Recently a key part of our door knob fell to pieces. Christine gathered up the pieces and placed them on the counter in case I could repair the knob. But before I got the chance, Lizzy found the pieces and--noticing the air vent holes in the front of the dishwasher--decided to send them on a trip.
So tonight I was kneeling next to the dishwasher with a screwdriver in hand when Lizzy came from her room and asked what I was doing.
"I'm taking apart the dishwasher to get the spring out that you put in there," I said with as much appropriate sternness as I could muster. And then in a burst of inspiration, I added, "And the next time you put something in the dishwasher, you're going to be the one taking apart the dishwasher to get the thing out."
Feeling I had just come up with a clever consequence that would act as an effective deterrent, I went smugly back to spinning my screwdriver and extracting screws. Behind me, a small voice, however, responded to my pronouncement with a surprising declaration: "Cool."
"Cool?" I questioned. "Cool that I'm taking apart the dishwasher?"
"Cool that I could be the one to take it apart next time."
Um, ok. Maybe that wasn't the best consequence. Scratch that. No taking apart of dishwashers by 7-year-olds allowed.
Gotta think through these things better.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Back Yard Therapy
So after a frustrating day at work, I was mowing my lawn at home as the sun went down last night. Lizzy, my 7 year old, was out on the patio eating M&Ms and watching me. Soon she moved to the swingset. Back and forth and back and forth she went, while I went back and forth and back and forth over the much-too-long lawn. As I went, I thought of clever or childish or vengeful or straightforward ways to communicate my work frustration to my supervisors (all the while knowing none of those expressions would ever be shared). Camel backs and straws, pay commensurate with headaches--that sort of thing.
I mowed over a part of a zucchini plant that was in my way. I don't like zucchini anyway. Then there were a couple branches of raspberry bushes. They were sticking out into the grass where they shouldn't have been. I got out the weed killer and started spraying unwelcome growth in the lawn and in border areas. Lizzy, still swinging, asked, "Why are you killing the weeds? Why don't you find somewhere that they like weeds and pick our weeds out of the ground and take them to that place?"
This is our little environmentalist. When we found termites in our house she was dismayed to learn of our plans to kill them. Instead, she thought we should make a wood pile somewhere outside and encourage the termites to go eat the wood pile instead of our house. They're part of creation, after all, and they just need something to eat. Poor little termites. We joked about making a little sign that said, "Wood pile, this way." We killed them anyway. Some guys came and drilled holes in our concrete and pumped all sorts of poison into the ground. Three times.
Anyway, as I'm spraying weeds, Lizzy says, "Wanna come swing with me?" So I finish my spraying, put the sprayer on the patio, and go sit on the hard plastic swings that are too narrow for adult hind ends. And we swing. The light is receding from the sky overhead. The colors turning to deeper shades of blue, a nice gradation from light blue in the west to deep blue over head. The mountains to the east are getting darker.
Lizzy is singing, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." (Really--those are the words she was singing.) And she says, "Want to sing this with me? You sing three blah blahs and then you say names of things that are kind of similar. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees, grass. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Stars, moon, planets, sun."
So I join in and we're singing the blah blah song as we swing on ever-more-painful swings. I switch to the two-person glider swing, which is more comfortable. Lizzy changes the song. "So after you say the names of things, then you say what category they are in. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees: Nature." And on we go, each singing our own version of the blah blah song. I come up with categories like "space" and "things in our yard" and "parts of our house."
Since I'm thinking of my own words and categories, I'm only half-listening, at best, to Lizzy's words. So I don't notice when she sings "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sun, lightbulb, furnace, fire..." But I do notice that there is a long pause. She stopped after that list of related items, unsure what to call the list.
After my song continues solo for some time, she finally names her category: "Sources of heat and energy," she intones in her little 7-year-old voice. And I bust up. And she laughs. And there we are laughing and swinging under a dark-blue gradient sky, and I look up and see one bright, clear, bluish star--a planet, I think--right overhead. And we swing and sing blah blahs into the night. And never once do I include "frustrating job" in my categories.
I mowed over a part of a zucchini plant that was in my way. I don't like zucchini anyway. Then there were a couple branches of raspberry bushes. They were sticking out into the grass where they shouldn't have been. I got out the weed killer and started spraying unwelcome growth in the lawn and in border areas. Lizzy, still swinging, asked, "Why are you killing the weeds? Why don't you find somewhere that they like weeds and pick our weeds out of the ground and take them to that place?"
This is our little environmentalist. When we found termites in our house she was dismayed to learn of our plans to kill them. Instead, she thought we should make a wood pile somewhere outside and encourage the termites to go eat the wood pile instead of our house. They're part of creation, after all, and they just need something to eat. Poor little termites. We joked about making a little sign that said, "Wood pile, this way." We killed them anyway. Some guys came and drilled holes in our concrete and pumped all sorts of poison into the ground. Three times.
Anyway, as I'm spraying weeds, Lizzy says, "Wanna come swing with me?" So I finish my spraying, put the sprayer on the patio, and go sit on the hard plastic swings that are too narrow for adult hind ends. And we swing. The light is receding from the sky overhead. The colors turning to deeper shades of blue, a nice gradation from light blue in the west to deep blue over head. The mountains to the east are getting darker.Lizzy is singing, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." (Really--those are the words she was singing.) And she says, "Want to sing this with me? You sing three blah blahs and then you say names of things that are kind of similar. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees, grass. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Stars, moon, planets, sun."
So I join in and we're singing the blah blah song as we swing on ever-more-painful swings. I switch to the two-person glider swing, which is more comfortable. Lizzy changes the song. "So after you say the names of things, then you say what category they are in. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees: Nature." And on we go, each singing our own version of the blah blah song. I come up with categories like "space" and "things in our yard" and "parts of our house."
Since I'm thinking of my own words and categories, I'm only half-listening, at best, to Lizzy's words. So I don't notice when she sings "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sun, lightbulb, furnace, fire..." But I do notice that there is a long pause. She stopped after that list of related items, unsure what to call the list.
After my song continues solo for some time, she finally names her category: "Sources of heat and energy," she intones in her little 7-year-old voice. And I bust up. And she laughs. And there we are laughing and swinging under a dark-blue gradient sky, and I look up and see one bright, clear, bluish star--a planet, I think--right overhead. And we swing and sing blah blahs into the night. And never once do I include "frustrating job" in my categories.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Integrity
Reading the newspaper today, I came across this statement about White House negotiations on the bailout deal: "... said people from both parties who were briefed on the exchange. They spoke on condition of anonymity because the session was private."
Recently I read a similar statement, saying that a source wouldn't reveal his or her name because he or she was "not authorized to speak publicly."
These sort of things are all over in the news. We get a fair amount of news from anonymous sources. Journalists debate the use of anonymous sources, but their concerns center around credibility and reliability.
To me, this practice raises bigger questions about integrity. What does it do to our society to have people in powerful government positions compromising their integrity: revealing things that were presumed to be private, speaking when they are not authorized to speak, etc.? And then their breach of integrity is broadcast in the news when we report the information they shared and we explain why we can't quote them. Now everyone knows that there is someone in this realm of government who is not entirely trustworthy--in the truest sense of that word. They are not worthy of the trust placed in them. How does that affect our society's trust in government? How does it affect our children, to whom we try to teach integrity? How does it affect the behavior of society at large? If people in those sorts of positions are violating trust, maybe it's not that big of a deal. What is the ripple effect of a simple breach of confidence on the moral fabric of our society?
On the flip side of this, the same story included an AP photo of those who were in that White House meeting (see link). As I looked at the picture, I noted the coffee/tea cups in front of the various people sitting there at the table and I thought about all those people drinking their coffee/tea while they talked. But then I noticed that the cup in front of Harry Reid looked different. Look closely. It's upside down. There's our Mormon in high places--holding true to the principles of his belief. Very cool.
Recently I read a similar statement, saying that a source wouldn't reveal his or her name because he or she was "not authorized to speak publicly."
These sort of things are all over in the news. We get a fair amount of news from anonymous sources. Journalists debate the use of anonymous sources, but their concerns center around credibility and reliability.
To me, this practice raises bigger questions about integrity. What does it do to our society to have people in powerful government positions compromising their integrity: revealing things that were presumed to be private, speaking when they are not authorized to speak, etc.? And then their breach of integrity is broadcast in the news when we report the information they shared and we explain why we can't quote them. Now everyone knows that there is someone in this realm of government who is not entirely trustworthy--in the truest sense of that word. They are not worthy of the trust placed in them. How does that affect our society's trust in government? How does it affect our children, to whom we try to teach integrity? How does it affect the behavior of society at large? If people in those sorts of positions are violating trust, maybe it's not that big of a deal. What is the ripple effect of a simple breach of confidence on the moral fabric of our society?
On the flip side of this, the same story included an AP photo of those who were in that White House meeting (see link). As I looked at the picture, I noted the coffee/tea cups in front of the various people sitting there at the table and I thought about all those people drinking their coffee/tea while they talked. But then I noticed that the cup in front of Harry Reid looked different. Look closely. It's upside down. There's our Mormon in high places--holding true to the principles of his belief. Very cool.
Friday, August 01, 2008
A Son of God
Imagine Moses on a tall mountain, a staff in his hand and the wind whipping his robes around him. Heavenly Father appears and faces Moses. “Behold,” he begins, “I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name” (Moses 1:3).
Think of that. Think of Moses, a shepherd, standing before God, feeling his all-encompassing presence, witnessing his unsurpassed glory, and hearing him declare himself as “Almighty” and “Endless.” Almighty: He has all power--unsurpassed strength and capability. Endless: His being, his knowledge, his capacity, his love--he is without end in every way.
And then think of God--the ruler of the universe--saying to Moses what he said next: “And, behold, thou art my son” (Moses 1:4).
Wow. The son of God. Not just an old shepherd, but the offspring of the creator of all things. The child of the heavenly King. The heir of boundless dominions. What a humbling and yet exalting moment that must have been for Moses. To think that this amazing being with such incredible power was Moses’ Father. To think that Moses, an imperfect human, had the capacity to develop into a divine king like his Father.
Were God to appear to each one of us, he would likely say the same thing: “I am God, and you are my child.” And the same truths would apply: we are loved by the most awesome being in the universe, and we have the potential to be like him. We--each of us human beings on this earth--are amazing creatures. We are princes and princesses, children of an all-powerful King. What powerful knowledge that is.
After God had finished talking to Moses in the mountain, he left and Moses fell to the earth. He lacked strength to even stand, and he realized the extent of God’s power and glory when it was gone from him. And then someone else visited Moses. God’s polar opposite, Satan, appeared on the scene.
“Moses, son of man,” said Satan, “worship me” (Moses 1:12).
Son of man? Satan called Moses a son of man? But God just told Moses he was God’s son. When Satan visited Moses, he knew the power of the knowledge God had just given him, and he didn’t want Moses to have that power. So he told Moses he was the son of man. It was as if he were saying, “Moses, don’t listen to that rubbish. You cannot be a son of God. Look at yourself. You’re weak. You’re small. You are nothing. You’re a shepherd, for heaven’s sake! Son of God? Ha! You can’t even stand up.”
Does Satan ever say that to you? Does he ever whisper in your ears that you are not important? Does he tell you that you are not like God? When you hear those subtle messages creeping into your heart and mind, when you feel you are unworthy of God’s love, when you think you cannot do what God has asked you to do, remember: Satan is a liar. And he is telling you these lies because he wants to destroy you.
Like Moses, when we are faced with such devilish messages, we need to stand tall and boldly declare, “Who art thou? For behold, I am a son [or daughter] of God” (Moses 1:13). And like Moses, we need to call on the Son of God for strength (Moses 1:21). For he will help us. For he is our brother, and he has conquered Satan before and he will do it again--every time we ask him to.
Think of that. Think of Moses, a shepherd, standing before God, feeling his all-encompassing presence, witnessing his unsurpassed glory, and hearing him declare himself as “Almighty” and “Endless.” Almighty: He has all power--unsurpassed strength and capability. Endless: His being, his knowledge, his capacity, his love--he is without end in every way.
And then think of God--the ruler of the universe--saying to Moses what he said next: “And, behold, thou art my son” (Moses 1:4).
Wow. The son of God. Not just an old shepherd, but the offspring of the creator of all things. The child of the heavenly King. The heir of boundless dominions. What a humbling and yet exalting moment that must have been for Moses. To think that this amazing being with such incredible power was Moses’ Father. To think that Moses, an imperfect human, had the capacity to develop into a divine king like his Father.
Were God to appear to each one of us, he would likely say the same thing: “I am God, and you are my child.” And the same truths would apply: we are loved by the most awesome being in the universe, and we have the potential to be like him. We--each of us human beings on this earth--are amazing creatures. We are princes and princesses, children of an all-powerful King. What powerful knowledge that is.
After God had finished talking to Moses in the mountain, he left and Moses fell to the earth. He lacked strength to even stand, and he realized the extent of God’s power and glory when it was gone from him. And then someone else visited Moses. God’s polar opposite, Satan, appeared on the scene.
“Moses, son of man,” said Satan, “worship me” (Moses 1:12).
Son of man? Satan called Moses a son of man? But God just told Moses he was God’s son. When Satan visited Moses, he knew the power of the knowledge God had just given him, and he didn’t want Moses to have that power. So he told Moses he was the son of man. It was as if he were saying, “Moses, don’t listen to that rubbish. You cannot be a son of God. Look at yourself. You’re weak. You’re small. You are nothing. You’re a shepherd, for heaven’s sake! Son of God? Ha! You can’t even stand up.”
Does Satan ever say that to you? Does he ever whisper in your ears that you are not important? Does he tell you that you are not like God? When you hear those subtle messages creeping into your heart and mind, when you feel you are unworthy of God’s love, when you think you cannot do what God has asked you to do, remember: Satan is a liar. And he is telling you these lies because he wants to destroy you.
Like Moses, when we are faced with such devilish messages, we need to stand tall and boldly declare, “Who art thou? For behold, I am a son [or daughter] of God” (Moses 1:13). And like Moses, we need to call on the Son of God for strength (Moses 1:21). For he will help us. For he is our brother, and he has conquered Satan before and he will do it again--every time we ask him to.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
She's Gone...
So this evening, I pull into the driveway and see my neighbor and two of his friends on his porch with guitars. These are good kids (two are in my deacons quorum), but I didn't know they were musical. So I pop over to chat.
They're 13-year-old macho guys, so of course they get all awkward about it when I walk up. But after a minute, they loosen up. They call themselves Crevice ("That was Nate's idea," says Diggy), and they've got their first song on YouTube. They are now working on their second song, "Waiting for You."
This one here is called "She's Gone." My favorite lines:
"From the first day that I saw you,
I thought we would click,
but I know I was wrong,
cuz now we are split."
"It's to late,
she's already gone
that's why we
are playing this song."
Actually there are some fun lyrics here. And their second song has some pretty good words too. I'm impressed that they came up with the words and music all by themselves. Very cool.
But mostly as I'm standing in the neighbor's front yard and listening to three budding musicians, I'm thinking, "These guys are 13! Where do they get all this stuff about 'why did you leave me' and 'now there's no sun to brighten my day'?!?" Although thinking about it more now, I remember being 13 and having some big crushes on girls who didn't return my fond feelings... and my crushes got crushed... and I wrote sappy things in my journal...
Anyway, fun kids. From left to right, they are Diggy, Brian (my neighbor), and Nate (also in my ward). My new favorite band.
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