Let it snow let it snow let it snow

While I'm not a huge fan of the snow (I'm a super lousy skier and even worse snowboarder) and therefore am very happy that I live in Arizona, there are times of the year that I miss it. This is one of those times. I miss looking up from my front drive into the mountains, seeing the deer climbing down the ravines to the foothills, in search of some food. I miss waking up in the morning and going outside to shovel and build snow forts out of the 4 foot snow banks that the city plows left for us in front of our driveway. I miss driving in the snow (just a little). I miss ramming snow banks in Dave's yellow truck, spinning out on the road in our 82 honda civic. I miss the thousand plus time driving up Springville's Center Street, wondering if I would make it the whole way, or have to park somewhere below and hike the rest of the way up. I miss pulling inner tubes behind Josh's car in the high school parking lot (even though Will almost died). I miss BIZZING (I don't think I've even said that word for 10 years)!! I miss Snow Football and Snow ball fights. Sledding up left hand fork in Hobble Creek Canyon, or tubing down the Marriott Center lawn. But most of all, I miss waking up super early on Christmas morning, while it's still dark, and creeping into my living room, seeing the Christmas tree lit up and the reflection glowing in all of the large plate glass windows. Outside I can see the city sleeping, with the twinkling of lights under a blanket of fresh snow. There is something peaceful about snow. Much like watching the sunset on an ocean beach, with the crashing of the tides as your soundtrack or the roaring of a campfire beneath a star-filled night; there is a calming essence when you can look out on a fresh fallen snow from inside a warm house. Perhaps a cup of peppermint hot cocoa in your hands. These are some of the memories I am recalling as I ponder here this wonderful Christmas Eve Night. No matter where life takes us, we're never far from memories of family and friends...and home.

my Fontanini nativity story

Just for a little clarification before I begin.  One of my oldest Christmas memories is playing with the Nativity pieces in the living room of our North Sacramento home.  Those nativity pieces have been a part of Christmas up until I moved out of my parents house.  With my Mom and Dad being in Italy (where they purchased their first sets of Fontanini 24+ years ago), they decided to send the kids Fontanini pieces for Christmas.  But with my Mom, you can always count on something clever (and at times in my youth, cheesy) to go along with the gift.  You see, when you purchase Fontatnini from the store, it comes along with a story card, explaining the background of the character, complete with historically accurate facts for the time.  So my Mom, wanted us kids to choose a character and write stories about them.  Here is my first story.  It is not historically accurate.  That is my only disclaimer :)




"My Name is Reuben"

My name is Reuben. Strange things always seem to happen to me.  Once, when I was 12, my father came home fromwork with a dog.  It had been wanderingaround the streets of Bethlehem, looking for food.  My father is not what I would call adog person, so the fact that he even noticed the puppy, let alone the fact thathe brought it to me as a gift, is very strange indeed.  “It will teach you responsibility” he said tome.  I named my new pet Nero.  My parents asked why I chose a name of Romandescent for my dog, to which I had no real reply.  I just liked the name Nero.  Nero, did in fact, teach me responsibility,but not in the normal way one might expect.

My father was a tax collector in Bethlehem.  And while, he didn’t like Roman rule in ourcountry, he didn’t mind the paycheck and certain perks from being anattaché.  He always thought I would growup to be a civil servant as well, but it just didn’t seem that interesting tome.  My mother came from a family offarmers out in the country about Bethlehem. Thinking I needed an outlet to learn responsibility and hard work, myfather and mother sent me to shepherd apprentice with my mother’s brother.  Since I now had a herding dog, my father saidit was fate.  I think my father justwanted me and Nero out of the house, as this was his busiest time of theyear.  Thousands were coming intoBethlehem in the next few months to pay their taxes, and my father didn’t needan inattentive son and his mangy dog bothering him when he came home.

I had only been in the hills for a few nights when the“visitation” happened.  Some of the othershepherds hated being in the hills.  Theywould much rather be back on their farms with their families and a roof overtheir heads, but they said it was necessary to go and get the sheep to bringthem in for shearing.  I actuallypreferred the hills.  It was much lessengaging work.  Back on the farm, therewere so many chores to do, but out here, my main goal is to keep the sheeptogether and make sure they don’t wander off. Occasionally a coyote or two would have to be scared off, but generally,Nero took care of that and I spent my time laying down looking up at thestars.  It was on one such night, wheremy life changed forever.  I had justfallen asleep, when Nero woke me with repeated nudges to the back of myhead.  I sat up and looked around.  The sky was no longer dark, but instead atremendous light had taken its place. 

Fear shot through my body as the other Men in the camp alsoawakened to the alarming sight.  The fearwas soon replaced with pure astonishment as the Heavenly Being spoke to us,announcing the birth of a Savior.  As ifone Messenger wasn’t enough to get our attention, a multitude of beingsappeared, singing and praising God.  Asthe messengers disappeared and the light faded back into darkness, we were leftalone…(that last sentence reminds me of a song my forefather Joseph sang abouthis multi-colored coat.  He was verytalented).

There was little discussion over what to do next, as none inthe group were of a mind to ignore a heavenly visitation.  But, knowing that we all couldn’t go intoBethlehem to see this Savior and leave our flocks unattended, we decided toplay “nose goes” to decide who should stay behind.  The game is simple.  The last person to touch their nose in thegroup had to stay behind.  Jonathon wasthe unlucky one.  Figured thought, Healways lost “nose goes”.  Having decidedthe caretaker of the sheep, the rest of us went into town.

On the way into town, I recalled the things which themessenger said, wondering to myself why they would send us to a Manger to findthe Savior of the World.  I would’vethought the King of Kings would be born under more extravagantcircumstances.  After some searching, wefinally found the right stable. 

Upon entering the stable, those thoughts vanished.  In an everyday setting, a stable is loud,smelly, and dirty.  But this sceneprovided the complete opposite.  EvenNero stood at quiet attention, as if he was soaking in all around him.  I was doing the same thing.  I had seen many babies in my day, but nonethat captivated the room like this one did. I knew instantly that the stories I had been told all my life regardingthe prophecies to come, were going to be fulfilled by this tiny infant.  I stood for what must have been hours.   Upon leaving, none of us could contain ourastonishment.  We told everyone we met onthe way back to the countryside.  We weretelling everyone how grateful we were to witness such a miraculous event, allthe while Glorifying God.

In all my years, I’ve been counseled to be responsible inpreparation of becoming a man.  I’venever been excited for that time, and have often shied away from suchpreparations.  But seeing that infant inthe manger, and knowing the tremendous responsibilities that awaited him, Icould no longer avoid my own duties, as I had an acute and solidifyingknowledge that he would not avoid his.

 

16For behold, I, God, have ^asuffered these things for all, that they might not ^bsuffer if they would ^crepent;

17But if they would not repent they must ^asuffer even as I;

18Which ^asuffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremblebecause of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body andspirit—and would that I might ^bnot drink the bitter cup, and shrink—

19 Nevertheless,glory be to the Father, and I partook and ^afinished my preparations unto the children of men.

Doctrine and Covenants 19:16-19

Merry Christmas to all my Family and Friends! May this holiday season bring us all perspective on true meaning of the season.  As my Stake President said today in Conference "may we spend less this year and give more of ourselves".

 

Cheers!

A story about aging.

Gather 'round children, and let me recite a tale of when I thought i was still young...
Not too long ago, in fact, it was yesterday, I stopped by the Great Clips by my house on the way home from work for a haircut (as I've often done). The girl begins cutting my hair and starts making small talk (I've blogged before about the concept of barbershop gab, or salon prattle and the like and confessed then that I wasn't a great conversationalist during haircuts. It's like my kryptonite). The place was really busy this particular visit. It was close to an hour wait time for walk-ins. I used the great clips app to check in online as I was leaving work so I only waited 5 minutes once i got there.
She apologized for the wait and asked what I had been up to this fine day.
"Just getting off work" I answered.
"Oh really?? Do you always work Saturdays?"
"It really depends on business, but typically I work Saturdays so I can take Sunday off."
"Oh." She paused. "For church?"
"Yeah that's one of the reasons."
"Are you LDS?" She asked.
"...I am in fact." I replied.
"Oh good, I just realized that could have been awkward if you weren't. I am too."
"So do you have any kids?" She asked as she maneuvered her scissors around my scalp.
"I have a 4 year old son. That's the other reason I prefer Sundays off. I get to pick him up from his mom's on Sundays."
"Oh that's cool." She continued to artfully work around my cowlicks. A brief pause as she stepped away to check someone else in, and she returned to continue the cut. After a few minutes of back and forth about why I was divorced (yeah I know- this girl is cutting my hair and asking me for my life story at the same time-I don't know what to say), there was a brief pause. "So, are you dating anyone?" She inquired as she moved on to my neck line.
"I'm not." I answered, wondering if this conversation was sounding as strange to the others in the room as it did in my head.
"Why not? Just not interested?" She pressed on.
"No it's not that. I go to a family ward and I don't have a tremendous amount of time to devote to dating at this time, also I don't know many single LDS girls, so that combination results in being single right now." I could feel the eyes of the waiting patrons looking in our direction.
(And here is the kicker boys and girls)
"Why a family ward?" She asked. "Aren't there singles wards for older people?... I mean, not filled with 18 yr olds?" I could tell she added the last part to help sooth the zinger she inadvertently laid about the old folks.
"Yes, I believe there are." I thought about asking her how old she thought I was, but didn't want to set myself up for two wise-cracks in a row. 'Fool me once...' I thought to myself. "I'm a couple years from the 30 and over ward. So maybe ill check it out when they let me in."
I don't know if it was the shock that I was under 30 or what but I saw a concerned look on her face as she was finishing my neck line.
"I think I cut you. Sorry about that! You were right, you do have a lot of cowlicks!"
"It happens. Don't worry about it." I replied, thinking it was almost poetic justice to end the haircut and conversation on that note.

I'm not sure what happened for those 25 minutes but I did get a haircut. And also came away with the knowledge that I'm no longer 'young'. So mission accomplished I guess.