy (thanks again!), and until I finally started reading in May I was quite anxious to dig into it.

My first impression was that this was certainly not Webber's musical. Actually, as I went along I found that the book continually put the play to great shame. It was fun to read a few certain scenes that had been adapted for the musical and piece them together, but the most exciting aspect of the read was to finally get the background of so many of the characters--including lovers Raoul and Christine. In the play, there isn't much information given about anyone, really, which leaves a lot of unanswered questions that are cleared up in the novel. I especially appreciated learning Raoul's history, and the circumstances under which he and Christine met as children. We are given details surrounding both characters' families and origins, and for me as a fan, that's perhaps the most useful thing about this book.

In addition to his character development, Gaston Leroux is a master of setting and suspense. It's not merely in his descriptions of things; it's in the natural flow and style of his storytelling. I could see and feel everything quite vividly as I read, which was especially effective on the nights I found myself up late in the only lit room of the house. By the end of the first chapter, I had already felt the shadows and learned to fear the Phantom; and Chapter Twenty was just plain freaky. Whenever the characters are trapped, so is the reader; and whenever they are freed, what a relief it is!

Unfortunately, things do slow down in the middle of the book, and it was difficult for me to push through it. The constant back and forth between Raoul and Christine becomes tiring, and even their complicated triangle with the Phantom gets old. The author does a fine job of developing his characters, but with every page I found myself hating the two lovers more and more. Raoul to me is nothing more than a whiner, and by the end of the book I don't even consider him the "hero" anymore (that honor goes to my favorite character, whose very appearance is mysterious at first so I won't reveal here who it is). And even though I typically enjoy reading about psychologically disturbed characters, Christine doesn't do it for me and all I can say for her is that she needs some serious help.

Speaking of disturbed, I thought Leroux did happen to create an incredible antagonist--the Opera ghost himself. As with the other characters, we learn the Phantom's history (easily the most interesting of any of the histories given in this book), and suddenly everything just seems to fall together. In the final chapters--when things pick up again--I dare say the Phantom even closely resembles someone: Heath Ledger's Joker. Seriously, for every Phantom dialogue, I gave him the Joker's voice, and it fit perfectly. Try it! If you're a Batman fan, you owe it to yourself to read at least the last few chapters of The Phantom of the Opera; it feels very much like a scene from The Dark Knight.

All in all, this was a very enjoyable read. Aside from Raoul and Christine, all of the characters were awesome (I love a story with a great supporting cast), and the scenery was unforgettable. Though the middle of the story can be somewhat tedious, the beginning and the end are quite exciting, and well worth a look. For fans of the musical I would definitely recommend this book, as well as for writers exploring suspense. Batman fans would also benefit from reading at least the last few chapters, as I said before (I think Chapter Eighteen would be a decent place to start if that's what you do, but stick with it; all I can say is you'll know it when you see it).

A land of promise and liberty

2011-07-04T10:43:00.003-06:00

Music was one of the most defining aspects of my mission. In every area, there were opportunities to play the piano, sing in choirs, or use other musical abilities in some way to invite the Spirit and give power to the work in which we were engaged.

One of these experiences that I will never forget was in June of 2009, when the local baseball team (appropriately named the San Antonio Missions; it wasn't always easy for us, however, to admit that the Spanish had beaten us to Texas centuries earlier) invited the Church to provide a few missionaries to sing the National Anthem at their game against Corpus Christi. That evening was "Mormon Night" at the ballpark, and what better way to open the night's events than with Mormon missionaries? (Which apparently wouldn't be the last time, either, as recently our elders and sisters in San Antonio made the news for their singing at a Spurs game.)

I don't think I can ever adequately describe how choice that experience was; and indeed, the Lord was with us from start to finish. Unfortunately my camera battery died just after we got situated on the field, but one of the elders attending the game with us managed to shoot a little bit of our rehearsal before we went out:

The whole thing passed quickly, in an almost dreamlike moment. We were permitted by our mission president to stay and watch the game when we were done, which naturally came with the opportunity to receive feedback from those who had heard us sing. I remember being approached one or two times by those who weren't members of the Church, inquiring as to which arrangement of The Star Spangled Banner we had used, as it was a very clean, straight-forward and no-nonsense presentation. I was very pleased to tell them that we had sung it straight from our church's hymnbook.

Which brings me to my thoughts for today.

I think it's awesome that we use patriotic songs like The Star Spangled Banner, America the Beautiful, and My Country, 'Tis of Thee as hymns in church. I'm grateful to be part of a religious organization that recognizes and appreciates the divine origin of our country, and that teaches it as doctrine. Indeed, if there is anyone who must celebrate this free land, it would most certainly be us; for in order that the Church of Jesus Christ could be restored in its fulness, there first had to be established a nation independent of the rule of tyrants and an oppressive state religion. Without liberty--I dare say, without America--there could have been no restoration of truth, and the full blessings of the Gospel would have remained unclaimed.

One thing I love about the Book of Mormon is its emphasis on liberty. Throughout the book there are countless stories and sermons on the subject. We read of many wars, and in every case it's one side defending their liberty while the other side seeks to oppress. The American continent is spoken of as a land of promise; and perhaps the most repeated promise given in the Book of Mormon is that the inhabitants of this land would prosper as long as they kept the commandments of God.

I firmly believe that promise. It is made both for individuals and for nations, both in the past and now. The world is changing, and the values on which our nation was established are not the same values that are gaining the most influence in the popular mind today. The Book of Mormon was written for our day, and when I read it I see our nation, both for the good and for the evil. The Book of Mormon is so American in so many ways, and that's part of why I value it so much. Most of all, I have seen its promises come to fruition in my life, and continue to even now. Whatever happens--whatever corrupt or immoral laws are passed in our modern halls of government, whatever foreign entanglements spill the blood of our soldiers, whatever dark thing wins popularity among our people--God knows me as an individual, and as long as I keep His commandments, I will prosper in this land. Everything I now have has been conditioned upon that, and is a result, by extension, of the liberty established with this free nation. I'm grateful to be a member of a church that teaches that, and for the freedom to practice my beliefs in a land such as this.

Happy Independence Day, my friends. May we as a nation remain blessed of the Lord, and as individuals strive to remember the cost of those blessings.

High school credit

2011-07-02T18:47:00.000-06:00

A day or two ago, a former high school classmate posted on Facebook an old video from our days in seminary. This was quite exciting for me; four years have now passed since seminary, and this particular video was two years older than that. It was fun to see everyone again (and to be surprised at how little I was and how much hair I had). Before long, I found myself digging through a whole list of old seminary videos that I previously had no idea had been put online. What a treasure trove of memories! But of those videos, this one had the most memories of all for me:

I've been doing a little bit of reflecting lately, and have realized that I haven't really given my high school experience enough credit. Granted, it's certainly not something I would do over again. There was a lot that stunk about high school, and I have no regrets about moving on with my life. That stage is over, and I'm on to bigger things now. In conversations with friends, it would seem they feel similarly; the past is in the past, and we're looking to the future.

Yet it was a good experience, overall, and there are some things I find myself missing on occasion. For example, everybody was in one place. Most often, talking to a friend was merely a matter of walking across the lunch room--and that was only if that friend wasn't already sitting at my table. Even if we didn't get to talk or spend a whole lot of time together, at the very least we saw each other at some point every day. I didn't hang out with or even like everyone in high school, but they were all there. I saw them; I passed them in the halls; I had classes with them. They weren't just pictures and text on Facebook.

Ah, Facebook. Thanks to Facebook, I know more about what's going on in my friends' lives now than ever before. But comparatively, I never see or really talk to them. I mean, I try to spend time with what friends I can, and I do okay considering everything else I'm up to. In general, the people I hung out with the most in high school are the ones I'm still hanging out with now. It's really nice; I'm grateful to have them, and the fact that they're still around after all this time means a lot to me. But we're quite a bit more scattered now, and our schedules have become such that it's difficult to pull everyone together very often.

I'm not complaining about that, because it's growth. We're all progressing in our own ways, and I believe our lives are richer now than they were back in high school. But there's still a lesson to be learned from the comparison between high school and now: the value of real, offline interaction. Watching those old seminary videos brought back a forgotten sense of appreciation for everyone I went to school with, from closest friends to passing acquaintances. It's the kind of appreciation that can't be adequately expressed on the Internet; it's something just for the real world. In our day of information on demand, that's probably one of the most important things someone can learn.

And that's why I have no problem writing a post today about high school. We don't have to live in the past to reflect on and learn from it. Looking back, I see so much more that I can apply in my life today than just what was needed for me to graduate. For instance, another lesson from reviewing the high school experience might be one in time management and structure. I was always late for school back in the day. I hated getting up early, and couldn't wait to get home once the last bell rang. I would have rather used my time as a permanent vacation: no deadlines, nowhere to be. But since then I've grown up just enough to realize I need structure. I need goals. I need plans. I need follow-through. And I look back at my school experiences for an example to follow: important things first, a little bit of free time (but not too much) between tasks in order to rejuvenate, things like that.

And the list of lessons goes on.

So, here's to high school. Thanks for the memories.

The Currant Bush

2011-06-30T09:55:00.000-06:00

You sometimes wonder whether the Lord really knows what He ought to do with you. You sometimes wonder if you know better than He does about what you ought to do and ought to become. I am wondering if I may tell you a story. It has to do with an incident in my life when God showed me that He knew best.

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet (two meters) high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”

That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian army. I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian army. I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. The one man between me and the office of general in the British army became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner.

I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the general, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for 10 years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.

Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and on his desk, I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly, and went out.

I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles (190 kilometers) away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure.” When I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.

And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have Mutual. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their singing:

But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.
(Hymns, number 270)

I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to Him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.

Many of you are going to have very difficult experiences: disappointment, heartbreak, bereavement, defeat. You are going to be tested and tried. I just want you to know that if you don’t get what you think you ought to get, remember, God is the gardener here. He knows what He wants you to be. Submit yourselves to His will. Be worthy of His blessings, and you will get His blessings.

--Hugh B. Brown, Liahona, March 2002 (also New Era, January 1973)

Baker and Topaz

2011-06-27T13:29:00.000-06:00

Bonus: Sevier Lake has water in it this year!

Lehman Caves

2011-06-24T16:50:00.000-06:00

Showdown in Félice

2011-06-22T15:43:00.000-06:00

My participation in my various hobbies has waned somewhat in recent months, but every so often a Lego creation comes along that amazes me so much that I have to tell everyone about it then pull out my own bricks. I encountered one such creation this week: Czech builder Michal Herbolt's Showdown in Félice. I love everything about it. This scene is packed with detail, yet at the same time, it doesn't feel crowded or overdone. Notice how none of the characters are generic in any way; the builder put a lot of effort into giving each minifigure its own unique identity and pose. Such a build reminds me why I got into Lego in the first place, and why I particularly love the Castle theme so much. Everything is in its perfect place, and Lego fan or no, this artistic feast is a real treat for the beholder.

Green River and Crystal Geyser

2011-06-20T23:56:00.001-06:00

Hide and Seek in the canyons

2011-06-18T16:13:00.006-06:00

Hide and Seek is one of those games that never seems to get old. We played it as kids, and nowadays it remains a popular option when we get together for night games. But in the process of growing up, we've also acquired new tools that can enhance our play. We have cars now, and maybe even gas money sometimes.

So, why not play hide and seek with our cars? Pick a canyon, for example, and send someone up with, say, a twenty-minute head start. They park somewhere, then it's the seekers' turn to find where they ended up. While they wait, whoever is hiding can take pictures or walk around or start a fire for marshmallows, or whatever. Then when everyone's back together again, they can explore the area or find some other part of the canyon in which to hang out and enjoy the scenery.

Perhaps a more challenging variation could take place in the city. Choose some boundaries (for example, 4100 S., I-215, 4700 S., and Redwood Rd.), and try to find the hiding car in that section of town. Once everyone's together, do whatever's nearby (if there's a park, go swinging; if there's a laser tag arena, play there; if there's a restaurant, eat there; if there's a museum, visit it; etc.).

I think I'd like to try this sometime and see how it works. Thoughts? Takers?

Inspiration came last night when I made my first trip to Big Cottonwood Canyon since getting off my mission. The plan was to meet a friend near Dogwood, but I must have blinked at just the wrong time, or something, because I overshot my target and ended up in Brighton. It was a very enjoyable drive, though, and I took pictures to my heart's content. So, for those who wouldn't want to play . . . consider the scenery!

Let's play.

Scratching away at the old violin

2011-06-16T17:00:00.003-06:00

Back in November I wrote about how I'd joined the Taylorsville-SLCC Symphony. That was an enjoyable time for me, and it felt good to get back on stage during the Holiday Season. But due to a schedule change I had to leave the orchestra again after our Christmas concert series. My brief season with the Taylorsville-SLCC Symphony got me playing the violin again after my mission, but it wasn't enough to graduate me from "rusty" status without individual practice.

And, well . . . I haven't been doing that. I probably have time to practice, but the violin isn't like the piano: it's not just sitting there open in the living room, with a bench handy for me to sit on. I can sit down at the piano without even thinking about it (there are occasions when I'm so tired I don't even realize I've gone to the piano until I'm pressing keys), but the violin requires a little bit more effort to pull out of the closet and make sure the bow is tight and the strings are in tune.

But I'd like to start practicing regularly again, at least a little. I had so much fun in the high school orchestra. (By the way, it's been four years since high school. Weird.) I wasn't a virtuoso back then, or anything, but I felt comfortable with the violin. I could pick it up and just play, and that made me happy. And really, that's all I want out of the violin. I'm not out to become first chair of the Utah Symphony; I just want to play without making a bunch of awkward squeaking noises. Maybe I'll learn some hymn arrangements for church, or something.

This thought was inspired by a meeting with Joey, an old friend from the orchestra. We get together fairly often, but today was the first time I can remember that we actually thought, Hey, why don't we play some violin?

So we did. And (mainly due to my rustiness; Joey still practices a lot more than I do), one can imagine what that sounded like. It didn't exactly turn out like this:

Actually, it was more like this:

I've learned, however, that things generally go okay with the music if I stay in the background. On this one, we even managed to get through the whole song!

In any case, we had fun, and that's what the orchestra was all about for me back in the day. It was nice to play the violin with an old friend again, and indeed, pulling out my violin itself was like seeing another old friend. It was the kind of experience that made me think. I may talk more about my summer goals sometime, but practicing my violin more than just once in a long while is definitely on the list now. I think that'll be good for me.

Scottish Festival

2011-06-13T13:42:00.000-06:00

Personal radiation

2011-06-09T13:05:00.000-06:00

There is one responsibility which no man can evade; that responsibility is his personal influence. Man's unconscious influence is the silent, subtle radiation of personality--the effect of his words and his actions on others. This radiation is tremendous. Every moment of life man is changing, to a degree, the life of the whole world.

Every man has an atmosphere which is affecting every other man. He cannot escape for one moment from this radiation of his character, this constant weakening or strengthening of others. Man cannot evade the responsibility by merely saying that it is an unconscious influence.

Man can select the qualities he would permit to be radiated. He can cultivate sweetness, calmness, trust, generosity, truth, justice, loyalty, nobility, and make them vitally active in his character. And by these qualities he will constantly affect the world.

This radiation, to which I refer, comes from what a person really is, not from what he pretends to be. Every man by his mere lilting is radiating either sympathy, sorrow, morbidness, cynicism, or happiness and hope or any one of a hundred other qualities.

Life is a state of radiation and absorption. To exist is to radiate; to exist is to be the recipient of radiation.

--David O. McKay (emphasis mine)

A Scout is Friendly

2011-06-07T22:02:00.000-06:00

A Scout is friendly. And while it is easy to be friendly with our friends, we also need to be friendly with those who don't know us, and who aren't our friends. This also means that we need to be friendly to our enemies. Although a difficult thing to do, there is a story of Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865, 16th President of the United States of America) and his unique way of dealing with his enemies.

An associate once took him to task for his kind attitude toward his enemies. His friend advised, "Why do you try to make friends of them? You should try to destroy them." To this, Lincoln gently replied, "Am I not destroying my enemies when I make them my friends?"

--Ron Wendel, The Scoutmaster Minute, p. 120

"It's amazing what a little harmony'll do."

2011-06-03T17:39:00.000-06:00

The sounds were not mere sounds. I don't have words to explain. Maybe no one does. The sounds touched a part of me I'd long forgotten. The sounds made me think of Aguella. Of home. Of the stars and the sun and the clouds and of all the beauty, sadness, joy, and laughter I'd ever known.

Menno/Father finished playing and the creatures in the audience emitted honking vocalizations that seemed especially harsh in contrast with the sounds of Menno's instrument.

"Your turn," Menno said.

I placed my lips as I'd seen him do, and my hands as he had done. And I made sounds. But not the sounds he had made. Mine were harsh and grating and contemptible in my own ears.

And yet, I could hear, even there, even in my own incoherence, the seed of something. Something.

The audience favored me with stony silence.

"That's game." Menno laughed.

"What is this game, Father?"

"These creatures are called the Unemites. They are not space-faring. I happened to draw a Skrit Na freighter into my web--useless species, the Skrit Na--and aboard their ship they had a Unemite captive."

"The game, Father. What is it called?"

"They call it music."

"I can never hope to win," I said. "I beg you, Father: Release me. I don't want to play it again."

He refused. Of course I knew he would. And I knew this about Father: His one weakness was his cruelty. I could use that. He would force me to play this game a thousand times.

* * *

The hundredth game. But the ten thousandth time I had played it in my mind, all alone. The instrument, the adge, as the Unemites called it, had scarcely been out of my thoughts.

The adge had become a part of me. It was inside me, in my brain, and even if Father ended the game, he could never take the adge from me, never take music from me, never. I owned it. I had become it. And now, this game, the hundredth, I would show him.

--K.A. Applegate, The Ellimist Chronicles, pp. 124-125, 126

A Scout is Helpful

2011-06-01T15:07:00.000-06:00

A large part of Scouting is service, and service has a noble purpose. Those who give service learn to think of others, learn to help those in need, and learn to put others above themselves. It is also through service that we feel a sense of fulfillment in our lives. David O. McKay (1873-1970, educator and religious leader) said, "He who lets selfishness and his passions rule him binds his soul in slavery, but he who, in the majesty of spiritual strength, uses his physical tendencies and yearnings, and his possessions to serve purposes higher than personal indulgences and comfort, takes the first step toward the happy and useful life."

--Ron Wendel, The Scoutmaster Minute, pp. 106-107

Memorial Day

2011-05-30T20:20:00.000-06:00

Nathan's Theme

2011-05-27T16:04:00.004-06:00

Inspired by recent discussion at Books, Bones, Bricks, and Bullets, I began to wonder, If the world was covered in invisible speakers, what would they play when I entered a room?

To be honest, this wouldn't be the first time I've had such thoughts. On the old blog, I once proposed an idea to create a "life soundtrack," with the intention of assigning theme music to personal activities, places, situations, and family and friends. (At least one reader took the challenge, but I didn't follow through myself. Maybe someday.) But this time it's different. It's just my own theme music--describing Nathan alone.

So, when Nathan enters a room, what do we hear?

At the start of this quest, I had to make one thing clear with myself: favorite music and theme music won't necessarily be the same. I have plenty of favorite songs that I would love to have playing as I go about my daily business, but at best, each of them perhaps only captures one tiny facet of my personality. One song might work great for when I'm happy, another when I'm sad, and yet another when I'm struggling to get up in the morning. That's part of why they're my favorite songs: they take how I'm feeling in a particular moment and magnify that emotion. But for my personal entrance theme, I want something that covers all the bases and illustrates "Nathan in general."

The second rule I set for myself was realism. In other words, as awesome as the epic stuff is, I am not a ninja or a pirate, nor do I frequently lead armies into battle (as far as I remember, that's only happened once). So, the sweeping melodies of Braveheart or The Lord of the Rings most likely aren't going to fit who I am and how I live.

Third rule: my theme must get to the point as soon as I enter the room. Lots of great songs make the listener wait for the main event. They start out quiet, then gradually build and build until bam!, you're face-to-face with an organ-playing octopus! Here's the thing, though: when you enter a room, do you say "I'm coming, just stuck in traffic right now," or do you say, "I'm here! And I brought drinks!"? When those speakers start announcing my presence, I'm too busy saying hi to people to remind them that I'm not actually supposed to be there until the sick guitar solo at 3:18.

So, general, realistic, and to the point. And the winner is. . . .

Barret's Theme
Nobuo Uematsu

For those of you who have played Final Fantasy VII or know Barret's character at all, take note that I do not compare myself to Barret. Simply remove the song from the context of the game, and I think it can actually do pretty well at announcing, "Hey, Nathan's here!" It doesn't go in depth describing who I am, but it gets the general point across quickly, which is what entrance music should do for a person.

To me, this song in particular paints a picture of a well-rounded person. It can effectively say both "Let's get to work" and "We've worked hard; let's go have some fun." It's a little rough around the edges, yet civilized and friendly. It describes someone who enjoys a good adventure, but doesn't mind staying home now and then, either. It's active, but not rowdy; strong, yet sociable; intelligent, yet down to earth. I like it.

What would you choose as your own entrance music? Do you think mine fits, or would you pick something different for me?

One thing's for sure: the next party I go to, I'll be playing this song in my head when I get there.

A Scout is Loyal

2011-05-25T16:17:00.001-06:00

There are responsibilities and duties that come with privileges. Look at someone who has a lot of privileges, and you will also see that they have many responsibilities. Those who seek to have privileges without also fulfilling their duties are those who are also trying to neglect their values and principles. Dwight D. Eisenhower (1890-1969, 34th President of the United States of America) said, "A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both."

--Ron Wendel, The Scoutmaster Minute, pp. 16-17

Grantsville Reservoir

2011-05-23T16:42:00.000-06:00

A Scout is Trustworthy

2011-05-18T13:44:00.000-06:00

Several years ago I started a project to depict the points of the Scout Law in Lego, but only got a third of the way through. I always meant to finish, though, and this feels like a good time to get back into it.

As far as building goes, I'm going to pick up where I left off instead of starting over. But the first four installments of this blog series will be the original vignettes from my first attempt at the project. So, without further ado. . . .

If you've ever lost a ten-dollar bill, you feel pretty bad. If you lose more money, you feel even worse, but that's nothing compared to how you feel when you're sick or injured. It's especially bad if you find out that your sickness or injury is going to take a long time before you're healed. But there's one thing even worse than losing money or getting sick, and that is losing your integrity. It has been said that when wealth is lost, nothing is lost. When health is lost, something is lost. When character is lost, all is lost.

--Ron Wendel, The Scoutmaster Minute, p. 10

Burn season

2011-05-16T21:34:00.000-06:00

I've learned to appreciate a good sunburn; there's nothing like putting in a hard day of work or play and coming back in to see the evidence. It tells the world, "I got outside. I'm living life."

I don't advocate going out unprepared. But when burn season comes, I certainly can't complain if my skin gets a little red. Eventually the tan comes, and if I start the fall darker than I was in the spring, that's success.

First burn of the season has healed and I feel good. Happy burn season, everyone. Have fun out there!

Getting caught in the rain

2011-05-14T21:40:00.001-06:00

We spent a good chunk of our Saturday cleaning out the back shed. It all started quite nicely; the weather was beautiful and warm, and we had no problem getting all our stuff out of the shed and spread all over the lawn.

Once we got to that point, the thunder began to clap and an ice-cold rain fell, drenching everything. We worked frantically to fill the shed again, but in no time we ourselves were entirely soaked.

And I loved every second of it.

I remember a Monday evening on the southeast side of San Antonio. My companion and I hit the streets to find people to talk to, and it was an overcast day much like today. Then a flood of rain suddenly came down, and we had left our umbrellas at the apartment, so whaddya do, you know? I'll tell ya, though, that was some of the most fun I ever had street contacting on my mission. We surrendered to the elements, so we didn't even care that it looked and felt like we had just jumped into a pool with all of our clothes and proselyting materials. In that moment we truly lost ourselves, and we were having so much fun that we radiated happiness. Anyone who was crazy enough to still be outside definitely heard from us in that neighborhood that night. There was no escape. And I like to think we left at least some of them feeling better about their day.

In Texas we had plenty of hot days. One summer I was there, Austin broke a record for the most consecutive days over a hundred degrees. Church marquees all over the place could be seen inviting people to pray for rain, and in two of my areas, there were even stake-wide fasts for rain (which were all answered the very next day--cool stories, I won't get into them right here though).

But man, when it rained, it rained. One evening I passed an empty flood basin, and the next day it had risen over eight feet and become a roaring rapid. I saw swimming pools that had overflowed so that they were just the deep part of a much larger puddle. And there was at least one occasion in San Antonio when it seemed almost pointless to keep our windshield wipers on, because the rain was just coming down too hard and too fast. It doesn't rain in Utah the way it does in Texas.

I love it when it rains because it takes me back to my mission, and thus motivates me to become a better person. Today's rain took me back. So, in tribute to the rains of my mission, a few videos from some such times.

Everyday

2011-05-14T20:54:00.000-06:00

On Monday's post, one commenter asked:

Are you going to be posting any videos of you playing on the new instrument?

Well. . . .

Okay.

Everyday
Carly Comando

The antique piano

2011-05-09T23:44:00.002-06:00

This is the piano I grew up on. They don't make them like this anymore; and for how old it is, it's still in great shape. Truthfully we don't know exactly when our piano was built, but the most recent date engraved on the soundboard is August 18, 1882--interestingly enough, precisely 128 years prior to the day I returned from my mission. Let's take a peek inside this beauty:

I wish this old piano could talk and share its story. It only came into my family's possession in 1988; so as far as it's concerned, I'm still fairly new. I want to know who played this piano before me. I want to know how it got to the place where my parents found it, and where it stopped along the way. Was it the background to a saloon somewhere? Or did a more wealthy family put it in their parlor? One of these days I'd like to write such a story.

But, here and now, I know this piano is part of our family, and will continue to be as long as I have anything to say about it. I've played on it my whole life, and I'm delighted that my children will also play on it. The arrangement is that when I'm married and moved out of the house, I will inherit the piano. And so the story will continue onward into the next generation of pianists (and the fact that my wife and I won't have to take time to save up for a piano is also a huge plus).

Until then, starting today, it is in the care of my older brother, who will protect it, play it, and love it. But just moving the thing proved a most impressive feat; as I said, they don't make pianos like this anymore. It's almost as tall as me, and quite a bit heavier!

But you know, a house without a piano just feels . . . kind of empty.

Guess it's time for a new one!

Past Blast: Pink

2011-05-06T14:49:00.000-06:00

A tribute to the group of friends I was with when this picture was taken, with whom I still hang out. I think this was sometime between November 2007 and February 2008.

Ten movies

2011-05-04T14:35:00.000-06:00

Monday's post was on a topic much heavier than I am prone to write. So, I thought I'd do something light and fun today. School's out, the weather's beautiful, and life is just good, so why not?

The Warrior at Books, Bones, Bricks, and Bullets has issued a challenge for fellow bloggers to list their top ten favorite movies. Narrowing it down to just ten was kind of tricky for me, because I like a wide variety of films, and my favorites depend on the day. But the following represents the most general of my usual listings, so here they are, in no particular order, as of today, May 4, 2011. Movie titles are links to trailers.

Princess Mononoke

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
--The whole trilogy is up there, really, but I picked only my favorite out of the three movies so as not to dominate this list.

Saints and Soldiers

Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within
--As with The Lord of the Rings, I only put my favorite Final Fantasy movie on this list. Truth be told, this one actually doesn't feel very "Final Fantasy," but I like the movie anyway, and they at least included a Cid.

The Best Two Years
--You can't cover the entire experience of a mission within the length of a movie, but what is depicted here is absolutely one-hundred-percent accurate, and funny as heck. Ah, good memories!

The Phantom of the Opera

Big Fish

Tangled

August Rush

The Time Machine

Anyone share any of these? What would your list look like?

Celebrating death

2011-05-02T20:49:00.003-06:00

Ten years from now if someone asks me where I was when I heard about the death of Osama bin Laden, I'll answer that I was at a friend's house after a nice dinner and some episodes of Doctor Who, and that I initially received the news by text from my brother. We all stuck around for a while before heading home, watching the various reports and the President's speech, and taking in what was going on.

It'll just be one of those days in American history.

Another such day happened ten years ago. I was getting ready for school when my mom told me about the first plane hitting one of the World Trade Center towers. It was big news, but I didn't get a picture of just how big until I got to school and every TV in the building was on. We watched all day as our lives and our country were changed.

At that time there was also footage shown of celebration over the attacks. In some parts of the world, where the terrorists found support and America was an enemy, people ran out into the streets rejoicing over what had happened.

Fast forward ten years, and we see something similar in our own country:

To be honest, I'm saddened at what we have become.

I do not mourn the loss of Osama bin Laden. I admit that at some point in the past ten years, like perhaps many others of us, I too participated in at least one conversation about what I might do to the terrorist leader if I ever met him. He was responsible for the murder of thousands, and he will be held accountable before God.

But I am not God. It is not my place to call for bin Laden to "rot in hell," or to cast any such judgment as to his fate. As imperfect, mortal humans, we are incapable of dealing true, complete justice. Only God can do that, because He not only knows a man's actions: He knows his heart, mind, and every circumstance and detail. As much as we can do, no matter to whom, vengeance does not equate with justice. And I will not celebrate the death of another human being--even a man with so much innocent blood on his hands.

Of course I understand that thousands have lost loved ones because of this man. For the rest of their lives, they have to live with the empty seat at the dinner table, the flowers on the grave. My heart goes out to them. I believe in self and national defense, and indeed, we had something to defend. I don't know if I would have felt right not taking action after the attacks; and, given the option between keeping bin Laden in prison or sentencing him to death, I likely would have chosen the death penalty. I do not deny that. But I would not have enjoyed it. If an intruder broke into my home and threatened my family, I would shoot. I would do what I had to do to protect my family. But I would never be happy I killed or even just hurt someone. Not even in self defense. I'd actually be saddened that it had to come to that.

This can be a good day for America, but it shouldn't be because Osama bin Laden has been killed. If that is the reason, it is not a good day, because celebrating death makes us no better than our adversaries. No, what would make today good is the fact that we remain a free nation, even after the horrific attempts of others to take that freedom away. And while I don't rejoice in the death of this man, I am grateful that the search for him is over and that no more lives will be taken at his hands. If there is anything to celebrate, it is those things.

There is a quote shared with me by my friend Sarah that I feel says it best. It has spread rapidly over the Internet during the past day, and while we may never know who really said it (it's inaccurately attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.), the message is its true value:

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

I pray that America will keep that in mind as time goes on. Now, with Osama bin Laden laid to rest, I turn my attention to what happens next. Should be an interesting ride.

Moving mountains

2011-04-29T16:16:00.000-06:00

Many people have questioned the literal truth of the Lord's declaration that by faith mountains may be removed from their place. Plainly there would have to be a purpose in harmony with the divine mind and plan, in order that faith could be exerted at all in such an undertaking. Neither such a miracle nor any other is possible as a gratification of the yearning for curiosity, nor for display, nor for personal gain or selfish satisfaction. Christ wrought no miracle with any such motive; He persistently refused to show signs to mere signseekers. But to deny the possibility of a mountain being removed through faith, under conditions that would render such removal acceptable to God, is to deny the word of God, both as to this specific possibility, and as to the general assurance that "nothing shall be impossible" to him who hath faith adequate to the end desired. It is worthy of note, however, that the Jews in the days of Christ and since often spoke of removing mountains as a figurative expression for the overcoming of difficulties. According to Lightfoot and other authorities a man able to solve intricate problems, or of particular power in argument or acumen in judgment, was referred to as a "rooter up of mountains."

James E. Talmage (Jesus the Christ, p. 396)

Matthew Cunningham: now available for $2.99

2011-04-27T17:21:00.000-06:00

Over the past year or so, LEGO has been selling a special line of collectible minifigures that come one to a pack, and include unique accessories that haven't before been seen from the LEGO mold. They're like crack to the fanatic like me.

What makes these things so fun is trying to collect them all. See, you don't know what you're getting until you open the pack, so you've either got to figure out the code of dots on the packaging or be really good at identifying pieces with only your fingers. (Or, if you have the money, just buy a whole case and get the complete set that way.)

So, naturally, when the fourth series of these figures came out a few weeks ago, I was on it. And I gotta hand it to LEGO: they really know their market. Take the skater minifig for example--I can't quite put my finger on it, but he looks like someone I've seen quite a bit around the Lego aisle.

It's eerie, really. Give him jeans and a hoodie, and replace the skateboard with an ice cream cone, and . . .

. . . he looks extremely familiar. I swear I've seen this guy before . . . but where?

Oh yeah.

The old crew

2011-04-25T18:01:00.037-06:00

And it came to pass when they had arrived in the borders of the land of the Lamanites, that they separated themselves and departed one from another, trusting in the Lord that they should meet again at the close of their harvest; for they supposed that great was the work which they had undertaken. --Alma 17:13

This is an exciting time for me. Friends are getting off their missions, and many of the acquaintanceships of high school are being restored. Only a few guys are still gone, and that won't even be for very much longer yet. There is much to be happy about. But there is no reunion of friends I look forward to more than with the missionaries who have left from my own ward.

I have my friends who I met in school or on the mission, and then there are also the guys from my ward. It's not that I love one group more than the other; wherever their origin, my best friends are my best friends. There aren't necessarily favorites in such dealings. It's more like apples and oranges: I love apples, but they're not oranges. I love oranges, but they're not apples. If I've gone a while without tasting one, I'll be excited when it comes back into season and incorporate both into my regular diet.

Yet even without merely playing favorites, what makes the guys from my ward so different that I am so eager for their reunion is that these are the people I grew up with. An old saying goes that it takes a village to raise a child, and this was the village that raised me. I was with this same group of guys in every Sunday School class until my mission. We went to preschool together. We played baseball and jumped on the trampoline and built a clubhouse. In Boy Scouts, they were my troop. It was they with whom I spent my summers around a campfire. And it was around a campfire, gazing from the flame to the stars and back again, that I had the deepest philosophical discussions and made the most important decisions of my young life. Those were more than just "good times"--they were my defining moments.

That's one thing about the Church organization that makes it mean so much to me: a ward is a bond more like "family" than "friend." We've never been the group of guys that calls each other up on Friday night and says "Let's go do something" (though it would be a lie to say we haven't done that at least a few times in the past). Yet there's a closeness such that we don't have to hit the town in order to keep it going, and we're always there when we need each other.

I said before that this is an exciting time for me. Another one of these young men returned to my ward from a mission last week. Only one remains away, and there are only a few months left until he joins us, too. The old crew is coming together again, and with it, a piece of my identity that has been scattered these past few years.

And now it came to pass that as Alma was journeying from the land of Gideon southward, away to the land of Manti, behold, to his astonishment, he met with the sons of Mosiah journeying towards the land of Zarahemla.

Now these sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord; yea, and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God. --Alma 17:1-2

Happy Easter!

2011-04-22T13:19:00.000-06:00

It's a Lego poetry slam!

2011-04-20T14:48:00.000-06:00

Just had to put that goatee to use. This also marks a huge milestone for me: all my life I swore I would never take a knife to a Lego piece, but I finally caved because that girl's face was too perfect for the scene to not use it . . . except she had a headset printed on. I figured a little bit of paint scraping would be appropriate in this case, since I didn't like the printing anyway. In addition to that, I cut a flex tube down to size for the microphone stand, but that's a practice I think that piece was made for anyway. Still, first time for everything!

Logging off

2011-04-16T23:03:00.001-06:00

My cousin Tanner linked to a great article that I couldn't help but share here. It's about a trip some scientists took into the wilderness to research the effects of nature on the brain during an age of heavy use of digital devices. From The New York Times:

. . . Mr. Strayer, the trip leader, argues that nature can refresh the brain. “Our senses change. They kind of recalibrate — you notice sounds, like these crickets chirping; you hear the river, the sounds, the smells, you become more connected to the physical environment, the earth, rather than the artificial environment.”

“That’s why they call it vacation. It’s restorative,” Mr. Braver says. He wonders if there’s any science behind the nature idea. “Part of being a good scientist is being skeptical.”

Mr. Braver accepts the Michigan research but wants to understand precisely what happens inside the brain. And he wonders: Why don’t brains adapt to the heavy stimulation, turning us into ever-stronger multitaskers?

“Right,” says Mr. Kramer, the skeptic. “Why wouldn’t the circuits be exercised, in a sense, and we’d get stronger?”

. . . “Time is slowing down,” Mr. Kramer says. He has been moving quickly his whole life, since he left home at 15, and has elevated himself to a position of great influence. It’s the second day on the river, and he has finished packing his tent. He’s the first of the morning to do so, but he feels no urgency.

He has not read any of the research papers he brought. And the $25 million e-mail? “I was never worried about it. I haven’t thought about it,” he says, as if the very idea were silly.

Mr. Kramer says the group has become more reflective, quieter, more focused on the surroundings. “If I looked around like this at work, people would think I was goofing off,” he says.

The others are more relaxed too. Mr. Braver decides against coffee, bypassing his usual ritual. The next day, he neglects to put on his watch, though he cautions against reading too much into it. “I sometimes forget to put my watch on at home, but in fairness, I usually have my phone with me and it has a clock on it.”

Mr. Strayer, the believer, says the travelers are experiencing a stage of relaxation he calls “third-day syndrome.” Its symptoms may be unsurprising. But even the more skeptical of the scientists say something is happening to their brains that reinforces their scientific discussions — something that could be important to helping people cope in a world of constant electronic noise.

“If we can find out that people are walking around fatigued and not realizing their cognitive potential,” Mr. Braver says, then pauses and adds: “What can we do to get us back to our full potential?”

If that sounds familiar, it probably is:

Our physical bodies make possible a breadth, a depth, and an intensity of experience that simply could not be obtained in our premortal estate. . . . In the classroom of mortality, we experience tenderness, love, kindness, happiness, sorrow, disappointment, pain, and even the challenges of physical limitations in ways that prepare us for eternity. Simply stated, there are lessons we must learn and experiences we must have, as the scriptures describe, “according to the flesh” (1 Nephi 19:6; Alma 7:12-13).

. . . If the adversary cannot entice us to misuse our physical bodies, then one of his most potent tactics is to beguile you and me as embodied spirits to disconnect gradually and physically from things as they really are. In essence, he encourages us to think and act as if we were in our premortal, unembodied state. And, if we let him, he can cunningly employ some aspects of modern technology to accomplish his purposes. Please be careful of becoming so immersed and engrossed in pixels, texting, earbuds, twittering, online social networking, and potentially addictive uses of media and the Internet that you fail to recognize the importance of your physical body and miss the richness of person-to-person communication. Beware of digital displays and data in many forms of computer-mediated interaction that can displace the full range of physical capacity and experience.

--Elder David A. Bednar, Things as They Really Are, from an address given May 3, 2009.

I would recommend reading the entirety of Elder Bednar's article to anyone, regardless of religious persuasion, because it outlines some very important points about making use of our day's technological advances without becoming slaves to them. Reading it was one of the biggest things that convinced me to change the way I blog from how I used to (you long-time readers will know exactly what I mean--remember my daily novels?). I'm happier now for following that counsel, and even though there is still room for me to improve, I have already experienced a greater degree of freedom and satisfaction in my life by simply logging off. Forgot my phone the other day, and it felt awesome!

It's nice to see science catching up to that concept. Pretty neat.

Keepin' it ReAL

2011-04-14T10:34:00.000-06:00

Some particularly epic moments out on the field:

From the Deseret News:

It was cold, it was windy, and a scoreless draw seemed like an inevitability. Real Salt Lake fans knew better though.

When RSL is facing rival Colorado anything can happen — and usually does. Like clockwork, it happened again Wednesday night at Rio Tinto Stadium.

Fabian Espindola's tap-in goal in the 93rd minute lifted Real Salt Lake to a gutty 1-0 victory over the Rapids in front of 15,513 chilly, yet loyal supporters.

There couldn't have been a more perfect moment than that last-minute goal. We cheered like we had won the World Cup, the drums beat harder and louder than before, everyone was jumping up and down and ecstatic hugs went all around. It will forever be etched in my memory.

Not bad for my first RSL game!

Five Mile Pass

2011-04-11T15:36:00.001-06:00

Four guys. One playground.

Don't miss the timer!

And just because:

More pics here.

The latest Mormon-"ism"

2011-04-07T17:14:00.000-06:00

I'm certainly not the first to be posting this; online Latter-day Saints are spreading our new meme like wildfire, and how joyous an experience it has been! For those who haven't seen it, here is the footage from the end of Conference this past Sunday:

Every time I see this, I can't help but laugh my butt off and play it again. Perhaps even better are all the jokes that are sprouting from this guy's fun little Conference moment. Special thanks to two of my friends Sarah for pointing them out to me:

(More posters can be seen at LDS Friends.)

The famous Conference Smiler is one Daniel from Australia, who said of his moment on camera (via YouTube), "I stood up and saw the back of my head on the big screen so I thought the nice thing to do would be to smile, so I did." Way to be, Daniel. I'm glad you got to be here for Conference, and that you did smile at the camera--not just because I've gotten some great laughs from it, but because of the simple lesson you teach in that the Gospel is all about happiness. At the very least, it brightened my day.

Flecks of gold

2011-04-04T15:41:00.000-06:00

Well, it's the Monday after General Conference, so let's talk about it! Every so often I'll probably be posting my favorite talks here (there sure were some awesome ones), but out of all of them I think my top favorite might have been by Elder M. Russell Ballard. I love what he had to say about being positive and treating other people the way Christ would treat them:

All of this weekend's talks can be found here. I'm grateful for the things that have been said, as well as those personal things that the Spirit whispered to me during the conference that I needed to know. I'm excited for the opportunity to study these words and apply them in my life to become a better person.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is simple and optimistic. It brings me happiness and leads me to make good changes in my life. The heavens are indeed open. God answers prayer and speaks to the individual, and He also speaks to the entire world through His chosen messengers in this day, just as He did anciently. He is as active in His work today as He was at the creation of the world. And He is concerned and involved in every one of our lives. That's why General Conference means so much to me: because God is watching over all of us, and will not leave us without guidance.

Racing the sun

2011-03-31T13:58:00.001-06:00

I've always had a hard time getting up early in the morning, but when I do I never regret it. There are so many little rewards in beating the sun out of bed, and it's the little things that matter most. It's not money, or possessions, or recognition, or even having control over one's life that make living so joyful--it's spending time with the people you care about; the smell of spring on the cool air; a sunrise over the mountains, and being awake to see it. If life and society were to crumble in such a way that I would lose everything else, there would still be the sunrise.

A night at the opera

2011-03-29T17:06:00.005-06:00

Anyone who's gone through my iPod might tell you of my obsession with Final Fantasy. Of all my favorite video games, this series takes top honor--not merely for the gameplay, but for the music, story lines, and other artistic elements of the games themselves. The Final Fantasy series truly is, in every respect, a thing of beauty.

One of the greatest moments of the series is the opera from Final Fantasy VI. And it is just as the name implies:

There's an opera in the middle of the freaking game.

Of all the music Nobuo Uematsu composed for these games, this little segment of Final Fantasy VI could very well be the most triumphant. At the very least, it was among the most memorable.

But in the game, you don't really get to watch the whole thing play out. See, during the performance, an evil octopus drops onto the stage and you have to fight him. That leads to other things, and it kind of interrupts the show a bit.

You should have seen the way I geeked out today when I found the following video. Someone took the opera scene from the game, removed the interruptions and added more animation to complete the play (in English, no less), and applied the full orchestral version of the music! I about died, but in a good way.

To put it simply, what we have here is a masterpiece. Even if you're not into the games, I highly doubt you'll be disappointed with this powerful-yet-geeky music experience:

Lego Mario, Mega Man, and Link

2011-03-26T15:16:00.000-06:00

A couple weeks ago, my brother acquired the 25th anniversary edition of Super Mario All Stars: a collection of a few classic titles from the Mario series, along with a CD of music and sound effects from the games and a book documenting the history of the world's favorite plumber. The cover of the book looked something like this:

Yeah. . . . When I saw it I couldn't help but create a version in Lego.

Not that I was the first to come up with the idea, or anything. There's a bunch of Lego video game sprites running around the Internet already. But this was one of those big light bulb moments for me, because lately I've wanted to try something different from what I normally do with Lego. And this hit me just right!

A slightly lesser known interest of mine is video games. I don't really play them much at all anymore, but I love the characters, the art, the music, the stories--pretty much everything about them. On top of that, many of my childhood memories involve video games in a major way. I grew up with these characters and have a history with them.

So I decided that video game sprites would be my "new thing" with Lego, and soon began to work on more. This one of Mega Man is my favorite so far:

I've really enjoyed the change from three-dimensional scene building to two-dimensional pixel art. Even though I'm following pictures as a guide, there are challenges to this style that I've never really encountered before, and I love the way the finished product looks. From a distance, it's even easy for me to forget the pictures are made with Lego.

In addition to that, I now have a use for many colors that have normally gone neglected in my collection: for example, the light blue for Mega Man. Link, from the original Legend of Zelda, gave me an opportunity to make use of my lime green and burnt orange:

Link was the most difficult of these builds for me, because I didn't have very many pieces in the right colors. In fact, I had to double the dimensions of the picture because I didn't have any burnt orange in a size smaller than 2x2. Even after that, I had to do a lot of stretching, and ended up using all but two or three of my burnt orange pieces. I wouldn't have finished if it weren't for a surprise visit my mom made to a Lego store on a trip some time ago (and no, I didn't put her up to it!).

So those are the first of my Lego video game sprites. Expect more in the near future; there are a lot of characters I want to try. I make no promises, but if you'd like to see a favorite character of yours, feel free to let me know!

What Christ can do

2011-03-23T21:10:00.000-06:00

On top of the piano in his classroom, my Institute teacher keeps two arrangements of plants.

On one end sits a sad display of bent twigs, stripped of everything but a few desperately clinging leaves.

On the other end sits a bouquet of remarkable beauty. The flowers steal the attention away from its miserable partner, and even the vase shines under the classroom lights.

Who stands between them?

Not even the most dried-out, worn, hopeless twig is beyond the healing power of the Savior.

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. --Romans 8:18

Mission Memory: Bluebonnets in the spring

2011-03-21T14:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a big day for me, because at last the calendar said "spring." I've been waiting for this ever since I got off my mission in August; for while I loved the warm weather that was left before the winter set in, I have pined for a complete spring and summer in Utah. Yesterday's milestone meant I had survived my first winter home, and that very soon I could start enjoying my favorite warm-weather activities again.

In Texas, whenever I was asked what I missed about Utah, I would often talk about those activities. I still remember the uncontainable excitement I felt upon returning home and seeing a mountain again for my first time. But I miss the beauty of Texas at this time of year, as well. We may have our mountains here, but Texas has bluebonnets, and a whole field of them was the most breathtaking sight of the season. And so, in celebration of spring: bluebonnets!

I loves my bluebonnets!

The way we do California

2011-03-17T16:50:00.000-06:00

I'm pretty sure we were the first ones to come up with going to California for Spring Break, but now everyone's doing it. Here are some highlights from our trip:

Los Angeles. We actually managed to get there without experiencing a traffic jam.

An image of doom at the La Brea Tar Pits.

An Imperial Mammoth. Most paleontologists now believe it had feathers.

It wouldn't be a vacation without a wall of wolf skulls!

Before our resident dinosaur expert pushes me in, note that I was joking about the feathers.

At the Natural History Museum, I took more pictures of this thing than of old skeletons.

Yep. Much cooler than a dinosaur.

To our resident dino expert: I was joking again. Put the teeth away.

I'm too tired to put a witty caption on all the rest of these pictures, so you're mostly on your own for Orange County.

He's got a friend in me.

We had a really cool waitress at one place who created ketchup art for no extra charge. That's talent.

Most epic way to finish our epic adventure in Orange County. I'll actually talk more about this epic place later, but for now, enjoy the epic photos of epicness.

And best of all, the only real problem our old car had on the trip was a dangling blinker. But we took care of that the most effective way there is: the redneck way.

More pictures!

Past Blast: The voice of Paleo

2011-03-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

From Based on a True Story, Wednesday, July 25, 2007:

And the voice of Paleo came unto me, and spake--for thus it was expedient for the fulfillment of the coming of the Bill of Qwest, lest the conversation enter into that second hangup--yea, and he spake unto me, saying, "Hello?"

And I answered by the same token.

But behold, the voice of Paleo spake unto me a second time, declaring glad tidings of joyfully acquired numbers. Yea, it was not a loud voice, nor a thundering voice, but did shake the frame of all who heard it.

Some of you were around for the Grand Visit of August 2008. Tomorrow: Grand Visit 2011! It's payback time.

On spiritual experiences and record keeping

2011-03-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

"Revelation and spiritual experiences are sacred. They should be kept private and discussed only in appropriate situations. . . . Resist the temptation to talk freely about these experiences." --Preach My Gospel, p. 99

"I have learned that strong, impressive spiritual experiences do not come to us very frequently. And when they do, they are generally for our own edification, instruction, or correction. Unless we are called by proper authority to do so, they do not position us to counsel or to correct others.

"I have come to believe also that it is not wise to continually talk of unusual spiritual experiences. They are to be guarded with care and shared only when the Spirit itself prompts you to use them to the blessing of others." --Boyd K. Packer (Ensign, Jan. 1983, 53)

I've been enjoying reading through posts on my old blog. It's highly entertaining to go back and explore the memories from before my mission--some already forgotten outside the written record--and see what kind of person I was, who I surrounded myself with, and how I lived my life. It truly is a treasure chest of cherished experiences, and I'm glad I wrote as much as I did.

But I also find things that give me reason to be glad I've made the blog private: for example, deeply personal stories and "preaching." The principle taught in the above quotes was something I really didn't understand too well back then, and I made public a lot of things that I probably shouldn't have. Not that they weren't good things or that no one benefited anywhere along the line; simply, the habit of over-sharing would have harmed me more than anyone else, because I neither had the authority nor was prompted to share most things. And I can't help but wonder what I might have missed out on by speaking so openly of my spiritual experiences.

I learned more as I prepared for and eventually served my mission. Especially in the teaching situations that were a part of everyday life as a missionary, I had to learn how to be in tune well enough with the Spirit to know what kinds of stories I should share with the people I taught. Everyone responded uniquely to different things, and sometimes it did become appropriate to share a more personal experience here and there. Since then, that's the approach I've tried to take with all my sharing--especially on this blog. Every so often I will feel right about sharing such experiences here--for instance, my thoughts on General Conference back in October--but it's toned down a lot from what my blogging used to be. And I've received blessings associated with that.

But you know, now that the old blog is private, I couldn't be more pleased that I recorded all those experiences somewhere. When I read those old posts, I not only feel entertained: I feel uplifted, because I am reminded of the many ways the Lord has made Himself manifest throughout my life. That motivates me to improve myself, and I hope that someday my children will read those stories and also find strength in them.

And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins. --2 Nephi 25:26

For me, that's the number one reason to keep a journal. Yet to be honest, I haven't done so well at that lately. I do faithfully keep a study journal, where I record spiritual promptings during my studies, church meetings, and Institute classes. That's been a great spiritual record on its own. But what's missing are the experiences that would be found in a regular journal--the applications of spiritual principles. The old blog supplied that quite well, but because of everything I've learned--not just about personal sharing, but about blogging in general--profound spiritual experiences and day-to-day narrative typically just won't be found here. I view this blog as a place for me to discuss ideas more than anything; blogging is no longer my choice method for record keeping.

But blogging is really what got me big into record keeping in the first place. Back then I was motivated by having an audience, and it was a good start. Not only that, it was easier to sit down and type something online than it was to write things out in a book that probably no one would really discover until I had kids old enough to read. The audience kept me accountable--they kept me writing, because theirs would be a more immediate discovery of my record. Because of that, now I actually have a good collection of writings: experiences I've had, lessons I've learned, pretty much what a valuable record should be.

In my record keeping these days, I am only accountable to God and my posterity. That can make it a little more tricky to actually get around to writing in my journal sometimes, because there's no immediate readership. But I'm motivated a little more whenever I read those old blog posts and find something uplifting, because I realize how important it is to constantly leave reminders of God's hand for myself when I come back to read again.

And that's about all I've got to say about that. Not really sure where I wanted to go with it, so there's not gonna be some ending point to tie everything together. I started wanting to make one point, but it developed into something I hadn't planned to write about and I think more than anything, this was a call to repentance for myself--something to motivate me to build up a habit of regular journal writing again. But I'm curious to hear others' thoughts on their own record keeping--mostly ideas that have helped you keep it going, but feel free to speak your minds. I'm sure we've all tried something different.

Consider the Lilies

2011-03-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

Consider the lilies of the field,
How they grow, how they grow.
Consider the birds in the sky,
How they fly, how they fly.

He clothes the lilies of the field.
He feeds the birds in the sky.
And He will feed those who trust Him,
And guide them with His eye.

Consider the sheep of His fold,
How they follow where He leads.
Though the path may wind across the mountains,
He knows the meadows where they feed.

He clothes the lilies of the field.
He feeds the birds in the sky,
And He will feed those who trust Him,
And guide them with His eye.

Consider the sweet, tender children
Who must suffer on this earth.
The pains of all of them He carried
From the day of His birth.

He clothes the lilies of the field,
He feeds the lambs in His fold,
And He will heal those who trust Him,
And make their hearts as gold.

He clothes the lilies of the field,
He feeds the lambs in His fold,
And He will heal those who trust Him,
And make their hearts as gold.

Music and text by Roger Hoffman.

The Waiting Game

2011-03-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

During a recent update spree of my other site, Galleria di Cunningham, I took some time to appreciate my old pictures and writing. It's interesting how you can go so long after creating something that when you see it again, it feels like someone else made it. That's how I felt going through the old stuff; I was thinking, I did this?

My creative writing is what especially surprised me, because it's been so long since I've gotten to sit down and do it that I wouldn't even know where to start these days. That's something I would like to change, but at least for the next little while I doubt y'all will be seeing anything new from me in that category. So, I'm posting an old poem today because when I went back to read it I really liked it. It's another one of those that feels like someone else wrote it, but it really speaks to me now and fleshes out what's been on my mind the past few days.

The Waiting Game
Nathan Cunningham

For a man who doesn’t drink,
You sure know how to start your day
With a headache that won’t go away.
It’s not right that you’d be used to it,
But I suppose that’s something best
Left to reason and no test.

But consider yesterday
When you retired prematurely,
Or so you thought it was too early–
For as you waited after nightfall,
Chance escaped without your knowing,
Though your vigil kept on going.

Return to when the candles,
The many candles melted time
Before their last gray ghosts would climb
And convince you that your wait was done,
That all your dreams had been in vain
And that you’d never dream again.

Think back to then, to what you did,
When finally your heart was broken,
And it would cling to just one token
Left long before this night had started.
You remember kneeling, don’t you?
I dare say it was all you knew.

Pray, my boy! And pray you must,
For only then will deity bless.
Pray for comfort and success
So that one is sure for you, at least.
It’s not a crime to try such tricks,
Or else that law would long be fixed!

It’s quite a challenge, I suspect
To fall asleep expecting for
Hope to just knock at your door.
Rest easy; it will come in time.
But you would rather keep the sorrow,
Thinking life will change tomorrow.

That’s your biggest problem, lad;
Your waiting game is just a game!
And when you fall you rush to blame
Any party you can think of,
Believing that would make things right,
While you, yourself, are out of sight.

But you know, this waiting thing,
It’s not a game. You’re wasting time!
You should know it’s no small crime
To wait and idle all at once.
Someday they’ll say, “Look at this lad!
“He could have had more than he had.”

Do you feel it’s been worthwhile
To let neglect lock every door
Your fortune opened once before?
And yet you play this waiting game!
I know not why they call it “play”
Or “game” when waiting does betray.

It’s not the life that you deserve,
So get up now, I do implore,
And put both feet upon the floor
Before they waste away without
Knowing what they could have done
To change the world, or anyone!

So let your headache pass with time,
And work, and growth, ambition full,
For then you’ll see to wait is dull,
And life is better when you’re up.
It translates to accomplishment,
And that, my friend, is time well spent.

Push On

2011-03-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

Push On
Surreal and the Sound Providers

It's been a long journey, a long road, filled with potholes
and obstacles, I've fallen so many times, it forge character tho' and growth in my rhymes, Now when I fall,
I'm older, get up smile, brush the dirt of my shoulders, I used to do things the hard way, today, I pray, and listen to what God say,
The path for my life is laid out for me, you could rest in peace right be carrying the torch hommie', to all the people that got love for me,
I push on, and try to write our stories,
These are the days for constant building, construct futures for all of our children,
make cash, make it last, you know how fast them days will pass, in a flash
The sands in the hour glass slip through your fingers cause you never got a grasp,

get a grip, get it straight or else you'll let it slip and you'll never elevate, right now, theres no time to waste, put your best foot forward and try to keep pace,
push on

All my people, you got got got to push on
(on, an on, an on)

I built my foundation on a rock, so when the winds of change come, I won't fall off
you see my outstretched hand, success means nothing to me, unless I share it with my fam'
To my peeps abroad and state side, lets make strides, make papes and change lives,
create fly, tracks that change the tide, so maybe some day true art will survive, I in head,
pioneer a brand new path way, introduce you to God, in these last days, everybody's attitude is so cumbersome
run their whole life, never know what they're running from, So stop for a second and take a look, and listen to the wisdom that is written in the book.

Get a Grip, get it straight, or else you'll let it slip and you'll never elevate, right now, theres no time to waste, put your best foot forward and try to keep pace,
push on

All my people, you got got got to push on
(on, an on, an on)

Through a smoke screen, and hopes for cream have you floatin' down a stream full of broken dreams,
they call it main but it's really just a scheme, to get you all locked where no one can hear you scream, Mos Def said it best it's a better build cell block, where they putcha' to death if you don't sell hot records, but you see we changin' that too, big business hiphop we aim at you,
if they putting out garbage, don't buy it, remember one stone took down the giant, have faith like David and Goliath, avoid the bias, and keep yo' mom pious

Get a Grip, get it straight, or else you'll let it slip and you'll never elevate, right now, theres no time to waste, put your best foot forward and try to keep pace,
push on

All my people, you got got got to push on
My man Nak, you got-got-got to push on,
The Sp's, you got-got-got to push on,
(on, an, on, and on, an on)
(on, an on)

Inside the MTC

2011-02-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

When KSL aired this last night, I knew immediately that it would end up here. The MTC was an awesome experience, and I miss it. This video represents it quite well; with the exception of the curbside drop-offs (implemented in 2009), it's just as I remember it.

Video Courtesy of KSL.com

Can't wait to see the hour-long special during Conference!

Past Blast: Munch in a bag

2011-02-23T19:04:00.000-07:00

Late 2005 or early 2006.

When filming a hoax...

2011-02-21T11:53:00.001-07:00

. . . make sure someone's watching your campsite.

The rest of the gallery on Brickshelf.
The set on Flickr.

Some thoughts on the build:

As soon as I obtained a gorilla suit guy from the most recently released series of collectible minifigures, I knew I had to do a Bigfoot hoax scene. Many versions of this passed through my mind until I finally sat down to build, spurred on by a Bigfoot enthusiast friend. The timing couldn't have been better: after a week or so of really nice weather, it snowed again this past weekend, and I began pining once more for summer and its associated outdoor adventures.

Well, as we Lego fanatics say, "Build it!"

The final concept for this scene took shape as I went through old pictures from the fifty-mile hike we used to go on every year. I wanted to build a campsite that actually looked like a campsite, so these memories proved most valuable in the detail construction phase. I wanted to get it just right, from the campfire setting, to the fallen logs, to the vegetation on and around the boulder. Placement of the logs and clearing was also loosely based on the 1967 Patterson Bigfoot Footage.

While the intent of this build was to present a humorous scene, what really makes it one of my favorite creations is all the detail that reminds me of summers spent in the wilderness. Those expeditions are among my most cherished memories, and it felt good to recreate some portion of them with Lego. I am most proud of the campfire, the smaller trees by the rock, and the fallen, rotting tree. For me, they are what really made this scene.

Thoughts from the Spirit World

2011-02-18T13:24:00.001-07:00

By then it was time to get ready for our temple session. I can't even begin to describe what that visit was like; it was one of the single greatest temple experiences of my life so far. I could count on one hand how many times I had felt so very much love before as I did in that holy place with my dear friends, and it was the hardest thing to leave.

The above quote is from one of my last emails home as a missionary. And that song that hopefully you just played (or are listening to now as you read) is what we listened to in the car as we left the temple that day. I'll never forget what that was like: five young men, about to go home after two years away . . . and not a word came out of us as this song was playing. I cannot describe the supreme power of that moment, as we prepared to die.

On a mission, you learn a lot about the Plan of Salvation; the experience itself is a reflection of it, because it truly is like a miniature lifespan. You're born, you're schooled, you grow up, you work, you age . . . then you die. It was six months ago today that I experienced death--or at least a taste of what such a transition would be like.

Over the course of my life in Texas, I learned a lot and built countless meaningful, even eternal, relationships. I grew just as a child does into adulthood. I had a home, an identity, a life. It truly was an entire lifetime's worth of lessons and experiences. And eventually my hour came.

Those around me during my last days of that "earth life" part of the Plan did their best to prepare me for the next step, much like family and caretakers would help those who are approaching the real thing. Local members of the Church continued to make sure my companions and I had everything we needed, including food, transportation, and help with lessons. Thanks to them, my final days were comfortable (but not in a lazy sort of way--it was facilitating). Much spiritual preparation also came from my leaders and fellow missionaries. They talked with me and comforted me, all the way through my final interview with the mission president, and into that last early morning when I was taken to the airport.

And that's when the separation of death really took effect: waving goodbye to the elders who dropped me off; sitting alone in the terminal, waiting for my flight; passing through the gate and into the tunnel, which would finally put me on the plane. It was a separation that could be felt both physically and spiritually, and there's no way to adequately describe it. But I knew it as death.

Yet it wasn't a bad experience. Difficult, even painful at times. But not bad. I knew where I was going, and there were plenty of people "on the other side" to meet me there. At the home I knew before my probationary state in Texas, there were family and friends who rejoiced at my return. And I was able to rejoice with them.

Since then, I too have had opportunities to rejoice at the return of other friends from their mini mortality. We had a mission reunion back in October, and even though there were tables set up, most everyone stood near the doors for much of the evening, in order to greet those who were just arriving. It was a celebration as much as it was a reunion; once separated by death, friends were together once more!

And now we aren't limited by the bounds of our probation. I get together sometimes with old mission companions and other friends from that life, and we just hang out. We continue to reflect fondly on our experience as missionaries. But we also take advantage of our current state. We play music and video games, we watch movies, we hit the town, we talk about girls, school, employment, and girls. We call each other by our first names. One of us got married today, and tonight's the reception. We're talking eternal progression, here. That's what the Plan is.

One insight I've gained from these experiences is that, without being emo or anything, death is one of the most awesome things that will ever happen to any of us, in our own time. Just look at what and who is waiting on the other side! There's gonna be rejoicing. It's gonna be a celebration, with more friends than we can even keep track of on Facebook. There will naturally be some adjusting to do with the transition, and it will be hard to leave everyone here behind (every day I still miss everyone I left in Texas). But eventually, they'll join us, too!

So let's do everything we can here in order to make the party as epically awesome as possible there. It's like a mission: work hard and don't waste the time you've got, and not only will you have reason to rejoice, but so will those whom you touch. Use the mission well, and it will last forever.

Lunch with a master

2011-02-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

I think everyone has someone they would like to just sit down and talk with someday. As a musician, I would love to spend an afternoon with Beethoven, or jam out with Chopin or Vivaldi. It would be fun to visit with J.R.R. Tolkien or C.S. Lewis, then turn around and interview the Apostles Peter and Paul.

Well, I did have a similar opportunity today.

Legoland California Master Builder Gary McIntire has been in town the past couple days promoting the new Miniland Star Wars display that opens in the park this spring.

Well, Gary's kind of a big name around the Lego community, or at least here in Utah; before he landed the Dream Job, he founded the Utah Lego User Group (a club of which I am a proud member). And so, he wanted to see the club while he was in town. What an exciting opportunity! Luckily a few of us were able to get together with Gary today, along with Legoland Public Relations Representative Beth and Park Security/Glorified Truck Driver Reuben.

And we just sat down and had lunch.

Now this wasn't quite one of those sit-downs where we "picked the master's brain" and basked in his wisdom, as anyone might imagine a musician's visit with Beethoven or a fantasy writer's evening with Tolkien. Granted, we had our questions (I finally learned that Lego Master Builders do, in fact, run out of pieces!), and it was a blast to hear about the Legoland experience from the inside. But mostly, we all just talked about our mutual passion: the Brick. It was as natural a conversation as it would have been with any other club member. We talked about what we like to build, how we acquire our pieces, where we keep our collections, ideas for future builds, what we do with our creations, experiences from shows, upcoming Lego products. . . . Stuff like that. Naturally the subject of addiction to the drug-like collectible minifigures also came up, and our methods for finding all of them as well as adventure stories of shopping for them. The whole time was just plain awesome.

And you know, I think that's how most visits with "the masters" would probably be: just chilling over some food and talking about stuff.

Spread the love

2011-02-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

When I got onto Facebook this morning, I was quickly reminded it was Valentine's Day because everyone had written one of two kinds of status updates: There were happy couples expressing love for one another, as well as singles wishing everyone else a happy day . . . and then there were those who talked about how much they hate this holiday, some calling it "Singles Awareness Day" in jest. All my friends were divided about half and half along this line.

I have no intention of being preachy or judgmental, because all of these are my friends and the way they feel toward something doesn't change the way I feel toward them. I love each of them, and would never even consider forcing anything upon them. But it really, really bothers me when people make a day like Valentine's Day all about themselves, and announce their bitterness to the world. In a world where the concepts of love and marriage are corrupted more with each passing day, I think it's wonderful to get online and see couples saying how much they love each other. It's great to go out and see them with each other, just spending time together. And it breaks my heart to hear other people accusing them of "rubbing it in" or "being gross," because that's not what these couples are doing. When did it become wrong to celebrate happiness?

I will admit that until just a few days ago, I was also one who would jokingly wish everyone a happy "Singles Awareness Day." I figured, Hey, I'm single, so changing the name of the holiday gives me something to celebrate. But anyone who says that has completely missed the point. And oh, how I missed the point. I was thinking only of myself.

My attitude changed over the weekend, thanks to an Institute devotional on Friday. The speaker was a woman who, at 45, had never been married. And everything she had to say immediately applied to us, the group of young also-single adults in attendance. Many of her words involved not being bitter over being single, but instead living a full and rich life by living the Gospel and serving others. Even though she had spent all this time not married, she was happy. She was living the Gospel, and she was happy.

The whole message was wonderful; I wish everyone could have been there. But what hit me the most was her position on "Singles Awareness Day." She talked about how very selfish it is to say something like that, and how those who do are only thinking of themselves. Very bold words. I had never looked at it that way, but I realized that I, too, was guilty of selfishness.

Yet in reality, no one on this entire planet is unloved, so we all have a reason to celebrate. Why?

That's why.

I'm single, but there is still much for me to celebrate. I can use this day to spread the love our Heavenly Father has for His children. I can visit someone who is lonely. I can perform kind acts of service. Valentine's Day has never been and never will be about me. It's about loving other people. For many, that's a spouse, or a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. For others, it's family and friends. For God, it's everyone.

And so from now on, whether or not I'm in a relationship, I'll always look forward to Valentine's Day because of what it truly means.

Great doors swinging on little hinges

2011-02-12T00:54:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about how my decisions have impacted my life. It's easy to wake up in the morning and just carry on with life as we know it, so in that light I've been quite fascinated with the thought of "How did I get to where I am right now?"

Take fifth grade, for example. That was the year we started music classes in elementary school, and each of us had a choice to make: band, orchestra, or general music (for those who might not have been interested in a particular instrument). I think, up to that point in my life, this was the biggest decision I had ever faced. I remember thinking long and hard about it--finally narrowing my options down to flute or violin. I was interested in both instruments, but at one point actually leaned more toward the flute. The band teacher seemed more interesting to me, and for a little while at least it looked like I was going to sign up for the band.

What if I had?

I don't remember why now, but in the end I chose to play the violin. And I will forever be grateful for that decision, because many of the closest friends I would make throughout junior high and high school would be made in the orchestra. Just think of it! Had I chosen the flute, in my life there may have been no Joey, no Amber, no Sara, or Lydia, or Noel, or Tiffany, or Amy, or Stephanie, or Ellice. No Dave. And if there had been, we would have met under different circumstances, and possibly missed out on a lot of good things that would have come with the friendship we have now. Who knows? I certainly don't want to find out.

Then there's the piano. Where would I be without it? A little known fact is that during my fourth year of piano lessons, I wanted to quit. I really, really wanted to quit. I wasn't at a level where I could just sit down and play whatever I wanted, and that was discouraging. Practicing was a chore to me, and even though I had the greatest piano teacher in the world, back then I didn't appreciate the lessons taking half an hour out of my week.

I guess this was more of my parents' decision than my own, but I'm grateful that they insisted on keeping me in the lessons, because within a couple more years I would fall in love with the piano. It became my greatest outlet when I needed an escape from the world, and the talent I discovered there would become a crucial piece of my very identity. For instance, on my mission I was the piano guy. If you needed a hymn, Elder Cunningham was one of the people you'd call. My sister lived in San Antonio while I was serving there, and when she'd talk to the missionaries and they didn't recognize my name, she'd just say something like "he plays the piano," and they'd remember me instantly. That's just who I am now; I can't see myself not as a pianist.

Speaking of the mission, that's another decision that has made a lasting impact on my life. I met so many of my current friends on my mission that it just feels like they've been around forever--that we grew up and went to high school together, and everything. In such a short time, we've built quite a history and relationship. And yet, as recently as three years ago, I didn't know any of them. No President Cutler, no companions, no members, recent converts, investigators. . . . If I didn't serve a mission, I would know none of these wonderful people. And I wouldn't even realize what I was missing.

Where would I be if I chose not to serve a mission?

I don't know.

I would think that at least a few of the lessons I learned as a missionary could have been learned here if I stayed, but certainly not all of them. I doubt I would have discovered my true passion for language, so I'd probably still be wondering what I wanted to do with my life. Or maybe I would have found another passion and already earned a college degree in that field. Perhaps someone I would have met on my mission--a companion, or leader, or whatever--would walk past me on the street one day, but we'd be such complete strangers that both of us would forget we passed each other right after it happened.

Life would be drastically different.

But that's another one of those things I would prefer not to find out about, because I know what I know now and I love what I have. I wouldn't trade any of my friends or experiences for anything, because they are what have made me me. And I like myself. I'm not perfect, by any means. But I like myself, and I wouldn't want to change my history and thereby alter the present and future, because I don't know if I'd like it. And who knows? Maybe I would. Actually, I wouldn't know any better, because I wouldn't have experienced what I have. So I'd rather not risk it.

Sometimes I lie awake just imagining alternate universes where my decisions are the opposite from real life. Yet no matter what I come up with, I am constantly humbled by the massive impact one little choice can make. If I traveled back in time, that would probably be the first piece of advice I'd give to myself.

The joy of getting lost

2011-02-09T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I like to grab my camera and just drive until I find a road I don't recognize. Then I follow that road and the turns that come off it until it's impossible to take the same way back. I end up discovering places I've never been, and new angles on things that had before been ordinary.

With an appointment in Draper at 9:00 yesterday morning, another engagement in Orem at 11:30, and a significant dislike for traveling I-15 more than once in a day, I quickly saw the perfect opportunity for one of my little expeditions.

Exploration is the secret to making any ordinary day quite exciting. With that said, I would also warn my readers against taking the frontage road around Point of the Mountain--unless you enjoy sharing a worn and twisty two-lane road with oncoming semis.

I have no pictures of that.

Mantras for the Latter-day Saint

2011-02-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

When this semester started, I tried a class in Buddhist meditation until I had to change my schedule. It seemed perfectly natural to me; true principles aren't only to be found in Mormonism, or even mainstream Christianity for that matter. And as a Latter-day Saint, I feel obligated to search out truth wherever it may be found, because all truth does come from God. With the guidance of the Spirit, I can sort through the various practices and teachings of other traditions and discern what is in harmony with the Gospel and would help me grow. So I had no problem incorporating a few pieces of Buddhist practices into my life. I feel very strongly that they are in harmony with the Gospel and the teachings of living prophets (I particularly remember the words of President Hinckley on being still), and they've made me stronger.

One thing that can be useful in meditation is having a mantra--essentially a syllable, or a word, or even a phrase that is concentrated upon and which represents some aspect of spiritual power. In a lot of ways it's kind of like having a personal motto. And that's something I could relate to even before taking that class.

My whole mission experience was awesome, and I feel like I served well; yet it still had its difficult parts, and there was the occasional day when I just couldn't do it--not for myself, at least, and not even for God. On those days, I would look at the wall by my bed or the desk, where there were pictures of family, friends back home, and friends I had made in Texas--companions, members, recent converts, investigators--just a bunch of people. And I would say to myself, "Be a hero to them." That kept me going when nothing else could. Other times, it was simply a good reminder that boosted my productivity. I made it my motto as a missionary.

But it's been a while since I've really had a personal motto. My life is much different now than it was on my mission, so the motto I used back then doesn't really have the same effect it once did. Well, as of this weekend I have several, and the timing couldn't have been better! I will talk here about just one.

During church yesterday, the elders quorum took over the Primary so that all the sisters could attend Relief Society. It was quite a change of pace from our normal third hour because all of a sudden everything became a whole lot more simple. But that's something I needed that day.

The lesson was on the Plan of Salvation, and the kids just went down a list and gave simple, true answers to questions such as "Who am I?", "Why am I here?", and "Where am I going?" Then we sang songs on those topics. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such an effective lesson on the Plan.

Later in the day, we had a neighbor over to our home with the missionaries. And the elders began teaching her the Plan of Salvation! Once more, this subject was impressed profoundly upon my mind.

What finished me off was the movie One Good Man, which my brother and I watched together before bed. It's very rare that I relate to a movie as much as I did this one; it did remarkably well in portraying many different aspects of life as a busy Latter-day Saint. Throughout the entirety of it, I could see the Plan at work. This family was doing their best to live it, and for me that's what the movie was really about. While I face different challenges than they did, I truly saw myself there. And that really moved me.

I'm at a stage in my life where nothing is set in stone. I have a lot of decisions to make, and I can't really see the outcome just yet. Everything relies on faith. But that can be very difficult because of how fast life goes, and I wouldn't exactly call college itself the most enlightening environment. Time is slipping by; indeed, I have never had a greater need to be mindful of God's Plan than I do now.

Since yesterday I've found myself saying "Stick to the Plan." It's a new motto for me which has significant power. The mental image drives this one quite far: I think of those action movies where the hero walks into some place, and through a radio or headset or some other device his crew reminds him to "stick to the plan," even if things get rough. In a lot of movies, we see this group of people forming the plan before they carry it out. They know what they're gonna do, and they go ahead and do it.

Well hey, I was there with all of you when Heavenly Father presented His Plan, and because He wants us to succeed, He continues to reteach it to us as we go about this operation called life. I may not know how specific details will play out, but I know what the Plan is and where I'm supposed to aim. If I stick to the Plan, I can't fail.

Too tired to serve? Don't want to do homework? "Stick to the Plan, Nathan." All of a sudden there's perspective and motivation. I just gotta remember the Plan.

I'm curious to know what some of my readers' mottoes are. How has this principle or anything like it helped you?

Now I know my ABC's!

2011-02-03T23:29:00.000-07:00

Throughout my life, I've had an interest in other languages. It's something I was surrounded with from birth, really; both of my parents had served foreign missions, and as I grew up they still used the language skills they had acquired during their service. Mom worked as a translator, and both she and Dad would switch into their alternate tongues when they wanted to talk about secret things (like birthday presents) but not have to shoo my siblings and me into another room or wait for a private moment.

Then over time, one brother would study French, and another served a mission in Mexico. That brother would go on to have a family of his own that spoke Spanish. Other relatives also picked up extra languages as they served missions or studied hard enough.

It took me two decades to realize it, but this is also what I was born to do.

Interest became passion after I was trained in Spanish as a missionary. I had never experienced anything as liberating as knowing another language; if I couldn't communicate with someone in English, I wasn't out of options! I have fond memories of times on my mission when my companion and I would be out talking to people on the streets, and some would try to get out of it by saying something like "No Inglés." Then came the priceless looks on their faces when we started rattling away in Spanish! But that wasn't even the best part. No--the fact that we could communicate with nearly anyone we met in Texas is what I'll remember years down the road. It was freedom. It was understanding. It became the first building block in many precious relationships.

And that got me thinking: what would the world be like if we could all just understand each other? If you look at the cause of any conflict between people or nations, you may find things like greed and apathy, but whatever it may be, most of the time there's also gonna be a miscommunication in the mix. There was a misunderstanding of some sort somewhere down the line, and now there's trouble. Sadly, this problem runs deeper than the language barrier. Even when a dialect is shared, people will choose not to listen, or perhaps listen but take something completely the wrong way. . . . I'm sure each of us could name many specific examples of miscommunication in just our own language.

But still. Take away that initial language barrier, and you've got a start on the road to understanding. When you learn a language, you're putting forth the effort to communicate with someone you wouldn't have before. And that has to mean something to them. Communication is huge!

At least, that's the way I look at it.

So I've chosen to devote my life--or at least the career aspect of my life--to language. It's the only real dream I've ever had for a career. Sure, I've got plenty of other kinds of dreams. I want to get a book published, play in the Orchestra at Temple Square . . . things like that. But I don't see any of those as career goals.

I'm thinking that may be a reason why I was such a bum in high school: I just had no direction, no dream. Back then, I hadn't ever considered a language career, and nothing else appealed to me. Music was fun, and I enjoyed it. Same with writing, Lego, being social, traveling, and even public speaking. But I didn't want to rely on any of those to feed a family someday. I felt very intimidated at the prospect of choosing a major and a career, because there was nothing to which I truly wanted to be committed. And so I just didn't put much effort into school. This annoyed at least a few of the people I was close to, who saw more potential in me and knew I was selling myself short. But I didn't know where I wanted my education to take me, so I didn't go anywhere with it right then.

This semester I began studying Arabic. And to be honest, it's the first time I've ever really wanted an "A," in anything. I've been very happy to get good grades when they happened, but I've also always been content merely to pass. Other than for college applications and scholarships, I never understood why anyone would work so hard for a perfect grade point average. Many of my friends did work for that, and I look up to and admire them a lot for it. It's taking them to wonderful places. They've got vision, or at least determination, and I respect that. I just never understood it until now (and even still I'm only beginning to understand).

I'll be the happiest man on earth for being able to support a family. But there's more to this dream--things I don't really need after I've achieved that first and most important goal, yet which I still think would be choice experiences and which motivate me to not merely pass, but to excel. For instance, it would be cool if someday I was good enough to be recognized to some extraordinary degree in my field. It might even be interesting to be the guy the President calls when the current terrorist organization has sent him another bedtime story and he needs someone to read it to him. Case in point, I see myself actually going places with this, and this is the first time that's ever happened.

In class this week we finished learning the Arabic alphabet and started on our numbers (I've learned the first ten now!). Just like it was with English back in kindergarten, this is a big step, and I feel like I've really accomplished something. Tonight we began our first points of basic grammar, and my vocabulary is small but steadily increasing. In the coming weeks, when I've learned more fundamental principles and vocabulary, I'm going to attempt a boost in my learning by reading the scriptures in Arabic (I've already got the Bible and the Testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith waiting for me on my nightstand). This is the grand adventure I've been waiting for. I've got what I need to get started, and I'm ready to go.