The Most Important Things

During my tenure as a missionary in Chile, I enjoyed a number of responsibilities and duties. For the latter half of my mission, my companions and I took charge of preparing and setting up venues for interviews between the Mission President and us missionaries. We marked these interview dates in our planners with great anticipation. These were brief, but unique, opportunities for significant and meaningful personal improvement. This being the case, my companions and I took our responsibilities very seriously.

During the winter of 2009, while serving in the city of Villa Alemana, the Mission President again planned a trip to our zone for interviews. On the morning of the interviews, we woke up earlier than usual to leave sufficient time to prepare the local chapel where we would meet. Prior to leaving our small house, I packed my shoulder bag; one personal set of marked scriptures, one study journal for notes, one standard issue “Predicad Mi Evangelio” manual with personal notes, one Nikkon camera containing 18 months of mission experiences in photo, some proselyting material, and some family photos that I would show to my Chilean friends.

I usually did not pack so much. I always left my personal manual and journal in our apartment since they served no purpose in day-to-day missionary work. They were large, and cumbersome; barely fitting into my shoulder bag. But I needed them for the interviews. In their pages, I would record my impressions and the counsel given to me by the Mission President. Prior to the Villa Alemana interviews, I had already compiled eighteen months’ worth of impressions, experiences, studies, and observations. These hand-written records were methodically organized into a system of colors, highlights, and cross-references. I considered my collection special, even sacred. They only left our apartment for interviews or conferences.

Once packed, my companion and I left our apartment and headed towards the chapel. We would have to walk about four blocks to reach it, but that didn’t bother us. Unlike my family, who was enduring sub-zero temperatures in Canada, I was enjoying the warm summer weather of central Chile. We hustled to the chapel, opened the doors and began setting up chairs and tables for the missionaries. In minutes, we had two rooms prepared; an open waiting room for the missionaries and the Mission President’s wife, and a separate secluded office for the personal interviews with the President.

Just prior to the Mission President’s arrival, we recognized the need for one more table. The Mission President’s wife usually brought some treats to feed the missionaries during the interviews, and we needed a place to put the food. Without much thought, I placed my shoulder bag on a hallway pew and went down the hall in search of another table. In a matter of minutes, we found a suitable table and hauled it towards the waiting room.

At last satisfied with the arrangement of the room, we went to gather our stuff and wait patiently for everyone to arrive.

I returned to the pew, but my bag was gone. Thinking that I misplaced it, I retraced my steps, passing every room I had entered. I still found nothing. Unnerved, I asked my companion if he had moved the bag. He replied that he did not. With increasing annoyance, I revisited the rooms along the hall. Again, I found nothing.

My annoyance converted to frustration. At the time, the only other person in the building was a member of the local stake presidency. He left his office to see what the matter was. I explained my predicament, hopeful that he would know the whereabouts of my bag. I described the bag to him as a simple black bag with one single strap, the top was slightly faded due to prolonged exposure to the sun.

He began to explain that he had not seen the bag, but he abruptly left his sentence unfinished. With some apprehension, he then recalled seeing an unknown man enter the building. The man confessed that he intended to use the bathroom. The member of the stake presidency signaled towards the nearest bathroom, and returned to his office. He never saw the man again.

My heart sunk with the realization that the man had no intention of using the bathroom. With equal parts anger and distress, I sprinted out of the chapel. Looking down both streets, I could see no sign of the man or my bag. All I could see was a busy street of cars and buses. He was gone.

All at once, a flood of loss and hurt entered my heart and mind. Eighteen months of personal experiences in the form of notes, photos, markings, and writings were gone in an instant. Those were experiences that I could never relive. Worse than that, those were experiences that I would never remember, at least not as vividly as the moment in which I recorded them. Accounts of personal experiences, happy experiences, sacred experiences… gone.

That was the single worst day of my two year mission. As much as he tried, my Mission President could offer little comfort. The police officer to whom we filed the case offered even less comfort. I attempted to hide my fury with a degree of humor, verbally hoping that the criminal might learn something useful from my notes and scriptures. But no amount of humor could soothe the ache I felt in my heart. I was downright miserable.

When the day had ended, the sting from the theft remained. My mind whirled with angry thoughts and vindictive ramblings. Vainly, I pictured myself chasing down the perp and tackling him hard into the gritty cement walkway. As one would expect, those “only-if” thoughts accomplished nothing. I retired to my bed knowing that sleep would likely avoid me.

My prayers that night turned desperate. I knew there was virtually no chance I would ever see my things again. By now, the perp likely removed the camera, ignorantly throwing everything else away. Finding anything else would be impossible if not miraculous. I miracle I needed, so a miracle I requested.

“At least the most important things!” I remember pleading repeatedly. “The most important things.”

My thoughts turned back to my journal, my scriptures, and my manual. I could see their pages, filled with notes, color coded and neatly printed and arranged. I put hundreds of precious study hours into reading, writing, and linking thoughts, words, and ideas. My recordings were important to me since they represented my personal growth and understanding as a missionary. That didn’t matter. They were gone, and I would have to move on. I grudgingly ended my prayers, and accepted my misfortune.

Pushing the event out of my mind, I worked to replace the items. I obtained a new camera, a new set of scriptures, a new manual, and started a new study journal. In the following weeks, I would struggle to remember my notes and thoughts from the months of my mission long past. That work consumed every hour I had available outside the regular missionary schedule. I began to put the ordeal out of my mind. Our proselyting schedule, interviews, district meetings, leadership training, and zone conferences prevented me from entertaining more thoughts on the matter.

A few months later, at the conclusion of another multi-zone conference, I sat in a hallway with my fellow missionaries. We were taking advantage of a few precious minutes socialize before we had to leave for our assigned wards and branches. From the crowd of parting missionaries, one companionship approached me. While I knew many missionaries in our area, I did not know these two. I only recognized them from one of the workshops from the conference. Their clean unseasoned suits perfectly contrasted my worn and weathered suit, indicating that they were relatively new to the mission field.

The taller of the two reviewed my name-tag, seemingly pleased that he had found me.

“Hey Elder Gulbranson!” he greeted. “So good to finally meet you.”

I returned their greeting and started into a small conversation. They answered my casual questions with hurried purpose. The only things I could learn were their names and that they were serving in one of the most rural zones in our mission. After that, the taller one interjected.

“I think we have something of yours.” He explained, lowering his backpack to the floor.

I watched curiously as he bent over and rummaged deep into his bag. He promptly removed a grocery bag from deep inside his back pack. I could tell its contents were small. My first impression was that one of my former companions had sent his trainee on a delivery errand. This was a common means of forwarding gifts, ties, or other items between missionaries. What he removed was something entirely unexpected.

He placed in my hands a small binding with laminated pages. The cover boasted a proud red Canadian maple leaf. The pages I thumbed were rounded and worn, but they perfectly preserved the contents of the booklet. From the pages, familiar faces smiled back at me; unblemished images of my mother, father, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. These were the exact photos that I had lost in my stolen shoulder bag.

“Found these in our ward boundaries.” the Elder continued. I don’t think he was expecting my reaction of stunned silence. After all, they had no idea what circumstances led to the displacement of these photos. For all they knew, I left them on a bus, or with a close Chilean friend who misplaced them. Due to time constraints, I would not have adequate time to explain the entire ordeal to them.

When I inquired about the other missing items. They explained that they saw nothing else near the photos. I released a minor sigh, but remained grateful and stunned. With that, those Elders began their long journey back to their ward, and we soon followed.

My stolen photos.

Leaving the chapel, I happily reviewed the photos again and again. I did not put them away until our bus arrived to pick us up. I marveled at the luck of it all. They somehow made their way along many miles of roads and railways and through a handful of cities and towns. Their journey ended at the furthermost corner of the Vina Del Mar mission where they were found by a pair of strangers with whom I had only a slight connection.The happenstance was remarkable.

“Pity they found nothing else.” I lamented silently, returning my thoughts again to the remaining items.

With that thought, my memory was brought back to that night, back to the prayer that I offered: “At least the most important things!”

The words pierced my conscience, repeating themselves over and over. The realization immediately humbled me. With the divine wisdom that only a loving Heavenly Father could possess, He reminded me of the significance of family above all other things. Indeed, the most important things were returned to me. Cameras can be replaced, notes can be restored, and memories can be recalled; but one cannot adequately value the influence and blessing of an eternal family.

My miraculous experience further cemented my belief that families are central to a happy and fulfilling life. No other institution, organization, or assembly can imitate its influence, replicate its success, or supplant its sovereignty. Within my family, I have found friends, mentors, comforters, counselors, scholars, nurturers, protectors, motivators, admonishers, encouragers, and supporters. 

These roles have been filled by grandparents, parents, siblings, and even the youngest nephews and nieces. Starting from birth, many of us have belonged to a loyal network of individuals who serve dutifully and love unconditionally. Is it any wonder why the family remains the most fundamental unit in a healthy and vibrant society?

My miraculous experience further cemented my belief that families are central to a happy and fulfilling life. No other institution, organization, or assembly can imitate its influence, replicate its success, or supplant its sovereignty. Within my family, I have found friends, mentors, comforters, counselors, scholars, nurturers, protectors, motivators, admonishers, encouragers, and supporters. Together, individual members of a family create an unwavering association whose sole requirement for membership is to be born into existence. Our birth initiates us into a loyal network of individuals who serve dutifully and love unconditionally.

In some circumstances, many individuals may not enter this life with such blessings. Some boys start their mortal life without a mother’s warm embrace. Some girls begin their life deprived of a responsible father. Certain conditions and situations may unfairly deny a child of their right to a loving father and mother. While such injustices fall upon the most undeserving, they do not condemn them to a life devoid of all family blessings. A child may recover any lack of familial comfort as they marry and establish their very own family. In the end, all of us will have the opportunity to enjoy the benefit of family bonds, if we so choose.

Since the family group is made of a collection of individuals, there will no doubt be individual weaknesses. A number of quirks, habits, or eccentricities exist in every family unit. But if you look closely, you will detect trace elements of divinity, charity, and celestial potential inside each and every parent, sibling, spouse, and child. To omit any single individual from the family would dramatically alter our happiness. Big or small, fast or slow, refined or rugged, all members matter.

We would do well to remember more often the things that matter most; the most important things. Mortal limitations and imperfections frequently distract us, sometimes making us impervious to the most important things. However, if we maintain our eternal perspective, we will not lose sight of what matters most.

When you find yourself mired in struggle or weighed down in sorrow, I hope such events stir your thoughts to a remembrance of the most important things. I hope you know to which source you may look for understanding, charity, and love. I know that family plays an essential role to our existence, and that role will not be undermined. I have testimony of these truths due to a loving Heavenly Father who promises us all that He has. His Son, our Heavenly Brother, paved the way for our lasting happiness. Our family, both earthly and heavenly, are the most important things.

Hard Work

Upon entering my father’s office, you would notice a number of photos, prints, and souvenirs that provide an immediate and intimate glimpse into the Gulbranson family heritage. The first thing you would notice is a selection of family photos. From those frames smile three treasured daughters, six charming sons, and numerous grandchildren. A further scan of the room reveals a special reverence for our family faith. A framed painting of Jesus Christ and photos of sacred LDS temples adorn the dark office furniture. And in every other available space you would see inspiring wildlife prints of ducks and geese or detailed brass sculptures of elk and deer. Every ornament, every image, and every keepsake from that room illustrates what things the Gulbranson family values above all else.

I too hold all those things sacred. At the end of the day, nothing takes precedence over my family and my faith. However, there is one item in my father’s office that commands my attention every time I enter that room. It too reveals a key principle and enduring legacy within the Gulbranson family; one that I have grown to appreciate even more with the passage of time.

Directly across from my father’s desk, and always in plain view, there is a quote attached to the wall. Taken from the words of the legendary inventor Thomas Edison, it reads:

“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like hard work.”

One cannot understand the Gulbranson family story without understanding the principle of hard work; for without it, the Gulbranson story does not exist. Success within our family has been the precise result of dirty coveralls, calloused hands, and disciplined effort. The quality of hard work prevails as one of the fundamental ingredients to genuine and enduring success. No amount of talent, privilege, or trickery will ever substitute for undiluted hard work.

For my part, some of the more significant lessons of hard work were taught in a laboratory of pastures and hay fields. Nine miles west of Vanderhoof, British Columbia, my father owned Hart Lake Ranch; a beautiful collection of rich fields cultivated with green alfalfa and golden grain. Each acreage had been painstakingly carved out of the rugged British Columbia countryside, creating an exquisite contrast between modest crops and towering poplars and pines. Yet, for all its optical allure and picturesque charm, the ranch achieved its utmost preciousness following the long hours of the harvest work. And while the landscape exuded refreshment and pristineness, the associated labor was anything but.

Some of the beautiful views from Hart Lake Ranch

Between the months of June and September, we donned a permanent uniform of grease stained hands, earthy jeans, and hay dusted shirts. As the work day wore on, the heat-induced sweat beaded from our body and clung to our itchy outfits. The perspiration added layer upon layer of dry alfalfa leaves, dust smudges, and oily deposits. While all of this may have been cause for discomfort and inconvenience, and it most certainly was, it did little to deter us. There was lots of work to do, and too little time to do it.

In our work, everything depended entirely on the weather. Conditions had to be exact and prolonged in order for the hay to dry out and reach a harvestable state. Any bit of rain drastically delayed our work and caused irreversible effects on crop quality. When you combined the weather delays with a short summer season, sporadic breakdowns, and strict Sabbath observance, our 18 hour work shifts seemed entirely justified. Without the long shifts, there was simply not enough time to accomplish the work. Therefore, when the sun was shining, we were working. From early Monday morning until midnight on Saturday, anyone could hear a distant hum of a busy tractor or a hurried truck from anywhere on the ranch.

Due to the time-sensitive nature of the hay harvest, any delay or complication caused plenty of frustration. At the onset of the harvest, we would dream of completing our work in record time, thereby leaving us plenty of time for fishing, camping, golfing, swimming, or general vacationing. However, as one unexpected rainfall lead into one or more breakdowns, our confidence would give way to frustration. In this way, farm work became emotional work, as well as physical work. We hurled wrenches, kicked tires, and muttered curses in regular expressions of annoyance. Nonetheless, we continued undeterred until the final bale was stored.

Every summer, I would finish the harvest with a renewed antipathy towards farm work. “It is too inconvenient,” I would think, “too uncomfortable and too demanding.” When I entered another school year every September, my friends couldn’t understand my cheerfulness and enthusiasm. While they lamented the end of vacations, trips, and recreation, I rejoiced and smiled. Admittedly, I was less enthused about school and more enthused about having a life outside a tractor. I felt my taste for farm life was sated, and I would never miss the work.

But I did miss the work; every year, every time. While I thoroughly enjoyed my classes, they often provided minimal feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment. In contrast, the work I fulfilled on the ranch empowered me and assuaged me. When I missed the work, I entered into a cycle of remembrance. I remembered the therapeutic sentiments I earned when I dirtied my hands, raced the elements, or fixed a problem. I remembered the satisfaction of reviewing the literal and tangible fruits of my labor. I remembered the fresh vivid scent of newly cut alfalfa hay, or the deep earthy aroma of pure wet dirt. I remembered the pleasant moments of reflective solitude and contemplation. I remembered the small reprieves from work, when family members delivered Slurpee’s, sandwiches, lemonades, and pizzas. I remembered the hours of enlightenment and education, as I listened to novels, documentaries, and histories. I remembered the ample opportunities to develop a cerebral catalogue of favorite musicians and soundtracks. I remembered how much I grew in terms of character and attitude. In short, I remembered how great hard work can be.

That remembrance, and the allure of good compensation, brought me back every summer.

I do not presume that farm work is the only vocation where hard work prevails. In truth, I have tried to carry the lessons and habits I have formed on the ranch to other endeavors and industries. I have witnessed the principles of hard-work take effect in students, accountants, entrepreneurs, lawyers, doctors, and countless others. However, as a matter of personal history and experience, farm work will always have a special place in my heart.

As implied by Thomas Edison, most people fear hard-work. We have many reasons to fear it. Hard-work requires exceptional sacrifice of time, comfort, convenience, and even sanity. Hard-work is not always pretty, but it is always rewarding. Of all characteristics along the spectrum of human attributes, hard and honest work does more to distinguish and exalt you than any other trait. I am grateful to have enjoyed farm work, and learned from its noble labors.

May you seek opportunity and success through hard work, no matter your occupation. Regardless if you find yourself behind a messy desk, before a troubled patient, or inside a dirty tractor, you can reap the spiritual and temporal benefits of good, honest, hard work.

Leaps of Faith

From time to time, the Lord calls upon us to relinquish our comforts in order to pursue greater success. Heavenly Father recognizes our divine potential, and He knows what steps we must take in order to reach it. The Lord’s insight and perspective far surpass our own paltry intelligence. Our narrow vision rarely takes us from where we are to where we want to be. Since our limited experience and understanding cannot propel us towards success, sometimes our only course of action is to perform a leap of faith.

Our heritage, our legacy, and our privileges are the byproducts of successive and frequent leaps of faith. A leap of faith prompted Adam and Eve to follow God’s plan. Another leap of faith helped the family of Lehi cross great waters to colonize the Americas. Joseph Smith’s leap of faith initiated the restoration of the gospel. Every significant success and every remarkable victory begins with courageous men and women who rely on faith to overcome tremendous challenges.

Most leaps of faith contribute greatly to our long-term happiness and success. Nevertheless, we often avoid taking a leap of faith when presented with the opportunity. Instead, we often opt for a shuffle of faith or a hobble of faith. Deep down, we know that greater effort will yield greater progress. Sadly, we just can’t seem to accept the uncertainty and risk that accompany faith based decisions.

Leaps of faith are indeed intimidating. The adversary would have us believe that they are extreme and impulsive. He fills our hearts with fear and doubt to prevent us from taking them. But we must realize that a leap of faith is not a free-fall of blind obedience. Nor is it a foolhardy sprint towards an unjustified gamble. Instead, a leap of faith is an opportunity to earn the blessings of heaven through the use of our agency, discernment, and logic.

A leap of faith is an opportunity that we should take advantage of. When we put our confidence in the Lord, He will fulfill His promises and enhance our lives .Therefore, I would like to recommend three important habits that will help you take advantage of such opportunities. Once you have mastered these habits, I can promise that you will make leaps of faith more frequently and more confidently.

Habit 1: Preparation

Fear is the antithesis of faith. Our anxieties curtail our hope and inhibit our ambition. Thus, fear is the first major obstacle to accomplishing a successful leap. Quite often, the anticipation that you feel prior to a leap will affect you far worse than the actual leap itself. Your biggest struggle will often occur before, not during, a leap of faith. However, we know that “if [we] are prepared, [we] shall not fear.” (D&C 38:30)

When the time came for a young Nephi to exercise faith, his preparation helped him prevail in the face of overwhelming odds. On two occasions, he and his brothers had already failed to recover the plates of brass from the treacherous Laban. Unwilling to quit, Nephi left his older brothers and returned to Jerusalem on his own, “not knowing beforehand the things which [he] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6)

Though he did not have a fixed plan, Nephi still entered the city with some degree of preparation. His childhood in the city likely made him familiar with the streets of Jerusalem. Years of obedience and quick observance gave him a keen mind, and a worthy heart. Even his recent failures proved preparatory as they acquainted him with Laban’s estate and property. Though he did not know everything, Nephi was sufficiently prepared to do something. So he went forth, being “led by the Spirit”.

When the time came for action, Nephi recognized the Lord’s plan. His years of obedience allowed him to follow God’s instructions with exactness. His familiarity with Laban’s property helped Nephi locate the treasury where the plates were stored. His keen mind allowed him to fool Laban’s servants into surrendering the brass plates. In the end, Nephi’s preparation allowed him to make his own leap of faith.

In your life, you cannot expect to be fully prepared for every contingency or trial. You may not have much, and you may not know much. Nonetheless, you can sufficiently prepare yourself to meet unavoidable challenges. You may not be fully prepared for unexpected trials. But at least you will have enough preparation to make an effective leap of faith.

 Habit 2: Commitment

Following a strong start to the 2014 college football season, the Oregon Ducks hit an unexpected roadblock. Despite being the overwhelming favorite to win, the Ducks fell behind early to the Utes from University of Utah. The Ducks defense found themselves facing a determined offense supported by a boisterous home crowd. If they were unable to slow down their opponent, Oregon would likely lose control of the scoreboard. Losing that game would surely ruin their chances for competing in the national championship.

As both teams lined up to begin the second quarter, the excitement in the crowd increased. At once, the center quickly snapped the ball to the quarterback and all  the receivers darted down the field. Despite the best efforts of the defense, one sole receiver rushed past every defender. The quarterback, noticing the wide open receiver, delivered a well-timed pass into the hands of his target. The Oregon Ducks could only watch as their untouched opponent raced 79 yards into the end-zone. The Utes had scored again.

The crowd erupted, the commentators applauded, and the Utes celebrated. With that touchdown, the momentum was clearly in Utah’s favor. For a moment, it seemed entirely possible that the Running Utes were poised for an impressive upset.

But to one Oregon defender, something seemed unusual. Linebacker Joe Walker noticed that the refs did not signal a touchdown. In fact, they stood still and watched the ball sit motionless on the goal line. While everyone else found themselves in fervent celebration, Walker kept his composure. Instead of conceding defeat and yielding to despair, Walker took a leap of faith. He scooped up the ball and began sprinting in the opposite direction.

The jubilant crowd watched as Walker raced down the sideline. Some even laughed as he crossed the entire field and ran into the end-zone. But their delight soon turned to confusion when the referee signaled an Oregon touchdown. Desperate for an explanation, the Utes watched the instant replay. What they saw immediately extinguished their enthusiasm.

In a show of premature celebration, the Ute receiver inexplicably fumbled the ball prior to crossing the goal line. The drop was so subtle, that only Walker and the referees ever noticed the mistake. Walker’s commitment to winning the game helped him to think clearly and act decisively. He determined to maintain his focus, even when all the visual and audible cues told him to give up.

Thanks to Walker’s efforts, Oregon quickly regained the momentum and won the game. They would go on to earn a spot in the National Championship. Such things may never have been, were it not for one player’s commitment.

A successful leap of faith demands our full commitment. Commitment helps you overcome adversity. It helps you ignore naysayers. It helps you stay the course when the powers of failure conspire against you. Without commitment, you will resort to hesitation and reservation; and no leap of faith can be accomplished under those circumstances.

Upon meeting with the rich young man, the Savior seemingly found a committed disciple. The rich man eagerly disclosed to Jesus that he had strictly followed all the commandments, even from his youth. For all intents and purposes, the young man had prepared his whole life to take his next leap.

“Yet lackest thou one thing”, added Jesus. “Sell all that thou hast, and distribute it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.” (Luke 18:22)

With that one request, the resolve of the rich man fell apart. His devotion and commitment were replaced with doubt and reluctance. He had done all he could to prepare for his big leap of faith. Nevertheless, when the Lord called upon him to leap, he balked at the opportunity. His commitment, which once seemed so genuine, suddenly appeared fictitious.

In the end, the rich man’s half-hearted attempts did not supply him with enough power to achieve his true potential. Likewise, our half-hearted attempts will never produce the fruits of accomplishment and triumph. A person who stumbles, hesitates, and dithers will never complete a leap of faith. In contrast, a person who engages, hustles, and commits will always perform successful leaps of faith.

Habit 3: Reliance On Grace

In our recent travels this spring, we found ourselves at the end of a very long line of cars at the Sumas border crossing. The line moved slowly under the scrupulous watch of a strict Canadian border agent. But we were undeterred. Minutes earlier, we readied our passports and rehearsed our alibis. Just before we approached the border agent, I reminded Kara of the two rules to crossing the border: First, don’t speak unless spoken to. Second, don’t offer the agent more information than what he requests. With that final warning, we were prepared for anything.

“Where you folks headed to?” said the border guard as he greeted us.

“Vanderhoof British Columbia”, I responded.

At this point, the guard left his booth and closely inspected our Utah license plates. Once satisfied, he turned back and resumed his line of questioning.

“Do you have any tobacco or alcohol with you?” he continued.

“No, Sir.”

“Guns or firearms?”

“No, Sir”, I replied.

He asked a few more basic questions as he looked over our passports. I answered each one briefly and accurately. I grew more confident as his questions grew simpler. It appeared that we would once again enter Canada without incident.

While closing our passports, he issued one final question.

“Do you have any poultry or chicken on board?”

I opened my mouth to answer in the negative, but I was cut off by a nervous and fretful voice from behind me.

“Well,” started Kara, “our boy has a bottle of milk in the back with him…”

Tense silence followed her answer. With one brief sentence, Kara managed to violate both border crossing rules. Both the agent and I paused to stare at her. Neither of us knew what to say.

“What did milk have to do with poultry?” I wondered silently.

Unsure of how the agent would respond, I sat still and silent. From that point, Kara was on her own. The agent somberly lowered his head, looked past me, and glanced rigidly at Kara. Then, with all the professionalism and seriousness he possessed, he asked a follow-up question.

“Is it chicken milk?” he inquired.

Kara immediately recognized her error. Feeling embarrassed, she refused to answer the question. Meanwhile, I sat there laughing as the border agent returned our passports and ushered us past security. He had nothing further to say. Thanks to the good grace and humor of the border agent, we were able to continue without further delay.

A significant lesson came out of this experience. We can spend great efforts to prepare ourselves and commit ourselves to succeed, but our capabilities and experience may not be enough to get us where we want to be. We will make mistakes. When left to our own devices, those mistakes could easily hamper our success. Therefore, our success often depends heavily on the grace of others. When it comes to making leaps of faith, we must rely upon the grace of God to see us through to safety.

If there is one thing that I would have you understand about leaps of faith, it would be this: It is OUR responsibility to take the leap, but it is the LORD’S responsibility to prepare a safe landing.

The scriptures testify of this principle:

“…For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them to accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Nephi 3:7)

The Lord promises us success as we exercise our faith. Not success according to the world, but the success that can only be delivered through divine providence and the atonement of Jesus Christ.

To conclude, I would like to pose to you a question: What leaps of faith are you avoiding?

Do you withdraw your family from the community, fearing the powers of influence and temptation?

Do you waver in your conviction to serve in the church, knowing that it will require hard work?

Do you dismiss the idea of continuing your education, settling for the status quo?

Do you shy away from momentous changes, hoping that the world will change before you have to?

Do you dawdle in the present, distressing over the uncertainty of the future?

Historically, the Lord required leaps of faith from all his children. He demanded leaps of faith from the Israelites. He demanded many leaps from the Nephites. He demanded a leap of faith from the early pioneers. He also demands them from you.

Do not be content to stay in your comfort zone. Do not condemn yourself to mediocrity and stagnancy.  Instead, develop the habits of preparation, commitment, and the reliance on grace. Future generations will benefit from the leaps of faith that you are making, just as you have benefited from the leaps of faith undertaken by prior generations.

The Anatomy of a Rumor

I love the book “To Kill a Mockingbird”. It is one of the few books that I have read over and over again. Each time the story stirs my fascination. To date, no book has shown me such a stark, yet simple, contrast between the most honorable and the most deplorable of human attributes. Every story, big or small, within the novel touches on some of life’s most important lessons. As of late, I have been drawn to one of the lesser storylines from the book. This story goes mostly unnoticed, and it is mentioned sparingly in the book. Nevertheless, it is a powerful story and it deserves a look. It is the story of Mr. Dolphus Raymond.

Much like the rest of the characters in the novel, Dolphus Raymond lived in Maycomb Alabama. Maycomb, as described by the author, was a tired old town in the 1920’s. For the most part, neighbors knew one another; or at least they pretended to. Like other small towns, word of mouth travelled fast. Topics of discussion mostly revolved around the day-to-day happenings of the county. Maycomb citizens seemed only mildly interested in any news from outside the county. Instead, local discussion was driven by gossip regarding the Radley family myth, Mrs. Dubose’s health, and most recently, the Tom Robinson trial. The life of anyone and everyone was open to scrutiny and assumption. To Dolphus Raymond, the hearsay and postulation was as predictable as the daily sunrise.

Wherever Dolphus Raymond goes, silent whispers always follow. His outward appearance and strange lifestyle make him an easy topic for casual group banter. On the surface, he appears mildly ragged and unkempt. In his hand, he always carries a bottle carefully concealed in a brown paper bag. An occasional stagger gives any onlooker a hint as to the contents of the wrapped bottle. Every visual evidence proves that he is hygienically and socially unfit for normal life.

Of course, Maycomb knows why Dolphus was left to suffer in this current state. Once you considered his life at home, it became obvious why he relies on booze. Unlike the rest of the white Maycomb citizenry, Dolphus resides in the black neighborhood alongside his black mistress and mulatto children. At a time when racism and bigotry still reigned supreme, such a lifestyle was unacceptable. A man would have had to have fallen far in order to live such a lowly existence.

Such was the life of Dolphus. Once in a while, the small town of Maycomb would watch him wander aimlessly and rest lazily downtown. Then they would watch as he left town on the road to his squalor home and second class family. He became an example; an opportunity for parents to show their children the face of repugnance and drudgery. Townsfolk kept their distance, and Dolphus kept his. Up until the trial of Tom Robinson, not much else is known or explained about Dolphus. Were it not for a chance encounter with the novel’s main character, Dolphus’ story would have gone untold.

Following a session of the controversial Tom Robinson trial, the young boy Dill leaves the courthouse sobbing. Visibly bothered by the injustice and unfairness of the trial, both he and Scout Finch sit under the shade of a large nearby oak tree. Unbeknownst to the children, Dolphus shares the same tree with them. He surprises the children when he speaks to them. Dolphus offers a swig of his drink to the still-crying Dill, promising that it will settle him down. Against the ominous warnings from Scout, Dill takes a drink from the brown paper bag. However, he does not taste alcohol. To his surprise, and delight, he finds the bottle is actually full of Coca-Cola.

Their discovery of the Coca-Cola sparks the curiosity of the children. Unlike the rumors they have heard, they discover that he does not smell like a vagrant. Instead, they notice a pleasant earthy smell of “leather, horses, and cottonseed.” Little by little, the real story of Mr. Dolphus Raymond unravels itself. Not only is he not a drunkard, but Dolphus doesn’t drink at all. Further questioning reveals that he lives a very happy life, enjoys the company of a caring woman, and he loves his children very much. Eventually, all the rumors surrounding the mysterious man erode away. Suddenly, the reader begins to recognize that all the falsehoods were simply the result of presumptuous rumors and wild speculation. It turns out the truth was much less spectacular than the word around town.

The experience of Dolphus Raymond teaches us a lot about the lifecycle of rumors and their impact on individuals and communities. By logical standards, Dolphus was a successful man. He had some wealth, a happy family, and he lived healthily. But none of that mattered. To the residents of Maycomb, a person could never attain happiness or success with Dolphus’ lifestyle. Therefore, the life of Dolphus Raymond needed an explanation. As a result, the community fabricated a narrative and distributed it throughout the entire town.

If at any point in your life you experience success, you may find yourself facing the same conditions as Dolphus Raymond. While we have certainly progressed as a society since the 1920’s, an astonishing number of people have held firm to the practice of rumor mongering. The same type of people fabricate them, the same type of people believe them, and the same type of people fall victim to them. A rumor cycle will always have a victim, a fabricator, and a patsy.

Understanding who these people are and how they contribute or relate to the rumor cycle will help you comprehend the who, the why, and the how of a rumor cycle. From that angle of understanding, you can better withstand the seedy speculations and the farfetched falsehoods bent on ruining your reputation and good name.  

The Victim

Would you like to know one of the single best metrics for gauging personal success? Do you often lay awake at night pondering your life choices? Would you like me to stop asking these cheesy infomercial questions? If you said yes to any of these questions, then rumors are for you. In many cases, the degree to which rumors circulate about you is equivalent to the degree of life success you have achieved. So if you find yourself the victim of a wildly false accusation, you might want to consider it a sign that you are doing something right.

If it is true that success breeds contempt, then it would make sense why rumors take aim at successful people. In the eyes of weaker and lesser men, success needs to be explained away. The underlying assumption hints that rumor targets are underserving of their success; that they achieved it by means of deceit, corruption, or luck. In some form or another, they have violated a natural or artificial law. The rumor is simply a way to accomplish justice and hopefully strip the offender of their unwarranted success.

But successful people remain successful, even in the aftermath of rumors. Rarely do they let falsehoods derail their plans, ambitions, and objectives. They seem to swat rumors away like harmless gnats. How do such people manage to turn slanderous tales into insignificant annoyances? It is simple really. Successful people refuse to play the role of victim.

In reality, rumor victims are not really victims at all. Though they may be the intended target, the victim most often receives the least damage in a rumor cycle. For a brief time they may have to suffer the indignity and inconvenience of injurious gossip. To a certain degree, they may lose business, prosperity, even friends. In some cases, the effects may last for years. However, by the time the cycle has run its course and they have arrived at total vindication, the intended victim will emerge from the ordeal relatively unscathed. Their friendships that have lasted will deepen, their resolve to achieve success will be increased, and their sense of self-worth will solidify. If managed correctly, a victim’s experience with rumors can make them stronger over time.

The Fabricator

 Rumors do not spontaneously erupt from empty space. A rumor must be created and carefully designed. A purposeless rumor is nothing more than an imagined assumption. Without a scheming entity to transform thoughts and theories into false facts, rumors would lose their potency and achieve little. Such an entity is known as a fabricator.

Fabricators are the ones who envision, devise, and distribute scandal and controversy. A fabricator earns their title because they have a sharpened ability to take paltry clues and fabricate them into complex narratives that attempt to both condemn and destroy. The most experienced of fabricators don’t even need distorted evidences in order to build their network of lies. All that they need is an imagination, an audience, and an incentive.

Fabricators often possess a passionate ambition that flirts with outright fanaticism. That ambition could be political power, community influence, justification for personal fallibility, self-appointed moral authority, or any number of things. Their ambition consumes them, pushing them to disregard truth, morality, and goodwill. Such virtuous ideals have little value in their eyes. They are necessary casualties in the crusade for self-aggrandizement.

The actions of a fabricator are loathsome. For the sake of their aspirations, they adorn themselves with a mantle of feigned power and concern. To an unsuspecting patsy, they appear authoritative, concerned, and empathetic. Their public cries preach justice, unity, and progress. But their backdoor mutterings build false narratives and blatant lies. They are wholly disinterested in anyone or anything that does not support their self-preservation and influence.

The lifestyle of a fabricator deserves a high degree of revulsion. Their behavior tears apart relationships, destroys livelihoods, and sows seeds of contention. Their sharp words are the words of a disgruntled reprobate. However, once you take a step back to look at their personal situation, one thing becomes vividly clear: fabricators are as pitiful as they are loathsome.

A number of social psychology studies have been published that deal with the rumor cycle. Many of them seek to explain why rumors start and how they grow. Several studies seem to follow the explanation for rumorfabrication set forth by social psychologist Ralph L. Rosnow. He describes the fabricators situation as follows:

Rumormongering is viewed as an attempt to deal with anxieties and uncertainties by generating and passing stories and suppositions that can explain things, address anxieties, and provide a rationale for behavior. (Rosnow, Yost, & Esposito, 1986)

Or in other words, rumors come from people who struggle with deep-seeded self-esteem and security issues. Their feigned importance and influence only serves as a cover for their crippling cowardice. Fabricators use rumor to explain away their own deficiencies. They hope that their slander will somehow remedy or minimize their own weaknesses by highlighting a phony fault of someone else.

Fabricators who spread lies regarding your marriage will likely struggle with their own marital problems.

Fabricators who anonymously accuse you of mistreating employees will probably have a history of cheating and defrauding their own associates.

Fabricators who slander your company for shady business practices will usually dabble in poor business ethics themselves.

We find fabricator behavior utterly inexcusable, but not entirely unexplainable. They have reasons for sowing the seeds of contention and ill will. Once you understand those reasons, their barbs become less injurious and their situation becomes more pitiable.

If you are a fabricator, stop yourself now. The damage your words cause to your own reputation will be nearly irreparable. I urge you to look at your own life. Sort out your own problems. Celebrate the success of others. Sympathize with their failures. If you notice another person struggling, seek a way to help them rather seeking a way to cripple them further. Doing so will stimulate improvement in your own life, and generate a source for good in the lives of others.

The Patsy

Finally, we turn our attention to the final participant in the rumor cycle. Many perceive their role in the rumor cycle as limited and passive. We often believe their only crime is to innocently listen and pass on gossip from one source to another. For the most part, the patsy appears harmless. In the rush of the rumor cycle, they convert from innocent bystander to naïve participant. However, a closer look at the patsy reveals that their role in the cycle is sometimes far more serious and sinister than we assume.

What makes the patsy such an egregious participant? For starters, their hunger for sensation and drama creates a high demand for myths and conspiracies. The patsy craves rumors. For one reason or another, they feel privy to the privacy of others. A patsy loves to know everyone else’s business. They sit on the edge of their seats waiting for the next meltdown, the next train wreck, or the next epic collapse. To them, no other news is more desirable than someone else’s bad news.

Do you recognize now why the patsy is so problematic? Patsies provide the fuel that bolsters the flames of contention and lies. Without them, the fabricators power amounts to nothing more than a miniscule spark. But if that spark happens to contact a volatile and reactionary patsy, the combination could potentially create firestorms of gossip.

The most aggressive patsies closely mirror their fabricator peers in terms of motivation and ambition. They may not initiate the rumor. However, they relish the opportunity to pass it along. They often add their own batch of misinformation. They attempt to inject their own personal spin on the rumor, hoping that their additions will further damage and incriminate the victim. Like the envious fabricator, they too enjoy the belittlement and smearing of others whom they find undeserving of success. These more aggressive patsies are the soldiers of slander. They are the disciples of defamation.

Not every patsy achieves this level of envy or malice. The majority feel content with passing along the gossip. The commotion intrigues them. However, they are not altogether innocent. They also fall for the same baseless hearsay, caring little or nothing for the people involved. Their gullible nature buys into the false narratives and swirling accusations spread by everyone else. As such, they tend to make very poor decisions, using the rumors as reference or basis. Their hasty decisions terminate friendships and business relationships. Instead of yielding to basic common sense, they place a higher value on sensationalism and dramatization.

If you are a patsy, now is the time to change course. Take news from the primary source and don’t take second hand stories as gospel. When speculating about the character of others, you immediately put your own character into question. You have much more to lose than the fabricator. In addition to your reputation, you risk losing friends, opportunity, and security. Changing course will provide you with a clearer mind, an observant eye, and a genuine heart.

Dealing with Rumors

Once you have considered the components, forces, and parties involved in the rumor cycle, such situations may easily overwhelm you. Injurious lies from shameless reprobates can quickly morph into autonomous viruses bent on ruin. Watching the cycle play out may leave you hurt and confused. Though it may seem so, you are not helpless in combatting falsehoods. You can, and should, react to them appropriately and decisively.

While on tour in the South Pacific, Elder Marvin J. Ashton took every possible opportunity to meet with the Latter-Day Saint missionaries serving in that part of the world. In one meeting, a group of concerned missionaries approached him, seeking counsel on a problem that they were experiencing on their local island.

Handing Elder Ashton a selection of pamphlets, they explained to the apostle that a preacher had been publishing and distributing the pamphlets in their area. The missionaries were astonished at the audacity of the rumors and worried that the malicious lies that might spread. They wondered how best they could combat the published material. Many felt that a retaliatory campaign would best confront the tide of false information.

Elder Ashton glanced at the pamphlets, visibly amused by their contents. To the surprise of the missionaries, he chuckled as he read the accusations against the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Now even more confused, the missionaries posited their question again: what should they do about the problem?

Elder Ashton’s response revealed to the missionaries, and to all of us, how we can best combat the rumor cycle.

“To the author of these words,” he answered, “we do nothing.  We have no time for contention. We only have time to be about our Father’s business. Contend with no man. Conduct yourselves as gentlemen with calmness and conviction and I promise you success.”

When sharp and forceful retaliation seems like the most natural and simple response, we are counseled to do just the opposite: Do nothing. You have not time for contention.

When faced with an unsavory rumor cycle, you should continue on. Do not allow such things to disrupt your routines, goals, or good works. Allowing it to disrupt your life accomplishes the objective of the rumor monger and prevents you from accomplishing your own objectives. If you are doing good works, you really don’t have any time for contention.

Some may feel that the “Do Nothing” strategy amounts to sitting on the sideline or rolling over to die. In reality, the strategy calls us to action and not inaction. It is a call to focus our efforts on more worthy endeavors. Rather than openly confronting the slander, you should let your actions do the talking for you. Do not spend your time putting out meaningless fires. Do not publicly campaign or complain against the fabricators or patsies. Adding more contention to the mix only validates the opinions of the rumor mongers.

This strategy requires plenty of courage. Ironically, this strategy demands that you place a lot of trust in people. You must trust that that rational and reasonable people will not have their good judgement subverted by sensationalism. Some people may betray that trust, even your friends. However, friends worth their weight in gold will not pay any heed to falsehoods. Such friends will vehemently defend your character. When you don’t say much about the subject, these friends will. In your absence, they will fight your fights.

If you handle yourself well during the chaos of a rumor cycle, you will indeed find success. Once you have arrived at vindication, the fabricators and patsies will be exposed, your name will be cleared, and things will have settled once more. At that point, the promise offered by Elder Ashton will be fulfilled:

Conduct yourselves as [ladies and] gentlemen with calmness and conviction and I promise you success.

I Am Dull

I spent my childhood fascinated with swords, bows, knights, and all things related to them. Luckily I had brothers who were equally enthused by such things. We entertained ourselves for hours by “crafting” our own wood-based weapons and trying them out on one another. Whether by bike or by foot, we chased each other in extended battles, smacking one other with dead tree branches. Miraculously, the only injuries we ever sustained were limited to scraped arms, bruised legs, and broken bike spokes. Our dull weapons likely kept our medical bills low. That would eventually change.

We quickly discovered that metal broom and mop handles were more suitable upgrades over our traditional poplar swords. They were lightweight, prefabricated, and they perfectly mimicked the clinking sounds made by actual swords. The only thing we had to do was sneak them away from Grandma’s cleaning closet, remove the heads, and attach our duct tape handles. They were glorious! Nothing we had forged ever came close to their quality. Sure… they broke easily. And when they broke the rusty metal was dangerously exposed. But we didn’t care. We were breaking new technological ground in the world of childhood weaponry. For weeks we played happily and without incident with our new weapons.

Our fortune changed one fateful autumn morning while waiting for the school bus. Korlyn and I managed to once again smuggle the aluminum mop handles without being caught. Once we reached the bus stop, our duel began. After a few swings, our swords expectedly broke in half. Undeterred by the length of our swords, we fought on. We took turns heroically hacking at one another and parrying every precise blow.

I soon gained the upper hand. I began ferocious barrage of whacks and swipes at Korlyn’s legs and arms. Knowing that the bus would soon arrive, I sought to deliver to final blow with one more epic swing. He dodged, but I managed to deal a precise blow to his bare hand. He let out a quick yelp, dropped his sword and desperately grasped at his fingers. It didn’t take me long to see that the tip of my sword had gashed his hand, exposing his bony knuckles.

With shock and fear, I watched Korlyn barrel towards the house clutching his bloody hand. I quickly gathered my thoughts then frantically sprinted after him, stopping him right before he could enter the house.

I wish I could say I did so out of brotherly concern. In truth, I was more concerned with the parental repercussions that awaited. Desperately we looked for an excuse, a story, anything that would exonerate me and keep our mop handle thievery a secret. Poor Korlyn stood there as a pale quivering mess of pain until I came up with an answer.

Nervously scanning my surroundings, I noticed an assortment of nails protruding from the fence, the ones we used to hang up our Christmas lights. Suddenly a rush of creative dishonesty flooded my mind. As quickly and persuasively as I could, I pleaded with Korlyn to hear and follow my plan.

“Tell Mom we were balancing along the fence,” I began, “then explain that you fell and caught your hand on one of the rusty nails!”

Visibly frustrated that I was delaying his treatment, Korlyn hurriedly agreed to the plan. With our alibi nailed down, Korlyn relayed the story to Grandma. They raced to the hospital, leaving me at the bus stop to go to school. My perfectly concocted story was not enough to calm my nerves. I half expected Korlyn to sing like a canary. I anxiously imagined all the different punishments that would await me at home. Much to my surprise, Korlyn never ratted me out. He remained loyal to the plan. I think he was equally concerned about getting busted for stealing valuable cleaning supplies. Regardless, he gained my respect and a nice manly scar on his hand.

We learned a great many things that day. Korlyn learned to never bring a bare hand to a broken broom fight and I learned that I can be creatively deceptive and persuasive when under pressure. However, we both learned a major lesson about the vivid difference between a dull object and a sharp one. We also learned the danger of a sharp object in the possession of a dull mind.

Korlyn and Myself

Fast forward 15 years, and I am still dull. Yes, I confess. It makes me uneasy to admit it. Naturally, I’ve always been reminded of my shortcomings in healthy doses of sibling sarcasm. In their defense, I have a furnished past of imbecilic misadventures and verbal misunderstandings, all of which are worthy of remembrance. However, my dullness is no longer synonymous with foolishness or buffoonery. When I say that I am dull, I do not refer to my level of intelligence or wit; I am not ready to face those demons just yet. Instead I recognize now, more than ever, that my senses are dull.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not going blind or deaf. My nasal power and taste-buds are still working in peak condition. You can find the evidence of that in my ever-fluctuating waistline. But some of my other senses have suffered a lengthy, slow, and uncontested decline. The long list of casualties includes my sense of right, sense of wrong, sense of compassion, sense of urgency, sense of danger, and sense of priority. Kara would argue my sense of humor belongs on the list, but it seems sharp enough. However, my other senses have diminished greatly, succumbing to the forces of desensitization, numbness, and apathy. There are no contact lenses or cochlear implants that will fix them either. Sharpening these senses requires a little more effort, and a lot more discipline.

So why does this even matter? After all, a large portion of society elects to dull their sense of right and wrong. How else would you explain the expansion of intolerance, pornography, violence, idleness, grievance, and degradation of every variety? If it works for so many people, why then should I concern myself with any sense outside of taste, touch, scent, hearing, and sight?

It matters because our senses are the primary means of interpreting, navigating, and enhancing the world around us. Dull senses compromise our efficiency, utility, and happiness. In contrast, sharp senses increase our influence, advantage, and self-worth. Certain senses help us discern between truth and lies. Some senses allow us to prepare for difficulties before they occur. Some senses even help us better hear and understand that still small voice when it warns, advises, or comforts us. Once you begin to understand this, you can better understand the advantage of sharp senses over dull senses.

When we make practical comparisons of sharp and dull, we often do so through the scope of everyday hand tools. I knew from a young age that knives, axes, and saws are sharp. I learned this by observing others use them and by experiencing their effects for myself. Our senses, though similar in some ways, differ greatly from hand held tools. They can’t hack down a tree or slice a loaf of bread. It would appear that “sharp” and “dull” are traits best reserved for tools and not for intangible phenomena.

But what are our senses if not tools? Much like tangible tools, our senses can serve to build, repair, and enhance the world around us. Our sense of danger can build protections against temporal and spiritual threats. Our sense of compassion can repair lives and relationships. Our sense of priority can enhance the efficiency and quality of our lives. So you see, our senses are tools. And much like other tools, their efficiency depends on the sharpness that they possess.

This week I have sought to reflect and improve on my own sharpness. Thankfully I became aware of my personal situation enough to recognize the need for change. As I have pondered the symbolism of sharp and dull, I have recognized the areas of my life that I can improve on. In that time, I have gained a new appreciation and understanding of a sharp mind and a sharp sense. Now I invite you, permitting that your attention and interest lasts, to better understand how we can sharpen up and what we can do to stay sharp.

So how do you sharpen your sense of right and wrong? What about your sense of compassion or urgency?  To date there are no whetstones, grinding wheels, razor strops, or honing steels that can get the job done safely or effectively. However, the basic methods of sharpening are universal. Whether you are sharpening your knives or your senses, sharpening is a process that involves frictional abrasion, refinement, and polishing.

Once you begin the process of confronting your mistakes, you ignite a frictional mechanism that grinds away the burrs, divots, and nicks deep within your own soul. This is a process of penitence, and it is a difficult process. It has to be. Unlike blades, you cannot grind your senses against an abrasive wheel. But the heat, stress, and grit of the repentance process will be enough to remove the imperfections and spark the senses. Your heart will start to change and your thoughts will be more pointed. While this sharpening of the senses usually begins from within, it will not be long before the changes find their way to the surface. Others will recognize a great change in your habits, behaviors, and words. The change may not seem immediate, but it will be legitimate.

This process must repeat itself over time. Staying sharp is a constant struggle. There are forces that intend to dull, blunt, and desensitize you. Some of these forces are natural, but others are not. Either way, staying sharp means combating those forces. Failure to do so will distort your senses, blunt your efficiency, and diminish your happiness. Therefore, a one-time sharpening will mean nothing without any effort to maintain sharpness and utility.

The key to staying sharp is utilizing your senses in the way that they were intended to be used. I am sure you have seen an ax or knife with huge gouges or notches on the blade. Such blemishes are the result of someone using the tool incorrectly. Axes are not meant to tear up concrete and knives cannot serve as effective screwdrivers. Likewise, our senses cannot be misused without causing them to become dull. Be careful not to misuse your senses.

Some people misuse their sense of compassion by feigning fairness or open-mindedness. Others may misuse their sense of priority by placing self-interests or prideful ambitions above the well-being of their family. In essence, misusing any sense is equal to blunting, distorting, or notching your own soul. We often justify this behavior when we dismiss it as not too serious or justifiable. That may be accurate. Certain ambitions are not necessarily evil, and fairness is a quality we all should strive for. However, even the slightest abuses snowball into lengthy and subdued declines towards inevitable dullness. We fuel these declines even more through acclimation and habituation.

Be wary of how you use your senses. Don’t fool yourself into using them incorrectly. Don’t substitute principled acuteness, sensitivity, alertness, and keenness for self-imposed ignorance, apathy, distraction, and obtuseness. Instead, use them judiciously and in their appropriate contexts. As you do so, you will quickly distinguish yourself as a sharp person.

It is clear there is a worldwide epidemic of insensibility. But while a portion of society nefariously misuses their senses, another portion commits an equally egregious mistake: not using any sense.

On the surface, my accusation appears a little ridiculous. And it would be, if it were not true. Some feel that the best way to keep their senses sharp is to withdraw entirely from the world, radically secluding themselves and their families. Parents sometimes erroneously judge this as the best way to protect their children. They worry that their child’s exposure to opposition and conflict will dull their senses and ruin their lives. With their kids hidden away from the community, these parents feel comfortable knowing that their son or daughter will never hear a bad word, experience a contentious opinion, or see an unsavory act. Their philosophy defiantly and rigidly condemns their community, neighbors, and colleagues. Surely these are reasonable sacrifices that will protect their children and ensure their success as adults.

They foolishly forget that an unused tool quickly becomes a dull one. Their philosophy is like hiding their fine steak knives out of fear that they will get barbecue sauce on them. Or to use another analogy, it is like refusing to vaccinate their children out of baseless fears and hysteria. Instead, they select isolation as their inoculation. Sure… they forgo the initial discomfort of a needle. But in the end, their solution is far more debilitating and infectious than all other proven methods.

Practices like these deny parents and their children the opportunity to fulfill their intrinsic purpose of being an influence for good in their community and environment. Rather than choose a strategy of withdrawal and like-minded association, they should exercise their senses and contribute to the world around them. They should exercise their sense of compassion by serving people who are different. They should polish their sense of respect by dealing with other people. They should enhance their sense of priority by combating peer pressure. They should sharpen their senses by using their senses.

Sharp minds do more than survive through life. Sharp minds thrive throughout their life. These people enjoy levels of success that few people will ever get to experience. Indeed, it may seem that success just happens to fall in their lap. They make life and happiness seem so easy. But their success is simply the byproduct of a lifestyle that sharpens the senses and improves the soul. The Roman poet Ovid explained this principle well when he drafted the words “The sharp rose often produces delicate roses.”

Hopefully, this read was a waste of time for you. If it was, then my feelings will not be hurt. Truth be told, it is my wish that you already know these concepts. If this is the case, then you are already avoiding many of my mistakes. But just in case you find yourself in a state of dullness and obtuseness, I hope that my experience and struggle will serve to motivate and encourage you.

So awaken your senses! Sharpen them up! And when you have done that, keep them sharpened and maintained. Success is for those who are keen, lively, and in tune. Drudgery, monotony, and dullness is for those who are not.