Hecka Sweet Fireside in Idaho Falls Coming Up

Apologies for the Utah dialect in the title.

I'm sure most of you have heard by know about the fireside in Idaho Falls on Sunday night. (click her for all the info) Braveone is a major force behind it, I know the Matis's are involved somehow, and so is Ty Mansfield. Its a 60 stake fireside, and was approved by Kim Clark.

I'm sure my excitement comes from the fact that this is my home. Good old East Idaho. Land of my developement. Where my friend got cited for mooning from my car, where I went to school, graduated, and left for my mission; the place i first made friends, felt love, got in a wreck, felt depression, and realize I had a unique circumstance.

I love the Snake River Valley more than any other patch of ground on Earth. I love moving pipe on the banks of the river while the Sun rises. I love the desolation of the sage brush desert. I love the lava tubes, the sand dunes, the shooting ranges, and the river bottoms.

And the people, straight, direct, relaxed, plodding. Forgiving. Inviting. People care about strangers there. They say "hi" to unknowns, they don't deal with traffic issues, they live there because they love the land, and they love family.

It was also the place where my personal hell started.

That's why I'm excited about this conference. The Land I Love will get a "Matis Fireside on Steroids"

I've told about ten different Idaho Bishops about my same-gender-attraction, and SUPRISE, many of them were as clueless as I was. But growth and understanding is coming in the Church. My bishops were never mean, or hateful, or disgusted, but we both were confused, and frustrated.

In my view there is a tight rope trail being forged for faithful SGA saints. Those saints who fell the burning fire of faith in their hearts, who stick strictly to their covenants and believe in the validity of the Church and Gospel. On one side of the tight rope is the self hate, doubt, and depression we feel, because of the ignorance of the world at large. On the other is the pit of sliding apostasy, rationalization, and sin, fueled by these burning urges.

In the middle is the tight rope of faith and peace we can find as we stay faithful to our God, keep the covenants we have made with him, and overcome the doubt and depression and hate, with in and without.

This fireside has the opportunity to accomplish that. So shed light on that tightrope of faith. Help Latter-day Saints keep the balance they need, so they won't lose years or decades floundering between depression and apostasy. I hope it helps other young men of Idaho, find support from family and friends, and realize that "sweet is the peace the gospel brings"

Thank you so much to everyone involve. For so long the Adversary has used both sides of the tightrope to bring down the Sons and Daughters of the Lord. You are shaking the Adversary's grip he has on us, and that is why the opposition is so intense

j4k

You don't know what you've got til its gone

Sometimes I wonder if my medication actually helps--its probably just sugar pills right?

Well I've been off it since Tuesday, and it sucks.

Can't wait for lunch when I finally get my prescription refilled.

sorry if I've been particularly dramatic the last few days.

An Experience I Heartily Reccomend

Shakespeare: Sure he is a great play write, but for me he has always seemed to be full of baggage. Not his fault, but hundreds of years has added layers of dust to his plays. Dust of tradition, of propriety of "high" art.

To me, Shakespeare seemed like the type of thing you had on your bookshelf and spoke of at fancy parties with cheese and wine.

Well a group in Utah is shaking the dust of Shakespeare.

The Grassroots Shakespeare Company performs Shakespeare like they did back in the Bard's day. No extravagant sets, in fact the group makes due with many anachronistic props, but they realize the core of Shakespeare is his characters.

Actors in Old England usually only got their scripts a day or so before the play, and the scripts only had their lines with a the lines spoken before included. Audiences often wanted to attend the premiers because they discovered along with the actors the characters motivation.

Grassroots has similar scripts, they also have no director providing an overarching vision. The actors control their character and play him off the other characters.

All in all it makes for a very enjoyable performance. Romeo is played superbly, Juliet is the fairest maiden, and the nurse has a five o'clock shadow and accordian. The players clearly enjoy each other and are having fun. But their dedication to their craft makes this play truly enjoyable.

Tonight you have the opportunity to see Romeo and Juliet in one of the most unique venues in Provo. The Castle, located behind the State Hospital in Provo, is a mammoth rock structure with a amphitheater. Its truly one of the seven wonders of Provo.

Shows are at 7:00 and 9:00, admission is pay what you will. For FHE or just a fun night, give the Bard a chance.

(The play runs through July 5th in Various Utah Locations. Click Here for more info --------------- Click here for directions to the castle

Coincidence?

Just a quick note. The Matis fireside tonight was on self esteem. It was good, even if it was a little dry. Basically it was about how and were we get our feelings of self worth.

Anyways, I just got back from giving a blessing to a friend; the reason she wanted a blessing?

Self Esteem issues.

Coincidence that was the topic tonight--I don't think so.

God does live, and has a hand in our lives.

j4k

To the Girl Who Likes me

Hi, wow, this is awkward. But hey, just want to get my thoughts and feelings out there. So it turns out I'm not blind, or daft. But I do recognize your flirtations, your advances, and yes I do get your not so subtle hints sent through our common friends. You like me.

You like me not in the "lets watch a movie, get some grub, and dance to the jukebox" way, no its the, "I think I could see us having a intimate relationship, falling in love, getting married and have 13 kids way."

And to be honest. You have all the important things I want in a wife. You have a strong testimony, you even work at the temple once a week. You have a passion for life. No mindless TV for you on a Saturday night. You have freckles, but not to many. Its like miniature unicorn kitten hybrids danced on your face when you were born. Well that's weird, but you like my weirdness. And that's cool.

In face for an old fart like me to be blessed with someone like you to even give me the time of day, is pretty amazing, some may say miraculous. I feel for you. I hate that you are in pain becuase of your long time single. I hate the guy who broke up with you last April, for hurting you.

So last December after we went on our only date, I decided on a goal. I decided to make you one of my best friends. You see, that's really the only way a relationship can work for me. Its got to start internally and then become physical. You see, for the longest time I've only been sexually attracted to other men. And that is still the case, But in God's grace, I have developed limited female attraction. Enough that a deep part of me hopes things could work out. That we could have a life together. We could have kids, a house, a dog, family night, vacations, graduations, weddings, and grandchildren. All the riches of the world, or the ones we both want.

They are all in my grasp. If I just pursue it.

But when I get to this point, the thoughts come. Dark, depressing, suffocating thoughts.

Don't you deserve a man, a real, whole man who can satisfy you carnally?

Won't it hurt you when you find out the only man who would commit to you is gay?

What would you think, if I revealed everything to you?

Could we really make it work? Down through the ages?

Am I strong enough to keep my vows?

These thoughts and many others careen around my head like pinballs.

Really I do care about you. I want you to be happy. I know many of those thoughts come from fear, depression, others who may or may not have my best interests at heart, but they are what keeps me from reciprocating your advances. What keeps my from moving to the next step.

I need to take the leap. You can make your own informed decision, for while I have some flaws, there must be things you see in me that make me worth it. I think I'm coming to the point where I can try. I hope you don't runaway while I tear down these castle walls, I've built for myself.

I'm coming. Please wait.

Faith in Christ can sweep our guilt away and sins away. (see enos)

What

You know, a lot of people view the guillotine as some sort of barbaric torture device. It’s quite a simple machine really, a large metal blade suspended in a wooden frame waiting to be release so gravity can drive it down into the neck of the waiting soon-to-be corpse. There is a thud, and—well you get the idea. After all, the guillotine only plays a small part in our story. A much larger role is played by a teenage boy, a certain kitten, and the boy’s mother.

I must confess, I am the teenage boy. We always seemed to have a surplus of cats growing up. Not that I minded. It started shortly after we moved into our house located on the edge of town a street that is now, as it was then, a farmer’s field. I remember we kids begging the parents for a cat. Our old one had come on the move with us, but decided she preferred her previous home and left. I was about eight. Dad called us all in for a family meeting. We had just gotten a new Siamese cat, and needed a name. My siblings and I thought long and hard, suggesting many names, finally deciding on Black Paw. An amazingly original name if I’ve ever heard one.

Black Paw was a normal enough cat. She ate mice, left mice as gifts for her masters and fought off dogs neighbor dogs when they’d come after her litter. We, her diminutive masters, took great care of her, lugging her around the yard, taking her bungee jumping off the fort, and even baptizing her in a puddle after a rain storm. We may have been a little rough on her, but we didn’t know it at the time—well, we might have known, but we didn’t hate her, we were just young boys. Anyways Black Paw didn’t seem to mind and she always kept us in with a fresh supply of kittens. However the never ending stream of kittens, from Black Paw and her successors was the problem. We just didn’t know it.

Through the years, our family grew to five boys and one girl, the house grew to accommodate and the litters grew. We pick up our story again when I was the oldest boy at home, after my older brother had left to play ball at the College of Southern Idaho. The matriarchal line of our kittens was unbroken. Foxes, disease, and old age took some of the cats, but we always replaced them. Our names got better as well. We had, What, Akomode, Anakin 1,2 and 3, Fatso and The Cat That Threw Up, among many others.

The best part of having so many cats was there was always one around to grab and hold. One night I grabbed What and headed down to the basement to watch a movie. While I was sitting in the beanbag, rubbing What’s belly I felt a sticky liquid. It pooled up in my hand. What was salivating, and not just a little, it was like a spigot had been turned on. I quickly wiped my hand on the beanbag, took What outside, and returned with Meow Meow, selecting a different chair. My brother came down and was excited to see the vacant beanbag. He launched himself quickly into the beanbag, and—well lets move on; he’s just a minor character.

The problems weren’t just confined to What. We had other cats with problems, none as bad as the continual salivating. One would per as loud as an engine, but only when he as mad. One had a leg about twice as long as the others, but soon died. As best as we can tell, the same tomcat had been the father, for so many generations the DNA got all screwy. Whether or not that is the case we had some messed up cats. What had her first litter shortly after she turned on her mouth faucet most of them were stillborn.

What got worse. When I picked her up her hair would fall out. The drool as so incessant holding her was a chore. Then tumors started showing up. By this time What had another litter of kittens in her. She was clearly in pain. My heart ached as she tried to move around and get food. I knew she wasn’t well.

It was a fall afternoon. I came home from football practice and walked into the kitchen. Mom was standing there, her normally cheerful face creased with lines. But at least she was still making some yummy cookies. She told me What had tried to go into labor, but a tumor had kept the kittens from exiting. It was sick. I didn’t want to go anywhere near that cat. I wanted to throw up when I got close, and could see the fetus’ head sticking out. Then Mom told me that I needed to take care of it.

Me? Why not Dad? Why can’t we just take her to the vet? Why was Mom, who wouldn’t let me take hunter’s education, asking me to kill my cat? I guess, because I was the oldest home. I was the man of the house. The one who did what had to be done. Dad was out of town and this needed to be taken care of now, before the younger kids saw her. I’d never felt that responsibility before. I’d never felt like I was where the bucked stopped. But that day it did.

“It’s time,” she said. I was left, not only to do the deed, but to figure out how. I looked down at What. How do you kill your pet? Maybe I’d drive out to the Arco Desert, and leave her. She would be dead in a day or two. It’d be easy. I looked down at her. Two days was too long. A bag! Yes I’d get an old potato sack, put rocks in it, and throw What into the river behind our house. But drowning? I looked at what. I picked her up. I didn’t care about the saliva that got all over my arms. I could tell she was in pain. We didn’t own a gun. I thought about getting my friends and shooting her, but what if I missed? What if she didn’t die right away? I needed to honor What in the way I ended her life. She needed to know that her master wasn’t looking for the easy way, but for the best way.

Then I remembered something I learned at school. The guillotine was actually a revolution in execution. People look at it as and think its dreadful, but in a time when one might be drawn and quartered, or burnt at the stake, the guillotine offered a quick death, with only a split second of pain.

I looked at What in my arms. I carried her with me as I went to get the shovel. Then I carried her to our back berm and dug her grave. I picked What up, stroked her a few last times, and placed her on her back, looking up at me. I said a few words, placed the shovel where it needed to go, and pressed down hard.

I felt strange walking back to the house. I don’t know how one should feel after putting down their pet. Somber, morose, come close. There was also a sense of honor that I had taken care of my pet. I didn’t leave it to some veterinarian. Nor did I abandon her in a hopeless situation. I knew what needed to be done, and I did it the best I could.

I didn’t talk much the rest of the day. I didn’t go down the basement to play Nintendo with my brothers. Mom told the other kids what had happened. And while I missed What, I remember sleeping well that night