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."

Sabbath Joy

A phone rang in sacrament meeting today.
It happened while a group of young men were passing the bread trays around the congregation. I'm not sure how many people noticed, but I'm certain I wasn't the only one.
But this ringing wasn't from a young woman who forgot to silence her phone during church. It wasn't an overworked father who needed to step out because "I have to take this."
It was the phone in the hallway. And it kept ringing.
Singles Wards are an interesting atmosphere. I've been attending one since I returned from a full-time mission nearly four years ago. And they never fail to impress me.
"But, Single Vegas Mormon, aren't singles wards are all about getting married? I know, because there's that creepy guy who keeps eyeballing me in church."
It's true that some church meetings and lessons revolve around the dreaded m-word and families. But that's no different than a typical family ward.
In case you long-time members haven't noticed, we belong to a church of families. The focus is on the family. Lessons are directed at the family. Everything we do is for the enrichment of the family.
So where do we, as Young Single Adults, fit into that plan?
Ultimately, we should be seeking out our own families. That could include dating and buscando novia, as my Latino friends call it. Or that could involve building up the families to which we currently belong — our parents, siblings, friends, roommates, or even ward families.
But I digress.
The reason I brought up the phone-ringing experience was to point out a phenomenon that seems to exist only in singles wards throughout the world: SILENCE.
I've been to many different wards in my life. And in no other have I felt a greater sense of peace and tranquility during the blessing and passing of the Sacrament than in my singles wards.
That's not to say that family wards et al don't have their advantages. Children bring a unique richness and vivacity to any organization that no amount of young single adults can. And the annual Primary Program held during the second half of Sacrament Meeting is a treat for any spectator, whether they have children or not.
But they don't usually add to the atmosphere of the sacrament, either. Communing with the Lord without the distractions of crying babies, nursing mothers, coloring-book-clad toddlers and small boys running up and down the aisles is a marvel.
I love being able to quietly contemplate my life, focus on the Savior and commune with my Heavenly Father while a group of stalwart men parade around the room passing bread and water. It makes my weekly church meetings worth the 5-10 minute drive to the chapel by the Temple.
So at this time of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the Sacrament. I am thankful for the chance to cast my burdens on the Lord and feel his love for me during that time of meditation and thought that we call a "church block."
And, yes, I am thankful for Singles Wards.


NEW MEDIA OF THE WEEK:
I forgot to post last week, and should have, with it being Thanksgiving and all. But a rare Monday post will have to do for all three of those fans of this blog out there.
I'm grateful for so many things this holiday season. I wasn't able to travel home for Thanksgiving, instead staying home for a dinner of frozen burritos and sweet corn (oh, and a chance to watch the Lions lose ... again!).
But it made me grateful for my family, my testimony and the companionship of the Holy Ghost. There is no better joy than knowing that you have a Father in Heaven who loves you, no matter where you are in the world or in what situation you find yourself.
So enjoy this amazing video from Mormon Messages, the official YouTube channel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I hate Utah, too!

Another year, another Holy War.
This year's annual BYU-Utah rivalry game didn't come attached with a BCS Bowl bid, nor a Mountain West Conference championship; TCU had already taken care of both of those.
But it did come with plenty of in-state bragging rights, and a chance for BYU quarterback Max Hall to avenge himself after throwing five interceptions and losing a fumble in last year's loss at Rice-Eccles Stadium.
And in 2009, Hall did just that. The senior QB had a fairly quiet night, but tossed a game-winning pass to tight end Andrew George in OT to give the home team a 26-23 victory and 2nd-place MWC finish.
But that's not the story.
By now you've already heard it; if not, Hall infuriated half of the state with a few comments made during the post-game press conference.
And why shouldn't he?
The senior had just beat the Utes for the second time in his career, making him 3-for-4 against the School Up North during his time at BYU. And all this despite a few bone-headed coaching decisions from none-other-than Robert Anae.
Hall's comments were not unjustified.
"I don't like Utah. In fact, I hate them. I hate everything about them. I hate their program, their fans. I hate everything," Hall said. "It felt really good to send those guys home."
And why wouldn't he?
The previous year, Hall's wife, Mckinzi, and his immediate family were at Rice-Eccles Stadium, sitting in the visitor's section for another Holy War game. As anyone who follows State of Utah sports knows, that was the same Utah team led by Brian Johnson that eventually knocked off Alabama in the Sugar Bowl.
Hall threw 5 interceptions and had another fumble on the night, including a pair of embarrassing picks to Utah County-native and "Ute fan since I was born" Paul Kruger.
Furthermore, Hall's wife had beer thrown at her multiple times during the game. When his family tried to get out of the RES and back to their car, there were so many Ute fans harassing them, they had to find a security guard (an on-duty police officer, or so the rumor continues) to escort them to the parking lot.
And then there's the egregious sin:
A few smart-aleck students in the MUSS (that's "Mighty (Pathetic) Utah Student Section") brought a blow-up doll into the stadium, wrote "Max Hall's mom" on it, then proceeded to pass it around the section, with many drunk, immature college students... well, doing what drunk immature college students tend to do with blow-up dolls.
The day after offending the "Yewts," Max Hall issued a statement, clarifying his comments and name-calling tirade. But the damage had been done. Ute fans hated him, and Utah players, coaches and personnel won't respond to anything he said.

So, why does it matter?
If this were any other state, and any other conference, it wouldn't.
But the argument is that BYU, as the "flagship school of the Mountain West Conference" and "face of the LDS church," needs to represent themselves "better than that."
BYU football is, first and foremost, a football team. Bronco Mendenhall has said it before; his players represent the institution (school), but they are also just football players. The Cougars do not get involved in doctrinal discussions within the church (except for my weekly Sunday School class, "Doctrine of BYU Football by Elder Austin F. Collie"), and I don't recall Bronco ever making a statement about the church's campaign against Proposition 8 (hopefully, one of my three readers will correct me if I'm wrong).

But this is a rivalry game!
Rivalry's get bitter; they get bloody; they get nasty and full of hate. That's what makes games such as Florida-Florida State, Oklahoma-Texas, Kansas-Mizzou, or USC-UCLA so interesting for the casual fan to watch.
There is genial animosity between schools with long-standing traditions and consistent playing abilities. And ever since the Urban Meyer days, BYU-Utah has been no different. Sure, LaVell Edwards and Ron McBride were great friends off the field. But ever since McBride's successor showed up in SLC, there's been a different Ute attitude toward "The School Down South" (classy title, Urrrrban!).
Hall's comments were simply a statement of what most fans already think, on both sides of the Point of the Mountain. My neighbor was a Ute fan growing up in Provo (I even visited him and his family with my first home teaching assignment), and we would always try to poke fun at the other school's expense. Sure, we liked each other, and still took the sacrament in the same congregation on Sunday, but ever Saturday, it was a who-beats-who (no matter the game).

I know BYU fans have had numerous run-ins with Utah fans that I am not proud to hear. But the level of raucous boasting and "fun" that Ute supporters exhibit has been ratcheted up a notch from what I've seen BYU fans exhibit. And I've seen my fair-share of jaunting, jeering, spitting and even slapping Utah fans, especially when they try to wander into the student section at the Marriott Center (kick him out! kick him out!).
But when a friend gets in his BYU-licensed/stickered car to drive from South Jordan, Utah to downtown Salt Lake City, and receives no fewer than FOUR middle-fingered salutes, you know the rivalry is getting crazy. And I can GUARANTEE NO BYU FAN HAS EVER TOSSED AROUND A BLOW-UP DOLL with Brian Johnson or Jordan Wynn's "mom" on it.
As for the supposed BYU-supporter who "struck" Sister Whittingham spouted off some inane comment in the mass exodus to rush the field: Kick. Him. Out. No woman deserves to be belittled, taunted, jeered, struck or doused in beer — no matter if her last name is Hall or Whittingham. THAT is classless — if you're a "Coog" or a "Yewt."

So, Utah fans, take Hall's remarks for what they are: simple rivalry salutes. Sure, they are similar to Austin Collie and his "magic happens" postures. But they are also similar to Paul Kruger ("I've hated BYU since the day I was born"), Steve Tate ("I hate BYU... I hate BYU... *wah wah wah*"), former center Kyle Gunther ("I learned from guys who played before me like Jesse Boone to hate BYU and some of the younger guys are going to learn from me."), or this tirade on national television, courtesy of Morgan Scalley.
The Holy War is here to stay. And even in a year where the actual game means nothing in the standings, Max Hall has shown us just that.