Staring Down the Barrel of 2024

I went to the Provo City Center Temple the other day an hour before the start of an endowment session. I was all alone amidst a full session. I read the opening pages of The Book of Mormon, including this last verse of the first chapter. He made a quick departure from his historical account to make this editorial insert in the record:

I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance. (1 Nephi 1:20).

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints announced recently that there have been 200,000,000 copies of that inspired book of scripture published since the first press run of 5,000 copies in 1830. The coming forth of the Church and the publication of the book are themselves miracles that conventional wisdom would suggest never should have happened. The fact that makes conversion of each individual soul a miracle is the power of the spiritual blessings that accompany each conversion. 

I was asked for my birthdate the other day by a banker to confirm my identity. As the numbers rolled off my tongue, I commented, "That just seems like it was so long ago!"

And, indeed, as I stare down the barrel of a looming 2024, the gap between birth and death only grows larger. Someone wrote a poem about "the dash" years ago. I looked her up this morning and give her full attribution here:

The Dash by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
from the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
that they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own --
the cars...the house...the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what's true and real,
and always try to understand
the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more,
and love the people in our lives
like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering this special dash
might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
with your life's actions to rehash,
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash? 

As one who has recently entered the realm of widowerhood (is that even a word?), I find myself wondering what the date beyond my dash will be. I have the headstone for Patsy in the works in a quarry somewhere in Georgia as I write this. My name is inscribed on the granite block next to hers, but all that is missing now is that final date. So I'm still spending my dash. I wonder how I will be remembered. 

We have a large and wonderful posterity we created during our dash together here in mortality. At the threshold of this New Year, the slate is clean. What will I write upon it this year? It begins with this post to my blog. It has been said you can only wish people a "Happy New Year" for one week. I am within bounds here. 

We are embarking on a revision of my estate plan now. I am sponsoring an open forum among the children and their families to discuss their wishes for how I spend the rest of my dash. I welcome their input in the process. 

It sometimes seems like a daunting task with so many of us, all possessed of strong opinions and individual concerns. And, I would quickly add, really smart people. I have heard two words a lot recently - "impossible" and "unsustainable." Those two words have been weighing on my mind this morning as I write. Without context they are meaningless. I need more definition around the substance of WHAT seems so impossible, and HOW is whatever we are going to do unsustainable? 

The conventional wisdom from mental health experts suggests that we wait for at least a year before undertaking (see what I did there?) this task. No sudden moves, no major decisions, no lifelong ramifications just yet. We're still grieving Patsy's death. We are emotional beings. We are fragile. We can wait, we can assemble facts, we can posit solutions, and we can consult with estate planners. But let's go slow through the fact gathering stage.

I'm on board with all that. I love a deliberative approach. I want to do only those things that will bless and strengthen my posterity. Can a "one size fits all" solution be crafted? Probably not. Can we love one another when financial disparity enters the discussion? Can the "Pollyanna" high-level strategic vision be made to conform with a tactical plan that works? Can our feelings be held inviolate as we debate the merits of this or that? Can we make the impossible possible? Can we sustain the unsustainable? All these topics and more will be uncovered as we move ahead, ready or not, into a new year in 2024.

I wonder if anyone else "out there" might offer some perspective. I'm living what's left of my dash and I so want to get this right.

President Russell M. Nelson

I often turn to President Russell M. Nelson, now in his 100th year on earth, for his inspired insights. The man has experience - lots of it. He said:

"When you are confronted with a dilemma, think celestial! When tested by temptation, think celestial! When life or loved ones let you down, think celestial! When someone dies prematurely, think celestial. When someone lingers with a devastating illness, think celestial. When the pressures of life crowd in upon you, think celestial!" 

So, while I muddle along here in mortality I am attempting to do the "impossible" and the "unsustainable." I want to "think celestial."