My time in quarantine

So I had decided to use my time in quarantine creating something
 so fantastic,
 so sublime,
 so ridiculous,
 that I would become a standard footnote in the books on Pandemic History that would one day
be published.
I tried
bottling the breath 
of smokers,
cuz I figured they would all eventually
die in this pandemic,
so it would be scientifically 
useful to have a sample of their
fetid breath.
It's easy to approach smokers.
They want to talk and be cooperative.
They're like
serial killers who are finally caught
and want to spill their guts to reporters.
I captured the breath of four smokers, in Mason jars with tight lids, before 
the R.J. Reynolds people
got to me.
They beat me up, then dumped me
in an abandoned refrigerator box.
Next I started knitting the biggest
woolen cap in the world.
The Ambassador from Finland paid me
a visit.
Then paid me a bribe
to stop knitting.
I can't say how much
he paid me.
But I can say that if you leave a
negative comment about this piece anywhere 
on the internet,
I'll have my good friend Jeff Bezos
cancel your Amazon Plus 
subscription. 
I am that rich and well connected now.
So now I spend my time in quarantine doing family history and rewriting my will.
Who wants to be just an odd footnote in history, anyway?

Let the hills be joyful together

Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together.

Psalm 98:8

Rise above the welter of depression, O my soul!

Know the God of miracles rules over all the whole.

Rushing waters bravely serenade the festive hills,

telling one and all that Christ has borne our sins and ills.

Help my spirit soar, O Lord, until I reach the heights

far above the mountaintops to taste thy keen delights!

The landlord said "Get out."

The landlord said "Get out. You never pay rent anymore."
So I got out.
I went to live with my aunt, until she said
"Get out. You leave dirty dishes in the sink."
So I got out.
I went to live with a friend in his basement apartment.
But things came out of the woodwork and took him away.
Then his mother upstairs said "Get out. You bring bad luck."
So I got out.
I lived in my car, until a cop said "You can't do that. Get out
and get a job or something."
So I got out.
But I couldn't find a job. Or a place to live.
And then I was hungry.
So I ate berries on a bush in a park.
The berries gave me super powers,
which I used to build small houses for people
just like me.
Each house had a front porch and a shade tree.
Inside were rag rugs on the floor, made by the Amish.
Wallpaper that could smell like cinnamon or vanilla,
depending on your mood.
In the bathroom the towels were fluffy and never damp.
The kitchen featured a wooden bowl that remained full
of fresh grapes, figs, bananas, oranges, and apples,
no matter how many you ate.
There was an endless supply of paper towels, 
with interesting facts printed on them.
Like:  "Augusta is the capital of Maine."
The refrigerator was always stocked with Swiss cheese
and hard boiled eggs.
And the beds felt like a day in early spring when you're in love
for the first time.
I built hundreds of these small houses all over the world
and gave them away to displaced families, widows, and orphans.
My super powers made certain no government or private 
organization
could ever take their homes away from them.
And their tap water tasted like Hawaiin Punch forevermore. 

The Secret of the Lord

 The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him; and he will shew them his covenant.
Psalm 25:14

To many Christianity is nothing but a teaser;

they only understand about the cruel things of Caesar.

The fear of God to them appears a foolish proposition;

their egos cannot deal with Christ's most gentle admonition.

The secret of the Lord of Hosts with all his mighty power

is open to the soul who sees the beauty of a flower;

to those who manage to achieve a child-like trusting wonder

the voice of God's a lullaby, and not a distant thunder.

The Laughing Trees

Every night at eight, ever since the world ran out of humor, the trees begin laughing.
Oh, it's easy to miss the sound.
Laughter doesn't come naturally to anyone, or anything, anymore.
It's not a loud guffaw or high pitched giggle.
More of a gentle, whispering chuckle.
Or even like the kind of sigh we used to make after a big long laugh,
like after watching Chaplin eating his own boot in 'The Gold Rush."
Somehow our suppressed and supposedly extinct laughter has sunk into the water table, and the trees have drunk it up.
Now, every night at eight, if you listen real close, and are near
a bunch of trees,
you will hear them begin to titter and snicker,
and then break out into warm chuckles.
What are they laughing at?
Maybe us.
Maybe themselves.
Maybe nothing in particular.
It lasts for about fifteen minutes,
then gradually fades away
as if someone were slowly 
turning off a water tap
until there is just a drip.
And then nothing,
and the Night is silent and meaningless again.

Led by the hand of the Lord

 But, said he, notwithstanding our afflictions, we have obtained a land of promise, a land which is choice above all other lands; a land which the Lord God hath covenanted with me should be a land for the inheritance of my seed. Yea, the Lord hath covenanted this land unto me, and to my children forever, and also all those who should be led out of other countries by the hand of the Lord.

2 Nephi 1:5

The Lord is working constantly

amidst the troubled nations;

His hand directs the travels

of some folk by revelations.

Beware, O man; the walls you build

to keep out the displaced

do not exclude the agents

of God's mercy pure and chaste!

The spirit of political contention

 For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another.
3 Nephi  11:29

Our peaceable walk in the Kingdom of God

makes the world wonder just how we are flawed.

They puzzle and ponder that we try to smile

when asked by the Lord to tread one extra mile.

Instead of complaining or venting our spleen,

we look to the Savior with hope ever green.

I never am perfect, and may blow my top;

then onto my knees I will very soon drop

to pray my contention and anger may cease

so I can resume interacting in peace.

Foolish Prophets

Thus saith the Lord God; Woe unto the foolish prophets, that follow their own spirit, and have seen nothing!

Ezekial 13:3

Foolish prophets multiply

in this world of hue and cry.

Hollow heads that rattle so,

sightless eyes as cold as snow.

Filthy lucre they adore;

 serving God they much abhor.

Shun them for the frauds they are;

follow God's true shining star.

He is leading saints today

in the Savior's holy way.

Heed him, and you'll not regret

all the tears and work and sweat.

Photo Essay: Postcards to my President. Vol. 31

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. Final Volume.

The pandemic has not ended, but governments here and abroad have decided to loosen up isolation regulations so that national economies don't completely collapse. Historians will undoubtedly say our leaders decided to strike a bargain with Death: We'll let you keep killing us with coronavirus while we go back to work and play, pretending this is the best compromise we could come up with.
As I have reviewed these dozens of postcards from my kids, I am struck by how often they simply want to write 'thank you' and 'I love you." I've tried to dig deeper into the meaning of their phrases and messages to me -- but perhaps I, like the ancient Hebrews, have looked past the mark. There is no deep theme or metaphor to these bent and battered pieces of pasteboard from nearly thirty years ago.
And so I end this series of photo essays by giving humble thanks to God that so far during this pandemic my children and their children have been spared serious illness and economic hardship. To me it is a miracle, and a testimony of God's great mercy and loving kindness.