'tis a gift to be simple

When Ann Morrow Lindberg wrote Gifts from the Sea, she had gone to Hawaii and found a few weeks of peace among the sand and the sea. I love that book; it spoke to my heart about simplicity, but it was somehow artificial because it was a manufactured peace lasting only for a few weeks. Perhaps she learned principles that could translate into a better lifestyle for her and her family. The kind of simplicity I have come to live in my life is driven by something quite unexpected: anxiety. When I was a boy, I was very active. Driven as I was, sports was a perfect match and I played and played. When I became a school boy anxiety was my friend once again pushing me to study and achieve. As a missionary, anxiety got me through a new language and endless memorizing. When I returned, anxiety got me through a college degree and a rocky relationship with my mother-in-law-to-be. If I worried enough, I could always find a way to make things work out. But at some point, anxiety became a dark friend. Instead of providing the creative energy to work things out it became a whirlpool of distraction, a rat's maze, a box. Of course, those are just ways of describing a state of mind. Because I was in the counseling profession, I learned of medication for depression and anxiety. I tried it at about age 30 and it became a help. Now that I am 53 I have over 20 years experience with this type of medication. All I can say is, medication is necessary for me, just like insulin is essential for the diabetic. One positive that comes from anxiety is you begin to simplify your life. The more you can make it simple the lower the anxiety level. Anxiety becomes a gift. People like me must have a simple life so from time to time I meet up with those who really make me up tight. Not because what they do is wrong; no, it's because they want to do things in a complicated or complex way. Their gift is different from mine. Knowing what He knows about me, God has given me the gift to be simple, and recently, I am becoming more appreciative of those who can take care of the the details, the planning, the administering, and the organizing, so that I can be myself. I don't hate complexity, I just can't do it; but God bless those who can! Every once in a while, a person who is more able to biggy size than I, will ask by opinion about something. I am able to give them a simple solution. Sometimes they will say "I never thought of that." That makes me feel happy to be the person I am. There is a place in the world for simple folk. This weak thing (anxiety) has become a strength. Praise be to the Lord.

Precious Corridors of Memory

President Monson uses this phrase occasionally in his talks: Precious Corridors of Memory. He loves to tell us stories from his amazing memories. I look forward to sustaining him as our new prophet. I am excited to open this new chapter of church history. I can't wait to hear more of his stories. I especially like the "Tommy" stories. I love it when he acts a little goofy. I love his slicked back hair and his smile. I love his poetic prose. If you want a recent treat, look at the "live in the present" portion of the his lead Ensign article this month. Hope we can continue to build good memories together.

The Martian Child

Well, we just saw a good movie: The Martian Child. It's about a boy from Mars trying to fit in to Earth life (at least that's what he thinks). He is adopted by a science fiction writer dad, who has lost his wife two years previous to something we aren't told about. Maybe it's the Mars connection or maybe it's his longing for meaning in his life that brings him to want to adopt this boy. The whole time I felt myself being the Martian Child. This earthly experience seems so foreign and strange sometimes. Surely, this can't be where we are really from. At 53 I feel that only half of my life here on Earth has been lived. But I am so afraid of the rest of it. Muscles that were once flexible and strong, aren't. A mind that was full of imaginings is fearful. Experience, which is supposed to be a friend, isn't. Here in the birth canal called "midlife" I find myself being squeezed: not knowing where to conform or to rebel; not knowing when to sit or where to stand. Obama? Clinton? What's his name? Are those really the best we've got? Oh ya, did I mention my memory is going? What about the future? you ask. Isn't it bright with grand kids, and retirement, and leisure time? Well, maybe if I were from Earth. But I'm a Martian. I don't know how to act here. I am afraid of gravity. What if the ones whom I love leave? What if I'm bored without the routine of work? What if I'm too sick to travel or worse, what if I'm afraid to leave the house? Is "endure to the end" really all there is left in the Plan? Was this post fiction?

calling parents

Two Sundays ago, a member of the Primary presidency called me on Sunday night and asked me why I hadn't yet called to tell her how the students who had not attended were doing. "Well" I said, "laziness, I guess." "What are you going to do to rectify the situation Brother Stone?" she queried. "I'll have to think about that," I muttered, rather perturbed. "Some of these kids just need to know you care," she said with too much enthusiasm. "I think it's the parents that are responsible to get their kids to Primary, not me," I retorted rudely. "So when are you going to contact them? You could at least bring them the handout you used in class. You do have a handout prepared each week don't you?" She didn't sound the least bit upset with me, just persistent. "Actually, no," I replied, now ticked. The rest of the conversation was about her telling me how much the Primary presidency felt inspired when I was called, and how she felt I would do a great job. And she thanked me, sincerely, for the progress I was making with her son who is in my class. I hung up and felt like a dingleberry. I got the ward list out and called 5 parents. Each thanked me for my love and concern for their child. I called my presidency lady back and reported, then I told her how sorry I was for being a bum.

Singing in the Tabernacle

Jean and I had a rare opportunity to sing for a world wide broadcast (move over American Idol) with 180 seminary teachers and spouses from Utah Valley. We formed a choir and sat in the actual seats of the MoTab and were accompanied by the MoTab choir organist, on the MoTab organ--pipes and all. Suddenly I'm craving Tab. Anyway, it was a great experience to be there and to sing. President Boyd K. Packer was the speaker. Also in attendance were Elders Nelson and Oaks. Pretty special indeed. One funny and human moment was when President Packer forgot President Eyring's name and had to turn to Elder Oaks to be prompted. They both laughed and President Packer said he is finding that 83 he is much older than he was at 82. I'm sure Elder Oaks can't wait to tell the Quorum, especially Elder Eyring. President Packer shared events from his life that shaped his teaching. He said that being church members is "good enough," stressing that members do their best and that is good enough. He said, "I'm nothing special--it's the office I hold." He warned of perilous times ahead and said anyone with the role of teacher "absolutely must" measure up to preserve our people. He said the words "absolutely" and "must" are rarely said by the General Authorities. They usually say "are to" instead of "must." For example, "Church members are to do the best they can." He "turned the keys" of the priesthood in our behalf, blessing us and our families. He stressed that the apostles hold all the keys. It was a once in a lifetime experience. To those aspiring to be in the Tabernacle Choir, beware, the seats are squished together and there is little foot room. But the view of the back of the General Authorities' heads: priceless.