une note de ma fille missionnaire en Californie

Nous avons eu la merveilleuse opportunité d'avoir un apôtre venu nous parler samedi, frère Rasband! (Et je dois jouer de l'orgue devant lui et toute la mission 😮) Pour ceux qui ne sont pas familiers avec l'organisation de l'église, le chef de l'église est le prophète, et il a 12 apôtres comme Jésus a fait quand il était sur la terre. Nous croyons que Dieu a continué à appeler les prophètes et les apôtres à témoigner de la réalité de Jésus-Christ. Bref, c'était une occasion vraiment spéciale; pourrait même être une chance unique pour certaines personnes. Nous avons tous eu l'occasion de lui serrer la main quand nous sommes entrés dans le bâtiment et il a regardé chacun de nous dans les yeux et a souri. Je ne sais pas si j'ai jamais serré la main de quelqu'un et senti de l'amour et de la chaleur comme je l'ai fait quand j'ai secoué le frère Rasband. Il a parlé de beaucoup de choses merveilleuses, mais certaines choses qui m'ont vraiment marqué étaient:

1. Ne soyez pas un pleurnicheur! Soyons toujours reconnaissants pour ce que nous sommes, ce que nous faisons et ce que nous avons dans nos vies. Remerciez Dieu pour tout ce que vous avez et demandez-Lui ce qu'il veut que vous appreniez au moment où vous êtes dans la vie.
 
2. Ne vous inquiétez pas trop! Dieu contrôle, même si le monde ne reflète pas ce fait. Faire confiance à Dieu est bien plus facile à dire qu'à faire, mais je sais que lorsque nous lui donnerons notre volonté, nous serons toujours plus heureux. Si nous faisons ce dont nous avons besoin, nous n'avons pas besoin de nous inquiéter.

3. TOUJOURS être digne d'avoir la direction de Dieu dans votre vie, peu importe ce que cela nécessite. Je crois que nos sacrifices sont notés et ils sont grandement récompensés, bien que nous pourrions ne pas voir ces récompenses pendant un certain temps.

4. Il n'y a pas de coïncidences! Dieu a un plan parfait pour chacun de nous, et Il va placer les gens dans nos vies et nous dire où aller pour que ce plan arrive. Tout ce que nous devons faire est d'écouter! Il sait de quoi nous avons besoin et de qui nous avons besoin de beaucoup mieux que nous.

J'aime le Seigneur et j'aime chacun de vous, et je sais qu'il le fait aussi! Vous n'avez aucune idée de ce que chacun de vous signifie pour lui et comment vos efforts aident à construire son royaume. Tu es toujours suffisant :)
Merci beaucoup d'avoir fait partie de ma vie, bonne semaine!

Amour,
Soeur Torkildson

From the New York Times

The pornographic film actress who says
she had an affair with President Trump
offered on Monday to return $130,000 she
received from Mr. Trump’s personal lawyer
in 2016 for agreeing not to discuss the
alleged relationship.

In exchange, the actress, Stephanie
Clifford, seeks an end to her deal to
keep quiet about what she says was
an affair with Mr. Trump that started
in 2006 and lasted for several months.

Though silence is golden, sometimes

It pays to reveal juicy crimes.

The stormy affair

That Trump will not bare

Could net his old lover some dimes.

Businessmen once considered giants
of the Saudi economy now wear ankle
bracelets that track their movements.
Princes who led military forces and
appeared in glossy magazines are
monitored by guards they do not
command. Families who flew on private
jets cannot gain access to their bank
accounts. Even wives and children have
been forbidden to travel.

There once was a rich man in Saudi

Who lived a lifestyle very gaudy.

The crown prince decided

He ought to be chided --

And put him on bread and hot toddy.

“Shareholders and management get the monetary
rewards, and ‘meaning’ and ‘excitement’ are consolation
prizes that go to workers,” said Caitlin Petre, an assistant
professor of media studies at Rutgers University who
has examined similar practices at media companies.
“This is very much in line with my understanding of how
the gamification trend in workplaces operates.”  

Your job is more exciting now, the management has said.

Instead of filthy lucre you can win a nice bedspread.

Working for us gives your life a meaningful increase;

We think that you can starve to death enjoying love and peace.

So do not ask for raises just because you’ve been evicted;

Money’s just another drug to which you get addicted.

From the Wall Street Journal. Monday March 12 2018

“Millennials are not sleeping in their parents’ basement
until noon anymore,” Mr. Bokhari said.

Millennials are on the move.

They really do want to improve

All that is local,

So they are vocal

To fit ev’ryone in their groove.

The White House on Sunday announced a plan
to reduce gun violence at schools that includes
spending federal money on training school
staffers to carry concealed weapons, but not
President Donald Trump’s earlier call to raise the
age limit for buying guns.

Guns and diapers seem to be

Part of our grim history.

Is it stress from bad acne

That sparks a youthful shooting spree?

After lagging behind other countries for years,
commercial drones in the U.S. are expected to begin
limited package deliveries within months,
according to federal regulators and industry officials.

What’s that buzzing at my door?

It’s a drone, and what is more

It has brung me underwear

As it hovers in the air.

Will it bring my pizza next

If I send the proper text?

And if I want company

Will it bring a dog to me?

Oh, this brave new world of drones

That might even bring me loans!

Happiness to me will fly

On the blades of DJI!

The Language of our Fathers

“And behold, it is wisdom in God that we should
obtain these records, that we may preserve
unto our children the language of our fathers . . .”

First Nephi. Chapter Three. Verse 19

The language of our fathers seems to be a fairy tale

To many who against their truth would rather shout and flail.

Or else they do neglect it in pursuit of ‘better things’ --

And thus deprive themselves of grace that gives to life its wings.

The language of our fathers is a bulwark of defense

Against the devil’s heady and alluring sweet incense.

Those who learn to love it come to quickly understand

That it will lead the wanderer unto the Promised Land.

The language of our fathers cannot be improved or shaved;

Those who tamper with it may not be redeemed or saved.

At times when I am reading it I may begin to nod;

Forgive me, Lord, for napping while I hold the iron rod!

How I Got Blacklisted from Ringling Brothers Circus

That's me, Michu, and Dougie Ashton. 1977.

When I returned to the Ringling Brothers Circus Blue Unit in 1977, after a two year hiatus in Thailand as a volunteer missionary for the LDS Church, the first thing that my old pal Tim Holst, the man who had initially gotten me interested in the LDS Church and then baptized me five years earlier, had said to me was: “It’s kinda like being in Hell, isn’t it?”

He was referring, I think, to the initial shock I was experiencing from the earthy and crapulous shenanigans of clown alley to which I was a daily and unwilling witness. The talk was of nothing but drinking and copulation. A blue haze of cigarette smoke hung over the alley like a London pea-souper. The slightly eccentric characters I fondly remembered from my earlier days in clown alley had somehow transmogrified into mangy ogres who delighted to spout blasphemies at the drop of a rubber chicken.

It was a far cry from the mission field, where my whole being was consecrated to gathering souls for Christ.

A few of the old stalwarts remained, like Swede Johnson, Prince Paul, and Mark Anthony -- veteran merrymakers that did not concern themselves with carnal matters but instead dedicated all their waking hours to exciting the audience’s funny bone.They were zircons in the rough. But their social lives were very private and very quiet -- they respected me as one of their own, a true zany, but they were set in their ways and didn’t need much of my company.  

I felt lonely and isolated. Gone were my boon companions of earlier days, who accompanied me to used bookstores hunting for a rare copy of Gene Fowler’s ‘Mother Goose,’ the biography of Mack Sennett, or rejoiced with me when we found a Woolworth’s that still served a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup for one dollar. These new clowns just wanted to prowl the local gin mills looking to pick up floozies. I made no secret of my disdain for their tawdry activities.

Even worse, since I was still pals with Tim Holst, who had gone from clown to ring master to the current assistant Performance Director, rumors began to circulate that I was a snitch -- that I ran to Holst with details of every misdeed perpetrated in clown alley. Such was not the case; I held  the code of clown alley as sacred -- Never Rat Out a Fellow Joey. Holst and I went jogging every day between the matinee and evening show, usually around the outside of the arena. That is when I supposedly spilled the beans to him.

So my isolation grew more pronounced as the season progressed, with hard looks and muttered curses directed my way. Until one Sabbath day, in St. Louis, Missouri, Michu, the World’s Smallest Man, pushed me over the edge . . .

I went to church that morning, as always, and had become more desconsolate than usual as I compared the stable, happy, Mormon families around me to my own bleak existence among a covey of depraved sex fiends. It wasn’t fair -- in fact, it was downright nauseating! As I seated myself at my clown trunk, I decided to read a few verses from my brand new leatherbound Book of Mormon to sooth my anguished soul.

And that’s when Michu, who was embedded in clown alley as a star comic attraction, weaved his way over to me with a large bottle of Miller’s High Life in hand and slowly poured its contents all over my scriptures.

I interrupted his high-pitched snicker by lifting him up and depositing him inside his own wardrobe trunk -- which I then closed and locked. It took the boss clown ten minutes to jimmy the lock and let him out. And by then my fate was sealed.

For it is an unalterable decree in the circus that regular people cannot physically manhandle a Little Person in any way, shape, or form. To do so means instant dismissal. I was summoned before the Performance Director, Charlie Baumann, and the assistant Performance Director, Tim Holst (my good old pal), and judgement was summarily passed. I was guilty, but would be allowed to finish out the season, since, Baumann growled at me, they couldn’t spare such an energetic fool as me in the middle of a rough tour. But I would be blacklisted; never allowed back into the Ringling clown alley. And word of my disgrace would be communicated to all other major circuses.

As the days went by I could see that Holst was agonizing about my fate. As a true blue pal he wanted to help, and finally he asked me if I wanted him to go see old man Feld, the owner of the circus, to plead my case and seek a reversal of judgement. He said he’d be glad to do it. Maybe he could do it-- but he now had a wife to support, with a kid on the way, and I didn’t like the idea of him jeopardizing his own career just to go to bat for me, a bigtop pariah. So I gave him the old John Wayne baloney: “Don’t worry about me, pilgrim” I told him. “I always land on my feet. I’ll just mosey on back to Minnesota to see what else I might can do. You just keep that wife and kid of yourn in spangles and cotton candy, ya hear me?” I gave him a friendly jab on the chin and then sauntered off into the sunset, with the brim of my ten gallon clown hat tipped up at a raffish angle.

From the New York Times.. Sunday March 11 2018

(These are paragraphs from the NYTimes -- the verse is mine)

Where others see flashing yellow lights
and slow down, Mr. Trump speeds up.
And just like that, in the course of 45
minutes in the Oval Office, Mr. Trump
threw aside caution and dispensed with
decades of convention to embark on a
daring, high-wire diplomatic gambit aimed
at resolving one of the world’s most
intractable standoffs.

There’s something about this here Trump --

Could he be a champ, not a chump?

Korea might find

He’s got a good mind --

Or else he might hit a speed bump.

A week after a retired Russian double agent
and his daughter were poisoned by a
nerve agent in the small city of Salisbury,
British authorities on Sunday asked anyone
who was near Mr. Skripal that day
to wash their clothes.

It’s dangerous to be a spy

Unless your clothes are drip-n-dry.

The poison that will come your way

Means you will have a toxic day;

Contaminates your shoes and socks,

Your eyeglasses and ticking clocks.

So if to allergies you’re prone,

Then get a job at Firestone.

The political establishment, as embodied
by the governing Institutional Revolutionary Party,
or PRI, which held power uninterrupted
from 1929 to 2000, is perceived by many
Mexicans as inclined to corruption and graft.

A young man who came from La Paz

Decided to alter the laws;

He made his attacks

Against corrupt hacks --

They found him stuffed inside a vase.

                  

From the Wall Street Journal. Sunday March 11 2018

                                              (All stories quoted are from today's edition)

China’s legislature formally scrapped term limits on
Xi Jinping’s presidency, clearing his path toward
indefinite one-man rule.

Term limits are such a dull bore.

They get in the way of the chore

To scorn and then crush

All this Liberty mush --

The Chinese appreciate gore.

American workers, for the first time, are discovering
how much employees earn at the biggest U.S.
companies and how that pay compares with
the chief executive’s.

So now that I know that my chief

Is making such money, the grief

And the rage are intense

That such recompense

Must go to that cold side of beef.

The White House is expected to release a plan on Sunday
that would urge states to consider raising the age to buy certain
firearms and would recommend that states allow school staffers
to carry concealed weapons, according to White House officials
who have been briefed on the proposal.

The janitor has got a gun, so when he empties trash

If he should spot a threat he can then shoot it all to smash.

And the ladies serving lunch are packing heat these days --

You never know when mashed potatoes might go on a craze.

Don’t mess with the librarian when down the hall you run --

That’s not a book she’s carrying, but a gatling gun.

So if in public schools you find yourself a student stuck,

Not only learn your ABC’s but also learn to duck!

“And after the angel had spoken unto us, he departed.”

“And after the angel had spoken unto us, he departed.”

First Nephi. Chapter Three. Verse 30.

The problem with angels is that

When finished with all their chitchat,

To heaven they fly

And leave us to try

To get their instructions down pat.

WSJ Addendum. Saturday, March 10. 2018

(Editor's Note: All stories quoted below are sourced from the Wall Street Journal)

Mr. Trump’s signing of new 25% tariffs on steel and 10% on aluminum
imports is poised to reshape the U.S. economy. It is the most significant
break in decades from the country’s traditional free-trade stance and has
threatened to widen a split within the ​Republican Party between an older
breed of internationalists and newer Trump supporters.

The tariff is coming -- egad!

It’s not just a whimsical fad.

The Party is split,

With half in a snit --

They’re hissing and spitting up plaid.

The European Union and Japan pressed the U.S. to exempt them from
President Donald Trump’s steel and aluminum tariffs on Saturday,
firing their opening salvos as officials seek to avoid a trade war with the
world’s biggest economy.

When Europe and Japan decide/to snub our Jekyll and our Hyde/
They’ll put up tariffs faster than/any plain old Superman.

If children in kindergarten can practice active-shooter drills,
then they can also walk out to call for safety, some parents and educators say.

A young boy decided to stray/away from his school one fine day/
when asked why he strayed/he said in First Grade/he wasn’t a student, but prey.

Supermarket Love

Supermarkets—those havens of the not-so-scintillating chore
of scouring numbered aisles, pushing carts and perusing produce—
are finding a new identity as a social hub in communities.
Parents now bring their children here to play, retirees gather for Bingo,
and singles find romance.  From the Wall Street Journal

I met her in the pasta aisle.

Attracted by her saucy smile,

I asked if she liked angel hair;

She said she’d buy some we could share.

We sampled cheese and garlic toast;

I kissed her by the strip loin roast.

She laid her head upon my chest

While pricing frozen chicken breast.

But then we quarreled o’er brussels sprouts,

so had to go our sep’rate routes.

And now I loiter by dry beans

And wonder just what true love means . . .