Tag: Luke

Let’s Do It Again Next Year

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2002Leave a comment

Dear Will:

A long time ago I promised my son Luke that when he turned 12 I would take him to Salt Lake City to attend General Conference in person. Not exactly the bar mitzvah he was maybe hoping for, but to my delight, he called my bluff. So a few weeks back he and I piled into the ol’ Camry and headed north.

Maybe it’s a guy thing, but there was something liberating about heading off, just the two of us, knowing we didn’t really have to answer to anyone for about 72 hours. If we wanted to drive too fast or make a pit stop or skip lunch so that we could gorge ourselves on a big steak dinner (and let’s be clear: we wanted to) we could do it (and did). As we drove, it was just me and my son—the two dudes—telling stories, playing games, or just sitting in silence. We weren’t exactly Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady, but it was fun.

It took us 10 hours to reach our destination—11 if you count the grubfest at Outback. The next morning we took our seats in the nosebleed section of the new Conference Center just off of Temple Square. It was a magnificent facility and we were delighted to be a part of the scene. But the excitement of that morning didn’t prepare us for the thrill of that evening, when we found ourselves—I’m not making this up—on the fourth row of that 20,000+ seat auditorium, directly in front of the prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley.

It was very cool. Directly before us sat the President of the Church, his two Counselors, and several of the Twelve Apostles. People speak of “sitting at the feet of the Prophet,” and there we were, living the metaphor. Unforgettable.

The real test came the next day, however, when we piled back into the Camry for the return trip. Maybe we talked less—I’m not sure—but certainly we felt a bit less giddy. Still I felt an easiness as we traveled together that I often don’t feel when we’re living together. As a dad, it felt good and right. Nonetheless, as we headed down Cajon Pass, back into the L.A. Basin, chasing the weekend warriors and desert rats toward home, I nervously asked the Big Question: “Well Luke, was it worth it? Now that you know what’s involved, would you do it over again if you had the choice?” He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. Let’s do it again next year.”

That ain’t gonna happen, unfortunately, but it was a good reminder—I hope to both of us—that it never hurts to step out of the usual routine and spend some time together—just because. Would that I could find a way to pull that off without having to drive 1400 miles in the process.

I’m reminded of a children’s book in our study called The Treasure by Uri Shulevitz. It tells the story of a poor man named Isaac who has a recurring dream in which a voice tells him to go to the capital city and look for treasure under the bridge by the Royal Palace. Finally, he takes the long, arduous journey through forests and over mountains, walking most of the way until he arrives in the capital city. To his disappointment, he finds that the bridge is guarded day and night. When at last he tells the captain of the guard of his dream, the captain laughs at him. “If I believed a dream I once had,” the soldier tells him, “I would travel to your town and look for a treasure under the stove in the house of a man named Isaac.” Bowing respectfully, Isaac embarks immediately on the long walk back, journeying over mountains and through forests until he comes to his humble home—wherein he finds the treasure he sought. The moral: Sometimes we must travel far to discover what is near.

I hope that this hits “close to home” for you as it did for me.

PW

Arms, Legs, Attitude, and Divinity

On 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.

PW

Ascending Together Toward the Light

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20012 Comments

Dear Will:

Pinnacles National Monument is what now remains of an ancient volcano—a funky outcropping of jagged rocks in the middle of farm country, no doubt set in there by a mischievous Creation Committee to confound the farmers while also giving geologists something to do on weekends. From what we could tell it seemed like the perfect stop for a little adventure after a long, first day of vacation driving north on the 101.

Pinnacles’ Balconies Trail meanders through the chaparral beside a dry creek bed, skirting massive boulders on its way to the jagged outcropping that forms the Monument’s centerpiece. For those with trail maps, numbered markers identify points of particular interest along the trail. Those of us who had neglected to obtain a trail map, however, were forced to make up explanations of our own:

Luke: “No. 4: The oil from the leaves of this wild bulova bush was used by the Chumash Indians to wax the floors of their hogans.” Dana: “No. 7: This is the burial site of a Chumash warrior who slipped and fell on the over-waxed floor of his hogan.” Bryn: “No. 10: The root of this plant was once used to make chumashed potatoes.”

We snapped pictures on the bridges, dodged the poison oak, and before long found ourselves at the entrance to the Balconies Cave. About all we knew of the cave was that we were supposed to bring a flashlight. We had three, and as many cameras, plus a half-gallon of drinking water and just enough naïveté to make the endeavor seem like an outing fit for a family with a two-year-old. We headed in.

Initially, the cave seemed innocuous enough. Hill-sized boulders had tumbled in on each other to form a narrow passageway through which we passed one at a time. Sunlight peeked through all along, rendering the flashlights unnecessary. The ground was flat and firm. Eventually, however, we came to a narrow opening which led to an inner chamber. The rocks that formed the base of this passageway provided a natural staircase which one could descend quite naturally—provided, that is, that one had the torso of a dwarf and the legs of Wilt Chamberlain.

I went first while Luke and Bryn brandished the flashlights and Dana held onto Seth. Dana then handed Seth down to me, then a flashlight, and then the others followed. Thus we played a sort of leapfrog fire brigade as we traversed the cavern, pausing every few feet to get our bearings and try to figure out which way to go next. Each step took us deeper into blackness. It was cool and a little damp inside the cave, very dark and somewhat precarious.

“Where dat cave, Daddy?” “We’re in it, Seth.” “I don’t wike dis cave. Pwease can I have some water, pwease?”

More than once we were pushed well beyond our comfort zones. “Bryn, stay there with Seth and don’t let go of him.” “You’re just going to have to slide down on your bottom.” “Seth, hold on tight to Mommy. I’ve got you.” “Luke, help your sister.” At one point we even found ourselves (gulp) instructing Seth to put both hands on the side of the cave and not move until someone could get to him. When at last we saw sunlight signaling the exit from the cave, we emerged tired, a bit unnerved, and glad to be done with our “little adventure.”

We rested in the open air and drained most of our supply of water. Without the benefit of a map, we asked a fellow spelunker how far we would have to hike to get back to our car. When he informed us that it was another 2.5 miles to the east entrance of the park, our hearts sank. Alas, we were parked at the west entrance.

“Guess what, kids?” we offered with strained enthusiasm. “We get to do all that again, only backwards.” We reentered the cave, only this time we were not exploring; we were attempting an escape. As we now found ourselves climbing up through the cave, Seth had to be carried much of the way (boy in one arm, feet on jagged rock, one hand for balance, seven-year-old pointing the flashlight in the wrong direction). But even with the increased difficulty, we fell into our roles: lifting, steadying, comforting, bracing, offering light, pointing the way. Plunged though we were into darkness, we were calmly determined, ascending together toward the light.

We felt a sense of grand accomplishment when we found ourselves once again on solid, sunlit ground. As we walked out of the canyon, we paused at a special spot in which the sound of the wind-rustled leaves reverberated off of the canyon walls, creating an ethereal, directionless whisper. The resonance there took on a heavenly quality that transcended the physical space and provided the perfect punctuation for the afternoon.

It would be easy to overstate the significance of our trip through Balconies Cave. The metaphors we lived there are perhaps too obvious to be powerful to anyone but us. Still, just two weeks hence, as we watched in horror the events surrounding the September 11 attacks, we were grateful to have had our own small experience with sudden darkness, an experience which required us to link hands and help each other move cautiously but resolutely toward the light. My prayer is that as God’s Family we may continue to press forward—together—until the darkness is behind us and we can feel again the transcendent peace that can only come from loving and helping one another.

PW