November 13, 2009, Observation:
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven..." [Ecclesiastes 3:1].
Several years after my accident, I was sitting in our dining room waiting for Jo Anne to go somewhere in our van. Sometime before, she had prepared a collage of pictures of me interacting with members of my family on different occasions before my accident. It was in a nice frame and hanging on the dining room wall. For some reason I rolled my chair over to the collage so I could see it better. There was a picture of me with my arm around my oldest son at his high school graduation; another with me sitting at the side of my oldest daughter at her wedding reception. There was a picture of me with my arm around my daughter Rachel just prior to baptizing her and another with me holding my oldest grandson in my arms shortly after his birth. There were a number of other similar kinds of pictures.
As I sat there looking at those photographs a very strong feeling came over me. I wouldn't describe it as a feeling of sorrow, unhappiness or depression; nonetheless it was a very sobering kind of feeling. It was as though a voice was saying to me, "Jack, you really didn't fully realize how good your life was during all those years. You took so many things for granted. What an absolute joy it was for example, to carry your little children upstairs, pray with them, and sing to them and put them to bed. Think of all the basketball games out in the driveway with your sons and the neighborhood kids. What a blessing to be able to sit down at the piano and play and sing the hymns and to use those same fingers to work at the computer." On and on came memories of experiences flooding into my mind that maybe I did not value as I could have at the time.
As I sat there I realized how important it is to enjoy the moment -- "the precious present" -- and to not live so much in the past or in the future. We need to be grateful for the particular season we are experiencing in our lives and not be in such a hurry to just get through it.
A while back we had "Dumpster Day" in our little community of Tustin Meadows. Large dumpsters are brought in and on the designated day we can take all our junk and deposit it in one of the dumpsters. Jo Anne looks forward to "Dumpster Day" like most people look forward to Christmas. As the great day approaches she can be seen searching through the house, with a gleam in her eye, looking for anything of no value that is just sitting there gathering dust. No possession that is not carrying its weight by serving some utilitarian purpose is going to end up in the dumpster. I became very nervous as it seemed to me she was spending an inordinate amount of time in my office. Each time she would look longingly at me I tried to say something somewhat intelligent which is difficult, blink my eyes, and give her my most endearing smile. I did not want to end up in the dumpster with the rest of the dust gathering stuff!
The morning of "Dumpster Day" she was in my office and I saw her eyeing the shelf where my journals are kept and finally, in a panic, I convinced her that they don't eat anything and I would pay rent on the space they occupied if she wouldn't to throw them out. At length I convinced her, and in the process we read some interesting journal entries I had made just before I had my accident.
The following are my last two journal entries before being injured.
June 30, 1989, just one month and one day before my accident I wrote: "... being stake president is a wonderful privilege. I value this calling and try not to take myself too seriously while taking the calling very seriously. The Lord has blessed me tremendously and my heart is filled with gratitude when I think of the many blessings we enjoy as a family. The new grandchildren, Mike soon to be in law school, Rich on a mission, John (age 16) having a full-time job and learning some things about life and work. The little girls are so precious to me that I can't even express myself regarding them. Life would be so empty without these special people. What can I say about Jo Anne? Life would be no good without her. I love her more now than I did 25 years ago."
My last journal entry was recorded July 26, 1989, just five days before the fateful trip to Laguna Beach. "Jo Anne and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary last week. We went to the Los Angeles Temple to do a session. As we walked into the hallway that leads to the ordinance rooms, one of the workers asked Jo Anne and me if we would be the witness couple. It made this session so special for us... to be the witness couple on our anniversary. Anyway, it was just very special to be in the Temple with Jo Anne and to contemplate the things that have happened in 25 years of marriage. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't want to change a thing."
And then suddenly, we began a new season of our lives. Truthfully, there was a long period of adjustment, but with the Lord's help the adjustment was made, and this new season of our lives has been remarkably wonderful and fulfilling. I believe I have learned a great lesson and I try hard to no longer live so much in the past or in the future, but strive to enjoy the "precious present." Each day is a gift to be valued. I am afraid that one of the most frequently committed sins -- at least in my life -- has been the sin of ingratitude. We just take so much for granted so much of the time. I think we must be very careful to always express our appreciation to a loving and kind Heavenly Father through our prayers and our actions. He is the source -- the fount -- of all of our blessings, both spiritual and material. To recognize this fact daily is perhaps the wisest and most important thing we can do to keep life in proper perspective.
"And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments." [D&C 59:18]
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Observation April 13
"Powdered Milk"
Several weeks ago we had a combined meeting for all the adults in the relief society room. Bishop North felt we needed some instruction regarding frugality and provident living, given the state of the economy in our nation, the price of fuel, and serious problems with the housing market and etc. As usual he was right on target with an important message for the members of our ward. He asked Russell Hunter, second counselor in the bishopric, to teach the lesson.
Russell did a great job and gave many practical suggestions as to how to be more fiscally conservative and responsible in these uncertain times. However, at one point in his lesson he made the audacious and outrageous suggestion that it might be a good idea -- and a way to save some money -- to make lunch at home and take it to work as opposed to spending money unnecessarily in buying lunch each day. From my vantage point in the relief society room I could see the startled look on many of the faces of our young couples, and even noticed some eyes glazing over with disbelief and incredulity at this novel suggestion. They obviously had not been raised during the Depression or by parents who had lived through the Depression as I had. Also, I knew they had never been married to somebody as fiscally conservative as Jo Anne.
Living in Ogden, Utah shortly after we were married, Jo Anne found a source for powdered milk at a local dairy. We would buy 50 pounds sacks of the stuff and were always so proud of ourselves (at least Jo Anne was) over how much money we were saving. I can't say I really ever became fond of powdered milk, but if it had enough ice in it and you drank it really fast it wasn't so bad.
As the children came along, after they were weaned, they were raised on powdered milk as the beverage of choice in our family. Being innocent and without any prior experience, they thought powdered milk was okay. We never showed them a picture of a cow -- we didn't want to confuse them regarding the source of milk. If they thought the true source was from a sack that was fine with us. Then they got involved in the public school system which corrupted them as they learned about cows and were even given little cartons of "true" milk to drink as a snack. This created some dissatisfaction in them because for some reason they liked this "true" milk better than the powdered stuff that had done them so much good over the years, and had saved us, as their parents, so much money. It was always a hard sell after that to keep the family content and on target with drinking powdered milk.
I always took my lunch to work in a brown paper sack. It generally consisted of a tuna fish sandwich, an apple or an orange, maybe a cookie, and always a small mason jar filled with -- you guessed it -- powdered milk. I must admit I was corrupted by the world in the later years of my work life and engaged in a number of decadent and expensive -- at least to me -- lunches.
As the kids were growing up we never ate at fast food places except on special occasions like the ushering in of a new millennium. When they were very little as we would drive by the Golden Arches of McDonald's they would ask "Daddy, what is that building?" I would tell them that it was a hospital where they fixed broken bones and people that were sick. I would ask them if they had a broken bone or were sick and when they would say no, I would reply, "Well, we wouldn't want to go in there then would we?"
Our home was decorated in early "Institute of Religion" style. Whenever one of the institutes of religion in Orange County was receiving new furniture for the student lounge we would put in a bid to get the old furniture. The furniture in our family room consisted of a large couch, and two chairs made out of a "throw up" sick looking lemon colored plastic kind of material with aluminum legs. The drapes in that room were orange; the carpet was olive-green, high shag, and was beginning to come apart at the seams. I nailed a plastic runner down the center of the staircase so that the little toddlers wouldn't get their feet tangled up in the torn carpet and fall and break something.
We also tried to save money on clothing. In retrospect, I'm afraid our young boys got the worst of this. The only pants they wore, except on Sundays, were "Tough Skins" purchased at Sears for cheap. At the time I thought they were kind of ugly but you couldn't beat the price. They came in a red brick color, an ugly green, or the more normal blue jean style. They had reinforced knees and must have been made out of some steel mesh kind of material because you simply could not wear them out. If one of the boys fell off his bike he would get skinned up on various parts of his anatomy but never where the tough skins were protecting him. If the kid ran into a car the fender or bumper on the car would possibly be damaged but never the tough skins. Again, the public school system made my boys dissatisfied, and it was a hard sell to keep them in tough skins from that time on. I don't know if they have ever totally forgiven us for having adopted this fiscally conservative policy regarding their attire as young boys.
Well, I hate to report it but as the years have gone by we have become increasingly decadent. Almost every day Jo Anne and I go out to lunch. However, don't think too badly of us, or get too alarmed Bishop, because we invariably use coupons to get a "deal." Jo Anne anxiously waits for the mailman to bring her coupons with the same anticipation that little kids look forward to Christmas and Santa Claus. She clips them out and keeps them in a large envelope in our van. If we can get two for one or a dollar off something, then that's what we eat. Do we always like what we get from the coupons? I hate to report that we don't, but just think of all the money we are saving.
The telltale sign of how far we have fallen is that we actually now buy our milk at Stater Brothers in plastic containers like most "normal" people. And though I am reluctant to admit it, it really is almost as good as "powdered milk."
You will find the doctrinal underpinnings and justification for drinking powdered milk in the following Scripture:
"Wherefore, do not spend money for that which is of no worth [Stater Brothers' milk], nor your alabor for that which cannot bsatisfy... and come unto the Holy One of Israel, and cfeast upon that which perisheth not [powdered milk], neither can be corrupted ["tough skins"]..." [2 Nephi 9:51]
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Several weeks ago we had a combined meeting for all the adults in the relief society room. Bishop North felt we needed some instruction regarding frugality and provident living, given the state of the economy in our nation, the price of fuel, and serious problems with the housing market and etc. As usual he was right on target with an important message for the members of our ward. He asked Russell Hunter, second counselor in the bishopric, to teach the lesson.
Russell did a great job and gave many practical suggestions as to how to be more fiscally conservative and responsible in these uncertain times. However, at one point in his lesson he made the audacious and outrageous suggestion that it might be a good idea -- and a way to save some money -- to make lunch at home and take it to work as opposed to spending money unnecessarily in buying lunch each day. From my vantage point in the relief society room I could see the startled look on many of the faces of our young couples, and even noticed some eyes glazing over with disbelief and incredulity at this novel suggestion. They obviously had not been raised during the Depression or by parents who had lived through the Depression as I had. Also, I knew they had never been married to somebody as fiscally conservative as Jo Anne.
Living in Ogden, Utah shortly after we were married, Jo Anne found a source for powdered milk at a local dairy. We would buy 50 pounds sacks of the stuff and were always so proud of ourselves (at least Jo Anne was) over how much money we were saving. I can't say I really ever became fond of powdered milk, but if it had enough ice in it and you drank it really fast it wasn't so bad.
As the children came along, after they were weaned, they were raised on powdered milk as the beverage of choice in our family. Being innocent and without any prior experience, they thought powdered milk was okay. We never showed them a picture of a cow -- we didn't want to confuse them regarding the source of milk. If they thought the true source was from a sack that was fine with us. Then they got involved in the public school system which corrupted them as they learned about cows and were even given little cartons of "true" milk to drink as a snack. This created some dissatisfaction in them because for some reason they liked this "true" milk better than the powdered stuff that had done them so much good over the years, and had saved us, as their parents, so much money. It was always a hard sell after that to keep the family content and on target with drinking powdered milk.
I always took my lunch to work in a brown paper sack. It generally consisted of a tuna fish sandwich, an apple or an orange, maybe a cookie, and always a small mason jar filled with -- you guessed it -- powdered milk. I must admit I was corrupted by the world in the later years of my work life and engaged in a number of decadent and expensive -- at least to me -- lunches.
As the kids were growing up we never ate at fast food places except on special occasions like the ushering in of a new millennium. When they were very little as we would drive by the Golden Arches of McDonald's they would ask "Daddy, what is that building?" I would tell them that it was a hospital where they fixed broken bones and people that were sick. I would ask them if they had a broken bone or were sick and when they would say no, I would reply, "Well, we wouldn't want to go in there then would we?"
Our home was decorated in early "Institute of Religion" style. Whenever one of the institutes of religion in Orange County was receiving new furniture for the student lounge we would put in a bid to get the old furniture. The furniture in our family room consisted of a large couch, and two chairs made out of a "throw up" sick looking lemon colored plastic kind of material with aluminum legs. The drapes in that room were orange; the carpet was olive-green, high shag, and was beginning to come apart at the seams. I nailed a plastic runner down the center of the staircase so that the little toddlers wouldn't get their feet tangled up in the torn carpet and fall and break something.
We also tried to save money on clothing. In retrospect, I'm afraid our young boys got the worst of this. The only pants they wore, except on Sundays, were "Tough Skins" purchased at Sears for cheap. At the time I thought they were kind of ugly but you couldn't beat the price. They came in a red brick color, an ugly green, or the more normal blue jean style. They had reinforced knees and must have been made out of some steel mesh kind of material because you simply could not wear them out. If one of the boys fell off his bike he would get skinned up on various parts of his anatomy but never where the tough skins were protecting him. If the kid ran into a car the fender or bumper on the car would possibly be damaged but never the tough skins. Again, the public school system made my boys dissatisfied, and it was a hard sell to keep them in tough skins from that time on. I don't know if they have ever totally forgiven us for having adopted this fiscally conservative policy regarding their attire as young boys.
Well, I hate to report it but as the years have gone by we have become increasingly decadent. Almost every day Jo Anne and I go out to lunch. However, don't think too badly of us, or get too alarmed Bishop, because we invariably use coupons to get a "deal." Jo Anne anxiously waits for the mailman to bring her coupons with the same anticipation that little kids look forward to Christmas and Santa Claus. She clips them out and keeps them in a large envelope in our van. If we can get two for one or a dollar off something, then that's what we eat. Do we always like what we get from the coupons? I hate to report that we don't, but just think of all the money we are saving.
The telltale sign of how far we have fallen is that we actually now buy our milk at Stater Brothers in plastic containers like most "normal" people. And though I am reluctant to admit it, it really is almost as good as "powdered milk."
You will find the doctrinal underpinnings and justification for drinking powdered milk in the following Scripture:
"Wherefore, do not spend money for that which is of no worth [Stater Brothers' milk], nor your alabor for that which cannot bsatisfy... and come unto the Holy One of Israel, and cfeast upon that which perisheth not [powdered milk], neither can be corrupted ["tough skins"]..." [2 Nephi 9:51]
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Sunday, March 30, 2008
March 28th 2008
We are in the midst of March Madness -- one of my favorite times of the year. BYU was eliminated in the first round again which is very comforting to me because it is a sure sign that the second coming is not near at hand. If they ever make it past the first round we should begin doing some serious preparation for the end of the world.
I am so glad that I love UCLA basketball as much as BYU basketball. I am very impressed with this year's UCLA team under the direction of their great coach, Ben Howland. Once again, this year's team is built on the principle and foundation of a solid, fundamental, in-your-face, hard-nosed, lunch bucket and hardhat, blue-collar defense that wins games when the offense falters. They have won 34 games this year and have only lost three, largely because of their disciplined approach and mastery of the fundamentals of good defense.
However, this UCLA team also has a 19-year-old center by the name of Kevin Love, whom I enjoy watching as much as any young player I have ever observed over the many years of my life. He is 6'10" tall with a burly build, but is not particularly athletic, doesn't jump really high, and isn't extremely fleet of foot. Why I like to watch him, and why he is so good as a freshman, is that he has mastered the fundamentals of basketball to such a high degree that he has turned playing center into an art form. Sportscasters and commentators rave about his hands and the ability he has to throw a laser like chest pass the length of the court right into the hands of one of his teammates for an easy layup. However, he does everything well from blocking shots, passing the ball, playing strong defense, shooting from inside and outside and simply outsmarting and outplaying bigger, faster, and more athletic big men. If UCLA does make it to the final four again this year it will be because of their understanding and implementation of the fundamentals of defense and their great young center, Kevin Love.
You know I have a frenzied mind, but as I watch this UCLA team I think of the words of Matthew Arnold, the great author and literary critic of 19th-century England. He said on one occasion, "All art earns freedom through discipline!" How true that is in the world of sports as well as in almost every other discipline or aspect of life you can think of.
I learned this lesson as a young 17-year-old freshman at BYU about a hundred years ago. I received a music scholarship from BYU on the strength of my clarinet and piano playing. I modestly admit I was the best clarinet player in White Pine County, Nevada -- much better than the other two. I tried out for the concert band at BYU and was awarded the 23rd chair in a clarinet section of 24 clarinetists. First chair was the best and 24th the worst so you can see where I fit in. I was devastated. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and after a few weeks in the 23rd position I was ready to quit the band and music. Thankfully my parents wouldn't hear of it and offered to help me pay for private lessons with Professor Ralph Laycock, the conductor of the concert band and symphony.
Ralph Laycock was the greatest musician I ever knew personally or have known throughout my lifetime. He had a doctorate in conducting from the Juilliard School of Music in New York City and was a master of all of the major wind instruments -- trumpet, French horn, oboe, flute, and especially the clarinet.
I approached him with great trepidation to see if he would agree to teach the likes of me -- I wasn't feeling particularly good about my musical abilities as you can imagine. He was an imposing figure -- 6'4" tall, a hulk of a man with bushy black hair and eyebrows, and eyes that could burn right into your soul. Much to my amazement he agreed to take me on and so one autumn afternoon I stumbled into his office for my first lesson. He had me take my clarinet out of its case and assemble it which I did with shaking hands. He then asked me to play something and as I commenced to blow a few notes he grabbed the clarinet and almost my teeth along with it, out of my mouth and hands, and staring at me said, "Jack, you don't know how to play the clarinet!" My already fragile self-esteem was totally shattered and plummeted to an all-time low. I wondered if any of Ralph Laycock's students had ever committed suicide. "But," he said, "I think you have some promise and if you will do what I tell you to do you might just learn how to play the clarinet."
Thus began an adventure in learning the fundamentals of clarinet playing from a master. He took all my music away, showed me how to correctly hold the mouthpiece in my mouth and hold the instrument properly in my hands. For the next several weeks I was to stand in front of a full-length mirror looking at my mouth and hands, making sure I was doing everything correctly, and just play whole notes, all the while trying to produce that beautiful clarinet sound I had never been able to produce up to that time in my career. As I began to achieve some success my practice time increased until I was spending eventually four to six hours a day preparing myself to meet with Professor Laycock each week. He taught me that practice doesn't make perfect, but only perfect practice makes perfect! By the end of my sophomore year, thanks to the insistence of a great teacher that I master the fundamentals of clarinet playing through discipline and hard work, I was playing second chair. I could never quite do as well as Bill Washburn who played first chair. I attributed it to the fact that he had a superior clarinet -- a Selma, which was the Rolls-Royce of clarinets, while I only had a Conn, at best a Yugo or maybe a Chevy. As I left on my mission I was able to play by memory Mozart's Concerto for Clarinet.
I love music, but as the years have passed by, the lesson I learned from Ralph Laycock regarding mastering the fundamentals and perfectly practicing them while exercising discipline and hard work, has been invaluable in every aspect of my life.
Does this principle apply, for example, to living the Gospel? I know it does! We must master the fundamentals of personal prayer, scripture study, controlling our passions and appetites, and seeking to put off the "natural man" through discipline and seeking to have charity.
It really is just another way of looking at the eternal "Law of the Harvest." Ultimately in life we reap what we sow. If we master the fundamentals of any worthy discipline, and also seek to master the basic fundamentals of life that every human being has to deal with daily -- for example, getting out of bed, working hard, being clean and organized, and trying to keep our bodies fit and healthy, life will surely become for us an "art" and we will have "earned freedom through discipline" and mastering the fundamentals.
My friend, Jim Ritchie, said it this way in quoting J. Paul Getty's formula for success: "Get up early, work hard, and discover oil!" If we do so, at least the getting up early part and the working hard part, we will discover our own kind of oil; hopefully the kind the five wise virgins had in their lamps as they anxiously awaited the opportunity to come into the presence of the "Bridegroom."
Thank you, Ben Howland and Kevin Love, for reminding me of some significant and timeless truths.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
I am so glad that I love UCLA basketball as much as BYU basketball. I am very impressed with this year's UCLA team under the direction of their great coach, Ben Howland. Once again, this year's team is built on the principle and foundation of a solid, fundamental, in-your-face, hard-nosed, lunch bucket and hardhat, blue-collar defense that wins games when the offense falters. They have won 34 games this year and have only lost three, largely because of their disciplined approach and mastery of the fundamentals of good defense.
However, this UCLA team also has a 19-year-old center by the name of Kevin Love, whom I enjoy watching as much as any young player I have ever observed over the many years of my life. He is 6'10" tall with a burly build, but is not particularly athletic, doesn't jump really high, and isn't extremely fleet of foot. Why I like to watch him, and why he is so good as a freshman, is that he has mastered the fundamentals of basketball to such a high degree that he has turned playing center into an art form. Sportscasters and commentators rave about his hands and the ability he has to throw a laser like chest pass the length of the court right into the hands of one of his teammates for an easy layup. However, he does everything well from blocking shots, passing the ball, playing strong defense, shooting from inside and outside and simply outsmarting and outplaying bigger, faster, and more athletic big men. If UCLA does make it to the final four again this year it will be because of their understanding and implementation of the fundamentals of defense and their great young center, Kevin Love.
You know I have a frenzied mind, but as I watch this UCLA team I think of the words of Matthew Arnold, the great author and literary critic of 19th-century England. He said on one occasion, "All art earns freedom through discipline!" How true that is in the world of sports as well as in almost every other discipline or aspect of life you can think of.
I learned this lesson as a young 17-year-old freshman at BYU about a hundred years ago. I received a music scholarship from BYU on the strength of my clarinet and piano playing. I modestly admit I was the best clarinet player in White Pine County, Nevada -- much better than the other two. I tried out for the concert band at BYU and was awarded the 23rd chair in a clarinet section of 24 clarinetists. First chair was the best and 24th the worst so you can see where I fit in. I was devastated. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and after a few weeks in the 23rd position I was ready to quit the band and music. Thankfully my parents wouldn't hear of it and offered to help me pay for private lessons with Professor Ralph Laycock, the conductor of the concert band and symphony.
Ralph Laycock was the greatest musician I ever knew personally or have known throughout my lifetime. He had a doctorate in conducting from the Juilliard School of Music in New York City and was a master of all of the major wind instruments -- trumpet, French horn, oboe, flute, and especially the clarinet.
I approached him with great trepidation to see if he would agree to teach the likes of me -- I wasn't feeling particularly good about my musical abilities as you can imagine. He was an imposing figure -- 6'4" tall, a hulk of a man with bushy black hair and eyebrows, and eyes that could burn right into your soul. Much to my amazement he agreed to take me on and so one autumn afternoon I stumbled into his office for my first lesson. He had me take my clarinet out of its case and assemble it which I did with shaking hands. He then asked me to play something and as I commenced to blow a few notes he grabbed the clarinet and almost my teeth along with it, out of my mouth and hands, and staring at me said, "Jack, you don't know how to play the clarinet!" My already fragile self-esteem was totally shattered and plummeted to an all-time low. I wondered if any of Ralph Laycock's students had ever committed suicide. "But," he said, "I think you have some promise and if you will do what I tell you to do you might just learn how to play the clarinet."
Thus began an adventure in learning the fundamentals of clarinet playing from a master. He took all my music away, showed me how to correctly hold the mouthpiece in my mouth and hold the instrument properly in my hands. For the next several weeks I was to stand in front of a full-length mirror looking at my mouth and hands, making sure I was doing everything correctly, and just play whole notes, all the while trying to produce that beautiful clarinet sound I had never been able to produce up to that time in my career. As I began to achieve some success my practice time increased until I was spending eventually four to six hours a day preparing myself to meet with Professor Laycock each week. He taught me that practice doesn't make perfect, but only perfect practice makes perfect! By the end of my sophomore year, thanks to the insistence of a great teacher that I master the fundamentals of clarinet playing through discipline and hard work, I was playing second chair. I could never quite do as well as Bill Washburn who played first chair. I attributed it to the fact that he had a superior clarinet -- a Selma, which was the Rolls-Royce of clarinets, while I only had a Conn, at best a Yugo or maybe a Chevy. As I left on my mission I was able to play by memory Mozart's Concerto for Clarinet.
I love music, but as the years have passed by, the lesson I learned from Ralph Laycock regarding mastering the fundamentals and perfectly practicing them while exercising discipline and hard work, has been invaluable in every aspect of my life.
Does this principle apply, for example, to living the Gospel? I know it does! We must master the fundamentals of personal prayer, scripture study, controlling our passions and appetites, and seeking to put off the "natural man" through discipline and seeking to have charity.
It really is just another way of looking at the eternal "Law of the Harvest." Ultimately in life we reap what we sow. If we master the fundamentals of any worthy discipline, and also seek to master the basic fundamentals of life that every human being has to deal with daily -- for example, getting out of bed, working hard, being clean and organized, and trying to keep our bodies fit and healthy, life will surely become for us an "art" and we will have "earned freedom through discipline" and mastering the fundamentals.
My friend, Jim Ritchie, said it this way in quoting J. Paul Getty's formula for success: "Get up early, work hard, and discover oil!" If we do so, at least the getting up early part and the working hard part, we will discover our own kind of oil; hopefully the kind the five wise virgins had in their lamps as they anxiously awaited the opportunity to come into the presence of the "Bridegroom."
Thank you, Ben Howland and Kevin Love, for reminding me of some significant and timeless truths.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
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