Monday, August 23, 2021

We testify of Christ

Years ago when we had only three children, I was unable to attend church one Sunday, so my wife took the three children to church by herself. It happened to be our monthly fast Sunday. (See Fast Sunday topic for explanation.)

In Latter-day Saint congregations, the fast Sunday sacrament meeting program consists of congregation members voluntarily expressing extemporaneous testimony. This format is not without its challenges. It's like open mic Sunday. Congregation leaders have little control over who decides to speak, how long they speak, or what they say.

Most active Latter-day Saints can likely cite a few quirky, strange, awkward, or inappropriate testimony speeches. But most church members sense that a certain spirit of sacredness should pervade the meeting, so there are probably fewer of these unfortunate events than one might expect.

Back to that Sunday years ago. When the baby needed to be fed, my wife retreated to the mother's lounge for some privacy. Our six- and four-year-old boys seemed to be managing just fine with coloring books and they promised they would be good.

As my wife listened to the testimonies being voiced over the speaker in the mother's lounge, she was surprised to hear the familiar voice of our oldest son. That day our normally introverted son spoke about many things in a manner that I am told was quite entertaining. Unfortunately, few of these things had anything to do with the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My wife couldn't stop feeding the baby and run to the chapel. She thought that surely our son would quickly button up his verbal stream of consciousness because he had never been much for public speaking.

That was not the case this time around. My wife sat increasingly mortified as the minutes passed. Our son talked about the tack strips that were exposed in the dining area after the old carpet was removed and before the new carpet was installed, among many other topics of that nature. Surely a member of the bishopric would put a stop to our son's rambling. Or maybe another mom would kindly step in. But nobody did.

Our son finally ran out of things to say after seven long minutes. In the weeks following this event, numerous congregation members told me how entertained they were by our son's extemporaneous speech. But entertainment is not the goal of testimony meeting.

Following this event, we decided that we would hold our own monthly family testimony meeting. During one weekly family home evening each month, a family member would conduct the meeting and invite family members to present their testimonies. The individual conducting would first repeat what has become a mantra in our family:

As a reminder, a testimony in the church is what you know or believe to be true about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, Their church, their workings in our lives or in the lives of others.

This may not be the best textbook definition of a testimony in the church, but it has worked for our family. The church's testimony topic page states, "A testimony is a spiritual witness given by the Holy Ghost." This is an indispensable element of a testimony that my family's mantra doesn't adequately address. The church's testimony topic page adds:

The foundation of a testimony is the knowledge that Heavenly Father lives and loves His children; that Jesus Christ lives, that He is the Son of God, and that He carried out the infinite Atonement; that Joseph Smith is the prophet of God who was called to restore the gospel; that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Savior’s true Church on the earth; and that the Church is led by a living prophet today. With this foundation, a testimony grows to include all principles of the gospel.

A testimony in the church may include any element of the gospel, but it must be founded on the basic doctrines of the gospel. Without this foundation, testimonies of peripheral matters are like branches severed from the trunk of the tree, or from the "true vine" (John 15:1, 1 Nephi 15:15). Without a witness of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and their true work among their children on earth, testimonies of incidental doctrines become secular pronouncements devoid of true spiritual power.

I recently attended a fast and testimony meeting at a Scout camp. The meeting was conducted by an authorized chaplain of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in conjunction with the administration of the sacrament, so it was an official church meeting. I was deeply disappointed in some of the extemporaneous speeches that were presented. One individual testified of the importance of doing daily acts of personal maintenance. Another testified of the value of hard work. Others spoke of the value of friendship, service, the great program at the camp, standing for what is right, etc.

All of these are good things, but most speakers seemed to shy away from testifying of Jesus Christ and of the Father's great plan of happiness. Some didn't even bother to close their speeches in the name of the Savior, perhaps sensing within themselves the lack of connection between their words and the Divine Son of God.

Why do we close testimonies, talks, lessons, and prayers in the church in the name of Jesus Christ anyway? For starters, because the Lord has commanded it (Moses 5:8, 3 Nephi 27:5-7, D&C 1:20). But isn't it a bit presumptuous to claim to speak in the name of the Lord? After all, anyone who has been in the church for long enough has heard plenty of nonsense uttered before a speaker has closed in the Savior's name.

It is understandable that some might feel uncomfortable presuming to speak for Jesus Christ, yet the Lord himself says that his goal is "that every man might speak in the name of God the Lord, even the Savior of the world" (D&C 1:20). But isn't that at some future point when we are perfected?

CS Lewis wrote something that still bothers many Christians: "Every Christian is to become a little Christ. The whole purpose of becoming a Christian is simply nothing else." He likens our efforts to act like the Savior to a child play-acting a grown up role, something children do quite often. Researchers have found that this play-acting is a very important part of growing up to be a functional adult.

Lewis posits that when we pray or speak in the name of Jesus Christ, we are play-acting at being Christ. We know even while in the throes of doing so that we are not Christ and that we are very unlike him in many ways, just as the child playing an adult role knows that in many ways she is very unlike the role she is playing at the moment.

Many Christians are well and good with becoming more Christlike, but they draw the line at actually becoming like Christ. That is tantamount to blasphemy in their eyes, although John teaches that disciples will ultimately meet Christ and see that they have become like him (1 John 3:2-3). If the Christian's job is to become like Christ, it is unclear from the scriptures where or why that effort should be halted. Latter-day Saints should fully embrace the quest to receive the Savior so completely that he eventually makes us equal to him.

Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have been repeatedly called upon by modern prophets to make Jesus Christ the center of every facet of their lives. We are supposed to be obsessive about following Christ. We should talk of, rejoice in, preach of, and even prophesy of Jesus Christ (2 Nephi 25:25-56). How sad it is that some members of Christ's church struggle to mention the Savior in a meeting devoted to bearing witness of him.

"I feel moved to participate in the testimony meeting," one might say, "but I do not at present feel particularly close to Jesus Christ. In fact, I'm not sure how much I believe in the church and its spiritual claims anymore." Is the answer for someone who feels this way to keep their mouth shut in testimony meeting?

Perhaps the experience of a friend of mine can be instructive. The first time Ron bore witness of Jesus Christ, his church, and his prophets, was at a sacrament meeting just prior to Ron leaving on a two-year mission for the church. As Ron testified that he believed these truths, he was suddenly filled with the Holy Spirit and he knew that the words he was saying were true. His fledgling witness came as he exercised a particle of faith (Alma 32:27). He has spent a lifetime cultivating his faith so that he now has a vibrant burning witness within his soul.

The primary purpose of a testimony meeting in the restored Church of Jesus Christ is to bear witness of the Savior. If you can say something that helps fulfill that purpose, go ahead and say it. It seems to me that the Lord is very compassionate toward those who make earnest efforts to follow him, no matter how clumsy they might seem.

If you can't currently even express belief in Christ, perhaps it would be best for you to first spend some time building your faith by play-acting like Christ in your thoughts and actions more often. CS Lewis promises that as you do this, the Savior will work with you to re-create you in his image, "killing off the old natural self in you and replacing it with the kind of self He has. At first, only for moments. Then for longer periods. Finally, if all goes well, turning you permanently into a different sort of thing; into a new little Christ, a being which, in its own small way, has the same kind of life as God; which shares in His power, joy, knowledge and eternity." (Mere Christianity, 1996 edition, p. 165)

We still laugh about the time our oldest son rambled at a testimony meeting as a young child. He was just doing what he perceived others doing according to his six-year-old understanding. Some of our adult children have pursued other paths than a fully active Latter-day Saint lifestyle. But if you ask any of them what a testimony in the church is, each one still knows the answer.

Wednesday, July 21, 2021

Fishing with Dad: the time I caught no fish all week and was glad

I was about nine or ten years old when Dad took a week of vacation one summer and took my three brothers and me up to Pineview Reservoir to go fishing for a few hours on a daily basis. (My youngest brother was yet to be born.) Mom wasn't able to take vacation from work that week, so this was a way for Dad to enjoy a staycation with his sons. As I recall, we had gone on a bigger ticket vacation the previous summer and my folks were saving for another major event down the road, so this was a way to vacation on a budget.

Fishing is not fun for me, but this daily excursion still turned out to be a memorable experience.

Each day we would arise much earlier than a kid wants to get up during the summer months, eat a quick breakfast, grab our gear, and head up to the reservoir. I was terrible at preparing my fishing line. I didn't know how to tie knots, couldn't bait a hook or attach a lure, didn't understand how the plastic bubble worked, etc.

The most likely reason I didn't understand these things was that I didn't care about them. I have a brother-in-law who is an avid fisherman. He fishes year round, multiple days each week. He knows all about fish behavior and how to entice the right kinds of fish under the right conditions using his hand-tied flies. But I simply can't bring myself to care about any of that stuff. The entire activity is mind-numbingly boring for me.

Back during our staycation, after the seemingly endless time it took to get my pole and line ready, I would plunk my hook into the water and hope that I would not catch a fish. Because if I caught a fish I would actually have to touch the thing. Yuck! Maybe five minutes into the interminable waiting for a fish to steal my bait, I would be goofing off doing something other than fishing.

It was during one of these many goof off sessions that I learned that other fishers didn't take kindly to some stupid kid awkwardly trying to skim rocks across the surface of the water where they were fishing. It turns out that chucking rocks in the water tends to scare the fish away. And unlike me, some of these people actually did want to catch fish. Go figure.

Dad loved his sons. But he was not very patient with kids who didn't quickly demonstrate proficiency in anything that came easily to him. We used to hate it when Mom would send us outside to help Dad with a task he was doing in the yard or on the outside of the house. Dad couldn't understand the necessity of baby steps and instructions for any process that seemed self-evident to him. Nor could he understand that mistakes were a natural part of teaching a kid how to do a task.

Actually, Dad didn't seem to grasp that teaching a kid was of any value whatsoever when there was a task to be finished. The task always took precedence. So Dad often ended up doing these things by himself. He excelled at thinking deeply and getting stuff done; not so much at teaching. Sometimes when my deeply philosophical dad would try to teach us, the content would cruise so far above our heads that our eyes would glaze over, seemingly for hours.

When my parents had young grandchildren, I saw Dad get down on the floor and horse around with them in a silly manner. It was only then that I remembered Dad doing the same thing with us when we were young. The childish goofiness each of us shared with Dad ceased about the time we started elementary school. Then Dad expected us to step up and act responsibly, as he had been required to do at that age, growing up in Nazi Germany.

Once we were no longer small, Dad exuded the persona of a northern German stoic. But there were times something more whimsical would break through his staid surface. One of my favorites was when Dad spilled his milk at the dinner table one evening. Kids spilling drinks at the table was one of Dad's pet peeves, because the liquid was bound to drip onto the new dining room carpet.

This carpet was avocado green colored deep shag that was all the rage in the early 70s. It looked horrid when it was in optimal condition, so it is hard to see how a little bit of milk would make it worse.

Still, when Dad spilled his milk, we all watched as the liquid quickly spread toward the leaf seam in the table. Dad cast about for anything close and ample enough to blot the spill before it reached the critical spot. The only thing he could see was my brother's fresh sandwich. He grabbed it and mopped up enough of the spill to save the day, giving Mom enough time to jump up and grab a towel, which she used to mop up the rest of the spill.

The interplay was beyond hilarious for us kids. Well, except for my brother, who was deeply offended that his sandwich had been used as a mop cloth. Mom quickly replaced it with a fresh sandwich. The irony of Dad enacting his own pet peeve was not lost on him. He couldn't help laughing out loud about it, which was something we rarely saw in those days.

Dad has been gone for 13 years now. His last couple of years of life were marked by declining physical and mental health. It was painful to watch my intelligent, learned, analytical, serious, hard-working, spiritual father deteriorate until his comatose, emaciated mortal form stopped sustaining life.

I am still left with a lifetime of memories of Dad; some good and some bad, but good overall. Among those memories is the summer we went fishing every day for a week. I'm still glad that I never caught any fish during those trips. I didn't like fishing then and I still don't like it. But I like the memory of that week with Dad and my brothers, as well as many other memories that evoke a mixture of feelings, weaving a rich tapestry of love that I know will endure beyond this mortal sphere.

Thursday, May 27, 2021

My favorite daughter graduates, thanks to some teachers, despite others

"There is no social distancing going on here," I said in my wife's ear as we entered the high school football stadium. Nearly every inch of bench space in the stands on both sides of the field was occupied by those who had come to witness their loved one endure the time honored robed ritual signifying their completion of high school graduation requirements.

The high school had permitted up to five guest tickets per graduate. They also webcast the proceedings for those who wished to view the ceremony remotely. The completely filled grandstands caused me to believe that the administration had overestimated how many people could reasonably be seated. Some wore face masks; most didn't. With the unsettled spring weather, I was grateful that we wore light jackets and gloves.

Well over an hour after the gowned and capped graduating seniors had filed onto the field and taken their seats, the talking from the stage was still ongoing, as if anyone would remember the next day what had been said. (Cue the Charlie Brown teacher voice.) It took a while perusing the sea of square headdresses to determine which one adorned our fair offspring. (Why do we wear such weird headgear to an event that is supposed to dignify the value of the pursuit of knowledge?)

Our daughter looked up at us from her seat and gave us the ASL sign for "tired." This was more than typical teen boredom. Late last year we discovered that our daughter has a somewhat rare blood clotting disorder that may be a contributing factor to the unusual fatigue she has experienced throughout her high school years. We are working with professionals to understand and address her health problems.

Eventually the program moved on to the orderly procession of each graduate filing up to the front and walking across to accept their diploma, each announced by a faculty member with a great speaking voice. Often as a name was called, spontaneous cheers erupted from small groups of people around the stadium. I was gratified that, as requested, revelers refrained from air horns and other noise makers. The process of moving all 645 graduates through that routine took about as long as the talking had.

I experienced an odd mixture of feelings as I watched my favorite daughter (also our only daughter) accept her diploma and move back to her chair on the football field. For my wife and me, this represented a new chapter. Our fifth and youngest child has completed compulsory education and we move on to the next phase of life, which arguably is much closer to the state of the loved ones whose graves we will visit this Memorial Day weekend than when we started this chapter. And that's OK. It's how life works.

Graduation means a new chapter for our daughter too. High school has in many ways been a tough slog for her. Besides the continual oppressive fatigue she has experienced, on/off remote learning during the pandemic took its toll socially and academically.

I take my hat off to teachers and administrators who have struggled to make all of this work during the pandemic. Many of our daughter's teachers have gone out of their way to help their students succeed in this extraordinary environment. Unfortunately, there have been a couple of teachers who have been determined to force our daughter to succeed in spite of them, even with a 504 plan. It's people like that who cause students to hate school.

Educators like this are typically not bad people. They are often academics who simply do not understand those who are not academically inclined or who face less obvious challenges. From this perspective, nearly all academic deficiencies can look primarily like motivation issues.

We frequently encountered this same phenomenon with educators who treated our autistic son's limitations as something that could be overcome with more focus and harder work. After all, our son was bright, articulate, and polite. He was never a problem in class. Why shouldn't he simply be able to keep up with the normal workload? Many educators who don't understand those who inconveniently find the traditional schooling model an ill fit for their needs impose lifelong traumas on these students, often with the best of intentions.

We are very grateful for the teachers in our high school's theater department. Theater has been a bright spot throughout our daughter's high school years, even when it has required hard work. Although our daughter loves singing, and even even spearheaded a monumental effort to help hundreds honor her retiring choir teacher last year (see 5/18/2020 post), she found her new choir teacher's approach so chafing that she ended up dropping choir partway through her senior year. That was sad.

Yes, the high school years have in many ways been tough for our daughter. So, seeing that diploma handed to her brought a strong sense of relief and gratitude. It's over.

Now, onward!

Thursday, April 22, 2021

Could you be a hero that saves lives?

Years ago when I was a member of a young single adult (YSA) congregation of my church, a young man who I will call Mike (not his real name) joined our congregation. Since congregations of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are mostly geographically delineated, it was common for members of our congregation to know each other through school or community associations. Mike was several years younger than me, so I had not attended school with him and didn't really know him.

Nor did I make much of an effort to get to know Mike. Although he had a job and owned a muscle car, Mike had several noticeable disabilities, including some mild cognitive, mobility, and speech challenges. Although Mike made efforts to attend church meetings, he was painfully socially awkward. Few of us made serious efforts to engage Mike. Most seemed to avoid interacting with him. And if I am to be honest, many, including myself, saw themselves as superior to Mike.

Those who knew Mike better were aware that he grappled with mental illness. There was less understanding and acceptance of mental illness back then. It was mostly just seen as scary, so people with mental illness were also considered scary.

Those in leadership positions knew it was socially difficult for Mike to attend church meetings. They assigned people to watch for Mike and invite him to sit with them. Some made outreach efforts outside of church meetings. But none of these well-intentioned approaches evolved into real friendships. Even socially backward people can usually sense when someone truly cares for them as opposed to when they are just another chore to be completed.

One day Mike drove his muscle car to a canyon a few miles away. In that lonely canyon, Mike ended his mortal life.

Looking back on this, I am ashamed to admit that, mixed with my confusion and sorrow about Mike's death was a sense of relief that I would no longer need to awkwardly interact with him. Like many of that era, I was very judgmental about those who attempted or completed suicide, seeing it as a very selfish act.

Another member of our YSA congregation had moved from out of state. Allen (not his real name) was older than most of us but was still unmarried. He was a good-looking, outgoing guy who worked as a first responder. I was more familiar with Allen's brother, who was closer to my age and had lived in our area longer than his brother.

Frankly, I was a little envious of Allen. He seemed to have a magnetism that I lacked. He had a career as a hero, saving lives. He turned some of the young ladies' heads in ways I knew I never could. Allen seemed to have everything going for him. But I was unaware of the inner demons of depression and anxiety that he had grappled with for his whole life. I was unaware that, before moving to our area, Allen had been seriously suicidal multiple times.

Then one night when he was once again suicidal, Allen went to a secluded spot and completed his final suicide attempt.

I felt terrible for Allen's family, especially his brother, who was my friend. But once again, I was very judgmental toward Allen. How could he do something so selfish and so obviously wrong?

Fast forward a couple of decades, and I found myself stunned when my 11-year-old son confided that he was experiencing suicidal ideation. The past decade has taken us on a journey that has resulted in three crisis hospitalizations. While I can't pretend to completely understand suicide, I know a lot more about it than I did when I was more ignorant and judgmental.

Research shows that the vast majority of those who attempt suicide don't really want to die. Many are experiencing some type of horrific psychological pain that most of us can't even imagine. Due to their mental state, they feel like they have run out of options. In those moments, they have no hope of life ever getting better. They become convinced that everyone around them would be better off without them here.

"I didn't want to die," said suicide attempt survivor Cortez Yanez. "I actually wanted to live, but not with the same pain I was going through. That made suicide an option for me." Kevin Hines, who miraculously survived a leap off the Golden Gate Bridge, says much the same thing in this riveting video:

Today I can look back and see that both Mike and Allen came to our YSA congregation with mental health challenges. Mike never felt like he fit in and saw no hope of ever finding a place to belong and be accepted for who he was. Allen struggled with anxiety and depression while looking great on the outside.

I don't know if anything any of us in the congregation could have done might have prevented the death of either Mike or Allen. But I do know some things that each of us can and should do to help those we encounter in our lives who might be struggling with suicidal ideation. Good resources for learning what to do can be found at the Church's suicide site and the Suicide Prevention HelpGuide. You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 anytime of the day or night.

Perhaps the most important thing the average person can do is to be aware of the warning signs of someone experiencing suicidal thoughts. Talking about wanting to die or about killing oneself, or looking for ways to kill oneself should be obvious markers. Other signs might include talking about being trapped, hopeless, or a burden to others; increased substance abuse or other self-destructive practices; exhibiting higher levels of anxiety, sleeping too much, withdrawal/isolation, rage, revenge seeking, extreme mood swings, or giving away important personal items.

Experts agree that the best way to help someone who you suspect might be considering suicide is to ask them forthrightly about it, listen in a caring manner, and help them get the aid they need. Many incorrectly assume that talking about suicide might encourage rather than prevent their death. This has repeatedly been shown to be wrong. Talking about (not advocating for) suicide saves lives.

Those who are considering suicide are often caught in cyclical thinking from which it is difficult to escape without outside help. Your asking whether a person is thinking about self harm or has a plan to harm themselves can provide the ramp they need to get out of their thinking rut and prevent tragedy.

An equally important matter is how to help someone once the immediate crisis is past. We have found through our family's experience that once the person who was suicidal is released from the hospital, they are essentially dumped unceremoniously into a mental healthcare wasteland that has far too few providers who accept new clients, many of whom are inaccessible due to insurance quirks. The message too often seems to be, "We kept you from killing yourself. Good luck staying alive. Bye." This probably requires more systemic change than one person can provide, but helping someone connect with a qualified mental health clinician can be immensely helpful.

The main thing is to really care. That means reaching out to and spending valuable time with people that might not be easy for you to be around. Surrendering ideas of superiority can only help these kinds of relationships. You may not face the kinds of challenges others do, but that does not make you better than them.

Each soul, no matter how troubled, is a beloved child of God. We have the opportunity to reflect his love to others. Some of the most valuable targets for your compassionate outreach might be found among those who seem the least lovable at the moment.

I can't say for sure whether following these ideas might have helped Mike and Allen make better choices that could have preserved their lives. But doing these things certainly couldn't have hurt. And regardless of the outcome of any specific case, it is the right thing to do.

We have come a long way with respect to mental health attitudes and treatments since Mike and Allen left this world. But many things haven't changed. My own son longs to be active in his YSA congregation, but he still struggles to fit and feel accepted, much like Mike did years ago. Few members of my son's congregation likely have any clue how challenging and draining it is for him to attend any of his church meetings, or how much of a difference a little compassion on their part makes for him.

Having compassion for, reaching out to, and seeking to include those who seem awkward isn't easy. It can be, well, awkward. But again, it's the right thing to do. A little effort can have a large impact.

Souls like Allen can be harder to detect. They already seem to fit socially. A lot of their pain is hidden in public. Since we can't always detect the pain people are experiencing, compassion toward each soul we encounter is the best way forward. Granting space for others to be their authentic selves in our presence can go a long way. Demonstrating that they are worthy of your care and attention can help. You may not be a first responder hero like Allen was, but perhaps you too can save lives through something as simple as kindness.

Monday, January 04, 2021

The Puppy Holidays

 "No. No! NO!" I screamed inside my mind while making a vain attempt to keep the incredulity off my face. "We are not getting another dog," I said flatly. We were looking forward to being pet free within the next few years.

A relative had acquired an adorable Sheprador puppy (German Shepherd / Labrador mix) on Thanksgiving from an owner near our home. Being close by, they dropped in with their new puppy for a visit. We were very surprised that our 9-year-old Imo-Inu (Shiba Inu / American Eskimo mix) interacted with the puppy with curiosity rather than animosity. He has a long history of being good with humans but not so good with other dogs.

Later that evening our son who is on the autism spectrum proposed getting one of the remaining puppies from the same large litter. The puppies were only a month old but the mother had stopped giving milk. Caring for multiple puppies that still need milk is challenging, so the owner was looking to sell the puppies at a bargain price.

The whole idea seemed preposterous to me. But I could tell that my objections were inadequate in dissuading our son. The following day we convened a family council, since the addition of a puppy would significantly impact everyone in the home. Many valid concerns were raised, including:

  • Cost.
  • Noise.
  • High care needs.
  • Long-term needs.
  • Wear and tear on the home.
  • Impact on individual and family routines.
  • Impact on our existing dog and interactions between dogs.
  • Etc.
Unfortunately, our son interpreted these concerns as the family ganging up on him. He guaranteed that he would meet all of the puppy's needs, walk both dogs, minimize impact on other family members, and otherwise deal with related issues, or else find a new home for the pup. But I knew he was committing to more than he was capable of actually doing.

After our son left the meeting with the matter unresolved, I realized that he would probably end up bringing a puppy home. Our daughter came to me expressing concerns that everyone in the family would be angry with her brother if he did bring a puppy home. I explained that people would be unhappy, but that it's hard for anyone to remain angry for long when a puppy is involved.

As I prayed about the matter, I told the Lord all of the burdens that would result from adding a puppy to our household. The message I sensed from the Spirit went something like, "Yeah, I know what it's like to have children make choices that increase burdens. It's kind of what I do all the time. You see, there was this night in Gethsemane and this cross on Golgotha. Then there are the constant problems and prayers. ... Let your son do as he wishes and then deal with the fallout. It will be good for him."

So the following day after getting paid, our son brought home an adorable puppy that weighed about 6½ lbs. whom he dubbed Charlie. While everyone loved cuddling with Charlie, the weeks of puppy urine and nighttime forays into the yard soon brought us to reality.

The moniker Charlie gave rise to a variety of nicknames, such as Prince Charles, Chuck, Chucky, Chuckles, Chuckles the Pup, and Lieutenant Chucklebucket.

The puppy still needed milk for the first couple of weeks. We ended up feeding him unpasteurized goat milk from Sweet Deseret Farm. But he soon craved solid food. We followed the directions of an expert to soak puppy kibble in goat milk, but Charlie soon made it clear that he disliked soggy kibble. He liked crunchy kibble and he would also go crazy for real meat.

Interactions with our senior dog, whom I dubbed the Commodore or King Nui, were relatively safe but less than sanguine. The Lieutenant constantly wanted to engage in playful interaction with the Commodore. The corpulent old man, who suffers with arthritis and currently spends most of his days sleeping, was generally unwelcoming of the Lieutenant's exuberant overtures. Low growls and occasional sharp barks became common.

Prince Charles also wanted to do whatever King Nui was doing. He wanted to play with King Nui's toys, eat King Nui's food, sleep in King Nui's usual haunts, and go outside whenever King Nui went outside—much to the chagrin of the old codger, who tolerated the pup but generally responded with a "Hey you rotten kid, get off my lawn!" attitude.

Mind you, the Commodore has been our only pet these many years, so he has ruled the roost. The introduction of the Lieutenant into the Commodore's space really shook things up for the old man. He was more than a little jealous. He took opportunities to demonstrate dominance, brusquely telling the pup to keep his distance and often taking toys away from the little tyke.

Our son tried to keep his puppy promises, but he soon discovered that the critter's needs frequently exceeded his capacity to deliver. The puppy slept in a crate in our son's room, so he was the one to tend to the puppy's needs at night. There was no sleeping in for our son either. He had to get up when the puppy got up.

It turns out that Shepradors are very active animals. They are also social and crave lots of family interaction. One expert suggested that Shepradors typically need two hours of high activity and close interaction daily or they become bored and destructive. They also need plenty of room.

Charlie was smart. Shepradors are also pleasers, so he quickly learned his name and he learned several commands such as sit, up, wait, and come. He did OK with go potty. We later worked on off and down. But the puppy was taking a toll on the whole family. Everyone groused about having to puppy-sit, having to take the puppy outside in all kinds of weather, and constantly guarding person and property from playful teeth and claws.

Finally about a month into the puppy project, our son came to me and admitted that he could not keep his promises concerning his dog. He was feeling defeated when he admitted that he was ready to find a new home for Charlie. I told him that this was perhaps the most mature decision he had ever made. He should see it as a victory rather than a defeat.

Concerned that selling a puppy a couple of days before Christmas might be more likely to lead to an impulse purchase by someone who isn't really ready to care for a dog, we waited until after Christmas to list Charlie for sale. We found a willing buyer right away who had grown up in a family that bred and raised a certain dog breed. We were relieved that the new owner was well versed in puppy and dog care.

Due to circumstances, Lieutenant Chucklebucket boarded with us for another week before going home with his new owner. During that week we started calling him by the name selected by the new owner. Throughout the week, our son gradually distanced himself from puppy care duties as he grieved for his dog's departure. When I later asked him what he had learned from the experience, he let me know that it was too soon for him to go there. He needs time to process emotions first.

Roughly 48 puppy free hours have passed in our home since the Lieutenant's departure. The first afternoon and evening, the Commodore collapsed and spent 4-5 hours lying in one spot. He has since reclaimed many of his former haunts that the Lieutenant had commandeered. The old man seems much more relaxed.

So do our other family members, for that matter. It's almost like climbing off an exuberant theme park ride and then standing on firm ground in a quiet corner of the park. Part of me keeps expecting the Lieutenant to scramble around the corner and attack my shoelaces. Still, our oldest son echoes what other family members feel when he confides that he misses the puppy, despite the fact that his ear is still bleeding from a puppy scratch.

We sold the puppy's crate, toys, bowls, playpen, food, and other supplies with him. We still have some temporary fencing to sell that I used to protect outdoor HVAC equipment. So the story isn't quite complete yet.

While the Commodore was generally uncomfortable during the five weeks of puppymageddon that spanned Thanksgiving through New Years, he does seem to have learned some canine socialization skills that he has lacked until now. King Nui has been regularly prompting me to walk him to the nearby dog park, where he actually chooses to enter and greet other dogs with surprising calmness. He doesn't do much with them other than to simply greet them. And he soon lets me know it's time to leave. But this behavior is so different than it used to be BPE (Before Puppy Era) when the Commodore hated the dog park and didn't know how to behave around other dogs.

Personally I am very relieved that Lieutenant Chucklebucket has gone to a new home. Pretty much every concern that was raised in our family council weeks ago played out precisely as I had anticipated. But I wouldn't say that the burdens we bore during these weeks have any significant comparison to the Savior's atonement, notwithstanding the Spirit's whispering on the matter.

Our son has discovered that, while the desire to nurture another being was good, he wasn't in a position to do it very well and it distracted from other goals that he realized were more important at present. He is nursing some natural emotional pain as he moves on. Perhaps his development is the most valuable outcome from the holiday weeks of the puppy.