Our Time In History

A Columbine High School student wrote:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time.

We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but less solutions; more medicine, but less wellness.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.

We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life.

We’ve added years to life, not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.

We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space.

We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.

We’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice.

We have higher incomes, but lower morals.

We’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the times of tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.

These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.

It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom.

… Author unknown

Santa Claus

I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything.

She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second cinnamon bun. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.

As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

Bobbie Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

“Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s … for Bobbie.”

The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, “To Bobbie, From Santa Claus” on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie.

Forty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

… Author unknown

This is a Picture from our Ugly/Christmas Sweater Party 

Finding The Beacon

Vickey Pahnke tells a wonderful story of a beautiful young woman named Jenni. Like many teenagers, she has a strong testimony of the gospel, loves to be involved with her friends, and is typical of today’s extraordinary young -- except that Jenni is blind. There are sometimes ward or youth activities planned in which she cannot participate, and others that make her feel awkward or left out. But one activity seemed ideal for her, letting her show others how to "see".

On one occasion, the young women planned a special activity with their fathers. In preparation, an obstacle course was set up in the cultural hall complete with tires, sawhorses, and so on. The object would be for the girls, beginning at one end of the hall, to make it to their fathers at the other end. One by one, each receiving instruction from her dad, they would move through this course. The equalizing factor was that each girl would be blindfolded. Jenni needn't feel left out, and it would be fun for all participating. It must have been a hilarious night. Fathers were getting frustrated in voicing their directions, daughters were getting agitated and falling all over the place. On the sidelines the others were shouting instructions and contradicting one another. Laughter filled the hall. Not one of girl was getting through this course. 

Jenni was last up. A quiet come over the hall as she stood ready for her turn. The other girls had whipped off their blindfolds. Jenni would not have the luxury of seeing this room when the games were over. Her father quietly said, "Jenni, listen to me. Don't pay attention to what the others say; just listen to my voice. I will guide you through ." Jenni began her trip. Among those watching, eyes widened in amazement as she carefully maneuvered. Once or twice she stopped to get her bearings or to have her dad repeat his instructions before she moved forward. Jaws dropped as Jenni continued -- never falling, never losing her composure. In time she made it to the finish line and into the arms of her father, who swung her around as the others clapped and encircled the "winners."

"No way!" "Incredible!" The girls crowded around Jenni, amazed at how easily she had gotten through the course that they had failed to navigate. "How did you do it?" 

"It was easy," Jenni said. "I just listened to my fathers voice and did what he told me to do."

To Jenni the solution to the challenge before her seemed all too obvious. There is great wisdom in Jenni's simple explanation of the source of her success -- she listened to her father's voice and then acted upon the guidance she received. This isn't always easy for teenagers, given the sometimes strained relationships between parent and offspring. But advice and counsel given by a righteous father, as influenced by the Holy Ghost, can be just like the beacon -- a source of steady direction guiding us safely home in the storms that sometimes swirl about us. But we must first find the beacon.

Mosiah Chapter 5:
7 And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.
12 I say unto you, I would that ye should remember to retain the name written always in your hearts, that ye are not found on the left hand of God, but that ye hear and know the voice by which ye shall be called, and also, the name by which he shall call you.
13 For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served, and who is a stranger unto him, and is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart?
15 Therefore, I would that ye should be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works, that Christ, the Lord God Omnipotent, may seal you his, that you may be brought to heaven, that ye may have everlasting salvation and eternal life, through the wisdom, and power, and justice, and mercy of him who created all things, in heaven and in earth, who is God above all. Amen.

The Marks Of A Man

By: David Bryan Viser
The Marks of a Man

As I jumped on board my flight from Miami to Salt Lake City, I paused for a moment to catch my breath.
Seated near the front of the plane was an excited young man, probably 19, sitting with his parents. His hair was short, his clothes new and sharp. His suit was fitted perfectly; his black shoes still retained that store bought shine. His body was in good shape, his face and hands were clean. In his eyes, I could see a nervous look; his movements were that of an actor on opening night.

He was obviously flying to Utah to become a missionary for the LDS church. I smiled as I walked by, and took pride in belonging to the same church where these young men and women voluntarily serve the Savior for two years. With this special feeling, I continued back to where my seat was located.

As I sat down in my seat, I looked to the right and to my surprise saw another missionary, sleeping in the window seat. His hair was also short, but that was the only similarity between the two.
This one was obviously returning home, and I could tell at a glance what type of missionary he had been.
The fact that he was already asleep told me a lot. His entire body seemed to let out a big sigh. It looked as if this was the first time in two years that he had even slept, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was.

As I looked at his face I could see the heavy bags under his eyes, the chapped lips, the scarred and sunburned face caused by the fierce Florida sun.
His suit was tattered and worn. A few of the seams were coming apart, and I noticed that there were a couple of tears that had been hand sewn with a very sloppy stitch. I saw the nametag, crooked, scratched, and bearing the name of the church he represented, the engraving of which was almost all worn away.
I saw the knee of his pants, worn, and white, the result of many hours of humble prayer.
A tear came to my eye as I saw the things that really told me what kind of missionary he had been.
I saw the marks that made this boy a man. His feet, the two that had carried him from house to house now lay there swollen and tired. They were covered by a pair of worn out shoes. Many of the large scrapes and gouges had been filled in by countless polishing.
The books lying across his lap were his scriptures-the word of God. Once new these books which testify of Jesus Christ and his mission were now torn, bent, and ragged from use.
His hands, those big, strong hands which had been used to bless and teach, were now scarred and cut from knocking on doors.
Those were indeed the marks of a man.
And, as I looked at him, I saw the marks of another man, the Savior, as he was hanging on the cross for the sins of the world.
His feet, those that had once carried him throughout the land during his ministry, were now nailed to the cross.

His side, now pierced with a spear, sealing his testimony with his life.

His hands , the hands that had been used to ordain his servants and to bless the sick were also scarred with the nails that were pounded to hang him on the cross.

Those were the marks of a great man.
As my mind returned to the missionary, my whole body seemed to swell with pride and joy because I knew, by looking at him, that he had served his Master well.

My joy was so great that I felt like running to the front of the plane, grabbing the new missionary, and bringing him back to see what he could become, what he could do.

But, would he see the things I saw? Could anyone? Or, would he see just the outward appearance of that mighty elder, tired and worn out, almost dead?

As we landed, I reached over and tapped the returning missionary to wake him up.

As he awoke, it seemed like new life poured into his body. His whole frame seemed to fill as he stood up, tall and proud. As he turned his face toward mine, I saw a light that I had never seen before.

I looked into his eyes. Those eyes. I will never forget those eyes. They were the eyes of a prophet, a leader, a follower, a servant. They were the eyes of the Savior.

No words were spoken. No words were needed.

As we disembarked, I stepped aside to let him go first. I watched as he walked, slow but steady, tired but strong. I followed him, and found myself walking the way he did.

When I came through the doors, I saw the returning missionary in the arms of his parents, and I couldn't hold it any longer. With tears streaming down my face, I watched these loving parents greet their son, who had been away for such a long time, and I wondered if our parents in heaven would greet us in the same manner.

Will they wrap their arms around us and welcome us home from our journey on earth? I believe they will. I just hope that I will be worthy enough to receive such praise, as I'm sure this missionary will.

I said a silent prayer, thanking the Lord for missionaries like this young man. I don't think I will ever forget the joy and happiness he brought to me that day.
Well done, thou good and faithful servant!

On a Personal note. The picture below is of Myself (Dallas Curtis) and ELDER BRETT RYAN NEELEY.*** Brett was my MTC companion for 2 months and i saw him frequently for the next 2 years in Panama. He is like a brother to me. He passed away on June 26th, 2006 from a fatal longboarding crash. He died instantly. I feel that Heavenly Father has called him home to labor in other missionary fields. ~GOD BE WITH YOU TILL WE MEET AGAIN MY BROTHER~

Healing The Wounded Soul

Healing The Wounded Soul - Jack R. Christianson

President Packer said. “You won’t survive spiritually unless you know how to receive revelation. The still small voice of the spirit. It’s a noisy world and you’re going to have to learn that revelation comes in the quiet times. It will come when the lord can speak to your feelings. The lord will speak to you; he will never fail to answer your prayers.” The problem is that we need have quiet times so that he can speak to us. As we spend time meditating, and In the midst of our meditation we will suddenly discover what we need to do. We’ll discover how we can heal ourselves, how we can change and how we can bless. (We’re usually just to busy) We have to have quiet times to be able to hear the voice of the spirit and come to know the savior. (Meditation is the key)

Misbehavior: People don’t usually misbehave because they are bad people, they misbehave because they are wounded, they’re hurt, and their lack of desire to please and to serve their master (Jesus Christ) is totally influenced by their pain, suffering and wounds. Generally these people’s misbehaviors are because they are wounded. Often times “We” don’t know the whole story about these people and how often are we so quick to judge. How often do we put them down, get upset at them or talk bad about them because of their misbehavior? When in reality their lack of desire and motivation to do that which is good, isn’t there because of internal pain. Their misbehavior has nothing to do with who and what they REALLY are. 

These types of wounds have to heal from the inside out; we must be patient with people. But when they are healed you won’t even be able to tell that there has ever been a wound there. The savior can Heal without a scar. 
Again, most misbehavior is not about people being bad, or worthless, or stupid… it’s about wounds, and pain, and insecurity, and hurt. 

How often do we ourselves get up set, and when we are hurting inside or in pain, we say things that we don’t really mean. It’s often quoted that “hurting people, hurt people. “ Your whole misbehavior has nothing to do with your lack of love for the other person. It had to do with your own pain, your own insecurity, and your own wounds. And as a result we often bark back, we say something or do something that we normally wouldn’t do. 

What about those who suffer from drugs? What about those that have been victims of sexual, physical or verbal abuse? What about someone who absolutely hate themselves because they’ve been told that they are stupid or ugly or they don’t like the way that they look. 
We need to stop saying “You stupid idiot, why would you do that? “ And instead ask “What is it that has caused such deep pain, such deep wounds, such deep insecurity that you would behave in such a manner? We need to work to be more understanding and see what’s behind it all and why they might do those things. We might consider the questions…Why would drugs be so attractive, why would pornography be so attractive, what is missing in your life? What pain, what hurt, what insecurity, what need is not being met? Then we might see in what way we might love and help them. 

Jacob 2:8 “And it supposeth me that they have come up hither to hear the pleasing word of God, yea, the word which healeth the wounded soul.”

The word of god heals wounded souls. Jacob himself knows about being wounded because he lived it. He was a victim of abuse from his two oldest brothers. We see that the drenching of ourselves in the living waters of the scriptures will begin to heal our wounds. With prayer, scripture study and meditation we will discover how to handle our difficulties. We will have the spirit of revelation come upon us. 

President Faust was asked, “ President Faust, What are we going to do to overcome all the addiction that we face in this world, alcohol, drugs, pornography?” President Faust put his elbow on the podium, put his chin into his hand, and said, “Get them to hold faster and tighter to the Iron Rod (The scriptures).“ If you let it get in you the word of god will heal your wounded heart, feelings and emotions. 

When people become truly healed, all they care about is pleasing their Heavenly Father, and loving and serving him. They will want to love and serve their master. Our lord, Our Savior and our King, Jesus Christ. But many times those who misbehave don’t get it because their wounds have been so deep that they haven’t been able to see clearly. 

3rd Nephi 9: 13 “O all ye that are spared because ye were more righteous than they, will ye not now return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?” It’s a question, “will you let me heal you”, that’s all he wants to do. 
1st Nephi 15: 24 “And I said unto them that it was the word of God; and whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction.”

The Healing balm is the word of god which health the wounded soul. We can’t force anyone to read scripture or to feel the way we feel. 

Elder Nelson said “ Man is that he might have joy, NOT Guilt Trips.” How often do we put guilt trips on people? One might say for example “Well if you don’t go on a mission then you just don’t love the lord.” Instead we should understand that maybe the reason that they don’t want to go on a mission is because they are wounded and they haven’t been able to see clearly yet. This goes for any other misbehavior problem we might see. 

Well, How do we get the word of god into those people suffering from wounds, and particularly into the Book of Mormon? We must Love, Lead, and teach out of our own healed and changed hearts. President Lee said, “We will never help another unless “WE” are standing on higher ground.” So we have to love, we have to be patient, and we have to let them heal from the inside out. 

May we remember President Hinckley’s challenge. “Those who read the Book of Mormon will be blessed with an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a greater resolve to obey His commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God.” 

Russell M. Nelson taught “Each individual who prayerfully studies the Book of Mormon can also receive a testimony of its divinity. In addition, this book can help with personal problems in a very real way. Do you want to get rid of a bad habit? Do you want to improve relationships in your family? Do you want to increase your spiritual capacity? Read the Book of Mormon! It will bring you closer to the Lord and His loving power. He who fed a multitude with five loaves and two fishes, He who helped the blind to see and the lame to walk can also bless you! He has promised that those who live by the precepts of this book “shall receive a crown of eternal life.” 

If you may be one who is struggling I say to you Come Home! Heavenly Father needs You.! We need you! May we be slow to judge others. Cause if we really knew the whole truth we wouldn’t be so harsh, we wouldn’t be so quick to judge or to miss judge. Because again often people are wounded, they haven’t learned that they are Princes and Princesses to a King, Jesus Christ. 

The old nursery rhyme is true: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King's horses, And all the King's men Couldn't put Humpty together again! But the King Can!

Let’s heal out of our own healed and changed hearts. I know as we read the Book of Mormon we will come to know the Great Healer, Jesus Christ, and by coming to know him we will be healed of our own wounds. This I know because he personally has healed me many times in many different ways. I am proof that it’s true. May we have trust in the promises of our Heavenly father and faith in both his words, the scriptures, and his son Jesus Christ the Great Healer.