The Family: A Proclamation to the World

Much of my writing follows the theme of family. Indeed my whole purpose for creating this blog was to provide my children with a firsthand account of their dad’s thoughts and memories. As I have hinted in the past, nothing means more to me than my family. My testimony of family importance relies heavily on the formative examples and experiences from my youth. That testimony continues to grow through adulthood alongside my wife and kids. I believe that family serves an eternal and spiritual purpose. This belief is founded on a special document. For those who wish to know more about my views on family life and purpose, I invite you to read “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”. I find its message notably applicable to our era.

The eternal function and purpose of family is eternal. However, there are some misguided constituencies that work hard to transform or entirely terminate the divinely ordained institution. These crusades follow the banners of “EQUALITY”, “DIVERSITY”, and “TOLERANCE”. However, such crusades frequently and radically miss their intended mark. The world eagerly pursues moral equivalence. Instead, it unintentionally achieves moral ambivalence. Tragically, such movements always produce more victims than victors.

It is easy to concentrate on the foretold calamities and devastations that emerge from the family dissolution. It is even easier to grumble about societal shortcomings. However, if our response to societal adversity is limited to puffing and pouting, then we giving up integrity and courage in favor of lazy finger-pointing.

If you pay close attention to the Proclamation, you will notice that only meager portion gives explicit attention to the calamitous consequences of failure in the home. In contrast, the remaining text focuses on our sacred duties and responsibilities within our own sphere of influence. This is what makes this sacred document so incredible. Although the Proclamation boldly addresses a grandiose world audience, it also earnestly calls out to individuals and families with no worldly significance. It is a proclamation to both the great and spacious, and the small and simple. The Lord intended it as such because His great works are brought to pass through small and simple things. The power to preserve your family does not reside in legislative chambers nor judicial halls. Rather, it is found in small and simple teachings, traditions, and truths.

This does not mean that we withdraw from public forum and debate. I do not advocate shrinking in the face of criticism. However, I am suggesting that we prioritize our efforts to defend and maintain the Lord’s model for families.

There is no need to overburden ourselves with society’s emerging and evolving definitions. In truth, the definitions of man simply do not matter. Every attempt to refashion, redefine, or remodel the familial unit amounts to nothing more than a feeble kick against the pricks. Kick as they might, these facts still hold true:

Marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God

Family is central to the Creator’s plan

Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose

Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness

The sanctity of life is important in God’s eternal plan

These simple, yet profound truths will not bend nor adapt to the contortions and machinations of faulty mortal philosophy. Therefore, we can feel at peace even in the face of a taunting, shouting, and contentious society. We should note that the influences outside of the family are far less potent than the influences within the family.

Do you remember the last time you roamed past a rickety house? Conjure in your mind an image of a home with scattered shingles, rotted trim, and weathered windows. Think for a moment what forces might have caused damage to the house. You might imagine extreme weather such as heavy rain, scorching heat, or severe wind. Or you might simply blame the passage of time and the inevitable effects of age. While these external forces certainly contribute to a building’s defects, they ultimately do not condemn a structure to decay and destruction. History proves that the problem originates from within.

The forces of time, nature, and gravity cannot be avoided. Their influence exerts itself without prejudice and without discrimination. Yet despite their constant presence, many buildings endure the pressure for decades, centuries, and even millennia. In contrast, many buildings only last a few years, days, or even mere months. Why such a stark difference? Each one endures the same rain, the same wind, and the same sun. The root problem is something far more internal. The answer? Poor design, poor materials, and poor craftsmanship.

The best designers and builders understand this principle better than anyone. Rather than curse the forces far beyond their control, they dedicate their time, talents, and resources to constructing something of extreme quality. Such professionals habitually emphasize stability, reliability, and responsibility. They know that if such standards can be met, then no external force will have sufficient power to undermine the building’s integrity.

In a similar fashion, our sights should not be solely set upon external pressures. We know they are there and we know that they will always be there. But we simply cannot avoid the forces of animosity and adversity. Nevertheless, we can concentrate on building and maintaining our quality family unit. If that unit is built to the Lord’s celestial standards, then our families will stand the test of time and all eternity.

If our Heavenly Father is the great architect of the family, then The Family: A Proclamation to the World is His blueprint. His plan specifies that we observe the standards and principles requisite for celestial families. Chief among these principles are knowledge, duty, and charity. I invite you to explore with me how these three principles help us fulfill our sacred familial duties.

1) Knowledge

Knowledge of who we are, why we are here, and where we will go lays the solid foundation for family structure. The opening declarations of the Proclamation to the World allude to this fact:

ALL HUMAN BEINGS—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny…

IN THE PREMORTAL REALM, spirit sons and daughters knew and worshipped God as their Eternal Father and accepted His plan by which His children could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize their divine destiny as heirs of eternal life…

Our testimony of our divine heritage and potential affirms that we are already part of a celestial family, with a Father who loves and presides over all of us. He is aware of our concerns, our aspirations, and our weaknesses. Our knowledge of our Heavenly Father and His plan of salvation explains the institution of the earthly family and legitimizes its sacred role. Such foundational testimony provides the necessary bedrock upon which a solid family structure can thrive.

Our knowledge and testimony of these truths should be maintained and supplemented through study and prayer. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on the doctrines found within scripture. From scripture we obtain the teachings of Jesus Christ – namely faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome living. These teachings cannot be consistently practiced unless they are consistently reviewed at home.

2) Duty

Another recurring theme within the proclamation is duty.  Words or phrases related to duty, commandment, obligation, responsibility, and covenant stand out in the text an impressive seventeen times. Clearly the Lord is attempting to communicate with us the importance of duty. Such examples include:

…Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children.

…Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness…and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens…

This sense of familial duty binds us to our families in a way that no legal document or legislation can. Take some time to think of the special duties you have in your family. What are your duties as a son? A daughter? Father? Mother? Husband? Wife? Sibling? How strong is that sense of duty? Now imagine what this life might be like if familial duty and responsibility were given adequate reverence. What societal ailments might be cured? Addiction? Poverty? Abuse? Neglect? Hate? Such is the power of duty.

The proclamation pointedly reminds parents that their obedience and responsibility is paramount to a healthy family. Whether you are parenting toddlers, teens, or grown-ups, the principle of duty will always apply.

3) Charity

If knowledge discloses who we are and duty dictates what we must do, then charity determines how we must act. The proclamation challenges us to:

…Love and care for each other and for [our] children.

…Rear [our] children in love and righteousness…

…Teach them to love and serve one another…

…Help one another as equal partners…

This is plain language that leaves no room for variation or rationalization. There is no adequate substitute for love and respect within the home. When present, love diffuses both public and private hostilities. John Hugh McNaughton emphasized this when he wrote:

In the Cottage there is joy

When there’s love at home;

Hate and envy ne’er annoy

When there’s love at home.

Roses bloom beneath our feet;

All the earth’s a garden sweet,

Making life a bliss complete

When there’s love at home.

This type of love and charity should also extend beyond the confines of the home. Children should see a parent’s example of respect and kindness towards others. This means following the Savior’s example to “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” When children see this type of charity exercised on a consistent basis, peace will begin to exist at home and in the community

            It is my belief that harmony in the home is the essential ingredient to a happy and healthy society. My experiences, both from within my own family and from the examples of others, demonstrate that knowledge, duty, and charity create the peaceful and predictable atmosphere wherein children can reach their true potential. Rather than work yourself into a frenzy of fear and hysteria, I urge you to focus your efforts on maintaining a family frame that will endure any persecution.

The Bell Lap

In our home sits a large oak and cedar chest. Within it, I store all the gifts and mementos from my missionary service in Chile. Each item represents and catalogues a personal and spiritual experience that helped define the most formative years of my life. Among the most prized of these possessions I count a small brass bell. This simple bell was a gift from my mission president. Its value is not tied up in its design nor its composition. The bell’s appearance is ordinary and its craftsmanship leaves much to be desired. But the value of this gift extends far beyond tangible measurements. The value comes from the lesson which accompanied the gift. It is the lesson of the bell lap.

                The lap bell is a tradition unique to middle and long-track racing events. The lap bell functions as a key element in a runner’s strategy and overall success. You see, a runner’s success on the track depends on a lot more than their physical prowess or athletic ability. The best professional runners possess a more subtle skill, albeit a crucial one, that gives them a competitive advantage. These runners are experts at processing audible cues and responding to those cues with precision and aggression. Each sound, from the crack of the starting gun to the roar of the crowd, provides an important signal to the runner. But of all the audible signals available to the runner, perhaps none is as important as the lap bell.

                The lap bell sounds once the leading runner enters into the final lap, known as the bell lap. The ominous timbre of the bell initiates an abrupt change to the runner’s strategy. Upon hearing the bell’s reverberate tone, a successful runner receives the cue to push harder, to stretch further, and dig deeper. When you factor in the mental and physical exertion required for the prior laps, the bell lap can be a huge challenge. But unless a runner leaves every ounce of effort on the track, they will risk losing ground. Fractional seconds separate the victorious from the defeated, and fractional efforts determine which runner’s will emerge as champions. Championship runners know that glory and satisfaction belong to competitors who conquer the bell lap.

                 In the final weeks of my mission, my president gave me my own personal lap bell as a constant reminder to work a little harder and be a little better. I carried that bell in my pocket every day until the very end. Whenever my thoughts began to wander or lose focus, the muffled ring of the bell brought me back to an awareness of my predicament and my purpose. My mission had a guaranteed end. However, there was no guarantee that it would end well. That outcome had to be earned through effort and persistence. That outcome had to be earned on the bell lap.

                This life consists of a series of formative sprints and marathons. As we conclude each successive stage, we have to toil through some of life’s most pivotal and defining moments. Such moments may amount to a concluding basketball season, a final semester of school, or a fast-approaching end to a mission. In more sober circumstances, such moments may be experienced in the face or terminal illness or aged limitation. Each of these moments is an opportunity to realize our potential and improve our happiness. However, that outcome depends entirely on our willingness to exert our last bit of effort, our final shred of optimism, and our ultimate scrap of grit.

While some do rise to the occasion, a great many fail to conquer the bell lap. So what separates the contenders from the pretenders? Both exhaust the same energy. Both face the same temptations. Both even cover the same distance. Indeed, a casual analysis reveals very few differences between the two types. But the difference lies in which cues are received and followed. The champion follows the cues from the lap bell. The underachiever ignores the bell, ultimately following the promptings to shorten their stride and abandon their hope.

“I am tired”

“I’ve already done enough”

“It won’t make that much difference”

“C’s get degrees”

“It’s just one time”

“Close enough”

“It won’t matter in the end”

These attitudes only offer fictitious satisfaction and stunted potential. Once you let weariness and despondency determine your bell lap strategy, you have already condemned yourself. You have left no room for hope, no room for miracles, and no room for fulfillment. You will finish your lap. The race will end. But the only prize you will come away with is the grim understanding that the pain of regret stings far worse than the pain of effort.

                Now contrast that situation with the condition of those who stubbornly persist until the final stride. Do they feel pain? Ache? Fatigue? Of course they do. In fact, their persistence undoubtedly magnifies their temporary discomfort. However, their tireless perseverance secures the blessings and honors available to the conquerors of the bell lap. Not only do they enjoy a heightened sense of pride and satisfaction, but they also uncover a once dormant confidence and faith. Soon the temporal aches fade, being replaced altogether with the emotional and spiritual sensations of individual accomplishment and gratification.

The individual blessings of enduring to the end are substantial. But remember that a runner does not only race for personal gain. On the track, athletes wear uniforms bearing the colors and symbols of their kin and country. When they win, their nation wins. When they lose, their nation loses too.

Likewise, our personal persistence on the bell lap benefits the lives of others. You may not realize it, but others are watching. They may be friends, associates, and even family members. They too are hoping and praying for your example. They want to see your triumph, because it will inspire them to do the same. They want to observe your character, because it will help them develop their own. They want to witness your bell lap, because it will exemplify their own challenges. People need to know that even though victory may seem beyond reach, perseverance always leaves the door open to miraculous outcomes. Your example can accomplish that.

                Success on the bell lap depends entirely on your willingness to exert your last bit of effort, your final shred of optimism, and your ultimate scrap of grit. Remember the wisdom of President Abraham Lincoln when he said, “I do the very best I know how, the very best I can, and I mean to keep doing so until the end.”

                May your attitude reflect that of Mr. Lincoln’s. May you take the time to recognize the bell lap cues in your own life. May you have to courage to push a little harder, and be a little better. I can promise that fulfillment, joy, and satisfaction await at the finish line.

What Your Mistakes Say About You

In a time long ago at a place far away, there were two quarrelling kings. A matter of honor had erupted between the two nobles, and the matter required a settlement. They reasoned together as to how they could best resolve the dispute. In short time, they determined that a duel would sufficiently satisfy their fued. The terms of the deal allowed each king to select any knight under their command as a proxy. The victorious knight would put the feud to rest in favor of his king.

On the day of the duel, both kings gathered with their respective courts and knights. The fervor and excitement had spread over both kingdoms causing many subjects to gather for the fight. They were eager to see which champions the kings would select and which would leave triumphant.

The first king approached the grounds standing tall and proud. He wasted no time introducing his chosen knight. His champion followed shortly after, emerging from a throng of adoring and cheering subjects. He stood even taller than the boastful king. The midday sun glimmered off his masterly crafted helmet and the colors of his kingdom covered his ironclad legs in majestic shades of gold and blue. The knight appeared both imposing and magnificent.

The crowd’s applause continued on with the arrival of the second king. With a simple gesture, he beckoned for his champion. The crowd’s ovations quickly slowed and sputtered. Before them stood a ragged and unappealing figure. The knight’s tarnished armor exhibited dozens of divots, notches, and gashes. Each blemish documented the mistakes and faults he had committed in battle. His dented breastplate indicated poor form. His scarred greaves implied weak balance. His frayed gauntlets revealed a lack of discipline. The baffled crowd jeered and mocked the king’s chosen champion. He was too flawed and too defective to beat his opponent. Victory seemed hopelessly out of reach for the second king.

The champions took positions, the bets were placed, and the crowd braced for a merciless fight. In an instant, both knights charged into battle. Each exchanged heavy blows and violent thrusts. To the surprise of all, the pristine knight could not match the strength and precision of the tarnished knight. After quickly gaining the advantage, the second knight dodged perfectly and struck ferociously. In short time, the first knight fell to his knees, battered and beaten. Unable to continue on, the first knight surrendered.

Astonishment flooded the crowd. The wise king’s court exploded with excitement and celebration. The unlikely hero stood powerfully over his unconscious opponent and the once doubting spectators now swarmed the victor. The conquered king navigated the jubilant crowd with his head hung low. He approached the wiser king and conceded defeat. Still baffled, the defeated king asked his opponent why he had chosen such an imperfect and flawed champion.

The wise king responded with a smile. Everyone else saw a man riddled with the marks of carelessness and waywardness. The knight was mistake-ridden, that much was certain. But when the wise king evaluated his champion, the knight’s errors revealed to the king a story that others would not see.

Nodding towards the ragged knight, the wise king spoke:

“A knight in shining armor is a man who has never had his metal truly tested.”

The knight’s armor undoubtedly indicated that he had been tested, sometimes very seriously. Nevertheless, the wise king discerned that the knight’s mistakes provided him experience and motivation. When the time for battle arrived, his ability and determination proved the king right. His triumph over his faults made it easier for him to ultimately triumph over his foe.

One of the main purposes of this life is to face trials and tests. Some of your most fierce and challenging tests will be born from your mistakes. The consequences of your faults, sins, and offenses will test your metal and scar your soul. Mortality guarantees that we will all deal with the pain of imperfection. Understanding how your mistakes can affect your life will allow you to handle their consequences both honorably and admirably.

Some mistakes stay hidden and unnoticed. But other mistakes, like those of the tarnished knight, make their way to the surface. Once on the surface, our mistakes expose us to the perceptions and mockery of others. The scars from your errors can say a lot about you. Each blemish tells the story of a foolish decision, an irrational habit, or a short-sighted act. Each mistake may be unique in circumstance and severity, but they all say the same thing: You aren’t perfect.

That’s it. That is the bare bones message. It really is that simple. As human beings, we dutifully err all the time. Most times, your mistakes will amount to nothing more than minor scuffs and smudges. But in some cases, a sinful lapse of judgment can inflict deeper gashes or larger dents upon your soul. As significant as a mistake might be, it will never define you so long as you properly address the problem. No matter how bleak your situation please remember the following:

Your mistakes don’t disqualify your abilities.

Your mistakes don’t discount your contributions.

Your mistakes don’t invalidate your feelings.

Your mistakes don’t nullify your character.

Most importantly, your mistakes do not depreciate your inherent worth.

Even though our mistakes don’t condemn us, they should be taken seriously. Mistakes hurt. They have to hurt. Dealing with your faults and imperfections will lead you down an uncomfortable and inconvenient path. Cleaning up the mess of both expected and unintended consequences requires increased humility, trust, and reflection. The path of repentance naturally makes us feel vulnerable and exposed. This is why it is so difficult to admit to mistakes. But for those who can admit their mistakes and work towards correcting them, a mistake can trigger drastic improvements and cement moral growth.

Now, before you spend your efforts searching for opportunities to make mistakes in order to reach some super status, let me be clear. I am not suggesting that mistakes are good, and I am certainly not suggesting that you should actively and purposely mess up. We can learn many lessons without taking the lumps of failure and regret. There is nothing noble or superior about living recklessly. Make no mistake – the tarnished knight wasn’t a hero on account of his mistakes. The knight became a champion because he renounced his errors and conquered his faults.

Unfortunately, many individuals treat their faults and mistakes with indifference and frivolity, though they rarely afford others the same luxury. These consider the enhancement of their character secondary to their self-serving security. Instead of making life better for themselves and others, they choose to suppress the seriousness of their sins. These will say “It’s in my nature. This is who I am!” In essence, they allow their mistake to define them, and they are comfortable doing so. This philosophy aims to soothe offenders and validate scoundrels. This practice may offer a quick salve for wounded pride, but it will never conceal the glaring marks of error. As I mentioned, a single mistake is not the most accurate assessment of character. However, an apathetic effort to set things straight suggests a prideful, arrogant, and malevolent character. 

Contrast those individuals with those who humbly confess their wrongdoings. An endeavor to admit errors and correct mistakes suggests courage, wisdom, and pure intent. Contrite mistake-makers will not only help themselves, but their experience may also make a difference in the lives of others. Their resolute attitude may instill motivation. Their familiarity with failure will increase their compassion. Their humility may provoke others to admit fault. In short, they can offer so much more than an exemplary warning and a cautionary tale.

In the end, your efforts to address your mistakes will speak more to your character than any error, fault, or mishap. According to your determination and patience, you can overcome the imperfections that beset you. When you find yourself in the path of error, be wise enough to swallow your pride and take your lumps. Be willing to test your metal against the trial of repentance and improvement. If you do so, I can promise a deep and immediate satisfaction that will turn into long-term happiness and future success.

The Value of Life

At what price would you value a human life? Can you imagine a sufficient dollar amount? Generally, we would balk at the task of appraising the human experience into a tangible currency. Some vainly try to create adequate valuations on the human existence. Life insurance companies offer payouts from the hundreds of thousands into the millions of dollars. Some judges have ruled that a life’s dollar value may reach up to $16 million. Some people have even achieved platinum net worth status reaching into the billions of dollars. Yet, despite these colossal cash sums, the dollar signs never seem to sufficiently add up to the being they purportedly “represent”.

 Naturally, no currency will ever equate to the experience, influence, and odyssey of the human life. A life of love, struggle, joy, and growth cannot be whittled into quarters, dimes, and nickels. Were that to be the case, I imagine that human life would never achieve anything beyond the lowest levels of meaningfulness. Thankfully, experience has proven time and again that a single life can accomplish or achieve the unimaginable. The complexity with which we live each of our lives demonstrates just how priceless one life can be.

For anyone who possesses at least a shred of optimism, I feel this is one point that we can all agree upon: life is invaluable, irreplaceable, and inestimable. I presume you have head the poetic clichés heralding life, its glory, and its majesty. As flattering as the spoken word may be, sometimes it does nothing more than mask the cancerous trends that discount human life and mock our natural benevolence. Though our lips may honor the natural beauty of life, our hearts are often unfeeling towards its sacredness.

For some time, I have wrestled with these thoughts in my mind. Now that I get to enjoy the benefits of fatherhood, I have come to earn an unprecedented respect for the sanctity of life. This respect becomes even deeper as friends or family move on from mortality. Because of the life I have been given and the lives that have surrounded me, I am more whole and more fulfilled. Life increases my joy. Nonetheless, my joy encounters bold contrast of heartache, sadness, and death.

Society appears to be accepting and even celebrating practices that overtly discard, devalue, and dismiss human life. On a daily basis, I hear or view dialogue that praises abortion, sanctions suicide, or ignores genocide. While each of these acts disturbs me to my core, I think the thing that bothers me most is the attitude with which society approaches “life” related issues. We are too callous, too arbitrary, and too derisive in our treatment of life.

Understandably, these issues can evolve into highly polarized debates regarding morality and ethics. These topics have been debated ad nauseam in news-cycles and on campaign trails. At first, I had determined that enough is being said on the subject. But as of late, I have grown uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable with knee jerk accusations. I am uncomfortable with people’s attempts to build their résumé as “world’s most open-minded intellectual”. Above all, I am uncomfortable with the flippant and inconsistent attitude towards life, especially human life.

Why should we consider this attitude so heinous? Perhaps it is because such attitudes reject the feelings and responsibilities that make us human in the first place! Think about what it means to be human. Consider the following words and their corresponding definitions:

Humane – A characterization of tenderness, compassion, and sympathy for people, animals, and life.

Humanitarian – Having concern for or helping to improve the welfare and happiness of humans.

Humanity – The quality of being humane, possessing kindness, and showing benevolence.

Do these definitions seem consistent with the socially popular attitudes towards life? Doesn’t seem so does it? In fact, some other words come to mind: inhumane, dehumanize, subhuman, nonhuman.

I don’t strive to place a broad blanket of guilt and shame over society. I would point out that everyone, excluding a depraved super-minority, possesses humanitarian attributes. Naturally, most of us condemn murder and discourage suicide. The humane part of us knows these acts are wrong. 

However, we are sometimes erroneously selective in our feelings towards human life. This selective humanitarianism tends to increase unchallenged and unnoticed in modern society.

Probably the best way to illustrate what I mean by “selective humanitarianism” is to provide you with a few examples of its practice:

We plead and pray for the lives of depressed and suicidal friends, but some applaud the broad and liberal requirements for assisted suicide.

We demand protection for our local communities, but some willfully ignore the slaughter of men, women, and children seeking refuge.

We campaign for the protection of women and girls, but some keep their silence regarding the practice of gender selective abortions.

We scorn the senseless destruction of eggs, nests, and habitats of protected wildlife in order to give voices to the voiceless. However, discarding the life of viable unborn human life goes unchallenged.

These are all real, modern examples of selective humanitarianism.

I argue that life is not selective. Life is not a discriminatory moniker, susceptible to the changing whim of individual minds and circumstances. If that were the case, my life and your life would be forfeit as soon as it collided with the convenience or ambition of another human being. Can you imagine the chaos that would result from following that philosophy universally? Does scaling that philosophy down to the individual make that much sense either?

I prefer to see life as an inherent and self-evident designation. A designation earned through undeniable and unquestionable existence. Life is life, no matter from what angle you look. I witnessed this firsthand as I helped Chilean families overcome the emotionally crippling pain of a regretful abortion. I observed the lasting consequences of suicide in the lives of people who are left to pick up the pieces. In contrast, I witnessed the joy and satisfaction of forgoing abortion in favor of adoption. I have observed the enduring influence of a spared life. Life, by its very nature, is celebratory and sacred. In contrast, death is somber and mournful in any form or circumstance.

There is a lot to be said on this subject. Conversations regarding life can become complex and emotional. While the topic may be complex, we can still treat it with a high degree of respect. Life is too precious and important to treat it any other way than the way that it deserves.

Overreaction and the Parable of the Sewer Snake

I consider my rural upbringing a blessing. Overall, the comforts and experiences from country life benefited me more than a person might expect. That is not to say that our rustic lifestyle denied us some luxuries. Unlike our urban contemporaries, my family depended on a primitive sewer system. While most households never worry about waste beyond a daily flush, the Gulbranson house was inescapably attached to a nearby lagoon. Waste siphoned from the house found its way to the lagoon by means of simple tubes and plumbing. For the most part, the system worked efficiently. For the most part…

On the odd occasion, the system would malfunction. Cold winters and faulty tubing sporadically created issues that would require fixing. Seeing as my parents were frugal do-it-yourselfer’s, we often disregarded decades of advanced plumbing science and expertise in favor of cheap character-building labor. These were win-win situations: my parents got the problem fixed for next to nothing, and we siblings learned how to put up with other peoples crap.

On one occasion, the system malfunctioned during one of my parents trips to Seattle. I had hoped their absence would have warranted a visit from a professional. After all, a teenager with zero guidance or supervision could never hope to repair the problem alone. Plus, I was not eager to show up to my high-school smelling like a musty septic tank. But alas, my father arranged for Jared, my oldest brother, to visit our home to help me do the work. Jared’s lengthy experience with the family sewer qualified him for the unsavory job. Likewise, my age and position in the family hierarchy qualified me for the grunt labor.

That summer afternoon, Jared showed up to our house with all the necessary tools and equipment. The main piece was a heavy sewer snake rented from the local hardware store. Together, we heaved the sewer snake across the lawn and down into the lagoon. Knowing full well what awaited us in that lagoon, we walked gingerly around it’s shore, carefully avoid the blackened liquefied contents. Once we approached the drainage system, we set up shop and inserted the sewer snake into the obstructed tube.

The job was simple: remove the blockage from the system to allow the free flow of waste. My job was to extend and retract the snake as needed. Jared held the equipment steady as I dutifully cranked the handle back and forth and back and forth. No matter how careful we were, the job was never clean. Completing the work always meant getting your hands... um, dirty. In my juvenile wisdom, I forewent the choice to use gloves. Gloves made cranking the handle slow and inconvenient. I wanted the job done quickly. So I ignored Jared’s advice and worked barehanded.

After dozens of cranks, the snake extended far enough to reach the blockage. It took only minutes to break up the obstruction. All that was left was to retract the lengthy flexible auger. With great anticipation, I whirled the handle hurriedly. Every rotation brought us that much closer to job completion. Watching for the final length of auger, I focused on Jared’s hands as they guided the snake from the white pipe and into the coiled metal case. My carelessness would end up costing me dearly.

With a nasty jolt, the heavy metal crank stopped sharply. Jared looked back just in time to witness me yanking my finger from the tight coil of unforgiving metal. I jerked back my hand in immense pain, hopping and shaking it vigorously to soothe my throbbing index finger. When that failed, my brain followed up with the next instinctive action. Without any thought, I desperately raised my hand to my face.

Gasps immediately followed my action; first Jared’s and then mine. It was too late. My bare and soiled hand had passed beyond my lips and into my mouth. The realization was as rancid as it was embarrassing. In horror, I removed my finger and frantically spit at the ground. Between the gags and the dry heaving, I continued to spit. Jared watched, unable to breathe due to laughter. The pain of humiliation immediately replaced the pain of pinched fingers. All my family would hear of my mistake, and I knew they would not let me forget it.

In any other situation, such a reaction would have been reasonable. I’ve struck my fingers with hammers and other tools before and reacted in exactly the same way. Our natural reflex guides most of us to respond in such a way. In that light, my habitual reaction may have seemed sensible, if not logical. However, the circumstance and context of the situation made my reaction entirely foolish. 

Rather than react with levelheadedness and pragmatism, I allowed impulse and emotion to exaggerate my reaction. I had overreacted, and I ended up paying the price.

Thankfully, the price I had to pay was limited to a vulgar taste in my mouth and some minor shame. Minor consequences like embarrassment and inconvenience usually accompany overreactions like mine. But there are many instances when our overreactions carry heavier consequences.

In extreme cases of overreaction, we might have to endure disgrace, ill-repute, disaffection, heartache, or ridicule. Every time we freak out, lose our cool, or stew about, we place our reputation at the mercy of other people’s negative perceptions and estimations. Of course, our character is not defined by the opinions of others. But it is defined by our behaviors and attitudes. And as explained by Albert Einstein, “Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character.” If we are serious about the quality of our character, then tempering our passion and disciplining our conduct become very advisable goals.

However, this type of discipline garners little respect in many societal circles. Instead, our grievance culture urges us to react, demonstrate, contest, and crusade against trendy evils and injustices. Fight back against police brutality! Stand against patriarchal bigotry! Resist income inequality! Abolish big game hunting! These calls to action are nothing more than invitations to overreact, wrapped in misapplied verbs and delivered in an envelope of shallow perception. Sure, the causes possess some elements of truth. Injustices exist and should be dealt with accordingly. However, most movements have evolved past the stages of activism and into the stages of overreactivism. This rapid evolution can best be accredited to the flagrant dismissal of facts, context, and expertise. Instead, the masses often establish credibility, truth, and reality in the form of likes, shares, of digital commentary.

This macrocosm of overreaction would be impossible were it not for the mortal weaknesses of the individual. The large scale dramatics give adequate testimony to our personal struggles with overreaction. We all possess a flawed degree of impulsiveness and sensationalism. Combining that flaw with ample opportunities to overreact allows us to perfect our imperfections. All experiences involving change, confrontation, criticism, and discomfort potentially serve as the catalyst for overreaction. The more piercing or vivid the experience, the more we feel compelled to overreact.

You, like many, might be fooled into the belief that you are above the frailties of overreaction. So, let’s assume that perhaps, on occasion, your behavior is less than saintly. Moreover, let’s take a more audacious step and imagine that you are an imperfect being. Do you think it possible that you possess a proclivity towards overreaction? Would you ever number yourself among the worrywarts, the defeatists, the hot-tempered, or the envious? If you would like an honest answer, you might find it by answering the following questions:

How do I react when my work is criticized?

How do I respond to genuine differences of opinion?

Do I even acknowledge that some differences of opinion are genuine?

Are my perceptions generally negative?

Do I immediately assume the worst of someone?

Can I candidly admit “I don’t know” when I don’t have all the facts?

Do I shift fault or blame without hesitation?

Do I temporarily dismiss my values on account of someone else’s weakness?

Do I stew at the success, fortune, or good works of others?

If you responded to this exercise of reflection with deep sincerity and self-candor, you likely possess a higher sense of composure. Naturally, we must not assume that you have the aura of perfection. In reality, you may struggle with multiple propensities towards overreacting. However, the fact that you were honest in your self-evaluation proves your capability of reflection and humility, both of which acutely contrast the practice of overreacting.

Others will respond to these questions less earnestly. This is to be expected – most of us fall into this category of denial and indifference. In our eyes, overreacting is someone else’s issue. We all like to pretend that we maintain a higher sense of levelheadedness or self-control. I cannot deny that there are some of us who are naturally calm and calculated. But for the rest of us, the habit of overreacting is a major stumbling block. If you are under this pretense, I urge you to remember that an overreaction is not limited to external outbursts or explosions. An overreaction is any response that is made more emotionally or forcibly than is justified. We can react irrationally in hushed speech, subdued thought, and even frigid acts.

In extreme cases, some people might respond to these questions with great offense, recoil, or hostility. If such is the case, we can very confidently diagnose such participants as overreactors. These are the people who fail to achieve a sentient or cognitive awareness of their behavior or attitudes. Disparagingly they will ask, “Who does he think he is?” Or they sarcastically quip, “Oh, he is one to talk!” They will fume, deflect, and belittle; it is what overreactors do. These reactions exemplify overreaction. Ironically, their disproportionate response betrays their own deep fight with emotions and maturity. To such is prescribed a healthy does of somber reflection and self-observation.

The overwhelming prevalence of heartache, betrayal, and mistrust in our world makes this topic exceptionally relevant. What prices have we had to pay for human overreaction? How many problems might we solve if we could approach them with dignity? How many compromises could we achieve if our responses were more measured? How much progress could we make if we acted more deliberately? Can you imagine what your personal life might look like in these conditions? Can you imagine what our world might look like?

I firmly believe that societal change and progress stems from the individual. With that in mind, I feel that addressing our personal habits of overreaction might be a good place to start. I say these things from the position of one who overreacts in every possible way; from the hidden boundaries in my mind to the open interactions in my community. And while my position does not presume the mantle of leadership, it does allow me to opportunity to invite.

Therefore, I invite you to continue shaping your character. I encourage you to avoid hastiness and impulsiveness. The more often you can react considerately and appropriately, the more often you will leave a positive mark in this world.

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.