I recently wrote a short story for a contest, but then realized that it wasn't what they were looking for. I enjoyed writing the story anyway, so here you go...

While I was in the military I didn't appreciate Veteran's Day like I do now. While still on active duty it often meant a parade detail or some sort of official function while everyone else was enjoying a day off. I guess I became a little jaded. Perhaps I felt that way because I viewed my own sacrifices as light or nonexistent when compared to those who lost life or limb. I didn't, and still don't, feel worthy of the praise that we rightly shower down on those who sacrificed so much on our behalf.

As a nation we should be very slow to go to war. We should seek every possible avenue to avoid the bloodshed and carnage that inevitably is part of armed conflict. We should endeavor to persuade our potential enemies by all the means available to us, and even be willing to accept a few political "black eyes" to avoid the bloodshed.

However, when and if we do decide to wage war, we must wage it to win!

I have never been a big believer in "limited warfare". The concept seems irrational to me. If the cause is worth waging war over, then let us wage it in all earnestness and with the full weight of our conviction behind it. Once we cross the line from heated verbal exchanges to armed conflict, we should release the "dogs of war" until victory is achieved. Too often "limited warfare" leads to a "limited victory". Too often a limited response cheapens the lives of those who have volunteered to sacrifice on our behalf.

John Stuart Mill said,

“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse. When a people are used as mere human instruments for firing cannon or thrusting bayonets, in the service and for the selfish purposes of a master, such war degrades a people. A war to protect other human beings against tyrannical injustice – a war to give victory to their own ideas of right and good, and which is their own war, carried on for an honest purpose by their free choice – is often the means of their regeneration. A man who has nothing which he is willing to fight for, nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety, is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. As long as justice and injustice have not terminated their ever-renewing fight for ascendancy in the affairs of mankind, human beings must be willing, when need is, to do battle for the one against the other.”
John Stuart Mill (1806-1873), “The Contest in America.” Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Volume 24, Issue 143, page 683-684. Harper & Bros., New York, April 1862.

Right now a soldier is putting their life in harm's way for you and for me. They do it for Democrats, Republicans, and Independants. They do it for hippies, yuppies, and generation X. They do it for Wall Street and Main Street. They do it for the common working man, and the tycoon. They even do it for those who protest against them. But best of all, they do it voluntarily.

This Veteran's Day, let us give thanks to those who have sacrificed and continue to sacrifice on our behalf. May we be worthy of the gifts they purchased us with their blood.

My daughter had an interesting homework assignment last night. She had to write a paragraph about what the world would be like one hundred years from now. A lot can change in a one hundred years.

The last one hundred years certainly brought a lot of changes. The automobile replaced the horse and buggy. The cellular phone replaced the telegraph. The high definition television replaced the radio. Email replaced the letter. Air travel replaced the train and the cruise ship.

Several deadly diseases no longer pose a threat. Vision can be corrected with a surgical procedure. The mysteries of the genetic code are being solved. The average life expectancy has increased by over twenty years.

Yes, a lot could change in one hundred years, yet a lot will remain the same.

I predict that in one hundred years, peace on earth will still be just as allusive as it is today. Because the lust for power, white-hot anger, and man’s inability to forgive a neighbor will still be with us. War will still be with us.

A hundred years from now diet, exercise, and taking care of yourself will still be the best way to live a long and healthy life. Because the temptation to overeat, drink alcohol, or ingest various other harmful substances will still be with us. Health problems brought on by personal choices will still be with us.

A hundred years from now crime will still plague society. Because lying, thievery, and murder will still spring from the hearts of humankind. Criminals and police will still be with us.

A hundred years from now the family will still be the most important part of society. Because the basic desire to love and be loved is an innate part of what it means to be human, men and women will find a way to build a loving relationship and produce offspring.

A hundred years from now truth will still be true. Truth will not change with changing times. The advice to forgive others their trespasses, love thy neighbor as thyself, and do unto others as you would have them do unto you, will all be true in one hundred years, one thousand years, one million years, and for eternities.

A lot can change in one hundred years, but the basics of human nature and the truths that govern our interactions with one another haven’t changed in eons.

This week I reread the classic John Steinbeck story, Of Mice and Men. After reading it, I realized that a story I recently wrote had a lot of similarities, but then again we all experience similar things in life as time goes by. We all age. We all deal with sickness and imperfection. We all deal with the questions of life and death.

I had to deal with the question of life and death this week as well.

No, it wasn’t while I was flying. No, I didn’t stop an attacker at gunpoint. No, my dog did not need to be put down. I had to kill a mouse.

It seems that some mice thought our house was nice, and decided to take up residence in the wall behind the refrigerator and help themselves to food scraps in the nearby pantry. My seventeen-year old son, Cody, met them face to face last night around midnight when teenage hunger pains led him to the pantry as the mice were feasting on our food. To his credit he didn’t scream like a girl and wake us up.

So this morning I begin the process of cleaning out the pantry and looking for mice. At first all I found were mouse droppings, but as I pulled the last large can away from the wall a tiny mouse began running back and forth in the back of the pantry! I was startled at first (I didn’t scream like a girl either), and then I called on my two trusty Shitzu attack dogs to come and rid our domain of this disease-ridden rodent.

Kai and Kneesa came running, but instead of attacking, they watched the mouse with great interest as he ran behind the fridge. They seemed to be saying, “Wow! Would you look at that mouse! Man he sure is a fast little guy. I wonder if he would like to play with us? Hey little buddy, where are you going? Come back and play!”

Don’t ever buy Shitzu attack dogs.

After cleaning and disinfecting the pantry, I purchased some glue traps and put them in just the right spots to catch the invading vermin. Later this evening as I came in from Carson’s baseball game, Kati informed me that one of the traps had already nabbed a little furry felon.

Now the drama of life and death began.

My wife Britt hates the thought of killing anything, even little furry rodents. After she made me promise that I would not let the mouse suffer, she went upstairs in tears.

I carried the trap with the offending creature outside not letting my daughter follow me. I guess my wife’s tears gave me a twinge of guilt and I didn’t want anyone relishing in the death of one of God’s creatures. As I prepared to end his pitiful little life quickly, I could see the fear in his eyes and see the panic in his demeanor. As his little brown eyes looked up at me I remembered the Steinbeck story and the necessity of death and its inevitable outcome. We carry the powers of life and death within us everyday, but seldom do we exercise those powers. We certainly should never exercise them indiscriminately or without compassion. Life is a gift. Death is sometimes merciful.

I kept my promise. The mouse did not suffer... but he also did not live.

Amy Grant sings a Christmas song that puts “Every man would have friend”, on her grown up Christmas list. I must admit that a multitude of the world’s problems would be solved if that Christmas wish were granted. Friendship is a gem that is hard to find, difficult to mine, and must be painstakingly cut and polished over time to reveal the beauty within.

I am blessed with many friends. They make my life richer, my sorrows lighter, and my joys more pronounced. The lighthearted laughter, the kind words of encouragement, the unfettered sympathy offered by friends gives life a smooth and easy texture.

My “gypsy” lifestyle makes it difficult sometimes for me to keep up with friends and the important happenings in their lives. I find myself skimming across the surface of relationships because I am often in some distant hotel room when I have a friend in need. Like a skipping stone I cover a great deal of distance, but only lightly touch the surface. But unlike a skipping stone, a successful friendship is not measured by the number of times it can skip across the surface, but by the depth of the impact. A good friend is more like a big rock that drops deep into the pool of our life and sends happy ripples cascading across our soul.

I watched my Mom and Dad develop deep friendships over the years. It happened slowly. The friendship gemstone was cut and polished slowly by the joys and tragedies of their lives. They took time to carefully strike the stone at just the right time and at just the right angle. They lovingly polished rough spots to make them sparkle and shine. What started as a rough stone of acquaintance became a shimmering treasure of friendship that continues to brighten many lives.

Find a friend. Be a friend. Let us work together as friends to cut and polish the common treasure so that we can reveal the beauty of a deep and lasting friendship.

Today is my oldest son’s twentieth birthday. I guess you are waiting for the comments where I sound like the “old guy” – “I remember the day he was born just like it was yesterday…” Well, I do remember it like it was yesterday, but that is not the point. Remembering isn’t the key. Reliving doesn’t make it special. Relishing in the relationship is what gives the memory and the hope of future memories deeper meaning.

It is hard to be a parent. Anybody who is a parent will tell you that. Since it is human nature to complain, when parents talk to other parents, it sometimes sounds like parenthood is made up only of selfless drudgery, never-ending control battles, and tolerating countless displays of ingratitude. Like most, I have been guilty of focusing on the negative aspects of being a parent and treating it more like a burden than a bonus.

David O. McKay said, “No other success can compensate for failure in the home.” Truer words were never spoken, yet the weight of the task doesn’t have to make it drudgery or burdensome. No greater happiness can be found in any other endeavor than the noble calling of parenthood. Healthy family relationships are a wellspring of happiness and fulfillment available to both prince and pauper, but only if we treat them as such.

Sometimes my kids tell me I’m a mean Dad, and sometimes they’re right. I focus too much on trying to “teach” and “correct” and not enough time trying to “touch” and “connect”. The burden of the parental responsibility and my fear of failure keep me from enjoying the relationship and drinking deeply from the wellspring of happiness found in the family. I try too hard because failure at home is the worst failure of all.

So to all the parents out there, next time you find yourself feeling the burden of parenthood weigh you down and you find yourself in a gripe session - consider the alternative. Stop. Instead, talk about the joys and the simple pleasures that are found only in the family. Talk about the funny things your children say and do. Share the times when they have lifted you up and taught you. Explain how you have felt as you quietly sneaked into their room and watched them sleep.

I have six wonderful children. They bring me immeasurable joy and happiness. I always look forward to seeing them after work – even when I come home from a trip and complain because the pool is green and nobody noticed. They make my life better, and I don’t tell them that often enough.

Happy Birthday Rian! I am sure you and your siblings will bring me joy for many birthdays to come.

Recently several young men in my neighborhood have returned home after serving as LDS missionaries for two years in various parts of the world. The change in their stature, demeanor, and composure was remarkable. They left as boys becoming young men, and returned as men.

John Steinbeck said, “A boy becomes a man when a man is needed.” These “boys” left the comfort of their homes and willfully volunteered to serve others – strangers in a strange land. They did it in an environment filled with structure yet very little oversight or supervision. The task required manhood and they grew to meet the requirement.

My oldest son is currently serving in the Philippines and I can tell through his emails that the tasks he faces daily require more than a boyish commitment. He, like the other boys, is meeting the requirements of the task at hand and will return a man.

This “coming of age” scenario takes place everyday in various different ways and by diverse means. Everyday girls and boys accept the challenges of adulthood willingly or as they are thrust upon them by circumstance. They become women and men because life requires it. Shielding them from life’s requirements only delays and hinders their journey into adulthood.

What do those of us who have accepted and fulfilled life’s adulthood requirement do to continue to “come of age”? Are we developing new talents or skills? Are we finding ways to give back to our families, communities, and country?

Once I visited a dying neighbor in a nursing home. She was sleeping when we arrived, but the woman in the bed next to her was knitting and welcomed us into the room. My wife asked if she had been knitting long, and she replied that it was something she had recently taken up. “I can still use my hands and I can still do something!” she said with a smile. She was still “coming of age”.

I think life is meant to be lived, and I hope I am always “coming of age”.