Why My Child Talks to Mittens

I need to be more careful about planning things.

So last week I totally spaced on Family Home Evening until my two-year-old begged for us to have it. Family Home Evening is a tradition in my church where families set aside one night a week just to be together--no staying late at work, no soccer practice, no international espionage (unless your family's into that sort of thing), and there's often an element of spiritual instruction, too. Every family does it differently. In our house, we usually take turns choosing songs to sing, praying, sharing a scripture, teaching a lesson, and picking a board game or some other fun activity.

I believe in Family Home Evening. I'm just not great at it.

So my two-year-old usually has to remind me. And of course I forgot it was my turn to give the lesson last week. But if I gained anything from college that will ever benefit my children, it's my ability to improvise.

"Tonight," I announced at the start of the lesson, "Daddy has invited a special friend to join us!"

"Did you hear that?" said my wife. "Daddy's friend is coming!" As I hurried toward the coat closet, she gave me a look that said I'll play along, but this better be good.

"I just called him," I said. Dig, dig, dig--where is it? "He says he's almost here!"

I grabbed the first object lesson-worthy thing I could find in the dark closet and shut the door.

"Do you hear that? I think he's coming up the stairs!"

I knocked on the closet door. "He's heeeeere!" my son cheered.

I opened the closet again. "Hi!" I said. "I'm so glad you could make it. Come on in; my family's excited to meet you."

My son jumped onto my wife's lap, where I also plopped our special guest: a mitten someone gave my son for Christmas last year.

"Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Mitten! Say hello, Mr. Mitten!"

The mitten just sat there. My son stared at it, then looked up at me and giggled the way he always does when Daddy's being silly.

"I said, 'Say hello, Mr. Mitten!'"

Still nothing, except for a slightly harder laugh from my son.

"Can Mr. Mitten talk?" I asked.

"No!"

"Can Mr. Mitten move?"

"No!"

"What does he need?"

If you're LDS--and especially if you've ever taught an LDS children's Sunday School class--you've probably seen this analogy a million times. The glove is the body, but without a hand inside--the spirit--it remains lifeless. I explained this concept to my two-year-old: how our spirits are what make us alive, and that when we die, it's like taking a hand out of a glove. As spirits we leave our bodies on earth, but we return to our Heavenly Father and get to live with Him.

I crammed my thumb and a couple of fingers into the tiny mitten, and it sprung to life--along with my squeaky falsetto voice. "Hello there! Pleased to meet you!"

And then the mitten sang.

I lived in Heaven a long time ago, it is TRUUUUUUUUUUE;
Lived there and loved there with people I know. So did YOOOOOOOOOOU.
Then Heavn'ly Father presented a beautiful PLAAAAAAAAAAN,
All about earth and eternal salvation for MAAAAAAAAAAN.
(Children's Songbook, p. 4)

Both boys rolled with laughter. Even my wife validated me with a little laugh at the end of each line. Mr. Mitten was a hit!

Mr. Mitten: a better entertainer than I will ever be.

He sang a few more songs then took a bow. "Thank you! Thank you!" he said. "I'm here till Thursday!"

Then I chucked him back into the coat closet.

Fast forward to last night. My two-year-old was sitting on his mother's lap when he said, "We're just waiting for Daddy's friend to come over."

"What friend?" my wife asked. "Nathan, we're not expecting anyone tonight, are we?"

I made a mental scan of every conversation I'd had that weekend. "Nnnooooo . . . ?"

"Daddy's friend is coming over!" my son said.

"Who?"

"Mr. Mitten!"

Uh-oh.

"Umm," I said. "I think he forgot. Let me call him."

Look at me: I'm calling a mitten on the phone.

"Hi, Mr. Mitten! How's it going? . . . I'm glad to hear it. Hey, were you coming over tonight? . . . I see. Well, my boys would love to see you again. . . . I'll let them know. They'll be so excited; see you soon!"

I "hung up" the phone. "Guess what, buddy? Mr. Mitten says he has to finish dinner, but then he's coming over!"

And man, I'll tell you, that mitten got a more ecstatic welcome than I ever got coming home from anything. He sang a few songs, made my kids laugh, got the rock star treatment.

And then my son walked around for a couple hours with Mr. Mitten on his hand.

One mitten. Like Michael Jackson.

Next thing I know he'll be telling me to beat it.
Image credit: B@MJ Celebrity Collection

I brought this on myself. Winging things has always gotten me in trouble; I should have just remembered Family Home Evening.

But Mr. Mitten is here to stay. He's part of the family now.

And, Heaven help me, I just called a mitten he.
 

I'd Buy Brigham Young a Cheeseburger

In Utah this past weekend we celebrated Pioneer Day, which marks the anniversary of Mormon settlers' first arrival to the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. It's one of my favorite holidays; I like it even more than the Fourth of July. A big parade marches through downtown Salt Lake, numerous religions hold special services, there are free concerts and a rodeo, and at night we shoot off fireworks.

Pioneer Day is a fitting celebration of the state I love to call my home. Utah isn't perfect, but it's a great place to live. And I owe much of that to pioneers from all backgrounds and religions, who gave the best of themselves to build this land and make the desert "blossom as the rose."

Great work, guys!
Image credit: The Odyssey Online

Sometimes I like to think about what I would show those Mormon settlers if they suddenly appeared today.

Imagine if a company of wagons wandered through a time warp on the vast plains of Nebraska and wound up in 2016. I think, like in the case of later struggling pioneer companies, the Church would sound a call to "go and bring them in." But today's rescue effort wouldn't send wagons of supplies: cars, trucks, and buses would retrieve those pioneers, instead.

I sometimes see myself behind the wheel of a carload of new settlers, zooming down I-80 as they clutch their seats, white-knuckled yet amazed, finishing in just two days what would have taken months with wagons.

It would take some getting used to.
Image credit: Ambulance GIF

For dinner I'd pick up a round of Wendy's Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers, and we'd find a Motel 6 to rest up for the next day's easy journey.

And I'd turn the heat up in Wyoming's early snows so no one has to lose a foot to frostbite.

In Salt Lake City we would ride the light-rail train to visit Temple Square, then head across the street to tour the 21,000-seat Conference Center. Of course my pioneers would have the best seats in the house for the next General Conference session, but they might be even more impressed to see the broadcast miles away at someone's home.

Then we'd sample all the awesome food they never had before. I'm talking burritos at Café Rio, pizza at The Pie, cheese fries at Leatherby's. We'd grab hot dogs at Smith's Ballpark while the Salt Lake Bees played, then finish off the evening with a bonfire up Big Cottonwood Canyon.

Oh, and hot showers for everyone!

What a time to be alive.
Image credit: Awesome Inventions

If the pioneers came back to life today, there's no end to what I'd share with them. But it's not to brag about my easy life. And it's not to make life too much easier for them, because the way they handled hardships is what makes my pioneer heritage so meaningful and rich.

I just want to show the settlers what they built.

I want them to see that everything they went through--abandoned homes, lost loved ones, mob violence, government hostility, harsh sun and bitter cold, starvation, illness, death--went toward something they would marvel at today.

I want them to see the way the desert has blossomed.

And I want them to know it started with them.

Local Man Completes Journey Around Sun

I usually try to keep a low profile on my birthday. It's not that I don't like the attention; I just don't want anyone to feel like they have to go out of their way to make me feel special.

But my friends and family have already done that on their own (they're so great), so what the hey--today's my birthday!

Image credit: Meme Generator

Just like on New Year's Day, when my birthday comes around I like to make resolutions and reflect on how far I've come.

And I've come a long way--literally.

Every year I've been alive the Earth has traveled 584 million miles around the sun. Today I complete my twenty-seventh orbit, putting me at 15.768 billion miles. That's an accomplishment.

And no, it doesn't look like this. I would know.
Image credit: Pics About Space

But wait, there's more! I get extra mileage from the Earth's rotation, too. My slice of the planet--approximately 40 degrees north latitude--is about 19,014 miles around, and I cover that distance every single day just by sitting here. That doesn't sound like much, but it adds up: in twenty-seven years of rotation (accounting for leap days), I've covered 187,516,068 miles.

So, not counting all the traveling I've done by foot and vehicle on Earth, I've already gone over 15.9 billion miles.

For a little perspective, Pluto is only 4.67 billion miles away.

No wonder I'm so tired.

In Ohio I Learned Nobody's a Stranger

The summer just before my mission, my family took one last epic vacation and toured LDS Church history sites across the northeastern United States. We visited the birthplace of the Prophet Joseph Smith in Vermont; the Sacred Grove in New York; the Priesthood restoration site in Pennsylvania; and Kirtland, Ohio, where the first Latter-day Saint temple was built. I don't remember a more faith-promoting road trip.

The Kirtland temple

I could say a lot about that vacation, but I want to talk about what happened in Ohio.

We rolled into Kirtland on a rainy Saturday evening. It was too late to do much sight-seeing, but there were lots of cars parked at the local LDS chapel. So we stopped in to ask what time Sunday services were . . . and my brother and I ended up getting invited to the youth dance that was going on right then.

Dances were awkward enough back home, where at least we had friends to lollygag with at the punch bowl. But we were thrilled to be included, and we hurried back to our hotel room to clean up and put our best clothes on.

The biggest surprise of the evening, though, wasn't that we got invited to a dance, but that we hardly spent a minute at the punch bowl before the local kids surrounded us. We made quick friends with both the guys and girls, and I had a partner for every slow song. By the end, we felt so at home among the youth in Kirtland that we even stuck around to take down chairs and tables.

Accurate.
Image source: LOLwithMe.org

We felt the same at church the following morning. Everyone went out of their way to come and talk to us. The bishop (leader of the congregation, like a pastor) and his counselors all made sure to greet us personally. Our comments were encouraged in the Sunday School discussion. We were even invited to stick around for ice cream after church.

And we weren't the only visitors to the congregation that day. An elderly couple from Utah and a family from Sweden received the same treatment we did. To the members of the Church in Kirtland, VISITORS WELCOME was more than just a default phrase on the chapel sign. They truly practiced it.

Image credit: The Salt Lake Tribune

Kirtland sees a lot of Mormon vacationers. The people there are used to hosting visitors and never seeing them again. When they welcomed my family and me, they knew we wouldn't be back.

And yet they treated us like we would be around awhile. Like we weren't travelers passing through, but neighbors who had just moved in. Like we belonged in their community, their congregation, their very hearts.

I never did see any of them again. But I still feel their genuine love whenever I remember the short time I got to spend with them. And that's the kind of thing I want to spread.

I understand why "stranger danger" is a thing. I understand that sometimes people hurt each other just because they can. That there are people in the world who take unfair advantage of the smallest acts of kindness. That sometimes reaching out can be a risk.

But what if we acted like everyone we met might stick around awhile in our lives? What if we saw the people we passed by as friends we haven't met? What if, instead of treating each other with suspicion, we tried a little love and generosity?

Hearts would change.

And with those hearts, the world.

---

This post was inspired by a recent article by blogger Middleaged Mormon Man. It's a great read; go check it out!

Let's Let Each Other Enjoy Things

Amid the barrage of depressing news stories lately, it's refreshing to see media outlets report on fun things now and then. While some might complain that it's not "real news," I think our journalists do us all an important service by running stories on things like adult coloring books, Pokémon Go, and, most recently, the Nintendo NES Classic Edition. The comment sections of these stories show that many people appreciate this lighthearted approach to the world. But there are always a few party poopers in the bunch.

"People who do [or like] this need to get a life," some say. Or, another favorite: "These people need to  grow up/get a job."

"All these problems in the world and people are [insert activity here]."

"The world is the mess it is because adults can't take responsibility."

Then there are these delightful people:

"I don't understand how an adult can like [insert childish activity here]."

"Grown men at the [toy store/game store/arcade/etc.] are creepy."

"You like [childish activity]? What are you, five?"

Image credit: imgflip.com

Certainly, there is an argument for balance in life. Responsibility, moderation, fiber intake--these are all important things. But I'm not talking about that right now.

I'm saying it's okay for grownups to enjoy things children would like, too.

I surprise people sometimes when I tell them I still play with Lego. Notice that word: still. As if I was supposed to stop at some point and didn't get the memo, or disobeyed a social order, or something. At what age did I have to put my Lego bricks in the closet or on eBay?

Image credit: ifunny.co

But it doesn't stop at Lego. I love cartoons, picture books, graphic novels, Disney movies, video games--the list goes on. And I've raised the eyebrows of many a responsible adult for openly enjoying those things.

Well, I do a pretty good job at taking care of my family, staying up-to-date on bills, and getting involved in my community, but pardon me for having other interests than drinking beer and shouting at a television screen.

Geez, guys, get a life.
Image credit: The Odyssey Online

Really, though, who decided it was normal to wear a favorite sports team's jersey and hit the bar, but weird to cosplay at an anime or sci-fi convention?

Who decided it was okay to spend an hour watching Netflix to unwind after work but not okay to spend that hour playing video games?

Who decided I could build an engine in my garage but not a Lego sports car in my living room?

Here's what everybody needs to understand: We're not all athletes. We're not all entrepreneurs. We're not all mechanics or cooks or musicians. But as scary and dark as the world is, there's something in it for each of us to enjoy--and we need that now more than ever before.

So let's loosen our ties and let down our hair a bit. Let's all pour ourselves a bowl of Lucky Charms. Let's leave the numbers and charts and business at work and remember how to play.

Let's just let each other enjoy things.