Wrap up

I never really had a set plan as to what i should write. I would just sit down and whatever popped into my mind first is what i would write about. I realize now though the majority of my blogs are lessons that i have learned, or things that have helped me. I feel that this blog was as much for my audience as it was for me. It is helpful to have a record of you thoughts. When things happen you think ah i will never forget that. This event is stuck in my memory. But, i always seem to forget details. Reading past blogs is like opening a photo album to my thoughts. I am grateful that Sister Steadman had us do blogs. Sometimes we are forced to try things we enjoy.

Stand together

This past week in church we had a lesson on the armor of God. While the teacher was describing the different peices of armor i began to think of past experiences. My brother and i have made armor in the past and fought with it. Essentially we got big sticks, and tried to kill each other. But i realized that some pieces of armor you cant put in for yourself. You need a good friend to have your back. And. even once you got the armor on fighting alone is very hard. But, if you stand beside one another and lock shields then there are few things that can break the line. The whole is greater then the sum of the parts. Since coming to BYU i have found amazing friends. For the first time in my life i have peers that i look up too. I now understand the meaning of the phrase. The strongest climb together.

Grow together

Before coming to BYU i never had really close mormon friends. I was the only active LDS kid in my class. I knew some folk who were younger then me. But, we weren't all that close. Since gettin here i have found tons of LDS friends. It is not that my friends back home were bad folk, i jsut could not share some things with them. They were religious too so church talks always turned into arguements. For the first time in my life i have friends who i wish i could be as them. I see them and think dang! they have got it together. It is so helpful to have the support group of great friends. It is interesting how we reflect nature. The greatest predators hunt together, the tallest trees grow side by side. Life is a group trek, not an indivdiual journey. Never be too busy to stop and help a fellow traveler. And, dont be afraid to reach out for a lil help of your own. You might just find a friend to walk with, afre all traveling all by your lonesome is not very fun.

Polishing the Diamond

Today at the devotional Bishop Burton offered an old chinese proverb he said "it is friction that polishes the diamond." He went on to explain that it is trials that teach us. Adversity is the greatest teacher there is. All the advice and words of inspiration mean nothing if we have never expereinced life. This does not mean we should seek out problems though. Trust me, they will come all by themselve. I have noticed that some people i know are always complaining about something. And i wonder, am i one of those people. I have decided that i need to smile at the cold, and bless the heat. Laugh when i fall down, and smile when i can hardly stand up straight. Bishop Burton made a very profound statement, it was something to the effect of "why build earthly anchors, when ya need to fly on high."

Running

I used to hate running. The thought of pounding my knees against the ground for miles on end was the last thing i would call exciting. But, i guess the reason why i never liked it was because i never really tried it. I was so busy playin sports in high school that i never felt the desire to go runnin. I had already ran plenty of sprints at practice. Since comin to BYU i have had to start runnin to keep in shape since i no longer play sports and it is reall quite pleasent, and a great stress reliever. I still miss the fast-paced action and contact of sports but runnin aint all that bad. I would say that i am still in the warm up laps to my runnin desire.

The Land

This past week i had the oppurtunity to spend some time in good ol' Blythe California. My Father and I saddled up the horses and went for a ride around the farm. It is nothing grand. But, i never realized the connection i feel for that land. It is just dirt. But, it is dirt that has caught the sweat of my family for eighty years. As my father and i rode i came to realize that no matter where i go in this world, or what i become that piece will always be a part of me. The rocks on the river edge have seen more stories then can be written. That land has felt more pain then can be realized. I am proud to say that I was raised on a little patch of heaven in the Palo Verde Valley.

Personal Narrative- Listen

slowly churned the sputtering coals with the charred stick. There was no real purpose to my actions. The sad excuse of a fire did nothing to warm my mood. I contemplated going to get more wood but then lashed back at my own thoughts, “I shouldn’t be on this dumb camping trip anyway! My dad is the one who wanted to come “experience nature”; he can go get the wood.”As I stood glaring into the fire, I felt the bitter cold creeping over my backside. I turned to warm my freezing bottom. This was a grand idea at first, until of course my nose became akin to a popsicle. It was in this inopportune time of frustration that my father said, “Isn’t it so peaceful Clint, to have a chance to stop and listen to the world, a break from all the hub-ub and racket.”
At this point I thought, “Well, I could just stay quiet and suffer through this night, or I could enjoy the evening.” I chose the latter. “Well dad I do find it lovely to stop and listen. However, all I hear is the sound of a wasted weekend.” I retorted in a mock sincere tone. I turned to see my dad’s defeated face. “Great” I thought “now I feel bad too. Ugh.” We sat in silence for a while. I entertained myself with things I could have been doing if I was not busy playing mountain man with my dad. Yet, his face seemed distant.
I now felt thoroughly like a jerk so I tried to strike up a conversation. “It is pretty nippy out here, huh dad.” He paused for a second, bobbing his head as if listening to an unseen orchestra, then said “I reckon it is round’ forty degrees tonight.” I nodded my head and asked, “How did ya figure that out.” He let loose a low chuckle. Then, he looked up at me, and with the fire dancing in his eyes he said “that reminds me of a story you’re my dad told me when I was boy. Would you like to hear it?” “Honestly” I thought, “no I wouldn’t, but there was such love in those old brown eyes I couldn’t say no.” So I nodded my head.
“Well” my dad began slowly “on a night a might like this one a boy and his father were campin’. And, the son asked his dad the same question. His father told him to listen to the crickets for fifteen seconds and then add thirty-seven. The crickets know how cold it is the father explained. The boy, trusting his father, listened and did some quick calculations. He then blurted out “It is just a hair over thirty five degrees dad!” So they spent that evening and many evenings after listening to the crickets.”
I sat patiently listening to my dad. However, I could help but think, “Well, they could just buy a thermometer.” But, I did not voice my opinion and I kept listening to his little tale. My dad picked a stick and began fiddling with it as he went on. “Years later that little boy grew up and became a very rich and very influential business man. He worked in the busy sky scrapers of New York and always seemed to have papers in one hand and a phone in the other. The father, growin’ quite old now, flew to visit his son one weekend. The boy was very busy, but he cancelled a meeting so he could take his dad to lunch. As they were walking down the bustlin’ streets of the Big Apple the father stopped. The son turned about and said, “No father, the restaurant is further down.” The father’s eyes smiled as he said “Can you hear the cricket my boy?” The son looked around at the passin’ cabs and busy business men and women. Slightly exasperated now he said “Dad, this is New York, not the mountains.” The father turned to his left and crossed the street. His son was getting’ frustrated now, “I got a meeting at two” he thought, “I do not have time to play cub scouts with my dad.” He caught up with his father on the other side of the street but as he opened his mouth to chastise his father about his foolish fantasies. The father turned, and in his cupped hands laid a very small cricket. The son laughed and said “Well dad those new hearing aids you got are pretty impressive.”
“The father slowly shook his head and murmured “No, everyone can hear they just don’t listen.” He then reached into his old coat pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies. Raisin’ his arm to shoulder level he dropped the change on the busy New York Street. As the money clattered off the sidewalk every soul within twenty feet turned to look.” My dad stopped. He turned towards me, and those brown eyes seemed to be alive as he said, “You see my son, the problem lies not in the ears. No, the problem lies in the heart.”
I sat there for a long time after that; watching the fire dance around the logs, fighting back at the cold night. Then I said, “Well, it looks like it has gotten a little bit colder dad.” I turned and smiled “we’re down to thirty five.”

Home talk

Billfold or wallet? Borrowpit or Ditch? Jockeybox or Glove compartment? Since coming to BYU i have learned a whole host of phrases that i never knew existed. And, i have gotten some queer looks for sayings i picked up at home. My dad always called soda sugar water. So i slipped once and asked for some sugar water. It was pretty fun to see the expression the cashier gave me. I would say it was a mixture of wonder between curiosity if her ears were working right, or if i was just clinically insane. But i really enjoy the soul that people bring through with their regionalisms. It makes english exciting. I mean how boring would life be if everyone called it a toilet. I think it is hilarious to hear: kamode, water closet, the study, and my all time favorite, the place of zen. I apprecate the flavor of english. How boring would a plain salad be. Na, you need dressing, tomatoes, maybe some carrotts. And, of course a few nuts. :)

Smile

Have you ever seem someone that just makes ya smile? you dont know them? in fact you may have never even spoken to them. But, there is just something about them that makes ya smile. That happened to me last night. I went with my friend liv to their ward thanksgiving dinner. While i was eating, a man got up and introduced an elderly lady. She must have been approaching if not surpassed 100. Yet, there was still so much life in her eyes. She spoke of service and love, of things she had seen and heard. Then, she bore her testimony. She told us how she walked the ground the savior walked, she has seen the grove where Joseph prayed. She spoke with power and honesty. Her voice may have been cracked from old age, yet her message was timeless. I will probbaly never see this sweet sister again. Yet, i will never forget the joy and happiness i felt as she bore her testimony.

the race

This weekend i heard a poem titled the race. It is an inspirational poem that highlights a boys struggle to win a race. And in the end he learns winning is not about beating other kids, it is "to get up each time you fell." This message really struck me. This boy did not fall once. "Three times he’d fallen, three times he rose again." Who says three strikes means your out? There are always more innings, more practices, more games. I believe sometimes we need to fail, so we learn how to fight back. There is an old analogy that people are alot like glass windows. Sure they are beautiful when the mid-day son shines through them, but when the sun is gone and all is dark. Only the windows that have light within will shine.

Pet Peeves

So...
It doesn't bother me when someone has a wierd little habitat like popping knuckles or biting fingernails. Na, that is fine. But i absolutely cant stand it when someone says they will be somewhere and then they dont show up. Sometimes they offer and excuse. And, there are times when honestly something came up. But lets be serious. If the prior plans were important to you the only thing that would no permit you to go would be a legit emergency. Double-scheduling or getting busy is just another way of saying. Your activty is not important to me. It is simple. Do what ya say. And, say what ya do.

S-N-O-W

So today i w0ke up, looked outisde and nearly choked. There was white stuff on the ground! I did some quick reasoning and i figured it wasn't powered sugar. Leaving only one possibitly. Snow. Yep,this is my first time waking up, rolling out of bed and seeing snow. I have played in snow on a few trips, but living in it. Man i am excited. On the bright side. It really is pretty. And, very peaceful. I was walking around around seven this morning and it was so calm. I actually liked it. Maybe i will be a snow convert.

An interesting arguement

SO.. My friend Kenny and I have an ongoing discussion about whether or not people who are raised in adverse settings can overcome their situatiuons. I believe that people choos who they are. You cant choose where you were born, or who your family is. However, anyone and everyone has the abilty to choose who they are. If it were true that surrondings decide a person then how is that great people come from horrible places. Why were Nephi and Sam righteous while Laman and Lemeul were wicked. To deny the fact that we all choose who we become is to deny agency. We are all in different circumstances and we all must face different trials. However, noble living is not limited to the rich. In fact the most sincere and loving people often have very little. This is because, as was discussed at last weeks devotional, "Adversity is the greatest teacher."

Cowboy Riddle

Sup,
I was driving home from my brothers house when i heard an old school country song on the radio. It is not very often that you hear the good ol' classics so i turned it up and tuned it in. The song was titled "Cowboy Logic." It was a pleasent little tune about how cowboys think in simple terms. One part goes something like. If there is work, do it. Put your back into it. and it goes on discussing cowboys views on life. There was one truly hilarious section where an old cowboy asks a young buck. If you saw three cowboys sittin in a truck, and they were all dressed, from spurs to hat, the same. How could you tell which one was the real cowboy. The young buck didn't know. So the old feller says the one in the middle. he aint sittin there by fate, he aint gotta drive, and he aint gotta mess with the gate.

Finishe draft numero dos

Hello again,
Welp. I just finished the second draft of my research paper. I have learned so much about the writing process and about my subjectt. THe biggest thing for me has been revisions. This is my second offficail draft but i dont know how many times i have revised it. Everythig from grammar to content. I also learned that getting help is (now get ready for this, it is pretty profound) helpful. I have emailed my paper to a few field experts back home and their advice has been amazing. However, their expertise is mostly the actual content. My English proffesor, Sister Steadman gave me some great pointers on organization, citation, and grammar. Overall, i am very satisfied with the final outcome.

He Speaks, Listen

He Speaks, Listen

A boy and his father loved to go camping together and one night while they were sitting around the fire. The father started teaching his son to observe the world around him. He talked about the movements of the sun and stars, and how you will never be lost if you take the time to learn where you are. The boy shivered and asked “How cold do ya figure it is dad?” His dad replied “I don’t know but the crickets do, count how many chirps you hear in fifteen seconds and then add thirty-seven.” The boy concentrated, did some quick calculations on his finger and then said “Wow, it is around 45° out here.”
Years later, the boy and his father met in Chicago for lunch. The boy had grown into a powerful businessman who always seemed to have papers in his hand and a phone to his ear. As they were walking down to the café, exchanging old stories of camping. The father abruptly stopped and smiled, “can you hear the cricket my boy?” The son just laughed and said “this is Chicago dad not the mountains.” In response, the dad walked across busy street and reached down into a small flower pot on the windowsill. The son followed him briskly, slightly annoyed at the detour. But, to the son’s shock the father was holding a small cricket in his hand. The son, a little flustered, said “that’s just cuz you got hearing aids.” The father slowly replied “no son, everyone can hear they just don’t listen.” And to prove his point he pulled a pocketful of change and dropped it on that bustling Chicago street. Every pedestrian with in twenty-five feet turned about and looked. The problem lies not in the ears, but in the heart.

Churchill

Hello my friends,
So i have a confession. Thanks to my rhetorical analysis paper i now have an obsession with Winston Churchill. I have read about his accomplishments before this, but this is the first time i have studied his style of delivery.
They say that their are opposites in all things, light to dark, day to night. I think it is interesting that at such a tumultuous time their were two heads of state with two very different yet very effective style. Churchill was a solid speaker, while Hitler was very emotional. This is not to say that Churchhill had no passion. Quite the contrary he is full of pathos. But, Hitler had a distinctive style of pronounce hand gestures. Churchill is a "bulldog" style, while Hitler was more of a "peacock" style.

Hands

Hey friends,
I penned this little poem during conference, hope you enjoy.

I roam this world from day to day,
meeting people while on my way.
I often hold their hands in mine,
And feel the subtle marks of time.
As I touch the stories written in their skin,
I can feel the soul within.
In my mother’s hands I feel countless lessons given
I feel the love that makes my life worth livin.
I remember one dark night
my father gripped my hand so tight,
And in that moment I knew it true
Those hands would do anything to see me through.
Yet, there are hands more vivid in my mind
That came to me in a lonely time.
I felt as though all joy had fled from my soul
And these hands came and made me whole.
I looked around, but not a thing I could see.
Yet, I knew, I KNOW an infinite love has touched me.
I continue to roam this world from day to day,
But I do not fear trials while on my way
For I know that when my burden grows to great
Those hands that bear the prints of love will take away weight.

Form

Hello my friends,
When i was a little lad i was obbsessed with a little book called "A Fly Went By." I would insist upon being read this story every night before i went to bed. If my mom skipped even one line i would pipe in with a "MOM, thats not how it goes." It realize now it is not the story i loved so much. It was the message i expected to hear. That is why i have favorite songs, stories, and movies. Because, they have a set theme i like to hear. However, it is not a constant effect my mood decides what i am craving.
For example, last saturday i watched "Cloverfield." To give a gross understatemnet it did not have the stereotypical happy ending. Yet, i still enjoyed watching it. The form was not the comfortable standard for me, but because of my mood i was down for a good mold breaker.
I realized that as a writer i need to be more aware of form. It does no good to turn the reader off because you were too radical too fast. Touchy subjects should be discussed very deliberatly. Not shying from your opinion, but knowing how to present it. Every crop has a growing season. If it is planted at the right time, and nourished with the right techniques it will deliver a fruitful harvest. If an arguement is brought forth at the peak of kronos, and it's form is properly presented readers will hear the message.

Style

Hey friends,
So as i was reading "Writing and Rhetoric" i came across the idea of style. I have come to realize that the books and articles i enjoy reading are not unified by certain content, but a certain style.
For example i love "The Last of the Breed" by Louis La'Mour, but i really enjoy reading Orson Scott Card too. One is a Science-Fiction writer and one is a western writer. So why is it that i like both authors. It is because even though both have different deliverance they are great story tellers. I had an "AH HA" moment. I love story books. As enjoyable as deeper literatute is, if i am going to read a book on my own free will, the it better tell me a good story. Even more imporantly, this story better have a moral.
Also, i realized my own writing style needs work. What breathes live into their writings is their personality. That is what keeps the reader attentive. I have decided to let more of my personal voice come out. It may be awkward at first, but i think writing like a robot is about as exciting as two catepillars race.
So i realized that our textbook really has some great advice in it. In fact if i had been given the assignment of titling it i would have called it "Hokey Pokey Rhetoric", cause it sure can turn writing around.