This too shall pass

To say it's been a "crazy week" just doesn't do the events of the past several days justice.

It's more than that though, isn't it?  It's been a difficult year for the world.

Paris under fire.  Refugees fleeing for their lives.  War throughout the world.  Economic difficulties.  Struggles with religious policies.  If ever there was a time to lose heart, to throw in the towel and ask, "What's the point?", now seems like a pretty clear candidate.

Before I continue, just let me say that this is not my normal vibe.  As a person I prefer to not take things too seriously.  In this blog, I like to explore philosophical and aesthetic ideas.  Also, understand that I know that I am relatively young and have a lot to learn about life and the world.  But tonight, I ask for just a bit of your time to hear me out; it's not often that I feel impressed to talk about things of importance.

The world is a downright ruthless place sometimes.  Events like the attacks in Paris or struggling Syrian refugees have a way of bringing home to us just how bleak things can seem.  We find ourselves engaged with enemies, both within and without.  ISIS leaves hundreds dead in their murderous campaign.  People in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (and observers) struggle to reconcile their feelings with changes in policy.  Vast numbers of Middle-Eastern refugees flee, often with little more than the lives they only just managed to preserve.  Economies struggle, people lose jobs, families break apart.

It's enough to make you weep.  How can we - tiny, frail humanity - prevail against the misfortune and hate that assail us?

A duo of characters wondered the same thing in a beloved film trilogy (and I hope you don't think I'm too cliche bringing this up...it felt particularly applicable).  Beaten, tired, and despairing, Frodo Baggins looks dejectedly at his friend Samwise Gamgee, and utters those words that we've all said, out loud or inside:  "I can't do this, Sam."

Sam isn't an unshakable force.  He feels as small and weak as his friend, and he echoes Frodo's concern:

I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?"

Don't we all feel that way sometimes?  I've asked that so many times in the last few weeks.  Who am I to hope for a happy ending?  What business do I have believing I can ever overcome the thousand terrible things that life has in store for me?  At some time or another, don't we all wonder: what's the point?

That's what makes Sam's next words so poignant, so powerful.

 But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Why?  To use Frodo's words:  "What are we holding on to, Sam?"

Shouldn't the thing we hold on to be each other?  Don't we strive, work, and fight to protect each other and that little piece of good that the world has to offer?

I think in times like these, it's easy to forget that there is still happiness in the world.  The horrors we face will pass.  The fears, the sorrows, the doubts...they're the dark before the dawn.  It takes work.  We have to trust in ourselves and lean on each other to see that beautiful sunrise.

So tonight, my hat goes off to all of you.  I thank those, worldwide, who have offered their love, prayers, and support to France.  I thank France for their dauntless strength in the face of adversity.  I thank the nations of the world that have welcomed refugees into their lands.  I applaud Anonymous for their tenacity to declare "cyberwar" on ISIS.  I thank the brave Muslims around the world who are supporting the #NotInMyName campaign, and are taking a stand against ISIS's actions.  I salute the brave men and women who are currently fighting terrorists and extremists across the world.  I offer my love and support to those who are struggling with crises of faith and the million other hardships that humanity faces.  Just as surely as those hardships define what life is, your courage and fellowship defines what it is to be human.  You remind me, in these dark times, that there is still compassion.  There is still happiness.  There is still strength.

That, as Samwise Gamgee so perfectly said it:  "That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for."

Thank you, thank you, thank you

This past week, my grandfather passed away.

Some folks live far away from many of their relatives, and so don't get the chance to see those loved ones very much.  So I count myself quite blessed that my Grandpa Sorensen lived only an hour away from me growing up.  I can recall many of the visits my family had over at his and Grandma's little house just off of the Carlsbad beach.  They were always quite similar:  we'd go and play board games and dominoes, Grandma and Mom would cook us excellent dinners, and we'd usually top it off with some jello topped with whipped cream.  Sometimes Grandma would play the organ or we'd go down to the beach, but it was always something to look forward to.

The last few years of his life, Grandpa lived alone.  His wife died some years before he did.  But the visits remained largely the same; Grandpa remained the same energetic, upbeat, and admirable man as ever.  He'd reminisce fondly on times with Grandma, and he'd speculate about what she was doing now, but I can't remember it ever really dampening his spirits.  He lived with a calm surety that he'd see her again, and in the meantime, he'd enjoy the time he still had here.

He was also a patriarch, so I was fortunate enough to have him give me a patriarchal blessing.  He was there when I received my endowment in the temple.  He always recited a wonderful poem for us called "Wreckers or Builders" (I highly recommend it), which, whether he knew it or not, I've thought back to often in my college years.

When I heard he died, it wasn't an earth-shattering shock.  I didn't expect it, necessarily, but he was well-advanced in years, and so I was able to accept the news fairly normally.  Of course I'll miss him.  Of course I'll miss the visits, and the poems, and seeing him in the temple.  But if Grandpa taught me anything, it was to look forward optimistically to the day that we'll see our loved ones again.  In the meantime, I'll enjoy my time with the ones that are still here with me.

So for that lesson, Grandpa, all I can say is:  thank you, thank you, thank you!

(This past week, I've been working on a song that I wanted to learn in order to commemorate Grandpa.  I didn't write it; it's a song called "The Last Goodbye" by Billy Boyd.  But I hope you enjoy my cover of it.

So I've linked this to a Google Document.  Hopefully you guys won't have any problems opening it.  When you reach the page, in the top left corner, there's a down arrow icon - you can use that to download the file.  It should run in any major audio player (Windows Media Player, iTunes, Quicktime Player, etc.).  If not, send me a message or something.  I'll see about helping you out.)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1UWix0l4yxnQTJ2RzlRX0NZdnc/view?usp=sharing