All Hands On Deck: A Poem About Addiction, Sin & Hope

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by Jonathan Decker:

Author's note: I wrote this poem years ago when my own struggles with sin had distanced me from God's presence through the Holy Ghost. This poem came to me as I prayed for redemption, and I wrote it down. It gave me hope and comfort then. I hope it does so for you now.

The world's a storming, tumultuous sea
With multitudes drowning, struggling, lost
So the Captain's crew fights valiantly
To bring all aboard no matter what the cost

His ship provides a place to rest
Clean warm clothes, a nice hot meal
A place one can becomes one's best
A place where one's wounds fully heal

"All hands on deck!" echoes the command
Tired sailors comply without a groan
For one of the Captain's few demands
Is that none be left to drown alone

One of their own has lost his grip
And fallen into the murky deep
He desperately cries out for the ship
And the Captain begins to weep

He stops the ship, but does not turn it round ...

"Captain, shall we not turn back?
Our friend is out there in the black!
Instead of commanding, now you weep
While a sailor sinks in the deep!"

Looking in the Captain's eyes
This crewman sees his own mistake
For he should never have surmised
His leader could leave any in the wake

Participate in Mormon Arts Sunday!

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by Scott Hales:

Early last year, I wrote a good-natured satire of “Wear Pants to Church Day”—as well as the strong (sometimes violently-worded) resistance to it—and posted it in two parts (here and here) on A Motley Vision. In the posts, I encouraged all Mormons everywhere to wear a black beret and/or maroon clothing to church on Scout Sunday, the first Sunday in February, to raise awareness of Mormon art and its often-overlooked place in our community. While the posts were obviously tongue-in-cheek, several of us who contribute to and read AMV, realized that the idea was bigger than the satire and decided to take it seriously. On the designated Sunday, the second in February, we donned our black berets and maroon ties, snapped a few selfies for social media, and headed off to church.

This year, when February rolled around, half of us forgot about commemorating Mormon Arts Sunday while the other half kept the tradition alive. (I was among the forgetful.) Feeling like Mormon arts deserved better than that, we decided to move Mormon Arts Sunday officially to the second Sunday in June. We made the move for several reasons. First, we didn’t want Mormon Arts Sunday to conflict with Scout Sunday, even though Scout Sunday seems (in my opinion) to be mostly a relic of the last century. Second, June was the month when the first works of Mormon literature were published in The Evening and Morning Star in 1832. Third, June marks the anniversary of the founding of A Motley Vision in 2004. The move to June seemed right.

This week, in preparation for Sunday, AMV founder William Morris has published a list of things you can do to commemorate Mormon Arts Sunday and show your commitment to Mormon art and solidarity with Mormon artists. I have little to add to his excellent list aside from my support and endorsement. In my opinion, giving Mormon art and artists recognition is one of the most important things we can do for Mormon communities around the world. Too often, after all, we feel as if we have to apologize for Mormon art—or dismiss it for being sentimental, didactic, kitschy, and amateurish—forgetting that Mormon art is not simply what we see on shelves at church bookstores, but also that which we create as Mormons with our own hands. In other words, Mormon art is the creative work we do on a daily basis—in all its forms and mediums. Whenever we do something creative with our Mormon perspectives—through writing, singing, scribbling, drawing, dancing, etc.—we are making Mormon art.

So, to raise awareness for Mormon arts everywhere, don your artsy black berets, wear your maroons and dark reds, and show your support for our artists. And don’t forget to post your Mormon Arts Sunday selfies on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, or anything else that helps you show your commitment to Mormon Arts. And use #MormonArtsSunday—‘cause we Mormons are all about our hashtags!


Scott Hales lives in a small house in a suburb of Cincinnati with his wife and three daughters. He spends a lot of his time reading Mormon fiction and trying to come up with original things to say about it. On weekday mornings, he gets up at 4:40 to teach seminary. On weekday evenings, he and his wife watch network television and wonder what it must be like to have a satellite dish and 400 channels. During the daytime, he is a graduate student in the Department of English and Comparative Literature at the University of Cincinnati. He doesn't like pets or home repairs. He always likes to watch superhero cartoons with his kids. Sometimes he rides a mountain bike in the woods behind his neighborhood. When he's feeling particularly nostalgic, he'll pull out his masterfully written mission journals and remember the days when he didn't sport sideburns. Twitter: @TheLowTechWorld. Blog: low-techworld.blogspot.com.
 Image credit: Scott Hales (used with permission).

Dear Seattle Fog

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

You make my commute a slog.
You cause people to lose their dogs. (or chickens in my case)
You'd make it easy pickings for Smaug.
You'd look better over a bog.
You make some not want to jog.
I might enjoy you more if I were sipping eggnog.
Oh, and now you made my blog.

(pictures below from our current foggy streak of seven days)

MMM Sermons: The Merciful Obtain Mercy

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by Saint Mark (bio)

Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints call them "talks," but most people call them sermons. This is a series of sermons that many Latter-day Saints love and believe. I hope these sermons promote and perfect your faith as they do mine. Read previous MMM Sermons or watch this specific sermon.

I remember growing up with a Mormon friend. He was the only Mormon friend I had that I knew of. I hated spending the night at his house because he didn't have any Coke in the fridge and his family only ate wheat bread, which was an abomination in my home. But, despite the non-Coke, non-white bread home, his home was peaceful and clean and terrifically white. I always remember a large amount of sunlight coming through the windows and bathing the inner rooms and hallways. Further, I remember a poem on the wall of my friend's room. It had the words, of course, but behind the text was a beach scene: a sunrise rising over the waves and an unblemished beach save one set of footprints in the sand. All the years of visiting my friend and staying the night at his house, I never once read that poem. I remember the picture but not one word of it passed by my eyes.

It wasn't until much later, after having joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and becoming a Mormon myself that I finally read my friend's poem known as "Footprints."

One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand; one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it.
"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The Lord replied, "My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

Knowing that I had seen this poem for a decade and not read it, I was overwhelmed by its powerful message. In simple terms, this poem by Mary Stevenson touched my soul. But, beyond that generic yet true phrase, I felt an inner understanding that I had searched for my whole life. Why had I survived so many horrors of my youth and could still smile and still feel peace? How could I forgive those who had abused, harmed, or even tried to murder me? How could I be merciful to those who were so unmerciful to me?

My answer lay in this poem's explanation: It was Christ who carried me through the trials of life, not because I merited such service but because he showed me mercy. I was not a Christian as a youth. Far from it. In fact, I was a hedonist and grew-up in a hedonistic household. There was very little that was godly in my home, that praised God, that reinforced His commandments.

Mormon Lit Blitz: Call For Submissions

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There are two weeks left to enter the Second Annual Mormon Lit Blitz Writing Contest. Send up to three submissions by 27 April 2013 to everydaymormonwriter@gmail.com for a chance to win a Kindle and more.

What we want:

Short work for Mormons to be published and read online.

The details:

"Short" means under 1,000 words.

"Work" means creative writing in any genre, from literary realism to far future science fiction, and in any form: fiction, essay, poetry, comics, playlet, etc. Give us a tiny, polished gem we can show off to people who love Mormonism and love great writing but "know not where to find" a place where the two meet.

"For Mormons" means for committed Latter-day Saints. Yes, that's an extremely diverse audience (see the I'm a Mormon campaign—and your ward members), but it's also an audience with distinctive shared values and history that don't often get attention in creative work. We want you to write something that will appeal to us as people who believe in the sacred, who have ridiculous numbers of brothers and sisters we see every week, who worry about being good and faithful servants no matter what our day jobs are and wonder what it will be like to meet our grandparents' grandparents in heaven. We don't need your pieces to preach to us. We do need them to combine your creativity and religious commitment in a way that excites us and gives us something cool to talk about with our Mormon friends.

"To be published and read online" means we're going to publish six to twelve finalists' pieces and then ask readers to vote on their favorites. (For more details on the publication side, check here.)

Death Comes for the Twinkie

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by Bradly Baird (bio)

via someecards.com

After the announcement that Hostess planned to shutter its doors, a great Twinkie frenzy engulfed the country. People began scouring grocery and convenience stores, buying up as many as could be found; while boxes of the delicious golden snack cake appeared on auction websites, available to the highest bidder. Newscasters proclaimed America a land of desolation and commentators blamed everyone from organized unions to the Obama Administration. Even teenagers in my Sunday School class expressed their own feelings about the situation and told me stories about the ways in which their families engaged in this temporary madness.

This consumeristic melee fascinates me and - like so many other similar phenomena - incites a little riot of imagination. In my mind's eye, I envision websites dedicated to the history of the snack, memorials along byways and country roads, blogs declaring undying love for and misadventures in snacking, not to mention a host of merchandise - including t-shirts, mugs, caps, toys, etc. - all dedicated to and adorned with images of the golden treat. And, if I let my imagination run wild, I forsee that some nutcase will launch a "Save the Twinkie" campaign and then build a gigantic Twinkie-shaped restaurant (featuring animatronic Twinkies that dance) somewhere along Route 66; or, someone may even build a Twinkie museum near the Las Vegas Strip.

To me, this craze for mourning the Twinkie demonstrates a vulnerable and sensitive side of our humanity. It shows that beneath the materialistic, vain, and coarser layers of our consumer culture sits a deeply felt need to connect with others through a shared experience. The phenomenon also provides some satisfaction and comfort in the knowledge that friends, neighbors, and total strangers are similar to one another ... so very similar when expressing their own personal brand of humanness.

In 1997, a children's humorist named Bob Tucker expressed his own regard for the Twinkie in a poem called "Ode to a Twinkie," that aptly represents the feelings of many. This charming little ditty should make us all smile just a little bit as we recognize ourselves within its words and as we deal with the fact that the Angel of Death arrived this week for a beloved icon of American consumerism.

Oh, Twinkie with your golden hue,
You have delicious goop in you.
There you are! Were you waiting long,
Between Sno-balls and stale Ding Dong?

My friends all think I'm kinda kinky
Cause my role model is a twinkie.
But they don't know what we've been through.
Dear Twinkie, I can count on you.

I tell my troubles as I bite.
You never tell me, "That's not right."
You listen to each foolish fear,
Then slowly, deliciously disappear.

I hold you close when we're alone
And think the thoughts that are my own.
Then turn to you, my dear sweet yummie.
You clear my mind, tickle my tummie.

Your outside is a little plain,
But inside you are "mellow lane."
I like you better than these folks,
Who look at me and then make jokes.

People should be more like you.
You don't judge the things folks do.
Inside is where your beauty lies.
Within the plain, there's sweet surprise.

Giveaway 16: Winner

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

Carol Lynn Pearson is arguably one of the most beloved and successful mormon authors, poets, and playwrights of all time. You might know her as the creator of the popular LDS musical, My Turn on Earth.

She is also incredibly generous, as evidenced by her frequent appearances on mormon-related podcasts and at mormon-related conferences. She was also quick to agree to this giveaway, so please, if you didn't win, support her in her work by purchasing her books and/or subscribing to her monthly newsletter.

Now, congratulations to the winner: Nick Literski (link to comment)

Email us your address by Friday, September 28th to claim your book. Thanks to everyone for participating and look for another giveaway in the near future!

Giveaway 16: Carol Lynn Pearson Book

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

Carol Lynn Pearson is arguably one of the most beloved and successful mormon authors, poets, and playwrights of all time. You might know her as the creator of the popular LDS musical, My Turn on Earth.

Although I was familiar with My Turn on Earth, I first learned about Carol Lynn as a person from her five-part interview on Mormon Stories (audio and video). Since then, I've kept up-to-date on her efforts to build stronger ties between the church and the LGBTQ community, as well as to push for stronger leadership roles for women in mormonism, through her monthly newsletter.

I am also always on the lookout for her books at my local Deseret Industries, where I recently came across three books of her poetry (Beginnings, The Search and The Growing Season). Here is a poem from The Search, which spoke to me because of our adoption process with Jonny.

To An Adopted

I
Did not plant you,
True.
But when
The season is done -
When the alternate
Prayers for sun
And for rain
Are counted -
When the pain
Of weeding
And the pride
Of watching
Are through -

Then
I will hold you
High,
A shining sheaf
Above the thousand
Seeds grown wild.

Not my planting,
But by heaven
My harvest -
My own child.

Besides being a testimonial for Carol Lynn's works, this is a giveaway, so here we go. Carol Lynn has generously offered to giveaway one of her most recent books, No More Goodbyes: Circling the Wagons Around Our Gay Loved Ones. The book deals with the challenging subject of religious people relating to their gay loved ones who are often condemned by their church and -- many believe -- by God.

Giveaway Guidelines:
You have THREE chances to enter. Each entry requires a separate comment.
1. Leave a comment on this post.
2. Like MMM on Facebook or share this post on Facebook. Leave a comment letting us know you did.
3. Follow MMM on Twitter or share this post on Twitter. Leave a comment letting us know you did.

• 7 days to enter (closes Sunday, September 23rd at midnight).
• Winner announced Tuesday, September 25th.
• Can't wait? Buy the book now.

Ode to Summer

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by Apparent Parent (bio)

Stop hiding there, I can see you,
Keeping my kids awake,
Making us all laugh and play,
Because daylight is at stake.

It's 10 o'clock, and just right now,
My kids went down to sleep,
And yet I hear them laughing,
And the noise is pretty steep.

Why is it I like you?
When all you do is rise,
Up with the sun,
And abandon with the dusk,
All the summer fun.

It may just be a good thing,
That your stay is pretty short,
When my bones start lagging,
At the break of dawn so early,
And after all those games of tagging.

But even if you did stay,
I think I wouldn't mind,
Because unlike some people's in-laws,
You fill me up inside,
And I can see past all your flaws.

The True Captain Of The Soul

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by Saint Mark (bio)

image via eva juliet

When I first saw the movie "Invictus" and heard the self-titled poem by William E. Henley (1849-1903), I was moved to tears. It was powerful. It was evocative. The fact that Nelson Mandela used Henley's words to keep his mind, body and spirit alive while incarcerated for 27 years was a testament to the indomitable soul of mankind.

Here is the poem in its entirety, along with a moving rendition here:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

I Chose "The Road Less Traveled" And Was Wrong

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by Dustin (bio)

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Decisions
Three months ago I was heading to the Stake Center for an early-morning seminary in-service meeting. I had only been to the Stake Center once and it had been several months earlier. Now it was 5:15 a.m. and pitch black outside and I took a back road to avoid the stoplights. As I was heading east, in the general direction of the building, I started to doubt if I really knew the way. It only took four turns to arrive at the building, but one wrong turn could land me in Galveston, a city famous for hippies and smelling like rotten fish (and also not the location of the Stake Center).

I approached a street named "F.M. 1128." Houston is maddening because streets can carry several different names over the course of a few miles. I knew I was to turn on "Main Street" but suddenly found myself doubting if this was the same road. I looked right, then left, hoping to see something in the dim light that might jar my memory. Noting that I was running a bit late, and not wanting to arrive tardy to in-service, I said a quick, yet sincere, prayer in my heart that God would reveal to me if I should turn right or keep going straight. I waited for an answer. Nothing striking came, so I turned right and felt pretty good about my decision. As I headed down the road I found my surroundings growing darker and less familiar. Then the road veered back to the west and I knew I had chosen wrong. I quickly flipped around, headed back to the main road, and continued several miles before finally finding "Main Street" and eventually the Stake Center (with a minute to spare!).

The remainder of the drive I sat pondering why I had felt so strongly to turn right down what I would eventually determine was the wrong road. What's the point of praying for an answer if I'm simply going to choose wrong anyway?! I then thought about a recent life experience where I faced a decision between two very different life paths. I prayed and fasted for clarity, then pursued the road I thought was "right" with vigor. I followed my decision for months, investing considerable money and time into this endeavor. All the while I fasted and prayed that I was doing the correct thing for me and for my family. Two months ago it became strikingly clear that the path I had chosen was incorrect.

Christmas Eve on the Desert

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by Scott Heffernan (bio)

Photo by ScottHeff.

Ten years ago my mission president shared this poem with all his missionaries. It has stuck with me ever since. I like to read it to myself every Christmas and contemplate my life and the Savior.

Christmas Eve on the Desert

Tonight, not one alone am I, but three —
The Lad I was, the Man I am, and he
Who looks down the coming future years
And wonders at my sloth. His hopes and fears
Should goad me to the manly game
Of adding to the honor of my name.
I'm Fate to him — that chap that's I grown old,
No matter how much stocks and land and gold
I save for him, he can't buy back a single day
On which I built a pattern for his way.

I, in turn, am product of that boy
Who rarely thought of after Selves. His joy
Was in the present. He might have saved me woe
Had he but thought. The ways that I must go
Are his. He marked them all for me
And I must follow — and so must he —
My Future Self — Unless I save him!
Save Me? - Somehow that word,
Deep down, a precious thought has stirred.
Savior? — Yes, I'm savior to that "Me."
That thoughtful After Person whom I see!
The thought is staggering! I sit and gaze
At my two Other Selves, joint keepers of my days!

Master of Christmas, You dared to bleed and die
That others might find life. How much more I
Should willingly give up my present days
To lofty deeds; seek out the ways
To build a splendid life. I should not fail
To set my feet upon the star-bound trail
For him — that After Self. You said that he
Who'd lose his life should find it, and I know
You found a larger life, still live and grow.
Your doctrine was, so I've been told, serve man.
I wonder if I'm doing all I can
To serve? Will serving help that Older Me
To be the man he'd fondly like to be?

Last night I passed a shack
Where hunger lurked. I must go back
And take a lamb, Is that the message of the Star
Whose rays, please God, can shine this far?

Tonight, not one alone am I, but three —
The Lad I was, the Man I am, and he
Who is my Future Self — nay, more:
I am His savior — that thought makes me four!

Master of Christmas, that Star of Thine shines clear —
Bless Thou the four of me —out here!

-Harrison R. Merrill

"The Inner Life Matters": Tyler Chadwick on Fire in the Pasture and Mormon Poetry in the 21st Century

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by Scott Hales (bio)

In a recent post, I praised Fire in the Pasture as "the most important work of Mormon literature published in 2011." To prove (or belabor) my point, I lobbed a few questions in the direction of its editor, Tyler Chadwick, with the hope that he would lob a few answers back.

Four weeks and four days later (he counted, not me), the lob showed up in my inbox--complete with Tyler's insightful take on why every Modern Mormon Man should have a copy of Fire in the Pasture on his nightstand! Modern Mormon Men, read away!

Scott Hales: What is Fire in the Pasture and how did you become a part of it?

Tyler Chadwick: Fire in the Pasture is an anthology that includes the work of 82 twenty-first century Mormon poets. It was released October 15 by Peculiar Pages, an independent publisher of what the company's proprietor, Eric W. Jepson, calls "auspicious multiauthor anthologies" — like The FOB Bible (2009) and Monsters & Mormons (2011). In the publisher's words, Fire in the Pasture is "a major landmark boundary-disrupting game-defining historic unmissable must-read book." As the book's editor and as a poet myself, I'm much less modest. In fact, when I think of the book, I think legendary. Heroic. Epic — in length as well as in importance to Mormon culture. Also, canonical. Or better yet, canon-busting. Then, canon-remaking.

Let me explain: Since 1989 the standard for Mormon poetry has been Eugene England and Dennis Clark's anthology, Harvest: Contemporary Mormon Poems published by Signature Books. And it should hold an honored place in Mormon letters: England and Clark gathered hundreds of poems from 58 poets whose writing careers spanned the half-century before the book was published. But that was over two decades ago. And poetry didn't die in or around the '80s, contrary to what some people have written. Neither did Mormon poetry retire nor drift into apostasy after Harvest hit bookshelves. In fact, it may have just been breaking into stride.

Eric acknowledged as much in April 2009 when he asked me if I'd like to edit a new anthology of Mormon poetry. "People are always talking about how we need a new volume of poetry,” he said, “that Harvest, great as it is, was long ago and needs to be supplemented. But, to the best of my knowledge, no one is actually putting anything together. It's all talk. No action.”

And he wanted to take action: "Here's what I have in mind,” he continued. “A survey of the best stuff published [from] the dawn of the millennium ... through the end of 2010." I jumped at the chance to update Harvest and, before I'd even closed out of my inbox, I started the marathon effort of gathering poems and contacting poets — because, really, who wouldn't want to help the world of Mormon letters move past its apparent Harvest-envy?

It's Almost the End of the World as We Know It. Start Reading.

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by Scott Hales (bio)

2012 is just around the corner, and if conspiracy theorists and Roland Emmerich have their way, this upcoming New Year's Eve will be our last.

This saddens me a little since New Year’s Eve parties at my parents’ house have always been the highlight of my holiday season. I mean, I’ve never read The Hunger Games, but something tells me that New Year's parties in general just won't be the same against the smoldering backdrop of a newly eradicated, post-apocalyptic world. Especially since I can’t imagine Ryan Seacrest finding a tanning bed so soon after civilization crumples.

With the world ending in a little over a year, the uncreative among us are already planning to spend the next year wearing their lives out doing clichéd Tim McGraw-inspired things: sky-diving, Rocky Mountain climbing, etc. Others will be following Glenn Beck’s advice and hoarding gold and investing in food storage insurance and subterranean Cold War-esque bunkers.

To each his own.

My plans for 2012 are less dramatic. This year has been a great one for Mormon literature, and so much has been published recently that I’ve fallen behind in my reading. So, while others are preparing for the Abomination of Desolations, or partying like its really 1999, I’m going to hit the books and get caught up.

Already I’ve got a head start. Just last month I finished Jana Riess’s memoir Flunking Sainthood, which has been enthusiastically praised and re-praised by Mormon and non-Mormon readers alike. In the book, Riess writes humorously about a year she spent living obscure religious practices—and failing gloriously at each of them. It’s not an overtly Mormon book—Riess, a well-known Mormon author, targets a much broader audience—but its honest message about the paybacks of spiritual failure makes it the kind of book Mormons should read. Especially if they’re getting ready for next year's December Doomsday.

Anyway: click below for a list of other books I’m either reading now or intending to read soon. With any luck I’ll have them all read well before the bombs or meteors or alien death rays start falling.

Poem: The Dream

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

I occassionally write poems for Charlie (my wife). Here is a recent effort. Results were more positive than this disaster.

The Dream
The other night I had a dream.
I was being interrogated. You were behind a screen.
I couldn't see you, but I could feel you there.
You felt hopeful, but a little sad, worried, scared.
My interviewer was pushing...hard.
Toward something, I couldn't tell. He wasn't showing his cards.
Some of the questions confused me.
"You already know the answers!" I screamed.
I sensed the interrogation was important, vital.
Like at stake was our eternal survival.
He pushed again, I buckled.
If this kept up, I thought, I'd crumble.
I then realized where the questions were heading.
I started crying, pleading, begging.
"You know how I feel, let me be with her,
to love her, hug her, touch her and kiss her."
The man disappeared, so did the screen.
It was just you, and me, and fields of green.

In Memoriam: Mary Esther Garcia Perez

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by Saint Mark (bio)

At age 63, barely a week after her birthday, my Aunt Esther passed away on a Friday afternoon. She had battled cancer for over 10 years and finally succumbed to its effects on September 9th, 2011.

I was humbled when I was asked by her only son if I would give the eulogy. I accepted the privilege and honor but was overwhelmed at the weight of the task. I had never given a eulogy before. I had been to two funerals and one was in Japanese. The other funeral and its eulogy I couldn't recall because I was too young to remember the details.

So, there I was. A few days before the funeral and my mind was a tabula rasa. Where to begin? Thankfully, Google does exist and I found amazing tips on how to organize my thoughts. See BestEulogyTips.com for some really great helps if you are like me and have no idea where or how to begin. I also began collecting and writing down memories of Aunt Esther and poems and quotes regarding death, life, and the hereafter. Finally, and what I probably should have done initially, I prayed. I asked God to guide me so that I would bring honor to Him and honor to Aunt Esther's memory. Then, waves of inspiration came as I sat on the airplane on my way to the funeral. I drafted the outline of the entire eulogy on that flight and typed it out the morning of the funeral service.

Vide Cor Meum

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by Saint Mark (bio)

There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William P. Merrill

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. ~Berthold Auerbach

Music is what feelings sound like. ~Author Unknown

I have found that some of the most divine things on this earth are music and nature. I saw this video recently that combined them both and I felt as though I had experienced heaven. The voice and views are reminiscent of something you and I would feel in a cathedral, a synogague, or a temple.

The operatic song is called “Vide Cor Meum” composed by Patrick Cassidy and based on Dante’s “La Vita Nuova”. It comes from a poem written by Dante about a lovely little girl he saw every day on his way to school. He was nine years-old. He only saw her in passing but he was smitten. Then one day she was gone. He never saw her again until her wedding day as she wed another dressed in a white gown, glowing as a beautiful bride. After that and still as a young woman, she died in childbirth. He watched as they carried her body to the cemetery. He went home and later wrote this poem.

Here are the lyrics:

(Chorus: And thinking of her)

Sweet sleep overcame me
I am your master
See your heart
And of this burning heart
Your heart
(Chorus: She trembling)
Humbly eats.
Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.
Joy is converted
To bitterest tears
I am in peace
My heart
I am in peace
See my heart

Why Dogs Stopped Flying

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by Scott Heffernan (bio)

Most of you will probably remember Josh’s post, I Know This Is Going To Make You Mad, regarding his strong dislike of dogs/certain dog owners. I really liked Josh’s post. I thought it was refreshing and funny and needed to be said. A LOT of you felt the same way. What a response! It seems he was a voice for the voiceless. Perhaps dog owners are the new cigarette smokers -- we’ve accommodated their obnoxious behavior long enough, and now it's time to finally speak up and take back our country from their evil grasp.

While I enjoyed Josh’s post, I also happen to be a dog lover. I don’t currently have a dog, but I grew up with one, and I will have one in the near future. When I do have one, I will try not to make the faux pas (paws) that Josh outlined. I love dogs for varioius reasons. To me, they represent loyalty, comfort, and unconditional love. They also possess a certain indefinable nobility that is sometimes fleeting, but often palpable (well, not in all dogs). My dear friend shared with me this obscure yet stirring poem by Ken Brewer, former Utah poet laureate. It beautifully articulates my opinion of our furry friends. I know not everyone feels this way, but I wanted to throw the dog lovers a bone. (Also, I'm really sorry about both puns in this post.)

Why Dogs Stopped Flying

Before humans,
dogs flew everywhere.
Their wings of silky fur
wrapped hollow bones.
Their tails wagged
like rudders through wind,
their stomachs bare
to the sullen earth.

Out of sorrow
for the first humans--
stumbling, crawling,
helpless and cold--
dogs folded their
great wings into paws
soft enough to walk
beside us forever.

They still weep for us,
pity our small noses,
our unfortunate eyes,
our dull teeth.

They lick our faces clean,
keep us warm at night.
Sometimes they remember flying
and bite our ugly hands.

-Kenneth W. Brewer

Image by ScottHeff.

Segullah Magazine & Diet Coke

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

I gave my wife a subscription to Segullah for Christmas and her Spring issue arrived a few weeks ago. A few days later, I was verbally ordered to read the magazine. “Isn’t it a magazine for mormon women?” I asked. She pointed to the photograph on the back cover, a picture of sunglasses and a can of diet coke. I habitually reached for the soft drink, cursing Charlie (and Segullah) for taking advantage of my weakness for the fizzy drink.

The magazine isn’t thick – I read the issue in one sitting. The articles, poems and art were all well done, and some of the content was exceptional. There were no ads to distract my attention. I felt a range of emotions while reading – sadness, empathy, fear, joy, love – and once or twice felt a strong connection to what I was reading. For example, in Jessica Rasmussen's Making Footprints, she talks about what seems to happen when more babies arrive. I knew I was reading something important, something I should reflect on frequently as I interact with my own children. I'm not exactly sure why this happens, but it does.

"Another baby arrived - turned toddler - turned little girl. I learned another way. A way where I seemed to give less to everyone. A way divided. The sum of my parts was now less than the whole of me."

In short, I think this magazine should be in every mormon home. Just make sure the back cover – with the picture of the diet coke – isn’t resting on top of your copy of the Ensign. Just in case diet coke really is against the word of wisdom.

Letter To The Lord

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by Seattle Jon (bio)

I will be giving a talk this Sunday on the topic of testimony. The starting point of my preparation is usually to review talks I've given in the past to see if there is anything helpful I can use this time around. The first talk I reviewed was one I gave last year on Mother's Day. I'd forgotten about the poem I wrote for my wife, which opened the talk. I thought I would share it with you.

Dear Lord,

A dozen Mother’s Days ago,
you blessed me with a woman so,
Wonderfully suited to who I am,
I count myself a fortunate man.
She adds to where I need adding,
and shapes where I have too much padding.
She knows when not to speak, but look,
and boy can that woman cook.
She’s incredibly selfless, sometimes to a fault,
and sometimes the cracks she opens I can’t halt.
But isn’t life more interesting with lots of cracks?
They build our muscles and strengthen our backs.
Cracks make us question our deepest beliefs,
and make us look for sweet relief.
I guess that’s it, I feel relief.
I might not know a lot, but I have belief.
In you, that you lived, and died, and live once more.
I hope if that’s all I have, it will open the door.
But for now, an expression of gratitude, for her, is what I give.
And an expression of love, to her, each day I live.
I sign this with my pen.

Amen