Humans Judging God's Performance

I'm not quite sure what to make of the poll reported in this KSL article that attempts to assess the respondents' opinions of God's performance. The Democratic polling firm Public Policy Polling reports that 52% of respondents approve, 9% disapprove, and 40% aren't sure.

I haven't looked into the sampling methods, so I'm not sure exactly how PPP derived its results. But it seems to me that the entire premise of the question denotes a profound misunderstanding of the nature of God.

Let me qualify that. I'm speaking mainly of monotheism. I have too little experience with polytheism to address the nature of the human-divine relationship under that philosophy. But since the vast majority of Americans adhere to some form of monotheism, it seems safe to assume that most of the poll's respondents do so as well.

Most monotheistic philosophies portray Deity as omniscient and omnipotent. In other words, God comprehends all that can be known in the universe and is simultaneously all powerful.

Given this, how is it that humans — who by nature are severely limited in their grasp of knowledge and ability to control themselves, let alone the universe — can even assume that it is appropriate to judge God?

Most monotheistic philosophies teach that our mortal lives are but a tiny fragment of our eternal existence. Let's bring this down to a more understandable level. If all you knew about a movie director was 15 seconds of one of the films he directed, how appropriate would it be to judge him and the entire body of his life's work?

The question is not whether we approve of God's performance; it is whether we accept God. Having accepted God, the question becomes whether God approves of us — whether we are striving to adhere to the commandments he gives us because of his love for us, with our everlasting joy being the object.

Every poll has some kind of agenda behind it. It's not clear to me what PPP's agenda is with this particular poll. Maybe they're just goading people. But it seems clear that many of the respondents are confused about the basic nature of their relationship to God.

Stuff Addiction

A week and a half ago our family embarked on an adventure that has been difficult and challenging for all involved: getting ready to sell my Mom's home.

After living in apartments for the first few years of their marriage, Mom and Dad arranged to have a starter home built. The idea was to live in the home for about a decade before moving into something nicer. That was nearly five decades ago.

Every time my parents thought about moving out of the home, something came up. At the 10 year mark, some of Dad's family came from Germany and spent the summer with us. My parents felt it necessary to take them to many tourist destinations in the region. They also felt it necessary to install a central A/C unit because my German relatives wouldn't be used to the arid Utah summer climate. All of that ate up the money my folks had hoped to use toward a new home.

Within a few years after that came a number of missions, weddings, and helping young adults get started in life. That consumed excess funds that might have helped buy a new house.

Eventually my parents served a mission. Although they didn't want to live in the same house when they returned, there were so many things to do to get ready for the mission that they couldn't bear to even think about trying to sell the home at that time. Besides, they let one of my siblings live in it rent free for the time they were gone.

By the time Mom and Dad could think about getting into a new home, their dwelling needs had changed significantly. They looked at homes, but they had difficulty achieving a unified vision of what kind of home they needed. When Dad's health went downhill, any thought of moving was out of the question.

Dad made me promise on his deathbed that I would get Mom out of that house and get her into something more suitable. In the three years since then, Mom has halfheartedly looked at new homes. She has repeated over and over that she can't keep up with the current home's maintenance needs. But she has never gotten serious about the matter.

Something has changed this summer. Dad was very handy. He did many upgrades to the home over the years. For its age and type it looks nice and is in pretty good condition. But Dad also enjoyed creating features that ostensibly would require maintenance within a few years. I think Dad enjoyed having to re-work these features after a while.

But Dad's not here anymore. I did not inherit Dad's handyman gene. One of my brothers did, but he lives half an hour away and has his own property to care for. Mom has been reluctant to hire out the work. The upshot is that nothing gets done and Mom feels oppressed by the ever increasing load of projects crying for attention.

A few weeks ago Mom started talking about selling the home once again. I admit that I was shocked when she actually called a real estate profession and asked to meet with him. I attended the meeting at Mom's request.

It is no secret that the northern Utah home market is in the tank. There are lots of properties on the market right now and prices are in a declining trend. Many homes remain on the market for months and even years without selling. But this fellow has demonstrated his ability to sell homes of all kinds even in a poor market. It all comes down to pricing and aggressive marketing work.

The starting price the realtor suggested seemed pretty low. But he had done his homework. He carefully laid out the case for his suggestion, backing it up with ample research. He even said that it may be necessary to go even lower than this price to sell in a reasonable amount of time.

Selling homes in a declining market requires a different approach, the realtor explained. He said that we needed to move absolutely everything out of the house that Mom didn't need within the next 90 days. We were also told to de-personalize the home so that prospective buyers wouldn't be influenced by my folks' decor choices. Prospective buyers need a relatively blank canvas onto which they can paint themselves. This meant taking down nearly all wall hangings.

We were also instructed to get most of the furniture out of the house. Any furniture that remained was to take as little floor space as possible.

Dutifully, we began boxing up stuff and moving it to a storage unit last Thursday. We did a lot more work on Friday. I brought a moving van on Saturday and many family members spent many hours hauling the larger items to the storage unit. I was grateful for the Sunday break, but we were back at it on Monday. We ended up getting a second storage unit and moving some of the stuff from the first unit in there, while adding more stuff.

It turns out that 50 years of living in one place can result in significant stuff buildup.

As we have moved things into the storage units I have thought about how many of these things will never go to Mom's new home, regardless of what it ends up looking like or how big it is. I see five classes of stuff:

• Stuff that should be thrown away.
• Stuff that is of marginal quality and utility.
• Stuff that is nice but that Mom will never use again.
• Stuff that Mom actually needs.
• Stuff that Mom will keep for mainly sentimental reasons.

Even though some stuff won't go to Mom's new home, we stored it because we didn't have time to make decisions about it right now. I suspect that it will be easier to part with some of these things after they have been in storage for a while.

We have continued the project throughout this week, but at a slower pace. I think the home is finally ready to show. But it has been a heck of a lot of work. (And there will still be a whole lot more work to do to clear out the home when it finally sells.)

But the work has only been a portion of the challenge. The emotional toll on Mom has been significant. Mom says that she realizes that this is necessary. She has worked very hard this past week. But the emotional turmoil of thinking about moving out of her home and neighborhood (a place she loves among people she loves) has been difficult. All in all, I think Mom has handled the situation quite admirably.

As we have worked to move stuff out of Mom's place, I have heard family member after family member remark that they have to go home and start de-junking. We all said it many times. But we likely won't do it. Life is busy. De-junking isn't fun. We tend to put off that kind of thing until we're forced into it.

Right now my wife and I envision a day when we become empty-nesters (or nearly empty-nesters). I have a fantasy about leisurely taking weeks and months to de-junk our home at that distant future date, and then putting the home up for sale after months of careful preparation. We would then move into something more suitable for empty-nesters with a whole lot less stuff than we have now. I doubt it will work out like that in real life.

During this moving project I have reflected on why people in our culture tend to accumulate so much stuff. Do we acquire and hold onto stuff in some kind of vain attempt to validate our existence? You know, "I have substance, so I am substantial. I have stuff to prove that I exist—to prove that I matter."

Why did I put my old electric shaver on the shelf instead of throwing it away when I got a new one last month? True, it isn't completely dead. But it's pretty shot. Why didn't I throw it away? If I don't do so soon, it will be among the myriad things I look at when we eventually move from our current home and wonder why I kept it around all those years.

Years ago I came to the conclusion that everything I own owns a piece of me. Not only does it take up space, it takes my time. It takes energy just to think about it and to categorize it. (I am remembering an old toilet seat that I replaced years ago but that is still in the crawl space under the stairs.) Even that owns a little piece of me.

The idea, I guess, is to keep only stuff that comes out good on the cost-benefit scale, and to get rid of everything else. Since the factors in such an analysis change as our lives change, it takes energy to undertake that process as well. I guess it's the cost of de-junking that keeps me from doing it.

Maybe I will live to regret that.

Laid Off!

Three months ago I was laid off from the job I had worked at for more than 11 years. It wasn’t a huge surprise that there was to be another round of layoffs, given the company’s finances. I had survived many layoffs, but not this time.

In yet another cost-cutting measure, the company decided to get rid of almost all of its software developers. The two youngest were retained, but one of those soon left for another job. This sounds cruel to the more experienced workers, but it was likely for the best. Longer term workers had built up more leave and severance pay. Had the less seasoned guys been laid off, they could well have been out of money before they had new jobs.

Moreover, I had been blessed to work for an employer that offered a fairly generous severance plan. Along with getting my leave cashed out, I had enough money to last for a couple of months.

I was one of the very few fortunate ones. Even as I sat in my manager’s office, I was offered a temporary four-to-six month position at another of the company’s offices doing exactly what I had been doing. Maybe the position would eventually become permanent; maybe not. But at least I could search for a new job while still being employed.

While this was a tremendous blessing, it was also a bit of a challenge. The moment I arrived home, I initiated my job search. My job searching activities became a second job to which I applied myself with great energy. Some of my former co-workers had been pro-active enough to already have job interviews lined up.

I soon discovered that it wasn’t terribly difficult to get a job interview. The information technology sector is one of the few parts of the economy that has picked up. Many companies are looking to technology to help them cut costs and reduce the need for other types of workers. I had my first interview just two days after being laid off.

But I quickly found that actually getting to the point of receiving a job offer can be quite challenging, especially for a developer with my level of seniority. Many employers are looking for junior level developers, which are much cheaper and often more flexible. The employers that are looking for experienced developers tend to want very specific skills. They tend to want highly skilled, narrowly focused gurus rather than broad-based steady workers.

Prospective employers are also not very keen on hiring into a more junior position someone that has been used to working at a senior level, even if you are willing to work for less pay. They suspect that you will be gone the moment a better paying job comes along.

The whole hiring process is very similar to dating and courting. Interviews are like dates. Both the employer and the applicant are testing the relationship to see if it is something that feels like a good fit.

I walked out of some interviews feeling that it had gone badly. I walked out of others expecting a callback that never came. I walked out of some hoping that they weren’t interested in me because I certainly wasn’t interested in them. Some interviews went well, but ended with the realization that it was not a good fit. Frankly the whole process was challenging and frustrating.

As far as I.T. workers go, I discovered too late that it is likely better to pursue job offers through recruiters. Recruiters make money from successfully placing applicants in jobs. They develop relationships with hiring managers, so they have contacts that are difficult for applicants to develop on their own. They are able to finesse situations and present a better picture of the applicant, even if the applicant isn’t particularly adept at interviewing.

But recruiters are essentially sales people. Some can tend to paint too optimistic of a picture. Many are just looking to bolster their next paycheck. If they can’t immediately place you, they drop you like a hot potato. Some, on the other hand, are very good at what they do.

I found that it can be a mistake to just start applying willy-nilly on positions announced on job websites. Many of those go into some ethereal file that no one cares to ever look at. Another problem is that recruiters usually can’t represent you to a potential employer if you have already applied there on your own.

A good approach would be to develop relationships with several recruiters and to continue to look for jobs on your own. If you find something you’re interested in, you could shop it to your recruiter pool to see if any already have a contact at the firm.

On the other hand, some employers refuse to work with recruiters. By chatting with recruiters you can find out which companies those are, so that you can apply there on your own. Recruiters often know enough about a company to give you a feel for the company’s culture. You can get an idea of how well you might fit into the organization.

A very important avenue that should not be overlooked is to ask everyone you personally know for help in finding a job. You never know when a friend, family member, or acquaintance might have a contact that could lead to a job. Most jobs come through networking with people. In fact, you should pursue your job search from every possible angle, because you never know where your next job might come from.

Following advice of a job coach, I created an email ‘newsletter’ to all of my personal contacts. I then spammed them with an email message that had my resume attached. A few responded: some with opportunities and some with encouragement. I later found that others had prayed for me. Interestingly, this little newsletter eventually led to my new job, although, the process took a while.

Along the way, I worked with a professional job coach that helped me bring my resume into the 21st Century. I found that it is good for someone with multiple skills to keep various resume versions that highlight specific skills. Employers looking for narrow skills often care little about the other skills you have developed. In some cases, having those skills on your resume can hurt you, because it looks like you are not specialized enough for the position they have open.

A couple of months before being laid off, I had obtained a smartphone. Up until then, I had been just fine with a “feature phone” (aka “dumb phone”). But I found that the smartphone offered many features that proved extremely helpful during my job search, including immediate email and Internet connectivity.

After nearly a dozen interviews, I interviewed with a firm that seemed like a natural fit for me. Moreover, the opportunity had come through an old Scouting buddy, who worked in the company’s I.T. department. I was grateful when an H.R. representative called to offer me a position.

Unfortunately, the offer was far below what I felt I could accept. We dickered, but we were still so far apart that we concluded that we couldn’t make it work. I was disappointed, but continued with my search. A couple of weeks later, I was surprised when the H.R. representative called and offered me the lowest amount I said I could accept. My wife and I took a day to consider the offer before accepting it.

I have been at my new job for a month now. It is challenging, but it is also a great job. Frankly, I took a serious pay cut from my former position. Some of the benefits are a far cry from those I used to have. But in many ways, the work is better. And the shorter commute makes up for some of the shortfalls.

It has been common since the start of the recession for workers losing their jobs to be rehired at jobs that don’t pay as well. So I suppose that I’m simply part of the new workplace reality. Still, I’m not complaining. I am very grateful for my job. We have made a few sacrifices to make our budget work, but I am ever so pleased just to be employed.

As I said, I am one of the fortunate ones. Although I was laid off, I was never really unemployed. I got severance pay and a temporary job from my former employer that helped me bridge the gap until I could settle in a new permanent job.

The weeks that I spent in job search activities weren’t very fun for me. As I wrote above, the job search was challenging and frustrating. But I applied myself to it as if it were another job. I worked very hard following up leads, making phone calls, sending emails, interviewing, searching for jobs, etc.

I worked at it so much that it was kind of odd when I accepted my new job. All of that activity abruptly stopped. I suddenly had all of those hours available for other stuff. It was a huge relief, but I strangely found myself missing it for the first few days. I was surprised at how rapidly my stream of incoming emails and phone calls dried up. Life is more peaceful now.

I waited a month to write about this because I wanted to settle into my new job. I now know what it takes to find a job in this job market. It requires a serious approach, a lot of work, flexibility, and some good luck. I am grateful that it all worked out for me.

July 2, 2011: Camp Loll Still Inaccessible Due to Snow

For some time I had planned to drive my son to Camp Loll, BSA on July 2 so that he could begin working there for two weeks as a camp counselor trainee.

Normally the first week of campers arrives on the last Monday in June. That means that the first weekend in July is the conclusion of that week and preparation time for week #2. By the time week #1 starts, the staff has usually been in camp for two weeks. During that time they prepare the physical facilities and train to run the camp program.

This year is different. The winter season brought far more moisture than is common. The spring was unusually cool and wet. It is not uncommon for the staff to deal with a few downed trees, mud bogs, and occasional snow banks as they make the first long drive over the dirt roads that lead to camp. But this year there has been so much snow on the road that there was no possibility of vehicles reaching camp before now. It turned out that there was no possibility of vehicles reaching camp yesterday either.

We started out the day stopping at various points to pick up staffers on the trip northward. Our caravan was larger than usual because we had more people and gear than usual. We made a stop in Idaho Falls and then had lunch in a park in Ashton, Idaho.

Loll staffers socializing before lunch in Ashton, Idaho

Enjoying the shade

We put gas in the vehicles and then started the 34-mile drive to Camp Loll. Once the pavement ended I was surprised at how good the condition of the dirt road was. Given Delose Conner's posts (and pictures) of attempts to reach camp over the past few weeks (6/12, 6/21, 6/24, 6/27), I thought the road would be worse.

Then we arrived at the stretch that leads down to Calf Creek. This section gets less sunlight. We expected that we'd have to dig through snow drifts here, but the depth and length of the drifts were surprising.

400 Yards of Snow up to 5 Feet Deep

We started applying manual labor to the situation. Some thought that it would have been good to have a snow plow on one of the trucks. But the snow was so densely packed that I doubt that would have been much good. The stuff had to be chopped up and shoveled out.

Unfortunately we had only about a dozen shovels. Most workers were reduced to using their hands to throw aside snow chunks created by the shovel wielders. I brought three scoop shovels. The staff managed to break all three of them.

Snow removal by shovel and hand

At one point we tried to get a Jeep through one of the drifts. It got high-centered so that the wheels could get no traction. The workers quickly got busy digging under the vehicle. They finally hooked a tow strap on and pulled it out by human power.

Scout power

A family from Layton soon came hiking up the road over the snow banks. They had left their truck parked at the beginning of the drifts and hiked into camp. They showed Delose pictures of the road into camp. They said that once we could get past the 400 yards of drifts we were working on that the road was pretty good until the turnoff to the Camp Loll road. Half of that final two-mile stretch to camp was also heavily snowbound.

Sensing that the day was waning, Delose assigned the rangers (all 18-25 years old) to continue working on the drifts, hike to camp, and stay the night in the lodge. They were then to bring all of the digging and chopping tools from the lodge back to the snow drifts in the morning.

We loaded up the rest of the staff and drove them back to Ashton, where they prepared to spend the night camped out under the stars in the yard of a kindly farmer. At this point I left my son along with the rest of the staff and headed back home.

I don't yet know how the rest of the story goes. The plan was to ferry the staff back to the snow drifts this morning to spend the day working on getting vehicles as close to camp as possible, and to do whatever was necessary to get the gear hauled to the lodge. It's a hard working way to spend a Sunday, but they don't know what else to do. I pray that they will get the staff and their gear to camp by tonight.

In the meantime, camp leaders are having to figure out how to deal with the nutrition, hydration, and sanitation needs of this large group of young staffers. It's a tough challenge.

The warmer temperatures and the clearer skies means that snow is now melting rapidly at Camp Loll and surrounding areas. The roads might be passable in a few more days even without digging. At this point, the staff cannot wait for that to happen naturally.

Tomorrow was to be the beginning of the second week of campers. The council has already cancelled the first two weeks of camp. The loss of that revenue presents a serious budgetary challenge for the camp. Camp leaders hope to get the camp and the staff ready in one week so that they can host campers on July 11. Once they survey the condition of the camp, they will know whether even that date is too optimistic.

There have been a few times during the history of Camp Loll that the first week of camp has been cancelled due to climate conditions. As far as I know, this is the only time the second week of camp has also been cancelled. I believe it is also the latest that the staff has been able to access the camp.

Camp support people here at home have been working to find some way to get a tractor up to the snow drifts. But that's a problem. Many owners of such equipment have gone away for the holiday weekend. Even if such equipment could be secured, a trained operator would be needed and both the equipment and the operator would need to be transported to the location. The staff will likely solve the problem through hard work before all of that can happen.

While this is a tough spot for camp leaders and staffers to be in, it will make for deep memories. It will also likely foster a special bond among the staffers that have this experience. Although I worry about my son, I am grateful that he has an opportunity to be part of this. He is rubbing shoulders with some very high quality youth. I hope he learns much good from them as they go through this experience together.

UPDATE: I just got word that they were able to get the staff and vehicles into camp at 4 pm today. There is lots of snow in camp, but it is melting rapidly. As has happened in other heavy snow years, the staff will work at doing snow removal in critical campground and program areas throughout this week. There will still be plenty of snow banks around when troops arrive next week, but they will hopefully still be able to run a regular program.

Grateful for the U.S.A.

A few years ago I wrote about my annual pre-Independence Day liberty ritual. Every year I watch the six-hour series Liberty! The American Revolution. I follow that up with A More Perfect Union, which depicts the constitutional convention.

I actually watch these documentaries while working out in the morning. It's kind of funny, but I have great difficulty sitting down and watching anything on TV for more than a few minutes. I say that it's funny because I grew up being quite a TV connoisseur.

Nowadays I get antsy if I watch TV for any length of time. I can't stop thinking about all of the other things I could be doing. TV programs can't hold my interest for long. It's OK to have the TV on in the background while I do something else, but I just can't bring myself to devote much time to sitting down and watching TV. It isn't interactive enough.

This year I have added to my liberty ritual the reading of Pauline Maier's recent book, Ratification: The People Debate the Constitution, 1787-1788. Maier is recognized as one of the foremost authorities on the American Revolution and the early history of the United States.

I am currently about two-thirds of the way through Maier's book. I tend to agree with this Washington Post review of the book, which says:

"In contrast to historians who see the ratification of the Constitution as the result of elites' manipulation of the masses, Maier tells a far more suspenseful and complex story. Her superb work provides an object lesson in the value of the deliberative process and the extent to which moderation and compromise are at the very foundation of our government. As Maier convincingly shows, the Constitution's preamble did not simply represent a rhetorical flourish or an abstract philosophical theory. It was the very means by which "We the People" chose to embrace a peaceful revolution in government."

There is some evidence that more than half of the general population of the states opposed ratification of the Constitution in its original form. Its ratification was far from a sure thing. The story Maier tells shows how close the document came to not being ratified in many states. It is somewhat of a miracle that it happened at all.

However, opponents of the Constitution were also far from united in their views. A relative minority seems to have thought that the document was irredeemably flawed. Most opponents appear to have been in favor of remedying problems prior to its implementation. They understandably felt that they would be in a worse position to negotiate such changes once the document had gone into effect.

Maier shows that the deliberative process that occurred in very different ways in different states produced a general understanding of the people's perception of the Constitution's most egregious flaws. The result was that the Bill of Rights became the first item of business for the 1st U.S. Congress. It was championed by many that had previously argued against the need for such amendments.

In fact, most Americans quickly accepted the legitimacy of the new national government and recognized the value of the amended Constitution. While fights broke out on occasion when the Constitution was being discussed by people prior to its ratification, hardly anyone seems to have given serious thought to opposing the new government once the document was ratified. It was quite common for leaders of the opposition movement to run for Congress.

While it is all the rage in certain circles to pooh-pooh the idea of American exceptionalism nowadays, I believe that such a view requires one to willingly don blinders. The U.S. undeniably has its flaws, some of which are quite glaring. But the overwrought focus on those imperfections is as irrational as the unwillingness to acknowledge them.

I believe that a fair reading of history shows that the U.S., as far as nations go, has been the most consequential force for good known to mankind to date, notwithstanding its problems. Some of the best features of the American system have been successfully copied around the globe. Yet no other nation has yet so successfully generated so much liberty and prosperity among its citizens.

As a grateful beneficiary of this system, the story of how it all came about fascinates me. Regardless of whether one believes that this process was divinely guided or not, it must be recognized as quite remarkable. This is what I will be thinking about this weekend as we celebrate our nation's independence.

A Dad, Not a Superhero

Last Sunday was Father's Day. I was among the fathers asked by the Primary to play a game. We went into Primary and were asked to respond to certain questions about ourselves. Our own kids were asked to give what they thought our responses would be. Points were given for correct matches.

I knew I was in trouble when we were asked about our favorite sport. You see, I'm not a sports guy. I have never much cared for sports. My personal athletic misfortunes included one season of football at age eight and three seasons of baseball from ages eight through ten. I was always one of the last kids picked for any athletic game of any kind in elementary school. And frankly, I was OK with that.

After my youthful unhappy sports seasons, I successfully avoided playing sports for many years except when absolutely necessary. When the other boys broke for the gym and the basketballs the moment "Amen" was uttered in the closing prayer at Mutual, I carefully steered clear of the gym and escaped.

Hanging out with kids in the neighborhood was a little bit different. When my friends wanted to play sports, I usually had to play too if I wanted to hang out with them. When the sport was basketball, I usually just sat on the side of the driveway while the other kids played and made shots. On some occasions, I was needed to make the teams even. But even in those cases, nobody really expected me to play and nobody would be so unwise as to throw the ball to me.

Football was different. I could be on the field with the guys without causing much of a problem. I didn't really hinder whichever team was unlucky enough to draw me. And occasionally I surprised everyone (including myself) by being marginally helpful.

Of course, I had to play a variety of sports in junior high and high school physical education classes. In those settings I found kindred spirits that were also athletic misfits. I did what was required, but nobody really expected me to perform at any sport.

Throughout the years I have mostly succeeded in avoiding being a sports spectator. I have not attended an actual professional sports game since going to a few cheap hockey games when I was a kid. Utah had a professional hockey team back in those days and our family somehow ended up with very cheap season tickets one year.

I have attended my kids' soccer and baseball games. But it is well known among my family members that I am not a sports guy. I could live without sports for the rest of my life and still feel happy and fulfilled.

One of the things I want to demonstrate for my kids is honesty. So when I was asked to write down my favorite sport, I had to honestly answer, "None." I was surprised when my daughter guessed that baseball was my favorite sport. I'm not sure she has ever seen me watch a baseball game. She was still very young by the time her older brothers had all wrapped up their very short baseball careers.

Besides, baseball has got to be one of the most boring sports on the face of the earth. The strategies could be mastered by someone with an IQ in the bottom 5th percentile. A full length baseball game lasts for-stinking-ever. Just wake me up when it's over.

I guess it could be worse. We could be watching golf instead.

My son guessed that soccer was my favorite sport. I have been to more soccer games in my lifetime than any other type of sport game. But that's only because my kids have played soccer. If my kids aren't playing, I don't watch soccer. (Or any other sport, for that matter.)

All of the other dads had favorite sports. Some of them really like certain sports and certain teams. I don't know what teams are out there. I don't know who the players are. I'm rarely even certain what 'season' it is. I really couldn't care less about stuff like that.

The rest of the questions were OK. The only other one that tripped me up was my favorite superhero. Every other dad gave the same answer: Superman. I'm not much of a superhero guy either. But I don't much care for Superman. He's an alien with fantastic physical powers. But he has a weakness for a hard-edged chain-smoking woman that ended up saving his wimpy butt in a recent movie.

I picked The Tic for my favorite superhero; although, upon reflection I would rather have selected Mr. Incredible. The Tic is a goofy spoof on superheroes. (I kind of like the quirky humor that was used in the cartoon series.) Mr. Incredible learns to be a better father.

Alas, my kids are stuck with me for their father. I don't do sports and I'm no superhero. But I do try to be a good father. On occasion I actually succeed.

Order of the Arrow Election Difficulties

A few months ago, I was asked by the leadership of my local Boy Scout district to move from the district camping chair position to become the adviser of the local Order of the Arrow chapter. Not to worry. I have served in that position twice previously. Although, it has been a number of years since I last did so.

Upon beginning the position, I discovered that the chapter was in pretty bad shape. Very few new members have been elected in recent years. The boys that have been the most active are growing up and moving on. I could see that we urgently needed to recruit more members.

Of course, I knew how to do this. I had successfully led O.A. recruitment drives for years as a youth and as an adult.

The process of a boy becoming a member of the Order of the Arrow is somewhat drawn out. First, members of the order must visit the boy's scout troop to hold an election. At least half of the troop's registered youth must be present. To be eligible, a boy must:

• Be active in the troop.
• Have 15 nights of outdoor scout camping under his belt. (Only one long-term camp may be counted.)
• Hold at least the First Class rank.
• Be approved by the scoutmaster.

To be elected, a boy must receive at least half of the votes of those present. Once elected, the boy must go through the order's overnight and full-day induction, known as the Ordeal. Candidates are responsible for the cost of the event and for their own transportation.

The Ordeal is a challenging experience. During the Ordeal, candidates:

• Sleep alone under the stars (or rain, or whatever the weather is doing) to learn self-reliance.
• Spend a night and a day in silence to learn the art of meditation.
• Eat scant food to learn self-denial in the face of trials.
• Spend a day working at demanding service projects to learn cheerful service.

The event begins and ends with a ceremony where four principles dressed in Native American regalia explain the purpose of the order and ask candidates to commit themselves to a lifetime of cheerfully serving others. In other words, it takes rather significant commitment just to become a member of the order.

One of my first duties was to go to scoutmasters in the district to arrange to come to their troops hold O.A. elections. Having had good success at this in the past, I was somewhat surprised to find this an extremely difficult task. Many scoutmasters have said that they currently have no eligible boys. Others have said that none of their youth are interested.

When I was a boy, I wanted to be in the O.A. so badly that my teeth hurt. I knew lots of other boys that felt the same way. We knew going into it that the induction was challenging, but that made us want to do it all the more.

Times have changed. Youth today have far more potential outlets for their free time than when I was younger. They are not particularly drawn to a fraternal organization that promises lots of hard work. Perhaps this shouldn't be surprising, given the long-term trend toward social disengagement that I discussed in this 2007 post. Fraternal organizations of all stripes are having difficulty recruiting members.

One of the main reasons boys are not eligible for O.A. membership is that they lack enough nights of scout camping. Sometimes this is due to the troop's lousy camping program. But even troops with strong year-round camping programs in our area have few boys that are eligible. Troops hold camp outs, but boys often fail to show up. They've got other things going.

When I was a kid, no one in the troop would ever think of missing a troop camp out. Parents universally gave such events the highest priority. This too has changed. Parents in my area have far less commitment to the scouting program than did parents a generation ago.

Since boys in the 12-13 age range often are not eligible, some have wondered why we don't target the 14-15 age range instead. To put it bluntly, most of these boys in our area are no longer interested in scouting. Scouting is something they did when they were younger. They have passed on. It's kind of like a sixth-grader that still likes to watch Barney and Friends. It's just not cool.

Few registered Varsity Scout units in our district actually run a scouting program. This age group meets every week in the numerous LDS wards in our district, but only a few do any scouting at all. They run their own programs. Few Varsity Scout units are interested in having anything to do with the O.A. Even if one or two boys are interested, the rest of the unit simply isn't interested in holding elections.

I must hasten to add that part of the reason that few scoutmasters are interested in holding elections is that our chapter has for the past couple of years looked like a home for lost boys. The boys that have been most active and that have held leadership positions have seemed to be misfits. Frankly, scoutmasters look at this crew and see nothing that they want their boys to aspire to.

Our recruiting since I became chapter adviser has been beyond pathetic. Only two troops have actually held an election. (Two others have made appointments and then stood us up.) We have elected only three boys. Two of those have declined to attend an Ordeal.

We have two more Ordeals in the fall this year. Our best bet is to catch troops after they return from summer camp. More boys may then be eligible after having camped more nights and earning more advancements at camp.

All I can say for sure is that even holding O.A. elections is proving to be a far more difficult task than it was years ago. I hope we can successfully generate some activity. But realistically, it may take several years to re-build the chapter to a reasonable size.

The LDS Church Calls for a Balanced Approach to Illegal Immigration

Immigration has been a pretty hot topic for the past few years. Almost everyone would agree that the current U.S. immigration system doesn't really work. Our current immigration laws simply aren't based in reality.

Moreover, it seems to me that the strongest voices on the immigration issue, while often opposing each other, work together to prevent the adoption of reality based immigration policies. Plus there are many parties for whom the status quo is satisfactory. They have no interest in achieving rational immigration policies.

Here in Utah, I have watched with interest as some conservatives—many of whom are members of the LDS Church—have come out in strong opposition to recently passed laws that the LDS Church has publicly supported. There has been much quibbling about whether statements issued by the church's PR department should be construed to reflect the will of the Lord, as expressed through revelation to his chosen servants.

The LDS Church has made several statements with respect to Utah's approach to immigration policy. Now the church has released this statement about immigration that goes further in clarifying the church's stance on the matter than any previous statement. It is more of a general policy and does not directly comment on Utah's immigration policies.

When I first read this KSL article about the church's recent statement, I came away with the sense that the church had rebuked those that have strongly opposed illegal immigration. Reading the actual statement left me with a different feeling.

The statement, it seems to me, offers a rather balanced approach. Central to the statement is a reminder of the chief principle guiding the church's approach to immigration. "The bedrock moral issue for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is how we treat each other as children of God."

Maybe if everyone involved took this principle as the main immigration policy guideline, it would be easier to find workable solutions to the problem. But care and concern are not synonymous with molly-coddling. The church promotes personal responsibility with the following statement:

"As a matter of policy, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints discourages its members from entering any country without legal documentation, and from deliberately overstaying legal travel visas."

The church makes it clear that the federal government is chiefly responsible both for our failed immigration policy as well as for solving the problem. The unchecked inflow of undocumented immigrants "may destabilize society and ultimately become unsustainable." That's a fairly strong warning.

The church goes on to say that "this issue is one that must ultimately be resolved by the federal government." Moreover, the church says that "the federal government of the United States should secure its borders and sharply reduce or eliminate the flow of undocumented immigrants." This does not sound like the do-nothing approach supported by some immigration advocates.

While advocating secure borders, the church asks for a far less stringent approach to "the estimated 12 million undocumented immigrants now residing in various states within the United States." The church is opposed to "mass expulsion or mistreatment of individuals or families." In fact, any policy that targets "any one group, particularly if that group comes mostly from one heritage" should be avoided.

This brings to mind the church's own history of having its members forcefully (or under threat of force) expelled from locations in Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois in the mid-1800s. Perhaps Latter-Day Saints should be among the foremost to advocate against anything that might even smack of similar treatment of others.

What to do with the undocumented immigrants currently in the U.S. is a difficult question. It is not feasible—nor do I think it should be considered desirable—to forcefully expel them from the country. The church believes that they should be "allowed to square themselves with the law and continue to work without this necessarily leading to citizenship."

There is a very vocal core for whom any "amnesty" program that allows illegal immigrants to "square themselves with the law" is anathema. In their thinking, such approaches threaten our national sovereignty and simply invite more illegal behavior. I get the sense that nothing short of expulsion or execution of illegal immigrants will suffice for some people.

While some of those that advocate for this position are vocal, they are known to be in the minority. They lack sufficient political clout to bring their desires to fruition. They do have enough power, however, to stymie progress toward feasible solutions. This plays right into the hands of those that prefer to keep things as they currently are.

The church openly opposes enforcement-only policies that fail to take a balanced approach to illegal immigration. In the eyes of the church, a balanced approach includes:

• Compassion.
• Reverence for the family.
• Commitment to law.

Some illegal immigration opponents assert that not sending illegals back to their countries of origin is more likely to keep their families separated than allowing them to stay in the U.S., since many leave their families to come and work in the U.S. They conveniently ignore the millions of families in the U.S. that have one or more undocumented immigrants among their members.

As I said above, "commitment to the law" for some folks has only one possible approach when it comes to illegals: they must leave the country. The sooner the better.

After reading and considering the church's eight-paragraph statement on immigration, I see the church advocating for a reasonably balanced approach to a very difficult problem. The most strident voices on both sides of the issue are going to have trouble with the church's stance.

For some the statement will fall short of securing citizenship or something like it for the millions of undocumented immigrants currently in the country. Even if the U.S. comes up with a program that allows these people to become legal residents, political reality dictates that it will undoubtedly be a somewhat challenging process. Since many will be unable or unwilling to navigate that process, a large number of illegal immigrants will remain in the country.

For others the church's statement will seem tantamount to treason. Period.

Are there enough reasonable people in the country that are willing to make the necessary compromises to work toward a compassionate, lawful, and balanced solution to this complex and controversial issue? Sadly, I lack the confidence to answer yes to that question.

Why Does Deseret Book Sell Addictive Emotional Porn?

Despite denials from some quadrants, the problems caused by pornography addiction are clear and well documented. It damages one’s ability to properly engage in normal human associations, especially intimate relationships. People become objects that are valued mainly for their appeal to carnal desires. Pornography’s effect on brain chemistry is similar to taking addictive drugs. Its use is frequently accompanied by an artificial high-low (mania-depression) cycle.

Visual porn is broadly recognized. Its appeal to and effect on males has been known and exploited for millennia. But what about emotional porn? What about porn that appeals to females? This KSL article notes that romance novels can become more than a casual escape for women. They can be as addictive for women as visual porn is for men.

Romance novels include “entrancing but distorted messages” about human relationships. The article says that “there are similarities between what happens to a man when he views pornography and what happens to a woman when she reads a romance novel.” The article says:

“Men are very visual, and viewing pornography produces a euphoric drug in the body. This drug is the reason pornography becomes addictive. When the natural high wears off, a man will crash and feel depressed (as happens with any drug) and crave another hit.

“Women are more stimulated by romance than sex, so when they read romantic stories (and they don’t have to be explicit to work) they can experience the same addicting chemical release as men do.”

It has long been known that visual porn causes men to become dissatisfied with their real relationships because no actual relationship can live up to the false fantasy world in which they immerse themselves. No real partner lives and breathes to satisfy one’s lusts without demanding much. Rarely does a real partner look as visually enticing as do surgically and graphically enhanced porn models.

Emotional porn works in a similar fashion for women. The article says, “Women may find their standard for intimacy begins to change over time because [they] may not be able to get as satisfied with their partners as they can reading a book.” Taking another euphoric hit from a book beats the humdrum reality of everyday relationship building.

This issue raises a question in my head. Every couple of months we get a catalog from Deseret Book in the mail. Deseret Book is owned by Deseret Management Corp., which in turn is fully owned by the LDS Church. Each issue of the catalog is filled with numerous romance novel offerings. Perhaps it’s my own perception, but it seems to me that these offerings have proliferated like crazy over the past couple of decades.

The romance novels sold at Deseret Book usually feature some kind of LDS or religious perspective that is absent in mainstream romance novels. But the fact of the matter is that these religious-ized novels follow the same basic tried and true romance fiction recipe that can’t help but distort human relationships. It’s what this genre of literature is designed to do—it’s prime directive, as it were. People wouldn't read it if it merely portrayed reality.

As the KSL article states, a romance novel doesn’t have to be explicit or erotic to be harmful. So I have to ask why Deseret Book carries so many of these books—emotional porn with a religious theme. DB would never sell visual porn even religious messages mixed in. So why does DB sell emotional porn?

I assumed that religiously themed romance novels must make up a huge percentage of DB’s profit, given the amount of catalog space continually devoted to such books. But when I last visited DB’s home page, no romance novels were among the chain’s top ten best sellers. In fact, no fiction works were among that group. The fiction page had five romance novels among its top ten list with four of them being the top four, but there is no accounting for how much these books generate in sales or profit.

I have to admit that I am somewhat romance story impaired. Maybe that’s natural for guys. Back in the days before the LDS historical novel genre exploded, I mentioned to a neighbor that I had enjoyed reading one of the few such works available at that time. She enthusiastically insisted that I read a LDS historical novel she owned of which I had never heard.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the book was only loosely historical. It was the bizarre story of a fictional pioneer girl that married a temporarily reformed jerk to spite her true love pure Mormon boy after he left her to march off with the Mormon Battalion upon assignment from church leaders. The jerk later dumps the girl and she ends up marrying her true love when he returns from his service. Frankly, I wanted to vomit.

Perhaps this book is a poor sampling of the romance genre, since it was written by a guy. However, my neighbor, who was quite a romance aficionado vouched for the book’s quality. So I can only assume that it is somewhat representative of the LDS romance ‘literature’ that is out there.

I am certain that many readily defend the reading of romance novels. It’s just a brief escape. Only a few abusers are addicts. It’s not harming anyone. I can quit anytime I want. And as far as LDS romance novels, they always have a good moral basis. That makes them worth reading, doesn’t it? Sure, and mood altering drugs are always healthy as long as you have a doctor’s prescription. (sarcasm)

The reality is that pornography takes a toll on its users, regardless of whether the content is erotic visual material, blood and gore movies and video games, or emotionally engaging but distorted fiction. What seems like a harmless diversion can quickly snare us in a cycle of addiction and can ruin our ability to function properly in life's most important real relationships.

It is wise to avoid all addictive substances and behaviors. It might be good for church owned retailers to refrain from selling addictive substances, including emotionally addictive fiction. After all, we as a society don’t have much regard for pushers, even if demand for their wares is high.

Help is available for those that are already addicted. But a key ingredient to healing is a firm personal desire to overcome the addiction. This presupposes recognizing that one has a problem that needs to be corrected. Many that enjoy their addictions aren’t at this stage yet.

For those not addicted to any of these things, why start in the first place?

Experiencing Sunday as a Child

I grew up attending church in my LDS ward in the days before the consolidated meeting schedule. For more than 30 years the Sunday worship habits of Latter-Day Saints have included a three-hour block of meetings for all members. The block is broken into three segments.

A 50-minute segment has separate meetings for children (Primary), Young Women, young men (Aaronic Priesthood), adult women (Relief Society), and adult men (Melchizedek Priesthood). A 40-minute segment includes a continuation of Primary for children under 12 and Sunday School classes for everyone else. The remaining 70-minute segment is Sacrament meeting, where the entire congregation gathers in the chapel to worship together and to partake of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. A 10-minute break separates each segment of the block. Some wards hold Sacrament during the first segment. For others it’s at the end.

When I was a child, the young men and the adult men would arrive at the church to attend priesthood meeting an hour before the rest of the congregation came. Then the whole congregation would gather for Sunday School, which included opening exercises followed by classes. Children under 12 attended “Junior Sunday School.” We’d then go home and return later in the afternoon for a 90-minute Sacrament meeting. (Except on fast Sunday, when Sacrament meeting immediately followed Sunday School.)

The Primary auxiliary met one afternoon each week. Relief Society also met during the week. Young Men and Young Women continue to meet one evening weekly for Mutual.

There are some significant differences between the current consolidated LDS meeting schedule and the split schedule that was used when I was young. For starters, moms used to have to get everyone ready for church twice each Sunday.

Maybe others grew up in families where perfect children quietly stayed in their Sunday best following morning meetings until getting home from Sacrament meeting. But I was one of five boys. We changed out of our Sunday clothes after getting home from Sunday School out of sheer economic necessity. Mom needed to preserve our good clothes as long as possible. Had we stayed in our church clothes between meetings, they likely would have been unfit to wear to the afternoon meeting.

The split schedule also meant that we spent the whole day involved in church meetings. During my formative years, Dad was always serving in some leadership position that required him to attend meetings during the early hours each Sunday morning. He’d be tired enough that he would often get some napping accomplished between morning and afternoon meetings. After a morning of getting kids to and from church, making a lovely Sunday dinner and cleaning up, Mom would also often collapse for much needed rest.

We kids would frequently be shooed outside to provide a little bit of peace for our parents. We’d engage in many activities that I’m certain would be on the “Don’t” list of any lesson about keeping the Sabbath Day holy.

One Sunday between meetings my brother and I ended up down at “the gully,” a water retention basin about a block and a half from our home. There was a lot of new construction going on in that area, so it was a natural draw for curious and adventurous boys. Since our neighborhood was filled with young families, there were lots of boys in a fairly narrow age range in the area. A huge group of these kids had congregated around this huge mud hole that Sunday afternoon.

Excavation had exposed many rocks and left large dirt clods on a ridge overlooking the bog. Seemingly countless boys were standing there doing what almost any boy in such a situation would do—throwing rocks and dirt clods into the water.

I was only about five or six years old, so I didn’t have much of a throwing arm. After being unable to reach the water consistently with my rocks, I noticed my older brother and a couple of other boys down on the mud bank on the other side of the gully. Some of the boys were trying to hit them with dirt clods, but they were out of range.

Taking measure of how close the water was to where my brother was standing, I surmised that I could land my rocks in the bog more easily from that location. I made my way down there and found that I could make splashes with my rocks from there. Of course, being guys, the whole activity soon devolved into a contest of who could make the largest splash.

By this time, most of the boys on top of the opposite ridge were heaving huge rocks or clods into the water, so they didn’t have much range and we were in little danger of being hit.  Or so I thought.  I heaved up the biggest rock I could carry. But I could see that I’d have to get much closer to the water to successfully make a splash. As I ventured out closer to the water I was suddenly whacked on the head by a rather large rock zooming down from the opposite ridge.

Being a rather young child, I screamed in pain and went wailing home. About halfway between the gully and my home, a kindly neighbor darted out of his house to see if he could help. I was holding my head with a bloody hand. My head hurt like crazy. I was blubbering so incoherently that I couldn’t even tell the man what had happened. He got me home to my folks. Mom kept changing out cold washcloths that she held compressed to my head until the bleeding slowed.

Then it was time to go to Sacrament meeting. Mom deliberated about whether to seek medical attention, but back in those days that would have meant going to the emergency room at the other end of town. Besides, I wasn’t bawling out loud anymore. So we got dressed and went to church. The top of my scalp throbbed the entire time. Although Mom dabbed at it with Kleenex, it kept leaking and making my hair sticky.

My wound eventually healed. If anyone brings up that story even today, Mom will say that she feels badly about not taking me in and getting my head stitched up.  If I were balding, a lovely scar would still be apparent.  On another Sunday afternoon my brother severely broke his arm while jumping on a large inner tube. That time Mom had to skip Sacrament meeting to get the arm set and casted. Such were our Sunday afternoon escapades in those days.

Since we always had our big Sunday dinner at lunchtime, our family opted for simpler fare for our evening meal. After getting home from Sacrament meeting, Mom would set out sandwich fixings and we’d eat sandwiches, often while watching the Wonderful World of Disney on our old black & white TV.

With all of us seated around a relatively small table, and all reaching for food, the spillage of drinks was a frequent occurrence. A child spilling his milk in this setting could expect an immediate reaction from each parent. Mom would move with lightning speed to get something with which to stanch the flow of fluid before it dripped off the table onto the carpet or seeped through the cracks where the table halves joined the expansion leaves. The offending child would also earn Dad’s renowned stern German discipline.

One Sunday evening, it was Dad that spilled his milk. We children sat pensively, wanting to laugh but knowing that we’d be in for it if we did. As Mom made her well-practiced dash for a dish towel, Dad cast about for anything that might blot the spill before the milk dripped off the table. He could see that the fluid was moving so fast that even Mom’s rapid response wouldn’t be fast enough.

Being a man with a quick analytical mind, Dad grabbed the closest blot-worthy item he could reach—my brother’s sandwich. Using the sandwich as a towel proved to be effective in stopping the spread of the spill. My brother didn’t think this was funny at all. But the whole rest of the family responded with gales of laughter. This was perhaps the funniest thing I ever saw Dad do during his life.

Sundays are different for my kids than they were for me as a kid. My kids usually only have to get dressed for church once. Upon arriving home, we do not require them to stay in their Sunday meeting clothes. They still roughhouse on Sunday. They will often jump on our trampoline, sometimes while fighting with Nerf swords. I know people that consider such displays to be highly irreverent and not in keeping with the Sabbath. But given the nature of children, I think we’re actually doing a pretty good job.

We have carried over a Sunday tradition from my wife’s family. When not in meetings, we reserve Sunday time for family time. Our kids do not hang out with friends on Sundays. I am quick to say that I have no problem with families that choose otherwise. This is just something that we have found to be successful for our family.

We also avoid entertainment that is not at least somewhat worshipful on the Sabbath. If we watch TV, for example, it is limited to worshipful content. We do not watch sports, or secular TV shows or movies on Sunday. We have found this to be useful in helping us try to focus on worship throughout the day.

I guess that, even though Sunday activities are somewhat different for my children than they were for me when I was a child, in many ways they are similar. We attend church together as a family. We try to do things that will help us make the Sabbath a special day each week. Some Sundays are better than others, and I’m sure that some of our activities don’t look very worshipful to others. But at least we make an earnest effort to keep the Sabbath holy.

Our Memorial Day Visits

I never really had graves of loved ones to visit until just a few years ago. At least not closeby. My maternal grandparents are buried a full day's travel away in a tiny out-of-the-way town in northern Wyoming. My paternal grandparents were buried in Germany.

I say, "were buried" because the common practice in that area is to turn over graves after a while unless families continue to pay fairly exhorbitant 'rent' for the spaces. If Oma's and Opa's graves haven't been turned over yet, they will be before long.

Until fairly recently the nearest grave of a close relative would have required significant travel. So we usually found little motivation to go to a cemetery over Memorial Day weekend.

Then four years ago my Father-In-Law died after a difficult battle with lung cancer. Having served in the Air Force as a young adult, he was interred in the veteran's portion of a local cemetery.

Dad's grave is inauspicious. The headstone is level with the ground. It's not far from the road that loops around and through the rolling green expanse. It's really quite a peaceful and beautiful area. We now make a sojourn to Dad's grave each Memorial Day weekend. The cemetery is festooned with many American flags. Many graves show signs of having been visited.

A little over a year after my Father-In-Law passed away, my Dad died of heart disease. Dad was interred in a cemetery that is only a mile from my home. It is a place I have frequented throughout my life. As a child I walked by or through the cemetery on the way to and from school. In the summer we would walk through the cemetery on our way to and from the community swimming pool.

When my kids were young my main workout was speed walking. We had a two-seat jogger stroller. I'd load up one or two kids and take them on a stroll that included going up and down the roads in the cemetery. Having lived in this area for a while, it is surprising how many names I recognized as we passed grave markers. My kids used to love to see the many rather unique monuments that are scattered throughout the cemetery.

Now I make a habit of stopping by Dad's grave each time I go for a bike ride. The headstone is upright. It sports my parents' names and basic info on the front. On the rear it has the names of their children, a graphic of the Christus statue, a graphic of a set of scriptures, and an engraved quotation of John 17:3; Dad's favorite scripture.

I have a little ritual that I perform when I stop by Dad's grave. Mind you, I am usually riding pretty hard because I am trying to keep my heart rate up. I stop my bike, get off, stand in front of the headstone, remove my helmet, and bow my head. I then don my helmet, re-mount my bike, and am soon on my way.

We always make it to Dad's grave over Memorial Day weekend. Usually we make it there more than once. It has been a tradition to have a family gathering on Memorial Day with some or all of my siblings' families. Usually as we get ready to wrap up the event, we make a quick trip to Dad's grave before everyone heads home. Each year the cemetery staff does a lot of work to beautify the grounds in anticipation of Memorial Day.

When we visit the graves of my Father-In-Law and my Dad, I recognize that the experience is different for each member of my family. Each brings a unique perspective to the visit. It is not really possible to convey to my children what I experience as I stand there, since they didn't share the same relationship with these men that I did. Nor do they have the same level of maturity. I suppose that the important thing is that we make an effort to honor our loved ones that have passed on.

As is the nature of life, the number of nearby graves of loved ones will increase as the years pass. We will do what is needed to visit those graves. I hope that my children will do the same if they are in a position to do so. Who knows where life will lead them and how far away they will end up living?

It has been said that the way a society treats its dead says a lot about its level of humanity and civility. My Dad and my Wife's Dad are gone. But the love I feel for them is not diminished. That is what I will be thinking about as I visit their graves this weekend.

Mind Games and Economic Semantics

Rationality is a significant principle in economics. It is employed to explain how people make choices. This SmartMoney article highlights Dan Ariely, an expert in behavioral economics that has PhDs in cognitive psychology and business. An accomplished and engaging public speaker, Ariely contends that many choices are made on an irrational rather than a rational basis.

An example of Ariely’s contention of general and predictable irrationality mentioned in the SmartMoney article involves mortgage-backed securities that played such a prominent role in the 2008 housing bubble crash.

“Most people, it turns out, are comfortable with a small amount of cheating; if the incentives are in place, they can bend the rules and still consider themselves "good people." That's one reason Ariely is disappointed but not surprised that high bonuses are back in the financial world. "If I pay people $5 million to view mortgage-backed securities as a good product, most people will believe [those securities] are good," says Ariely.”

If this is a good example of irrationality, it is a poor one. In fact, it looks a lot like cases cited to support rational choice theory.

The common use of the term rationality denotes sanity and fact-based emotionless decision making. This appears to be the way the term is used throughout the SmartMoney article. It would seem that this is how Ariely employs the term.

Rational choice theory, on the other hand, defines rationality as making choices based on which option is likely to produce the greatest return at the lowest cost. It applies in all decisions regardless of whether they involve monetary matters or not. It suggests that people respond to the incentives they perceive—all of the incentives, not just those that translate directly into money.

Paying someone “$5 million to view mortgage-backed securities as a good product” creates a huge incentive to adopt such a view. Rational choice theory says that a person receiving such an opportunity would balance the perceived benefits and costs of accepting that view against the perceived benefits and costs refusing to do so.

Maybe the person considers what his neighbors will think of him or what his God will think of him, as well as how his physical lifestyle will improve. Perhaps, like Tevye singing If I Were a Rich Man, they see their neighbors revering them for their wealth and even increased opportunities for worship and doing good.

One of the main points many economists make with respect to rational choice theory is that no one is better suited to make any choice a person faces than the person themselves. While no one has perfect information regarding any choice, each of us brings a unique understanding of the costs and benefits involved to each decision. It would be impossible for anyone else to fully comprehend the number of factors we consider and the weight we apply to each factor when making a decision. Some of these things are so automatic that we probably couldn’t articulate them all if we wanted to.

Whenever someone purports to demonstrate that people make irrational economic choices, it is almost always because they have indulged in the hubris of assuming to know what is best for others. It can be relatively easy to quantify whether someone spends overall less on a cart of similar groceries at store A than at store B. But to then assert that someone that shops at store B is behaving irrationally is extreme arrogance.

How does the outside observer know all of the factors that go into a shopper’s cost-benefit analysis? Declaring emotion to be irrational makes it far easier to study behavior and to declare it irrational. But the fact is that we are emotional beings. It is absurd to attempt to separate people from one of their core characteristics in the name of science.

In the store A, store B example, might it not be possible that some shoppers are willing to pay more to shop in a store with better lighting, more pleasing décor, or a layout that makes more sense to them? Or maybe it’s a matter of time vs money. They happen to know where things are in store B and their time is more important to them than the savings they would get by going to the unfamiliar store A.

I know people that are deeply religious that choose to shop at a store that is closed on the Sabbath, although, prices are generally higher. I suppose Ariely and his ilk would say that these people are behaving irrationally. But their choices are perfectly rational under rational choice theory. They perceive a greater net benefit from their choices despite the fact that shopping receipts show that they spend more. Spiritual benefits are hard to track through cash register receipts.

In effect, Ariely is simply playing a game of semantics, applying some behavioral economic theories to the common understanding of rationality rather than using the term as employed by most behavioral economists. From the grand living he earns by doing so, it would seem that he is highly incentivized to engage in this deceptive behavior. That too demonstrates rationality.

Me Run for Office? Not Likely

Two neighbors that I very much respect asked me yesterday to consider running for city council this year. Three of five council seats will be up for election this fall. This isn’t the first time I have been asked to run for public office. There was a time in my life when I somewhat fancied that idea. By the time I arrived at a station of life where it might have seemed possible to seek public office, I had come to abhor the thought.

I have noted that most of my neighbors feel that they have done their civic duty if they vote in the November elections. A few try to vote in primary elections and one-off matters like bond elections. A very tiny minority attend their party’s caucus meetings and only a very few of those attend party conventions.

Many of my neighbors have no idea what the city council is doing unless something out of the ordinary gets reported. Many could not tell you the names of their state representative and state senator. Some aren’t sure who their U.S. representative or senators are. Yet most of these folks consider themselves to be decent, civic minded folks.

Every once in a while people get hot under the collar about some public matter that threatens to affect them in a more personal way. Then they get more politically involved—some temporarily and some more permanently. It is during such civic spasms that I have been approached about running for public office.

The current civic paroxysm is occasioned by the city considering the construction of a public works facility near my neighborhood. About a dozen years ago, descendants of pioneer settlers sold a handsome chunk of farmland to the city after reaching an understanding of how the property would be used.

A small portion of the property would be subdivided. Family members of the sellers would be given opportunities to buy lots up front. The property that was not part of the subdivision was to be maintained as green space. The city could build a park but not a sports venue on the land.

I was concerned when I heard that the actual deed did not include these agreements. Some other type of instrument was supposedly drawn up for that. The subdivision went in, part of the area became a lovely park with an outdoor amphitheater, and the remainder continued to look much as it did at the time of the sale.

Of course, city leadership changes over time. The current leadership sees a large chunk of property owned by the city that might be a decent spot for a new public works campus. City leaders are still licking their wounds from the last attempt to locate a public works facility in a residential area on property the city already owns. They appear to have stepped into a mess again, having been caught unaware of the terms under which the property was acquired.

Current leaders have been conscientious enough to check with those that were in leadership at the time the city bought the property. Former leaders have corroborated residents’ claims that the city agreed to maintain the area as green space.

It may be that the city would be within its actual legal rights to develop a public works facility on the property. But it would engender a great deal of ill will among residents, as well as descendants of original settlers who only agreed to sell the property with the understanding that it would remain green space.

Frankly, I empathize with city leadership. The current public works facility is old. Maintenance costs are rising, the buildings do not meet current seismic code, the city has outgrown the facility, the property footprint isn’t large enough to accommodate an adequately sized new facility, and even if adjacent property were available its characteristics would render it unsuitable for that use.

The city needs a new facility in a new location. Predictably, nobody wants this facility in their neighborhood. The standard not-in-my-backyard (NIMBY) sentiment runs strong for pretty much every location the city has considered.

It’s a sticky wicket. City leaders have been asked why they keep looking mainly at residential locations for the facility instead of considering spots that are already industrial. It turns out that almost all of the available property owned by the city is surrounded by residential communities. The city has been planned as mostly residential. There isn’t much industrial space.

Why can’t the city buy the rundown vacant grocery store for this purpose? Not sure. Maybe it’s too small or too expensive. At any rate, buying property would necessarily cost a lot more than using property already owned by the city.

Costing more is a problem. Voters have recently disciplined leaders that raised taxes instead of trimming budgets. This chastening has been sufficient for city leaders to work harder on being more frugal. I would be surprised if they voted for tax increases or asked voters to support a bond in the near future.

At any rate, some of my neighbors, suddenly concerned about what city leaders are up to, are casting about for alternatives. They should be careful. If they manage to elect new leaders, how sure can they be that the new leaders will be an improvement over the old?

I am personally acquainted with the mayor and three of the five city council members. I must admit that some of their choices upset me. But all of these people are upstanding individuals that earnestly try to do what they believe to be in the city’s best interest.

Besides, I cannot honestly say that I could or would do any better than they do. One of my neighbors suggests that this realization is “humility” and would be an asset in city leadership. Sounds like flattery to me.

I know myself to be a pleaser. I like to think that I have integrity, but I also know that I readily respond to the incentives inherent in whatever situation I find myself. I try to keep myself out of situations where my integrity might be compromised. Politics deals in shades of gray. No matter what you do you are bound to have people upset with you. You’ve got to have a thick hide in politics. I’m not sure I am (or even want to be) that resilient.

It has long been my philosophy that one can do his or her civic duty in many ways other than serving in public office. I believe that being a functional father and serving in the Boy Scouts are viable ways of strengthening the community.

Seeking public office also means campaigning. Campaigning costs money. It means unabashedly asking people to give you money and offering them a good reason for doing so. It means a lot of hard work. Getting elected usually requires a passion for the job. I harbor no such internal fire for political position.

As I mentioned earlier, I presently loathe the thought of being a politician. I once kind of liked the idea of having the honors that accrue with such positions. Now the thought of such accolades creeps me out. I have little desire to have the thrill of exercising control over others.

While some may say that we need people in public office with such characteristics of political modesty, I’m not so sure. Would you go to a doctor that detests being a doctor? Would you want to send your child to a teacher that hates teaching? Would you hire a receptionist that finds interfacing with the public abhorrent?

We live in a society where people specialize in pursuits. The more specialized and the more proficient they become, the more they are sought after and compensated. While it is wise to be wary of anyone that has avarice for power over others, the fact is that we tend to seek to fill positions with people that are good at performing those jobs. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a server at a restaurant, a mechanic, a clerk, a farm worker, a network engineer, a manager, a bus driver, or a politician. As the ‘hiring managers’ for elected officials, voters are unlikely to select someone that doesn’t really want the job.

Even with three city council seats up for election, the incumbent factor must be considered as well. Over the years I have noted that it isn’t enough to advertise how good someone will be at serving on the city council if the incumbent is running for re-election. Unless the voters are dissatisfied with the incumbent for some reason, the newcomer won’t be elected even if he/she is the most qualified candidate ever.

I’m not sure whether any of the three incumbents are running this fall (although I suspect all are), but none of them has done anything that would cause voters to oust them. Unless there is an open seat, I would see no purpose in trying to beat an incumbent with which voters are not displeased.

The main point is that I have no desire to run for political office. (In fact, I have anti-desire to do so.) I do not believe myself to be potentially any better at managing the city than the current crop of leaders. I lack the energy and drive necessary to be elected. I am completely unwilling to put in the kind of time and effort needed to mount a serious campaign.

I am flattered that some of my neighbors think that I might be a good elected official. But it simply isn’t reality.

Tribute to My Mom

Mothers Day was two weeks ago. Ever since then I have been thinking about my Mom. I have intended to write something about her, but one thing after another has delayed my writing.

I saw very few pictures from my Mom’s childhood when I was young. Then a few years ago, her brother, who had spent his career as a photographer, found a few family photos from the old days. He cleaned them up, reproduced them, and sent them out to family.

When Mom looked at the black and white photos of the family on the porch of the old homestead, she said that she didn’t remember the clan and the place looking so rundown. She said, “It looks like the Grapes of Wrath.” Dad looked at the photos and said, “That’s because it IS the Grapes of Wrath!”

Mom was born in a small town in the rural Midwest during the hardscrabble years of the Great Depression. She was second to the youngest of her parents’ large brood. Like everyone else in the area, my grandparents were farmers. Also like their neighbors, they fell on very hard times during the depression.

Grandma was a member of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Her sister sent her a letter saying that she had joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and was going to send missionaries to teach my Grandma. Grandma responded that if the missionaries came, she would prove them wrong.

The missionaries showed up during harvest season. During the day they went out and worked long hard hours helping Grandpa with the farm work. In the evening after dinner they taught the family the gospel. Grandma soon changed her mind and joined the LDS Church along with some of the older children. From that moment on, Grandma was a stalwart member.

Mom was a young girl when the family left the Midwest and moved to a tiny town way up near the northern border of central Wyoming. They were attracted by the oil field jobs in the area, since it had become so difficult to make a living farming. They still had a farm, but Grandpa spent the rest of his working years doing hard manual labor in the oil fields.

Mom was baptized a member of the LDS Church in northern Wyoming. Her Dad had been baptized a few years earlier. But Grandpa was never a serious churchgoing type. And he never gave up his tobacco.

One of my older cousins relates that he and a couple of our other cousins were pretty young boys when Grandpa caught them trying out cigarettes behind the barn one day. He said that it was the only time he ever saw Grandpa get really angry. Through strong words and corporal punishment he tried to impress on the boys how addictive tobacco was. He wanted to give up the dirty habit, he said, but he just couldn’t.

The only pictures I ever saw of my Grandpa until I was an adult were of him emaciated and dying of cancer incident to his tobacco addiction. He passed away while my Mom was pregnant with me.

Grandma did an astonishing amount of family history research from her outpost in rural Wyoming with very limited resources (in the days before computers). Once a year she would make an excursion to the Salt Lake Temple to do ordinance work for her kindred dead.

When Mom was a teenager she spent a year living with her brother’s family in California. She cared for the young children while her brother and sister-in-law worked. On one occasion they drove to Utah to attend the LDS Church’s general conference. They had to drive through Ogden to get to Salt Lake. Even living so far away from the area, they knew the seedy reputation of Ogden’s 25th Street. Mom said she felt unclean just passing through the town. Little did she know that she would one day live in Ogden.

Back at home, Mom worked in the local pharmacy after school and on Saturdays. Like most small town pharmacies, the place featured a soda fountain and hand dipped ice cream. During football season, the local high school games would end almost at the same time that the pharmacy was supposed to close. Mom said that the manager would try to keep the place open longer to catch the stream of people leaving the nearby football field. The girls that worked at the pharmacy, on the other hand, would try to make sure the place closed right on time so that they didn’t have to wait on the crowds.

Mom went to work one balmy afternoon wearing a light jacket. Then a severe winter storm blew in while she was at work. She lived several miles from town. Around closing time, her little brother showed up on his bicycle. Apparently Grandpa was still at work in the oil fields with the family’s only car. But Mom couldn’t ride on the bike with her brother. So she walked home with inadequate footwear and outerwear. She said she has never been so cold in her whole life.

After graduating high school, Mom took a trip to visit some friends that were living in Salt Lake City. While she was there, she ended up getting a job with a small CPA firm. Later she took a typist job at the LDS Church Administration Building. Back in those days, all businesses employed typists because every document had to be created from scratch. Large organizations had armies of typists.

One day Mom was sitting in the cafeteria alone during break time when Gordon B. Hinckley walked in. He was not a general authority at the time, but was the top employee in the church’s missionary department. He walked over to my Mom and said that he felt impressed to ask her if she had considered serving a mission for the church.

Mom replied that she had considered a mission, but that the church only let “old maids” serve missions. The policy at the time required young women to be at least 23 years old to serve. When Brother Hinckley asked Mom’s age, she responded that she would turn 21 in a couple of weeks. He said that the church policy was changing to allow 21-year-old women to serve missions. He suggested that she go to her bishop and apply to serve a mission. She followed this counsel and was called to serve in Germany.

Mom travelled to Germany by ship. All missionary language training occurred on the job back in those days. The first German word Mom heard after disembarking was somebody saying, “Achtung!” (Attention!) over a loud speaker. She thought some guy was clearing his throat in the microphone.

Over the next two years Mom served in various places, including Berlin and Hamburg. Back in those days young men served 2½ years and young women served two years.

While Mom was serving in Hamburg, she and her companion were at the local church building one evening when a young German man entered and asked to know more about the church. He had been contacted by LDS missionaries while visiting his parents out on the northwest coast of Germany. He had read everything the missionaries had given him and wanted to know more.

The first meeting with this young German wasn’t very productive. They knelt and prayed to start off. He asked all kinds of deep philosophical questions which the missionaries couldn’t address very well. But he agreed to another meeting.

As they began the second meeting with the young German man, they again knelt to pray. Then my Mom’s missionary companion informed the young man that it was his turn to offer the prayer. Although he felt odd about that, he began to pray and experienced a sensation of divine love so profound and all encompassing that he had difficulty saying much. From that moment on, the man was converted.

Mom grew quite close with this young man. Eventually Mom’s mission wrapped up and she returned to the States. The young man joined the church and continued to correspond with Mom. After a few months, the young man succeeded in arranging passage to America and getting a work visa. A kind couple in Colorado that didn’t know him at all sponsored him. They agreed to financially care for him for five years if he failed to care for himself. Mom moved in with her sister who lived in a nearby town.

Over the next few months, the couple courted. When Dad had been a member of the church for a year, Mom and Dad traveled to Salt Lake City and were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. They then traveled up to northern Wyoming to visit Mom’s parents. Dad was stunned by how many hours they could drive seeing only what looked to him like desolation.

Dad was further stunned upon meeting his new in-laws. Their home was pretty rustic. Dad said that it was little more than a tar papered shack and that their “farm” was a tiny rundown affair. As far as he knew, nobody in Germany had lived like that for more than three centuries by that time. How could anyone in the world’s wealthiest nation live like that? He wondered what he had gotten himself into.

Mom and Dad soon settled into life in Colorado, where their first apartment was small and old. The bathroom was a converted closet that was so tiny that “you had to decide what you were doing before going in.” Eventually they moved to a larger apartment. During their five years in Colorado they welcomed three sons to the family.

Then Dad got a job in Ogden, Utah, so they moved. After a year of living in an apartment in the inner city, Mom and Dad moved into a starter home in a new development. They soon welcomed another son to the family. The fifth son—my caboose brother—didn’t arrive until some 14 years after that.

The new neighborhood was a joyous place filled with many young families and hoards of kids. About three years after moving in, Mom and Dad began to desire to visit Dad’s family in Germany. Contact with the family was minimal, mostly by mail. Overseas phone calls were frightfully expensive back then. But they needed more money to afford to travel to Germany.

The IRS was opening a new service center in Ogden, so Mom applied for seasonal shift work as a keypunch operator. During tax season, Mom would spend evenings punching taxpayer information into computer cards. I hated those times. I’d come home from school and Mom would leave for work. Dad would get home later after Mom left.

But Mom’s work paid off. After three years she and Dad traveled to Germany for a month. Gracious families in the neighborhood took care of us boys during the weeks that Mom and Dad were away.

Mom needed to work the next season to help defray some expenses. Without being asked, Mom was transferred to the human resources department as a clerk, where the work was not seasonal. Eventually Mom was working day shift. Later she transitioned to the job of personnel specialist and made a career of working at IRS.

Throughout those years, life was crazy with kids, school, activities, and church callings. Mom served in many church callings. Whenever Mom undertook to serve, she did so wholeheartedly. Whether she was a Cub Scout den leader, a Relief Society president, a Sunday School teacher, or anything else, Mom served with deep dedication and devoted energy. If Mom’s essence could be distilled into a single word, that word would be “service.”

When my younger brother was 13 years old, Mom and Dad gathered us around the kitchen table one Saturday morning and explained that Mom was four months pregnant. We were shocked. But a few months later we found ourselves very welcoming of our new baby brother.

As grandkids started to come on board, Mom tried to treat each one with special care, all while juggling her own affairs, working, and raising my little brother. Dad retired relatively young and then went to work doing electrical engineering work on a contract basis. Mom continued to work at IRS.

When Dad was called to be a stake patriarch, Mom became his stenographer. Dad recorded the blessings as he gave them. Mom would carefully listen to the tapes and type up the blessings; more than 750 of them over time. Although Dad’s command of the English language significantly exceeded that of most natural born Americans, Dad was always frustrated that he couldn’t say in regular English the ideas that the Spirit conveyed to him while giving blessings. Mom helped compensate for this by helping Dad refine the language of each blessing until he was ready to deliver the printed copy.

Eventually Mom retired from the IRS. Dad finally retired from work at that time too. A few years later, they went back to their old stomping grounds in Hamburg Germany as missionaries for the LDS Church.

A few years after returning from their mission, Dad suffered a stroke. His heart was in bad shape from having failed to get proper treatment for several heart attacks. After Dad’s stroke, he couldn’t think quite the same. Although he was mentally functional in some aspects, he was incapable of thinking his way through some daily tasks that had been his domain for many years.

Getting Dad’s medications balanced was nightmarish. But Mom persisted. After Dad’s stroke, he frequently suffered psychological trauma at night. Nights could be terrible for Mom as the caregiver, but month after month she persisted in caring for Dad. It wasn't just nighttime either. Dad's episodes of impaired mental clarity and physical impairment caused incredible amounts of stress for Mom, whose 24x7 job became caring for Dad.

Dad’s heart was dying bit by bit. The doctors had told us how it would go, and it pretty much followed that path. As the heart became less efficient, Dad became less able to function both physically and mentally.

Dad had another stroke about a week and a half before he passed away. This time his body and his psychological state were so dysfunctional that Mom simply couldn’t care for him at home any more. He was admitted to the hospital, where he declined day after day until he passed away. Mom stayed steadfastly by his side until the very last.

Mom has been busy in the years since Dad passed on. You guessed it, she’s been busy serving. Not only does Mom do church callings, she busies herself serving neighbors, friends, and family.

Mom has been a wonderful example of service, devotion, and work throughout the years. She has been persistently strong and valiant in her testimony of Christ. She not only sees the needs of others; she actively tries to do something about it. Every day.

That’s my Mom. One of the choicest people I know. I have no idea what I did to be so blessed to have her for my Mom.