If I could see through time...

• All images in this post were created through the use of long exposure, which hopefully demonstrates the effect I am trying to communicate, and the smoothness of texture that results when we “see through time”.

I’ve been thinking about trials. It seems to be a common theme these days. I’m not sure why my mind goes there so much, so often. Perhaps it’s because I have the time and space to wonder and wander in that mindscape. I’m not dwelling on any particular negative emotion or situation, just random thoughts about the trials and struggles of life. I go to the beach every morning and walk for almost 2 hours- (got to get my 10,000+ steps in). Walking barefoot on the beach is a “mindful” way to start my day. I read a quote the other day by Rebecca Solnit in Wanderlust, The History of Walking: “Exploring the world is one of the best ways of exploring the mind… and walking travels both terrains.” I begin well before sunrise when the sky is still dark, with only a sliver of approaching dawn above the horizon. For 50 minutes, the sky evolves through fiery shades of amber, deep coral, and vibrant orange. And then the flaming disk of the sun emerges from the ocean and reflects and refracts its light across the surface of the water. In the moment as I watch this celestial lightshow, the ocean surface is choppy and turbulent, some days rougher than others. Often there are rain squalls off the shore that give additional texture to the sky and sea. In an attempt to graphically represent my feelings of inner turmoil, it occurred to me that through a simple photographic trick of manipulating time, I could remove the rough surface of the sea, and capture a tranquil and beautiful sunrise image. That trick is to drag out the shutter for a longer period of time.

I went back several days later with the intent to articulate these feelings in a photographic image. I set my camera upon a tripod at Pounders Beach and waited through the early iridescence of sunrise. I stacked 10 stops of neutral-density filters in front of my lens, which allowed me to achieve a 40-second exposure. In those 40 seconds, all the waves and turbulence smoothed and settled into an abstract blur. Even the clouds in the sky softened. When that image was finished, I quickly removed all the filters and adjusted the settings on my camera to shoot a much quicker image to represent “my” real time view. Studying those images side by side allowed me to consider my relationship to the turbulences in my life. I all too often feel stress moment by moment. I almost always react to the current world around me and all it has to throw my way. We talk of perspective in context of changing our vantage point, of raising or lowering our point of view with respect to the horizon. What if perspective could also be altered through the lens of time? What if one could comprehend the beginning from the end and understand all the energy that passes between those two markers on a watch dial, or even between the pages of a calendar, or even over the course of a lifetime? My still image represents 40 seconds of power and turbulence, but over time, the hard edges disappear.

First image- with 10 stops of neutral density, giving me 40 seconds of exposure

Second image- with no neutral density, allowing a 1/20 second exposure

I believe that is how God sees human life, how He sees me. He understands the turbulence of the moments of my life. He knows I bob my head from one wave to another, pushed and pulled by currents, tides, and other pulses of energy. But He also sees my beginning from my end. In order to achieve the polish I require, turbulence is a necessary element of the refining process. When time is included in the equation, there is grace and beauty in growth and development. The perspective of life is more painterly, more elegant, richer, and full of grace.

“As wave is driven by wave
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,
So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,
Always, for ever and new. What was before
Is left behind; what never was is now;
And every passing moment is renewed.”
Ovid, Metamorphoses

60-second exposure

Suffering Long in Long-suffering part 2

I suppose it’s time I finish this topic. It’s been a difficult one because of its personal nature. The lesson I’ve learned from this experience is to be careful with what I present and share on a public forum. I put it on the backburner and was content to leave it there until a friend reminded me recently that it was left unwritten. And so, I will attempt to finish it here. I think my reluctance to publishing my thoughts is that I don’t wish to presume my suffering surpasses that of others. I actually feel very blessed in life. I’m generally a happy person. Still, there are trials to endure, and those trials, by nature, involve suffering.

Ruins of a sugar factory at Kualoa Ranch

Many years ago, I read a book by the Rabbi Harold Kushner called, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It was the first time I remember thinking about life’s trials and challenges not necessarily being the result of where we find ourselves on the scale of bad to good; that we live in a fallen world where random chaos can be found around any given corner. He writes about our agency, and what a priceless gift of God it is, even when one chooses to use it in a hurtful manner, and sometimes at the expense of another individual. Because we find ourselves in a world where bad things can, may, and do happen, it doesn’t suggest we are punished or are bad ourselves. We are placed in an environment that allows growth, choice, faith, and forgiveness. He writes:

 One of the ways in which people have tried to make sense of the world’s suffering in every generation has been by assuming that we deserve what we get, that somehow our misfortunes come as punishment for our sins.

I was studying the Book of John in the New Testament a few weeks back and came across the story of Jesus healing the blind man. His disciples posed the question, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him” It would seem that this passage acknowledges that misfortune may occur, and it is not necessarily the result of sin on a person’s part. I cross referenced this scripture with one found in the Book of Mormon. In 2 Nephi 2:2, Father Lehi teaches his son, Nevertheless, Jacob, my firstborn in the wilderness, thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for they gain. In other words, Lehi teaches that our suffering is consecrated to us for our benefit and growth.

An almost Dr. Seuss-like flower at the botanical garden

Unfortunately, anything “uncomfortable” almost always transfers to our consciousness as suffering. Either we are happy and content with the status quo, or we suffer when life doesn’t go the way we would choose. Suffering isn’t necessarily bad in and of itself. Perhaps it is simply an indication that external forces are bearing down upon us. When we don’t address the nature of our suffering, acknowledge possible purposes from a divine perspective, or consider the impact of change within us, then suffering can seem endless, or worse, a punishment.

Sometimes, our suffering is caused by the trial of someone dear to us, so it is a secondary suffering. I’ve known individuals who are victims of abuse, and I suffer that along with them. I grew up in an alcoholic home, and I suffer for that. Someone very dear to me suffers PTSD from overseas wars. I don’t understand that suffering, but I feel deep compassion for anyone who endures that kind of trial. So, sometimes the purpose in the suffering is to teach others charity, love, and compassion.

Diamond Head Lighthouse

If we never identify the purpose to our suffering, then we simply hurt, and hurt, and hurt. From that pain, we can become a victim. But with a purpose, we transcend suffering long, and enter what the scriptures refer to as long-suffering. What is the biblical meaning of longsuffering? Dictionary.com gives the following as a description of long-suffering:

Long-suffering is most commonly used as an adjective to describe someone who patiently endures negative situations for long periods of time without complaining.

It’s often used in situations in which someone has endured pain, injury, illness, hardship, tragedy, or difficulty in accomplishing something. It’s also often used to describe a person who has stood by or supported someone during a difficult time.

Importantly, though, long-suffering doesn’t simply indicate that someone has endured bad things for a long time—it implies that they have endured such things without complaint.

In religious contexts, long-suffering is discussed as a virtue, especially one involving being patient and slow to get angry. A close synonym is forbearance.

The term longsuffering is revealed as one of the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22, a translation of the Greek makrothumia, literally meaning “long of mind or soul,” or patient and tolerant.

Longsuffering suggests that we recognize a purpose to our suffering, and with that, we can have hope as we exercise patience. We accept that the pain will lead to change and/or growth. Someday it will end. Someday we’ll look back and perhaps remember who we were before the suffering began and we can see that like a caterpillar, we too have grown a beautiful set of wings.

I enjoy reading the works of the great stoic philosophers. Here are a few simple quotes I’ve come across in preparing to write this essay:

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering- Friedrich Nietzsche

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved- Helen Keller

Wisdom comes alone through suffering- Aeschylus

God had one son on earth without sin, but never one without suffering- Saint Augustine

The reward of suffering is experience- Harry S Truman

True, I am in love with suffering, but I do not know if I deserve the honor- Saint Ignatius

We forget our pleasures, we remember our sufferings- Marcus Tullius Cicero

Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional- Buddhist saying

Lastly, a quote by a largely unknown individual,

Though I would never choose to walk this path again, I wouldn’t trade the knowledge and experience for anything in the world- Michael Guy Handley

Sea turtle at Shark’s Cove

Suffering Long in Long-SufferinG part 1

I haven’t written in a while. I’ve resisted jumping into this topic. For months it seems, I’ve been pondering the topic of suffering and wanting to write about it. I’ve delayed because I couldn’t tell where it was going. I don’t think I have it all together now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the bottom of it. I can tell however, that it eats at my subconscious day in and day out. Perhaps by spilling it in this post, I’ll find relief. It’s funny because I haven’t even written about this in my journal. Until I get passed this, I won’t be exploring other topics in the journal that need my attention. I’ve got to work through this mental block.

In complete fairness, I recognize that any suffering I feel is probably a 2 or 3 on a scale of 10. It’s pretty minimal when I consider the truly difficult trials others struggle with. I see real suffering in those around me, weights that I can’t begin to fathom such as addictions, abuse, crises of faith, unfulfilled dreams, financial setbacks, health challenges, PTSDs, and endless lists of other mental health disorders. So, I don’t compare my suffering to others, but I look at suffering as a necessary consequence of mortality, and I try to understand how to control it without it controlling me.

My trials tend to ebb and flow through days, weeks and even years. And not surprisingly, my trials never fall upon me in orderly sequence one at a time. More often than not, they gang up. They often overlap, and one additional trial may be all it takes to exceed my ability to manage carefully and rationally. There are times when I’ve seen a trial heading at me and known only “moments” in advance that suffering was soon to follow. In those instances, I’ve only had enough time it seems to take a deep breath, offer a silent prayer, and figuratively prepare my stance.

I can remember preparing for this mission last summer and recognizing we were embarking on a life altering journey. I knew it would change me. In fact, I remember praying and hoping I would be different, that I would be molded into a newer and more refined individual. Why should I be surprised that the process isn’t easy? Refining often involves heat and pressure administered under the watchful eye of the silversmith over a long period of time. Growth is change, and change is hard, it always has been for me. The trick is trusting in a process I can’t control, for an outcome I can’t foresee. I suppose that is a good definition of faith:

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

I realize I’ve already written myself into a corner now. It would be easy to ask if it really is suffering if one brings the situation on oneself, clearly as an individual choice (like choosing to serve a mission). How can I compare trials that result from choices I make, to another who had no choice in his or her difficulty. I can’t address that here. I’m not prepared to go down that detour.

This post serves as an introductory argument and sets a context for what I really want to write about, which is how to take our suffering, no matter from where it comes, and regardless of any choice of our own to bring about the conditions that caused the suffering. How can I find meaning and value in my suffering? How can I have hope that the suffering will serve a useful purpose, that it will be for a greater good. I will attempt to use my words carefully. I am intimately aware of loved ones whom I have observed suffering for years and perhaps most of their lives. What I say in this post isn’t intended to minimize the hurt or be condescending. It’s simply that my philosophy of life is that our existence favors the good. When the whole of our lives is placed on a grand cosmic scale, every ounce of suffering will be counterbalanced with an enormous overabundance of good, heaping good, so much good that the tray of the scale can’t contain its fullness. The good will spill off and pool about the base of the scale and all suffering will literally be swallowed up and cancelled.

And so, I’ll end it here for now. In the coming days, I’ll proceed with what has been on my mind, and how I hope to understand the nature of my suffering.

How to Measure a Life

While I have been in Hawaii the last six months, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at waves. We don’t spend our time lounging on the beach, soaking in the rays of the sun, we’re far too busy for that. But when one lives on an island it’s hard not to think of the constant energy pounding away at the shoreline. We live across the Kamehameha Highway from the ocean. When I lay in bed at night, I can hear the pounding of the surf throughout the night. I often start my day with a walk on the beach. I go out about ½-hour before sunrise, and while I walk along the surf line, I watch the sun rise above the horizon. It’s beautiful and a peaceful way to begin my day. Now that it is winter, large swells strike the island, especially along the North Shore, about five miles away. This is surfing season. I suppose it’s always surfing season in Hawaii, but in winter there is a greater emphasis because the winter swell is higher. We’ve had a lot of surfing competitions the last several weeks or month.

At first, I would hear reports of waves reaching 20’-30’ in height, and that was exciting. Surfers rushed to the beach, threw down their boards, jumped on, and paddled out beyond the break line. Later, as the competitions increased, so did the wave heights. Soon we were hearing reports of 40’, 50’, and even bigger waves hitting. It made me wonder how wave height is determined, and if the surfing industry had an actual method of determining said height.

Using the internet, I googled “Ocean Wave Height”, and learned that not only is it non-scientific, but largely variable, and often given to exaggeration, as in “you should have seen the one that got away”. I also learned that the Hawaiians have their own method of determining wave height. In general, wave height is the vertical distance between the crest (peak) and the trough of a wave. That means ½ the wave height is below the still-water line and potentially out of sight.

https://www.weather.gov/dlh/WaveHeightExplanation

Surfer Magazine explained their method of measuring wave height as follows: using an oversized image of the wave, and the known height of each surfer, they estimate the surfer’s crouching height in the moment the photo was taken, creating a scale that they can then use to determine the overall height of the wave, from trough to lip.

In Hawaii, wave height is measured differently: When surfers first braved the waters of Waimea Bay, they did so without spectators just for the thrill of the ride. They measured the waves they surfed from the back, not the face, out of necessity, and the system stuck. Depending on the wave, the face may be more than twice the height of the back. So, the Hawaiian system essentially splits the Surfable Wave Face measurement in half to derive the height of any given wave.

https://www.alohasurfguide.com/know-the-waves/

From all this deep and heavily researched exercise in determining ocean wave height, I’ve learned that one cannot fully comprehend the magnitude of an ocean wave without understanding the lowest point of the trough that precedes the surfable face and the magnificent curl that folds over as the wave rushes up the beach surface.

As I’ve strolled up and down the beach, it has occurred to me that a person’s life has much in common with a wave. All too often, we tend to rate the magnitude and beauty of the wave by how high it towers over a surfer sliding down its face or the magnificence and beauty of the curl, or the color of the water and how luminous it appears as light passes through the curtain of water. Or perhaps we witness a massive wall of water crash upon the rocks, sending a spray of water a hundred feet into the air. I can’t imagine anyone expressing awe in the magnitude of the trough, even when the trough is an integral part of the wave. The trough gets little attention and mostly passes by unnoticed.

In life, it seems much the same. We tend to view another’s life by the stellar achievements one has made, the soaring beauty above our heads, the great accomplishments, and the success. The troughs of life go mostly unnoticed. We don’t comprehend the low points a person has sunk, the trials and challenges, the unfortunate and often times devastating hardships that occur in life. It seems that to fully comprehend a person’s life, we must take in the complete evaluation of all that makes up life, something none of us have the capacity to do, save only God.

When our kids were young, we read To Kill a Mockingbird together. One of the great ideas of English language literature was expressed in the concept that to understand another individual, we must be willing to wear their shoes and walk around in them. I can’t think of another person I would trade shoes with. My shoes, my life seem uniquely suited to me. I’ve grown accustomed to the feel of my shoes, and I am confident that my trials of life are necessarily suited for me.

I’m nearly 65-years old and I have experienced deep troughs of despair. I suppose that those trials, those troughs are the basis or foundation upon which I have built my life. Looking back over the years I’ve often said, though I would never choose that trial again (or that trough), I wouldn’t trade it away for anything in the world. Those troughs did more to shape me, strengthen me, and sustain me than anything else I’ve experienced in my mortal journey. The face of the wave, the crest, and the curl are the showy and spectacular outward appearance. It’s what makes one ooh and aah. I am grateful for my troughs, for my trials. I don’t want to spend my time down there and I don’t want to return and rerun my trials, but I do enjoy the foundation and perspective they have provided me.

There must be balance to all things. Too much focus on the trough is not a healthy situation either. No, the wave must be taken in its full measurement, a complete entity. We are not defined by our troughs any more than we are defined by the curl. It’s all part of the whole wave. All this leads me to my conclusion; we must be kind and compassionate to one another. None of us sees the full picture.

Upon the Shores of Eternity

I wasn’t feeling well when I went to bed Tuesday night last week. Knowing that Wednesday was our day off, our preparation day (or P-day), I decided I would sleep in and then spend a lazy day at home. A storm blew in during the night and Wednesday was wet, a good day to stay in. I rested until mid-afternoon and then became restless. I’m not a good patient. I got an itch to be out and enjoy the last few hours of free time. Sunset Beach on the North Shore is only ten miles away. We got in the car and headed north in a light drizzle. We lucked out and found a parking space at the beach known as “The Pipeline”, famous for its surfing. Getting out of the car, we could sense a buzz among the beach goers. We crossed a small park and looked out over the sand, and what a glorious sight. Waves. Big waves. And lots of surfers too. I thought it was just photographers who liked bad weather. It seems suffers also like that kind of condition. I had my camera with me, so we set off down the beach to find a place to set the tripod. It’s the first time I’ve shot a sport like this. I have the right equipment, but not a lot of practice using it for moving action. I have a lens and camera system that gives me the equivalent of 1,200mm. I set my shutter to high-speed release, cranked up the ISO because it was a little dark under the stormy skies, and fired away. What I lacked most was experience in focus tracking, as in, I didn’t know how to turn it on. So, my major weakness was having sharp images. But I know now how to manage it, and today, as I release this, more big waves are forecast. I’ll be out trying again. These were not monster waves that I still hope to see while we are here, but it was obvious that everyone was having a good time, even in a light drizzle.

Good waves come in sets, and most surfers wait out the intermediate waves for the bigger ones to appear on the horizon. Then there is a mad scramble to get into place so as to position oneself to catch the peak energy and ride down the face.

During my career at BYU some years back, I produced an annual show for the university called Homecoming Spectacular. Various ensembles from the touring program performed and we would honor a founder of the university. One year we celebrated the life and contributions of a teacher and administrator named Edwin S. Hinckley. While addressing the student body at commencement one time, back in the early part of the 20th Century, maybe about 1910, he said to the graduates, “Some of you here have it in you to do things that will set waves in motion that will not stop until they break upon the shores of eternity”. I love that quote. I love the vision he had of the students, and their potential to leave an impact on the world that would ripple through future generations. We work with students here in Hawaii. It isn’t hard to imagine the same level of success in their eyes and in their efforts. I know there is tremendous potential in my own children. They will change the world. In fact, everything I hold dear will one day be in the hands of a newer generation. I hope I’ve made a few ripples, and only time will tell where they will break. Hopefully upon some future shores, and maybe into the eternities.

The waves keep coming, they pound upon this island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They beat upon the shoreline reshaping the hard lava rock. The waves also provide a means for recreation and enjoyment. Surfing was born among these islands, and the skills are practiced year-round. Equally important though are the efforts of these young people who are only beginning to set their waves in motion. The interesting thing about waves is that they are usually barely noticeable in open water, but when they come upon the land and their energy pushes up the sandy slope, their full magnitude is visibly apparent. Never underestimate the hidden potential and the deep and powerful energy that rolls beneath the surface of young minds and hearts that are poised to soon take on the management of world affairs, the families, the churches, the arts and medicines of tomorrow, and the dreams of their parents, your dreams and mine.

Lastly, waves symbolize the trials of life that wash over us. Our difficulties seem always to come in waves. Some are fierce and mighty, and more rarely, they are gentle. Sometimes they pound upon us and roll us over in their turbulence, but always they eventually pass by and wash upon the sandy beach. May we always have the courage and fortitude to survive that fierce tumble, and then regain our footing, stand tall, and see that all the energy carried past us is dissipated upon the shore.

 Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me

 Jesus, Savior, pilot me
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal.
Chart and compass came from thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boist’rous waves obey thy will
When thou say’st to them, “Be still!”
Wondrous Sov’reign of the sea,
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on thy breast,
May I hear thee say to me,
“Fear not; I will pilot thee.”

Lyrics by Edward Hopper

Endure to the End

Several weeks ago, our mission president asked the office staff to prepare a Christmas day devotional for the junior missionaries (the young missionaries called to proselyting assignments in our area). As our topic, we were given the Doctrine of Christ as found in the Book of Mormon. The Doctrine of Christ contains the basic tenets of conversion for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. These five principles include Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, Repentance, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins, the Gift of the Holy Ghost, and Enduring to the End. There were five sets of office staff members who were each given one of these topics and asked to prepare a 15-minute presentation. The junior missionaries were divided into their five zones, and we taught five rotations of our given subject. This devotional took place in the visitor center of the Laie Temple on Christmas day afternoon. Virginia and I were assigned to teach on Enduring to the end.

Akaka Falls on the big island of Hawaii

It was a humbling assignment to teach young people on the topic of endurance. It required me to consider the numerable challenges, trials, and tribulations I’ve waded through in the years since I was their age, perhaps 45 years ago to be sure. No doubt many of them have already faced difficult times in their young lives and would have a thing or two to teach me about patience and fortitude. Nevertheless, this was our assignment. Going into my lesson preparation I had several feelings about the presentation:

1. it was Christmas day, a day of celebration and not a day to listen to an old man ramble on about stories of his past

2. this generation is much more tech savvy, and a lecture format probably wouldn’t have been the best way to engage them

3. I wanted them to be taught more by the Spirit than by me

I spent nearly a week creating a PowerPoint slide show, first to share images of individuals facing challenging times in their lives, and then followed by a set of images of the Savior accompanied with scriptures, mostly from the New Testament that testified of the divine promises of endurance.

Drone shot of the coast near our home

In the process of my research and building the slide show, important truths arose in my consciousness and inspired my understanding of the beauty and simplicity of our Father’s plan for each of us. My first impression was that this doctrine is plain, easy, and clear enough for a child of 8-years old to understand, the age at which young people are baptized in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The second spiritual prompting I had was much more profound, and applicable even in my life, that the first four principles are the tools we need to overcome the trials we face in the many decades that follow as we continue our own “enduring to the end”.

Liliʻuokalani Gardens, Hilo, Hawaii

Though faith is required to begin one’s journey as a disciple of Christ, there isn’t a quantifiable amount or limit to reach in any given life. Our faith is variable; stronger at some times and lacking at others. In general, I know my faith has increased steadily over many years with only minor lapses, or periods of near stagnant growth. There isn’t a one of us that has completed all the repentance necessary to qualify us to stand before our Savior without a measure of guilt. Repentance is an ongoing activity throughout our lives. In fact, President Nelson, prophet and president of the church teaches us to discover the joy of daily repentance. When we are baptized, we covenant to keep God’s commandments, take his name upon us, and remember him always. That covenant is renewed weekly as we partake of the sacrament and recommit ourselves to do better. By the choices we make and our personal worthiness, we place ourselves in a condition that strengthens and fortifies the influence of the Holy Ghost in our lives. With these four principles, the first four of the five components of the Doctrine of Christ, we are then able to find the resiliency, the stamina, and the capacity to face the challenges of life that are on our path for the remainder of our mortal journey.

Puʻuhonua o Hōnaunau National Monument on Hawaii, an ancient place of refuge and protection

And lest anyone feel that adversity is an unfair principle or a harsh taskmaster, I know from my own experience that metal is only refined through heat, that rocks are polished by abrasion, and character is formed by personal integrity in the face of difficult times. We grow by exercise. Growth is inherently painful. And growth leads to change.

Puʻuhonua o Hōnaunau National Monument

I think the most important lesson I learned by preparing for this devotional is that my trials are a gift from God. He wants me to be the best version of myself, and that requires that I change, that I change my heart. Having said that, I now know that I still have yet a long journey ahead and more trials await me.

Romans 5:3-4
And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope

Deuteronomy 31:8
And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.

2 Corinthians 4:17
For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory

James 1:2-4
My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations;
Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.

James 1:12
Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.

2 Nephi 31:15
And I heard a voice from the Father, saying: Yea, the words of my Beloved are true and faithful. He that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved. 

Kilauea Crater post eruption in Hawaii Volcano National Park, Hawaii

Role Reversal

Virginia has been my companion for over 37 years. She’s stood beside me through thick and thin, through all my struggles in life. She supported me through a demanding education that took nearly every waking minute, an education that allowed for very little sleep. She sustained me in a 32-year career that robbed us of weekends, evenings, and lost sleep on too many nights to count. She allowed me to serve in church callings and Boy Scouting. As a confirmed introvert, she gave me space to recharge, hike in mountains, make a million photographs, and nurture a few other minor hobbies. She asked very little of me over the years. One thing she asked for was a finished house, and maybe one day, I’ll get around to finishing that laundry room in the basement. Through it all, we (but mostly she), raised six children to adulthood. We lived a happy life, and we’re still living a happy life.

There’s an old saying that no two snowflakes are ever alike. I’m beginning to believe that no two waves hitting the shore are exactly alike either

We accepted a mission assignment to serve in the Pacific Theatre at the Polynesian Cultural Center where we thought I would be continuing my labors as a stage lighting designer. After four months, I haven’t made a single adjustment. I’m supposed to spend every night watching the show, finding ways to improve, yet doors aren’t open for me to make changes. It’s a strange relationship. Lately, I’ve felt that most of my time is spent waiting for Virginia, supporting her in her assignment. That’s a role reversal, me waiting for her to finish her responsibilities in the theatre. Virginia works in wardrobe, preparing the hundreds of clothing pieces the cast of students go through every night. She is feverishly busy, and she has loved these students like only a mother could. They have come to respect her and love her back. She has made a terrific difference in the lives of many students, perhaps to the entire cast of 60+. She tells me she feels guilty that I wait through the show each night for her to finish her assignment. How can I make up for my entire education and a 32-year career by waiting 1½ hours each night while she dresses young dancers in quick changes between songs? It takes a lot of 1½ hour blocks to make up for an entire life labor, more than I have available in our two years here in Hawaii. I’m not unhappy with my situation. My life is full, and my mission is full. I keep busy doing other things and I remain hopeful that one day the PCC will actually need a resident lighting designer. In the meantime, I don’t regret a minute I spend supporting Virginia in this mission we are serving together.

21 newly refurbished beach cruisers ready to be given to students next semester

Bicycle update- Since I last wrote, we repaired 21 old mission bicycles that I thought had zero life remaining in them. I was convinced by a young student named Buyahnbot from Mongolia, that there was plenty of use yet remaining in our old inventory. We worked all Saturday morning one day restoring this ancient collection or rolling and rusted metal. They will be donated to the Women’s Center on campus and given to needy students next semester. Buyahnbot taught me a lot of tricks to maintaining these cruiser bikes. I have a fleet of 26 new bicycles to keep running for the next two years. My life was blessed by Buyahnbot, students will be blessed next semester with free bikes, and the sister missionaries are blessed with their new bikes. As far as I can tell, it’s a win all the way around.

A good indication why this is called Pounders Beach

IMOS- (Internet Mission Office System) is the church-wide data base used to manage the entire set of missionaries in the mission. This week, I rebuilt our database and cleaned up missing and incorrect data. The junior (18-22ish age) missionaries have transfers this week and as they receive assignments in new areas, I will once again keep the records up to date. I never considered myself a data entry type person, but I’m learning to enjoy even this aspect of my mission. There must needs be order in all things.

The Hawaii Laie Mission photo from Thanksgiving Day

Lastly, here is a photo from Thanksgiving of all the missionaries in the Hawaii Laie Mission. Most missions throughout the world are primarily composed of junior (young) missionaries. This mission is an anomaly in that there is a large contingent of senior missionaries recruited to work at the Polynesian Cultural Center, BYU Hawaii, the Laie Hawaii Temple visitor center, and the mission office support staff. We staged this photo in the Pacific Theatre where our night show takes place. This time, I was actually able to easily photoshop myself into the crowd. I took two photos, one without me, and one with. Then layered them in Photoshop, created a mask, and painted myself in. Easy-peasy.

How did I acquire this awesome photograph of the Hawaii Laie Temple? It almost looks like an aerial photo. Perhaps it was taken with a drone...

Thanksgiving was a "Swell" Day

My kids have said for years I’m terrible with puns and that I tell the worst Dad jokes. I can’t help but blame them when I come up with a title like this for a blog post. Eliza will just roll her eyes. The purpose of our mission is to serve. To serve the Lord, serve the church, serve others. We’ve always known that that wouldn’t take every minute of the day, and so, we also compiled a bucket list of things we’d like to do while in Hawaii. It’s not a formal list, and it isn’t written down. Just a few things we’ve talked about. Photography has been a hobby I’ve nurtured since I was a teenager, so, many of the things I want to do in life involve a camera. That includes a few things I’d like to shoot while in Hawaii. We live on the North Shore of Oahu. We’re getting into winter, and that is when the big waves come in, when the “surf’s up”, when the swell rises. A low-pressure system moved across the islands during the night and in the morning, it coincided with an exceptionally high tide. I knew before going to bed that I would be out early Thanksgiving morning, likely in stormy weather to see what the ocean was doing. Ultimately, I would like to spend an afternoon watching a big surfing competition on 40-foot waves at Sunset Beach. It wasn’t that kind of day sadly. A fierce wind was blowing when I went out. I had plans later in the day for a potluck lunch with the other missionaries, so my shooting time was likely to be before the surfers would be hitting the beach. Instead, I chose to watch the waves breaking on the rocky shore of Laie Point, about a mile from our home.

The swell was indeed up, and the waves were fierce and powerful. They were not 40’ giants that I still hope to see. But when they hit the rocks, they pounded with an explosive force. It felt a bit like watching fireworks bursting on a summer night. It’s fun to watch a wave develop hundreds of yards out on the ocean and then track its progress towards the shore. They rise up until they reach a crest, and then gravity takes over and they begin to curl. If the receding wave in front is timed just right, the next wave coming in picks up that energy and smashes with great fury onto the rocks. It’s almost an orchestral moment when the kettle drums rattle and roll until the final crash of the cymbals and that musical phrase hits it’s crescendo. Crash after crash, the waves pound against the hardened lava rock on Laie Point.

The swell lasted for several days, and by Saturday we once again had a weather alert urging caution because of the rough surf all along the North Shore. I often walk on the beach early in the morning. Over the three months we’ve been here, I’ve noticed that the beach is constantly changing. Some weeks the level of the sand drops by almost 2 feet, stripped from the shore by the action of the waves, only to return the following week. I don’t know where the sand goes. I’m pretty sure the waves never stop. That energy is constantly at work pounding away at the edges of the island.

There are likewise similar forces all around me; life forces that mount up to crest and then tumble over as they hit. Sometimes the waves are calm and peaceful, gentle, and soft. At other times it’s as if a storm is raging and waves are fiercer. They never cease either way. That’s what life is all about, facing the ever-rhythmic power of change that comes wave after wave. As much as I enjoy watching the beauty of the big swell on Laie Point, I should also appreciate the swells of life, big or small that affect me. I’ve written countless times in my journal about life storms, that though I would never choose to go that path again, I wouldn’t change a thing about the experience for anything in the world. I’ve always come through a better person, a better man. We are molded by adversity and shaped by trials and oppositions. It would be a shame to leave this life no different than the day we entered it. Joseph Smith received comfort while a prisoner in Liberty Jail in Missouri under false charges. He was told:

…If thou art called to pass through tribulation; if thou art in perils among false brethren; if thou art in perils among robbers; if thou art in perils by land or by sea;

…know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.

And so it is with all of us. Those forces that pound on us wave upon wave, are the forces that shape and mold us. We must learn to enjoy those days when the swell is high as much as the days when the ocean is calm. There is always a storm brewing somewhere, and it’s likely you will be in the path of the next wave.

The Hawaii Laie Mission Bicycle Shop

I suppose an explanation should be written after my last blog post. In a nutshell, I had an expectation of what I would be doing when we arrived at the Polynesian Cultural Center nearly three months ago. After the initial few weeks, I became aware that that expectation was perhaps not going to unfold as I thought. There is no one at fault except myself for basing an expectation on missing data. I am assigned the position of Theatre and Lighting Specialist. I am fully confident that before our two years are up, I will be fully engaged in various theatrical endeavors. In the meantime, I am left with far too much time on my hands and a desire to be a hardworking missionary.

Detail from the bark of a rainbow eucalyptus tree

Luckily, our mission president was looking for several individuals to help with activities in the mission office, primarily involving the junior missionaries who perform the actual proselyting work in this area. Most of the senior missionaries work during the day and don’t have time to help in the office. Because Virginia and I are assigned to work with the night show, I have abundant time during the day to offer my services. The president took me up on my offer and I began working with the office staff.

The Hawaii Laie Temple at sunset

My immediate responsibility is data entry for the transfers of missionaries that happens every six weeks. That isn’t too demanding, but it requires about 10 hours a month. In addition, I am the assistant vehicle coordinator, and we are responsible for all mission cars in our fleet of about 30. We service and repair the cars and ensure the GPS tracking devices are working. The amount of work I do on vehicles is variable, and I don’t have a good idea yet how much time that will involve.

Bamboo forest from one of the botanical gardens on the island

The majority of the work I will be doing however, and by far the most enjoyable, is maintaining the mission bicycles the sister missionaries use in Laie. Normally, the church doesn’t provide bicycles for missionary use, the missionaries purchase and maintain them. Our president has special permission based on the unique situation here in Hawaii. This is a difficult environment to keep bicycles operational. The humidity and sea salt in the air are highly corrosive to metal parts and the sun’s UV rays deteriorate plastics and rubber. The bikes are in constant need of care and upkeep. This mission is new as of January when it split from the Honolulu Mission. All the bikes we currently operate were brought here from the Honolulu Mission. They are worn and broken, dirty and rusty. The president asked me to replace the entire fleet of bicycles, and then maintain them going forward. His preference is that they are all the same model and color so as to be easily identifiable. With supply chain what it is and our isolation on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, finding a specific model is a significant hurdle. I’ve been to every Walmart on Oahu and purchased every Huffy, Nel Lusso lady’s cruiser I can find.

The new 2-wheeled fleet of the Hawaii Laie Mission. The garage in back is my shop

Some of the bikes are floor models and were pre-built, and the rest came in boxes that I put together. This week is transfers, and the missionaries will be settling into new companionships for the next 6 weeks. I hope to begin rolling out the bikes by the end of the week. I’ve set up a bike shop in the garage of a missionary apartment where I will fit the bikes to the missionaries and then maintain them regularly to hopefully stay ahead of rust and corrosion.

Building bikes in the Hawaii Laie Mission Bike Shop

Lastly, I’ve volunteered my services as a photographer to help with the official mission photographs, which I began shooting this past weekend. We called all the missionaries together, junior and senior at 6:30am on Saturday at the Laie Temple. The temple faces east and greets the morning light. With the sun rising at 6:42, we got the soft light of dawn that gave us a pleasant light for our photograph. Don’t look too hard to find me. President wanted me to Photoshop myself into the image, but I’m not up to that much manipulation. But you can find Virginia’s smiling face.

The Hawaii Laie Mission, Junior and Senior Missionaries

Many years ago, I read a talk by President Monson given as a BYU devotional in 2000. At the time he was an apostle. He was talking to the BYU students about important stages of our lives: education, work, family, etc. He gave this advice with regards to finding a job we can be happy in:

"The rule is, 'Find a vacuum and expand into it.' Ask yourself, 'What is there that needs doing and is not being done?' Then assess your capacity for doing things and let it be your ambition to do the work that you can do best, in an area where it is needed most, and then put all your mind into it.”

That is what I did in my career at BYU for 32 years as Resident Lighting Designer, and it is what I am doing now as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints assigned to the Hawaii Laie Mission. I’m carving out my own way on this island. I’m creating a niche that I am individually suited for and that capitalizes on my talents and interests. The other day I was in my bike shop building a bicycle that a sister missionary will soon be using to pedal around town on her way to an appointment or assignment. I thought to myself, “I’m a happy missionary, I’m doing a good work”. Slowly but surely, we are making our way through this two-year assignment. It’s not fully shaped or defined. There is still plenty of room for growth and development. Aloha.

Surf’s up on Pounders Beach

The Snake that Came from Within

I had a dream the other night that at first was a bit frightening, and then I found that it was a dream that taught a lesson. I believe in dreams, not just as a playground for the mind at night, but also as a way God communicates with mankind. This mission we’re on has been a struggle. It hasn’t begun like I expected. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I left home, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s been so difficult, that I haven’t wanted to write about it, not in my blog, and not even in my personal journal. I don’t think I had perspective to understand what I was dealing with, and so I’ve muddled along, confused and out of place to some extent.

Sunrise at Pounders Beach. This is a 40 second exposure that began 30 seconds before sunrise, so that the sun rose into the image.

In my dream, I was back at home in Orem, Utah. I suppose it was important to be in neutral space outside of the mission. I was in front of my house, standing in the street. There was a wound in my arm at about the bend of my left elbow. As I looked down at this gash in my flesh, I detected movement in the tissue. I peered more closely and noticed that a small snake’s head began to emerge from within my muscle and gristle. I was immediately repulsed that another life form was inside of me, especially a snake’s. I should pause here to add that of all creatures under heaven, the one that strikes the greatest fear into me is the snake. I am repulsed beyond description, and it is the one animal I am most apprehensive about finding in my garden. To have one emerge from an open wound in my arm horrified me. I knew I needed immediate help but didn’t know where to go. In my panic, the snake continued to squirm out of my arm until it had completely exited the wound and then dropped to the ground. Before my eyes, I watched it grow both in length and in girth. It became disgustingly big and grotesquely ugly. It was fat around the middle, corpulent, and it had a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, more like an eel. It was truly the creature of a nightmare. The scene now transitioned to a neighbor’s yard where children were playing, and “my snake” was threatening to attack a child. I felt responsible for unleashing this beast on the neighborhood and I knew I must subdue it. The best thing about dreams is that stage props can instantly appear from nowhere. I found in my hand a great and sharp machete blade. I swung it at the snake to cut its head off and kill it. The snake however was impervious to every blow I inflicted. Swing after swing yielded no effect on the venomous animal. With the help of friend, we captured the thing in an enormous jar, like an old pickle jar, where we could see it squirming and writhing within.

Sunrise at Laie Point

I placed the jar in my car to drive it back home. I was horrified, frightened, and stressed beyond any ability to control. As I drove, I looked down at that creature and realized in an instant what it was. I screamed from the depths of my soul at the snake with tears running down my cheeks, “I know what you are! You came out of me! I created you!” In the moment I understood that I had made the monster that terrorized me, it began shrinking in size until it was a tiny and harmless garden snake, and nothing to be afraid of. In fact, when I arrived home, I opened the jar lid to release the animal only to find it transformed into a cute and furry mammal. Upon exiting the jar, it immediately scurried to the front steps of my house and quickly burrowed underneath and away from all who were watching, and then my dream ended. At least that is all I remember.

Pounders Beach, our beach

There is no question in my mind that this dream is in response to my struggle to understand my place in the mission field. The impressions I felt at the end as I was coming to the surface of the dreamscape and attempting to open my eyes is that I’ve created my own problem, I grew it into a hideous beast, it came out of me. As soon as I assumed ownership of the problem, it immediately diminished before my eyes. It changed from a horrible monster that threatened me and everyone around me, to a cuddly and furry friend that lives under my front steps at home. I’m not afraid of it now. It didn’t come from an external enemy. It came from within my very bones. It has always been within my power to conquer, I was simply too afraid, paralyzed by fear. I’m gaining a brighter outlook and I’m anxious to see where I go day by day.

Sunrise from Hau’ula

Now that several days have passed since the dream occurred, I’ve had a lot of time to think about its meaning. What I’ve noticed most is the inner peace from letting go of things I have no control over. I was trying to carry a weight that wasn’t my responsibility and attempting to direct traffic that wasn’t in my beat. The last few days have been great. I’ve worked hard and I’ve enjoyed the people around me. Mission life is the best. I just need to relax and enjoy the experience. In the weeks and months ahead, I’ll share what doors and windows are opening, what I am doing that I never expected, and the wonderful experiences that lay in our path ahead.

The Hawaii Laie Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

To Step into the Dark

We have now been in Hawaii a few weeks, and we feel mostly acclimatized. It actually didn’t take long to settle in. We have a nice above-ground basement apartment in a rural part of the island on the outskirts of Laie. It takes us maybe 1½ minutes to walk to the beach, which is across the two-lane highway in front of our apartment. It actually takes us a few minutes longer depending on how long we have to wait for a break in the traffic. The beach is called Pounders Beach because of the rough surf. We don’t get huge waves because there is an offshore reef that absorbs some of the waves’ energy. But the waves are frequent and a bit turbulent. It doesn’t stop the kids from body surfing and wave skimming. It’s fun to watch people play in the surf.

Storm offshore from Pounders Beach. Soon after this exposure, we were drenched in heavy rain and ran for cover.

There is a lot of wildlife in and around our apartment. We have an infestation of geckos inside. The locals tell us to leave the little green lizards alone because they eat the roaches and ants. Maybe that is so, but the truth is we live with roaches, ants, and flies anyway, along with the geckos. The roaches are big and ugly. Outdoors, we are surrounded by feral chickens. If we leave the door open, they’ll wander indoors. They’re probably after the roaches. Next door lives a friendly pig and his best bud, a dog. They chased us into our apartment the first day. They are always playing together.

A few miles down the Kamehameha Highway from our apartment is a cemetery and memorial for different faiths. This is a replica of a Japanese temple.

After a week of orientation and settling in, we have finally started discovering our daily responsibilities in the theatre. We arrive at the theatre around 5:00 for pre-show meetings, and then help the students prep the stage for the show that begins at 7:30. Virginia works in wardrobe, and I usually watch the show taking notes for problems that need attention. So far, things have been slow, and I can see simple routines forming for the both of us.

Sunrise from the northern end of Pounders Beach. Only 10 miles away, around the point of the island is Sunset Beach. One of these days when I am not working, I hope to shoot a sunset.

The best part of our jobs is the time we spend with the students. These kids come from all over the Pacific islands, Asia, and some from the mainland USA. For many of them, this is their first time away from home. Some come from primitive environments and are just learning to live on their own. English is a second language for most, and some are just beginning to learn it. The university, which sits adjacent to the Center provides a broad and well-developed support network to nurture these students along. Their work in the theatre and elsewhere at the Polynesian Cultural Center provides the financial opportunity to cover their education and living expenses. They study, attend classes in the morning, and then report to the Center where they demonstrate cultural skills, lead tours through representative villages from their home islands, or dance their hearts out in the evening stage show. The Polynesian Cultural Center also helps preserve these island cultures in a sort of living museum.

Remnants of an old pier off Pounders Beach at sunrise.

There is no question that an important aspect of our mission to Hawaii is to share our professional skills to help keep the Center operational. But perhaps the greatest work we will do over the next two years will be the quiet mentoring with these young people. In the Polynesian cultures, any elder in the community structure is referred to as Aunty or Uncle. We’ve already been addressed as such. Their view of family is much different than we are used to from our Western perspective. The Ohana, or family, is much broader and encompassing than what we were raised with. Children are often raised in extended families that includes not just direct family ties, but also the local community. There are thousands of these young persons who have chosen to leave their small island nations to come and study, to gain an education that will dramatically improve their entire family unit at home. We are privileged to be a part of their experience. They are beautiful and wholesome souls with a devoted faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Every morning, as it has done for eons of time, the sun rises over the Pacific Ocean.

I learned a new word my second week here- “Liminal”. Liminal moments are transitional periods that mark significant times in our lives, the times which change us. The production we work on at the Polynesian Cultural Center is based on liminal moments that are common markers in life. They happen at birth, various rites of passage as we grow through childhood, courtship and then marriage, the death of a loved one, etc. “Liminal” comes from a Latin root that means threshold. Once we cross that threshold, we are no longer the same. I’ve been aware of these transitions in my own life for decades although I referred to them as “points of no return”, meaning I’ll never go back to my life as it was before that passage. Some liminal moments happen without our choice, such as birth, or facing the death of a loved one. Other times the liminal moment comes about by an act of faith. Let’s say you open a door to a dark room. You can’t see what lies within. The liminal moment occurs when you choose to step inside even when you can’t see where your foot will land. That is an act of faith. God gives us liminal choices as a means of proving us in a way that allows growth. In the darkest passages of life, we trust in Him, step into the dark, and find He lights the way. The room may not be fully illuminated, but we at least can see the immediate vicinity of where we stand. Step by step the room becomes brighter and brighter until we find ourselves bathed in the fullness of His warmth and love. Liminal moments are crucial to our developing faith, and faith brings us closer to His presence. I think Virginia and I passed a liminal threshold the morning we left our home in Orem, Utah and entered the Missionary Training Center. It was a little scary at first. When we return in two years, we’ll never be the same again. The mission will change us. It was a liminal choice; it was an act of faith.

Panoramic view of Pounders Beach at sunrise. We call it our beach, but we happily share it with others.

The Factory Where Missionaries are Made

Virginia and I just completed a week of training at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. We have visited sacred places all over the world, of many faiths. Something I have learned over the years is that a place is sanctified by the people who inhabit, worship, and practice their faith in God within it’s walls. Such is the case with the MTC. The campus where missionaries are trained is indeed sacred ground. It is one thing to be trained with peers from learned and sage professors of the faith, but it is entirely a different matter when the majority of those we’re around including our instructors are young enough to be our children or even grandchildren. We were among a few dozen senior missionaries called to serve in various parts of the world. The vast majority of the missionaries that were participating in the training programs were not our peers, but young men and women between the ages of 18-22. Their numbers exceeded 1,600 strong. Our instructors were returned missionary sisters in their early twenties. I hadn’t expected such a deep level of gospel insight from those much younger than I.

A traditional photo among missionaries, to point out your mission destination.

I titled this post about a factory where missionaries are made. I know from my own observations that the “factory” actually exists in the homes of families all over the world. The primary instructors are dedicated and loving parents who work for years shaping and molding the character of their children. Also, countless youth leaders, educators, and other inspired individuals act as mentors and caregivers to the world’s youth. Not all children serve a formal mission. Serving a mission is never a measure of a parent’s success or a child’s individual choice. Regardless, Virginia and I were in the company of nearly 2000 young persons who made the choice to join the Lord’s battalion. I was impressed with the other seniors with whom we studied, but I was in awe at the younger generation that seemed to swallow us in a crowd. At 63, my two years of service are valuable at this stage of life now that I have completed my career and raised my children. Somehow, it seems that these young people offer a more sanctified gift because their sacrifice comes from their youth instead of their retirement. I’m reminded of the time Jesus observed a widow casting her meager offering into the collection box at the temple. Christ taught that of all those who gave offering that day, hers was of greatest value; for the others gave of their abundance, while she gave of her want. These young people have put education on hold and postponed their social life; not an easy choice to make in today’s world. Serving a mission is completely voluntary and comes largely of the expense of the young person and his/her family.

It takes a lot of high octane food to keep these young missionaries going throughout the day. This is the main cafeteria.

Our training experience involved understanding general principles of preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, supporting local church units, and various types of service. Our mission is not a proselyting mission; that activity is carried out mostly by the younger missionaries. Our mission is more service oriented. We’ll spend a large part of our time mentoring the college students who work at the Polynesian Cultural Center in Laie Hawaii and working in the Pacific Theatre on the main stage show.

It is a beautiful campus to study at, but what makes it so unique is the spirit of our Savior that permeates every square inch.

Some of our classwork at the MTC covered topics like coming to know God and His son Jesus Christ, identifying the character of Christ and His role in my life. Surprisingly, we were encouraged to take advantage of technology. I’ve resisted using my iPhone for doctrinal study, preferring my paper scriptures instead. I only maintained that resistance for a brief period at the MTC. One of our young sister trainers pointed out that it won’t be long before the church rests in the hands of the current generation, a generation raised from birth on technology. If we want to stay current with published church material, we need to embrace the powerful research and study aids available online. Perhaps the very reason God has given this technology to mankind was ultimately to further the spread of His word. With that invitation from our instructors, Virginia and I had a short conversation and felt inspired to take a grand leap of faith. We packed away our paper scriptures and study guides and asked our daughter to take them to our home. We are going to Hawaii with only online access to the Book of Mormon, the Bible, and all other media resources. Some missionaries say they gain a little weight while at the MTC, the food is plentiful. We lost about 20 pounds in the moment we passed off our books to Eliza, and we gained needed space in our luggage. So far, my studies have not suffered, but have vastly improved by turning to digital technology.

I was sad the day we left the MTC. I didn’t want to separate from the Spirit that permeated those sacred grounds. On the other hand, I was never called to serve sequestered behind a locked gate. My mission lies across the vast Pacific Ocean from home. The Missionary Training Center helped me prepare for the work I will be doing over the next two years and beyond. I am forever changed by that training, and I hope to be a more useful missionary because of the instruction and training I received.

Distributer of Light

We spent a crazy week finishing up the loose ends of preparing to leave our home for two years; packing our bags, and putting together an open house for family and friends in the area. Sunday we spoke in our church meeting to our home congregation. Our bishop asked Virginia to speak about her conversion. She has been a member all her life, while I was a convert at 16-years of age. But the truth is we all must find Christ in our lives, even those raised since early childhood. I was asked to speak about our responsibility to share the gospel with others after we are converted. I decided to share my talk as this weeks blog post. What follows is pretty close to the exact text from my talk. I’ve added a few pictures for interest. Our next post will come from Hawaii.

Michael’s Farewell Address

“And when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:31–32).

Feed my sheep, feed my sheep, feed my sheep (John 21:15-17)

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. (Matthew 5:15)

These scriptures teach a responsibility to share our light, our testimony, and our blessings with others. In fact, there is this mandate in which “he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” (Mark 16:15)

As a young father, I served as Blazer Scout Leader. I pondered my responsibility and prayed to know how to best meet the Blazer’s needs. In answer to my prayers, I received a dream. I was shown what it would be like to give small particles of light to the sun. I held on my arm a basket that shown brightly with these particles of light. With my thumb and forefinger, I would pick up a piece of light and place it upon the surface of the sun - the sun burned brighter with each particle I put in place. I then was shown the same is so when a truth is taught to a child. A small portion of light is bestowed. I am no dimmer than before by giving away this light because the light wasn’t mine to begin with, but the glory of God is that much brighter. Nothing is lost, only light is gained. Whenever there is truth, there is light, whenever there is light there is that much less darkness. In whatever church calling we hold we have opportunity to impart light. And then the dream ended (Journal Dec. 30, 2001).

I came to work at BYU in 1988 as a stage lighting designer. I was trained to use light to create drama and enhance storytelling in plays, dance, opera, and special events. Over the years I had countless opportunities to affect the emotions of theatre patrons. I witnessed the power arts had in touching an individual spiritually. I practiced it regularly as my talents grew and expanded. Over my 40 plus years in the theatre I learned to draw upon the Spirit to influence my decision making and design choices. The Spirit became my greatest collaborator. By the end of that career, I was so dependent on the Spirit guiding my choices that I felt more like the tool in the master’s hand than the craftsman.

 I toured Morocco with one of our performing groups. In Fes, an ancient walled city, we set up our show at an old portal that dated to 1306. Our backdrop was a magnificent arch of stone and mosaic. The lighting was archaic, and the sound echoed in that open space, but the setting was delightful. When it was over, we could see joy in everyone’s faces. I spoke with our sponsor who was overflowing with happiness. He grabbed me by my shoulders, hung on to me and attempted to express his feelings. He pierced my soul with his dark round eyes and asked, “Do you realize what you have done”? My mind raced back through the day of the many things I could have done wrong. Did I break a law, cause an offense, crossed a cultural barrier? I couldn’t imagine what I did. In his broken English and with tears rolling down his cheeks, he told me that we had opened a window for the people of Fes, and they had look out. It was an odd expression to process at first, but eventually I understood what I came to understand countless times after one of our performances. It happened in Brazil, Argentina, and Paraguay, all across Europe and the Soviet Union, in the Islands of the Pacific, in China, and throughout America. We had caused a situation in which the Spirit of our Savior Jesus Christ could be felt. Audiences rarely articulated clearly what happened. They felt joyful, they were joyful. I knew it wasn’t the dancing or singing of our students alone that caused these expressions time after time, although our students were talented. This joy transcended an enthusiasm for a stage performance. If it was merely the raw talent of the student, it would have manifest itself in an ovation at the culmination of the performance and the patrons would know exactly what they were responding to. But too often, our patrons were left speechless, unable to articulate their source of joy. I knew it was the power of the Spirit that brought this joy into their hearts and into their lives. They wouldn’t let go of us. They clung to us, afraid that if they let go, the joy would dissipate. Our role was to open a door, or in the case of Morocco, a window and allow the Spirit to enter and be present. Missionaries and local members then had opportunity to step in after we were gone to answer questions and further teach.

My student stage crew in Fes Morocco

The culminating project of my career at BYU was a production of BYU Spectacular that we toured to China. I was the producer of this show. It was the biggest “thing” I have ever done, the most “money” I have ever spent, involving the most “people” I’ve ever worked with, and by far the most complicated logistics one can imagine. It simply eclipsed everything I had done to that point. We were careful not to say or do anything political or controversial. We couldn’t refer to religion in any overt manner. We centered the production on the principle of love and a connection to family. In our show a young man poses the question, “What is my purpose in life, and, in a world filled with distractions and noise, how can I find my way?” Through our production of songs, dance, and basketball acrobatics, this young man finds guidance and influence from the voices of his ancestors who walked before him. We took inspiration from words of the Native American Poet, Linda Hogan:

Walking, You are listening to a deeper way…

…All your ancestors are behind you…

…Be still, they say, watch and listen…

…You are the result of the love of thousands.

How remarkable a statement, to realize that each one of us is the result of the love of thousands. “Their” eyes are upon us, the fulfillment of their dreams rest upon our shoulders, and if we listen, we can hear them whisper in our ear. We are not entirely distant from them, and what happens to us in our mortal journey matters to them. These thoughts and ideas resonated with the Chinese people in a profound way. After months of laborious translation involving native speakers from the university, from the church, and from our sponsors in China, our concepts held up under government scrutiny, with civic leaders, religious supporters, and the citizens of Beijing, Sian, Shanghai, and our broadcast audience to the nation. The message came through. After the show, we heard comments of, “How did you know to communicate such profound ideas in our language, How are you able to touch us so deeply?”

The cast and orchestra of BYU Spectacular, China

We are all voyagers through time and space. The people we spend our time with on this trek are invaluable to our passage. We grow, we give, we touch the lives of everyone whose path we cross. Life is a tapestry, and we are the threads. A single thread may seem inconsequential, plain, and ordinary. If we concentrate on the thread, we miss the overall pattern. As one thread weaves in and out and around others, somehow a beautiful pattern emerges.

What will we do on our mission to the Polynesian Cultural Center? In many ways, I am returning to my old work in the theatre. I do not know what my day-to-day activities will involve. I’m taking my “mission statement” from Isaiah 35:3 Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Each day I’ll seek the weak hands and feeble knees and strengthen those who need help and guidance.

I’ll close with this thought: When my children were young, we visited the Trilobite fossil beds in western Utah.We found the quarry at the end of a long dirt road in the West Desert. The Trilobites were dispersed throughout the area in varying sizes.  I pondered, if such a simple animal as a Trilobite can leave an impression on this earth for 550 million years and it barely had a brain, what kind of impression can a man leave behind? If we apply ourselves to President Nelson’s charge to gather Israel on both sides of the vail, and serve faithfully and humbly, we will leave an impression that will last through the eternities.

Trilobite fossil from the west desert of Utah

Links in a Chain

By Virginia Handley

This is the Handley Mission Blog, so I thought I’d give a shot at an entry. Bear with me, for my writing experience does not come close to Michael’s thought-provoking words. I have had the wonderful opportunity to have miracles come to me since we started this journey into mission life. In sharing some of these experiences, I hope to inspire others to seek out personal wonders in their own lives.

No one has a perfect life. Challenges, trials, wonder, sadness, joy and a myriad of events and adventures shape who we are. Mine has been riddled with events that have not always produced the happy-go-lucky results one would wish. I have faced abuse, family members fighting addictions, abandonment, and pain. I have experienced the joy of bringing children into this world and raising them in an environment of love. I have taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to the people in Mexico and learned about His Atonement for me and for them. I have traveled all over the world, met thousands of people from many different walks of life. I have swum in the Caribbean Seas, walked the Great Wall of China, and strolled the beaches of the Pacific Islands. Many of these experiences have brought peace to my soul. My journey has been wrought with strife and exhilarating delight. Talking to a young man from Siberia about the struggles of his mother’s life as a single parent or listening to a young girl in Uruguay share her love of her family, have all shaped who I am today. One thing always seemed to be lacking. Who I was.

On the Great Wall of China

If you know Michael and I well, you know we are about to embark on a service mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We are thrilled with this crossroad of life. Going from raising six children and a lifetime of working for BYU, we both find ourselves at liberty to go and serve those in need of our help. It’s a grand responsibility and we look forward to the connection we will make in the coming two years. I know I am a daughter of God. I know I have abilities and talents that are unique to me, and still I wondered how I came to be in this place.

My cousin, Laura Brooks Perry

Several weeks ago, while visiting the AncestryDNA site, I felt the need to know the people with which I share DNA. Mind you, I know who my parents are, that isn’t the issue. Having my parents’ divorce when I was young, and being separated from my father’s family, that is the issue. I didn’t know my first cousins. How crazy is that?! I had a strong desire to know that side of me, the Miller side. This all happened, because my cousin, Laura, asked me if I was the granddaughter of her uncle. Low and behold, I’m his daughter, not his granddaughter. I asked if we could meet, because I had never met a cousin from my father’s side. What a wonderful reunion. I call it a reunion because we felt we had known each other before. Not in this life, but certainly somewhere in time. Meeting her, led me to reach out to a first cousin, whose only reference I had was “S.M.” I hadn’t known more than that, until Laura gave me the name of Scott. Again, in contacting him, I now have a sense of belonging that I have never experienced before. I have gained strength from their testimonies and their love, even after only short visits. It’s amazing how the Lord works through others to touch lives for good. 

Scott and Megan Miller

From meeting these wonderful people, my ancestors have become more real to me. My desire to teach my children through my actions have increased. I have had my heart touched by what is known as “The Spirit of Elijah,” to know those who have gone before me. The reference is in the Old Testament, in Malachi 4:5-6. The prophet Elijah is sent to prepare the world for the “Second Coming of the Lord,” by turning the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers. My “fathers” hard work and examples create a determination to leave a stronger mark on this world. I have been blessed with the strength of pioneers. My grandfather came from the old country, worked hard, joined the Church, and raised a large family through trying times. My grandmother is of Mormon Pioneer descent. Those before her walked across the plains of this country to find peace and hope in worshipping the Lord. I want to learn more about them as my heart is turned in that direction. As a missionary, I will be in contact with people from all walks of life, nationalities, and religions. My hope is to use my knowledge and testimony to help them realize who they are. We are all children of a loving Heavenly Father. We came to this earth to help one another return to Him someday. Our ancestors had the same charge as we do today. They have paved a way for us to accomplish marvelous works, but mostly have demonstrated that hard work, determination, and faith can bring wondrous results in connecting us to one another. 

With my father Calvin Miller and my sister Marilyn Grayson

I am grateful for the gift of service. I know the next two years will be filled with happiness, challenges, and fulfillment. I will take my experiences, good and bad, with me to the mission. I will bring the love of my new-found family, my children, grandchildren, and others, in my heart. With help and direction from the Spirit, I can make a difference in people’s lives. What a fantastic gift. I shall not take one day for granted, for I know that when I am, “in the service of (my) fellow beings, (I am) only in the service of (my) God.” (Mosiah 2:17)

Time-out for Photography

When I began writing my blog in June of 2017, my intent was to have an outlet to share my love of landscape photography. At times, I diverted along the way to include photographs of stage productions I worked on, and then to share our adventures while traveling across the country in our Scamp trailer. Three months ago, I redirected the blog once again to be my outlet for sharing our experiences as missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Hawaii. Even though my primary focus for the blog has changed over the years, I still harbor a deep love and passion for photography, especially a love for nature and the beautiful landscapes that we find outside our backdoor.

While in Hawaii, I will have my camera equipment close at hand, and when I have free time, we hope to explore the wonders of these Pacific islands. We depart on this journey in less than one month. From there on out, my photography will take a drastic turn in that I will no longer be exploring scenes of the American Desert Southwest and the Rocky Mountains, or the coast of California, but instead, be making images of sandy beaches, tropical jungles, volcanic landscapes, and ocean vistas. I decided that for this post, I will share a few images I’ve made during the past six months. Instead of simply publishing pretty pictures though, I want to share what the photos mean to me, and what I see when I look at them. I hope you will find inspiration in what I see when looking through the viewfinder of my camera.

The Marriage Trees

This first image I call the Marriage Trees. Virginia and I were passing through the Santa Ynez Mountains in California this spring when we drove over a rise and I spotted these two magnificent oak trees on the crown of a hill, I believe they are California Live Oak (Quercus agrifolia). The first thing that caught my attention was the similarity of the two trees growing in a parallel manner. Their curving trunks follow the same line. Graphically and compositionally, they made a pleasing arrangement. They were on private property beyond a barbed wire fence, so I was limited with how I could frame the trees. I made the image, and we drove on up the canyon. I returned often to look at this image in my editing software and pondered why I was so captivated by the shapes. It soon dawned on me that these two striking specimens reminded me of a perfect matrimonial union. These oaks began their lives probably at roughly the same time and under the same conditions. The identical forces that shaped the one also fell upon the other. Each tree sent it’s roots down deep to draw up moisture and the minerals of the earth to help it grow. The same winds that fell upon one also pushed upon the other. After many years of growth, their branches came in contact one with another, for the first time they touched. That touch sent a shiver throughout both partners, down their trunks and into the roots that held them fast to the rocky soil. Reverberations of that first touch are still felt today. Through many storms of life, the draughts, the fires, the earthquakes, and the insects, they continued taking strength from the ground below them. After many more years together, their branches intertwined. When I look at these two trees, I cannot tell where one tree ends and the other begins. Their lives are wholly comingled one with another. When one goes down, so likely will the other follow. This is what marriage seems to me, and why I call these the Marriage Trees.

Montana de Oro State Beach, California

This next image was made at Montana de Oro State Beach on the Central Coast. I’ve shot this arch several times. It’s a beautiful place to sit and listen to the pounding of the ocean waves. Virginia and I visited it again in July, and to my surprise, the arch had fallen. It is now only a sea stack separated from the cliff. It reminds me that change is constant. The pounding of the ocean waves is ever present. A million waves, maybe more, carved this piece of rock over eons of time. It is no less beautiful as a lone sentinel as it was a stately arch.

I spend a lot of time wondering what this mission to Hawaii will be like. It isn’t likely I will return the same person I am when I leave in four weeks. Over the next two years rhythmic waves will work away at Virginia and I, reshaping our characters. The changes will likely be imperceptible when considered day by day. It’s the cumulative effect of the waves over time that reshape the land and reshape the lives of individuals. God tends to create his grandest works slowly and carefully. Opposition is the tool through which He changes his children. We rarely grow in safe and protected environments. I don’t expect this mission to be easy, and I don’t expect it to be a vacation. We are both submitting ourselves to the care of the Master Craftsman, and His ever-pounding rhythm of the waves of change.

Textures of the Wasatch

I made this image in early spring on the backside of Mount Timpanogos. I call it Textures of the Wasatch. I was across a valley when I spotted this stand of trees. I used my long lens to isolate this small bit of forest on the backside of Wasatch Mountain. I am drawn to these intimate scenes that reveal textures and patterns in the local forests. These are young aspen trees that have set their first leaves of the season. The maples and the oaks were still weeks away from greening. At times it feels as though the mountains are covered with a rich blanket in the patterns of nature’s tapestry. I’ve contemplated the word tapestry in a symbolic sense. I designed a show once many years ago wherein lyrics to a song were sung about the threads in a tapestry:

I am a thread in the tapestry,
I have the Master's hand on me,
And then He weaves me carefully,
Making textures as He goes.

As I’ve pondered these lyrics, I come to realize that from my perspective, I can’t always see the design the Master is working. From the level of the thread (or the tree), I have a limited view. We must rise above the fabric to see the magnificent patterns we’re a part of. If I were standing on the hillside with the trees, I wouldn’t see the rich textures and colors of early spring. I must stand on the opposite hill and look back across the valley to see the Master’s work. It’s easy to feel alone on this planet, and to wonder what God’s purpose is for each of us. It’s enough for me to know I am a thread, an important thread. The pattern wouldn’t be complete if a single thread is missing, just like this hillside would show a void if one of the trees was removed. I’m troubled because the daughter of a former neighbor took her life last week. A thread was cut short. I’m unsure how the pattern will be made whole again. My prayers are with her family.

A Light upon the hill, near Cascade Mountain, Utah

Fencing in the wildflowers, Mt. Terrill, Utah

Bye-bye Betty Lou

Of all our tangible assets, the one I will likely miss the most during the mission is our little Scamp trailer named Betty Lou. Over the past three years, Betty Lou has been our special retreat. She allowed us an escape in a world locked down by a pandemic. In a crowded home with four families, we could escape and find quiet and peace. It was a sad day when we put her into semi-permanent storage, to await our return in 2024.

The tricky thing with a Scamp is that they are slightly too tall to fit into a conventional garage with a seven-foot opening. Trevor (my son) and I took the wheels off and lowered the axil down to car dollies. We placed boards on the car dollies so that the brake drums were just an inch above the driveway. Sadly, the trailer still would not fit through the opening. We then decided to remove the brake drums, which meant cutting the electrical wires. Without the brake drums, the axil could drop another few inches. With the help of a few neighbors, we pushed it into the garage opening. Our neighbors, upon eyeballing the situation did not think we would clear the garage door header. With about ½” to spare, Betty Lou slid into place and is safely at rest until our return in two years.

Hold your breath while we squeeze the Scamp into the garage with 1/2” to spare.

When we interviewed with our bishop to serve a mission, one of the concerns he expressed was the question of how well we could get along being together 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Often, couples find it a struggle, after a lifetime career and raising children, to find out if they are still compatible. Most of the problems that couples face on a mission is their own marital relationship. Living in the Scamp for the last three years taught us that not only could we “get along”, but we could also thrive in our own company. The Scamp provides about 70 square feet of living space, not including our outdoor living area when weather permits. In that tight of an environment, there is no room to pout or sulk. We tackled problems face to face and worked through our disagreements. Those instances were rare, and problems were usually resolved long before a heated discussion erupted.

Betty Lou is our ticket to fulfilling one of our lifetime dreams, of seeing America via the backroads and byways. We have a goal of seeing all the national parks that can be reached by driving. Along the way, we’ll also visit state parks and historic sites. We’ve enjoyed flower festivals, desert rendezvous in the winter, visited family and friends along the way, and farmers’ markets and craft fairs too numerous to mention. The Scamp allowed us to learn new skills, how to care for ourselves in remote and primitive surroundings, and how to be independent of social media in an otherwise overly connected world. From the doorstep of our mobile home, we witnessed sunsets and sunrises in mountains and deserts, thunderstorms and snowstorms, winter’s cold and summer’s heat.

Virginia cooks breakfast one winter morning in Zion National Park. Notice the difference in size between our rig and our neighbors.

When lock-down started in 2020, we began traveling through the western states. Throughout 2020, 21, and into 2022, we spent a month each in the following states: Colorado, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, Nevada, Montana, and New Mexico. We traveled to California several times and overall, spent several months in that state. Life was slow and not always busy with sightseeing, driving, or making camp. The best days were spent doing nothing more than sitting in camp reading books, playing games, watching British murder mysteries, and talking. I did a lot of writing during that time, not only in maintaining my journal, but also finishing my memoirs as a stage lighting designer, now published. I also made a boatload of photographs during our months on the road. On our travel days, we tried to stay away from the interstates and drive mostly on the blue and red highways. The Scamp has small tires, and I don’t like to exceed 65 mph anyway. We enjoy seeing rural America, all the unique vistas over each rise of the road and every bend of the highway. We see things most travelers miss nowadays.

Nestled into the rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State.

Perhaps our favorite day of the week while traveling is Sunday. We try to stay put over the weekend and not be on the road Sundays. Because of the pandemic, we could usually stream our church meeting from home if we had cell service. I learned that my faith and my religion are not dependent on a building structure to worship in. I could fully practice my faith from remote wilderness locations and sometimes feel even closer to my Heavenly Father. After church, we would go for walks, study our scriptures together, take naps, play Five Crowns (our favorite card game), and check in with each of our six kids.

Betty Lou, named after my mother, Betty Lou Wales.

Lastly, our Scamp, Betty Lou, was named after my mother (it was Virginia’s idea). Every time I walk past her and see her name, I think of Mom. Mom suffered great turbulence in her life, much of it beyond her ability to control. Throughout my young adulthood, I carried a deep anger because of our family situation. My parents divorced while I was a young teenager. I hated divorce, and I hated even more the causes that lead to a family breakup. It took many years, and countless experiences of my own to learn that none of us are perfect individuals, and that we all have weaknesses. It was unfair to expect perfection from my parents without taking the time to walk around in their shoes for a while. I would never choose to wear Mom’s shoes, mine are hard enough to wear at times. Over the years of raising my own kids, I’ve learned to have compassion and empathy. It is still tough for me at times. Part of my daily prayer is that I might learn to have, and exercise charity. The Scamp, Betty Lou, is a symbol and a reminder of all the good I have in life, my heritage, and our dreams for many happy travels in the future. When I was little, and afraid at night, Mom would sit by my bed and sing me to sleep with By the Light of the Silvery Moon. That’s one of my favorite settings while camping, seeing the Scamp parked in the wilderness by the light of a silvery moon. Happy trails everyone.

By the light of the silvery moon…

Passing Time in the Garden

We received our call to serve in the Hawaii Laie Mission two months ago. We were given four months to prepare. Back in April, it seemed that August was a lifetime away. The time is passing quickly and seems to pass faster as each week rushes by. I remember thinking that 120 days was far too many, that I could be ready by the next weekend, and “how am I ever going to kill four months”. Luckily, I’ve had my garden to occupy my time. I’ve spent countless hours poking around in the dirt, pulling weeds, watching for insect damage, and doing one project or another like grouting flagstones in one corner or changing a sprinkler layout in another. I’ve also rebuilt a few of the garden beds. Before long we’ll be harvesting vegetables and picking flowers.

I have always had a love for gardening, I think it’s in my DNA. My ancestors were avid gardeners. My grandfather and his brothers operated a small grocery store in southeastern Kansas during the depression years. I have a photograph of them on the way to market with a wagonload of goods to sell. Those were tough times, and I can imagine they barely hung on. I have a great, great aunt who opened a flower shop in the same town, and then built the Handley Greenhouses. For several generations the family sold flowers for all occasions including funerals and weddings.

Several generations back, the Handley brothers operated a small grocery business in Oswego, Kansas.

You may have never heard of Oswego, Kansas, but if you lived there, you knew the Handley Greenhouses.

When I was young, my parents allowed me a small patch of ground in the backyard to have a garden. I would spend hours upon hours digging and planting. At one time there were photographs of those early attempts at gardening, but I have long lost them. When we purchased our current home in 1989, the house was surrounded on all four sides with lawn. The only break in the sod was where the driveway crossed our lot from the street to the garage. Over the years I’ve systematically dug in flower beds, raised vegetable beds, a waterfall and pond, and various other features. At one time we even had a small orchard in one corner. I find solace in the garden. Many of my deepest thoughts have occurred while sweating out my energy in the hot sun. I love to see things grow, and I love to enjoy the rich harvests of summer and fall.

Aerial view of our property. When we purchased the house in 1989, we had grass on all four sides.

Back to the topic of the mission, I’ve been pondering why I must wait so long before we depart. Other than shopping for some clothes and putting our affairs in order, why do we have so much time on our hands? In our gospel studies this year we’ve been working our way through the Old Testament. We’ve spent a lot of time in the first five books, commonly referred to as the Books of Moses. The Exodus from Egypt is an important story. We are taught to relate these Bible experiences to our own lives and draw on the words of the prophets as relevant teachings in our own day. If I consider the Exodus as an archetype experience, what is the lesson for me? Over the years and through the recent months I’ve developed my own thoughts on the Israelite journey through the Wilderness. Perhaps the reason it took 40 years is because it required a few generations not to get out of Egypt, but to get Egypt out of the Israelites. There are indications they picked up some bad habits during the 400 years they lived in Egypt. The Wilderness represents our own passage through life. Just like the Israelites were seeking the Promised Land, so too are we. Maybe I need these four months to get things of the world out of me and conform my life to that of a missionary.

The Wilderness can be a lonely, uninhabited, and scary tract of desolate land. But on the other side lies that sweet paradise we call the Promised Land. I’ve decided there are no short cuts and no way around it. If we want to get to the Promised Land, the only way is through the Wilderness. It’s those things that happen in the Wilderness that change us, that try us, and prove us. The Wilderness can take various shapes and sizes. My Wilderness experience is varied and diverse. At times I feel I am passing through multiple overlapping Wildernesses. The Wilderness is always changing, and in the process of my journey I also change, hopefully to a better and more fully developed individual.

I think I could have been ready to depart for Hawaii within a week of receiving our assignment, in a materialistic sort of way. But I don’t think I would have been ready to serve as a missionary without proper preparations. Virginia and I are passing through a wee bit of Wilderness now that is preparing us for that Promised Land across the great Pacific Ocean. The time we are given is helping us develop missionary discipline and change our mindset and attitudes. In fact, I’m wondering if we have enough time to shape our behaviors into the manners of representatives of our Savior.

Our front yard garden. Lately we’ve been drifting more towards xeriscaping as the Southwest draught deepens.

And so, I spend a lot of time studying my scriptures, meditating, and praying. But I can only do that for so long and then I lose my focus and determination. That’s where the garden helps. It gives me an outlet to burn off energy in a constructive manner and still provides time to contemplate where I’m going and what I’ll be doing in the next two years. From one Wilderness to another the journey continues, and I’ll be gardening all along the way. I hope I find the opportunity to dig a little in the soil over in Laie.

Shopping, for Non-Shopaholics

We ascended the escalator and arrived at the second floor. We stepped onto the landing and looked to the left, then to the right, and then behind us. Nothing but an ocean of women’s clothing as far as eye could see. We felt out of place and somewhat lost, not knowing which way to go. We weren’t even sure what we were looking for, so overwhelmed by the vast collection of fabrics, colors, and styles. It was odd that some of the mannequins were not even clothed, and we were unsure what that message was. Neither Virginia nor I would be considered shopaholics. We tend to identify more with a minimalist lifestyle than mass consumerism. We were definitely out of our comfort zone.

For this mission, we will be traveling to a land different than what we are used to. Instead of hanging around the house with family and keeping a yard, we will be engaged in public life, meeting people, mentoring students, and becoming a face for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We must conform to a new image as a disciple and missionary of the Savior. We are also going to a wetter climate than we are familiar with and engaging in work of a different nature. All of this requires us to retool and reequip our lives in a new manner.

Much of the advance information we’ve received from the mission and from the church is vague. We aren’t given a detailed packing list to follow, just general guidelines. We know there is only one day a week allocated for personal needs, i.e., grocery shopping, laundry, writing home, etc., so we know we need enough clothing to get through a week. We will be working in a major tourist attraction in Hawaii, and we are expected to look like we belong there. I’ve lived in Utah, on the Wasatch Front for most of my adult life, and I have built my wardrobe around the four seasons, the dry desert climate of the American Southwest, my life in the theatre, and our hobbies of camping and hiking. I am well outfitted with jeans and plaid flannel shirts. In the summer I wear shorts and a tee-shirt. None of this works with where we are going and what we will be doing in Hawaii.

For most of her life, Virginia has placed the needs of her children and husband before her own. She’s had what she’s needed, but not by any means a full wardrobe, and certainly not outfitted for the adventure that lies ahead. Lately, I’ve felt that her current collection of clothing represents a debt that is decades in the making, and the interest has now come due. I need to pay back on the many years of sacrifice she has made on behalf of the rest of the family. We spent the last two weeks heavily shopping, primarily for Virginia’s sake. I’ve learned this week that a woman’s wardrobe is more complicated than a man’s, at least more complicated than my own. While I can get by with a few pairs of pants and a half dozen Aloha shirts, Virginia needs more. She cares more for her appearance than I do. I don’t think I’m a slob, but I also don’t take the care Virginia does, or would like to. There is more to consider in in a woman’s wardrobe, things I never take into account. Buying a bra is perhaps the most difficult article of clothing in the whole arsenal.

I’ve been steadily working on my wardrobe since we received our calling (except for the month we were hung up in our lag error). These last two weeks have been exhausting. Some of the shopping has been online, and that is slightly easier, but we’ve also been forced out into the malls and shops across Utah Valley and even into downtown Salt Lake City. We’ve spent a small fortune, at least for us it has amounted to more money than we’ve ever invested in one shopping spree. But we are relieved that it is nearly finished. There are still two months before we leave our home, but there are other matters that require our attention. Having the “proper” clothing was one of the items we needed to check off on our to-do list. This has been a heavy burden weighing upon us, one that has needed our immediate attention. I am grateful it is mostly done, to leave it behind and move on to other pressing matters like holding new grandbabies and catching up in the yard.

I originally thought I could lay out my wardrobe on one side of the bed and Virginia’s on the other. I was shocked to learn that mine covered a king-sized bed alone. A dozen dresses takes considerably more space.

We have prepared ourselves for the next two years, and we are hopeful that except for a small or rare occasion, we can stay out of the malls and shops in Hawaii and concentrate on the real reason we are at the Polynesian Cultural Center. There is nothing wrong with shopping, in and of itself. It simply isn’t an activity we have practiced regularly. The last thing I want is to show up at the Polynesian Cultural Center looking like a couple of backwoods hicks, or even worse, Utah desert rats. Now we just need to figure out how we are getting it to the mission field. Using Google Maps, I learned that it is 2,983 miles from Orem to Laie, in a straight line. Eventually, we’ll be visiting our local UPS store or FedEx carrier.

A Tale of Two Missions

I joined the church when I was 16½ years old after a singular experience while reading the Book of Mormon. At that time, I received a personal testimony that it was God’s word. There was a lot happening in my life with being an awkward teenager struggling with my personal identity, a broken homelife, and unknown future. At 19, my friends who were also members of the church began leaving on missions. It seemed the obvious next step for me was to also apply to serve. I submitted my papers, and I was called to serve in the Italy Padova Mission in 1977 for two years. Only being a member 2½ years before serving put me at a disadvantage because I hadn’t learned as much as I should have before embarking on a mission to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. I had a burning testimony of the Book of Mormon, but I was not versed in other fundamentals of the church’s faith.

After serving for four months in Pisa, I was transferred to Firenze (Florence) for the next six months

When I was baptized, the family that brought me into the church gifted me a book titled A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. It is an introductory text of the basic beliefs of the Mormon faith. I took it with me to Italy and read it in the early months of my service. I recorded in my journal one day, “There is a lot more to this religion stuff than I ever thought.” That comment illustrates my inexperience and lack of knowledge at that time of life. One might expect a missionary for the church to have a deep understanding of basic doctrine before going forth to preach the word of God to the nations of the world. Not so in my case.

I had an interview with my mission president one day. Mission presidents are older priesthood leaders usually called in the retirement stage of their lives. They preside over a mission of 150-200 missionaries, mostly young men. In that interview, he expressed his disappoint with me, saying that I wasn’t living up to his expectations. It saddened me deeply that I was letting him down, but I wasn’t sure what I could do to change. I was young and inexperienced; learning fundamental church doctrine as fast as I could process it before turning around to teach it to my fellow man. The Atonement of Jesus Christ was a complex and abstract concept for me at that age. The basic principles of repentance, living the law of chastity, obeying a health and diet code known as The Word of Wisdom, the responsibilities of a lay ministry, truly believing in modern day revelation through living prophets and apostles, the mission of the Holy Ghost, the gathering of Israel, marriage for eternity, living a covenant life after attending the holy temple, observing the law of consecration, the act of fasting, paying a tithing, and a long list of other practices that constitute a disciple of Jesus Christ were all a part and practice of a good Later-day Saint. In one of the first lessons missionaries teach, questions of man’s preexistence, purpose, and destination are raised. I hadn’t fully internalized what those meant to myself, let alone to others I met on a street corner in the Tuscan hills of Italy. I wasn’t raised in the church, I hadn’t been taught as a child, I was a long way from home and without the support of my family. For the first time since joining the church, I was faced with actually living my faith under my own motivation and understanding. I think I was facing for the first time that I didn’t know how to live on my own. And not just live on my own, but to live a holy and consecrated life of a missionary. I don’t mean this in a “holier than thou” sense. It’s just that a missionary is set apart from worldly things to be an example to others, and as sin free as humanly possible. 19-year-old men don’t always have that figured out. I didn’t. I doubted my ability to fulfill my calling. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to remain a missionary for the full two-year term. But remain I did. I obeyed the mission rules, followed the council of my mission president, faithfully read my scriptures, and prayed every day and every night. One day followed another and gradually a miracle occurred; the Lord somehow took this goofy kid and changed him not only into a missionary able to survive the two-year term, but to also navigate his course through life.

45 years later, I once again look forward to wearing the nametag, “Elder Handley, Missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”. The difference now is that I’ve had a lifetime of studying the scriptures, serving in many church roles, raising six children, and attending a thousand or so Sunday school lessons. I think I know the doctrine well. My faith and my testimony far exceed that of my youthful 19-year-old self. I think I have much more to offer the world in terms of my gospel understanding. My first mission was not without success. I taught hundreds of lessons in my two years. I was even the participant in a handful of conversions and baptisms. When I look back at those years though, I can’t help but feel that the primary conversion made was of that awkward 19-year-old lad struggling through life and holding on with only a belief that the Book of Mormon held the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m not sure what my mission president’s expectations were of me. I wish he could have understood that I wasn’t much further along than the Italians we met upon the street or visited with while knocking on doors. I too was a young man in search of meaning.

Towards the end of my mission, I had the privilege of baptizing Lucianno in the town of Gorizia on the then Yugoslavian border.

At 63, I suspect this next mission will play out much differently. If I’m told by my mission president that I don’t meet his expectations, then I really do have a lot of soul searching and reevaluation to do. I believe I have been well-seasoned by life; fatherhood will do that to a person. This is not a proselyting mission. It is a service mission and a return to my work in the theatre. My approach to mission life and mission work is different. Virginia will be my companion, the companion I’ve been with for the last 37 years. Together we will set out in search of those who need a friend in life; a hand to strengthen and feeble knees to confirm (Isaiah 35:3). If I grow as much from this second mission as I did from the first, I’m curious to see what I’m like when we return in two years. When I returned from Italy, I found I had a lifelong love for the Italian people. I suspect that two years from now I will have a deep and profound love for those of Polynesian descent. You can’t help but love those whom you serve. Perhaps that will be the most cherished possession I return with, a love for another people and culture. Serving a mission is a deep sacrifice, and one that will bring great blessings upon Virginia and I, and perhaps even upon our children and their families. I hope that in the following two years I will transcend further my relationship to my Savior. This blog post is titled A Tale of Two Missions. Only one mission has been written thus far. It will be a while before I tell the tale of mission #2. Perhaps two years from now I’ll finish this blog post…

At the end of my mission in November of 1979, waiting for the train that would take me out of Italy and start my journey home.

Lag Error

When I started blogging about our mission experience a few months ago, I intended to write every week. It has now been almost a month since my last posting, and it is time to catch up on our adventure. We hit a bump in the road of our preparations, which I call a lag error. To explain a lag error, I’ll refer to an experience I had many years ago working in the theatre when I first learned about lag errors. I’ll take my account from my personal journal that I was writing at the time.

Oct. 29, 2014: At BYU Spectacular this year, we used the phrase “Take Flight” as our theme. We chose to celebrate the arts at BYU and the power art plays in our lives. The main ideas were that art serves for the enjoyment of mankind and as an instrument of God, and that art lifts us out of the mundane aspects of our lives. We invited the fantasy artist and former faculty and alum James Christensen as our guest host. We built the theme around James and a character from many of his paintings, his Everyman. James talked with Everyman in a conversational manner, revealing the message of our program. At the end of our production, we planned to have Everyman don a pair of homemade wings, take flight from the stage, and soar over the audience.

To accomplish the flying trick, we hired a company from Las Vegas called Flying by Foy. It was a complicated and expensive rig to install in the Marriott Center. We practiced for hours, programming the computers that ran the flying operation. The system was safe in that if it ever detected an anomaly, it would not engage the motors that lifted our actor off the stage. In our many hours of practice, the flying engineers troubleshot every location in the flight routine that caused the rig to malfunction. The malfunction points were indicated on the computer as lag errors. There were four motors that worked in concert to lift our actor and maneuver him around the room. A lag error was generally observed when one of the motors had not taken the proper slack from the line.

Pat Debenham as Everyman, Homecoming Spectacular 2014, BYU

On the final performance of our show, at the climax when Everyman runs downstage and is lifted over the orchestra, the computer gave us the dreaded lag error and Everyman did not fly. It was disappointing. We re-cued the show and made a second attempt. Once again, we received a lag error. The show ended, to our great disappointment without the effect we worked so hard to achieve. Otherwise, we had a terrific performance.

Pat in a successful flight during a dress rehearsal

Time has now passed, and I’ve reflected over the experience and decided there are two lessons I choose to learn from this. After I work on a show for an entire year there comes a time when I must let go and entrust it to the talents and expertise of other gifted artists. For the show to succeed there cannot be any lag errors in the various departments. Audio, lighting, staging, costuming, music, choreography, etc. must all work together in proper harmony and tension. If any area of production has slack in its line it is quite likely that we will register a metaphorical lag error and the show will not accomplish what we set out to do. BYU Spectacular is a complicated production, and it is a tribute to many talented individuals that we rise to performance level after only one dress rehearsal. Lag errors seldom occur and when they do, we work fast and hard to resolve the problem. For example, we registered a “lag error” at our dress rehearsal when the director of the Men’s Chorus could not hear her choir over the top of the orchestra. She was agitated and unhappy. As far as she was concerned, her efforts were wasted, and not only her efforts, but also the efforts of the 180 men in her chorus. This was a significant enough lag error that it threatened the over-all integrity of the performance. Our chief audio engineer worked for hours through the night and the next day resolving the problem. By our opening performance, the lag error had been removed, the choir sounded fantastic, and our choir director was satisfied with her choir’s participation in our program. A lag error had been resolved.

On a more spiritual level we are also potentially subject to lag errors. Our Father in Heaven’s plan of happiness is likewise built and engineered to err on the side of safety. That is why we have a Savior, and more importantly why we have the Atonement. If we hope to rise to our full potential, we must ensure all motors are fully engaged and there is no slack in any of the lines. If our lives are not in full harmony, if we are slow to remember our prayers, scripture study is forgotten, or we slip into a few bad habits, at the crucial time of lift off we may find ourselves with a lag error.

Preparatory to applying for our mission, we had to complete a physical examination with our doctor. In the bloodwork done at my appointment, an anomaly was detected that raised a red flag for a potential problem. My doctor recommended I follow-up with a specialist. I made an appointment with a doctor to review the findings, and he indeed appeared a little concerned. He ordered that I complete an MRI. Thus was the beginning of my lag error. The radiologist reported that my MRI indicated a high probability of cancer. Back at my specialist’s office, the next step was to acquire a set of biopsies from the tissue. After an uncomfortable procedure, I was sent home to wait for the results.

We dreaded every minute of our lag error. We ceased preparations of going to Hawaii. We tried, with great difficulty, to push the mission to the back or our minds. We avoided talking about our mission if possible. If someone asked if we were excited, or how we were doing, we side-stepped the topic as quickly as possible. We didn’t want to engage anyone in our situation. It was deeply saddening for us. I wasn’t upset about the possibility of cancer, its treatment, or my probable decline in general health as much as that this might mean the end to our plans to fulfill the mission.

To our tremendous relief and joy, the pathology report came back with all tissue samples benign for cancer. My doctor gave me a clean bill of health and his blessing to go off and serve the people of Hawaii. The lag error had been cancelled, and we are now allowed to re-cue for the continuation to Take Flight in this next grand journey.

Lag errors seem built into the system to protect us, and to protect others around us. They give us opportunity to reflect on what is most important in life and remind us of our humanity. I’m grateful my lag error raised the flag for a potential problem. I’m more grateful that it resolved so easily and blessed us with a glorious warmth and peace. We are moving forward once again, and we seem to be back on track. We are now down to 76 days before our departure, and all systems are GO.