The Grateful List

This morning I saw an AP news article regarding gratitude which I was thought was very appropriate. You can read it here. Here are a couple of excerpts:

Academics have long theorized that expressions of thanks promote health and happiness and give optimism and energy to the downtrodden. Now, the study of gratitude has become a surprisingly burgeoning field, and research indicates being thankful might help people actually feel better. There's a catch, however: You have to say thanks more than just once a year.

Brenda Shoshanna, a New York psychologist, agreed: "You can't be depressed and grateful at the same time," said Shoshanna, the author of 365 Ways to Give Thanks: One for Every Day of the Year. "It makes a person physically, mentally, in every way healthier."

I am reminded of an experience I had a few years ago that while not scientific evidence, definitely provides anecdotal support for this study. In October of 2004 I had one particularly busy day. I had a long morning meeting to attend in the southern part of the valley, and then had to hurry back to the office to grab a few things and head to the airport for a midday flight to Durango, Colorado. Because I’m not cool enough, I don’t have a parking space at our office. However, given that I was planning to run in and out in just a couple of minutes, I went into the garage and pulled into an empty space near the elevators. It was a tight fit with a car on one side and a big cement support pillar on the other, but this was the Nissan Altima, so with a little maneuvering I was able to insert myself into the cozy space. So with very little, if any, time to spare, I ran up to my office and then back to the car. As I was backing out of the parking space, it suddenly occurred to me that it seemed too easy to get out of this space compared to how difficult it was to get in, and then CRUNCH!!! I slammed the passenger side front fender into the cement support pillar. After a few seconds of being too stunned to move or even believe that what just happened really happened. I jumped out of the car and to my chagrin saw that it was true – the fender was completely crunched up, and I had clearly graffiti-ed the pillar with my maroon car paint. In a matter-of-fact manner I drove out of the garage and parked at a parking meter on the road just outside our building. I then got out, sat on the curb and called dad. As much as I really wanted to cry, I somehow maintained my composure. Dad was so great. First, he immediately offered to come up and take me to the airport even though it would be extremely inconvenient to his plans for the day. I sort of brushed that aside as I really wanted to discuss the fact that I was about to sell the car back to him and now I had crashed it. Dad tried to persuade me to not worry about it, but that was a fruitless effort. After discussing where I might get the fender fixed, I assured him once again, against his continuing protests, that I would take of it. Now back to the airport problem, we agreed that I would drive home, avoiding as many turns as possible – with every turn the right front wheel scraped against the dented fender – and check with a shuttle service to see if they could come at the last minute. As it turned out, I was able to safely maneuver the car home and was successful in scheduling a shuttle ride to the airport. I made it to my flight with about 45 minutes to spare and eventually made it to my hotel in Durango about 9pm that night.

Between the time I ran up to my office that afternoon to the time I finally checked into my hotel room I’d hardly had any time to think or even breathe – it was such a whirlwind of activity and emotion and frustration. I was convinced that as soon as I got settled into my room and in my PJs that I’d just totally start crying because I was still quite mentally agitated. As much as I really wanted to, I still couldn’t cry, so I decided to do a little yoga in hopes of calming myself. While in the corpse pose, I realized that as upsetting as the afternoon had been, I was really blessed. I immediately jumped up, grabbed the hotel notepad and scribbled what would become Susannah’s inaugural “Grateful List.” As I reviewed the day I came up with 20 or 30 things to be grateful for.

A sampling of the things I was grateful for that night:
I made it safely to and from my earlier meetings that morning
The car I crashed was my own and not a government car
I didn’t hurt anybody
I wasn’t hurt
I was able to drive home
I had the best dad in the world who was so understanding and so willing to do everything possible to ease my pain
I had enough money to make the repairs
I was able to get a shuttle to the airport
I made all my connections and made it safely to Durango
I drove the 25 miles from the airport to my hotel without incident
I got to stay in the DoubleTree Hotel (my favorite)
I got the famous DoubleTree warm chocolate cookie from the hotel at check-in
I had a comfortable room and bed
I got to do some yoga

The most amazing and unexpected thing happened! All the agitation, frustration, or sadness I felt that afternoon and evening was completely gone. I was in perfect state of peace and calmness. I carried that list around with me for a few years as a reminder of what I learned that night. Since then, I’ve had several opportunities to create other “Grateful Lists,” each with the same results.

And so, on this Thanksgiving Day as we remember the many things we’re grateful for, my hope is that we will remember these things every day–not just today–and on those especially challenging days that we can remember to create our own “Grateful List.” It is the perfect weapon against any and all negativity and will change your life!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Tour de Life

In 2005 I got pertussis, also known as whooping cough. It knocked me out of pretty much all physical activity after spending every day barfing multiple times a day, messing up the cartilage in my rib cage and eventually breaking a rib. During the worst of it, it took me 10 minutes to walk one city block. As the sickness finally went away, I was, um, coerced – yes, coerced is probably the best word – into running with some of my co-workers. I made it oh, about ½ mile before I wanted to die, but I did eventually finish out the first mile. I then walked until the real runners met back up with me on their way back to complete their 5 miles.

Despite that first experience in 2005, I worked hard and established a fairly regular running schedule. In late 2006, again after some, um, persuasion by others, I decided to train for a marathon. Through the next few months of training I battled through another cough/cartilage episode, flare-ups of several newly discovered bulging discs in my neck, and nodular scabies that resulted in 2 trips to the hospital. Despite all those interesting distractions, I finally made it to the last big week of training before a 3 week taper. On June 2, 2007, I ran 22 miles and felt fantastic! But as it turned out, all was not well. Just as I was finishing the last few seconds of that amazing run I suddenly stopped because I thought I’d just been stung by a bee on my inner ankle. Several hours later I couldn’t walk at all, both ankles having seized up. I learned later that the problem stemmed from tendonitis of the posterior tibialis tendons, the inner ankle tendons, on both ankles.

On June 5, 3 days after that amazing run, I was lying on the physical therapist’s table having medicine slowly injected into my completely crippled tendons and ankles, quietly crying to myself. How could this have happened? Why me? After all that careful and thoughtful training I did, how did I break? I was 3 weeks from my race and still held a small bit of belief that I could get well enough to run, but it was while lying there on the table that the reality and the gravity of the situation hit me. I remember my therapist yelling at me to “keep positive!” For a generally positive person, such as myself, I decided that the therapist was right and that I could “positive” my way back into the race. So for the next couple of weeks I spent every ounce of energy I had willing myself to heal.

About one week before the race, I finally had to concede that it just wasn’t going to happen and called to cancel my place in the race. I felt so empty that day, and whatever amount of positiveness I’d managed to muster disappeared instantly. With the race gone, I tried to focus on healing during the next few months. I experienced heartbreaks again and again as I continued to try to get well enough to run more than 30 seconds on the treadmill, but after failing time and time again, I had nothing left to draw from anymore; I had no inspiration to keep trying. What was it all for anyway? Why did I spend all those months of training, pushing my body to limits it had never before realized, ripping my feet apart, and obsequiously submitting to this positive thinking thing, which ended up only being half-hearted anyway? And the biggest mystery to me of all: why did my therapist, who is actually an anti-runner and absolute realist, encourage me to keep positive when he probably already knew that day that I’d never run that race? Was he really that cruel? I’ve been heartbroken in my life, but this was far worse than anything I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t just heartbroken, but also physically broken. I also knew that not one single person in the whole world could possibly feel or understand what it was like to be me at this time, which only made me feel worse.

And then Andy Roddick unexpectedly lost a heartbreaking 5-setter to Richard Gasquet in the quarterfinal at Wimbledon 2007, and my whole perspective changed. Here are Andy’s comments after his loss: “I’ll probably wake up tomorrow with a better sense of perspective. I’m sitting here feeling pretty crappy right now. But I promise you I’m aware in the grand scheme of things I’m still pretty blessed and very lucky and very fortunate. That being said, you know, when you put your blood, sweat and tears, everything you have into something, and you can almost taste it, you envision something and it doesn’t work out, it’s not easy. But that’s what makes you addicted to the competition, you know, is the feeling when you do win. That’s what gets you back on the horse.” Wow, I thought. Somebody really does understand, and a world-class athlete at that!!! Rather than just putting on a happy face and saying “better luck next time” he got right down to it about how much it hurt. But he also remembered to express his gratitude for what he had in his life and how his past positive experiences would help him be strong enough to get “back on the horse” and try harder the next time.

Over the last couple of years since my initial injury, I’ve had further ups and downs, including breaking an ankle that was already compromised by a re-flared-up tendon. But I remembered what Andy said. I remembered to focus on the things I was grateful for– the fact that I could actually walk at all, much less run, the fact that I had accomplished so much even though I never got to run the race, the fact that there WERE people out there who understood what I felt. But even more importantly, I finally understood what my realistic, anti-runner therapist meant when he said “keep positive!” It wasn’t an admonition to will myself to run the race or to wish everything was easy again, but to be strong enough to accept the reality of my situation, no matter how challenging or negative, and work with it to make me stronger.

Since this realization, I’ve paid particular attention to other athletes and how they’ve dealt with challenges. A few examples from this past Summer– The 20th (and penultimate) stage of this year’s Tour de France had the riders climbing up Mont Ventoux (see above picture), the highest point in the Provence area. This would include a 1,912 meter climb with 7-12% grades to the summit of the mountain. As stated on one website, “never in the history of the event has a mountain been on the programme the day before the finish in Paris. . . . Whatever the lead of the rider wearing the Yellow Jersey, he will have to face the Tour’s toughest climb with fear and humility.” I was so amazed and inspired by the riders as they conquered fatigue and difficult race conditions, including the most crowds ever at a single TDF Stage, to conquer this mountain. At the conclusion of that stage, I felt like ANYTHING was possible no matter what obstacles and setbacks came my way. One week later, on August 1, I watched Michael Phelps win the 200m butterfly in Rome in record-breaking fashion, just one year after doing the same in Beijing. Michael’s post-Olympic activities have been well-publicized. He certainly went from some very high highs to very low lows, including taking a 6 month break from racing to deal with his personal problems. Phelps’ Beijing record had been broken during one of the qualifiers in Rome, so what did Michael do? He jumped in the pool and broke the record right back. And finally, on September 14, an unlikely Argentine tennis player named Juan Carlos del Potro, down 2 sets and facing match point against the No. 1 ranked player in the world Roger Federer, fought back and WON the U.S. Open championship in New York!! I think I cried.

And so, while this post is focused on sports stories, you see and read stories like these in all walks of life. We all face many challenges and setbacks in our lives, and we can justifiably be angry and depressed over it to the point where we just want to give up. Or, as these athletes and so many others have demonstrated, we can choose to“keep positive,” to be grateful for what we do have, to acknowledge the challenges and the harsh reality of our given situation, and then make it work for us to make us stronger and, ultimately, find joy in this our Tour de Life.

Recommitting Myself

Two weeks ago I had an epiphany. But I guess technically it wasn’t really an epiphany, which is defined as “a moment of sudden and great revelation.” I was missing the “sudden” part, but it was definitely a moment, or at least a conglomeration of many mini-moments, that produced a great revelation.

It all started on August 23 when I read Pear’s blog on being good. Like Pear, it’s not that I’ve been bad, but maybe my problem is something like going through the motions. I’ve had good intentions for sure, but honestly the reservoir was getting pretty low. I remembered Elder Eyring’s talk from a few years ago on how our spiritual reserves only last for so long. The interesting thing was, though, that it wasn’t until two weeks ago that I realized that I was getting to dead pool stage (dead pool meaning that even if there is a little bit left, it’s so low that it’s completely useless) – a step dangerously close to what you see in the image above. I then started thinking about an article from the August 2009 Ensign, which had some interesting suggestions but wasn’t quite compelling enough at the time to make me act on those suggestions. After reading Pear’s blog, I re-visited that article and read the following (for real this time):

“Do you want to feel the love of God more powerfully in your life? Do you want to feel more in ‘tune with His Spirit? Do you want to have the heavens opened to you daily?’ There is a way you can feel a daily renewal of God’s everlasting love and drink from ‘the fountain of living waters’ (1 Nephi 11:25). It follows a pattern set by the Prophet Joseph Smith when he went to a grove of trees early one morning in 1820 seeking answers to his questions. I speak of a morning devotional time spent in prayer, meditation, and scripture study. If you have a devotional every morning, even if only for a few minutes, you will be deeply blessed. I know this to be true. . . . There is great power in setting aside quiet, prayerful, meditative time. In the stillness that accompanies our pondering, we can come to know the Father and His Son (see Psalm 46:10; D&C 101:16).” - Elder Kikuchi, “Opening the Heavens.”

I wanted that; I needed that in my life. That was what was drying up very quickly for me. But as often happens with good ideas that require changes in your routines, I was already making up excuses: I already get up early enough to go running. I’m too tired in the morning to read my scriptures. Etc. But on the flip side, I thought: So, what’s the big deal just getting up 5-10 minutes earlier? I am more alert after running anyway, so the tiredness excuse is pretty lame. I’ve been trying so hard to find a time to pray in the morning without being rushed – this presents the perfect opportunity. So, I thought about it for a few more days. And then came Sunday August 30.

This particular Sunday was fairly routine: Church at 9, beginning with Priesthood/Relief Society, then Sunday School, and finally Sacrament meeting. But it ended up being far from routine for me because of the most amazing lessons I learned that day.

1. Our combined 5th Sunday lesson taught by the Bishop was about reverence in Sacrament meeting. But it was also so much more than that. He shared with us his concern, not because we were doing so badly, but because we were actually doing such a great job, that he felt we were ready to take it to a higher level. The way he taught the lesson with such love was amazing. I was wondering whether it would generate any negative comments, but somewhat to my surprise, I heard person after person expressing gratitude for the lesson and the desire to recommit to bringing a reverent attitude to our meetings.

2. And then we had Sunday school, where our incredibly prepared teacher taught from D&C 135, which is John Taylor’s testimony about Joseph Smith after the martyrdom. The lesson handout had a number of quotes from people sharing their impressions of Joseph Smith. The one that caught my attention was from Josiah Quincy (former mayor of Boston):

“It is by no means improbable that some future textbook, for the use of generations yet unborn, will contain a question something like this: What historical American of the nineteenth century has exerted the most powerful influence upon the destinies of his countrymen? And it is by no means impossible that the answer to the interrogatory may be thus written: Joseph Smith, the 'Mormon' Prophet. And the reply, absurd as it doubtless seems to most men now living, may be an obvious commonplace to their descendants. History deals in surprises and paradoxes quite as startling as this. The man who established a religion in this age of free debate, who was and is today accepted by hundreds of thousands as a direct emissary from the Most High - such a rare human being is not to be disposed of by pelting his memory with unsavory epithets.” (quoted by B.H. Roberts in, Joseph Smith, The Prophet Teacher, pp8-9).

3. In Sacrament meeting the Bishop asked that an impromptu choir present prelude music for us as we entered the chapel to promote greater reverence for the occasion. That was a different kind of reverence than I have felt in a long time in Sacrament Meeting and was something I definitely wanted to feel again.

4. Our Sacrament Hymn (169) was one we sing often, but this time one line in particular really spoke to me: “And silently we pray for courage to accept thy will, to listen and obey.”

5. In her talk on the influence of the gospel in our lives, one of our Sacrament meeting speakers shared this powerful thought: “Faith is based on a correct understanding of who God is.”

6. A young family of late 30 year old parents and 6 children sang “A Child’s Prayer,” one of my most favorite primary songs. They later joked with me about how they feel like the Von Trapp family singers, but when they were singing, I was so impressed with the unity and love they obviously shared with each other and hoped that someday my own family would be like that.

7. Our 2nd counselor closed the meeting with some thoughts on reverence, and by the end there was the most amazing feeling of unity and love in the ward as we finished out a wonderful 3 hours together.

And so over the course of a few weeks, this epiphany evolved. Even though I hadn’t fully acted on anything by the time that Sunday came around, the desire was completely there, which prepared me to hear and internalize all the things that happened that day. Beginning with Pear’s blog, to the Ensign Article, to the events of that Sunday, each presented personal revelations to me. Consequently, that Sunday pretty much sealed the deal for me and helped me decide that day that I was ready to 100% recommit myself do the following: have a morning devotional, practice reverence both in church and in life in general, follow the prophet’s example by confidently standing up for what I believe and being an emissary for God, bring the spirit into my home through good music, have the courage to do His will, pray and read the scriptures to have a correct understanding of who God is, work towards achieving my goals of raising a family like our Von Trapp family and other great families in the ward, and continue to participate in the ward in such a way to promote love and unity within the ward family.

It has been two weeks now and I must say that I started doing these things not a moment too soon. The first day of my new routine presented some challenges at work like none I’d ever experienced, and so, even from day one, these activities were already helping me to stay calm and focused as I dealt with that particular challenge and others that have followed for the past two weeks. Now the trick is to remain committed no matter what, which is why I’ve written this blog – to remember what I have learned and felt so that I won’t let my reservoir run dry.

Sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa Rasmussen's House!

Last night I had an unexpected experience. But before I tell you about it, I must begin with what happened earlier in the evening. Over delicious chocolate sheet cake after dinner, Grandma Rasmussen asked me if I would be seeing my chiropractor the following morning. Yes, I replied. She then informed – didn’t ask – me that the bed in her guestroom would be all ready for me to spend the night. Wow, I thought. With mom and dad’s very full house, I was prepared to throw the old green mattress pad down in whatever random place that would suit me at the time and try to sleep. (At least I brought my own pillow.) And here, I had this amazing offer to spend the night in my own room in a peaceful and quiet, and DARK environment to get some MUCH needed sleep. Not only did Grandma invite me to stay the night last night, but ANY time, unless there were other houseguests. And so, while everyone was watching Star Trek II (The Wrath of Khan), which I just cannot bring myself to watch again because it came very close to being the first movie to give me nightmares, I gleefully trotted my way across the yard and entered my new bedroom. And this is where the unexpected begins, although in retrospect, I should not have been surprised.

Grandma and Grandpa, both separately and together, spent a few minutes reminding me of where the nightlights were and which door locks were engaged, and instructing me to feel free to open/close the bedroom blinds. Grandma left for a minute, and while she was gone, Grandpa shut the door slightly to reveal a beautiful picture of his “dear mama, Katie Johanna.” (His words.) He told me about how she had died from some hemorrhaging shortly after childbirth when Grandpa was 14 years old. He described to me a moment at the graveside, where after looking down into the grave he heard in his mind something to the effect of, “This is not the last time you’ll see me.” (I can’t remember the exact words, but it was a beautiful sentiment.) He said he felt such comfort from those words at that time and continues to feel so now as he sees family and friends go. It was a short conversation, but one I’ll never forget. Grandma then returned and asked if I’d spent the night there before. Yes, I replied, but I think mostly in the basement. The last time I remembered being in that room was when I was in 7th grade and had a sleepover with (cousin) Gretchen Mills. We stood there for a moment as I reviewed that night in my mind. It really HAD been a long time since I'd had a sleepover at any of my grandparents' homes, and I was starting to feel kind of giddy about it. What fun! And then we had a group hug good-night.

I shut the door and sat on the bed in a very reflective mood. It felt strange, but in a good way, to be there again 20 years later; to be loved and cared for like that; to be able to have that conversation with Grandpa. I took a turn around the room (sort of) looking at all the pictures of aunts, uncles, and cousins through the years and retrieving many dormant memories of my own from some of those days. I thought about how amazingly beautiful and handsome the Rasmussen girls and boy! were (and still are!), and how lucky all of us cousins were to be in such a wonderful family. I also looked carefully at the pictures of Sue, Paul, and Gary and enjoyed seeing them in their 20s -- they also looked (and look) amazing, too! And then I found myself musing on the old Chapel Circle home where I had spent several nights as a child, having conversations with the grandparents just like last night’s conversation, looking at these pictures and feeling the same things I was feeling last night. Those days are long past, but the memories from the Chapel Circle home are as clear to me as if they’d happened last night. I then thought about this current home and all the wonderful times I’ve had there. I opened the closet doors and stood by the sewing machine, thinking about the many hours I spent there working on junior high and high school sewing projects and other Christmas projects, realizing how dumb I am now when it comes to sewing, but loving the memories of those days. I walked into the bathroom and saw the same green, pink, yellow and white clothes-pins on the towel rack that I’ve known my whole life from both homes. Sometimes they were holding nylons – last night it was sachet bags. Before turning out the light I started browsing through the home magazines (Better Homes and Gardens, Colonial Homes, etc.) in the bedroom and the basket in the bathroom and was suddenly back to my teen years when I had spent hours perusing those magazines, imagining that every single picture of the many rooms in those magazines were actually rooms from my dream house. And before I knew it, there I was last night on the bed flipping through those same magazines, just like I did 10 and 20 years ago. I own my home now, so I don’t have to imagine a dream home, but I still loved looking at the pictures.

And so the night went on like that. In many ways I felt like I’d just had a Christmas Carol experience where I was literally seeing shadows of my past, but unlike Scrooge, I loved every second of it. I felt like the world was perfect. Everything was silent, including my brain, which was a miracle. I felt a complete peace. I was in a home with grandparents who unconditionally loved me and where I was surrounded with memories and reminders of very happy moments in my life. And with that, I fell asleep.

My Work Made the News! (But not for a good reason)

As some of you may be aware, last weekend in Logan a small canal on a hill-side breached, causing a landslide that destroyed millions of dollars' worth of property and took three lives. You can read all about it on any Utah news website if you are interested in further information. A few days later, some citizens of Utah County contacted KSL expressing their concern about the safety of the unlined, opened Provo Reservoir Canal (aka, the Murdock Canal), which runs from Provo Canyon to the Point of the Mountain. (It is the same canal that runs behind John and Mary's former home in Highland.)

You can read KSL's story and comments on the story here. The main complaint by the residents is that they said they were promised five years ago that the Canal would be enclosed, but nothing has happened since then. I have been intimately involved in the details of the project described in this news story for the past 5 1/2 of my 6 years as an attorney with the U.S. Department of the Interior. It's always nice to see your work reported in the news, but not necessarily under these circumstances and when the story and the comments to the story are negative and/or uninformed. Because of some discrepancies and inaccuracies in KSL's story and especially the reader comments, I thought I'd share the real story. I've written this as a really bad fairy tale in an effort to keep names and events vague because this is an ongoing project. Enjoy.

Once upon a time, a long time ago (as in the 1930s), the Kingdom of the United States bought an opened, unlined canal in one of its northern-central provinces. The Kingdom owned many such canals, and so by law entered into an agreement with a small non-profit provincial organization to take care of the canal. Over the next 60 years, many people died or otherwise suffered serious harm as a consequence of swimming, wading, or diving illegally in the canal. About ten years ago, the provincial organization decided it was time to enclose the canal and bring greater safety to its citizens. However, because the provincial organization did not actually own the canal, the construction costs and taxes that would be assessed to the provincial organization for this project were far more expensive than the provincial organization could afford. Consequently, the provincial organization sought permission from the Kingdom to take title to the canal and further sought financial assistance for the enclosure from four other organizations. Following a year of negotiations the Kingdom agreed to transfer title, and the other 4 organizations agreed to provide the necessary financial assistance to the provincial organization. For the next five years the Kingdom, the provincial organization, and the 4 other organizations met weekly, and oft-times multi-weekly, to negotiate the details of the title transfer and financial arrangements. They were within months of consummating the transfer and financial arrangements when, suddenly, the provincial organization discovered that this transaction would result in a tax upon it of a third of the cost of enclosing the canal. (And if you are confused by now, you have good reason.) Paraphrasing from Beowulf, this was not a good bargain. Following 18 hours of discussion over 3 days, the Kingdom benevolently agreed to retain title to the canal and oversee the enclosure of the canal so that the provincial organization would not be impossibly burdened by the taxes it would have been otherwise assessed. Coincidentally, another major event that occurred at this time was that the local provincial government informed the provincial organization that the local provincial government would be willing to consider paying half the cost of the enclosure so long as the provincial organization could show by mid-August that the enclosure project was ready to go. And so, for the past eight weeks the Kingdom, the provincial organization, and the 4 organizations have been meeting up to three times a week to finalize the agreements for the enclosure of the canal and the financial arrangements. They are just weeks away from the deadline to meet with the local provincial government, and now the provincial organization is arguing that the Kingdom is asserting itself too much into the details of the enclosure of the canal -- which, I must now remind the reader, is still owned and may forever be owned by the Kingdom. The provincial organization is also complaining that if and when it finally takes title to the canal, the costs of owning, operating, and maintaining the canal will be too much for them to bear alone, and the other 4 organizations should therefore be obligated to help pay for those costs (including the provincial organization's taxes) in perpetuity. Given that the other 4 organizations are collectively paying for almost half the cost of the enclosure, these organizations have vehemently disagreed that they should pay the provincial organization's additional costs that are simply incidental to its ownership of the canal. And so, as of this writing, the Kingdom, the provincial organization, and the other 4 organizations may never live happily ever after. The End.

Writer's notes: Contrary to the provincial organization's characterization of the delay in the KSL story, this is clearly not about working out "little details" nor, as some citizens have suggested through their comments, about delays caused by the Kingdom. No, the "little details" causing the delay are none other than the provincial organization's financial problems, including the $50 million tax problem that it should have recognized and resolved 5 years ago and that the Kingdom has now voluntarily agreed to help resolve. Indeed, assuming the provincial organization and the other 4 organizations can cooperate with each other, the Kingdom will accomplish in 2 months what has taken all the organizations 5 years to try to do. But of course, none of this was in the story or the comments. And you wonder why I'm a little frustrated.

Citizens of the World

Just days before Iran’s election, Jason Jones, a correspondent for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, traveled to Iran to hang out and do a little reporting on the election and other goings-on in Iran. As an abashed Jon Stewart reminded his viewers each night, the Daily Show producers did not know that Jason would be in Iran during a most exciting but quite dangerous and volatile time in the country’s history. Despite those dangers, this also presented an amazing opportunity for the Daily Show to show a side of Iran that we might have otherwise never seen. You can see the 4 parts of this series using the following links: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; and Part 4. Although this series was rife with the usual sardonic humor, silliness, and other antics you expect from the Daily Show, it was impossible to not feel touched by the beauty of the people of Iran and to realize how much we share in terms of ideas, expectations, desires, dreams, and hopes for a better more peaceful future.

As I continue to think about this series, I am taken back to my travels around the United States and the world: 39 states, Mexico, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, France, England, Wales, and most recently China. On my last day in China, our family happened to be walking through a very small town during the school recess time. Somewhat to my surprise we passed by a number of games of Chinese jumprope. (I guess I didn't really think that Chinese jumprope was actually a Chinese game.) Watching those kids took me back 20 years to when I was their age playing the exact same game on my playground at recess at Cherry Hill Elementary School in Orem, Utah. I realize that this may seem insignificant to most, but it left such an indelible impression on me – one generation and literally a world apart (over 6000 miles) I found something I could totally relate to with these children.

Positive experiences like these were abundant in China. The one annoyance I felt throughout our two weeks there were all the people who wanted to touch us and take our pictures. As I've thought about this since returning home, I have come to understand that behind this behavior is their enormous desire to connect with the western world, and for a variety of reasons we westerners who visit their country ARE that opportunity – maybe the only opportunity they’ll ever have – for that connection. Many Chinese nationals have never left and probably never will leave China, much less the provinces and areas they’re in, so seeing western culture is almost unheard of unless we come to them. And truthfully, many of us in western society are equally clueless about eastern culture, so making those connections, here or there, is really important for all of us as we come to understand that we are all together sharing this earth. Indeed, while we should acknowledge and celebrate our differences, those differences should never be an impediment to those things that connect us as human beings–the things that bring us happiness, sadness, excitement, serenity, anger, and love. This world is held together by the tapestry of humanity, and one loose or stray thread would eventually cause the whole tapestry to fall apart.

And so, back to Iran, I think it’s fair to say that Jon Stewart, the studio audience, and everyone who has seen this series feels an overwhelming sense of compassion for the Iranian people, and we hope for a swift and peaceful end to the violence that has marred this country in recent weeks, because Iran's success in achieving peace will help to effect more peace around the world.

My Worst Nightmare

This was in yesterday's Deseret News:

"Kimberly Warner was chatting on the phone and washing the red grapes she had just purchased from the Orem Costco on Monday afternoon when she spotted it: a big, black spider. 'I thought it was just a big, monster grape spider,' the Provo homemaker and mother of three said. Then Warner saw the hourglass shape on the spider's back." (http://www.deseretnews.com/article/1,5143,705312635,00.html.)

I bought red grapes at Costco last week. And I have arachnophobia. Just looking at pictures of spiders is enough to stop my heart from beating for a second. I sometimes hang a plastic spider on a web in my office during Halloween, and it looks so real that it scares ME every time I look at it even though I'm the one that put it up! Now I'll probably be checking my grapes every 5 minutes to make sure I have no black widows. No one said phobias aren't irrational.