"When Did You First Feel Like an Adult?"

I was reminded yet again this morning how grateful I have always been for the inspiration that came for my children Rich and Shauna to provide the Story Worth subscription to me. Whenever there isn’t a question waiting for me on Monday morning from a family member (and there have now been hundreds), then I get a random pre-programmed question automatically sent from Story Worth for consideration. Today’s is one such question.

The key word in this title to me is “FEEL.” The answer to the question is perhaps of more objective value to the young adults among us, and that is the reason I will attempt an answer.

In case you haven’t noticed, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has adopted lower ages for missionary service, and the response has been overwhelming among the members who have answered the invitation with enthusiasm. That includes not only my latest grandchildren like Chloe and Aleyha, Matthew and Amelia most recently, but I would submit we will continue to see record numbers serving in the coming years.

I think that is the first inkling of a “feeling” that I was becoming an adult. I had to wait until the ripe old age of 21 before I could submit my papers to serve, and back then wards were limited to two missionaries per year because of the demand for young men to serve in the Vietnam War. When I was chosen as one of two in the Federal Heights Ward that year, I was eligible and had the distinct feeling I was embarking on new and unexplored territory in adulthood. 

In rapid succession I was interviewed by my bishop, then the stake president, my papers were submitted to Church headquarters, and I received my call signed personally (not “auto-penned”) by President David O. McKay to serve in the North British Mission. Soon thereafter I was given my patriarchal blessing and entered the Mission Home in Salt Lake City for one week prior to shipping out to England. It was “adulting” on steroids for me. I flew overnight from Salt Lake to Chicago and landed in London at sunrise after a night of no sleep, then took the connecting flight to Leeds Airport, near Harrogate’s mission headquarters at Rossett Green.

I had been assigned as the “group leader” of the nine of us that day for our flight to Harrogate and I “lost” one of the elders along the way. Fortunately, we located him sleeping in a remote chair in the terminal in Chicago before our flight took off for London. My father had accompanied us on that first leg, as my flight coincided with business meetings he had in Chicago. 

When I said my final farewell to Dad that day, I knew for sure my childhood had ended and I would be embarking into “big boy” territory. That sleepy missionary was a constant source of trouble for me, even when I was serving later as his District Leader then as an Assistant to the President. He remained “lost” spiritually his whole two years. I had to open my missionary journal to refresh my memory of that story.

Life is a cumulative journey of awakenings for each of us, and the “formula” is going to be different for each one of us. I am now at the end of my mortal path literally and figuratively. I can look back now, which is the whole purpose of this Story Worth exercise I suppose. Even this morning as I pondered this question I thought of several instances where feeling like an adult for the first time had entered my consciousness.

I was a paperboy at age eight (long before minimum age work restrictions were imposed). I delivered newspapers from a two-sided bag slung over my handlebars of my Schwinn bicycle. I learned that by folding and banding the papers with a rubber band I could throw them onto the porches from the sidewalk as I rode by. The exception was having to get off my bike for delivery inside apartment buildings. That was all before ten-speeds were introduced.

In all four seasons I pedaled around a nearby neighborhood, then I had to go out monthly and knock on doors collecting the $2/per monthly subscription charge. I still remember how empowering it was to meet my customers on their doorsteps and ask for their $2. As one might imagine, I was greeted with all kinds of people on the other side of the door, some very kind and generous (even tippers), and others as mean-spirited and dismissive as you can imagine. I learned a lot about human nature as a young man, and it prepared me unknowingly for all those doors in England I would knock on later as a missionary going door-to-door with a message of the restored gospel in this dispensation.

Other jobs ensued as a teenager. I remembered just now an encouraging note from Mom in my lunch sack when I started a job in the maintenance department at the Primary Children’s Hospital. All along the way, Mom and Dad were supportive, encouraging me to find my independence in every way I could.

All these formative experiences contributed to my feelings of growing into an adult in time. I am grateful for the freedom they extended to me to “try my wings” as an upstart teenager, even when it meant encouraging me to forsake my wayward friends in the ward who were experimenting with the forbidden substances mentioned in the "Word of Wisdom." (Doctrine and Covenants 89). It was they who first introduced me to something called “pornography” in the basement bedroom of one of them way back in the day.

That one single decision to abandon them in my formative years proved to be the greatest determinant in establishing my own discipleship as a teenager, culminating in my call to serve as president of the East High Seminary in my senior year. That assignment cultivated a lifetime association with Elder John M. Madsen of the Seventy, who had served as a young Seminary teacher and our advisor when he was at East High too. He always made me feel like his peer, and his was a life truly worthy of emulation. Good choices, my dearest family members and readers, open the way to freedom and adulting here and now, and then the prospects of eternal life that I continue to aspire to.

Mickey Mantle

We often encounter examples of childish behavior in people we would otherwise like to enshrine as our heroes. Mickey Mantle was one of those people for me. He was a certified Hall of Famer later in his entire career as the centerfielder for the New York Yankees. I even tried switch-hitting because of his example, and I learned it was harder than he made it look. His career was prematurely truncated, however, because of his alcohol abuse, a fact he tearfully admitted to long after his retirement as he was dying of liver failure. It wasn’t uncommon in the ballplayers I saw during those years. Nicotine addiction was common also. There seemed to be no concern among those about coffee and tea, all forbidden substances. Word of Wisdom experimentation was the ever-present temptation to which many of my friends succumbed, and just like my baseball heroes their lives were tragically impacted by those early deviations.

I felt as though I were making critical adult and life-sustaining choices during those teenaged years. I applaud all of my posterity, each of you one by one in particular, for making the wise choices I see in evidence in all of you. Have the courage to continue on your path of discipleship. Believe me when I assure you that someday when you are writing your memoirs like I am these days that you will be filled with gratitude and the ability to look back in peace and tranquility.

For those who may struggle internally with your secret sins even as you are trying so hard to stay on course, let me gently suggest a visit with your bishop if needed. He is God’s servant on earth for each of you, and empowered with priesthood keys to bless your lives in ways you can’t possibly imagine until you counsel with him. 

The life of King David in the Bible is the classic example of one who seemingly “had it all” - wives and concubines numbering into the hundreds, wealth untold, absolute political power and earthly possessions. And yet, he was led into adultery and eventually planning the murder of a man who was married to the object of his lust. Be aware that none of us is exempt from the temptations of the adversary and all his minions.

So when did I begin to “feel” like the adult I became, as I’ve tried to lay it out this morning? It was NOT a blinding light from heaven, like it happened for Paul the Apostle on the road to Damascus as he was persecuting the early Christians. 

For me, at least, it was not a sudden burst of revelation. Rather, it was the cumulative experiences of a lifetime, just as daughter Allie said to me on Sunday at Chloe’s missionary farewell sacrament meeting - “One day at a time.” That’s how it happens for most of us, isn’t it? Don’t be too surprised when you stumble here and there along the path. The journey of mortality was never meant to be a casual stroll in the park on a sunny day. Even today, our normally spectacular Pine Valley is filled with choking smoke from surrounding wildfires as far away as Nevada. The smoke and haze, and the bumpy road is the only way we can ever hope to claim our blessings in eternity.

I am overflowing with love and admiration for all of you this morning. And, oh by the way, I’m still trying to “feel” more like an adult (he said with a broad smile on his face). I hope I can get it all figured out with my final hurdles in mortality still looming up ahead.

Be patient with yourselves and trust in the love of me, your earthly parents, Heavenly Father and your Savior Jesus Christ. Our love for you isn’t fleeting. Rather, it is ETERNAL.

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."