I'm sitting here tonight watching my 17-year-old son do his AP Chemistry homework and my 10-year-old daughter do her math homework. I'm thankful that Heavenly Father has blessed me with such intelligent kids. Both Eric and Marlee are so smart. They never cease to amaze me. At the risk of sounding mean, one of my biggest fears before I became a dad was that I'd have kids who weren't smart. I've seen so many parents at school struggle with kids who either can't or won't do their school work.

But Heavenly Father has seen fit to place these two choice spirits with Shannon and me. We have had so many teachers and others lavish great praise on our kids. They often follow those words up with praise for the good job that Shannon and I do. Truth be told, I don't know what we've actually done...other than hold high expectations for the kids.

Tonight at dinner Eric said he was getting all A's on his mid-quarter report card except for a B+ in AP Chem. Shannon asked if he could still raise that before the quarter ends. Eric said he could. At that, Marlee asked why all the grades had to be an A. We told her about high school transcripts and graduation and GPA's and scholarships and getting accepted to the college you want to go to. But then I told her this: the main reason we want our kids to get A's is simply because they can. Lots of kids can work as hard as they can and struggle to get a C or B. But, Heavenly Father has blessed our kids with wonderful, sharp, and inquistive minds. They can be among the best in their classes, so they might as well be. And they are.

Marlee's GATE (Gifted and Talented Education) teacher told us at the parent conference that Marlee is not one of the smartest kids in her class--she IS the smartest. The gifted program exists to challenge upper level kids who might find the normal curriculum too easy. Mrs. Walter told us that she struggles to challenge Marlee, because she is so incredibly smart. I smile because my 4th grader reads more books and tougher books than most of my 9th grade students. (She recently finished Pride and Prejudice--albeit an abridged version--and Uncle Tom's Cabin.) Yeah....she's pretty amazing.

Well....here we are again. Here I am repenting for the billionth time for not keeping a better journal. In the Oct 2007 General Conference, Pres. Henry B. Eyring (who holds a special place in my heart) gave a wonderful talk entitled "O Remember, Remember." It was all about keeping journals and why we do it. He said a couple of things that really touched me:

When our children were very small, I started to write down a few things about what happened every day. Let me tell you how that got started. I came home late from a Church assignment. It was after dark. My father-in-law, who lived near us, surprised me as I walked toward the front door of my house. He was carrying a load of pipes over his shoulder, walking very fast and dressed in his work clothes. I knew that he had been building a system to pump water from a stream below us up to our property.

He smiled, spoke softly, and then rushed past me into the darkness to go on with his work. I took a few steps toward the house, thinking of what he was doing for us, and just as I got to the door, I heard in my mind—not in my own voice—these words: “I’m not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down.”

I went inside. I didn’t go to bed. Although I was tired, I took out some paper and began to write. And as I did, I understood the message I had heard in my mind. I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family. Grandpa didn’t have to do what he was doing for us. He could have had someone else do it or not have done it at all. But he was serving us, his family, in the way covenant disciples of Jesus Christ always do. I knew that was true. And so I wrote it down, so that my children could have the memory someday when they would need it.

I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.

The years have gone by. My boys are grown men. And now and then one of them will surprise me by saying, “Dad, I was reading in my copy of the journal about when . . . ” and then he will tell me about how reading of what happened long ago helped him notice something God had done in his day.

My point is to urge you to find ways to recognize and remember God’s kindness. It will build our testimonies. You may not keep a journal. You may not share whatever record you keep with those you love and serve. But you and they will be blessed as you remember what the Lord has done.

So, there I have the reason why we are supposed to keep journals. My hope is to be able to record some thoughts and memories here so my family will be able to know the things I'm thankful for and the ways the Lord has blessed me and our family.

Right now the thing I'm most thankful for is that my kids have the opportunity to know Grandma and Grandpa Goodey. Eric has some recollections of my mom and dad. Marlee has none of my dad since he died before she came home, and only vague memories of my mom. Those will fade away. But at least they'll have great memories of Shannon's parents.

I never really knew my grandparents. Grandpa Voss (Mom's dad) died before I was born. Grandpa Turner died when I was 6. Grandma Turner lived in Colorado while we lived in Washington, so I rarely saw her. The one I knew the most was Grandma Voss. She even lived with us for a short while when I was very young. I don't remember much of that. She died when I was about 13.

She was never active in my life. She never came to school concerts or ball games or birthday parties. By the time I got to the age of remembrance, she was old and sick. Most of my memories of her are of sickness and nursing homes. To this day I am uncomfortable in nursing homes because of the things I saw in my grandma's nursing home the last time we visited her before she died.

I'm thankful that Eric and Marlee know and love Grandma and Grandpa Goodey. I just wish Shannon would relax a little around her mom. She gets so frustrated with Helen. I've tried to tell her to just let it go. Her mom is 82. Tonight she was upset because Helen wanted her to go upstairs to see look at some fabric she's using for a quilt or something. Shannon said, "I told her I already looked at it, but she wanted me to look at it again." I told her that in 5 years she'll wish she took the time to look at it again.

I've tried to tell her that I know things she doesn't know. I know what it's like to have both parents dead and buried. My faith tells me I'll see them again but right now they're gone. And, barring a tragic death on my part, they'll be gone from me for a long time. I can't tell you how many times I've run through my head the things I should have said, the calls I should have made, the visits I should have made. But I didn't. And now all I can do is wish I would have.

Pics from Leadership Camp

Here is my council--all from Sedro-Wolley High School. This was taken right before we left for Curtain Falls. (photo by Richard Weyrich)

Here we are after the banquet. The Senior Counselors serve as waiters for the banquet. The kids love it and are so appreciative. It's a lot of fun. (photo by Richard Weyrich)

This is us at the dance--our last night together. What a great bunch of kids. (photo by Tim Turner)

Back from Leadership Camp

Yikes!! I can't believe it's been 3 months since I've posted on my blog. I need to do a better job. At leadership camp last week we stressed to the kids the need for reflection. It's been said that we never truly learn something from an experience until we reflect on what is was that we experienced. I apologize for not posting.

As for leadership camp, it was awesome--really one of my best years ever. It was my 6th year as a senior counselor at the Mt. Baker Leadership Camp. The camp is held at the Cispus Learning Center. It's a beautiful, magical place about 30 miles from Mt. St. Helens, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. This year was extra special because Eric was a delegate. He had a great time and my friends on staff loved him. He got to work with Wade, Ben, Eleanor, Marty and Bobby and others.

I had a great council this year. My entire council was made up of kids from Sedro Woolley High School. What an awesome group of kids. I'm so sad that I won't be able to work with them during the school year. They were all so kind, so considerate, so sweet. I absolutely loved them. I'll post our council picture when Marty sends it to me.

It's such a strange experience. We're only at camp for 6 days--not long. But we spend so much time together and sometimes share such personal things with one another that we get really close. I'm always excited to get home from camp but I always go through camp withdrawals. I miss my council kids and the senior staff. It usually takes a couple of days to get over. I'm in Day 2 now--doing much better than I was last night, especially considering I was home alone. Eric was out with friends, Marlee was in Colorado visiting her cousin Allie, and Shannon is in Europe with Chris Bowers.

I'll post more later.

National High School Journalism Convention

Last week I attended the Journalism Education Association/National Scholastic Press Association (JEA/NSPA) National Spring Convention in Denver. I took seven students with me. I hope they learned something. They paid over $400 each to go (and our program paid quite a bit for their registration and hotel). I know a few of them skipped a bunch of sessions. They won’t be allowed to go along next year when the convention is in Anaheim (aka Disneyland). Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.

I, on the other hand, attended a bunch of great sessions. Here’s a brief recap:

--The opening keynote (which the kids attended with me) was by Jim Sheeler. He’s a feature writer for the Rocky Mountain News here in Denver. He won the Pulitzer Prize a couple of years ago for a piece called “Final Salute.” In it, he spent a year following a Marine casualty notification officer—the man who has the horrible task of notifying families that their sons have been killed in action in Iraq. His presentation was very powerful, very moving.

View Final Salute at: http://denver.rockymountainnews.com/news/finalSalute/

--I attended a session on copyright and plagiarism. The focus was on papers that use photos from the internet without permission (which we do almost every issue), specifically movie stills and musicians/CD covers. The kids think that if you put “courtesy of ___________” then it’s OK. It’s not. You must receive permission. Something we need to do a better job of.
--Another session was for new advisers. The presenter was a retired journalism teacher. The best part was, at the end, she said she had a gift for us. She then pulled out a stack of CD’s and gave us each one. It was a copy of pretty much every journalism-related file she had on her computer. I popped it in my computer last night and there are over 500 documents on the disc. For example, lots of J-teachers give weekly AP style quizzes so the kids can brush up on their AP style (Associated Press style of journalistic writing). There are over 70 AP style quizzes on the disc. Nice gift.
--The best session of Day 1 was presented by brothers Steve and Luke Cyphers. Steve is a feature reporter for ESPN; Luke is a senior editor for ESPN The Magazine. They were there because they grew up in Grand Junction. They spoke about the differences between print and broadcast journalism. It was funny—they played off each other well. But in between the laughs, they both imparted a bunch of very insightful nuggets of real-world wisdom. If the kids were really listening, they should have learned a lot. One of the main things they talked about was the importance of paying your dues. No one starts at ESPN. Even the college kids who intern there have to go earn their chops in the small markets for their first jobs. ESPN doesn’t hire their interns when the internship ends. Every reporter for ESPN put in their time in small markets. So many kids operate under the delusion that they’ll get their first job in New York or LA. They won’t; their first job will be in Helena, Montana or Pasco, Washington or some podunk place like that. But it’s in those low-pay, do-everything jobs that they learn what it takes to be a journalist. Great session…and two great guys. I was able to chat with them for a minute afterwards.
--In the late afternoon while the kids were in their writing competitions, I walked over to the ESPN Zone restaurant for an early dinner. (May I recommend the Smokehouse Burger? Beef, cheese, pepper bacon, barbecue sauce, crispy onion straws, and chipotle mayo. Yum!)
--For Day 2, I started in a session called Changing the World. It was all about staff editorials. The presenter was Jack Kennedy—no relation. He was excellent and he gave the kids and advisers much to think about. His message was summed up in a final quote: The news, sports, feature, and entertainment pages of the paper mirror your school and community the way they are. The editorial page shows your school the way they could be. Shouldn’t our editorial topics deal with something loftier than a lack of school spirit (since no one knows what that exactly means anyway)?
--My next session was on how one school approximately our size puts out a 12-page paper every two weeks with only one work night that ends at 6:00. The bottom line was that kids waste a lot of time and aren’t held accountable. Raise the bar and the kids will go over it.
--The only bad session I attended was on incorporating a web presence for your paper. The presenter was a college kid who is much more adept behind a computer than in front of a crowd. Pretty bad.
--I then attended a session on how to organize your digital images. It was OK, but nothing I didn’t already know. (Back up your files.)

The last thing I attended was the adviser luncheon and awards ceremony. The food was nice and I met a very nice woman from Foley, Alabama—right on the Gulf Coast. She told me all about how her home was devastated by Hurricane Ivan and then a year later, Katrina came along and destroyed everything they had repaired from the first hurricane. She was happy because they just moved back into their house after being out for two and a half years. She was very nice. That was the good part of the lunch.

The only slightly negative part was the awards portion. Journalism teachers are the most “award-givingest” group of people I’ve ever met. Apparently, as a group, they must suffer from low self-esteem or something. Dear Lord, they give awards for everything. Newspaper adviser of the year, yearbook adviser of the year, distinguished adviser, lifetime achievement, most inspirational, First Amendment, the list went on interminably. Then came the Rising Star awards presented to advisers with five or fewer years of experience but who are making a mark. Finally came the CJE and MJE presentations. Those are for Certified Journalism Educators and Master Journalism Educators. At least for those, the recipients had to take a test.

I once saw a Jerry Seinfeld special in which he received an award at the HBO Comedy Festival and in his speech he ripped (tongue-in-cheek) the giving of self-serving awards. He went on to say that every insurance agent, car salesman, and hotel has some lame award hanging behind the desk—the Gold Circle Platinum Achievement Bullshit Award.

Recognition is fine; everyone needs that acknowledgement, that pat on the back. But journalism teachers seem to thrive on awards. From my very first day as a journalism adviser I’ve heard nothing but awards awards awards! Gotta get the All-American from NSPA and the Gold Crown from CSPA and the Gallup from Quill and Scroll and maybe…just maybe…you will be fortunate enough to win….the Pacemaker.

They’ll tell you they don’t set out to win awards—“it’s not about the awards” they’ll say—but their actions belie their words. If it’s not about the awards, how come there are so many of them?

More Track Pics of Eric

Here are a couple of pics of Eric at the JV track meet at Hanford this past week. My brother-in-law Scott Page took these. This first one Scott clamped the camera to a hurdle in the open lane next to Eric during the 110m high hurdles. You can't see the other hurdlers off to the right, but Eric won the race fairly easily.


This next picture is of Eric running the first leg of the 4 x 100m relay. They didn't do too well, but it's a great shot of Eric. I'm amazed at how defined Eric's physique is becoming. He's still only a sophomore. He'll catch me in heigth within the year. You can click on the photos to see the larger versions.

Two days after this meet, Eric ran the varsity event at Eisenhower HS in Yakima and set a PR in both the 110's and the 300m. Improvement in track comes in tenths of a second and he's getting better each day.

Easter

Eric got home today from his 1-week mission in Vancouver. It's nice to have him back. When the van arrived at the Church, we had a brief testimony meeting for the families, so the boys could share their testimonies and tell a little bit about their experiences.

It was touching to hear these 16-18 year old boys talking about the power of prayer, the strength they gained through reading the scriptures every morning, and feeling the spirit witness to them that what they were doing was true.

We got home (Eric and I--Shannon stayed at home because she was diagnosed this week with walking pneumonia) and Eric immediately went up and showered. Apparently, the shower that he had access to all week was only about four and a half feet high, so he had to practically shower on his knees. After that he came downstairs and shared a couple of stories with us.

As we listened, I was taken back to an Easter morning about 6 years ago. There was a Church-produced video called "The Lamb of God" which depicts Christ's final days, the crucifixion, and His resurrection. I wanted our family to watch it to put Easter into its proper perspective.

We started the video and as it got to the crucifixion, Eric got up and headed to his room. I asked him to come sit down and watch with us. He could spend 20 minutes with his parents on Easter Sunday and watch a video about the Savior. He sat back down and we returned our attention to the video.

The scene on the TV turned to putting Christ on the cross. The centurions were driving the nails through his hand and feet. The sounds were ominous and disturbing. Eric got up from his chair again. I blew up and ordered him to stay and watch the video with us. I looked at his face and there were tears in his eyes.

"Why are they doing that?" he sobbed. "Why are they killing him? Please can I go to my room?"

There have only been a few times in my life when I've felt small and insignificant...none moreso than at that moment. In my attempt to do what I thought was right, I overlooked the sweet spirit that is my son Eric. I was literally forcing him to watch the execution of someone he knew and loved. We turned the video off. I took him in my arms, apologized, and asked him to forgive me.

Eric has always been close to the Lord. His testimony of Jesus Christ is sweet and pure and simple. He knows that Jesus lives. He knows that Jesus loves all of us and through his sacrifice, we can return to our Heavenly Father. That testimony is evident in Eric's demeanor. He has always placed a premium on kindness.

Every Easter since then I remember the events of that morning. When Eric was gone this week, my worry and concern were tempered by the knowledge that he was doing what the Lord wanted him to do.

I Got My Astro Blasted!

Disneyland, March 2007

Just found this pic of Shannon and me at Disneyland on the Buzz Lightyear ride. I was way ahead of her on the scoreboard and then my trigger finger got tired and she made her move. We were both feeling pretty good about our scores until we saw the lady in the car behind us had scored over 60,000 points! All I am saying....is give peace a chance. (Must kill the Evil Zorg!!)

A Better Man Than I Am

Eric is spending his entire Spring Break serving a 1-week mission in Vancouver, WA. He's living and working with the full-time missionaries, going door to door, teaching the gospel, the whole bit. He has to follow all the rules that the full-time missionaries follow: no TV, popular music, newspaper, magazines, internet (except for a weekly e-mail home). He has 2 hours of scripture and gospel study in the mornings, tracting (door-to-door) in the afternoons, dinners at Church members' houses, and teaching appointments in the evenings. He left Sunday afternoon and will return Saturday night. He chose to give up sleeping in, earning money with his lawn mowing business, and hanging out with friends.

I'm very proud of him. This was TOTALLY his idea. We didn't push him or coerce him or anything. Like a 2-year full-time mission, it's completely his decision. He can only commit to it if it's his idea. But he is committed to it...it's something he's wanted to do since he was little. I've been purposefully hands-off on the subject. Too many LDS parents tell their boys "You're going on a mission." I couldn't in good conscience make my son go out for two years. A missionary gives his or her heart to the Lord. They commit all their time, talent, and energy to serving Him. They have to want to be there. And Eric does.

It's been hard not being able to contact him. He's been gone for a week at a time several times in the past--Scout Camps, EFY sessions at BYU, etc. But when he was at those things, I could call him if I needed to, even if I never did. Just knowing I could was enough. But now, I have to have faith that he's doing OK. It has increased my daily prayer.

In his e-mail home to us, he said:

Monday we began personal studying and comp studying. Wow it's hard to occupy two hours with studying! After that Elder Larsen and I went tracting for a few hours, and found the joy in having doors slammed in our faces by the dozens. I can't wait to serve a mission! We gave up our lunch hour to tract more, and I think we did pretty well. We had a district meeting, then had dinner at a family's house where we had stuffed pasta shells. After that we went tracting more, and gave a blessing to a girl who's having some sort of surgery. Then we went home and went to bed. I was exhausted.

I need to get going but i'll leave you with this. I know now why Ben (his cousin who is currently serving a mission in Ukraine) is having so much fun in the field. I know what we're doing is true, and I feel the spirit so much stronger than I have in the past.

He's quite a young man. He sets an example of excellence every day that I can only hope to emulate.

Who's Georgia O'Keeffe?

Marlee as Georgia O'Keeffe

Marlee's class did a living wax museum where each kid chose a famous historical figure, researched them, and recreated that person in a wax museum for the parents to come see. Marlee wanted to be a woman artist, so we looked at lots of them and she chose Georgia O'Keeffe. Needless to say, she was the only Georgia O'Keeffe amidst several Helen Kellers, Florence Nightingales and Albert Einsteins. She was pretty cute.

Dogs just wanna have fun

Today was the first day of Spring Break. We started on our list of yard work projects. Lots to do and never enough time. Our black lab Jack came out to explore while we worked, but our St. Bernard Edgar has to stay in. He'll bolt on us if he's outside and not on a leash. So he kept an eye on us from the front window.

He's quite a dog. I've never seen a dog with so much personality. And, he has the most expressive face I've ever seen.

The world still feels smaller today

My mom passed away Jan. 17, 2007. She continues to be on my mind. A friend at work said his mom died 25 years ago and there hasn't been a day go by that he hasn't thought about her. I think that will be true for me too.

Agnes Ardella Voss was born Feb. 18, 1926 in Grand Meadow, Minn. to parents Carl Bernard Voss and Agnes Ellen Allaway. She was #9 of 14 children. I don’t know a lot about my mom’s childhood. She was born with scoliosis which curved her spine and caused both of her hips to come out of socket. When she was about 4 or 5, the family lived in the Toppenish area and Agnes had to have corrective surgery in Seattle to enable her to walk. She remembered that her mother couldn’t go, so she had to ride the train from Yakima to Seattle with a nurse. She didn’t remember the details of the surgery, just the train…and not having her mom with her.

After the surgery, she had casts on both legs that ran from her feet to her waist. Mom remembered that when she was about 5, the casts came off and she basically had to learn to walk again. Her mom (my Grandma Voss) sent the other kids away for the day and told little Agnes: ““Now you need to walk.” And by the time her brothers and sisters got home, she could walk…kind of. She would walk the rest of her life with a bit of limp. She told me one time that she could never really run like the other kids did and she never rode a bike. Because of her physical challenges, she learned to express herself in other ways. She loved music, loved dancing, and for a while she played the piano. She took violin lessons for a short time. In her childhood, she also became very skilled at knitting and crochet and sewing.

Sometime in the spring of 1946, Mom met a strapping young man named Russ Turner. They met on a blind date set up by her friend Dolly Cornwell. Cupid’s arrows certainly must have sharp that day because it wasn’t long before they were head over heels in love. Much to the delight of all of us kids and grandkids in the later years when we found out about it, Russ and Aggie eloped to Anaconda, MT after a whirlwind 3-month romance and were married June 15th, 1946. When Mom recounted this story to me a few years ago when I was preparing Dad’s eulogy, I teasingly scolded her and said, “Mother! I’m shocked!” She smiled and said, “Well, look how long it lasted.” Look how long it lasted—54 years in this life and all the years of eternity in the life to come.

The newlyweds set up their home in the Yakima Valley. Mom told us that one of the first places she and Dad lived in was a little 2-room dwelling that was a converted chicken house. My guess is Dad worked on that house and got it almost finished and Mom made it a home. They always made sure that we had a safe, warm place to live and food to eat. We never lived in a palace and rarely dined on steak, but we always had a safe house, a warm bed, and food to eat (beans and cornbread, goulash, mac & cheese with the white cheese sauce, red velvet cake). Tondi remembers Grandma’s fried eggs for breakfast, the good kind cooked in the bacon grease.

Those are some of the facts of my Mom’s life, but our lives are made up of more than facts. It’s an old cliché but I think it’s true. When we die our headstone has two dates separated by a dash. What’s important isn’t the day we’re born or the day we die, it’s all the days that are rolled up into that little dash on our headstone, in Mom’s case, a little more than 29,000 days. Mom had some great days—some challenging days too, like we all do, but some great days. And if you could ask my mom, she’d tell you that her greatest days were usually centered around us, her kids and grandkids. Family was the most important thing to Mom. Her greatest joys as well as her deepest sorrows had to do with her family. I don’t think Mom would have wanted it any other way.

My brothers and sisters and I at Mom's funeral

The night before the funeral, my brothers and sisters were all at my house. It was a wonderful night. It was the first time we’ve all been together since Dad died in 2001. Who knows when we’ll all be together again? That night we were all swapping Mom stories and my brother Russ told us one I’d never heard before.

It was his first night home from Viet Nam. He was in the Navy, but attached to a Marine unit, so he spent all of his time in Viet Nam on land. He’d seen some pretty horrible stuff. I know it was horrible because he never talks about it…ever. Mom and Dad had moved from Colorado to Washington while Russ was in the Navy, so when he came home, he didn’t have a bedroom. Mom made him a bed on the couch in the living room.

The whole family went to bed but Russ couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was anxiety, fear, excitement, anger, or terror. He couldn’t relax. Mom either heard him stirring or sensed it and came out to see what was wrong. “I can’t sleep,” Russ told her. Those three words spoke volumes that only a mother could understand. She pulled the chair over to the couch and told him, “You just lay here and I’ll hold your hand until you fall asleep.” She held his hand, and stroked his head, and stayed there until he fell asleep.

That’s the kind of mom she was.

Since she passed away, I’ve had lots people talk to me, either in person or on the phone. They’ve all been very kind, and many of them have expressed their sorrow and have offered words of comfort. I’ve had a few people tell me that they know I must be very sad. When someone we love dies, of course we feel a loss. There is a quote I heard once about the death of a loved one that says: I know she's not really gone, but the world still feels smaller to me today. I think that’s how I feel. Heaven let us borrow an angel for 80 years. My faith in God the Eternal Father and in His Son Jesus Christ teaches me that our souls or spirits are eternal children of God. If you can look at it from an eternal perspective, we are not just human beings, toiling through this life searching for spiritual experiences. We are spiritual beings having an earthly experience.

I heard a talk once that compared our eternal life to a 3-act play. If you believe that our soul or our spirit is eternal, that we are spiritual children of a Heavenly Father, then that time before we are born into this world is like Act One of the play. When we are born into this world and our spirit receives a physical body, that begins Act Two. For a lot of people, they think Act Two is all there is. Any English teacher will tell you that in a 3-act play, most of the conflict and drama that the main character experiences takes place in Act Two. Act One kind of sets the stage and introduces the characters; Act Two is where the action is. So it’s natural to think that Act Two is the whole story. But I’m going to let you in on a little storytelling technique—nothing gets resolved in Act Two. In fact, often Act Two ends on a cliffhanger. The resolution of all the conflict and the eventual triumph of the main character happens in Act Three. So when we leave this mortal existence, our spirit is still alive. That’s the beginning of Act Three.

Preparing to conduct Mom's funeral

In the 14th chapter of the Book of John, Christ is talking with his apostles, and they are troubled because they know he will be gone soon. And he says:

1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
2 In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
5 Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the away, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
8 Philip saith unto him, Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us.
9 Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father;
16 And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
17 Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
26 And the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
27 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

What is this peace the Savior spoke of? Is it worldly peace? This peace is the knowledge and assurance we have of eternal life. It’s the comfort and security we feel in knowing that families can be together forever.

Tom and I after the graveside service

Yet Another Hurdle

Just wanted to share a quick pic of Eric in the 300m hurdles at the most recent track meet. It's a grueling race that I couldn't finish if you paid me, but he guts it out and gets it done. He's doing pretty well for a sophomore, finishing 3rd in this heat. Most hurdlers don't hit their peak until their junior or senior year. (Not that'm bragging or anything, but notice that he's coming down from the hurdle as the other guy is just leaving the ground to go up.)

I'm a proud dad...what can I say?

...'til human voices wake us, and we drown.

Pardon the quote from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." It's one of my all-time favorite poems. Everytime I come to the ocean, I think of the closing lines:

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.	125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown	130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

I'm currently at Resort Semiahmoo in Blaine, WA literally on the US/Canada border. The Strait of George is the body of water that separates the Semiahmoo peninsula from Canada. I'm here for the Washington Activity Coordinators Association Conference. As an exec board member, we get our rooms early, so we get water view rooms. I love to sleep with my window open and listen to the waves.

Here is a picture from my room window (to give you an idea how close I am to the water).
The piece of land you see in the distance is White Rock, British Columbia.

This is our last conference at Semiahmoo after a 14 year run. I'm going to miss it but our group has simply outgrown this beautiful place. As much as I love it, we need to put the needs of our delegation ahead of our own selfish pleasures. Still....it's a beautiful place to escape to.

Here is a picture of me with some WACA buddies. The guy is Bill Oman, my best buddy on the board. The ladies are Caity Karapostoles on the left and Karin Blomquist on the right. The picture was taken by Tom Adams because he wanted me to be in at least one photo at WACA (since I take all the photos for the website).

The best thing about being a teacher

A few weeks ago I got an e-mail from a former student, Jessica Collier. She graduated 16 years ago. She was in my AP English class and was one of my volleyball and tennis players. Jessica was one of my favorites. She was a great kid, very kind, hard-working, respectful. Plus, she laughed at all my jokes. I try to treat all of my students the same way but when you teach, some kids get into your heart and never leave.

I'd lost touch with Jessica over the years, but out of the blue a few weeks ago she e-mailed me. Fortunately Shannon and I were going to be in SoCal a couple of weeks after I received Jessica's e-mail so we were able to see her. We met her for dinner one night and she treated us to a day in Disneyland the next day.

I'm including a couple of photos of the two of us. She's the cute one on the right; I'm the chunky guy on the left.


I'm so glad I got a chance to see her. Most of my students leave at graduation and I never see them or hear from them again. I stay in touch with a few, but most move on and live their lives. I think of them often and hope they're happy. Seeing them years later as successful adults is the best thing about being a teacher.

Dad's Funeral

I know something now that I hoped and prayed I’d never have to know. I know what it’s like to have both parents dead and buried. A friend at work told me his mom died 25 years ago and a day hasn’t gone by that he hasn’t thought of her. I know what he means. Dad has been gone for 6 years now and Mom just died 2 months ago. I think I’d like to write about that for a while.

On Feb. 2, 2001 I put Shannon on a plane to China to bring home our daughter Marlee from her orphanage. That was at 5:30 AM. Seventeen hours later (about 10:45 that night) my brother Tom called to tell me that our dad had died.

That was a long hard night for me. It was a Friday, so I was working the basketball game at Ki-Be. Eric (who was 10) spent the night at Jacob Ball's house. After I got off the phone with Tom, I said a prayer for Dad, asking Heavenly Father to bless his spirit, commending his soul back into the loving arms of the Lord. I prayed for comfort and peace to be upon Mom and my brothers and sisters. I prayed for strength to be able to deal with the challenges that I knew were ahead of me--funeral and burial preparations, dealing with my family, and helping Eric deal with the loss. Fortunately, I'd been up late the night before helping Shannon get ready for her trip; I only got about 3 hours of sleep that night, had taken Shannon to the airport, taught all day, and worked the games that night. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

After my prayers, I went to bed, so tired that I was almost incoherent. Dad had only been dead a couple of hours. I remember thinking that, as a kid, I always drew comfort from knowing that Mom and Dad were asleep in their room, and if I needed anything all I had to do was call. Even after I left home, went to college, got married and started my own family, one of the last thoughts that tucked me in each night was the knowledge that Mom and Dad were still there, within my reach if I needed them. Now this was the first time in my life when I'd gone to bed without the security of knowing that my dad was alive. And I also knew that every night for the rest of my life, I'd sleep with that sense of loss. As I slept that night, I dreamt of a family reunion in Heaven.

Shannon was in China and I was left here to deal with my dad's funeral.

I got up early that the next morning and drove to the Balls' to pick up Eric. When we got home, I broke the news to him. He was crushed. He sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed an eternity. I tried to reason with him, to help him understand that Grandpa was with his mom and dad now, that he wasn't in pain any more. I bore my testimony to him that I knew with ever fiber of my existence that we will see my dad again when we are all resurrected. But he was 10 and missed his grandpa.

Eric still doesn't deal with death very well. His reaction is the same no matter who the deceased is; he reacts the same way if it's his grandpa, our next-door neighbor Mr. McMakin, KC the Dog, his hamster, or his fish. He's such a sensitive kid. He has always cared more about others' feeling than his own--at least he did until he turned 13. Hormones having a way of taking a perfectly good kid and turning him into a freak--aka a teenager! But I always try to remember that hormones can't touch his heart and his spirit. I know my son's heart, and it's a good one.

Anyway, back to the day after my dad died......I asked Eric if he wanted to come to Prosser with me. I told him I needed to go with Grandma, Aunt Sue, and Uncle Tom to the funeral home to meet with the mortician and plan the funeral. If he went, he could stay at Tom's with Kathy and the kids. He said he didn't want to go, choosing to go to Shannon's parents instead.

We drove the few blocks to the Goodeys'. When we got there, I told them the news. Eric cried again and Helen did her best to comfort him. Watching him in her arms, it struck me that if ever a little boy needed his mom, this one did. But his mom was half a world away doing something that only she could do--bring our daughter home. After Eric calmed down we had a short visit--I'm sure Helen made us breakfast--I gave Eric a hug and prepared to head to Prosser.

I swung by the house to pick some things up and remembered that I was supposed to work the basketball game at Ki-Be that night also. I called my principal, Mark Muxen, to tell him what had happened and to let him know that I was taking the whole week off. Although Mark was never a very warm guy at school, he told me how sorry he was for my loss and said he'd take care of arranging my sub for the week and find someone to keep score for the game that night. With that, I was off to plan my dad's funeral.

It has always struck me as odd (and Tom and I have talked about this many times since then) that of my Mom and Dad's seven children, the youngest (Tom and me) had the lion's share of the responsibility in taking care of the funeral arrangements. I guess geography played a major role in that. Russ was in Cheney, and, as I remember, fresh out of jail or court-ordered rehab or something. Sue, who lived with Mom and Dad, was an emotional wreck. Dan was in Port Angeles, Gary in Omaha, Nebraska, and Mary was in Seattle. Each of them (except Sue) was making their way home. Mary would arrive later that day, the others on either Sunday or Monday.

I met Mom and Sue at Tom's house. We hugged and cried and shared our love for one another. Our appointment at the funeral home wasn't for another hour or so, so Mom took a nap in the big recliner while Tom and Sue filled me in on the details of the previous night.

When it came time for our appointment at the funeral home, Tom, Mom, Sue and I drove there together. The funeral director was very kind. He made sure we were comfortable and offered Mom and Sue coffee. Then we began discussing the plans.

We talked about package prices. We discussed the options available. A couple of times, Sue would get choked up and have to step outside. After a few minutes, Mom would ask either Tom or me to go check on her. This scenario was repeated several times that afternoon.

We picked the funeral program cover and the verse inside. When it came time to discuss the actual funeral service, the director asked if we wanted the service in our church or at the chapel there on site. We discussed it briefly and all agreed that the mortuary chapel was best. Dad wasn't particularly religious; he didn't attend church, so he had no priest, pastor, or minister who knew him or the family. The funeral director said he could conduct the service or we could have a family member. After a quiet moment, Mom asked me if I'd be willing to conduct the funeral.

It surprised me. The only of Mom and Dad's kids who are "religious" are Tom and me. He attends a "born again" Protestant church which is pretty mainstream; I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I fully expected Mom to ask Tom. But, for whatever reason, she wanted me to do it. Later Tom confided in me that he didn't think he could have done it without breaking up, so he was glad I accepted.

I accepted Mom's invitation. The director then discussed with me the usual elements of a service, but, he made it clear that we could do anything we wanted--within reason. It was decided that the funeral would be held on Wednesday to allow family time to travel in. Next we talked about the obituary. It was decided that I would also write the obit since I a) was doing the eulogy and would have the pertinent information, b) was an English teacher and so could (allegedly) write well, and c) had some journalism background, having taught it for a number of years.

After all the funeral and headstone arrangements had been made, the only thing left to do was select the coffin. Mom reaffirmed Dad's age-old wish that we "just put him in an old pine box and nail the lid shut." The director led us (Mom, Tom, and me--Sue stepped outside again) into the casket display room. The very first casket we saw was made of beautiful pine. Mom said, "That's it." We looked briefly at a few others, but mostly out of courtesy to the director. The decision had been made.

As the appointment ended, the last thing the director asked was about burial clothes. Dad had one suit that he didn't wear often. He didn't own a white dress shirt. Mom said she'd pick some clothes out and have us bring them to the funeral home. With that, we made our initial payment, thanked the director and went back to Mom's. We looked through Dad's clothes and found his grey suit but couldn't find a decent shirt. Tom and I convinced Mom to let us buy a white shirt and tie to match the suit for him to be buried in. Both Sue and Mom were tired, so they decided to nap.

Tom and I stopped by his house briefly and then headed out in search of a shirt and tie. Thus began one of my fondest memories connected to my dad's funeral. By this time it was close to 4:00 in the afternoon. The funeral director said he'd like the clothes ASAP in order to prepare Dad's body for viewing on Monday. He told us he'd be working late that night as there were several funerals scheduled that week.

Prosser had no place that sold white dress shirts, so Tom and I headed to Sunnyside. Things had been so emotional and so tense that day--we needed some laugh time. Every little thing we said or saw set us into hysterical laughter. We literally laughed until we cried. We laughed about Sue's 900 trips outside to regain her composure. It wasn't funny--but it didn't matter. To us at that moment in time, it was--and we laughed. Once we got to Sunnyside, our first stop was K-Mart. After 30 minutes of searching the aisles, we finally asked a clerk where the white dress shirts were. She led us to the underwear aisle and pointed to the dozens of white shirts on the shelves--white T-shirts!! We busted up laughing; I'm sure she thought we were very rude. When we told her we needed a white dress shirt with buttons and a collar, she said, "Oh...we don't have any."

Next stop was Wal-Mart. There we were able to find what we needed. As we were checking out, we noticed the Little Caesar's Pizza counter in the front of the store. In unison, Tom and I looked at each other and said, "Ohhh, that smells good." After paying for the shirt and tie, we hit the pizza counter and got two big slices of pepperoni and some pop. Out in the car, it dawned on us that it was close to 5:00 and we hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. We snarfed down the pizza there in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I don't even remember what else we talked about, but we laughed. I do remember laughing. But then, Tom and I always laugh together.

On the drive back to the funeral home, we discussed the funeral service. I asked Tom what he thought of doing a photo slideshow. We had 3 days; I'd done lots of them for the volleyball team. Tom liked the idea. Back at the funeral home, we delivered the shirt and tie, and we asked the director if we could do a slideshow as part of the service. He said we could if we had the equipment. It was set.

Once back at Tom's, Mary had arrived and was over at Mom's. We searched through old pictures to use for the slideshow. A short time later Mary came back to Tom's and helped us. Around 7:00 I headed back to Richland. Eric was still at Shannon's parents' house.

When I picked him up, I sat and shared with Helen and Oris the plans for the funeral. They expressed their love for me and my family and again offered to be of help in any way they could. Near 9:00, Eric and I headed home. He was sad and tired. He had a little meltdown. I let him sleep in my bed with me. Shannon had only been gone a day and half. He missed his mom, and I could have used a big hug right about then too.

By 9:30 Eric was asleep; I began working on Dad's obituary. Around 11:00 I was exhausted and crawled into bed next to Eric. At about 5:00 AM Sunday, the phone rang. I stumbled out of bed and answered it. On the other end of the line was Shannon, calling from Beijing. She could only talk for a minute or two. She told me she was sorry about my dad and wished she could be here. I told her I loved her. We decided to let Eric sleep. Shannon and I said our goodbyes; she said she'd email later that day and would call in a couple of days when she had Marlee. Then she was halfway around the world again. I hung up the phone. For the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to be alone. I sat down on the hallway steps, and then it was my turn to cry.

After I'd had my cry, I crawled back into bed and was able to sleep for a couple of more hours. Eric got me up and we had breakfast. I can't remember if he came to Prosser with me that day or not. It was a Sunday, so if he didn't, he would have gone to church with Helen and Oris and then stayed with them--but I think he did.

Once in Prosser, Tom and I worked on putting together the slideshow for Dad's funeral. We scanned lots of pictures. Mary showed up and said she had great old pics of Mom and Dad at her place. She called Scott (who wasn't coming 'til Tuesday because he had a job interview) and asked him to find the pics, scan them, and e-mail them to us.

We had a good time going through those old pictures. We laughed and cried and reminisced. I don't remember if anyone else came home that day or not. While there I shared the obituary I had written for Dad with Tom and Mary. They liked it; Mom and Sue had come over so I showed it to them. Mom gave her final approval so Tom and I drove the obit to the funeral home so the director could get it to the paper in time.

The rest of the day was spent at Tom's working on the slideshow and coming up with the schedule for the funeral. Around 7:00 that night Eric and I headed home. After he went to bed, I continued working on the funeral talk. Around 10:00 I went to bed. The date was Feb. 4th. I knew that Shannon was set to meet Marlee for the first time on Feb. 5th. I wondered if she already had her, but I was too tired to do the math for figuring out the time change between Richland, WA and Shenyang, PRC. I crawled into bed and slept like a rock.

(I'll continue this later...)

Do as I say, not as I do!

So, you can see how dedicated I am at keeping this blog current. However, something happened yesterday that I want to share. I was at our (boring) teacher inservice and I saw a lady I teach with writing in a little journal. I asked her is she was one of those "journal people" and and she said she was.

She explained that her mom died several years ago, when my friend was in her 20's. But her mom left behind volume after volume of personal journals that she had kept diligently since she was a young girl. My friend said she has read and re-read those pages; they're all she has left of her mom. She said that in those little books are her mom's memories, expressions of her faith, her fears and fantasies, her triumphs and her tragedies.

My friend said she wants to leave a similar legacy for her children.

'Nuff said. I get the point.

So I want to try to do a better job of recording my feelings here for my family.