Being Seen

“The Reality of The Other Person Lies Not In What He Reveals To You, But What He Cannot Reveal To You.
Therefore, If You Would Understand Him, Listen Not To What He Says, But Rather To What He Does Not Say.”

― Khalil Gibran

I am not sure if this has ever happened to you.  My guess is that you will know if it does.  It is a powerful experience.  I have been thinking about this idea of "being seen."  A friend was talking to me about this....  Some of us are desperate to be seen, while others would rather die than be seen.  To be seen as we truly are....  why would that carry such enormous risk and peril?  Maybe it is because we are not able to handle the idea that maybe we could be accepted and loved for who we are....  Maybe others will see "through" us instead...

Listening to what someone doesn't say takes a particular gift I believe.  I have been on the receiving end of that and have appreciated it so much.  When someone "gets" you, without you having to spell it out....  magic.  It is like a gift you didn't even know you needed, and so when received it is so special and precious. 

Somehow, some way God sees us completely and trusts us in our struggles to see ourselves and to be seen by others.  Somehow He is there, part of that process....  giving us glimpses of what can be so that we can aim our arrows to a good place.  All we seem to need are those glimpses, those little flashes that come unexpectedly and then are suddenly gone... but the image lingers.... even though fleeting, it is there just beyond reach.  We know what to shoot for, we just don't always know if we are ready or if we want to....  What happens if we actually become that person?  Someone told me :  It is as if finally boarding that elusive ship, but now wondering what to do next...  

......To be seen or not....  

I wonder if it is more about being understood than anything else.... that is why I feel Gibran's invitation to listen for understanding in order to really "see" beckons so strongly.  I thank those who have listened that way to me... it has made all the difference.  The gratitude is so deep.  Maybe I am ok to be me after all....

Healing and Time

"Time heals all wounds"    Really..?  Does it?

I have been re-thinking the whole "Time heals all wounds" thing we hear during difficult times.  I don't think time has anything to do with it.  I think it ultimately has a lot more to do with what we actually "do" during the space we call time.  Time is passive.   If we just decided to do things sooner, rather than wait and wallow in our own hot mess we wouldn't rely on the circular incessant passing of two hands of time to somehow miraculously solve our problems.

Because if you believe that feeling better is simply a matter of time, and not within your own ability to control, you will eventually give up hope of happiness because it has failed to ‘arrive’.

Is it time's fault we carry resentment for years?  No, that is on us.....I believe that time doesn't heal us at all... Growth does.

"The light at the end of the tunnel isn't the illusion.  The tunnel is."   --Unknown

When you take an active part in your healing, rather than simply wait, the sooner the proverbial tunnel shrinks and the quicker you reach the light at the end.

So...what to do?  Wait..... maybe something will change on its own... maybe we should continue nursing dissatisfaction in our souls because we are justified and it feels good....

or we can grow up and become that person that beckons to us inside.... the one that we see when we close our eyes... the one that is just a bit better than we are today, the one that fills us with emotion and inspiration...   Yes... let's do it.  Let's grow up together and reach for that light today!  

Don't let time haunt you any more.... it is a thief if you let it be.

The Unbearable Burn of Hurting Good

It finally came.... the day of pure dread.  The day I used to think would be so exciting and cool.... the day we would drop McKenna off at college.  Exciting and cool it was.... but where was the manual that would prepare me for the absolute angst of my heart strings being pulled like stretch armstrong.  Talk about the 'Agony and the Ectasy'....Sheesh!

There are no words to describe the different emotions that swirled like a twister inside me that day.  It would have not have been so hard if we hadn't had the type of previous year that we had with her...  Of all the years of my life, this would rank in the top 3. Spending time with McKenna was truly an exquisite experience and memory that I will cherish with all of my heart forever.

Seniors aren't supposed to have time for family, much less parents... Everything about them is about not being home.... in fact it is very much about leaving home as soon as possible.  It is all about not being seen or embarrassed by parents, complaining about them, hating the curfews, resenting being asked "how was your night?"   Not for McKenna... she loved being home, at least she made us feel that way, and she seemed to genuinely be interested in spending time with us.... there were so many special times when she was engaged in finding out about me personally, about my work, about parenting, about me and my hopes and dreams.  Spending so much time with Mom really helping her think about and solving problems.  Letting us both in.....what a blessing.  All I really know is that I do not know how, in all the big wide world we were so blessed and fortunate to have her come to us, be part of our family, to inspire us every single day.

Yes, it would have been easier if she had been the normal high schooler -- into herself, boy crazy, can't-wait-to-get-out-of-here girl, because then maybe I would have even had a slight urge to see her "move on" if you know what I mean.... She took an entirely different but beautiful route.

Let me put it this way.... when she said,

 "Dad.... do you just want to come to college with me?"

I really didn't need to hear anything else.......ever!  She immediately leaped into my personal Hall of Fame.   Game over, strike me down now, take me I am ready.....Seriously??  Who is she?

The week before I was already feeling the loss.... it was very deep and it hurt like all get out.  The day before I was doing all kinds of things to keep me distracted... then the day came.  At first I decided I wouldn't go all the way down, rather just catch her half way at work, give her a hug and then let it be that.... they stopped by, I JUMPED into the car and said  "I am not missing this for anything."   Best decision I have made in a while.

We got her all fixed up, went and got groceries, set up her printer and laptop, put everything away, then we walked out to the car to say good bye.  She pulled out letters for Mom and me.  I knew I would not be able to even read it for at least a day.

                                                                   We hugged....yep... you know the kind... the one where spirit hugs spirit... way beyond body.

The ache started amidst the happy parting words.... it lingered until I found the courage to read her letter.... So powerful. So rich, so beautiful, so grateful....

                                                                                    .........for the unbearable burn of hurting good.

Where Angels Land

Last weekend I found myself in this place shown to the left....  a place called Angel's Landing.  A most spectacular and unique place.  There is a reason for the name.... It is like those movie scenes where you see someone on top of a particular peak that they couldn't possibly have gotten to without the aid of a helicopter..... or by the wing's of an Angel.  6 people have died since 2005 exactly where this picture shows.. this last .5 mile spine with chains to help guide each footstep to the final peak.

I didn't really want to climb it.  I was at a family reunion and that morning when roll call went out for those going on this hike, my hand did not raise as part of the "counted" as going.  But something inside said "go".... So, I went.....

My head was telling me that I should go with my two sons.... my heart had something else in mind but I didn't know what that was until later.....later when I was winded, exhausted and taking more and more little breaks on the way up.  It was very hot, I was exerting a lot of energy.  It felt pretty good, although I was out of shape.

During the hike my mind shifted from paying attention to the trail and surroundings to an internal thought that was brewing inside and trying to bubble up....It finally surfaced as I was about 3/4 of the way up.  the thought was pretty clear once if formed in my mouth and I actually said it out loud to myself:

"Aaron, you need to leave something up here that you will not return with...."

I listened to myself as I said it.  I pretended to question myself but I knew exactly what it meant.  I just didn't know where that question came from....or rather, I wasn't sure that was going to be the question.  I have been working on a theory of mine over the past couple of years... which is, maybe if I spend enough time on figuring out the right questions in my life, and then offering them up to Heaven, maybe that is the best way for me to ensure I am on the right path and doing the right things in the moment of that particular question..... (It wouldn't be me if I didn't make this complex)  I knew instantly that the reason I came was  not actually just to be with my kids.....(btw they took off way ahead and didn't see them that much anyway)... rather it was to have this question accompany me on the way up and then extend the invitation to leave something by giving something up.  

The good news is that I have a rolodex of hundreds of things that I could do without that I have collected along the way that are pretty much unnecessary in my life. The bad news was this was not going to be one of those "low hanging fruit" things...  This was going to be something more significant, something that I would not want to give up, something that would make me a bit afraid to not have in my life anymore....something very familiar, something that seemingly would feel safe, but ultimately would keep me from spiritually growing up.....something that would hurt.
  
My thoughts crystallized with each step.  The remaining difficult .5 miles was slow and technical, giving me time to ready myself.  It wasn't easy... I fought and wrestled inside trying to replace the "thing" with another thing, but it wouldn't go away.  It won the day and I was tired inside now, not just my body.  I slowly gave in.  I started to go through the mental motions of giving that up.... offering it to God.  Letting loose the tight grip I had on it.  I tried to "feel" ahead what that would feel like afterwards..... days from now, what would I think and feel... would I recover, would I stick to it... could I sustain and maintain?  I wasn't sure.  But I knew I had to try.

So there on the very top of Angel's Landing I found a quiet little spot, I closed my eyes and offered a very simple prayer.....  "Lord, please send Angels to help me let go of what I need to"  I thought it would be ok to ask that way, given the location.   "And grant me the strength to see it through, to fight through the pain it would bring, to grow up so maybe I could help others do the same."

Some tears came.... partly due the physical exhaustion, mostly due to the parting....like letting go of a friend.... but it was time.  Little boys must grow up.  I have a new perspective on the whole Peter Pan philosophy and empathy for Pan himself. 

"When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight"                -- GIbran

  I came down from that mountain a bit different.  I thought about if I had not chosen to come.  I remembered the wrestle I had internally earlier that morning.  I felt the victory of making the choice I did.  It was a very interesting experience that I was not planning on.  It happened.... I felt it was important, I felt I needed it.  What was particularly special was what I learned that day.  I learned that listening to that still small voice is important.  I learned that acting on promptings can make a difference... I was reminded that a man named Jesus was willing to give up something too.... for me and for you.  He too wrestled inside and with God, in a way I will never understand. He asked too "if possible, let this cup pass away from me", He was tired and exhausted and yet and he gave up his life of his own free volition.  I was grateful for the experience, yes....even the test, to see what I would do, on such an infinitesimal scale.   

Should chance and you meet on this mount someday.... I openly invite you to consider what question you could ask yourself as you reach that place where Angel's land and Heaven feels a bit closer.

Pray for me....that I can "stick this landing" like I need to, and I will pray for you....

Coming Home

The last time a picture had such a powerful emotional effect on me was when I saw my mother as a young woman dancing  for the very first time.  (*See "Finishing Touches" post)

When I saw this one today, two days before Landon comes home from his 2 year mission, I was struck by 100 things all at the same time and I didn't even know what they all were, yet at the same time they all made sense in my heart and I knew that I would slowly dissect each segment -- like peeling apart an orange a section at a time.  Mostly I just had a "knowing" feeling.  Immediate knowing.  A new friend of mine would call it "Suchness."  It was much more about feeling this photo than it was about seeing or looking at it.  I fell instantly in love with it... with what it captured, conveyed and spoke to my heart.

I love first that it is in black and white.  It almost has a a late "50's or early 60's" feel to it.  A bit of a throw back.  The fact that he is completely alone, headed across this bridge... Oh, what a bridge it is!  A major bridge in his life, a metaphor of the transition back, a crossing.... a rite of passage..... a moment of maturity, a resoluteness in his posture and step.  He isn't wavering is he...No, his gaze is fixed, his air of assuredness noted and his sight is set and it isn't downward, it is set on the prize...

Once someone I respected a great deal offered me some counsel after a particular trying assignment I had on my mission.  I had been in one area for 9 months and confined to an office.  He said, when you leave this area for the next one, don't look back.  Do a 180 degree direction change and just move forward and don't spend anytime looking over your shoulder wondering, or fretting about what will come behind you.  It was exactly what I needed.  I needed to give myself "permission" to move forward, no regrets, no doubts.  I feel this is exactly what this picture conveys to me.  Landon isn't wondering or fussing about what he is leaving.  He has done it, completed the requirements, given his all....now ready for the next experience...the wind at his back.

Noone is watching, he doesn't need that... he has his own terms.  Seems right.

I said two years ago I would catch you on the "flipside"  Just pretend Landon that we are on the other side of that bridge.......

"Well done thou good and faithful servant"

Father's Day

Landon posted the other day on FB.  I didn't even know about it until it had been there a while.  He said some very special things that tore me up inside, in the very best way of being torn up inside.... I couldn't hold this one back at all... it just power punched me right in the heart and I was a pool of goo after that....literally I think I just melted onto my knees.

First:  The photo.... How on earth did he get this??  I don't even remember owning this one.  Rod Manning was my companion in Portugal when I served my mission for the LDS Church back in....uh oh...are you ready?   1985.   Landon is on the right, looking better....as he should, with his last companion in Edmonton.  What a cool pic!  I will treasure this one....

Second:  The honor......What an incredible way to honor this long standing LDS tradition of serving missions.  Mine changed me and my life forever... I believe Landon's has done the same for him.

Third:  The gratitude.....this is pretty profound for me.  Other compliments are wonderful.  This one....wow... kinda can't really express or completely take in yet.  It is like the water overflowing a pitcher in the sink...  not enough room.  I think of all the people in my life that it took to help form my choice to go.  Too many people, not enough words.  This is just so very deep and special to me.  

So what is the lesson?  Do good things... all the time,  'cause someone is watching and you truly never know what the ripple effect can be....

You think that sometimes it is the things you say that might be the biggest part of parenting.... finding the right words, saying them the right way, trying to never miss those teaching moments that are so fleeting... but this is a reminder that maybe one of the best parenting practices was about something I did vs said.   Especially crazy since my mission was 30 years ago, long before I was a parent.  Interesting to now hear Landon's thoughts and feelings about what I did so many years ago, now continues to influence him in a pretty significant way.  

Humbling is what it is..... and beautiful too.  I love you more than you will ever know.  Thanks for taking the time, sharing your words, hoping and knowing that I would love it.  Thanks for your generosity.

Landon.... I can't really find the words to express the gift you just gave me.  I will find room for it, and I will make a special place to honor it with you.  A trophy, a legacy, an echo of eternity.....


                                        Thank you.
                                               谢谢

The Sound of one Million Memories

The second time I ever heard "Careless Whisper" was on the plane leaving Madeira. The saxophone had barely started when something in my chest gave way. I was nineteen. I didn't even really know who George Michael was yet. But I knew what that song held — seven months of a life I was leaving behind, pressed into four minutes of music like flowers dried between the pages of a book.

The first time I heard it was the day I arrived. It was playing on the radio when I walked into Mae Amelia's house for the first time — she was the first member of the Church ever on that island, and she had built a small apartment in her garage just for the missionaries. She became our second mother before we'd even unpacked. She cooked every meal. She let us eat with her family. She had this way of making you feel like you had always belonged there, even when you'd just arrived from somewhere else entirely — which, for me, was always. I remember noticing the song that first day and thinking: this place is going to be something. And it absolutely was.

Have you ever heard a song and found yourself suddenly, completely somewhere else? Not just remembering — actually there, immersed in every detail, every feeling, every smell. It happens with a phrase sometimes, or a word, or the particular way light falls on an afternoon. Something outside you reaches in and pulls the past forward. The feeling is never really gone — it has just been waiting. Patient and knowing, like an old book pulled from a shelf, dusted off, opened to find that the underlined passages still land exactly as they did the first time. Still relevant. Still deep. Still yours.

Memories never truly fade. They get put aside, just out of reach — until something calls them back. And then they are astonishingly present. Every detail, every emotion, fully assembled and ready. The subtle creak of the memory door opening is the sound of one million memories. An invitation to return and drink deeply from a well that never runs dry. Every memory its own destination — its own language, tone, and timbre. Its own feeling that is never truly forgotten.

Just like mine on that plane. I wasn't prepared for what those opening notes would do to me. Every face. Every doorstep. Every meal around Mae Amelia's table. A million moments flooding back all at once, before Madeira had even disappeared beneath the clouds.

I am hearing a lot of creaks these days. Kids leaving home, changing jobs, friends no longer seen. But when the door opens, what comes through is almost always beautiful — warm and familiar, like falling water over rocks. The hard part is knowing I can't stay. I have to wake up, return to today, and find what it takes to make the next memory worth visiting someday.

Remembering, to me, is the sound of one million memories.

May you hear the creak of your own remembering — and when you do, may you return, soak, and marvel at what you find. Nothing is so sweet or so powerfully moving as those little trips that capture your imagination, refine your purpose, and remind you who you really are.

Remember well.

The Meeting Place

Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field.     I will meet you there.            -Rumi

The Invitation

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. But it did. She invited me. And it made all the difference.  When it comes to my faith, I am usually the one doing the inviting. I'm not sure why it happened differently this time. It was unexpected, unintended and unsolicited. But boy am I glad.

There was a special building being built in her town. Just down her street actually. A house of faith — interestingly not of hers, but of mine. Which only deepened the irony of what was about to happen.

LDS Cordoba Temple

She had been watching it being built for a few years, just a few blocks from her house. One day she asked me if I knew about it. I didn't. So I looked it up and informed myself. She asked about the Open House — I explained that the building would be open to the public for a few weeks before being dedicated. And then she invited me to come down and go through it with her and her family.

I think you can guess what I did.

What is it about invitations that do something to us before we even respond? Think about a recent one you received. A wedding, a graduation, coffee with a friend. You probably don't remember consciously registering it — but you remember feeling glad. Even if the event itself was forgettable, the invite wasn't. That feeling of being beckoned toward something, of being seen as someone worth including — it lingers. It creates anticipation. It whispers that you belong to something bigger than yourself.

That is what an invitation does. It doesn't demand. It hopes. It draws you in and then quietly asks — do you see yourself here?

A real conversation always contains an invitation. You are inviting another person to reveal themselves to you, to tell you who they are, what they want, what they need.

And then there are those rare ones that invite you home. The ones that produce that particular burn in the chest that only ignites when something deeply familiar is recognized. When you find home you find yourself — the best version, the truest version. You remember that you matter to someone. That you belong somewhere. Both people feel it at the same moment and neither can quite explain it. No conditions, no expectations, no promises. Just complete trust and the quiet sharing of what is most important. Differences in culture, language, background — they dissolve instantly, like magic powder in water, producing something that satisfies but never quite sates.

I traveled halfway around the world to walk through a building I already knew. What I didn't expect was what I would witness inside — a labor of love that humbled me completely. People giving everything they had for others far less fortunate, never treating anyone as anything less than equal, always with ultimate dignity and respect. I had come to share something of mine. What I received in return was worth so much more than anything I brought.

"And there are those who have little and give it all. These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty. There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward." — Gibran

I left quietly changed.

But here is what I have been sitting with ever since. None of it happens without her. Not the invitation, not the journey, not what I witnessed inside that building. And she didn't become someone who could invite me home overnight. That took decades. It took e-mails, and phone calls across hemispheres, it took her in Argentina and me in Utah, it took years of life lived separately but somehow still together — the kind of friendship that doesn't require proximity to stay warm.

She invited me to my own temple. A woman of different faith, different continent, different everything — and yet somehow, she knew exactly where I belonged and beckoned me toward it.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. But it did. She invited me. And I am still, quietly, on my way home.

Gracias Maria Jose

Dad...My Life's Caddy

This phenomenal 21 year old won the 2015 Masters golf tournament today.  He led from the beginning and never looked back.  Great story, wonderful to watch, and a TV ratings dream come true.

I love golf... Not because I am any good, because I am not... in fact, I am horrible.  But I love the sport because it is so difficult and challenging and like life, so hard to master.  I am not going to compare it to other sports but just accept it for what it is.  There is something about just being "on" a golf course that really captures my imagination.  The quiet stillness and natural beauty have a lot to do with it.  The unfortunate part of the whole deal is having to hit a rather insignificant ball with a metal stick without losing one's proverbial "religion." Ironic for sure, for those hard core enthusiasts that consider golf their religion.  The hitting part usually bites for me, but, I whack away anyway and follow that little guy all over the place.

As I watched these very experienced golfers I started to notice their interaction with their caddies.  It kind of hit me funny.... watching the world's best constantly counseling with their caddies on every single drive, iron and putt....  Why I wondered?  These guys know what they are doing.  They make millions of dollars and have extreme technical and physical excellence.  What is it about these caddies that make them so invaluable?

They are not employees of the club or any association, rather they are classified as "independent contractors."  Their whole existence is to:

• Carries a player's bag and clubs
• Know overall yardage, pin placements and club selection
• Gives insightful advice and moral support. 
• A good caddy is aware of the challenges and obstacles of the course being played, along with the best strategy in playing it.  

The great British golf writer Henry Longhurst once said: "A good caddie is more than a mere assistant. He is a guide, philosopher and friend".  Other people have likened a caddie to a co-competitor/teammate, strategist, best friend or even a wife without benefits... ha!

Aware of the challenges and obstacles of the course

A typical caddie goes out prior to the tournament to walk the course, check yardages, identify ideal targets/landing spots, identify any "danger" areas to avoid, check the slope and breaks of the green, check weather patterns, prevailing wind direction, etc. They collect this information to help make informed decisions to the player during the tournament, or to help a player strategically prepare for a round prior to teeing off.....

My brain started doing that connection thing.... I began to understand in a more profound way how this caddie idea could apply to my life.  Imagine.... a life's caddie.   Immediately an image formed in my mind... quickly as if he had always been there, just out of sight, possibly waiting for me to make this connection, there he was..... My Dad

What a powerful impact that had on my heart!   As I started to reflect more, I realized that my dad has totally been my life's caddie.   He has walked most of life's courses, checked the yardages, identified ideal landing spots, identified the danger areas to avoid and checked the slope and breaks of life's greens.  He has walked many a course building experience to then share with me, the uniformed "life's rookie golfer" at each tee.... How grateful I am for his wisdom over the years.  His loving and supportive counsel and moral support and encouragement.  

Every time I have stood on a "new" course wondering just where the fairway bends, where the sand traps lie, where the right places to "aim" might be he has been there.... quietly, consistently and ever supportive.  He never goes away.  He is always there within reach.  How much better it is to drive the ball with more faith and confidence with just a bit of experienced wisdom from someone who has been there--done that.  Someone that is totally trustworthy, someone that would never lead me astray, someone that wants me to win even maybe more than I do.  He has helped me avoid danger zones so many times.  Learning to have faith in his counsel has been a lifelong journey....  How comforting is is to know that we don't have to golf this life alone--guessing at each new hole.  His willingness to walk before me and then help me through my ignorant struggle is the stuff life is all about.  He can't drive the ball for me....No, I have to do that and he knows that... Somehow he musters the quiet enduring patience to guide me nonetheless......

 What is so beautiful to me, is knowing that he doesn't even have to be physically present anymore, rather,  If I focus and listen carefully,  I can hear him say as if he were:

  "You may want to think about aiming for that tree, because landing there sets you up for a great next shot to the green and avoids the sand trap."

And the ironic sense of legacy is not lost on me as I now think of passing that down to my own children.  How good of a caddie have I been?  Do I sense the right things to say at the right times, lifting at times, building, nudging and trusting?  Or am I overdoing it, am I saying too much, my expectations too high?  So many questions to reflect on... What helps me the most, is to think about what Dad would say, and then do likewise.... yes.... that is when it is best.  

Postlude: Surely, God, our Father knew we would need guidance during our lives here on earth.  He didn't leave us without a caddie either.  He freely gave us his Son and the gift of the Holy Ghost to lead and guide each one of us on our individualized paths.

Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come..   John 14:26

I thank both Fathers,  in Heaven and on earth, both carrying my bag, helping me along my way... my gratitude is deep, and am indebted to them...

                                                                       ...... I never want to golf alone again.