tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75980552813793687922024-03-13T03:05:26.295-07:00Without Purse or ScripA Polygamist's Experiment in the Old Mormon Custom of the Traveling TeacherMoroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-49423813056728911772017-02-08T07:41:00.002-08:002017-02-08T07:41:48.580-08:00Bringing Music to Short Creek: My Review of Tom Bennett's New EP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVanADPzeioGhmreNWVAEfbw_MPMj5dURrkuu8vyCdWW7nZprjllfhAe5VbY_ypCmtcX_ARpajHBMNh4yt7jbiy1Npwc6XqeKwYIq74IdySbTxsXyuq0cIh2sXWeLKgdvkblMTreutFk/s1600/Cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVanADPzeioGhmreNWVAEfbw_MPMj5dURrkuu8vyCdWW7nZprjllfhAe5VbY_ypCmtcX_ARpajHBMNh4yt7jbiy1Npwc6XqeKwYIq74IdySbTxsXyuq0cIh2sXWeLKgdvkblMTreutFk/s400/Cover.png" width="400" /></a></div>
When most people think of <b>Mormon fundamentalists</b>, they think of the members of the <b>FLDS </b>Church, with the practice of multiple wives and prairie dresses. That is the way that the media portrays them, at any rate. However, as a Mormon fundamentalist myself, that world is as alien to me as it is to you. Nestled in the red rocks of <b>Short Creek</b>, in the small communities of Hildale, Utah and Colorado City, these people have kept themselves sequestered from the rest of society, enshrouded in mystery.<br />
<br />
However, in recent years, as their megalomaniac leader <b>Warren Jeffs</b> tries to maintain his grip from his life imprisonment and the demands on the people become more outlandish and ascetic, more and more people are slipping from that tight control, and the community is imploding.<br />
<br />
From personal experience, I know that the one of the first things that authoritative figures try to take away from the people is entertainment - movies, TV, computers, music, etc. These things become verboten in an insulated society. And one of the first things that people do when they break free is to embrace these things as they find liberty again. I plan to blog soon about my personal experiences, but my story is certainly not unique. As the community begins to unravel and the prophet begins to lose control, the FLDS people are beginning to take in arms things that once were denied to them. For instance, social media is literally being flooded by people who were probably denied even the simple use of computers. And now, music is coming to Colorado City.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5swGXHpQG4D2x6eZxU2hEGAPFhgA5szhw5Y3aJ4TJAx-KRpTpdJ3vWHyyUFQsHBra77UqyZP9MDssg9H0WVUupPwpXvKrF_kVm1vxDQfjd3bxVK3mbFkYzkpiQdh6e4m15EiY6mwYqMr/s1600/music+festival.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5swGXHpQG4D2x6eZxU2hEGAPFhgA5szhw5Y3aJ4TJAx-KRpTpdJ3vWHyyUFQsHBra77UqyZP9MDssg9H0WVUupPwpXvKrF_kVm1vxDQfjd3bxVK3mbFkYzkpiQdh6e4m15EiY6mwYqMr/s400/music+festival.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.tombennettonemanband.com/pr/" target="_blank">Tom Bennett</a></b>, a traveling one-man blues band with roots in the Deep South of Georgia, brought music to the community not long ago by strumming his guitar and playing his harmonica. The sounds drew a crowd of curious children, and soon he was playing gigs in the local bakery. This inspired Tom to organize <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/coloradocitymusicfestival/" target="_blank">The Colorado City Music Festival </a></b>this upcoming April 22nd right in the heart of the FLDS. Tom will be playing, and he has recruited a crew of other musicians to help bring music to this place that has, for so long, been empty of sounds other than the desert wind. (Please consider donating to make this free festival possible by donating to <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/ColoradoCityfestiv" target="_blank">this link</a>.)<br />
<br />
Now, about Tom's music - since I have been following him on social media for the last year, I can say that Tom is somewhat ubiquitous. He is one of the busiest musicians I know, traveling far and wide. There is scarcely a day that goes by during the week that he is not playing some venue, some bar, some coffee shop somewhere in the United States, So, it is appropriate that his new EP is entitled <b><i>"<a href="https://www.amazon.com/I-Am-Everywhere-Tom-Bennett/dp/B01MR9LGYV" target="_blank">I Am Everywhere</a></i></b>". This three-song gem is a perfect introduction to Tom's music. This is straight-up <b>blues </b>- <b>Muddy Waters</b>, <b>John Lee Hooker</b> blues. It captures the essence of of Tom's one-man act. The primary single is "<i>Show Me the Exit Sign</i>", which extols the virtue of being on the road, a common theme in Tom's music. The guitar is driven and insistent, and Tom's voice is rich and throaty, perfect for singing the blues. The harmonica and background vocalists give ambiance to the song, and I envision driving on a highway through the bayou. "<i>The Conductor</i>", with its hip-shaking percussion and implacable guitar riffs plunge forward like a locomotive while Tom wails, "I can't get you off of my mind." "<i>Where Do You Keep Your Love?</i>" rounds out the collection with a subdued pace and Tm's keening wail, carried by his harmonica. This one if probably my favorite of these songs.<br />
<br />
Tom's music is the perfect music to bring to the people of the FLDS communities. Without needing to explain, some hip hop outfit was not going to make the same headway. These are simple people, close to the earth, living their lives in the colorful canyons where John Ford shot his Westerns. These people needed something down to earth, something rooted in the back roads of our country, something relatable to them, and Tom's music has struck a proverbial chord, has resonated with this people. And it will to you, too.<br />
<br />
Please consider attending The Colorado City Music Festival on April 22nd of this year. I have also booked Tom for my <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/217718165312603/" target="_blank">Feast of Tabernacles</a></b> celebration in St. Johns, Arizona this October.Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-6022825707653757282017-01-27T12:20:00.001-08:002017-01-27T12:20:44.530-08:00Year of Polygamy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV0NLOLp03f_3fYmYUKE2frEl18yveYA5wEZ7kDCtjH_eEF6FAh03DrBskUgUK5Aq8UT61Xq5uqEVYOo4E0S3Q1SLTMoGTlbbvoUzqsK_0fsJDF3spaky2Hcuy2QcPcem3BOBoeqW94E/s1600/January+24+051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV0NLOLp03f_3fYmYUKE2frEl18yveYA5wEZ7kDCtjH_eEF6FAh03DrBskUgUK5Aq8UT61Xq5uqEVYOo4E0S3Q1SLTMoGTlbbvoUzqsK_0fsJDF3spaky2Hcuy2QcPcem3BOBoeqW94E/s400/January+24+051.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
So, I was recently contacted by <b>Lindsay Hansen Park,</b> one of the directors at the <b>Sunstone Foundation</b>, a Mormon think tank. Lindsay has been a series of well-known and well-received podcasts called "<b>Year of Polygamy</b>". I was honored that she picked me to be a part of it. I quipped that this was what every narcissist needed - a forum to talk about themselves!<br />
<br />
This last Tuesday, I was snowed in at home, and I had to fire up my generator just to talk. I made a <b>Skype </b>appointment to interview with Lindsay. She was very kind, and it is very nice to have someone at her intellectual caliber give <b>Mormon fundamentalists</b> and <b>polygamists </b>such an objective voice. It was a pleasant experience.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the podcast aired yesterday, and I am very pleased with how it turned out. In essence, I give highlights from my life. I hope it is interesting. You can listen to it <b><a href="http://www.yearofpolygamy.com/year-of-polygamy/episode-110-mormon-independent-moroni-lopez-jessop/">here</a></b>.<br />
<br />
Lindsay has given me the possibility of presenting at this year's Arizona <b><a href="https://www.sunstonemagazine.com/symposium/">Sunstone Symposium</a> </b>with a segment aptly entitled "From Punk Rock to Polygamy". I am looking forward to it!Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-4469936265653958302015-01-31T09:25:00.003-08:002015-01-31T09:46:02.705-08:00The Land of Bountiful, Part 3<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXteb2kw0Nrv44FPCRrt9mxx56ugRMFadEnLb-D8nKDVv0NXtFk33cnw76ngJaPU6F5K7239SnzFctOHxSFFAV18vJ_bPEHWWvc7WU2-bV-GJX7hux7UYubaZ0hNPyPHzxtDy5DVLGrF8/s1600/March+20+841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXteb2kw0Nrv44FPCRrt9mxx56ugRMFadEnLb-D8nKDVv0NXtFk33cnw76ngJaPU6F5K7239SnzFctOHxSFFAV18vJ_bPEHWWvc7WU2-bV-GJX7hux7UYubaZ0hNPyPHzxtDy5DVLGrF8/s1600/March+20+841.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bountiful, BC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So continuing on my visit to <b>Winston Blackmore</b> in <b>Bountiful, British Columbia</b> - you can read Part 1 <b><a href="http://withoutpurseorscrip.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-land-of-bountiful-part-1.html">here</a>,</b> and Part 2 <b><a href="http://withoutpurseorscrip.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-land-of-bountiful-part-2.html">here</a></b>.<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the morning, we got up and got ready. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">We did up the living room for prayers, and
then our friends came over.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">We had prayers.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Our friend explained that the people
here don't know that much about the <b>endowment</b>.
There were endowments done in the <b>FLDS</b>, but it was reserved for only the
very elite, so they have a bit of a disdain for them. He also said to not use the word
“<b>patriarchal</b>”, because it is viewed in the same light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">While we were offering
the last prayer, there was a knock at the door. No one seemed to hear, but I could hear voices.
Whoever it was eventually just left.
There was discussion about whether or not they could see us through the
window. I don’t think it matters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After prayers, I could see that
Winston had tried to call me. My friends called, and we were told to come to breakfast to Winston’s house. We got ready and packed up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Right before we were ready to
leave, my father-in-law lost the car keys. I swear, first the credit card, and now the keys. He finally found them, and we went to Winston’s for breakfast. He was eating breakfast with <b>Frank </b>and <b>Daryl
Naylor</b>, two older men from Bluffdale.
Their wives sat at the far end of the table, obviously separated from
the men. They asked how I was a
<b>Jessop</b>. They were <b>Barlows</b>, and they knew
my Uncle Jim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Winston did mention that we must be
deep sleepers, because he had knocked on our door and we didn’t answer. Nothing else was said about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Breakfast was delicious. After visiting, we got ready and went down to
the meetinghouse. It was quite a large
meeting. We took our seats, and Winston
sat up on the stand with his brothers and the Naylors, along with Nate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It has been funny to observe Winston. I would characterize him as a benevolent
dictator. In other words, it is obvious
that he has a sincere love for all of those around him. His children come up, and he is affectionate
with all of them. He is jovial and
pleasant. But he is definitely in
charge. He has his finger on the pulse
of everything that happens in his community. My friend said that many of Winston's children have left. But he has done his best to keep everything
together. He controlled every aspect of
the meeting, even leading the music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He called on Frank Naylor who read
an entire discourse by <b>John Taylor</b>. Word
for word. Pausing after every few words
for emphasis. I was bored to tears. They had a few other speakers – only people
up on the stand. Winston
didn’t call on any of us to speak. Oh
well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He called on all of his single
daughters to sing. It was
beautiful. I counted fifty of them. Then a smaller group of daughters sang a
version of <b>Leonard Cohen</b>’s “<i>Hallelujah</i>”, changing the lyrics so that the sexual
metaphors were absent. For instance:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I heard there was a
sacred chord<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">That David played to
please the Lord<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But you don’t care
about Jesus, don’t you?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After the meeting, everyone lines
up to shake the hands of the people on the stage. A couple of them were outright hostile. One man I introduced myself to refused to
give me his name. I shook Winston’s hand
and asked for his email address, but he didn’t know it right off hand. He invited us to stay for lunch, but my father-in-law declined, saying that we had to push on.
I wish that we had stayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">There was an old woman in her 80s
sitting with the my friends. She
introduced herself to me as the daughter of <b>Morris Kunz</b> and <b>Rhea Allred</b>. She is the sister to Aunt Nan and Aunt
Millie. She seemed very sweet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We went outside and said bye to Nate and his sons, and to our friends.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mM8J1SPHJ6JwitjsunsoQb8YyyUL9LoIawWuweAFFxt3bk5ubksFDFpMzMr_jqJi-TZv7ca4Gx1p3TXnGeJWxxRZT70bFVv4uJMM4UQObvUrqMyVQndyoFz8dPDUbSxu8SLhq0VdRs0/s1600/March+20+850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mM8J1SPHJ6JwitjsunsoQb8YyyUL9LoIawWuweAFFxt3bk5ubksFDFpMzMr_jqJi-TZv7ca4Gx1p3TXnGeJWxxRZT70bFVv4uJMM4UQObvUrqMyVQndyoFz8dPDUbSxu8SLhq0VdRs0/s1600/March+20+850.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They look so Jessop! Me with Nate & his sons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">On our way back, we got lost and started heading towards Creston. We got directions and found the border. It was way easier crossing into the States than it was going into Canada, We stopped for dinner in Missoula, and tried to stay ahead of a snow storm, staying the night in Dillon, Montana.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Winston Blackmore is a good man. I don't care about the negative press. He has held together his people in the recovery of the despotic travesty that is <b>Warren Jeffs</b>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">This trip - and other trips - taught me something significant to me. We are all <b>Mormon</b>. I am tired of factionalism and the things that divide us. This has become somewhat of a theme with me lately. I am tired of focusing on the things that set us apart. I want to focus on the things that we have in common and work with every <b>Latter-day Saint </b>on whatever level I can, even if it is just to sit and break bread together.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-73409464261499007462015-01-31T08:32:00.000-08:002015-01-31T09:26:46.359-08:00The Land of Bountiful, Part 2<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zoM9JjNmGuTBEYbIMfprhXjY65gdrJGXLlvPCIFkjLVKS-WxrljsYzEE4xP3b_3tIkGH_JaAENz2V0dso9Djz2vaVjGhFq2oG_o4oR6IQVQFLHaa3Lgo4_N1g0QESuGjyOF9nRJcYDc/s1600/March+20+833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zoM9JjNmGuTBEYbIMfprhXjY65gdrJGXLlvPCIFkjLVKS-WxrljsYzEE4xP3b_3tIkGH_JaAENz2V0dso9Djz2vaVjGhFq2oG_o4oR6IQVQFLHaa3Lgo4_N1g0QESuGjyOF9nRJcYDc/s1600/March+20+833.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonner's Ferry, Idaho</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Continuing on<a href="http://withoutpurseorscrip.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-land-of-bountiful-part-1.html"> my story</a> of traveling to <b>Bountiful, British Columbia</b> to meet the leader of the <b>Mormon fundamentalist</b> community there, the charismatic <b>Winston Blackmore</b>:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">At midnight, the alarm clock in the
room where we were staying went off. I
got up and shut it off. I used my phone
as a flashlight to shut it down. I
noticed that I had received an email from a friend from<b> Casa Grande</b>. One of my good friends from my younger years had suddenly died.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">This was a shock. I lay in bed for a while, thinking about her, unable to believe that she was gone.
I finally went to sleep, and then I woke up early.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I took a shower, and, when I got
out, there was a text from <b>Nate</b>, inviting us over for breakfast. We got ready and then packed up the car. It was a chilly, frosty morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We drove to Nathan’s house. He has such a beautiful view from his place
that I took a couple of pictures. (<i>Seen above.</i>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We went in for breakfast. I visited with the wives for a while. I really like them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">After breakfast, I hopped into the
truck with Nate and his son, <b>Vaughn</b>, and my father-in-law followed us. We drove to the Canadian border, which was
just a few miles away. We got to the
checkpoint, and all of the border guards know who the people in Bountiful are. He asked Nate what his business was in
Canada, and Nate answered, “We’re going to see Winston.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When they learned that I was
visiting from Arizona, they started grilling us with questions. They asked when we were leaving, and I said
that I wasn’t sure. Either Sunday or Monday. Nate later told me that this was why they
detained us for so long, that I needed to be up front with them and give direct
answers. They directed us to pull over,
and we waited for about fifteen minutes until they let us go on in into <b>Canada</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My first time in Canada!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We drove to Bountiful, which is
just a few miles from the border. It is
beautiful, nestled in a narrow valley up against the tall mountains. Nate drove us on a brief tour of Bountiful. He showed us the school, which is broken down
into several smaller buildings to avoid permit problems. He showed us their chapel, where Vaughn is
the sound technician. The community is
shared with the <b>Warrenites, </b>or people belonging to the <b>FLDS</b>. It is not
like <b>Centennial Park,</b> or even like out at the my community, where there is a physical
separation between the factions. They
all live in the same neighborhood. You
can tell the home of the Warrenites, because they have high fences and trashy yards. We would drive past Warrenites, and Nate would mutter about whether or not they would say hi. He said that he has family in <b>Colorado City</b>,
like his mother. They can’t even visit
with him, because it will get them in trouble with the priesthood leadership.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I have to admit – there was a lot
of tension and an oppressive feeling in the community.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We stopped briefly to see my friend. He came out of his house,
barefoot, to see us. We saw the rest of
the family. We went in, and he took my father-in-law aside for a little but to speak in private.
Winston contacted Nate and told him to bring us down for lunch. My friend was invited, too, but he
didn’t show up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We went to Winston’s house, which
was enormous, like an apartment complex.
He had a separate building with an enormous kitchen and dining
room. He has wives that work full time in
there. It is like an industrial kitchen,
and they make 17 loaves of bread a day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We sat with Winston, and we ate
turkey sandwiches with avocado on homemade bread, raw milk, and peaches. It was good.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Earlier, Nate had invited me to
ride with him and Winston to Cranbrook, a nearby community, on business. It would give me a chance to see a bit more
of British Columbia. I was looking
forward to it. During lunch, Winston
invited us out to ride with him to Cranbrook, so that we could talk more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 50.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My father-in-law declined, saying that we were
here for the benefit of our friends. I looked at him
in disbelief. We have a chance to have a
discussion with this dynamic character, and he declines? When he saw my look, he decided to
accept. But he said that he would go,
and my brother-in-law and I would stay and visit the our friends. This upset me, too. So the “adults” go and talk, and the “kids”
stay at home. I know this is the way my father-in-law sees things. But I really felt like I
should have been in on any discussions with Winston. I was relegated to the status of unimportant,
and Winston didn’t take me seriously after that. I felt marginalized. This made me a bit angry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">As we got up from the table, Nate told me, “I guess you got bumped.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">They left, and my brother-in-law and I hopped
in with Vaughn. He drove us around the
community, including taking us to see the rodeo grounds. I got more information from Vaughn than I did
anyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I asked him if they live <b>United
Order</b>. They don’t. All of the land is owned <b>UEP Trust</b>. If the state of Utah hadn’t appointed a
fiduciary to oversee the trust, they would have been in trouble. <b>Warren Jeffs</b> could have told them to leave, and
then they would have been without homes.
They do several work projects together, help each other build homes. But one of the downsides is that they can
only do work projects until they run out of money. Then they have to wait to get money, and it
seems that once funds come in that they move onto other projects, leaving
previous endeavors unfinished. The homes
of Winston’s followers are clean, whereas the FLDS homes are junky and littered
with trash. They don’t appreciate their
stewardship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I asked him if they do
<b>endowments</b>. He said that they
don’t. They really don’t know much about
that and have enough on their plate trying to live their lives as simply as
they can. Maybe someday they will
receive those things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Something unusual is going on in
the community. There are other visitors
in the community this weekend from Salt Lake.
They are members of the <b>Ivan Nielsen/ Frank Naylor</b> group, a breakoff
from <b>Centennial Park</b>. One of Winston’s
daughters was marrying someone from that group.
It was the first <b>intergroup marriage</b>.
The only stipulation was that Winston was the one to perform the
marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I told Vaughn, “One of the issues
facing our young people is that there is no one for them to marry. They are all related, so in order to get
married they are going to have to go outside to find someone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Exactly,” answered Vaughn. “Winston may have many children, but there is
no one here for them to marry. The way I
see things, if you believe in Christ, and we believe in Christ, there is no
reason that our communities can’t come together.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">This really struck me. I understood why we were there. Winston is a very confident man who does not
perceive himself as needing anything.
But there is an opportunity before him, if he will accept it. Given his prejudices, he will probably not
accept it, but it is a chance before him nonetheless. What do we have to offer? The ordinances. The <b>fullness of the priesthood</b>. What does Winston have? Sons and daughters for our children. I felt the Spirit strongly that this was the
case. I was very glad at this point that
I stayed and had this conversation with Vaughn.
I was amazed to see that the Lord had brought us here. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCpty2cHWUqOOVkOEebJxQ6F_mRr5KR8OSiMvi-lEJ2maXoLkM61Mo3oxcGg0YB8ttbdPo-mcHhK_Xi87bEtA3lNnQAtgoOdh4_X7MDVUnr1no-pxGKQ_HvdsN2CsBMMIWZ0s-zrknUw/s1600/winston2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCpty2cHWUqOOVkOEebJxQ6F_mRr5KR8OSiMvi-lEJ2maXoLkM61Mo3oxcGg0YB8ttbdPo-mcHhK_Xi87bEtA3lNnQAtgoOdh4_X7MDVUnr1no-pxGKQ_HvdsN2CsBMMIWZ0s-zrknUw/s1600/winston2.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winston Blackmore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I saw signs on some of the houses
about water contamination, so I requested that we go into town to get some
bottled water. Vaughn drove us to
<b>Creston</b>, and we went to a grocery store and bought a flat of water. My brother-in-law had a silly grin on his face the whole
time and made it a point to inform the cashier that this was our first time in
Canada.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We went back to my friend’s
house and visited with his family. They
served us some homemade <b>kambucha.</b> It was my first time trying it, and it was pretty nasty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">We went out to the living room, and
then my father-in-law and Nate showed up.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">My father-in-law later
told me that it was a good visit.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">He
said that Winston had asked to know a bit about his perception of <b>Joseph
Musser</b>.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">He told my father-in-law that he appreciated
hearing his side of things.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Winston told him that he refused to learn anything from someone who was less intelligent
than him.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">This made an impression on my father-in-law, because he kept mentioning this.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Our friends served us a dinner of barley
cooked like Boston baked beans with bread.
It was simple, but good. We said
goodbye to Nate and Vaughn, and our friends invited us to stay for their weekly
meeting. The kids all did parts, and it
was impressive how they not only recited, but had to explain how they
understood everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Our friend guided us over to a trailer owned by a man who was out of town. It was simple on the outside, but
very nice on the inside. There were many
huge ants crawling everywhere, though. I
was assigned a bed. We visited for a
while, and then I went to bed after plugging in all of my electronic
devices. I was exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">This story will continue in <a href="http://withoutpurseorscrip.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-land-of-bountiful-part-3.html">one more installment</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-75123985304626184142015-01-31T07:18:00.000-08:002015-01-31T08:33:39.592-08:00The Land of Bountiful, Part 1<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKemibfKwU31N_qvmtHdSpABn1B8i6ALH3GznK4gmHHZZC-TY4emKL_G-vo1N5fPpGpgPl_1G39cqVMs26y3fTnK5gh5uQqunnSnZyFX830R4BW8Jyv8OKAv87cOUDCooeopoc8RjnLA/s1600/March+20+842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFKemibfKwU31N_qvmtHdSpABn1B8i6ALH3GznK4gmHHZZC-TY4emKL_G-vo1N5fPpGpgPl_1G39cqVMs26y3fTnK5gh5uQqunnSnZyFX830R4BW8Jyv8OKAv87cOUDCooeopoc8RjnLA/s1600/March+20+842.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bountiful, BC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the news recently, <b>Winston Blackmore</b>, leader of the <b>Mormon fundamentalist</b> community in <b>Bountiful, British Columbia, Canada</b> was taken to court yet again. The <b>LDS Church</b> had lapsed in their right to have the name "<b>Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints</b>" in Canada. So Winston snatched it up. He purchased the legal rights to the name, and, of course, the LDS Church took him to court. They won the right to the name and, furthermore, blocked him from using the name, along with the generic term "<b>Mormon</b>", which is ridiculous. There are a multitude of <b>Restoration</b> churches and organizations that use that name and who use the <b>Book of Mormon</b>. How is it that the Utah-based church is the only entity that has a right to that name?<br />
<br />
Anyway, I decided to write about my visit to Bountiful in March of last year.<br />
<br />
I have a friend who lives in Winston Blackmore's community, and he invited us out. Our visit would be part of a larger journey. We were planning on visiting a few families in Idado, detouring up to British Canada, and then finish out by seeing my friend, <b>Nathan Collier</b>, in Montana, whose family was featured last week on "<b><a href="http://moroni-family.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-song-remains-same.html">Sister Wives</a></b>". The visit in Montana fell through, but we were able to go to Canada - my first visit ever in that fair country.<br />
<br />
In the afternoon, my father-in-law, my brother-in-law, and I left Boise and headed towards Oregon. Our first mishap occurred when we hit the first gas station. My father-in-law could not find his credit card. We backtracked and looked everywhere. After about an hour of looking, he found it in the shoe he was wearing. The night before, for safe keeping, he had slid it in his shoe for safe-keeping and then forgot it was there.<br />
<br />
We crossed into Oregon - also my first time in that state and cut across to Kennisaw. It was dusk as we pulled into that city, and the lights extended into the horizon. I texted my friend in Canada. He said that he had spoken to Winston. He had business in Spokane the next morning and would meet us there. It was dark when we pulled into Spokane. We stopped by <b>Denny's </b>for a late night dinner, and then checked into a hotel.<br />
<br />
For those who know that I have health problems, I woke up with swollen, throbbing legs - all caused by riding into a cramped <b>Prius</b>. For a moment, I wondered if coming on this trip was a good idea.<br />
<br />
At 6:00 in the morning, I got a call from Winston. His business was detouring him to Missoula, Montana. He was sending someone else from the community, and then he would meet us later up in <b>Bonner's Ferry, Idaho</b>, right on the Canadian border.<br />
<br />
After breakfast, we met Winston's representative in the hotel parking lot - a kind, soft-spoken bespectacled man named <b>Shem</b>. His accent spoke of southern Utah, and, sure enough, he was originally from <b>Colorado City</b>. He had business in Spokane, so we piled into his very nice diesel pickup and rode around while he stopped at different shops. Shem, along with many of the men in the community, worked for a commercial construction business based out of Bonner's Ferry.<br />
<br />
Once his business was done, we headed up towards Bonner's Ferry. My father-in-law followed us in the Prius, and I sat in cab with Shem. As we got onto the highway, I looked at him and said, "Perhaps you are wondering what we are doing here, what our intentions are. Honestly, I don't know. We were invited to come and meet Winston, and well, here we are."<br />
<br />
I made this statement, because I could sense the question, the wariness of having a stranger come out. He didn't say much about my comment. We spent some time playing the game that most <b>polygs </b>do when they meet each other - who knows who. As a child, going to visit relatives in Colorado City with my dad, I met many of the old-timers is that community.<br />
<br />
Then Shem gave me some background of their community. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">For the two hour drive, we have a
good discussion.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of the things that
I learned – things were NOT as we were told in Colorado City.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Many of the things that he told me reminded
me of things that other <b>ex-FLDS </b>had told me.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things were really good under <b>“Uncle” LeRoy Johnson</b>.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">He was a kind man and well-loved.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">There were not so many arranged marriages
back then.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The women had a choice where
they wanted to go, and, like <b>Centennial Park</b>, they discouraged men from trying
to seek wives.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I asked Shem if they now practice
placement in marriages, and he skirted the issue, not really answering me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When <b>Rulon Jeffs</b> came into power, he
became sick and had a stroke. <b>Warren
Jeffs</b> came into power, because he isolated his father and began speaking for
him. When Rulon died, Warren essentially
seized power and began taking wives away from men and cutting off men. At this point, many of the people in Colorado
City decided to cut themselves off from Warren, including Winston. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Shem mentioned that they remembered
something that they had been taught, that <b>Joseph Musser</b> had had a stroke and
that he wasn't held accountable for the things that he did (which, of course, I
don’t agree with, because the thing that he did was to set apart <b>Rulon Allred</b>.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He told me that half of the
community lives in Bonner’s Ferry, those who are American citizens, and that
half of them live in Bountiful. Many
have wives, children, and/ or jobs on both sides of the border and that many
people from the <b>FLDS </b>– or “<b>Warrenites</b>” as they call them – still live in the
community. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Shem is a nice guy, but I could
tell that he was feeling us out. He
reiterated that they were a simple people and believed in the teachings of
<b>Jesus Christ</b> and <b>Joseph Smith</b>. There was
a death in the family down in Colorado City, so Shem was actually going to
leave with his family as soon as he dropped us off. He was going to take us to their offices to
meet up with <b>Nate</b>, an employee that works as a foreman for their
company. He made several phone calls
while he drove, making arrangements to leave with his family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We pulled into their shop in
Bonner’s Ferry. It was a large
warehouse. We were introduced to Nate. Right away, you could tell that
he was kin. His mother is a <b>Jessop</b>, and
you can tell. He was a nice man. They sat us down in the lobby to wait. We sat there while Shem
arranged to leave, and Nate wrapped up his work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">They mentioned to us that we would
be staying in the apartment that they have on the top story of the office. I became concerned. My friend from Canada was texting me, asking me
where we were. I told him that I felt
like we were being detained at the office until they decided whether we were
good or not, that we were being screened. My friend from Canada answered, “You probably are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I told Nate that we kind
of needed to know what the plans were, because our friend was waiting for
us. He said that we were waiting for
Winston to get back from Missoula, and then we would meet up with him and
decide what we were doing. He asked if
we were hungry, so he invited us out to lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I hopped in with Nate, and we
went into Bonner’s Ferry to a local deli.
We met Nathan’s wife who was running the sandwich shop. She served us sandwich wraps and
smoothies. It was good. I was so hungry. She seemed really nice. She is a <b>Barlow</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">While we sat and visited with
Nate, we got the same story that we got from Shem, and so I could kind of see
their rhetoric. Their split from
Warren. The justification about Joseph
Musser being senile after his stroke and not being accountable, hence Rulon
Jeffs not being accountable for the things that Warren did in his name. The gospel is a simple thing; we should get
back to the basics and just teach what Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith taught. My father-in-law asked him how Warren could get away with
bypassing the council and taking power the way he did. He was intelligent and manipulative. He was known to be a pervert from the early
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">From there, we went to Nate’s
house. He apologized profusely about his
humble house. It was a beautiful,
two-story log cabin. In the entrance,
there was a huge room with an enormous, hand-carved wooden table in that was
curved. We went into the kitchen, and I
met Nate’s other wife, also a Barlow.
I really liked her. They had a
large kitchen equipped to feed a large family.
We also met Nate’s sons. Eventually more people showed up
and visited with us. There were stories
and laughter and discussions. They
served us dinner. Later in the evening, my friends from Canada showed up.
I almost didn’t recognize them; it had been a while since I had seen them.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMV0keVqYtaIh6MXSxf0DCCWIH1ZmHaWHsFAK46FxAO_u-iJYQOcBerU0YW8rWqGDP8dEFKsSjiAK0CVby4iPuuHfxs5tz6uwSrOisAvDHHYKy-X0uKkz1P0TEpeirjeBrHYcrE-PlM_s/s1600/winston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMV0keVqYtaIh6MXSxf0DCCWIH1ZmHaWHsFAK46FxAO_u-iJYQOcBerU0YW8rWqGDP8dEFKsSjiAK0CVby4iPuuHfxs5tz6uwSrOisAvDHHYKy-X0uKkz1P0TEpeirjeBrHYcrE-PlM_s/s1600/winston.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winston Blackmore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Then, after dark, Winston showed up
with a wife and a daughter. Winston is a short, stocky man with longish
white hair and glasses. He was wearing a
white shirt and a leather vest, and didn’t look at all like someone who was
once FLDS. He had a charisma about him,
and the whole room got quiet when he walked in, in deference to him. He sat down and talked to us while he ate
dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">He told us that his father had been
set apart as bishop and presiding elder in Canada by <b>Charles Zitting</b>. He had been set apart in that position by his
father. He recounted the story about
they had split off from Warren Jeffs. He
used a lot of the same rhetoric that Shem and Nate had used,
about Joseph Musser’s senility. He
talked about, because they had gone through what they had gone through with
Warren that they no longer believed in the <b>One Man Doctrine</b>. As a result, they had adopted a streamlined
version of the gospel. They focused on
the teachings of Joseph Smith. They
focused on what Jesus taught. As far as
what other men taught, like <b>Brigham Young</b>, well, they honor what Brigham did
and what he taught, but they acknowledge that he was just a man, prone to
mistakes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“I don’t give a rat’s ass what
<b>Lorin Woolley</b> taught,” he said. “Don’t
get me wrong. I still believe in the
<b>8-Hour Meeting</b>. I just don’t care about
anything he said. I want to know what
the Savior said.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Although I think they are throwing
the proverbial baby out with the bath water, I could respect what he said, and
I could understand the circumstances that brought them to this. It was refreshing to hear these sentiments
coming from someone from the FLDS. I
told Winston as much when I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. He brushed aside my comments, though. I don’t believe he thought I was
sincere. I don’t know what kind of
people he is used to dealing with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">We wrapped up the visit, and Nate gave us the key to the office. We drove
back to the office and went up into the apartment. It was really nice, like a timeshare. There were two bedrooms, both of them very
nice. My brother-in-law and I took one, and my father-in-law took the other. The pantry was
well-stocked. I took a chance to use the
washer and dryer and did my laundry.
Then I went to bed, my legs quite swollen. What a day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I will finish the <a href="http://withoutpurseorscrip.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-land-of-bountiful-part-2.html">rest of this story</a> tomorrow...</span></div>
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-41117851997880742982015-01-15T16:11:00.003-08:002015-01-15T16:11:58.576-08:00Baby's Got Setback<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsxBNOl283QxieGmzBiPCNwUlWZQq4lPIWKTR0gEdW1gspqvz7myJFFrepX8LLVW-C5vhf8iLtrxC3_kR5Tp_2YQSw8V7ehO4KV9wydEZIp9cC15QNM25BX4sVbtjqYiJgaaYcKg5BD4/s1600/March+25+807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsxBNOl283QxieGmzBiPCNwUlWZQq4lPIWKTR0gEdW1gspqvz7myJFFrepX8LLVW-C5vhf8iLtrxC3_kR5Tp_2YQSw8V7ehO4KV9wydEZIp9cC15QNM25BX4sVbtjqYiJgaaYcKg5BD4/s1600/March+25+807.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
I haven't posted on this blog since <b>The Year of the Crutch</b> (2013). Why? Because it has been hard to even think about this project.<br />
<br />
At the onset, the plan was to have gone out on my experiment by now - to go out hitchhiking for one month without purse or scrip, to preach the gospel to those who would listen, just like the missionaries of old did in the <b>Mormon Church</b>.<br />
<br />
The moment I resolved to do this, I have been beset my health issues that, by all appearances, have killed my project.<br />
<br />
I could very easily turn this into a blog about medical issues in 2014, but I will give you a quick run down.<br />
<br />
2014 was a year of travel. I went to British Columbia, Idaho, Wisconsin, and to Missouri twice. All of these were missionary trips. My wife and I were planning a trip to Europe (also a missionary trip), and to New York. Those trips didn't happen, because of health issues.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVwP2sE6pBKnsNY9k0bCVrGXMKiJI9QMeiBIRfqrAe05eeeFkVf5QatgTWOQZWKb0BkgbXnOfzMJUKMduH0edR-DwYfdcVTPeSztsp3RoAaEDABsRff-z2MwL_R1FCnnqbMJqum187NM/s1600/March+25+823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVwP2sE6pBKnsNY9k0bCVrGXMKiJI9QMeiBIRfqrAe05eeeFkVf5QatgTWOQZWKb0BkgbXnOfzMJUKMduH0edR-DwYfdcVTPeSztsp3RoAaEDABsRff-z2MwL_R1FCnnqbMJqum187NM/s1600/March+25+823.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
In March, I went to Mesa, Arizona with some of my kids. I took them sight-seeing and went to a ghost town. We walked around for the afternoon. I was wearing new shoes that were a bit tight. When we stopped for the night, I discovered that my big toe was kinked inside of my toe. There was a huge water blister that encircled my entire toe. The problem was - I couldn't feel it due to the neuropathy.<br />
<br />
Within two weeks, the whole toe went infected, and I had to have surgery to have most of my toe removed. It took several weeks to get over it. On my trip to Wisconsin, I had recently lost my toe. For the long ride there, there was a mattress placed in the back of a pickup with a shell, and that's how I rode there, to prevent injury to my foot.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnjY8rcOoLeDa1HEBxq7AafiKJobQh4AJexyoITAdp6OxFQmHQW7sI-FM18E1prAc_lsnYsVn0oCIWOvBpZ5bIApJYI_rCDVmgzfj5CYs2pCdc4E4GXtfDRf7VHOqyWl6Ypb4uhhJQW8/s1600/Missouri+1465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnjY8rcOoLeDa1HEBxq7AafiKJobQh4AJexyoITAdp6OxFQmHQW7sI-FM18E1prAc_lsnYsVn0oCIWOvBpZ5bIApJYI_rCDVmgzfj5CYs2pCdc4E4GXtfDRf7VHOqyWl6Ypb4uhhJQW8/s1600/Missouri+1465.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
No sooner was I over it that I developed back pain. It started in my shoulder, and gradually worked down to my hips and my legs. The X-Rays say that I have degenerative disc disease. They really don't know what is causing it.<br />
<br />
Over the last couple of months, I have lost strength in my legs, and the muscles in my legs have atrophied. It has become increasingly difficult to even walk. I have lost my appetite and barely eat anymore. Since September, I have dropped 40 pounds. I'm not sure why. The doctors don't know why, because the insurance keeps denying any MRI, any test that could give us answers. Certainly, it all stems from diabetes. I have suspected MS. In the meantime, I have tried to eat healthier and control my diet.<br />
<br />
Right now, I can't even walk across Wal-Mart without losing energy. How am I going to hitchhike across the United States? I don't know. I'm trying to stay positive about this, but I have faced some moments of depression, come moments where I wonder how many years I have left on this earth, how many months.<br />
<br />
And yet. I cannot scrap this project. I believe that God will heal me. I remember that blessing I had at age 24. I would go on a mission to all of the world. My health would be poor, and God would heal me, would raise me off the proverbial bed of my affliction so that I could fulfill my mission. I'm still waiting for that to happen.<br />
<br />
When it does, I will be out that door in a heartbeat, pounding the pavement, Book of Mormon in one hand, and thumb extended on my other one.<br />
<br />
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-65103226977077271452014-12-01T08:42:00.000-08:002014-12-01T08:42:00.996-08:00An Open Letter to the A.U.B. from Robert S. LeFevre<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
I was asked by my friend Robert LeFevre to use my networks to post an open letter to people in the AUB. Here is his letter:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i>November 22, 2014</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i>When my father died his third wife Sharlette was pretty much homeless. Brother Owen called me up and told me he had bought this house in Riverton Utah for her and her children. That was eternally kind of Brother Owen. And our Family is very thankful for what he did. The main problem with the whole thing is this: My father and his wife had an agreement with Brother Joseph Blaine Thompson (his life long close friend) that if Dad was to die (he had bypass surgery and a bad heart) that Brother Joe would take Sharlette to be his wife. Sharlette was on board with that and was looking forward to the association with Brother Joe's Family. Unbeknownst to me at the time was that all the “Royal Priesthood” had condemned Brother Joe (without even a trial) to be a child abuser. Brother Owen, therefor would not let Sharlette go into Brother Joe's family.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />I told Brother Owen that my Dad would expect and wanted to pay for the house that was bought for Sharlette. I traded Brother Owen 10 or 12 lots in the Fifetown Subdivision and 12 to 15 acre feet of water to pay for the house. We made an agreement that Sharlette could live in the house for the rest of her life and that the Priesthood would keep control of it until she died, so she would always have a place to live. Once she passed away, it would go to her children.<br />It wasn't long after this that Brother Joe died. I contend that Sharlette would have been in a much better place had not this Priesthood stepped into my Father and Brother Joe's business. Can we all say, “Consequence?”</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />Any reasonable thinking individual can plainly see that Owen and Joe had a complicated relationship and Brother Joe was a victim of Priesthood unrighteous crap. (crap is my father's words and it seems to fit this situation.) Brother Joe could be a hard man but was never guilty of the things all those in the A.U.B. accused him of doing. He was one of the most moral men I ever knew, falling victim of money in a banana-box and the long time envy of those who said they were his brother.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />I met with Kent and Ron Allred and several others on this deal. It took me over two hours to get them to understand that I didn't want anything other than what I had first stated. I think Kent or Ron said, “now let me get this straight, you don't want anything?” and my reply was, “That's right!” Only a home for Sharlette and her children.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />Under the leadership of the fine man Rulon Clark Allred, I made a covenant with you men of the A.U.B., not to say or hear any gossip of another brother unless I have personally confronted them with the accusation. I've personally tried to keep that covenant and pray for you that you are keeping that agreement also. I saw David and Harry here in Stockton MO. and it was uncomfortable for them. I felt that for the most part they have tried to keep that covenant, as I have.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />A few years ago we tried to get you to let Sharlette sell the house in Riverton so we could move her to Arizona. Where Sharlette's daughter Clara, could take care of her. My understanding was that Sharlette was told Robert was trying to steal her house. It saddened me to hear that some of the Brethern accused me of being a thief. I've been taken advantage of so many times by men, in the name of Priesthood. All I want to do is forgive and forget. The time of the peace makers to rule is here, and all some can do is side with the other guy and accuse.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />I hope there is some sanity in your counsels. My father loved all of you and gave thousands and thousands and never cared, or asked anything in return. Brother Owen was trying to be kind and I love him for his memory and for his kindness.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />Brother Owen called me headless because I walked away from the A.U.B., rather than squabble over?? May God Bless you in your Righteousness.</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br />Your Brother in Christ Jesus,</i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-top: 6px;">
<b><i>Robert S. LeFevre</i></b></div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-88692148708417454192013-09-19T09:57:00.001-07:002013-09-19T10:08:41.130-07:00The Garden of Arcane DelightsSo, as I wrote, only three days after being out of the boot, I ruptured my Achilles tendon, went back into surgery, and was soon back in bed with an enormous cast on my leg.<br />
<br />
Every time I go down for the count like this, I tell myself that I will be productive. For a while, I was. I did a rewrite of that novel I have been planning on publishing. I worked on that for about three feverish weeks, where I got in the zone again, writing from sunrise to sunset. But when I was done, that stupor resumed again. Maybe you know what I am talking about. Maybe you don't. When you are down, watching movies, reading books - it's all fun for about three days, and then the boredom settles in. Many times, everyone is gone from the house, and I am left to sit and think - think about my health issues, think about how I don't have a job right now, can't even walk, think about my painful divorce, relive every mistake, catalog everything that went wrong, and evaluate yourself under the kind of self-scrutiny that comes through isolation.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUmq4GSn3NZIFl8QE_ELQtqlfzQ_naRY4jvf9WQggdhMS-_X4tHwN0hMtIXqZxNKYd2rhPv40WKDAaq-u8f1JQAeUox4pVpkG9iyZMM03ytIi73F2Y-OGipO2NSYZgNcsI4xeZbnK4tg/s1600/March+27+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUmq4GSn3NZIFl8QE_ELQtqlfzQ_naRY4jvf9WQggdhMS-_X4tHwN0hMtIXqZxNKYd2rhPv40WKDAaq-u8f1JQAeUox4pVpkG9iyZMM03ytIi73F2Y-OGipO2NSYZgNcsI4xeZbnK4tg/s400/March+27+016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "Zipper Leg"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After a couple of weeks, the cast came off, and then the staples. My kids observed that it looked like I had a zipper on the back of my leg. The boot went back on, and I still walked on crutches.<br />
<br />
It was during this time that I started taking oxycodone. Yes, there was pain at first. I took the medication for pain for only a few days that I really needed it. But they prescribed me seventy pills - seventy! Right away, I noticed that the pills made me feel indescribably happy - blissfully happy. Two pills, and I forgot my unhappiness, forgot that I was trapped on a bed. For a few hours, I would sit and bask in the sublime glow of chemical serenity. I stopped taking them for pain and started taking them as something to mask my emotional pain. Quickly, I learned that I got the best result not taking them every day, but by spacing them apart every few days. If I took them every day, all that happened was that I got lost in a swoon of dizziness. But every few days, I experienced pseudo-happiness. I can see why people get addicted. I was almost relieved when my seventy pills ran out.<br />
<br />
Being down this way, my metabolism changed. I was limited in the exercising that I could do, but I was eating the same amount, maybe more. I started gaining weight and feeling exhausted all the time. Diabetes, I'm sure. A good friend of mine from my hometown wrote to me and expressed concern about my health. He suggested that I go vegan.<br />
<br />
So both Martha and I decided to go raw vegan. She blended green drinks for breakfast and dinner, with a huge salad for lunch. For snacks, we ate strawberries, or apples with raw nuts. For a while, I felt better. But after a week, I started to lose vision in my eyes. Noticeably. I could no longer read books. I couldn't even read my phone any longer. I researched it and learned that protein is essential for eye health. Also, diabetics like me require more protein that most people. I started adding whey powder to my drinks to supplement my protein. My eye sight actually went back to normal within three days.<br />
<br />
After two weeks, we abandoned the raw vegan diet in favor of a more balanced diet. Economics played a huge factor in this, especially since we have so many kids. A raw vegetable diet was expensive, more than our budget could afford. So Martha and I would take green drinks for breakfast and sometimes lunch. Then we would eat for dinner what everyone else in the family had. It was a bit of a compromise, but I did feel much healthier.<br />
<br />
At the end of May, the boot finally came off. After six months of being off my feet, I was able to walk again. I was referred to a physical therapist, which really helped. The best description I could give was - going to the gym with a bunch of old people. It didn't hurt that my therapist was quite good-looking.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYf6HfqL4j1KTqHBqOIEo5jXvO9n5txLZqN0RtDWukvZ69Uw-QkcalKozLHFq0NxztL7Xlu3QTK0gp58HtVFyqeYeZB31vJNo4d_xJxfQtxv12PXvxNghgoe2rInUIS2BsBQsYQXstU6s/s1600/May+30+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYf6HfqL4j1KTqHBqOIEo5jXvO9n5txLZqN0RtDWukvZ69Uw-QkcalKozLHFq0NxztL7Xlu3QTK0gp58HtVFyqeYeZB31vJNo4d_xJxfQtxv12PXvxNghgoe2rInUIS2BsBQsYQXstU6s/s400/May+30+017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martha and the kids planting seeds in May</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Around this time, the chance came up for us to buy the property we were living on. Previously, we had only lived there to take care of the place for the owners. But they put it up on the market, and we were able to purchase the place. It included eighteen acres, and three homes - all of them needing repairs. It included a couple of gardens, including a vegetable garden and a greenhouse. The boot came off, and I started working on planting.<br />
<br />
What I wanted was healing, and there was nothing more healing than working outside. My mornings started at 5AM. I would get up and water all of the trees and the garden. Sometimes I would listen to music, but mostly I would enjoy the cool air, the quiet serenity of my property, and then satisfying feeling of working with soil, with water, with plants. When that was done, I would work on some sort of landscaping or gardening project, mainly weeding. I would go in for lunch, and then take a nap. Then I would start the evening watering cycle.<br />
<br />
It was therapeutic, and I felt the first peace I have felt in a long time. I was working outside so much that I lost some weight and got a nice tan. People told me that I looked better than I had for a long time. I was outside so much that I didn't have time to write. I didn't have time for Facebook. But mostly I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself anymore. I called my garden my "garden of arcane delights" - to evoke <a href="http://moroni-music.blogspot.com/2012/08/moronis-review-of-dead-can-dances.html">Dead Can Dance</a>, one of my favorite bands.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA5a2rdCAlpOlk7T70T_VrDO8YHqE5Xc69tvAcFii8nVX2B8CJz_6lQXmk7Cg16vFAi2oU_zwj3T1vf3xF_H_Ips0smKiYQ8MKP_Jymd_1INSRKj3SSJ_t8uo48hBsQ-XeBqM_OoZOW8/s1600/July+25+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA5a2rdCAlpOlk7T70T_VrDO8YHqE5Xc69tvAcFii8nVX2B8CJz_6lQXmk7Cg16vFAi2oU_zwj3T1vf3xF_H_Ips0smKiYQ8MKP_Jymd_1INSRKj3SSJ_t8uo48hBsQ-XeBqM_OoZOW8/s400/July+25+020.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Izzy on our rock garden in progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As soon as the monsoons started, I stopped working outside so much. The daily rains were doing my job, and the gardens flourished. So did the weeds. As I write, we are still enjoying zucchini, cucumbers, and chilies from our garden.<br />
<br />
The physical therapy ended, and I went in for surgery for the right foot, the same one done for my left leg. The procedure went well, but, when I got home and got out of the car, even though I was using crutches, I was very surprised at how weak my left leg was. After all of he surgeries, in spite of the physical therapy, I was amazed at how weak my leg was. It was wobbly and could barely support the weight of my body. Getting between the bed and the toilet was a struggle. Luckily, it did not last more than a few days. My leg strengthened very quickly, and now I am shuffling around with apparent ease.<br />
<br />
Healing from this surgery has been a lot easier. First of all, I am not suffering from depression like I did the previous procedures this year. I am stronger, more upbeat. eating healthier, and not dosing myself with narcotics. I am seeing the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. <br />
<br />
It amazes me - it is now September. I have spent most of the past nine months on crutches. 2013 is the Year of the Crutch. I am itching to get started on the gardening. As I write, I have three more weeks on crutches, and then another three weeks in the boot. Then probably another two months of physical therapy. As soon as the boot comes off, I will start some more landscaping projects, including pruning all of the trees.<br />
<br />
But more importantly, I will start walking again. As soon as I am strong enough, I have every intention of hitting the highway and thumbing it wherever God takes me...<br />
<br />
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-78283117021490051002013-09-11T10:10:00.003-07:002013-09-11T10:14:43.233-07:00Achilles Explosion<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As I mentioned earlier, I had surgery to lengthen my Achilles
tendon this past January. That kept me off of my feet for about seven
weeks. Finally, when it was all healed, I took the boot off. I
literally had to learn to walk again. Since the tendon was lengthened, my
foot literally hung off my leg at a different angle. When I walked, it
felt like I was walking downhill with one foot. I looked like a 270 pound
toddler, walking with my arms flailing about for balance, grabbing onto
furniture for support.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZn_45u5YGLCKsZBvV-sJJ7_uBu_43O908KhqvItoWJtDjqalyUalKJBi2cdU8dpyqtaMeXxafXUt6SgK2X-akI943TpUIxCMxGToRGPt6PQFE_HXHq5_tNy1089_noKLxxJnBKCB6kBM/s1600/July+25+196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZn_45u5YGLCKsZBvV-sJJ7_uBu_43O908KhqvItoWJtDjqalyUalKJBi2cdU8dpyqtaMeXxafXUt6SgK2X-akI943TpUIxCMxGToRGPt6PQFE_HXHq5_tNy1089_noKLxxJnBKCB6kBM/s400/July+25+196.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A few days after I got the boot off, I was woken up at 2AM by a
blizzard. I could hear the wind howling outside. But more than
that, I could hear my windmill whizzing in the high wind. There is always
a chance of burning out the windmill generator, and, since we live off grid and
depend on wind and solar power, I did not want to be without a windmill.
I slipped on my house shoes and ran outside. I was pelted with
sheets of wind-driven snow. There were already a couple of inches on the
ground. It took me a second to grab the cord that was flapping in the
gale. Finally, I grasped it and pulled, locking down the windmill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When I turned back to the house, I slipped on the slick steps.
I didn't fall, and I didn't trip. My foot merely slid off of the
step, and I stumbled just a bit. I went and crawled back into bed, and
the throbbing started in the back of my leg. I told my wife that I
thought I might have done something to my leg. Sure enough, purple
bruises starting making their way up from my ankle all the way up to my
thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I called my podiatrist. He
said that he was sure that I ruptured my tendon and set an appointment. A week, or so, later, he sent me in for an
MRI. Sure enough, there was a rupture in
the tendon. I was surprised. I didn’t come down on my foot that hard. How could it rupture?</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i3QuzLWxNPZG10RyMss60RmjQ1UaakmjFh96aeBoVKR1YdQyHImNXo9b0MKbaBzD5AKzbDWYfjJL-9YdvRVuQPcon9dC5hH57u9yYCA6hXzU3Pmm6IRhhRPvRCvE9ji9SdtHj6cF9QQ/s1600/March+6+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i3QuzLWxNPZG10RyMss60RmjQ1UaakmjFh96aeBoVKR1YdQyHImNXo9b0MKbaBzD5AKzbDWYfjJL-9YdvRVuQPcon9dC5hH57u9yYCA6hXzU3Pmm6IRhhRPvRCvE9ji9SdtHj6cF9QQ/s400/March+6+036.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I consulted with my doctor.
It was going to require some major surgery to repair it, and another
eight weeks recovery. I groaned. When was I ever going to be able to
walk? When would I ever be able to go on
the walkabout that I was planning? This
seemed to be taking forever! Not to mention
that I still needed to get the Achilles tendon procedure done on the other leg,
the right leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">One good thing did emerge from my visit to the doctor. I told him about my goal once I start
walking, about the whole “Without Purse Or Scrip” project. Since my doctor is LDS, he knew what I was
talking about. I mentioned to him that I
knew of a guy in Show Low, AZ who had done his thesis on the Los Angeles
mission, which was the LAST mission in the LDS Church to send out its
missionaries without purse or scrip.
(Ogden Kraut, who was a famed author in the fundamentalist Mormon
community as well as a polygamist, was a part of this mission.) For my research, I desperately wanted to get
a hold of this thesis, and to get a hold of the author, whom I met on one
occasion years ago. But I had no clue
how to get a hold of him. To my
amazement, my doctor knew this guy and gave me his cell number. (I have yet to call him.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So the morning came for my surgery. I had been fasting since midnight the day
before. The nurse came in and took my
glucose reading, which was high. Then
the anesthesiologist came in and had a talk about my vitals. Not only was my glucose high, but so was my
blood pressure and my heart rate. My
heart rate was 130. He decided to do an
EKG.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He was almost smug when he came and said to me, “You’ve had a
heart attack in the last six months.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I felt like I was struck by a bus.
A heart attack?? How was this
possible?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The short of it was – he was refusing to administer anesthesia to
me because of my vitals and sent me to the ER.
The doctor in the ER took another EKG and told me not to worry; they had
no previous EKG to compare it to. So how
could they really know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Over the course of the next couple of weeks, they sent me to a
cardiologist who ran a series of tests on me – including a chemical stress test
(OMG, I thought I would die!), an angiogram, and radiation test. The results – my heart was fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was bewildered. I asked
him about all the tests that had precipitated all of this concern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“False positives,” he said calmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There had been a few terrifying moments there. While they were strapping me down for the
angiogram, they told me that if they discovered an abnormality in my heart,
they wouldn’t even wake me up. They
would wheel me right into heart surgery.
As the anesthesia pulled me into blackness, there was a part of me that
helplessly wondered if I would even wake up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So it was a tremendous relief to find that my heart was
healthy. This enabled me to go into
surgery. I brought my glucose and blood
pressure under control. The whole reason
that my heart rate had been so elevated was because I was dehydrated. It had taken four bags of IV fluids to bring
my heart rate down. (Man, did I have to
pee afterwards!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So they rolled me into surgery to repair my tendon. While under the fog of propofol, the
anesthesiologist, who was sitting in a chair by my head, bored to tears, took a
snapshot of my leg filleted open. He showed it to me on his phone while I lay on the table. It was
a bloody mess. The drugs made the experience
vaguely impersonal to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Cool!” I grinned. “Can you send that to me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Actually, he stammered, “I wasn’t even supposed to take that.”</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NB_1Vs6W2yFba6yiEF3gDTFnEiT-kIhREBBAzDUVGC5X6cKRFQpNVbXcOHSxRP2u8v4PG8e-sznMteBsd79s19KPZ2vSq86AB0TH8Hh2Ma0T-vd04eNBi9Wzyg1VB0RclaH9O8pD9dM/s1600/March+20+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NB_1Vs6W2yFba6yiEF3gDTFnEiT-kIhREBBAzDUVGC5X6cKRFQpNVbXcOHSxRP2u8v4PG8e-sznMteBsd79s19KPZ2vSq86AB0TH8Hh2Ma0T-vd04eNBi9Wzyg1VB0RclaH9O8pD9dM/s400/March+20+019.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The podiatrist came out to see me afterwards. He said that – in his nearly 20 years of
podiatry – he had never seen an Achilles tendon rupture as bad as mine. It had literally exploded. It was like a sports injury. Normally, when you do an Achilles tendon
repair, you make a small incision behind the foot, above the heel. He had to cut halfway up my leg. My tendon had ruptured into five pieces. It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle back
together. To this day, I still don’t
know how a small stumble on an icy step created such an injury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He sent me home with a cast on my leg and an oxycodone
prescription.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In my next entry, I will talk about my healing process…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-42832019524092337732013-09-10T12:14:00.001-07:002013-09-10T12:14:02.768-07:00Walk This World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQD0eWYDLl1EYvro2eoQ8kx3ffDdsNLLggFoiX0L0r-dMh2auCI3r6ZEqnl4PDhXHVB4kk5rF5GAt13FJyrDTZfmi_5L0PloPNChyphenhyphenBJhUaQQgR_CsJPNhdTN8dTusuMvmqEG5a1aDswjc/s1600/New+profile+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQD0eWYDLl1EYvro2eoQ8kx3ffDdsNLLggFoiX0L0r-dMh2auCI3r6ZEqnl4PDhXHVB4kk5rF5GAt13FJyrDTZfmi_5L0PloPNChyphenhyphenBJhUaQQgR_CsJPNhdTN8dTusuMvmqEG5a1aDswjc/s400/New+profile+001.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
Walking has always been important to me.<br />
<br />
I remember my parents going to see a friend of theirs. The man was troubled and came back from a horse ride sweaty and hot, his horse lathered. My mother told me that he had been out praying on his horse ride. This was unusual to us, because we were taught to pray in the LDS fashion - in your room, with the doors closed, on your knees, etc.<br />
<br />
Most of my praying has always been done while walking...<br />
<br />
I have gone on long walks for as long as I could remember. As a teen, my night walks were my witching hour. I would get off of work at 10PM, go home, microwave my dinner, and then I would go for a walk. I would stuff my pockets with cassettes, spare batteries, and I would walk off into the night with my Walkman in hand and headphones on my ears. Back then, my musical tastes included Cocteau Twins, This Mortal Coil, and Dead Can Dance. This music was the perfect soundtrack to the night - a sweet bar of transcendent light making a continuous stream between by ears. This was the time to moan lost loves and work through teenage angst.<br />
<br />
I had a preset route - across the street and through the campus of my high school, past the football field, alongside the public pool, and into the sleeping neighborhoods. In the hedges, the black widows would come out at night and glisten in the streetlamps. I would make a big loop and be home by 3AM and collapse in bed.<br />
<br />
I was in love with night. I was in love with walking. I remember sitting on the hood of a car outside the Domes in Casa Grande on the night of a full moon. I just wanted to walk the earth, walk east, and not stop until I could walk no more. I told this story to a high school guidance counselor, that I did not care about college, or jobs, that I just wanted to walk and see where my feet took me. She told me that I reminded her of another student. At the time I was mortified, because I couldn't stand the student she compared me to.<br />
<br />
When I moved to South Salt Lake to go to college, I had to find new routes. The nights were colder, and so I bought headphones that acted as ear muffs as well. My polygamist aunt was worried about me walking so late in those neighborhoods. I was baffled by that. Salt Lake looked like Mayberry, much different from the dusty barrios I had grown up around in Arizona.<br />
<br />
Before my marriage, I was walking around four miles a day. After I got married, I stopped walking. As a newlywed, I had much more interesting things to do with my spare time than walk. As a result, I started to get a little extra padding around the midsection.<br />
<br />
Years later, when I moved to my ranch in Arizona, I started to take up walking again. There were countless miles of dirt roads to explore. My walks - as usual - were a time to explore new music. But this time was also invaluable to me as a writer. If I am facing writer's block, the best thing I can do is walk. The knees pump that blood up to my brain, and the ideas start billowing. <br />
<br />
As I mentioned, walking is also my time to pray. This was vital to me as a husband and father to a plural family where the burdens and responsibilities felt overwhelming at times. This was my time to pour my soul out to my God and ask for guidance.<br />
<br />
So you can imagine how difficult it has been these last couple of years - with the blood clots and foot ulcers - being unable to walk, being unable to have a means to sort through my thoughts. It has been a challenge not to be able to just go out and walk whenever I want to.<br />
<br />
When you are bedridden and all you can see is the sunlight coming through the window, there is no ache that is more poignant than wanting to go out into the fresh air and walk. I still to this day wait for the day when I can walk again, when I can walk this world.<br />
<br />
I will continue in my next post about how 2013 has treated me.Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-64623921699939940352013-05-21T10:55:00.001-07:002013-05-21T10:55:51.774-07:00Other blogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxxU5EggbMRrUT6iksFptVmP7zZogDYsowVZIizwJGq21ol77PV21-KHGWX8yhcmY9wps5dNIiDq3Uwk8uuCmPEUbwdRY_cxWnNTCcdUvtKljiTd563LRk5zyyxAvEN0hndXAdpBTmn4/s1600/Baccalaureate+113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxxU5EggbMRrUT6iksFptVmP7zZogDYsowVZIizwJGq21ol77PV21-KHGWX8yhcmY9wps5dNIiDq3Uwk8uuCmPEUbwdRY_cxWnNTCcdUvtKljiTd563LRk5zyyxAvEN0hndXAdpBTmn4/s400/Baccalaureate+113.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
There are more posts coming. In the meantime, you could check out my <a href="http://moroni-family.blogspot.com/">polygamy blog,</a> or my <a href="http://moroni-movies.blogspot.com/">movie blog</a> and <a href="http://moroni-music.blogspot.com/">music blog</a>.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Talk to you soon!</div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-43030826247857977312013-02-08T09:08:00.000-08:002013-02-08T09:22:18.187-08:00Gathering for Zion Festival 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN1niQPUzo4It4THIeJ9KP8bX4mlOzVXog7eHJHD4f7ei7sZ4lKXvQuaBxLALwq3t7WI5uHUTkkVsFi6TjLaRJ27-Iwu0alnykzvQvhMJIxpmMY6jcSW93lkA04f6UrhYoyMPUuyZpwY/s1600/GatheringForZionDraft1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN1niQPUzo4It4THIeJ9KP8bX4mlOzVXog7eHJHD4f7ei7sZ4lKXvQuaBxLALwq3t7WI5uHUTkkVsFi6TjLaRJ27-Iwu0alnykzvQvhMJIxpmMY6jcSW93lkA04f6UrhYoyMPUuyZpwY/s400/GatheringForZionDraft1.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
I am pleased to announce the <a href="http://gatheringzion.com/">Gathering For Zion</a> Festival in Gallatin, Missouri in June, 2015. I will be there. Will you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://files.bannersnack.com/iframe/embed.html?hash=bzn8ra0s&bgcolor=%23000000&wmode=opaque&t=1360114641" width="478" height="75" seamless="seamless" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" allowtransparency="true"></iframe><br />
<br />
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-67019977803472155062013-01-24T18:19:00.001-08:002013-01-24T18:20:41.003-08:00Ankle Surgery, & Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5mphKOz-5ae3v7i-TjPDTiEFZPuizT_CdiLE_kLXivG9RZPfH6h7K-qxgNLPzqIyXEpjhuZF_cPJ619IwrPPlZcw2zzk4Hx49pevOJLvrChKMsWrv5XzXEGjJESx1IsevcrKm0I5zJ0/s1600/Foot+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5mphKOz-5ae3v7i-TjPDTiEFZPuizT_CdiLE_kLXivG9RZPfH6h7K-qxgNLPzqIyXEpjhuZF_cPJ619IwrPPlZcw2zzk4Hx49pevOJLvrChKMsWrv5XzXEGjJESx1IsevcrKm0I5zJ0/s400/Foot+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
So the last month, I started seeing a podiatrist. He told me that "magic salves" and all that, like amniomatrix are fine and good. But they don't take care of the problem. So, my problem is that - as a diabetic - the ligaments in my ankles shrink. This causes all the weight of my feet to rest on the balls of my feet, which causes the foot ulcers that I have suffered from for the past two years. He suggested a procedure where they actually lengthen my ligaments.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDyhwiOaFkCf_0Vff_XrgITw22Dbfm3KUK2NLIAU0MdOjfWaDk__cUJti9UfNLNJtkYmidioxwC0YRGDbN60XTO59ACUSIXuLG2SIY80AbQFBWqCgDNuQHKDubh-4xjjW9LhRPYM8kZo/s1600/Foot+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDyhwiOaFkCf_0Vff_XrgITw22Dbfm3KUK2NLIAU0MdOjfWaDk__cUJti9UfNLNJtkYmidioxwC0YRGDbN60XTO59ACUSIXuLG2SIY80AbQFBWqCgDNuQHKDubh-4xjjW9LhRPYM8kZo/s400/Foot+007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
So, two weeks ago, I went in. It was a simple procedure. Of course, he numbed my ankle up. The weird thing was watching him do it. He inserted some big ass tweezers into my ankle and used a small scalpel to snip my ligament in half in three places. Each time he snipped a part of the ligament, it felt like someone plucking a guitar string inside of my leg. Then he put a big ass boot on my foot that I have to wear for six weeks, including walking with crutches. Then, at the end of the six weeks, I will have the same procedure done on the other foot.<br />
<br />
As a reminder, here is what my foot looked like three weeks ago:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho74KRYa57Dm6Q3sV4mf2EPJy9IMsut6FwfpT-s00025yL1fj42fGaQGwvFBTaDTNaqt6ecY3F0lxICZJwBaUxE9lYrK8dJUrAlWhdLAaxIcUec8abxR9TsShCiO9NWMk9e8ZSRhhD0Ss/s1600/Oct+29+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho74KRYa57Dm6Q3sV4mf2EPJy9IMsut6FwfpT-s00025yL1fj42fGaQGwvFBTaDTNaqt6ecY3F0lxICZJwBaUxE9lYrK8dJUrAlWhdLAaxIcUec8abxR9TsShCiO9NWMk9e8ZSRhhD0Ss/s400/Oct+29+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Here is what it looks like today:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuSBuyBXQRwicvQtNoF0dW7OB5b_-x8Hp7zYfa59CJva52B-SAPb1xGLBT0ptRkanJEAKKfCvoTBysgdJ0O4z8_NxRrO9oeBKwo9bCJr_fG6FLNEYIY4w0COrdOH1HIHTw2jJMaBylhM/s1600/Foot+2+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuSBuyBXQRwicvQtNoF0dW7OB5b_-x8Hp7zYfa59CJva52B-SAPb1xGLBT0ptRkanJEAKKfCvoTBysgdJ0O4z8_NxRrO9oeBKwo9bCJr_fG6FLNEYIY4w0COrdOH1HIHTw2jJMaBylhM/s400/Foot+2+003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And for good measure, here is my right foot, the one that has given me numerous problems since 2010:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbwY-oWHOrrYs9rrrF6SZU_bFmJXmjMjSocT7uRpRKZc0l5XHPtDxyVIT63C0l2V34clTapXkW5yT7exYV3xSHy4f4NTu-0dxtQlS1phX_g9mFDTYJ43tDxTWSEsX1zI-45sIhIdYksI/s1600/Foot+2+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbwY-oWHOrrYs9rrrF6SZU_bFmJXmjMjSocT7uRpRKZc0l5XHPtDxyVIT63C0l2V34clTapXkW5yT7exYV3xSHy4f4NTu-0dxtQlS1phX_g9mFDTYJ43tDxTWSEsX1zI-45sIhIdYksI/s400/Foot+2+005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
If this healing keeps up, I will be back on my foot this year! Who knows? Maybe my walk-about can go on as desired!Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-49392390735338802542012-12-30T15:02:00.000-08:002012-12-30T15:02:29.338-08:00Out Into the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy6Cf9WFOQxfj0Xj6Pgj1S9SKgHALIW-8WPRWrJNlrQuqVi4SQN06j6kWrz34SaV6AI08z1GmYvumGDj8Rht3a3RNMF3gjscOWBhriH61-tp1l-_UoKlVsIKKbDff8eqKbp7jImX0PJM/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy6Cf9WFOQxfj0Xj6Pgj1S9SKgHALIW-8WPRWrJNlrQuqVi4SQN06j6kWrz34SaV6AI08z1GmYvumGDj8Rht3a3RNMF3gjscOWBhriH61-tp1l-_UoKlVsIKKbDff8eqKbp7jImX0PJM/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
After our failed attempt at delivering pamphlets, my dad asked my younger brother and I to come up with another way to preach the gospel. Since passing out papers at ward-houses was not "my way", my dad encouraged me to come up with a method that was more suitable to me.<br />
<br />
My brother and I prayed about people we could go teach. We came up with a list of names, and, one by one, we went to see these people. The first person we visited was a friend of my brother's, someone we both went to high school with. She had just recently got married, and we went to see her and her husband at their apartment. They accepted us in, but it was a cool reception. My brother spoke with passion. This was something that he deeply believed in, but it became evident that they were not receptive. When my brother quoted something from the temple endowment, she shut us down and asked that we not speak any further. We left her apartment, and my brother had tears in his eyes. <br />
<br />
The next visit was to an LDS man that was rumored to be open to Mormon fundamentalism. So we called him and made an appointment to meet him. He agreed to see us. So my brother and I prepared to go. We took a copy of "Four Hidden Revelations", "Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith", and a few other basic books. Then we headed to his house one evening.<br />
<br />
He answered the door and asked us in. He had been working around the house, and so he sat us down in his living room while he went to clean up. While we waited, I took a glance at his bookcase. Not just all the Journals of Discourses, but the whole Truth Volumes, "Treasures of Knowledge" by Rulon Allred, and every book written by Ogden Kraut. My heart sank. What did this mean? This man was no mere novice to Mormon fundamentalism. His books were hardcore. He wouldn't own them unless he had already done his studying. It turns out that, in his younger years, he had been quite a student. He had talked extensively to Owen Allred, to Odgen Kraut, and even to Rulon Jeffs, then leader of the FLDS. My younger brother and I were out of our league.<br />
<br />
When it became evident that we were floundering, this man told us, "You boys had better know what you're about! Or else someone like me will come along and eat you up!"<br />
<br />
It seemed like a discouraging event. But two weeks later, this man was knocking on our door. He wanted to talk to my father. After several long talks, it ended up with this man being lead by me into the waters of re-baptism at the Salt River, and then my father re-conferred the priesthood on him.<br />
<br />
Shortly after that, our entire family moved to a small ranch in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona. After we got settled, my dad wanted us to have the experience of "tracting" - or knocking Jehovah's Witness-style from door to door. One of my friends laughed when he heard this. "What are you going to tell people? 'I represent a small group in Arizona that once was part of the AUB that broke off from the LDS Church'?"<br />
<br />
But one sunny February morning, a couple of vehicles of young men drove to Sanders on the Navajo Nation and split into pairs. Then we set out on foot. We started knocking from door to door. Kindly natives would answer the doors, but they mostly weren't interested in what we had to say. I was paired up with my brother-in-law.<br />
<br />
On about the third knock, two young white men answered the door. I couldn't help but start laughing. We had knocked on the door of the local Mormon missionaries. They invited us in. The older companion was from Chicago, and he had never heard of Mormon fundamentalists. He wanted to hear what we had to say. The junior companion - a small blonde guy from Utah - knew exactly what Mormon fundamentalists were. He didn't say it, but you could tell by his face. He had that deer-in-the-headlights look. We sat down and had an awkward discussion on Doctrine & Covenants section 132. After having a polite banter, we excused ourselves and continued walking down the road.<br />
<br />
No sooner had we left that the two missionaries got in their car and blazed down the road, doubtlessly to report their encounter to their mission leaders. Years later, hints of an urban legend floated back to me about polygamist missionaries trying to convert some LDS missionaries. I still laugh when I think about it.<br />
<br />
By this time, I was a practicing polygamist, and I was now active on the internet. I thought that the internet would be a good tool to find other wives. It turned out to be the opposite. That is a whole story on its own, but the conclusion that I reached was - the internet was NOT a good place to find wives. For me, at any rate.<br />
<br />
I read an article in Yahoo! Magazine. The Catholic cardinal in New York was speaking of the internet as a teaching tool. He said, "If St. Paul was alive today, he wouldn't be writing epistles; he would be online."<br />
<br />
This struck me when I read it. It was absolutely true. The internet is the best tool to reach people all over the world.<br />
<br />
By this time, I had found which teaching method was best for me, and that was example. I didn't start teaching people doctrines or religious ideas. I just started talking about my family, living plural marriage, what worked for me, and what didn't work for me. I discussed on public forums, on chat sites, and eventually wound up doing TV shows, radio broadcasts and blogs. This was the best teaching tool I could find. I found that people would contact me. They still do. Scarcely a day goes by that I am not contacted by someone with some sort of question. Some are just curious, which is fine by me. I am an open book. Some want to ask doctrinal questions, which I try to answer the best I can. Others are seeking priesthood blessings or ordinances, and I try to point the way the best I can.<br />
<br />
I am no prophet. I am no guru. I am just a simple man who is seeking the will of God for myself the best I can. But most of all, I want to be a servant. A servant to God. But mostly a servant to humankind. When I die, I want my life to have meaning, to have purpose, and the only way that can happen is if I was of service to everyone with whom I came in contact.<br />
<br />
Some times, I am not the best example. I watched one of my marriages splinter apart earlier this year. But even in that, I desire to be an example of how to handle it with dignity and kindness.<br />
<br />
It has been a long, strange trip. There is so much more to tell. But now, I have to prepare for the next step in my adventure - which is to literally go out into the world, without purse or scrip. And I will documenting it all right here...Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-76804416999281472862012-12-30T10:40:00.000-08:002012-12-30T10:45:29.324-08:00Almost Getting Run Over (and other first missionary attempts)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOuVrMaYIjpKRLZgygQbrG6Mq8HmHNg0T924NHDf789ClIzHtWHlzBNBADZZJwWl5wzAfj2MZNlTcmscECRf_7oUJ6ciAyprJBCx-piRIIZ6ej2xrAHTPi-TSJJn-rZpyDo2DR1P6TAE/s1600/SCAN0124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOuVrMaYIjpKRLZgygQbrG6Mq8HmHNg0T924NHDf789ClIzHtWHlzBNBADZZJwWl5wzAfj2MZNlTcmscECRf_7oUJ6ciAyprJBCx-piRIIZ6ej2xrAHTPi-TSJJn-rZpyDo2DR1P6TAE/s400/SCAN0124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
It was a fall morning in September, 1994. Even though it was fall, it was still hot. This was Mesa, Arizona. It didn't help that I was wearing a long-sleeved, white shirt and a tie. I stood near the intersection of a busy street, on the sidewalk with my two younger brothers, one of them only 11 years-old. They were also dressed in shirts and ties.<br />
<br />
Behind us was a large, redbrick LDS chapel. The three of us had stacks of pamphlets in our hands, and, as people drove out of the parking lot, we passed out pamphlets to whomever would take them. At the time, I worked for a utilities company, so I knew exactly church property started and ended. We made very sure that, as we passed out pamphlets, we did not set a foot on church property.<br />
<br />
Two men on foot approached me, with concern on their faces. They asked me, "¿<i>Qué es lo que está pasando, hermano</i>?" "What is that you're passing out, brother?"<br />
<br />
"A testimony," I replied in Spanish.<br />
<br />
"Would you permit us to have one?" they asked.<br />
<br />
So I passed each of them one, and then they left.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, they were back. One of them approached me angrily. "The bishop has asked me to tell you not to pass those out here!"<br />
<br />
I answered, "We're giving them out to people, and if they want them. they're welcome. If not, they can throw them away."<br />
<br />
The man was flustered by my refusal to comply with his demand. "But the bishop doesn't want you to pass them out! This is church property!"<br />
<br />
I pointed to the curb I was standing on. "This isn't church property. Why don't you go speak to my father on the other side of the building, but until then..."<br />
<br />
"So you're not going to leave?" he demanded.<br />
<br />
I looked him in the eye. "No."<br />
<br />
They stormed away.<br />
<br />
I was getting a little nervous, so I sent my youngest brother to the other side of the building, to the curb where my father was handing out pamphlets by himself.<br />
<br />
Another man approached me. This one was a smooth talker. He told us that we needed to talk to the bishop, and, if the bishop agreed, maybe we could present our case in Sacrament Meeting. I wasn't stupid. I knew that there was no way that the bishop would give us a forum in public meeting. I told him that I would <i>love</i> to talk to his bishop. I wasn't there to make war against the Church. In fact, I loved the Church, and that I was there to bring them the truth. (I was a very zealous and naive 24 year-old.)<br />
<br />
Another car passed by us, and I handed out another pamphlet to the people inside. The man looked on in horror as we continued to deliver pamphlets.<br />
<br />
Emphatically, he spoke to us, "Brethren, I'm going to have to ask you to abstain from passing those out!"<br />
<br />
"Very well, we'll stop," my brother said. "Then permit me to bear my testimony to you."<br />
<br />
"No, no, no!" The smooth talker shook his head, losing his cool. "No testimony until you speak to the bishop!"<br />
<br />
I wanted to ask him why he needed the bishop's permission to hear a testimony, but I restrained myself. I wan't there to fight. Taking out a pen and notebook, he asked me for my name and phone number. I gave it. I have nothing to hide. Then he asked who my bishop was. My younger brother gave the name who was the LDS bishop in our neighborhood. But that wouldn't matter. We had been excommunicated four years earlier. He asked if we had obtained permission from our bishop to hand out these papers.<br />
<br />
We said, "No."<br />
<br />
Then he launched into a spiel about not doing anything without proper authority. We shook his hand and left. My youngest brother came back to say that my father was arguing with a group of men. I sighed. There it goes - that Jessop temper.<br />
<br />
We walked around the building. My father was surrounded by about a dozen men. As we approached, I could see that, in essence, he was telling them that he could pass out pamphlets if he wanted to.<br />
<br />
One young elder was speaking out loudly, invoking a villain from the Book of Mormon. "You're just like Corihor!"<br />
<br />
"Why?" asked my father. "For speaking the truth?"<br />
<br />
The elder got in my dad's face. "This is <i>my</i> ward! I won't permit this!"<br />
<br />
"They're just words. Why are you afraid of words?" my father asked.<br />
<br />
"I'm not afraid of words!"<br />
<br />
"Then let them read the words. We're not forcing anyone to read it. If they want to read it, fine! If they want to throw it away, fine! This isn't on church grounds. When we go into your buildings, we show respect."<br />
<br />
"Why don't you go pass these out in the cantinas?"<br />
<br />
"Do you send your missionaries to the cantinas?"<br />
<br />
"You will cause confusion here!"<br />
<br />
"This will help them to grow," I told the elder.<br />
<br />
He glared at me. "Confusion will help them grow?"<br />
<br />
"It doesn't matter what your bishop says," my father said. "I will do what the Spirit indicates to me to do. I'm sorry if we've offended you."<br />
<br />
We were getting nowhere, so my dad shook hands with them and we left. Being the good salesman that he was, my dad left each of those men with a pamphlet in their hands.<br />
<br />
We did it a few more times. There were more confrontations like that. One good LDS woman tried to run my dad down with her car. It got to the point that I dreaded Sunday mornings when my dad would wake me up and tell me which ward we were going to.<br />
<br />
I later told my dad, "I know this is the way you were a missionary in the Church, but this just does not seem my way. Doing it this way is not me. It's too confrontational."<br />
<br />
My dad blinked. "So what is your way then?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know!" I said. "But not like this!"<br />
<br />
It would be a while before I discovered what "my way" was...Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-74422328098641528612012-12-29T15:00:00.000-08:002012-12-29T15:00:08.173-08:00To Publish Pamphlets and Papers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZ473FPbLvTXqGCwYnTjZ9JI9reZCXgYYau1lEwUPA2oEsA1TgL6Fqwu40aKS7ueggJEZeBvXY1q-ju7nWJfLJzCz-EcK-AXhGqkjGB6lWnR6yqgUI-xFMf5Q82SfrX3yyGG1vReleJU/s1600/SCAN0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZ473FPbLvTXqGCwYnTjZ9JI9reZCXgYYau1lEwUPA2oEsA1TgL6Fqwu40aKS7ueggJEZeBvXY1q-ju7nWJfLJzCz-EcK-AXhGqkjGB6lWnR6yqgUI-xFMf5Q82SfrX3yyGG1vReleJU/s400/SCAN0121.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
When my dad started down the path of Mormon fundamentalism, he started to have meetings in his own house. He served the sacrament to his own children and would hold testimony meetings with just the family. He told his children, particularly his teen boys like me, that they had to attend some sort of religious meeting. They could go to the LDS Church, or they could attend the family meetings at home. Most of us went to both.<br />
<br />
Around 1991, the whole family got involved with the Apostolic United Brethren (AUB) in Utah, a polygamous group known as "The Group" to its members. It was mostly a positive experience. The AUB descended from early Mormons who were given a commission to keep plural marriage alive since the mainstream LDS Church abandoned the practice. They were given a very specific instruction when they were organized - they were not to do anything that the LDS Church was capable of doing.<br />
<br />
For this reason, the AUB did not practice many things. For instance, they did not begin doing temple endowments until 1981, because the question arose - if the LDS Church is changing the ordinances of the temple, are they valid anymore? So it wasn't until 1981 that the AUB began instituting temple rites.<br />
<br />
Another practice was missionary work. The AUB did not send out missionaries. They viewed this also as the responsibility of the mainstream LDS Church. Whereas the Church may have abandoned many principles, it was still perfectly capable of sending out missionaries to teach about the Book of Mormon, to "teach the First Principles". And so the AUB strongly discouraged proselyting. Yes, they did have a Quorum of Seventy whose responsibility was to teach the gospel. And you can argue this point with me if you'd like, but it is true - the Seventies in the AUB were mainly there to screen out undesirables. And that's about it. There was no real push to proselyte. There was no real push to send out missionaries.<br />
<br />
Oh yes, there were exceptions. There were a few in the AUB who did try to go out and teach as often as possible, and the branch of the AUB in Central Mexico did send out missionaries, as I have already posted.<br />
<br />
But mostly they avoided missionary work, because their responsibility was the perpetuation of plural marriage. Nothing more.<br />
<br />
A side note - in 2006, I was told by someone in the AUB that the Council had created their "No Internet Teaching" policy because of me. At the time, I was very actively teaching the fullness of the gospel on the Internet. There was nothing so sacred that it could not be taught through cyberspace. This rankled them. Not wanting to sound too critical, the reason for this is that this information, to them, must not be wholesale. It should come from them, and not be disseminated to the masses. And there was nothing that I was afraid to talk about. This upset them, and there "No Internet" policy came about. Because of me. I wear that badge with pride.<br />
<br />
But I digress...<br />
<br />
Eventually, most of my family came to leave the AUB. That is a whole story in and of itself. The family went back to Arizona, and we continued having meetings in our living room. My father had never been satisfied with the lack of missionary work in the AUB. After all, he had spent most of his life as a missionary in the mainstream Church. It was hard to put that aside. He started to ask me about what we could do get the message to members in the Church. He asked if I could write some sort of pamphlet, something that could be handed out to people. The reason he asked me - I have always shown a talent for writing.<br />
<br />
So I sat down and tried to write something. Talk about writer's bloc! I could not come up with anything! My dad came to me a couple of weeks later to ask me how the pamphlet was coming. I told him that it wasn't coming very well. He told me to keep trying.<br />
<br />
Then he took me and my younger brother aside and ordained us as Seventies, which is the office that he had originally held in the mainstream LDS Church, and also in the AUB. As I mentioned earlier, the duty of a Seventy is to be a teacher - a traveling teacher, to be exact.<br />
<br />
That evening, I sat down to write a pamphlet, not really knowing what I was going to write. I picked up an LDS hymn book and opened it to a hymn by Eliza R. Snow, who was a plural wife to both Joseph Smith and, later, Brigham Young. The hymn was "The Time is Far Spent". I read the first verse:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>The time is far spent, there is little remaining</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>To publish pamphlets and papers by sea and by land,</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Then hasten, ye heralds! go forward proclaiming:</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.</i></b></div>
<br />
I read this and smiled to myself. "To publish pamphlets and papers.." How appropriate, I thought. And then I wrote my pamphlet. It flowed out of me. I wrote it in one sitting. The pamphlet started with the above verse. Whereas I had struggled for two weeks previously, it was like I knew what to write. I believe to this day that it was the spirit of my calling, the calling of a Seventy, that came upon me.<br />
<br />
That night, I sat down to Sunday dinner and shared with my family the experience that I had writing the pamphlet. <br />
<br />
"The hymn said, 'To publish pamphlets and papers by sea and by land'," I said. "I just thought that was kind of appropriate since I am writing a pamphlet."<br />
<br />
My brother frowned at me. "That hymn does not say 'publish pamphlets and papers'. It says: 'To publish glad tidings'."<br />
<br />
"No, it doesn't," I retorted. "It says pamphlets and papers. I read it."<br />
<br />
After arguing about it for a while, we went and got the hymn book and turned to that particular hymn. Sure enough, it said:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>To publish glad tidings by sea and by land</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I stared in disbelief. "I saw it. I read it. It said pamphlets."<br />
<br />
My brother smiled at me. "I think you just had a vision."<br />
<br />
So over the course of the next couple of weeks, I typed this pamphlet. Then we printed it out en masse and got ready to distribute it. Next time, I will discuss what happened when we started handing these out, which is a very interesting story.<br />
<br />
Subsequently, this pamphlet became the first issue of "Truth Never Changes" magazine, several issues of which you can find <a href="http://truthneverchangesmagazine.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-3428113337748813542012-12-03T01:50:00.003-08:002012-12-03T01:50:48.170-08:00My Badge of Honor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiGsKFjcjU-EBbriASyXs6oGAjyaMFQolMGARr_IXVTOFgM65V9CPIW-cOFZg40DbiS1tGKa2uenTph8Jka6haY5ykaX1SLjpvIbThMfYdJnENayJiywZKL_pIEoRn_oAX8c8M10H1-4/s1600/SCAN0077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAiGsKFjcjU-EBbriASyXs6oGAjyaMFQolMGARr_IXVTOFgM65V9CPIW-cOFZg40DbiS1tGKa2uenTph8Jka6haY5ykaX1SLjpvIbThMfYdJnENayJiywZKL_pIEoRn_oAX8c8M10H1-4/s400/SCAN0077.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
This is how I wound up not going on a mission for the LDS Church...<br />
<br />
From the time I was young, I was told that I had a mission to perform in my life, a purpose for coming into this world. Everyone who is raised Mormon is told that they have a mission - a special something that only they can perform, something that you agreed to accomplish before you even came to this world.<br />
<br />
It is like serving a mission for the Church, and I had been told to prepare from the time I was young to go on a mission. I had the change jar that held my coins that were the start of my missionary fund.<br />
<br />
But the mission I am talking about is a bit different. It is more like a life mission. And it is up to you to find out what that mission is. The LDS Church provides certain tools for you to find out. For instance, when you are maybe in your early teens, you can go to the stake patriarch. The patriarch is someone who is given special authority to give blessings called "patriarchal blessings" that can serve as a map, offer clues for one to discover their true purpose in life.<br />
<br />
I had been told since I was a child that I had a special mission to perform. My parents were done having kids before I came along. They had some sort of spiritual experience that convinced them that I should be born. To this day, I still don't know what it was; they never told me.<br />
<br />
But I was told that I had a special mission. I needed to prepare for it, or it would be given to someone else.<br />
<br />
Throughout my entire childhood, I wondered what it could be. At around 6 years-old, I became convinced that it would have something to do with plural marriage. On a trip to Phoenix, my father had stopped with the family to see my Uncle Vergel Jessop in Colorado City, the husband of several wives. I didn't know anything about him, but, that night, they had spread out blankets on the living room floor for the children to sleep on. I woke up at midnight when their tall, grandfather clock struck midnight. I had a feeling come over me. There was something special being lived in that home, and, even though I was only six, I knew that I would live it someday.<br />
<br />
I look back to that moment with amazement, looking at the direction my life has taken. Self-fulfilling prophecy, or not, it came true. Of course, then, I had no clue how it would happen.<br />
<br />
My father gave us a lot of direction. As an adult, I am amazed at how he wasn't afraid to discuss controversial topics with his kids - at the kitchen table, in the car. He was talking to us all the time. (I was the only ten year-old, I'm sure, that brought up the Adam-God Doctrine in class. I'm sure that he got in trouble over that.) <br />
<br />
At the time, I also didn't realize what a maverick my dad was. He was constantly in the proverbial hot water. His local priesthood leaders were always coming to see him, and they would retreat for what seemed hours to his bedroom for private discussions. Later, my dad told me that they were threatening him with excommunication. And, because he didn't want to affect his family, he would always acquiesce, back down on his controversial opinions to maintain his church membership. <br />
<br />
Afterwards, he would always stop going to church for a while, a kind of silent protest. But he would still send his family. One Sunday, I announced to my dad that I would not be going to church that day.<br />
<br />
"You don't go," I pointed out.<br />
<br />
"I tell you what," he responded. "When you have put as much study into your religion as I have, then you can decide for yourself whether or not you can go. But until then, you're going."<br />
<br />
The teachings of my dad upon me were unmistakable. As a result of his teachings, I seemed to know a lot more about Mormonism than many of the other kids I attended church with. I remember when the Sunday School or seminary teacher would ask questions, I was often embarrassed that I was one of the only students who would know the answer, could raise my hand. Most Mormon kids had to memorize key scriptures. My dad made sure that I delved into the meaning of those scriptures, into the mysteries, if you will.<br />
<br />
This doesn't mean that I was a saintly kid. I was anything but that. As a teen, I kind of went wild. But the main reason - not only did I have a spiritual experience that let me know that my mission somehow involved plural marriage - I had some pretty scary spiritual experiences as well, of the opposite nature. They scared the hell out of me. And in my teenage logic, I figured that if I was as wild a kid as I could be, that God would be forced to withdraw my "mission" from me, and I would be left alone. No spiritual experiences - scary, or otherwise.<br />
<br />
It's kind of funny how we run from our destinies, but they always catch up to us.<br />
<br />
My dad could see what was happening to me. So he made a deal with me. If I moved to Utah and went to college, boarding with a polygamist uncle of mine, he would help pay for my college. I think often about this decision and how it totally shaped my life.<br />
<br />
By this time, my dad had been excommunicated. He got sick of backing down. Later, he told me that he had felt called to something greater, that he had felt this call all of his life, and that he felt that this was the last time he would receive this call. So he stood up. This time, he didn't back down like was expected of him. He stood up for what he believed. My dad was the most principled man I have ever known.<br />
<br />
Within a short time, my mother and oldest brother were excommunicated, also. There were rumors that the bishop wanted to talk to me. I was nervous. This was around the age when I was ready to go on a mission. As the inevitable confrontation came, I told my dad that I didn't want to be excommunicated, that I would serve a mission and not say anything about what I truly believed. My dad tried to talk to the bishop about this. But in a way, I think I had my mind made up when I walked into the bishop's office.<br />
<br />
It was the day before I moved to Utah. It was a sunny September morning, and there was no one in the chapel building but me, my younger brother, and the bishop. He sat us down and asked a total of two questions:<br />
<br />
"Do you believe that plural marriage should be lived today?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Yes."<br />
<br />
"Do you support Ezra Taft Benson as Prophet, Seer, and Revelator, and the only man on the earth who holds the keys?"<br />
<br />
Me: "No."<br />
<br />
That was it. There was nothing more to the interview. The next day, I moved to Utah and enrolled in college. A month later, I received the invitation to my excommunication trial, and the results of my trial - both on the same day. I was excommunicated from the LDS Church. I wouldn't be serving a mission.<br />
<br />
Deep down, I knew that I had taken a stand for a greater cause. But that doesn't mean that I didn't feel the loss of all the things I would never enjoy. I would never receive my endowments in the temple. I would never marry in the temple. But what I felt the most keenly - I would never serve a mission.<br />
<br />
Over the course of the next year, my entire family got involved with a fundamentalist Mormon group. That is where I met Martha, and we got married shortly after being introduced.<br />
<br />
One Sunday, I met with my family at my parents' house. They had invited a special visitor - a man who was qualified to act as a patriarch. I had never received a patriarchal blessing in the Church, and my father had invited this elderly man to come and give patriarchal blessings to all of us. The man, with a very good nature, agreed to give us patriarchal blessings with the condition that my father would give us blessings of our own, saying that it was very important for father's to act in that capacity for their own families.<br />
<br />
Before the blessings, he asked each of us to get up and speak a little bit about ourselves. When it came time for me to speak, I told the story of my excommunication, and then I expressed regret that I had never had the chance to serve a mission for the Church. The patriarch then interrupted my speech.<br />
<br />
He said, "You will go on a mission. But it won't be like the missions in the church. It will be to all of the world, and it will be for the rest of your life."<br />
<br />
When it came time for me to receive my blessing, he put his hands on my heads and pronounced many things upon me. But he again reiterated that I would go on a mission to all of the world, for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
Within a matter of months, this old patriarch was dead. But I always remembered his promise to me, guarding it in a special place in my heart. I attended a religious service, and someone got up and spoke of this old patriarch and some of the things he had said while he was living. They said that he had said that the winding-up scene will not happen until two men go into every nation and dedicate that nation for the gathering out of the elect, and the gathering out of the records.<br />
<br />
When I heard these words, I felt chills going up and down my spine. I knew, I KNEW that this was part of the mission that was in store for me.<br />
<br />
Twelve years later, I stood on a beautiful hill, overlooking Auckland, New Zealand, and three of us dedicated that nation for that purpose. So if I never visit another nation in that matter, that part of it was indeed fulfilled.<br />
<br />
When I was excommunicated, I received two sheets of paper. I called them by Badges of Honor. Did I want to be excommunicated? No, there are days when I wish that I still belonged to the LDS Church. But the blessings and experiences I have experienced since then are far greater than anything I would have received otherwise.<br />
<br />
In posts to come, I will talk more about my experiences as a different sort of missionary.<br />
<br />
There is one other story that I want to tell about this old patriarch. He told me that he had been a student of the gospel all of his life. He had traveled to temples all over the United States and Canada to learn the mysteries of the Mormon religion. On one occasion, he was in Washington, but he became very ill. He picked up a hitchhiker. He made up a bed in the back of his station wagon so that he could rest, and he asked the hitchhiker to drive him back to Utah. The whole way from Washington to Utah, he lay in the back of this station wagon and talked with the hitchhiker. This mysterious man seemed to have a grasp the gospel in way that was uncanny. He taught the patriarch many things that he had never heard before. When he got to Utah, he tried to find out who this hitchhiker was, but he was never able to find out...Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-33926224995285884982012-10-31T13:48:00.000-07:002012-10-31T13:48:11.426-07:00Elder Jessop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBComBwGLCMOlyB9JMiu0TE9Ake2h-fVIx4n6Q92KfCfcle6tmjAzX47If9AoTPTn9vJo7PDhHMlm0vi7Gg3eiI423NHCRCc64xs29hbSYnB2gho_BbzQa14S_3nNGQ7SbuwlFjnHLRo/s1600/Journal+Pic+1+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBComBwGLCMOlyB9JMiu0TE9Ake2h-fVIx4n6Q92KfCfcle6tmjAzX47If9AoTPTn9vJo7PDhHMlm0vi7Gg3eiI423NHCRCc64xs29hbSYnB2gho_BbzQa14S_3nNGQ7SbuwlFjnHLRo/s640/Journal+Pic+1+013.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
It was 1963, and the morning was cool. The snow-capped peak of the volcano Popocateptl loomed on the horizon of the town of Atlixco in Puebla, Mexico. Two Americans walked down the street dressed in white shirts and ties. The tags on their shirts announced that they were Mormon missionaries, and they carried their scriptures under their arms.<br />
<br />
The younger missionary walked slightly behind the tall missionary named Elder Jessop. The younger one had only been in Mexico for a short while and didn't really speak Spanish yet. Elder Jessop, on the other hand, had been in Mexico for a while and spoke Spanish almost perfectly.<br />
<br />
In the almost two years since Elder Jessop had arrived in Mexico, he had picked up the language so naturally until he spoke it like a native. He had totally immersed himself in the culture and found himself considering himself more Mexican than American. Hard to believe that a few years ago, he had been growing up in Los Angeles of the 1950s, a typical teenager listening to the new sounds of rock and roll. No longer. He preferred Mexican <i>rancheras</i> now. Mexican food suited his palate. He couldn't stand speaking in English anymore. Was this really the same young man whose only previous experience with Mexicans was to get into fights with them in high school in L.A.?<br />
<br />
They came to the door they were seeking - a small, humble house made of concrete. They knocked on the door, and their prospects answered the door - the family that they had been teaching. They were invited into the small, spartan living room. There were two other missionaries waiting for them on a couch. They were not dressed as the LDS missionaries, and they were Mexican. One was older, and the other was so young that he looked like a boy.<br />
<br />
The family was receiving lessons from the Mormon missionaries, but, at the same time, they were being taught by missionaries from the fundamentalist Mormons - Mormons that still practiced polygamy. These two natives were remnants from the Third Convention and represented a small faction in nearby Colonia Industrial - a group of native Mexicans that refused to obey the mainstream Church when they were told to put aside their plural wives.<br />
<br />
The family wanted to arrange a confrontation between missionaries of the LDS Church and missionaries representing the Mormon polygamists. Elder Jessop was sure of himself and cocky. He had right and might on his side. He was convinced that he could show up these apostates. In order to attend this debate, he needed to get the permission from his Mission Home. He was advised not to go, but the elder was afraid that if he didn't go, it would only make the Church's position look week. He was ready to fight for the Lord.<br />
<br />
So they took a seat opposite these other missionaries, and the debate started. Elder Jessop argued with passion.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the passion came from the fact that his last name was "Jessop". His grandfather (named Moroni Jessop) had been one of the key figures in the start of the Mormon fundamentalist movement in Utah in the 1920s. He had never really known his grandfather. Although the Jessop family broke off and became a part of the polygamist groups that are well known today (AUB, FLDS, etc.), Elder Jessop was never a part of these. His mother made sure that they stayed in the LDS Church. His father had halfway sympathized, but he died with the elder was only fourteen. Elder Jessop knew that he had polygamist relatives, but he was not allowed to talk about them. They were a dirty secret, and he constantly observed the whispers in church about him, "Yes, he's a Jessop, but he's not one of <i>those</i> Jessops."<br />
<br />
Even while on his mission in Mexico, he had encounters because of his name. An old woman - Grandmother de Gante - in the city of Puebla had belonged to the Third Convention. She remembered when the Salt Lake polygamists had come to Mexico. There was an old man with the last name of "Jessop", and she assumed that this was the father of the elder.<br />
<br />
The debate was fierce and heated. Elder Jessop defended the position of the Church, and the fundamentalist missionaries pushed across their beliefs. Years later, the elder would say that he really didn't remember everything they discussed. But one event came to mind. This is from his memoirs:<br />
<br />
<b><i>"Towards the close of the meeting, the older missionary said, "Elder, I don't know how or when, but someday you'll be with us!" He was moved by the Spirit to say this, and I felt perplexed, wondering why the Spirit would move him to say such a thing. I shared this experience later to my wife in our early married life."</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
After his mission, Elder Jessop moved to Utah to study at Brigham Young University. He had a polygamist uncle who lived in Salt Lake. The elder, still full of missionary zeal, set off on a quest to prove his uncle wrong. He had access to library at BYU. There was a restricted section with old Mormon documents and books. You could only read these papers if you could arrange to have a professor sit across from you while you read, and you could not take the books out of the library. In these books, he found the old teachings of the LDS Church, teachings that are no longer taught by the Church, teachings still taught by the fundamentalist Mormons.<br />
<br />
Elder Jessop looked up from the dusty book and demanded of the professor, "Is this true? Did they really teach this?"<br />
<br />
The professor looked up from his own papers, "Yes, they did. There is no question. But they were wrong."<br />
<br />
What ensued after that is a story in and of itself. It was a twenty year struggle. He was continually in trouble with the Church. He continued studying, but he was afraid to do anything about it for fear of having his family excommunicated. The short version is - he was eventually excommunicated, along with all of his family. He began to have meetings at home with his wife and his children.<br />
<br />
In 1990, he was directed to a small congregation of Mormon fundamentalists in Phoenix, Arizona. They were all Mexican, and their meetings were in Spanish. Elder Jessop felt at home again, in his element.<br />
<br />
One Sunday, he was invited to a special meeting. There would be a some of the leaders from Salt Lake in attendance. The two visitors were too elderly men. They brought an interpreter with them. As the meeting commenced, Elder Jessop looked at the interpreter. He was a thin man in his fifties, wearing a white shirt that contrasted with his dark, Indian face. The years melted away, and Elder Jessop could see that this man was the younger missionary all those years previous in Mexico. This man was one of those fundamentalist missionaries from all of those years ago. The words of the heated debated came back to him, "Elder, I don't know how or when, but someday you will be one of us."<br />
<br />
Elder Jessop could only stare in silent amazement at the events that had led him to this room. It was as if a prophecy had been fulfilled.<br />
<br />
It was through these events that Elder Jessop led his family into the fullness of the gospel. His experiences as a missionary changed him and influenced all of his actions and decisions for the rest of his life.<br />
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-6060242411121830452012-10-28T10:12:00.001-07:002012-10-28T10:12:52.219-07:00Amniomatrix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTu_EmGkdvtFKspT0smoZyjHgO6bGlnD-UyTdbH3OOaYe1AkjsfHG-xEy5rA6a4JD2fkH05O1huOFBeeKWDDc4BWGLjuBUVNpNDrF_mAQPLjxLwpsjjNAvMgU29QmiZnbaJ7zgOG4OAv0/s1600/September+Start+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTu_EmGkdvtFKspT0smoZyjHgO6bGlnD-UyTdbH3OOaYe1AkjsfHG-xEy5rA6a4JD2fkH05O1huOFBeeKWDDc4BWGLjuBUVNpNDrF_mAQPLjxLwpsjjNAvMgU29QmiZnbaJ7zgOG4OAv0/s400/September+Start+018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
*WARNING - GRAPHIC PICTURES BELOW - NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH*<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hello, it's the guy who is supposed to go on a full-out walk-about next year. Except that I murdered my feet on a weekend in New York last August.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the weeks following New York, my right foot - the foot that has given me problems for a couple of years - healed up pretty nicely. But I still had to keep it bandaged. It was still oozing blood slightly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The left foot. The left foot that gave me no problems before New York. It just got worse and worse. My daily routine:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1) Clean the wound.</div>
<div>
2) Put triple antibiotic in it.</div>
<div>
3) Put a gauze pad over it.</div>
<div>
4) Wrap it with rolled gauze.</div>
<div>
5) Put sock and shoe on.</div>
<div>
6) Pull off bloody gauze and sock at the end of the day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wasn't getting any better. My foot was developing a thick callus that did not want to close up. To make matters worse, my doctor was out of town on vacation. He got back and took one look at my feet and scheduled the stem cell treatment - a procedure that we had been talking about for a while.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I talked about this procedure and mention stem cells to people, they automatically assume that I will be putting dead babies in my feet. No, these injections are called "amniomatrix". They harvest the stem cells from discarded amniotic fluid from delivering moms. I was surprised how often I had to explain myself, sometimes more than once to the same person. This shows how controversial stem cell research still is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The doctor's assistant told me to show up to the hospital. I could eat that day, take my meds, etc. The hospital called the day before - no food or liquids after midnight. So I showed up that afternoon - lightheaded from not eating, hoping for some propofol. (I no longer eschew anesthetics.) The doctor walked in and said I didn't need any anesthesia. He scraped out the wound and injected my wounds every centimeter with the amniomatrix. He wrapped them and told me to stay off of my feet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With a stack of movies and a stack of books in my room, I set out to heal my feet. I stayed in bed as much as I could, and I got around with crutches. After a couple of days, there was a smell like rotten meat. It started to worry me. Plus my foot was still draining like crazy. I called the doctor. He said it was normal.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Most of all, it was being down. It reminded me too much of last year, when I was tethered to the same bed by an IV line. It reminded me of that dark time, and everything horrible that happened afterwards. In other words, it was a very emotional time for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It has been a little over a week since the procedure. It is too soon to tell. I would like to believe in a miracle cure. But I have to fight my skepticism. Hopefully my feet will be healed soon, and I will be on my way to walking this world again.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Below is my right foot, and then my left foot, before the procedure. Hopefully, I can someday post a photo of them healed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZjFXbNd7G8Pjdi7YDeXsL0ciunC7uQkYOrJFolHjU476irBIkOirU6k-bZfXb6WhBY9bDjp0UxVkol8DMFCwOSz7QogexqhayFDKgzeraXMu-gOebmPm6z9LBMSBYREP8RVepDX0Nbs/s1600/Oct+9+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZjFXbNd7G8Pjdi7YDeXsL0ciunC7uQkYOrJFolHjU476irBIkOirU6k-bZfXb6WhBY9bDjp0UxVkol8DMFCwOSz7QogexqhayFDKgzeraXMu-gOebmPm6z9LBMSBYREP8RVepDX0Nbs/s400/Oct+9+003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTF88xndVVneymnmvJUZd6XGvuER9279khaKd24rO0gtZholb0d0qno946ap2kj45kq368CWJDnrIcfao6EIT7U1zdQoqb7Mgy2Jf5DWllgUskdjUMO4T-UK28cMIkkXZtLCQkg_OmnY/s1600/Oct+9+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTF88xndVVneymnmvJUZd6XGvuER9279khaKd24rO0gtZholb0d0qno946ap2kj45kq368CWJDnrIcfao6EIT7U1zdQoqb7Mgy2Jf5DWllgUskdjUMO4T-UK28cMIkkXZtLCQkg_OmnY/s400/Oct+9+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-20847923793331393722012-09-06T13:22:00.002-07:002012-09-06T13:34:35.692-07:00Empire State of Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tQ4-7hgg24BKzmkdvYpzefNpI4k8wX7GjVqYqSd3IkuKCtAR57IjGdqG_Tq7m5TmBMR6xrNfusQfvKIpP5ElkXFhk44pB-QBHhsLTrejIUAlFig7CWjJe1OEj9vGnnRgDhxNMwyJlBI/s1600/NYC+2012+070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tQ4-7hgg24BKzmkdvYpzefNpI4k8wX7GjVqYqSd3IkuKCtAR57IjGdqG_Tq7m5TmBMR6xrNfusQfvKIpP5ElkXFhk44pB-QBHhsLTrejIUAlFig7CWjJe1OEj9vGnnRgDhxNMwyJlBI/s400/NYC+2012+070.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
When I was about twenty-four, my younger brother gave me a blessing. He laid his hands on my head, and he made a prophecy on my behalf. He said that someday I would go on a mission without purse or scrip. He said that I would suffer in my health while on this mission, but that God would heal me. He told me that - in that moment - that I would remember this blessing.<br />
<br />
I have never forgotten it.<br />
<br />
Back then I was twenty-four. I was young and healthy.<br />
<br />
Fifteen years later, I would be suffering from out-of-control diabetes, venous stasis, blood clots (DVTs), a diabetic ulcer on the bottom of my foot, endless doctor's visits and hospital stays, home nurses, IVs, etc. I was unable to work, not really able to walk long distances, or really do much of anything. It felt like my life was over.<br />
<br />
This project was born of this suffering - the desire to go out and be whole. To walk the world again. To make a difference. After two years of poor health and after dealing with a failed marriage, I want to do something that will give me a purpose again.<br />
<br />
So this year, I brought my diabetes under control through diet and exercise - whatever exercise I can do with a hole in my foot. This month alone, I have dropped ten pounds. The wound vac came off of my foot in June, and the ulcer was totally healed. Things were looking good. I even went on a few trial walks. The foot was very tender, but it seemed to be holding up.<br />
<br />
The question in my mind - will I be able to make a journey next year without purse or scrip with my health condition??<br />
<br />
When I planned my anniversary trip/ reverse honeymoon to New York City with my ex-wife, Temple, I had the "Without Purse or Scrip" project in mind. In particular, I wanted to know what it would be like carrying a backpack. <br />
<br />
It has been in the back of my mind what I will take on my journey. I have been making an inventory list in my mind of what I will take, and what I will <i>not</i> take. And this because of the Bible. In Luke 9: 3 it says:<br />
<br />
<b><i>And he said unto them, Take nothing for your journey, neither staves nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece.</i></b><br />
<br />
My first Manhattan trip was in 2005. The advice I was given was to travel light, since a person will do so much walking in New York. So on my first excursion, I took a small satchel with one change of clothes and some toiletries. But I wanted to look good for my first visit, and so I bought a new outfit, including new, shiny, black shoes. My first day there, I walked 50 blocks. When I took my shoes off that first night, I had blisters all over my feet. The next day, we resorted to taking the subway instead of walking.<br />
<br />
So the first vital lesson I learned about any journey on foot - wear shoes that are comfortable, not fashionable.<br />
<br />
A few days before our journey to New York, I talked to Temple about my plans. I was going to travel with the backpack I use for my laptop - but without my laptop. I would take one change of pants, underwear, socks, three t-shirts, diabetic supplies, phone charger and wound care items for my feet. I could take this bag as a carry-on on the plane, and carry it around easily with me around New York. Temple bought a backpack as well.<br />
<br />
Before the trip, my foot was totally healed. But I had been helping Temple move out the week before. Being mindful of my foot ulcer, I had not lifted any furniture, but I had packed and lifted many boxes. And after Temple moved out, I helped Martha start to move into Temple's old place, as it is bigger and in better condition. Once again, not a lot of heavy lifting, but a lot of constant activity.<br />
<br />
One night, I took off my shoes and socks and noticed a spot of blood on my sock. I couldn't help it. Tears came to my eyes. Was this never going to be over for me? I started bandaging my foot, and I made sure that I stayed off of my feet. But the wound kept opening up again. I had this New York trip staring me in the face. Should I go? I already had tickets. I already had a hotel room reserved.<br />
<br />
So two nights before I left, I took some Super Glue to my wound. It worked like a charm. It stopped bleeding.<br />
<br />
I went to New York with my diabetic shoes on. In my bag, I took syringes with saline solution to clean my feet, petroleum gauze strips wrapped in foil, Q-tips, gauze pads, gauze wrap, cloth tape, and Ace wrap. After two years, I know my wound care.<br />
<br />
Our first day in New York, we did a ton of walking. Using the backpack was perfect. Temple's pack only had one strap, and she complained about that, because it was impractical to shift from shoulder to shoulder. Of course, everyone I was with was mindful of my feet. We took the Subway as much as possible. We rested often on the many park benches. But it was still a lot of walking. My feet were very sore. By the end of the day, I could feel something going on with my toe.<br />
<br />
When we got back to the hotel, the moment came that I was dreading. I took my shoes off. The ulcer on the ball of my foot was fine, but the tape that I used to secure the gauze wrap had slipped over my fourth toe and kind of strangled it. There was a huge blood blister on the bottom of the toe, and an ugly, purple hematoma all over the whole toe. Temple was mortified. There was also a huge watery blister on the bottom of my left foot.<br />
<br />
Maybe this trip was not such a wise idea, after all...<br />
<br />
The next day, I wrapped both feet very well, for extra padding, and I made sure that the tape would not slip around my toe. It was still a lot of walking. We took the subway often, but my knees were starting to get stiff from going up and down the stairs. In the evening, we were in the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, and that was the worst. The constant standing in place while looking at art was murder on my feet and legs. I could feel that all-to-familiar feeling of pressure as my legs and feet swelled up.<br />
<br />
The night of the second day, I cleaned the ulcer and re-bandaged it. Then I quietly took the shoe and sock off of the left foot. My entire sock was covered with blood from the newly-developed blister. I didn't want to alarm Temple, so I discreetly bandaged it and hid the bloody sock in my shoe before I went to bed.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I had a rude surprise. My extra pair of socks that I had packed in my bag was somehow not there. They must not have made it into the bag. I went to get my dirty pair of socks. But they were missing as well. It must have got tossed out with the laundry when housekeeping had cleaned our room the day before. So I had one dirty sock, and one bloody sock. There was no way that I was going to put the bloody sock back on, so it went into the trash. With one sock on, and the other foot with no sock, Temple and I walked around Midtown on a Sunday morning, trying to find a store that sold men's socks. No luck. We found a women's store and bought a colorful set of women's ankle socks. I put two socks on my left foot, and we spent our last day in New York.<br />
<br />
At this time, I was starting to get worried. I have had deep vein thrombosis (DVT) before, and I know what blood clots feel like. Both of my legs were swollen. As long as I was sitting or walking, they felt okay. But the moment I just stood still, the feelings of pressure and pain in both legs were tremendous. I started to wonder if I had blood clots in both legs. I didn't show Temple, but I was very worried. Did I kill myself coming on this trip?<br />
<br />
We didn't do as much walking, and, in the evening, we took the train back to JFK. Temple and I went through security. They require you to take your shoes off. I had a suspicion, and I waited until the last possible moment to take my shoes off. When I did, Temple gasped. Both of my socks were blood-soaked. As I walked through the metal detector, I was leaving bloody footprints on the tile floor. I was humiliated, but no one said anything. I put my shoes right back on and walked straight to the bathroom. In a stall, I stripped off my bloody socks, put fresh ones on, tossed the bloody ones in the garbage, and then joined Temple at out departure gate.<br />
<br />
The flight back to Phoenix was bad. Sitting in one position for five hours was almost unbearable. My legs were so swollen I could hardly bend them, and yet I had to jam myself into a cramped airline seat. Then, upon arriving in Phoenix, we had to make the three plus hour drive up the mountain back to our home.<br />
<br />
By the time I got back home, I had walked all over New York, flown back to Arizona, and driven across half of the state. As soon as I got home, I stripped out of my bloody socks and changed my bandages. The socks, again, went into the trash can. Then I collapsed into a feverish sort of sleep. I had hallucinations. I kept waking up Martha, because I could <i>feel </i>mice crawling all over my feet. I just knew they were mice, and I had Martha pull back the covers to expose them. There was nothing there, but I swore there were mice, drawn to the blood on my feet.<br />
<br />
After two hours of sleep, I went to the ER. I had to see if there were blood clots in my legs. Much to my relief, an ultrasound showed that my legs were free of clots (although both of my lymph nodes were swollen). The swelling was caused by my venous stasis. The valves in my veins don't work properly. Blood goes in; blood has a hard time coming out. The ER doctor also determined that my INR was astronomical - 4.6. Due to my history of DVTs, I have to take blood thinners for the rest of my life. But my blood was too thin. That was why the blisters on my feet were squirting out blood and filling up my shoes. From the ER, I went home and slept the rest of the day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLr3LLHR3ikPvQ8_u08-xlpOKbH7XYhLvC6TPfiTvZuvMNCklxSkkpcZ1kuP8mGmQl4ZVTpxBp0Ji5hSQ1kEK_cYs8PNa_Gn_wvLNB8ORhZFd5VFLU6ya7G6KdF1n4f9UsVxoMQ7Tezg/s1600/Joels+Wedding+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLr3LLHR3ikPvQ8_u08-xlpOKbH7XYhLvC6TPfiTvZuvMNCklxSkkpcZ1kuP8mGmQl4ZVTpxBp0Ji5hSQ1kEK_cYs8PNa_Gn_wvLNB8ORhZFd5VFLU6ya7G6KdF1n4f9UsVxoMQ7Tezg/s400/Joels+Wedding+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The next day, I was so sore that I could not get out of bed. So I stayed in bed and added up the miles we had walked in NYC. Over the course of three days, we had walked a total of 19.6 miles. The day after that, I went to the doctor. He didn't have to say a word. As I told him that I had walked all over New York, I could see the accusation of "stupid" written all over his face. He looked at the blister on my left foot, took a scalpel and cut off a callus from the bottom of my foot the size of a small pancake. Then he trimmed away at my right foot as well. When I left the doctor's office, not just one, but the bottoms of<i> both</i> of my feet were a bloody mess. He bandaged me up and sent me home.<br />
<br />
I went home and propped my feet up. I was so depressed. I texted Temple about my whole experience at the doctor, and she answered me, "I feel bad. I feel responsible. If I had known this would happen, we would have never gone."<br />
<br />
"Don't you dare, Temple," I answered. "New York was important for us. We needed to go on this trip. I know that I'm going to be okay."<br />
<br />
As I write this, it is two weeks to the day that I left for New York. My feet have healed remarkably fast. Within three days, the ulcer on my right foot totally healed up again, and there is a layer of tender, new skin growing on my left foot. I am still very tender-footed.<br />
<br />
When I left on this trip, part of my reason on going was to gauge my physical abilities for the whole "Without Purse or Scrip" project. And I am forced to admit - New York kicked my ass. And that is just walking around one city. How am I going to handle hitchhiking across the country?<br />
<br />
However, I am still going to do it. Call me stubborn.<br />
<br />
When I told my daughter Sophie (who is going to college for physical therapy), she told me that I needed to use the time between now and my departure to get in shape and train. I know that the key to getting over my propensity for feet problems and diabetic ulcers is to lose weight and control my diabetes. I will have to develop strategies that will be prevent New York from happening again.<br />
<br />
Why am I doing it? Part of it, I am sure, is that I refuse to admit that, at 42, my life is over. And I also remember the blessing that I received eighteen years ago. <br />
<br />
There has to be some sort of healing in all of this.<br />
<br />
My failed marriage is a part of it. For years, the purpose of my life was to represent plural marriage. That is gone from me now. As I watched my relationship disintegrate, I tried to find a purpose to my life, and this project came to me overnight. So whether she realizes it or not, Temple is my muse. It's all about her. I will try to make something of my life. I will live the rest of my life to make her proud of me.Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-51658890933098791612012-09-05T14:29:00.001-07:002012-09-05T14:29:10.420-07:00Reverse Honeymoon<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArHsOyAOe60pI6Pa9wc3ahOlxfZ3B3XGaDHHVokKXFiqQwSKK4mhICgImVPN-PMqwV5fgKKMTi5VRCkUqLxmx-_-K9aNTKD_2uicJ02-5uYWfrptkfCv7B-lSiMOBv1_HrzLPduNrnnE/s1600/NYC+2012+056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArHsOyAOe60pI6Pa9wc3ahOlxfZ3B3XGaDHHVokKXFiqQwSKK4mhICgImVPN-PMqwV5fgKKMTi5VRCkUqLxmx-_-K9aNTKD_2uicJ02-5uYWfrptkfCv7B-lSiMOBv1_HrzLPduNrnnE/s400/NYC+2012+056.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I am going to talk a little bit about the breakup between
Temple and I.<br />
<br />
The first thing I will emphasize - I will not talk about specifics.
Because I love and respect Temple. And she loves me. I am not
going to say anything that would embarrass her. I don't blame her.
I don't accuse her. And if anyone carries the burden of this failed
marriage, it is me. There are a ton of things I could have done better,
as a husband, to prevent it from happening.<br />
<br />
It is not about plural marriage. It just shows that plural marriage is
like any other marriage, and sometimes marriages - polygamous or monogamous -
come to an end.<br />
<br />
For many months, Temple and I slept at opposite ends of the bed. We
rarely talked, and if we did, it was to argue. I tried to stop it, but it
was like holding back the tide with your hands. You can grasp at it it
and try to prevent it. But in the end, all you have are handfuls of foam,
and the current slides around you.<br />
<br />
She needed space, and so she took the kids to see her family out of state.
I tried my best not to call her, text her, bother her. It was a
tough two weeks, not knowing what was going on.<br />
<br />
Martha stood by and watched all of this with concern. She didn't know
what was going on between Temple and me. But she knew something was up.
Hell, I didn't know what was going on. Neither did Temple.<br />
<br />
"I don't understand what's happening," I said.<br />
<br />
"I don't understand, either," Temple would say.<br />
<br />
It all went back to that black time when I was in my bed with a wound vac stuck
to my foot, and the IV in my arm. That dark hour when I had dark fluids
running into my veins, changing my moods, saying things to my poor wife that I
could not take back. Depression - chemically-induced, or not - does some
real damage to people, and those around them. Whatever the case, the
bubble was burst, and there was no bringing it back.<br />
<br />
Earlier in the summer, Martha had come to me and suggested that I take Temple
out of town for our thirteenth anniversary. In fact, she insisted on it.
So I secured tickets for New York City and found a room. We have
friends who live in Philly, and so I invited them along.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, Temple called me from her getaway. Even though she was
out of state, she had secured her own house in town. She had been talking
about finding her own place in town for a while. Living on the ranch is
spartan. There are few comforts. "Town" is closer to her
job. And then there is the mud. Few people realize that Arizona has
a monsoon season that dumps rain nightly for about six weeks. And when
you have five miles of dirt road, rain becomes mud. Mud, mud, and mud.
It is hard on vehicles - if you can even get out. Temple was tired
of the mud.<br />
<br />
So she called me to tell me that she had found a new place, and that she would
be moving immediately upon coming home. I asked her a question on
inspiration:<br />
<br />
"Will I be moving with you?"<br />
<br />
She hesitated. "I didn't want to tell you this on the phone.
But no. Not for now. I need time and distance to think about
things."<br />
<br />
So she came home on a Sunday, and on Monday, her friends were loading her stuff
into a trailer for her new place. Of course, I helped. It was
strange to know what to think or how to feel. I kind of knew what was
happening. But it was hard to process. She moved out on the day
before our thirteenth anniversary.<br />
<br />
The next couple of weeks, I adjusted to life without Temple. The boys
went back and forth between us, between the two houses. We were
separated, and yet we had this trip coming up to New York, this anniversary
celebration. One day, she met me at the highway with the kids, and we
talked about it.<br />
<br />
"Are we still going on this trip?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkI6fkyj_muNKq406Iw67dVFaEpueBdGcKkTlhwjzJ5Xq47-dF1F0SuSSjMYOS91APtmNc9UxmPUFJMaCunqSXapvBr2i8Q3geIH7y13ehsLlf7tajwMhaJZLz_ICVqNpvIoIoThZMWMe_/s1600/NYC+2012+2+001.jpg"><span style="color: windowtext; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter">
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0">
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1">
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2">
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth">
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1">
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2">
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth">
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0">
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight">
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0">
</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas>
<v:path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f">
<o:lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit">
</o:lock></v:path></v:stroke></v:shapetype><v:shape alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkI6fkyj_muNKq406Iw67dVFaEpueBdGcKkTlhwjzJ5Xq47-dF1F0SuSSjMYOS91APtmNc9UxmPUFJMaCunqSXapvBr2i8Q3geIH7y13ehsLlf7tajwMhaJZLz_ICVqNpvIoIoThZMWMe_/s400/NYC+2012+2+001.jpg" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkI6fkyj_muNKq406Iw67dVFaEpueBdGcKkTlhwjzJ5Xq47-dF1F0SuSSjMYOS91APtmNc9UxmPUFJMaCunqSXapvBr2i8Q3geIH7y13ehsLlf7tajwMhaJZLz_ICVqNpvIoIoThZMWMe_/s1600/NYC+2012+2+001.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_2" o:button="t" o:spid="_x0000_i1027" style="height: 222pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 300pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="NYC+2012+2+001" src="file:///C:\Users\Owner\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiFdyQs-yndZrWHNzoyJ0bZ06x9j9dCoOmvzf2ViEu-mn9C5GCWXko-1k-g48cGR71MQfOjYPeRazimupiCFFwGlXj1J4cbI-rg9dfTpo9it__pb2zyM-YIh7qSXAYIs4XnRlnQFz-YU/s1600/NYC+2012+2+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiFdyQs-yndZrWHNzoyJ0bZ06x9j9dCoOmvzf2ViEu-mn9C5GCWXko-1k-g48cGR71MQfOjYPeRazimupiCFFwGlXj1J4cbI-rg9dfTpo9it__pb2zyM-YIh7qSXAYIs4XnRlnQFz-YU/s400/NYC+2012+2+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We decided to go. I mean, it's New York.<br />
<br />
So on Thursday, she got off work, and we drove down to Phoenix. I had
decided that I would not bring up anything negative, or talk about our
separation. I would just go and have fun. She slept much of the
way, because she was exhausted from work and from the move. We took a red
eye to JFK and took the Long Island Railroad to Manhattan. There, at Penn
Station, we met our friends. When that shooting took place at the Empire
State Building, we were one block away - on our way to the Empire State
Building.<br />
<br />
We had a great first day. We toured the New York Public Library.
Then we went to Brooklyn Heights and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.
The Staten Island Ferry gave us a good view of the Statue of Liberty.
And we finished off a perfect day with tandoori at an Indian restaurant.<br />
<br />
It had been a great day, and we enjoyed ourselves. But the whole
separation thing was like a monkey on our backs all day - the proverbial
elephant in the room, and other animal metaphors. When we got to our
(tiny) hotel room, we sat down and talked about it. Temple brought up
several of her complaints about me over the years. I listened to her, and
they were legitimate. Any one of them were grounds for leaving me.
I take full responsibility for our break-up. If anyone wants to
know what I did, they can contact me. I am not hiding my fault in this.<br />
<br />
I could see where this was going. And I could see that nothing I was
going to do or say was going to change it. So I knew what to do. I
told her that I felt like I needed to give her a blessing.<br />
<br />
She said something like, "Why? So that you can 'bless' my feelings
away? So that I can get the same answer as you?"<br />
<br />
I told her, "I don't know what I'm going to say. I just feel like I
need to give you a blessing."<br />
<br />
And I didn't know what I was going to say. But the minute I laid my hands
on her head, I knew. I quoted Jacob 2 from the Book of Mormon, where it
talks about the daughters suffering at the hands of the men who abuse plural marriage.
And then I gave her a release.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I woke up and thought, "Moroni, what the f*** did you
just do?"<br />
<br />
But in that moment, I knew it was right, and, in that moment, I knew it was
what I had to do.<br />
<br />
A "release" is the Mormon concept of letting a woman go from the
marriage covenant. In Mormon vernacular, there are no divorces, only
"releases". And I felt to release my wife.<br />
<br />
Thirteen years of plural marriage ended in a small hotel room in New York City.<br />
<br />
She started sobbing and saying that she was a failure. I took the woman
who was my wife in my arms and comforted her. We talked for a long time
that night. I had been fasting and praying for several weeks. Each
time I fasted, the answers and thoughts that came to me did not seem to relate
to what I was going through. But as we talked, everything made sense.
The puzzle came together. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnJL9keEwBqUDZn8XuBxJ1tBminFwJpOWEEdtjd46RuBZPzQVI95XnlEqZ4WrL3trkeaxmHz2nEEGlVTOr_jcKS5RPYLfHANZWsEeFEZBnCUvJgHR0KCKOroaEVhnJvO4Vrll_dedLzXW/s1600/NYC+2012+2+044.jpg"><span style="color: windowtext; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><v:shape alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnJL9keEwBqUDZn8XuBxJ1tBminFwJpOWEEdtjd46RuBZPzQVI95XnlEqZ4WrL3trkeaxmHz2nEEGlVTOr_jcKS5RPYLfHANZWsEeFEZBnCUvJgHR0KCKOroaEVhnJvO4Vrll_dedLzXW/s400/NYC+2012+2+044.jpg" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnJL9keEwBqUDZn8XuBxJ1tBminFwJpOWEEdtjd46RuBZPzQVI95XnlEqZ4WrL3trkeaxmHz2nEEGlVTOr_jcKS5RPYLfHANZWsEeFEZBnCUvJgHR0KCKOroaEVhnJvO4Vrll_dedLzXW/s1600/NYC+2012+2+044.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:button="t" o:spid="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 300pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 168.75pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="NYC+2012+2+044" src="file:///C:\Users\Owner\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCS4Z_Fp9K8JIixSKw2zAfiZI8lvTw6ND3clZo8u8zZLLSNlqiQGqC2bUE0Z1wWxlflum9mq29u_FwCpuho_x9dj9zrmfxfrnVPJhQPZqmdU1xsHr25HIti33UzjY2hSOdOl6FyF3aAk/s1600/NYC+2012+2+044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCS4Z_Fp9K8JIixSKw2zAfiZI8lvTw6ND3clZo8u8zZLLSNlqiQGqC2bUE0Z1wWxlflum9mq29u_FwCpuho_x9dj9zrmfxfrnVPJhQPZqmdU1xsHr25HIti33UzjY2hSOdOl6FyF3aAk/s400/NYC+2012+2+044.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
For some reason, it was supposed to happen this way. This experience is
unfolding exactly the way it is supposed to, and it is for our own growth.<br />
<br />
I have never understood nor loved Temple more than I did in that moment, and I
know that she felt the same way.<br />
<br />
Temple told me that she knew that I would have a claim on her in the next life,
that we would be together. We vowed to be the best of friends in this
life, and to still be a family, to raise our children together. The only
difference - in this life - we will no longer live together as husband and
wife.<br />
<br />
It was a deeply spiritual experience for both of us, and it is hard to for us
to make other people understand what we experienced that night.<br />
<br />
From there, we went up to a party on the rooftop of the hotel where we were
staying. Temple was wearing her pajamas. We ordered a round of
drinks and toasted to our thirteen years and kissed beneath the bright lights
of the New York skyline.<br />
<br />
The next day, our friends must have thought we were crazy. They kind of
knew that our marriage was in trouble. But here were Temple and me,
acting like a lovesick couple on our honeymoon. Holding hands, kissing,
hugging - except that it was as friends, and no longer as lovers. I felt
such a deep connection to Temple. We thoroughly enjoyed our last two days
in New York, as well as each other's company.<br />
<br />
I told my friends, "If you are going to break-up, this is the way to do it, right? Holding hands and taking a trip? A sort of reverse honeymoon
to celebrate your marriage before you end it? It's a good way to say
goodbye."<br />
<br />
On Sunday, we flew back to Phoenix, and, from there, made the three hour drive
home. Temple dropped me off at home. I got out of the car and gave
her a tight hug and whispered, "Goodbye."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SCmwBnmKzCf_cQQj79mDHpcEirKBBLYXUYcMan2CuVmsiu2m5yv4EChVXNnEP6wAKuTMJxI_iRI10q55j2sCg0_ctdUaTv0oWuAmPwh4iUsyt1p1lgttO-dmzv5DhayFAI7Ko74LegN0/s1600/NYC+2012+2+071.jpg"><span style="color: windowtext; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><v:shape alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SCmwBnmKzCf_cQQj79mDHpcEirKBBLYXUYcMan2CuVmsiu2m5yv4EChVXNnEP6wAKuTMJxI_iRI10q55j2sCg0_ctdUaTv0oWuAmPwh4iUsyt1p1lgttO-dmzv5DhayFAI7Ko74LegN0/s400/NYC+2012+2+071.jpg" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SCmwBnmKzCf_cQQj79mDHpcEirKBBLYXUYcMan2CuVmsiu2m5yv4EChVXNnEP6wAKuTMJxI_iRI10q55j2sCg0_ctdUaTv0oWuAmPwh4iUsyt1p1lgttO-dmzv5DhayFAI7Ko74LegN0/s1600/NYC+2012+2+071.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_4" o:button="t" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 168.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 300pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="NYC+2012+2+071" src="file:///C:\Users\Owner\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVeVltIX7M-sM5daCor6GPLOnUGwvJxaAKImbsS495nYnCJ1vI1DrasFoXtjc8xvHI_XBBIEWkuAhLwNGz0dtmvv8c3SDONAvyzptMnB1Tn5tejYBAoewDcoymnJNkSkMHnm3hfMXAwA/s1600/NYC+2012+2+071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVeVltIX7M-sM5daCor6GPLOnUGwvJxaAKImbsS495nYnCJ1vI1DrasFoXtjc8xvHI_XBBIEWkuAhLwNGz0dtmvv8c3SDONAvyzptMnB1Tn5tejYBAoewDcoymnJNkSkMHnm3hfMXAwA/s400/NYC+2012+2+071.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I went into my house to Martha, who was asleep and
waiting for me. And Temple went home to her life.<br />
<br />
I did ask her that we take about a week to think about it before we made it
public. I didn't really think that one week would change anything.
But I wanted to know that, after thirteen years, I was worth praying one
last time to God and asking, "Is this really what you want?"<br />
<br />
But in truth, both Temple and I knew that this was the right thing for both of
us. I still love her very much. And I miss her every day. But
the understanding that we gained in New York helps me get through every day,
one day at a time.</div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-33323404639581444892012-09-05T07:53:00.000-07:002012-09-05T07:53:15.837-07:00Announcement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1YH2mOynbuJFQU-S0Zaq0PYzKOFIEM9MjfeK60jZICgeI7MyUcmwE_wQAIQYkPRzVPaH6n73V_2qoXtZYVJBC8Xb0OKcHyrMthpskyQU1LUerP_zzqiuZLzvOR6DnIJ9hHyzQ7rAEJw/s1600/Breakup+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1YH2mOynbuJFQU-S0Zaq0PYzKOFIEM9MjfeK60jZICgeI7MyUcmwE_wQAIQYkPRzVPaH6n73V_2qoXtZYVJBC8Xb0OKcHyrMthpskyQU1LUerP_zzqiuZLzvOR6DnIJ9hHyzQ7rAEJw/s320/Breakup+004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">After 13 years, Temple</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> and I are ending our marriage. It may seem cliche, but we really love each other and are still the best of friends. We will continue raising our children together, just no longer as husband and</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
wife. It is a very sad time for us, and yet I wish her the best. There are reasons for it, but I won't discuss it on a public forum. I won't tolerate people badmouthing Temple or dragging her name through the mud. There are reasons for the split, but honestly I have to take responsibility for this. If it is anyone's fault, it is mine. I will likely blog about this in coming days, but without embarrassing her. My thirteen years as a polygamist are over, and I will still defend this Principle until my dying day, as I will defend Temple. This photo was taken the evening it became final. I LOVE YOU FOREVER, TEMPLE!! ♥</div>
Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-35353163675831065392012-08-19T16:18:00.001-07:002012-08-19T16:18:13.031-07:00SunshineTo me, this song and video capture the spirit of going out into the world without purse or scrip - the hope that angels go with you! I hope that you enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/E_Vt4MlbM0c/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/E_Vt4MlbM0c&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/E_Vt4MlbM0c&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br />Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-2651777762095189882012-08-18T09:01:00.002-07:002012-08-18T09:03:38.650-07:00A True "Without Purse or Scrip" Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GkB64lcyye9p3rcv5u0uOiN5Kr8VI5RNmhn5dz9cFSBNbgkzhTI-2spL6Srn8Z-10tIggBkfhW1bHDVHBGeUufiMb2S6yOL_RIN0bSivHMnq1IU8p8JsMFg_LRDbQjN9nJVU7kpKttA/s1600/zm_zoomin.5.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GkB64lcyye9p3rcv5u0uOiN5Kr8VI5RNmhn5dz9cFSBNbgkzhTI-2spL6Srn8Z-10tIggBkfhW1bHDVHBGeUufiMb2S6yOL_RIN0bSivHMnq1IU8p8JsMFg_LRDbQjN9nJVU7kpKttA/s400/zm_zoomin.5.2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
This is a true story.<br />
<br />
There were three young men, still teenagers. Their priesthood leaders had given them a calling as missionaries. They did not represent a church or a group, simply the presence of priesthood existing outside of the bounds of the LDS Church.<br />
<br />
The calling they were given was an experiment of what it would be like to go out as missionaries without purse or scrip, the way they used to do in the Mormon Church.<br />
<br />
They lived in eastern Arizona and were nestled between reservations belonging to the Hopi, the Zuni, the Navajo, and the Apache. These three young men were called to serve the Native American peoples in this area, or - as Mormons term them - Lamanites. They were told not to preach to them, unless the opportunity came up. They were to use Alma and the sons of Mosiah as an example, as taught in the Book of Mormon. In that story, the sons of Mosiah went among the Lamanites and worked for them as servants, and, in this way, they were able to have an influence over the people.<br />
<br />
The young men drove to the edge of White Mountain Apache Reservation and parked there and set off on foot, with no little trepidation. They followed the highway through the ponderosa pine forest until they came to a dirt road. After following the dirt road, the came across an old house. There were old cars around the house, and the whole yard was choked with weeds that came up to their chests.<br />
<br />
They knocked on the door. An old Apache man came to the door, and the three young men introduced themselves and asked if they could clean up the yard. They worked for most of the day clearing out weeds and garbage from the old man's house. <br />
<br />
When they were done, they followed the dirt road deeper in the forest. They started to notice many cars taking this road into the middle of nowhere, and so they followed the cars. Soon, they could hear drums pounding out a rhythm through the trees. Soon, a large gathering came into view. Several cars were parked, and hundreds of natives were gathered.<br />
<br />
The three young men wandered into the gathering. It was a sunrise ceremony, and most of the community was in attendance. They were invited in and seated at a table and served food. They found themselves seated at a table with the heads of seven different nations. Some had traveled from as far away as Oklahoma.<br />
<br />
The young men stared at each other in disbelief. Just hours ago, they had parked their car on the highway, not sure what was going to happen. The next, they are seated at a table, eating dinner with seven chiefs.<br />
<br />
They were given a tent. The pow wow went on long into the night. The next morning, they wandered back to the car and drove home, still dazed at the whole experience.<br />
<br />
The young men were my brother and two brothers-in-law. This story took place about eleven years ago.Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7598055281379368792.post-53948208259173574862012-08-17T15:34:00.001-07:002012-08-17T15:44:30.349-07:00Once Upon a Time in Mexico...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9MdRRfSpmfz-cfEFVDIWz6umsfDtQkDepfsTn5OMQ9a13TCCTBaW9qviAuIFecQzOpUM6LCYLBG_pu21i31Jgdsc3b71kCYz5u36NcQR1ho9lOFYg2KOvdJnxe79__2_4NipqBuZG2s/s1600/barnabe-parra-san-marcos-chapelc1930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9MdRRfSpmfz-cfEFVDIWz6umsfDtQkDepfsTn5OMQ9a13TCCTBaW9qviAuIFecQzOpUM6LCYLBG_pu21i31Jgdsc3b71kCYz5u36NcQR1ho9lOFYg2KOvdJnxe79__2_4NipqBuZG2s/s400/barnabe-parra-san-marcos-chapelc1930.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
For most Mormons, they look to Utah for their history. <br />
<br />
My family also looked to Mexico. Mormons have had a rich history in Mexico. First of all, Mexico is a conflicted nation that can't decide whether to embrace its European heritage, or its Native American roots. It is a nation of Native Americans that is almost ashamed to be indigenous. And yet, to Mormons, the Native American lineage is almost sacred. We believe that Native Americans are a chosen people, of the house of Israel.<br />
<br />
So, at the end of the 19th Century, not only did Mormons settle in northern Mexico to live polygamy. (Yes, Mitt Romney's family.) But the Church started an active mission throughout Mexico. In 1910, this became interrupted by the Mexican Revolution. All white Mormons - under the threat of death - were expelled from Mexico, back to Utah, leaving their indigenous congregations to fend for themselves.<br />
<br />
In 1915, the town of San Marcos, Hidalgo - 45 miles north of Mexico City - was taken over by Zapatista guerillas. In this town was a Mormon missionary of Mexican decent named Rafael de Monroy, along with his companion were captured. They were identified as "Mormons" by the Zapatistas. They distrusted anything American, and Mormonism was identified as typically an American institution. <br />
<br />
The two Mormons were detained by the soldiers and commanded to forswear their religion. The two brave missionaries refused. They were told to surrender their weapons. Monroy reached into his knapsack and took out a Book of Mormon. <br />
<br />
"This is the only weapon I need," he said.<br />
<br />
They were told that they would be executed by a firing squad. The missionaries asked if they could kneel and pray first. They were allowed, and then they were offered blindfolds, which they refused. They were shot where they were kneeling.<br />
<br />
They are considered martyrs by many Mormons, and I grew up hearing this story.<br />
<br />
The Revolution had driven the church authority out of Mexico, and, afterwards, the political climate as well as financial problems kept the Church out of Mexico. In the meantime, the congregations had to govern themselves, independent of Salt Lake City, and without their influence.<br />
<br />
When the missions were established in Mexico, it was done by white Mormons who knew the language and loved the culture. Men like Rey L. Pratt. The men that Utah send after the Revolution were not of the same caliber. They were men that looked on Mexicans with disdain and refused to give the indigenous people autonomy. It doesn't matter whether these Church leaders really viewed Mexicans this way (although I think they did). The Mexican people felt that they were treated this way.<br />
<br />
Twice, they entreated Salt Lake City to allow them leadership of Mexican decent. Twice, they were denied. On the third attempt - which they called the Third Convention - they declared themselves separate from the Mormon Church.<br />
<br />
You can read some unique things in history books about the Third Convention. But historians - in their attempt to revise history - neglect to mention certain things. The Third Convention continued to live polygamy - long after the mainstream church abandoned the practice. The Third Convention was the last bastion of plural marriage in the Mormon Church.<br />
<br />
In 1946, the LDS Church sent ambassadors to try to woo the Third Convention back into the proverbial fold. Men like David O. McKay and J. Rueben Clark negotiated a deal with the leaders of the Third Convention - they could return to the Church, but they must only live in public with only one wife. Most complied, and returned to the Church. (Some didn't, but that is a different story.)<br />
<br />
My father, who served a mission in Mexico in 1961-63, remembered going to sacrament meetings in the LDS Church and seeing old couples with more than one wife.<br />
<br />
When my father came into the Mexican mission, one of the heroes in his mission was a man named Benjamin Parra. This missionary was a grandson of Rafael de Monroy, who gave his life for the sake of Mormonism. He was also the son of the second wife of Third Convention polygamist. He was famous, because he had over 200 baptisms under his belt.<br />
<br />
Sometime in 1960 or 1961, Benjamin Parra and his companion were traveling by train through Mexico. A moment of inspiration fell upon him, and he stopped the train in the middle of nowhere. He told his confused companion that he felt impressed by the Holy Spirit that they must get off of the train. It was 4:00 AM. They started walking into the wilderness. They walked over a mountain, and down into a valley. They climbed another mountain, and another one. <br />
<br />
There was a small village on the other side called San Andres. The sun was just coming up. There was a small fountain in the middle of the village, and they made their way to the fountain and started singing Mormon hymns out loud. The curious villagers came out to listen, and the two missionaries began to preach to the village. The preached all day. By the end of the day, they had baptized the entire village in a canal that flowed nearby.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, Mormon missionaries must follow a certain protocol and teach potential converts a series of classes called "lessons". Missionaries can't baptize without following the formula, and they certainly can't baptize on a whim in this manner - with permission. Yet this was a faith-promoting story that was told to me all through my childhood, It was published in LDS magazines such as the <i>Improvement Era</i> and the <i>Ensign</i>.<br />
<br />
My father told me this story several time when I was young, and he idolized Benjamin Parra as the perfect missionary, In 1972 - at the age of 32 - Parra was placed in charge of the mission in Vera Cruz. Three years later, he was made responsible for church real estate transactions in Mexico, and made a special representative of the Quorum of the Twelve in Mexico.<br />
<br />
Eventually, Parra was accused of embezzling from the Church and excommunicated. This shattered my dad's image of Benjamin Parra. In 1997, my dad traveled to Mexico City and stopped by the Church offices at the Mexico City Temple. He took a clerk aside who knew Benjamin Parra and asked him about the whole embezzling thing. My dad was told that the whole thing was a lie.<br />
<br />
Benjamin Parra might have had a knack for missionary work, but he had no talent for business. He used to just sign the checks. He never knew what they were used for, or what the money was being diverted to. He was cut off for signing his name to checks that he had no clue what they were used for.<br />
<br />
It goes back to the whole reason the Third Convention occurred in the first place. It is no doubt that churches are businesses, and businesses are money.<br />
<br />
What happens if you take money out of it? What happens if you stop trying to build up the business and focus instead on spreading the good news of the gospel? What if you made it about faith instead of numbers? <br />
<br />
Would you have the bravery to hold up the scriptures to men who want to kill you and say, "This is the only weapon I need!"Moroni Jessophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14791003745428989502noreply@blogger.com6