Mysterious Ways ... Revealed

So two weeks and three blog posts ago we had a cold adventure. Now we understand why. The guy who came to fix the furnace told me to get a CO-detector. Hyrum wrote at that time:

"Daddy thinks it's a good idea for families to have carbon monoxide and radon testers normally to keep little kids safe. They only cost about $20, and that's worth it to make sure I'm safe, he says. Maybe it's time for you to get a testing kit from your local hardware store. My name is Hyrum, and I approved this public service announcement."

Early Friday morning Joy was baking fresh whole grain bread - really divine stuff. I noticed that our CO-detector was not at its usually happy 0, but had risen to a whopping 136. I aired out the house and did some research on carbon monoxide. CO-detectors are clever, see? They calculate the time you've been exposed at a certain level because it's the accumulated level that's trouble. I got the house aired out and the CO back down to 0 quickly, so we were fine.

So maybe our oven is having some problems. We'll have to watch it.

Last night Joy made some more bread for our Valentines breakfast. The CO alarm went off. Uh-oh.

We evacuated the house, called 9-1-1, and after an hour of talking to the nice firemen were back in our aired out house. Joy stayed in the warm car with Mr. "Well, if you're going to get me out of bed, the least you can do is play the music I like" Hyrum. The verdict? Your oven's toast, man. Can't use it. "Is anyone here pregnant? Cause if there were, there would be serious problems."

So we'll be getting a new oven instead of a new furnace. The firemen confirmed that the furnace is in good running order. But boy are we glad we had a furnace problem two weeks ago so we were warned about increasingly dangerous carbon monoxide coming from our oven. God's taking care of us, even through the device of a piddly furnace problem that got a guy over here who claimed he could smell an odorless gas.

Common sources of carbon monoxide are shown in the diagram on the right. Please make sure your home is safe.

"Especially with all the baking I've done recently," Joy says, "I hope we didn't lose too many brain cells."

Religious Thought of the Day

There never was any person over-saved; all who have been saved, and that ever will be in the future, are only just saved, and then it is not without a struggle to overcome, that calls into exercise every energy of the soul.
-- Brigham Young (Discourses, 387)

Fasting, Joy, and Gifts

This post has been moved to our new family blog.

Three thoughts on humility from the bathtub

1. I had often heard, particularly from Pres. Boyd K. Packer, that being a father would teach me a lot about God. (e.g. "Much of what I know that really matters I have learned from being a father" and "being a father of a family gives you opportunities to learn to govern with love and patience.") I had imagined that as a father, I would feel for Hyrum what God feels for me, and so come to find Him in me more.

That was not quite right. I've found more and more that what I learn about God comes from finding Hy in myself and realizing how God sees me. In many ways, I'm still an infant and a toddler (Is that Hyrum in another 7 months on the right?). I worry what I'll find out about myself when Hy is a teenager.

2. Hyrum asks for many things. He will ask for many more as time goes on. We want him to ask us, and we have invested a lot of time in teaching him how to ask. It's only beginning. No matter how accommodating we try to be to his requests, though, we end up saying "no" or "later" or substituting something else we know he needs more and try to get him interested in it as well.

God spends a lot of time trying to teach us to come to Him for help and to ask for what we want. He really wants us to ask. What we ask for isn't always feasible, "expedient" (ie - not a good time), or good for us. So He says "no" or "later" or tries to get us interested in something else.

Hyrum tops a lot of us in how he responds to such treatment. Hyrum lets us know he is disappointed in our choices, but really doesn't throw fits very often. He doesn't try to get even with us; he doesn't try to make us miserable. He submits (to me anyway) tolerably well most of the time.

So many of us respond by getting angry at God. 'This was really, really important to me and God didn't do what I wanted, so I'm going to stop going to church or stop saying my prayers or do something else to get back at Him."

So many of us respond by what would be delusionary if Hyrum did it: Hy has never said, "Mom and Dad didn't give me my truck when I asked for it, so they don't exist."

It takes humility to see somthing in the world that we think isn't right - that our definition of a just, merciful God wouldn't allow - and to respond, "I guess I don't understand God as well as I thought. Lord, help my unbelief." They are opportunities to know Him better.

3. That in turn got me thinking about Mosiah 3:19, which says that we, as fallen or "natural" men and women, are enemies to God unless we become as a child. The first, dare I say natural, reaction is to say "say, what?" Then we draw an invisible semantic point that being childlike is not the same thing as being childish, the one being equated with everything good about children and the other all the negatives.

Hyrum doesn't know the difference, though. He's just a child: both childlike and childish. ... and so am I. And with that thought, I saw two new possibilities:

3.1. God looks at the good and the bad and chooses to mention and bring to our notice the good. My confidence increased that He sees us the same and tries to bring out that good in us. That was how Pres. Hinckley spoke about the youth all the time and is how Pres. Monson speaks of them now. Emphasizing the good brings it out and overpowers the bad.

3.2. The good that God mentions being in children is that they are humble. Specifically, the natural man must yield, and become as a child: "submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father." Maybe that's the most important good. If you've got that - if you're willing to submit to anything God does with/to/for/at you - He can take care of the rest. And if I can't learn to submit the way Hyrum does to me, there's precious little that can be done with me, no matter what other skills I have.

Easter 09

Last year in the run up to Easter, Joy and I spent a little time each day reading through portions of the New Testament dealing what Jesus did on that day. It was deeply spiritual and very fulfilling. We planned this year to try to work this up into an official tradition and introduce Hyrum to some of the highlights.

Well, 2/8 isn't bad, right?

On Palm Sunday, I told Hyrum the story about the triumphal entry (Matthew 21) and then we did a reenactment. I got down on all fours and Hyrum, who has just discovered he can grip Dad's neck with his legs, rode on me as the donkey into the living room. Joy tossed some blankets and sheets out in our path and cried out with a loud voice, saying: "Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the most high God!" (which on checking after the fact are neither the words given in Matthew, nor in Luke, but it's the right sentiment).

Hyrum smiled big and really got a kick out of it. Sorry, no videos - whose hands were available?

Then ... something kept happening this week. I'm not sure how. There was the seminar given by Nobel prize winner Amartya Sen, there was home teaching, there was ... SOMETHING every evening so I was only home long enough to eat dinner and/or help put Hyrum to bed, but not enough to really talk with him about the temple or the parables or the Passover or Gethsemane or the Crucifixion. Actually, no, we did cover the temple - I was home one more night when we colored Easter eggs and told him about the temple. Anyway, it wasn't as full as we had hoped.

Sunday we did some things right, though. Following the women, we arose early in the morning so we could be out of the house by 7. I practiced a musical number for the Easter Program with two YSA friends who asked to do my arrangement of "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." Despite one of the girls being sick, they did a really good job turning my choir arrangement into a talented duet. Then there was choir rehearsal and then we performed for the Sacrament meeting Easter program.

Joy, in her Easter hat, was in charge of the Church program and she did a very successful job delegating large portions of it to other people. With a lot of people putting their best efforts into their parts of the program, the Spirit testified of Jesus and His Atonement. I got to spend some time in the afternoon telling Hyrum more of the story that had been missed over the week and took a much needed 3 hour nap.

Joy was also in charge of Easter baskets. She put Hyrum's out for him after his nap and he took some time exploring all the different things in his basket. Now for THAT we have video! Joy filmed the whole thing for me in short clips. Her commentary is almost better than watching the baby at some points. "And there's that yellow jelly bean again.... and the frog."



Hy really got a kick out of that frog. Almost none of the toys were new - Joy was reintroducing some old friends and added some large plastic jelly beans and a penguin in a ball. Our son is rather ambidextrous, and it was interesting to me to note that he explored the basket with his right hand while his left hand held on to the frog or the penguin depending on which had his interest. He'd explore a bit, shake the frog, pull out that yellow jelly bean again, shake the frog, put the jelly bean back, shake the frog.....

Joy hid my basket and I found it. I hid hers to find the next morning ... which we realized after the fact wasn't the most food safety awareness thing I'd ever done -- boiled eggs sitting out at room temperature for 8+ hours. "Needless to say, there were some of our eggs we didn't eat" including the one Joy only found YESTERDAY! "We tend to think it's a time bomb." I put it in with the baby diapers, which also constitute biological warfare. Sadly, Joy had left her basket on the stove earlier, so her chocolate eggs got melted pretty bad. The Easter bunny decided in all justice to switch our chocolate eggs around, so she still got the good ones.

"We're going to have to get some more Wanka eggs next year." Those were wonderful.

For dinner we had corned beef and cabbage, I guess celebrating Easter in Ireland. You've heard of Easter Island, well this is Easter Ireland. "Corned beef is so good!"

And that sounds a lot like Easter at the Watsons' this year. Oh, by fortuitous happenstance, I was reading John's account of the crucifixion on Saturday and the resurrection on Sunday. That's just how my reading happened to fall out. That was nice. Joy had made Easter nest cookies the week before (butterscotch chips, Chinese noodles, Crisco mixed together for the nest, then plop a few peanut M&Ms in for the eggs). They're cute. Decorative and delicious.

And THAT sounds a lot like Easter at the Watsons' this year.

Glad to be Alive

And here's one of the people to whom I owe that: Soviet Strategic Rocket Forces lieutenant colonel Stanislav Yevgrafovich Petrov. The full story is here with a hat-tip to economist Brad DeLong who got it from someone else I don't know from tnsgrl64.
To summarize, in 1983 Petrov was filling an extra shift for someone else who couldn't show up at work ... watching over the BIG RED BUTTON for the Soviets. The computer announced that the US had launched a nuclear missile at Moscow. That didn't make strategic sense to him: why only one? He guessed that it was a computer error and, despite protocls that told him to fire first and inform his superiors after, held off.

Then a second, third, fourth, and even a fifth missile showed up. Realizing that it could potentially be millions of Russian lives on the line and knowing it would definitely be millions of American lives if he gave the orders to fire, he held his ground as the rest of the officers present said he had to fire.

Seconds turned into minutes and it became clear that he was right. It turned out to be a computer error from some funky sunspots and satellites. He saved the world.

Bureaucracy being what it is, he was first praised and then censured for his actions. The above link claims he was forcably retired; Wiki indicates he always claimed otherwise. His story apparently broke in 1998 and a documentary is expected later this year.

From Wiki: "Petrov has said he does not regard himself as a hero for what he did that day. In an interview for the documentary film The Red Button and the Man Who Saved the World,^[5] Petrov says, "All that happened didn't matter to me — it was my job. I was simply doing my job, and I was the right person at the right time, that's all. My late wife for 10 years knew nothing about it. 'So what did you do?' she asked me. I did nothing.""

Wow. Another beautiful example of God putting the right person in the right place at the right time.

Life, Death, and Christmas

There has been a lot to think about this Christmas. I hope you'll forgive me for reciting the death toll for a moment before getting to the happier part, but in my more morbid moments it has seemed that Death has been delivering a great many telegrams this semester. If you'd rather skip all that, head on down to the dashed lines separating off Elder Wirthlin's testimony.

As you may remember, my good friend Evan Wade passed away earlier this semester. His death was quite sudden and unexpected. Timed as it was at the cusp of beginning so many wonderful things in life, it has made me feel particularly blessed to have been able to finish my own degree and be sealed to my wife. I commented to Joy the other day that I've been thinking of him regularly. I miss him, far more than I had expected.

Around Thanksgiving, Grammy had multiple strokes and the doctors also found there had been a heart attack at some point. This also was unexpected, and I find myself quite unprepared for the thought of Christmas without Grammy. In the last twenty years, that's been about the only time I've gotten to see her. Thankfully, Dad reports that Grammy is, to all appearances, fully recovered and doing miraculously well. But the realization of the fragility of mortality was hit home again. (This picture from the Ensign is of Grammy, though she doesn't actually need a wheelchair, then or now.)

A few weeks ago, Aunt Elizabeth died. I don't know that I ever met her or my great-uncle who is now left to mourn her loss. Uncle Calvin reported that she was "was released from the prison of her body" in hospice care after weeks of strokes and terrible pain. He is comforted that her death relieves her of the burden of that suffering, bringing her somewhere without the pain.

Last week our stake president succumbed to the battle he's fought with his cancer the last few years now. I didn't know Calvin Gehen well, but he had a powerful spirit with him at each stake meeting. He radiated peace and compassionate service, in part because you would sometimes never know how much he was suffering to be there. Being with him reminded me in many ways of the opportunities I've had to shake the hands of one of our apostles. Joy is hoping to sing in the choir at his funeral on Tuesday.

A couple weeks ago, Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin passed away. This was not particularly surprising since he was the oldest of the apostles. Though I've known a number of people who knew him (my friend Darrell married his granddaughter and my first mission companion was Elder Wirthlin's home teacher - which provided some interesting stories), I never had the privilege myself.

So today, since I'm sick and unable to attend church, I thought I would get around to watching Elder Wirthlin's funeral, which the Church has graciously put on their website. It was a beautiful service. (Other friends of Darrell will see him and his wife walking out of the funeral at 1:11:42-1:11:56. She's in a red sweater.) In my favorite talk that he ever gave, he told of the Savior's suffering in Gethsemane on Good Friday, reminding us that no matter how bleak the Fridays are that must inevitably come to all our lives, "Sunday will come." During the funeral service, I realized that he gave that talk just after his sweetheart had passed away, surely going through his own Friday. How important the testimony of resurrection morning is!

Among the words offered during the funeral, Pres. Boyd K. Packer shared with the family Elder Wirthlin's final testimony (it's about 30 minutes into the video), which he had spoken approximately the week before. Let me share a piece of it with you:
---------------------------------------
From time to time if we are living worthily, the Spirit of God touches our hearts, and minds, and our lives, and improves us forever. The warm feeling penetrates our hearts, a silent, still small voice speaks to us, communicating through the burning of our bosom the knowledge given to us from God. It draws us closer to Him, sanctifying us and strengthening our desire to return to His presence. During such unforgettable moments, revelation comes to us and forever alters our view - sharpening our focus on what matters most. We sense more profoundly our eternal relationship with Him as the literal Father of our spirits. We also feel more acutely our complete dependence on the merciful atonement of His Son Jesus Christ.

I had such a revealing experience. It was Christmas time in Bavaria in the Alps in 1937. I have always loved Christmas. There is a special spirit about it. The chill of the winter air is the perfect counterpoint to the warmth that should fill our hearts as we contemplate the message of salvation found in the birth, resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

I experienced that warmth many years ago while serving as a missionary for the church, just prior to the outbreak of WWII. As you might expect, the possibility of armed conflict was very intense, but as Christmas approached, our thoughts were drawn to the Savior. We rejoiced in the privilege of serving Him during that sacred season in the famous city of Salzburg, Austria.

On Christmas Eve, Elder S and I visited the village of Oberdorf, nestled securely in the beautiful Bavarian Alps. It was a clear, crisp winter night. We walked under the canopy of stars across the smooth stillness of newfallen snow to a humble little church where a familiar melody beckoned us with a message of peace and hope. [Pictured is the church to which he refers.]

Inside, a choir was singing in German a carol that brought warmth to our hearts on that cold winter night. Though we were far from our homes and families, we were filled with our Heavenly Father's love and comforted by His Spirit, as we listened to the calming strains of Silent Night, Holy Night.

Perhaps it was like the night that more than a century earlier inspired the assistant pastor in that quaint village to write the words to one of the most beloved hymns in all of Christendom. [He then tells the story of how the words and music came about.] As we listened to the choir's harmony while standing in the very same church where the first rendition of the sacred song was sung, we were spiritually moved. We were filled with the true spirit of Christmas.
-------------------------------
He told of how the Holy Ghost touched him and his companion at that time. As they walked the 15 miles back to their home, they spoke of a strengthened resolve to do what is right, to find a wonderful person with whom to spend eternity as husband and wife, and to keep their lives in focus with the principle and teachings of the Savior. He closed by saying, "I pray that our hearts and home may resonate with His marvelous message of love and peace during the holiday season. Forever with the apostle John, I testify that God so loved the world that He gave His Only Begotten Son...."

I've been looking forward to this Christmas all year. It's the first time I get to play Joseph. I've been a shepherd many times; I'm far too young to be a wise man; I've even been a dumb ox sometimes; but I've always looked forward to being the dad. No, Joseph wasn't the father of Jesus, but he was the man with whom God entrusted His Son, as He has entrusted me with a precious delight named Hyrum.

After all, besides death, this year has brought life. Wonderful, sweet life that has filled and changed our hearts in marvelous, miraculous ways. We are not the only ones so blessed. My dear friend Marcy and her husband have a dear little Emma after years of praying; our dear friends the Petersons just welcomed their third little one into the world; my former home teaching companion and his wife just received their first blessing; and there are countless more Corbins and Daniels and Timothies and Janes and Millies and more.

Each year, their families and friends will celebrate their lives, putting on cone-shaped party hats and singing old songs off key and eating good food and giving presents to each other because they are so thankful that this precious child is still with us. Every year, we also celebrate with funny little red cone-shaped hats, singing old songs off key, eating good food, and giving presents to each other on society's best guess as to His birthday. For behold, a virgin conceived, and she bore a son, and she called His name Emmanuel: God with us. I am so thankful that we all get together as brother and sisters, friends, neighbors, and family to celebrate the birth and resurrection of our Savior as well, whose sacrifice and sacredness conquered death, inaugurated hope, and promised peace. God be praised for the matchless gift of His Son.

Utah, part 2: The North

So now we're back at home, but warm and happy thoughts of UT linger. I hope my brother's muscles have recovered.... He woke up with me about 6 in the morning (Mon, Nov 24) to drive around Utah lake to pick up a chest Joy's brother Doug had carved for her and that a kind cousin has been storing for her the last six years. S and I hauled it upstairs and into the van (where it ... almost fit) and got back in time for his work. We passed it off to my parents later in the trip so it can stay in storage with my stuff. Assuming we ever leave Ithaca (a probability 1 event), there will only be one other place for us to haul stuff from. After a bit of economics work, we drove up to Logan, Mendon, and all points north to be with Joy's sister and her family.

We really love Fran's kids, Abby and Christopher. When Joy had stayed with them for a couple weeks years ago, Abby cried when she left. Christopher (a very tall 6 yr old) wrestled with me a lot. Abby was less rowdy than in past visits, but we had a wonderful time early Thanksgiving morning while Hyrum needed to be fed just talking and then reading the scriptures together. We read most of Alma 42 and she was really touched by the scriptures and the power in them. It was a really great morning.

Tuesday, sister Fran wanted time with her nephew while her own children were at school, so we took off for the Logan temple where we were selected to be the first couple at the session. It was a very nice time there. Joy remembered very fondly how her grandfather would drive up to the front door and drop grandma off while he went to find a parking space. We would have done that too, except we were trying to get ahold of her mother and forgot. I redeemed myself by picking her up from the front door. (Isn't redemption what the temple's all about anyway?)

After the temple, we picked up Joy's mother (left) from her convalescent home and met Fran (right) and brood at the clan-famous TINY SPICY. The restaurant isn't called Tiny Spicy, but the primary reason for going to this Mandarin restaurant is their chicken dish called Tiny Spicy. Rather than the usual orange color a sesame or General Tso's chicken would have, this chicken is deep red. It's Very Good and worth its addictive reputation. We spent the rest of the evening playing Life: Pirates of the Caribbean style.

Wednesday I took the whole day off and we went to a place called "Fun Park" that has rollerblading, bowling, laser tag, and a pitiful collection of arcade games. I don't skate thanks to my mission accident on ice, but the kids and Joy had fun there. I got a little work done despite it being my day off. Hyrum was really excited to watch everyone rollerskate/blade. Abby skated up just as I was taking a couple shots, and they're priceless.

Then we had a good game of bowling. Joy beat me for the first time. I had a HORRIBLE first 5 frames, but once I decided to forget approaching the lane properly and just chuck the ball from the line (a lot of my game depends on how frictional or slippery my shoes are), I got a couple strikes and several spares on the last 5 to almost catch up. I had given up on catching her and was only intent on doing better than the six year old who had bumpers. That's how pitiful a game it was for me. (I should mention that Christopher and I tied at Wii baseball twice so we had a nice competition going on that day already.)

That night we decorated for Christmas and took some great pictures. Hy is saving his favorites when he tells about the vacation in his own words, so watch out: some great pictures will be forthcoming. Fran had bought Hyrum a Santa suit, and it's really adorable on him. I took a few pictures with Joy and him, and then Christopher really wanted to get in on them. Joy asked him, "Would you like Santa to sit on your lap?" This was the resulting shot.

Thursday we drove just a little bit south to Brigham where the big family gathering was held. In its hayday, hundreds of cousins would descend and fill the cultural hall. This time around, we did justice to the multi-purpose room. I found it very entertaining how few people Joy knew. She knew the older kids in most families, but if they were under 20, she probably didn't. Several of the more important branches of the family tree were there, though, and we had a nice time getting reacquainted.

Joy's mother and grandmother were at the head of the table. Grandma Elzinga saw us and just had to hold the baby (her 92nd great-grandchild). She showed him to a few family members, then returned him to Joy, commenting, "I forgot how heavy these things can be!" Joy later took this picture of me with her grandmother in the kitchen cleaning up. (Why with me? Well, the baby was on me and Joy had already hugged her goodbye, I guess. There are other pictures of Grandma and Hy, but I think this one turned out the best.)

We also made a happy re-acquiantance and first acquaintance: Joy's brother Dustin, whom she hasn't seen in ages, and his newlywed wife. I've never met either of them. It was a casual hello until she blurted out, "Macademia!" in the serving line and we chimed in, "Oooooh, Macademia!" We then proceeded between us to redo most of the Vestibules' hit recording "Bulbous Bouffant," and fast friendships were instantly formed. For those of you unfamiliar with alleged songs that have been played on the Dr. Demento show, here's a link to an animated version. We talked about other things too, of greater interest to us likely than to any of you, like their romance. I will wait on posting this until Joy has had a chance to insert her own comments about the luncheon ... here:

" I was actually suprised at how few of my family were there, but I was able ask after some of my favorite cousins that I haven't seen for a while whose parents were there. We got there a little late, so it felt that before we even got around to visiting with everyone, people were already being ushered in to get pie. Then before I even finished eating half the room was cleaned up. I guess when you have 14 children and resulting grandchildren (over 70) and great grandchildren (over 90), and even have great great grand children, you have to know how to get things done. It felt more like home later when we went over to grandma's to visit with Aunt Noni and grandma Elzinga. Uncle Howard was there who Hyrum liked very much. My favorite part of the actual Thanks giving fiest was getting to know my sister-in-law and brother better."

After filling up on pie and Hyrum MUNCHING ON HIS FIRST ROLL OUT OF HAND (admittedly, he only ate about 5 crumbs, but he opened his mouth and bit down on something we were trying to feed him from our hands for the first time), we went back down to my brother's place. Next stop: St. George, Vegas, and back to Provo.

On a sobering note, my own grandmother (Dad's mom) suffered multiple strokes Tuesday night and Wed. We heard about it on Thanksgiving. Dad flew back to CA to be with her. In what can only be described as a miracle given the number of strokes and even a heart attack they uncovered and the length of time before she received medical treatment, she was able to walk just fine very quickly and was released back home on Friday. For her and Dad, the most frightening aspect for her was how her speech was affected, though that has mostly come back as well. How thankful we are Dad was able to go spend time with her and that she's alright now. It could have been MUCH worse. We really missed her at the Watson family dinner held in Las Vegas as a result of the trama that she had been through, but felt so blessed that things turned out so well in her recovery (leaving the hospitals with not physical restrictions on activity).

Life is like a box of peaches

Hyrum likes his peaches. They're his favorite food right now, ahead of oatmeal and yams. Later this weekend we'll see how they stack up against hamburger, but I'm guessing peaches will still be #1.

This means that someone (Joy) gets to prepare them. This week she went to a local farmers' market (one that doesn't think that people should pay an extra 50% for the privilege of buying local) and bought a box of peaches. She wanted to prepare them so they would stay fresh and yummy for a long time.

To do this, she first cleans and boils the peaches for a short time (though at 4-5 peaches per boiling and a whole box of em, it takes a long time). Then she removes the skin and tastes the cooked peach to see if it's a sweet peach (= happy baby) or a not-so-sweet peach (= happy garbage disposal? I'm not sure what she does then.)

Having decided a peach is worthy, she removes the pit, mashes it up, and freezes it in these little baby food ice cube trays. Once frozen, the 2 oz pieces of frozen peach are placed in plastic bags and removed one at a time for Hyrum's dinner each day. What a woman!

"Thank you for the peaches, Mom!

It's a lot of work, and I'm sure glad you think I'm worth it."

So how is this like life? Well, she didn't have time to get to all the peaches she boiled yesterday. Today all the peaches she had boiled had gone bad. The peaches she hadn't boiled were just fine. This led me to the following conclusion:

The peaches start out in a state of relative innocence. They can't remain that way, though, or they will be of no use. So they undergo a process that I have to imagine is pretty painful from the peach's perspective. The purpose is to save the peach. However, the same process that preserves peaches for a long time also has the potential to corrupt them and make them bitter. In the end, with the pit removed, you would hardly recognize the old peach.

We started off living with our Father in Heaven in a state of relative innocence. We couldn't remain that way or the purpose of our creation would have been frustrated. So He sent us here to earth to undergo a process that can seem pretty painful sometimes from our perspective. The purpose is to save us and our families. If we don't let God finish His work in us, though, and make use of Jesus' Atonement, we will be corrupted and bitter. In the end, with our old, sinful self removed, one would hardly recognize the glorious beings made in His image.

Thank you for your love and sacrifice, Jesus.

It's a lot of work, and I'm sure glad you think we're worth it.

(PS - I'm also thankful for a wife who reminds me of Jesus, just by being herself.)

Hyrum vs. Chanch

Other blog post titles include: "Why I stay up so late at night" and "Episode 6: Return of the Baby Fat"

Time for a hat tip. My old mission companion and golden (aka greenie), Mike Baker, got married and had a baby just before we did. They affectionately nicnamed him: The Chanch. This was him at one month.Quoting from their blog:
--------------------------------
for those of you who don't know; that is in reference to the extremely chubby kid who loans Jack Black some stretchy pants; I know-Mike and I fully realise that we might have to pay for counseling later-but look at those cheeks. Can you blame us?
... Sadly, the only language that he is fluent in is wookie. Mike and I have done some frantic perusing of the old episodes in an attempt to communicate with him, but so far all we have really figured out is that most of the time he is saying "Mom I'm starving, I'm starving, I'm starving!"
---------------------------------
Regularly, their blog (featured on the right) refers to the Chanch's struggles with life. It's tough being a baby, y'know? Chanch vs. Pears; Chanch vs. Swings; Chanch vs. The Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy (j/k); and so forth. Hence tonight's blog titles.

Hyrum has had a real struggle to be where he should be. Joy has even more. The blessed lot of fatherhood has been to struggle with them.





Hyrum was born at about the 33rd percentile for weight and the 88th for height. Tall and slim. There was just one problem...











He would NOT eat. He would scream murder and the veins pop out of his head when we offered. This was psychologically shattering.











He lost more than 15% of his weight before we got him home. Regular readers will remember we started feeding him by syringe then. This was not particularly fun, but it was a LOT better than the alternative. By that time he was at the 6th percentile for his weight.






Well, that worked for a while. His weight stabilized and started going up. The docs took us off emergency status as he went back up to the 8-9 percentile.









He continued growing. His ribs disappeared. He started getting a teeny tummy. He got up to 8 pounds! Finally, a pound above his birth weight, after two distraught months. We were very happy.

Until we visited the doctor again and learned he was NOT keeping up with the other kids. He was at ... the 0.96 percentile for weight. And his height had not kept up either: from 88th percentile to 15th!


That's when I started staying up until 2-5 in the morning to work on the second chapter of my dissertation ... and to feed Hyrum. This lets Joy sleep through the night (mostly), and lets him Chunk Up.

This bathtub pic was taken a month ago at 10 pounds and 5th percentile.

Two weeks ago at our doctor's visit, he was 12.5 pounds and 15th percentile. The doc told us we could ease up finally since his weight had caught up with his last measured height. We don't have to wake him for a midnight feeding ... except that if we don't, he wakes us up for a 4am feeding, and so we're still being a little preemptive. We'll test him out again without the midnight feeding this week while I'm in DC.

If he has maintained his previous rate of growth, he should weigh between 13 and 13.5 pounds now. That would be somewhere around the 25th percentile. He's outgrown I think all of his newborn clothes because he's too tall (at 4 mo.) and Joy brought out the rest of his 3-6 and some 6-9 mo. clothes to try on.

I have never been so thankful to see a chubby cheek or a second chin in my life. It means hope. It means growth. It means life.
Of course, a lot still depends on the camera angle. But there is no question that he is a happier, heftier, healthier baby. I cry with gratitude tonight for Joy's sacrifices and efforts, and the multiple doctors it has taken to figure out how in the World to get him eat.

It still takes sacrifices and effort and near-perpetual adjustment. But I'm so thankful for my sweet little baby who I love so dearly and my tough as nails wife who has never given up, no matter how hard it was. Thank you, my Queen. I only wish I could do more. Thank you, God, for seeing us through.

And now it's time to fetch and feed my son before joining my wife in slumber.

Commencement Awe

[warning: it's another long ramble that's more of a journal entry than a communication]

I debated for a while whether I was going to walk at commencement this May. I eventually decided that, if my committee were around during the summer so that I could actually graduate before September, I would feel close enough to done that it would be fine. But given that my committee won't be back in town until late Sept/early Oct for my defense, it just didn't feel close enough, and if I'm going to be here two more years anyway, I might as well walk next time.

It's not for the speeches that I want to go. I am a big fan of Dave Barry's and Garrison Keillor's takes on commencement addresses: full of cliches and pipe dreams, signifying nothing. But there are now two commencement addresses I've found that I think are immensely powerful. I got one of them, and I just finished reading the other.

I loved BYU's commencement. I loved the thrill of the march to Pomp and Circumstance. It felt like I had really accomplished something deeply significant - and I had. Our first speaker was Pres. Bush's secretary of education. I only remember one thing he said. He opened his address by walking with us down nostalgia lane (another commencement staple), as we remembered our fond times meeting new people at the Cougareat (Cougar Eat), studying late at night at the Harold B. Lee library, or visiting with friends after class at some other campus landmark with a proper name. Some of the folk around me were impressed that he "really knew our campus!" Clearly, these folks were insufficiently trained in either public speaking, political science, or cynicism. I thought, "It would be more impressive if he could recite those place names without pausing slightly to look down at his notes." I have no idea of anything else he said.

I remember our other speaker very well. Then-Elder Henry B. Eyring's talk changed my life. The one rub about graduating was that I was graduating alone. Like everyone else, I had been certain of finding Sister Watson there at BYU. Leaving not only without her, but without even ever having a girlfriend was intensely disappointing. Elder Eyring told us, however, (in his *snicker* pink gown) that in life we do our best and leave the residual in God's hands.

Now from economics I know what a residual is. You have a bunch of control variables. You own those. You can manipulate those. But then you have all the stuff you can't control ... the residual. I had done everything in my power. I had given marriage a very high priority in my time, planning, ambitions, and work, and done everything in my power to find her (including being only one or two classes short of minors in three departments that were different from the two that gave me my major and minor!). And here was an apostle of God, telling me that it was enough. I did everything I could, and I could safely leave the rest in God's capable hands. It was such a sweet comfort to me then. It has still been a touchstone of hope and reality in the last difficult six years through one scholastic failure or disappointment after another.

May I now be privileged to introduce to you the other excellent commencement address? It was given this month to the graduating class of Harvard by J. K. Rowling - you know, that gal who wants to "destroy the moral fiber of society" by writing amazing Christian metaphors they don't teach anymore, also known as the Harry Potter books. Of all the things that would best sum up my time here, she hit a number of them dead on in discussing "The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination." You can find the full address easily enough, but I'll briefly highlight my favorite parts for you.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates ... . However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. ... Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person's idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one... . I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

For those who don't know, Cornell has been an incredible drain on my psyche. In the first two years -- when I still had good grades to bolster me -- the dating life I had built at BYU disintegrated here, bringing on depression and 40 pounds in one year of 3am ice cream binges. When my idea for my dissertation went down in flames at the end of my third year (and about to be married to Joy), I began a manic scramble to find a committee and topic to "justify my existence" while undergoing some major, heartrending repentance in other areas of my life. Even with my committee and a topic in hand by the middle of my 4th year [I hear tell in the rest of the school we're supposed to have our committees together by the 3rd SEMESTER, and some departments won't let you into the school without an adviser], everything seemed to drag and to slow, and writing this dissertation has been one of the most miserable experiences of my life. (I can write all this primarily because in the last couple months I've been making more progress on it daily than I did sometimes in months, and I'm sitting on the cusp of banging out a major draft of the end of it, so I'm actually feeling pretty good about it.) This is the real reason I can't wait to get out of Ithaca, in case you ever hear me making disparaging comments.

Rowling points out a number of good things here: I am far from spectacular failure, no matter how disappointed I was by my own too-high standards. It's not only inevitable, it really has been good for me.

There are times when I'm too inclined to see all the bumps in the road over the last six years, instead of seeing how God redirected my path through them. Each of them provided major direction adjustments that have finally landed me doing work that I am deeply passionate about; that is important; with an adviser I admire and respect and who has had nothing but encouragement for me; in a real job that will be ideal for the next steps of my journey.

Rowling talks about the friends she gained in college who stood by her through that hard time, friends so good they didn't even sue her when she used their names for Death Eaters. My struggles have taught me so much about the depth of my parents' and wife's love. I knew my parents were proud of me before, and I had the grades to "deserve" it. But they have still been proud of me as 4 years became 5 and then 6 and now 6.05-6.25. A few weeks ago as I tucked Joy into bed as I prepared to pull yet another all-nighter trying to get the second chapter of my dissertation done, I said to her that hopefully when she woke up, I'd have a paper written. She beamed at me, "Now there's the man I married!" We've counseled together a lot about my "newfound" lack of confidence, so that was so wonderful to hear. Without knowing what I'm writing right now, she just said, "I'm so proud of my economist" as she kindly offers to make me breakfast after another all-night session.

But it's about time for me to wrap up this therapy session and finish getting ready for the day. On imagination, Rowling is fairly surprising:

Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

She then describes working for Amnesty International, which she admits had a profound influence on her work, and the letters and work she did there for people who were oppressed brutally for daring to disagree with their government. That weighs heavily on a fellow who's writing a dissertation on political will and a chapter on good governance. She then says

But how much more are you, Harvard [Cornell] graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people's lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world's only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better.

And that's the other half of the why question. Why go through all this? Why all this work? The first half is so I can provide for my family in a manner that I would find personally fulfilling so that Joy doesn't have to. But back at the Y, the reason I chose economics over German as my major was to help the poor of the world, an inspiration that came while reading the Doctrine and Covenants. And in Per I've found how to do that, and that came through failure.

I think I'll adopt this as my second commencement address, just in case the speakers here in 09 decide to reminisce with me about lunches at ... um ... The Two Naked Guys Cafe.

Starring: Hyrum I

A quick word of explanation why this first video is so cool. Hyrum had not yet eaten at the hospital, and it was 48 hours since he was born. After another frustrating attempt of constant screaming, I went out to the nurse and asked her when they were going to rush in with an IV pack (only I didn't put it that way). She said it was borderline. So Joy and I had a difficult conversation, and with a new steel in her eyes that the nurses noticed, Joy began a battle campaign that lasted ALL NIGHT and into the morning until about 10am with Hyrum.

Finally, at long last, he nursed. This was the video of a happy, fed Hyrum for the first time. We were so thrilled and happy.


The second video is just cool because it was his first night on earth and he looks so adorable.

Sunrise

A little over ten years ago I was in the Missionary Training Center getting ready to go to the former East Germany. On one particular morning (6 am), I woke up groggy and stiff while my 'roommates' were dancing and shouting and carrying on. When I grumbled or something, they commented very smugly that I was clearly not "a morning person."

That didn't help.

I left to go collect myself. I went over to the stairwell that had a large window where I usually went to practice my singing (good echoes). It was still a dark purple morning and I began singing "I Need Thee Every Hour." As I finished, I saw one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. Against the dark sky, a thin group of clouds suddenly lit up a brilliant rosy pink. Its brilliance overcame the fact that those aren't my usual colors. I stayed watching it for about 5 minutes until the effect faded away with the gradual lightening of the sky.

Then I started thinking about it. In the part of town I could see from our upper floor, no lights were on. Most everyone there was still asleep. There might have been only two or three other people in all the world who got to see that particular glorious shining, and I was one of them. It felt very much like the hand of God reaching out to tell me it's alright, to calm my soul, and help me find peace. Whenever I am reminded of Elder Bednar's talk on tender mercies, that's the first image that always comes to mind.

I've been thinking about that the last couple days. It's been a very difficult few months, and I've needed to reach out and rely more and more on God to reassure me in those things I cannot see or control. And on those days when I manage to reach out in faith without fear, the reassurances of the Spirit seem particularly beautiful. Like a beacon of hope against a darkened sky. They testify that the day will dawn and give me the strength to go on just a little bit farther. No matter how dark our Friday, Sunday will come.

It's a boy! It's a girl! It's a ... Monk?

When last we left our heroine, Joy was shaken but determined to get a new car to replace Genie. We had been working on the project for a bit over a month. We knew her time would eventually come, but hadn't sensed the urgency of it until last Tuesday. So we stayed up the night of the accident doing research on cars to figure out what kind of car we wanted.

We managed to narrow down the list to our top 9 car makes and models that did not offend our various constraints. (That is, we got rid of the worst gas milage cars, the worst built cars, the ones whose parts cost the most, the highest milage, within our price range, and so on to get a list of cars that were at least mediocre in every category we cared about.) On the top of the list was the Oldsmobile Intrigue, which we estimated we could find from the year 2002 for about six thou. That was primarily my part of the work, the theory, though Joy worked on compiling auto reliability records.

Joy did the empirical part, calling used car shops and so forth. She was rather surprised to find very poor customer service and either unwilling or unknowing sales reps, mostly. There were a couple of good ones. She compiled a list of cars that actually existed in our area that we could compare to our ideal.

Wednesday night, Joy couldn't relax and didn't want to have fun. She just wanted to find a new car. So I decided that the better part of romance was to find her one, and we did some more searching around midnight. We searched the Ithaca Journal classifieds online, and they directed us to cars.com, and they directed us to a car we didn't really believe existed: a 1998 Oldsmo Intrigue with a whopping 21,000 miles on it.

No, there are no missing zeroes.

We contacted the dealer who admitted the car was not a hoax, and we drove down Thursday to have a look. They had only JUST gotten the car on Saturday, a trade in from first-owner Elizabeth Taylor. (Granted, Liz is her middle name, but it's a good story.) They hadn't even had time to do their own repair work on it by the time we got there. They were amazed we had heard about it since they only posted it Tuesday. The dealer confessed that it must have been meant for us. We were inclined to agree.

He agreed to hold the car for us and give us first bid after it was fixed up. We checked out a few other cars, but none were as wonderful as the leather-upholstered, chrome-wheeled, spacious beauty we found at the Binghamton Auto Exchange. So we agreed to purchase it this week, and they called yesterday to say the car was ready for us.

We are in the car, which we have named Monk, returning home under a gorgeous sunset. It's very comfortable, with a smooth ride, a great heating system, and will soon get a replacement radio since the first tape we put in him has been eaten. But once we find a way to get it out, the 12-CD exchange player in the trunk will be pumpin out the tunes. "Tabernacle Choir and Bach" says my wife who is tuned to an 80s station, "And Olivia Newton John!" We're very pleased and hope to get a good 8-10 years out of him, with his sun-bleached green dashboard:

Why Monk? Well, we got the car in Vestal, and it's so little driven that I proposed calling it the Vestal Virgin. But our last car was a girl and we're having a boy, and so Joy wanted a boy name. Virgil was a possibility, but Mom suggested Monk. They're celibate and make good detectives too. Joy confesses she thinks of the detective, and I do too.

Thank you, Ms. Taylor. Thank you, Binghamton Auto Exchange. Thank you, Geico, for taking good care of us in the meantime. Thank you, God, for preparing such a fish to swallow us.

Genie Lost Control

Ok, so I was in Genie when she lost control. Genie is our 1996 Mercury. We had just decided that we had to get new tires. Our auto mechanic told us that the cords in our tires were showing and we came to realize that we just couldn't find a new car before we needed to use this car in the SNOW!

I was not feeling well today anyway, but I had found a place I could get an inexpensive tire and was on my way to get it (by the way I also had an appointment in two days to get all of our tires replaced at our favorite mechanic). The weather was bad, roads possibly slippery and I was nervous about going to get the tire, but I went anyway. Yes, the roads were slippery, very. Infact the roads were so bad that the tow truck that my insurance contacted latter would not come and get my car tonight because they were afraid of getting in a wreck on there way or with my car as it was towed.

I was being very careful in my driving, going under 15 miles an hour when I came up to the aweful hill. My task was to go down it successfully. Ithaca is just a lot of hills, so it can be difficult to decide the best hills to tackle in bad weather. Half way down the hill, I tested my brakes a little because I could see cars at the bottom of the hill and didn't want to hit anyone or anything, Well, my car just started skidding without any slowing, so I put it into a lower gear without any effect either. The hill was just getting steeper, so I knew I wouldn't be able to stop at the bottom.

I decided my only option was to try and get off the road hoping that something else would stop me. I tried turning to the right first. As I turned to the right curb my car immediately found the metal railing that is supposed to keep cars in. (See Derrill showing how tall that thing is.) Luckily it was just beginning, so I went right over it. well part way. It was a little like my car was a skateboard and my car was riding the rail. I am sure it did some damage to the bottom of my car. Although it slowed me down a little my car did not stop, so I decided to try the virtue of the left curb. Amazingly I was able to get off the rail -- still don't know how I managed -- and no one was approaching on coming on the Left (gratefully), so I turned left. I was able to go up the dirt a ways and my car finally stopped.

I was able to start my car again or it was still, so I decided that now that I was stopped I should try to get to the bottom of the hill. People in cars saw my antics and stayed out of my way. By this time thankfully my front two tire were flat, so I had some great traction, got down the hill slowly and pulled into a parking lot at the bottom.

I then was able to get a hold of my husband, who picked me up and I left a note for the church in whos parking lot my car still lies. I am so grateful to be unharmed and that I was able to keep from harming anyone or anything else (the metal railing was not harmed in the making of this film). So insurance is contacted an all is again well in the Watson household. Only God could have made all go so well, we thank him in every prayer

Update: The verdict is in. The appraiser has officially declared our car totaled. The scrape damaged the engine, the transmission, the suspension, the shocks, and who knows what else.