Immortal Beings are Real

The pearls of my past are ever threatened by the oblivion of forgetfulness and the corroding apathy of time. The angel on my shoulder is always telling me to write, record, share. The devil insists that tomorrow will always present a better opportunity to do so, when what matters today is that I sleep a little longer.

I fell to this deception during sacrament meeting today. “Lie back in the pew,” the voice said. “Close your eyes, and in a state of relaxation, you’ll be in a better frame of mind for connecting with God.” And so my consciousness sank into inner recesses, where all sorts of interesting images and disjointed ideas began to present themselves in an almost mystical web. This must be spirituality, I thought. I’m almost comprehending something. I’m almost transcending.

Minutes later, I jolted into consciousness, suddenly aware that I’m none the wiser. With all my faculties firing, the truth became shamefully obvious that enlightenment is only to be found in sobriety.

And so I think of all the treasures I’ve lost — meaningful events, profound realizations, tender mercies, vivid dreams, priceless utterances from the mouths of my babes — and the price at which I’ve irreversibly exchanged them (usually for a few extra moments of drunken sleep … sleep I would have been better off without), and I’m left to mourn the untimely disintegration of my life. For what do I have from my thirty past years if not memories? What else matters?

There’s something profound in the principle that the “the glory of God is intelligence” (D&C 93:36). More than power, possessions, or accomplishments, what matters most to God isn’t what he has but what’s he’s learned and experienced, which ultimately shapes not only how he acts but who he is.

And with that preface, it’s high time I add an important memory to my sacred vaults. A few weeks back, Ariah and I went on a Mormon pioneer trek reenactment with our ward. This was my third such experience, as I always jump on an opportunity to don a cowboy hat and get rough and dirty as I pit myself against the elements. And more than that, in comparing myself to my pioneer fore-bearers, how could I turn down such a remedial challenge and consider myself a man?

Not that it was in any way a challenge. In fact, as I’ve been exercising fairly consistently, I was in such good shape at the time of this last trek that I ran laps around the entire company as they pulled their handcarts. I must have looked pretty cocky (though hopefully the ridiculously anachronistic sombrero I was wearing made up for that). The only real challenge was when we parked our handcarts and setup camp in the middle of the day … the very hot day. Because there were only so many miles to traverse in this kiddy course, we were left to kill time in the middle of a desert.

I did get in some quality daddy-daughter time. Though I could only take so many of Ariah’s spontaneous games, and she could only take so many of mine. Another pastime was in observing insects. I just walked over to a particular bush, cleared away the thorns beneath me, had a seat, and watched. There’s so many marvelous, little creatures in this world. Spiders, ants, moths, beetles, and species I’ve never even seen before. They’re everywhere, coexisting in a cosmopolitan world completely separate from our own. It seems someone’s made a little home in virtually every patch of earth. Bugs. They’re awesome.

But my real takeaway from this event was an impression. I had this impression as I heard stories about pioneer heroes (notably Ephraim Hanks) and as I pondered on the supernatural events reported by so many of these nineteenth century saints. My impression was that immortal beings are real. And I think that’s about one of the most meaningful impressions anyone can have. If the immortality of the soul is a reality, and people from beyond the grave have actually communicated with mortals, and if the nature of these communications were as the pioneers said they were … well then … to possess such a knowledge would be far greater than anything the libraries of the earth could produce, because it would be knowledge that transcends earth.

I don’t have this knowledge. I don’t know for a certainty that death is not the end. But I do not believe it is. Especially during this event, I was touched by what was to me such a rich drove of evidence that immortal beings are real, and that, with an eternal perspective, the way we live our lives, and the paths we choose to follow, matter a great deal.

But that’s rudimentary. What really impressed me was a need to become a better man, a sanctified man, one with whom, if circumstances require, immortal beings could commune. Far from merely realizing the reality of God, I want to be an instrument to God, a servant in this great work of salvation. The folly in getting too existential about the nature of God, the nature of ourselves, and even the nature of reality, is that we may fall into a circular and life-consuming trap of unanswerable questions, thinking we’re somehow gaining intelligence in the process. In reality I believe we’re only burning precious time, missing out on the great work we were sent here to perform. It seems that for the most important decisions we make in life, such as who to marry, what college to attend, etc., we can never know what the right answer is. Sometimes believing is good enough … perhaps the only way. Yet we can have profound assurance that the path we’ve chosen is right from the fruits that follow it.

The glory of God is intelligence. I can’t speak for others, but in my little life, nothing has opened my mind, expanded my horizons, endowed me with understanding, given me reason to pause, reflect, and treasure more than the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This stuff is real. Those who came before, suffered greatly, and gave all, weren’t liars. They honestly experienced what they said they did. I believe that. And they weren’t nutcases either. They were minds and souls that had been touched by a burning light, a light than fosters intelligence and action, not ignorance and complacency. If anything is real and if anything matters, then this is it.

Immortal beings are real. I really believe this. And it makes all the difference.

Come see my plays for free this weekend!

South Utah County Players Short Play Festival Spring 2014If you’re looking for a free and spectacular date night, tonight, tomorrow night, or Saturday night, there’s a free short play festival in Payson at a park, put on by the South Utah County Players, featuring, among other plays, a new play by the beautiful Teresa Gashler, my twice award-winning “Codgers in the Night” (the epic struggle of an old man to escape from his rest home), and my never-before-seen tribute to Jane Austin fans: Becoming Mr. Darcy. Are you really going to turn down hilarious, thought-provoking entertainment at its finest .. and cheapest?

All empty marketing rhetoric aside, in my humble opinion, there are few things better for the soul than a short play festival in a park on a warm weekend in May. Be there or be somewhere better.

Get the details at the Facebook event: https://www.facebook.com/events/774669595890991/?notif_t=plan_reminder

Of Citizens of Zion and Builders of Zion

Christ Washing Peter's Feet, Ford Madox Brown“The man who does only those things in the Church which concern himself alone will never reach exaltation. For instance, the man who is willing to pray, to pay his tithes and offerings, and to attend to the ordinary duties which concern his own personal life, and nothing more, will never reach the goal of perfection” (Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Joseph Fielding Smith, 123).

This quote stung me in Elders Quorum today. I wondered how many times in my life I’d viewed the work of my personal salvation as summed up by an ordinance check list, a Sunday school roll, a ritual of nightly prayer and scripture study, and the canary copy of a donation slip. I think there’s a pivotal threshold between the Terrestrial person who’s good and devout, but whose goodness doesn’t extend beyond his nose, and the Celestial person whose goodness leads to a natural connection, empathy, charity, and service toward others. I think there’s a fundamental difference between a mere citizen of Zion, who enjoys the amenities and associations of the Gospel, and a builder of Zion.

“Never refuse to serve. … This course brings joy and peace, and at the same time those who serve receive the greatest blessing. The teacher gains more than the one taught; the blessing returned to us when we accept a call to work in the Church is far greater than the blessing we can impart to others. He who refuses to perform any labor or shirks responsibility when it is given him in the Church is in grave danger of losing the guidance of the Spirit. Eventually he becomes lukewarm and indifferent to all duties, and, like the plant that is not cultivated and watered, he shrivels up and dies a spiritual death” (Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Joseph Fielding Smith, 123).

President Smith sums up the crisis our world is facing today. I think more often than not, people don’t leave the church and lose their faith because of a great sin or a philosophical qualm, but because of boredom. The formality, repetition, time, and exertion the church requires of us is hardly appealing when compared to the non-committal allures of electronic entertainment.

Then there’s the camp of us who know we can’t let go of our faith and commitment but are still turned off by a perceived loss of freedom that would come with full investment in the church. We prefer back rows. We never read the lessons. We only speak when called upon. We may or may not accept a calling. We don’t go out of our ways to talk to people, because we don’t want to threaten any personal bubbles. We preach “live and let live” as we pass the time checking Facebook on our phones. When church is over, so are our Sabbath days. Off go the ties, on go the TV’s. Our salvation is secured at the absolute minimal requirements.

Lame. With a capital L. And a capital A. Actually, the entire word is in caps, bolded, and underlined, with Impact font, size 18 point, and five exclamation marks as if written by an eleven-year-old girl typing her first email.

The Gospel’s either true or it’s not. Supposing it is true, I want to be a builder of Zion, not just a citizen. I want to be a saver of souls, not just some dude saying, “Whatever, man, it’s all good.” I’d rather be cast into dungeons for Christ’s sake than enjoying a Sunday afternoon chill. I want to be able to come to a tree, and knowing the mobs are after me, be able to fall asleep in an instant, because I’ll know that my heart is pure, my cause celestial, and my fate in God’s hands.

To me, that’s what happiness is. And now having written this post, I’m feeling guilty about not having contacted my home teaching families. I’ve got work to do. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.

The Benevolance of Grandmas

giotto_angelAfter Teresa and I returned from a lovely excursion in St. George, we went to pick up our children from Grammy and Gramps, whom we were shamelessly exploiting for their free babysitting services. Upon our arrival, Grammy did the following:

  1. Fed us a gourmet lunch
  2. Presented both girls with new pairs of shoes
  3. Gave Teresa 1 shirt and 2 dresses that allegedly didn’t fit herself … allegedly
  4. Gave us a container full of sugar cookies
  5. Gave us frosting and sprinkles for the sugar cookies
  6. Gave us three hot shortbread cakes, fresh out of the oven
  7. Gave us strawberries and a container of whipping cream for the cakes
  8. Gave us the rest of the cake batter so that we could make more at home
  9. Helped us carry it all to the car
  10. Waved us goodbye until we were completely out of site

How could anyone not love such a woman? Posterity will need to remember their Grandma Gashler.

My Review of Disney’s Frozen … Long After Anyone Would Care

Disney's FrozenSue me, I’m a late adopter of cinema … which has its benefits. If you can train yourself to not care about movies until after everyone else stops caring, you’ll never have to pay a premium price for tickets. In fact, you’ll never have to pay for tickets at all, because by then you’re bound to have a friend who owns the film on Bluray and is happy to share (I’ve tried to adopt this model of waiting till afterwards for discounted prices with Christmas, but my wife has yet to buy into it.) Plus, the 1st Law of Steve declares, “If everyone else is into something, give it no attention whatsoever.” Knowing it would only be a matter of time before my five-year-old daughter would twist my arm into watching this film, I followed this law to a tee.

Though there’s another reason I was hesitant to watch this film, and no, it had nothing to do with a cryptic gay agenda. It was because I doubted my ability to sit through another musical about a close-minded society suppressing Idina Menzel’s magical powers.

With that in mind, I found it hard not roll my eyes when young Elsa was told that because of her destructive magical powers she must lock herself in her room (we might as well just say closet … more on the gay thing later), shut out all of society, and cease to be herself … forever. It was just another iteration of Disney’s so-formulaic-it-hurts setup for character development, the convention of “I want to be normal just like everyone else, and I’m trying my best, but for reasons completely beyond my power, society is telling me I’m not normal, and they must be right about me.” Now where have we heard that before? Oh yeah, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Alladin, Pocahontas, Hercules, Mulan … I’m just going to stop there. So … utterly … boring.

That being said, I was pleasantly surprised at how non-judgmental Elsa’s parents were. They never once told her that she was a disgrace to the family or that she would never amount to anything. They almost seemed a little too perfect, so perfect that they couldn’t possibly hold major roles in the story, as if they were about to be killed off.

Yep.

I only have good things to say about Anna’s character. She was delightful, and I was glad that she was the true protagonist, because Elsa, all things considered, wasn’t actually a character at all. She was an archetype: the tortured victim of society. Her character couldn’t develop without detracting from the didactic edge the film required in order to takes its place among Disney’s other volumes of the “be true to yourself” theme (you know, that theme they’ve been preaching for the past twenty years).

So … utterly … boring.

Not that the whole film was boring. Honestly, I enjoyed most of it. I loved how there didn’t seem to be a villain, how the conflict revolved around extraordinary characters (with a notable exception) rather than the usual stilted struggle between moderately good and insanely evil. (More on this later.)

Though I have to put my foot down on the unrestrained magic system. There were no checks and balances, no consequences, no thermodynamics. Where did Elsa get the energy to create all of these icicles? How many calories would she have had to consume in order to accidentally freeze an entire lake and cast a perpetual storm over her kingdom? How on earth could she not only output enough hydrogen-di-oxide to build a gargantuan palace but simultaneously craft each molecule into something not only structurally sound but so aesthetically masterful that it would taken a team of architects years to have even drafted? What did she eat while reigning in her barren palace? I’m all for fantasy, but there has to be some semblance of plausibility (or at least consistency).

I mean, if you were Elsa’s parents, and you realized your daughter had magical ice powers … unlimited magical ice powers, why on earth would you shut her up and tell her to think normal thoughts when there’s so much potential for capitalization? You could open your own ski resort in the summer. You could absolutely level the snow cone market. You could take on the armies of the earth with blizzards and ice missiles. Especially when we learn that Elsa not only has the power to bring snow to life but to create giant abominable snowmen in the twinkling of an eye. Why not create an army of these monsters and conquer the world? Because this is a kid’s movie, and Elsa’s not evil? Well, haven’t you heard that with great power comes great responsibility? As long as there’s suffering and injustice in the world, I hold that anyone who’s not actively using their unlimited ice powers for benevolent military campaigns is unethical.

And what’s with the idea of magical powers being something you’re either born with or not? What does that do for the human spirit? How could Elsa possibly develop any real talents or character virtues when she had such incredible instant gratification at her fingertips?

Moving on. Most of the music was charming. “Let it Go” was amazing. Though as soon as the trolls started singing, my wife and I looked at each other, both of us having the same thought: “this just shouldn’t exist.” The trolls were just … lopsided. As clever as a postmodern twist of friendly trolls who are interested in your dating life is, they just didn’t fit in with the rest of the film. Though the movie, as a whole, wasn’t very cohesive to begin with, which was my biggest issue with it. It seems the modern approach to these “family” films is to throw in something for everyone: action sequences, slapstick comedy, witty dialog, romance, drama, passionate musical numbers, silly musical numbers, heroism, villainy, etc., and to assume that the “story” is what happens somewhere in-between. Only this never works. The result is always a hodgepodge of brilliant moments and worthless moments, both engaging and disengaging, occasionally touching, but overall doing little for the soul. I compare it to a disjointed essay in which the author is so tangential that he fails to present a real argument. Who does that?

My case in point: when Prince Hans turns out to be a traitor. So much for a character-driven conflict. “How does this happen? It’s as if someone just completely rewrote your characteristics for the sake of creating pointless drama, regardless of everything you ever said or did before this point” (“How Dead Man’s Chest Should Have Ended“). So … utterly … boring. From this point on, the movie was all downhill. As is typical with most every Disney or Pixar film, as we enter the third act, and character development ceases while action takes over, as the bad guys become unreasonably bad, and there’s no real moral decision for the good guys to make, I find myself ready to sleep. It doesn’t matter how hard the blizzard beats down, or how far separated the boy and girl are, the mere existence of this stilted action is, for me, equivalent to answering exactly how and when the dramatic question will be answered. It ironically kills any suspense I might have been feeling. I’m not saying action has no place, especially as we near a climax, but for heaven’s sake, lower the artificially jacked-up stakes and get back to humanity, not whether or not Sven the reindeer will survive a sudden catastrophic plunge into an icy lake.

Oh, and Sven, I hate to break it to you, but you’re such a late addition to the roster of Disney’s super-intelligent animal confidants, with nothing whatsoever to add in the way of character, that no one cares about you.

As for you, Olaf, another addition to Disney’s roster of short, non-sequitur-spouting comic reliefs … you pass.

I thought it was funny how the movie copied, almost to a tee, the “kiss of true love without actually knowing who your true love is” dilemma as in Disney’s Enchanted. And speaking of stilted, wasn’t it amazing how Anna’s slowly-infecting ice virus decided to leap from taking virtually no effect to transforming her entire body into a solid mass of ice within a split second … just at the right time? And the way she transformed back from a solid mass of ice into human flesh within a few seconds … sadly, this doesn’t appear to be possible. From what I’ve read about cryonics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cryonics), the damage the ice crystals would cause to cell tissues during thawing is irreversibly fatal (at least according to modern science, which can hold its own against eighteenth century magic any day).

Lastly, the cryptic gay agenda. Does it exist? Let me pose another question: how could it not exist? With this issue being perhaps the most heated of our time, and considering that it seems Disney writers are only allowed to write about “being true to yourself,” it seems they would have had to have written a very different story to avoid drawing parallels to modern gay rights issues. But do I think the writers intended to incorporate this theme? Absolutely. In my opinion, it’s obviously in there. Do I care? No. As I’ve mentioned, the film can take its place among a plethora of other Disney films with nearly identical morals. Some themes are universal and can be interpreted in many ways, and whether or not this film gives a certain edge to a modern social climate or whether we care to let it take effect is a matter of personal interpretation. The theme I gathered was a good theme. That said, it’s still …

So … utterly … boring.

As a more practical moral, my wife summed up the movie with this: “And thus we learn: don’t deal with your children’s problems in stupid ways.”

Kicking off those dead weights we call shoes and running barefoot

Barefoot running is so much easier on the knees. It makes me feel as light as a feather.Over the last few days, my family has shifted our morning runs from the BYU indoor track to public parks. As soon as I started to jog along the grassy turf, I felt as if weights had been shackled to my ankles. While I’d been running up to four miles with ease at the track, suddenly lumbering through  just a single mile was a heavy chore. Why did my knees feel so stiff, my feet so clumsy? Was it the uneven ground? The heat of the sun? The fumes in the air?

Then I realized the problem. I was wearing shoes. Duh. As soon as I took them off, I was back to my usual, carefree glides, and life was wonderful again.

Any other barefoot runners out there? I will never go back.

To the Young Men Who Were Texting During Elder Ridd’s Talk

Of all the talks to ignore while text messaging, this was the most ironic

To the three young men sitting beside me during priesthood session, who’s eyes were enamored by the glowing screens in their hands while Elder Ridd of the Seventy was saying …

“Young men, you have probably heard before that you are a ‘chosen generation,’ meaning that God chose and prepared you to come to earth at this time for a great purpose.”

To these outstanding youths who were exercising their thumbs while the officer of the Lord was saying …

“You are growing up with one of the greatest tools for good in the history of man: the Internet. With it comes an elaborate buffet of choices. The abundance of choice, however, carries with it an equal portion of accountability. It facilitates your access to both the very best and the very worst the world has to offer. With it you can accomplish great things in a short period of time, or you can get caught up in endless loops of triviality that waste your time and degrade your potential.”

To these brilliant young thinkers whose concentration was too absorbed in their electronic conversations to be distracted by the words that were reverberating around them, saying …

“Every day the world seeks to influence your desires, enticing you to buy something, click on something, play something, read or watch something. … Satan wants to control your agency so he can control what you become. He knows that one of the best ways to do this is by trapping you with addictive behavior. Your choices determine whether technology will empower you or enslave you.”

To these fun-loving teenagers who were far more interested in a game of out-swimming a digital shark than listening to an old man saying …

“Young men, remember who you really are. Remember that you hold the holy priesthood. This will inspire you to make correct choices as you use the Internet and throughout your life.”

To these strapping boys who had more important things to show each other on their phones than anything this geezer could have been saying, such as …

“Many of us immediately stop whatever we are doing to read a text message—should we not place even more importance on messages from the Lord? Neglecting to connect to this power should be unthinkable to us.”

And to these growing youths of Zion, who, if upon glancing up for a moment, couldn’t last for more than five seconds without pulling out their phones again to check for updates, all the while being impenetrable to the booming voice saying …

“Young men, don’t do dumb things with your smartphone. You all know what I mean. There are countless ways technology can distract you from what is most important. Follow the adage ‘Be where you are when you are there.’ When you are driving, drive. When you are in class, focus on the lesson. … Your brain cannot concentrate on two things at once. Multitasking amounts to quickly shifting your focus from one thing to another. An old proverb says, ‘If you chase two rabbits, you won’t catch either one.’ ”

To you, young men with the smartphones, I have something to say.

And that is …

God bless you, everyone.

And for the wretched author who had the audacity to sleep through several talks during the Sunday morning session, who could only stay awake while stuffing his face with popcorn …

Please pray for me.

Real Patriotism | The Ariah Show

Over the weekend, my family and I made this quick and dirty entry for the Provo Freedom Festival’s short film contest. The submission guidelines urged participants to “think out of the box.” This is definitely a departure from the previous years’ winners, which are usually montages of inspiring images of veteran cemeteries, waving flags, and quotes by Thomas Jefferson. I wonder how the judges will respond to this.

True Christians Are Unjust

"I am He" - the declaration of Jesus of Nazareth causing the soldiers to fall back in fear

“I am He” – the declaration of Jesus of Nazareth causing the soldiers to fall back in fear

I tried to think of the most controversial title I could for this post, (1) because I’m a menace, (2) because controversy is good for SEO (outraged discussion fuels more engagement), and (3) as proof of the point I’m going to attempt to make. What I mean is that if you find yourself outraged by such an audacious title, read on, and by the end of the article, you might just find yourself saying, “Dang it, I failed the test.”

First, the scriptural basis for my argument. In his “Sermon on the Mount,” Jesus teaches, “Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. … Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matthew 38:44).

Where’s the justice in all that?

Let’s think about this. First, Jesus is telling us to “resist not evil.” Jesus. The son of God. The standard of all things good and true … telling us not to resist evil? But wait a minute, what if someone cuts you off on the highway or besmirches your good name or makes some outlandish, close-minded comment, or worst of all, has the audacity to be wrong about some pressing social or political issue? What if your client never paid you or your so-called friend betrays your trust or that certain mooch takes advantage of your generosity? What about that family member who let you down or that stuck-up rich girl or that shameless demagogue or that horrible group of people who are responsible for all of the world’s problems? Aren’t we justified in a little righteous indignation toward such cancerous cretins?

If we’re going to give Jesus the benefit of the doubt, I imagine he might say something such as, “Worry about your own problems.” Similarly, from classic Brigham Young, we get the following wisdom: “He who takes offence when no offence is intended is a fool, and he who takes offence when offence is intended is a greater fool.”

Apparently we’re not supposed to take offence. Period. If that wasn’t enough, from the words “whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,” Jesus seems to be telling us to not even defend ourselves. Of course, many other scriptures, such as in the Book of Mormon, seem to justify  defending one’s property, family, country, etc., and if you buy into the Old Testament, the same God we’re talking about may just command you to go head up a genocide or two (but we won’t go there). In any case, these instances are exceptions. The rule is to show meekness, forgiveness, and mercy to both our friends and our enemies. The rule is to not demand justice when we’ve been wronged, to show mercy where mercy is not due (which, I guess, is the recursive definition of mercy). Thus true Christians are not just. They’re merciful. But it’s more fun to say unjust, because it sounds so needless controversial.

So now’s the test. Did my inflammatory title upset you? Did you feel attacked as a Christian and feel a need to sift through this garbage so that you could further feed your outrage and pursue a grounds for redress? Assuming that my assertions are way off and everything I’m writing is hogwash, I hope my fallacy will have no sway over your solid foundation, because you know where you stand, and you know what truth is, so whatever this crazy blogger is rambling about is his problem, not yours.

More often than not, debate is a waste of time. Rather than listening to each other, we think only about what we’re going to say next to defend our egos. Our hearts are so shielded by pride that changing our opinions (which are really just façades over of our feelings) is almost beyond the realm of possibility in the heated moment, sometimes even long afterwards. Outrage is even worse than debate. When we’re outraged, we can’t possibly see an issue from our opponent’s point of view. We’ve already determined that whatever they have to say is wrong.

When someone attacks our beliefs, we feel personally attacked, because through our beliefs we find our identities. Thus changing our beliefs is a very hard thing to do, and a healthy transition usually takes good friends and lots of love. While probably everyone will agree with me that charity is the way to go, we often forget that charity isn’t just about giving but about receiving. And I don’t mean receiving gifts, I mean receiving punches. In the face.

Let people malign your poor tastes, your bad habits, your incorrect politics, and your close-minded philosophies. The uncomfortable truth is that, whether or not you’re humble enough to listen, they might be right. On the other hand, defending pride is a counterfeit of standing for truth. The more we engage in petty disputes, the more we feed the fire. The more we take it like a man, the more respect and power we gain.

Consider John 18. In consequence of Judas’s betrayal, soldiers came to arrest Jesus. Rather than crying, “Judas, how could you!? I’m innocent! This is so unfair!” Jesus boldly yet meekly declared to the soldiers that he was the man they were looking for, and the sheer majesty of his being caused the soldiers to step back and fall to the ground. When’s the last time the sheer majesty of your being caused your enemies to step back and fall to the ground?

Now go ahead. Malign me. I can take it.

Dangit, I’m being surpassed by my kid!

Ariah and Stephen Gashler at the Utah's Biggest Liar Contest, 2014This isn’t supposed to happen. Some parents say, “I hope my child turns out better than I was.” Such “selfless” parents have obviously given up on their own ambition and hope the the merits of their progeny will somehow redeem the honor they’d never deserved. Bah. I demand to put my children to shame. At everything. They must live in perpetual awareness that no matter how hard they try in the pursuit of excellence, their father — the dad of all dads — will forever surpass them.

So when my five-year-old Ariah took both second place and the audience choice award for the youth tellers at the Utah’s Biggest Liar contest tonight, and I didn’t win anything among the adult tellers, I felt a sense of budding dread, as if two doors had been opened: one to my daughter’s rising triumph, the other to my perpetual demise as a has-been … or even worse … a never was.

I refuse to be humbled. I refuse to learn a valuable lesson about parental fulfilment. Ariah … this means war! Your five-year-old cuteness won’t last forever.