A Truly Remarkable Person

On September, 2002August, 2022 By Peter WatkinsIn 20027 Comments

Dear Will:

I have this friend named Mark who (here comes a semi-intentional pun) is a remarkable person. I will do an inadequate job of describing what makes him remarkable, but I’ll try:

Mark is a geologist with an MBA. He spends much of his professional life trying to help clean up environmental messes. His politics are unambiguous, but he does not foist his opinions on others; rather he goes about very carefully trying to make a difference in whatever way he can and lets his actions speak for him. Thus, rather than telling me to start recycling, Mark simply started doing it—about a decade before curbside service made it practical.

Mark is an organizer. Whereas my wife and I are the sorts of people who simply slip off together to catch a movie, Mark always has a larger vision. I am one of many people who often get e-mails from him which go something like this: “This weekend, the East Valley Players will be performing a series of plays by Chekhov. We’re going to have dinner beforehand at the bistro across the street. I’m hoping a bunch of you will show up. It will make it more fun.” Likewise, from time to time, Mark invites people to his home for Shakespeare readings, carefully selecting an eclectic smattering of singles and marrieds, professionals and artists, conservatives and misfits. Invariably I meet someone new when Mark is involved, and invariably that person is interesting.

Mark also likes to climb mountains, but he isn’t satisfied just ascending with the same bunch of outdoorsmen every time. Instead, he’ll notify all of his office-dwelling, sedentary friends, challenging them to get in shape for the big assault on Mt. Whitney in April. He will take it upon himself to schedule, motivate, train the novices, organize the equipment, and even write the post-climb report for those too lazy to show up. And all of this with two bad knees. Why does he do it? Because he loves the outdoors and doesn’t want the rest of us to miss out.

The reason I bring all of this up is because last month when I took my family on vacation, our friend Mark kept popping into my mind. Whether I was driving up through South Pass in Wyoming, floating down the Shoshone River, getting blown away by Yellowstone, riding horses up to 9,000 feet or so in Jackson Hole, stopping to gasp at Cedar Breaks in Southern Utah, there was Mark, dancing in and out of my thoughts. See a geyser, think of Mark. Soak in the natural hot springs, think of Mark. Climb a hill, see some elk—see a sign for the cut off to Great Basin, for crying out loud!—and think of Mark. For good measure we even took the kids to the Shakespeare Festival and thought of Mark Mark Mark. And about the time I was driving south on I-15 through that short stretch of Arizona with the funky rocks on either side of the highway and I’m—you guessed it—thinking of Mark, it occurred to me that he could go on vacation dozens of times and not once feel compelled to think of ME. I would thrill to have my name come to mind when others gaze upon God’s most beautiful creations. Alas, such is an honor one must earn.

Henry David Thoreau said that the reason he went off to Walden Pond for a couple of years was so that he could “live deliberately.” Living deliberately is exactly what Mark does, only he doesn’t have to live like a hermit to pull it off. To the contrary, he is in here among us, raising our sights and improving our lots. Remarkable.

I have vowed to begin living more deliberately myself. We’ll see if I pull that off.

_{The photo above is of Mark in his heyday, just prior to what he has always described as “the best climbing trip of my life.” (It did not go well. If you ever have the good fortune of meeting him, be sure to ask about the soup.) Mark is the one on the right.}

On Sacred Ground

On July, 2002November, 2012 By Peter WatkinsIn 20022 Comments

Dear Will:

I’ve lived in California since I was seven years old, so those who know me probably don’t realize that I come from pioneer stock. Before they were married, my grandparents, Lloyd and Louise Taggart, were sent as children along with their families to settle the Bighorn Basin of Wyoming. But well before them, my grandfather’s grandfather, George Washington Taggart, crossed the plains along with many other Mormons in the mid-1800s. Some rode, but most walked on those journeys, in the process wearing holes into their simple shoes.

Holey shoes. Holy shoes.

I mention this because in a couple of weeks I’m taking my own children—the 6^th generation—to their Wyoming homeland for the first time. We’ll travel up through South Pass, driving east along the path trod by our ancestors as they journeyed west. We’ll stop along the way at Rocky Ridge, where so many died in the blizzards of 1856. Men . . . women . . . children . . . giving their souls as the ultimate act of faith.

First their soles. Then their souls.

When I lead my family up onto that ridge, it may seem fitting for me to take off my own shoes as a tribute to those who wore so little on their feet when they traversed that path so long ago. Besides, it’s always appropriate to remove your shoes when walking on sacred ground.

Arms, Legs, Attitude, and Divinity

On June, 2002November, 2012 By Peter WatkinsIn 2002Leave a comment

Dear Will:

Greetings from around the corner. I hope all is well with you and that your summer is shaping up to be full of fun, adventure, and prosperity. Failing that, then at least I hope you find a good book or two to read. I have several—I just don’t have time to read them.

But enough whining about petty things—here’s something really worth whining about: Today my oldest son Luke turned twelve. It didn’t exactly come upon me unawares, but it is a jolt nonetheless.

Feeling just a tad nostalgic, tonight my wife Dana and I leafed through photo albums, reminiscing about when he was little and cute. He’s still cute, of course, but in a completely different way. Now he’s all arms and legs and attitude, with a squeaky voice which reminds me that my little dude is quickly becoming (gulp!) a man.

The wondrous thing about watching a child grow is witnessing the discovery of interests and talents that seem to predate this mortal existence. Luke, we are finding out, is a reluctant pianist but gifted with the clarinet. He dislikes math yet won the Math Olympiad at his school. He is a fledgling artist (a genetic mutation if ever there was one) and, to my complete delight, a rather remarkable writer. I know that around twelve years ago I lost all ability to look at him objectively, but I do see in him a divine potential that I can only hope not to screw up.

Nevertheless, there is much that Luke still needs to learn, much that is far more important than the ability to paint a picture or compose an elegant phrase. I speak, of course, of the divine attributes which are the true sign of maturity. In that regard, Luke would do well to remember the words of our Prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley:

There is something of divinity in you. You have such tremendous potential because of your inherited nature. Every one of you was endowed by your Father in Heaven with a tremendous capacity to do good in the world. Cultivate the art of being kind, of being thoughtful, of being helpful. Refine within you the quality of mercy which comes as a part of the divine attributes you inherited. (Stand a Little Taller, p. 185)

That’s good advice for all of us, even people like me who don’t possess even a fraction of Luke’s talent and potential. Wouldn’t it be great if we all could cultivate a bit more of our divinity and in the process maybe make a difference in the lives of those around us? I know that my family would sure like it if I did.