It's been a while so please forgive the less than graceful re-entry into the public airing of thoughts.  More on that later...perhaps.

I wanted to capture an impression I had the other day.  For the past 18 or so years assessments of my performance at work have been based almost exclusively on my ability to deliver results.  That may have meant passing a test or evaluation, completing a large project on time, or gaining approval from bosses to undertake risky efforts - and then making sure the execution of those efforts was effective.  You get the picture.  Once a year I received a performance report full of results "I" had delivered.  (Anyone familiar with these reports knows we largely take credit for the work of others and hyperinflate the accomplishments.)

As I received more responsibility at work I was not only accountable for my results, but my ability to extract results from others - I believe the term for this is: leadership.  I began to know who I could rely on to deliver needed results in varying scenarios.  The vast majority of folks I worked with could be relied on to put forth a very solid effort, but their abilities to produce desired effects were all over the map.  I began to be wholly uninterested in effort.  I recognized I had an obligation to develop skills in people so they could deliver results.  This would benefit them and the organization, but as I assessed an individual's performance, it was largely an assessment of results, not effort.

I realized the other day this is the exact opposite of how the Savior will judge us (and currently assesses our performance).  Although He has given us a standard we'll never meet while on this earth, "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect," - He judges us on effort, and effort alone, not results.  I would to well to do use more of this approach with those around me.

There are plenty of people in the world who deserve more love from me.  My wife and kids top the list.  Extended family members are right up there too.  As are neighbors, co-workers, anyone unfortunate enough to operate a motor vehicle in my vicinity, boy scouts and in short anybody not named Zach Owen.

I've long been taught by my wife and others that the way to increase the amount of love you have towards someone is to serve them.  I could probably work through the scriptures to illustrate the doctrinal background for this, but to save you some reading and me some typing I'll assume you agree with me.  If you don't agree, let me know.


I was listening to the radio earlier this week when this concept was discussed through a social science lens.  The concept is that the more effort one puts towards something, the more one cares about it.  The story on the radio used the concept of the value one puts in a table from Ikea.  The person who assembled the table values it much more than someone who didn't put it together.  As such, if the assembler sells it in a garage sale, they might ask more than a potential buyer would be willing to pay - because the assembler worked so hard on the table.

Correspondingly, if I want to love/cherish/appreciate someone more then I should put more effort into that person.  Funny when NPR's social science stories reinforce my religious views.



Photo from iStockphoto.com

For people who live far from temples it's a pretty big deal to go to the temple.  Before the church had the number of temples it has now, these trips may have involved overnight travel, a hotel, bus, and/or restaurants.  Those things were the absolute pinnacle of human existence in my twelve year old opinion.  When I had my first opportunity to attend the temple we lived New England.  The closest temple was the Washington D.C. temple.

It was neat that Wyatt's first opportunity to attend the temple took place in May of 2012 at the Washington D.C. temple.  I got to go with him.  It had been overcast for most of the day.  As we came out the sun was setting and the clouds were trying to break up.  The sun had reached that point in its arc where it was low enough to be below the clouds, but was still above the horizon and able to provide some light.  We took a picture.  It's not much as far as quality goes, but there are qualities in this picture that mean a lot to me. 

I've never been a huge fan of the first day of school.  As a kid it meant no more days at the pool, the beginning of homework and a progressive decrease in daylight that made playing outside less appealing.  As an adult those three factors still make the advent of the school year rather unpalatable.  So on this auspicious day I'll share two pictures from earlier in the summer, and I'll peek at them when the need arises.

Let me share my reason for taking them.  When I was a kid my dad always had a truck.  For a significant portion of my youth the truck looked something like this.  It was a stick shift.  I took my driver's license test in it - parallel parked without power steering.  I don't think it had AC so when it got hot the windows went down.  I won't bore you with all my memories of that truck, suffice it to say there are lots.  Earlier this summer when the weather was good and the trees we still getting green we did a lot of back on forth on the George Washington Memorial Parkway to and from spring soccer practices and games.  If memory serves I took these pictures on the same day within a few hours of each other.

When the boys get in Hosni the windows go down.  About 30% of their upper body (for Bode the number is closer to 40% - he's got a well-developed noggin) goes out and they just watch the world go by.  I remember being tall enough to just barely get my arm out the window.  I also remember later in life finally being tall enough that the length of my forearm from elbow to fingertips covered the distance from the bottom of the window to the top.  They've got a ways to go before their arms will cover that distance, but I hope when it happens I notice, and we're riding somewhere together...in a truck...with the windows down.

I got to go to Denmark the week before Memorial Day weekend.  It was a neat opportunity, but like my last trip abroad (see here and here) it had some interesting aspects.

- I got to meet Phil Dalhausser in the security line of Dulles Airport.  I hope they let him fly first class.  He's one tall dude and he won a gold medal for pete's sake.

- Despite going to Denmark I never got my passport stamped there.  It was stamped where I entered and exited the EU (Brussels and Amsterdam respectively).

One of the things I like best about traveling is seeing new places.  I don't get GPS in rental cars, as I prefer to find my own way.  Usually between my phone and signs I get to where I want to go.  As I got on the highway from the airport in Copenhagen, I read the signs quickly and made a snap decision on which way to head.  My decision took me to Sweden.

You see, the Copenhagen airport is the last exit one can take in Denmark before you cross the Øresund bridge and head to the city of Malmö in Sweden.  Once I was on the highway I was committed.  I couldn't turn around until I got to the Swedish side of the bridge.  I had to pay the toll (about $65) and explain to the gentleman at the toll booth that I didn't really mean to come to Sweden.  Apparently I wasn't the first one to do this so he explained where I needed to go to get turned around and how to get my money refunded.  For being descendants of vikings they are really a polite and understanding bunch of folks up there.

One of the highlights of the trip was a quick stroll through the Copenhagen Citadel.  The Danish National Memorial of Remembrance is there.  It's got the names of Danish service members who lost their lives in international conflicts.  There were over 100 names.  That may not seem like a lot, but of those, 56 had perished since 2001 in Afghanistan and Iraq.  For a country with a relatively small military, that strikes me as a significant sacrifice.  While it is important to remember those our great nation has lost, it's also important to remember we're not in this alone.  I take great comfort in that.

In the Mormon church members of the congregation are invited to give the invocation and benedictions in our Sunday worship services.  It may seem scary to members of other churches but you get used to it and it's really not a big deal.  With that said, going up in front of a group of 200-300 people is still enough to make anyone hope they don't have pesto in his teeth, a booger hanging out of her nose or toilet paper trailing off a shoe.  You just don't want to have that many people see you make a fool out of yourself.

The worship service always starts with a hymn that is followed by the invocation.  Last Sunday I was asked to give the invocation for our Sunday Service.  During that first hymn I smartly reached into my pocket and made sure my phone was on silent.  Checked my zipper to make sure it was up.  As we reached the last line of the fourth verse of the hymn I smartly walked up to the podium, carefully monitoring my pace and stride length to ensure I arrived right as the hymn ended so the congregants wouldn't be waiting on me.  I'm a smooth operator.


The song we were singing had six verses but I've rarely been in a congregation where we sang all six.  It's just one of those things Mormons don't do.  We sing the four verses (sometimes less) that are in between the treble and bass clefs (like the picture above).  If the speaker(s) at the services went a bit longer than their allotted time, we may sing just one verse.  Gotta keep on schedule!

Imagine my surprise when I went to step up to the pulpit and 60% of the congregation launched into the fifth verse of the song.  (I say 60% because on the rare occasions when the congregation does sing all the verses of a song - about as often as Halley's Comet is visible with the naked eye - about 40% of the congregation isn't watching the chorister and just puts their hymnals away and then realizes that they've made an awful mistake and there is a hurried shuffling of pages as they try to get back to where they were.)

I looked at the leaders of the congregation with a "oops" look on my face, retreated to the closest pew, pulled out a hymnal and tried to join in the fifth and sixth verses.  I couldn't though because I couldn't quit snickering at how stupid I was.  Not only that, but I swear the chorister looked at me with a look that said, "Don't even try to come up here and pray when I'm leading us through the fifth and sixth verses of this hymn.  I know there isn't a seventh verse printed, but I'll lead these people through a seventh, eighth and ninth verse too if you don't sit back down.  This hymn's not over until I say it is!"  I had to pull it together, I didn't want to bust out laughing in the middle of the prayer.

When the song ended (for real) I prayed and sat back down.  I thought about praying for a chorister that would let us know when we would be singing all six verses of a hymn, but decided against it.