A New Beginning — I think

What a month it's been.

Not only has the 2010 postseason begun (and nearly ended) for baseball, softball, boys volleyball, track and golf in Southern Nevada, but so too has the school year. That means a big rush of news at the preps desk, but the looming death of news on the horizon (and long vacations that come with it for us prep staffers).

In the mean time, my sports editor mentioned to me about the possibility of a job next year. Unfortunately, it's not just on the sports desk (something I don't want to do in journalism), but it also involves completing the scoreboard page (or "agate work," as we call it in da biz). It's not the job I want, need, or desire. But it's a job; and right now, after far too many rejected applications and resumes that weren't even rejected but lost  in the shuffle on a managing editor's desk, I'm willing to accept whatever I can get.

So I put my name in for the position, and hope to hear back for final approval from the publisher soon.  It took me a week of agony over it, during which time I tried everything to get a concrete answer as to what I should do.

First, I went to the temple. The Las Vegas temple is a beautiful building, with a gorgeous celestial room, a place where I've visited many times (though probably not as many I should). And it was while sitting in this celestial room that I felt this strong prompting that led me to only one conclusion: I need to go to grad school. Plus, the thought of performing agate work made me physically ill. Answer received, right? Not so fast.

The next day was Sunday, a day long awaited by young single Mormons like myself not only for spiritual refreshment but also social interaction. And my ward is no different. So as I was enjoying the renewal of my ward's sacrament meeting, I got another feeling. And this one was even stronger than the first: this is a good place. You should stay here. The Lord needs you here.

In a moment that can only be described as 'WTF?' I was shocked. How could God tell me to do two things that seemed a complete contradiction to each other? How could he tell me to leave my current situation and go to grad school, then turn around the next day and tell me he needed me where I am?

I know that often times the Lord gives us answers to prayers that seem more like, "well, I'm going to give you the ball, and you figure out how to drive to the hoop." But during this week, I felt more like the answer was, "I want you to dribble to the top of the key, then hit a long jumper, and also drive inside for an easy layup on the same play." I can handle making decisions; I've never had that problem before (hence the reason I'm in Las Vegas with no family, no friends, and nothing more than a meager internship in a mid-level media market). But to do two things at once? I'm struggling with this decision.

So maybe this is one of those "choose ye this day" moments that I need to learn. And I've chosen. Now for the waiting for the rest of the day.

Associated Press, why hast thou failed me?

There are three types of people in this world: those who can count, and those who can't.

Obviously, I fall into the latter category.

But while mathematics has never been my strong suit, I am very much a nerd in other ways: English grammar and style. Maybe that's what makes my goal of being a top-notch copy editor at a major newspaper so strong. I love playing with words, editing news stories, and inserting the smallest changes in usage and punctuation to make things better.

Which is why the Associated Press surprised me a few weeks ago. After drilling into my head that "Web site" was the accepted reference for what the uneducated masses refer to as a "website," the AP switched gears and decided that "website" would be its accepted reference, while maintaining "World Wide Web," "Web page," and "the Web."

Has the world gone mad? Has illiteracy run such a rampant course across the world that the leader in newspaper and media style is willing to bend its rules to subject itself to the masses?

There are two main uses for capitalization: the beginning of a sentence, and for proper nouns (Strange that "proper noun" isn't a proper noun, eh?). Obviously, if "website" begins a sentence, it would be subjected to "Website," but there is such little chance of this occurring, as "website," as a noun, will require an article, such as "the," "his" or "her."

But what of the other definition? The Web is a proper noun, short for World Wide Web. This stems from the early days of the Internet (note the capitalization and proper noun), when the "information superhighway" connected the world "like a giant spider web."

So why does the AP feel like now, it's appropriate to deem the "web" in "website" as a regular noun, while maintaining the proper noun of "Web" and "Web page?" Such an issue boggles my mind.

Regardless, for the sake of consistency, and in adherence to the almighty powers of the Associated Press Stylebook, I'll support this change. But I don't have to like it. Nor will I ever.

Lot's Wife and USA Hockey

I faced a trial today.

It wasn’t a massive, earth-shattering problem or a long-set tribulation like the one in which Abraham found himself, but it was still difficult.

I didn’t want to go to all of my church meetings on Sunday.

I had a good excuse: the U.S. men’s hockey team was facing host-Canada in the gold medal game of the Vancouver Olympics, and the entire civilized world seemed to be tuning in (or at least, those of us who weren’t at church).

Sounds like a fairly good reason to ditch, right? Chances like these don’t come around every four years; maybe every eight, as it was a rematch of the 2002 Salt Lake City Games gold medal match.

This was my chance to experience something even a fraction similar to my parents’ generation and their “Miracle of Ice” in 1980. After all, No. 1-ranked Canada was considering an odds-even matchup for the No. 6 Americans. Add to that the drama that is the United States’ already record-breaking medal count, and you’ve got reason to tune in enough.

But I didn’t.

I watched the first period, when Canada’s Jonathan Toews put the home team ahead 1-0. Then I went off to sacrament meeting and promptly missed goals two and three. So I determined to catch at least part of it, and sat in my car through the entire third period, including Zach Parise’s equalizer to send the Americans into the Olympics' second overtime ever. I was pumping my fist on my dashboard, shouting “USA! USA! USA!” at my rearview mirror and then falling deflated when Sidney Crosby gave the Canadians the win (and the gold) with his overtime jammer.

It had to be Crosby, didn't it?

So I went back inside, just in time to catch the final few minutes of Sunday School.

Here’s the funny thing about those relatively brief ticks of the clock — they were about Lot’s wife. You know, the story: Lot and his family are fleeing Sodom & Gomorrah, and Lot’s wife looks back at the meteors and divine destruction, only to be swiftly turned into a pillar of salt.

All of us have our own "Abrahamic sacrifice moments." And similarly, we all have our own "Lot’s wife moments" — when we think we are doing the Lord’s counsel, only to find out we’re not obeying with the exactness he would prefer, and are threatened with obsessively large amounts of spices and table seasonings.

The Sunday School teacher said one of those moments was coming to church — how often times, it’s all we can do to physically drag ourselves through all three meetings. We’re there corporeally, but hope nobody calls on us to pray. While that’s better that not showing up at all, how many blessings did we miss out on by not being prepared for those three precious hours of the week? And more importantly, will we ever truly know what we left behind?

I guess I had one of those Sundays — and now that the Olympics are over, the Closing Ceremonies cleaned up, and the athletes moving on to London and Sochi, Russia, I can concentrate on being ready for those “other two hours” during my weekly Sunday communion.

But boy, it was a really good hockey game to risk my immortal soul. Heck of a game, Yanks.

'That they might have joy'

I’m catching Olympic fever.

It happens to me every two years. Six months before the games begin, until the Closing Ceremonies, I start to feel immensely patriotic, and even so for the Italian, British and Canadian blood in me, as well. My TV is constantly tuned to coverage of the world’s events, from swimming and wrestling in the summer, to skiing and speed skating in the winter. I'm even a fan of figure skating (which might explain why I'm still single).

Which got me thinking about something toward which I gravitate every few months:

Does God care about sports?

Athletes talk about their faith all the time. Latin American footballers regularly cross themselves before matches; Super Bowl winners thank God and Jesus Christ for their help that night; and Olympians claim they can feel God’s presence as they race down the mountain, luge or oval.

But to think that God actually cares about something so trivial as the outcome of a football game, soccer match or Olympic trial is blasphemous, right? After all, God, the Creator of the Universe and Father of all Mankind, should be too concerned with so much going wrong in the world, right?

Wrong.

The unity felt by athletes, fans and spectators, whether of a national team at a World Cup or Saints fans at the Super Bowl, is remarkable. And one of God’s purposes of building his kingdom is to see a people “one heart and one mind.”

If the Book of Mormon prophet Lehi would counsel his children to “be united in all things,” why would God the Father be against that counsel? And what greater instance of unity is there than on a sports team?

Man’s purpose is to have fun. After all, “men are that they might have joy.” And sports are fun.

So does God care about sports? Yes. Because he cares about us; he wants us to have joy; and he’s willing to help us in any endeavor, if that’s what makes us happy.

Introversion and Institute

I'm usually lumped with 'the YSA crowd.'
Maybe it's because — technically — I'm young, single and an adult (hence, a Young Single Adult). But I don't feel like most of my peers.
For starters, my colleagues are usually college students. All of the guys I know, and many of the girls, still have at least one or two years left before reaching a BA or BS degree. I don't.
Worse yet, I'm incredibly introverted. I've lived in Las Vegas since September, and I don't know many people. I guess "I tend to keep to myself" is an understatement.

I'm not sure how I got so far through school. I served a mission at 19, as most Mormon guys do; I didn't start college until I had graduated from high school; I took my time through school, despite taking classes every semester (two majors makes that happen). But I finished in five academic years, and decided it was time to be done.
That was six months ago. Now, I'm a 24-year-old YSA Male living in Las Vegas ... and I don't know what to do with my life. My internship at the Review-Journal is going well, but it's just that: an internship. So I don't know where I'll be this summer, and it scares me.
But there's one place with which I'm starting to fall in love, and I feel like I belong, even if I'm not the most social kid on the block: Institute.

I started taking classes at the local UNLV Institute building, just one on Tuesday/Thursday, as a way to pass the time, meet some kids my age and start studying the scriptures a little more (plus, the free pool table in the rec room makes me feel like a bonafide pool shark). And I'm loving it.
I may not fit in with these kids; after all, they're still college students, and I'm not. But it's a social outlet. And it gets me out of the house.
But the CES sponsors these things called "Institute Dances:" a weekend party-like atmosphere where young Latter-day Saints, get together to dance, chat, and try to hook up (hey, if you're not going to admit it, then I will). Not to mention, where else can you find a bunch of mid-20's rocking out to Miley Cyrus? (I know; we Mormons ARE a weird bunch).

I started out the evening as a wall flower. I didn't know many of the songs, and even fewer of the "popular crowd" on the dance floor, so I just observed. Then, I found a 'few fine honeys' that caught my eye. But I felt my chances with them were about as good as the Saints' chances at beating the Colts and hoisting up the Vince Lombardi Trophy.
Then I thought it through. And a lot of my thoughts can be summed up pretty well here. I realized that even underdogs have their day. So I got a little more active, pretended to dance a little, and even had some semblance of a conversation with one of these girls that was "out of my league."
I don't know what these experiences will bring. But I put myself out there, and even stretched myself more than I thought possible this weekend. Most importantly, I listened to the Lord, did what I felt inspired to do, and let him take care of the rest, even when I felt incredibly awkward and embarrassed.

It's the simple pleasure in life, like going to Institute, napping on the couch with your children, or seeing the temple as you walk out of church every week that often make us the happiest. The Lord knows that, and makes the Gospel simple so we can see that; too bad we mortals keep muddling it up.

NEW MEDIA OF THE WEEK:
In honor of this post, I think the only true video I can post this week is this one.

Hoppin' the Wards

I found a great article on "ward hopping" in today's Mormon Times. Maybe it's because I'm a recovering ward hopper myself, but I'm enthralled by this practice.

It seems innocent enough; a Latter-day Saint (most often of the young, single and college-student variety) doesn't enjoy his/her ward and begins to "shop around" to find a place where they can participate. They'll try a ward for a week or two, then move on to other ventures if they don't "enjoy" that ward, or request for the Bishop to transfer their records if they do. Often times, this "hopping" can take months, or even years, to find a "suitable home ward," and these ward hoppers will only attend one or two meetings, rather than the full three-hour block, to avoid "being noticed" by the Bishop, Elder's Quorum Presidency, or Relief Society President. Eventually, they find someplace, though.

Think of all the blessings they've missed out on in the meantime.


If you don't regularly attend the ward in which your records reside, you can't serve. You can't receive a calling, temple recommend, or pay tithing. So, if you want to "visit" another ward for "prospects," go ahead. But please, do it after you've fulfilled your obligations to your ward.

I know it may sound harsh to some people, but the Gospel isn't just there to serve your every need and desire. The church needs you, to serve and be served. And if you aren't regularly participating, with a calling and responsibility, you aren't fulfilling your responsibilities as a member.

Remember when you were baptized? What promises did you make? Something involving "mourn with those that mourn," and "comfort those that stand in need of comfort"? In other words, magnify your calling. The more you do that, the more you will feel the Spirit in your weekly interaction and church meetings. And that will help you to love your ward, no matter where you are serving.

But to do that, you need to have a full-time ward; this isn't a process that happens by hopping.

I tried ward hopping, and found a fabulous ward. I had heard the rumors of "the sucky ward" in which I lived, and decided to "try out" the wards where my friends attended. I went to a few, never staying for longer than two weeks, and eventually found a ward whose boundaries were only a block away from my house; I didn't think much of it.

Until the Bishop found out where I lived. He told me that he had talked to the other bishop, and that I needed to attend my own ward. He even promised that I would be blessed for it. I was angry, but decided to follow his counsel.

It took a few months, namely because of my extreme introversion, but I fell in love with that ward, too. Because I went with a purpose, involved myself, and served the other members. I served in that ward, in various callings and capacities, for two years, until I graduated from BYU. And I loved every week of it.

When I moved to Las Vegas, I immediately set out to find the local singles wards. I went to the bishop of the ward that covers UNLV and downtown Las Vegas. Then, I found the ward in which I lived; the chapel was only two miles from home, so I attended for a few weeks.

At first, it was boring, even painful, to go to church with so many strangers, few "interests" in the Relief Society, and an Elder's Quorum that didn't even have room for me to receive a home teaching assignment.

But I kept going. And now, after six months in that ward, it feels like home. And I am considering finding a job in Vegas that will keep me in the ward even after my current internship lapses.

By the way, I still don't have an assignment; or a calling. And I only have a handful of "friends" or "clique-mates" in that ward. But I've attended with purpose, trying to participate in class discussions and study the lessons well enough to be active as far as possible in my ward.

And I love it.

The Christmas Season

It's December 18th; do you know where your Christmas presents are?

I usually get into the Holiday spirit pretty well. Christmas is my favorite time of year, with all the sights, sounds, smells, laughter, music and general good cheer everywhere you go.

But this year, I haven't noticed much of a change between December and the other 11 months of the year. Maybe it's because I have only bought two presents less than a week before the Big Day. Or maybe it's because I've finally ventured out into "the real world," where I'm not constantly around family and friends who remind me that this time of year is special, one that should be cherished. Or maybe it's simply because I've been working too much; after all, this is the first year of post-education life, and I'm finally in a 40-hour/week occupation.

But that shouldn't be an excuse.

The Christmas season is a time of caring for the well-being of your fellow man. It is a time when that pesky driver that just cut you off, or the crippled, begging homeless man on the street corner deserve the benefit of the doubt. After all, it's Christmas. And isn't the season supposed to make us more Christ-like?

But how should that be any different from the rest of the year? Here I am, complaining that the Holiday season has felt like any other season before. And is that such a bad thing? Only in one way: only if it means I'm not focusing my thoughts and efforts on Christ and building His kingdom, caring for my Father's children, right now.

The truth is, maybe Christmas really should feel like every other time of the year. Maybe there really shouldn't be a difference between "the Holidays" and "the normal days." Because, as we are reminded every Sunday, we are to stand as witnesses of God in all times, and in all places. And we should strive to carry (and gift) His spirit always; not just sometimes, or the week of Dec. 25; always.

Regardless, Christmas is our time to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. It is a time to cheer up the world with the "good news" of His birth, life and resurrection. The Holiday spirit is one of sharing the Gospel.

Let's just hope it's not the only time we strive to do so.

NEW MEDIA OF THE WEEK:

I'm really excited about this one; the Church's YouTube channel, "Mormon Messages" released a video of President Monson (one of his first on the channel, I believe) reminding us of the true reason for the season.

And if that doesn't move you and fill you with all sorts of holiday cheer, there's always this one, courtesy of Conan and the gang at"The Tonight Show."