We Thank Thee For This Food

Why is it that, even after so many years, the belief that we must ask the Lord to "please bless this food that it will nourishenstrenthenareboddies" lives on? For so long has the irony of this vain repetition been brought to our attention that I have actually had the audacity to believe that most people would start to question the purpose of the phrase in order to find the appropriate meaning and thus restore purpose to the prayer and remove the impotence.

*Microsoft Word just told me that the previous sentence was too long and I should consider revising. Not gonna. Just read it again if you need to.

While I have noted some change generally, too many infractions persist. And, since the solution is so easy - found in this very blog post (yes, I am so bold) - I am convinced that such violations could be smothered out in one year's time.

You may think "but we have to bless the food."

In a manner of speaking, I agree. But please allow me to change the perspective.

We have to acknowledge God and be grateful for the food. That is the action of "blessing the food."

Do you realize how fortunate you are to eat? Do you? DO YOU?

That whole some-kid-in-some-third-world-country-is-starving bit that your mother used to say isn't just a saying. You actually ARE so very fortunate to have whatever you have, because the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away (Job 1:21).

If you realize this, then your heart can begin to swell with gratitude for the Lord's kindness and recognition of His mercy so prevalent in your life (say, for example, at least three times a day, or in the case of Leah, who refuses to conform to our bad standard, 5 times).

You will then realize the importance of saying a prayer before eating, and that the sincere and earnest praise "I thank thee, O Lord, to have this" is all the blessing that food needs, because it's what the Lord wants from you - your recognition of His hand in all things.

"And [Jesus] took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude. And they did all eat, and were filled" (Matt. 15:36-37).

That food will be blessed to your "nourishenstrenth" because of your very attitude towards it and your recognition of its ultimate source.

So, next time you're about to take a bite and you realize you haven't "blessed the food yet," remember that closing your eyes and saying a robotic phrase does nothing more for your nourishment and strength than does buying a gym membership during the first week of January. Because even after you mutter, you still haven't blessed the food. And you won't. Not until you're truly grateful.

A brief thought on accepting truth

Several years ago, I created a profile on eHarmony and then I paid extra money to receive a full personality test from the experts behind the site, whoever they were. Never before had I completed a personality test, but the idea excited me because self-improvement and psychology are two of my biggest interests. When I read the results, I was fascinated at how specifically they pinned me down! These weren't horoscopic generalizations - these were scenario-specific assessments.

After 5 years, I grow more and more amazed at the descriptions of me in that personality profile. One in particular that relates to this post deals with the section called "Openness." This is the description in the overview of the "Openness" section:

This section looks at your school of thought to determine how firmly committed you are to the beliefs that govern your thinking and guide your behavior. It also explores your curiosity about and receptivity to new ideas - whether they energize and inspire you or do nothing to shift your existing worldview.
The range covers between being "content" or "curious," and is then divided into three more areas (information processor, inquisitive, perceptiveness), each of which are rated on a 5-point scale from "very low" to "very high."

Are you still with me? Please review that information in case you are lost. I don't want to go on without you.

My overall assessment is "curious," and my inquisitive level is "very high." Allow me to include some of the things stated about me in this assessment.

"Positive reactions others may have towards you (regarding this personality trait):

"You inspire others to take risks they might never consider and add color to what otherwise would be a "blah" world.

"Negative reactions others may have towards you:

"Your mind races too quickly and dangerously for those who prefer safe and simple thinking."

I have definitely seen these results in my life. All too often. Perhaps I won't say too often, because I rather like it this way. I love my "quick and dangerous" thinking. Furthermore, regarding my "openness," this is "Me in Five Words," as they put it:

ORIGINAL

BOLD

QUIRKY

OUT-OF-TOUCH

UNIQUE

I could live with that as my epitaph. Or I guess die with that.

On to the descriptions about my inquisitive nature. I am one inquisitive person. Or, as the profile further explains, I am "the inquisitive child who never stopped asking "Why?" Where most people would ask a question, get an answer and be satisfied, you press on."

I am not alone in this, I know. My purpose here isn't to write an exposé on what an enigma or exception to the rest of the world that I am. The intent is to paint the backdrop of an idea or behavior that I wish to highlight. The fact that I happen to be an embodiment of this idea is purely coincidental.

Because eHarmony is a dating site, the example given to me to illustrate the above assessment deals with a question that might be asked regarding the differences between men and women. It continues:

""Why do men and women deal differently with problems between them?" "Men are problem solvers and want to find a solution, while women are more interested in relating so they want to talk things through." Enough for some people. Ah, but you want to know more, like "Is this a difference in their brain structure, or is this something learned through cultural influences?" Probably some of each.

"Enough then, right? Not so fast. "But why don't cultures just alter the way we nurture women and men and try to resolve this difference?" And on and on and on. Why? Why? Why? Your curiosity keeps you stimulated, it keeps you thinking and exploring and growing.

"You're always seeking out new facts, or new interpretations of known facts, or new comparisons of various interpretations ... well, you get the point. You just keep pushing out the edges of the envelope, hungering for more information, more understanding.

"Like few in the group, you have a way of taking conversations to a higher level by asking - and sometimes answering - questions no one else is dealing with [or willing to deal with, I might add] and pushing everyone forward toward new knowledge."

As I said, I'm an embodiment of this idea, not the embodiment. I only tend toward this behavior, but due so "very highly," as they say or "almost always."

What a truly dull world to be content with one layer of answers or superficial information or superficial understanding of that information. How truly dull for me, anyway. I realize we all aren't like this. But let me point out a limitation of this "contented thinking" as it pertains to the discovery of truth in Mormonism, which is an extremely dogmatic religion and a highly-regulated one, too. And it would have to be, if it were to profess to contain or embody all the truth that exists in the universe (and it does profess as much, let me assure you).

There are those in my religion who often consider "doctrine" as only those things explicitly stated or uttered by those in the high leadership of this church. While such is certainly to be included as our "doctrine," this consideration puts the same person into the idea that unless they said it, it can't be accepted or regarded as "doctrine."

Here allow me to pose a question. What person won't admit that knowing 2x=4 means that x=2? Yet the blindness of the above approach keeps a person insisting that "we only know 2x=4. We don't know that x=2. It's not "doctrine." Show me where it says that. They've only said 2x=4." And I have known far too many people who looked me in the eye to say "such and such can't be the way things work," only to later agree with me after they heard a person in authority say it. So, it wasn't true when I said it?

I recently made a facetious comment on a Facebook post that shared an article on the EPA's "big announcement" on the harmful effects of fluoride. A friend of mine had commented with "What? The conspiracy people were right?" and I responded with "no, they were still wrong because this information wasn't true until they said it was."

Truth is truth because it is true, not because somebody you trust said it was true. We believe there are many great and important things yet to be revealed pertaining to the kingdom of God. So, will those things only be true once they're revealed? Aitch no! They're true right now and heaven forbid you discover something not explicitly stated in our cannon or by our leaders. Is this heresy? Only if I were encouraging you to believe something that contradicted what our church leaders have explicitly said. And I am advising nothing of the sort. I already stated that, as a starting point, we certainly must accept as true the things our prophets have revealed to us.

But you don't have to wait for something to be true until someone says it is. Open your eyes and dare to learn. Dare to broaden your understanding. And realize that although the prophet hasn't (and may not) reveal to us all things that are possible to be learned regarding our doctrine, we can and should still seek to learn such "hidden things" (see Doctrine and Covenants 101:33; 121:13; 76:7; 124:41; and 121:18).

Remember this bold statement by Brother Joseph, the prophet of our dispensation, in which he commanded us to seek them out anyway, regardless of who did or did not say it:

"We should gather all the good and true principles in the world and treasure them up, or we shall not come out true Mormons" (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, 316).

"Well, if it's doctrine then how come none of the Brethren have ever said so explicitly or directly?" you might be tempted to ask.

I respond with the following scripture. It's explicit enough that even these people can't object to its application in such a discussion.

Alma 12:9-10 (9-11)

"It is given unto many to know the mysteries of God; nevertheless they are laid under a strict command that they shall not impart only according to the portion of his word which he doth grant unto the children of men, according to the heed and diligence which they give unto him.

"And therefore, he that will harden his heart, the same receiveth the lesser portion of the word; and he that will not harden his heart, to him is given the greater portion of the word, until it is given unto him to know the mysteries of God until he know them in full."

So use your brains. Open your minds. And solve all of the functions given to us. Some are as simple as 2x=4, and some are complex derivatives that will make your hair fall out. But learn truth, and dare to stand by it. Dare to believe it even if nobody else has or will, or even if nobody in authority has stated it. Because somebody in authority has given you permission to do so, as listed above. Though, you didn't need his permission to do it, either, and he would have agreed. On that note, I conclude with another quote from Joseph Smith relative to the frustration vented in this post.

"There has been a great difficulty in getting anything into the heads of this generation. It has been like splitting hemlock knots with a corn-dodger for a wedge and a pumpkin for a beetle” (Discourses of the Prophet Joseph Smith, 146).

Paintballing - First Time in 13 Years

I grew up playing the role of a typical boy - I loved guns, and I loved to play war. My brothers and I often talked about going into the army together. Almost all of our activities incorporated guns (sometimes with toys as sophisticated as plastic replicas but often just sticks that were bent enough to have a "handle" and a "barrel"), or some special mission we had to accomplish, some enemy we had to avoid, and one or more of us "dying" along the way. We felt like warriors. Soldiers. Heroes. But as I entered my teenage years, it wasn't enough to try and shout shooting noises or effects across the yard at each other and then argue for two minutes about who shot who first.

Then I discovered paintball.

I was so excited about it. We could actually shoot each other, and leave no doubt about who shot who first, and be safe in doing so. Or, at least relatively safe. Or possibly safe.

The only problem - playing the other way was cheap (or free). My first paintball gun cost me about eighty dollars. But then I had to buy a protective mask. That was about thirty dollars. Then I had to buy CO2 cartridges - nine dollars. Then paintballs - twenty dollars. And keep in mind I purchased all these goods from the lower middle class super supplier - Walmart. So in no way did I spend a great deal on this equipment, strictly speaking of paintball.

About $140 just to start.

But wait. I couldn't start. I was ready to shoot, but who was gonna shoot back?

Of course, I briefly enjoyed the thought of continuing the way we had always played, except this time nobody could argue with ME when I shot them, but I could deny all day long that they missed. Obviously that wouldn't fly. Nobody would play.

So I had to begin the crusade of trying to convince my friends to buy cheap paintball gear so that we could raise the stakes and continue our activities on a more "adult" level, leaving the world of make believe behind, once and for all (or so I thought).

My success was largely non-existent. Only my best friend bought into the idea, on both counts. So, now I had somebody to shoot at who could shoot back! For the next year or so we played many one-on-one duels. And of course, in an effort to involve all of our friends, we would switch off who got to duel each other. However, my friend and I bore all the cost of buying more paintballs, CO2, and maintaining our cheap guns. Our friends enjoyed it, including my brothers, but none of them thought the cost was worth it for them to buy their own gear.

So it faded. And I had just purchased a new big container of paintballs (1000) and a box of CO2 cartridges. Lame. *sigh* Oh well, maybe some day.

Years later, I tried to revive it (around my senior year), but to no avail. I had since moved, so I didn't even have ONE other person to play with.

As my parents moved three times, my paintball equipment continued to get moved around from basement to basement, growing dust. I don't know why I didn't throw those paintballs away.

Fast forward to this week, 2013. More than 13 years have passed since I played paintball. One of my hometeachees told me that he was into paintball and airsoft. I told him that I had once been into paintball, but that it was generally too expensive, so I switched to airsoft in recent years when I discovered more friends who played it (and could more easily afford it). He seemed to be motivated by the idea that I would join him and his friends in their shooting activities. So on Sunday he approached me to extend an invitation to join him and some buddies to go paintballing today (Wednesday, his birthday I might add - which I didn't know until today). I responded with a bit of excitement at the idea, and sort of half-committed (I was hoping that I'd be invited to airsoft instead).

But I want to become friends with this hometeachee, so that I can be a real hometeacher and not one of those fake ones, whose visits you deplore and suffer through while grinning your teeth. Also important to mention that this particular person and I are different. We have different personalities and interests (except with paintball and airsoft, so here's where I have to exploit). We are not only different, but he faces some challenges that can add more barriers to being able to "get close," so to speak. Or, not so to speak, just get close. I digress.

I also have another hometeachee who I don't know at all. I visited him for the first time 3 weeks ago and introduced myself and learned a few rudimentary things about him. Guess what. He likes paintball. He's not really into the religious thing as far as I can tell. At least, not yet anyway. So that makes being a hometeacher a difficult task, ESPECIALLY if you're a fake hometeacher. Because nothing yells "churchy churchy" like the request from a hometeacher to come and visit you to tell you to come to church or institute or other activities when they don't even know you, and don't seem to really care.

The thing is, we do care, but I'm on this side looking in. And I know that from the inside looking out it's too cold. Too fake. Too churchy-churchy and not very human. Or humane. Or, whatever. And to be honest, most of the time it's because we're scared of coming off too fake or cold or churchy churchy. Because we know we will! We don't want to. We just want to help bring others into a more abundant life in living the restored gospel. But a lot of times I'm just not good at it. Not naturally, at least. I have to think carefully before I speak, before I act.

So, I am painfully aware of the personable aspect that I want to ensure is present anytime I interact with people much less "churchy" or religious than I, but who are nevertheless people that I've been asked to look out for and to bring into the fold.

I want to take it seriously, but it's so scary. But I want to be a damn good hometeacher, so I've got to be a hometeacher that shows he gives a damn!

So I told my hometeachee that I was going to go paintballing with him. He offered me his extra paintball gun and CO2 tank, which I gratefully accepted, knowing that I was getting into serious territory, and my cheap Walmart stuff wasn't going to cut it against these pro-ballers.

Then I called the other hometeachee and told him some of "us" were going paintballing and I wanted to see if he'd like to come. He jumped at the invitation. I was elated. We made all the arrangements, and met at the battlefield around 6:30.

I got out my old paintball mask. So dusty after all these years. Well, technically it was dusty the day I bought it. It was, after all, mine. I made the mistake of spraying lens cleaner on the plastic to wipe off the dust. I wondered why the plastic was scratching so easily. A player at the field later told me that it ruins the plastic. Stupid me.

I then got out that 13 year-old bucket of paintballs, and my old gun. I went outside, loaded a CO2 cartridge (yeah, one of those 13 year-old ones), a handful of those balls, and prepared for the worst. I was certain the balls would burst inside the barrel, so brittle after all these years.

To my surprise, they worked just like I had bought them yesterday! I couldn't believe it. I shot about 45 of them and not one malfunctioned. This meant that I wouldn't have to buy paintballs for tonight. But then again, I only had about 800-900 in that container, and my hometeachee advised I have 1000-1500. So, on my way over to the playing field, I stopped at the paintball store and dropped $40 to buy a package of 2000 balls (I think they didn't come in smaller amounts, but then again I didn't ask. Stupid me.).

I got to the field right behind my hometeachee (the first one). When I stepped out of my car to greet hometeachee #1 (the second guy got there a little early and was already playing), I heard machine-gun-esque sounds coming from the playing field. I watched as literally thousands of paintballs created a deadly crossfire between two large groups that were hiding behind barrels and barricades, strategically advancing toward one another. Everyone was equipped head-to-toe like Batman - outfits, utility belts, the finest weaponry one could ask for. My hometeachee even told me his mask cost him $90. Wow.

I was really glad I didn't have to bring my cheap, old pump-action gun. I would have been a civil war soldier fighting against the Navy Seals.

I was scared. I was dead. Or gonna be, at any rate, once I stepped out onto that field - outgunned, out-equipped, out-experienced. Even though I had a better gun now, many of these guys had automatic triggers, not to mention a lack of conscience for the amount of paintballs they discharged (toward the end I heard a guy say "I just went through $60 of paintballs," as if it were normal).

I finally got out onto the field. Hometeachee #2 had on less clothing than I did (nothing covering his upper half other than a t-shirt and face mask - I at least had two layers of long-sleeve shirts), and already had a few wound marks of yellow, green, and orange "blood."

Please notice how many of my paragraphs start with the word "I." If you haven't noticed, this story is about my hometeachees, and what I had to go through in an effort to spend time with them and share some fun experiences. That's just another way of saying this story is about me.

The referee counted down, and then the crossfire.

"I'm toast," I began thinking. Despite the fact that I purchased new paintballs, I determined to use the old ones first. They worked, but they sure didn't fly straight. They kept people hiding behind barricades, however, and that provided necessary cover for my teammates. Didn't matter. Some enemy combatants flanked us on the left side, and while I defended toward the right, I experienced a painful reality - "In a real war, I just died," I mused.

Not knowing proper protocol, I stood up after I got hit. The referee was even calling out "HIT!" which is meant to help notify opposing players not to shoot the player standing up and walking out from behind his cover. Just then, I experienced dying in war all over again. Apparently I was supposed to raise my gun in the air as a white flag token to stave off further attacks. I wish I had known. It was embarrassing enough to die once in a battle.

My elbow hurt. And my entire back was obliterated. I didn't feel like a warrior. Or a hero. But I did feel like a soldier. A very dead one.

I took my place on the sidelines with other dead soldiers and idly watched as the battle continued. "What were they shouting at each other? These guys sound so serious. Are those battle commands? Battlefield maneuvers? Right 30? Snake 1? Middle 50?" But they all shouted back and strategically made their way up the field. My team was annihilated. At least I wasn't the only one. We were a dead army.

The next round ended for me in the exact same spot on the field as the first, and in similar fashion. Hometeachee #1 was on my team, and he and I were trying to coordinate a maneuver. My head was poking out from behind the barricade as I spoke to him, and three paintballs kissed me right on the cheek. Thank goodness for the mask. Nevertheless, it was a careless mistake. I didn't even die fighting. I died talking. Totally lame.

All this time hometeachee #2 was on the opposing team. He was new to this as well, he admitted. I noticed that each round we both would get out about the same time - namely, before most others. I could stay in the game longer if I just hid-out. But that wasn't very fun. I tried it. Boring.

When I exited one of the rounds, the girl who was there was talking about a guy who had just exited from the game with a broken pinky finger - apparently he tripped and put his hands out and it went badly. He was on the other team, so I never saw it from the other side of the field where I was.

Shortly afterward, I noticed that hometeachee #2 must have left while the rest of us were playing. "Well, he did get here early, and if he had to leave, maybe we wasn't keen on saying goodbye."

I never connected the dots. When I left later, I texted him with a message that said "Sorry I missed you when you left. Hope you had fun."

His response: "Yeah, it was fun. Sorry man, did you hear? I broke my finger."

"Freak! That was YOU? I'm so sorry! A girl said that a guy broke his finger, but she didn't say who. I'm so sorry!"

"No worries."

Do I feel responsible? In a twisted way of seeing it, yes. But, I take relief that he still considers the experience fun, and is even motivated to find out about that girl that was playing there (she was the only one). Not only that, but I have a very personable and humane reason to visit him - he broke his FINGER! So, in a very backwards sense of caring, I'm grateful for the opportunity.

If breaking fingers is what it takes, then so be it. But I'm going to be a damn good hometeacher, even if I have to die along the way.

On another note, hometeachee #1 and I helped dominate our last two rounds, creating an almost entire sweep of the other team. This was, of course, after he and I and his other two friends that were there played a round of just 4-on-4 and we were all destroyed in about three minutes. It was rock bottom for us. And this even right after the referee explained what all the lingo meant! We were even trying to use it. We weren't able to successfully apply it until the next two rounds, however. When we did, we proved very successful.

My paintballs, meanwhile, continued to zig-zag every which way. I never shot a single person. Nor did I use up all the old paintballs. That means I have 2000+ paintballs left over.

For another day, my friends. For another day.

La Noche Buena

The afternoon began to grow late, and many people of Los Tres Reyes still emerged from their siestas. Elena was eager for the streets to fill up with more market-goers – she only sold half of the banana leaves she gathered and tied last night. The aroma of tamales filled most streets of town as everyone made preparations for la Noche Buena. The thought of the celebrations that she would see at last sent a tingle up her spine. Of course, that is if she could sell enough to buy some bread and still have enough remaining to buy a gift to bring for Jesus, she reminded herself. She had her eyes set on the colorful, cradle-size throw blanket hanging in one of the stands. She had enough to buy it, but she was hungry and knew that her little sister would be, too.

Her mind reviewed the previous day and counted again how many leaves disappeared from the several tamale stands up and down the street. Discouraged, she remembered that in addition to selling everything in her own basket little remained elsewhere by the time the vendors closed. Small likelihood that many people didn’t already have everything they needed for their Christmas Eve celebration.

She looked longingly down the road at the children playing on the grass. Her mind searched to remember what it felt like to play with other children. The thought instigated a sinking feeling beneath her ribcage as her heart morphed into a small anvil. Though her memory of passing time without care fleeted from her vivid mind, its significance paled in relation to her perpetual and relentless need to look after Gabby. How desperately she desired to take her little sister out to play for just one afternoon.

Her attention was brought to the present when she heard a light crashing sound with a downward tug on her hand basket. Her mind was so deep in thought that the abrupt shake didn’t startle her. Elena’s eyes followed the disturbance to discover half a loaf of bread lying on top of the banana leaves. Gazing quickly around her, she noticed the street transformed busy whilst lost in her own thoughts. Her lungs breathed excitedly, and, to her relief, lightly, alleviated from the density of the weight she previously carried.

Dashing down the street, Elena weaved through the crowds of the market toward the stand that displayed the small blanket. She abruptly stopped when she noticed a man dressed in rags, sitting up against the wall, unnoticed by the many passersby. He was very dirty and as she approached him she detected an unpleasant smell. She considered her new surprise gift in her basket and pulled from her pocket the meager earnings she had collected from selling her banana leaves that day. She looked over at the blanket – beautifully woven with lots of reds, her favorite color, oranges and yellows. Her tummy rumbled, and her eyes immediately went back to the man in rags. Breathing out a sigh, she swallowed hard and dropped the coins into the bowl sitting in front of him.

“God bless you,” he thanked humbly.

“Merry Christmas,” Elena replied with a smile.

She continued down the street until she reached the center of town. Nearly every road was dirt minus the streets surrounding the town square, where cobblestone adorned the edges of the plaza. Her bare feet grew accustomed to the daily abuse she put them through, but that didn’t protect her from the pain of stubbing her little, delicate toes.  As she passed the church, her attention was swallowed up in the business that filled the square as villagers finished the decorations and preparations for the evening’s celebration. Just then the little toe on her right foot caught the wrong edge of a stone. Elena nearly sent the basket flying with the leaves and the bread.

With watery eyes, a painful grin and a furrowed brow, she quickly sat down to rub her toe. She really missed wearing sandals. Her father had made her a simple pair for Christmas the year before. He had never intended that his precious daughter would be forced to do so much walking in them. But, Elena supposed, he never intended to get sick, either.

Those sandals broke only three weeks before, just after Father Rodriguez’s last visit, so they had endured much longer than they should have, considering their humble making. The thought of Father Rodriguez caught her attention. She looked up at the small church and took note of the closed door. “I guess Father Rodriguez won’t be here tonight,” Elena thought. She always loved when Father Rodriguez came to town, which occurred about every three or four weeks. Los Tres Reyes still lacked a full time clergy, and the townsfolk relied on a rotation of priests that traveled from the not-too-distant and fairly larger town, Taxco de Alarcon.

On three different occasions over the past year Elena seriously considered making the trek to Taxco with her little sister. Not only blessed with a full time ministry, Taxco had a large orphanage that served the surrounding areas. Her most recent consideration came not a month before, during Father Rodriguez’s last visit.

“Elena, my dear, why don’t you and Gabriela return with me to the city this time?” Father asked.

Although his company always put her at ease, the subject of leaving her hometown to travel to such a big and unfamiliar city, together with the prospect of taking her little sister, intimidated her. Elena just stared back with a glazed look on her eyes. Her memory didn’t serve for the rest of the conversation. She recalled, however, and vividly so, the longing and even angst for not worrying about when the next meal would be, or what it would be, or if it would rain that night (this time of year being particularly wet). However, being the first Christmas since her parents passed away, she longed to fulfill the wish they shared together for several years, which was to attend the Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve at the town plaza.

Mother and Father always talked about it whenever Christmas drew near. The idea sounded so marvelous and magical to Gabriela and Elena – wonderful lanterns, decorations, food; music and dancing; and how everyone would bring a wonderful gift to lay before the infant Jesus situated at the center of the plaza.

But the gardens always needed much tending to, and mother never seemed to have time to make the beautiful blanket she wanted to present as their gift. They were rather poor, living in a small clay house on the outskirts of town. Maria made plain wooden dolls dressed with simple clothing that she would sell at the market, and that kept her very busy in her spare time. Elena and Gabriela didn’t mind, though, as they always had a doll to play with. They loved those dolls. Maria was always very liberal in giving them new dolls, despite their being an important means of bringing in extra money. She would make them especially well when she knew she was going to give them to her daughters. Last Christmas Maria made a plain but beautiful red dress for Elena’s little doll. She loved red. Mother told her it was to remind her of how much she loved her.

Elena continued her dash home. She turned down the street that ran along the side of the church, happy to be on dirt again. About half a block down, she turned immediately into an alley way and down to a cellar entrance of one of the buildings provided a covert sufficient to sleep under. Gabriela was sitting on a dusty pillow, cradling a little wooden doll in her tiny, four year-old arms. The dress looked quite dirty, but Elena could still see some of the red. She remembered again the abundance of dolls around the house, and how she and Gabriela would sit on the floor playing with them, cradling them, swapping their dresses and hats. Mother would sit in a rocking chair nearby, making a new doll or a new dress. Now, this was the only one in their possession. Elena both yearned for her mother and felt close to her every time she beheld that beautiful, simple doll.

“Nita!” Gabriela shouted, revealing her anticipation. Normally Elena kept her sister by her side, but she was certain it would rain when the day started, so she beckoned Gabriela to wait while she went out to sell. It never rained, to her surprise. She never worried much about leaving when occasion required. They had never seen another person in that alley way, not to mention Los Tres Reyes was rather peaceful.

“Someone gave us bread, Gabby!” Elena broke the half loaf into two equal pieces, knowing that her four-year-old sister wouldn’t eat as much as Elena could. “Let us give thanks.”

The little girls each knelt on the large, flattened pillow, their hands pressed together under their bowed faces.

“Jesus, we’re very thankful for this bread. Thank you for whoever gave it to us. We hope we can go to the festival tonight,” Elena began in earnest. “We miss mommy and daddy and hope they have a wonderful Noche Buena with you in heaven. Please tell mommy I still have the doll with the red dress, and every day I miss her and love her. And Gabby does, too. Amen.”

She looked up and saw that her smaller counterpart still had her eyes squinted tightly shut, and she was muttering words of her own, almost imperceptibly, her lips moving more slowly than her normal rate of speech.

“Oh, and please don’t let it rain tonight,” Elena suddenly added as a special request. The past week brought more rain than she cared to deal with, but she was grateful for the piece of wood she found which allowed her to block the water from running down the steps to where they slept. Plus, it brought the temperature down considerably. She looked down at the blanket they shared. Father Rodriguez brought to them just before the rainy season began. As much as Elena often desired an additional one, she realized there were many things she would welcome, and was quite content to have the one. Besides, she thought, Jesus gave us the pillow. They came home one day to find the pillow resting at the bottom of the stairs one afternoon, with the doll lying on top, tucked beneath the blanket. So cuddling up with Gabby on the pillow with the blanket was enough to make the nights bearable. Soon the hot weather would set in and it wouldn’t be an issue.

“Are we going to the festival?” Gabby inquired with high-rising intonation.

Elena’s eyes looked blankly in the direction of her sister. She didn’t purchase the blanket. “Well, I hope we can go,” Elena swallowed. “We don’t have anything to give Jesus. Mommy always said we had to bring a nice gift for him in order to go.”

Gabby squeezed tightly the sides of her mouth as she solemnly contemplated the tough predicament explained to her by her older sister. Looking down with a heavy heart, she saw the doll sitting below her. Her eyes lit up, and she started without hesitation “We can give him our doll!”

Betrayal and liberation shot through Elena’s heart simultaneously. I can’t part with that, she mourned! Yet deep in her heart she agreed that it would be the perfect gift to give to Jesus. Its worth measured above any king’s gold or frankincense.

She met Gabby’s eyes and nodded whole-heartedly, as a tear fell from her left eye. “Jesus will love our doll!”

The two girls sang gaily as Elena braided two beautiful pig tails in Gabby’s hair to match her own. They giddily recited all the fantasies of the festival that they would soon enjoy in reality – music and dancing, delicious tamales, playing with other children, the beautiful lanterns and decorations and singing and especially the wonderfully built nativity scene at the heart of it all, with an infant Jesus lying in a manger. Elena recited to her little sister the special story of the first Noche Buena, and how three wise kings from far away saw the star and new the King of Kings was born.

“And they brought him gold and Frank and cents and myrrh!” Gabby interjected with excitement.

“Yep,” confirmed Elena.

“Nita,” inquired Gabby “how many cents do you think they brought?”

“FRANKincense,” clarified Elena, “not Frank and cents.”

“Oh. . . . What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it must have been really nice.”

Gabby gave a single nod in response.

Once they were finished, it was dusk, so they made their way out of the alley and down the street towards the town plaza. They could hear the music and more and more voices as people were gathering in the square. Once it was in view, they sort of stopped as they stared and admired the beautiful scene before them. People from each direction were converging on the plaza with beautiful gifts, baskets or pots of food. The lanterns were glowing brightly, and the Nativity scene looked as magical as Elena had imagined it.

Their eyes wide with bewilderment and anticipation, they scurried toward the crowded plaza. Though the temperature seldom provided reasons for concern year-round, tonight felt particularly cool against the unwashed yet gentle skin of Elena and Gabriela. As they neared the plaza, the light of the fires along with the sounds of happy voices and music warmed their hearts before the heat reached their skin. Of course, they welcomed that as well when they were close enough to feel the warmth. The excitement to see Jesus in the manger and participate in the festivities consumed them.

This silently cherished yet candidly revealed expectation was shattered instantly. A villager with an unkind face interrupted their path and refused the eager children, using an insinuation convenient to their humble condition. Elena’s eyes began to enlarge with shame as the dismissing villager looked disgustedly at the doll Elena was holding out in front of her. Gabriela cowered immediately behind her sister’s legs. Elena suddenly discerned an overwhelming feverish sensation in her face, burning her dirty but precious cheeks. She felt certain she would fall over in any direction. The verbal unwelcoming heightened Elena’s perception, and exaggeration, of the eyes which monitored her every move. Their moment of giddy happiness had warped into burning shame.

Elena’s pupils grew ever larger, and she painfully shot a glance to her right and met a man’s face, who was considering this innocent scene unfolding not five meters away. Almost instantly did Elena’s gaze catch his eye that he turned his head, half-bowed, with semi-pursed lips and eyebrows raised in the middle, back in the direction of his table. Her mind, being overwhelmed with fear and shame, didn’t perceive the look on his face.

The two orphans retreated, averting their eyes with stooped heads from what felt like hundreds of suspecting gazes. Any onlooker from the other side of the small plaza, however, would not have noticed an interruption to the festivities.

Elena and Gabriela emerged dejectedly from the throng with the merry commotion behind them muffled by the hopelessness before them. Gabriela wet her fleshy cheeks as she blubbered appropriately for a broken-hearted four year-old. She ceased walking and stood on the edge of the cobblestone street. Elena’s radiant brown eyes deepened and began to moisten as her small chin quivered. She looked empathetically upon her sister, and then longingly back across the street towards the warmth and light radiating around Jesus’s manger. A single, long tear fell from her right eye, pure and unsullied by the unwashed cheek over which it ran. She bent down to console her younger sister.

Attempting to steady her voice, she vainly reassured the little girl, fighting back the sniveling in her own voice. “It’s okay, Gabby.” Another tear threatened, so she quickly picked up Gabriela to conceal her own sadness.

They headed back towards the covering that felt safe and comfortable to them, though far from home. The alley lay as if asleep in the silence and darkness that enveloped it. The nearest torch hung facing the street at the corner of the building, providing little light for a brief distance. Beyond that, Elena depended on the light of the stars and the moon. Tonight, the moon lay low in the sky and well out of view. However, the stars seemed to provide a little extra help as Elena peered carefully down the several steps so as not to trip.

Elena sat Gabriela on the dusty pillow. She handed her the homely wooden doll, setting it gently in Gabby’s lap. The tears continued to fall down her cheeks, though now between longer intervals. As Elena watched her, a sense of determination filled her heart. She stepped up to the alley and looked up at the sky.

“The stars remember Jesus tonight,” assumed Elena with a sense of hope in her eyes. She noticed their particular brightness; one of them seemed out of place as it hovered almost directly above her. The water still threatening in her eyes caused them to sparkle in the starlight.

“Look, Gabby! It’s Jesus’s star!”

Gabby emerged from the underway, trying to hurry her pudgy legs up the steps. Her tears had washed all the dust from her cheeks, and now they were bright red. She stopped crying as she beheld with bewilderment the spectacle.

“It’s moving!” she chirped.

Elena’s teeth beamed uncontrollably as she ran out to the street to follow it. Gabriela trailed behind. They made their way back toward the square, following the direction of the star. It halted just before they passed the side of the church. The side door was cracked open and a light shone from within. The two girls inquisitively yet innocently crept inside. “Perhaps Father Rodriquez is here,” hoped Elena.

As they passed through the small back room to the chapel they beheld a man kneeling towards the front with his head bowed. His clothes were tattered and dirty, his face needed washing and shaving, and his hair was wildly unkempt. Gabriela slid into a shadow as Elena approached him. It was the same man from the market. Elena crossed behind him knelt down to the left of him. Just in front of them was her basket with tied banana leaves. One of them had been tied differently – it looked like a star.

“Why aren’t you celebrating outside?” he asked solemnly. His head hadn’t moved, neither had he lifted his eyes.

“We have nothing to bring Jesus. We’re poor and dirty, and the people think we’re beggars,” sniffled Elena.

“Hm,” grumbled the older man. He lifted his face a little and turned it to Elena. His eyes were deep and his countenance warm despite any unpleasant smell he exhibited. “And what do you think Jesus wants?”

She sniffed again. “Everyone else brings beautiful blankets, adornments, food – the finest things you’d ever see in the market place,” reasoned Elena. Gabriela unnoticeably emerged from the shadows and stood just inside the room next to the doorway. She was still holding the doll in her hand, hanging loosely at her side, with her left index finger curiously hanging from the corner of her lips.

“And what will he do with those?” grumbled the man.

Elena stared blankly with no response.

“Tell me, did Jesus ever give you a gift?” His tone was serious and heavy, his right eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Jesus loves us,” muttered Gabriela, softly but discernible.

The man noticed her for the first time and gauged the child with penetrating eyes. He motioned for her to near him. She hesitatingly crossed in front to her sister’s far side and stood next to her, finding security by embedding her little body into Elena as much as possible.

The man looked at Elena. “Is that true?”

She nodded, the light of the opposite lamp reflecting in her beautiful eyes. She then looked down as another tear fell from her face, and she looked at the doll in her sister’s hand, and thought of how much her mother loved her.

He cracked a slight smile. “Do you know why God put a star in the sky when Jesus was born?”

Elena’s eyes widened as she nodded with a hesitant smile, “To lead the wise men to him.”

“So everyone would know that Jesus was born,” chimed Gabby.

“I think you’re right, both of you,” the man retorted. “He wanted everyone to remember how much he loved them, and he certainly wanted everyone to be able to find Jesus.” He paused. “You know what that’s all about, don’t you?” he assured, gesturing slightly at the doll. He resumed his bowed position and continued in like manner for a few moments. The two girls stared at him in contemplation.

Elena reached down to grab the doll, and she placed it in the basket. She bowed her head and pressed her palms together just under her nose. Gabby copied her.

“Jesus,” Elena began sincerely, “help us to always remember that you love us. And please help us to give you a gift of love this Christmas. Amen.” Her eyes were dry. She opened them; Gabriela continued to gently move her lips to form indiscernible silent words. Elena looked around the room, startled to find that they were alone.

“Gabby look!” she half shouted. With one hand on her sister and the other pointing straight ahead, Elena beheld with bulging eyes at the spectacle before her. A beautiful plant was sitting in her basket, with crimson leaves arrayed outward from the center. It looked like a red star sitting atop the green leaves! The banana leaf had been turned into the most vivid red flower they had ever seen.

“A Jesus flower!” blurted Gabby.

They picked up the flower in the clay pot and marveled. Elena’s eyes swelled with tears of joy as she also discovered the doll’s dress looked bright as new and just as red.

With knowing smiles on their faces, the two orphans returned to the plaza, this time to an almost march-like pace. First the people on the outskirts began to wonder and whisper at the small parade with a mysterious yet glorious flower held out in front. Soon the whole area around them began to buzz with curiosity and amazement as the two little girls made their way to the beautiful manger scene. Everyone cleared way for them. They set the flower on a stand near the manger, looked down at the manikin baby Jesus, and said thank you.

It was the most beautiful sight anyone ever beheld. The red was so intense it emanated warmth. There even seemed to be a glow from the bright red pedals. No eyes that beheld it could hold back thoughts of love and gentleness. Elena and Gabriela no longer felt uncomfortable in their humble attire and dirty appearance. They were ushered to a table overflowing with tamales, fruits and Christmas punches. No one is certain how, but suddenly everyone began offering the two newly adopted children many of the beautiful gifts that were lying before the manger. Those that had more began giving to those who didn't.

Elena and Gabby soon began dancing with the other children to the gay music being played on the other side of the square. The cobblestone didn't bother them because they were wearing new sandals. The more they danced, the more everyone joined in. The scene had been transformed from a superficially joyful event into a truly loving one. Not a soul could remember a happier Christmas celebration.

The girls had given the flower to Jesus, and subsequently to the whole village. It became a symbol of love – a reminder of the one who loved them, and why they must love in return. The flower of la Noche Buena spread all across town, increasing the breadth of their love and care for one another the more it did.

The villagers often wondered how a flower could make them feel so.

Elena and Gabriela knew, and that satisfied them.

Encouragement - keep being creative

This is an excellent, brief blip that describes how it's okay to have great creative ambitions and to realize that your own work doesn't meet those expectations.

http://vimeo.com/24715531

The New Preamble - As demonstrated by the actuality of the American people

We the People of the United States,

in order to deform a more perfect Union,

abolish Justice,

insure domestic Hostility,

provide for the common defect,

promote the general Welfare State,

and obscure the Blessings of Liberty

to ourselves and our Posterity

Do feign to establish

this Constitution

for the United States of America.

-Dustin Grady

My door is open to anything, but not anything can get in

Aristotle said that it is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.

Is is good, and I think very important, to listen with an open mind to the things you hear (or read). But, also to be open to all the possible things you're NOT hearing or reading. What I mean is, always try to stretch your mind to the things that may be missing from the subject at hand.

I used to have such a narrow, gullible mind. I didn't know what skepticism meant beyond the narrow understanding that it was to refuse to believe whatever you hear. I certainly would experience confusing thoughts and feelings when contradicting evidence would eventually find its way to my view, but I didn't know how to defend myself from being carried about by every wind of thought.

Perhaps the most enlightening experience that shifted my course for perception was the summer I spent selling pest control door to door in southern California. During that time, I learned of tactics in rhetoric to make things seem better or grander than they really are. I learned how, through rhetoric, truth could be stretched to virtual lies, while still retaining it's apparent (though near-transparent) "truth" essence. I learned how you could choose to say only true positive things, yet block out true negative things and thus give a potential false perception of product (ideas can be products, too, you know).

Following this experience, I returned home with an extremely heightened sense of true skepticism - not to accept at face value. Though still endowed with a tendency to believe, I no longer was so easily swayed, for every ad on television, any attempt at persuasion for goods or services or ideas or beliefs, immediately bore the resemblance of the product I tried to sell that summer and how I knew it could be masked. Nowadays, I hear something and I'm likely to quickly think "you say this about such and such, but you're not saying whether this or that!" and I find possible exclusions or omissions of detail.

The value of this skill is immeasurable, for I've come to appreciate deeply the fact that there is more to something than what you see at face value more often than not.

Another, more formal definition of skepticism is a questioning nature. Always be questioning. What aspects are not being addressed? What truths are possible being concealed? Knowing what questions to ask would have been improbable if not impossible for me had I not had first hand experience at inventing the disguises myself, or witnessing their inception and employment by my colleagues.

This is a true skeptic, or liberal-minded person, one who attempts to arrive at more truth than may possibly be presented. If a person always holds on to the thought of "there may be more to know or understand about this," that person places him/herself on a path of ever-increasing enlightenment.