Author: Peter Watkins

This Is Why We’re Here

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2009Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Last week we returned from one of the greatest family adventures ever. Among the greatest for us, anyway. Along with another family of friends, we took our two youngest for a backpacking trip in Zion National Park. Specifically, we hiked from one end of the Narrows to the other.

If you have never visited the Narrows, here’s a snapshot which, even in its beauty, doesn’t begin to capture the spectacular scenery.

Now if I tell you that it took us two days to complete the 16-mile hike, you’ll probably think, “No big deal.” That’s sort of what we thought as well. But it turned out to be much more difficult than we would have guessed. For starters, the hike is 16 miles long if you walk it in a straight line—which you can’t. To hike the Narrows, you must crisscross the Virgin River repeatedly throughout the hike, which turns the 16 miles into 25 or 30 instead. Further adding to the challenge, as you proceed downstream, springs and streams continuously add volume to the river, so it gets deeper and swifter the farther along you go. Consequently, as you grow more tired, the invisible terrain on the riverbed becomes more treacherous: the boulders are larger, slicker, and more irregular, the currents stronger, the rapids more frequent. What’s more, as this picture suggests, there are long stretches in which there is no riverbank whatsoever, meaning that you have no choice but to hike in the river itself.

That’s not that bad if you are carrying little more than a water-bottle and some trail mix. But since we spent the night at the river’s edge, we were all wearing backpacks, some of us laden with 30 pounds or more of gear and food. That’s not the sort of load that makes it easy to stay balanced while maneuvering over algae-covered rocks in a swiftly-moving, muddy river. In fact, there were many stretches in which we had to cross the river in pairs to keep one another from being swept downstream. There were many areas in which the water was too deep for Seth, my 10-year-old, one area in which all 11 of us were required to swim with our packs strapped to our backs.

It was hard—so hard that we often fell into the trap of focusing strictly on our footing. Periodically, someone in the party would admonish us all to stop and look up—to take in the amazing beauty that can only be seen if you go there on foot. “This is why we’re here,” we would remind ourselves. “This is the point of our ordeal.”

Toward the end, Seth (wise beyond his years) speculated that this would turn out to be the sort of experience that we would look back on with joy, relishing both the difficulty and the magnificence of the experience. But, he added, “right now I’m not enjoying it much at all.”

Ah, life. Strewn with boulders, fraught with peril, harder than we would wish and often not much fun. All the more reason that periodically we should stop and look around, marveling at the miracles around us and relishing the privilege of being here, now, wherever and whenever that might be. In many ways, the ordeal is the point, a challenge for which we should all be grateful.

God has said: “Peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (D&C 121:7-8). May it be so.

PW

Careful and Troubled

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20092 Comments

Dear Will:

When I was growing up, I learned not to complain to my father that I didn’t have enough time to get things done. “We’re all given the same 24 hours,” he would say, “it’s just a question of how you choose to use them.”

I hated it when he said that.

Lately, my dad’s voice has been in my head as I have struggled (unsuccessfully) to stay on top of my various obligations. Due to layoffs, we are shorthanded at work and my responsibilities have expanded; I have continued teaching my early morning Seminary class each day; plus I do some editing work which continues to take up much of my so-called “spare time.” Add to that that I am ostensibly a father and husband, and it doesn’t leave a lot of discretionary hours or even minutes in the day. It tends to get a little overwhelming, frankly.

In the last couple of weeks the pressure of overdoing has really gotten to me. I won’t drag you through the specifics, but suffice it to say that I have been feeling like a juggler with too many balls and not enough hands (and I have the bruises to prove it). I can’t help wondering—every hour or so—if it’s really worth it.

The truth is, it probably isn’t. My father’s aphorism is an apt reminder that when we choose to do anything in life we are also choosing not to do a million other things at that same moment. String those moments together and for sure you will have forgone a number of worthwhile things that perhaps, in retrospect, you might rather have done.

The whole thing brings to mind the story of Mary and Martha. You may recall that Jesus was a good friend of theirs and apparently was a guest in their home from time to time. On one particular occasion, Mary sat at Jesus’ feet listening to him teach while Martha bustled about fixing the food, setting the table, tending to the chores that come with hosting a meal. (The scripture says that she was “cumbered about much serving.”) Needless to say, Martha was more than a little annoyed with her sister for just sitting around while she did all the work. Finally, Martha complained to Jesus about it. Big mistake.

In response to her whining, Jesus gave a gentle, loving rebuke: “Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41-42). It was the Savior’s way of reminding Martha not to let what she felt she had to do get in the way of that which she ought to do. And I might reasonably conclude that he would say something similar to me.

So the questions I suppose we all need to be able to answer are these: What things are truly needful? And how can we be sure to choose “that good part”? I’m not sure I know the answers to those questions (else I might not be feeling so overwhelmed), but I do know this: I have been careful and troubled about many things lately. And if I don’t find a different approach, the juggling balls are going to continue to crash down on my head.

After all, we’re all given the same 24 hours. . . .

PW

I Wish You Could Have Known Him

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20091 Comment

Dear Will:

It is with a combination of sadness and joy that I write to tell you that on April 17 my father passed away. He was 86.

We were fortunate to have him at home and alert for several days prior to his death. On Easter Sunday (just five days before he died, as it turns out), the family gathered at his home, where he was under hospice care. There were nearly 20 of us there, and in spite of his condition it was fun to be together. We took turns sitting around his bed and keeping him posted on the Masters golf tournament.

Earlier that day he had asked me to give him a Priesthood blessing, “releasing him,” as it were, to let go of mortality. So when the meal was over (he ate nothing) he said to me, “Let’s get on with it.” After a family prayer, I placed my hands on his head and pronounced some simple words, blessing him with comfort and peace and the assurance that he was “free to go” whenever he felt ready to do so.

It was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do. Afterwards, the grief I felt was overwhelming—a physically crushing sensation that all but consumed me. After pronouncing the blessing, each one there took a moment to express their love to him, one at a time. When each person had had a turn, he gathered us around his bed for some final words of counsel: He asked us to take care of my mother, to love one another, and expressed his confidence that God would watch over us after he was gone.

We cried a lot that day. But as I look back on it—now two weeks later—I recall the day with a great sense of joy and gratitude. What a wonderful blessing it was for us all to be together when he was still lucid, for us each to have some time with him to express our love, for the Spirit of God to be there in our midst and bless us in our moment of grief. I realize that often death comes so quickly and unexpectedly that we don’t get the chance to say our most tender goodbyes. Because we had that chance with my father, that Easter Sunday will remain a favorite memory of his dying days.

His funeral was last week. It became a great celebration of the man as we reminisced together about my father’s life: his charm, his idiosyncrasies, his talents, and his many accomplish­ments. Friends and family gathered from across the map, including some elderly lifelong friends of his. I was comforted by their presence there, for I saw it as an affirmation of a life well-lived.

I had the chance to speak at his funeral service, and although it wasn’t easy, I was honored to do so. I told some favorite stories, including this conversation:

Me: “Dad, if you really loved me you’d buy me a car.”

Dad: “Well, now you know.”

I expressed my thanks for all he taught me and all of the ways in which he blessed my life. In conclusion, I echoed the testimony of Job: “For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God” (Job 19:25-26). I know I will see my father again, and when we see each other, we shall embrace and enjoy the richness of eternity together. And until then, he’s in a better place, freed at last from his crumbling mortal body.

I’m sorry you never got the chance to know Jay Watkins. He was a good man. You would have liked him.

PW