Test post

For some reason, things got really messed up on this blog. This is just a test post. I promise a good one is in the works.

I have ignored my blog. I am sorry.

I have completely ignored my blog. I feel like a bad person for doing so.

It's not like nothing noteworthy has happened lately. I just haven't taken the time to write about it.

I have been really involved lately in lots of things. I hesitate to say the word busy because I have banned it from my vocabulary. Everyone is busy. I made a sign to hang in the Bradley Agency that says "'I'm busy' is no excuse. We are all busy."

I'm working at BYU Grounds, then working at the PR lab or at my internship. I am having lots of fun experiences and making good friends along the way. I need to weave blogging into my schedule.

My commitment for the next week is to blog seriously at least once.

Faith of our Fathers

Happy Father's Day!

It is a blessing to reflect on those who have impacted my life greatly on this special day. It is a commandment to honor our fathers, and I believe we should do it much more often than on an annual holiday.

On this blog I recently shared my feelings about my dear father. Today I would like to tell you about how amazing my grandpa Harper, who passed away a few months ago, is.



One of my earliest memories of Grandpa centers on his decision to sell all that he had to serve the Lord on a mission to Fiji. I remember vaguely the process of hauling all the farm implements to a park with an old white building for an auction. From my earliest recollection, Grandpa had noble priorities.

During his decade of missionary service with Grandma, I have patchy remembrances of good times spent together. After their return from a mission, they had no car or other transportation. Grandpa quickly got to work and found something they could drive—a Chevrolet Panel truck. It was like a three-door Suburban. I went to pick it up with Grandpa from an old neighbor. When we pulled up I could hardly believe he was planning on paying money for the vehicle nestled in the Kosha weeds next to a cinder block shed. I honestly was scared to hop in one of the three doors because I was certain it was infested with Kamima Pack Rats (with big teeth).

I was wrong about that old rig; after Grandpa cleaned it up it took us grandchildren on amazing adventures, adventures we won't soon forget.

Every trip with Grandpa turned into a spectacular journey. Grandpa wasn't one to take the easy or common road to get places; he always created a path of his own—or at least got lost in the attempt. I loved when he took me on DuPont sales calls or trips to the back farm or to visit cousins, not necessarily because of the destination but because of the stories along the way. Grandpa had a unique way of sensing the times when I was especially concerned about my family (even when I was really young) and would lovingly assure me that things would work out and that he was there to help.

I remember one trip to the livestock sale very well. Before the big event, Grandpa and I got "hangaburs" at the auction yard cafe and discussed livestock. He acted like he valued my opinion about what he should purchase. When the sale finally started I got Grandpa in a bit of trouble, I think. I guess I talk with my hands a lot, because the auctioneer kept thinking I was bidding on animals. Grandpa taught me to keep my hands down and let him do the bidding because he was registered to do so. And he knew the difference between a cow and a bull.

I am not sure what Grandpa planned on purchasing that day, but I remember what we took home in the blue and white Ford with the livestock rack on back: a stubborn donkey and a silly "nana" goat. It was almost impossible to get that dumb goat to get down from her perch on top of the spare tire. I remember Grandpa and me laughing hysterically as we poked her and coaxed her to forego her mountain goat instincts.

Whenever I was with Grandpa, I knew he was respected. After eight of us plus our luggage experienced a long ride home to Philly from the Annapolis airport I was privileged to see Grandpa as a missionary for a few days. I remember walking down the streets of South Philadelphia with him one day and seeing him say "hello" to everyone. It seemed as if they all were his old friends: the lady at the dry cleaner, the CVS attendant and the mailman. His goodness certainly shined in his eyes.

In addition to his goodness I admire his strength. He battled with cancer in such an amazing way. One of my biggest concerns upon my return home from my mission was to see grandpa because I had heard he wasn't doing so well. When I first saw him with his new look, the "moon face" as he called it, he was still the same person I remembered and adored.

Associating with Grandpa the past couple of years has been a tremendous blessing. I believe that the end of our life is sort of the last question on the test of mortality we are all presently taking. The last question on a test is usually the most difficult, but Grandpa didn't let it stump him. He truly "endured to the end."

I won't forget the early morning chats over breakfast. I won't forget the times he would call days in advance of my trip home for the weekend to schedule a Saturday lunch date at Charlie's for ribs--"Grandma, she don't like them ribs as much as we do." I won't forget the times we were in the temple together and he insisted I push his wheelchair, as if I were an expert or something. Due to that, I won't forget the dedication I saw in his eyes as he renewed his commitment to keep sacred promises he had made with the Lord.

I feel blessed for the time I had to spend with him in the hospital preceding his death. I learned how a real man and disciple of Jesus Christ acts during times of adversity. He never lost faith or treated others poorly even though he was visibly weary and in pain.

"Hate is a pretty strong word," was the first thing I remember him teaching me. It is probably one of the last things he taught me as well, and illustrates the complete lack of hypocrisy in his character. He didn't hate anyone. He didn't hate his difficult circumstances. He didn't hate the Lord for allowing bad things to happen.

In place of hate in his life was charity--pure and everlasting love.

Grandpa was pretty sick the last time I visited him. We were watching boxing and chatting while Grandma was out; she hated to leave him alone. Our conversation was light at times but became very serious when he started talking about Grandma and his family. I know that his love for her is the "highest, noblest kind of love." At that moment, I understood what pure love really is: what Grandpa had for Grandma.

"But Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him." (Moroni 8:47)

I am blessed to know that such pure love doesn't cease with death. I am blessed to understand better what charity is because of my Grandpa.

Reaching out

I loved seeing this video this morning. I am grateful for my membership in a church with leaders that inspire me to be a better person. I am especially grateful for the message of President Monson, who said the best gift he could receive for his birthday was for church members to

"Find someone who is having a hard time and do something for them."

On this memorial weekend, I am thinking of those who taught this message to me through their actions. Many of them have already passed on, but I am still inspired by their legacy. I feel so blessed to have known heroes who thought of others even in the moment of personal affliction and pain.

I pay tribute to those who sacrifice for the benefit of others. I am especially grateful for those who have given their lives in the service of this country. This "last measure of devotion" is greatly appreciated, and I hope to always respect that which they so nobly fought and died for.

Thanks, and happy Memorial Day tomorrow!

A busy week

This has been a crazy week. I started working at the BYU grounds crew. It is lots of fun because I work with two of my cousins and 3 of my roommates. The work itself isn't exactly fun and stimulating this week, but that is totally OK. We are dumping mulch on a steep hill that is behind the Richards Building. The hill is very steep, so the only way to get the mulch on it is to pack it in buckets and then dump it. It is a very arduous process and I will be glad when we move on to more exciting landscaping work. But as one of my co-workers says at least three times a day, "We're not just building a hillside, we're building a Wendy's." The sad part is that at the end of the task there won't be a Wendy's.

The amazing part of my job is that I start at 6 a.m. This allows me to intern at the Springville Museum of Art and also to help out at the Bradley PR agency.

At the Museum, we are holding the 43rd annual Art Ball tonight. It will be an amazing event. The museum is spectacular and features amazing artwork and architecture. A sculpture garden has recently been completed that is beautiful.

Here's a video about the event:



If you are free tonight and in the area, come check out the ball! Tickets are available at SmithTix and at at the museum's Web site: http://smofa.org/events_programs/art_ball.html.

I will give you a full report after the event! I had better head over there to start setting up.

A Holiday for Moms

Instead of exercising this fine morning, I decided I should blog.

There's also a holiday that is coming up tomorrow that gives me inspiration: Mother's Day. But it's not just the holiday that drives me to write; my mother is amazing and I want the whole world to know.

Mom is more than my mother, she is my friend.

(this is a photo of us on a road trip to a Cake concert in Colorado)

Now I know people say that's a bad thing. "You shouldn't be a friend to your kids. You should be a parent," they say. I think my mom has been a better parent because she's my friend. Although I look up to her and respect her in so many ways, I feel she views our relationship as that of peers who are equal.


When I began to talk, I called my mom Ida. Why not mommy or some other pet name? Because no one else did! They called her Ida and so did I.

As I grew up I guess I learned from my peers and started calling her mom sometimes. But she still responds well to Ida. :)

I love many things about Ida, my mom.
I love that she has been completely devoted to her family over the years.
I love that she courageously took care of my father in his illness.
I love that she serves the Lord and follows His example of putting others first.
I love that she has been a friend to my friends. I think some of my friends like her more than they like me. I totally understand why.
I love that she has never lost touch with me or my interests and goals.
I love that she takes pride in what she has; she is a woman of class in many areas.
I love that she respects and serves her own mother, who I love dearly.
I love that she is optimistic for the future. I congratulate her on her recent re-marriage.
I love that she is amazingly talented. She cares for others.

I love that at the end of the day, we can chat like friends because we are friends. My best friend is Ida.

Happy Mother's Day to all women!

(Today's project is to get all these flowers plus a truckload more planted in Mom's soon-to-be beautiful yard)


p.s. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the grandmothers in my life.

Grandma Harper (my mom's mom) is amazing. I am so blessed to have her! I count the time we spend together (such as last night when we both got stomach aches from scarfing down a bag of popcorn) as precious. She is the most genuine person I know and I respect her immensely.

Grandma Bertha (my dad's mom) is pretty dang cool too. Her red-lipstick kisses are the best. When I'm with her I know she really cares. She's sick in the hospital right now so I am praying for her quick return to health.

Deb (my dad's step mom), is amazingly talented. I went to a play she directed last night and was blown away. She is always willing to sacrifice HOURS of her time to help others express themselves creatively. Most recently, she directed the Youth Cultural Celebration for the dedication of the Twin Falls LDS Temple. Her efforts with thousands of young people paid off; the show was amazing! In addition to all this she provided the cheese, bread, Miracle Whip and Lays for the "lazy man sandwich" that was the lunch staple for me and my friends in 10th grade. Thanks!

Wow. That was so much better than exercising. I think I left my running shoes in Provo anyway.

It's been a long time, sunshine

It is SO BEAUTIFUL here in Provo. As I was outside enjoying the sun with some friends, I mentioned how much I love Spring. I said, "Everything is like a baby." And they laughed.

OK. Maybe this is a funny way to look at it, but it works for me. All the flowers are new (and baby-like), the trees have new leaves and the birds sing in the morning again.

I love fresh starts. It's a miracle to see how the earth starts anew after a long season of dreariness and dormancy. The good news is that we have opportunities for new starts quite often.

At this time of transitions, I hope everyone I love ends up doing the things that make them happiest; I wish you all a great new beginning.