The Twelve Friends of Christmas Twelve

Now that I am over twenty-seven hours late for this I would like to explain to you all why my parents are one of the greatest gifts of the season.

They are still together.  Despite hurt feelings and troubles and worries and finances and stress and raising five boys they are still together.  Sometimes I do not know what helps them, but I am thankful for it.  Once it was a son in the hospital.  Another time grapefruits helped them.  Miracles drop out of air and help them.  And when miracles were in short supply then counseling helped.  They both had to learn to listen and change, but when they would they really made something wonderful.

My parents are strong people.  It is probably why I'm so attracted to assertive people who are willing to fight for something they believe in.  Even if they are wrong, what matters to me is a cause, a reason, and a love.  That is the strength of the real fighter.  My mother loves the symbol of the wolf because the alpha-female takes a controlling and dominating role.  It isn't about being the strongest or the best, but she always taught us to work together.  She showed us that is the strength of a clan.

I think my mother really defined my character.  I try to live up to her standards of what a man should be.  I try to treat women as the equal they are but to always treat them a little differently.  A little special.  And not because they're women.  But because they are individual people.  She taught me to treat all people as individuals worthy of praise, respect, and personal love.  She showed me how to be charitable.  And not just with money.  Your time and attention are just as valuable.  You not only have more but you appreciate it more when you share what you have.  My mother is the one who helped me understand how important it is to see smiling Jesus.  Because that is what we should see of ourselves.  The simple and pure smile that comes from helping others and from loving them, not despite differences but because of differences.


And a lot of my joys come from both parents.  My dad showed me the depth of nature.  Hiking and running and camping can be fun.  Not for kids.  But as an adult it is really nice to live and be outside with only necessities.  And maybe a book or two.  And friends help too.  Oh, and I do love frisbees.  But anyway, nature is great.  And it really can bring you closer to the creator and other creations.  Which is fantastic.  Helps you understand the eternal nature of the spirit.  I think that is a big thing dad taught me.  How to apply the gospel to every day things.  How to look for miracles and tender mercies.  How to be thankful for being dependent, because I can't solve everything, I can't even really fix myself, but when I'm ready the way will be available.



Mom taught me a lot about loving art.  The music I enjoy mostly comes from her.  It was amazing how you could tell her mood by the music in the house.  But music and acting and dance and paintings and even buildings and textures.  I feel like all of it stemmed from my mother's love for trying out new things.  I learned it's okay to not know what you're getting yourself into.  It's fun even.  Just go with the flow, make friends along the way, and be nice (be really nice) because strangers can really help out.

I really love my parents.  I'm thankful for their patience and kindness.  They really gave me a lot.  And didn't kill me.  Which was really helpful.  I'm thankful that they've been willing to change when they're wrong.  And that they take the time to get to know each of us well enough to know (pretty well) how to parent us.  They took the time to get to know my serious girlfriends and especially my best friends.  They trusted me with them.  They trusted me enough to make mistakes (or maybe they were just too frustrated with me trying every hole and open door I found).  It has improved over time.  But I really appreciate having some great parents.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Eleven

So, one of the great blessings from this last few months has been the Moores.  When I was figuring out that I was going to BYU this year I needed a place to stay and classes to take.  But the whole ordeal was stressing me out.  So I decided to not worry about it and deal with it when I got home.  Ya know, during the three weeks I'd have before the semester started.  Not the best idea, but I figured it'd work.  The night I got home from Sacramento I got a call from Travis.  He asked if I wanted to live with him and his brothers.  An awesome answer to prayers.

When I arrived at Chez Moore I was already feeling great.  The drive up with Landon was a lot of fun.  First time driving a truck like that.  We got to unload the truck, pick up a couch, switch out couches, help their cousin move (that was a few days later).  Adventures from the start.

They each have such idiosyncrasies.  Landon is the butt of everyone's jokes.  But fortunately the girls love him.  Mostly for his awkwardness that shows a inner kindness and deep patience.  And he destroys everything.  But only on accident.  Like our walls.  And the planter.  But he really is a decent guy.  Not always the best at communicating.  He thinks tea is disgusting.  And sometimes he offends people with his honesty.  But he really does try.  And he wants to help and will even if it means sacrificing for a friend.  And it is really just that he is open.  We love him because he puts up with us.

Jeremy is the studmuffin of the apartment.  Who doesn't love a man in uniform?  And now he's gonna take MMA classes.  Ridiculously strong for his size.  Do not tickle him unless you're prepared to defend yourself.  Seriously, he kinda hulks out when he is tickled.  Which just makes it more fun.  He is very musical.  And I love french horns.  And violins.  Some of my favorite instruments.  I remember pulling a handcart for hours one day at a celebration in Granite Creek Park years ago.  Just fun.  And we had some good double dates.  I kinda forced him sometimes, but it was always fun.  BYU has some great shows.


Travis Moore.  Oh dear.  The stories and history go way back.  He is Eric's best unrelated friend.  They've been conniving for almost a decade now.  Hearing their stories is inspiring for mischief.  Kinda like when Harry Potter finds out his dad was a juvenile delinquent.  He taught me seminary.  We planned ridiculous events.  Godfather.  Finals pillow fight.  Fugitive.  Trojan popcorn attack.  Life is just good.  The adventures are many.  The fun is great.  And the possibilities seem to only be limited by time.


I really love these guys.  They help me be active, have fun, not be too serious, and keep working hard.  I wouldn't trade my roommates for cheaper rent or a closer location.  Though, I suppose eventually I will trade them for a girl when I get married.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Ten

I was kinda scared of coming to BYU.  I didn't know why I needed to go here.  I'm still figuring it out.  But it all works out.  And there is a lot in Provo that keeps me happy and impressed.

You know how sometimes you meet someone and then later find out you know them in a whole bunch of ways you didn't realize.  That's Tamarra.  She served on Temple Square with Jessica Wingate.  Her roommate, Rachel, went to Prescott with the Moores a while back.  She went to Jerusalem with JJ.  She is an editor for the newspaper for which Jeremy started writing.  And she started Sunday's Best.

When I go to her home I find myself at peace.  I can be open about anything.  Tamarra created a haven against judgment, stagnation, and evil.  That is what impresses me so much.  Tamarra is liberal in her love and views, but she makes no attempt to jump off the deep end.  She has no desire to offend people into doing something.  She just loves them.  She accepts them until they accept themselves enough to change.  And if that won't work she helps them come closer to Christ so that they'll have an even better example.  Tamarra is a heroine of change.  I really appreciate how I feel when I talk to her or when I'm at her home.

Some of the things I've learned because of Tamarra are as follow.  This church might be the only religion for feminists (feel free to discuss that because I wouldn't have believed it a month ago).  When we start worshiping a religion instead of God we lose sight of the goal.  The only changes that last are based on love.   It is okay to be angry at God, men, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as long as you keep moving somewhere.  Movement provides opportunities.  Sometimes we can help a group more by not being a part of it, but most of the time we've got to be close to the herd and in front if we want to steer it in a new and better direction.  It is hard to see a better path within the herd but it is possible.  It takes all kinds of leaders to keep a people together.  Some will be at the top and in the front.  Some have to be students in the classes or workers in the field earning trust and answering questions.  It's okay to be wrong about important things, as long as you can admit it to yourself and help the truth.  This Gospel is true, regardless of gender, race, religion, sexuality, politics, economic situation, fame, fortune, fear, faith, mental disorder, or self-identity.  My goal is to make it accessible and acceptable to all those people.


I am thankful for all the opportunities Tamarra has given me.  They really have changed who I am.  They have given me an outlet for my worries.  She has created a place where I can be myself, with all my quirks and quotes.  Life is good, Zion grows, and God loves us.

The Twelve Days of Christmas Nine

I happen to think that I had a great mission.  I love Sacramento.  I love California.  Seriously, they have the best fruit.  It's so beautiful.  I always enjoyed the weather.  Except, maybe, the cold rain.  I'm used to warm monsoon storms.  But, honestly, even the cold rain taught me something and helped me to appreciate life in a new way.

With all the people I love and the wonders of California, what really made my mission so wonderful was my companions.  I spent twenty-four hours a day with these guys.  Every day we'd go out and talk and teach and learn and it was great.  I did not always get along with them, but I love all of them and I learned a lot from each.

Elder Isaac Ostlund.  He was the most charitable missionary I met.  He really was just loving and kind and patient.  His attitude always lifted mine.  And he never gave me a reason to get down, even if I gave him many.  I spent the rest of my mission trying to emulate his kindness and joy.  He is a lot like JJ.

Elder Daniel Wyatt and I shared some of my favorite memories.  We served in Stockton together.  We were both young in our missions.  We made a lot of mistakes.  But it was awesome.  We wanted to learn and we were willing to try.  So yeah, we messed up sometimes, but we were teachable and came out on top because of it.  I'll never forget when Stockton flooded for two days.  We kept riding.

Elder Ryan Manwill, how I loved him.  He taught me a lot about the importance of loving what you do.  He loves mechanics.  He is so good at taking things apart and putting them back together.  One night his gear cable snapped.  By using a rock he was able to keep his bike in gear for the rest of the night.

Elder Mecklen Van Evera really brought a spark back into my mission.  We had so much fun in the hills of Camino.  It's okay to have fun and be happy even when doing serious work.  He made it okay to talk about music and cars and weapons and stuff, because it was what he loved and wanted to share.  He also loves the gospel and wanted to share that.  He showed me how to have balance.

Elder Sterling (precious metal) Duncan taught me so much.  Sometimes by being the best example and sometimes as a warning ;)  Our car got stuck so many times.  He stayed patient and helped me put on chains.  He puts out quite a strong personality, but he is so willing to follow direction obediently and help.  He showed me that it is okay to be scared and worried about something, because it means you get to see how creative the Lord is when He helps out.  He is really quite teachable and I was so thankful that he put up with me through a long winter.

Elder Thomas Stevenson is the Samoan wonder.  He kept me going through a hot summer.  His faith and endurance was amazing.  I loved hearing his stories from and loyalty to Samoa.  I don't know many missionaries who made the same sacrifices he had to make.  From rap concerts in the park to ukuleles in the apartment, we had some good times.

Elder Nelson Orton is such a fun guy.  I loved staying up late hearing about his stories (when I could stay up long enough...).  I have some of the funniest photos of him.  Teaching the homeless in downtown was always an adventure.  And it seemed like every single success we had was a time to celebrate.  He was so upbeat and excited for anything. He is so much like Caleb.

Elder John Cong Nguyen is a rockstar.  At least to me.  He is a missionary who is so open and ready to share his heart.  He is amazing at the guitar and I saw him use his talent to share the gospel.  And he connected so readily to everyone.  Oh yeah, and I loved hearing him sing.  Great voice.

Elder Pateriso Zepty!  Isn't he great?  I think so.  He is from the Kingdom of Marshall Isles.  He is so generous.  I never saw him not share something.  And he was so willing to work.  He barely spoke English but he never stopped trying.  He pushed himself harder than most missionaries I ever saw.

Elder Timothy Baumer and I wrestled.  As small as that might seem, it meant a lot.  We trusted each other.  He had individuality.  Boy could he ride a bike fast.  That was the only time I had trouble keeping up with someone on a bike.  Which was humbling and satisfying.  Crashing into him was a good day.  Not because I tore my pants or messed up our bikes a fair bit but because he didn't get angry.  I was almost angry at myself, but he just helped me get up and out of the road and then we took an inventory and kept going.  That takes a lot.

Elder Wyatt Jacobsen helped me to see how far I had come as a missionary (because he constantly built me up) and how far I still had to go (because he really complimented my weaknesses).  I was too comfortable in a lot of ways but he had a vision and desire.  I was more than welcome to join it, but only if I could keep up.  I couldn't have asked for more at the time.  He reminds me of Josh.

Elder Erik Brimhall.  The end of my mission was so grand because of this man.  Trips down to Stockton for medical tests.  The Crocker Art Museum.  Scaring him in the church.  Listening to the ukulele.  Working our tails off.  Sister B.  And never stopping work for fun or fun for work.  We just made sure we were doing both all the time.  I really never felt like more of a leader or more comfortable as a missionary.  He is a lot like Eric.  Endless energy and a real trooper.

These guys really did change my life.  I won't say I had the best mission but I humbly say my companions were hand-picked to help me.  I hope I returned the favor from time to time.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Eight

This one kinda came as a surprise to me.  Amanda Garcia really has been a gem in my life.  We met in judo club a few years back.  She was so spry and fiery.  I was impressed by her writing and ability to express herself.  And, of course, sparring/wrestling with her was an experience both intimate and sensual.  We had fun.  I always remember us first holding hands while reading Les Mis together.  Good nights.

Amanda always impressed me with how she worked with people.  Though tiny, she wields a huge personality.  It connects people.  It gives energy and drive to others.  So once she gets them moving with her attitude she also can direct them with herideas and words.  She is very good at that.   But she has a good nature about it.  She isn't demanding or controlling, she just genuinely has great ideas and wants others to enjoy them as well.

I don't think we broke up on the best of terms.  I wasn't the best to her.  And her parents didn't like me, for fairly good reasons I think.  And I was leaving.  But when I got home we started talking again.  And a lot came up.  And a lot came out.  I found that Amanda is still a dear, kind, and trustworthy friend.  She is so accepting.  She is willing to wait and watch and think before acting.  So she can help a lot more.  I'm impressed with her loyalty and love.  Her openness is something I'd love tofind.  And her joy is really unmatched.  I think she's great.  Thank you Amanda, you really are a gift.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Seven

Late but not forgotten.  It's another lovely day of Christmas.  Except, it hasn't really snowed since I got home.  It's sad.  But you know what isn't sad?  My brothers!  You see, we fought like cats and dogs for years.  And then something happened.  I'm not sure what.  We graduated.  Moved out.  Got jobs.  And somewhere we started appreciating each other, calling each other, and playing more (but without the violence).  We all sing, dance, play instruments, play sports (poorly but excitedly), and enjoy much of the same things.  We read a lot.  We prank a lot.  We're like a pile of puppies, even now.  It's really nice.


Caleb is super creative.  He taught himself how to sew hats for a friend's birthday party.  He is compassionate and has learned a lot about helping others.  One of my favorite jobs was working with Caleb and Tracey for a couple weeks.  We went to Mile High Middle School and tore through their theater.  We took apart lights, fixed cables, readjusted curtains, fixed so many safety hazards, cleaned things up, and did a pretty bang up job I dare say.  It was neat to see how hard he can work and that he is really good at anything he wants to try at.  I love him, he's great.



Eric brings a smile to everyone's face.  He has so much energy.  It's infectious.  I really appreciate how happy he is and how much fun he has just because he can.  It's helped me get out of my funks.  It's helped us plan ridiculous things because we found out, under Eric's leadership, that ridiculous things do work as long as you've got friends helping.  I'm still sorry I wrecked the truck...  Eric inspired me to start a game of The Godfather.  He got me interested in doing theater and maybe being a techie.  He was a good example in high school and helped me know how to choose good friends.  I really appreciate how much he's done for me, especially the stuff he didn't need to be around for.


JJ with his curly hair and sly smile was always a force to be reckoned with.  Gentle.  Affirmative.  Gung-ho.  Empathetic.  Smart and educated (a deadly combo).  It seems like his main goal has always been to be better than himself, which tends to be better than most of us.  Mortality frustrates him not because it means life ends but because it means he can't accelerate every step along the way.  Eventually you'd reach the speed of light and disappear and that'd be more hassle than it'd be worth.  I've always felt a deep connection to him.  I think most people do.  I think it's because he listens.  So serenely.  He is at such peace with who he is that it doesn't matter what you share with him.  If it is good and full of light then he will absorb it.  Otherwise, his surety protects him from darkness, even as he lets it drain from others.  It's a special trait.  I respect and revere him for such lightness in a dark and heavy world.


Josh has one of the best families.  Seriously.  I look at those kids and see how much their parents love them and each other.  They make it work.  Because they work.  They work at being patient.  They work at communicating.  They work at being better.  That has always impressed me about Josh, he works so hard.  At everything.  He was a great musician, scholar, brother, lawyer, singer, inventor, and at life because he works so hard at it all.  He is willing to change as long as he has direction.  I am so thankful when he calls me.  It's random.  Neither of us usually have much time.  But it is so nice to talk.  Getting to know him better has been so much fun.  I am so thankful for his experience, love, and openness.


That's the family.  They're the ones I know I can always turn to.  I love them.  Always will.

The Twelve Days of Christmas Six

There has been a lot of wonderful people I've met at BYU.  People from the ward, from dance, from class, and from random conversations.  It's been great.

There is Jordan from Sacramento, California.  Elk Grove actually, but hardly anyone knows where that is.  And despite living very close to her on and off for over a year, I never met her while living in California.  She is a cheerleader.  Not the high school kind but the competitive and super impressive routine kinds.  She's a little crazy, but a delight.  Lots of energy.  Spunk.  That's a good word for her.  She likes dancing, entertaining others, and being liked.  Which might sound weird but she really likes to make people happy and feel comfortable.  She really does a good job planning events and making them work.

There is also Kenyon from Florida.  A photographer.  I think she has to have some of the best parents I've heard about.  And she takes after them rather well.  Outspoken, very caring, and one of the most accepting people I know.  She places a lot of value on friendship and camaraderie.  And boy is she a conspirator.  She is really just a fun gal.  Good to talk to and a good teacher.

Brooke is one of the sweetest people I've met.  She takes care of everyone.  She bakes like none other.  She has a wonderful voice.  And despite being a leader and planning she is so enthusiastic to support other people and their plans.  She makes you feel appreciated and special.  And just because she cares.  About everyone.  It's nice.

There are many other wonderful people I'd like to call out as well.  Jason, Celeste, Kristi, Brock, Will, Kathy, Zina, Francis, Brittany, and so many more.  Just super neat people out here.  I love it.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Five

The Natalies!  Aren't they sweet.  As amazing as it is there are four Natalies who happened to be in my life right now.  Four!  Ridiculous.  But a wonderful blessing as they are all some of the sweetest gals you could meet.

Natalie the Elder (Campbell, formerly known as Bonnet).  She married my brother!  She's an adventurer.  Seriously, she can keep up with Travis and Eric and that is a feat rarely attempted by women so you know she is special.  An elusive butterfly.  Deeply religious with a tempered testimony of truth.  She often inspires me to repent and be better.  A brilliant microbiologist.  Very smart all around.  And she likes Tegan and Sara, just fantastic.

Natalie Bedard.  She is a Canuck and soon to be German.  Can you get triple citizenship?  She speaks English, French, and German.  I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't pick up a few other languages in her life.  She graduates soon in environmental engineering (if it hasn't changed in the last couple years).  She spent a summer in Germany doing research.  Oh, did I mention she has one of the strongest testimonies of anyone I've met.  Another inspiration of mine to live this Gospel I love so dearly.

Natalie Harman.  I met her in my dance class.  We first met while doing a Greek dance and then became friends after several hours of folk dancing at a recreation night.  She kick-boxes.  She taught herself to play guitar and often writes music for her favorite poems so she can sing them.  She also plays piano and has a lovely voice.  She wants to do it all and has the potential to do so.  She is very thoughtful and takes care of those around her.  Very open about the gospel she always makes sure to talk about it in a comfortable and non-confrontational way.  It shows the peace we're supposed to find in the message.  She really is a sweetheart.

And the other Natalie (I never learned her last name).  She was my dance partner when I learned how to do a Mexican Polka.  Such a funny gal.  She is married.  And one of the most happily married people I've met.  She just loves her hubby.  And she talks about it.  Not in an awkward or obsessed or superior way, just pure love for a guy that she just can't keep inside.  Also, she called me out.  I appreciated it.  She called me out for flirting with her when she is married.  My response was that I don't think you should treat a friend differently just because they're married or single.  But that takes some chutzpah.  I had to seriously look at my actions because of that.  And I'm thankful for it.  It helped me change and act differently.  Which I need.

So, to all four of you, thank you.  I consider you all wonderful parts of this last semester and gifts in my life.  You're great!

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Four

Please forgive me again, I promise it's still Saturday in Provo, which is what I'm used to.

Today guest is Nicholas Ortega.  Well, we just call him Nick.  Actually, we call him Raqel (pronounced just like Rachel.  He's French {he isn't actually but it adds to my joy}).

A while back we realized we're actually the same person.  Same interests.  Same attractions.  Life is good.

He's leaving on his mission in February.  Actually, his time spent at Chez Moore is as miraculous as mine.  He found out he was gonna spend another semester at BYU a couple days before the semester started.  So he called around for free space.  He found the Moores.  It's been great.

His scarves.  The many nights where he'd get home after midnight because he walking someone home or studying into the wee hours of the morning.  Kenyon Appreciation Days!  Bedtime stories.  Spiritual Sunday Cinemas.  Luqel, I really am great :)  And he's from California!  Isn't that great.  I think so.

It's been fun.  Thank you Raqel.  I mean Nick.  I'm a great guy and I hope I really enjoy Brazil.  Best of luck friend.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Three

Today we're giving a shout out to Badger, also known as Alex Lewis or Travis' girlfriend.

She's a dancer.  From Las Vegas.  Oh, it gets better.  She is one of the best liars I've ever met and a talented conspirator.  Yet she is also one of the most gentle, open, trusting people I've known.  She jokes around a lot, yeah, but she goes to great lengths to make sure everyone is having a good time and feels accepted.  I aspire to the way she treats others.  She is willing to try anything and expand herself.

Whether it is having a huge box full of popcorn and a Travis inside her house or jokes about her having a boy's name or constant mocking of her extreme clean needs she takes it in stride.  She can take just as intense of a joke as she gives out.  Hikes to hot springs.  Teaching us yoga (or really just dance stretches).  Keeping Travis busy.  Bedtime stories.  The enormous and frequent ward activities and great home evenings.  She is a gem.  And definitely one of my favorites from BYU.

Thank you Badger.  Merry Christmas.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas Two

As with everything else going wrong today, I forgot to post this yesterday.  So I'm adding two names to my list today.

Amanda Shapter.  She is my best friend.  What haven't we done together?  A lot actually, which is one of my favorite things about her.  She has always supported me except when I'm about to do something stupid or that might hurt someone else.  She checks me.  Also, she has led me on many a wonderful adventure and is a great planner of exciting events.  But through it all she has never pushed me to be anyone that I am not.  Amanda never pushed me to drink or to be unchaste.  She has always honored and respected my boundaries and needs.  For that I love her.

I miss the jokes and wry smiles when we know what we're thinking.  I miss talking about boys and beaus and the ridiculousness of our lives.  Knitting, I miss the knitting.  The long talks in my parking lot or over a look out or anywhere we were when one of us needed to talk.  The cuddling.  The naps on her bed before going to dinner at NAU.  Physics...awesome.  She always saved me a seat because I was always almost late with frozen hair.  I still have the doodles in my notebook from her.  When I get tired of economics I let myself get distracted by them.  Physics lab was pretty fun too.  Dead trees.  I love dead trees and trees in winter.  She gave them a whole new life to me.  Especially when they have a sunset as their background.

I love you Amanda Shapter.

The Twelve Friends of Christmas One

So, for the next twelve days I will hold myself to writing about a friend being thought of this season with fondness and thanks.

Today's guest star is Claire Wasserman.  There is never an end to the good things I can say about Claire.  Whenever I see a violin, a duck, Arabic culture, African culture, new adventures, I <3 Oregon paraphernalia, tea, clay sculptures, and a multitude of everyday nature I am reminded of her and some story we have (I usually lose the game as well).

In terms of unique people I know she is at the top.  She travels.  She speaks three languages.  She is as fascinated about cultures as I am.  Studied abroad in Jordan and in Senegal.  Attending Lewis and Clark University.  A veritable genius of kindness, reasoning, and learning.

I miss her banter.  Making pizzas.  Huge piles of people watching movies at her house.  Watching the sunset with her and Amanda in her backyard.  Holidays.  Our "Save the Whales" project sophomore year in Sherrill's class.  She has saved my life several times.  Physically.  Socially.  She still helps me find my identity and how I'm oriented in this life.  I love her dearly and consider seeing her to be one of the greatest gifts this season will bring me.

الحمد لله

I Don't Care/The Invitation

A poem strengthen me many times through my teenage angst.  I have always called it "I Don't Care" because that was the version given me.  This version:

I don’t care about what you do for a living.
I want to know what you love most,
and if you dare to face your own demons.
I don’t care how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
I don’t care what your sign is,
I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow,
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or
if you have become hard and closed from fear of further pain!
I want to know if you can tolerate pain, mine or your own,
without trying to hide it or changed it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own;
If you can get crazy and dance, letting the energy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be
careful, be realistic or to remember the limitations of being human.
I don’t care if the story you are telling me is true,
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty
even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life from Wisdom and Compassion.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
And still stand up and shout "Gabba Gabba Hey," for no reason at all.
I don’t care about where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done for the children.
I don’t care who you are, what band you are in or how cool you are.
I want to know if you will stand in the middle of the fire with me
and fight for what we know is right.
I don’t care what religion, race, sexual preference or political stance you have.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Not to take up unwanted space, but I found the original today.  Apparently, the version I enjoyed for so long was "edited" (that makes me think of the World's Greatest Shakespeare Company) by someone.  Here is the original.  The themes are very similar but the tone is different.  I like different parts of both more than the other, though I cannot say which I prefer.  I hope you have a moment to enjoy.

The Invitation by Oriah
It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

The Several Fails in the Tales of Lucy Gale pt. 5

Hot steam rises.
My skin ripens
brightens
except the lines that never healed,
lines too geometric
too designed to deny.

No longer that girl
I am now Lucy!
And yet, with a sneer,
her perverted tattoos
still stain my veneer.

Why can't my skin
hide the sin
which departs
from my heart?
With the inside clean
how can the out beam
darkness?

Dead Cats and Rabbits

Have you ever heard a rabbit purr?
I have, when I saw them cuddle with you.
How can you not smile nuzzling that fur?
Innocence, I see, is in their soul's hue.

Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?
I have, when I saw my cat drag it in.
Hoarse lungs flailing, all light failing to redeem.
My heart recalls pleading against such sin.

Have you ever heard a child pray?
I have, as my voice was led in its words,
earnest and pure but unsure what to say.
Through that sweet peace more than my heart was cured.

Have you ever heard a rabbit cry?
Remember that does not mean it will die.

A long time ago, I was awoken one night by the most fearsome sound I've ever heard.  I walked out of my room and found my cat, Kippie, pawing at something.  I knew it was another toy he'd brought home.  Normally they were in perfect condition, no blood or broken bones.  This time he'd gone too far.  It was a bunny, barely bigger than my fist.  It wasn't moving.  I saw it take a deep breath and as it exhaled the most disturbing sound came with it.  (When have you ever heard a bunny make noises?)  Imagine screaming after never having used your vocal cords before.  There was no blood.  I tried tickling his feet to see if he could use them.  Nothing.  His neck was broken.  He was just suffering under his last breathes.  I held him.  I...had a long and deep discussion with God for a long time.  I asked the common whys.  Eventually his eyes glazed over.  I got to asking if he could come back, if he'd be okay.  He did.  Suddenly he jumped up in my arms, looked up at me, and bounded away!  And now I had to chase him down...  He ended up alright and I got him back outside.

Years later, right before I left for college, in the same corner of the hallway downstairs I was again awoken by a strange sound.  The exact same spot.  I went out and found another dying animal.  This time it was my cat.  We had found out a few weeks earlier he was severely diabetic.  We tried doing what we could but apparently it was not enough.  He had lost the use of his back legs and could not see.  So he was lying on the floor crawling around in a circle meowing as loud as he could.  I could do nothing.

I loved Kippie.  He was the greatest cat.  He slept on my bed.  We hunted together (well, he'd bring in a toy and we'd chase it.  If he won he ate it.  If I won another critter lived).  He would step on the lever to hang up the phone if I was talking to someone for too long.  He would crawl on top of books I was reading.  He would wrestle with the dogs.  Fabulous friend.

Kippie being dead hasn't been hard.  Watching him die and holding him, feeling every breathe get lighter and hearing each meow get more desperate, was rough.  I felt powerless.  Something so thorough that it overthrows life, how can I contend with that?  I don't have to.  Funerals are for the living, not the dead.  We need the closure.  So for my own death I do not have to worry, I won't have to attend (I ain't no Huck Finn).  I'll be dead and gone.  That is why death has never bothered me but I really don't like dying.  That and I know my Redeemer lives.  That comforts me a lot.  I'm not invincible (though I've never been proven wrong) but I won't be beaten by death.

Dance

This is a strange post because it is about the dead parts of something that just breathed anew in my life.

Dance has played a strong influence in my life, stronger than I realized until this week. I was walking to Spiritual Sunday Cinema at the Moore's with Rachel (Alternative Sunday School had just finished) and she asked me about stuff I was doing this semester. I mentioned folk dancing and she asked if I had ever danced before. I replied that I had not really. Just a little bit with show choir. I've realized I deceived her unintentionally.

Show choir was an unforgettable part of my life. I loved every bit of it. Each year was fun, I loved the people I got to serve with, and the audiences were so special to me. It was relaxing and energetic. I wouldn't say I was great at it, but I did my part and I learned a lot each year. Working together. Feeling the pressure of a performance. The many lunches together. And the smiles. It was so amazing. Show choir helped me feel confident in my singing and dancing and acting. I got to be a leader and a helper. But this was not my only experience with dance before this year.

Sufi dancing has come up several times in the last few days between classes and conversations. I felt such a power from those nights. Total emptying of everything I carried. Trance-like at times. The purity and peace of giving yourself completely to something. I remember dancing on New Year's Eve of, I think, 2007. For one long dance I was with a stout, elderly man. He looked a fair bit like Gimli. I noticed he had a strong aroma about him, kinda like someone who hasn't bathed in a few days. But it wasn't unpleasant, it was just very layered. Acrid on top, but there was a deep musk to it, which I found very pleasant. And yet some other scents I can't really define. Something that could have only come from hard work was there. I can't think of many moments I've breathed more deeply. That kind of freedom and peace and acceptance is what Sufi dancing gave me. The experiences peaked when I met Asha and she changed me in so many ways. I will always be thankful for them.

One lovely summer Ruby called me and asked if I'd be available for a few weeks. I said sure and asked why. Apparently her father had an intern from Kazakhstan who happened to have won their national ballroom championship. Ruby asked if she could take some lessons from the lady and she said sure if she could find a partner and that is how I came into the picture. It was so difficult but so much fun. We never had many lessons and I certainly felt awkward and slow, but it was a challenge and I found peace in trying. It taught me that there are things I have to practice if I want to be good and that I can become good at things that I practice.

And now I folk dance. This semester is void of a few joys I have, science and singing being the most prevalent. But they have been replaced by folk dance. I sweat every time we practice. It's intense. We jump and kick and bounce and spin without stop. It's so much fun. And even in just a couple weeks we're all rather close. The guys get along. The girls are great. We can all laugh at our mistakes. It's low stress but greatly rewarding. What amazes me is that every song has a dance. Every song in every culture. And many of these cultures still teach everyone these dances and songs. One of our instructors, on her mission, met a Polish woman who promptly tried to end the conversation. She asked if the woman was Polish, guessing by her accent, and she respond that she was Polish. Our instructor then started talking about these Polish dances that she knew. The lady was so excited that she dragged both girls inside and talked with them for quite a while. Understanding someone's culture shows them that even though you do not know them you care about them. Dance and music is the percussive heartbeat of so many cultures. Who doesn't have happy memories of dancing when you were younger? If you don't, you should try folk dancing because you'll make them now.

The Several Fails in the Tales of Lucy Gale pt. 4

Salt crusts the window, refracting the light,
(she'd never clean it, she hated the view)
breaking his promise and dimming her sight.
She left it dirty to hide hopes she knew.

They'd now been apart more than together.
Each hopeless dawn somehow brightened her day,
but fleeting light did not help her weather
and the cold, empty rooms were not okay.

As weeks turned to years it weakened her care,
but she missed the mornings with steaming tea.
So some part endured and she kept her stare
through troubled tides and the mountainous sea.

Inside and out it is crusted with salt
from the waves and the tears which never halt.

The Several Fails in the Tales of Lucy Gale pt. 3

Every day, young miss Gale would take a walk amongst her fair city. No one else knew why she called the city fair, most people were scared by the town's reputation and some even cringed at the name, but she loved it there. Every night the rivers brought a breeze through town so even though it was exhaustively hot during the summer days, you could always throw open your windows at night and enjoy the cool moisture. It was an old place too so every few blocks you had a change of scenery. Every building was unique and every street seemed to have a different style, a different purpose. Even today, as she walks or feels a particularly pleasant rush of air, she thinks back on this home often.

On one particular day Lucy had the lovely chance to go walking for a couple hours before lunch. Her time was almost spent though and she was heading home. Lucy loved walking with a companion and had one with her that day. Her companion was not having a good day and really wanted to get home for lunch so Lucy was doing her best to accommodate her friend by traveling swiftly. Except, Lucy had a wonderfully terrible (or maybe terribly wonderful) habit of talking to strangers on all these walks of hers and today was no different.

To get to her friends house they would have to travel over a small bridge. It traversed a small, man-made creek. During the night, with the darkness and local ruffians, it was a seemingly creepy place, but during the day it was peaceful. It was small, covered, and provided a nice view of the creek which often housed a heron and some fish.

The most important part of this tale happened right before the bridge on this particular day though. As Lucy companion was trying to hurry home, Lucy spotted a woman on the other side of the road and just instantly wanted to meet her. No rationale, she just thought it would be nice to talk. As she started to cross the street she started thinking about her friend who was very hungry and she hesitated. Then the road was filled with carriages. Then she worried if it would make the other woman uncomfortable. Then she made another excuse. Then another. Then...she was too far away to do anything but watch the next event.

It was not just a woman walking on the other side of the street. She was dragging a little girl (they bore a striking resemblance) and some luggage (which looked a little haphazard and hurriedly packed). Then the large man rode up alongside her in his carriage. He shot his head out the window and started screaming at her. Lucy could not really hear what was being said except, "Get in!" being yelled by the man. Lucy was stunned. Hundreds of what ifs flooded her mind. Even more were the questions about why. What if she had talked to this woman when she first felt she should. Why was she leaving her husband and taking her daughter. Why did he want them back. Would anything last. How long until the next fight. What could she have done for her. Would it have helped.

Then her companion turned around and got frustrated at her for slowing down. So, they hurried home and didn't talk to anyone else until after lunch.

The Return

I'm as nervous as a school boy before recess the day after the school bully openly declared him the new "victim" now that the old one has transferred schools. C'est la vie.

I just returned from two years. It doesn't feel like it. I can still remember the goodbyes, the hugs, the promises. True to form, I seem to have failed most of those last ones. But, well...I have no room to apologize really.

It is good to be home. I have so much I want to write. So much to post. The people were extraordinary. Phon Yun (om srei) changed what love can do. A little old Cambodian woman, I couldn't even communicate with her, loved me without end and even remembered me two years later. She just did what she could and hoped that was enough. It always was.

The places were breath-taking. Sunsets (almost) as good as Arizona's. Bridal Veil Falls. Apple Hill. Loon Lake. Even the deep city showed me a new beauty. Oak Park. Downtown. Murals galore. The Crocker Art Museum. I can't say the art I saw changed my life, but each memory is pleasing. And there are lots of pictures.

Even the music. One day while riding down Broadway a young man stopped me. He asked, "If you are a man of God, what do you think Christ would do for a man who hasn't eaten in three days?" My mother had recently sent me a package of energy bars and granola (thank you for always being inspired dear mother). I offered all I had. He told us a bit of his story. He raps, for Christ. He recently came to Sacramento because he feels it is where he was being led. He is probably 18 now, but this was a year ago. He had arrived in town the day before but had been traveling for two days and he ate like he hadn't eaten the whole time. In return he sang for us. Well, he rapped for us. It is unexplainable how good it was. His voice was sweet, from youth and desire, but commanding because of his subject and its personal relation to his recent development. And all the reggae and rasta about Jah. It brought a lot of peace.

Some things changed, but many did not. I'm getting used to having the bracelets on again, wearing shorts and sandals, moccasins, staying up late, writing blogs, playing games, and the like, but it's all the same. It has the familiar feel of riding a bike again. I write poetry more often, especially limericks. They're fun. I study the gospel more. I want to be a good person. I want to impress someone's parents, especially in the first encounter. I want a large family. So there are a few changes, mostly in my desires. And I feel I'm beginning to understand how freeing but empowering it is to rely on someone else for your biggest worries.

I got accepted to BYU this last January. I did not sign up for classes or found housing until I got home last week. I now have a full schedule of the classes I need and the Moore's offered for me to stay with them. Still paying rent, still need a job, but I have been able to let all the stresses of those events and needs fall to the wayside because someone up in that big, blue sky loves me and was preparing a way. Life is good. It always had been. I don't know why I keep resisting. I don't know why I keep going back to the old self. But that is the point of this, Speaker for the Dead speaks for the dead me, the old thoughts and desires.

What I'd love to do right now is see a whole bunch of people face to face, hug them, and let them know that I love them. Many people over the last four years have made a big difference in who I am. I am thankful for that and I am thankful that I need other people to help me make the change. But the love will wait, probably strengthening in the process.