Measure of a Real Man

     One of the conference talks that really stood out to me was Elder Christofferson's talk from priesthood session. He entitled it 'Brethren, We Have Work to Do', an appropriate title given the contents. He proceeded to lay out everything that was wrong with the 21st century man and contrast it to the men of God that we are all to be. At one point he quotes an author who describes how boys walk into class wearing baggy trousers with an overall slouched appearance and a lame excuse while the girls on the other hand would come in with their day planners asking for law school recommendations. I've had that image running through my mind over and over again since I heard that talk and I feel somewhat disgusted. I'm disgusted that this is the image used to represent the men of my generation. Boys rather. This has motivated me to be determined not to be that kind of person that would contribute to that stereotype. In fact I am determined to be an exemplary man, a real man. I'll have you know mom that since I made this commitment I have made my bed every morning right after I get out of it, and I've kept my room clean. Elder Christofferson also points out that the media's portrayal and the expectations of men to day are not what the Lord would have them be. Men today it seems are expected to be pleasure seeker, fickle, insensitive, dim, lazy, and materialistic, which is ok as long as they stay out of the women's way. This we all know to be wrong. But let me ask. What constitutes a real man? Shortly before his death the Book of Mormon prophet Lehi exhorts his sons to 'arise from the dust and be men'.  What were they lacking? They all were mature male, each of them were married and proved great physical ability in crossing a desert and an ocean to settle a new continent. Why did Lehi feel that they still needed to be men? What makes a real man?

    I've thought on this  a bit and have come up with a few ideas so for this article I will endeavor to create a profile of a real man. Boys become men once they have proven themselves. It is a change that involves much more the puberty. A change where attributes and abilities are forged and fortified here are a few that I feel are necessary to obtain to be a real man.

     Appearance: The world would tell you that a real man is chiseled with a rock hard six pack, dark hair, and a nice scruff about his face. Its all about having a sexy body and wearing the latest and greatest. I will disagree. Presentable is the word I'll use to describe a real man. A real man takes care of himself. At all times is presentable and clean. I feel that a real man would not walk into class or out into public wearing sweat pants around his knees and an over sized baseball hat covering his eyes. A real man wouldn't walk around with nasty unkempt facial hair simply because he thinks its manly or because he is too lazy to shave. A real man is modest in style. A real man will carry himself in an appropriate manner. Maturity and reason should guide his actions and hold his image. When a real man speaks it should reflect his dignified character. Over use of slang and lazy speech is not appropriate for a real man.  A real man will speak his mind in a clear respectful way. Now I'm not saying that men should only speak in rhyme or with Shakespearian eloquence, I'm saying that a real man's speech should not be lazy or inappropriate. Yes, real men don't curse.

     Informed: The world tell us that men are to know everything there is to know about the sports team that they follow and religiously support. Unfortunately that is at times the only thing they can hold an intelligent conversation about.  A real man should be well informed. Building off of presentable speech a real man should be able to hold intelligent conversations. In order to do that one would need to have a broad foundation of knowledge. A real man should be up to date with current affairs, developing researches, styles, teachings, history, geography, and such. He should take it upon himself to form supportable opinions and develop an inquisitive nature, allowing him to constantly learn. A real man should be ready to adopt new positions and opinions when he learns of and is convinced of them. Though they should have personally formed opinions real men should not become dogmatic and close minded. There are few things that are more demeaning to the image of a man then one who will lose his temper when someone challenges his point of view or opinion. It is somewhat understandable to lose you temper when someone personally insults you but for someone to offer a differing opinion or present a different idea that you do not support is not grounds to ruffle your feathers and start shouting. A real man would listen, seek to understand, evaluate and using new information for or reaffirm his opinion.

     Firm Character: The most important thing about a man is his character. A real man has a firm character which is based on unwavering principles. Principles that are meaningful to him and serve as a discipline for constant predictable action. Integrity is at the center of character. Without integrity a mans character will fall at the slightest pressure. A man of integrity will live a transparent life. A real man has nothing to hide. People who observe and interact with a real man will never have to wonder if they are being deceived. He is who he says his is and does what he say he will do. A real man is reliable in every sense of the word. Maintaining a pure integrity a man will place his word above his life and will do all that he can to keep it. This then includes loyalty. A real man is completly loyal to his wife in every sense of the word. The wife of a real man should never feel insecure about herself and their relationship. She should have no reason to doubt his faithfulness in action word and thought. Having a pure integrity a man will always support his wife through better and worse. To maintain pure integrity and a firm character a real man must be disciplined. Disciplined enough to get out of bed when the alarm goes off. Disciplined enough to take a low grade rather then cheat when he did not prepare well enough. Disciplined enough to prepare in advance despite how easy it would be to procrastinate. Disciplined enough to tell the truth knowing full well the potential negative consequences. Disciplined enough to place his fixed principles above wealth, status,  and relationships. Without fixed principles a man is nothing more then a slave to circumstance.  A real man is one of firm character upon whom others can relay on to be stalwart, brave, supportive, helpful, and able. 

     Sensitivity: Might I endeavor to reverse a false manly belief. Men are not above emotion. It is not a sign of strength to be apathetic. Christ we know had compassion on many and at times, although he had a great eternal perspective that allowed him to see beyond sorrow, took time to weep with those that he loved. He truly mourned with those who mourned. A real man is sensitive to those around him. He is firm when needs be but sensitive to the thoughts, desires, needs, fears, and hopes of others. He is not afraid that he will be compromised and lose his 'man card' if a tear falls out of his eye. With sensitivity I might add that a real man is mindful. He is extroverted. He looks outward for opportunities to uplift and strengthen. He does not need to wait to be told of a need. He sees it and fills it without any promptings. He is sensitive of the needs of others and mindful of way he can improve their lives. He is mindful of his own weakness and gratefully allows others the opportunity to serve him. 

   At the end of the day a real man is a honorable priesthood holder. If a man will honor the Oath and Covenant of the Priesthood he will become a real man.  A real man will educate himself concerning the expectations that the Lord has of him. As he learns, he applies. Line upon line he adds new precepts to his fixed principles which govern his life and each day seeks for improvement. 

    A real man is a man who can look Christ in the eye with squared shoulders and a tear in his eye. A man who's heart is full with love and devotion. A man whose hands are rough and worn, whose grip is firm, whose back is strong and whose feet are quick to answer the call. I am not speaking of physical attributes, but spiritual. A real man is one who stand while others shrink. Real men will stand on the right hand of the Lord when all is said an done. 

London Solomon; In Memory of, and In Tribute To

     London Solomon has become one of the most influential persons of my life. Let me tell you why. London was born as the youngest in our family. Being the only girl in a house full of boys, she soon became the pride and joy of the family, the spoiled over protected angel. She was the first one to have a room all to her self and being the only girl everything she got was brand new, a rarity in our family. Naturally she eat it all up and soon learned how to work the system. She had our dad tightly wound around her figure. She would come with the sweetest smile on her face, plop herself on his lap, snuggle real close and tell him that she loved him. The moment his poor manipulated heart would break she would field a request, which inevitably would be granted. The rest of us boys would sit with our mouths wide open complete taken back at the ease it took. We would have to scrounge, beg, and labor for whatever treats she would only have to ask for. Now don’t get me wrong we had a fantastic relationship with London as well. She always referred to us as her boys and honestly sometimes it felt like we were in a gang and she was the Godmother.  Every Saturday we would be given our list of chores and I swear she never did any; she would just divide her list up amongst the rest of the boys. So bottom line she was the Princess and we were the knights. By the time she turned five we were already imagining what it would be like defending her from the suitors who would be lining up to be her prom date. If she could manipulate her own flesh and blood the way that she did we were convinced that she would have had the whole football, basketball and tract teams under her thumb. We were preparing to have our hands full. I’m sure this pre-mature preparation was completely unnecessary because she was more then capable of handling things her self.

            May 2005 rolled around. Poor London had caught a bit of a cold that was persistent and just would not leave. It began to be a bit worrying when she had just enough energy to join us for a family meal before she slunk off to bed. When she started sleeping 20 hours a day we began taking her to a family doctor. He immediately noticed that something was wrong and decided to have some blood work done. The results would change our lives. Dad had taken us boys up to our cabin to do some patchwork on the roof there. We had a great time laboring away in the sun. The day we were to come home we stopped at a Chinese buffet for lunch. Just before we began eating my dad received a phone call. It was mom and she was obviously distressed. The test results came back and showed that London had a rare and aggressive for of leukemia. Her white blood cells were deformed and were not doing what they were suppose to hence her inability to fend off a simple cold. We were told later that she was to under go five rounds of chemotherapy and then she would have to come in for check ups periodically.  Normally at a time of crisis like think I would be preoccupied imagining the most tragic possible scenario and evaluating how I would handle it and what attention I would receive. Instead I had a powerful peace come over me and I knew in my heart that everything was going to be all right. I would replay this moment over and over again is my mind throughout the next eight months. This moment of comforting inspiration would at times be the only sense of hope that I had.

            Chemotherapy is seems to be a necessary evil. It is a drug that is used to target and kill certain body cells causing immense pain and leaving the victim without an immune system. Often the most noticeable side effect is the loss of hair. This was something London was not ready to face at first. She had the most beautiful full head of blonde hair that she wore proudly. She kept a good portion of her hair for the first round of chemo but it couldn’t quite hold on for the second. London learned to roll with the punches and became and expert at laughing. One of the most heart retching days for me was a visit during this second round. We knew that London was about to lose the rest of her hair and there was very little that she could do about it. We also understood that she was a bit sensitive about it and would wear a hat whenever people would come by. At this time her hair was literally coming out in clumps when pulled. We brothers had come up for our weekly visit on Sunday afternoon. I walked in the room and we had to customary greetings and laughs then mom said,

            “London give him a hairy chest!’

            I had no idea what was going on but London gave mom a smile and an ‘ok!’ then she walked over and extended her arms to give me a hug. So I pulled her close and she started laughing and rubbed the top of her head all over me. She pulled back yelling “HAIRY CHEST!” and jumped back into the bed. My heart hit the floor when I looked down and saw that her beautiful blonde hair was now clinging to my chest rather then to her balding head.  Being the awkward 15 year old I was I just shrunk back into the corner without saying a word.

            This is a great example of London’s spirit. I am sure that her positive attitude many times held my family together. Physically we were for the most part divided. London had almost permanently moved into the Phoenix Children’s Hospital and my mother with her, almost an hours travel away. The guys were left to fend for ourselves. I probably have never eaten as much cold cereal in my life as I did during that time. It is interesting to remember the difference in our house. It was quite, it was peaceful, there seemed to be this spirit about the place that lead me to believe that we were not alone and were constantly being supported. It seemed so much easier to sit down and concentrate on homework. I enjoyed reading the scriptures and each of us would actually volunteer to pray. No this might be the hardest to believe but I cannot remember a single quarrel with any of my brothers occurring during this time. Dad was pretty strung out at this time. He was working long shifts with the police department and would whenever he could shoot over to the Hospital to say hi. Many times he would call ahead and time it perfect so that the girls would look at London’s window at the free way as he passed by and wave at his hand sticking out the window. A simple yet tender moment shared by my parents who were under such extreme stress.

            London had high aspirations for her life. She wanted to be the typical teenage drama queen. Now when I say drama queen I mean the cheerleading, volleyball playing, guitarist that wins everyone’s heart. Well she lived up to the dream. Occasionally as her health would permit London would be excused from the hospital for a little field trip home. These were always filled with tons of fun. By this time not only had our ward rallied behind our family to support us but it seemed like that whole community had as well. The Queen Creek High School Cheerleading squad heard of London’s dream to be a cheerleader and she was invited to cheer along with them. You should have seen her. Those poor football players must have been jealous because as soon as that baldhead started cheering and waving the pom poms the whole crowd stopped watching them. I don’t think I ever saw London as happy as she was then cheering with the big girls and supporting her older brother out on the field. At this time Hillary Duff was at the height of her career as an actor and role model for young girls. London was her biggest fan. By a stroke of lucky relations a friend of ours ran into Hilary Duff and told her about London’s story. Hilary was touched and soon sent a singed poster and guitar! These were London’s all time favorite possession. She would not let us clumsy boys get any where near them! She began learning how to play the pretty pink heart shaped guitar. Also on one of her vacations she was invited to be the ball girls on two of Arizona’s best high school volleyball teams. She practically glowed under the limelight. I’ve spoken to a couple of the girls who were on the Xavier and Gilbert volleyball teams each said that although what they did for London was great they found a greater inspiration in this sweet six year old who was full of spunk and smiles.

            The biggest influence that London ever had on anyone was through the stalwart attitude that she always had. She was so strong. I never once heard her complain about the lot, which had been cast for her. There are a few vivid memories that stand out to me where she would break into a rare negative spirit. They always centered on the medicine that she had to take orally. She would fight and kick and scream like a mad man to avoid it. As shameful as it was it would take more then one of us brothers to hold her down as mother injected it into her mouth then hold her mouth and nose shut until she would swallow it. Now the interesting thing was that she would only really do that whenever we were around. It was soon concluded that she would put on such a display simply to get close to her bothers.  As odd as it sounded it was really touching to me that she would do that. I think London was best know around the hospital as the girl who did cartwheels. It seemed like whenever she was well enough she was up out of her bed tumbling around the place. Constantly we would find her dressed up in her cheerleading uniform spotting a pair of pom poms showing off a new cheer she had learned.  I was particularly impressed by her diligence in schoolwork.  Her teachers back at home would send her schoolwork and my mother would sit down teach her and help her through it all. They also would memorize a scripture a week together.  It was crazy my six-year-old sister was memorizing scriptures faster then I could in seminary! Each Sunday when we would come down for our weekly visit she would share the scripture with us and tell us what they would mean to her. Of course mom would help her, but I do remember being impressed by her spiritual maturity.  This maturity is very likely the reason behind her constant optimistic attitude. She always had a smile on her face, easy to laugh, and continually wanted to play. I think for a while she was the life of her hospital floor. Occasionally she would go on a tour and meet the other children who, like her, were temporary residents. She made tons of friends there. London would always tell mom that she wanted to have a little sister. All growing up she had a doll or two or even a cat that she would carry around with her everywhere treating it like it was her baby sister. Like the rest of her wishes this one came true as well. The rooms were often shared with one other patient and Maddy moved in next to London. Maddy was just a few years younger then London and like her had beautiful blonde hair, well for a little while. They soon became best friends. London looked out for Maddy as if they had been sisters since birth. It was such a wonderful thing to see this little girl, struggling for her life, reaching out and caring for someone else who was suffering similarly.

            Her treatments had for the most part gone very well. As well as chemotherapy can go at least. I don’t remember her catching any infections or other illnesses throughout it all, even when she had absolutely zero immune system.  Until the finally chemotherapy treatment. Well had just buried my grandfather who had passed away as a result of surgery complications and were now preparing for the Christmas season. My parents had already bought the gifts and the timeline looked like London would be able to be at home for Christmas! Then she got sick. We visited her a couple of weeks before Christmas and I had a flash back to eight months previous. She lay almost motionless on her bed, a grayish green complexion covering her skin. She would only wake for very short amounts of time then return to sleeping for the rest of the day.  After her last round of chemotherapy, when her immune system was at the weakest she had caught an infection which the doctors were desperately trying to diagnose and treat. One treatment after another failed and her condition worsened. Soon she was moved to the Intensive Care Unit. During this time she was under heavy sedatives. Theses sedatives were administered in cycles and in between each cycle there was a chance that she would break out of her unconscious state. During one of these she opened her eyes just long enough to tell mom that she loved her. One last time. We were at home but both of our parents were at the hospital when a family friend, Wayne Lamb, drove over and told us that he was going to take us to the hospital to see London. It had gotten serious and they wanted the whole family to be there. This was alarming. We were not allowed to visit the hospital if we were even remotely sick. Brigg had developed a cough and the doctors had specifically said to bring him. We did not know at the time but they hoped that we as a family could get to talk to London during one of her consciousness breaks. That never happened. We sat in the ICU waiting room until midnight, occasionally seeing mom or dad and they would come in, talk to Wayne, then talk to us. Personally I had no idea what was going on. At or close to mid-night we went home only to return the next morning.

            You could see a heavy weight on my parents when we walked in. They didn’t say anything but lead us into London’s room. She was almost unrecognizable. All the antibiotics and drugs they had given her had practically filled her up and she was a shade of yellow, probably due to a recent kidney failure. One by one her organs had been shutting down and now she was on the life support machine. When we walked into the room one of us asked mom what was going on and she simply, courageously, and with all the strength of a mother said it was time to say goodbye.  Immediately we began all became to cry. I will not go into detail what the next half hour held for us. It is still too sacred of an experience for me to even talk about with those present. But we held London as she was taken off of the life support machine and sang hymns to our God until the heart rate monitor flat lined. The power and serenity in that room is impossible to relate.

            Soon a doctor came in and respectfully checked her vitals and pronounced her dead and it was time for us to go. Outside the front of the hospital we ran into two of our aunts while our parents were inside finishing some business. We just held each other and cried, something that would happen a lot over the next few months. I do not remember the ride home just walking into our dimly lit house, none of use said anything to each other. What were we suppose to say? There was a permeating feeling of numbness as each found his corner and sat. What are we suppose to do now?  The rest of the day pasted in solitary silence.

            The funeral arrangements were prepared. A few family friends made some extremely generous donations, which keep our family financially stable between the doctors and the mortuary bills. Neither my family nor I will ever forget how our family and the community rallied behind us to support and lift us. It was humbling to see how many peoples lives London had touch who attended the funeral. After all was said and the news interviews were concluded we left for the burial. On a cold winters afternoon we buried our dear princess in the cemetery with her family who had been resting for four generations now. More hymns were sung, more tears shed, more prayers offered and more gratitude expressed. Then we started the long drive home. People ask how we ever got over the grief of such a loss. Truth be told you never get over it. Always there is a longing to be reunited with her. Often something like hearing a Hilary Duff song will remind you of her. And occasionally you will purposefully dig up that old family video of her spinning in a red dress in the front room and watch it.  Truth is I will always miss her.

            London had strong faith and a belief shared by the rest of my family that our familial bonds are eternal. That death could not separate what heaven had sealed together. This is the very reason why London’s story is not a tragedy but is a fairytale with a happy ending. It does end ‘and they lived happily ever after’. That part just hasn’t been written yet. My experience with London has made me into the person I am. She instilled in me a insatiable motivation to be the very best person I can be. Her example has inspired me to always desire what is right. She has shown by example that it is more important to reach outwards when you feel like imploding. And she has proven that under the worst circumstances we can still be happy and have a smile on our face. She inspired me to serve an honorable full time mission, to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with those who desperately need the hope it brings in their life. I hope to one day prove worthy of the blessing of being reunited with her again and see the fulfillment of the promise that the ‘same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory, which glory we do not now enjoy.’ (Doctrine and Covenants 130:2).  I often think on that feeling I had on the 5^th of May 2005. ‘Everything is going to work out alright.’ Nothing could have been more true. When all is said and done I have confidence that we will look back and say ‘everything did work out alright.’

Therefore, dearly beloved brethren, let us cheerfully do all thins that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed.

D&C 123:17

Inspiration and Ponderings

I have two experiences that I would like to share which have been significant to me recently. When I was preparing to return home from my mission I had a few experiences where I felt the Lord was preparing me for what was coming. It seemed to me that He opened a map to me, it became apparent to me the different choices that I could make and I could also clearly see what would happen and what I would become depending on which course I took. So I made the plans that I felt would be best for me. I sat down and made specific goals for the next six months and became determined to reach them. After that I had also had a few experiences that showed me that the Lord would support me and help me to reach these worthy goals as I tried to follow the course that he showed me. I took courage and when I came home I set off on my adventure. My plans worked according to the deadline I set almost to the 'T' since I came home. I moved to Utah, I found a good job that helped me to save the money I planned. I became part of a great ward and was given a calling that allowed me to learn from a great leader and bishop at a close level. Then October rolled around. According to my plans I was going to work full time until winter semester then I would attend BYU and teach at the MTC part-time. Well it became time to apply for the MTC. The application did not go as well as I wanted and I was advised to seek employment elsewhere for the time being. That was a major blow. Then I had tremendous trouble with my BYU application. Eventually after a month of admission counselor meetings and phone calls everything was sorted and my application was complete. The this week I received a letter informing me that my application had been denied. This blow almost knocked me off my feet. My whole plans had centered around being excepted into BYU; my desired study course and career depended on my acceptance into this school. I had worked my butt off preparing for this so that I could finically afford it and I had been trying really hard to fit in and make a life here for me so that starting school would be that much easier. All this for what? To be rejected by the school which was sponsored by the church that I had just spent two years serving? Had I done something wrong which disqualified me from this plan that I felt I had received through inspiration? What was I to do now? Return home feeling like a failure with my tail tucked between my legs? That evening I was a right mess. Mentally I could not keep a straight train of thought and emotionally I was on the edge of panic. Then I a sudden soon after I got off the phone with my parents I had a soft yet perceptible feeling that everything was going to be alright. I was calmed but still confused. So I did what I had done when I was one my mission, I sat down and mapped out all my options and considered which was best for me. Still I felt no direction so I tacked it onto my wall above my bed and have considered and pondered on it during the mean time. Last night I felt really good about taking night classes and working part time until spring. Of course there were still some more questions left unanswered until this morning. I drove into Bluffdale for a carne asda lunch at my work (amazing by the way, even if it made me sick later it was worth it!). During the drive I was mulling over the options and potential solutions. Again a calm came over me and I knew what I should do. You know the cliched moment when the hero is hanging from a building or a cliff and right at the moment he loses his grip then someone reaches down and saves him? This is a bit of a dramatic analogy but its similar to how I feel. Im so thankful that the Lord will always reach down and grab me when Im ready to let go of my dreams.
Second experience. I made another roast dinner and invited a few friends over. We all had a great time and the food was good. Emma Cutillo was one who graced us with her presence. I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon with her just laughing and having a good time. In the evening she sat me down and shared a devotional with me. I don't remember the title but it was by Jeffery R. Holland and he spoke about when Joseph Smith was tarred feathered, and beaten then the next morning delivered a sermon of forgiveness to a crowd which had some of the culprits men who attacked him the night before. What an amazing example of following Christ! Elder Holland mentioned that being Christian is a full time thing. We are to always do as Christ would. Then he mentioned that moment when each of us will find ourselves at the base of the cross. No this inspired a train of thought that has occupied my mind most of the day. There were many people present during this dark moment in the history of humanity. Different groups had different attitudes throughout the event. Walking along the road and standing by were those who disbelieved and vehemently opposed the work of the Savior. These are the same people who had to audacity to mock the Son of God as he hung of the cross suffering for the very sins they were committing. 'If thou art the Son of God come down and save thyself!' They scorned. Scattered throughout the crowd were the Roman soldiers who were indifferent because of they had become desensitized through the pursuit of their career. On the outside of the crowd were the timid disciples who supported Christ but feared being recognized as a follower and condemned to suffer as their Master. Close to the side we find the Roman centurion, an honorable man, probably worn and tired from a career of violence, a witness to heinous crimes, and familiar with anguish. Who being moved, proclaims 'Surely this man is the Son of God'. Closer still we find the ever valiant circle of disciples, which is oddly enough largely populated by women. This group includes those who in an effort to easy the Saviors pain offered him vinegar in a sponge. This group are those who bathed his feet in their tears, begged for his body, and reverently cleaned and covered his battered and broken body before gently laying it in the tomb. I have found myself pondering the question 'Where would I have been? Which group would I have cast my lots in with?' I hope the answer to be the latter group whose reverence and love for the Savior conquered their fear of man.

Spirit Over Matter

I'm currently reading about Galileo and his contributions to the Renaissance. There is one thing in particular that stands out in my mind. He speaks of primary and secondary qualities. By studying and investigating primary qualities we can learn the truth about something. He defines primary qualities as those things which can be measured and studied mathematically like size, position, mass, and so forth. Primary qualities he postulates are the only qualities that are real and reliable. Fair enough, I agree with that from a scientific point of view. Secondary qualities are categorized as the attributes that we know about because of our senses, such as color, smell, and emotions. I found this very interesting because the qualities that we most often identify and label something with and by are these secondary "unreliable" qualities. Think about it, how many of us describe the castle we visited by its square footage or the amount of bricks used to build it? We don't. We tell our friends about how beautiful it was and breathtakingly magnificent it was to consider all the work that went into constructing that fortification. Also that is how we label people. Oh she is so nice! He is such a great guy! Not 'he is approximately six feet tall and weights 175 lbs with %9 body fat'! So why do we use these secondary 'unreliable' qualities as our reference points? Especially since all of us have a different perception and expectation of these qualities. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder right? Yet that is one of the first reference points that we use. These secondary qualities Galileo says, "reside only in the consciousness; if the living creature were removed, all of these qualities would be wiped away and annihilated." Strange thought. The consciousness is directly connected with the spirit of man. It is because of this spirit that we move, think, perceive and feel. Without spirit all that would exist would be matter and math to describe it. Sounds a bit boring. I love the fact that our spirit governs over matter. I love that it is our spirit whose Father is divine that is the vehicle of thought and the instrument of perception. Philosophers have alway debated and thought 'what makes something beautiful?'. Now I don't claim to be a philosopher or a great mind like the rest of them but I have some ideas of my own. Sometimes I feel as did Abraham that I am a wonderer and a stranger here. That I belong in greater, more exalted spheres. I guess in a sense I have spurts of spiritual homesickness. My sprite remembers the feel of the Fathers presence and longs for it, and at times will recognize things that are similar to that existence. This I feel is where that sense of beauty come from. Our spirit recognizes something which is similar to what it experienced before it entered this fragile existence and fondly remembers the original object or attribute. It's is interesting that beauty is not only limited to that which is physical this fact makes beauty an abstract quality. Beauty can be found in words, music, principles, fiction, and ideas. The closer something reflects the world we once knew the more beautiful it is to us! I'm so grateful to be a living soul. What a great thing it is to be a combination of a physical and spiritual body with all the different senses and experiences we get to have! God be thanked for his great plan of salvation! And for the gift of His Son so that this is not a short lived ride but can be the start of a brilliant eternal experience!