These are the Times That Try Men's Souls

There was a political cartoon in the newspaper the other day that was right on. A man reading a paper said, "I feel like I'm back in the 1770's with all these headlines of pirates and tea parties." And speaking of tea parties, when your elected officials are on a run-away course to establish Socialism in government and the national media are blazing liberals and mock anyone who differs from their viewpoint, what are we conservatives to do? Stage a tea party!

I mailed tea bags to the White House, as well as an empty red envelope with a message about a life being snuffed out by abortion, preventing that person from developing into a responsible, productive person. I give funds to support Proposition 8 in California. I vote in every election for officials who share my conservative point of view and support a Republic form of government with moral Christian principles instead of the big government that takes everything from productive people to give to those who refuse to work. And I pray continually over our country and those that defend it.

I do all I can think of to do, and it's not enough. It's so frustrating to know that the good things we try to do are mocked by a liberal press. Good, honest, hardworking Christians are called right wing extremists and labeled as dangerous by our Homeland Security leaders. Our returning military heroes are likewise labeled. What is wrong with this picture??

I feel so frustrated I'd like to buy a little place on the top of a mountain and raise all my own food and not have to deal with these crazy people anymore. Our illustrious California leaders scream that we must protect our earth, and they shut of the water to the Central Valley which raises 80% of all the food consumed in California - to protect a little Delta Smelt fish. So the people who raise the food will go hungry, or pay exorbitant prices, as well as the rest of the people in California. Does that make sense? Have they never heard of fish hatcheries?

They cry about using clean energy - yet refuse to allow wind farms and solar energy in the Mojave Desert because they must protect the desert tortoise and the pristine nature of the desert. It's a desert, for crying out loud! And there hundreds of millions of acres of desolate, barren land out there that are good for nothing BUT wind and solar farms. It's enough to make you bat your head against the wall. How do we elect such narrow-minded people? What will they end up doing to our world?

We had stake conference last weekend. It was a marvelously spiritual weekend, beginning with a chapel session at the temple on Friday night where a member of the temple presidency spoke. A visiting member of the Seventy was the main speaker Saturday night and Sunday. Wonderful messages of hope and uplift from everyone who participated - and the talks all had a similar theme: Keep the commandments. Go to the temple. Give service. Forget yourself and serve wherever you can.

One member of our stake presidency who is a real sports nut said he devised a motto to keep him on track - he used the well-known ESPN to remind him of what he needed to do every day: Exercise, Study the Scriptures, Pray, Not do anything Naughty. ESPN. Then a couple of years later, he updated it. Exaltation, Priesthood, Spirit, Nice things - charitable service. He said if he thought of those things every day as his goals and aids toward them, he had no trouble keeping out of the world.

I guess that's the key to survival in this insane world today. Distance ourselves as much as possible from the madness by immersion in temple attendance, scripture study, prayer, our callings, service to our families and fellow man, and seeking to have the Spirit constantly. Then I believe we'll be guided to do whatever small things we can to improve life in our tiny sphere of influence.

As we were told repeatedly during conference: the temple is a place of refuge from the storms of life and we can be renewed while we are doing service for those who can't do it for themselves. There are certainly storms raging around us - political and otherwise. So I'll see you at the temple! It's the best way to ease the frustrations of today's headlines! And yes, I'll join you at the next tea party in July!!

Let Me Onto That Boat!

by Gale Sears

Yep, I admit it. I was one of those kooks who attended a Tea Party on tax day. Yep. Me and about three hundred other kooks stood out in a snowstorm at the Federal Building in Salt Lake City, Utah, and caused a ruckus. Whoa boy! Look out! We carried posters that said hateful things like, “KEEP THE CHANGE” and “COMMON SENSE NOT NONSENSE!” We got silly and teary eyed when a young man sang our National Anthem, and when a returning Iraqi soldier spoke about the precious gift of freedom, we were unabashedly emotional. Now the way the main stream media was talking you’d think if there’d been some tea around, we mad right-wing protesters would have chucked it in the harbor.

We cheered for speakers who spoke about the courage and insight of our founding fathers, and the idea that we, as lucky citizens of this country, should have ideals, a work ethic, and faith in God. This band of weirdoes even had the audacity to believe that “we the people” should take care of our own problems and not rely on Big Government for unnecessary entitlements.

And at the end of the rally when we sang together, “I’m Proud to be an American”, we felt like patriots. We felt like we had a voice. Freedom of speech, now that’s quite a radical concept, isn’t it? Yep, kooks with radical ideas—just like old Ben Franklin, Samuel Adams, and Patrick Henry. Actually, I’d hang out with them any day.

I believe there’s another Tea Party on July 4th. Want to join me?

Time

I remember as a little girl hearing a song my sister used to play on an old 45 record called “Time Good, Time Bad” I may be wrong but it seems like it was Bobby Goldsboro that sang it. For the life of me, I couldn’t find it anywhere while searching for the title, lyrics, or artist.

However, if memory serves, the song had a great message.

It talks about how Time can be good or time can be bad depending on how we view it.
The song tells a story of a person who one day looks out their window and sees a young child crying. The child is frustrated with time. Will it ever stop and see, or must he always be a child? Time is always passing him by and therefore, it seems he will never get to grow up.

So, the person goes out walking. They come upon an older woman who is heartbroken because of time. In her lifespan, time has done nothing but rushed by. Time turned her hair to gray and put wrinkles in a face that once was so lovely to see. Her time is coming to an end and as days rush swiftly by, time has done nothing but left her aged and worn.

Finally, the person meets up with the a man who is satisfied with Time. This man is coming to a point in life where he can look back and see what time has done for him and says, “Time, you’ve been so good to me.” Time brought him a life filled with love and experience and he wouldn’t trade a minute of his valued time.

For some reason the song comes to my mind periodically when I feel I have no time, or rather, when I feel I can’t or I simply don’t take the time, whichever the case may be.
It is said we always make time for what is most important to us. I think we certainly try. But real life sometimes even hinders our best intentions of taking the time to do what we want or what we think we should do.

I can’t help but think to myself how quickly time is flying by. There are so many things to get done. So many tasks to accomplish, that at times, it feels overwhelming and it’s hard to stop and just take a deep breath and try to slow the pace a bit.

At the end of the evening, when I come home from work, often times I will go in and kiss my son good night. Sometimes I’ll sit on the edge of his bed and watch him for a minute and play with his dog that insists on snuggling up beside him to sleep. My son is sound asleep so he doesn’t even know I am there. It’s usually in those moments that I watch my son that I realize time is moving too quickly.

My point is, there are only so many hours in a day and we can only do so much. We should take time to relax and enjoy. Sure, we all have our responsibilities and pressures. But I don’t want to look back in time with regrets because I spent my entire life, worrying and stressing, (I am a HUGE worrier and stresser, by the way so, I am really working on this) or because I didn’t take the time to enjoy the good times. We need to do those things that will make our time of value.

We only have so many hours in our lifetime, no matter how we choose to use them up. It’s my hope that we can all go to bed each night feeling that we used our hours that day, wisely. Whatever that entails. So that in the end, we can look back and realize time has been good to us.

The Best of Times, and the Worst of Times

by Anna Buttimore

There has never been a better time to be a writer. If you are of a creative bent, and get a particular thrill from seeing your prose "out there" for everyone to enjoy, then the web means that you can blog and twitter and comment and vent and voice your opinions and publish and pontificate in the public forum from the comfort of your own home to your heart's content.

When I started writing, if you wanted anyone outside your own circle of friends and family to read your work you had to send carefully-typed double-spaced pages of heavy manuscript to a publisher, with a suitably professional and polite letter, and then hope and pray that your genius would be recognised. In my case, the publishers generally chose to use the stamped self-addressed envelope I'd sent them rather than my masterpiece, and so I would select another publisher and go through the whole process again. I'd comfort myself with the knowledge that the editors had at least treated my manuscript with due respect. There were no dirty finger marks or coffee-cup rings on it, and the pages had been turned with great care so that there were no creases or torn edges.

Today, if you want to submit a manuscript for publication in order that the general public can benefit from your knowledge and skill, you need only attach a document to a professional and polite email. But why bother with a publisher at all? Why not just put your book on a site for digital download?

If you want to write something that millions of others will read, you can do it right now. Having spent my first thirty years of life trying to get something with my name on it in the public domain, I now do so almost every day. Today, for example, I launched my new website. (I'm quite pleased with it, so take a look - http://www.annajonesbuttimore.com/.) And I'm blogging. I may Twitter later, just in case six billion strangers are interested in what I had for lunch. Yes, if you love writing, there has never been a better time to be a writer. The ideas in your head are no longer condemned to stay there; you can very easily tell everyone.

Unfortunately, this is also a bad time to be a writer. Partly because the very blessing I have just spoken of can also be a curse, in that much of the writing out there is dreadful, unnecessary, and often downright wrong, if not libelous. And have you noticed how many people seem to have no real grasp of the rudiments of punctuation or spelling? And there is so much information that many people no longer feel the need to buy books. Whilst it affects fiction to a lesser degree, why would you need to buy on doing your own tiling when you can look up step-by-step instructions on Wikipedia? How many books haven't you bought because you chose to use the Internet instead?

So is this the best of times for writers, or is it the worst of times? I'd love to know what you think.

I Still Love These Books!

Reading to my children is particularly fun when the book is one I enjoyed as a child. For instance, I read Robert C. O’Brien’s The Silver Crown to my son. I’ve loved this book ever since my sixth-grade teacher read it to our class. In the book, ten-year-old Ellen gets a mysterious silver crown and her life turns upside down. Her house gets blown up. Bad guys are chasing her. She wants desperately to get to safety at her Aunt Sarah’s house in Kentucky. Instead, she ends up at a creepy castle/school hidden in the woods where a magical machine created centuries ago is at work carrying out an evil plan of world domination. The machine’s minions will stop at nothing to get their hands on Ellen’s silver crown, an artifact even more powerful than the machine. Yep, Ellen’s in a pickle. It’s a gripping story, and it was fun watching my son’s interest and excitement as the story unfolded.

At the library, I was in the children’s section with my kids, and on the shelf I saw the book Jane-Emily by Patricia Clapp. I was thrilled. “I love this book!” I exclaimed, thrusting it upon my daughter. She probably thought I was nuts to get so excited about a book, but I haven’t seen this book in years and didn’t realize the library stocked it. Here’s the story: eighteen-year-old Louisa Amory goes with her nine-year-old orphaned niece, Jane, to live with Jane’s grandmother for the summer. Creepy things start to happen, and it becomes apparent that the spirit of Emily, the long-dead twelve-year-old daughter of Jane’s grandmother, is determined to wreak her selfish, evil will on the living—and she’s especially interested in Jane.

I loved these books as a kid and still love them. In fact, many of my favorite books are children’s or YA books. Here are a few more favorites of mine:

The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin. Rich old businessman Samuel W. Westing has died—was he murdered?—and his fortune will go to whichever of his colorful cast of heirs can unravel the clues and solve the Westing Game.

The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Spear. Sixteen-year-old Kit Tyler leaves her home in Barbados and settles in Puritan-era Connecticut. Struggling to adjust to her strange new home, Kit makes misstep after misstep. Eventually her compassion for a lonely old woman leads to her being accused of witchcraft.

A Swiftly Tilting Planet, by Madeleine L’Engle. This is the third book in the series that started with A Wrinkle in Time. I loved Wrinkle, but the third book is my favorite. Boy genius Charles Wallace joins forces with unicorn Gaudior to save the world from a madman. He travels through time in his quest to bring about the change that will save the world.

Secret Agents Four, by Donald J. Sobol. This is one of the funniest books I have ever read, the kind of book where not only is the plot fun and intriguing, but every line is a delight. Written by the creator of Encyclopedia Brown, Secret Agents Four is the tale of spy wannabe Ken Mullins and his friends, Orv, Bo, and Horseshoes. Ken’s father works for government agency Mongoose, so Ken and company create their own teenage secret spy group--VACUUM (Volunteer Agents Crusading Unsteadily Under Mongoose). Their goal: to battle the evil forces of Cobra and thwart their plot to wreak havoc on Miami.

What books did you love in childhood that you still love now?

Electrifying Moments

A few years ago when I was a little girl, there was a lot of hoopla over the space program. I remember how excited my parents were when they learned that men would eventually walk on the moon. My father, who was always eager to learn about new technology, was fascinated by the space age. He did quite a bit to encourage us to appreciate the era in which we lived. We gathered as a family, enthralled as rockets were launched into space.

This excitement made a huge impact on my overactive imagination. My mother has shared that I was always able to entertain myself, and my siblings as we grew up. I invented games for us to play, etc. The year I was almost five, I nearly met an early demise because of this vivid imagination, and the space program.

Back in days of yore, ice cream came in gallon-size cardboard containers that resembled small drums. My mother saved them to give to us to play with. Mine held toys, and variety of treasures. Then one day, soon after we had moved into a brand new brick home, I dumped everything out of one of those cardboard containers. I hauled it into the hallway onto my mother's prized and polished hardwood floor. Tipping it upside down, I pretended it was my launching pad. I stood on top of it and began a countdown.

My mother was busy fixing dinner in the kitchen and she said later that she heard my countdown, but wasn't sure what I was up to. Then she heard a disturbing noise and the lights in the house flashed. Rushing into the hall, she saw that I had jammed one of my metal barrettes into an outlet. Since our house wasn't grounded yet, I was receiving quite a bit of voltage up my arm. Fire shot out around me and effectively burned a half circle on the new hardwood floor.

Panicking, my mother raced into the kitchen, grabbed a wooden broom, and knocked me away from the outlet, saving my life. I tried to explain later on that my barrette was the key to my rocket ship, but no one seemed very amused by what I had imagined that day. All I can say is that my guardian angel was definitely on active duty that afternoon. I spent 2-3 days in bed, sick from the electrical burns I had received up that arm. But I recovered fully and I was much wiser with regard to things electrical.

Now lest you should think ill of my parents, I should stress that I was cautioned repeatedly about not sticking anything into the electrical outlets. (This was before outlet covers existed.) And I was usually an obedient child, but that day, my creative flare and excitement over the space program combined in an unruly fashion. I've never forgotten what I learned that day, and I've had a healthy respect for things electrical ever since.

This past week, we endured quite an adventure compliments of a nearby power pole. My oldest son, Kris, and I had just returned from a trip to town and we had only been home about 5 minutes when the power went out. Since it was storming in a most impressive fashion, we figured it was responsible for the power outage. Then Kris walked into our living room and glanced out the bay window. That's when we learned that the power lines that cross our front yard were beginning to sag. We raced outside and saw the following catastrophe near our home:



If you study these two pictures closely, you'll note that the top of the power pole had collapsed on top of the transformer, causing it to arc, sending flames into the air, and effectively ruining what was left of the top of that pole. We were later told that because of the moisture this storm had furnished, the rotting wood of this old pole caved in on top of itself. Good times.

This particular power pole is located in the corner of our neighbor's front yard, right beside our pasture. Because of what took place, the power lines were hanging extremely low, causing yet another danger. Unaware that he could have easily been zapped in a violent fashion, Kris darted across our yard to "rescue" his car. He parked it a short, safe distance away, then risked his life again as he crossed underneath those sagging live wires to approach our home.

We had already called for help. I had contacted the power company and my son had dialed 911 because of the fire danger. It only took both organizations about 10 minutes to respond and we were told to keep our distance while they attempted to get things under control.

A bright orange cautionary cone was placed in our driveway, underneath the sagging power lines. Then the race was on as the weather raged, the fire burned, and the power lines were rendered harmless. One power truck had responded to the initial emergency call. As time marched on, four more trucks would show up to help. Evidently this was a serious situation. I don't think I've ever seen that many power trucks arriving to fix the same problem before.

Kris and I obediently stayed inside the safety of the house, taking pictures from the windows in the living room and garage as these courageous men toiled to contain the fire, remove the damaged pole, and insert a new one.

Eventually, Kris had to leave to go to work, but since the power had been cut to the lines, he was okay to leave. Not long after that, my husband returned home from his job and he was given permission to walk across the power lines that were lying in our driveway by then.

Four hours later, the new pole was in place and all was well. My husband walked out to thank these men for their valiant efforts. They had worked in extremely cold conditions, but had stayed with it until the job was done. They are to be commended for all they did that day.

After the power came back on, things returned to normal, aside from a little glitch with a local internet tower. The power outage had fried some of the delicate parts of this tower and so we were without the internet for a little over 24 hours.

This entire adventure has made me realize how much I sometimes take for granted. When you ponder all that electricity makes possible, it becomes a new miracle all over again. Lights, heat, music, TV, computers, not to mention little things like the ability to keep food cold, or curling irons hot are all a direct result of electricity. Combine that with the ability to communicate instantaneously with people throughout the nation or world, and as my father emphasized years ago, we do indeed live during a marvelous time. There may be a lot of negative things taking place in this world, but when you truly consider all that we have been blessed with, it rather gives you an entire new slant to life during this current age. I know I for one, would not enjoy going back to the days of fire and kerosene. What think the rest of you?

THE JOURNEY

President Hinckley compared life to a journey on an old time railroad car. He suggested we were going to be disappointed if we expected the whole trip to be composed of wonderful experiences and lovely scenery. He spoke of the bumps, the jarring starts and stops, cinders and soot with only an occasional breath-taking vista. He concluded with “the trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.” Easter weekend turned out for me to be one of those “grand vistas,” an occasion to thank the Lord for allowing me the ride.

To begin with my younger brother and his wife came down from Idaho to spend the weekend with us. They arrived Friday and we had a good time just talking and going out to dinner together. Saturday became more involved with shopping and visiting places they wanted to see. Since it was close to one of the places we intended to go, we stopped at the IFA store and saw all the baby chicks, goslings, ducklings, turkeys, bunnies, and two kids (baby goats). I’m opposed to giving kids live animals as Easter gifts, but IFA is a farm store and most of their baby animals are headed for rural homes where they belong. Since all four of us were raised on farms, it was a fun reminder of our childhood.

After purchasing items at various far flung stores, we headed back to my home where two of my daughters and their small children met us for Easter egg coloring. The three-year-old is a little accident prone, so his mom took precautions to make certain which dyes and colors he used. Of course, he was the only one that didn’t spill anything. Three spills in a row had blue and green dye sinking into my chairs, splattering the walls, and spreading across my floor. The grandson with the yellow dye managed to contain his spill to the tray holding the various brush-on paints and glitter. My nine-year-old granddaughter who is so careful and very artistic was in tears and her white shirt splotched in blue, the egg she was holding splashed in multiple unintended colors. While I cleaned up my granddaughter and found her something dry to wear, my daughters tackled cleaning up my kitchen. They did a good job, but I suspect I’ll be finding remnants of blue paint in unexpected places for some time. By the time the eggs were finished and the mess cleaned up, it was too late for anything but hotdogs for dinner. The spilled coloring dye might be related to cinders and soot, but there was something lovely, one of those scenic vistas, in seeing the competent, non-judgmental way my daughters dealt with their children’s disasters and their concern for making certain I wasn’t the one left to shampoo my chairs or mop the floor.

Being avid Jazz fans we were looking forward to the game, but it was another disaster. It was after the game that we were treated to one of those vista moments. The lights came on at the nearly completed Oquirrh Mountain Temple and from our upstairs rooms we were able to show my brother and sister-in-law the sparkling city lights high lighted by the sight of three temples framed in one bedroom window.

One of my sons-in-law makes wonderful omelets. He volunteered to come over Sunday morning to make omelets and I prepared a German coffee cake, starting off Easter morning on a pleasant note. Sacrament meeting was one of those Easter services filled with music and messages that was so perfect it brought tears to our eyes. Even the noisiest children (and we have lots of those in our ward) were reverent and the choir was at its best which says a lot for a choir that I’m sure already ranks as one of the best in the Church, and a pair of talented thirteen-year-olds sang a beautiful duet.

On returning home all five of our children, their spouses, and our ten grandchildren arrived for dinner and an egg hunt. Being all together, sharing too much food, lots of laughter and stories, watching the older children hide the eggs, then the younger ones hunt for them put a satisfying cap on the day.

After all of our children and their families left, the four of us who remained experienced one of those tired, but peaceful times of reflection. Together over the past few years we’ve faced some of life’s painful tragedies, deaths of loved ones, serious illnesses, worries, and difficulties, but the fun moments, the nostalgic moments, the small disasters, the loving gestures, and the intense spiritual warmth of this weekend filled us with assurance that the Lord loves us and He gives us just enough experiences like this weekend to keep us searching for just such “grand vistas” and to remind us to thank Him for letting us have this ride we call life.