Good Luck Reminder for December

According to Lu Ann's North Carolina friend Ros, for good luck throughout the month, the first words out of one's mouth on the first day of the month should be: Rabbit, Rabbit. I don't really know if it works, but Lu Ann used to do it, so I try to do it every month in her memory.

And the Blogs Just Keep on Coming

Salem 12th Ward Bishopric Message: December 2007

Before I begin this month’s bishopric message, I need to clarify something in the interest of full disclosure: although we are united in all things as a bishopric, we don’t write the bishopric message collectively. We do them individually depending on who’s conducting for that month. Neither do we approve or edit each other’s messages before they’re put in the ward newsletter by Karen Ripple.

(By the way, to her credit, Karen doesn’t bat an eye at even the most outrageous of the messages we’ve produced, although I’m sure she’s privately shaken her head at us a time or two. In fact, I’d pay money to see her reaction when she reads this one! Karen just gently reminds us whenever we’re late in getting these messages to her. For example, I got a very nice e-mail reminder from her as I was drafting this message Thursday morning. The world would be a much better place if everyone could find such courteous ways of motivating other people to get their acts together. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I get more reminders from Karen than Sam or Jerry do because they usually have their messages in on time. Again, in the interest of full disclosure, I also get gentle reminders from Heather Sorensen, who puts together the Sunday program, whenever I forget to let her know who will be speaking in sacrament meeting when I’m conducting. It’s usually in the form of a phone message from Friday night or Saturday morning. Whenever I play those messages I hope Delys and Jack and Marissa are out of earshot, so they won’t know I messed up yet again. Heather has no such problems finding out the hymns or special musical numbers for sacrament meeting because Nedra Christensen, our ward music chair, plans the music months in advance. Note to Heather: Joy and Sheldon Maughan will be speaking on December 9th; we don’t yet have the high council speaking assignment for December 16th, but there’s a 63% chance I might remember to get it to you as soon as I get it from the stake; the bishopric will be speaking on December 23rd as part of our special Christmas sacrament meeting; and, finally, you and Karen and Nedra will be speaking on December 30th. I’m just kidding about the 30th, Heather and Karen and Nedra, so don’t panic. I just wanted to see if you were still reading this message. I actually haven’t asked anyone yet for the 30th, so all the rest of you ward members need to get ready in case I call on you.)

We do e-mail the bishopric message to each other at the same time we send them to Karen to avoid getting blind-sided by a particularly—how shall I put it?—interesting message. (My current favorite under the “interesting” category is last month’s message by Jerry Pingel listing all his blessings. Just thinking about that message always perks me up and makes me smile. Sam’s messages usually aren’t as “interesting” as Jerry’s are, if you know what I mean, but they always focus insightfully on something I really need to ponder. For example, Sam’s October message on the importance and pervasiveness of teaching in the Church got me thinking about how I ought to be more conscious of all my teaching opportunities—especially the less obvious ones—and do more to promote teaching in all the callings we have in the ward.)

As a bishopric we tend to trust one another completely when it comes to these messages. We know that the Spirit will direct us toward just the right message at just the right time if we’ll exercise some faith and prayer as we approach that writing assignment. We’ll also be able to articulate that message in a way that reflects our individual personalities and insights. Most importantly, we have faith that the ward members who read these messages in the right spirit will be blessed to understand how to make good use of them in their individual lives, no matter how “interesting” those messages may be. As President Packer recently reminded us, in sharing some essential council he had received from President Harold B. Lee, there are times when we just have to take a step into the dark and have faith that the light will then follow after us. (Kyle Weight once told me that after reading one of my more lengthy and diversion-filled bishopric messages, his father looked up from the ward newsletter, took off his reading glasses, and pronounced, “Good message, but it sure takes him a long time to get to the point.” Note to President Weight: I’m fairly certain that the point may be coming along here pretty soon, so please keep reading.)

We have a tradition in the Young Women’s and Young Men’s programs to make a visit together to Temple Square during the Christmas season to see the lights and to view the film currently playing in the Legacy Theater of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We made that annual visit this past Wednesday night. For those of you who haven’t had the opportunity of participating in one of these epic journeys, let me just note that it’s quite a task to get some 40 people, most of them youth, up to Temple Square on time; to keep them together in some semblance of order and reverence; and to return each of them safely home before their worried parents have called the police or the stake president. I’m thankful we always pray before we play, to invoke God’s blessings on whatever we’re doing and to avoid, as Janie Christensen used to say, ending up on the news or in the hospital.

We were to meet at 5:00 sharp, but, as usual, didn’t leave until 5:30 or so. Our plan, based on Wilson family practice, was to park in the underground parking lot at Little America and then to take TRAX (at no cost because we were downtown within UTA’s Free Fare Zone) to Temple Square. Although we tried to leave at more or less the same time, we ended up being strung out along I-15 with some of our drivers not knowing exactly where they were going. Nevertheless, we all managed to arrive at the appointed parking place, albeit at staggered times, and to gather at the TRAX stop by around 6:30. (However, all evening I was troubled by the sign I saw as I left the underground parking: “All Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Towed at the Owner’s Expense.”) At the stop, a discussion soon developed regarding whether to wait for the train or to go ahead and walk the 5 1/2 blocks to the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We decided to walk because we were impatient waiting and figured walking would be faster anyway, so soon we were all strung out again, this time along Main Street, with Kurt Christensen and his ever-present posse of deacons in the lead. (The height difference between Kurt and his boys is such that it sometimes looks as if the boys are dancing around a May Pole, but its advantages are that they rarely lose sight of their intrepid leader and that he always has an elevated perspective on them.)

(Note: I’m about to break my all-time record for bishopric message length, and I’m going to do it without any performance enhancers whatsoever other than Vitamin Water.)

(Note to President Weight: I’m pretty sure the point will finally show up on this page, so please keep reading. And no skipping to the end.)

Of course, when most of us were still chugging along at about 3rd South, the train we had been waiting for passed us by. We had obviously made a poor decision by not waiting, but miraculously all arrived at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building a good five minutes before 7:00, the time we thought the film was scheduled to begin. Kurt greeted us with the news that the film actually was to begin at 7:30, so we had a good twenty minutes to walk around Temple Square. The senior missionaries at the theater assured us that there would be plenty of room for everyone to see the film, Joseph Smith: The Prophet of the Restoration. After some trips to the rest rooms and some freshening up—Lydia, Julienne, and Adrienne decided to fix their hair and do some general primping in front of one of the ornate mirrors just off the lobby, which brought an anxious older sister missionary over to make sure they did no damage—we were soon scattered all over Temple Square taking in the beautiful sights and sounds.

Unfortunately, when the last of us lined up to enter the theater at around 7:20, we were told that there would not be enough room in the theater to accommodate all of us. We were half in and half out. For a few minutes, we didn’t know what to do. It looked like we had made another poor decision. Then some of the adult Young Women and Young Men leaders took the initiative and persuaded the ushers to let us look for some seats, explaining that we had come a long way and that our group had been separated. Fortunately, there were plenty of seats to spare, so we all got in the watch the film. (Don Wilson later noted that they needed a retired sheep rancher who has some experience counting large numbers to get an accurate count.)

As I was watching the film, which depicts dramatically the trials and sufferings of the early saints, I thought about how our group had ended up exactly where we wanted and needed to be, despite all the little problems we had getting there. I thought about how Joseph kept moving the Lord’s work forward, despite everything that hedged up its way, with his deep and abiding faith, tempered in the crucible of real experience, that this latter-day work would prevail against anything. And so it has.

So, after a chilly and lengthy wait at the TRAX stop, we boarded the train and rode together to the stop by Little America; found our vehicles still in their parking spots; and drove back to Salem safely, depositing everyone at their homes well before 11:00. To my knowledge, no parent called the police or President Silcox.

As I finally approach the main point of this bishopric message, I’m haunted by the final line of the film, a sort of rhetorical question postscript taken from Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 etched across the screen: “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

I pray that we in the Salem 12th ward shall continue to do exactly that.

Love, Bishop Snyder and the 12th Ward Bishopric

BYU Football and Carolina Basketball

Saturday was a brilliant day for the college teams I love the most. First, BYU defeats Utah in another close football game with an heroic last minute effort. Then, later that night, the Carolina basketball team defeats a very strong BYU team by ten, even though the game, as they say, was much closer than the final score indicates.

I've been a huge BYU football fan since 1971 when Lu Ann and I were freshmen and attended all the games. I used to sleep out in the fieldhouse overnight to get great tickets. That team wasn't very good, but LaVell Edwards was about to revolutionize their passing game with Gary Sheide in the next few years. The BYU basketball was better, playing its first season in the Marriot Center (or as we called it initially, the Big Mac, which didn't go over well with the Marriots, who owned A&W, or the administration). Kresimir Cosic, who should have his number 11 retired by the way, was in his junior year. He and Danny Ainge are the best players who have ever played here.

I've been a huge fan of Carolina basketball since they soundly defeated the University of Virginia (with Ralph Sampson), who had just rejected my Ph.D. application, in the 1981 Final Four. (Virginia, by the way, had defeated Ainge's BYU team to advance to the Final Four.) My Carolina obsession deepened when they won the next year's NCAA tournament, for Dean Smith's first national championship, my first year at Carolina, with James Worthy, Sam Perkins, Matt Doherty, Jimmy Black, and some freshman named Michael Jordan.

Now, with Bronco Mendenhall and Roy Williams being worthy successors to Lavell and Dean, respectively, my loyalties continue to deepen. Check out how gracious and complimentary Bronco was to the Utes and Roy was to the Cougars after the games. Both are class acts.

In short, I root for BYU football and for Carolina basketball--no exceptions.

When someone asked me whether I was pulling for the Cougars or the Tarheels, I immediately responded, "I'd root against the Quorum of the Twelve if they were playing Carolina."

Tithing Settlement Reminder

Just a reminder, kids, that we're heading into the tithing settlement season. Review Malachi 3 with your families and all the "windows of heaven" blessings that come from paying our tithes and offerings. I count all you foremost among those blessings that have come to me.

Just look at all the blogs that I've poured out on you lately. It could only get better.

The Talk That Just Won't Die

Yesterday I had my office door open for office hours. The Dean, John Rosenberg, poked his head in and mentioned that one of the youth speakers (a lovely young lady according to him) in his ward Sunday spoke on the "parable of the chewing gum" by Brother Phillip A. Snyder. John said he thought, "I know that guy."

He then asked me how the khaki trousers were doing. I said that they were just fine, still hanging in my closet, and then told him about giving the talk on repentance in Chapel Hill, having it published in The New Era, and then a year later hearing a Carolina freshman read large excerpts from it from the same pulpit where it was given originally, all while the entire congregation giggled. She couldn't figure out what was happening until she sat back down, and the counselor sitting next to her, Gary Hatch, pointed toward me and whispered something in her ear. She just buried her head in her hands.

I suppose The New Era article is filed away at lds.org so it's readily accessible to anyone who logs on.

No Country Film Review

At the outset I must confess that I'm a big fan of Coen brothers films, my top three favorites being Raising Arizona, O Brother, and Fargo. I'm also a big fan (and humble scholar) of Cormac McCarthy, my top three favorites being the Border Trilogy, Blood Meridian, and The Road. My children have accused me (not unjustly) of loving any film with the West and horses in it, so I must also note that No Country is, indeed, a Western and that it features a nice scene with two horses (one named Winston, the other unnamed). I like it that McCarthy and the Coens have the sheriff and one of his deputies riding out to a crime scene horseback.

In the film previews running on T.V. Roger Ebert is quoted as calling the film "perfect," which is high praise--especially coming from the big Chicago critic in the balcony. I wouldn't quite go that far, but it's a very fine film, an excellent adaptation of McCarthy's novel. The Coen brothers certainly did justice to the novel, something everyone in the Cormac McCarthy Society hoped and even expected they would do.

First of all, the casting is excellent, from the Tommy Lee Jones as Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, the sometime narrator and ethical center of the novel and the film, to all the the minor characters. Josh Brolin is even great as Moss. The one exception is Javier Bardem as Anton Chigurh, who is, let me hasten to add, terrific in the film. He just doesn't fit the character McCarthy created because Bardem is way too noticeable and memorable. In the novel Chigurh is much more non-discript, someone who could blend in easily with a crowd. There are other ways the film departs from the novel, but I'll just let those go because the Coens generally made good choices. The pacing is wonderful, as is the cinematography. The ending is brilliant, although several people around us didn't seem to like it very much. I resisted the temptation to give them a lecture.

Post-Thanksgiving Musings

It's sunny and around 36 degrees here in idyllic Salem, the city of peace. The traditional leftovers are in the fridge, including four kinds of pie: pecan (unusually good except for Jack, who's allergic to nuts), apple (classic), lemon meringue (spelled correctly the first time and made beautifully by Jack the first time as well), and pumpkin (if one counts that as real pie). The mashed potatoes were made from our experimental potato patch. We'll plant some again next year. The cows and horses are grazing and dozing in the sunshine.

Jack left this morning at 5:30 or so for Black Friday at Dilliards. He was not looking forward to waiting on, as he put it, people to go shopping at the Mall before 10 or so. I dropped off Steven at the MTC at 9 where he'll work for 12 hours (he picked up some extra shifts for those who wanted the day off). Delys was at K-Mart at 6 for the opening to be sure she could purchase some . . . items that will remain Christmas secrets. Now she's taking Marissa to the Mall to purchase some long sleeve shirts. It took Marissa literally 90 minutes to get ready. Unbelievable. Later this afternoon Delys and I are going to see No Country for Old Men, the new Coen brothers film based on the Cormac McCarthy novel. I think it will be terrific. The novel reads almost like a screenplay.

[Note: I can see several revisions I should make to the above paragraph, but, in the spontaneous spirit of the blog, I'm going to refrain, which is not easy for me. I'm not very good at spontaneity or non-revised prose.]

[Note: After I wrote the above note, I went to get a homemade roll for a snack, but when I got back in the chair,I had somehow forgotten my non-revision resolution. I added a few things.]

Thanksgiving was my father's favorite holiday. I think he enjoyed the leisurely pace of a meal that takes hours to prepare and consume. We never had a crowd in Fullerton, so the hustle and bustle were minimal. I like the energy of lots of people gathered together and pitching in to help with the meal, the table, the dessert, and the clean-up. We only fed nine this year: our regular five plus Delys's parents and Kathryn and Geoff (Delys's second daughter and Kathryn's boyfriend). I kept thinking about everyone who wasn't there with us, imagining their Thanksgivings in Boston, Scottsdale, Fullerton, Bloomington.

No offense to the children and their spouses, but I really miss the grandsons, especially Luke, because I'm so used to having the little fellow around. I was sad that I didn't get to see him last Sunday before he left with his parents for a week in Scottsdale. I was busy doing Church stuff. The last image I had of him was his heading out to the truck ahead of his dad and mom late one night after having spent the evening watching Ratatouille (another first time correct spelling)with everyone. He was really very upset, having been forced to put the bow and nerf arrow he had been playing with back in the toy basket rather than take it home. As he half-ran out toward the truck, I could hear him sobbing, "my bow and arrow, my bow and arrow, my bow and arrow. . . ." He is in a Robin Hood phase right now, as you might have guessed. I'll bet Heidi is Maid Marion and Travis is . . . well, I'm not sure: Little John, Friar Tuck, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Prince John? I'll have to find out. I think I'll play Richard the Lion-Hearted.

Establishing Good Luck for Another New Month

Rabbit, Rabbit.