Yabbut the Rabbit

Once upon a time there was a cute, fluffy bunny named Yabbut. Actually, that was his nickname - his real name was Buddy. But from the moment he started talking, his favorite word was "yabbut", and once his friends started calling him that, the name sort of stuck - that's the way nicknames work, you know.

Yabbut wasn't a teenaged bunny anymore. He had a wife and family, and he worked very hard to make things nice for them. Their rabbit home was big, roomy and nicely furnished. His wife had nice clothes,  a nice car and lots of fun jewelry to wear. The kids always had the latest video games and the "cool" stuff to wear. Yabbut felt good about what he was able to give his family.

One day, he got a surprise phone call from one of his high school friends. They hadn't talked in years. Yabbut was amazed that his friend had called, and they had a wonderful talk. They ended with Yabbut inviting his friend to come over to visit for the weekend.

All week long, it was all Yabbut could do to stay focused on work and not think about all the fun he and his friend would have. Finally, Saturday morning arrived. Yabbut got up early and puttered around the yard waiting for his friend. Finally a car he didn't recognize pulled into the driveway and his friend stepped out.

"Yabbut the Rabbit!" his friend called, "you look great!"

"Yeah, but I could stand to lose a few pounds!" Yabbut grinned.

Yabbut shook his friend's hand warmly and was surprised when his friend grabbed him in a great bear hug.

"Come on in!" Yabbut invited as they made their way to the front door.

Yabbut's wife opened the door, and Yabbut made the introductions. "You have a beautiful wife," his friend complimented him. "Yeah but she's a terrible cook," was the reply.

Yabbut showed his friend around the house and for every compliment that he received, true to his name, he would respond with, "Yeah, but..."

His friend, after visiting for the day at Yabbut's house, drove home, and as he did so, he made a commitment to himself to never visit Yabbut again. "That was the gloomiest, most depressing home I have ever been in," he thought to himself.

As the years rolled by, Yabbut found himself divorced and alone. His children never called or came around, and his neighbors avoided him.

If only he had realized that when you say the word, "but", you have just denied everything you said prior that. A comment such as, "I love your home, but the carpets need cleaning," is the same as saying, "I don't like your house because it has dirty carpets."

Don't be a Yabbut the Rabbit. Just smile pleasantly and say, "Yeah, you're right."

Bodies and Temples

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I have a deep and abiding love for Christ and His infinite Atonement. I have, as yet to openly profess my faith in my blog. For this I apologize. It wasn't because of fear, it was because of compassion.

I want to help as many people as I can to be the best person, the best wife, the best husband, son, daughter, mother, father, boss, employee - the best human that they can be, and I don't want preconceived religious bias to create barriers to that purpose. I am not religiously bigoted. I believe that any religion that espouses the characters of man that make him kinder, more loving and more noble in his relationships with his fellow man has truth. Whether it be Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity or other.

Nevertheless, I can never truly share my insights and inspiration with the world without proclaiming something that has become part of the very core of my being - my faith. I do not believe the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to be the true church - I believe the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to have and teach all the truth, with the property authority, necessary for the salvation of man.

You see, I don't see any religion as true or false - with the exception of those religions that would have us reject all religious beliefs - secularism, I guess. I see all religions as having some truth, more or less, depending on what they teach. I just believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has all the truth.

I am reminded of the movie, "Amadeus", which gave an entertaining look - whether accurate or not, I can't say - into the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. In one scene he awaits back stage for the Emperor to congratulate him on the opening of the opera Figaro. The Emperor greets Mozart and compliments him on the performance and the piece and then pauses and says, "But... it had, um, what would you say, Court Composer?" To which the man questioned replied, "Too many notes, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," the Emperor exclaims, "that's it. Too many notes. Just cut some of them out and it would be perfect."

Mozart, deeply offended replies by saying, "And which notes would you recommend Your Majesty?"

I love that scene because it affirms that when anyone takes away from perfection, it is no longer perfect, but a reflection of it. I believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints teaches all the notes of the gospel. Unfortunately, throughout the history of mankind, truth becomes interpreted by the "learned" and, ultimately, altered - some of the notes are removed.

Martin Luther realized this about the Catholic church in Renaissance Germany, as have many others in other countries. But even then, it doesn't mean that the Catholic church doesn't teach truth - it does - but some of the notes are missing.

Now, of course this is my opinion - my belief - my faith. Whether it is true for you or not is irrelevant to the purpose of this blog. Whether or not you are a Mormon should make no difference to what you feel about the messages I write.

So why bring this up now? Because the message that I want to write is centered around Jesus Christ.

In the King James version of the Holy Bible, Paul asks the Corinthians this question, "Know ye not that that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you...?" Because of this and other teachings, many Latter-Day Saints are fond of saying, "My body is a temple." Which it is.

However, many people, not just Latter-Day Saints, take this inborn realization too far. They feel that because their body is a temple that it is them. I saw a video today on You Tube, and the person speaking said, "My body is not me." What a wonderful insight!

In my religion, we believe the temple to be the holiest of our places of worship. So holy, in fact, that in order to enter you must declare yourself worthy to you Priesthood authority. In doing so, you affirm that you adhere to the teachings of the church and strive to keep all the covenants you have made in entering its membership.

Because these buildings are so sacred, we use only the finest materials in their construction. Everywhere you look, you see beauty. It is a peaceful place without loud noises, cell phones or television. People automatically talk in a soft murmur, not wishing to disturb the special peace that the temple gives.

In spite of all the respect and reverence we give the temple, however, we don't confuse the temple with God. In other words, we would never say, "Our temple is God." No, we believe it is a place where we may go to feel of His spirit and be taught thereby, but we don't see it as God.

Why, then, do so many of us that say, "My body is a temple," believe that their body is them? Your body is no more who you are than the temple wherein you worship is God, himself. Your body is a structure wherein your Spirit dwells, where the Spirit of God can enter and where you receive a lifetime (however long or short) of instruction.

Your body, then, does not define you. Yes, you should respect it, love it and take care of it - it is, after all, the only one you get in this life! But it is not you. You are so much more than you see with your physical eye. What is the worth of a man? His body, or what he does with his body?

Reject the message of high fashion and Hollywood. You do not have to have the perfect figure. The figure you have is perfect, because perfection resides within it. I do not mean to say that everyone is perfect - actually, nobody is. I mean to say that our spirits have the potential to be perfect - otherwise a member of the Godhead - the Holy Ghost - would not be able to enter in.

Rejoice in the body you have - warts and all. Do not feel that you have to live up to the expectations of the world. Live only for the expectations of your spirit. Because you are the miracle.

The Upside Down Turkey

Before we begin, I must first apologize to my lovely daughter. This story is about her, and while it may at first seem a Greek Tragedy from the writing of Sophocles, himself, it is, in fact a story of humor, sadness and ultimately, life.

For Mother's Day this year, my daughter invited the whole family over to her apartment for a turkey dinner - her first. Meaning, the first one that she cooked herself. Of course, as any new bride (she's only been married 11 months - and some few days), she was nervous of the outcome.

Never having cooked a turkey before, she wanted lots of advice - not from Mom, but from me. Not because I am a consummate turkey-cooker, but because she didn't want to pester Mom on her day. I'm okay with that. After all, I have cooked a few birds in my life.

When we arrived at her apartment at the appointed time, my daughter's voice called from the kitchen, "Dad, can you come check my turkey for me?" When I entered the kitchen she said, "I've had it cooking for almost four hours, but I don't know if it's done yet."

I lifted the top off the counter-top roaster and looked in. The bird was still white! "Ummm, Sis?" I began, "What temperature do you have this set on?"

"I don't know for sure; the knob's broken off."

"Okay. Uh, this bird is nowhere close to being done."

"Are you serious?" She cried in dismay. "What am I going to do?"

"Let's see if we can turn up the temperature and get it cooked," I replied. I grabbed some pliers (the knob connector was hot) and turned the temperature up considerably.

"It was supposed to be done when everyone got here," she said dejectedly. "Now everything else is going to be cold, and everyone is starving, and..."

"Hold, on," I interrupted. "Let's just see how it turns out. Besides, it will give everyone a chance to visit for a while."

In just a few minutes, the smell of a cooking turkey filled her home.  After about an hour, I checked it again, and sure enough, the skin was a golden brown. "Is it done?" my daughter asked anxiously.

"It looks like it," I responded, looking all over the bird for the pop-up timer. Not finding one, I asked, "Do you have a meat thermometer?"

"No. Now what?"

"Well, did this turkey come with a pop-up timer? Because I don't see it."

"It's on the bottom."

Suddenly I realized why the entire turkey looked funny (odd) - which I didn't want to mention to my daughter for fear of hurting her feelings. The turkey was upside-down!

"Uh, it's upside down," I told her.

"Are you serious?!?" she wailed, loud enough that everyone in the house heard her.

"What's wrong?" asked her mother.

"I put the stupid turkey in upside down!" my daughter cried, running into my wife's arms.

"Oh dear," my wife said. "That's okay. I'm sure there's plenty of food for us."

I thought to myself, "Well, I might as well carve it up. I might be able to salvage some of the meat."

I pulled the bird out of the pan, and the breast looked... well, like the back of most other turkeys look - sort of wet and slimy. I put it on the cutting board and starting with the legs, I started to carve the meat. Now, you can't just carve a turkey without sampling here and there. Almost without thinking, I popped a morsel of dark meat into my mouth. HOLY COW! It was AWESOME! The flavor was wonderful. Whatever seasoning she had used was fantastic. The breast was moist, flavorful and delicious in every way.


I called her in. She entered the kitchen, shoulders slumped, head down with a look of total defeat on her face. "Now what?" she asked sadly.


"Here," I said, handing her a piece, "taste this."


"Why?" she asked as she put the morsel in her mouth. No sooner than it had touched her taste buds, her head snapped up, her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed in quiet awe, "Wow! That's good!"


"I know," I said. "Well done. Well done, indeed!"


Her turkey, although not presentable as a picture perfect bird, was one of the juiciest and tastiest that I have ever eaten. All who were privileged to partake of that meal were well satisfied and heaped praises on my daughter - which she richly deserved.


And here is the miracle. In life we all have turkeys that we have to deal with. Some we conquer and know within ourselves that we are triumphant. Others, however, we feel have conquered us and we want to turn away, head down and shoulders slumped.


Often, it is just seeing it through to the end that makes all the difference in the world. Had we just thrown my daughter's turkey out because of a few mistakes along the way, we would have missed out on a wonderful feast. Fix your eye unblinking on the outcome you desire, and often, although it may not be as planned, you will enjoy the success you desire.

Stairs

Yesterday I had to walk up the stairs at the office to get to work. There's nothing unusual about that, since it's something that everyone at the office does - every day. What was unusual for me was that it didn't hurt.

After my accident, I was in a wheel chair for about four months, and therefore had to take the elevator. After the wheel chair came the crutches and then the cane, and finally, walking unassisted. This took about 3 more months.

When I graduated to the cane, I thought that I might try the stairs - you know, push myself. After about 5 steps (there are 18), I stopped and thought to myself that I had made a terrible mistake. I was already winded, and I couldn't even step up with my right leg. The journey was step, shuffle - step, shuffle - step, shuffle. I was late getting to my desk, and panting like a racehorse with beads of sweat glistening on my forehead. Okay, it was glistening all over my head, since I don't have a lot of hair on top - but you get the point.

The next day I walked in the lobby doors and looked at the stairs. Shuddering, I started toward the elevator - but I stopped. How was I ever going to be able to climb any stairs ever again if I didn't keep trying? With a groan (yes, I actually groaned), I went back to the stairs.

Mustering my courage, I put my right foot on the first stair and pushed down, lifting my body up. Pain shot through my leg and knee, and I thought I might fall - I pushed anyway. I had to - I was halfway up. Wisely, I clutched the banister and used my arm muscles as much as my leg. That was the only stair I could handle with my right leg - that day.

So far, I have only told you what it was like going up. Going down was a nightmare. Not only did it hurt - possibly more than going up, but I could see all the way down the stairs to the bottom floor, and I knew that if I made a mistake, I was in for a world of hurt.

I admit there were days when my courage failed me and the elevator seemed like a blessing. But for the most part, every time I thought about taking the easy way out, I reminded myself that I would never win that way.

It has taken about two and half months of going up and down those stairs - as well as stepping off curbs and going up and down every set of stairs that I came upon. And now, yesterday, for the first time, I climbed the stairs - and came down them after work - pain free. I actually went down as fast - well, almost as fast as my co-workers.

I remember my wife the first time she saw me descending the staircase after work. Her first demand was, "What do you think you're doing?" I explained that I needed to do this if I ever wanted to be able to make it up and down the stairs. "Well, you make sure you hold onto the rail!" was her reply. I still do.


See, the other thing about pushing ourselves is that sometimes, even though they have the best intentions of keeping us safe - they don't want to see us get hurt - our loved ones hold us back. I love my wife dearly because she understood and didn't hold me back. I know that she worried - for a while at least - every time I went up and down any set of stairs. But she knew that I needed that challenge.

In life, we are faced with stairs everyday, and usually, there is an elevator waiting off to the side that will help us avoid the pain and difficulty of the stairs. Please take a moment and ask yourself which is really the best for your progression - which is going to make you the person you wish to be?

Some days, it will be the elevator. When I went back to work, it was the elevator for me until I was walking without support. But some days you will realize that perhaps instead of just going to the elevator out of habit, the best thing, really, would be to climb the stairs. Even though it hurts.

Remember, there will come a day - I don't know when - but there will come a day when it will be pain free. And the greater news is that you will be able to reach new heights by climbing your own personal staircase. And that is miraculous.