Leaven Bread

Thanksgiving, a day to give thanks for all we have. Nat and I sat down the other night and wrote as many things as we could of which we were thankful for. All in all - we wrote approximately 130 - 140 items. But I was tired so we turned out the lights and tried to close the conversation along with our eyes. But as we did so, thoughts kept creeping in of more things I was thankful for. I didn't write these down but they just kept coming up - almost annoyingly too frequent. I felt bad feeling annoyed by the constant reminder of things I was thankful for, but I was tired. How's that for irony and irreverence on thanksgiving day? Yet, just before I fell asleep, I was reminded with a warm message of peace in my chest that I am a very blessed man. I know the last message I felt in my heart that night came from my Elder Brother through His messenger the spirit because my mind was in complete dichotomy thinking otherwise (and drastically so). I fell asleep that night while my heart and mind melded in gratitude allowing my annoyance to dissipate. I have my wife to thank for that beautiful exercise of thanksgiving (I have a lot to thank her for). One of the things I listed on our inventory that night was home made bread. About three months ago Nat learned how to make homemade sourdough bread using a 'start' that is about 37 years old. This start is in a weird way alive and is susceptible to death if not used within a 10 day period. When it dies it's good only in the garden as mulch. When alive, it ferments causing the bread to rise with out the aid of yeast (or leaven). It is a genius method in making bread and it tastes absolutely wonderful. In Mathew chapter 16:5-8 we are taught the lesson of leaven. While on their journey in Magdala the disciples noticed they had forgotten the bread and wondered where to purchase some. Apparently the disciples were to bring bread for the Savior and themselves to eat and possibly to perform the ordinance of the sacrament. At that time different types of bread meant different things....I won't go off on that tangent, but the disciples inquired which to purchase from - the Pharisees or the Sadducees. Nevertheless, in that moment Christ, as He always did, took the chance to teach a valuable lesson to His followers (vs 6) "Then Jesus said unto them, Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees" What was the difference? In Luke 12:1-12 we learn that the leaven of the Pharisees is specifically hypocrisy. However, in comparison and on another level - the Pharisees and Sadducees represented two different forms of belief [ Pharisees = Knowledge of the Law (Spiritual) & Sadducees = Knowledge of the Law (Secular)]. Knowledge is key in our returning to our Heavenly Father and in my case - my little boy Branson. It is well known that Joseph Smith was not a learned boy when first approached by Moroni about the restoration of the gospel. However he was a strong advocate about attaining as much of both spiritual and secular knowledge that could possibly be gained in this life to be so much the better in the next. So why was the Savior saying not to purchase bread with the Sadducee and Pharisee leaven? The answer is found in verses 11-12 of Matt. chapter 16. But also - knowledge of both spiritual and secular things can actually damn a man just as fast as he acquires it if that knowledge is not purchased using the Savior's atonement and His leaven. In other words leaven is not just leaven ... it matters the source and how it was obtained. Knowledge of why my son was taken from me is not mine to have yet. But I trust that the Lord will allow me to see around these blind corners only when I have reached the end of His well designed 'narrow' corridor at the time He chooses. Life is full of leaven (knowledge) I hope I can find what I need to know, when I need to know it. In Him I have faith that His plan is just as wonderful as home made bread. His leaven is truth.

Breathing Soon - I hope

I have sat here for about five minutes wondering what it is I am supposed to write about. Just beginning this blog for my son has been a four month process. Quite frankly I don't know what I'm doing here. I just figured I'd write and hope that something spilled onto the page. My mind is racing. My heart is flat. Flat from the constant pounding I give it everyday turning from thoughts of my dead boy. I miss you so much Branson. I have wanted to hold your head in my hands again and give you just one more bath. Branson, I have felt you near me - tugging on my arm - trying to get me to do better, to be better. Life becomes stagnant and disappointing when I think about you. This tears at my insides and gives my heart another beating mostly because I should have happy thoughts when I think of you - right? I feel it is all my fault and only you know why. I have felt like I needed to be the strong one always and protect your mom from the crying eyes and mostly from the wondering stares that people undoubtedly throw our way. In my mind I thought that by playing strong and displaying an unyielding shield of a testimony that people would ease up and forget about your mom and I and go on with life so we could go on with ours undetected...un searched. I'm finding this front of cheery conversation to be a type of sponge, mopping up the anger left on the floor of the mortuary. I can't run from my anger any longer. I can't stand up and smile anymore. I hope people understand. But that's just it - I know they can't - how can they? There is a pain here that is best described as grief but even that pails in the face of what it really is. What is it? Even I don't know and I feel it ... indeed, I feel it everyday. This is now an outlet (so they tell me). I'm willing to swing at. I'll try anything. And its time, its past time I did something to help me feel better. In looking back and reading what I have just wrote its words do in fact take on the image of a fire hydrant ready to burst. Little droplets leaking out and rolling to the ground. Then taunt streams of liquid reaching for a pinnacle until finally the water takes form and follows pattern leaving the hunk of metal stopper wet, face down in the dirt. That is how I hope to leave my anger and frustration of this whole matter - face down in the dirt so I can finally breathe.