So, all you loyal reader out there...I counted up the number of little papers in my pocket in church on Sunday and there were 32. So, that means it's high time I updated. Stay tuned! Who knows - I may write about you next!
So anyway, the next posts will likely contain a few random notes that I just need to record somewhere so I can get rid of some pocket clutter.
I was reading the letters to the editor of TIME Magazine, and one man had written of raising children, "My sister told me, 'listen to your daughter. She will show you how to raise her.'" I thought this was significant because I have noticed several people who cause themselves a lot of stress worrying that they will not do everything perfectly with their new infants, and although we all want our kids to fit into a nice easy mold, in the end we will raise our kids with very individualized plans according to their specific needs and natures. So, although there are generic principles for how to raise children (love, patience, respect, and so forth), there is no one good method. After all, children have survived thousands of years of mediocre parenting by normal folks just like all of us.
On another note, I was led one day to ponder the legacy I will leave upon my demise. It would be a tragedy if, at then end of my life, those I have known well said, "he was a nice guy, but..." As in, "He was a nice guy, but he never seemed to be truly happy" or "He was a nice guy, but he didn't ever go out of his way to help others." It is true (as I have mentioned previously) that what will matter most at the end of this life is who loved us and who we loved. Nobody really needs to be remembered for heroic acts recorded in the great history books; what we need is to each leave a legacy of caring so that those left behind can truly say, "My life was better because this person was a part of it." Someone once told me that she liked herself more because she had known me, and I can't think of any better compliment than that.
I knew someone in high school, but I did not know him well. We were on the drumline together for two years, and we conversed every so often, but I did not know much about his life outside of a school setting. A couple years ago, he died during surgery and I attended his funeral with my wife. The BYU Men's Chorus sang at his funeral, and the church was full - so full that the overflow seats were all filled. His sister spoke, and she said that toward the end of his life he told her and her younger brother to get along. He said, "We need to be nicer to people because sometimes life is short." She said he had told her to stop crying and to start smiling. I don't know one thing he did that will ever be taught in our public schools, but every one of the hundreds of people there had a reason to remember him with fondness and to resolve to be kinder and more generous themselves. Our lives are more fragile than we know, and the words we say to our spouse, our parents or siblings, or a stranger in the supermarket may be the last words they hear from us. Conversely, one of us may be the last person someone sees before he or she passes away. I took care of a woman at the end of her life, and it was a special thing to be able to tell her, when she was past the point of responding, that it had been a privelege knowing her and caring for her. I think it might have been more special if I had told her sooner.
