Biography

I feel that it is important, in understanding a person, that one knows the person’s background.  For the stock that one comes from helps determine who he/she becomes.  If they have good forebearers, it is much more likely that the person in question will have good qualities. In my case, I don’t think one could come from better ancestry.  They were tough, hardy individuals who took challenges as ways to grow.  They overcame many obstacles to enjoy good lives. 

On my father’s side were colonial forebearers.  The Simpson’s were among the tough individuals that helped colonize the United States, and fought wars to gain independence and freedom.  My grandfather Had to grow up quickly, as his mother died before his maturity, and his father left left him to take care of his brothers and sister at the age of 12. He supported them, as well as himself, and grew into His toughness, as well as his ability to learn quickly and work hard, allowed him to support his brothers and sister in this difficult circumstance, and led to his becoming a hardworking and successful man..  He met my grandmother during a New Years party on a blind date, and over time convinced his full-blooded portuguese companion that celibacy, and being a nun, was not for her.  

One incredible story of his determination and tenacity is told by my Father, Barry:

We had them! Craig, Steve and I sat on the dilapidated, metal-wheeled tractor, which was parked by the back fence near our home in Bluff, contemplating our next move. The intense heat of countless summers had burned most of the paint from the antique farm implement. As I recall, all that was left was a few patches of faded blue and washed-out silver. Everything that could be removed from this agricultural dinosaur without an extensive array of tools was long gone. Radiator cap, spark plug wires, fan belt, ignition switch and gas cap; all missing. The parts had disappeared into the constantly shifting sands of our high desert homeland.

Duke & Rose Simpson back in the day

There was plenty of rust on the old beast as well. Our faded Levi's, white T-shirts and sneakers bore traces of ancient color, grease and red dirt. Mom provided us carefully laundered clothing every morning and was a stickler for cleanliness. She half-heartedly threatened us with our lives if we returned from our wanderings soiled and stained. It was nearly impossible to follow her orders however; there were catfish and frogs too easily captured in the dissipating mud bogs of summer, and sandstone, sandpaper cliffs to climb up and slide down. Skeletons of dead vehicles, equipment and outbuildings were available to crawl through and conquer.

So, there we sat, three young brothers on the antiquated implement; two light complected tow-heads resembling our father, and one olive-skinned and black-haired like our Portuguese mother. Our freshly shaven heads bobbed in unison as we contemplated our newly acquired prize; one of us had bravely made off with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from our father's tobacco supply. We were ecstatic, willing and more than ready to shake the bonds of youth and enter the world of suave, debonair and cigarette smoking adults.

We loved and respected our father; he was way cool, strong, handsome and full of life. Dad was a smoker, and his awe struck sons thought he cut quite a figure with a pack of "smokes" rolled up in his T-shirt sleeve. He was bad! Mom gave him grief for smoking, but he paid little attention to her when it came to that issue. He would sit on the back porch, squinting through clouds of smoke; smiling, laughing and joking with us as we tried to impress him with our roughneck antics. We thought he was great, and we did our best to emulate him.

We were also influenced by the Navajo men who hung around Bob Howell's grocery store. Their wives sat just up the ditch, in the shade of tall, slender willows; visiting merrily as their children played in the cool sand of the wash that ran in front of Bob's market. Craig, Steve and I would sit in wide-eyed wonder as they chatted in their mix of Navajo and English. I am certain that is where I learned to creatively cuss in Navajo.

The Navajo men were adorned with tall, rounded black felt hats; silver concho belts dulled to a satin finish through constant wear; and stiff blue jeans stuffed inside sharply pointed cowboy boots stitched in swirls of motion. Their flannel shirts, which were worn even in the heat of summer, were overlaid with strands of turquoise and coral, and flat, rounded tabs of turquoise attached with cotton twine inevitably hung from each ear. The odor of hand-rolled cigarettes, mixed with the smell of cedar smoke and rich red earth completed the scene. These memories rest easily with me.

With all that in mind, we lit up! Sitting there puffing away on those unfiltered tobacco sticks gave us a sense of confidence we had never known. We were real men now, like Dad and the Navajo "bucks" at Bob's place. That is until we noticed the imposing figure of our mother heading down the path in our direction. She was coming on like a runaway freight train, with our two laced, curled and bobbed sisters trailing closely behind. There we sat, over exposed and emitting smoke signals in the summer breeze. As if on cue, we all exhaled and jammed our still lit stogies down the gas tank opening of the obsolete tractor.

Looking back, I am grateful the petrol used to power the tractor had long since evaporated. The balance of our clandestinely acquired treasure quickly followed those smoking embers into the opening as we witnessed Mom's advance on our position. Looking down into the tank, I realized the clues to our downfall were easily visible to seeking eyes. I quickly and purposely jammed my arm into the tank to flick the proof to an unseen corner of the tank. Once I had accomplished the misdeed, I attempted to withdraw my appendage and realized my forearm was wedged tightly into the metal orifice.

Craig and Steve bailed off the tractor and headed for the tall weeds so quickly it made me proud to call them siblings. Short of gnawing off my arm and following their example, I was left alone to face the wrath of Mom's Portuguese temper. It would not have made a difference anyway, Mom shouted "STOP!" and put a halt to their plan of escape. As I struggled to free myself, Craig and Steve made their way back toward the tractor, heads down and kicking horse turds. Everyone arrived back at the scene of the crime at the same moment.

There they stood, as I struggled for freedom; my two guilt-laden brothers; two sassy, presumptuous sisters; and our kind, loving, but angry mother. Mom had a look of disdain on her youthful face, and a twinkle of mirth in her brown eyes; the mirth no doubt related to my predicament. After quickly sizing up the situation, she sent the girls back to the house for a can of lard. As soon as our sisters were out of ear-shot the flood gates of frustration opened on our shameful experimentation. Mom lashed out at our ignorance, and caused us a great deal of grief when she informed us of her extreme disappointment.

When the girls returned with the lard, and smirks on their faces, they seemed disappointed to see Mom was finished chastising us. Our mother slathered my arm and gave a gentle tug, freeing me as slick as a whistle. Gathering her posse, she headed back to the shade of the house. As she turned to leave, Mom advised us that Dad would be home shortly and the discussion would continue upon his arrival. The girls seemed energized by the prospect of witnessing our hostile encounter with the man they had so carefully wrapped around their little fingers.

We were hiding behind the tool shed when Dad arrived and entered the house. There we sat, nursing our self-imposed, psychological and emotional wounds; awaiting our father's imminent return. We ran to the window just in time to see our parents disappear behind their bedroom door; we were really in for it this time. Experience told us that thoughtful discussion between those two meant serious trouble, so we wandered back to the shed and sat down, falling into a deep, dark funk.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dad came out the back door and sat down on a step between the house and the shed. From our vantage point, we could see he was greatly disturbed. He slumped on the step and ran his hand through his strawberry-blond hair, as if he were deep in thought. Leaning back against the building and sighing, we clearly heard our father say, "Come here boys, I want to talk with you." We knew better than to hesitate when he spoke, so we slowly but surely made our way to the house to receive his decree.

Much to our surprise, Dad did not yell or reach for his infamous belt. He simply waived his hand, directing us to sit down across from him. As we sat down, he reached for a pack of smokes. Shaking out four cigarettes, he took one for himself and distributed one to each of us. He lit his and nodded for us to do the same. We were totally confused by his logic, and began to mist up in anticipation of the unknown. In the past we had discovered the punishment ended sooner if tears, sobbing and heart wrenching apologies sprang forth with wild, zealous abandon. Knowing full well what we had in mind, Dad just held up his hand and said, "Don't. "

The Simpson Clan

We were trembling wildly, and struggling to hold back the tears. Dad squinted at us through his exhaled smoke and said, "Inhale." Up to that point, we had been puffing our samples and not receiving the full effect of the tobacco. It must have been Craig who took the first deep breath, then Steve and I followed suit. Dad had us inhale a number of times before sitting back and closely observing us. For a second or two we thought it was cool to sit and smoke with our father. That was before the noxious fumes and nicotine wrapped around our uninitiated lungs.

About that time a Navajo family drove up to the house with a rug to sell. They eyed our now green countenance, and must have wondered at just what the heck these silly pink people were about. Dad completed the transaction and returned to check our health. At that point we were totally nauseated, crying out loud and racked by dry heaves. It was ugly, but it looked as if we would live. Dad ground out his cigarette, and, as we watched, tossed his remaining smokes into a nearby trash can. He quit cold turkey that day; so did we.

My mother’s side of the family were no less hardy.  Bred from Dane’s, the Irish, and Englishmen, many of these ancestors trekked across the United States to join what they believed was God’s kingdom on earth.  They were passionate individuals who loved the Lord with all their heart, might, and mind, and were  willing to forsake home, country, and even family to please God. There Motto was that one should have Stickety-tuty, meaning that one should stick out the hard times, looking forward to better times to come. 

One Grandmother had this written about her childhood: “Our father and the older boys wanted to get land of our own, so in the early spring of 1893, I think March or April, we moved about 30 miles east, near Vinita, Indian Territory, and located on 160 acres of new land under the Cherokee rights.  At that time very sparingly settled, the nearest town of any size was Vinita, which was 18 miles away.  Our post office, 3 miles, Ruby, Indian Territory.  Our neighbors were scattered and far between.  Our nearest neighbors lived about three-fourths of a mile away.  A Mr. Webb and family. So our environment was mostly around home and the home was in the making.  At times it wasn’t so easy sledding.”  They were willing to work hard to make things work, though, and work they did! Many of my ancestors had experiences like this.

    

My family put a high value on education, and from my earliest moments, my mother and father read books to me.  I loved to hear the stories, and would often beg them to read these stories, over and over again.  Perhaps it was the story I loved, perhaps it was just my parent’s voices and attention.

One day, I must have been only 4 or 5, I asked my mother to read me a book that she had probably read to me a hundred times, and probably 3 or 4 times that day.  She considered my query, and responded, “why don’t you read it to me?” 

A bit disgruntled, but headstrong and stubborn, I opened the book, and began to summarize the story I knew so well in my own words, turning a page every once in a while for good effect.  Upon finishing my version of the story, I shut the book valiantly, having proved to my mom that I could do whatever I wanted, whether I had the skills or not.  She just smiled and congratulated me on the feat, knowing that she had a spitfire on her hands.

I also recall a time at church, at about the same juncture in my life, when the congregation began to sing, and I did not want to be left out.  Since I could not yet read simple words, let alone the complicated words in the hymn book, I moved out into the aisle, puffed out my chest, and belted out  my own version of the song, set to the tune played by the piano.  I believe it began with “La-la-la, la-la di da”, and ended in a similar fashion.  I maintained the song as long as did the rest of the congregation, perhaps even longer! Luckily for everyone in the congregation, my ability to read improved, as did my prodigious ability to carry a tune.

When I was young, I spent a lot of time outdoors, and a favorite activity of my dad’s was to go hunting and fishing.  Thus, it became a treasured activity where we could spend time together, and he could teach me life lessons.

Fishing and hunting are very good at teaching the attribute of patience, as most of the time, one is waiting for something to happen, whether that be the strike of a fish taking the bait, or a deer walking into the clearing that you’ve got your eye on.  As a boy, I didn’t have a lot of patience, and bundled with an extra dose of energy, I’m sure it was sometimes difficult to have me around.  

This impatience and energy often made me feel and see things that weren’t really there, so that I could create excitement.  While fishing, for instance, I would often feel a small tug when there wasn’t actually a fish, and feel the need to reel in my bait to make sure there was no fish. 

So on one particular trip with my father and grandfather on Lloyd’s Lake in Monticello, I’m sure they were unsurprised when I thought I felt a tug on my line.  

There’s nothing on there”, I was told.  But I continued to insist that I felt something.  

After repeated attempts to dissuade me, and to convince me to just wait for a big pull, they finally gave in and allowed me to reel my line into the canoe.  Much to their surprise, and mine, there was a Crawdad on the end of the line! I pulled it in with a smug grin, as I knew that something was on there.  I think they were a bit more willing to listen to me in the future, when I thought I felt a pull.

Another time, this occasion on Recapture Reservoir in Blanding, I was rowing a canoe with my grandpa Clem.  We were floating along when we came upon the strangest sight I’d seen up to that point.  Two fish were on top of the water, and each had the other’s tail in its mouth.  I had a baseball cap on at the time, and thought it’d be pretty slick if I could place the cap in the water under the fish to get the both of them without even having to cast my line in the water.  My grandpa objected, for reasons I still do not know, so I let them be.  The terrible part is that in those days we didn’t have cameras on our cellphones, nor did we even have cell phones period, so it will always remain a fishing story without proof.  

Hunting has been sort of a love/hate relationship with me.  I love to get out in the wild with a gun loaded and ready to bring home meat for my family.  It makes me feel rather manly.  The problem is that we rarely end up taking home a buck for our trouble.  We wake up before the sun rises to climb a tree to wait for hours to see the beasts, and don’t have anything to show for it!  We have a policy to not take anything less than a 3-point, because we want to let the little ones grow up, so that may be our problem.  We allow the little ones to grow up only to be shot by other hunters who aren’t so generous.

Sports was a big part of my life from an early age.  One of my first memories of participating in them was when my dad bought me a baseball mitt, and we went out to toss it around on the grass.  It took a lot of practice, but I became a pretty good ball player, and was a pitcher on many of my Little League teams.  In blanding, only 2 teams made it to the state tournament in each age group, so you had to turn a group of kids that may not have been friends into a team that meshed well and worked together for the good of the group.  I learned how to deal with people, and ended up being a pretty good leader for my teams, winning, in my estimation, more than we lost.  We went to the State tournament quite often.  

In the years that my team didn’t make the cut, I was often picked up by another team who was going to back-up their pitchers, as I was one of the top pitchers in the league.  Since we would be playing the best ball clubs in the state, the best players were needed to give us a chance at winning.  It was always really fun to join what was then an All-star team to take on the big dogs at State playoffs.

I have a vivid memory of one particular game that I was pitching in that had a lot riding on it.  If we won, we’d head to the State tournament, and if we lost, we wouldn’t.  I was pitching in the last inning of the game, and we were up by a rub or two, and I think there was a man on base.  I had pitched two outs, and a fairly good hitter was up to the plate.  I pitched 2 strikes and a ball, and I remember feeling very nervous, but confident in my ability to win it.  I performed a full wind-up to get all the power I could, took a large step towards home base, and let ‘er fly.  The batter swung, but I heard the crack of the ball hitting the mit, a strikeout! My team rushed the mound, patting my back, and congratulating me on getting us to the playoffs.  I was absolutely elated, and we headed up north the next week.  I don’t remember getting far in the playoffs that year, but it was fun to play in that atmosphere.  

As a Junior in highschool, I was able to go to a tennis camp at BYU, where I had a ton of fun learning how to improve my game, while interacting with the coaches and players that I looked up to for their accomplishments.  Although not the best player, I could hold my own against many of the other teens that were attending.  As we had playoffs to determine where we’d be playing in the tournament at the end of the week, I landed pretty close to mid-range, and really worked hard to play hard.  

As the week came to a close, we played the others that were deemed to be in our skill level in a mini-tournament. The way it was played was that we were each sent out to a court, where we tok turns serving, and playing out the point.  Whoever won the most points in about a 20 minute span would move on.  Again, I was confident in my skills, but felt the nerves build up in me.

 I was able to dispatch my first opponent fairly easily. I had beaten him rather soundly earlier in the week, and my confidence translated into good play.  My serve was on, and I was following the basics, allowing to get easy points on his errors. I was feeling great as I heard the whistle sound, signalling a move to my next opponent. 

 I grew nervous as I took on the second challenger, as I deemed him the biggest obstacle to my trophy. He was ranked higher, and seemed much more experienced than I. I was surprised, however, as I took an early leads, and maintained it until the whistle blew, signalling the end of the trial.  

As I suspected, I was able to sail easily past my final nemesis, who was ranked lower than me, though still a challenge, and achieve total victory.  I was extremely pleased with my performance, and proud that I would receive a large trophy for my efforts. I was especially excited because my aunt would be there to see me receive the prize.  

I sat through the coaches closing comments, and then the awards began to be passed out.  “And for the most improved athlete: Spenser Simpson!”  I almost cried out when I heard the pronouncement, then recovered enough to move forward and receive a second trophy! I could not believe that I was taking home two pieces of hardware, and figured that they probably had made the decision because, they thought, I wouldn’t win the tournament.  I loved to exceed people’s expectations, and felt pretty great as I left the pavilion, clutching my two trophies, my tennis racket, and a brand new t-shirt that proclaimed my victory to the world.

I have not always come off as champion, however.  One thing I learned the hard way from sports is to never stop giving your best until the very end.  If you don’t, and let off the gas, if only for a moment, you might get beat!

The occasion that best illustrates this point is during my senior year of high school.  I had been both running cross-country with the high school team, and coaching the Middle school team.  I was in pretty good shape!  Thgis event occured at our course near the USU-Eastern campus.  I began the race well, and passed several people on the three mile course, putting me in descent position.  I knew I probably wouldn’t win a medal, but I was giving it my best.  As we went up the final hill before the finish line, I got pretty tired, and let off a little, allowing a teammate to pass me.  I realized at that moment that he was going to beat me, and tried to sprint back out in front before the finish line, only to lose by about a tenth of a second.  I was not happy, but I wasn’t in a position to medal anyway, so I let it go.  At just about that moment, I was informed that the first five runners who crossed the finish line had cut off a portion of the race, and had been disqualified.  The next 5 runners would medal!  A sinking feeling entered the pit of my stomach as I realized that I was the eleventh runner, missing the medal by one spot!  I resolved then and there to give my best to the very end, because one never knows what can happen if you allow even a bit of slackness.

While I was winning and losing games/matches/meets, I was learning far more important life lessons.  As I mentioned before, I learned how to be a good leader, as well as a follower.  In life, leading is a great characteristic to have.  Being a good follower is as, if not more, important.  I learned that each position on a team contributes greatly to a teams success or failure.m  The saying that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link made sense to me, because I saw how the opposing team would hit to, drive towards, or run at the weakest player to exploit the weakness.  Asa leader (and friend), my job was to build up the weakest teammate so that our weak links were no longer weak.  I spent hours and hours practicing so that I was not the weak link, and invited others to work with me so that we could improve together.  

I also learned the value of hard work.  I was never naturally gifted at any of the sports I chose to pursue.  I had to work my tail off to even become proficient at a given event or hobby.  I found, however, that if I was willing to put in more time than my competition, I was able to overcome that lack of natural skill.  I had to be willing to get up earlier, stay out later, and train harder/smarter than my competition if I was to achieve victory. 

Another thing I learned from being involved in all kinds of sports was how to manage time effectively.  I had to learn how to balance my academic pursuits with sports, music, and a myriad of other activities I threw myself into.  I learned to understand what teachers expected, and tried to exceed expectations to achieve A’s in all my courses.  I found ways to fill in cracks of time at school, and immediately after so that I could put my full focus into other activities after. I got ahead of my work, so that I would not have to stay up late to finish an assignment that was due the next day, thus giving it less attention than was needed. I learned to put 100% into whatever I was doing at the time to make the time worth it.

In  life each of us is given 24 hours with which to make our lives better.  Some people choose to finish unimportant things first, and thus, do not have the time to accomplish big, important things.  Then, they must scramble to get them done, forcing them to give less effort, and ending up with a half-finished result.   

  Sports also teaches that not everyone can win all the time, and even after giving your best effort, you can lose. 

I feel that my belief in God not only got me through my accident and injury, but increased BECAUSE of the challenges I faced and overcame.  I was strengthened to accomplish what I could never have done myself.  I surprised everyone by what I could do.  

It became one of my mantras to exceed other people’s expectations.  When someone said I couldn’t do something, it made me want to improve so that I could prove them wrong and be better than they ever imagined.  Through high school, college, and graduate school, I found ways to get outside my comfort zone and stretch my capabilities.  It was never enough to be good at what I’d already accpmplished, I needed to be better

Neat experience with friends: some friends and I decided to go to the young single adult conference fireside with elder uchtdorf, and as we were heading up, we realize we were going to be cutting it very close. We thought that we might be able to make it in time if we were able to get a parking spot close, but that wasn't likely since there were thousands of people going to the conference. As we were driving up, we said a prayer asking heavenly father to allow us to travel safely, and also get a parking spot at City Creek Center, the closest and most sought after parking area. It took us even longer than what we expected to get up though we left over an hour and a half early, and we were stressing out. As we were driving up to City Creek parking, there was a whole line of people trying to turn left to get into parking, so we had even less hope that we could get a parking spot. So, we exerted more faith, and prayed again. This time imploring heavenly father that we had taken the necessary actions to leave early, but we're quite worried about getting in on time. We finally got into the parking area, and took a left. As we drove down the road, this perfect parking spot showed up out of nowhere, right by where we needed to exit to get up to the conference center. We hustled up the stairs and into the conference center, and made it just as conductor got up to start the meeting. It was an absolute miracle. 

By the time I was 7, my mom thought I should be ready to absorb a few spiritual things, so when conference came around that fall, I got the opportunity to listen to General Conference-a time when prophets and apostles address members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints) for a bit.  I remember wanting really badly to go out and play with my best friend, Chantz Adams.  You sit down and listen to a talk, my mom said.  If, after you listen, you can tell me what you learn, you can go out to play.  By the end of the talk, my mind had wandered so far that I could not tell her even one basic principle that was talked about.  I was devastated (and I’m sure my mom was, too, because I’ll bet all my fidgeting was getting in the way of her edification)!  She did what a good mom would, though, and told me: “Well, I guess you’ll just have to listen more closely to this one!”  You can bet that I got the smallest point of doctrine in that talk and spouted it off as soon as I heard it, cause I didn’t want to forget!  We were both glad that I had listened.

By the time a few months had rolled around, I felt that I was a pretty spiritual boy, and was on top of church history and doctrine.  My world was suddenly shaken, though, as I prepared for baptism, and had an interview with my bishop, the late and great Kim Acton.  

It was getting close to Christmas, there was snow eerywhere, and I was really feeling the Christmas spirit in my heart. I went through the baptismal interview without a hitch, and was feeling pretty good about myself.  Then Bishop Acton lobbed an easy one over the plate: “Spenser, do you know who’s birthday is coming up?” “Yup, My cousin, Kari (Johnson)!”  Strange, I thought, how would he even know the answer to this question? At about that point, I remembered what I was doing in the room, and the sacred nature of the setting.  I also realized that there was absolutely NO WAY he would know such a trivial thin.  As he looked at me with a mix of humor and worry in his eyes, and asked for further clarification, my mind went blank, and I thought, “I wonder if this question hinges on me getting to heaven?” Luckily, bishop didn’t want my soul to jump on the down escalator, so he prodded me a bit, reminding me of the season we were in right then, and finally, the lightbulb turned on. “Jesus’!” I said proudly, glad that my brain had decided to join the party. I felt blessed that there were no more innocuous, leading questions, and that I could proceed to make covenants with the Lord. 

The first time I remember clearly feeling the spirit was at the age of eight, at my baptism.  It was a pretty special day, because my mom’s twin, Lisa-who was more like a second mother than an aunt to me- came down, as well as the rest of my immediate family.  I had been looking forward to this day for years, as I watched older friends and cousins enter the covenant, and I was pretty excited.  It was made extra special because the event happened on my birthday.

My father, who was not a member of the church, could not baptize me, which I was somewhat sad about.  I think that I realized, though, that he could still be awesome, even if he could not see the importance of the church.  My Grandpa Clem was a pretty great substitute, so I don’t remember thinking much of it at that point.  I stepped into the warm water after hearing a talk about baptism, and took my position in front of my grandpa, with my left hand gripping his forearm, while plugging my nose with my right.  After being dunked, I came out of the water feeling pretty good, at least until I was walking into the locker room, shivering like I had stepped into Antarctic temperatures!  

Luckily, the warmth returned as i got dried off, and dressed in my Sunday attire.  Then, the warmth that I remember most came.  After my grandpa had given me the gift of the Holy Ghost, I recall that the bishop asked each of the people there to relate something that they loved most about me.  As my friends and family  remembered characteristics they thought were special, I felt warmth spread from my head to my toes.  The spirit testified to me that These people loved me, and that I had done the right thing that day.  

Another very important day in my spiritual journey occurred on the blue mountains, a place that I loved to be in to camp and hike, and on this specific instance, I was doing both at a scout camp.  I had just finished a very productive day (as an 11-year old scout, we were allowed to come up for one day-instead of a full week-to work on merit badges, and have a great time).  My dad encouraged me to get a lot done, and I had earned 5-6 of them that day.  At the end of the day, we had an awesome dinner, cooked by my good friend and scoutmaster, Rodney Kyles, and we began our trek up dedication knoll (the site where, I would later learn, is where the staff of the camp meet to pray over the camp so that they would have God’s help to make it a good week).

Breathless when I got to the top, It took a moment to calm down.  When we had all had a moment, Rodney announced that we would have the opportunity, if we chose, to bear our testimony about whatever we thought appropriate.  Not thinking I would speak, I listened to my fellow scouters, and soon got a prompting that I became very familiar with over my lifetime.  I needed to bear my testimony! So I stepped forward, opened my mouth, and almost immediately began to cry, as I bore testimony of Joseph Smith being a prophet. 

 I am sure that hardly anyone could understand what I was saying, but my heart was full, and I knew what I was thinking.  I had never experienced the feeling so strong, and I cannot doubt its veracity.  It has held up my faith in times when I began to feel the seeds of doubt growing like weeds.  Once I knew that piece of truth, spoken in my boyish words, my faith had grown the roots it needed to keep me on track.  I didn’t know it then, but the fact that I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet made the church that I went to faithfully each Sunday true.  While other friends in my ward and town wavered at some points, I was able to hold strong, because now I didn’t just rely on my mom’s knowledge, I knew for myself.  And it made me love going to church, because I felt similar (though not always as strong), feelings, as I went.   

As I hiked down the hill, my leaders did their best to help me understand what I was feeling, and what it meant.  I continued to cry, but more and more softly, until we reached camp, where I hopped in bed, and fell asleep almost instantly, feeling exhausted both physically and spiritually. 

Another very spiritual experience in my life came near a time of great sorrow in my family.  My cousin’s husband, Kevin, was suffering the effects of cancer.  He had battled the disease for several years, and had done admirably, finishing a Master’s degree in Engineering in-between bouts with the maleficent malignancy.  /ut refused to relinquish its grasp, however, and had come back again, after a period of respite.  I had recently received the priesthood, and I thought it would be awesome to be able to lay hands on his head to cure him of the illness, as I knew the priesthood could do.  “Who better to do it than a newly-ordained, faith-fiilled priest”, I thought.  I knew, however, that I could not go against God’s will, however, so I decided to fast, and pray, about it.  After having gone 24 hours without food, and having devoted my day to prayer and study of the scriptures, I walked from my grandma’s house to the temple in Monticello, where I poured out my soul to my Heavenly Father, letting him know how much I loved Kevin, and how I felt that he needed to be able to stick around.  I talked with him about his family who needed him, and his hardworking nature.  I spent about 20 minutes in quiet solitude, telling him all the reasons why I thought He should spare him, and then asked: “Do you want me to heal him, because I know the power and authority I hold can save his life.  

The answer surprised me: “No, it is not my will”.  I was also surprised at the clarity of the answer I got, because I had not experienced the spirit in quite that way before.  Only a few days later, I was told that Kevin had passed away.  

Although it was an extremely sad time, I knew that God’s will had been fulfilled, as I knew it would, and realized to a fuller extent how the spirit works. 

I began playing the piano very early in life.  My mom thought it was important to learn how to read music, so before I even became truly proficient at reading words, I was reading notes, and plucking out tunes.  Often, I would complain about having to practice, and fight with my parents about it.  Using great tact, and sometimes threats, they overcame my protests, and kept me going for over 8 years.  During that time, I learned how to be quite a good musician.  

Playing the piano taught me far more than how to read music.  I learned to persevere, even when times were tough. Learned that I could do hard things, even if didn’t want to. And all because I felt that it would benefit me in the future. This was a contrast to sports, because I actually liked sports, though sometimes they didn’t come easy. This lesson helps in all kinds of things in life. Many times one is forced to do things they don’t want to do, because of an end he/she is trying to achieve.  Schooling, for instance, can be a grisly and undesirable thought to many.  The key is to realize that the means (attending classes, doing homework, taking tests, and paying money for it), is worth the end in many cases(a job that will help to support oneself and/or a family).  

Another example is physical therapy.  Often, going to/paying a physical therapist, doctor, or chiropractor to help (which can also be painful at times), is unpalatable.  It might seem better to avoid these costs (both monetarily and physically) as long as possible.  Going to get help might provide more relief than we thought possible, however, so one ends up going, and in many cases, a treatment is provided, and a person can become well. 

After I had learned to read music, I decided to expand my abilities, and added the saxophone to my repertoire.  The things that I learned from being a member of a band were very important to the development of myself as a whole.

I learned that our social groups are like a band.  Each instrument becomes  part of a greater whole.  Sometimes our part might be the main part, and sometimes it will be more a supportive role

Since I had a background in music, I progressed very quickly in learning the saxophone, and I felt that because I was playing so well, I needed to be heard.  Thus, on just about every song, my part could be heard, often above the melody.  This, I thought, was fine.  I was one of the best musicians.  As I continued to be shushed by the conductor, however, I realized that in order for the piece to sound as it should, the instruments that were playing the chorus needed to be heard.  Although my part was important to the whole, it did not need to be loudest.  This was valuable knowledge to have, and my band members were happy when I had learned it.

As we learn to play our part for each “band”, or “song”, we can be most effective.  

Many times I am not called on to be the leading role on a team, or the face of leadership in groups I am a part of (which is also a blessing sometimes)!  I have learned through the band and other experiences that each member has an important role to play, and that without the saxophone, the oboe, and the french horn, the trumpet does not sound as good, nor is the piece of music as rich.  There is something missing.  Each of us has their part to play in this musical we call life.  We can’t get caught up in ego or depressed feelings if we’re not the center of every piece. Our time to shine in the concert will come later on.

Music also taught me the importance that the group is to the individual.  Since I was an accomplished pianist, I thought that my musical skills would be easily transferrable to singing, so I joined a choir when I heard they would be performing in an upcoming event.  I found that singing was not nearly the same thing as tickling the ivories, but my ability to read music was certainly an asset.  At first, I couldn’t sing very well (and some would say I’m still in this category!), but I knew what the notes should sound like.  I feel I progressed a lot, and have continued to sing in choirs off-and-on ever since.  

As I was learning to tune my voice to the pitch that were being played, I often sat by other, more experienced, singers,  who sang in the key I was striving to achieve.  In so doing, I heard the notes they were hitting, and was able to align my voice to correct note, notwithstanding the other pitches that the sopranos, altos, and basses were singing.  In this way, I improved quickly, and became a good addition to the melodious men and wonderful women of the choir.

This was another fantastic lesson learned from music.  I’ve found that in life, many times we know what we should be doing, but often don’t know how to get to the point of doing it.  It is often at that point that we need to find someone who is successful in what we’d like to be doing, and learn how to accomplish the goal.  As I begin new careers, I seek out mentors who guide and instruct, so that one doesn’t have to keep “singing off key”

My life changed in High school, just about a month after beginning it. It was  a  beautiful, sunny morning in early September. At the time, everything was going great for me.  I was on the football team,  getting A’s in all my classes, and  planning to play basketball for the school later that winter, and either baseball that spring.  I was a slim, strong kid with high aspirations for my freshman year in high school.

         It was Labor Day weekend, my aunt, uncle and  cousins from Provo  had come down  to go four-wheeling. They loved getting out of the city and had 3 four wheelers.  My cousin, Keegan,  loved them so much he got his four-wheeling license when he was about ten.  The day before, we went  to Allen Canyon,  knowing we would have a great time like all other vacations we spent with them.  On this particular day we were on a trail near Monticello,  enjoying the scenery as we went. Keegan and I were taking pictures of each other while we did cool poses.   We were supposed to be back to Monticello before lunch. We got a late start, so we inhaled a meager breakfast . If I were to have known it was my last meal for four months, maybe I would have savored it a little more.

         We drove up  the Blue Mountain road and  discovered a motorcycle trail on the north side. We knew we shouldn’t go down it, but we wanted some excitement.  It was a very rocky, narrow road that allowed no room for mistakes. We would have to have the best drivers and steer our way through the perils that awaited us.  Thus,  the boys took the helm of the four wheelers and we started down the trail.

         We should have known it was going to be a bad trail, because the beginning was only a foreshadow of what was to come.  It was an arduous path to say the least, but we kept thinking, it will get better, it has to. But, we just kept going.  Pretty soon we were at a hill that went steeply sideways.  We didn’t want to retreat, so we got out the ropes and took the four wheelers across one at a time.  We made it and kept going.

         We wondered if it was ever going to get better.  It was my mom who decided to  go down the trail a little ways to see how bad it really was.  We waited for about a half hour until my mom came back.  She did not have good news.  She told us the route was even worse up ahead.  We decided to turn back, because we did not want anyone to get hurt.  We said a prayer and turned around. We didn’t want to retrace our steps, but the other direction was not an option.

         Turning around is harder than it sounds because we had to back up the hill, then turn sharply as we rolled forward.  We knew the trail was dangerous, but thought since we had traversed it once we could probably do it again. We made our way back through all the treacherous pitfalls.  We negotiated the sideways sloped hill again and thought we were in the clear.  I started to tip once, but caught myself and didn’t think twice about it.  It scared me, but I had to keep going. 

         The girls couldn’t drive as well as I could, and I didn’t want to put them in this terrifying  position. My  hands were turning white while  gripping the handlebars so tightly, and I was frightened out of my mind.  We proceeded with caution, creeping along at a snails pace.  Somehow, Keegan and I  got ahead of the group and were navigating the trail expertly. I don’t remember what happened next, but I am told  my family heard two crashes. They came around the corner to see my four-wheeler caught in a tree down the slope, with me faced down in a tangle of branches.  I say two crashes because  a few  seconds after my crash, my cousin lost control of his  four-wheeler as well. Fortunately, he had enough  experience and time to jump off.  My family quickly drove up, hoping I would jump up and say, “Ha, ha, scared ya, didn’t I?”, but that was not to be.

         When they got to me, they expected the worst, but hoped for the best.  They got the former. When my father  turned me over, he made the terrifying discovery that  I was bleeding through every opening in my face.  When you are bleeding out your ears and eyes,  you know it is very bad. 

         My Uncle raced down the trail on his four wheeler,  hoping to find some help.  Luckily for me, he found the exact person that would be instrumental in saving my life.  It was a good thing an E.M. T. and his son were riding their motorcycles on the same trail that day, or I probably wouldn’t be alive .  A higher power was certainly looking out for me because the EMT  had his portable radio to call the sheriff’s office and  a helicopter from St. Mary’s Hospital in Grand Junction Colorado.  These diligent men stayed with me, giving me oxygen, and supporting my family until the helicopter arrived to transport me to the hospital. My mom and dad couldn’t come on the helicopter so they raced to the hospital.  When I got there, The surgeon revealed that because of the swelling and pressure, the only avenue to save my life was to remove part of my brain.  This they did and placed me in a drug induced coma  to keep me calm and give me time to heal.

         I’ll bet you think time flies when you are asleep, but think about sleeping for three weeks in a row. Time really flies.  It  took a huge toll on my muscles  that I had so diligently developed during football,  boot and conditioning camp.  The only thing I can remember during that three weeks is one of my uncles and cousin singing church songs to me and some very distorted dreams.  Think of waking up three weeks later, not knowing where you are,  what happened and not being able to move one side of your body. 

         It  makes you love your parents a lot more, considering they’ve just spent 3 weeks with you, nervous that you’re not going to wake up and jumping at every alarm that goes off constantly, because your blood pressure, breathing  or pressure in your head is raising to a dangerously high level.           

         Not only did it affect my parents, but my sisters as well.  They had to remain at home, with my grandparents, worried sick and struggling without their mother. Considering this, makes you treasure your life more, that’s for sure. It also makes you realize how vulnerable and fragile this earthly life is.

         When I woke up, I discovered my left side would not respond because of the removal of my right temporal lobe.   Apparently, I had had a stroke during the accident, with brain damage to boot. 

         During my time at St. Mary‘s, I lived for letters and  visits from my friends and family. After two months I was shipped  to Primary Children’s Hospital, were it was believed that  I would get better rehab and be closer to my extended family. Throughout my  stay at St. Mary’s, I learned how to walk with people supporting me and started to eat thick foods like ice cream, pudding, and my personal favorite, mashed potatoes and gravy.  It felt wonderful to be eating again--like having cotton candy that melts in your mouth.   I felt I was getting closer to being a normal kid again.

         When I got to Primary Children’s, I got to see my cousins a lot more.   I started to learn how to walk by myself. The physical  therapist gave me a brace and I was able to walk a lot better.  I could finally get around by myself.  Walking wasn’t good enough for me though.  Soon I was testing my limits, and started to run.  It scared my mom to death, but I couldn’t just walk.  I had to run down the halls.

         I also learned about “passes”.  Passes are rewards that allow you out of the hospital for a few  brief hours.  They are given conditionally by doctors and therapists according to your rate of improvement.  When I learned about these passports to freedom, I became  relentless.  I asked anyone and everyone how to get them. Finally, the doctors and therapists relented, and gave me my first freedom to the real world since the accident.   I was ecstatic! I finally got to leave the  hospital!  I went to my aunt’s house and had a great time.  The next weekend, I got more passes.  I kept getting better and better.  I’m amazed at how much endurance and love my parents had.  Imagine having to spend  four months with a  teenager, as helpless as a baby, and you’ll know how much I needed their help.  I couldn’t even eat, I had to be fed through a feeding  tube--a tube inserted  into you’re stomach that provides nutrients to keep you alive.

         Because I was on a ventilator for so long, I could not eat without food aspirating into my lungs, which could cause pneumonia. I had failed a swallow test in Grand Junction and was not allowed to try again for about two weeks into my stay at Primary Children’s.  The speech therapist decided it was time for another try.  I succeeded! I could now eat solid foods and drinks, only  if it had some gel in it. The first thing I did was call up all my aunts and whisper (because I was not able to speak yet)  to bring in the sweets.  That night I ate my first meal.  The therapist had told my dad only to let me eat for fifteen minutes. It took me two hours and scared my dad to death. My first meal was herb chicken,  mashed potatoes and gravy, and pudding.  It was like a seven course meal  for someone who hadn’t eaten a real meal for about three months.  My dad jokes that if he would have tried to take the plate away, I would have bitten his hand off. My aunts came through in fine fashion-- the sweets began to arrive--candies, cakes, cookies and pie. I had lost a lot of weight, from 120  down to about 90 pounds.  I needed to beef up. I brought new meaning to skinny as a beanpole. Needless to say, I began to gain  weight back quickly. I  was also rebuilding muscle from walking and the physical therapy I was participating in. 

         Therapy was very grueling.  So much so that I called one of my therapists “Sarge”.  You could tell they loved their work and  patients because they could talk to you for hours like they had known you for years, and they could remember patients from several months, even years earlier.

         After three months I was impatient to be out of the hospital.  The therapists told me I was “too healthy” to be in a hospital. At the end of my stay, I was told  I would have to take a wheelchair home, just for long distances.  I was adamant that I was not taking a wheel chair home.  A deal was made with the therapist that I would walk everywhere until I left the hospital and they could keep their wheel chair.  I walked out of the hospital. I spent two weeks in Sandy, with my Aunt and Uncle, eating them out of house and home, while going to out patient therapies. During my stay at my Aunt’s house,  I sometimes got down on myself, because I couldn’t do things that I wanted to any more.  I worried I wouldn’t be able to do them ever again. I fought off the feeling and  I  got over it. I started working hard again to regain the left side of my body.  I think we all feel sorry for ourselves from time to time .  We just need to work hard to get over it and get on with life.

         When I came home, it wasn’t more than a half hour before people came pouring in through the door, telling me how good I looked and visiting for awhile. That night I went to a stake dance.  My first day back, and I was ready to party!  The doctors told me I was going to be too tired to go to school for a full day for quite some time, but I was anxious to get back to my studies and social life. My parents and I spoke to the principal the day after I got back.  He decided I would go to school for the first half of the day, and  if I felt up to it, I could go for the remainder.  I went the entire day, completely ignoring the doctor and the principal--beating the odds yet again.  I had a lot of homework to make up, so I just jumped in.  Most of my teachers were pretty understanding, and either gave me a grade for what I did before the accident, or gave me a grade according to the quality of work I did the semester I got back.

         It wasn’t long before I could walk well enough that I didn’t need the brace. I through it away!  I was also relieved of the feeding tube  I came home with after constant nagging to my parents.  I’m improving every day, and planning on working hard in hopes of  a full recovery.

 

It is important to know that there are folks out there who care about your success, and are willing to help.   Many times, all you need to do is sit down next to them and start asking questions.  Before long, you’ll have a new friend, and someone who can guide you through the pitfalls of the thing you are trying to accomplish, whether that be work, (wo)men, or life.  

Upon entering high school, I decided that to be among the cool kids, I would need to join the football team.  I planned to be a three sport athlete (football, basketball, and baseball), and I was going to be a straight-A student, so that I could get a scholarship to college afterward.  It meant that I would give up Cross-country, but the urge to be cool was pretty strong, as was the desire to try something new.  Thus, a few weeks before school started, I entered boot camp. I thought that since I was pretty quick and in shape that it wouldn’t be too hard to keep up with (or beat) the rest of the team in conditioning, but I knew I was severely lacking in upper body strength.  My thoughts were accurate on both counts.  I blew most everyone away when we were running, but the weight room was a challenge.  I worked hard, though, and chose to be a receiver/corner to use my quickness and good hands. I practiced, and got pretty good at both positions, and was ready to play on the freshman team.  

 Since it was such a small school, I was able to play both offense and defense, as well as special teams.The two-a-days were brutal, but I got into even better shape, and learned a lot about the art of smashing others and being smashed.In a Varsity game, I was even able to play on special teams!  My claim to fame is that in my only play in my only game, I was able to make the tackle on the guy who fielded the ball.  The reason it was my only game was because I was injured in an ATV accident shortly thereafter.

I decided that since baseball was no longer an option for sporting that I needed to figure out a way to be excellent in athletics despite my new impairment.  My options were to play Tennis, or something in Track and Field.  I decided to try both.  Upon arriving at the first Track practice, I discovered that along with the $15 participation fee, I would need to buy a track outfit, including a jumpsuit, several t-shirts, shorts, etc. It was at that point that my practical side took over, and I decided that Tennis was for me.  It was a much cheaper entrance fee, and my parents had gifted me a racket the year before.  Thus began my love affair with the sport.  I quickly gathered that I had a knack for the sport, and became rather proficient playing with one hand.  It was a challenge, but I was not one to back down from a challenge.  I rose through the ranks, and was named number one  singles on the Junior Varsity team before the season got started.  About halfway through the season, I was called upon to move up to Varsity, and played Third Singles the rest of the year, and playing in Regionals (though I was beaten handily).  

I was inspired to become better, so I practiced hard during the off-season.  I played whether it was one hundred degrees, or if there was snow out.  I was determined to become the best.  

My Sophomore year went much better as a result of practice through the months in between seasons.  I became more consistent, and a better player.  Unfortunately, it seemed that my competition had also improved during the off-season.  This year, I was firmly seated in third singles on Varsity, and I performed much better than the year before, but I still got the stuffing beaten out of me most matches, and was not chosen to compete at the state tournament.  

I was not yet the best, but I would not be deterred.  Another off-season was spent playing tennis nearly every day.  I loved to play, and would not let the elements determine whether or not I practiced.  I was even blessed to have my friend, Kris Hiatt’s, uncle-who played tennis professionally in Europe- give me some pointers.  He helped me to learn some things I hadn’t thought of before, and I spent lots of time perfecting my technique, as well as my consistency.

My Junior year saw me move up to Second Singles, though I might have been classified as First Singles if I had wanted it.  If I had been matched up against our first singles player, I may have been able to beat him, but I knew the first position was the sacrificial lamb of the team, so I did not push it with the Senior player currently holding the position.  I knew I had a much better shot at winning as Second Singles, so I kept my mouth shut and played hard.  This year, I gained a nemesis in Jake Tatton, a tough player from Grand County High School (Moab).  Our games were always hotly contested, and the outcome very close.  I would beat him in some matches, he would beat me in others.  In Regionals, he beat me in my first match, and I was afraid I would be edged out of State playoffs again.  Luckily, however, we were able to take 5 individuals in each category that year, so I was able to fight back, win several matches, and get ranked high enough to participate in last position.  

It was quite an exciting time, as I was the only one to make it to State.  Since I was the only qualifier, my couch pulled out all the stops for me.  We traveled up to the playoffs in her Mustang Convertible, and I was covered by the local newspaper.  The cheerleaders created a poster for me and posted it at my house, and I felt like a celebrity at school.  

All of this attention made me feel pretty good about myself, but the obstacle I would have to overcome in my first round was too much to overcome, no matter how good I was feeling.  I was matched up against the winner of our region’s playoffs, and he was quite obviously a much better player than I.  I remember winning a few games, while talking as much smack as I could muster (which was quite a bit, as most of my matches included such talk), and then being overcome by his skill in short order.  It was an awesome experience, however, and it increased my desire to get back there again for my Senior year.

After another offseason of working my tail off, I was excited and ready to take my place as First Singles, where I was sure to take the brunt of the other team's power.  I was, however, surprised when my hard work paid off for me.  I won a majority of my matches that year, and went into Regionals ranked toward the top end of the region.  I had even beaten my nemesis, Jake, every time we played!

In Region, I was forced to play him again, and it was as hotly contested as any match I’ve ever played in.  We traded games, and I somehow eked out a 7-6 first set win.  Then, in a close second set, I gave up a service game and he beat me 7-5.  In a might show of power and skill-not to mention perseverance- I won a service game from Jake, and won the first round match with a 7-5 third set.  I was shown the exit in my next two matches, but that win was enough to send me to State playoffs, along with several other players this year.  

Because there was more than just me going to State this year, a bit more fanfare ensued.  We took a Suburban instead of the Mustang, but we went up a day early to enjoy the city lights, watched a Jazz playoff game while eating at a Sports bar, and had a lot of fun building each other up for the next day.   

Since I got the second to last position that went to State, I was “privileged” to play against the top player in the other region.  He was like nothing I’d ever encountered, moving like a cheetah and hitting like a professional boxer.  His returns went to the exact place I couldn’t get to, and his serves were blurs.  I obviously lost pretty quickly.  Again, however, I had accomplished a major goal which very few people had thought I could achieve!

Junior Prom

I decided last minute to participate in the Mr. San Juan competition, because I thought it would be pretty fun to make some people laugh (it was a farcical spin on the Miss America Pageant, where the winner was the funniest guy).  As I prepared for the competition, I had to decide on a “talent” that would make my audience howl with laughter, as that was how past winners had attained the crown. I thought that perhaps I should follow the example of the previous year’s winner, and create a film that featured me being suSPENSeful (his name was Don, and he was a DONcer, prancing around San Juan County).  

My mom gave me an idea I could not resist, however, so I took a different tact.  She explained that in her day, there was a late night talk show with Johnny Carson.  Sometimes, Johny would have a guest called “The Great Carnac” come on the show.  What made Carnac “Great” was the fact that he could tell you the punchline to politically-charged jokes after reading the question through telepathy from papers inside “hermetically sealed envelopes”.  Thereupon, he would open the envelope, read the question, and the punchline became funny.  I wrote my own script, asked my sister to be “Johnny Carson, and felt pretty good about my chances.  

As the pageant went forward, all the contestants performed a dance we had learned for the occasion, there was a question portion of the show, as well as a night gown portion.  My nightgown was a pair of footie pajamas, which really got people's attention, and accentuated my figure.  The highlight of my performance, however, was obviously the talent portion.  

I watched several of the acts fro backstage, and was awed by the likes of Dillon Seely, a good friend of mine, who danced to Michael Jackson’s “thriller”, as well as a piano solo by Greg Moses.  I was quite nervous as my time to perform approached, but I was ready to have some fun.  

As I walked to my chair next to my sister, there was a gasp as people realized that I was wearing a Golden Turban and Purple cape.  It turned into a chuckle, and then major applause as I finally took a seat.I performed my act, using appropriate jokes that related to my school, such as:  A: Catch 22.” Q:What happens when you throw 100 passes to a North Sevier wide receiver(the team we were playing for Homecoming)?And: A: Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and Brinton Sharp (my rather large classmate and Friend), Q: Who are the three largest producers of gas?  Included were little quips like “Does Spensini Stutter?” when Alyssa repeated my lines for the audience.  I had the people rolling!  I believe that this, along with the fact that I did fairly well in my other events led to my victory.  Not only that, but I won the People’s Choice Award! I was given a trophy and a banner to drape over myself, proof of my domination of the adversary.  Best, however, was the kiss on the cheek from one of the beautiful Homecoming Queens, Miss Emma Bayless.  I had punched my pass into the history books in San Juan High.

 

One of my proudest moments occurred during my life up to that point  was when I was nominated to be our school’s Sterling Scholar in the General Scholar category.  It was especially extraordinary and pressing because I was expected to be the best in everything (thus, the “General scholar” title). I had been preparing for this for years through service to the community, my school, and just being overall an amazing individual, but I went even further.  During my Senior year, I amped up the awesomeness by joining the band (and learning to play the trumpet, volunteering to help kids learn how to read in two elementary school classes, and starting a project at my father’s business filming Native American artists talking about their craft for the Utah History Museum.  I also joined the Cross Country team, and qualified for academic all-state honors, as well as getting elected as Student Body President, Seminary president. and National Honor Society President, as well as being crowned “Mr. San Juan”.  .I was in FBLA, played 1st Singles on my tennis team, and was taking college courses along with my high school classes, achieving a 3.985 GPA.  You could say that I was a pretty busy guy.

I made time for Sterling Scholar, however, because if I did well, I could get a scholarship to the school of my choice, and be remembered forever in the hallowed halls of San Juan high school.   I worked really hard on my interviewing skills, and practiced responses to likely questions.  With the help of my mom- who was much more creative and detail-oriented than I- I worked on a book of accomplishments which highlighted all the things I had, and was doing to qualify for the award.  In addition, I made sure to do my best in all the other things I was involved in.  

In February, the time came to put my hard work to the test, and the time for preparation was past.  The other Sterling Scholars for Math, History, Science, Social Science, Business, etc. and I boarded the yellow school bus and made the three hour trek to the College of Eastern Utah in Price, Utah to compete against others from across the state, nervous, but excited.  

Upon arriving we were ushered to the place on campus we were supposed to be, dropped off our books of accomplishment, and got to know the other candidates in our specific areas while awaiting our interviews.  Some of us did better than others during this period, as is evidenced by my friend, JJ Grover, who met the girl that would later become his wife. Meeting these amazing people who had done so many incredible things only proved to set my nerves on edge to an even greater degree.

When it was my turn to be interviewed, I walked in as confidently as I could muster, and sat down before my portfolio-which they had brought into the interview- to answer their questions.  They asked me about my strengths and weaknesses, my experience with the elementary school students, and my work for the State History Museum.  I felt a lot more comfortable than I expected, and walked out feeling that I had done the best I could, though with so many amazing people, I didn’t think I had much of a chance at winning. 

After the interviews were over, we were given an opportunity to view the other candidates’ portfolios, but I regret to say that I did not take that opportunity.  I’m sure I would have seen some amazing things, and learned a lot about what one could accomplish in life, but I thought it would just make me feel dumb, and lower my self-esteem and confidence.  After this time, we were invited into a room where they explained how the awards ceremony would go, and the awards that would be received.  I learned that my category would be the very last one to be announced, so I would be waiting for quite some time.  

As we sat down in the room where the awards were given, I noticed that my school’s scholars were right next to the stage where the winners would be accompanied by members of the opposite sex after they found out they would receive the award, and commented to a friend that this was not an acceptable distance to walk arm-in-arm with a beautiful young lady.  A plan had formed in my mind, and I had the guts to carry it out, were I to win. I told my friend of the plan, and he agreed to do it if he won, as well. 

I listened to all the wonderful blurbs of the other winners, and was amazed at all these people had done in their short lives.  As time passed, JJ (my friend) did not win, and so was not able to carry it out.  My category finally was announced, and as the runners-up were announced, I realized that I had either won it all, or, in much higher likelihood, did not make the cut.  My stomach dropped.  Suddenly, I heard my blurb being read over the loudspeaker, and my heart jumped from the pit of my stomach to my throat, which raised me to my feet.  I was overjoyed that I had won the competition, but even more elated to carry out my plot.  As I stood there, grinning as widely as the Cheshire Cat, a beautiful young woman walked up to escort me to the stage, approximately two feet from my chair.  I whispered in her ear: “Let’s take it once around!”, and we walked around the entire audience, filled with friends and family, classmates, and others’ friends and family.  All this top uproarious applause and laughter.  At the end of the lap, Miss Breanna Johnson- I later learned this was her name-dropped me off at the stage, and I sat down, beaming for all I was worth. I don’t think I stopped grinning about it for weeks, and I feel these emotions again as I write about it. 

After the ceremony ended, I was mobbed by a large group of women, giving me hugs, and congratulating me on my accomplishment.  Pictures were taken, and I was finally on my way back home, one scholarship, $200, and a great memory richer.  I also think that people will remember that kid from San Juan High for years to come.  At least that is my hope.

My mission was a defining time in my life. I knew that I believed in the Gospel, and I knew I believed in a Father in Heaven.  I had never really been tested on these points, however, so it was a bit of a rude awakening when I entered an environment (Virginia and North Carolina), where people questioned those beliefs, and had very different views of life after death.

I think one of the most important things that I learned in a new way on my mission was that I could endure to the end.  I had illusions of greatness before I arrived in Virginia, thinking that it would be really easy to tell people the truth, and that they would believe me and change their way of thinking.  I soon found, however, that I could tell people the truth, and they would not believe it!

 I never worked arder in my life, working from 6:30 a.m. til 10:30 p.m. to bring happiness to the people I met, and it was extremely disappointing when they weren’t willing to change, because I gave my heart and soul to each of these people.  I learned later that this outpouring of love actually ended up benefitting much more than the people I was striving to help. 

Several  really cool experiences in my mission sealed the knowledge of life after death for me. Along with regular scripture study, which increased my faith, I believe that heavenly Father wanted me to know that I had better be prepared for life after this one.

One was near the end of my mission, when we were out walking the streets.  We were talking to this sweet old African American woman.  After we had talked for awhile, a beautiful Monarch butterfly landed on my shoulder, and stayed for quite awhile.  The woman commented that this type of experience was one that was indicative that a relative that was deceased was watching over me, making sure I was safe and loved.  

Having so recently lost my grandpa, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm, and that he was keeping track of me.  I have kept this at the back of my mind ever since, and am grateful to have progenitors that are so interested in my safety and success in life.  

I also had some really cool experiences with people that we found/taught the gospel.  In my first area, my companion (Ethan Abbott) and I were trying to find the Robinson’s, a family who were members of the church, though not active for some time.  We were thinking about them regularly, but did not have any record of where they were at the time.  

We frequented a homeless shelter, as there was often service to be done, and lives to bless, and one day we were there washing dishes after a meal had been served.  After, we were walking around the building, talking to folks, when suddenly, Elder Abbott noticed a girl and felt like he should ask if she knew the Robinson family.  She looked surprised, and explained that she was a member of the family we were looking for!  We exchanged information, got together later, and soon began helping to usher them back towards activity and happiness.  

Another cool experience came near the end of my mission, when we were referred to a friend of one of the members in the ward.  

The other missionary and I began talking with him, and quickly realized that he did not speak much English.  We were prepared, however, and brought in some pamphlets in Spanish, which we had him read, then explain what he understood from them.  As we taught in this way, he understood what we were trying to communicate, and when I asked him if he would like to prepareto be baptized a few weeks later, he enthusiastically accepted.  Not only that, but he followed through on the commitment, and became a contributing member of the ward!Not only did we have spiritual experiences, we also had some fun experiences that kept us active, and helped us grow culturally.  It was important to mix fun activities into the sometimes ultra-difficult schedule, which was as tiring spiritually as it was physically and emotionally.

One such experience happened in Fall of 2009, when we met up with other missionaries to hike up to “the largest waterfall in Virginia”, near Waynesboro.  We had a good time being together, and did a hike before the waterfall.  Then, we piled into the van that some missionaries had brought so that we could save fuel, and hurried up the mountain to get to the trailhead for the waterfall, as we were running out of daylight.  

We raced up and down the path, trying to take in the beauty of our surroundings as we went.  The lush, green landscape was incredibly beautiful, and far different from the desert-land I grew up with in Utah.

On our journey back, we were moving pretty fast, and making great time, when all of a sudden, the car swerved to the left, with the screeching of brakes sounding in my ears, as we came to a halt after a bump.  All of a sudden, the missionaries got excited, and talked about the bear we had probably just murdered.  

As young men are wont to do, we had to get out to inspect the damage, both to the vehicle and especially to the bear.  Most of us gravitated to the bear, deciding it was a much more worthwhile object of interest.

As we approached the bear, some missionaries began to speculate that they saw the bear’s chest moving, though I could not determine such speculation to be true.  We edged closer, feeling more and more comfortable with its demise, though still realizing the possibility of it still being alive.  That’s when it moved perceptively.

All hell broke lose as the bear rose to its feet.

“Get in the van!” someone yelled.  Luckily, I was near the back of the curious boys, so I only had about 20 yards to go.  Unluckily, I was supposed to be seated in the back, so when I got to the van, I was practically assaulted as I tried to climb over seats. Once we made it back safely to the van, we sighed a breath of relief as we watched the newly brain injured bear saunter off.

I have always tried my hardest to keep the spirit in my life and to pay attention to the thoughts that come to mind.  I feel that God has used me in many circumstances to bless the lives of my friends and family.  

One opportunity came when I was spending time with a friend in Las Vegas, on a Sunday afternoon.  We were driving back to his house when we noticed a woman walking down the road, looking quite haggard in torn shorts, and a stained t-shirt.  She was not the vision of one walking home from church, and appeared to be leading a difficult life.  My friend flipped around as quickly as possible, while avoiding a collision with oncoming traffic, explained that he felt that we should find out if the woman needed any help, and rolled down the window.  She explained that she needed a ride to the freeway so that she could begin her trek northwards, and at his invitation, hopped in the backseat, bringing with her an odor of sweat mixed with cigarettes.  As we spoke with her, it quickly became apparent that she was struggling psychologically, as well as physically.  She explained that she was heading North, though she didn’t know where.  She had family there, though she couldn’t say who they were. She had been hitchhiking, and had been sleeping on the side of the road while trying to find where she needed to go, and had obviously not bathed in days, indicated by the.aroma that was wafting to the front.   

As we chatted, I had the idea that we should drop Miss Catherine off at a motel, after paying for the night, to help the poor soul as much as we could. She could use a good night's rest on a soft bed, after a shower to detoxify herself.  I whispered the plan to Josh to confirm the revelation, and he agreed that this would be a better idea than dropping her off at the side of the road, and that he was willing to split the cost with me.  .

When we revealed the course of action to Catherine as we pulled up to the Super 8, she beamed at us, and practically skipped to the lobby.  I feel that she was happy to be someplace clean, where she could also cleanse herself.  Or maybe she was just a nutball that didn’t actually know she had a problem.  Either way, it was fun to see her light up.  

As we prepared to leave, I admonished her to utilize the shower, get a good night’s rest, and take care of herself.  The only thing left to do was return home and scourge the backseat of the pungency that now filled the cabin of our vehicle.  We left a bit poorer-we were both college students living on a prayer at the time-but happy that we could make life easier on the old broad.     

Another  instance happened one midsummer day, as I was waking up.  I had the thought to give the person I was in charge of fellowshipping in my ward a call.  This was strange to me, since I had not felt inclined to call him in the past, but it didn’t take much effort, so I typed in his number, and gave him a call,  and ended up leaving a message asking him how he was doing, and what was going on in his life. and proceeded with my day.  I made a few other calls, and was on my way to my next destination after finishing up some errands, when I called (or thought I called) another friend.  It ended up being way the man I felt prompted to call, and this time he answered.  

Having quickly ascertained that I was speaking to an individual that I had not expected to hear on the other line, I quickly changed tack, pretending like I had been trying to call him the whole time, and the ruse worked incredibly well.  He didn’t suspect a thing!  After a moment of small talk, I came to understand that he was in a bit of a pickle. He had begun to take apart his truck to fix it, and realized after parts were strewn across the drive that he didn’t have a crucial piece of the puzzle.  He asked if I could come rescue him from the problem he created, and get him to an autoparts store.  Luckily, I was enjoying my day off, and was able to help the poor pedestrian.  

After having retrieved the part, we sat down for a quick bite to eat at the local Mexican joint, and began talking about life.  As a blossoming advisor, I sensed some distress in his tone, and questioned him further on why he felt so down.  I discovered that he had dreams of owning a strawberry patch that was self-sustaining and that would provide the opportunity for people of all ages to come and pluck the juicy fruit off the vine.  He was not, however, making any real progress towards this goal.  As a proponent of self-authorship (the ability to ask questions to help people come up with solutions to their own problems), I began the process of asking good questions to find out why the dream was not being pursued with more vigor.

After hemming and hawing for a moment, and my active listening, he realized that he was just making excuses, and had the thought (with a little prompting) that perhaps he should just start moving in the direction he wanted to go, and let things fall into place.  

We made a plan as to what steps needed to be taken, I gave him a 2 days to get the first step accomplished before he would need to account his labors to me, and set a penalty if it didn’t happen (he would have to take me to get a shake, while we talked about what needed to happen to make the dream roll forward).  Then we parted ways.

Because he had come up with the plan of action, he began taking the necessary steps to make his dreams happen.  I felt fulfilled because I had followed a prompting, and helped a friend, and everyone is happier as a result.  Last I heard, this man was chasing his dream, and feeling much better about his place in the world.

From a very early age, I grew to love traveling to see new places and meet new people.  This wanderlust grew as a result of the fact that my father would travel for his business two to three times a year, and as I grew a bit, he would take me along every once in awhile to “help”.   

I know now that dear-old-dad was trying to help me gain an appreciation for diversity in thought and culture, while also helping my mom out by taking one of the three kids off of her hands for a few days.  

I traveled to Phoenix and Tucson, Arizona; Denver, and As far away as Los Angeles, meeting all kinds of neat people, and visiting interesting places.  During one particular time when I flew with my parents, I recall going up to the pilot’s cabin and speaking with him and his attendants.  They thought I was pretty cute, so they made me an honorary crew member by giving me my “wings”, a small pin that had wings on it.  I was extremely pleased with myself, and proud of the accomplishment.

On another occasion, the whole family was together in Denver, and my parents told me that we were going to a really fancy restaurant, where everyone had to wear ties, and I would obviously need to behave myself.  We arrived, and I was a bit confused, because it did not seem very fancy or reverent.  Something was wrong here, but I didn’t think too much about it; I was there to eat. 

We were seated and a man walked up with a pair of scissors and cut off all of our ties near the middle!  I was seriously perplexed, and immediately became enraged at the offense, as my parents started laughing.  My parents eventually calmed me down enough to let me know that I had been duped.  This restaurant was so informal that their trademark was to cut off ties of anyone foolish enough to wear one in.  I was still quite angry that my new tie was destroyed, but I was able to laugh as well after I had received my dinner.     

I was able to go to the National Scout Jamboree at the age of 15, and that was the farthest I’d been away from home at the time, for the longest period of time.  I spent two years before going to the Jamboree saving money and preparing to go, focusing on both scouting, my spiritual self, and gaining the money to go..  It was an incredible experience; one I hope I’ll never forget.  

We left on a Summer evening in August, around 10 PM, heading up to Salt Lake City to catch the airplane.  We arrived in Provo around 2 AM, getting breakfast at ihop before we crossed the US to arrive in the nation's capital.  In  Washington DC I learned what humidity felt like, with temperatures in the 100s, and the heat index in the 110s.  I was too busy having a blast at the air and space museum, Natural History museum, and the National mall to pay much attention to it, though.  

After seeing some amazing things in DC, Arlington National Cemetery, and Maryland, we made our way to Bowling Green, VA to enjoy the Jamboree.  I had never seen so many scouts in one place, and we were told that while there, we were part of the fastest growing city in the world, and the third largest city in Virginia! We all were busy getting merit badges, trading patches, and having a grand time!

Before I knew it, the Jamboree was over, but the adventure was not! We were off to the next portion of our journey, the Northeast.  We made stops in New York, where I was mesmerized by the city lights, Wall Street, and the ascent to the top of the Empire State building, which gave me a view that took my breath away.  We also went through New Jersey on our travels. In addition we went to several church sites, such as the Hill Cumorah, the Sacred Grove, and Palmyra. 

 In Pennsylvania,  we ate cheesesteaks in Philadelphia, viewed the liberty Bell, and visited an Amish community.  While there, we also ate at one of their restaurants, and I was very pleased by the fare.  I still don’t understand how they cooked so much good food without the use of electronic devices normally utilized in the kitchen.   

Next on our list was ohio.  We visited Kirtland, Ohio, where the first temple was built, and got to hear the presentation of the Church of Christ, who owned the building.  It was interesting to me to learn about the similarities, differences, in our faith.  I was a bit ignorant on the subject, so I didn’t understand the differences before that point. While in Ohio, we also visited the theme Park “Geauga Lake”.  It was the most amazing theme park I’d ever been to, because the rides were great, and the lines were almost non-existent!  

All-in all, we spent 21 days on our trip, and it made me hungry for more traveling.  I loved meeting new people with different worldviews, and seeing the difference in climates. All of these places awed me, and many were extremely important in shoring up my faith in my religion and my country.  It was incredible to see all these places that I’d learned about from my youth.  

I was fairly limited in my ability to travel over the next few years, as I did not have much money, but mostly because I didn’t have anyone to go with. So when my Aunt Denise told me she and my grandma were going to Chicago to see my Uncle Brian, I jumped on the opportunity.  The trip was planned to go to my cousin, Spenser’s, wedding reception, but we would be doing a lot more than that! We landed in Wisconsin on my grandma’s birthday, and spent some time talking with Brian and Claudia, and helping set up for the reception.  The next day, however, was spent at Wrigley Field for a Cubs game!  I was able to try a piece of Chicago style Deep Dish Pizza, and enjoy the downtown of Chicago, including the giant metal bean that they have, and their beautiful botanical gardens.

Though I had done a bit of travel, I had never been outside of the United States, and as I neared my Senior year of college, I began to realize that there was not much time left to be free from responsibility.  Because of this, I began to look for a way to get to Europe with great passion.  My first plan was to board an airplane, get to Europe, and backpack across the continent, making stops as I so chose.  This seemed an extremely exciting venture to me, and appealed to my independent spirit.  My mistake came by telling my parents about the plan.  

They were very got nervous if I mentioned I was leaving the state, not to mention the country  I was practically forbidden to pursue this course, and thus, I was forced to pursue other avenues.  

Luckily, I was a crafty young buck, and motivated to boot. I had heard that Study Abroad’s were an effective way to flee the country for a while, so I began looking into that option.  I went to a Study Abroad fair and quickly found a few that would fit the bill (i.e. take me to as many awesome places on another continent as was possible).  To decide on which was best, I only had to look at what was to be studied.  One was a fine arts group, which was definitely not for me.  I just didn’t care enough about art to be interested.  The other was with the recreation management group.  It was a dream situation for me, as recreation management was a major I had considered in the past.  

After giving them a bunch of money, getting a passport, and waiting a few months for summer, we were ready to go!  We spent a week before leaving in class, but by that time, I had completed all the homework for the courses, so I just enjoyed the learning process in class and didn’t worry too much about a grade.  It was really quite fun for me to learn how to help people have fun.  And the study abroad only increased the awesome learning experience.

We spent time in Germany, Austria, The Czech Republic, Switzerland, France, England, and Iceland.  I decided very quickly that a study abroad with Recreation Management was definitely a better option than backpacking, because BYU planned everything for me, and I got to go to all of the incredible things I wanted to see, plus more that I didn’t even know was available!  

Everything from Disneyland Paris to Shakespeare’s Globe, The Eiffle tower to the Kings’’ Wall; castles and cathedrals, and incredible vistas. I hiked the alps, as well as a glacier in Iceland, and walked for miles and miles through the beautiful European cities. I ate interesting food like reindeer and shark in Iceland, as well as escargot in Paris and Donner (lamb) and fish ‘n’ chips in England.  I feel as though I experienced the best Europe had to offer, and got to experience all kinds of culture in the interim.  

This experience gave me a greater appreciation for the world, and a knowledge of how other people in different nations think about the world.  I felt incredibly lucky and blessed to have this experience. It also  continued to facilitate the desire to meet new people and see new places.

One really neat experience traveling occurred when I decided to go visit my cousin in Great Falls, Montana.  I had never spent a significant time in Montana, and  I have always looked up to Todd as a good example and friend.  Since I had not seen him in about a year, and with the promise of visiting Glacier National Park, it was not too difficult a decision to book a flight, and join him and his family for an adventure.

I arrived late on a Thursday night, and was picked up by a man who claimed to be Todd. Although his face looked familiar, I was unconvinced, because this man was bald, and the last time I had seen him, Todd’s hair was thinning, but not this dramatically!  

I decided to trust him, after he explained that his thinning hair was frustrating to him, so he decided to bic it.  We drove to the air force base where he lived and worked, and soon arrived at his home, after waiting for about 20 minutes to get cleared by the brass.  Upon arriving, we immediately prepared for bed, because we planned to wake up early to go to Glacier, so as to get the most time possible in the park.

After a short rest of what seemed to be only a few hours, we hit the road, and made it to the park in about 3 hours.  Like many of the other parks I have visited, this one surprised me with its beauty and variety.  It rained on us most of the day, but that only seemed to enhance the experience.  As we walked along rivers, and hiked to waterfalls and lakes, the colors were brilliant, from bright greens of plants, both in the streams and out, to the almost black soil, that provides rich nutrients to the plants.  And the water was clear as could be, with no silt to pick up, as many Western rivers do.  I was amazed at the beauty of the place I was in, and grateful to get to know the older version of one of my childhood heroes.  We seemed to be talking the whole day, and I came out with a greater appreciation of who he had become.  

This knowledge only grew as I was able to spend time with his wife and three kids.  It was obvious that they loved him, and benefitted greatly from his wisdom, strength, and love.  The kids loved to be around him, and jockeyed for position to get his attention.  All-in-all, it was an incredible weekend.  Certainly one that I will never regret.

Hiking/traveling makes me think about things I’ve learned.  For instance, the cairns that mark trails, for,  me,  are representative of people, who along the trail of life, point me in the right direction during times of question.  They show me the way; guide me towards better days and my goals and aspirations.  

In addition, I have a desire, each time I see a mountain or rise, to climb the uprising, and see what is on the other side.  When I have the opportunity, I take the time to climb them, and often, the views are breathtaking, and I feel  extremely grateful for the decision I made to continue, because sometimes the climb is tough, my muscles ache, or I slip and get a cut or bruise, making the going much more difficult.  This reminds me of life, because there have been a few times in my life where I have been metaphorically bruised, battered, and tired, and want to give up and head back to easier pursuits.  I think, during these times, of former “hikes” (challenges) that I have overcome, and the joy that the view, or downhill slope (easier times ahead) that always follow the exertion.  I have taken up the mantra: “You can either move the mountain, or climb it, but don’t give up til you see the other side.  Sometimes in life we have terribly tough times, and we can’t see the view that we’re going to see.  Often, it helps to look back at where we’ve come from, but the thought of the view from the top must drive the person to the top.

 Trails remind me of the paths my friends/family have taken before that have produced results, and are thus easier to tread.  While these are sometimes the best choice, I’ve found that bushwhacking (creating my own trail) is often necessary to see the most awesome views.  I have certainly made mistakes while bushwhacking, as I have done in life, but I feel that some of those mistakes have produced learning that I would not have obtained otherwise, as the places I reached were otherwise inaccessible.  

One important point of hiking is that it is always best to bring someone with you.  It is always more fun, and more intelligent, in hiking and life, to bring someone along for the adventure.  It helps one to make better choices along the trail, and provides someone who can help, or get help, if you get into trouble along the way.  It gives you someone to speak to as well; someone you can create a better relationship with, and keep you entertained during the sometimes long, monotonous plodding it takes to reach your destination.

Another important point is to be prepared.  Whether you are going on a long hike, or one that is just a few miles (which is a long way for some), it is important to bring water so that you can stay hydrated, which is one of the leading causes of problems, especially when hiking in the heat.  You also should be prepared for injury, or having to stay overnight in urgent circumstances.  A good pack with important supplies can help one be prepared for such circumstances.

In life, one must be prepared for things that happen unexpectedly, or at least be prepared to handle them.  One instance of when I wasn’t prepared was when  I was in love, and my love decided she was not in love anymore.  I was caught unprepared, and found myself in a depressed state for over a year.  I had not kept many of my friendships, and thus went into a hermit-like state, not doing much, and just being sad.  I had to decide to be happy again, and rediscover who I was and what I wanted in life to get going again.  Had I been more attentive to my other friendly relationships, I would have been able to transition much easier.  I also learned that my self-worth is not determined by the love of one person, which I had switched to thinking as I dated this woman.  

A good example of being prepared was when I was getting ready to serve a mission for my church.  I went to church often, prepared myself physically through exercise, mentally prepared by studying the scriptures, and was mostly emotionally prepared by gaining an understanding that people wouldn’t always choose to listen. 

 I also practiced speaking, and worked with other missionaries to practice what I would say, and how to use the spirit.  Although it was sometimes a difficult experience, I was ready for it, and was fairly successful in the work, especially in developing myself, as a person.  

As a result, I came to be a more understanding and compassionate individual.  I now understand what I believe and why I believe it, and can’t be shaken because of the experiences I’ve had.  Going back to the mountain analogy, looking back on the “mountain” I climbed helped me understand why I went through the difficult parts. 

 

 

I feel as though I’ve had business acumen since I was a young man.  I would say that it is because many of my relatives have their own businesses, so I grew up around it, and learned important business principles from the time I was in diapers.  I learned how to work hard, and what it takes to make a business work.  I also learned, both through experience and from a lot of reading and studying, how one needs to shift one’s approach to business as technology and economy shifts.  

During the summers, I would ride down to the Trading Post that my dad owned, and work half the day so that I could spend time with him, as well as make a few dollars (the pay was $3/hr, plus lunch, and I felt pretty happy about it), and it also got me out of my mom’s hair and out of trouble for awhile.  It was also a great time to bond with my dad.  

On the 25 minute drives, we would see birds on the telephone poles and the sky, so dad bought a bird book so we could identify them to help pass the time and keep my mind engaged.  It was amazing to be able to see the Red-tailed hawks, and occasional golden Eagles, and be able to know what they were!  

I would mostly work at the cafe, washing dishes and replacing them to their proper places.  If I was lucky, I got to help the attractive, yet older and unattainable female servers, bussing tables and filling drink orders.  

In the afternoons, I would wander over to my aunt’s, or uncle’s, house where I found my cousin’s ready to play computer games like Heroes of Might and Magic, or to fill up large barrels with hot water, and soak in them like we were in a hottub.  Sometimes we would wander back over to the Trading Post and restaurant to hunt for lizards, hoses in hand.  Shooting them with cool water, we could slow the cold blooded creatures  down enough to snatch them from their warm roosts on the rocks or cement, as foreigners gaped at our antics. 

LOne summer, I was hired for more labor intensive tasks, like painting linseed oil on the wooden support beams, which was quite hot and messy.  That ended up being a favorite summer, however, because I was able to work with Robert Sanders, a recently graduated wrestler, who was preparing to go to the University of Nevada-Lincoln to wrestle collegiately.  As a youngster, I had also wrestled, and I looked up to the man for his athletic ability (he was a 3-time State Champ), as well as his academic prowess (he was a straight A student).  We ended up becoming friends, and have stayed in contact ever since.  I was even able to visit him about 10 years later in Lincoln, as I fed my insatiable need to travel.    

   

My first foray into the business world was a lawn-mowing business.  It was just me, and I only mowed a lawn or two, but it provided a little cash, in addition to my restaurant pay,  to buy sno-cones, my playstation 2 console, or go to the movie (which was 5 bucks in our small town theatre).  While I had money to do the things I wanted to, I was instructed by wise parents to put away half of what I earned into savings, which would later help for another business venture, though at the time, I thought it would help pay for my mission-my wonderful parents ended up financing that experience, to my utter surprise).  I can see now that their objective was teaching me how to live for the future, so I didn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck, as many of the families in San Juan County, and the world over, do.

As mentioned, I had learned business skills, such as “buy low, sell high”, so when the Great Recession hit in 2007, I immediately wanted to buy a house, as interest rates fell, and housing prices dropped dramatically.  As a seventeen year-old, I did not have the know-how to do this, so I held onto the dream, and bettered myself by going to college.  After having graduated with my Masters Degree, and having attained a job in Finance, my desire had only increased.  The climate was not great, as housing prices were up again, but interest rates were still as low as they had been in at least 30 years.  Thus, I began looking at houses that I felt were in my price range, and that I could rent out to cover the mortgage. I never would have guessed how time-consuming the process would be. 

First, I had to get pre-approved for a loan.  So I found a place that would do it, sent them my information, and was approved for up to a $200,000 loan.  My roommate's friend came over to play poker one night, and mentioned that he was a real estate agent, so I jumped on that, and quickly got myself someone to show me houses in my price range.  House after house, I just couldn’t find exactly what I wanted.  In addition, those that I thought I wanted were snatched off of the market so quickly that often I couldn’t get a bid in fast enough to get a shot. As a good realtor should, Nathan kept looking.  

  

Eventually, we found what I thought I was looking for.  It was a townhouse in Lehi (where properties were really going up in value), and it had a fireplace, just what I wanted.  And it was only $170,000! I was advised by Nathan to offer what they asked for, so I immediately put the offer in for exactly the asking price.  At that point, they counter offered, asking that I pay $172,000, along with the stipulation that I pay for anything the HOA asked that I fix.  I should have realized at this point that it was a lemon, but being caught up in the fervor of the moment, and fired up to not pay rent anymore, I accepted, and was under contract. I was a terribly inexperienced in house-hunting, and luckily realized my naivety. I  wanted a second opinion, so I called up my cousin, Brent, to act as a second pair of eyes.  He brought my Aunt Denise, and we all went to take a second look.  Both my Aunt and my cousin almost immediately questioned my sanity in agreeing to buy the house, and noticed several things that I had missed, including a stain on the ceiling that indicated water damage, and a tree that was tearing up the fence in the back yard.  They advised me to get out, and fast!  I’m happy to say I took the advice, and since I had not, as yet, been required to put down earnest money, I was able to avoid purchasing the lemon, and losing any money at all.  But I was still homeless (meaning: without my own home).

At this point, I felt it might be wise to take a break and build up my money for a larger down payment, so while I kept on the lookout for good deals, I also didn’t look at houses so much.  It also meant that Nathan stopped looking as much, choosing, rightly, to focus on people more ready to purchase.  It was at this point that I decided I needed a new realtor with more experience, as well, because I didn’t feel that I was getting the advice I needed from one with more experience.

In June, I found a condo by searching online that I thought I might like in Orem, which would also put me about 10 minutes closer to work each way.  I messaged the realtor saying that I wanted to look at it, and we set up a time to meet.  This was a bit different for me, as I hadn’t really considered condos in the past.  Being impressionable, however, the realtor quickly had me extremely interested, and I got some education on properties.  I had told him before we met that my purpose was to buy an investment property, that I could live in now while renting the extra bedrooms, but also use to rent out the whole thing in the future.  He explained that due to the amazing location of the condo (it is right by the freeway and directly across the street from UVU), it would be extremely easy to rent, and would make life a lot easier for me.  In addition, since it is a condo, it would be much less expensive, though smaller, than a house with equal numbers of  bedrooms and bathrooms.  Finally, there wouldn’t be a yard to mow or a driveway to clear of snow, and there was internet and cable included with the HoA.  I was sold.

When I invited Brent and Aunt Denise to this viewing, the sentiment was entirely different.  “You better jump on this, or I will”, Brent said.  “I really like this place, Aunt Denise remarked.  The next day I had turned in the earnest money, and I began again to try to get the funding.  

I was approved at two other institutions, and ended up choosing Wells Fargo, as I knew their reputation, and I liked the guy who was lending the money more. He also helped give me an education in home buying.

He explained that by taking a larger loan, I would get a lower interest rate, which would save me a lot over time.  He also explained, however, that by putting twenty percent down, I wouldn’t have to pay Primary Mortgage insurance, which was what I wanted to avoid at all costs, because it stunk of wasted money.  John told me the best thing to do was to take the larger loan amount, and once I closed on the home, immediately pay the difference to get to 20% of the price of the home.  In this way, I could receive the lower interest rate, as well as avoid the dreaded PMI.  I was extremely pleased.  

It took about a month, as well as an epic struggle with the processor of the loan, but I was able to purchase the home, and moved in shortly after the closing date.  As I looked for roommates, I found a lot of flaky characters.  Advertising mostly through social media and friends, I got a lot of “interest, but not much luck.  One guy even signed the contract and payed the deposit, but the next day asked if he could bail and move to Arizona!  He mentioned that it was due to revelation, so I felt morally obligated to let him go.  

Luckily, one guy panned out from my social media marketing, and another guy my friend referred to me jumped on board.  I was living my dream now with my renters paying my mortgage while I payed the paltry amount of about $150/month to take care of a portion of the utilities and the HOA.  This was half of what I paid for rent, so I couldn’t be happier!