mmm...fertilizer.

I was born in Orem, Utah but as the story goes, ten days later I was on a flight headed to Arizona where I would spend the first fourteen years of my life. I loved growing up in a house that my great-grandparents had built.

The elementary school I attended was built on land previously owned by my (great) grandpa Miller. I remember naively thinking, I will never move.

As fate would have it, my mum sat me down and said we were moving to Utah so she could go to law school. Strangely, my first concern was whether we were taking the pup pups with us. Matthew understandably wasn't quite as calm about the prospect, 'specially as he was about to start his senior year of high school.

We have now had our house in Utah now for fifteen years, though I have not lived there for that entire time. Two years in Provo. Just over a year in Florida - and in Florida I lived in three cities. And three years in Greensboro - with three residences there, too.

When playing with the Old Time Ensemble, we usually introduced ourselves to the audience. The introduction would consist of one's name, major area of study, and from whence you hailed. Generally, I would cop out and say, I'm from the West. (No, that is NOT the Ohio, thankyouverymuch!) Once I joked with a friend I should say, I'm a resident of NC for tuition purposes. But I chickened out. This simple exercise brought a large question to the fore: where the heck AM I from?

Today, as I've visited with relatives, it has made me ponder the question again. One uncle began talking about family and roots. Which made me think, well, not all roots are the same.

Take the cactus. After all, we are in Arizona right now. We learn that the cactus has very shallow roots, that are near the surface so as to take advantage of even the slightest bit of rainfall.

Then there is the awful no good horrible Oregon grape. Where, even if you dump half a thing of poison on its roots, it still comes back to taunt you. Or the bulbs, that geow every year, and can be divided and spread out. Or the tap roots of those naughty dandelions. Or, or, or.

Though I still struggle with an honest answer of, where is my hometown, I do take comfort that perhaps it's not where I from, but that I do put down roots were I am. Food for thought, that is.

everyday miracles

Howdy howdy howdy.

I've been meaning to tell a story.

Once upon I was a full blown door knocking missionary. It seems so long ago, and yet in some ways only yesterday.

In my first few days as a missionary, my trainer* and I were deciding which streets we were going to be visiting that morning. We had sectioned a part of the city out and would focus on that tiny geographical area for a while. We would sit in our car - usually with the ac blasting away the gross Florida summer heat - and individually say a prayer of where we should go that day. After that we would compare notes and go from there.

This particular afternoon the number 15 came to mind very strongly. Problem was, there was no 15 on the map. I was quite confused, but I mentioned it to my companion and she didn't know what to do either.

So we went to the other streets we had in common. And as we were heading back to the car we decided to go into this small little development.

We knocked the entire complex. There were four doors that particularly stuck with me after all these years. One, a young man who was living with his girlfriend. We taught him about temples and how we can be with those we love not only in this life, but the next.

He said we should knock on his neighbor's door, as he was religious. This was the neighbor we had seen taking hus garbage out not five minutes before.
He did not answer his door.

Then there was the lady who we taught about prophets. And how God has not left us alone. Noah talked about the ark. The ark was of great importance to the people during his time. We now have prophet's who tell us the 'arks' that we need today.

Lastly, there was the big guy. He came to the door with his shirt off, probably hoping to scare off these two little blonde girls. He didn't. He kept saying, you should go talk to someone else. Don't waste your time here. Something in me did not accept this. Why? I asked. Why? We want to talk to you just as much as your neighbors.

It finally came out that he just could not believe in a God who would allow such terrible things to happen. The Holcaust? Wars? This was just after the shooting of the school children in Russia. If God truly loved his children why would he let these things happen to those who were most innocent?

As he was speaking, I was reminded of a scripture I had read years previously. I did not know where it was. I just remembered the story. I told my companion to keep him busy as I hurriedly flipped through my scriptures.

I found it. I looked him in the eye and told him the story:

Alma was a prophet who was told to preach to the people of Ammonihah. Many did not listen, but a few did. Amulek joined Alma in preaching. Eventually Alma and Amulek were thrown into prison. Then, they were forced to watch as the leaders of the city gathered all those who believed, and cast them into a fire.

Then I read:
And when Amulek saw the pains of the women and children who were consuming in the fire, he also was pained; and he said unto Alma: How can we witness this awful scene? Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God which is in us, and save them from the flames.
But Alma said unto him: The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just; and the blood of the innocent shall stand as a witness against them, yea, and cry mightily against them at the last day. (Book of Mormon, Alma, Chapter 14, vs 10-11)

As we were leaving the little division, I looked up and saw that the street that these four people had lived on was street 15.

I share this story for one reason today, though there are many reasons why this story is so special to me. I share it today because of the last bit. The part where I looked up and saw that we were on the street 15.

If I had not noticed the street name, there is no doubt that this experience still would have been a truly special experience. But by looking, this experience was transformed into a miracle.

I chose this example out of many just because it is such an obvious example But usually, the everyday miracles are much quieter and less obvious. Sometimes they consist simply of taking a different route on your way to the practice room and seeing a dear friend.

Though so much easier said than done, I know that miracles are happening everyday. I'm just not looking for them. That is why I am wanting to write more regularly, to share the everday miracles. Because they exist. I just need to look for them.




*One's first missionary companion once you leave the training center, who shows you the ropes. Theoretically. And thankfully, I was very lucky in who was my trainer.

scriptural revelation!

I have found scriptural based evidence for naming children!

Verse twelve:
 12And behold, I am called ^aMormon, being called after the ^bland of Mormon, the land in which Alma did establish the church among the people, yea, the first church which was established among them after their transgression.


So there you have it, folks. Go ahead and name your children after geographic locales. Though I would recommend sticking to the name of the place you were married, or baptized or the like. For example, all my children will be named Mesa, or some variant.


And now, back to the paper. sigh.

here we are together

I'm sitting here on my oh so comfy couch. Next to me is a not-so-little-anymore black cat. [Question: Is it wrong that I like to poke him while he's sleeping?]

I started out this evening to post about what I've been studying in my Music of Southeast Asia class. Well, more how it applies to me right now.

But, I got sidetracked. [Do you like the new colors?]

But never fear, I am back on target.



For my project in the class, I am trying to answer why dancers would have been a target for execution during the Khmer Rouge. I finally have settled on an acceptable (at least to me!) thesis statement, and am beginning to really work out the organization of my paper. Once this is done, I'll be able to lay out what information I have already learned, and find any more information I may need to fill in any possible holes.

In reading stories of survivors of the regime, it has been hard to stay objective. Sometimes I even catch myself thinking flippantly about events that transpired. I guess so that I can continue functioning emotionally?

For example, one young girl relates how she and her entire family miraculously survived the years of the Khmer Rouge, and made it to Thailand in hopes of making it to a refugee camp. The arrived at a camp, and were then bussed to a location.

After disembarking the bus, they were forced to climb down a mountainside, through a minefield, then arriving back in their own country they had just fled.

And my 'Self' says: wow. that was really kind of them to do that.

[I just got distracted again. Big surprise.]

This is not the only story I've. And I doubt I would be able to read all of the stories that exist from that time period.

Many of the stories cannot be told. The number vary slightly, depending on the sources, but approximately 14,000 peoples were brought in for questioning (that includes men women and children) and only 7 survived.

'Self': hmm... wow. seven - that's an odd number.

Oh ya, and there's the story of the little boy who was the only one in his family who survived.

He knew his father had been killed, because his father would not lie. The little boy survived because he lied. Thusly, the boy learned that one survives through deceit and dishonesty. And others who believed that all that was happening to them was their fault, their karma. They must have done something wrong at some point, right?

'Self':   ...

And yet, there were stories of survival - even by people who were targeted. There are musicians who had ties to previous rulers, who survived, because they had an artistic ability.

'Self': what?

What we discussed in class was that the way the Khmer Rouge ruled was through fear. And this fear was created by changing the rules. Even those who were originally leaders in the organization were afraid for their lives. No one really knew the rules. Probably not even Pol Pot himself.

In a previous post, I've mentioned how I am grateful for the Plan of Happiness, and how there is justice for both those who do wrong, yet seem to not receive their dues and those who did not do wrong and were dealt a raw hand.

Now I would like to mention how grateful I am for a God who does not change the rules on us, thus allowing us to live our lives free from fear. I believe there is a reason fear is the enemy of faith.

I also love that it is my academic classes that are continually driving home these points to me. That makes me happy.

So much more could be said.

ponderings: 1

I've decided to share occasional thoughts I've had via the blogosphere. How is any different from previous ramblings? Well, as I try to figure out life (HA) I've been reminded of lessons I've previously learned, that once again are wonderfully applicable. Most will be based in Latter-day Saint beliefs, but I believe will be more generally applicable.




As I was talking with a good friend this evening, I was reminded of a General Conference talk that had an impact on my life.

I found it, and sent it to her, and decided to reread it. It is E. Holland's, The Other Prodigal. So good.

Every word of the talk dealt with many of the issues that I'll be trying to tackle when I begin to research for my not-quite-a-dissertation-paper-thing.

I've included the talk below, highlighting some sentences that I feel are extra pertinent.

Jeffrey R. Holland, “The Other Prodigal,” Liahona, Jul 2002, 69–72

No one of us is less treasured or cherished of God than another. I testify that He loves each of us—insecurities, anxieties, self-image, and all.


Among the most memorable parables the Savior ever told is the story of a foolish younger brother who went to his father, asked for his portion of the estate, and left home to squander his inheritance, the scripture says, in “riotous living.” 1 His money and his friends disappeared sooner than he thought possible—they always do—and a day of terrible reckoning came thereafter—it always does. In the downward course of all this he became a keeper of pigs, one so hungry, so stripped of sustenance and dignity that he “would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat.” But even that consolation was not available to him.

Then the scripture says encouragingly, “He came to himself.” He determined to find his way home, hoping to be accepted at least as a servant in his father’s household. The tender image of this boy’s anxious, faithful father running to meet him and showering him with kisses is one of the most moving and compassionate scenes in all of holy writ. It tells every child of God, wayward or otherwise, how much God wants us back in the protection of His arms.

But being caught up in this younger son’s story, we can miss, if we are not careful, the account of an elder son, for the opening line of the Savior’s account reads, “A certain man had two sons”—and He might have added, “both of whom were lost and both of whom needed to come home.”

The younger son has returned, a robe has been placed on his shoulders and a ring on his finger, when the older son comes on the scene. He has been dutifully, loyally working in the field, and now he is returning. The language of parallel journeys home, though from very different locations, is central to this story.

As he approaches the house, he hears the sounds of music and laughter.

“And he called one of the servants [note that he has servants], and asked what these things meant.

“And [the servant] said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.

“And [the older brother] was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.”

You know the conversation they then had. Surely, for this father, the pain over a wayward child who had run from home and wallowed with swine is now compounded with the realization that this older, wiser brother, the younger boy’s childhood hero as older brothers always are, is angry that his brother has come home.

No, I correct myself. This son is not so much angry that the other has come home as he is angry that his parents are so happy about it. Feeling unappreciated and perhaps more than a little self-pity, this dutiful son—and he is wonderfully dutiful—forgets for a moment that he has never had to know filth or despair, fear or self-loathing. He forgets for a moment that every calf on the ranch is already his and so are all the robes in the closet and every ring in the drawer. He forgets for a moment that his faithfulness has been and always will be rewarded.

No, he who has virtually everything, and who has in his hardworking, wonderful way earned it, lacks the one thing that might make him the complete man of the Lord he nearly is. He has yet to come to the compassion and mercy, the charitable breadth of vision to see that this is not a rival returning. It is his brother. As his father pled with him to see, it is one who was dead and now is alive. It is one who was lost and now is found.

Certainly this younger brother had been a prisoner—a prisoner of sin, stupidity, and a pigsty. But the older brother lives in some confinement, too. He has, as yet, been unable to break out of the prison of himself. He is haunted by the green-eyed monster of jealousy. 2 He feels taken for granted by his father and disenfranchised by his brother, when neither is the case. He has fallen victim to a fictional affront. As such he is like Tantalus of Greek mythology—he is up to his chin in water, but he remains thirsty nevertheless. One who has heretofore presumably been very happy with his life and content with his good fortune suddenly feels very unhappy simply because another has had some good fortune as well.

Who is it that whispers so subtly in our ear that a gift given to another somehow diminishes the blessings we have received? Who makes us feel that if God is smiling on another, then He surely must somehow be frowning on us? You and I both know who does this—it is the father of all lies. 3 It is Lucifer, our common enemy, whose cry down through the corridors of time is always and to everyone, “Give me thine honor.” 4

It has been said that envy is the one sin to which no one readily confesses, but just how widespread that tendency can be is suggested in the old Danish proverb, “If envy were a fever, all the world would be ill.” The parson in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales laments it because it is so far-reaching—it can resent anything, including any virtue and talent, and it can be offended by everything, including every goodness and joy. 5 As others seem to grow larger in our sight, we think we must therefore be smaller. So, unfortunately, we occasionally act that way.

How does this happen, especially when we wish so much that it would not? I think one of the reasons is that every day we see allurements of one kind or another that tell us what we have is not enough. Someone or something is forever telling us we need to be more handsome or more wealthy, more applauded or more admired than we see ourselves as being. We are told we haven’t collected enough possessions or gone to enough fun places. We are bombarded with the message that on the world’s scale of things we have been weighed in the balance and found wanting. 6 Some days it is as if we have been locked in a cubicle of a great and spacious building where the only thing on the TV is a never-ending soap opera entitled Vain Imaginations. 7

But God does not work this way. The father in this story does not tantalize his children. He does not mercilessly measure them against their neighbors. He doesn’t even compare them with each other. His gestures of compassion toward one do not require a withdrawal or denial of love for the other. He is divinely generous to both of these sons. Toward both of his children he extends charity. I believe God is with us the way my precious wife, Pat, is with my singing. She is a gifted musician, something of a musical genius, but I couldn’t capture a musical note with Velcro. And yet I know she loves me in a very special way when I try to sing. I know that because I can see it in her eyes. They are the eyes of love.

One observer has written: “In a world that constantly compares people, ranking them as more or less intelligent, more or less attractive, more or less successful, it is not easy to really believe in a [divine] love that does not do the same. When I hear someone praised,” he says, “it is hard not to think of myself as less praiseworthy; when I read about the goodness and kindness of other people, it is hard not to wonder whether I myself am as good and kind as they; and when I see trophies, rewards, and prizes being handed out to special people, I cannot avoid asking myself why that didn’t happen to me.” 8 If left unresisted, we can see how this inclination so embellished by the world will ultimately bring a resentful, demeaning view of God and a terribly destructive view of ourselves. Most “thou shalt not” commandments are meant to keep us from hurting others, but I am convinced the commandment not to covet is meant to keep us from hurting ourselves.

How can we overcome such a tendency so common in almost everyone? For one thing, we can do as these two sons did and start making our way back to the Father. We should do so with as much haste and humility as we can summon. Along the way we can count our many blessings and we can applaud the accomplishments of others. Best of all, we can serve others, the finest exercise for the heart ever prescribed. But finally these will not be enough. When we are lost, we can “come to ourselves,” but we may not always be able to “find ourselves,” and, worlds without end, we cannot “save ourselves.” Only the Father and His Only Begotten Son can do that. Salvation is in Them only. So we pray that They will help us, that They will “come out” to meet and embrace us and bring us into the feast They have prepared.

They will do this! The scriptures are replete with the promise that God’s grace is sufficient. 9 This is one arena where no one has to claw or compete. Nephi declares that the Lord “loveth the [whole] world” and has given salvation freely.

“Hath [He] commanded any that they should not partake of his goodness?” Nephi asks. No! “All … are privileged the one like unto the other, and none are forbidden [at His hand].”

“Come unto me all ye ends of the earth,” He pleads, and buy milk without money and honey without price. 10All are privileged, the one like unto the other. Walk peacefully. Walk confidently. Walk without fear and without envy. Be reassured of Heavenly Father’s abundance to you always.

As we do this, we can help others, calling down blessings on them even as they make supplication for us. We can cheer every talent and ability, wherever it is bestowed, thus making life here more nearly what it will be like in heaven.

It will help us always to remember Paul’s succinct prioritizing of virtues—“Now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” 11 He reminds us we are all of the body of Christ, and that all members, whether comely or feeble, are adored, essential, and important. We feel the depth of his plea that there be “no schism in the body, but that the members … have the same care one for another. And [when] one member suffer[s], all the members suffer with it; or [when] one member [is] honoured, all the members rejoice.” 12 That incomparable counsel helps us remember that the word generosity has the same derivation as the word genealogy, both coming from the Latin genus, meaning of the same birth or kind, the same family or gender. 13 We will always find it easier to be generous when we remember that this person being favored is truly one of our own.

Brothers and sisters, I testify that no one of us is less treasured or cherished of God than another. I testify that He loves each of us—insecurities, anxieties, self-image, and all. He doesn’t measure our talents or our looks; He doesn’t measure our professions or our possessions. He cheers on every runner, calling out that the race is against sin, not against each other. I know that if we will be faithful, there is a perfectly tailored robe of righteousness ready and waiting for everyone, 14 “robes … made … white in the blood of the Lamb.” 15 May we encourage each other in our effort to win that prize is my earnest prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

1. See Luke 15:11–32.
2. See William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2, line 110.
3. See 2 Ne. 2:18.
4. Moses 4:1.
5. See Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, ed. Walter W. Skeat (1929), 534–35.
6. See Dan. 5:27 (double entendre doubly intended).
7. See 1 Ne. 12:18.
8. Henri J. M. Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son (1992), 103.
9. See Ether 12:26; Moro. 10:32; D&C 17:8.
10. See 2 Ne. 26:24–28; emphasis added.
11. 1 Cor. 13:13.
12. See 1 Cor. 12:25–26.
13. I am indebted to Henri Nouwen for pointing out this etymological link.
14. See Isa. 61:10; 2 Ne. 4:33; 2 Ne. 9:14.
15. Rev. 7:14.

Eventually I hope to be answering How this competition, this jealousy rises up in the music world. I use the word jealousy loosely. I think the word covers the desire to be the best, or self-hatred for not being the best, and many other aspect that many classical musicians experience. (I know these problems have bearing on most any profession. I'm giving an example.) And hopefully propose ways to overcome and even turn things around.

FOR, I think one of the results of jealousy is that we stop doing things because we enjoy them. Instead, it's because we must. Or have to, or we're forced to, etc. etc. In a competition, you begin to look for the end product, instead of the whole picture.

Enough for now. Time for bed.