Fear Not

Remarks I gave recently in a Sacrament meeting (worship service) in May 2015:

When I was a boy, I grew up in a branch (small congregation) in Upstate New York.  One Sunday, a woman who had been in the branch and moved away had come back to visit.  Somehow she found herself as the first of two or three speakers on the Sacrament meeting program.  The woman proceeded to speak for two hours.  Back then, Sacrament meeting was the last meeting of the three hour block, and it was the only thing between me and lunch.

 

I am still trying to forgive her.

I say that because I am cognizant of the time, and the last thing I want to do is take up more of your time than I have to.  But there are some things I really want to share.

I want to talk for a few minutes about a story in the New Testament that has come to have great meaning to me.

Peter and Jesus Walk on Water

In this story, Jesus had just performed the miracle of feeding 5,000 men (not including the women and children) with five loaves of bread, and two fish.

Matthew 14:22-33

22 And straightway Jesus constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other side [to the city of Bethsaida, according to Mark (6:45), while he sent the multitudes away].

23 And when [Jesus] had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.

24 But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary [Mark described the disciples as having spent the night “toiling in rowing” (Mark 6:48)].

25 And in the fourth watch of the night [meaning between 3 and 6 in the morning] Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.

26 And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.

27 But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.

28 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.

29 And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.

30 But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.

31 And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

32 And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased.

33 Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.

There are a few parts of this story that I want to look at with you, because I think they have application for us.

First, brothers and sisters, it doesn’t seem lost on any of us just how miraculous a situation this was: Jesus was actually walking on water.  And not only Jesus, but Peter.  Imperfect, impetuous Peter, was able to do so as well, at his asking and at the Savior’s invitation.

We can only speculate what prompted Peter to ask the Master if he could get out and join Him in the water, but we know that the Jesus at least assented to the suggestion by telling Peter, “Come.”  Peter then got out of his boat, in the middle of the Sea of Galilee, and seemingly amid darkness in the middle of the night, for however long it was, he actually walked on water toward the Savior.

We Get Out of the Boat, Too

At first blush, this doesn't necessarily sound like something we can relate to. I wonder, though, what might be comparable in our lives?  In what ways has God invited us to leave (or at least assented to our leaving) relative comfort to get out of our figurative boats and, seemingly amid impossible circumstances, start to do what, for all intents and purposes, should be impossible and walk toward Him?

For my part, I can think of young missionaries, who maybe never having been away from home, leave their family and friends behind for 18 months to 2 years to serve in some distant place among strangers, often having to learn a new language.

I think of young couples who decide to get married against all hope and probability (and sometimes without parental support).

I think of single members of the church who carry on hoping to get married, but have not had the opportunity.

I think of couples that decide to have children, as well as those who hold out in the desperate hope to have them.

I think of those who make the decision to join this church. 

 

And I think of the gay members of the church who are just trying to hang on and find their place here.

The truth, though, is that I can’t name or count the ways that each of us might have been prodded out of our comfort zone to do (or to keep doing) what seems to be impossible.  But I tend to think that, in one way or another, all of us have been in a position not too unlike Peter's.  We, each of us, have felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost to get out of our boats and move toward the Master, amid hardly less turbulent circumstances.  In fact, brothers and sisters, I don’t suspect that any of us would be here this morning if that were not true for us in some regard.

So with that thought, I want to share a few personal observations: 

(1) The Wind Was Contrary and the Boat Tossed with Waves

First, what is notable to me about Peter's story is that he didn't seem deterred by the weather when he first made the decision to get out of the boat.  The scripture notes that the "wind was contrary" and the ship was "tossed with waves" (Matthew 14:24) well before Peter got out of the boat and onto the water.  But that hadn't mattered initially, or at least it hadn't mattered enough to deter Peter from getting out of the boat to walk toward Jesus (and remember, Peter was the one who suggested it in the first place!).

No, it does not seem to have been until some point during his miraculous walk that Peter actually took note of his surroundings and shifted his focus away from the Master and toward the boisterous wind.  It was then that Peter began to sink.

Brothers and sisters, one of the lessons in this story for me is that it is not the presence or absence of storms in our lives that determines whether we sink or move toward Him.  No --whether we sink or move toward Him instead seems to depend entirely on where our focus is fixed: on Him or on the storms.

Now, to me this does not mean that we are to go about our days carrying on as if or pretending that there are no storms in our lives, that we are sailing calm seas, that the waves and wind aren't rocking the boat we just left behind, whipping at our faces, or maybe even soaking the hems of our pants or skirts.  That would be false and so desperately foolish.  We all of us, in one way or another, have been, are, or will soon be in the midst of storms and turbulent weather. And few things in the long run are less helpful to those truly looking for help and refuge from the storms of their own journey than for us to pretend we are walking on calm seas. 

But just as we should not pretend that our seas are always calm, neither should we be constantly fixated on the storms -- spending our energy complaining about them or comparing the size of the swells on our seas to what others seem to have to deal with.

The key, remember, is that we not allow the storms that each of us face to divert our focus from Him.

(2) When We Avert Our Gaze, He Seems to Get Fuzzier.

But if you are like me, or like Peter here, even when it seems like you are trying to do everything right to move toward the Savior, sometimes our attention gets diverted to focusing on our difficulties.  In fact, sometimes it feels like I can't help it.  The interesting thing for me, is that often when my focus gets turned that way, my difficulties become all I can see.  And the longer they hold my attention, the larger and larger they seem to me -- until I become afraid, and I start sinking.

I wonder if you have ever had a similar experience: In moments when you have felt the Holy Ghost, you might feel inspired to do something -- maybe something otherwise hard or courageous -- to move toward the Savior.  However, difficult that thing might be, you get out of the boat and begin moving toward Him.  In those times when our focus is on Him, when we can feel the protection and influence of the Holy Ghost, all good things feel possible.

But somewhere along the way, our attention gets diverted (much of life seems designed to try to divert our attention), and then we can't see Him as clearly anymore.  Suddenly, none of the good feelings that prompted us out of the boat seem to be there to sustain us, and all we can see is the difficulty of our situation. In those times, we may be tempted to think or even say aloud: What was I thinking?  Why did I get out of that boat?  I was safe there.  What am I doing here standing in the middle of the sea, in the dark, against boisterous winds and crashing waves? Why did He leave me?

But here's the thing evident to me in this story, brothers and sisters:  when Peter's attention shifted and he started to sink in those moments doubt, Jesus may have felt far away to Peter, but He wasn't.  Jesus wasn't any farther away than when Peter was looking directly toward Him and walking on the water.  In fact in my mind, I can even see Jesus perhaps quickening His pace when he saw Peter begin to falter so as to shorten the distance between them (to be able to catch him).

The same is true for us.

Listen to this quote from President Eyring in a recent conference:

"God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children."  [October 2012,"Where is the Pavilion?"]

Note that President Eyring does not qualify that statement.  He does not say that "God is sometimes close to us" or that "God is close to us if we are good enough or keep enough of His commandments."  He is simply close to us.

President Eyring continued:

"God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are, covered by a pavilion of motivations that draw us away from God and make Him seem distant and inaccessible.  Our own desires, rather than a feeling of "Thy will be done," create a feeling of a pavilion blocking God." [October 2012, "Where is the Pavilion?"]

Brothers and sisters, truth is truth is truth.  We all know about the scientific method.  And the whole idea of reasoning in general is that truth is supposed to be evident to everyone, regardless of background or position.

But I have learned that where spiritual matters are concerned, what feels real to us (and what we can see) depends very much on where we stand, where we are facing, and on the condition of our hearts.

Think of this scripture now in the context of Peter (or any of us) out on that water:

Helaman 5:12

"And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall." (emphasis added).

(3) "Wherefore Didst Thou Doubt?"

Finally, brothers and sisters, I have wondered what, exactly, Peter might have been afraid of in those moments of doubt when he turned his focus. 

He did not seem to be afraid that Jesus had forgotten him.  And he did not seem to fear that Jesus did not care about him.

Maybe this is a bit of projection on my part, but when I read this story, I get the sense that Peter had somehow come to think that this walking on water thing was on him -- that his staying afloat (or perhaps better, the Savior's ability to help him stay afloat) depended on Peter's own talents and abilities, or on his own goodness and righteousness.  And in those moments of miracle and distraction, his circumstances quickly reminded him of his own inadequacies.  How could he possibly be enough?  He couldn't.  And he knew it.  Which perhaps is why he became frightened and began to sink.

In my own life, brothers and sisters, I have learned that focusing on my own weaknesses and shortcomings (as worthy and as helpful as that might sound for those geared toward self-improvement), is not much more helpful than focusing on the surrounding storms.  The fact is that either focus dims our view of the Savior.  And either focus can create a pavilion that distances us from understanding and feeling God's grace -- and this even as He remains just as close to us.

Again, I am not saying that we should pretend we do not have weaknesses or shortcomings.  In fact, whenever we move toward the Savior and begin to do otherwise impossible things, we seem to be promised that just about the first thing He will show us is our weakness.  But listen again to the Lord describe the context in which we are to view them (Ether 12:27):

And if men come unto me [Remember what the Lord told Peter -- "Come."] I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them. (emphasis added)

Listen, too, to the Book of Mormon prophet Jacob describe a similar understanding (Jacob 4:6-7):

"Wherefore, we search the prophets, and we have many revelations and the spirit of prophecy; and having all these witnesses we obtain a hope, and our faith becometh unshaken, insomuch that we truly can command in the name of Jesus and the very trees obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of the sea.

"Nevertheless, the Lord God showeth us our weakness that we may know that it is by his grace, and his great condescensions unto the children of men, that we have power to do these things."

Our weaknesses, then, are not an indication that we should be sinking, or that we should not be out there on the water.  No.  He shows them to us to remind us of His grace -- that it is by His power (not ours) that we are sustained and doing impossible things.  That it is by His power that we can withstand the mighty storms of life.  He shows them to us, brothers and sisters, to point our thoughts ever more toward Him.

Be Not Afraid

Brothers and sisters, I believe in a God that loves us perfectly. 

I believe in a God who wants us to become like Him, which for better or worse means that we must learn to navigate storms.  And sometimes it seems to mean even getting out of the boat during those storms to move toward Him and do impossible things -- at least things that would not be possible if we were left to ourselves.

I don't know what storms you face in your life, but I believe in a God that does not want us to be afraid, and in whose care we need not fear anything.

But I also believe in a God that knows that sometimes you and I will still be afraid, that sometimes we can't seem to help fixating our attention on the boisterous winds. 

And I believe in a God that, when we are afraid, knows perfectly how to succor us, who watches with us on those nights when we can only see and feel the boisterous wind and waves. 

I believe in a God who watches with us even as those nights of seeming loneliness may stretch to years.  And I believe in a God who ironically may never be closer to us than during those times when we are tempted to accuse Him of abandoning us.

I also believe in a God that will never let us sink too far beyond His reach.  And I believe in a God whose very existence is dedicated to seeing each of us return to Him with our families.

I know He lives.  And I love Him.  I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Is He Our Neighbor?

Two stories juxtaposed, on the chance there might be value (and some redemption) in the comparison:

 

"And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?

 

"He said unto him, What is written in the law? how readest thou?

 

"And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.

 

"And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live.

 

"But he, willing to justify‍ himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?" [Luke 10:25-29]

 

The Beggar Doctrine

 

Nearly fifteen years ago, as a newly minted returned missionary attending BYU, I took a Book of Mormon class from Joseph Fielding McConkie.  His style was brash, and he thrived on upending typical Mormon dogma – especially the kind promulgated by so many return missionaries (like me).* 

One of his more memorable Book of Mormon classes was his lecture on Mosiah 4, during which he discussed King Bejamin’s “Beggar Doctrine” (Brother McConkie’s term), which included this teaching:

“And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.” (Mosiah 4:16). 

With a dry kind of condescension, Brother McConkie read this scripture and some that follow, then picked up a waste basket from the back of the room.  He mentioned some lavish expense for his wife (a vacation or a new wing on his house or something), and asked us to pull out our cash, credit cards, and checks and place them in the waste basket as he passed.  “She needs it,” he said in dead panned seriousness, and reminded us of the scriptures we’d just read apparently commanding us that we should not say “no,” lest we cause this beggar to put up his petition in vain. 

Of course, no one got out their wallet.  He let the idea play out for a few moments, though, to demonstrate the potential absurdity of taking the scripture at face value and out of context.  He mentioned something, too, about Utah leading the nation, per capita, in the number of people taken for fraud, and he seemed to think this kind of mentality had something to do with it.

Eventually, once he’d had enough fun with the idea, Brother McConkie then pointed us to the limiting principle of the beggar doctrine later in verse 27: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order. . . .” 

This, according to Brother McConkie, was the reason we should not be filling up his waste basket with our credit cards and cash to help buy his wife a luxury vacation: it was neither wise nor orderly to do so.  And, he suggested, this limiting principle should guide our actions when other “beggars” put up their petition to us. Essentially, King Benjamin’s sermon should not be an excuse to be taken for fools. 

At the time, I found this notion quite liberating,  and I discussed it on several occasions with Michelle and other friends.

A Petition in Vain

Some time later, while Michelle and I were still newlyweds, we took an evening shopping trip to Macey’s in Provo, UT for groceries.  For some reason, the commercials of the day made me decide that I needed a Grilled Stuft Burritto from Taco Bell on the way home.  Michelle was kind of ok with the idea, and I’d made sure to have enough cash in my wallet to make it happen.

Once we’d made our grocery purchases that evening, we took them out to the car and loaded them.  I think we were still driving "Old Paint" then.  It was dark.  And as we both piled into the car, a woman approached my window.  She bent down, and I remember her having a worn face (late 30’s to early 40’s) with longer, dirty blonde hair.  She described to us some distressing situation, the details of which escape me, and then briefly mentioned her hope to gather enough money to stay in a hotel that evening.  Did we have any money that we might be able to give her to help?

 

Callously, and feeling foolishly empowered by Brother McConkie that I was now exempted from any such charitable petitions, I said we had no money. 

 

But it wasn’t true.  It wasn’t even close to true.  And, surely aware of the groceries we’d just loaded in the car (and the fact that we’d come from the store), I could hear her voice sink in disappointment at the lie, “Oh. Ok.”

 

She left us.  I felt small, but tried to cling to the "beggar doctrine" to feel better, wondering openly if her story could even be true and if a hotel room really was her aim.  I mentioned all this to Michelle directly as we pulled out and drove off toward Taco Bell.  But, she noted, my answer that we had no money was simply not true.  I had cash in my pocket.  No -- there was no getting around that, and the weight of what I’d just done, and the possibility of her petition being in earnest wore on me very quickly (with Michelle’s help).  We still drove the block or two toward Taco Bell, but by the time we got the parking lot, I’d already given way to the feeling that I had done something awful. 

 

So almost as soon as we got to the Taco Bell parking lot, we turned around.  I raced back to Macey’s, hoping the woman would still be lingering in the parking lot. But she was gone.  We could not find her.  And I went home in bitterness of soul.

My failings that evening still stir great anguish.  And just about any time since that someone has asked me for money, I remember her.

 

Is He Our Neighbor?

 

So it was approximately three years ago when Natalie (who was then 3) and I went on a daddy/daughter date.  She got to decide our activity, and following her siblings’ lead, she pointed us to In-N-Out. 

 

We walked to the counter and ordered our food – there wasn’t a line.  Nats got some stickers, we filled up our cup with lemonade, then found some open seats in a corner of the restaurant.  We took turns sipping our lemonade and working on sticker projects while I tried to give her my full attention.

 

After a few minutes, I noticed an older haggard-looking man, perhaps in his late 40s, approach and sit at the table next to ours.  He sat across from a younger man in his 20’s who was sitting next to us.  By the way the older man sat down (or perhaps just by the fact that he sat down at the two-person table), I initially thought the two must be friends who’d come together.  But after a moment’s observation, I noted the older man was asking for money to buy food.

It’s the kind of scene I want to avert my eyes from in embarrassment, and that evening was no different.  So I don’t know exactly how the young man responded to older man’s entreaty, except that he must have turned the man down, since I watched the older man make the rounds from table to table afterward.  He then approached people in line or standing to wait for their orders.  It seemed clear he wasn’t meeting with much success, and I marveled, in an uncomfortable way, at the brazenness of his approach after approach.

 

For my part, I was surprised that he’d passed my table.  Maybe it was because of Natalie or because of my averted gaze.  As it was, I had no cash in my pocket, but I still hadn’t looked forward to turning him down.  And as I thought of all the patrons enjoying or waiting for their food without much thought, I wanted him not to be left wanting.  But Nats was sitting with me, and I couldn’t very well leave her.  And he hadn’t asked me.  So I sat and watched and did nothing.

 

Our food came, and I went to pick it up, leaving Natalie in her seat, sipping the lemonade.  I don’t remember when it happened, but at some point in those few minutes, I resolved to try to help.  I prayed the man would still be around when it was time for me to pick up my food.  But when I got up, he seemed to be gone.  It was only when I looked outside that I saw him.

 

I put the food in front of Natalie, who was blissfully unaware of anything but the lemonade, and now her cheeseburger and fries.  I told her I’d be back in a moment, then I quickly went outside and approached the man.  I asked him if he was hungry, and when he noticed me, he gave some kind of muted sales pitch that I don’t remember.  As Natalie started on her food, I took the man to the counter and invited him to order what he wanted.  He seemed a bit drunk.  He wanted a cheeseburger with “the works” and then wondered if he could have a whole meal.  Yes, he could.  He then told me he had a friend he was with, and might he have something, too?  I nodded again, and he ordered two cheeseburger meals. 

 

In between talking with the cashier, who seemed only to understand slightly what was going on, the man thanked me several times and spoke of Jesus.  Once he had his cups and receipt, I patted him on the back, and told him he was welcome, then I sat back down with Nats (who I’d been watching the whole time). 

 

I expected that to be the end of our interaction, and I sat down to enjoy my meal.  But quickly after I sat down, a balding man with glasses (in his late 30’s/early 40’s) approached us.  He said he saw what I’d done, and in an odd sort of interaction, he expressed his admiration.  I thanked him, awkwardly, and then, not knowing where the conversation should go from there, the man looked at Natalie and told her what a good father she had.  He then walked away.  Nats seemed too interested in her food to pay much attention.

 

A few moments later, the older man I’d ordered food for wandered over to our table and started making conversation.  We talked about where he was from and some of his life story.  He was apparently once a corps men in the marines “a long time ago,” and he had a son somewhere in the Midwest that he hadn’t seen in a long time.  He’d also recently come to San Diego from Oregon, and he liked it here.  At some point, he retrieved his friend, who looked even more disheveled than he did (and seemed even more drunk).

 

When his order was ready and his number called, the man left us to get his food.  It was then Natalie asked, with all the innocence and interest of a three year old, “Is he our neighbor?”

 

I almost did a double take at the question, because it caught me off guard and seemed as if she were quoting scripture.

 

“Yes, he is,” I responded after a few moments.

 

“Where does he live?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The man eventually brought over his food and sat next to us.  He and his friend ate happily, thanking us and praising God with the boisterousness of two drunken, hungry men.  Two beggars, in a sense, whom my three year old had reminded me were also my neighbors.

* The grading in Brother McConkie's classes depended only and entirely on a few multiple choice tests throughout the semester -- tests that thrived on deception.  The key to his classes had almost nothing to do with outside study, but instead to never missing his classes, taking meticulous notes, then outsmarting everyone else on those tests.  In short, he suited me perfectly.

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

Address given at Dad's funeral, January 24, 2015:

Dad told me a few years ago that he wanted me to speak at his funeral.  Ever since, every funeral I went to I always thought about him and what I would say when the time came.  I thought I would have a little more time.

I was going through some of Dad's things this week, and I stumbled across this quote in his office.  It is a thought attributed to Isaac Newton: "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." 

Dad had first shared that thought with me years ago when I was a young teenager.  At the time, I didn't really know what he meant. I didn't know then who the "giants" were in his life, and I hadn't the sense enough to ask.  After all these years, I think I know a little better now.

To me, Dad is a giant upon whose shoulders I have stood.  That's became more apparent, ironically, in the last few years as his body began to give out on him.

Now, that praise would've made Dad a little uncomfortable -- at least if I told him out loud.  He wouldn't quite know what to do with it, and he probably he would've found some self-deprecating way to shift the attention.

The Desire to Feel Valued

Most of you know that Dad was a decorated journalist.  It may surprise you to know that privately Dad struggled during long stretches of his life with feelings that he didn't measure up.  He knew almost as well as anyone how droughts of unemployment erode self-confidence, and Dad seemed to crave feeling valued.  And for a long, long time, I had wanted as much as anything for him to know and feel just how valuable he was. 

Because of that, I know that it meant so much to him and to us in these last weeks as, perhaps recognizing his mortality, many of you reached out to him and let him know just how much he meant to you.  And I know seeing you all here would have delighted him.

Dad didn’t just want to feel valued, though.  He wanted to be valuable.  That desire, I think, is part of why Dad was always up so early in the morning.  He was most alive (and most productive) before sunrise, and in his final weeks, it was not uncommon to wake up find a flurry of emails from Dad that he’d sent in the early hours of the morning.  Dad used to recite often that if he could get to the 3 R's in a day, Reading (scripture), Writing (a journal entry), and Running (or exercise), it was a good day.  It's just that Dad prided himself on getting all of those things done and out of the way before anyone else was up in the morning. 

Deadlines and Connecting With People

Dad absolutely loved having deadlines to meet, and he talked often of the adrenaline rush he got attending city meetings and legislative sessions or of landing an interview and having just a few minutes to race home and file a story.

As you know, Dad also loved connecting with people.  The audience here is a tribute to the fact that. I used to hate it growing up, because it was so embarrassing to be with him as he talked to people (often strangers) and both picked their brains and shared his thoughts (while I tried to slink into the background).  But he seemed to have no fear.  And there was no one too important or so beneath him that they weren't worth talking to. 

I have wondered since if that trait was simply an outgrowth of the journalist/reporter in him, or whether being a reporter was simply an outgrowth of his ability to connect with people.

 A Disciple of Christ

All of this, though, would feel hollow were it not for the integrity that was the bedrock of his character.  Dad was first a disciple of Jesus Christ.  I have known few people in life who more faithfully sought to live the scripture, "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto him" [Matthew 6:33].  That is not inflated funeral hyperbole.  If God asked something of him, he found a way to do it.  I learned first from Dad to love the scriptures and read them daily.  I learned first from Him that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the Pearl of Great Price, worth giving all we have to possess.  I learned first from Him to trust God with all my heart.  And I learned first at his hand a steadiness in times of trouble.  I could always, always count on his steadiness, and to find in his perspective an eye of faith.

When I learned of Dad's passing early Sunday morning, I had to make my way into work to gather a few things for the trip here.  On the way, I instinctively sought comfort in some hymns.  Then I remembered then that this was what Dad had always done: He confronted life's difficulties with sacred music.  

Not Perfect

Now, Dad was not perfect.  In this respect, I have been thinking of one Saturday afternoon in upstate New York when we were all much younger. Ice cream and other treats never lasted long in our house, and that was usually because one or several of us children would sneak into it.  The trick was to avoid getting caught.

Dad was a humble guy, but he still had some bravado around his children.  And he used to tell us that because he was a journalist, he could tell when we were telling the truth or not.

Well, that Saturday afternoon I had helped myself to a bit of the ice cream in the freezer.  Not long after, Dad noticed, and he came storming out of the kitchen into the living room demanding to know who had done it. 

I wasn't about to own to it, and I denied it the best way I knew how.  Dad studied my face for a moment, and just as I was bracing myself for punishment, Dad spoke confidently (in a tone that only he could muster) that he knew it wasn't me because I would've used a bigger spoon.  He then marched upstairs to punish one of my younger siblings.   His journalism skills fell a few notches in my mind that day. 

Seriously, though, when I think of my father and what praise might be worthy of his life, I think of the line from the play The King and I. The King of Siam lay dying. With him is Anna, his English tutor, whose son asks her the question, “Was he as good … as he could have been?” Anna then answered thoughtfully, “I don’t think any man has ever been as good … as he could have been—but this one [really] tried.” [Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, The King and I (n.p.: Williamson Music, Inc., 1951).

A Thousand Memories

Oh, I have a thousand thoughts and memories I could share of him – attending my basketball games growing up (and keeping stats. . . to ensure the newspapers got them right), writing me every day on my mission, wiffle ball games in the back yard or home run derby at a nearby Little League field -- games that he seemed to look forward to as much as I did. There are countless others.

It seems telling to me that none of these memories have anything to do with how much money he made, or of any prominence he knew in the world or in the church. 

I will miss those wiffle ball games in the back yard.  I will miss his giddiness at Christmas.  I will his false bravado in games of RISK and Monopoly, even if I still have a few uncles to carry on the tradition.  I will miss the doting grandfather who made his grandkids feel like they were the most important people in the world. I will miss just being able to talk with him.

I feel so lucky that he is my dad.  And I will miss him terribly in the years before we are together again.

You Did So Well

In closing, Wilford Woodruff included this line in his last will and testament: "If the laws of the spirit world permit, and I shall be governed by them, I should like to attend my own funeral."

As Dad went to the trouble of planning out most of this service, I have to think he is here.  Should Dad be here, I would say this:

We love you, Dad.  You did so very well. May God grant us strength enough to finish the race half as well as you did, that one day where He is, and where you are, we may be also, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Broken Yolk Challenge

Don't you want a little taste of the glory? See what it tastes like?

-Nacho Libre

I was supposed to be retired.  Just like Apollo Creed.*  But there it was.  Again.  The prospect of glory, something close to immortality, in another seemingly impossible food challenge.  I had tried ignore it.  I’d fought it off several times.  But no longer.  It was time to step back into the ring.  
 

We don’t often go out to eat, but over the years we’ve enjoyed taking friends and family to The Broken Yolk.  That’s partly because of their generous portion sizes and better than average fare, but also because of the restaurant’s notoriety for the Broken Yolk Challenge, which was featured a few years ago in a San Diego episode of the Travel Channel’s “Man vs. Food.” 

 

The challenge is set on a 15 inch pizza pan, half covered with a 12 egg omelet “filled with mushrooms, onions and American cheese smothered with our own house-made chili and more cheese.”  The other half of the pan is filled with “a generous pile of home fries,” which is to say, as many as home fries as the cooks feel like piling on.  Then there are two enormous biscuits. 

 

In the Man vs. Food episode , Adam Richman completed the challenge with some difficulty but in 32 minutes.  You can watch the pertinent portion of the episode here. 

 

I hadn’t attempted a food challenge since the Big Texan (in Amarillo, Texas) back in 2002.  That meal is legendary, centering around a 72 oz. steak, with an accompanying baked potato, salad, roll, and shrimp cocktail.  I had an hour to eat it, and they set me on a table that seemed to be center stage for the restaurant.  It was quite the steak (and almost completely raw in the middle), but I was quite a bit heavier then.  I ultimately finished the meal in 52 minutes, and was sick for several days following.  Depending on how you look at it, it was either a high point or low point of my life.  Either way, though, I’ve achieved a bit of immortality by making their hall of fame (my accomplishment is listed on page 18 – the fact that they listed me as being 34 probably reflects the fact that the meal took off 10 years of my life).

 

In the last few years, as we've taken people to the Broken Yolk, I’ve had a few brothers on the cusp of taking on the challenge, only to ultimately be dissuaded – either by the waitress or other family members.

 

Most recently Jared (who was not alive when I ate the Big Texan) began asking me if he thought I could handle the challenge.  I cooly assured him I could -- I just didn’t want to get sick.  But after my brother Nathan backed out of the challenge last month (much to the disappointment of my kids), I heard myself comfort my son by tell him that I’d one day take on the challenge for him.

 

The fated day arrived a few weeks ago.  We had some encouraging/enabling friends in town, and the timing seemed just about as right as any.  With the hubris of an Apollo Creed before his charity bout with Ivan Drago, I figured I was in the best shape of my life, even though I hadn’t practiced for it at all and had never really even seen what the challenge looked like beyond the Man vs. Food episode.

 

We opted to make it happen over a Saturday lunch.  The kids peppered me with questions all the evening before and the morning.  Jared adopted my confidence that completing the challenge was just about a foregone conclusion.  Emily, though, was terribly concerned that I would end up on the “Wall of Shame” (those who can’t complete the challenge still have their picture taken, but it ends up there).  She didn’t want me to do it.

 

At the restaurant, as the waitress took our orders, everyone else ordered normal things. I looked over the menu and ordered the Broken Yolk challenge, trying to get out those words as nonchalantly as possible.  The waitress eyed me and smiled – the kind of smile that seemed to suppress an impulse to giggle.  Michelle was to my left, half-amused, half-appropriately disdainful of my foolishness.  Jared was to my right, and couldn’t have seemed more proud of his father.

 

[Waiting for the Challenge]

 

I watched the waitress then walk back to the kitchen and relay the orders to the cooks.  The cooks then looked over to our table, sized me up, and smiled.  That was a little disconcerting, since I knew there were no real limitations on how much food (specifically the potatoes) they could pile onto my plate.  The only real parameters were the 12 eggs in the omelet and the size of the pizza pan.  Everything else was up to the discretion of the cooks.  

 

We waited 20 minutes or so and then finally they brought out everyone’s orders.  Everyone’s but mine.  Then, with a bit more spectacle than I’d hoped for (i.e., any spectacle at all), a server picked up my meal from the cooks, called everyone’s attention in the restaurant, and paraded the meal around the restaurant as he announced that challenge’s parameters and that they had a contestant.   

 

I wanted to shrink away and hide.  My cheeks probably went red, and it was the first time that the foolishness of my endeavor crossed my mind with any real force.  The server set the meal in front me amid several onlookers, told me I had an hour, and left me to my work.

 

[Why do I see fear behind your eyes?]

 

 

For all I had heard and read, I truly was not prepared for the enormity of that meal.  The cooks had not been kind.  The omelet itself looked huge, but of greatest concern was the giant mound of potatoes that filled the other have the pan.  It looked like they’d intentionally made the challenge impossible for me.  On the TV show, the owner of the Broken Yolk in Pacific Beach mentioned that they put a pound a half of home fries on the plate.  That was not a pound a half on mine!  It looked closer to 3-4 lbs.!**  And the biscuits!  The biscuits looked like 3 giants biscuits devilishly cobbled into two super giants biscuits.   

 

I felt some sense of foreboding, but I put on a brave face for Jared.  I still held out hope that if anyone could finish the meal, I could.  After all, $28 was a stake.

 

 

The meal was initially delicious.  I loved the crispy out edges of the home fries and the saltiness of omelet.  But it only took a few bites of the potatoes and omelet for me to realize that there was no way I was finishing this meal. 
 

[So many calories, and I could taste every one.]

 

I had no set strategy for consumption, only a rough idea to mix things together.  That was foolish on my part. 

 

What was pleasured eating for 5-7 minutes soon became labored.  Then forced. And finally impossible.  After 20 minutes or so, all the American Cheese in the omelet made it so salty that it was almost completely unpalatable.

 

[Does this look like a man whose had all he can eat?]

 

 

Throughout the entire ordeal, there was encouragement from Jared, from our friends the Myers, and even from Michelle (in no small part, I suspect, because she didn’t want to have to pay for the meal any more than I did).

 

After 10-15 minutes, as I began openly expressing doubt about my ability to eat the whole thing, they only got more encouraging.  In fact, at one point, after I’d pretty much decided to quit, Michelle started calling some of my brothers for reinforcements -- hoping they would give me new inspiration.  Perhaps they’d help me find the Eye of the Tiger.
 

 

["You don't stop this fight no matter what.  No matter what."]

 

But it was not to be.  No amount of motivational speaking, pithy inspirational quotes, of force feeding from Michelle and Jared would make any further dent into that enormous omelet.  I had failed, and it was time to ask for a take out box (actually two take out boxes).

 

[Throwing in the towel]

 

Jared was completely deflated.  When I started to falter, he reminded me that I’d assured him I could do it.  And when I gave up, he hid his face from me in tears.  Apollo Creed was down, and he wasn’t moving.

 

After I’d started the challenge, the waitress mentioned to Michelle that she felt like their location (the Point Loma location) gave the largest portions of any in the franchise, and that the challenge there was probably harder than anywhere else.  And once it was over, the manager came out to visit and take my picture, noting that the challenge at his location usually consisted of 8-10 lbs. of food.

 

In the end, Emily took my placement on the wall of shame better than expected.  Jared may never look at me the same.  But while I was overly full, I at least hadn’t eaten myself sick this time around.  Which was good because we went boogie boarding immediately after.

It's time to go back into retirement.
 

 

*If I have to tell you what movie I’m referencing (Rocky IV), we may have trouble being friends. 

 

** Take a look at the pictures of my meal, then take a look at the meal during the Man vs. Food episode.  I defy you to try and convince me the meal I had was not substantially larger than what was featured on the show.