Well, after a good run, I'm officially moving the "Best Blog in 85297". Turns out it WASN'T the best blog in 85297... probably not even on my street.
Visit me at http://martytime.com/stuff
Or don't.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Pain
This has been a painful year for my friends.
First I watched the Blackwell family deal with the loss of a child. Then, Christian and Stephanie Nielson survived a fiery plane wreck and are hanging onto life recovering from severe burns. They have a long and painful recovery ahead of them. A third passenger died in the accident.
No sane person willingly chooses to experience pain. And there’s no rhyme or reason to who or when tragedy hits. What’s interesting to see, though, is how people react to tragedy. And I’ve got to say that observing my friends and their families deal with these extremely difficult situations with grace and style has filled me with humility and awe.
And I know it sound weird and selfish (and kinda wrong) to say, but I’m grateful to them. You see, I’ve loved my family a little more in 2008 than I did in 2007. And this year I’ve cared more, and cried more, and felt more. This year I’ve had more faith – and I’ve been more grateful – and I’ve been humbled to tears – and at the end of the day, I’ve been more alive.
Alive. Life. That’s kinda the point of it all.
In some microcosmic way, I think the Nielsons, Clarks, and Blackwells have saved me from just going through the motions of life. The price they are paying has added perspective and meaning to my life. And it’s reminded me again and again of the ultimate and incomprehensible sacrifice of our Savior.
And I plan to honor that example by becoming a better person.
P.S.
Courtney – you are amazing and inspirational. Thank goodness for modern media! Keep up the great work.
Nielson Family – you guys have been through so much. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Christian & Stephanie – Havelock Ellis said, “Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.” In this instance I would add that morphine is also a part of life – and to reject it would be just plain dumb.
First I watched the Blackwell family deal with the loss of a child. Then, Christian and Stephanie Nielson survived a fiery plane wreck and are hanging onto life recovering from severe burns. They have a long and painful recovery ahead of them. A third passenger died in the accident.
No sane person willingly chooses to experience pain. And there’s no rhyme or reason to who or when tragedy hits. What’s interesting to see, though, is how people react to tragedy. And I’ve got to say that observing my friends and their families deal with these extremely difficult situations with grace and style has filled me with humility and awe.
And I know it sound weird and selfish (and kinda wrong) to say, but I’m grateful to them. You see, I’ve loved my family a little more in 2008 than I did in 2007. And this year I’ve cared more, and cried more, and felt more. This year I’ve had more faith – and I’ve been more grateful – and I’ve been humbled to tears – and at the end of the day, I’ve been more alive.
Alive. Life. That’s kinda the point of it all.
In some microcosmic way, I think the Nielsons, Clarks, and Blackwells have saved me from just going through the motions of life. The price they are paying has added perspective and meaning to my life. And it’s reminded me again and again of the ultimate and incomprehensible sacrifice of our Savior.
And I plan to honor that example by becoming a better person.
P.S.
Courtney – you are amazing and inspirational. Thank goodness for modern media! Keep up the great work.
Nielson Family – you guys have been through so much. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Christian & Stephanie – Havelock Ellis said, “Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.” In this instance I would add that morphine is also a part of life – and to reject it would be just plain dumb.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Simple Stuff
Today I held my son and watched him play with the tab of a soda can for 20 minutes. Sometimes it’s those simple things in life that matter the most.
Today I also embraced a good friend who had just laid an infant daughter in her final resting place. Doctors had given her minutes to live. She lived for 13 glorious days. During those days, she and her sweet family cherished the simple things in life that matter the most.
Today I listened as her father recounted the miracle of her birth: how a priesthood blessing and the innocent faith of her tiny sisters breathed life into her lifeless body. And how the minutes turned into hours, and hours into days, and the days into weeks. And as the world held its breath, a family suspended in time relished in the simpleness of life, and of love, and of faith. In the stillness of birth and the stillness of death, they learned to experience life undiluted by meaningless complications.
Today I wept as I watched a young family do the hardest thing they’ll ever have to do in this life --- to say goodbye to their child. And an image flashed in my mind – of my son in his red swimming suit - racing for the water, grinning ear to ear, as he first exp
erienced the beauty of the ocean. And how beautiful my wife looked as she helped him through his initial trepidation of the water. And how the ridges of sand felt on my feet – and how the tiny rippling waves lapped around our family as we waded in the warm water. And how that moment: unmanufactured, simple, and innocent, will be forever burned in my mind.
For my friend’s sweet daughter Melody, life was a gift. For the rest of us, life is a choice. We can choose to live a life watered down by cynicism, distraction, scheming, and selfishness. Or we can take life straight up: pure, innocent, and simple. And the true tragedy in life isn’t the death of our bodies, but rather the loss of life through the squandering of precious moments on things of little or no worth.
Though Melody’s tiny lifeless body was laid to rest today, I felt her larger-than-life spirit, and the urgency of her message: that life isn’t to be tamed through the planning and engineering of artificial joy, but rather, life is a collection of simple moments, some filled with joy, and some filled with excruciating pain. And it’s those simple moments in life that matter the most.
Today I also embraced a good friend who had just laid an infant daughter in her final resting place. Doctors had given her minutes to live. She lived for 13 glorious days. During those days, she and her sweet family cherished the simple things in life that matter the most.
Today I listened as her father recounted the miracle of her birth: how a priesthood blessing and the innocent faith of her tiny sisters breathed life into her lifeless body. And how the minutes turned into hours, and hours into days, and the days into weeks. And as the world held its breath, a family suspended in time relished in the simpleness of life, and of love, and of faith. In the stillness of birth and the stillness of death, they learned to experience life undiluted by meaningless complications.
Today I wept as I watched a young family do the hardest thing they’ll ever have to do in this life --- to say goodbye to their child. And an image flashed in my mind – of my son in his red swimming suit - racing for the water, grinning ear to ear, as he first exp
erienced the beauty of the ocean. And how beautiful my wife looked as she helped him through his initial trepidation of the water. And how the ridges of sand felt on my feet – and how the tiny rippling waves lapped around our family as we waded in the warm water. And how that moment: unmanufactured, simple, and innocent, will be forever burned in my mind.For my friend’s sweet daughter Melody, life was a gift. For the rest of us, life is a choice. We can choose to live a life watered down by cynicism, distraction, scheming, and selfishness. Or we can take life straight up: pure, innocent, and simple. And the true tragedy in life isn’t the death of our bodies, but rather the loss of life through the squandering of precious moments on things of little or no worth.
Though Melody’s tiny lifeless body was laid to rest today, I felt her larger-than-life spirit, and the urgency of her message: that life isn’t to be tamed through the planning and engineering of artificial joy, but rather, life is a collection of simple moments, some filled with joy, and some filled with excruciating pain. And it’s those simple moments in life that matter the most.
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