The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Not a bad place to go for a run. Just don't stop too long to enjoy the view, or you'll freeze.

Above Perry, Utah is a mountain called Grizzly Peak. It has a fantastic trail leading to its summit from Perry Canyon. It’s not far from my school and I enjoy running it after work on occasion. Last year I ran it several times through the winter. I learned very quickly that I did not have to dress very warm. The trail was steep enough and I was working hard enough that I manage to stay warm wearing a minimal amount of clothing even though the summit was always howling with wind. The wind chill had to be in the single digits or lower, and I would be wearing only my running shoes, a light pair of running tights, a long sleeve shirt, a wind breaker, light running gloves, and a beanie. But if I stopped for even a few seconds, I would start to get dangerously cold. I had to keep running or become hypothermic! I had to move forward or freeze.

Technically, this is Ben Lomond not Grizzly Peak,
but it's only a few miles away and you get the idea.

It may sound a little crazy, but I loved that biting wind. It motivated me to run a faster and more sustained pace than I ever would have in more comfortable temperatures. It pushed me to progress when I didn't have the motivation to push myself. And it felt good to work that hard! If only there was a freezing winter wind to get me to write more and faster! Or is there?  

I have taught many students who are talented writers over the years. While in my Creative Writing class, they produce prolific amounts of quality work. Later in the year, I will see them in the hall and ask, “Are you still writing?” Almost without exception, they say no. The reason is always the same, without a class to “make” them do it, they stop producing. There’s no threat of frost bite if they stop, so they get a little lazy about it. Without an assignment or a deadline, many of us are the same way. The pressure is off and there’s no one to push us out of our comfort zone.

So why not give ourselves an assignment and a deadline to keep us moving forward? The best way I can think to do this is by creating something as a gift. Birthdays and holidays provide excellent opportunities for us to use our talents to create something personal for the people we care about. They get a great present that means far more than a gift card to Chuck-a-Rama and we get an assignment and deadline to keep our creativity from freezing.

This is a portrait of my mother-in-law, Pam, that I made for my wife. 

A good friend of mine, Gregg Batt, has inspired me again and again in this regard. For Christmas, birthdays, and occasionally for no particular reason at all, I can almost always count on a beautiful and unique handmade gift from him. He has given me watercolor paintings, charcoal drawings, oil paintings, prints, and, my personal favorite, pottery. Every time I am the lucky recipient of his art, I think, “That’s so cool! Why don’t I do that more often?”

One of the first pieces of pottery that Gregg ever made for me.
Obviously, he shares my love of rock climbing.

The fact is, I know exactly why I don’t use my talents to make gifts more often: I’m chicken. I worry that the recipient won’t like it, won’t understand it, they’ll think it’s dumb, they’ll make fun of it, or it will just go in a closet to be forgotten about. There’s a million other insecurities that I use as excuses not to go out into the cold wind even though the cold wind is exactly what I need.

An oil painting Gregg made for me of my favorite mountains in the whole world: The Willard Spires.

When running Grizzly Peak in the winter, the worst part is always when I first get out of the car. I’m comfortable in the car with the heater on. I can relax, listen to the radio, take a nap if I want to, drive to McDonald’s and eat a cheeseburger. I don’t want to get out.

When we’re having trouble taking that first step out of the car, it helps to remember who our creative gift is really for. Betty Jo N. Jepsen once said, “These are the gifts we bring. The talents we have come from our Heavenly Father, and to honor Him, we can develop and expand them and then return them to Him.” We are told how we return these gifts to Him in Matthew 25: 40 which reads, “And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Think about that for a moment: Each gift we give, made from our unique God given talents, is really a gift to our savior, Jesus Christ. That thought alone should get us out of the car!

I made this accordion book for my wife and put a poem in it that I wrote for her.  

The second I open the door to the car, the cold, winter wind starts me shivering and the only thing to do is run and run and don’t stop! It’s hard to make ourselves commit to creating something as a gift for someone else, and we’re sure to curse ourselves in the beginning. But as we get to work on it and keep working on it, we will feel our bodies warm from the effort and the pressure to get it done becomes invigorating. It feels good to have an assignment and a deadline again. It keeps us moving forward and that keeps our creativity from freezing. 

A water color Christmas card that Gregg made for my family.

A "horse hair" pot that Gregg gave me. He literally used the hair from my horse's tail to create the cool black lines on it. If I understand it right, you burn the hair on the still glowing hot pot right after it comes out of the kiln.

Yet another gift from Gregg. My wife refuses to eat a salad out of any other bowl in the house.

A Fairy Tale in Four Parts (Part Four)

Here's the end of my Truenda fairy tale. Parts one through three were posted over the last few days.


Just then, a strong, warm hand grasped her shoulder and she felt the cat’s claws yanked free of her arm. She knew it had to be her brother! She reached out to him and felt his hand grab hers, lift her to her feet, and pull her into a hug that was as warm and beautiful as the summer sun. She had never felt so happy and so loved as she did right then.

For a while, her brother carried her over the rockiest and most difficult part of the path through the cave. When they finally reached the outside, he set her down and she felt his fingers on her lips. He gently urged her to open her mouth. Tears of shame poured from her empty sockets. She did not want him to see what she had done, but she opened her mouth. She felt her brother wipe the tears from her face and then she felt something pushed into her mouth and, suddenly, her tongue was back in its proper place! She did not know how it was possible, but she wasted no time in using her newly replaced tongue to express her gratitude to her brother again and again.

After she had rested a little while, her brother took her by her hand and led her along the path away from the cave. The path was much longer and steeper than she would ever have thought, but, with her brother’s help, she continued steadily on. Her heart broke every time she thought of her father hearing about what she had done and seeing how horrible she looked without eyes and ears. What would he think of her? Could he ever love her again?

Just as she felt she could go no further, they stopped. Her brother sat her down and had her rest her head in his lap. She felt his gentle fingers on the sides of her head where her ears should have been. “I’m so sorry, Brother. I was following the cat and I…I…” She began to sob so hard that she could no longer speak.

She felt her brother wipe the tears from her cheeks. Then he said, “It’s okay, Truenda, with your tears, I have mended your ears.”  She could hear! She reached up with her hands and felt that her ears had been returned to their proper place! Immediately, she fell to the ground thanking her brother again and again. Her brother said, “Now that you have ears to hear, follow my voice.” He got to his feet and began to lead her up the path. He did not take her hand this time, but she was not afraid, because she could hear his words and follow them.

They walked for a long time. The path climbed ever upward and Truenda’s legs ached from the effort. The pain she felt inside, however, was far worse. She thought only of her father who had never shown anything but the purist love for her and she had disobeyed him again and again. She deserved this guilty pain in her heart. She deserved her horrible eyeless face. Her father could not possibly love such a disobedient daughter. If it were not for the kind and hopeful words of her brother beckoning her on, she could not have taken another step.

Just as she felt she could go no further, they stopped again. Her brother sat down and told her to rest her head on his lap. Immediately,  she began to sob. Her brother stroked her hair and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she poured out her heart to him. “How can you be so kind when I have been so horrible? How could you have descended into the awful depths of that dark cave for someone like me? I do not deserve it. You and father must be so disappointed in me!”

“Father sent me into the depths to fetch you because he loves you. I went because I love you. We will always love you no matter the choices you make. We want only your happiness and for you to return to us. And, if you trust in me, I will make you whole again.” With that he pressed his fingers against the empty sockets of Truenda’s eyes and, when he pulled them away again, she could see his beautiful face smiling down at her. Dawn was coming and, in the early morning light, her brother seemed to glow with goodness. “Now that you are whole again,” he said, “follow me home to father.” This she did with happiness filling all the empty spaces in her chest where only the aching darkness had been before.

And she lived happily ever after.

A page from my journal about the origin of the "Truenda" story.

A Fairy Tale in Four Parts (Part Three)

Here's part three of my Truenda fairy tale. Parts one and two were posted on 2/10/15 and 2/11/15.

A pretty serious "fail" at a collage of Truenda and the cat. Oh well, she can't see it anyway.

They had not walked for long when she felt the air start to turn cool and she knew that they were close. The path became slick, steep, and rocky and she stumbled and fell. Suddenly, she became frightened and she wanted nothing more than to be home with her father and brother no matter how ashamed she might feel. She knew that if she called out loudly enough, her brother would hear and he would come for her. She took a deep breath and just as she was about to yell, she felt the cat’s claws on her tongue and she found she could not speak.

The cat seemed to speak directly to her mind and it said, Your brother would be disgusted if he saw you now. Only empty sockets where your eyes once were and bloody stumps where you once had ears. He will not love you when he sees what you’ve done. It is too late. There is only one way to go now: Onward, into the cave.

Was it true? Would her brother despise her now? The thought was too unbearable. Better to hide from him than to let herself be seen like this. Only the darkness would love her now. The cat pressed the sharp rock into her hand and she knew what she must do. She cut out her tongue and dropped it in the path. Then, she reached out her hand until she found the cat’s tail and let it lead her ever downward into the depths of the cold cave. Even though she could not see it, she could sense the vast darkness gathering all around her.

Before long, the cat stopped and Truenda knew that they had reached the black water of the well where the spaces between the stars dripped down and pooled up. She knelt down and reached out a trembling hand. Here she was, finally about to touch the darkness she had longed for. But she was not so sure she wanted it anymore. Maybe she should turn and try to find her way back. But how? She had no eyes to see, no ears to hear, and no tongue to call out with. She could never find her way back to her father now. The cat certainly wouldn’t lead her back, she was sure of that. It was hopeless.

The cat, possibly sensing her hesitation, put a paw gently on her arm as if to reassure her and, though she could not hear, she imagined the cat saying, “It’s okay, just reach out a bit further.” Still, she hesitated. Why had she fallen in love with the darkness between the stars? Wasn’t it the stars themselves that were the most beautiful? Wasn’t the rising moon so like the smiling face of her older brother? Wasn’t the glorious sun, bringing new day, just like her father? She did not want this! No more darkness!

She tried to draw her hand back, but the cats claws came out, sharp and digging into her arm. The cat was impossibly strong. No matter how she struggled, Truenda could not break free. Tears poured from the empty sockets of her eyes and a dreadful moan shuddered in her empty mouth. The cat began to force her hand out toward the pool of darkness. No! Truenda screamed in her mind. I do not want this! And her heart called out more clearly, more loudly, more sincerely than her tongue ever could have, Father! Help me!

Part four will be posted tomorrow.

A few thumbnails from my journal that led to the collage above.

A Fairy Tale in Four Parts (Part Two)

Here's part two of my "Truenda" fairy tale. If you haven't read part one, it's on yesterday's (2/10/15) post.

A quick Sharpie and water color illustration of Truenda and the cat.

At first, Truenda was appalled by this, but then she felt the emptiness in her chest surge and grow as if in response to the cat’s words. Without quite realizing what she was doing, she reached up and plucked out first one eye and then the other, and then she dropped them in the path.

“Follow me, then,” the cat purred.

Truenda followed the soft sound of the cat’s paws on the path. She was frightened she might trip and fall because she could not see, but the path was smooth and sloped gently downward, and soon she was comfortable walking along behind the cat. However, now that she was wrapped in absolute blackness because of the loss of her eyes, she felt the longing for the spaces between the stars more than ever. The hollowness aching inside her was nearly unbearable. “Is it much farther?” asked Truenda.

“Not far,” said the cat.

Just then, Truenda thought she heard someone call her name. “Who was that?” she asked.

“I heard nothing,” said the cat. “Just keep walking.”

Truenda continued down the path, but soon she was sure she heard a distant voice call her name. “There, did you hear that? Someone called my name.”

“It was only the wind,” said the cat. “Now pay attention to me or you will lose your way. I will sing a song for you to easily hear so that you can follow me.” The cat began to sing a loud and unsavory tavern song.

Truenda did not like the song, but it did make it easy to follow the cat. She walked on for a time until she heard someone call out again. This time she was certain it was her brother’s voice calling her name. She stopped and said, “It’s my older brother. He’s calling for me. I must go to him.”

“No,” said the cat impatiently, “you should not. Not if you want to reach the cave. If you ever want to touch the darkness you profess to love and fill the aching hollowness in your chest, you will have to cut off your ears so that you will not hear the calls of your brother and be tempted to turn back.”

Truenda was torn. Her brother was looking for her. She could tell by his voice that he was concerned for her wellbeing and wanted to help her. She could not just ignore him.

“Besides,” said the cat. “Won’t you be embarrassed for him to see what you’ve done to your eyes? Here is a sharp rock. Cut off your ears so we can move on.”

Truenda felt the rock pressed into her hand. She really was ashamed to let her brother see her. And the ache in her chest was so complete, so irresistible. “How will I follow you if I cannot see or hear?” she asked the cat.

“Easy,” said the cat, “you can hold onto my tail and I will lead you.”

Truenda cut off her ears, first one, then the other, and dropped them in the path. Now, surrounded by nothing but blackness and silence, the hollowness hurt so much she thought it might tear her in two. She clutched the cat’s tail and said, “Lead on.”

End of part two.

I'll post part three tomorrow.

A Fairy Tale in Four Parts

I love fairy tales. They are the kind of stories that you read and think, "Huh, that was weird," and then continue on your way wondering why Disney is always making movies about fairy tales. Later, you're surprised to find yourself dwelling on it and you think, "Huh, that's weird," and, again, you continue on your way, this time wondering why the fairy tale you were told as a kid isn't the same as the one you recently read. Then, much later, maybe even years later, you find yourself thinking about it again and again. It haunts you (but not in a bad way...usually). It's like the fairy tale is a child shyly peeking out from behind the legs of some of your most looming memories and emotions; the ones that form a backdrop to your identity like the set design of a play. And the fairy tale whispers to you, but you can never quite make out what it's saying, never quite see it clearly. It never ceases to amaze me how disconcerting these deceptively simple stories can be. 

A page from my journal concerning fairy tales.

I wanted to have some fun and try writing in a completely different genre and style than I'm comfortable with. So why not a fairy tale? Besides, I thought it would be interesting to try and see if I could create that disconcerting effect I mentioned. I ended up with four fairy tales. I decided to share at least one of them on this blog. Because of its length, I broke it into four parts. I hope it entertains, inspires, and haunts you (in a good way...mostly).

Truenda (Part One)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Truenda who was prone to mischief. She lived in a in a castle in the middle of a forest with her loving father and older brother. One night, when she was still much too young to be outside on her own, she slipped out of the castle on feet as silent as a moth. It was the first time she had ever seen the broad expanse of the starry night sky and she was awestruck. She looked up and wondered at the stars and then she wondered at the spaces between the stars. So entranced was she, that she immediately fell in love with the empty darkness she saw there.

Night after night, Truenda slipped out of the castle and looked longingly up at the vast emptiness and, after a while, the vast emptiness got inside of her so that she ached always with hollowness and hunger. One night, her chest ached with so much hollowness that she left her bed and climbed up onto the roof of the castle. From the top of the roof she reached as high as she could and still she could not touch the darkness. She looked and saw that there was a chimney that was still taller, so she climbed onto it and, wobbling slightly, stood up and reached for the spaces between the stars. She stretched out so much that she started to totter over and would have fallen if not for her older brother. He had heard her climb onto the roof and followed, catching her just before she would have plummeted to the ground.

The next night, the ache was back and the hunger was as intense as ever. Truenda slipped out of the castle again and wandered into the forest. She found the tallest tree she could and climbed to the top where the branches were small and flimsy. From the very top, she reached out for the spaces between the stars and thought that this time she just might reach it, when the branch she was standing on broke and down she fell. She would have certainly died if not for her older brother who had seen her sneak out and followed her. He caught her just before she hit the ground and took her safely home. 

The third night, the ache was worse than ever. Unable to bear it any longer, she crept from the castle in hopes of finding a way to grasp the darkness and fill the hole in her chest. She did not know where she was going or how she was going to do it, but the forest looked much darker than the cheerful lights of the castle so that is where she went. She wandered long into the night, deeper and deeper into the forest, and just when she was about to give up and go back home, she heard a voice ask, “What are you doing out here wandering in the forest so late at night little girl?”

Startled, Truenda looked about until she saw a black cat materialize out of the shadows. “I have fallen in love with the darkness between the stars,” Truenda told the cat, “and, since I cannot reach it, the emptiness has gotten inside of me and drives me from my bed aching with hollowness and hunger.”

“Ah,” said the cat, “I know how you can not only reach the darkness, but drink it up and fill the emptiness inside you.”

“How?” asked Truenda.

“Not far from here is a cave,” said the cat. “Deep within the cave is a well where the spaces between the stars drip down and pool up. There you can reach out, cup the darkness in your hand, and drink your fill.”

“Will you show me the way?” asked Truenda.

“I will lead you there,” said the cat, “but first you must pluck out your eyes. You can only follow the path to the cave if you cannot see the way back to your home.”

End of Part One.

I'll post Part Two tomorrow.