Monday, June 28, 2010

Seek the face of the Lord....

 Son of Man - by J. Kirk Richards

38 And seek the face of the Lord always, that in patience ye may possess your souls, and ye shall have eternal life.   (Doctrine and Covenants | Section 101:38)

I love this scripture.

Seek - The act of  "seeking" keeps us from drowning in the multiplicity of frivolous things. Our current world has much to offer that is of no consequence and no substance.  Seeking is an active expression of our true desires. Of course, it is possible to actively seek shallowness.

The face of the Lord - when you are face to face with someone you are in their presence.  You can know them intimately.  It is present and personal.

Always - Self explanatory!

Patience - We don't get there overnight, leap the building in one bound etc.  The possession of our souls takes time - a lifetime.

Possess - How great to be in complete control of our own selves and not be driven by our appetites, addictions, selfishness - our natural man.  This is true freedom!

Eternal life - Life!  Isn't life what everything worthwhile is about?  Does what we are about lead us to life or death be it physical or spiritual.  Abundant life eternally is what God has to offer.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Plug your ears.....

I'm going to gripe about a few things.



1 - First...the music played over the sound system at J.C. Penny's.  It just about drives me right out of the store.  You would think their clientele was on average 16 years old with spiked hair and nose rings.  They just did a remodel, added Sephora to their floorspace and "upgraded" their music.  Seriously - I've left twice now without finishing my shopping because the raucous song selection is so obnoxious.  I guess the one good thing is it's a plus for the pocket book.  If anyone knows any JC Penny powers-that-be pass this on! 



2 - This must be the month for annoying sounds because I will celebrate when the World Cup is over and the sound of swarms of angry bees are not BUZZING out of my tv screen.  The vuvuzela is on my hit list and takes the grand prize for the world's most unwanted musical instrument.  And I thought that the usual soccer chanting was a bit odd .....I'd welcome it back... anytime!!!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010



CRICKETS IN THE GRAVE FLOWERS
by James. G. Goode

When an old man dies,
A library burns to the ground…”
Sometime, somewhere,
Someone repeated that African proverb to me.
I think of that and feel
The hollowness in the sound
Of these crickets hiding in the grave flowers.
Homeless,
I wander across desolate plains…
Fatherless now,
I must realize that he will not step from behind the barn;
That when I hear a strange noise and turn quickly
To see him there
I will never be quick enough;
I will no longer touch the bristles on his face.

His hands were strong and veined.
I see them now,
At once, gone…
Once again, everywhere.
They touched this cabin wood,
This Chestnut sprout,
This Hickory bark,
These rough sawed boards.

Here, they rested on my youthful head

And firmly grasped my hand as a young man.
They touched this earth,
Raking in toil across the stones.


Say goodbye,
The Hemlocks whisper…
Say goodbye,

The Oaks echo.
His eyes will never again see Pink Lady’s Slipper bloom in May.
Say goodbye,
Say goodbye…
I cannot say goodbye.
I cannot say goodbye these Autumn days
When I ache from the loss.
I cannot say goodbye

As my symbol shuffles through the Maple leaves
Washing across this gray Earth.
He laughed,
But I never saw him weep.
He walked where flowers bloomed;
Spoke native languages in Haiku…
Brief messages of complexity found in simple things.

I studied him like the university he was…
Earned several degrees under his thick eyebrows ---
Sometimes eagerly lapping the lesson,
Sometimes resistant.
But a well disciplined student who listened with him
To Pheasant wings beating a woodland drum;
To Crickets under his hearthstone;
To the angry bee buzzing out of the Catalpa bloom;
To the music made by leaf colors falling…
A student who watched small birds search the snow;
Tall ridges comb the clouds;
Roses strive in vain;
Cloud ships in the sky;
Mules thinking of oats;Dogwood blooms falling on blue pond waters…

Today the library burned

And I felt it useless to start another.
But he would have demanded it.
“Look at the volumes you already have!” He’d say.
“Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild!”

This beautiful poem was sent to me upon the death of my father, Lloyd G. Frey, by Carolyn Frey Rasmussen's daughters, Lenore Robbins, Laura Jean Frey and Dearwyn Woodbury.