Letter to an old friend

 Elise

Just a note of encouragement, your example meant so much to me when I wondered if I would ever have a friend, or if I could learn to be a friend. Being a member of the orchestra changed my life, for the better.

I hear the sense of frustration in your voice and wish to carry some of that burden and lift your pain.  This I cannot do.  What I can do is tell you that I am a fellow traveler on the road.  There are many of us who quietly carry a load, who desire to walk beside you on your journey.  

Journeys can be tough but sometimes they are the best way to learn and to grow. A Redwood Forest requires fire to be germinated. Their seedlings open under great heat generated from a forest fire.  

On Mr. Frodo and Gethsemane.

What be their task.

Here in the garden.

Know they not then, this burden.

Come to gloat, had they now,

Or only to mourn, this one.

If this be the failure, final.

All will be lost.

How to strengthen him then.

Thus, now they confirmed.

This burden, could carry, they not,

For man

For God.

The blood it flowed, drop by drop.

Once before there had been such a scene.

High on Mount Doom, in Mordor, a task almost too much, for this one to bare.

Mr. Frodo, all spent from burden, thus carried.

It had all seamed in vain.

Till came the friend, who walked the path.

Samwise Gamgee

"Come, Mr. Frodo!' he cried. 'I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you."

So do angel's imitate men and hobbits.

This lesson they share.

 
my poem written when my wife was undergoing cancer treatments

I wish I could carry your burden, but this I cannot, but like the angels in Gethsemane and Samwise Gamgee on Mount Mordor, I can walk beside you and share the pain. 

Early in our marriage my wife came to me and told me that she had stomach cancer.  She said not to worry as stomach cancer is a slow burner and we still had decades together.  From time to time, I would ask her about cancer.  She would confirm that it was no big deal, and she could handle it well.  I noticed that she held her stomach more and that more kinds of food seamed to unsettle her stomach. Then came the time she stated that the cancer was terminal and that she had six month to live. This would be the last time we would discuss the matter and she did not intend to inform anyone else but the children. She wanted to live the last six months with her children as normal as possible. 

We held a family council and decided to try one more unconventional treatment that at least offered the possibility of returning her appetite.  This, by some unexplained miracle, did return her to health.  She is doing well today.  

I cannot say God will cure you.  I cannot say that my diabetes will be cured.  Maybe together we can learn to manage our illness until we learn the lessons God has sent us here to learn. 

In the middle of the cancer treatments, I started writing poetry to dispel the pain. I needed somewhere to put all the guilt, sorrow and shame.  At first it was bad, very bad. But with time I found my voice and I shared it with a few trusted friends. I found a friend who helped me carry my load.  Those were some dark years. The support of a friend carried me through while we waited for the cure.

One of my favorite books on pain and shame and suffering is The Shack by William P. Young.  At the start of the book Mack’s daughter is kidnapped and murdered.  He is invited by Papa, his wife’s name for God, to come for a visit in the shack where his daughter was murdered. When he arrives, the shack is turned into a beautiful log cabin and a lady that looks like Oprah Winfrey opens the door. She says she is  Papa and is grateful he has stopped by for a visit.  Together in the kitchen they kneaded bread. He reminds her that she abandoned her son on the cross.  Then she states “Son, when all you see is your pain you lose sight of me.'' She shows him the scars she still carries on her wrist.  While Jesus may not have recognized her presence, still, she shared the load.  

The Shack - "Together" scene   

I wonder how many times Papa continues to carry our load though we may not recognize her presence.

I did not recognize Papa carrying my load. 

This poem came out of one of those difficult periods.  My wife was dying, and my daughter was getting married.  She asked the dog to walk her down the aisle.  I don’t know if life could get much darker. 

The scares, He bore.

The knife, it was not sharp,

Just enough,

Serrated, thus it was,

Small in size.

Designed to portion a steak

into smaller pieces.

It had rested on the table.

Left from a previous meal.

It was a tough morning,

leading to a tough day.

One was dying, was she?

One was taking the covenants,

of marriage.

Both performed,

one the marriage,

one the promise.

He was uncertain of his place in both, lives.

Luck had it there were no guns in the house.

Still,

Would they really care in the morning?

There was a lot of blood,

Still...

I learned that playing with knives did not solve my problem; it only left one more mess to clean up. 

I guess what I am trying to say is I did come through the darkness with the help of a friend.  My Heavenly Mother offered me the gift of poetry to shed the shame. I am grateful for the gift, even though it came at a heavy cost. 

Are there any gifts Papa has offered you as she has helped to carry your load?

I love to hear about your music.  I stopped playing when I left for the mission field. String Bass is not a solo instrument. Maybe when I finish college and life slows down a little, I will start those Cello lessons. Till then I will listen to Cellos solos on Spotify and think of you, still, as I hope to share your load today. 

Your fellow traveler.

Steven Bassett

On the Endowment and Forgiveness

 These are the thoughts I shared in my BYU-I Family History class about the Abrahamic Covenant.

The Endowment is only the beginning. It is the tie that binds me to my grandmothers for all eternity. It is the promises my mom made to me and that I then share with my wife and children. I think of these promises when life with my father, wife, and children gets tough. Life with my mom was always a dance. We weaved in and out of each other's lives. Each reaching and then pulling away. In the end, it was the promises that my mom and grandmothers made in the temple that drove me to rebuild our relationship.

It is about love, and hope, and forgiveness. loving and being loved when neither party deserves that love.

Matthew West "Forgiveness"

On being like Divinity

His wife, like Divinity, is best appreciated in small amounts. This is a line he received from the Muze.

Divinity comes in two varieties. We will speak of the candy first. 

Divinity is a candy his aunts made him in his youth. It is served at fancy parties or wedding receptions.  It is made from beaten egg whites like the meringue topping on a cream pie. Some people like to combine it with small nuts. Beaten egg whites are gently blended with sugar and corn syrup in a mixing bowl, then dropped onto a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper. 

Working with Divinity is a skill that can take years to acquire.  If dropped too soon, it puddles on the cookie sheet.  When not gently blended, the syrupy mixture will melt the meringue in the mixing bowl.

It is better anticipated than consumed.  Anticipation is its natural gift. One quickly learns that a tiny piece is more than enough to finish at a setting because of the high sugar content. It reminds him of Manna. Manna is the substance that Jehovah gave to the Children of Israel in the wilderness. The Children of Isreal were instructed to gather it daily, with a double portion on the sixth day because it was not provided on the seventh day.  A double portion gathered on any other day spoiled the following day.  Because Divinity is made from egg whites, it will not last more than a few days in a humid room. 

Working with his wife is a skill that has taken him years to learn. She is like Golde, Tevye's wife in The Fiddler on the Roof.  She is dedicated to nurturing her husband and family, but she does not mince words and is very direct and to the point. 

They shared few interests when they married and share less so today. He knew she enjoyed being with and helping him even when little conversation he shared.  She tried at first, but in his failure to reply, she learned to live a quiet life together. 

Now they share one life in two homes, he anticipates his weekly visits, to learn more of her life that week.  He quickly discovers she has little to share, and he is the one seeking to continue the conversation. 

She is the last thing on his mind at night and the first thing he thinks of in the morning. He is sending her daily text messages and tiny pieces of poetry, songs, and essays.  Seeking to nurture and rebuild their relationship, he damaged so long ago. 

The second kind of Divinity is the one he is studying now. He is learning he has Heavenly Parents, and the second member of the Eternal Parenthood is female.  She has been there, silently in the background this lifetime listening on the pray party line.  When she discovers a need,  she provides a solution often through the intervention of his wife and sister. 

He now recognizes his wife is like Divinity, a fact he now appreciates. She is a shadow or reflection of his Eternal Mother. She is helping him to understand his Eternal Mother's influence.  The intervention of the Eternal Mother is helping to breach this silence he created between them so long ago. 

Fiddler on the roof - Do you love me

On the discovery of the Siblings

It started as a late-night text from someone who was little more than an acquaintance and little less than a friend.  It would lead to this one becoming family.

Kelley had been preparing his yearly tax reports for the better part of a decade. Once a year, he would gather his information and schedule an appointment. Kelley would then prepare the tax returns, one for Idaho, one for Utah, and one for the Federal Government. 

He met Kelley when he needed help with tax preparation. Kelly was a friend of his sister.

The text said, "I think my niece is your son's sister." 

His only response was, "How did her father die." 

It is essential to understand his two children were adopted. Their Birth Mother was his wife's sister, and both children came from separate Birth Fathers. 

When he awoke the following day, a simple reply, Alan killed himself. Kelley then became his family, and he learned of the sister.

Before this day, the thought had never occurred to him that Alan may have an ex-wife and children.  He pleaded with Kelley to speak with his niece and ask her not to contact Nicholas until he could inform his son of this new information. 

He was able to visit his son the next day and inform him that he had two sisters and a brother from Alan and Vicki. 

He spoke to Vicki about Nicholas's birth and Alan's death. He wondered how Alan felt about the adoption and was it a contributing factor in Alan's death. 

She assured him that Alan was happy to see Nicholas placed in a good home. The adoption had not been a contributing factor in Alan's Death. Alan was bipolar and an alcoholic and knew he would not be able to raise Nicholas with Nancy. 

In the coming days, he and his wife met with Nicholas's sister in a restaurant, and they then became family.

They have since discovered that Nicholas is bipolar, and his sister has been a big help in adjusting him to his new diagnosis. 

God makes a family in many mysterious ways.  Open your heart and mind, and he will help extend your family too. 

On life with Momma and Nance

I have come to recognize, and now to love, that I am my Momma’s child. I have rebelled for years against the idea that we share the same personality.

Life with Momma was a dance. I reached out, she pushed away. She reached out I pushed away. In the end, we came together, and beautiful was the dance.

Momma had a younger sister named Nancy but called her Nance. Accepting that Momma and I share a personality is to accept that I share one with Nance. They were twin sisters born 18 months apart. Momma and Nance shared a room until Momma married, then they shared a family. Momma could have babies, and Nance knew how to raise them. Even on family Vacations, they shared a bed, Momma sleeping between Daddy and Nance.

Nance was my nanny until the age of three when she moved to Bountiful to start her own life. Most of my memories of these early years are shadows. We spent so much time together, people accused her of having a child out of wedlock. Nance taught me how to love and that people could be trusted to fill my needs.

After Nance was married and she and Jack had no babies, Momma would send a child each summer to spend a few weeks with Nance. Nance then began a childcare center in her home. One brother and sister, she raised for years.

Loving Momma was like loving a cactus in a coffee can.

"Two weeks to say hello and goodbye
She gave me this cactus, said 'It's kinda like me
It'll hurt you to hold it, but it blooms every spring." 

Life with Daddy was not easy, but she loved him so. Momma’s drug of choice was Television. She watched Television like a drunk consumes cheap whiskey.

I learned in my twenties; Momma kept a pack of cigarettes in her car. She used to consume those on drives when she was learning to love Daddy once more.

To accept that I am Momma’s child is to rejoice that I am Nance’s child too. I can have the best of two women and their world. To accept and celebrate the legacy left by two beautiful women who shared a family together.

Cactus in a Coffee Can

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On the length of her hair

Her hair is longer now,
longer than he has seen, before.

There was a time,
when cancer had its way,
that it came out, in handfuls.

Once, in their apartment,
she had cut her hair.

He rescued that sample

Now he carries that sample,
in his wallet,
as he carries her in his heart. 

As they live separate lives, together,
He wonders about the changes,
they share, together. 

He has begun to see,
as she has saught, to teach.
That change is good, for him, for her, for them.

Maybe she will keep this change,
like the many changes, he has sought to keep,
as they live their life together, apart. 

A speculation on the identity of the Muze

I asketh It still

The poetry,

from whence doeth it come.

Yet heal'th it does,

And renews again.

My muze,

Maybe Milton,

He is

Facebook April 3, 2016

On his Wife's Heavenly Power

He wonders if speaking to his wife is a little like praying and he wonders often if someone is listening on the other side?

He has been taught since his early youth, the standard of pray for his faith community.

Dear Heavenly Father
Then he should state what he is grateful for.
Then he should ask for what he needs.
Then he should close in the Name of Jesus Christ
Amen

 

This is the way he has prayed for his entire lifetime.

He has begun to wonder if prayer is more of a party-line affair.

In his youth laying telephone lines was an expensive affair, often two or more neighbors would share the same physical phone line.  His parents shared a phone line with the adjacent home.  When the phone rang once, it was for you, if it rang twice it was for your neighbor. You could pick up the phone and hear the neighbor's conversation.

What if in prayer there was an additional deity on the line when you called home. Might God be married, and might his wife be listening?

They rarely speak of a Heavenly Mother in his faith community.  He has been instructed this is because of respect and to avoid vulgar repetition of her name. They are beginning to speak more of the Heavenly Mother, in his faith community, and he longs to know more of her and the role she plays in his life.

His relationship with his Earthly Mother was always difficult.  They danced in and out of each other’s lives.  He reaching out and she is pushing away, she reaching out and he pushing away.  In the end, they danced together the most beautiful dance, when he began to see his Mother for the Mom she became.

Was the Eternal Mom listening in on that party line and doing her best to help them dance, together?

He knows that his wife is listening to him, not from the things she says, but from the life, she lives.

She knows what he needs before he knows what he needs.

She spent 25 years always being at home when he arrived home or arranging for someone to be there when she could not.  Less than 10 times in those years was she not home when he arrived home.

She cooked and she cleaned, and she kept a fine house.  She cared for their children.

She provided the proper advice even when he would have preferred different advice.

She can be tenacious as a bulldog.  When she gets hold of an idea she never let’s go.

He wonders if she has a special connection with the Heavenly Mother.  When God listens in on the party line, does she then communicate with one of her daughters to meet the needs discovered in the prayer?

His Wife's Priesthood power seems like such a mystery to him.  Women preach they serve missions, they serve in the temple, they bless their children when their children are ill, often with a silent prayer of faith.  He has seen his wife do it many times as she rocked a child or placed it in a cool basin of water to reduce a fever.  He knows her prayer of faith is as effective a priesthood blessing as a formal prayer from him. These things he is not authorized to do without formal ordination.

Some speculate that endowed women share their father's and husband’s priesthood power after the temple endowment.  I am not sure this is correct. Might the Heavenly Mother be sharing her Priesthood Power with her daughters after the Temple Endowment.  A two-track priesthood line from the Heavenly Parents to the Earthy Adam and Eve would be such a strength to the family.

Maybe someday it will be revealed to him from where his Wife's Priesthood Power is derived, for now, he is grateful for his wife’s exercise of her Priesthood Power.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This then the room

He sleeps now, in the room,
Where she took her last breath.

It started as a bedroom,

it then became a tv room,

and then a bicycle repair shop.

It has changed and transformed many times

as he has changed and transformed. 

In this room, he shared the bed,  

on early morning cuddles, with mom and dad.

Her last three children had been conceived,

in this room. 

The last of the babies though unplanned,

and undesired was not unloved.

Rarely do woman celebrate and name,

the one unborn and unfinished.

Danna Allen was his name,

and he was remembered. 

With the help of his sister, 

this room then became, again,

a bedroom.

His father is sleeping across the hall, 

in the room, he shared with his siblings,

in their youth.

In this room where his mother took her last breath,

they had spoken of his father.

What would become of him, after her death. 

In many ways, Daddy was her last child.

The one that never fully matured.

So now he sleeps in the room where she took her last breath,

and cares for her last child, and he thinks of his wife and children,

in hopes, they will care for him then,

as he cares for his father, now. 

On seeing his mother through her eyes

He sees his mom then, in her eyes.

She the one that shares their life.

She is young like momma was.

Three young ones has she, now, 

like momma had then.

 

His momma had three children in four years,

And daddy then too.

 

Funny he thought it was,

That he refused to walk until he was three.

She then carried two babies,

one on the hip and one in the carrier.

 

Her sister had helped, she unmarried,

Then became a nanny for number two.

 

Seeing the puzzle from his side, then and now.

Never seeing the burden, his refusal to walk,

Created for her.

Seeing over is not seeing through.

 

Now he sees, through

Both the joy and the burden,

His refusal to walk, created.

He now knows, the things, she provides

The joy and the sorrows, and the strength,

As his maturing  mother supplied to her,

Little ones.

on the mystery of the need to write

 

From whence then comes the need, for him to write?

He writes then, nearly weekly, to her, the one he shares this life with.

She reads them or does she.

He never hears from her, on the writing and the poetry.

Maybe it is better this way.

They are his children, his only creations.  He has a daughter and a son, he adopted years ago.  They are special and unique and fill a void in their lives, but they are not his creation.

Once thirty years ago there had been another, he wrote, to her to from his Christian Mission.  After 3 months he stopped writing when she never answered back. Only decades later did he come to understand how she cherished these letters.  He could have taken a chance, weekly, to teach his mom the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  

Maybe it is his hope in writing her, he can leave something for her and the children.  That his grandchildren will learn to cherish his writing as he now cherishes his grandmother’s paintings and poetry.

This then is his hope today.

 

On painting the ceiling blue

 “Blue, Blue, I think I will paint the ceiling blue.”

This is the punch line from a joke, a mortgage broker told him when they were first married.  He thinks of it often now as he lays in bed at night.  He remembers an earlier time as they shared a late-night intimacy. How many times had she been in this position? On her back fulfilling his needs, as she went over the things, she needed to do the following day.

Wash the dishes, check.

Clean the bathroom, check.

Making out a grocery list, check.

Feed the dog, check.

What is it about intimacy that drives men to their women? Even after decades of only memories, still, it is the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last thing, he thinks of at night.

It can be said that a man only thinks of two things, the last time he made love and what he must do to receive it again.

This is the thing he wishes more women understood.

God designed us to desire intimacy.  It is hard-wired in us.  Used properly it is the strongest tool  women possess to shape their man.

I have heard it said that women when they are pregnant, project a hormone that prepares men to be good fathers.  

Men remember your woman, protect her, her children, and her priceless power she shares with you.

 

The joke.

What is the difference between a hooker, a mistress and a wife?

A hooker says, “Was it good for you?”

A mistress says, “It was good for me.”

A wife says, “Blue, blue, I think I will paint the ceiling blue.?

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the loss of my Heavenly Mother

CAROL LYNN PEARSON'S "A MOTHERLESS HOUSE" (1992)

I live in a Motherless house

A broken home.

How it happened I cannot learn.

When I had words enough to ask

“Where is my Mother?”

No one seemed to know

And no one thought it strange

That no one else knew either.

I live in a Motherless house.

They are good to me here

But I find that no kindly

Patriarchal care eases the pain.

I yearn for the day

Someone will look at me and say

“You certainly do look like your Mother.”

I walk the rooms

Search the closets

Look for something that might

Have belonged to her--

A letter, a dress, a chair.

Would she not have left a note?

I close my eyes

And work to bring back her touch, her face.

Surely there must have been

A Motherly embrace

I can call back for comfort.

I live in a Motherless house,

Motherless and without a trace.

Who could have done this?

Who would tear an unweaned infant

From its Mother’s arms

And clear the place of every souvenir?

I live in a Motherless house.

I lie awake and listen always for the word

That never comes, but might.

I bury my face

In something soft as a breast.

I am a child--

Crying for my Mother in the night.

On a my eternal companion

It may surprise you to discover my wife is not my best friend and companion.  That distinction would go to my sister, Debbie.  My wife has known and understood this fact our entire marriage. I think she knew it before I knew it.  My wife feels the same way about my sister.

I  married my wife, partially, because she is Debbie’s best friend. I introduced them on our third date at the family reunion.  At the time Bonnie was living with her parents in Franklin, Idaho and Debbie was living with her first husband in Lewiston UT. Debbie was attending high school in Logan Utah and Bonnie would give her rides home after school. If we had not married, Bonnie would have kept Debbie as a best friend.

I had four things in mind when selecting my wife.  I thought about these needs for year's. This is an important thing to know and understand.

I knew that she needed to be physically attractive, to me.  I was not interested in marrying a beauty queen, but she needed to be someone I was attracted to.  I was grateful when the lady I was dating before Bonnie ask me to stop seeing her.[i]  I thought many times how terrible it would be to wake up in bed with Ginger every morning.  I was so grateful that she stopped dating me.

I needed her to be older than me.  I dated older women.  I am not sure why this mattered to me, but I knew it mattered to me.  A therapist may wonder if I was looking more for a mother, than a wife. This may be partially true.

I knew that she had to love and respect my parents.  She did not have to agree with their lifestyle, but she needed to speak well of them or remain silent. That is why our third date was to the Herzog Family reunion. I thought it was better to shock her with my family and then get a response than to get attached to her and then find that she did not like my family. I joke that her family reminded me of the Beverly Hillbillies, but that is what attracted her to me.[ii]

It wanted to marry a returned missionary. This would demonstrate her commitment to the Mormon church and its teachings.  At the time men went on missions at 19 and women went on missions at 21. This is partially why I dated older women.  If women could not serve missions until they were over 21 then the pool of available women would be mostly older women.   

Aunt Nancy Martin[iii] was my second mom.  When my mom was struggling as a young wife and mother, Aunt Nancy was my unofficial nanny. I was with her so often that people wondered if I was her child. It is this early nurturing that enables me to love today. Aunt Nancy could not make babies, so Mom shared her babies with Aunt Nancy. When I was a teenager, I thought about marrying someone like Aunt Nancy; someone who could not create babies. I knew somehow, we would find a way to raise babies like Aunt Nancy raised babies. Bonnie told me she may not be able to make babies.  I told her that it would not stop our marriage. This was a bridge we would cross when we came to it.

I remember when I was courting Bonnie that I struggled to find things in common to do together. We first went swimming or to the movies.  I took her to visit family members. In the end, we would meet after I got off work.  She worked nights at the hospital so she would come to Logan early and we would walk the streets together late at night.

I can spend about 30 minutes with Bonnie and then I get bored and must find something to entertain myself.  When we were first married and living in the small house in Logan, I would go downstairs to the basement and play with my computer for hours after dinner.  I did not know how to spend time with Bonnie.  She soon put a stop to that and then I read lots of books.  We watched a lot of television when the children were young.

One of my greatest failures as a husband and father was not interacting enough with my wife and children.  Most of the time I needed to take a second couple to dinner with us or on vacation because I had so very little in common with Bonnie. It was nearly too late when I learned to appreciate spending time with them. That is why our vacations were spent going to family reunions or campouts with Debbie.

I can remember that third day in our first apartment. We got married on a Saturday. On Sunday we went to Cornish UT to bless Debbie’s first child, Fridy. Monday morning, I had to go to work.  When I came home, she had cleaned our apartment, bought food, and filled the fridge, and had dinner waiting for me on the table.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Bonnie was the first woman to clean the house and cook just for me.  Charlene, Uncle Dave Bassett's wife, when I lived with their family in Kainesville Utah, cared for me like one of her children, but Bonnie did that just for me. She was always home for me when I got off work.  When she could not be home, she would call and tell me to wait for her at someone's home or go visit my parents.  She knew that I was frightened to go home to an empty house.  I felt so abandoned and alone when this happened. It took me decades to realize she was doing that for me because she loves me. I think this happened less than a dozen times in the first 20 years of marriage.

Bonnie was the first woman I remember kissing, besides momma,  and the only one I have been intimate with. It all began with a gentle nibbling on her ear. It was on our second day of marriage.  She led me to our bedroom and ask me to help her to make a baby. She was so gentle with me.  I think that one act bound me to her forever.  Some birds find themselves bound to the first person or item they see after breaking out of the shell.  That act was like breaking out of a shell for me. With that one act, we were forever one soul.

On making a baby ... 

Let's make a baby,
She said.

It was not the first night,
But the second.

The first had been a pajama night.

Still, he had not slept with a woman,
Except for momma, her momma, or an aunt.

The first day was busy,
The wedding breakfast,
Temple ceremony, when he nearly fainted, and the wedding reception.

So, the first night was a pajama night.

She was the first to kiss him,
Except for momma.

That second night, they did try, to make a baby.

Little did they know, He could never create new life.

Still, they luved to try.

The babies did come, send from another who luved them all.

He so luved his Eve.
So times seam tough and life is a struggle,
Still, he knows she was the first and will remain the only,

To ask him, to help her, to make a baby. 

It is difficult to explain why I am so tightly bound to a woman who so completely bores me.  I struggle to find things in common, things we can share.  I can remember dreading long drives in the car with her.  For a couple of years, we went together to Wyoming, once a week, while I repaired televisions in people’s homes.  Those drives were hard, most of this time was spent in silence as she crocheted or did handwork. I struggled to find things to talk to her about.  When she would drive, I would read a book or sleep.  I often fell asleep when we are together from sheer boredom.

on two great suns 

Two great suns, once there were.
once in orbit near a great sphere,
Attracted they were one to another.

This then what of the attraction. 

Little in common had they then,
even less now so they find.
This then holds, what attraction? 

This distance required, as the sun's glow brighter,
a greater distance, in their orbit sphere. 

This then fear then he feels,
that destruction may come,
at a smaller orbit, as their strength and bond
glow brighter. 

Daily he checks, this then the dance.
Weaving in and out, each other's sphere.
This many years now, then have they danced.
The choice than to continue, this covenant path. 

Long-lasting projects are created by partners.  A leader needs someone beside him who can tell him when he is wrong and needs to change.  Bonnie is that for me. She is bold and is not afraid to correct me, to help me remain on course.  This too has been a source of tension between us.  She is tenacious. When she has an idea, she can be like a bulldog.  She will remain at her post and no level of prodding or arguing will change her mind or divert her course of action. 

Now as we live parallel lives, I have never felt more tightly bound to her.  I live with my father while I care for him and attend college online.  I check in with her daily and we meet weekly for breakfast together.  I find myself looking forward to these times together.  I no longer struggle to find things to talk to her about. I no longer am bored by her presence.  Maybe I am growing and maturing.  I do know that no one will ever mean more to me than her.  We have an eternal marriage covenant and I remind her that this time apart will seam small compared to all of eternity.   

I look forward to a time when our babies will number, as the sands of the sea.

 

---

[i][i] Ginger Bright, I discovered after were married that Ginger was Bonnies cousin.

[ii] The Beverly Hillbillies was a television program from the early 1960.  They were a family of poor hill fold from the Ozarks.  Oil is discovered on their property and the become wealthy. They take their Hillbilly lifestyle to Beverly Hills California. 

[iii] Nancy Carolyn Herzog Martin (1947-2015) was my moms’ youngest sister.  Growing up they shared the same bedroom. Many people thought they shared the same personality.  They were alike, yet so different. It was like they took a similar pattern and developed different traits with that pattern. Many times, mom would take Nancy on our family vacations.  My parents and Nancy would share a bed, mom sleeping between Dad and Nancy. This was a common thing people would do when I was younger, it was not sexual.

On Sonnet 23

Sonnet 23

Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Joves great son to her glad Husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.

Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint, [ 5 ]
Purification in the old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was vail'd, yet to my fancied sight, [ 10 ]
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd

So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O as to embrace me she enclin'd,
I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

 ((unknown), The John Milton Reading Room, 2020)

 

I came across this sonnet on the internet today.  It was written by John Milton after the death of his second wife.  His first marriage, to Mary Powell,  had been difficult.  He was older than his first wife and after a few weeks of marriage, she returned home to her parents.  They reconciled a few years later and she returned to him. They had three children together and she died in childbirth with a daughter. Their infant son soon followed her.  He was left with two daughters from this marriage. His second marriage was to Katherine Woodcock was more successful.  She too died from complications from pregnancy.  This left him with three daughters. ((unknown), John Milton's relationships, 2020)

Perhaps this poem is best understood by someone who has lost or nearly lost a spouse, or companion.  Alcestis was the mythical Queen of Thessaly.  She was known for her devotion to her husband she replaced him in death. (Mark, 2020)

In the summer of 2015, I nearly lost my wife to Stomach Cancer.  Like Milton’s first marriage our relationship has always been a difficult one.  I am devoted to my wife, and she is devoted to me, but we are not each other’s best friends and companions. Our marriage has survived because we wake up each day and commit to renewing our relationship.  This life is about relationships and the promises we make and keep. This is the new covenant given to us by Christ on the cross.  A covenant of renewal and rededication.

My gift of poetry was born at this moment.  I was given this avenue to process my grief. The pain was severe enough I nearly ended my life.

Now my wife is recovering and my poetry is in full bloom I can better appreciate this great poem on love, death, renewal, and resurrection.

Works Cited

(unknown). (2020, 12 20). John Milton's relationships. Retrieved from Wikepedia.org: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Milton%27s_relationships

(unknown). (2020, 12 20). The John Milton Reading Room. Retrieved from Dartmouth.edu: https://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/sonnets/sonnet_23/text.shtml

Mark, J. J. (2020, 12 20). Alcestis. Retrieved from Ancient History Encclopedia : https://www.ancient.eu/Alcestis/#:~:text=Alcestis%20was%20the%20mythical%20queen,and%20wife%20in%20ancient%20Greece.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

on restoration and prophetic vision

I deeply believe in the prophet Joseph Smith and in his mission to restore the Church.  

I believe the church is in a constant state of restoration.

I believe God has other prophets too.

John Milton was his prophet to the English people, as were William Tyndale and John Wycliffe.

True religion lies somewhere between the faith of Thomas More and the prophetic voice of William Tyndale.

The church was not taken from the earth at the death of the apostles but was taken into the wilderness where she was nourished by his poets and musicians. (see Revelations 12:6)

I know, those who know me best could confirm, that I am a sinner in continual need of restoration (need for personal repentance).

Facebook post from November 2014

Thoughts on the presidential election and my own racism

 

 

Transcript of President Abraham Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address (1865) 

With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan -- to achieve and cherish a lasting peace among ourselves and with the world. to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with the world. all nations. 

A. Lincoln

April 10, 1865 

It seems we are deeply divided nations.  Polls have never been more wrong about the presidential election.  I think many people who depend on polls have never administered one or attempted to collect one on the telephone.  I have spent nearly 20 years of my life calling people on the phone and attempting to get them to finish a poll.  The one thing I have learned is rednecks, like me, do not answer polls on the phone. 

I have often wondered what it is about Donald Trump is that makes my people so attracted to him.  It is a hope that things can be better.  Over the years more of the same has not worked. The politicians have failed us and the same people who design the polls seek to slice and dice up into neat little packages to sell us than to their politician friends. 

155 years ago we were a deeply divided nation, moving towards the conclusion of a real civil war. Shortly after speaking these words, the president would be martyred. He would offer his life for his country at Ford's Theater. 

As a young Mormon missionary, I have walked the civil war battlefield of Vicksburg Mississippi. I have seen the monuments from a real civil war.  I also refused to walk the streets of the colored children of that war.  A war that cost so many lives to free their grandfathers. 

I knew the people of my church did not want me to convert poor African Americans.  We had a word for them.  We called them das rights.  This out of the mistaken belief that no matter what you ask them they would respond, Das Right, I believe dat too. We heard of the missionaries who came to town, converted a whole lot of people, and left them to promptly go inactive when we transferred to a new area.  We wanted to convert that Golden Family. Translate this to rich middle-class white people who would then pay to tithe and serve in the church.  Then to be the Sunday School Teachers, Primary Teachers and Bishops and Stake Presidents. 

How long will we continue to fight this war?  If I had it all to do again would I walk the streets of the projects? 

I have family members who adopted colored children and I have seen the struggles they have endured to be accepted by both worlds.  they were not wanted by the members of their race because they had a white mother and father and not accepted by the members of my church because of the color of their skin. 

I don't have any answers, only question, as I struggle to deal with my prejudices. 

"Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends. 

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." 

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. 

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. 

I have a dream today!"

Martin Luther King Jr. "I have a Dream. 

Can this dream be fulfilled while I still refuse to serve in the projects among his people? 

King David was a man after God's own heart not because he was sinless but because he sought to change. 

I ask myself, Can I then change and be the change I desire in the world?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The need to be grateful

 Dying She, was,
or was He? 

To grateful, for the small things,
Needed he then, tobe. 

A full head of hair.
A Hair Stylist, with real talent.
Two children, and a wife, he adored. 

And very very angry was he, still.
She was the center of his universe.
Talk about it, he could not.

Why? 

Then came the one who brought the cure.
and angry was he,
very, very angry was he, still.
Talk, he could not, and why they knew not. 

Yet, came the cure, the full head of hair.
A full remission.
... and now to the rebuilding, of a life,

Together.

 

To let the anger, be still.

Note edited from an earlier poem,
from the time before the cure.

The Cowboy Jesus

 

 

The Cowboy Jesus

Steve Bassett

 

On the Cowboy Jesus.

 

He had spent the last week rereading Levi Peterson's The Backslider.  Really, he was listening to the audio version on Audible.  He spent most of his days at work reviewing his favorite audiobooks. Changing Led's and scraping corrosion takes very little mental energy and his boss has suggested it to make the work go faster when he first hired him.  It also made him feel he was learning something new daily. 

The Backslider is the story of Frank Windham.  Frank lives in the mid-1950s in south-central Utah.  Franks works as a ranch hand for a local hay rancher.  He works during the week and visits his mom on weekends. Frank is a backslider, a jack Mormon.  Franks's father, a polygamist, had died when he was 10 and his older sister had died when she was 3, this left Frank, his brother, and mom.  In town lived his dad's other wife who his moms spend her time nursing grudges against.  She had always felt like the red-headed stepchild.  His mom had been banished to the farm in the late 1930s when the Fed's and the church begins to crack down on polygamy. She also spends her time striving to be the best Mormon and live the requirements of the gospel including strict adherence to the Word of Wisdom.  She banished all thoughts of sugar, sweets, and meat.  All vegetables, all cooked, to remove flavor texture, and pleasure. 

It was her belief that that men and women should only enjoy each other when they wanted to create a child.  These beliefs are partly what lead Frank to be a backslider.  He enjoyed good food and dancing on the weekends.  He just could not help himself and the worst crime of all he pleasured himself nightly in his bed at the bunkhouse, on the ranch.  He was surely going to hell for his wicked ways. 

One day in a temper of bitterness and rage, he decides to get his boss's daughter pregnant and then to abandon his job and move back to his mother's home and repent of his sinful ways.  To be a better Mormon. He soon regrets his decision and determines not to do this act. The problem is God had other plans for Frank.  His boss's wife asks their daughter to take Frank on a horse ride to see some dinosaur fossils. In a rage of hormones Marianne leads him to make love that first night in his pickup truck.  After that she and Frank make love every time, they get a chance.  Luckily, Frank had a good supply of rubbers, until the night when she is on the rag and he cannot help himself.  He knows that you cannot get a girl pregnant who is on the rag.  He does it and feels bad afterward.  Only a low life scum back would make love to a woman on the rag.  In the morning he determines to leave the farm, go home and repent of his sinful ways.  He meets with the bishop and repents of his sins and begins to pay his tithing.  The bishop plans for his ordination to the priesthood.  All is well for the backslider accept he learns Marianne is pregnant and she no longer wants him.  She hates him with a deep passion.  Still, Marianne's mother urges him to marry her and give the child a name.  Marianne's father hates him too but may begin to forgive him if he marries his daughter. If he will come back to the farm and run the farm as a good son-in-law should so he can retire and become a gentleman farmer. In the rest of the book, we see how Frank learns to love his wife and see beyond his Mormonism and respect his wife’s Lutheranism. In the final chapter, after his wife’s baptism, he is given the vision of the Cowboy Jesus in the men’s room before a urinal. 

The Cowboy Jesus is dressed like the Marlborough Man. He comes riding a horse and chewing some tobacco. Frank asks him if tobacco is against the Word of Wisdom.  The Cowboy Jesus confirms that it is against the Word of Wisdom. He confirms that it is before taking another piece of chew.  Frank tells him that he is a backslider. Franks tells him about his dead sister and his brother who in a fit of rage cut of his male organs and now thinks he is a girl.  He tells Jesus how his mother was unfairly treated by his father’s other wife.  The Cowboy Jesus agrees that Franks's life was tough, and he had been treated rather badly by life. Frank also tells the Cowboy Jesus that he hates God.  The Cowboy Jesus tells him he needs to get over hating God.  That he needs to stop this nonsense about only enjoying his wife when they want to have a baby.  He especially needs to treat his mother-law much nicer. His mother-in-law feels bad that Frank has turned her into a Mormon. Frank decides to abandon his backsliding ways and to enjoy sugar, and meat, and sex.  He will buy back his favorite horse and take his wife fishing on weekends when they can get away from the farm. 

He loves the image of the Cowboy Jesus.  It reminds him of the vision of Peter when the blanket descends from the heavens and Peter is commanded to eat all of the forbidden foods.  That Peter is to take the gospel to all the world, that the gospel is no longer restricted just to Jews. and the descendants of Israel. 

His father-in-law reminds him of The Cowboy Jesus.  He is a man who works 7 days a week 15 hours a day to feed and clothe his family.  His faith and worship are performed from an old pickup truck or moving pipe on hayfields for his employer. You never see a  man work so hard. His father-in-law had been a little like Frank, he drank too much and smoked too much, until he meets his wife’s mother and then that began to change.  His mother-in-law had almost been a single mother when they married. Her first child had died as an infant.  His Father-in-law looked forward to the day when he would meet his first daughter in Heaven, until then he would work to support their family.   Their last child had been born when he was an older man.  Cody had been his grandson, he loved him too much to remain only a grandson, so Cody became their last son.  Soon a daughter followed too, the child of a second daughter. 

Therefore, he loves the image of the Cowboy Jesus.  He sees in the Cowboy Jesus all the things he wants for himself.  Following the true gospel and not just some religious norms.  He has adopted two children.  They are a gift from the same daughter that offered his father-in-law Cody.  The wife and mother now raise their 4 children together as one family.  They have always been much more like sisters than mother and daughter.  Two women raising four children, under the guidance of the Cowboy Jesus.

On the new haircut

They admired her new haircut
they all gathered about her,
in church.

The ladies loved,
the new, look.

Little do they understand,
she cut it herself,
this morning. 

Her hair is coming out in handfuls, now.
This is what remains,
after this morning's shower.

The tumor has left her stomach.
He learned of it early in their marriage.
It had remained entombed there, this many years.

It has invaded her optic nerve, now.
Like it invaded their life, before.

How does he live a life, without her?

They fought so many times,
for their marriage,
for their life, together.

Still, there is hope,
that the gardener,
may have brought the cure.

This is the hope they share.
The hope for the cure.
The hope for the children,
for the return of health,
and the hair one day.

I just spend the evening screaming at my father. I just went to put my clean sheets on my bed and found my father has put them in the wash for me. I am angry deeply and do not understand why?

When I married 30 years ago, I never dreamed that I would spend my twilight years caring for my father and visiting my wife on the weekends.

Is it his fault that he simply cannot remember that he just saw me take them out of the dryer? That seeing my wash in the hamper he just wanted to make my life a little simpler by helping me to wash my clothes?

Am I angry that even though I knew it was a possibility, that I can never create new life? That I still feel the deep need to create a new life with my wife even though I wonder if she still feels the same need? That my children no longer need me like I wish they did? That I was never able to adopt my first two sons?

My wife was almost a single mother when we wed. She had a chance to adopt my children's oldest brother, but she, being single with no prospects and living at home, he then went to another, good home. That the next son could have been ours, but grandpa loved him first.

Can I learn to be grateful for the handmaiden who offered us the next two children? I have taught my children to appreciate the gift of life.

That my wife is alive today to visit, and not just a gravesite to put flowers on, this weekend. That I know not why she is alive, but I am grateful, still.

John Denver "I Want to Live"

The wife

He never called her by name,
only the wife.

She remembers the many years of silence,
between them.

The judge had told him,
marriage or the military.
He tried the army,
they didn't want him.

Then one day he came home,
asked his mom what she would say,
if he were married.
She said pack your bags.
He did.

There have been so many losses,
between them.
The first child, a daughter,
when she was an infant.

The arguments, the many arguments,
you can only be this bone-deep angry,
with someone you truly love.

His older brothers had tried for years,
to break them up.

Many nights they spent,
staring across the table, in silence.

Is this where the commitment begins.
Each seeking to find something,
between them, to renew.

The commitment each day,
once more, to try once more.

With time more children were born,
two boys, now they share, three children,
between them.

It is partly the memory,
of the loss of their daughter,
that helps him to change.

To help him become,
what they need of him.

The silence will always remain,
between them,
but the bond will grow brighter each day,
as they renew their promises,
to each other.

what if your blessings come through raindrops

'Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near'

Songwriters: Laura Story

Blessings lyrics © Warner Chappell Music Inc

He learned of cancer, early in there life, together.  When you live with death it becomes a part of you.  It lives with you, there between the two of you.  It shares your bed, it shares your dreams, it reminds you daily of why she is so dear. It is like leaving his hand in cold water, it soon numbs him to the pain.  With time it becomes noise, the background noise to the music of their lives. So they lived with it for 20 plus years.

It then sneaks upon him when he least expects it. He is reminded that death is always near.  He gets angry, and he curses God and he yells at the one who is most dear.  How can she leave him here, with the children and his fear? 

He knows he can never marry again.  To share a life brings so much pain, love, and fear. He has worked so hard to build a life, with her, and the children.  He fears to share this need and pain, so he buries himself in his work.  He says he is working to pay the bills.  This is true, partially.  He really needs to mask the pain, from the loss and despair.

So, he lives with death 

and mourns her loss, 

and poetry then comes. 

it comes as a gift, and the miracle too. 

To restart their life together, once more.

"What if my greatest disappointments

Or the aching of this life

Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy"

Laura Story “Blessings”

Laura Story "Blessings"